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Eugene Aram, Book 4.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> Eugene Aram, Book 4.




"But, Aram? was this suspicious, nay, abandoned character--this Houseman,
intimate with Aram?"

"Not at all; but being distantly related, and Houseman being a familiar,
pushing sort of a fellow, Aram could not, perhaps, always shake him off;
and Aram allowed that Houseman had spent the evening with him."

"And no suspicion rested on Aram?"

The host turned round in amazement.--"Heavens above, no! One might as
well suspect the lamb of eating the wolf!"

But not thus thought Walter Lester; the wild words occasionally uttered
by the Student--his lone habits--his frequent starts and colloquy with
self, all of which had, even from the first, it has been seen, excited
Walter's suspicion of former guilt, that had murdered the mind's
wholesome sleep, now rushed with tenfold force upon his memory.

"But no other circumstance transpired? Is this your whole ground for
suspicion; the mere circumstance of Houseman's being last seen with
Clarke?"

"Consider also the dissolute and bold character of Houseman. Clarke
evidently had his jewels and money with him--they were not left in the
house. What a temptation to one who was more than suspected of having in
the course of his life taken to plunder! Houseman shortly afterwards left
the country. He has never returned to the town since, though his daughter
lives here with his wife's mother, and has occasionally gone up to town
to see him."

"And Aram--he also left Knaresbro' soon after this mysterious event?"

"Yes! an old Aunt at York, who had never assisted him during her life,
died and bequeathed him a legacy, about a month afterwards. On receiving
it, he naturally went to London--the best place for such clever
scholars."

"Ha! But are you sure that the aunt died?--that the legacy was left?
Might this be no tale to give an excuse to the spending of money
otherwise acquired?"

Mine host looked almost with anger on Walter.

"It is clear," said he, "you know nothing of Eugene Aram, or you would
not speak thus. But I can satisfy your doubts on this head. I knew the
old lady well, and my wife was at York when she died. Besides, every one
here knows something of the will, for it was rather an eccentric one."

Walter paused irresolutely. "Will you accompany me," he asked, "to the
house in which Mr. Clarke lodged,--and indeed to any other place where it
may be prudent to institute inquiry?"

"Certainly, Sir, with the biggest pleasure," said mine host: "but you
must first try my dame's butter and eggs. It is time to breakfast."

We may suppose that Walter's simple meal was soon over; and growing
impatient and restless to commence his inquiries, he descended from his
solitary apartment to the little back-room behind the bar, in which he
had, on the night before, seen mine host and his better-half at supper.
It was a sung, small, wainscoated room; fishing-rods were neatly arranged
against the wall, which was also decorated by a portrait of the landlord
himself, two old Dutch pictures of fruit and game, a long, quaint-
fashioned fowling-piece, and, opposite the fireplace, a noble stag's head
and antlers. On the window-seat lay the Izaak Walton to which the old man
had referred; the Family Bible, with its green baize cover, and the
frequent marks peeping out from its venerable pages; and, close nestling
to it, recalling that beautiful sentence, "suffer the little children to
come unto me, and forbid them not," several of those little volumes with
gay bindings, and marvellous contents of fay and giant, which delight the
hearth-spelled urchin, and which were "the source of golden hours" to the
old man's grandchildren, in their respite from "learning's little
tenements,"

"Where sits the dame, disguised in look profound,
And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her wheel around."
--[Shenstone's Schoolmistress.]

Mine host was still employed by a huge brown loaf and some baked pike;
and mine hostess, a quiet and serene old lady, was alternately regaling
herself and a large brindled cat from a plate of "toasten cheer."

While the old man was hastily concluding his repast, a little knock at
the door was heard, and presently an elderly gentleman in black put his
head into the room, and, perceiving the stranger, would have drawn back;
but both landlady and landlord bustling up, entreated him to enter by the
appellation of Mr. Summers. And then, as the gentleman smilingly yielded
to the invitation, the landlady, turning to Walter, said: "Our clergyman,
Sir: and though I say it afore his face, there is not a man who, if
Christian vartues were considered, ought so soon to be a bishop."

"Hush! my good lady," said Mr. Summers, laughing as he bowed to Walter.
"You see, Sir, that it is no trifling advantage to a Knaresbro'
reputation to have our hostess's good word. But, indeed," turning to the
landlady, and assuming a grave and impressive air, "I have little mind
for jesting now. You know poor Jane Houseman,--a mild, quiet, blue-eyed
creature, she died at daybreak this morning! Her father had come from
London expressly to see her: she died in his arms, and, I hear, he is
almost in a state of frenzy."

