Chapter XX.

Otago Witness, Issue 1031, 2 September 1871, Page 18

Chapter XX.

MRS. TANSEY's STORY.

" I'll tell ye all a ! out it. I was younger and stronger, mind, than I am now, by twenty years and more. 'Tis a short time to look back on, but a good while passing, and leaves many a gap and change, and many a scar and wrinkle."

There was a palpable tremble always in Mrs Tansey's voice, in the thin hand she extended towards him, and in the head from which her old eyes glittered glassily on him.

" The road is very lonely by ni«ht — the loneliest road in all England. When it passes ten o'clock, you may listen till oock-crow for a footfall. Well, I, and Thomas Ridley, and Anne Haslett was all tho people at Mortlake just then, the family being in the North, except Master Harry. He went to a race across country,

that was run that day ; and he told me, laughing, he would not ask me to throw an old shoe after him, as he stood sure to win two thousand pounds. And away he went, little thinking, him and me, how our next meetin' would be. At that time old Tom Clinton— yell mind Clinton ?"

" To be sure I do," acquiesced David Arden.

" Well, Tom was in the gatehouse then ; after he died, his daughter's husband got it, ye know. And when he had outstayed his time by two hours — for he was going northward in the morning, and told me he'd be surely back before ten-— I began to grow frightened, and I put on .-ny bonnet and cloak, and down I runs to the gmtehouae, and knocks up Tom Clinton. It was niijh twelve o'clock then. When Tom came to the door, having dressed in haste, I said, 'Torn, which way will Master Harry return ? he's not been since.' And Bays Tom, 'If he's oomin' straight from the course, he'll come down from the country ; but if he's cinin' instead in London, he'll pome up the Islington way.' ' Well,' aaid I, 'go >ou, Tom, to the turn o' the road, and look and listen for sight or sound, and briny me word.' I don't know what was frightenin' me. He was often later, and I never minded ; but something that night was on my mind, like a warning, for I couldn't cet the fear out o' my heart. Well who cornea riding back but Dick Walleok, the eroora, that had drove away with him in the a,is in the mornin'; and glad I was to see his face at the gate. It was bright moonlight, and says 1, ' Dick, bow is Master Harry ? Ts aU well with him ?' So he tells me, ay, all waa well, and he goin' to drive the gig out himself from town. He was at a place— you'll mind the name of it — where it turned out they played cards and dice, and won and lost like— like fools, or worse, as some o' them no doubt was. 'Well,' says I, 'go you up, as he told you, with the horse, and I'll stay here till he cornea back, if it wasn't till daybreak. For all the time, ye see, my heart misgave me that there was suramat bad to happen ; and when Tom Clinton came back, says I, ' Tom, you go in, and get to your room, and let me sit down in your kitchen ; and I'll let him in when he comes, for I can't go up to the house, nor close an eye till he comes.' Well, it was a full hour after, and I was sittin' in the kitchen window that looks out on the road, starin' wide awake, and lookin', now one way and now another, up and down, when I hears the clink of a footfall on the stones, and a tall, ill-favoured man walks slowly by, and turns his face toward the window as he passed." " You saw him distinctly, then 1" "said David.

"As plain as ever I saw you. An illfavoured fellow in a light drab great-coat wi' a cape to it. He looked white wi' fear, and wild big eyes, and a high hooked nose — a tall chap wi' his hands in his pockets, and a low- crowned hat on. He went on slow, till a whistle sounded, and then he ran down the road a bit toward the signal." " That was toward the Islington side ?"

