The Dead Alive
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Wilkie Collins >> The Dead Alive
Necessarily, no witnesses could be called on our side. Whether this
circumstance discouraged him, or whether he privately shared my opinion
of his client's statement, I cannot say. It is only certain that the
lawyer spoke mechanically, doing his best, no doubt, but doing it
without genuine conviction or earnestness on his own part. Naomi cast
an anxious glance at me as he sat down. The girl's hand, as I took it,
turned cold in mine. She saw plain signs of the failure of the defense
in the look and manner of the counsel for the prosecution; but she
waited resolutely until the presiding magistrate announced his
decision. I had only too clearly foreseen what he would feel it to be
his duty to do. Naomi's head dropped on my shoulder as he said the
terrible words which committed Ambrose and Silas Meadowcroft to take
their trial on the charge of murder.
I led her out of the court into the air. As I passed the "bar," I saw
Ambrose, deadly pale, looking after us as we left him: the magistrate's
decision had evidently daunted him. His brother Silas had dropped in
abject terror on the jailer's chair; the miserable wretch shook and
shuddered dumbly, like a cowed dog.
Miss Meadowcroft returned with us to the farm, preserving unbroken
silence on the way back. I could detect nothing in her bearing which
suggested any compassionate feeling for the prisoners in her stern and
secret nature. On Naomi's withdrawal to her own room, we were left
together for a few minutes; and then, to my astonishment, the outwardly
merciless woman showed me that she, too, was one of Eve's daughters,
and could feel and suffer, in her own hard way, like the rest of us.
She suddenly stepped close up to me, and laid her hand on my arm.
"You are a lawyer, ain't you?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Have you had any experience in your profession?"
"Ten years' experience."
"Do _you_ think--" She stopped abruptly; her hard face softened; her
eyes dropped to the ground. "Never mind," she said, confusedly. "I'm
upset by all this misery, though I may not look like it. Don't notice
me."
She turned away. I waited, in the firm persuasion that the unspoken
question in her mind would sooner or later force its way to utterance
by her lips. I was right. She came back to me unwillingly, like a woman
acting under some influence which the utmost exertion of her will was
powerless to resist.
"Do _you_ believe John Jago is still a living man?"
She put the question vehemently, desperately, as if the words rushed
out of her mouth in spite of her.
"I do _not_ believe it," I answered.
"Remember what John Jago has suffered at the hands of my brothers," she
persisted. "Is it not in your experience that he should take a sudden
resolution to leave the farm?"
I replied, as plainly as before,
"It is _not_ in my experience."
She stood looking at me for a moment with a face of blank despair; then
bowed her gray head in silence, and left me. As she crossed the room to
the door, I saw her look upward; and I heard her say to herself softly,
between her teeth, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord."
It was the requiem of John Jago, pronounced by the woman who loved him.
When I next saw her, her mask was on once more. Miss Meadowcroft was
herself again. Miss Meadowcroft could sit by, impenetrably calm, while
the lawyers discussed the terrible position of her brothers, with the
scaffold in view as one of the possibilities of the "case."
Left by myself, I began to feel uneasy about Naomi. I went upstairs,
and, knocking softly at her door, made my inquiries from outside. The
clear young voice answered me sadly, "I am trying to bear it: I won't
distress you when we meet again." I descended the stairs, feeling my
first suspicion of the true nature of my interest in the American girl.
Why had her answer brought the tears into my eyes? I went out, walking
alone, to think undisturbedly. Why did the tones of her voice dwell on
my ear all the way? Why did my hand still feel the last cold, faint
pressure of her fingers when I led her out of court?
I took a sudden resolution to go back to England.
When I returned to the farm, it was evening. The lamp was not yet
lighted in the hall. Pausing to accustom my eyes to the obscurity
indoors, I heard the voice of the lawyer whom we had employed for the
defense speaking to some one very earnestly.
"I'm not to blame," said the voice. "She snatched the paper out of my
hand before I was aware of her."
"Do you want it back?" asked the voice of Miss Meadowcroft.
"No; it's only copy. If keeping it will help to quiet her, let her keep
it by all means. Good evening."
Saying these last words, the lawyer approached me on his way out of the
house. I stopped him without ceremony; I felt an ungovernable curiosity
to know more.
"Who snatched the paper out of your hand?" I asked, bluntly.
The lawyer started. I had taken him by surprise. The instinct of
professional reticence made him pause before he answered me.
