The Light of Scarthey: A Romance

  CHAPTER XXXI

  IN LANCASTER CASTLE

  All that his friendship for the condemned man, all that his love andpity for his almost distracted wife, could suggest, Sir Adrian Landalehad done in London to try and avert Captain Jack's doom. But it was invain. There also old stories of his peculiar tenets and of hiswell-known disaffection to the established order of things, had beenraked up against him. Unfavourable comparisons had been drawn betweenhim and Rupert; surprise and disapproval had been expressed at theunnatural brother, who was displaying such energy to obtain mercy forhis brother's murderer. Finally an influential personage, whom SirAdrian had contrived to interest in the case, in memory of an oldfriendship with his father, informed the baronet that his persistencewas viewed with extreme disfavour in the most exalted quarter, andthat His Royal Highness himself had pronounced that Captain Jack was adamned rascal and richly deserved his fate.

  From the beginning, indeed, the suppliant had been without hope.Though he was resolved to leave no stone unturned, no possibilityuntried in the effort to save his friend, well-nigh the saddest partof the whole business to him was the realisation that the prisoner hadnot only broken those custom laws (of which Sir Adrian himselfdisapproved as arbitrary) but also, as he had been warned, those otherlaws upon which depend all social order and security; broken them sogrievously that, whatever excuses the philosopher might find in heatof blood and stress of circumstances, given laws at all, the sentencecould not be pronounced otherwise than just.

  And so, with an aching heart and a wider horror than ever of the cruelworld of men, and of the injustices to which legal justice leads, SirAdrian left London to hurry back to Lancaster with all the speed thatpost-horses could muster. The time was now drawing short. As thetraveller rattled along the stony streets of the old Palatine town,and saw the dawn breaking, exquisite, primrose tinted, faintlybeautiful as some dream vision over the distant hills, his soul wasgripped with an iron clutch. In three more days the gallant heart,breaking in the confinement of the prison yonder, would have throbbedits last! And he longed, with a desire futile but none the lessintense, that, according to that doctrine of Vicarious Atonementpreached to humanity by the greatest of all examples, he could laydown his own weary and disappointed life for his friend.

  Having breakfasted at the hotel, less for the necessity of food thanfor the sake of passing the time till the morning should have worn tosufficient maturity, he sought on foot the quiet lodgings where he hadinstalled his wife under Rene's guard before starting on his futilequest. Early as the hour still was--seven had but just rung merrilyfrom some chiming church clock--the faithful fellow was already astirand prompt to answer his master's summons.

  One look at the latter's countenance was sufficient to confirm theservant's own worst forebodings.

  "Ah, your honour, and is it indeed so. _Ces gredins!_ and will theyhang so good a gentleman?"

  "Hush, Renny, not so loud," cried the other with an anxious look atthe folding-doors, that divided the little sitting-room from the innerapartment.

  "Oh, his honour need have no fear. My Lady is gone, gone to Pulwick.His honour need not disquiet himself; he can well imagine that I wouldnot allow her to go alone--when I had been given a trust so precious.No, no, the old lady, Miss O'Donoghue, your honour's aunt and herladyship's, she has heard of all these terrible doings, and came toLancaster to be with My Lady. _Ma foi_, I know not if she be just theperson one would have chosen, for she has scolded a great deal, and isas agitated--as agitated as a young rabbit. But, after all, she lovesthe poor young lady with all her heart, and I think she has roused hera little. His honour knows," said the man, flushing to the roots ofhis hair, whilst he shifted nervously from one foot to another, "thatMy Lady has been much upset about the poor captain. After his honourwent, she would sit, staring out of the window there, just where thestreet turns up to the castle, and neither ate nor slept, nor talkedto speak of. Of course, as I told the old Demoiselle, I knew it wasbecause My Lady had taken it to heart about the signal that shemade--thinking to save him--and which only brought the gabelous onhim, that his honour's infernal brother (God forgive me, and havemercy on his soul) had set to watch. And My Lady liked to see mecoming and going, for she sent me every day to the prison; she did notonce go herself."

