Chapter 98
William lifted his head, a sort of eager hope on his countenance, speaking cheerily. "Could you not let poor Tyrrett's death act as a warning to you?"
There was a dead silence. Five men were present; every one of them leading careless lives. Somehow they did not much like to hear of "warning," although the present moment was one of unusual seriousness.
"Religion is so dreadful dull and gloomy, sir."
"Religion dull and gloomy!" echoed William. "Well, perhaps some people do make a gloomy affair of it; but then I don't think theirs can be the right religion. I do not believe people were sent into the world to be gloomy: time enough for that when troubles come."
"What _is_ religion?" asked one of the men.
"It is a sort of thing that's a great deal better to be felt than talked about," answered William. "I am no parson, and cannot pretend to enlighten you. We might never come to an understanding over it, were we to discuss it all day long. I would rather talk to you of life, and its practical duties."
"Tyrrett said as he had never paid heed to any of his duties. It were his cry over and over again, sir, in the night. He said he had drunk, and swore, and beat his wife, and done just what he oughtn't to ha'
done."
"Ay, I fear it was so," replied William. "Poor Tyrrett's existence was divided into three phrases--working, drinking, quarrelling: dissatisfaction attending all. I fear a great many more in Honey Fair could say the same."
The men's consciences were p.r.i.c.king them; some of them began to stand uncomfortably on one leg. _They_ tippled; _they_ quarrelled; they _had_ been known to administer personal correction to their wives on provocation.
"Times upon times I asked Tyrrett to come round of an evening to Robert East's," continued William. "He never did come. But I can tell you this, my men; had he taken to pa.s.s his evenings there twelve months ago, when the society--as they call it--was first formed, he might have been a hale man now, instead of lying there, dead."
"Do you mean that he'd have growed religious, sir?"
"I tell you we will put religion out of the discussion: as you don't seem to like the word. Had Tyrrett taken to like rational evenings, instead of public-houses, it would have made a wonderful difference in his mode of thought, and difference in conduct would have followed. Look at his father-in-law, Cross. He was living without hope or aim, at loggerheads with his wife and with the world, and rather given to wis.h.i.+ng himself dead. All that's over. Do you think I should like to go about with a dirty face and holes in my coat?"
The men laughed. They thought not.
"Cross used to do so. But you see nothing of that now. Many others used to do so. Many do so still."
Rather conscience-stricken again, the men tried to hide their elbows.
"It's true enough," said one. "Cross, and some more of 'em, are getting smart."
"Smart inside as well as out," said William. "They are acquiring self-respect; one of the best qualities a man can find. They wouldn't be seen in the street now in rags, or the worse for drink, or in any other degrading position; no, not if you bribed them with gold. Coming round to East's has done that for them. They are beginning to see that it's just as well to lead pleasant lives here, as unpleasant ones. In a short time, Cross will be getting furniture about him again, towards setting up the home he lost. He--and many more--will also, as I truly believe, be beginning to set up furniture of another sort."
"What sort's that, sir?"
"The furniture that will stand him in need for the next life; the life that Tyrrett has now entered upon," replied William in deeper tones. "It is a life that _must_ come, you know; our little span of time here, in comparison with eternity, is but as a drop of water to the great river that runs through the town; and it is as well to be prepared for it.
Now, the next five I am going to get round to East's are you."
"Us, sir?"
"Every one of you; although I believe you have been in the habit of complimenting your friends who go there with the t.i.tle of 'milksops.' I want to take you there this evening. If you don't like it, you know you need not repeat the visit. You will come, to oblige me, won't you?"
They said they would. And William went out satisfied, though he hardly knew how Robert East would manage to stow away the new comers. Not many steps from the door he encountered Mrs. Buffle. She stopped him to talk of Tyrrett.
"Better that he had
remarked that lady.
"It is the very thing we have been saying," answered William. "I wish we could get all Honey Fair there; though, indeed there's no room for more than we have now. I cast a longing eye sometimes to that building at the back, which they say was built for a Mormon stronghold, and has never been fitted up, owing to a dispute among themselves about the number of wives each elder might appropriate to his own share."
"Disgraceful pollagists!" struck in Mrs. Buffle, apostrophizing the Mormon elders. "One husband is enough to have at one's fireside, goodness knows, without being worried with an unlimited number."
"That is not the question," said William, laughing. "It is, how many wives are enough? However, I wish we could get the building. East will have to hold the gathering in his garden soon."
"There's no denying that it have worked good in Honey Fair,"
acknowledged Mrs. Buffle. "It isn't alone the men that have grown more respectable, them as have took to go, but their wives too. You see, sir, in sitting at the public-houses, it wasn't only that they drank themselves quarrelsome, but they spent their money. Now their tempers are saved, and their money's saved. The wives see the benefit of it, and of course try to be better-behaved theirselves. Not but what there's plenty of room for improvement still," added Mrs. Buffle, in a tone of patronage.
"It will come in time," said William.
"What we must do now, is to look out for a larger room."
"One with a chimbley in it, as'll draw?" suggested Mrs. Buffle.
"Oh yes. What would they do without fire on a winter's night? The great point is, to have things thoroughly comfortable."
"If it hadn't been for the chimbley, I might have offered our big garret, sir. But it's the crankiest thing ever built, is that chimbley; the minute a handful of fire's lighted, the smoke puffs it out again.
