CHAPTER XII.
DICK BIRCH.
If Ross Kingman was not the calmest man in Poppleton on the morning following the murder of Eliot Buckstone, it was only because Mary was a sufferer by his act of retribution. She seemed to be better as the morning advanced. She nerved herself to bear everything, though it was terrible to have her brother borne from her presence on such a grave charge, to spend weeks or months in a cell of the common jail. She suffered, but she endeavored to endure all her woes with patience and resignation; and when Ross left her, she had become the comforter, and spoke words of consolation and hope to him. For his sake she was calm and gentle.
Though from the first Ross had not intended to conceal what he had done, yet in Mary’s feeble condition, he did not mean to proclaim his guilt. But in the morning, when she was able to come down stairs, he was better prepared for the arrest, than if she had lain helpless on her bed.
He asked the sheriff who had given the information of the murder of Buckstone. The officer did not know; it had passed from mouth to mouth, and the author of the story could not be identified. Ross did not suspect Dr. Bilks, but concluded that the person who had been with the deceased had started the rumor. It did not yet appear who this person was; but the fact that Buckstone had a companion at the time of the murder was soon added to the sum total of the information concerning the event, and circulated through the Port. Ross freely told all he knew of the circumstances.
Eugene Hungerford rose early that morning, and walked through the Pine Hill grounds. The improvements had all been made in accordance with the plans, and though he ought to have been delighted with the appearance of the place, he was as devoid of enthusiasm in the presence of his realized ideal as though he had no part or lot in it. He was still thinking of Mary, and considering the plan by which her wounds were to be healed. After breakfast he was closeted in the office with Dick, who insisted that he should examine his papers and accounts. Eugene glanced at the balance in the Poppleton Bank, and at the total of his agent’s expenditures during his absence. He manifested no interest in the model houses, and as soon as possible changed the topic to the one which had occupied his thoughts all the morning. At eleven o’clock, when Dr. Bilks drove up to the door, they were still engaged in discussing this interesting question.
Dr. Bilks was admitted at once, and duly introduced to Eugene, who had already been informed of the doctor’s kindness and care for poor Mary during her illness. There was no better passport to the favor of the disappointed lover than acts of this description.
“And how is your patient now, Dr. Bilks?” asked Eugene, after he had cordially greeted the physician.
“She was not so well when I visited her this morning,” replied the doctor, in a subdued and rather embarrassed tone, as though he was not willing to tell the whole truth at once.
“Is she worse?” demanded Eugene.
“Not absolutely worse; but she was in a state of high nervous excitement,” added Dr. Bilks, looking with apparent interest and sympathy at Eugene. “Of course you must have heard what happened on The Great Bell last night.”
“No; what was it?” asked Eugene, in breathless anxiety.
It may seem strange that, at this hour, he had not heard what had happened on The Great Bell; but, as Pine Hill was a mile from the Port, and neither Dick Birch nor himself had been off the place, the news had not reached those who were most interested.
“Mr. Buckstone visited Mary last evening,” continued the doctor, cautiously feeling his way, before he imparted the news.
“Buckstone!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was it that which made Mary worse?”
“Not that alone. Her brother unfortunately saw him.”
“I feared it,” said Eugene, nervously. “I hope nothing serious occurred.”
“Nothing more serious could have occurred.”
“Good Heaven! You don’t mean----”
Eugene paused and trembled.
“Ross is a terrible fellow in his anger,” added Dr. Bilks.
“What did he do?” demanded Eugene.
“He found Buckstone over by the cliff, and struck him a blow which felled him to the ground.”
“Did it kill him?” asked Eugene, shuddering.
“Perhaps not; but Ross then threw him over the cliff into the river.”
“O Heaven! This is terrible! I ought not to have permitted Ross to leave me after what he said.”
“Don’t reproach yourself, Hungerford. Of course you had no reason to suppose Buckstone was within two hundred miles of Poppleton,” interposed Dick Birch.
“Certainly there is no occasion to attach any blame to yourself, Mr. Hungerford,” added Dr. Bilks.
“Poor Mary!” sighed Eugene. “This is another heavy weight added to her burden. But how is she, doctor? How does she bear it?”
“Much better than I expected she would. Ross came for me about two o’clock this morning. He told me what he had done, on the way to the island.”
Dr. Bilks then narrated with great minuteness all the particulars of his visit to Mary, and all that Ross had told him about the circumstances attending the murder.
“I did not intend to say a word of the matter, but this morning I found that the story was flying through the Port.”
“But who told it, if you did not?” demanded Dick Birch.
“I don’t know. The sheriff has arrested Ross, and taken him to the county jail.”
