"And me, Randolph," she said; "you are a man; but what will become of me?"
"Of you, dearest!" he exclaimed. "Did you ever think, my sister, of her I mentioned but now? She died before you had left your cradle. Scarcely as a baby even could you know her. But I was nearly three years old. And the memory has dwelt secretly in my breast, and it has come back to me of late. I have seen her face in my dreams, sometimes smiling and sometimes sorrowful, but always full of love. I have thought she came to implore me to protect what was her only dowry, her good name, or to console me and make me hopeful under a passing misfortune. And then, when I remember the attack which is to be made to-morrow, my heart burns, and I say what I do not mean. But you, dearest! I shall live to be with you, whatever may befall."
And so saying, he bent down and kissed his sister.
"Do you see that bright planet?" he continued. "I have called it my star. It has shone on some of the happiest moments of my life. A childish fancy, sister, but it pleases me. The sight of it, clear and unclouded as it is now, breathes promise of joy to my heart. Trust me, sister, whatever may happen in this cause, there is comfort in store for us yet."
CHAPTER XII
King John. Our strong possession, and our right, for us.
Elinor. Your strong possession, much more than your right;
Or else it must go wrong with you, and me:
So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
Which none but Heaven, and you, and I, shall hear.
Shakspeare.
Early the following day, Randolph sprang into the carriage which was to convey him to Bodmin, where his fate would, for the present at least, be decided. He bade his sister good-bye in a cheerful voice, but with a gloomy countenance, and she staid at the hall-door until the gates had closed upon his way. The carriage rattled down the descent of the base-court, and round the village green; and the few rustics, who met it with respectful salutes, shook their heads doubtfully as they looked after it, and foreboded no joyful return.
But the sun was shining bright and warm; the hedges were bursting prematurely into leaf; the birds were singing merrily; all the influences of nature concurred to raise the spirits of the wayfarer, and inspire him with hope. He became interested in the journey, and his presentiments of evil vanished away.
In the evening Randolph entered the precincts of the county town, and was driven to the hotel, where he had appointed to meet Polydore Riches; and glad he was to escape from the bustle and noise of the busy town to the parlour engaged by the chaplain. He was also glad to find that Polydore, anticipating his wishes, had provided against any visits. He did not even desire to see Rereworth.
The next morning, after a slight and hasty breakfast, he took the chaplain's arm, and proceeded through the lively and crowded streets to the court-house. No one knew him, and he passed along entirely unheeded. But the cause had excited very considerable interest. The story of the quarrel between Mrs. Pendarrel and her early suitor was by no means forgotten, and the rumour of her new attack upon Trevethlan Castle had attracted no little attention. The circumstances of its late owner's marriage were recalled to mind, and regarded with various kinds of criticism. The lovers of scandal flocked to the court-house in hope of gratifying their spleen, and the vague reports that were circulated respecting the grounds of the plaintiff's claim promised amusement to the admirers of piquant private history. People in general remembered how large a portion of the hereditary estates of Trevethlan had passed under the sway of the rival house, and looked perhaps with trembling pity on the last relic of the old domain; and even the peasantry might feel an interest in the fulfilment of the popular prophecy. So all these feelings combined to swell the assemblage which crowded the court. Polydore introduced his old pupil to a seat on the bench; from thence Randolph exchanged a grave bow with Seymour Rereworth, and took his place with a countenance whose constrained tranquillity was very much at variance with the emotion which it concealed.
Shortly afterwards the judge made his appearance, and the rumour which had pervaded the crowd gradually subsided. There were some questions asked, and points decided, respecting a cause which had been tried the preceding day; and, as soon as this conversation was finished, the clerk of assize, in a low methodical tone, read from his cause-list, Doe d Pendarrel v. Trevethlan; counsel on each side nodded; a jury was sworn well and truly to try the issue between the parties; the plaintiff's junior briefly described the nature of the action, and amidst perfect silence, his leader rose to state the case he should lay before the court.
