Other formats

    Adobe Portable Document Format file (facsimile images)   TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

The Two Lawyers: A Novel

Chapter VIII

page 55

Chapter VIII.

"She sleeps, I think," says Cruikstan, "No, she but seems to lie in thought."

"I trust we are in time," answers Mr Lurtonshaw, "for it must have been a terrible thing to be sent out for thirteen years, and yet innocent."

"Yes, now I have it," exclaims the invalid, "write quick lest it be too late."

"I am now ready," says Cruikstan, "I will write and follow you, if you go on."

"Well," she said, "my name is known here as Agnes Frayner, but that is really only assumed—my proper name is Agnes Hobart, and my father was sent to Van Dieman's Land in the same ship as was Matthew Grant, but unlike him he was guilty." Here the invalid stayed for a second or two to take breath.

"Matthew Grant, after he became agent for Mr Lurtonshaw, employed me as housekeeper, and, I regret to say, was a kind master, for his kindness made me fond of him, and when I saw he was married to another my jealousy knew no bounds. I decided to try and obtain service in Mr Lurtonshaw's house. When I told the squire this he asked me why I wanted to change, and my answer must have told tales, for I merely said I did not like the place. 'Look you,' said he, 'stay where you are, I may want you to assist me to do something, and if I do you shall be paid, and further, you shall have a better situation.' For a long time nothing was done, but one day he came to me and told me to ask for a few hours' leave to go home. Before I went he gave me things which were to be put into the coal cellar, and the key, instead of being hung up in its usual place, was to be placed in page 56Grant's bedroom. This I did, and then I got myself out of sight and waited. Later on I saw the police take him away, and I was then nearly spoiling all, for I almost rushed up to the police and told them everything. In fact, I was in the act of doing so when I caught sight of his wife, and then I hardened again; and after, when I regretted what I had done, my master told me I could not alter matters unless it was that I could get sent out with him myself." The dying woman ceased speaking, and for fully fifteen minutes she was unable to utter a word, and then the magistate arrived.

"Have you any more to say?" asked Mr Cruikstan.

"Nothing that you wish to know. Matthew Grant is innocent, I know, and will swear it."

When the document was read over to her in the magistrate's presence, and she was asked if all was right, she answered, "Quite; let me sign ere it be too late." There was now a nervous twitching about the mouth, and she trembled visibly all over.

"Quick," said Mr Lurtonshaw, "or we may be too late."

Mr Lurtonshaw now gently aided her to rise, and the pen being placed in her hands, the woman tried to sign, but for some seconds she was quite unable to do so. Suddenly she grasped the pen in a bold hand and wrote, "Agnes Hobart, better known as Agnes Frayner, the only daughter of James Hobart, convicted and sent to Van Dieman's Land in the year of—, and sister to John Hobart, now, I believe, a solicitor in practice in Hobart Town." She had just finished this, when the pen dropped from her fingers, and with one "God help me," she fell back quite dead.

"May God help you, indeed," repeated Mr Lurtonshaw, "for a more cruel crime I never heard of."

The document was now duly attested by the attending magistrate, and the same day forwarded to the solicitor for the Lurtonshaw family, so that a pardon might be procured as soon as pos-page 57sible for the unfortunate Matthew Grant. How little did he, poor fellow, ever dream of such proceedings now going on; well would it have comforted him. But time must elapse, and many strange events occur before he can learn what has taken place. So far, the wicked prosper; but the time will come when all shall have their day, and until then we will leave the evil-doers to the tender mercy of their consciences. Did John Hobart ever trouble himself about conscience pangs? did he possess a conscience at all? or did anything ever trouble him? Yes, one thing did often come across his mind, and then he was troubled indeed!

The firm of Perryman and Hobart is now in full swing; the junior partner bids fair to further outdo his senior. The place has been arranged, and each of the partners has a separate office, now side by side, on the same floor. We will just look in on John Hobart and see how his new success in life pleases him. The clerk has returned from the Post Office, and as a mail is just in from Hobart Town, a very seldom occurrence in those days, John Hobart is all impatience to hear the news. Not that he expects any letters, for he knows better than to let anyone there know his whereabouts; but he wants to see the newspaper, and, as it has just arrived, he opens it and reads. Suddenly he exclaims: "Great God, but this is something I never expected." The paper drops on the table, and Hobart sits in profound thought. The cause of this excitement is to be found in a local in the newspaper, which reads as follows:—

Another example of the danger of giving too much credence to circumstantial evidence has come under our notice. Some fifteen years ago, one Matthew Grant was found guilty at the Kent Assizes of being in possession of stolen property, and sentenced to transportation for life. The chain of evidence seemed to be complete, albeit it was of a purely circumstantial kind; but facts have since come to light that show completely that Grant was un-page 58justly convicted. News has arrived from England that one Agnes Hobart when on her death bed, confessed that she had, from motives of revenge, placed the stolen property in Grant's house where it was found, and thus secured the downfall of an innocent man. The woman Hobart was the daughter of a convict formerly of this island, but now deceased, and sister to a gentleman of the same name who some two years ago left here very suddenly, having helped himself liberally from the cash-box of his employers, the well-known and highly-respected firm of solicitors, Messrs Torridge and Torridge. It would almost seem that the Hobart family were fated to cause trouble to Grant, as it is supposed that the latter's daughter was induced to accompany the swindling attorney's clerk. A free pardon has been accorded to the poor unfortunate man—who has for so long been suffering for the sins of another, and a subscription-list now lies at our office in order to provide the necessary funds to defray the expenses of Matthew Grant, who has determined to seek his daughter and the villain who has tempted her from her father's side. This is certainly one of the most deserving cases that has ever come under our notice, and we feel sure that our citizens will respond heartily to the call made on their liberality.