And then again--there'd be the pa.s.sing through the shop, obstructing the custom."
"Of course there would," a.s.sented William. "We must try for that failure in the rear, after all."
CHAPTER VII.
COMING HOME TO THE DARES.
The Pyramids of Egypt grew, in the course of time, into pyramids, as was oracularly remarked by Sergeant Delves; but that official's exertions, labour as hard as he would, grew to nothing--when applied to the cause with which he had compared the pyramids. All inquiry, all searching brought to bear upon it by him and his co-adherents, did not bring anything to light of Herbert Dare's movements on that fatal night. Where he had pa.s.sed the hours remained an impenetrable mystery; and the sergeant had to confess himself foiled. He came, not unnaturally, to the conclusion that Herbert Dare was not anywhere, so far as the outer world was concerned: that he had been at home, committing the mischief. A conclusion the sergeant had drawn from the very first, and it had never been shaken. Nevertheless, it was his duty to put all the skill and craft of the local police force into action; and very close inquiries were made. Every house of entertainment in the city, of whatever nature--whether a billiard-room or an oyster-shop; whether a chief hotel or an obscure public-house--was visited and keenly questioned; but no one would acknowledge to having seen Herbert Dare on the particular evening. In short, no trace of him could be unearthed.
"Just as much out as I was," said the sergeant to himself. And
Helstonleigh held the same conviction.
Pomeranian Knoll was desolate: with a desolation it had never expected to fall upon it. A shattering blow had been struck to Mr. and Mrs. Dare.
To lose their eldest son in so terrible a manner, seemed, of itself, sufficient agony for a whole lifetime. Whatever may have been his faults--and Helstonleigh knew that he was somewhat rich in faults--he was dear to them; dearer than her other children to Mrs. Dare. Herbert had remarked, in conversing with Anna Lynn, that Anthony was his mother's favourite. It was so. She had loved him deeply, had been blind to his failings. Neither Mr. Dare nor his wife was amongst the religious of the world. Religious thoughts and reflections, they, in common with many others in Helstonleigh, were content to leave to a remote death-bed. But they had been less than human, worse than heathen, could they be insensible to the fate of Anthony--hurled away with his sins upon his head. He was cut off suddenly from this world, and--what of the next? It was a question, an uncertainty, that they dared not follow; and they sat, one on each side their desolate hearth, and wailed forth their vain anguish.
This would, in truth, have been tribulation enough to have overshadowed a life; but there was more beyond it. Hemmed in by pride, as the Dares had been, playing at being great and grand in Helstonleigh, the situation of Herbert, setting aside their fears or their sympathy for himself, was about the most complete checkmate that could have fallen upon them. It was the cup of humiliation drained to its dregs. Whether he should be proved guilty or not, he was thrown into prison as a common felon, awaiting his trial for murder; and that disgrace could not be wiped out. Did they believe him guilty? They did not know themselves. To suspect him of such a crime was painful in the last degree to their feelings; but why did he persist in refusing to state where he was on the eventful night? There was the point that staggered them.
A deep gloom overhung the house, extending to all its inmates. Even the servants went about with sad faces and quiet steps. The young ladies knew that a calamity had been dealt to them from which they should never wholly recover. Their star of brilliancy, in its little sphere of light at Helstonleigh, had faded into dimness, if not wholly gone down below the horizon. Should Herbert be found guilty, it could never rise again.
Adelaide rarely spoke; she appeared to possess some inward source of vexation or grief, apart from the general tribulation. At least, so judged Signora Varsini; and she was a shrewd observer. She, Miss Dare, spent most of her time shut up in her own room. Rosa and Minny were chiefly with their governess. They were getting of an age to feel it in an equal degree with the rest. Rosa was eighteen, and had begun to go out with Mrs. Dare and Adelaide: Minny was antic.i.p.ating the same privilege. It was all stopped now--visiting, gaiety, pleasure; and it was felt as a part of the misfortune.
The first shock of the occurrence subsided, the funeral over, and the family settled down in its mourning, the governess exacted their studies from her two pupils as before. They were loth to recommence them, and appealed to their mother. "It was cruel of mademoiselle to wish it of them," they said. Mademoiselle rejoined that her motive was anything but cruel: she felt sure that occupation for the mind was the best counteraction to grief. If they would not study, where was the use of her remaining, she demanded. Madame Dare had better allow her to leave.
She would go without notice, if madame pleased. She should be glad to get back to the Continent. They did not have murders there in society; at least, she, mademoiselle, had never encountered personal experience of it.
Mrs. Dare did not appear willing to accede to the proposition. The governess was a most efficient instructress; and six or twelve months more of her services would be essential to her pupils, if they were to be turned out as pupils ought to be. Besides, Sergeant Delves had intimated that the signora's testimony would be necessary at the trial, and therefore she could not be allowed to depart. Mr. Dare thought if they did allow her to depart, they might be accused of wis.h.i.+ng to suppress evidence, and it might tell against Herbert. So mademoiselle had to resign herself to remaining. "Tres bien," she equably said; "she was willing; only the young ladies must resume their lessons." A mandate in which Mrs. Dare acquiesced.
Sometimes Minny, who was given to be incorrigibly idle, would burst into tears over the trouble of her work, and then lay it upon her distress touching the uncertain fate of Herbert. One day, upon doing this, the governess broke out sharply.