In the brief interval of silence, Miss Meadowcroft replied to my
question from the other end of the hall.
"Naomi Colebrook snatched the paper out of his hand."
"What paper?"
A door opened softly behind me. Naomi herself appeared on the
threshold; Naomi herself answered my question.
"I will tell you," she whispered. "Come in here."
One candle only was burning in the room. I looked at her by the dim
light. My resolution to return to England instantly became one of the
lost ideas of my life.
"Good God!" I exclaimed, "what has happened now?"
She handed me the paper which she had taken from the lawyer's hand.
The "copy" to which he had referred was a copy of the written
confession of Silas Meadowcroft on his return to prison. He accused his
brother Ambrose of the murder of John Jago. He declared on his oath
that he had seen his brother Ambrose commit the crime.
In the popular phrase, I could "hardly believe my own eyes." I read the
last sentences of the confession for the second time:
"...I heard their voices at the limekiln. They were having words about
Cousin Naomi. I ran to the place to part them. I was not in time. I saw
Ambrose strike the deceased a terrible blow on the head with his
(Ambrose's) heavy stick. The deceased dropped without a cry. I put my
hand on his heart. He was dead. I was horribly frightened. Ambrose
threatened to kill _me_ next if I said a word to any living soul. He
took up the body and cast it into the quicklime, and threw the stick in
after it. We went on together to the wood. We sat down on a felled tree
outside the wood. Ambrose made up the story that we were to tell if
what he had done was found out. He made me repeat it after him, like a
lesson. We were still at it when Cousin Naomi and Mr. Lefrank came up
to us. They know the rest. This, on my oath, is a true confession. I
make it of my own free-will, repenting me sincerely that I did not make
it before."
(Signed)
"SILAS MEADOWCROFT."
I laid down the paper, and looked at Naomi once more. She spoke to me
with a strange composure. Immovable determination was in her eye;
immovable determination was in her voice.
"Silas has lied away his brother's life to save himself," she said. "I
see cowardly falsehood and cowardly cruelty in every line on that
paper. Ambrose is innocent, and the time has come to prove it."
"You forget," I said, "that we have just failed to prove it."
"John Jago is alive, in hiding from us and from all who know him," she
went on. "Help me, friend Lefrank, to advertise for him in the
newspapers."
I drew back from her in speechless distress. I own I believed that the
new misery which had fallen on her had affected her brain.
"You don't believe it," she said. "Shut the door."
I obeyed her. She seated herself, and pointed to a chair near her.
"Sit down," she proceeded. "I am going to do a wrong thing; but there
is no help for it. I am going to break a sacred promise. You remember
that moonlight night when I met him on the garden walk?"
"John Jago?"
"Yes. Now listen. I am going to tell you what passed between John Jago
and me."
CHAPTER IX.
THE ADVERTISEMENT.
I WAITED in silence for the disclosure that was now to come. Naomi
began by asking me a question.
"You remember when we went to see Ambrose in the prison?" she said.
"Perfectly."
"Ambrose told us of something which his villain of a brother said of
John Jago and me. Do you remember what it was?"
I remembered perfectly. Silas had said, "John Jago is too sweet on
Naomi not to come back."
"That's so," Naomi remarked when I had repeated the words. "I couldn't
help starting when I heard what Silas had said; and I thought you
noticed me."
"I did notice you."
"Did you wonder what it meant?"
"Yes."
"I'll tell you. It meant this: What Silas Meadowcroft said to his
brother of John Jago was what I myself was thinking of John Jago at
that very moment. It startled me to find my own thought in a man's mind
spoken for me by a man. I am the person, sir, who has driven John Jago
away from Morwick Farm; and I am the person who can and will bring him
back again."
There was something in her manner, more than in her words, which let
the light in suddenly on my mind.
"You have told me the secret," I said. "John Jago is in love with you."
