A Dark Deed, a tale of modern life, etc

Front matter

m^eW Am^emW HV^ sA w Am V W CM W OA v *$A F* SA V Cn A A DARK DEED, A TALE OF MODERN LIFE (FOUNDED ON FACT), B? THOMAS JAMES COZENS, }<. (MIMOSA.) AUTHOR OF Saturday rambles, &c." (Stone and Eccleshall Advertiser), '' RHYMES by A GRAMMAR SCHOOL MASTER," '' SKETCHES OF EVERYDAY LIFE." " Boscobel " (Chamber's Journal), &c Stone, Market Drayton, and Newport, Salop : BENNK1N 4 HOKNE. London : SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO., LIMITED 1890. I DEDICATE THIS, MY FIRST AMBITIOUS WORK. TO MV DEAR AND LOVING WIFE, ANNETTE. CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAGE. I. A Blot on Nature's Beauty . . . 1 — 7 II. Society's Curse .... 8— 12 III. The Missing Daughter .... 13 — 19 IV. An Inquest — Wilful Murder . . 20 — 25 V. The Last Meet of the Season . . 26 — 32 VI. A Brother's Vow .... 33— 37 VII. The Gipsy Encampment .... 38 — 46 VIII.

Begent Street, London . . . 47 — 56 IX. Craven Court . . . • ■ 57— 64 X. Love's Young Dream .... 65 — 71 XI. A Gipsy's Gratitude .... 72 — 76 XTI. Love's Golden Dremi . . • 77— 84 XIII. " Leave me to my Sorrow "... 85 — 87 XIV. A Gipsy Gentleman . . . 88 — 99 XV. En Voyage ..... 100—103 XVI. Black Mike's Slave .... 104—108 Muriel ..... 109—113 XVIII. August 11th, 1882 .... 114—124 XIX. " Such Goodness Deserves a Great Reward " 125 — 12y XX. Awaiting Trial .... 130-132 XXI. "I am i;ot Mary Moore .... 133—137 XXII. Guilty and Condemned . . . 138 — 146 XXIII. The Condemned Cell . . . 147—149 XXIV. Nemesis ..... 150—154 XXV. "Can you not see it?" . . . 155—157

Chapter I

Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care, Fashioned so slenderly, Young and so fair. Hood. NATURE is awakening from her Winter sleep. The signs of her uprising are manifold, and one of the most suitable times to view that rise from slumber is on a Spring morning. Cheerily and brightly o'er the fresh green landscape smiles the sun, burnishing with his touch, blade, blossom, and leaf. Oh, it is pleasant to breathe that balmy fresh ening air to which still lingers a touch of Winter's icy lingers, soon dispelled, however, as the sun rises higher and higher in his blue vault. There is the grass, glistening and sparkling in the sunlight, and nodding as the breeze whirls over its surface. Listen ! music from hedge, shrub, and tree— such music, only to be heard in Nature. Overhead an anthem is being carolled, clearly and sweetly.

How it swells and dies away — now floating upward, then, as if by magic, brought close to your ear. Around on all sides, music, still, from other feathered choristers — sweet strains of welcome for the pleasures of happiness and contentment. In secluded spots are hiding pale sweet primroses en throned on their couches of dark green leaves. Fragile wind flowers, fluttering in the gentle zephyr, are profusely spread 'neath aged oaks and ehns, bursting forth tiny buds giving the promise of the wild luxuriance of Summer bounties. Just on the brow of yon hill is a flock of nodding, swaying, yellow-crowned flowers — Lent lilies — sheathed in their slender flags. There, under the hedges, and cropping upin all parts of the field, are king cups, whose bright golden heads ghsten in the sun, and put into the shade the modest crimson-tipped daisy.