" Ay, sir, and I grew more uneaay. I was scared xrV the sight o' such a man at that time o' night, in that lonesome place, and the whistlin' and runninV

"Did you see the same man again that night ?" asked David. "Yes, 'twas the same I saw afterwards — Lord ha' mercy on us ! I saw him again at his murderin' work. Oh, Master David ! it makes my brain wild and my skin creep to think o' that sight." ' ' I did wrong to interrupt you ; tell it you own way, Martha, and I can afterwards ask you the questions that lie near my heart," said Mr Arden. " 'Tis easy told, sir ; the candlo was burnt down almost in the socket, and I went tc look out another — but before I could find one it went out. 'Twas but a stump I found and lighted, after I saw that fellow in the light drab surtout go by. I wished to let them know, if they had any ill design, there was folks awake in the lodge. But he was gone by before I found the matches, and now that he was comin' again, the candle went out — things goes so cross. It was to be, ye see. Well, while T was rummagin' about, lookin' for a candle, I heard the sound of a horse trotting hard, and wheels rollin' along ; ao says I, ' Thank God !' for then I was sure it must be Harry, poor lad. So^ I claps on my bonnet, and out wi' me, wit key. [ thought I heard voices, as the hoofs and wheels came clinkin' up to the gate ; but I could not be quite sure. I was huffed wi' Master Harry for the long wait he gey me, and the fright, and I took my time enmin' round the corner of the patehouse. And thinks Ito myself, he'll be offerin' me a seat in the gig up to the house, but I won't take it. God forgi'e me for them angry thoughts to the poor laddie that I was never to have a word wi' more ! When I camo to the gate there was never a call, and nothing but voices talking and gaspin' like, under their breath a'raost, and a queer Bcufnin' sound, that I could

not make head nor tail on. So I unlocked the wicket, and out wi' me, and, Lord ha' mercy on us, what a sight for me ! The gig was there, with its shaft s on the ground, and its back cocked up, and the iron-grey flat on his side, lashin and scrambling poor brute, and two villains in the gig, both pullin' at poor Master Harry, one robbin' and t'other murderin' him. I took one o' them — a short, thick fellow- — by tho skirt o' his coat, to drag him out, and I screamed for Tom Clinton to come out. The short ft How turned, and struck at me wi'aomethin' ; but lucky for me, 'appen, the lashin' horse that minute took me on the foot, and brought me down. But up I scrambles wi' a stone in my hand, and I shied it, the best I could, at the head o' the villain that was killin' Master Harry. But what can a woman do ? It did not go nigh him, I'm thinkin'. I was, all the time, calling on Tom to come, and cryin' ' Murder !' that you'd think my throat'd split. That bloody wretch in tho gig had got poor Master Harry's head back over the edge of it, and his kraee to his chest, a-strivin' to break his neck across the back- rails ; and poor dear lad, Master Harry, he just scr itched, ' Yelland Mace ! for God's sake !' They werG the last words I evor heard from him, and I'll never forget that horrid scritch, nor the face of the villain that waa over him, like a beast over ita prey. He was tuggin' at his throat, like you'd be tryin' to tear up a tree by the roots — you never see such a face. His teeth was set, and the froth comin' through, and his black eyebrows screwed together, you'd think they'd crack the thin hooked nose of him. between them, and he pantin' like a wild beast. He looked like a madman, I tell you ; 'twas bright moonlight, and the trees bare, and the shadows of the branches was awitchin' across his face."

" You saw that face distinctly ?" asked David Arden.

" As clear as yonrs this minute."

" Now tell me— and think first — was he a bit like that Mr Longclnse whose appearance startled you the other evening I" asked Mr Arden, in a very low tone, with his eyes fixed on her intensely.

" No, no, no ! not a bit. He had a small mouth and white teeth, and a great beak of a nose. No, no, no ! not he. I saw him strike somethin' that shone — a knife or a dagger— into the poor lad's throat, and he struck it down at my head, as you know, and I mind nothin' after that. I'll carry the scar o' that mur* derer'a blow to my grave. There's the whole story, and God f orgi'e ye for asking me, for it gi'es me 't creepin's for a week after ; and I didn't conceit 'twould 'a' made me sa excited, sir, or I would not V bargained to tell it to-night— not that I blame ye, Master Dand, for I thought, myself, that I could bear it better — an<i I do believe, as I have gone so far in it, 'tis better to make one job of it, and a finish. So yell ask me any question ye like, and I'll make the bees answer I can ; only Master David, yell not be o'er long about it V

" You are a good creature, Martha. I am sorry to pain you, but I pain myself, and you know why I ask these questions."