He began by lamenting the painful duty which devolved upon him on the present occasion, and begging the jury to forget whatever they might have heard of previous disputes between the families whose names appeared in this record. It was too frequently the case, in suits of this nature, that the parties were nearly connected. Passing from this introduction, he observed that in such actions they had also frequently to inquire into a long and tedious pedigree, or to make a fatiguing investigation of documentary evidence. No task of the kind awaited them here. The case he had to present was exceedingly short and simple, and rested mainly on the testimony of a single witness. And however extraordinary the story which this witness would tell, he was sorry to say that it was strongly confirmed by the conduct and circumstances of him whom it impeached. The action was brought to obtain possession of Trevethlan Castle and the surrounding domain. The jury were probably aware that the real claimant in the cause, Mr. Philip Trevethlan Pendarrel, had assumed the last name in addition to his own, on his marriage with an heiress of large fortune in the county. He now preferred his claim as the younger son of Hugh Trevethlan, Esquire, of Trevethlan Castle, from whom the defendant also deduced his title; so that it would be unnecessary to go any further back. Having established the claimant's birth, it would, however, become requisite to show that there were now no lawful descendants of his elder brother, or rather half brother, Arthur Trevethlan, the alleged grandfather of the defendant. Now it was admitted that from this Arthur, the estates in question descended legally to his son Henry; but with the latter, it was maintained the succession in that line terminated. They would observe that Henry, the late possessor, only died towards the close of the previous year, which would account for no steps having been taken sooner. Now it was well known that, for many years before his death, all intercourse between him and his uncle, the claimant, had entirely ceased; and that in fact they were not on those terms of friendship which should exist between such near relations. It was also known that for a long time the late Mr. Trevethlan lived a very retired life at his castle, and never went into society at all. Further, he had fully attained the age of forty before there was any rumour or pretence that he had contracted a marriage. But about this time, it is suggested that if he died without offspring, the estates would either revert to the relative from whom he was alienated, or he must bequeath them to a stranger; and the jury would readily perceive the feelings which would be excited by either alternative. Accordingly, in order to avoid them both, it would seem that Mr. Trevethlan then contemplated matrimony, and that a certain ceremony was performed between him and one Margaret Basset, the daughter of a small farmer upon his estate. The defendant in this action is the son of this Margaret Basset. "Now, gentlemen," continued the counsel, "I need not unpleasantly press upon your attention the circumstances under which the late Mr. Trevethlan might have found it convenient to repudiate this pretended marriage. They did not arise, and the marriage was not repudiated. Neither, so far as we can learn, was it ever confirmed in a legal manner:—it was never properly registered. The only mention of it in the parish records occurs in the account of the christening of the defendant, who is described (I read from an attested copy) as the 'son of Henry and Margaret Trevethlan, who were married by special licence, in this parish, by the Reverend Theodore Ashton, on the 3rd of September, in the previous year, in the presence of – Wyley, and of Maud Basset.' This entry is signed Henry Trevethlan, Margaret Trevethlan, Maud Basset. The questions naturally arise,—where is the signature of the officiating clergyman?—where is that of the witness Wyley? And the answer to these inquiries is found in the real history of the circumstances attending this alleged marriage. The ceremony was performed in private, within the castle, but without the presence even of any of the household; within twenty-fours afterwards, the clergyman alleged to have performed it disappeared, and was supposed to be murdered. The only male witness also vanished; and the only other witness was the mother of the pretended bride, who is still living, and will probably be called before you by my learned friend."
Here the speaker was interrupted by a scuffle in the court, and the shrill voice of Maud Basset. "He lies!" she screamed. "My Margaret was married. Let me see the one who says the contrary." But the old woman was speedily removed.
"Gentlemen," the counsel resumed, "both you and I can understand and sympathize with the feeling which prompted that interruption. I was describing the mysterious privacy with which this pretended marriage was—I will not say solemnized—but performed. It is perhaps generally supposed that the poor old woman who interrupted me is the sole survivor of those who were present at the scene; but it is not so. We shall to-day produce another. We shall call before you the person who acted the part of the clergyman:—not Mr. Ashton, gentlemen, nor a clergyman at all."
