Complete Works of Hall Caine, page 607
Gell again! The report of the escape had passed over the island with the swift flight of a bird of prey everywhere he could hear the flapping of its wings. And to the question of who could have assisted the young woman to escape from a place like Castle Rushen there was only one answer Gell.
Towards nightfall Joshua Scarff called at Ballamoar on his way home from town. Things had turned out as he had expected – suspicion had fastened on Mr. Gell, and the Governor had ordered the police to scour the island for him.
“But everybody is sorry for your Honour. His friend! bosom friend! Pity! Great pity!”
Gell! Always Gell! Again Stowell felt as if the earth wen rocking beneath him. Where had his head been that he had not thought of this before that in helping Alick Gell to go away with Bessie Collister he had put him into the position of the guilty man – guilty not only of the prison-breaking, but also of the earlier and uglier offence of being the girl’s fellow-sinner?
He had thought he had buried his sin in the sea had he only cast the burden of it upon Gell?
He recalled Alick’s gratitude on going away, the undeserved praises which had cut to the heart, and then thought of Gell (far away in a foreign country) coming to hear of the evil name he had left behind.
What was Alick to think of him then? That what he had done had not been at the call of friendship, but of mere self-protection to divert suspicion from himself, to remove the only witnesses against him, and thus to build his future life on the unprotected name of an innocent man?
“Must I let that lie run on without saying a word against it?”
And then Fenella! He had seen himself going to her and saying:
“Now that the girl is no longer in prison the barrier between us is broken down.” He had seen himself marrying her, and then rising higher and higher in the esteem of his people, with that brave woman by his side.
But now what now?
Fenella would find him out! It was impossible that she could live long with a man who carried such a corroding secret without discovering it sooner or later. And when she had done so what would she think of him? A traitor to his friend and to the law!
A Judge who had broken his oath! A wrong-doer, not a righter of the wronged, sitting in judgment upon others, yet himself a criminal! A man of honour to the outer world, a hypocrite in his own house; a pillar of the island in the eyes of his people, a liar in the eyes of his wife!
“No, God forbid it! I cannot let that lie run on. I cannot allow myself to be pilloried in life-long hypocrisy.”
All the same he would wait to see what the Governor might do next. It was no good acting hastily.
CHAPTER FORTY
THE CASE OF A WOMAN’S SOUL
AT four o’clock that day the Attorney-General and the Chief Constable had returned to Government House and were sitting, on either side of the Governor, with the jailer standing before them. Fenella stood by the window, apparently gazing into the garden, but listening intently.
“Come now,” said the Governor,” tell us what you know of this matter.”
The jailer knew nothing. Changing repeatedly the leg on which he was standing and mopping his forehead with a coloured handkerchief, he protested absolute ignorance.
“After Miss Stanley left the Castle a piece after ten o’clock I locked the poor bogh in her cell...”
“Do you mean the prisoner?”
“Who else, your Excellency?”
“Then say the prisoner.”
“Well, I locked the prisoner in her cell a piece after ten o’clock last night and when I went back at five this morning to take her a bite of breakfast...”
“Breakfast? Where was your female warder?”
“Mistress Mylrea? Sick of the heart since General Gaol. They’re telling me she died last night, Sir.”
“Where was your turnkey then?”
“Willie Shimmin? He went out on lave for a couple of hours on Sunday afternoon and didn’t return on the night, Sir.”
“Do you mean to tell me you were alone in the Castle on the night before an execution?”
“Aw, yes, alone enough, Sir.”
“Colonel Farrell!” said the Governor, turning sharply upon the Chief Constable.
That gentleman, although embarrassed, had many excuses. He had not been made aware of the situation, and if this blockhead had only communicated with the police-station...
“Well, well, enough of that now. Let us have the facts,” said the Governor, and turning back to the jailer he said, “Did anybody come to the Castle last night after Miss Stanley left it?”
“No, Sir, no!”
“And your keys? Did they ever leave your possession?”
“Never, Sir.”
“After you locked the prisoner in her cell, what did you do?”
“I went back to the guard-room and sat by the fire, Sir.”
“And fell asleep, I suppose?”
“I’ll give in I slept a wink or two, Sir.”
“Where were your keys while you were asleep?”
“On the table beside me, Sir.”
“And when you awoke where were they?”
“In the same place, your Excellency.”
“Were the gates of the Castle locked last night?”
“Aw, ‘deed they were, Sir.”
“And were they locked this morning?”
“They were that, Sir.”
The Attorney -General, who had been leaning forward, dropped back.
“Extraordinary!” he said. “The whole thing has the appearance of the supernatural.”
“Nonsense!” said the Governor. “Vondy, do you know Mr. Gell, the Advocate?”
“I’m sorry to say, Sir...”
“Never mind about sorry do you?”
“I do, Sir.”
“When did you see him last?”
“At General Gaol, when he was out of himself, poor man, and we had to lock him up for threatening the Dempster.”
“Did he never come to the Castle afterwards to see the prisoner?”
“Never, Sir.”