How sweetly the wholesome cowslip decks the meadow, and the wild hyacinth, blue and white, perfumes the surroundings. The Lent lilies wave majestically to those small flowers at their base — the wild violets which nestle away in their innocence beneath their tender green mantle. Now a new sound strikes the ear — the bleatings of the young lambs and the answering calls of their dams. Stand and watch the frisky, playful things. Scampering and bounding — off they go, first to one and then to another. There amongst them all is a poor lame ewe with its leg bleeding. The little one pityingly eyes its parent as if trying to solve the meaning of that unceasing cry for help. Even high above your head, in the elm tops, there is a sign of life. The monotonous caws of the rooks tell one truly Nature is awake and Spring is reigning peacefully and lovingly on all sides, and yet there is a blot on all this freshness and joy.

A blot such as only the hand of man is guilty of causing — for Nature never revolts against itself. Sam Cross was due at Dobson's Farm, nestling in the hollow, just above which stand up the elms against the clear, bright blue morning sky, faintly tinged with a rose ate hue. A jovial, true-hearted fellow is Sam. His fustian coat covers a warm heart. He is only a shepherd, with no great amount of education, but honest, sober, and God-fearing — a true specimen of many hke him — the agricultural labourer of England. On he trudges merrily. At his side bounds a fine specimen of the colley breed — a noble animal, now making the welkin ring with his honest barks of pleasure. There is great and deep affection be tween master and dog. Sam shares his meals with his faithful friend, who spends hours in his company and be comes the confidant of his master's secrets and resolves.

Away flies the rough-coated, graceful dog after a rabbit that has ventured from its burrow cautiously and quietly. Suddenly there is a loud yelp. Sam wonders the cause. Has the dog been caught in a trap — or what is the reason ? Jack approaches holding something in his mouth. His eyes mutely say " Here's a discovery.'' He waits for his master to take the treasure from him — only a glove — then bounds away again yelping and barking furiously. Sam is tempted to follow. He gives way to the tempta tion, even though he knows he is trespassing, rendering himself liable to be convicted. Across a field, smiling in its Spring beauty, the dog leads the way to a copse where the fresh green leaves are fluttering in the breeze. At the foot of the eopse is a disused gravel pit — a sweet spot fringed with fern on all sides, the fronds of which are uncurling to nature's King.

There, too, is a wealth of golden splendour, the pale primrose and the gorse. The dog is greatly excited, returning to his master and then bounding off again, this time to a darksome spot 'neath that old grey oak, whose trunk is hidden by thick, climbing ivy. Sam approaches, until a horrible scene arrests his further footsteps. A female form lies there, still and terrible,— a female form whose white, ghastly face, bespattered with drops of gore, is turned to the sky. Her garments flutter in the fresh breeze, but there is none other motion. " Come, lass, you must not lie there," says Sam. He bends down to take her hand. What is there in its touch that causes him to drop it and hurriedly scan the bruised bloody face ? Only Death — in one of his hideous forms. It is a fair, sweet face, even though life has left it, but there yet clings to it, just round those lips whose colour once rivalled the cherry's, a trace of anguish and misery.

Sam takes in, with a few glances, the contrast between the new sweet life coming into existence on all sides and that long, deep sleep of which that lifeless dust is but a sad example. It is an awful scene, and one which Sam will ever recall to his dying day. There lies the dog, motionless, watching the cold face. The flowers are soiled. They seem to hang their heads through that awful weight of human blood. The grass is trodden down, and daisy and king cup, and anemone are crushed beneath some merciless feet ; — the same, perhaps, that stamped the life out of that form, only yesterday revelling in all the delights of Spring, Sam notices, also, the ungloved left hand is ringless. Scattered round lie pieces of white paper — possibly a torn letter. The man takes his best friend into his confidence, and says to him, " Well, Jack, it's horrible, isn't it ?