  Sir Adrian drew a long breath. With the most delicate intuition of hismaster's thoughts, Rene avoided even a glance at him while hecontinued in as natural a tone as he could assume:

  "But the day after the old miss came, she, My Lady, told me to findout if he would see her. He said no; but that the only kindness anyone could do him now would be to bring him Mademoiselle Madeleine, andlet him speak to her once more. And My Lady, when she heard this, shestarted off that day with the old one to fetch Mademoiselle herself atPulwick. And she left me behind, your honour, for I had a little planthere."

  Rene faltered and a crestfallen look crept upon his face.

  Sir Adrian remembered how before his departure for London his servanthad cheerily assured him that Mr. the Captain would be safe out of thecountry long before he returned, "faith of him, Rene, who had alreadybeen in two prisons, and knew their ways, and how to contrive anescape, as his honour well knew." A sad smile parted his lips.

  "And so you failed, Renny," he said.

  "Ah, your honour, those satanic English turnkeys! With a Frenchman,the job had been done; but it is a bad thing to be in prison inEngland. His honour can vouch I have some brains. I had made plans--ahundred plans, but there was ever something that did not work. Thecaptain, he too, was eager, as your honour can imagine. My faith, wethought and we thought, and we schemed and contrived, and in the end,there was only one thing to complete our plot--to bribe the jailer.Would your honour believe--it was only that one little difficulty. MyLady had given me a hundred guineas, I had enough money, your honoursees. But the man--I had smoked with him, drunk with him, ay, and madehim drunk too, and I thought all was going well, but when I hinted tohim what we wanted--Ah! he was a brute--I tell you I had hard work toescape the prison myself, and only for my leaving him with some of themoney, I should now be pinched there too. I hardly dare show my facein the place any more. And my poor Lady builds on the hope, and Mr.the Captain--I had to tell him, he took it like an angel. Ah, the poorgentleman! He looked at me so brave and kind! 'I am as grateful, mypoor friend, as if you had done it,' said he, 'and perhaps it is allfor the best.' All for the best--ah, your honour!"

  Rene fairly broke down here, and wept on his sleeve. But Sir Adrian'seyes, circled and worn with watching and thought, shone dry with a fardeeper grief, as, a few moments later, he passed along the streettowards the walls of the castle.

  * * * * *

  There was in those days little difficulty in obtaining admission to acondemned prisoner; and, in the rear of the red-headed, good-temperedlooking jailer--the same, he surmised, whose sternness in duty hadbaffled the Breton's simple wiles--he stepped out of the sweet morningsunshine into the long stone passages. The first tainted breath of theprison brought a chill to his blood and oppression to his lungs, andthe gloom of the place enveloped him like a pall.

  With a rattle of keys a door dismally creaking on its hinges was swungback at last, and the visitor was ushered into the narrow cell, darkfor all its whitewashed walls, where Captain Jack was spending hislast hours upon earth. The hinges groaned again, the door slammed, andthe key once more grated in the lock. Sir Adrian was alone with hisfriend.

  For a moment there was silence; the contraction of the elder man'sheart had brought a giddiness to his brain, a dimness of his eyes,through which he was ill able to distinguish anything.

  But then there was a clank of fetters--ah, what a sound to connectwith lucky Jack Smith, the gayest, freest, and most buoyant of men!And a voice cried:

  "Adrian!"

  It had a joyful ring, well-nigh the old hearty tones. It struck Adrianto the soul.

  He could have borne, he thought, to find his friend a broken man,changed ou
t of all recognition, crushed by his misfortunes; but tofind him the same, a little pale, indeed, and thinner, with a steadyearnestness in the sea-blue eyes instead of the old dancing-light, butstill gallant and undaunted, still radiating vigorous life and breezyenergy by his very presence, this was a cruelty of fate which seemedunendurable.