"Mad about me!" she rejoined, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Stark,
staring mad!--that's the only word for him. After we had taken a few
turns on the gravel-walk, he suddenly broke out like a man beside
himself. He fell down on his knees; he kissed my gown, he kissed my
feet; he sobbed and cried for love of me. I'm not badly off for
courage, sir, considering I'm a woman. No man, that I can call to mind,
ever really scared me before. But I own John Jago frightened me; oh my!
he did frighten me! My heart was in my mouth, and my knees shook under
me. I begged and prayed of him to get up and go away. No; there he
knelt, and held by the skirt of my gown. The words poured out from him
like--well, like nothing I can think of but water from a pump. His
happiness and his life, and his hopes in earth and heaven, and Lord
only knows what besides, all depended, he said, on a word from me. I
plucked up spirit enough at that to remind him that I was promised to
Ambrose. 'I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself,' I said, 'to own
that you're wicked enough to love me when you know I am promised to
another man!' When I spoke to him he took a new turn; he began abusing
Ambrose. _That_ straightened me up. I snatched my gown out of his hand,
and I gave him my whole mind. 'I hate you!' I said. 'Even if I wasn't
promised to Ambrose, I wouldn't marry you--no! not if there wasn't
another man left in the world to ask me. I hate you, Mr. Jago! I hate
you!' He saw I was in earnest at last. He got up from my feet, and he
settled down quiet again, all on a sudden. 'You have said enough' (that
was how he answered me). 'You have broken my life. I have no hopes and
no prospects now. I had a pride in the farm, miss, and a pride in my
work; I bore with your brutish cousins' hatred of me; I was faithful to
Mr. Meadowcroft's interests; all for your sake, Naomi Colebrook--all
for your sake! I have done with it now; I have done with my life at the
farm. You will never be troubled with me again. I am going away, as the
dumb creatures go when they are sick, to hide myself in a corner, and
die. Do me one last favor. Don't make me the laughingstock of the whole
neighborhood. I can't bear that; it maddens me only to think of it.
Give me your promise never to tell any living soul what I have said to
you to-night--your sacred promise to the man whose life you have
broken!' I did as he bade me; I gave him my sacred promise with the
tears in my eyes. Yes, that is so. After telling him I hated him (and I
did hate him), I cried over his misery; I did! Mercy, what fools women
are! What is the horrid perversity, sir, which makes us always ready to
pity the men? He held out his hand to me; and he said, 'Good-by
forever!' and I pitied him. I said, 'I'll shake hands with you if you
will give me your promise in exchange for mine. I beg of you not to
leave the farm. What will my uncle do if you go away? Stay here, and be
friends with me, and forget and forgive, Mr. John.' He gave me his
promise (he can refuse me nothing); and he gave it again when I saw him
again the next morning. Yes. I'll do him justice, though I do hate him!
I believe he honestly meant to keep his word as long as my eye was on
him. It was only when he was left to himself that the Devil tempted him
to break his promise and leave the farm. I was brought up to believe in
the Devil, Mr. Lefrank; and I find it explains many things. It explains
John Jago. Only let me find out where he has gone, and I'll engage he
shall come back and clear Ambrose of the suspicion which his vile
brother has cast on him. Here is the pen all ready for you. Advertise
for him, friend Lefrank; and do it right away, for my sake!"
I let her run on, without attempting to dispute her conclusions, until
she could say no more. When she put the pen into my hand, I began the
composition of the advertisement as obediently as if I, too, believed
that John Jago was a living man.
In the case of any one else, I should have openly acknowledged that my
own convictions remained unshaken. If no quarrel had taken place at the
limekiln, I should have been quite ready, as I viewed the case, to
believe that John Jago's disappearance was referable to the terrible
disappointment which Naomi had inflicted on him. The same morbid dread
of ridicule which had led him to assert that he cared nothing for
Naomi, when he and Silas had quarreled under my bedroom window, might
also have impelled him to withdraw himself secretly and suddenly from
the scene of his discomfiture. But to ask me to believe, after what had
happened at the limekiln, that he was still living, was to ask me to
take Ambrose Meadowcroft's statement for granted as a true statement of
facts.
I had refused to do this from the first; and I still persisted in
taking that course. If I had been called upon to decide the balance of
probability between the narrative related by Ambrose in his defense and
the narrative related by Silas in his confession, I must have owned, no
matter how unwillingly, that the confession was, to my mind, the least
incredible story of the two.
Could I say this to Naomi? I would have written fifty advertisements
inquiring for John Jago rather than say it; and you would have done the
same, if you had been as fond of her as I was. I drew out the
advertisement, for insertion in the Morwick _Mercury_, in these terms:
MURDER.--Printers of newspapers throughout the United States are
desired to publish that Ambrose Meadowcroft and Silas Meadowcroft, of
Morwick Farm, Morwick County, are committed for trial on the charge of
murdering John Jago, now missing from the farm and from the
neighborhood. Any person who can give information of the existence of
said Jago may save the lives of two wrongly-accused men by making
immediate communication. Jago is about five feet four inches high. He
is spare and wiry; his complexion is extremely pale, his eyes are dark,
and very bright and restless. The lower part of his face is concealed
by a thick black beard and mustache. The whole appearance of the man is
wild and flighty.
