CHAPTER XXII. (Continued). SERGEANT USHER AT FAULT.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2236, 6 November 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXII. (Continued). SERGEANT USHER AT FAULT.

'Ah ! Mr Uaher/ exclaimed Mr Totterdell, as the Sergeant quietly entered his drawing room/ 'delighted to see you ; kneW you'd have to come to me again. That old fool of a coroner, you, of course, saw, deliberately suppressed my evidence. I hope it was only ignorance ; but how are the perpetrators of crimes like this to be arrived at if the chief evidence about them is to be deliberately sat upon ? You were there, Mr Usher, and saw the Coroner, übetted by Mr Trail, deliberately squash my evidence. I had no opportunity of itating one half of what I know." ' That's just where it \b, sir. I said if they'd only let Mr Totterdell his story in his own way we should get at the rights of things ; but it's just like these muddleheaded country officials : they are so anxious to display their little bit of authority that they can't help interfering just to show they have the right to.' • Quite so, Mr Usher, and if I had told my story things might bear a different aspect now. Foxborpugh might be in custody perhaps.' 1 Well, I dou't mind telling you in confidence: I'm always straight and above board with the people in the case, but it is to go no further mind ; that it's getting just a question whether ho ever will be in custody. He is either about the deepest card ever 1 came across, or rather can't come across, or elae what they're saying about Baumborough is true, ' Saying^ftbout Baumborough,' iutec posed Mr Totterdell, greedily. * What are tbey »*ying in the town. ; nothing 1 about me, eh ?' 1 Well, that's just where it is, , sir ; they're a f opsipping good-fof-notbingaet,

and they seemed to be mighty spiteful against you.' 'Too true, sergeant:, too trnr, they are; all because I endeavoured to do my duty, what is it they $?ay ?' 1 They declare you never saw Mr Foxborough a tall, that you either dreamt it or saw some traveller passing though, who happened to drop a Syringa bill, and )ou imagined the re*t. ' ' Ah, they nay that," cried Totterdell, his face flushed with ansrer. ' Wait till the trial comes off, and see what they have to say then.' 1 Getting open to question, as I said before, whether there will be a, trial. It don't require much gumption,' continued the sergeant, 'to understand that you can't havo a trial without somebody to try. 1 ' Nonsense,' stammered Mr Totterdell ; ' you don't mean to say there 13 no chance of the scoundrel's apprehension.' 1 Well, I am coming to the opinion of Bauraborongh that you didn't see Foxborough. Your opiuion that you did is only based on that music hall bill, you know, and that amounts to nothing.' ' But,' exclaimed Mr Totterdell vehemently, " I am not the only person who recognised him, or rather who spoke to him.' 4 The Fergeant picked up his ears, but all he said was, " Well, I can't find anyone else that had any talk with him in all Bautiiborough. ' 1 Perhaps not,' retoited Mr Tottordell triumphantly, ♦ but all the world do^en't t re.iide iv Baumborough. Fuxborou«?h went behind the scones ; I snw him there myself, and they all seomod to know him.' 'Oh,' said the Sergeant, convinced now that he had about turned Mr Totterdell out, 'he went behind the scenes, did he ? Would you, sir, as a particular tavonr, try to recollect who 'all' may mean. Who individually did he speak to ?' Now here Mr Totterdell broke dowu in ignominious fashion. He at first said every one — then, well, not exactly every one ; and finally, dexterously manipulated by Sergoant Usher, he was brought to confess that he had only seen the presumed Foxborough .speak to the lady who had played Mary Netley in "Oura," he had forgotten her name. But this was a fact tangible and important in the sergeant's eye*. It would be simple enough to find out who the lad y was and also where she was now engaged. A professional lady is generally easy to discover. B'.t the s^rg^ant was once more a little staggered ; this fact was all in favour of its being Foxborough himself, and if so the accomplice had confined himself to writing the note, and had nothing more to do with the matter. Foxborough would of course be likely to know theatrical people, although the sergeant had not been able to make out so far that he was known amonsrst them. * Well, Mr Totterdell,' observed the sergeant, who was by this most thoroughly conversant with the old gentleman's anxiety to appear as a witness, "this may turn out rather important for you; if we can only manage to find this young lady, you see, she will corroborate your evidence, and then the chain will be getting complete.' ' Didn't 1 *.ay so before ? If the coroner had only allowed me to tell my story at Bunbury you'd have found this young lady before how.' ' If you had only produced the rnnst important, fact in your wallet at the inque«t, Mf Totterdell, we might probably nave arrested the murderer before this/ replied the sergeant curtly. ' You don'r, mean you can't find this young lady ? The manager of the theatre, L dare say, can give you her name.' ' Oh I'll have her name, nnd find her in four-and twenty hours, but it is not likely to lead to finding Foxborough now.' ' You surely don't mean that he has (led the country?' asked Mr Totterdell mxionsly. ' All I mean, sir, is that if people would afford the police all the information in their power instead of half of it, it would be more conducive to the ends of justice.' And leaving Mr Tottetdell to dtg^t this observation the Sergeant bowed him•■elf out. To ascertain that the leading lady at the opening of the Biumborough Theatre had b°en a Miss Lightcomb required, of court**, only two minutes' conversation with the manager of that establishment, J and a reference to the Era quickly revealed the fact that she was at present fulfilling an en/agement at the Margate Thaatre, and thither Sergeant Usher betook himself without loss of time. Pretty Miss Lightcomb was not a little surprised at an abrupt vihit from a stranger, and a little perturbed when her visitor announced his professional position. Dexterously questioned by Sergeant Usher she said she hid read all ibout tho Bunbury murder, but what could hhe know about it. She had never fven been in Bunbury, nor had she to her knowledge ever seen Mr Fossdyke. Of course she was aware that he had been present at the opening of the theatre, but -.he did not know him by sight, nor could one always distinguish people in front even if you did. Had she spoken to James Foxborough behind the scenes that night? Most certainly not. Sha had never even seen Mr Foxboiough in her life. Could hardlj- say she ever knew him by name before this terrible murder brought his name so prominently before the public. Could scarcely say who she had seen, that night, there were a good many gentlemen came round, pretty well all straugersj to her ; many of them said something complimentary about her acting of Mary Netley ; there was champagne and other refreshments going on in the manager's room, and most of the gentlemen on their way there. No ! she had been on the stage the last seven year&, and she had never hoard of Mr Foxborough in connection with the country business. All her engagements had been in the country ; she had never succeeded in getting on the London boards. 1 Then, Miss Lightcc.mb,' said the sergeant, at last, ' it is fair to presume that you have a pretty considerable acquaintance with country managers P' ' Certainly I know personally a great many of them. I have fulfilled engagements all over England, besides taking a turn in Edinburgh and Glasgow, but I never heard of any company conducted by Mr Foxborou«b. It is possible he had a ntage name, you know, it is a common enough custom in our profession.' ' Quite so, but I don't fancy he ever appeared himself ; he merely managed a touring company. Ah, well, I need trouble you no further, Mids Lightoomb, at present; it is curious you oh'iuldn't have heard of Mr Foxborough. Good morning !' 'And it is curious,' continued the sergeant to himself when he got outride the modest lodgings in which the itctresa resided, 'I can't find anybody who ever has met Foxborousrh in his vocation, while, if ever there wan a profession- in which a man was -veil before the public, it is the theatrical. That he is lessee of the Syringa is certain, but about his other stage speculations nobody peerns to know anything. It is a very interesting case, and Foxborough is about the moht shadowy customer ever I was in quest of. He doesn't write his own letters, and doesn't apparently practise his own profession, but he commits one of the coolo-t, most audacious murders known, and disappers. I wonder whether that talkative old fool Totterdell is addioted to drink or opium. He mu>t have seen some one though who did drop that music hall bill