  "I declare," the prisoner had continued, "I declare I thought you wereonly the incorruptible jailer taking his morning survey. They aredesperately careful of me, Adrian, and watch me with maternalsolicitude lest I should strangle myself with my chains, these prettybracelets which I have had to wear ever since poor Renny was foundout, or swallow my pillow--dash me! it's small enough--and spoil thepretty show for Saturday! Why, why, Adrian, old friend?"

  There was a sudden change of tone to the warmest concern, for SirAdrian had staggered and would have fallen had not Jack, as nimbly ashis fetters would allow him, sprung to support him and conduct him tothe bed.

  A shaft of light struck through the tiny barred window on to the elderman's face, and showed it against the surrounding darkness deathlywhite and wet with anguish.

  "I have done all I could, Hubert," he murmured, in an extinguishedvoice, "but to no avail."

  "Ay, man, I guessed as much. But never fret for me, Adrian: I havelooked death too often in the face to play the poltroon, now. I don'tsay it's the end I should have chosen for myself; but it isinevitable, and there is nothing, as you know, my friend, that a mancannot face if he knows it must be faced."

  The grasp of his strong warm hands, all manacled as they were, uponthe other's nerveless clammy fingers, sent, more than the words,something of the speaker's own courage to his friend's wrung heart.And yet that very courage was an added torment.

  That from a community, so full of evil, feeble, harmful wretches, thisnoble soul, no matter how it had sinned, should be banished at thebidding of justice--what mockery of right was this? The world was outof joint indeed. He groaned aloud.

  "Nay, I'll have none of it," cried Jack. "Our last talk, Adrian, mustnot be spoiled by futile regrets. Yes, our last talk it is to be,for"--the prisoner's face became transfigured with a tenderness soexquisite that Adrian stared at its beauty, amazed--"I have beggedher, Madeleine, to come and see me once more. I think she can be hereto-day, at latest to-morrow. And after that I would not see any ofthose I love again, that I may fit myself to meet my God."

  He spoke with the utmost simplicity. Adrian bowed his head silently.Then averting his eyes, he said: "My wife has gone to Pulwick to fetchher."

  Captain Jack crimsoned. "That is kind," he answered, in a low voice;and, after a pause, pursued: "I hope you do not think it wrong of meto wish to see her. But you may trust me. I shall distress her aslittle as is possible in the circumstances. It is not, as you canfancy"--his face flushed again as he spoke--"to indulge in a patheticparting scene, or beg from her sweet lips one last kiss--that would betoo grossly selfish, and however this poor body of mine, so soon to becarrion, may yearn to hold her once more closely, these lips, so soonto touch death, shall touch hers no more. I have risen so far abovethis earthliness, that in so many hours I am to shake off for ever,that I can trust myself to meet her soul to soul. She must believe menow, and I would tell her, Adrian, that my deceit was notpremeditated, and that the man she once honoured with her love is notthe base wretch she deems. I think it may comfort her. If she doesmourn for me at all--she has so proud a spirit, my princess, as I usedto call her--it may comfort her to know that I was not all unworthy ofthe love she once gave me, of the tears she may yet give to its memoryand mine."

  Sir Adrian pressed his hand, but again could not speak, and CaptainJack went on:

  "You will give her a happy home, will you not, till she has one of herown? You and your old dragon of an aunt, whose bark is so much worsethan her bite, will watch and guard her. Ah, poor old lady! she is oneof those that will not weep for Jack Smith, eh, Adrian? Well, well, Ihave had a happy life, barring one or two hard raps of fate, and whenonly I have seen Madeleine once more, I'll feel all taut for the port,though the passage there be a rough one."