"So," muttered Hobart, "that accursed sister of mine has indeed done me a kind action. I wish her tongue had been drawn from her mouth ere she made such a confession. And just as I am grasping success, too; but I will even now secure it, let what will come. Aye, let Matthew Grant ever find me, and then"— and the speaker dropped into a deep reverie.

Five o'clock came, and still John Hobart sat in the same position. Perryman and all the clerks save one had left, and he was patiently waiting for his new master to come out of his office in order that he might close up and go home. Hobart not coming, the clerk taps gently at the office door, but as there it no answer he softly turns the handle, looks in, and sees Hobart sitting there like one in a dream, with the tell-tale paper before him. He does not know that anyone has knocked, or that the door has been opened, so intent is he on his plans for the future.

The clerk withdraws as stealthily as he has entered, and when he is alone, he mutters to himself, "So far, John Hobart, page 59the convict's son, you do not remember me. How long would I remain in your service if you did know?—about as long as it would take to pay me off. So far, however, I have disguised myself well; but what can take such an effect on the heartless John is something worth finding out. If I could but discover it I should be sure of one of two things—either that I could keep my billet as long as I liked, or until John Hobart murdered me, which, I know, would not trouble him much more than it will trouble him to plunder Frank Perryman of all he possesses in this world. However, I will wait. I often promised myself revenge on the father, but he died and defrauded me. You, John Hobart, will do as well, for I hate your accursed race."

Hearing a movement within the room, Mr Felix Fixer, for that is the clerk's name, retires rapidly into the office of the ledger-keeper, the door of which faces Hobart's room, and waits. Almost immediately John Hobart walks out like one in a dream, descends the stairs, and out into the street. The instant he has disappeared, Mr Fixer glides gently into the room, and in two minutes more is in the street with the much-coveted paper in his possession, for John Hobart has allowed his thoughts to carry him away, so that he forgot this dangerous piece of evidence against him. Scarcely had Felix Fixer gone up the street, in the reverse direction to that taken by Hobart, when he looks back and sees his new employer again at the office-door. When he finds the door locked and the key gone he turns once more and goes home in anything but an enviable frame of mind.

Clara meets him at the door, and asks what has kept him so long.

"Business, business," he answers in his most curt manner.

"John, Frank Perryman called, and do you know I felt ashamed to see him, for what can I say if he repeats his proposal?"

page 60

"Say? Why, tell him your affections are otherwise engaged. What could you say better?"

"Oh, John, how can I say that after what has passed? What will he ever think of me?"

"Think of you! What care I what he thinks of you. Perhaps you would like to marry the pup, eh?"

"Anything would he better than treating him as you half suggest."

"Oh, it would, no doubt; but I tell you I would sooner see you lying dead at my feet than the wife of another. So think you what you like, but once for all understand me."

"John Hobart, what is wrong that you speak to me in this way? Have I not aided you in your schemes, and now you treat me thus. When I ask you a simple question, you behave to me as though I were the very dirt under your feet. Let us understand each other, for though I may be submissive, I am not to be treated thus with impunity."

"What mean you? Do you dare defy me openly? Very well, Clara Grant, we will see! You have, perhaps, allowed yourself to fall in love with this boy greenhorn, and now perhaps you think to marry him. But, may I ask you, what name do you propose to take at the interesting ceremony. The name of Hobart, I presume. I can tell you that if you ever dream of such a thing you will find out your mistake.

Clara rose, and turning full on Hobart said, not passionately but firmly: "John Hobart, for over two years I have been to you all you could wish. I have been literally your slave, in adversity more especially. Now that you think yourself in affluence, you evidently fancy you can say and do as you like; but if I have been weak, aye, too weak by far to you, I had always a worthy object in view. There is a limit, however, to all things, John Hobart; and you have reached it. No longer will I serve page 61you as I have done; no, not to save a kingdom. I will hence-forth look to myself and mine; and do you likewise;" and without another word she left the room.

The dinner was on the table, for it was past the usual time for the meal, but it remained untouched. Hobart walked up and down the small room like a caged hyena, and at each turn he glared at himself in the mirror over the mantlepiece. Each minute he thought Clara would return, but she came not, and at last, out of patience and out of temper, he rung and asked to have Miss Hobart sent to him.

"She is out, sir," answers the maid of all work.

"When did she go out?"

"Directly she left this room, sir, she put on her hat, and I have not seen her since."

"When she returns, send her to me."

"Yes, sir."

"Fool that I am," he exclaims. "Each day do I resolve to use policy and discretion, and each day do I do the reverse. But when she speaks of Perryman, I know I am mad, for how can I surrender her to another. No, ten thousand times no; for, with all my faults, I love her, and yet I dare not marry her." Here the heartless fiend, libertine that he was, dropped on the couch, and gave way to sobs and even tears.