" Ay, sir, and I'd rather hear ye ask them than see you sit as easy under all that aa some does, that owed the poor fellow as much love as ever you did, and were as near akin."

"I am puzzled, Martha, and hitherto I have been baffled, but I won't give ii up yet. You say that the wretch who Btruck you waa a singular-looking man, at least as you describe him. I know, Martha, I can rely upon your caution — you will not repeat to anyone what passes in our interview." He lowered his voice. " You do not think that this Mr Longcluse—a rich gentleman, you know, and a person who thinks he's of some consequence, a person whom we must not look at, you know, as if he had two heads — you really don't think that this Mr Longcluse has any resemblance to the villain whom you saw atab my brother, and who struck you V

" Nor he — no more than I have. No, no, Mr Longcluse is quite another sort of face ; but for all that, when he came in here, and I saw him before me, his face and his speech reminded me of that night."

" How was that, Martha ? Did he resemble the other man — the man who was aiding?"

t( That fellow was hanged, yell mind, Master David."

" Yes, but a likeness might have struck and startled you." " No, sir— no, Master David, not him ; surely not him. I can't bring it to mind, but it frightens mo. It is queer, sir. All 1 can Bay for certain is this, Master David. The minute I heard his voice, and got sight of his face, like that," and she dropped her hand on the table, " the thought of that awful night came back, bright and cold, sir, and then black phadows— 'twas all about me, I can't tell

how, and I hope I may never see him again."

"Do you think there was another man by, besides the two villains in the gig ? " suggested David Arden.

" Not a living soul except them and myself. Poor Master Harry said to Torn Clinton, yell mind, for ho lived half-an-hour after, and spoke a little, though faint and with great labour, and says he, ' There were two : Yelland Mace killed me, and Tom Todry took the money. Tuai Clintvn heard hiiu say that, ami swore to it before the justice o' pt-a.iv and after, on the trial. No, no, there wasn't a soul there but they two villains, and the poor dear lad they murdered, and mo and Tom Clinton, that might as well a' bin in York for any good we did. Oh, no, lloaven forbid I should be so unmannerly as to compare a gentleman like Mr Lounclase to such folk as that ! Oh, lawk, no, sir ! But there's something, there's a 100k — or a sound in his voice — I can't got round it quite — but it reminds me of something about that night, with a start like, I can't tell how — something unlucky and awful — and I would not see him again for a deal. " "Well, Martha, a thousand thanks. I'm puzzled, as I said. Perhaps it is only something strange in his face that caused that odd misgiving. For I who saw but one of the wretches engaged in the crime, the man who was convicted, who certainly did not in the slightest degree resemble Mr Longcluse, experienced the same unpleasant sensation on first Sreing him. I don't know how it is, Martha, but the idea clings to me, as it does to you. Some light may come. Something may turn up. I can't get it out of my mind that somehow — it may be circnitously — he has, at least, got the thread in his fingers that may lead us right. Goodnight, Martha. I have got the Bible with large print you wished for ; I hope you will like the binding. And now, God bless you ! It is time I should bid them good-nicht upstairs. Farewell, my good old friend." And, so saying, he shook her hard and shrivelled hand.

His Bteps echoed along the long tiled passage, with its one dim light, and his mind waa still haunted by ita one obscure idea.

"It is strange," ho thought, tk ' that Martha and I — the <nly two living persons, I believe, who care at ill for poor Harry, and feel alike respecting the expiation that is due to his memory — should both have been struck with the same odd feeling on seeing Longcluae. From chat; white sinister f-vce, it seems to me, I know not why, will shine the light that will yet clear all up." (To be conlhwcK)