The Dead Alive
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Wilkie Collins >> The Dead Alive
The night wore on, and still the absent man failed to return. Miss
Meadowcroft volunteered to sit up for him. Naomi eyed her, a little
maliciously I must own, as the two women parted for the night. I
withdrew to my room; and again I was unable to sleep. When sunrise
came, I went out, as before, to breathe the morning air.
On the staircase I met Miss Meadowcroft ascending to her own room. Not
a curl of her stiff gray hair was disarranged; nothing about the
impenetrable woman betrayed that she had been watching through the
night.
"Has Mr. Jago not returned?" I asked.
Miss Meadowcroft slowly shook her head, and frowned at me.
"We are in the hands of Providence, Mr. Lefrank. Mr. Jago must have
been detained for the night at Narrabee."
The daily routine of the meals resumed its unalterable course.
Breakfast-time came, and dinner-time came, and no John Jago darkened
the doors of Morwick Farm. Mr. Meadowcroft and his daughter consulted
together, and determined to send in search of the missing man. One of
the more intelligent of the laborers was dispatched to Narrabee to make
inquiries.
The man returned late in the evening, bringing startling news to the
farm. He had visited all the inns, and all the places of business
resort in Narrabee; he had made endless inquiries in every direction,
with this result--no one had set eyes on John Jago. Everybody declared
that John Jago had not entered the town.
We all looked at each other, excepting the two brothers, who were
seated together in a dark corner of the room. The conclusion appeared
to be inevitable. John Jago was a lost man.
CHAPTER VI.
THE LIMEKILN.
MR. MEADOWCROFT was the first to speak. "Somebody must find John," he
said.
"Without losing a moment," added his daughter.
Ambrose suddenly stepped out of the dark corner of the room.
"_I_ will inquire," he said.
Silas followed him.
"I will go with you," he added.
Mr. Meadowcroft interposed his authority.
"One of you will be enough; for the present, at least. Go you, Ambrose.
Your brother may be wanted later. If any accident has happened (which
God forbid!) we may have to inquire in more than one direction. Silas,
you will stay at the farm."
The brothers withdrew together; Ambrose to prepare for his journey,
Silas to saddle one of the horses for him. Naomi slipped out after
them. Left in company with Mr. Meadowcroft and his daughter (both
devoured by anxiety about the missing man, and both trying to conceal
it under an assumption of devout resignation to circumstances), I need
hardly add that I, too, retired, as soon as it was politely possible
for me to leave the room. Ascending the stairs on my way to my own
quarters, I discovered Naomi half hidden by the recess formed by an
old-fashioned window-seat on the first landing. My bright little friend
was in sore trouble. Her apron was over her face, and she was crying
bitterly. Ambrose had not taken his leave as tenderly as usual. She was
more firmly persuaded than ever that "Ambrose was hiding something from
her." We all waited anxiously for the next day. The next day made the
mystery deeper than ever.
The horse which had taken Ambrose to Narrabee was ridden back to the
farm by a groom from the hotel. He delivered a written message from
Ambrose which startled us. Further inquiries had positively proved that
the missing man had never been near Narrabee. The only attainable
tidings of his whereabouts were tidings derived from vague report. It
was said that a man like John Jago had been seen the previous day in a
railway car, traveling on the line to New York. Acting on this
imperfect information, Ambrose had decided on verifying the truth of
the report by extending his inquiries to New York.
This extraordinary proceeding forced the suspicion on me that something
had really gone wrong. I kept my doubts to myself; but I was prepared,
from that moment, to see the disappearance of John Jago followed by
very grave results.
The same day the results declared themselves.
Time enough had now elapsed for report to spread through the district
the news of what had happened at the farm. Already aware of the bad
feeling existing between the men, the neighbors had been now informed
(no doubt by the laborers present) of the deplorable scene that had
taken place under my bedroom window. Public opinion declares itself in
America without the slightest reserve, or the slightest care for
consequences. Public opinion declared on this occasion that the lost
man was the victim of foul play, and held one or both of the brothers
Meadowcroft responsible for his disappearance. Later in the day, the
reasonableness of this serious view of the case was confirmed in the
popular mind by a startling discovery. It was announced that a
Methodist preacher lately settled at Morwick, and greatly respected
throughout the district, had dreamed of John Jago in the character of a
murdered man, whose bones were hidden at Morwick Farm. Before night the
cry was general for a verification of the preacher's dream. Not only in
the immediate district, but in the town of Narrabee itself, the public
voice insisted on the necessity of a search for the mortal remains of
John Jago at Morwick Farm.