The host and hostess signified their commiseration. "Poor little girl!"
said the latter, wiping her eyes; "her's was a hard fate, and she felt
it, child as she was. Without the care of a mother,--and such a father!
Yet he was fond of her."

"My reason for calling on you was this," renewed the Clergyman,
addressing the host: "you knew Houseman formerly; me he always shunned,
and, I fancy, ridiculed. He is in distress now, and all that is
forgotten. Will you seek him, and inquire if any thing in my power can
afford him consolation? He may be poor: I can pay for the poor child's
burial. I loved her; she was the best girl at Mrs. Summers' school."

"Certainly, Sir, I will seek him," said the landlord, hesitating; and
then, drawing the Clergyman aside, he informed him in a whisper of his
engagement with Walter, and with the present pursuit and meditated
inquiry of his guest; not forgetting to insinuate his suspicion of the
guilt of the man whom he was now called upon to compassionate.

The Clergyman mused a little, and then, approaching Walter, offered his
services in the stead of the Publican in so frank and cordial a manner,
that Walter at once accepted them.

"Let us come now, then," said the good Curate--for he was but the
Curate--seeing Walter's impatience; "and first we will go to the house in
which Clarke lodged; I know it well."

The two gentlemen now commenced their expedition. Summers was no
contemptible antiquary; and he sought to beguile the nervous impatience
of his companion by dilating on the attractions of the antient and
memorable town to which his purpose had brought him;--

"Remarkable," said the Curate, "alike in history and tradition: look
yonder" (pointing above, as an opening in the road gave to view the
frowning and beetled ruins of the shattered Castle); "you would be at
some loss to recognize now the truth of old Leland's description of that
once stout and gallant bulwark of the North, when he 'numbrid 11 or 12
towres in the walles of the Castel, and one very fayre beside in the
second area.' In that castle, the four knightly murderers of the haughty
Becket (the Wolsey of his age) remained for a whole year, defying the
weak justice of the times. There, too, the unfortunate Richard the
Second,--the Stuart of the Plantagenets--passed some portion of his
bitter imprisonment. And there, after the battle of Marston Moor, waved
the banners of the loyalists against the soldiers of Lilburne. It was
made yet more touchingly memorable at that time, as you may have heard,
by an instance of filial piety. The town was greatly straitened for want
of provisions; a youth, whose father was in the garrison, was accustomed
nightly to get into the deep dry moat, climb up the glacis, and put
provisions through a hole, where the father stood ready to receive them.
He was perceived at length; the soldiers fired on him. He was taken
prisoner, and sentenced to be hanged in sight of the besieged, in order
to strike terror into those who might be similarly disposed to render
assistance to the garrison. Fortunately, however, this disgrace was
spared the memory of Lilburne and the republican arms. With great
difficulty, a certain lady obtained his respite; and after the conquest
of the place, and the departure of the troops, the adventurous son was
released."

"A fit subject for your local poets," said Walter, whom stories of this
sort, from the nature of his own enterprise, especially affected.

"Yes: but we boast but few minstrels since the young Aram left us. The
castle then, once the residence of Pierce Gaveston,--of Hubert III.--and
of John of Gaunt, was dismantled and destroyed. Many of the houses we
shall pass have been built from its massive ruins. It is singular, by the
way, that it was twice captured by men of the name of Lilburn, or
Lilleburn, once in the reign of Edward II., once as I have related. On
looking over historical records, we are surprised to find how often
certain names have been fatal to certain spots; and this reminds me, by
the way, that we boast the origin of the English Sibyl, the venerable
Mother Shipton. The wild rock, at whose foot she is said to have been
born, is worthy of the tradition."

"You spoke just now," said Walter, who had not very patiently suffered
the Curate thus to ride his hobby, "of Eugene Aram; you knew him well?"

"Nay: he suffered not any to do that! He was a remarkable youth. I have
noted him from his childhood upward, long before he came to Knaresbro',
till on leaving this place, fourteen years back, I lost sight of him.--
Strange, musing, solitary from a boy! but what accomplishment of learning
he had reached! Never did I see one whom Nature so emphatically marked to
be GREAT. I often wonder that his name has not long ere this been more
universally noised abroad: whatever he attempted was stamped with such
signal success. I have by me some scattered pieces of poetry when a boy;
they were given me by his poor father, long since dead; and are full of a
dim, shadowy anticipation of future fame. Perhaps, yet, before he dies,
--he is still young,--the presentiment will be realized. You too know him,
then?"