There was a great sensation in the court at these words. And if any one among the audience had then looked at Randolph, he could not fail to have been struck by the ghastly rigidity of his features. But all were too deeply interested by the announcement which they had heard to attend to anything else.
The plaintiff's counsel proceeded to say that he need not anticipate the details this witness would relate;—they would completely overthrow any claim founded upon this alleged marriage. It would be for his learned friends to show any subsequent ground for their title, if such they had. But unless they did so, he should confidently look for a verdict at the hands of the jury; and, as he should undoubtedly have another opportunity of addressing them, he would not now trouble them at greater length.
A considerable rumour pervaded the court at the close of this speech, but soon yielded to the low calls for order. There followed some technical evidence respecting Mr. Pendarrel's descent, and the deaths of his brother and nephew, of no particular interest, and then the leader who had addressed the jury, re-awakened attention by desiring the crier to call Lewis Everope. Rereworth looked at the spendthrift, as he quietly took the oath, with utter astonishment, not knowing what to think. The examination began.
"What are you, Mr. Everope?"
"I belong to no profession, but have been nominally a student of the law."
"You were educated at – University, I believe, sir?"
The witness uttered an intimation of assent.
"Were you acquainted, while there, with a gentleman named Ashton,—Theodore Ashton?"
"I was."
"How long is this ago? To a year or two?"
"Twenty-three or four years. I do not exactly recollect."
"Mr. Ashton was your senior, I believe?"
"Considerably. In fact our acquaintance was very slight."
"What became of him afterwards, do you know?"
"He took orders, and quitted the University."
"Did you ever see him after you had left college?"
"I did."
"Be so good as to tell the jury under what circumstances."
"I was making a pedestrian tour through the western part of this county, and met him unexpectedly in the neighbourhood of Marazion."
"What year was this? And month? Do you remember?"
The witness mentioned those of Henry Trevethlan's marriage.
"Did you visit Mr. Ashton at his then residence?"
"Yes."
"Well, I believe that was no great distance from Trevethlan Castle. Tell the jury anything that passed between you and your friend, having reference to that building or its inhabitants."
"I naturally asked Mr. Ashton some question respecting it, and he told me there was a strange story on foot about its owner, who wished to play the trick attempted by Thornhill, in the Vicar of Wakefield. He had applied to Ashton on the subject, but the latter told him, that if he performed the ceremony, the result would be the same as in the tale. But Ashton was to have a considerable fee, and he asked me to personate him, representing that the affair was only a joke, and that, if there were any family, Mr. Trevethlan would certainly confirm it legally. And I being young, and not at the time aware of the consequences, ultimately consented to what he proposed."
"Well, sir, and what followed?"
"Ashton said he could arrange for the affair to take place the next day–"
"What day was that?"
"It was the third of September. Ashton instructed me how to present myself at the castle in his name. No one who would be present, he said, knew him, except Mr. Trevethlan, who expected something of the kind, and I looked considerably older than I was. And an intended witness to the wedding would conduct me."
"And what happened afterwards?"
"I went to the castle with the witness in question, and Mr. Trevethlan introduced himself to me without any remark, and presented a young woman as his intended bride. There was also another woman present, who, he said, was her mother. Mr. Trevethlan produced a document, which he stated to be a licence for a special marriage, but I did not look at it; and read the marriage service as fast as I could from a prayer-book which was given me. When it was over, Mr. Trevethlan handed me a sum of money, which I delivered to Ashton, and quitted the neighbourhood without delay, for I did not like my part in the business."
"I should think not," said the counsel. "Pray, sir, do you recollect any particular incident at this ceremony?"
"Only, that in my confusion I dropped the ring, and the bride's mother muttered something which I did not hear."
"You have not mentioned the name of the bride?"
"Margaret Basset."
"You were not in holy orders at that time?"
"Neither then nor since."
The plaintiff's counsel here sat down, and Rereworth's leader rose. The cross-examination was very long and severe.
"So, sir," it began, "do you know that you have just confessed yourself guilty of felony?"