  Sir Adrian turned his gaze with astonishment upon him. The sailor readhis thoughts:

  "Don't think," he said, while a sudden shadow crossed his face, "don'tthink that I don't realise my position, that I have not had to fightmy battle. In the beginning I had hopes; never in the success ofyour mission, but, absurd as it was, in Renny's scheme. The goodfellow's own hopefulness was infectious, I believe. And when thatfell through--well then, man, I just had to make up my mind to whatwas to be. It was a battle, as I told you. I have been in dangerof death many a time upon the brave old _St. Nicholas_, and my_Cormorant_--death from the salt sea, from musket ball and cannonshot, fearful deaths of mangling and hacking. But death on thegallows, the shameful death of the criminal; to be hung; to beexecuted--Pah! Ay! it was a battle--two nights and one day I foughtit. And I tell you, 'tis a hard thing to bring the living flesh andthe leaping blood to submit to such as that. At first I thoughtindeed, it could not be borne, and I must reckon upon your or Renny'sfriendship for a secret speed. I should have had the pluck to starvemyself if need be, only I am so damned strong and healthy, I feared itcould not have been managed in the time. At any rate, I could havedashed my brains out against the wall--but I see it otherwise now. Theprison chaplain, a good man, Adrian, has made me realise that it wouldbe cowardly, that I should accept my sentence as atonement, asdeserved--I _have_ deserved to die."

  It had been Sir Adrian's own thought; but he broke out now ininarticulate protest. It seemed too gross, too monstrous.

  "Yes, Adrian, I have. You warned me, good friend, in your peacefulroom--ah, how long ago it seems now! that night, when all that couldmake life beautiful lay to my hand for the taking. Oh, man, why did Inot heed you! You warned me: he who breaks one law will end bybreaking many. You were right. See the harm I wreaked--those poorfellows, who were but doing their duty bravely, whose lives Isacrificed without remorse! Your brother, too, whose soul, with themost deliberate vindictiveness, I sent before its Maker, without aninstant's preparation! A guilty soul it was; for he hounded me down,one would almost think for the sport of it.... God! when I think that,but for him, for his wanton interference--but there, the devils areloose again! I must not think on him. Do I not deserve my fate, if theBible law be right? 'He who sheds blood, his blood shall be shed.'Never was sentence more just. I have sinned, I have repented; I am nowready to atone. I believe the sacrifice will be accepted."

  He laid his hand, for a minute, upon the Bible on the table, with asignificant gesture.

  But Sir Adrian, the philosopher, though he could find no words toimpeach the logic of his friend's reasoning, and was all astir withadmiration for a resignation as perfect as either Christian or Stoiccould desire, found his soul rising in tumultuous rebellion againstthe hideous decree. The longing that had beset him in the dawn, nowseized upon him with a new passion, and the cry escaped his lipsalmost unwittingly:

  "Oh, if I could die for you!"

  "No, no," said Jack, with his sweet smile, "your life is too valuable,too precious to the world. Adrian, believe me, you can still do muchgood with it. And I know you will be happy yet."

  It was the only allusion he had made to his friend's more personalsorrows. Before the latter had time to reply, he hastened to proceed:

  "And now to business. All the gold entrusted to me lies at Scartheyand, faith, I believe it lies as weightily on my mind as if it was allstored there instead! Renny knows the secret hiding-place. Will youengage to restore it to its owners, in all privacy? This is a terriblyarduous undertaking, Adrian, and it is asking much of your friendship;but if I know you, not too much. And it will enable my poor bones tolie at rest, or rather," with a rueful laugh, "hang at rest on theirgibbet; for you know I am to be set up as a warning to other fools,like a rat on a barn door. I have, by the kindness of the chaplain,been able to write out a full schedule of the different sums, and towhom they are due. He has taken charge of the closed packet
directedto you, and will give it to you intact, I feel sure. He is a man ofhonour, and I trust him to respect the confidence I have placed inhim.... Egad! the poor old boys will be right glad to get their coinback in safety. A couple of them have been up here already, tointerview me, in fear and trembling. They were hard set to credit mewhen I assured them that they would be no losers in the end, afterall--barring the waiting. You see, I counted upon you."