“You say there was a man with Buckstone on the island?”
“So Ross told me.”
“Who was he?”
“That is what I would like to know,” replied the doctor. “Ross told me that this person offered Buckstone a ‘consideration’ for marrying Mary. Of course he was an interested party. I at once concluded that this person was Mr. Birch.”
“Dick!” exclaimed Eugene.
“You remember the plan you mentioned to me, Mr. Birch, for making everything all right with the poor girl?”
“I did speak to you about it; and I have spoken to Mr. Hungerford about it since his return; but I never proposed to offer Buckstone a consideration for marrying her. I would have hung him to the nearest tree, before I would have given him a dollar,” replied Dick, indignantly.
“Then you were not the person with Buckstone?” said Dr. Bilks.
“I was not! Most decidedly, I was not!” answered Dick, emphatically, and rather disgusted with the doctor for entertaining such a thought, even for an instant.
“I might have known that a gentleman of your lofty principles and high sense of honor would not have done even this good deed surreptitiously,” added Dr. Bilks, apologetically, “When I supposed you were the person, I attributed to you none but the best of motives.”
“You do me no more than justice, doctor,” said Dick. “But who was this person?”
“That’s a mystery to me. I know of no one, except Mary’s own friends, who are interested in having justice done to her.”
“Poor Mary!” sighed Eugene. “She is a widow now.”
“If she was a wife, she is a widow,” added the doctor. “It appears that Buckstone told her that he did not himself know whether they were married or not. You are a lawyer, Mr. Birch; perhaps you can decide the question.”
“Without evidence, I cannot. As at present informed, I do not think it was a legal marriage.”
“I am no lawyer, but I differ from you,” said the doctor, with a smile.
“We will not discuss this question now,” interposed Eugene. “Let us do what we can for Ross. Dick, you must get the best lawyer in the state to defend him. Mary must be suffering terribly.”
“Yes; I shall visit her at once,” said the doctor.
Dick proposed that Dr. Bilks should be presented to the ladies, and they went to the sitting-room for this purpose. The story of the murder had to be told again; and Mrs. Hungerford and Julia were shocked at the tale. They wept for poor Mary, tortured anew by this agonizing event, and both of them anxiously studied the face of Eugene to discover the effect upon him. He was calm, but he was paler than usual.
“But I must bid you good morning, ladies,” said Dr. Bilks. “My next visit will be to Mary.”
“Mother, don’t you think I might do something for Mary? I suppose she is alone,” added Julia.
“You might comfort her, Julia. It would be kind of you,” exclaimed Eugene, before Mrs. Hungerford had time to answer the question.
“I think you would be of more service to her than I could,” continued Dr. Bilks.
“We will both go, Julia,” said her mother.
“Her sickness is of the heart rather than the body, and kind friends are better for her than medicines,” added Dr. Bilks. “But I think one would be better than two.”
“I will go alone, mother. Mary and I were always good friends.”
“Very well, if Dr. Bilks thinks best.”
The doctor did think best, and gave his reasons for the opinion, which were quite satisfactory to Mrs. Hungerford. The carriage was ordered for Julia, and it was arranged that Dr. Bilks should join her at the wharf, where they would take a boat for the island. While they were considering the matter, the morning mail was brought in, and Eugene glanced at his letters. He opened one of them.
“Mr. Lester is coming to Poppleton to spend a week with us,” said he. “I wrote to him from London that I should expect him.”
“We’ll give the old fellow a jolly time,” added Dick, lightly.
“Whom did you say?” asked Dr. Bilks.
“Mr. Lester; he is one of the trustees of my uncle’s will.”
“John Lester?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Not personally; I think he had a son in college with me. When does he come?”
“Next week. He is an excellent man, doctor, and you must know him. You must help us entertain him.”
“This is very unlucky for me,” replied Dr. Bilks, evidently much troubled. “I must be absent from town next week.”
“O, no; you must be here when the old gentleman comes,” said Dick. “We shall give him some big dinners.”
“Nothing would afford me more pleasure; but I have an imperative engagement in New York. I am very sorry.”
Dr. Bilks was uneasy, and seemed to be thinking of some way by which he could postpone his engagement, and have the pleasure of meeting the eminent merchant from Baltimore. It was very unfortunate, but it could not be helped; this was the conclusion he had reached, as the carriage for Julia drew up at the front door. The doctor drove to the Port, and joined Julia on the wharf. A boatman rowed them across the channel, and they walked up to the house. Dr. Bilks was a gentleman of good taste, and of course he could not fail to appreciate the beauty and grace of his charming companion. He made himself very agreeable.