A sight which well nigh turned me to a stone — and that hand — old boy — I can feel it's chilly touch now. A pretty face too, Jack. Poor lass, she's been murdered, sure enough. What must I do '? You stay here, old fellow and watch, and I'll fetch the constable and tell the villagers." The dog understood the injunction. He wagged his tail and gave other demonstrative evidences of his master's trust reposed in him, but with a subdued air. Is it possible a dog knows when he is in the presence of death ? Finally he settled himself by that marble form. Sam hastened away to the village of Grasston, which had not yet awakened. He brought the constable from his cozy bed by a peremptory summons. "What's the matter now, Sam? Anything wrong at the farm," called out the unbedecked representative of British Lav,- and Justice, from his bedroom window. •• Mo, nothing there, Jimmy. — Something worse. — Get your things on and come with me.

A murder in Give's Copse. Jack found the body and took me to it. It's a young woman," said Sam. " Wait for me, I'll be down in a minute," and the window was closed. It was astonishing how quickly Jimmy Tack presented himself. It was also a matter of wonder that there were so many early risers in the village that particular morning, for scarcely had Sam and P.C. Tack started, when the doors of the surrounding cottages were opened, and figures in indescribable states of undress swelled the procession, trying to obtain from the mystic two more than they had heard of the awful affair. It was quite an excited mob that followed the two worthies, and many were the conjectures and suggestions let fall. P.C. Tack was a man whose idea of what should be done in a necessity was worthy of a better position in the force, but owing to a certain frolic in which he had participated his promotion was a matter of the future.

In talking over the discovery with Sam on the way, he expressed himself unwilling to allow the rabble to approach the spot. " It would be fatal to Justice," he said, " I shall choose two of them to come up to the place with me and you, and tell the others to stay where they are. Who are the most trust worthy Sam ? " he questioned. " Well," replied Sam, " Billy Scott and Tom Ark wright." " Yes, that's a good selection." On arriving at the field over which it was necessary to pass before reaching the Copse, P.C. Tack halted and said, " Look here, law is law, and it wouldn't do for all of you lot to come trapesing about and trampling all the evidence underfoot. Scott and Arkwright you can come if you like. The rest of you keep back." " That's what I call 'igh 'anded hofrichiousness. I should like to know how you could stop us in a free country.

If we want to come we shall, so go and put your head in a sack old Tack," said Bob Bligh, a well-known character in the village. His name was in evil repute, owing to certain nefarious practices of which the most numerous were drunkenness and trespassing for coneys." " No," shouted another, a particular crony of Bob's, " we may be of use — Come on." "Now look here," exclaimed the Constable, thoroughly annoyed, " I told you politely I don't want you ; that's no good. Now I'll tell you officially. If you come, I'll nab you for hindering me in the execution of my duty. If that isn't good enough, I'll put you in quod for trespassing, and you know the magistrates warned you, if you came before 'em again, they'd make it pretty hot for you. Now you can please yourselves," and on he hurried, knowing that this parting shot was sufficient to deter them from following.

They contented themselves, however, by sending a volley of abuse after the constable and his comrades, then loafed to the village to appease the curiosity which was rising among the women. The spot was reached at last. The practised eye of P.C. Tack saw the strewn paper and deputed Billy Scott to gather the pieces. The ground was carefully examined. Down by the clayey margin of the pit was discovered the imprint of a shoe, over which a detective would have gone into ecstasies. Tack and Cross gave their attention to the body of the murdered woman. The staring eyes were reverently closed and the ghastly face covered with a clean white handkerchief. " It's a sad business, Sam. She's a pretty thing, too pretty to have been left like this — but what won't men's hellish passions do when they are roused ?

I'd give this right hand to have the lynching of that brute beast. I wonder if there's any clue to who she is ? " He felt in the pocket of her dress — no purse, no clue of any sort. He then looked round carefully, commenting upon the foot print, and with the assistance of one of the men dug it out of the ground and entrusted it to him to carry. "The body must be taken to the village. See Sam," there's a hurdle yonder. Get it, there's a good man." Sam procured it. The body was gently placed upon it, and slowly the men moved off with their burden. What excitement, what bustle, what curiosity had arisen* Never in the annals of the village had such an awful event occurred. A murder ! The gossips lifted their hands and raised their eyes in condemnation and horror, and pro phesied — poor foolish souls — " we shall all be murdered in our own beds."