In the terrible turn which matters had now taken, Mr. Meadowcroft the
elder displayed a spirit and an energy for which I was not prepared.
"My sons have their faults," he said, "serious faults; and nobody knows
it better than I do. My sons have behaved badly and ungratefully toward
John Jago; I don't deny that, either. But Ambrose and Silas are not
murderers. Make your search! I ask for it; no, I insist on it, after
what has been said, in justice to my family and my name!"
The neighbors took him at his word. The Morwick section of the American
nation organized itself on the spot. The sovereign people met in
committee, made speeches, elected competent persons to represent the
public interests, and began the search the next day. The whole
proceeding, ridiculously informal from a legal point of view, was
carried on by these extraordinary people with as stern and strict a
sense of duty as if it had been sanctioned by the highest tribunal in
the land.
Naomi met the calamity that had fallen on the household as resolutely
as her uncle himself. The girl's courage rose with the call which was
made on it. Her one anxiety was for Ambrose.
"He ought to be here," she said to me. "The wretches in this
neighborhood are wicked enough to say that his absence is a confession
of his guilt."
She was right. In the present temper of the popular mind, the absence
of Ambrose was a suspicious circumstance in itself.
"We might telegraph to New York," I suggested, "if you only knew where
a message would be likely to find him."
"I know the hotel which the Meadowcrofts use at New York," she replied.
"I was sent there, after my father's death, to wait till Miss
Meadowcroft could take me to Morwick."
We decided on telegraphing to the hotel. I was writing the message, and
Naomi was looking over my shoulder, when we were startled by a strange
voice speaking close behind us.
"Oh! that's his address, is it?" said the voice. "We wanted his address
rather badly."
The speaker was a stranger to me. Naomi recognized him as one of the
neighbors.
"What do you want his address for?" she asked, sharply.
"I guess we've found the mortal remains of John Jago, miss," the man
replied. "We have got Silas already, and we want Ambrose too, on
suspicion of murder."
"It's a lie!" cried Naomi, furiously--"a wicked lie!"
The man turned to me.
"Take her into the next room, mister," he said, "and let her see for
herself."
We went together into the next room.
In one corner, sitting by her father, and holding his hand, we saw
stern and stony Miss Meadowcroft weeping silently. Opposite to them,
crouched on the window-seat, his eyes wandering, his hands hanging
helpless, we next discovered Silas Meadowcroft, plainly self-betrayed
as a panic-stricken man. A few of the persons who had been engaged in
the search were seated near, watching him. The mass of the strangers
present stood congregated round a table in the middle of the room They
drew aside as I approached with Naomi and allowed us to have a clear
view of certain objects placed on the table.
The center object of the collection was a little heap of charred bones.
Round this were ranged a knife, two metal buttons, and a stick
partially burned. The knife was recognized by the laborers as the
weapon John Jago habitually carried about with him--the weapon with
which he had wounded Silas Meadowcroft's hand. The buttons Naomi
herself declared to have a peculiar pattern on them, which had formerly
attracted her attention to John Jago's coat. As for the stick, burned
as it was, I had no difficulty in identifying the quaintly-carved knob
at the top. It was the heavy beechen stick which I had snatched out of
Silas's hand, and which I had restored to Ambrose on his claiming it as
his own. In reply to my inquiries, I was informed that the bones, the
knife, the buttons and the stick had all been found together in a
limekiln then in use on the farm.
"Is it serious?" Naomi whispered to me as we drew back from the table.
It would have been sheer cruelty to deceive her now.
"Yes," I whispered back; "it is serious."
The search committee conducted its proceedings with the strictest
regularity. The proper applications were made forthwith to a justice of
the peace, and the justice issued his warrant. That night Silas was
committed to prison; and an officer was dispatched to arrest Ambrose in
New York.
For my part, I did the little I could to make myself useful. With the
silent sanction of Mr. Meadowcroft and his daughter, I went to
Narrabee, and secured the best legal assistance for the defense which
the town could place at my disposal. This done, there was no choice but
to wait for news of Ambrose, and for the examination before the
magistrate which was to follow. I shall pass over the misery in the
house during the interval of expectation; no useful purpose could be
served by describing it now. Let me only say that Naomi's conduct
strengthened me in the conviction that she possessed a noble nature. I
was unconscious of the state of my own feelings at the time; but I am
now disposed to think that this was the epoch at which I began to envy
Ambrose the wife whom he had won.