"Yes! I have known him. Stay--dare I ask you a question, a fearful
question? Did suspicion ever, in your mind, in the mind of any one, rest
on Aram, as concerned in the mysterious disappearance of my--of Clarke?
His acquaintance with Houseman who was suspected; Houseman's visit to
Aram that night; his previous poverty--so extreme, if I hear rightly; his
after riches--though they perhaps may be satisfactorily accounted for;
his leaving this town so shortly after the disappearance I refer to;--
these alone might not create suspicion in me, but I have seen the man in
moments of reverie and abstraction, I have listened to strange and broken
words, I have noted a sudden, keen, and angry susceptibility to any
unmeant excitation of a less peaceful or less innocent remembrance. And
there seems to me inexplicably to hang over his heart some gloomy
recollection, which I cannot divest myself from imagining to be that of
guilt."

Walter spoke quickly, and in great though half suppressed excitement; the
more kindled from observing that as he spoke, Summers changed
countenance, and listened as with painful and uneasy attention.

"I will tell you," said the Curate, after a short pause, (lowering his
voice)--"I will tell you: Aram did undergo examination--I was present at
it--but from his character and the respect universally felt for him, the
examination was close and secret. He was not, mark me, suspected of the
murder of the unfortunate Clarke, nor was any suspicion of murder
generally entertained until all means of discovering Clarke were found
wholly unavailing; but of sharing with Houseman, some part of the jewels
with which Clarke was known to have left the town. This suspicion of
robbery could not, however, be brought home, even to Houseman, and Aram
was satisfactorily acquitted from the imputation. But in the minds of
some present at that examination, a doubt lingered, and this doubt
certainly deeply wounded a man so proud and susceptible. This, I believe,
was the real reason of his quitting Knaresbro' almost immediately after
that examination. And some of us, who felt for him and were convinced of
his innocence, persuaded the others to hush up the circumstance of his
examination, nor has it generally transpired, even to this day, when the
whole business is well nigh forgot. But as to his subsequent improvement
of circumstance, there is no doubt of his aunt's having left him a legacy
sufficient to account for it."

Walter bowed his head, and felt his suspicions waver, when the Curate
renewed.

"Yet it is but fair to tell you, who seem so deeply interested in the
fate of Clarke, that since that period rumours have reached my ear that
the woman at whose house Aram lodged has from time to time dropped words
that require explanation--hints that she could tell a tale--that she
knows more than men will readily believe--nay, once she was even reported
to have said that the life of Eugene Aram was in her power."

"Father of mercy! and did Inquiry sleep on words so calling for its
liveliest examination?"

"Not wholly--on their being brought to me, I went to the house, but found
the woman, whose habits and character are low and worthless, was abrupt
and insolent in her manner; and after in vain endeavouring to call forth
some explanation of the words she was reported to have uttered, I left
the house fully persuaded that she had only given vent to a meaningless
boast, and that the idle words of a disorderly gossip could not be taken
as evidence against a man of the blameless character and austere habits
of Aram. Since, however, you have now re-awakened investigation, we will
visit her before you leave the town; and it may be as well too, that
Houseman should undergo a further investigation before we suffer him to
depart."

"I thank you! I thank you--I will not let slip one thread of this dark
clue."

"And now," said the Curate, pointing to a decent house, "we have reached
the lodging Clarke occupied in the town!"

An old man of respectable appearance opened the door, and welcomed the
Curate and his companion with an air of cordial respect which attested
the well-deserved popularity of the former.

"We have come," said the Curate, "to ask you some questions respecting
Daniel Clarke, whom you remember as your lodger. This gentleman is a
relation of his, and interested deeply in his fate!"

"What, Sir!" quoth the old man, "and have you, his relation, never heard
of Mr. Clarke since he left the town? Strange!--this room, this very room
was the one Mr. Clarke occupied, and next to this,--here--(opening a
door) was his bed-chamber!"