"I know it now," Everope said, "but I did not know it at the time."
"And you might have been transported for fourteen years?"
"So I am told."
Counsel then ran him hard and fast through all the details of the scene he had described. Asked for descriptions of the castle, of the room, of the persons. Turned back upon his own family. Where were they at the time? How did he correspond with them? Where were they now? He was on bad terms with them. How was that? He said he was of no profession. Was he a man of private fortune? How did he live? Who paid his expenses in coming here? What did he expect beyond? Then suddenly round again. Where did he sleep the night before the mock-marriage? At Marazion? What was the name of the inn? Where did he go afterwards? From what place did he come? Then abruptly, did he know Michael Sinson? How long had he been acquainted with him? What intercourse had been between them? Had Michael promised him anything for coming here? Again back to his career at the university; his subsequent life; his present circumstances. And once more to Trevethlan Castle; again to describe the almost incredible proceeding to which he had so distinctly sworn, and all the circumstances of his intimacy with Ashton.
But this cross-questioning failed in materially shaking Everope's evidence in chief. He was forced into a considerable exposure of himself; but, perhaps, even after making the allowance which he claimed for youth and inexperience, the mere avowal of his participation in so detestable a plot was sufficiently damning, without any aggravation. It was evidently not improbable that, at so distant a time, he might not well remember the details of the scene. Only once did he seem likely to be overturned.
"Have you ever been in the neighbourhood since?" he was asked.
"Once."
"And when was that?"
"About six weeks ago."
"Were you alone?"
"No, I was with Michael Sinson, whom you have mentioned."
"Indeed! And why did you come? You need not hesitate."
"I came to refresh my memory," Everope answered boldly.
"And to good purpose," counsel said, "for it has been very convenient."
But the leader was on the point of sitting down, when Rereworth gave him a slip of paper, and he asked one more question.
"Pray, sir, are you personally acquainted with the defendant in this action?"
"No," Everope said.
"It is I!" Randolph exclaimed, rising from his seat, and fixing the spendthrift.
"Order, order," was murmured, and the interrupter, who drew the attention of every one in court, sat down. It was a few moments before the excitement occasioned by this incident had subsided. There was a general stir to obtain a second look of the unknown possessor of Trevethlan Castle.
"Morton!" the witness had meantime exclaimed, showing signs of confusion for the first time.
"You do know him, then?" said the counsel, and sat down.
But the question did not seem to be advantageous to the defendant's interest.
"What do you know of Mr. Trevethlan?" Everope's former examiner asked, having heard his exclamation.
"I knew that gentleman slightly in the Temple by the name of Morton, as a student for the bar."
The re-examination was short. Some additional formal evidence was given; and the only other material witness on this side was the coroner, who proved the circumstances of the supposed murder of Mr. Ashton, and the disappearance of Wyley. With this evidence, the case for the plaintiff, of which we have only reported the portion on which the jury would have eventually to form their judgment, was closed; and the court adjourned for a short period.
CHAPTER XIII
Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind,
I see thy glory, like a shooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament.
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing storms to come, war, and unrest;
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.
Shakspeare.
Randolph Trevethlan never stirred from his seat during the suspension of the proceedings. When they were resumed, his counsel argued at some length, that even if the tale which they had heard were true, the marriage so contracted would be valid, and that therefore the plaintiff had failed in making out his case. The other side were stopped in their reply by the judge, who said, that while the court would listen with patience to any argument intended to save an innocent woman from the effect of a fraudulent marriage, that could not be considered the point in question here; the imputed object being to interfere with the rights of the heir presumptive by securing a family; and that, therefore, without expressing any opinion upon what might be considered an undecided point, he should not stop the case. So Rereworth's leader proceeded to address the jury for the defence.