The telegraph brought us our first news of Ambrose. He had been
arrested at the hotel, and he was on his way to Morwick. The next day
he arrived, and followed his brother to prison. The two were confined
in separate cells, and were forbidden all communication with each
other.
Two days later, the preliminary examination took place. Ambrose and
Silas Meadowcroft were charged before the magistrate with the willful
murder of John Jago. I was cited to appear as one of the witnesses;
and, at Naomi's own request, I took the poor girl into court, and sat
by her during the proceedings. My host also was present in his
invalid-chair, with his daughter by his side.
Such was the result of my voyage across the ocean in search of rest and
quiet; and thus did time and chance fulfill my first hasty foreboding
of the dull life I was to lead at Morwick Farm!
CHAPTER VII.
THE MATERIALS IN THE DEFENSE.
ON our way to the chairs allotted to us in the magistrate's court, we
passed the platform on which the prisoners were standing together.
Silas took no notice of us. Ambrose made a friendly sign of
recognition, and then rested his hand on the "bar" in front of him. As
she passed beneath him, Naomi was just tall enough to reach his hand on
tiptoe. She took it. "I know you are innocent," she whispered, and gave
him one look of loving encouragement as she followed me to her place.
Ambrose never lost his self-control. I may have been wrong; but I
thought this a bad sign.
The case, as stated for the prosecution, told strongly against the
suspected men.
Ambrose and Silas Meadowcroft were charged with the murder of John Jago
(by means of the stick or by use of some other weapon), and with the
deliberate destruction of the body by throwing it into the quicklime.
In proof of this latter assertion, the knife which the deceased
habitually carried about him, and the metal buttons which were known to
belong to his coat, were produced. It was argued that these
indestructible substances, and some fragments of the larger bones had
alone escaped the action of the burning lime. Having produced medical
witnesses to support this theory by declaring the bones to be human,
and having thus circumstantially asserted the discovery of the remains
in the kiln, the prosecution next proceeded to prove that the missing
man had been murdered by the two brothers, and had been by them thrown
into the quicklime as a means of concealing their guilt.
Witness after witness deposed to the inveterate enmity against the
deceased displayed by Ambrose and Silas. The threatening language they
habitually used toward him; their violent quarrels with him, which had
become a public scandal throughout the neighborhood, and which had
ended (on one occasion at least) in a blow; the disgraceful scene which
had taken place under my window; and the restoration to Ambrose, on the
morning of the fatal quarrel, of the very stick which had been found
among the remains of the dead man--these facts and events, and a host
of minor circumstances besides, sworn to by witnesses whose credit was
unimpeachable, pointed with terrible directness to the conclusion at
which the prosecution had arrived.
I looked at the brothers as the weight of the evidence pressed more and
more heavily against them. To outward view at least, Ambrose still
maintained his self-possession. It was far otherwise with Silas. Abject
terror showed itself in his ghastly face; in his great knotty hands,
clinging convulsively to the bar at which he stood; in his staring
eyes, fixed in vacant horror on each witness who appeared. Public
feeling judged him on the spot. There he stood, self-betrayed already,
in the popular opinion, as a guilty man!
The one point gained in cross-examination by the defense related to the
charred bones.
Pressed on this point, a majority of the medical witnesses admitted
that their examination had been a hurried one; and that it was just
possible that the bones might yet prove to be the remains of an animal,
and not of a man. The presiding magistrate decided upon this that a
second examination should be made, and that the member of the medical
experts should be increased.
Here the preliminary proceedings ended. The prisoners were remanded for
three days.
The prostration of Silas, at the close of the inquiry, was so complete,
that it was found necessary to have two men to support him on his
leaving the court. Ambrose leaned over the bar to speak to Naomi before
he followed the jailer out. "Wait," he whispered, confidently, "till
they hear what I have to say!" Naomi kissed her hand to him
affectionately, and turned to me with the bright tears in her eyes.
"Why don't they hear what he has to say at once?" she asked. "Anybody
can see that Ambrose is innocent. It's a crying shame, sir, to send him
back to prison. Don't you think so yourself?"
If I had confessed what I really thought, I should have said that
Ambrose had proved nothing to my mind, except that he possessed rare
powers of self-control. It was impossible to acknowledge this to my
little friend. I diverted her mind from the question of her lover's
innocence by proposing that we should get the necessary order, and
visit him in his prison on the next day. Naomi dried her tears, and
gave me a little grateful squeeze of the hand.