I added the date and the address. That evening a servant was sent on
horseback to Narrabee to procure the insertion of the advertisement in
the next issue of the newspaper.
When we parted that night, Naomi looked almost like her brighter and
happier self. Now that the advertisement was on its way to the
printing-office, she was more than sanguine: she was certain of the
result.
"You don't know how you have comforted me," she said, in her frank,
warm-hearted way, when we parted for the night. "All the newspapers
will copy it, and we shall hear of John Jago before the week is out."
She turned to go, and came back again to me. "I will never forgive
Silas for writing that confession!" she whispered in my ear. "If he
ever lives under the same roof with Ambrose again, I--well, I believe I
wouldn't marry Ambrose if he did! There!"
She left me. Through the wakeful hours of the night my mind dwelt on
her last words. That she should contemplate, under any circumstances,
even the bare possibility of not marrying Ambrose, was, I am ashamed to
say, a direct encouragement to certain hopes which I had already begun
to form in secret. The next day's mail brought me a letter on business.
My clerk wrote to inquire if there was any chance of my returning to
England in time to appear in court at the opening of next law term. I
answered, without hesitation, "It is still impossible for me to fix the
date of my return." Naomi was in the room while I was writing. How
would she have answered, I wonder, if I had told her the truth, and
said, "You are responsible for this letter?"
CHAPTER X.
THE SHERIFF AND THE GOVERNOR.
THE question of time was now a serious question at Morwick Farm. In six
weeks the court for the trial of criminal cases was to be opened at
Narrabee.
During this interval no new event of any importance occurred.
Many idle letters reached us relating to the advertisement for John
Jago; but no positive information was received. Not the slightest trace
of the lost man turned up; not the shadow of a doubt was cast on the
assertion of the prosecution, that his body had been destroyed in the
kiln. Silas Meadowcroft held firmly to the horrible confession that he
had made. His brother Ambrose, with equal resolution, asserted his
innocence, and reiterated the statement which he had already advanced.
At regular periods I accompanied Naomi to visit him in the prison. As
the day appointed for the opening of the court approached, he seemed to
falter a little in his resolution; his manner became restless; and he
grew irritably suspicious about the merest trifles. This change did not
necessarily imply the consciousness of guilt: it might merely have
indicated natural nervous agitation as the time for the trial drew
near. Naomi noticed the alteration in her lover. It greatly increased
her anxiety, though it never shook her confidence in Ambrose. Except at
meal-times, I was left, during the period of which I am now writing,
almost constantly alone with the charming American girl. Miss
Meadowcroft searched the newspapers for tidings of the living John Jago
in the privacy of her own room. Mr. Meadowcroft would see nobody but
his daughter and his doctor, and occasionally one or two old friends. I
have since had reason to believe that Naomi, in these days of our
intimate association, discovered the true nature of the feeling with
which she had inspired me. But she kept her secret. Her manner toward
me steadily remained the manner of a sister; she never overstepped by a
hair-breadth the safe limits of the character that she had assumed.
The sittings of the court began. After hearing the evidence, and
examining the confession of Silas Meadowcroft, the grand jury found a
true bill against both the prisoners. The day appointed for their trial
was the first day in the new week.
I had carefully prepared Naomi's mind for the decision of the grand
jury. She bore the new blow bravely.
"If you are not tired of it," she said, "come with me to the prison
tomorrow. Ambrose will need a little comfort by that time." She paused,
and looked at the day's letters lying on the table. "Still not a word
about John Jago," she said. "And all the papers have copied the
advertisement. I felt so sure we should hear of him long before this!"
"Do you still feel sure that he is living?" I ventured to ask.
"I am as certain of it as ever," she replied, firmly. "He is somewhere
in hiding; perhaps he is in disguise. Suppose we know no more of him
than we know now when the trial begins? Suppose the jury--" She
stopped, shuddering. Death--shameful death on the scaffold--might be
the terrible result of the consultation of the jury. "We have waited
for news to come to us long enough," Naomi resumed. "We must find the
tracks of John Jago for ourselves. There is a week yet before the trial
begins. Who will help me to make inquiries? Will you be the man, friend
Lefrank!"