He began by a skilful and minute analysis of Everope's narrative, in which he exhibited its incredibility in a strong light, and heightened it by a continual reference to the worthlessness of the witness's character as exposed by himself. He pointed out his connection with Michael Sinson, a person in the employment of the claimant's family, and a nephew of the late Mrs. Trevethlan. From him, therefore, Everope could have obtained all the particulars which he pretended to know of his own experience. He would be called before the court, and the jury would judge whether the tale had not been concocted between the two. Sinson had motives of his own for hostility to the family of Trevethlan, which would be heard from his own lips. He did not impute to the claimant any cognizance of the fraud, by which he maintained the claim had been attempted to be established. Departing from this point, he said he should show, by indisputable evidence, that the late Mr. Trevethlan never contemplated the baseness which had been attributed to him, could not possibly have suspected any flaw in his marriage, and always treated Margaret as his lawful wife, and his children as lawfully born; for, first, he strongly desired that his own chaplain would perform the ceremony, as they would hear from that gentleman himself; secondly, if, as suggested by the plaintiff, his object had been to make sure of barring the present claim, he would have caused the marriage to be repeated before the birth of his first child; and thirdly, if he had had any suspicion that his children would not inherit by descent, he would have assuredly provided for them by will. But although his estates belonged to him in fee, he had bequeathed them nothing, dying, as it might be said, intestate; he had always treated Margaret as his wife, and had never expressed the slightest doubt of the perfect formality of his marriage. By his own conduct he had thus defeated the very design which was imputed to him, and his own alleged proceedings would have brought about that result which he was said to have sought to avoid, the succession, namely, of the present claimant. In the face of so much incoherency, was it possible, for one moment, to entertain so incredible a tale as that which had been heard from a witness of so very disreputable a character? If such testimony could prevail, no household would be safe.
Now, he should produce the licence under which the marriage took place; he should—despite the incident which Everope had stated as occurring, and which he had probably learned from Michael Sinson—call before them Maud Basset, the mother of Margaret, the only known surviving witness of the ceremony, and she would tell them—they had heard her exclamation in court—that it was a good marriage; he should also call several members of the household of Trevethlan Castle, who would swear they always regarded it as such; and he should show that the children had been christened as the lawful offspring of Henry and Margaret Trevethlan; and again he repeated, that if the unsupported and monstrous testimony of a single individual of bad reputation were permitted to countervail so strong a chain of presumption no union could be secure, and any of his hearers would be liable to have his children disinherited and their names stigmatized by any villain who would forswear himself for hire.
Let the jury consider the story they had heard. That a gentleman of high character and station, under circumstances entirely different from those in Goldsmith's famous story, wishing to form a marriage which he might either affirm or repudiate subsequently, should dare to apply to a stranger, a clergyman of the church, to assist him in so nefarious a design,—that this clergyman, far from expressing any indignation, should merely suggest a little difficulty,—that, by a coincidence sufficiently remarkable, this Everope, discarded by his family, living by his wits, should at that very time encounter his old college acquaintance,—that to him Ashton should immediately relate the business, and invite his co-operation,—that this precocious villain should at once accept the mission,—that Mr. Trevethlan should receive him without question or surprise,—that he should perform the impious mockery he had described,—that, needy and profligate, he should keep so valuable a secret for so long a time,—that at length, by another singular coincidence, he should fall in with a dependent of the family to whom it was so important; should tell the story apparently as an excellent joke; should for the first time become aware of its worth, and should sell himself to give the evidence they had heard to-day—Yes: indignation had diverted him from the picture he was drawing to the real motive under which the witness acted.