"Oh my! what a good fellow you are!" cried the outspoken American girl.
"When your time comes to be married, sir, I guess the woman won't
repent saying yes to _you!_"
Mr. Meadowcroft preserved unbroken silence as we walked back to the
farm on either side of his invalid-chair. His last reserves of
resolution seemed to have given way under the overwhelming strain laid
on them by the proceedings in court. His daughter, in stern indulgence
to Naomi, mercifully permitted her opinion to glimmer on us only
through the medium of quotation from Scripture texts. If the texts
meant anything, they meant that she had foreseen all that had happened;
and that the one sad aspect of the case, to her mind, was the death of
John Jago, unprepared to meet his end.
I obtained the order of admission to the prison the next morning.
We found Ambrose still confident of the favorable result, for his
brother and for himself, of the inquiry before the magistrate. He
seemed to be almost as eager to tell, as Naomi was to hear, the true
story of what had happened at the limekiln. The authorities of the
prison--present, of course, at the interview--warned him to remember
that what he said might be taken down in writing, and produced against
him in court.
"Take it down, gentlemen, and welcome," Ambrose replied. "I have
nothing to fear; I am only telling the truth."
With that he turned to Naomi, and began his narrative, as nearly as I
can remember, in these words:
"I may as well make a clean breast of it at starting, my girl. After
Mr. Lefrank left us that morning, I asked Silas how he came by my
stick. In telling me how, Silas also told me of the words that had
passed between him and John Jago under Mr. Lefrank's window. I was
angry and jealous; and I own it freely, Naomi, I thought the worst that
could be thought about you and John."
Here Naomi stopped him without ceremony.
"Was that what made you speak to me as you spoke when we found you at
the wood?" she asked.
"Yes."
"And was that what made you leave me, when you went away to Narrabee,
without giving me a kiss at parting?"
"It was."
"Beg my pardon for it before you say a word more."
"I beg your pardon."
"Say you are ashamed of yourself."
"I am ashamed of myself," Ambrose answered penitently.
"Now you may go on," said Naomi. "Now I'm satisfied."
Ambrose went on.
"We were on our way to the clearing at the other side of the wood while
Silas was talking to me; and, as ill luck would have it, we took the
path that led by the limekiln. Turning the corner, we met John Jago on
his way to Narrabee. I was too angry, I tell you, to let him pass
quietly. I gave him a bit of my mind. His blood was up too, I suppose;
and he spoke out, on his side, as freely as I did. I own I threatened
him with the stick; but I'll swear to it I meant him no harm. You
know--after dressing Silas's hand--that John Jago is ready with his
knife. He comes from out West, where they are always ready with one
weapon or another handy in their pockets. It's likely enough he didn't
mean to harm me, either; but how could I be sure of that? When he
stepped up to me, and showed his weapon, I dropped the stick, and
closed with him. With one hand I wrenched the knife away from him; and
with the other I caught him by the collar of his rotten old coat, and
gave him a shaking that made his bones rattle in his skin. A big piece
of the cloth came away in my hand. I shied it into the quicklime close
by us, and I pitched the knife after the cloth; and, if Silas hadn't
stopped me, I think it's likely I might have shied John Jago himself
into the lime next. As it was, Silas kept hold of me. Silas shouted out
to him, 'Be off with you! and don't come back again, if you don't want
to be burned in the kiln!' He stood looking at us for a minute,
fetching his breath, and holding his torn coat round him. Then he spoke
with a deadly-quiet voice and a deadly-quiet look: 'Many a true word,
Mr. Silas,' he says, 'is spoken in jest. _I shall not come back
again_.' He turned about, and left us. We stood staring at each other
like a couple of fools. 'You don't think he means it?' I says. 'Bosh!'
says Silas. 'He's too sweet on Naomi not to come back.' What's the
matter now, Naomi?"
I had noticed it too. She started and turned pale, when Ambrose
repeated to her what Silas had said to him.
"Nothing is the matter," Naomi answered. "Your brother has no right to
take liberties with my name. Go on. Did Silas say any more while he was
about it?"
"Yes; he looked into the kiln; and he says, 'What made you throw away
the knife, Ambrose?'--'How does a man know why he does anything,' I
says, 'when he does it in a passion?'--'It's a ripping good knife,'
says Silas; 'in your place, I should have kept it.' I picked up the
stick off the ground. 'Who says I've lost it yet?' I answered him; and
with that I got up on the side of the kiln, and began sounding for the
knife, to bring it, you know, by means of the stick, within easy reach
of a shovel, or some such thing. 'Give us your hand,' I says to Silas.
