The Master of the Ceremonies Part 105

"There, come along, fool," cried the constable.

"No--not without him," cried Isaac. "Murder!"

"Silence!" cried Denville excitedly, as Claire rushed down the stairs and caught her father's arm.

"Shan't silence!" yelled the man, who now threw off his half-tipsy, contemptuous manner, and seemed stung by the treatment he had received into a fit of furious pa.s.sion. "I give him into custody--for murder."

"Nonsense! Hold your tongue, and come along," cried the constable; while Linnell seized the man on the other side, and hurriedly tried to force him out.

But it is not easy to get a man along a narrow pa.s.sage if he resists fiercely; and so they found, for, setting his feet against the edge of the dining-room door, Isaac thrust himself back, and yelled to the throng at the door:

"Do you hear? For murder! I charge this man--Denville--with killing old Lady Teigne."

"Silence, villain!" hissed Linnell in his ear, as he darted an agonised glance at where Claire was half supporting her father, while the black cloud she had seen impending so long seemed to have fallen at last.

"Silence? When there's murder?" shouted Isaac. "I tell you I heard a noise, and got up, and then I saw him go to Lady Teigne's room, the night she was murdered. Ask him there who did it, and see what he'll say."

"Father, come away!" panted Claire, as she threw herself before him, as if to defend him against this terrible charge.

"What's that?" cried the constable. "Oh, nonsense! Come along."

"I tell you it's true," cried Isaac, with drunken fierceness; "it's true. I saw him go to her room. Let him deny it if he can."

Denville stood up, holding tightly by Claire's arm, and looking wildly from one to the other as a strange murmur rose amongst the fast-augmenting crowd. Then, as if it were vain to fight against the charge, he made a lurch forward, recovered himself, and sank into a chair, Richard Linnell catching sight of his ghastly countenance before he covered it with his hands.

"It is a false charge, constable," cried Linnell hastily. "Take that man away."

"It's all true," snarled Isaac, with drunken triumph. "Look at him.

Let him say he didn't do it if he dare!"

As every eye was fixed upon him, the Master of the Ceremonies did not move; he made no bold defiance, but seemed half paralysed by the bolt that had fallen--one from which his child had failed to screen him, though she had thrown herself upon his breast.

Volume Three, Chapter XI.

AFTER THE STORM.

Matters ran their course rapidly during the following days. The black cloud that had so long been threatening had come down lower and nearer, and had at last poured forth its storm upon Denville's devoted head.

And now, as he sat thinking, all that had pa.s.sed seemed misty and dreamlike, and yet he knew that it was true.

There was the finish of that terrible night, when, forced by the direct charge of his servant, the constable had taken steps against him. He had been arrested; there had been magisterial examinations, and appeals to him to declare his innocency; he, the magistrates' respected townsman, charged with this horrible crime by a drunken servant!

But he had made no denial, only listened with a strange apathy, as if stunned, and ready to give up everything as hopeless. In fact, so willing did he seem to accept his position that, after examination and adjournment--one of which was really to give the broken-down, prostrate man an opportunity for making some defence--the magistrates had had no option but to commit the prisoner for trial.

All Saltinville had been greatly concerned, and thus taken off the scent of the previous trouble at the Master of the Ceremonies' house. The departure of Frank Burnett from the town, and the state of his wife's health, became exceedingly secondary matters. Sir Harry Payne's wound was of no more importance than Lady Drelincourt's rheumatic fever, brought on by exposure on the Downs at her age. People forgot, too, to notice that Sir Matthew Bray was clear of his arrest, and to heed the rumour floating about at Miss Clode's, that Lady Drelincourt had paid Sir Matthew's debts, her affection for the big heavy dragoon having received a strong accession from the fact that her love was no longer divided, her overfed dog having died, evidently from plethora.

Ordinary affairs were in abeyance, and everyone talked of Lady Teigne's murder, and metaphorically dug the old belle up again to investigate the affair, and, so to speak, hold a general inquest without the coroner's help.

Lord Carboro' took the matter down on the pier with him and sat at the end to watch Fisherman d.i.c.k shrimping; and as he watched him he did not think of the st.u.r.dy Spanish-looking fellow, but of Lady Teigne's jewels, and as he thought he tried to undo this knot.

"If Denville killed the old woman for her diamonds, how is it he remained so poor?"

"Thinking, Lord Carboro'?" said a voice.

The old beau looked up quickly and encountered the dark eyes of Major Rockley, who had also been intently watching d.i.c.k Miggles, using an opera-gla.s.s, so as to see him empty the shrimps into his creel.

"Yes: thinking," said Lord Carboro' in a short, sharp way. "Like to know what I was thinking?"

The Major shrugged his shoulders.

"Of the sea, perhaps, or the vessels pa.s.sing, or Lady Drelincourt's illness."

"No, sir," said Lord Carboro' shortly. "I was thinking of Lady Teigne's jewels."

Rockley raised his eyebrows, and looked at the old man curiously.

"Of Lady Teigne's jewels?"

"Yes, sir; and it seems a strange thing to me that if Denville killed the old woman for her diamonds, he has not become rich."

"To be sure," said Rockley; "it does seem strange."

"It's all strange, sir, deuced strange," said the old man. "Took me aback, for I never suspected Denville, and I don't suspect him now."

They stood looking at each other for a few minutes, and then Rockley said quietly:

"A great many people seem to believe him innocent. Do you think they will get him off?"

"Yes, of course--of course, sir. It would be an abominable thing to bring such a charge home to the poor old fellow. Why, I suppose, sir, that even you would not wish that."

"I should be deeply grieved, my lord," said Rockley. "Good morning."

"The scoundrel's still thinking about Claire," said the old beau, as he sat gazing after the handsome cavalry officer. "Well, it's of no use to sit here. I'll go up to Clode's, and see if there is any news."

He trudged slowly along the pier and the Parade, stopping now and then to take a pinch of snuff.

He was indulging in a very big pinch, standing by the edge of the path, when there was the trampling of hoofs, and Cora Dean's pony-carriage was drawn up by his side.

"Let me drive you there," said Cora's deep, rich voice.

"Drive me! Where?" said the old man.

"Where you ought to be going; to the prison to see poor Mr Denville, and get him out. I haven't patience with you people leaving the poor old man there--you who professed to be his friends."

"Hah! Yes! No, I don't think I'll trouble you, my dear Miss Dean,"

said the old man, recovering his balance, and speaking in his old sarcastic tone. "You are such a female Jehu."

"Such a what?" said Cora.