They found Mary in the parlor below, and alone there. She was calm, though the evidences of her suffering were apparent in every line of her countenance.
“I have brought you a new physician,” said the doctor, as they entered the room.
“This is very kind of you, Julia,” replied Mary, taking the offered hand of the visitor.
“I am very glad to see you. I hope you are better;” and Julia talked and acted like a true friend.
The doctor gave his professional advice, and though he lingered much longer than was necessary, paying more attention to the visitor than to the patient, he departed at last, and left Julia to attempt the cure which he was powerless to accomplish.
“I cannot help thinking how kind it is of you to come to me at such a time, Julia,” said Mary, wiping away the tears called forth by the sympathy of her early friend.
“I could not help coming, when I heard how much you were suffering.”
“None of my friends have been to see me before.”
“Indeed!”
“But I cannot blame them. What am I now?”
“You are the same good girl you always were!” replied Julia, with generous earnestness.
“I am afraid not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No; I am an outcast now, scorned and despised. Julia glad as I am to see you, I am sorry you have come.”
“Why should you be sorry?”
“I’m afraid it will injure you. You know why my friends desert me.”
“But I will not desert you. You have been wronged; but you are true and good, as you always were. It was not your fault.”
“I’m afraid it was--partly, at least.”
“It would have been better if you had never met Mr. Buckstone, it is true; but you are not to blame.”
“I wish I could feel that I had not done wrong.”
“You may have made a mistake, but you have done no wrong; and you shall not be cast down for your misfortunes.”
“It is the way of the world, Julia; and I can never be to others what I was before.”
“But you shall be, Mary. If all the rest of the world desert you, our family will still adhere to you.”
“I am afraid you don’t understand it, Julia. Though I may not be guilty, I shall be shunned as one contaminated; those whom I have known in brighter days will no longer associate with me.”
“We shall see, Mary,” said Julia, proudly. “You shall come to our house. You shall be our guest; and if other people dare to insult you by word or look, they are not our friends!”
Julia, in her generous thoughts, regarded the position which wealth gave her family in society as a blessing then. If the Hungerfords countenanced the poor, betrayed girl, who should dare to cast her out? Julia was high-spirited and magnanimous, but she knew not to what a trial her generosity was to be subjected.
“I will not permit you to injure yourself for me, Julia. I am resigned to my fate. You see how calm I am;” and she smiled faintly.
“It would not injure me.”
“And I am the sister of--of a murderer!” she added, with a perceptible shudder.
“That is not your fault.”
“But it will add to my disgrace. No, Julia, you shall not wrong yourself by associating with me. As soon as I am able, I will go away from Poppleton, and hide myself from the world.”
“Indeed, you shall not! You shall have the best and truest friends here. When Ross is acquitted, as all say he will be, you shall be happy again.”
“Never in this world, Julia. I have become what I dreaded more than all other miseries combined.”
“You have not, Mary; you were married.”
“No, I was not; he told me so not an hour before he fell by Ross’s hand. I shall not call myself Mary Buckstone again. Now you despise me.”
“I do not, Mary; you wrong me,” replied Julia; but it must be acknowledged that she was struggling to overcome a certain sensation of dread and horror which she could hardly define.
“Now you know what I am, you may leave me; and I will think kindly of you, as one who wished to be my friend.”
“And I shall be your friend, whatever you are,” added Julia, resolutely; “and I am sure my mother and my brother will be. Eugene has been--he has been very sorry for you.”
She was not quite certain that she ought to say anything about Eugene, and she suppressed the sentence she was about to utter, substituting another.
Mary was moody and thoughtful when Eugene’s name was mentioned, and it did not require much skill on the part of Julia to discover the nature of her reflections. But what had been could no longer be, and her brother had ceased to think of the poor girl, except as a sympathizing friend. The afternoon was passed away in these conversations, and Mary was much consoled by the words, but perhaps more by the presence and the generous indorsement, of Julia.
Just before sunset, Eugene’s small schooner touched at the landing-place on The Great Bell. It contained three persons; and after Dick Birch had gone up to the house for Julia, Dr. Bilks and Eugene walked over to the spot where the murder had been committed. The island had been visited by hundreds of curious persons during the afternoon, who desired to examine the locality of the terrible affair. The deputy sheriff was there when they arrived, making another visit to the spot for the purpose of obtaining further information in regard to the circumstances. The sheriff was in possession of all the facts imparted by Ross Kingman, and he was now examining the beach, where the stranger was last seen by the prisoner.
“It’s a plain case,” said the official to Eugene, after they had shaken hands, and spoken of the event in general terms. “Ross don’t cover up anything, but he thinks it is not murder to kill such a man.”