'Let me stretch out a bit and I'll have it in no time.' Instead of
finding the knife, I came nigh to falling myself into the burning lime.
The vapor overpowered me, I suppose. All I know is, I turned giddy, and
dropped the stick in the kiln. I should have followed the stick to a
dead certainty, but for Silas pulling me back by the hand. 'Let it be,'
says Silas. 'If I hadn't had hold of you, John Jago's knife would have
been the death of you, after all!' He led me away by the arm, and we
went on together on the road to the wood. We stopped where you found
us, and sat down on the felled tree. We had a little more talk about
John Jago. It ended in our agreeing to wait and see what happened, and
to keep our own counsel in the meantime. You and Mr. Lefrank came upon
us, Naomi, while we were still talking; and you guessed right when you
guessed that we had a secret from you. You know the secret now."
There he stopped. I put a question to him--the first that I had asked
yet.
"Had you or your brother any fear at that time of the charge which has
since been brought against you?" I said.
"No such thought entered our heads, sir," Ambrose answered. "How could
_we_ foresee that the neighbors would search the kiln, and say what
they have said of us? All we feared was, that the old man might hear of
the quarrel, and be bitterer against us than ever. I was the more
anxious of the two to keep things secret, because I had Naomi to
consider as well as the old man. Put yourself in my place, and you will
own, sir, that the prospect at home was not a pleasant one for _me_, if
John Jago really kept away from the farm, and if it came out that it
was all my doing."
(This was certainly an explanation of his conduct; but it was not
satisfactory to my mind.)
"As _you_ believe, then," I went on, "John Jago has carried out his
threat of not returning to the farm? According to you, he is now alive,
and in hiding somewhere?"
"Certainly!" said Ambrose.
"Certainly!" repeated Naomi.
"Do you believe the report that he was seen traveling on the railway to
New York?"
"I believe it firmly, sir; and, what is more, I believe I was on his
track. I was only too anxious to find him; and I say I could have found
him if they would have let me stay in New York."
I looked at Naomi.
"I believe it too," she said. "John Jago is keeping away."
"Do you suppose he is afraid of Ambrose and Silas?"
She hesitated.
"He _may_ be afraid of them," she replied, with a strong emphasis on
the word "may."
"But you don't think it likely?"
She hesitated again. I pressed her again.
"Do you think there is any other motive for his absence?"
Her eyes dropped to the floor. She answered obstinately, almost
doggedly,
"I can't say."
I addressed myself to Ambrose.
"Have you anything more to tell us?" I asked.
"No," he said. "I have told you all I know about it."
I rose to speak to the lawyer whose services I had retained. He had
helped us to get the order of admission, and he had accompanied us to
the prison. Seated apart he had kept silence throughout, attentively
watching the effect of Ambrose Meadowcroft's narrative on the officers
of the prison and on me.
"Is this the defense?" I inquired, in a whisper.
"This is the defense, Mr. Lefrank. What do you think, between
ourselves?"
"Between ourselves, I think the magistrate will commit them for trial."
"On the charge of murder?"
"Yes, on the charge of murder."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE CONFESSION.
MY replies to the lawyer accurately expressed the conviction in my
mind. The narrative related by Ambrose had all the appearance, in my
eyes, of a fabricated story, got up, and clumsily got up, to pervert
the plain meaning of the circumstantial evidence produced by the
prosecution. I reached this conclusion reluctantly and regretfully, for
Naomi's sake. I said all I could say to shake the absolute confidence
which she felt in the discharge of the prisoners at the next
examination.
The day of the adjourned inquiry arrived.
Naomi and I again attended the court together. Mr. Meadowcroft was
unable, on this occasion, to leave the house. His daughter was present,
walking to the court by herself, and occupying a seat by herself.
On his second appearance at the "bar," Silas was more composed, and
more like his brother. No new witnesses were called by the prosecution.
We began the battle over the medical evidence relating to the charred
bones; and, to some extent, we won the victory. In other words, we
forced the doctors to acknowledge that they differed widely in their
opinions. Three confessed that they were not certain. Two went still
further, and declared that the bones were the bones of an animal, not
of a man. We made the most of this; and then we entered upon the
defense, founded on Ambrose Meadowcroft's story.