It is needless to add (though I knew nothing would come of it) that I
consented to be the man.
We arranged to apply that day for the order of admission to the prison,
and, having seen Ambrose, to devote ourselves immediately to the
contemplated search. How that search was to be conducted was more than
I could tell, and more than Naomi could tell. We were to begin by
applying to the police to help us to find John Jago, and we were then
to be guided by circumstances. Was there ever a more hopeless programme
than this?
"Circumstances" declared themselves against us at starting. I applied,
as usual, for the order of admission to the prison, and the order was
for the first time refused; no reason being assigned by the persons in
authority for taking this course. Inquire as I might, the only answer
given was, "not to-day."
At Naomi's suggestion, we went to the prison to seek the explanation
which was refused to us at the office. The jailer on duty at the outer
gate was one of Naomi's many admirers. He solved the mystery cautiously
in a whisper. The sheriff and the governor of the prison were then
speaking privately with Ambrose Meadowcroft in his cell; they had
expressly directed that no persons should be admitted to see the
prisoner that day but themselves.
What did it mean? We returned, wondering, to the farm. There Naomi,
speaking by chance to one of the female servants, made certain
discoveries.
Early that morning the sheriff had been brought to Morwick by an old
friend of the Meadowcrofts. A long interview had been held between Mr.
Meadowcroft and his daughter and the official personage introduced by
the friend. Leaving the farm, the sheriff had gone straight to the
prison, and had proceeded with the governor to visit Ambrose in his
cell. Was some potent influence being brought privately to bear on
Ambrose? Appearances certainly suggested that inquiry. Supposing the
influence to have been really exerted, the next question followed, What
was the object in view? We could only wait and see.
Our patience was not severely tried. The event of the next day
enlightened us in a very unexpected manner. Before noon, the neighbors
brought startling news from the prison to the farm.
Ambrose Meadowcroft had confessed himself to be the murderer of John
Jago! He had signed the confession in the presence of the sheriff and
the governor on that very day.
I saw the document. It is needless to reproduce it here. In substance,
Ambrose confessed what Silas had confessed; claiming, however, to have
only struck Jago under intolerable provocation, so as to reduce the
nature of his offense against the law from murder to manslaughter. Was
the confession really the true statement of what had taken place? or
had the sheriff and the governor, acting in the interests of the family
name, persuaded Ambrose to try this desperate means of escaping the
ignominy of death on the scaffold? The sheriff and the governor
preserved impenetrable silence until the pressure put on them
judicially at the trial obliged them to speak.
Who was to tell Naomi of this last and saddest of all the calamities
which had fallen on her? Knowing how I loved her in secret, I felt an
invincible reluctance to be the person who revealed Ambrose
Meadowcroft's degradation to his betrothed wife. Had any other member
of the family told her what had happened? The lawyer was able to answer
me; Miss Meadowcroft had told her.
I was shocked when I heard it. Miss Meadowcroft was the last person in
the house to spare the poor girl; Miss Meadowcroft would make the hard
tidings doubly terrible to bear in the telling. I tried to find Naomi,
without success. She had been always accessible at other times. Was she
hiding herself from me now? The idea occurred to me as I was descending
the stairs after vainly knocking at the door of her room. I was
determined to see her. I waited a few minutes, and then ascended the
stairs again suddenly. On the landing I met her, just leaving her room.
She tried to run back. I caught her by the arm, and detained her. With
her free hand she held her handkerchief over her face so as to hide it
from me.
"You once told me I had comforted you," I said to her, gently. "Won't
you let me comfort you now?"
She still struggled to get away, and still kept her head turned from
me.
"Don't you see that I am ashamed to look you in the face?" she said, in
low, broken tones. "Let me go."
I still persisted in trying to soothe her. I drew her to the
window-seat. I said I would wait until she was able to speak to me.
She dropped on the seat, and wrung her hands on her lap. Her downcast
eyes still obstinately avoided meeting mine.
"Oh!" she said to herself, "what madness possessed me? Is it possible
that I ever disgraced myself by loving Ambrose Meadowcroft?" She
shuddered as the idea found its way to expression on her lips. The
tears rolled slowly over her cheeks. "Don't despise me, Mr. Lefrank!"
she said, faintly.