“Will you swear that he was not there last night?”
“I will before God Almighty, Sir.”
“Then, if the cell was locked all night and the Castle gates were locked, how do you account for the escape of your prisoner?”
The jailer smoothed the hair over his forehead and then said, “Bolts and bars ape nothing to the Lord, Sir.”
The Governor gasped.
“Do you mean to say that while you were asleep before the fire in the guard -room an angel from heaven carried your prisoner through the Castle walls?”
“Aw, well … I wouldn’t say no to that, Sir. We’re reading of the like in the Good Book anyway.”
“Fenella,” cried the Governor, “take this fool away and turn him out of the house.”
When Fenella, who had been quivering all over, had left the room, followed by the jailer, the Governor turned to the Chief Constable.
“The woman was not on the morning steamer?”
“No, Sir.”
“And what about Gell?”
“We broke open the door of his room in Athol Street and found he had gone.”
“Ah! Have you come upon any trace of him elsewhere?”
“Yes; he slept at the Railway Inn at Ballaugh on Saturday night and took a ticket for St. John’s by the first train on Sunday morning.”
“Anything else?”
“The blacksmith at Ballasalla believes he saw him on Sunday evening going in the fog in the direction of Derby Haven.”
“Aha! Did any fishing boat leave Castletown last night?”
“The Manx boats do not go out on Sunday, Sir.”
“Any trading steamers then?”
“I don’t know, Sir.”
“Inquire at once. If your constables do not find the fugitives in the island we must send a ‘Wanted ‘across the water.”
“I’ll draw one up, Sir.”
“Got the necessary photographs?”
“One of the girl, which was found in the young man’s rooms, Sir. Also one of the young man which we found in the girl’s cell, but it is not of much use, being scratched and blurred as if it had been lying in water.”
“No matter! The Deemster is sure to have another. I’ll write and ask him to meet us here at eleven on Wednesday morning. He’ll be able to help you to your personal description and issue the warrant at the same time.”
II
Meantime, Fenella had taken the jailer into the drawing-room and closed the door behind them.
“Mr. Vondy,” she said in a low voice, “you can trust me. Nothing you may say in this room will ever be repeated. Did not somebody come to Castle Bushen last night after I left it?”
The old man tried in vain to look into the big moist eyes that were on him, but at length he dropped his own and said, “It is no use, miss. There will be no rest on me in the night unless I tell the truth to somebody. There can be no harm telling it to you neither going to be the man’s wife soon they’re saying. It’s truth enough, miss somebody did come.”
“Was it the Deemster?”
“It was that,” said the jailer, and then he told her everything that had happened.
Fenella’ s head became giddy and her cheeks blushed crimson. In a flash she saw what had happened. Victor had deceived the jailer. Did the old man know it? Lowering her eyes she said, “You didn’t say this when the Governor questioned you had you a reason for not doing so?”
“I had. The Deemster made me promise to say nothing.”
And then came the other and still more degrading story the story of the intimidation Stowell had put upon the jailer to keep his visit secret.
Fenella felt as if she would sink through the floor in shame, but all the same she found herself saying, “You’ve known the Deemster all his life, haven’t you?”
“I have. I was reared on the land,” said the jailer, and then, raising himself to his’full height,” I’m a Ballamoar myself, miss.”
“Then you will keep the promise you gave him?”
“Trust me for that, miss.”
“But if anything should happen to yourself as the consequence of last night’s escape...”
“The father put me in the Castle and the son won’t see them fling me out of it.”
“But if he should be overruled by the Governor and unable to help you …”
“I’ll take my chance with him. What’s it they’re saying? the Ballamoar will out, miss.”
Tears sprang to Fenella’s eyes, but her heart beat high.
“Mr. Vondy,” she said, ‘“ he has not been well lately, and perhaps he doesn’t always know what he is saying. If you should ever come to think that what he told you was not the truth... the whole truth, I mean …”
“Maybe so. I’ve been thinking as much myself since five this morning. But that’s all as one to me, miss. Tell him Tommy Vondy will keep his word.”
The jailer was gone, and Fenella was sitting with her hands over her eyes when she heard voices in the corridor and footsteps going towards the porch.
“You’re right there, your Excellency” (it was the Attorney-General who was speaking). “The authority of law in this island has received a blow, and already the disorderly elements are stirring up strife.”
“Who, for instance?”
“Qualtrough of the Keys and the man Baldromma.”
“Farrell” (it was the Governor in a stern voice), “quash that instantly. If there’s any rioting send for the soldiers from Castletown to assist your police.”
“I will, your Excellency.”
“And listen! Get rid of that blockhead of a jailer. Appoint somebody in his place and give him authority to employ his own warders. He’ll have his prison full enough presently.”
The closing of the outer door rang through the corridor, and at the next moment the Governor was in the drawing-room.
“Fenella,” he said, “do you happen to know if Stowell has a photograph of young Gel], the Advocate?”
Before she had time to reflect, Fenella answered that he had. It was taken in America, and stood on the mantelpiece in the library at Ballamoar.
“But why?”