It was not without powerful emotion that Walter found himself thus within
the apartment of his lost father. What a painful, what a gloomy, yet
sacred interest every thing around instantly assumed! The old-fashioned
and heavy chairs--the brown wainscot walls--the little cupboard recessed
as it were to the right of the fire-place, and piled with morsels of
Indian china and long taper wine glasses--the small window-panes set deep
in the wall, giving a dim view of a bleak and melancholy-looking garden
in the rear--yea, the very floor he trod--the very table on which he
leant--the very hearth, dull and fireless as it was, opposite his gaze--
all took a familiar meaning in his eye, and breathed a household voice
into his ear. And when he entered the inner room, how, even to
suffocation, were those strange, half sad, yet not all bitter emotions
increased. There was the bed on which his father had rested on the night
before--what? perhaps his murder! The bed, probably a relic from the
castle, when its antique furniture was set up to public sale, was hung
with faded tapestry, and above its dark and polished summit were
hearselike and heavy trappings. Old commodes of rudely carved oak, a
discoloured glass in a japan frame, a ponderous arm-chair of Elizabethan
fashion, and covered with the same tapestry as the bed, altogether gave
that uneasy and sepulchral impression to the mind so commonly produced by
the relics of a mouldering and forgotten antiquity.

"It looks cheerless, Sir," said the owner, "but then we have not had any
regular lodger for years; it is just the same as when Mr. Clarke lived
here. But bless you, Sir, he made the dull rooms look gay enough. He was
a blithesome gentleman. He and his friends, Mr. Houseman especially, used
to make the walls ring again when they were over their cups!"

"It might have been better for Mr. Clarke," said the Curate, "had he
chosen his comrades with more discretion. Houseman was not a creditable,
perhaps not a safe companion."

"That was no business of mine then," quoth the lodging-letter; "but it
might be now, since I have been a married man!"

The Curate smiled, "Perhaps you, Mr. Moor, bore a part in those revels?"

"Why, indeed, Mr. Clarke would occasionally make me take a glass or so,
Sir."

"And you must then have heard the conversations that took place between
Houseman and him? Did Mr. Clarke, ever, in those conversations, intimate
an intention of leaving the town soon? and where, if so, did he talk of
going?"

"Oh! first to London. I have often heard him talk of going to London, and
then taking a trip to see some relations of his in a distant part of the
country. I remember his caressing a little boy of my brother's; you know
Jack, Sir, not a little boy now, almost as tall as this gentleman. "Ah,"
said he with a sort of sigh, "ah! I have a boy at home about this age,--
when shall I see him again?"

"When indeed!" thought Walter, turning away his face at this anecdote, to
him so naturally affecting.

"And the night that Clarke left you, were you aware of his absence?"

"No! he went to his room at his usual hour, which was late, and the next
morning I found his bed had not been slept in, and that he was gone--gone
with all his jewels, money, and valuables; heavy luggage he had none. He
was a cunning gentleman; he never loved paying a bill. He was greatly in
debt in different parts of the town, though he had not been here long. He
ordered everything and paid for nothing."

Walter groaned. It was his father's character exactly; partly it might be
from dishonest principles superadded to the earlier feelings of his
nature; but partly also from that temperament at once careless and
procrastinating, which, more often than vice, loses men the advantage of
reputation.

"Then in your own mind, and from your knowledge of him," renewed the
Curate, "you would suppose that Clarke's disappearance was intentional;
that though nothing has since been heard of him, none of the blacker
rumours afloat were well founded?"

"I confess, Sir, begging this gentleman's pardon who you say is a
relation, I confess I see no reason to think otherwise."

"Was Mr. Aram, Eugene Aram, ever a guest of Clarke's? Did you ever see
them together?"

"Never at this house. I fancy Houseman once presented Mr. Aram to Clarke;
and that they may have met and conversed some two or three times, not
more, I believe; they were scarcely congenial spirits, Sir."

Walter having now recovered his self-possession, entered into the
conversation; and endeavoured by as minute an examination as his
ingenuity could suggest, to obtain some additional light upon the
mysterious subject so deeply at his heart. Nothing, however, of any
effectual import was obtained from the good man of the house. He had
evidently persuaded himself that Clarke's disappearance was easily
accounted for, and would scarcely lend attention to any other suggestion
than that of Clarke's dishonesty. Nor did his recollection of the
meetings between Houseman and Clarke furnish him with any thing worthy of
narration. With a spirit somewhat damped and disappointed, Walter,
accompanied by the Curate, recommenced his expedition.




CHAPTER XI.

GRIEF IN A RUFFIAN.--THE CHAMBER OF EARLY DEATH.--A HOMELY YET MOMENTOUS
CONFESSION.--THE EARTH'S SECRETS.--THE CAVERN.--THE ACCUSATION.

ALL is not well;
I doubt some foul play.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Foul deeds will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
--Hamlet.

As they passed through the street, they perceived three or four persons
standing round the open door of a house of ordinary description, the
windows of which were partially closed.