The sad and melancholy procession on its entry was swelled by all who were able to follow, men, women, and children, every one alive with the English latent and morbid feelings for sensationalism. The body was deposited in one of the inns, there to await the inquest.

Chapter II

Get money, still get money, boy, No matter by what means. Ben Jonson. A GAMBLING saloon of Modern Babylon can tell many a tale of despair and frenzy — the staking of a life's happiness on the hazard of a die. It is pitiful indeed to stand and watch the many phases the curse of gaining gold takes with young and old. There the youth fresh from college, or still at the university, elbows the veteran in the art of gambling, whose greed is inseparable from his life's necessaries. The flushed cheek and excited eye show plainly that this curse affects deeply those participating in the horrid revelry — a passion so strong, so powerful in its intensity, that it holds the mind like some phantasy of a monomaniac. Hooper's Rooms were not many yards from the Strand, that highway of pleasure and passion.

In one of the most luxurious of these rooms, round a table, were seated a group of young men, deeply interested in one of the most famous games of chance — baccarat. This game is played on a table about one-third the size of a billiard table and almost of the same shape. The cards are placed round it upon sections which are distinguished from each other by coloured lines. Various instruments are required to assist in the manipulation of the game — to distribute the counters, &c. There were " scoops " of a peculiar pattern to pass over the winning counters to lucky gainers. There were croupiers' rakes with which the lost amounts are brought into the bank. Packs of cards, countless counters representing thousands of pounds, checks, I.O.U.s, and promissory notes were also visible. The dark forms of the young men were bent, intently watching the play, and one could see from their style and conversation they were all of the upper class of life.

There was a break in the game, when the eldest of the party suddenly addressed one of his companions by name, " Bob, I call it an abominably shabby trick of the Captain's, not keeping his word. He promised me my revenge to-night, or rather this morning, and he hasn't put in an appearance yet." " No, old boy, it's like him. I vote we cut him, if he doesn't give a handsome apology," said Lob Caruthers to his friend Gus Forsyth. " Oh, he's sure to do that— a gentleman always does, you know. I'll wait another hour, and then, woe be to him," replied Gus. Gus was the only son of General Forsyth— a warm hearted, true English lad, manly to the backbone, good at sports and athletics. He was spending some time in London. The military school could not bar its door to these fashionable vices, nor its discipline stamp it from the natures of these future warriors.

Gus was idolized by his father, who looked forward to the day when his lad would win honour and renown while fighting Old England's battles. It is needless to say the veteran warrior's heart would have ached had he known of this loved son's passion for gambling. The Captain, Kenneth Vane, was an acquaintance whom Gus had met on Lord's Ground during the progress of one of the cricket matches. Ihey had become firm friends. Gus had lost rather heavily to the Captain, who had some what appeased the young man's evident discomfiture at his loss by promising to let him have his revenge that very night. It was his non-arrival that so disgusted his friend Bob Caruthers. They resumed play, and so busy were" they that the appearance of a new comer was unnoticed. He was a tall, handsome man of military bearing, with a clear cut profile, dark blue eyes, and curly chestnut hair.

A stalwart figure, supple and graceful, but with a dash of devilry and hauteur well suited to such a noble form. At length Gus looked up, and, with a start of surprise. rose to welcome the gentleman, exclaiming, " Better late than never, Captain Vane." A hearty hand-shake was their greeting, and Gus made room for the senior by his side. The game was soon brought to a close. " Now I am ready," said the Captain, and he and Gus passed away to another table at the end of the room. The Captain's play was reckless. Something seemed to disturb his thoughts and take them from the play. When spoken to his answers were monosyllabic. Gus seemed ,in luck's way. A turn in his fortunes had arrived. Soon by bis side a pile of gold showed to what extent the fair but fickie lady Fortune smiled upon him. The Captain's stock of cash was at last exhausted, but still they played on.

