A roar of denial rose from the farmers present, a deafening cheer from the labourers. It was with difficulty that the crowd was silenced, and when the proceedings were resumed, it was easy to see that the Bench had been annoyed by this remark.
The solicitor on the other side got up, and asked the justices to consider the previous character of this man the prisoner—who had been on his trial for murder—was there a single person who would speak to his good character?
“Yes,” said Violet, standing up. Amid intense surprise she was sworn. “My name is Violet Waldron,” she said, nerving herself to the effort. “I am the daughter of—of—the person who was—you understand me? I have known this man for years—since I was a child. He and his served us faithfully for two generations. He is incapable of such a crime—I believe him innocent—he is a good man, but most unfortunate.”
She could not go further, her courage broke down. They did not cross-examine her.
The prosecution professed great respect for Miss Waldron, whose misfortunes were well known, but of what value was her testimony in this case? She had not even seen Jenkins for a long time; circumstances warped the best of natures.
The end was, that Jenkins was committed for trial at the assizes within two months. Thus did circumstances again involve this victim of fate in an iron net. Here again I must anticipate. Jenkins was sentenced at the assizes to twelve months imprisonment with hard labour. Nevertheless the imputation against Albert Herring was never quite forgotten; to this day the poor believe it, and even the police shake their heads. At all events he profited largely by it. The corn had been kept in the hope that the markets would rise, but they had fallen. The insurance-money saved him from irretrievable ruin.
The prisoner’s poor wife was reduced to utter beggary. Violet did her best to keep her, but she could not pay the debts the gardener, with his miserable pay, had of necessity contracted. Ten pounds still remained unpaid. At last the poor woman bethought her of an ancient treasure, an old bible;—would Miss Violet buy it? It really was Violet’s—it had been lent by Violet’s grandmother to the poor woman, and never returned. Violet at once remembered Lady Lechester’s fancy for such books, and recommended her to take it to The Towers. The woman went, and returned with the money.
Now, the immediate effect upon our history of this fire was that Violet Waldron became a prominent name in the local paper published at Barnham, and that local paper had been taken for years regularly at The Towers. And at The Towers at that time Theodore Marese was temporarily staying, under circumstances that will shortly appear.
VIII
When Lady Lechester returned from her drive and learnt with intense surprise that Violet was gone, her first thought was that she had been hurt by the remarks made upon Aymer’s hallucination the previous evening. Agnes reproached herself for her momentary irritation; but when she found a note for her from Violet on her dressing-table, and had read both it and the enclosed letter from Aymer, her anger was thoroughly aroused.
Not unnaturally she took it in the worst sense, and looked upon it as a downright insult. To pretend that a gentlemen of Marese’s position and character was not the heir that he affirmed himself to be—that he had wooed her under false pretences—that was bad taste enough, and utterly unjustifiable. Still, it might have passed as the hallucination of an over-tasked mind. But to deliberately accuse the same gentleman of the blackest crime it was possible for human beings to commit, was inexcusable.
All the pride of her nature rose up in almost savage resentment. Her first impulse was to tear up the letters and burn them; but this she refrained from doing, for on second thoughts they might be instrumental in obtaining the punishment of the slanderer. It was all the more bitter, because she felt that she had done her best both for Aymer and Violet, and the latter she had really loved. Certainly Agnes was far too proud and high-minded to regret for one moment a single shilling that she had spent for the benefit of others; but the reflection of Violet’s ingratitude did add a sharper sting. Agnes was in truth touched in her tenderest place—her pride:—she engaged, or partially engaged to a pretender, and worse than that, to a murderer—a Lechester, impossible!
Before she had decided what to do, Mr. Broughton arrived from Barnham, bringing with him Aymer’s letter to him. He was utterly unprepared for the mood in which he found Agnes, and unwittingly added fuel to the fire by saying that he had searched the file of old newspapers, and found the very advertisement mentioned by Aymer.
Lady Agnes’ indignation knew no bounds. She reproached him for even so much as daring to investigate the matter—for deeming it possible that anything of the kind could be. Let him leave the house immediately—she regretted that she had demeaned herself so much as to admit him to see her.
This aroused Mr. Broughton—who was not without his professional pride—and he answered rather smartly, that Lady Lechester seemed to be forgetting the very dignity to which she laid claim; and added that if he should mention Aymer’s discovery to the building society in Stirmingham, who were his clients, they at least would think Miss Waldron’s claim one well worth supporting. With this parting shot he bowed and left the room.
No sooner was he gone, than Agnes took up her pen and wrote direct to Marese Baskette, enclosing Aymer’s second letter—which accused Marese of being the instigator of the murder—and giving the fullest particulars she could remember of his first—relating to Violet’s claim. She did not forget to describe her interview with Mr. Broughton, nor to mention