"It is the house," said the curate, "in which Houseman's daughter died,
--poor, poor child! Yet why mourn for the young? Better that the light
cloud should fade away into heaven with the morning breath, than travel
through the weary day to gather in darkness and end in storm."

"Ah, sir!" said an old man, leaning on his stick and lifting his hat, in
obeisance to the curate, "the father is within, and takes on bitterly. He
drives them all away from the room, and sits moaning by the bedside, as
if he was a going out of his mind. Won't your reverence go in to him a
bit?"

The curate looked at Walter inquiringly. "Perhaps," said the latter, "you
had better go in: I will wait without." While the curate hesitated, they
heard a voice in the passage; and presently Houseman was seen at the far
end, driving some women before him with vehement gesticulations.
"I tell you, ye hell-hags," shrieked his harsh and now straining voice,
"that ye suffered her to die! Why did ye not send to London for
physicians? Am I not rich enough to buy my child's life at any price?
By the living ___, I would have turned your very bodies into gold to have
saved her! But she's DEAD! and I ___ Out of my sight; out of my way!"
And with his hands clenched, his brows knit, and his head uncovered,
Houseman sallied forth from the door, and Walter recognized the traveller
of the preceding night. He stopped abruptly as he saw the little knot
without, and scowled round at each of them with a malignant and ferocious
aspect. "Very well, it's very well, neighbors!" said he at length, with
a fierce laugh; "this is kind! You have come to welcome Richard Houseman
home, have ye? Good, good! Not to gloat at his distress? Lord, no!
Ye have no idle curiosity, no prying, searching, gossiping devil within
ye that makes ye love to flock and gape and chatter when poor men suffer!
This is all pure compassion; and Houseman, the good, gentle, peaceful,
honest Houseman, you feel for him,--I know you do! Hark ye, begone!
Away, march, tramp, or--Ha, ha! there they go, there they go!" laughing
wildly again as the frightened neighbors shrank from the spot, leaving
only Walter and the clergyman with the childless man.

"Be comforted, Houseman!" said Summers, soothingly; "it is a dreadful
affliction that you have sustained. I knew your daughter well: you may
have heard her speak of me. Let us in, and try what heavenly comfort
there is in prayer."

"Prayer! pooh! I am Richard Houseman!"

"Lives there one man for whom prayer is unavailing?"

"Out, canter, out! My pretty Jane! And she laid her head on my bosom,
and looked up in my face, and so--died!"

"Come," said the curate, placing his hand on Houseman's arm, "come."

Before he could proceed, Houseman, who was muttering to himself, shook
him off roughly, and hurried away up the street; but after he had gone a
few paces, he turned back, and approaching the curate, said, in a more
collected tone: "I pray you, sir, since you are a clergyman (I recollect
your face, and I recollect Jane said you had been good to her),--I pray
you go and say a few words over her. But stay,--don't bring in my name;
you understand. I don't wish God to recollect that there lives such a man
as he who now addresses you. Halloo! [shouting to the women] my hat, and
stick too. Fal la! la! fal la!--why should these things make us play the
madman? It is a fine day, sir; we shall have a late winter.

"Curse the b___ , how long she is! Yet the hat was left below. But when a
death is in the house, sir, it throws things into confusion: don't you
find it so?"

Here one of the women, pale, trembling, and tearful, brought the ruffian
his hat; and placing it deliberately on his head, and bowing with a
dreadful and convulsive attempt to smile, he walked slowly away and
disappeared.

"What strange mummers grief makes!" said the curate. "It is an appalling
spectacle when it thus wrings out feeling from a man of that mould! But
pardon me, my young friend; let me tarry here for a moment."

"I will enter the house with you," said Walter. And the two men walked
in, and in a few moments they stood within the chamber of death.

The face of the deceased had not yet suffered the last withering change.
Her young countenance was hushed and serene, and but for the fixedness of
the smile, you might have thought the lips moved. So delicate, fair, and
gentle were the features that it was scarcely possible to believe such a
scion could spring from such a stock; and it seemed no longer wonderful
that a thing so young, so innocent, so lovely, and so early blighted
should have touched that reckless and dark nature which rejected all
other invasion of the softer emotions. The curate wiped his eyes, and
kneeling down prayed, if not for the dead (who, as our Church teaches,
are beyond human intercession), perhaps for the father she had left on
earth, more to be pitied of the two! Nor to Walter was the scene without
something more impressive and thrilling than its mere pathos alone. He,
now standing beside the corpse of Houseman's child, was son to the man of
whose murder Houseman had been suspected. The childless and the
fatherless,--might there be no retribution here?

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