“Because I want him to bring it with him when he comes on Wednesday to issue the warrant.”
“What warrant?”
“The warrant for the arrest of Gell, for breaking prison and aiding in the escape of the girl Collister.”
“But, father, they are friends life-long friends.”
“What of that? Stowell is Deemster, and you heard the oath he took, didn’t you? ‘Without fear or friendship, love or gain.’ His duty as a Judge is to administer Justice, and as long as I am here I’ll see he does it.”
Ill During the remainder of that day and the whole of the following one Fenella was a prey to the cruellest perplexity. Would Victor Stowell issue that warrant for the arrest of the innocent man, being himself the guilty one?
How could he refuse? It would be his duty to issue the warrant what excuse could he make for not doing so? And then what a temptation to let things go on as usual! Although he had broken prison, and therefore his oath as a Judge, how easily he might persuade himself that it had only been to snatch that poor girl from a wicked Statute!
Yet if Victor issued that warrant for the arrest of Gell he would be a lost man for ever after. No matter how high he might rise he would go down, down, down until his very soul would perish.
“It cannot be! It must not be! It shall not!”
She wanted to run to Ballamoar and say, “Don’t do it. If you have done wrong confess and take the consequences.”
Oh, what did she care about their quarrel now? It was no longer Bessie Collister’s life, but Victor Stowell’s soul that was in peril.
But no, she could not ask him to act under compulsion. He must act of his own free will. In the valley of the shadow of sin the guilty soul must walk alone.
“But is there nothing I can do for him?” she asked herself.
Yes, there was one thing one thing only. She could pray.
For long hours on the night before Stowell was to come to Government House Fenella knelt in her bed and prayed for him.
“O God help him! God help him! Help him to resist this great temptation.”
At length peace came to her. Somewhere in the dead waste of the night she seemed to receive an answer to her prayers.
“He’ll do the right, whatever it may cost him,” she thought, and as the day was dawning she fell asleep.
But when she awoke in the morning she felt as if her heart would break. If Stowell confessed and took the consequences (as she had prayed he might do) he would be lost to her for ever. He would have to give up his Judgeship, be banished from the island, and become an outcast and a wanderer.
“Is that to be the end of everything between us? After all this waiting?”
Her eyes were full of tears when she looked at herself in the glass, but they were shining like stars for all that. An immense pity for Stowell had taken possession of her. An immense faith in him also. He must be the most unhappy man alive, but he was her man now; and nothing on earth should part them.
Going down to breakfast she met Miss Green on the stairs. The old lady was full of some breathless story of rioting in Douglas the evening before. How remote it all sounded! She hardly heard what was being said to her.
Coming upon the maid in the corridor she said, “The Deemster is to call to-day, Catherine. Tell him I wish to see him before he sees the Governor.”
In the breakfast -room her father was looking over a printer’s proof on a sheet of foolscap paper. It was headed with the Manx coat-of-arms and the words “ISLE OF MAN CONSTABULARY,” and had an empty space near the top for a block to be made from a photograph.
“But that is of no consequence now,” thought Fenella, “no consequence whatever.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
“GOOD heavens, what does it matter? A lie is only dangerous when it does some harm!”
Stowell awoke on the second day after the escape putting his situation to himself so. Where was the harm if Gell was suspected?
He had gone with the woman he loved. He was happy. What would Alick care about the evil name he had left behind him?
“Then where’s the harm?” he asked himself.
He would let things go on as usual of course he would. Only he must make sure that the fugitives had got clear away.
Remembering that he had seen placards of the Atlantic sailings in the railway-station, he walked over to the station from the glen. It was all right a big Atlantic liner was timed to leave Queenstown at twelve that day. It was now half-past twelve. Gell and Bessie would be out on the open sea by this time steaming past Kinsale where the Manx boats fished for mackerel.
“Where’s the harm?”
But just as he was leaving the station with a sense of security and even triumph, a train from Douglas drew up at the platform. The guard shouted something to the station-master; and, looking back, Stowell saw a crowd gathering about a first-class carriage.
Somebody was being assisted to alight. It was the Speaker. He was utterly helpless. Between two members of the House of Keys the stricken man was half led, half carried to a dog-cart that was waiting for him at the gate.
His mouth was agape, his legs were dragging behind him, and his large hands were shaken by senile trembling. He did not speak, but as he went by he looked up, and Stowell felt that from his red eyes a mute malediction was being thrown at him.
When the dog-cart had gone, with the Speaker stretched out in it, stiff as a dead horse, and one of the Keys to see him home, the other joined Stowell and walked down the road by his side.
“Then your Honour hasn’t heard what has happened?”
“No. What?”
There had been a sitting of the Keys that morning. The debate had been on some new scheme of land tenure a thinly disguised form of confiscation. The Speaker had opposed it passionately, saying a man had a right to keep what he had earned and hand it on to his children. Then Qualtrough (a firebrand who possessed nothing) had taunted him with the unfortunate affair of yesterday. Why did he want to hand on his land, his son having run away with the woman he had corrupted?
