Chapter 106
A seat had been found for Greta at one end of the table. Her cheek rested on her hand. She dropped her eyes as the spectators craned their necks to catch a glimpse of her. Behind her, and with one hand on her chair-back, stood the old parson, his Jovian white head more white than of old, the tenderer lines in his mellow face drawn down to a look of pain. Immediately facing Greta, at the opposite end of the table, Hugh Ritson sat. One leg was thrown over the other knee, and the long, nervous fingers of the right hand played with the shoelace. His head was inclined forward, and the thin, pallid, clean-cut face with the great calm eyes and the full, dilated nostrils was more than ever the face of a high-bred horse. None would have guessed the purpose with which Hugh Ritson sat there. One would have said that indifference was in those eyes and on that brow--indifference or despair.
Near where the rustle was loudest and most frequent among the spectators, Drayton sat by the side of Mr. Bonnithorne. He was dressed in his favorite suit of broad plaid, and had a gigantic orange-lily stuck jauntily in his b.u.t.tonhole. His face was flushed and his eyes sparkled. Now and again he leaned back to whisper something to the blacksmith, the miller, and the landlord of the Flying Horse, who were grouped behind him. His remarks must have been wondrously facetious, for they were promptly followed by a low gurgle, which was as promptly suppressed.
The counsel for the plaintiff opened his case. The plaintiff sued as the owner in succession to her husband, who was at present dead to the law.
She contended that the man who now stood seized of the Ghyll was not her husband, Paul Ritson, but Paul Drayton, an innkeeper of Hendon, who bore him a strange personal resemblance, and personated him. The evidence of ident.i.ty which should presently be adduced was full and complete in the essential particular of proving that the defendant was not Paul Ritson, by whose t.i.tle alone the defense would maintain the right of present possession. Unhappily, the complementary evidence as to the actual ident.i.ty of the defendant with Paul Drayton, the publican, had been seriously curtailed by the blindness, followed by the death, of an important witness. Still, if he, the counsel for the plaintiff, could prove to the satisfaction of the jury that the defendant was not the man he represented himself to be, they would have no course but to grant the ejectment for which the plaintiff asked. To this end he would call two
Greta's name was called, and she rose at the end of the table. Her bosom heaved under the small lace shawl that covered her shoulders, and was knotted like a sailor's scarf, on her breast. She stood erect, her eyes raised slightly and her drooping hands clasped in front. After the customary formalities, she was examined.
"You are the only child of the late Robert Lowther?"
"I am the daughter of Robert Lowther."
Drayton threw back his head, and laughed a little.
"You were married to Paul Ritson in 1875 at the parish church of Newlands, the minister being the Reverend Mr. Christian?"
"I was."
"On the day of your marriage you accompanied your husband to London, and the same night he left you at the Convent of St. Margaret, Westminster?"
"That is quite true."
There was a buzz of conversation in the court, accompanied by a whispered conference on the bench. Counsel paused to say that it was not a part of his purpose to trouble the court with an explanation of facts which were so extraordinary that they could only be credited on the oath of a person who, though present, would not be called. At this reference Hugh Ritson raised his languid eyes, and the examination proceeded.
"Three days afterward you received a message from your husband, requesting you to meet him at St. Pancras Station, and return with him to c.u.mberland by the midnight train?"
"I did."
"Who took you the message?"
"Mrs. Drayton, the old person at the inn at Hendon."
"You went to the station?"
"Oh, yes."
"Tell the court what occurred there."
"Just on the stroke of twelve, when the train was about to leave, a man whom at first sight I mistook for my husband came hurrying up the platform, and I stepped into the carriage with him."
"Do you see that man in court?"
"Yes; he sits two seats to your right."
Drayton rose, smiled broadly, bowed to the witness, and resumed his seat.
"Were you alone in the compartment?"
"At first we were; but just as the train was moving away who should join us but Parson Christian."
There was another buzz of conversation, and counsel paused again to say that he should not trouble the court with an explanation of the extraordinary circ.u.mstances by which Parson Christian came to be in London at that critical moment. These facts formed in themselves a chain of evidence which must yet come before a criminal court, involving as it did the story of a conspiracy more painful and unnatural perhaps than could be found in the annals of jurisprudence.
"Tell the court what pa.s.sed in the train."
"I perceived at once that the man was not my husband, though strangely like him in face and figure, and when he addressed me as his wife I repulsed him."
"Did Parson Christian also realize the mistake?"
"Oh, yes, but not quite so quickly."
"What did you do?"
"We left the train at the first station at which it stopped."
"Did the defendant offer any resistance?"
"No; he looked abashed, and merely observed that perhaps a recent illness had altered him."
Counsel for the defense, at whose left Mr. Bonnithorne sat as attorney for the defendant, cross-examined the witness.
"You say that on the night following the morning of your marriage your husband left you at a convent?"
"I do."
Mr. Bonnithorne dropped his twinkling eyes, and muttered something that was inaudible to the witness. There was a t.i.tter among the people who stood behind him.
"And you say that Mrs. Drayton took you the message of which you have spoken. Did she tell you that your husband had been ill?"
"She did."
"We are to infer that you visited the house of the Draytons at Hendon?"
"A railway accident drove us there."
"Did any one accompany the defendant to St. Pancras that night?"
"My husband's brother, Mr. Hugh Ritson, was with him."
"Tell the jury where your husband now is, if he is not at this moment in court."
No answer. Amid a profound silence the plaintiff's lawyer was understood to object to the question.
"Well, we can afford to waive it," said counsel, with a superior smile.
"One further question, Mrs. Ritson. Had you any misunderstanding with your husband?"
"None whatever."
"Will you swear that your voices were not raised in angry dispute while you were at the inn at Hendon?"