But let the jurors turn from this view of the subject to the one he should now present to them. Let them see Mr. Trevethlan, when, for reasons entirely beside the question at issue, he had decided on marrying a person of inferior station, applying to his chaplain, as a matter of course, to perform the ceremony. Let them see him, on that gentleman's declining, preferring the same desire to this Mr. Ashton, then resident in the neighbourhood. Let them suppose the ceremony to have been really and duly performed by him, as it appears recorded in the register of baptisms. Let them recollect the disappearance of Ashton, and of Wyley, the witness. Let them see how two children were borne by Mrs. Trevethlan, and duly christened by the chaplain of the castle. Let them then turn to the conduct of her relations. Let them imagine the hopes raised, the desires excited by their great connection. Let them note one of these relatives permitted to hang about the castle as a sort of companion to the young heir. Let them suppose certain presumption to grow up, and to be suddenly checked by the expulsion of all the race. Let them conceive the consequent exasperation, and heighten it by an unfounded suspicion that the exalted peasant-woman was ill-used. Let them consider such feelings as still rankling when Michael Sinson enters the service of the claimant in this action. Let them think of him as actuated both by hope of reward and desire of revenge, devising this subtile scheme, and seeking only an agent to accomplish it. Let them find him meeting the ruined scoundrel, whom they had heard that day, and he thought they would have little difficulty in unravelling the dark plot, which was now, for the first time, publicly developed against the well-being, the happiness, and the good fame of an old and distinguished and honourable family.
At the close of this address, Michael Sinson was called into the witness-box, and examined by Rereworth.
"You are a relation, I believe, of the late Mrs. Trevethlan?"
"A nephew of the late Margaret Basset."
The witness was then led on, by further questions, to describe the hopes excited in his family by the marriage now in dispute; the manner in which he was allowed to hang about Trevethlan Castle; the offence which his demeanour gave to its owner, and the expulsion of his relations from their farm. Fencing with his examiner, he at first affected to treat this circumstance with indifference, but was forced by degrees into a confession of his bitter and rankling mortification.
"And so, sir," Rereworth suddenly asked, "all your family considered this marriage to be perfectly good?"
"It was for their interest," Sinson said, stammering.
"For their interest, sir!" Seymour exclaimed indignantly. "Why, sir, was not Mrs. Trevethlan's good name at stake?"
"My poor relative has been dead for a long time," the witness answered.
"And it is her nephew who comes forward to shame her in her grave! You are now in the service of Mr. Pendarrel, the real claimant in this action?"
"Of Mrs. Pendarrel."
The answer produced a slight titter in the court.
"What does Mrs. Pendarrel pay you for getting up her case?"
Sinson hesitated for some time, and made no answer.
"Do you hear, sir?" Rereworth continued. "What is to be your hire for slandering your mother's sister?"
The plaintiff's counsel interposed, and protested against his learned friend's so discrediting his own witness.
"I consider," the witness said, having recovered himself, "that my unfortunate relative was deceived in the business. It was no fault of hers."
Rereworth now turned to Michael's connection with Everope. Asked how the acquaintance began; how long it had lasted; how the spendthrift came to communicate the story which he told in court; what Sinson knew of his habits and associates; whether he provided him with a maintenance? Then he reverted to the journey into Cornwall, of which Everope had given so frank an explanation; and concluded by again questioning the witness respecting any expectation of reward which he entertained or had held forth as the consequence of success in this action.
"Do you expect any reward at all, sir?" Michael was asked, in cross-examination. "Have any promises been made to you?"
"No," he answered, "I have been only doing my duty, and expect nothing."
"And have you, in fact, held out any expectations to the witness Everope?"
"None whatever."
"Well, sir, is it not matter of notoriety that there was great doubt about this pretended marriage?"
"Certainly. It has been thrown in my teeth a hundred times."
Little profit had this witness brought to the defendant. Maud Basset, who had been detained out of court since her interruption of the proceedings, was now summoned into the box.
"You are the mother of the late Mrs. Trevethlan, madam?"
"Sure and I am. Of my own Margaret. But I dinna understand it at all."
"You recollect your daughter's marriage, Mrs. Basset?"
"And a proud day was that for me," the old woman replied, "when the squire asked for her to be his wife. But my Margaret was fit to be a queen. Woe's me that he beguiled me, that she should be married only to be murdered."
"You were present at the marriage, I believe, madam?"
"Of course I was. Where else should her mother be? And he all so cold and stately like, and she weeping and crying so. I might have known what would come of it. I saw it all with my own eyes."
"Do you remember the name of the clergyman, Mrs. Basset?"
"Ashton it was—Theodore Ashton. The same as I saw it written at the christening of her child. Woe's me! 'twas the last time almost I saw her."