“He was very much exasperated by the conduct of Buckstone. Has any new discovery been made?”
“We have got a clew to the man who was with Buckstone,” replied the sheriff.
“Ah! Have you?” said Dr. Bilks, nervously.
“We have found the boat in which Buckstone and the other man came over to the island.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Over by the Point.”
“How do you know it was the boat in which they came over?”
“It was hauled up on the sand; there,” said he, pointing to the marks of the boat, “you can see the prints of the lap streaks. That deep mark was made by a ledge on the boat, nailed on to keep the bottom from chafing. I brought the boat over here, and measured the distance between the keel and this ledge, and it exactly corresponded with these prints.”
“What does this prove in regard to the man with Buckstone?”
“It proves that he landed there by the Point, for one thing. A handkerchief and a cigar were found in the boat. Here they are,” he added, producing the articles. “Do you know them?”
The handkerchief had the letters R. B. upon it.
“By Heaven! this is Dick Birch’s handkerchief!” exclaimed Eugene.
“Impossible!” ejaculated Dr. Bilks. “He declared that he was not the person, you remember.”
“But he was the person,” added the sheriff, decidedly.
“Why do you say he was?” demanded Eugene, who would as readily have believed Dick Birch guilty of the murder as of the duplicity and falsehood.
“Ross Kingman thought it was Mr. Birch.”
“Did he say so?”
“He did.”
“Did he say positively it was Mr. Birch?”
“Not positively.”
“Let me see the cigar. Dick smokes a peculiar brand,” continued Eugene, excitedly.
The sheriff handed him the cigar, and it was carefully examined by Eugene and the doctor.
“That’s Dick’s brand, without a doubt,” replied Eugene, bewildered by the conclusion thus forced upon him.
“Here he comes; he will speak for himself,” added the doctor, as Dick and Julia descended the rocks to the beach.
Julia had expressed a desire to see the spot where the murder was committed, and Dick had taken her to the cliff for this purpose. Seeing Eugene and Dr. Bilks on the beach, they joined them there.
“Where did you leave this handkerchief, Dick?” asked Eugene, as his friend approached the spot.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” he answered, taking the handkerchief. “Where did you find it?”
“Did you lose it, Dick?”
“I suppose I did, if you found it, though I hadn’t missed it. Did you find it here?”
“No; it was not found here,” replied the sheriff.
“Is this one of your cigars, Dick?”
“Yes; you can’t find such cigars as that at any shop this side of Boston; and I don’t think you can find them there now. That’s one of my brand. Did you find it with the handkerchief?”
“It was found with the handkerchief,” said Eugene, averting his sad face.
“What does all this mean? What ails you, Hungerford?” demanded Dick, astonished at the singular conduct of his friend.
“I suppose he doesn’t want to say much about it,” interposed the sheriff; “and I will do the talking.”
“Will you? You will oblige me by doing it as speedily as possible,” replied Dick, whose flushed and indignant face sufficiently explained his feelings.
“You are believed to be the person who was with Mr. Buckstone at the time he was murdered, or just before the event.”
“Who believes me to be the person?” asked Dick, who seemed to grow an inch taller, as his head was involuntarily thrown back by the impulse of his natural pride.
“I do, for one,” answered the deputy sheriff.
“What reason have you for thinking so?”
“Because your handkerchief, and one of your cigars, which can only be obtained in Boston, were found in the boat that made those marks on the beach,” answered the official, pointing to the prints.
“They were found in that boat--were they?” said Dick, apparently as much astonished as Eugene.
“They were; more than this, Ross Kingman, who thinks as much of you as of any other man in the world,--unless it be Mr. Hungerford,--believes that you were the man he saw with Mr. Buckstone.”
“I have nothing to say,” replied Dick.
“Speak, Dick! Tell me it is not so, and I will believe you before all the rest of the world!” exclaimed Eugene.
“Not a word, Hungerford, to-night,” answered Dick, proudly. “I am not prepared to speak yet.”
“Don’t be angry with me, Dick.”
“Certainly not, Hungerford. There is my hand,” said Dick. “Appearances are against me. When I have cleared myself of the charge of falsehood, I will come into your presence again, but not till then.”
“Come, Dick,” added Eugene, taking his hand; “this shall not part us even for an hour.”
“It must; I told you and Dr. Bilks this morning that I was not the person. You despise a liar; so do I. Good night, Hungerford;” and springing up the rocks, he disappeared beyond the bluff, heeding not the calls of his friend.
Before the party could reach the landing-place, he was seen in a boat crossing the channel towards the Port.