Presently the Captain, with an oath, threw down the cards, exclaiming, " It's useless. Fate is against me, Gus." " Never mind, old fellow," said Gus, the flushed and excited winner. " Take a lesson from me, and bear it like a man." " It isn't that, Gus. Do you think I would grumble at the loss of a couple of thou' ? Not I. It's worry, my lad, and want of rest. I've been travelling all night to keep this appointment with you, and now 1 feel half dead. Get me something to dunk." Gus acquiesced. The Captain revived wonderfully, and soon entered into conversation with the rest of the company in his awn original and racy manner. At last he subsided, and turning to Gus spoke to him sotto voce. " Yes, it's quite true, Gus, the fair Lily and I have broken off. The fact is she's such a Tartar — a regular fury when opposed in her wishes and whims.

Quarrels arose so often, that at last we kissed and parted, with many sighs and protestations of regret on my side. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled at me with those blue eyes of mischief and said ' Vane, you'll be pleased to come to me yet.' " Here a frown showed his listener a distasteful thought had arisen. " Take a word of advice from a dare-devil like me. Don't trust to women," he resumed, as a sad smile lit up his face. " Well, Vane, fancy you turning mentor. It's too good to be true. The maddest, merriest of Her Majesty's troop becoming saint ! Surely the millenium is here !" "That's it, Gus. Joke away. I don't care what you say. If I'd had such parents as you, I should have been a better man. My code consists of three words, wine, women, and horses. I know I'm a reckless ne'er-do-well, but for all that, lad, there's a remnant of a heart here, and that has power yet to give me strength to warn you from those three alluring" yet terrible destructive agencies — either one of them has the strength to ruin a man ; but when the three combine and exert all their influence it is no wonder I am what I am now — a God-forsaken, miserable, damned wretch."

" Why, Vane, you astonish me. You, with your future prospects all bright and dazzling, talking like that — there must, indeed, be something wrong. I won't be inquisitive, but if I can assist you command me. I know I don't know much of the world yet ; perhaps you wouldn't care for a school-boy to be your confidant — that's presumptuous on my part ; but it comes from my heart, Vane." " Gus, I thank you for your sympathy. You have shown you are something more to me than a casual acquaintance. It's true you're a youth ; but then, in vulgar parlance, you're a long-headed one. I am in trouble, but what it is don't ask me. If I get into any worse difficulties, I shall claim the assistance which you have so generously offered me. There is this on my mind— whatever you hear of me, don't believe that I am so bad as report says.

Now, good bye," and with a hurried step he left the room, leaving indelibly imprinted in Gus's memory a haggard, ghastly face. The ingenuous, unsophisticated youth turned to the noisy revellers, with the remark, " The Captain seems in a bad way. Shouldn't wonder my clearing him out has some thing to do with it. Congratulate me on my luck, you fellows. I'll stand a box at the Cri this evening, and a champagne supper. Fancy, I hold Vane's note ol hand. He boasted to me of that fact." " Never mind that. Glad you've won, Gus," echoed the cronies. Presently the incorrigibles, looking as if a good rest would be beneficial to them, left the room and passed out into the cool morning air.

Chapter III

Alone ! that worn out word, So idly spoken, and so coldly heard, Yet all the poets sing, and grief hath known Of hopes laid waste, knells in that word alone. L i T71 ATHER, has Lily come ?" lisped a tiny child to _1_ her fond parent, a builder, as he was passing the bedroom door. "No, darling," he called to her. " What, awake already ? So eager to see your sister ?"' " Yes," replied the child, " I couldn't go to sleep last night for ever so long thinking of her, and this morning I waked so early. I'm so sorry she hasn't come." " So am I dear," said her father. " Now, little one, fall off to sleep, and make up for what you lost in your excitement " — then he passed from the house. John Bardsley was a self-made man. He had commenced life as an apprentice to a builder, and with steady perseverance, and money he had saved whilst overseer for a rich lady, made a business for himself.