  "I shall never rest until it is done," said Sir Adrian, simply. AndCaptain Jack as simply answered: "Thank you. Among the treasure thereis also L10,000 of my own; the rest of my laboriously acquired fortuneis forfeit to the Crown, as you know--much good may it do it! But thislittle hoard I give to you. You do not want it, of course, andtherefore it is only to be yours that you may administrate it inaccordance to my wishes. Another charge--but I make no apology. I wishyou to divide it in three equal shares: two to be employed as you seebest, for the widows and families of those poor fellows of thepreventive service, victims of my venture; the third, as well as mybeautiful _Peregrine_, I leave to the mate and men who served me sofaithfully. They have fled with her, and must avoid England for sometime. But Renny will contrive to hear of them; they are bound toreturn in secret for tidings, and I should like to feel that themisery I have left behind me may be mitigated.... And now, dearAdrian, that is all. The man outside grows impatient. I hear himshuffling his keys. Hark! there he knocks; the fellow has a certainrude feeling for me. An honest fellow. Dear Adrian, good-bye."

  "My God! this is hard--is there nothing else--nothing--can indeed allmy friendship be of no further help?--Hubert!"

  "Hush, hush," cried Jack Smith hastily, "Adrian, you alone of allliving beings now know me by that name. Never let it cross your lipsagain. I could not die in peace were it not for the thought that Ibring no discredit upon it. My mother believes me dead--God in Hismercy has spared me the crowning misery of bringing shame to her whitehairs--shame to the old race. Hubert Cochrane died ten years ago.Jack Smith alone it is that dies by the hangman's hand. One other,"his voice softened and the hard look of pain left his face, "one othershall hear the secret besides you--but I know she will never speak ofit, even to you--and such is my wish."

  It was the pride of race at its last and highest expression.

  There was the sound, without, of the key in the lock.

  "One last word--if you love me, nay, as you love me--do not be thereon Saturday! This parting with you--the good-bye to her--that is mydeath. Afterwards what happens to this flesh," he struck at himselfwith his chained hands, "matters no more than what will happen to thesoulless corpse. I know you would come to help me with the feeling ofyour love, your presence--but do not--do not--and now good-bye!"

  Adrian seized his friend by the hands with a despairing grip, the doorrolled back with its dismal screech.

  The prisoner smiled at him with tender eyes. This man whom, allunwillingly he had robbed of his wife's heart, was broken with griefthat he could not save the life that had brought him misery. Here wasa friend to be proud of, even at the gate of death!

  "God be with you, dear Adrian! God bless you and your household, andyour children, and your children's children! Hear my last words: _Frommy death will be born your happiness, and if its growth be slow, yetit will wax strong and sure as the years go by_."

  The words broke from him with prophetic solemnity; their hands fellapart, and Adrian, led by the jailer, stumbled forth blindly. JackSmith stood erect, still smiling, watching them: were Adrian to turnhe should find no weakness, no faltering for the final remembrance.

  But Adrian did not turn. And the door closed, closed upon hope andhappiness and life, shut in shame and death. Out yonder, with Adrian,was the fresh bright world, the sea, the sunshine, the dear ones; herethe prison smells, the gloom, the constraint, the inflicted dreadfuldeath. All his hard-won calm fled from him; all his youth, his immensevitality woke up and cried out in him again. He raised his hands andpulled fiercely at his collar as if already the rope were round hisneck strangling him. His blood hammered in his brain. God--God--itwas impossible--it could not be--it was a dream!

  Beyond, from far distant in the street came the cry of a little child:

  "Da-da--daddy."

  The prisoner threw up his arms and then fell upon his face upon thebed, torn by sobs.

  Yes, Adrian would have children; but Hubert Cochrane, who, from thebeautiful young brood that was to have sprung from his loins wouldhave grafted on the old stock a fresh and noble tree, he was to passbarren out of life and leave no trace behind him.