He was a bluff, honest fellow, rough and ready, ever eager to take the side of right and to condemn and fight the dastard wrong. A swarthy black complexioned man was John, with a strong well-knit frame, a neck and shoulders which gave him the appearance of one who was determined, by sheer strength, to push his way through the hardships and petty strife that make up a considerable portion of life's progress. The chief attraction of the man, however, was the noble, shapely head ; so squarely was it set upon the neck and shoulders, and so well proportioned, that an observer could not but be struck with the thought, that is that man's trade mark — a trade mark of honesty, sobriety, good temper, A DARK DEKD. and uprightness. The broad brow and grey eyes denoted strength of character and truth ; the lips, infinite tender ness.

His dark hair and beard were worn to add attraction to the nature-formed handsome face. John was not a man to be trifled with, though his lips showed an evenness of mind, and the nostrils would distend and the lips quiver with passion at a wrong or an insult. Yet, underlying this noble character, was a secret of such magnitude that again and again had he prayed that the memory of a past action might be blotted out for ever. This morning, though he treated the non-arrival of his daughter so lightly before the enquiring little one, he had a certain vague uneasiness which would not let him rest. " It's nonsense. The girl's safe enough ; lost the train I expect. There's no doubt she'll arrive this morning — perhaps be there when 1 return to breakfast." So he settled himself in his office issuing the orders for the day.

John Bardsley was the father of a family of handsome boys and girls. The eldest was a girl Lily — a sweet maiden of twentv summers. She had been sent to London to acquire the art of millinery at one of the Regent Street establishments, for John held that it was necessary that all children, irrespective of class, should have the means at their fingers' ends of earning a livelihood for themselves. Richard, his second child, was studying in one of the Hospital Medical Schools ; Robert was still at school, and baby May at home — the pet of her father and the dehght of her brothers and sister. She it was who enquired from her father if Lily had returned. Her beautiful sister Lily had been the child's playmate, and she it was whom the child preferred above the others — even Aunty, her father's sister and housekeeper, sank into an inferior position in the eyes of the child.

Perhaps the reason of the little one's fondness for Lily was, she had supplied the place of a mother, and had reared her with affectionate regard. Her sister's departure for London had thrown a damper upon .the child's happiness, and it was with the highest feelings of expectancy that she waited Lily's home comings. Her disappointment had been keen when she had to be put to bed without sight of that darling sister's face. There was no rest for the little form, even after her father had bidden her sleep when he was leaving the house. She toddled into auntie's room, where the good lady tried her hardest to pacify the child, but she would not be com forted. The family met at breakfast with the exception of the lad at school and Lily. " Strange, isn't it dad, Lily not showing up," said the Medical Student.

" I don't give it much thought, lad. She's looked after herself now for eighteen months, and I can't think but that she's safe — Lily's head is screwed on properly — no flightiness there — I should say. She's true as steel — another Lucretia." " I trust not dad — you've forgotten the afterpart of the tale. I hope there is nothing so horrible as that." May broke in with " Father, Lily did come to me for a minute last night. She stood by my bed side. She must be here. You're keeping her from me." " No, no," said John, " She isn't here." He glanced at his son. "You must have dreamed that, little one." Little May sobbed out " I did see her — I know I did. She held me by the hand — it was so cold." " Dad, can there be anything in the dream of that child ? Haven't you any foreboding ? Do you feel perfectly easy in your mind?

" he questioned. " Well, Dick, to tell you the truth, I have felt uneasy about something — but as for forebodings, presentiments — that is nonsense." " I can't be with you there, dad," said Dick. " Hamlet says to Horatio, ' There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy ' — I'll take Hamlet's place, dad, and the same words shall apply to you." " You'll not convince me, nevertheless," exclaimed his father. " I acknowledge there are many wonderful mysteries to be solved, but as for believing all sorts of twaddle that unscrupulous men advance for the purpose of swindling people, I say, never, never, never, Dick. Here comes Aunt, so we will take breakfast." It was with unexpressed feelings of depression Dick bade them good bye after finishing the meal, and hastened to catch his train for London.