and who he fancied he saw behind the sceues afterwards. If he had only let oue know that he had seen the man in the stalls speaking to Miss Lightcomb at the time, it is probable th it the girl might have called to mind who did speak to her ; still, as sho said most of them were strangers to her, perhaps the very man I want mijrht have been one of those.' Once more Sergeant Usher found himself driven back to his old conclusion that it was ' a rum un.' However, there was nothing more to be done in Margate, and Miss Lightcomb had apparently nothing to tell, and yet the sergeant was impressed with the idea that just like Mr T"tterdell sho would give a valuable bit of information could he but get it out of her. He did not think for one moment she was wilfully keeping back anything, but simply that for the want of the keynote he had been unable to arrive at what he wanted. All the questions he could think of that bore upon the matter he had put, and the, aotress had answered them frankly and freely 5 but Mr Usher was aware in the detection of crime yon may "walk round and round a thing and not see it ; examiue people who could and are quite willing to tell you wh.jt you want to know, and yet not ardve at that fact. Some trifling matter that appears to have nothing to do with the case is just the one missing link in a chain of circumstantial evidence that the police nre in search of, and the possessor of that knowledge has no conception of its importance. Dr. Inirloby, the next morning, half repented him of this promise he had made. He wai exceedingly fond of Bessie Hyde, and he recollected the girl's distress the last time he had spoken to her about her knowledge of Foxborough. Tiue this was somewhat different, he was ouly going to ask her this time to trust in him and Jet him be judge whether there was reason the happiness of twolives should be wrecked. If she really loved Philip, and he was not the man to say she had made that admission without due and sufficient grounds for ho saying, surely siie would be anxious to clutch at a chance of clearing away the obstacles to her marriage. 'At all events,' thought the doctor, 'if I am somewhat overstepping the privileges of au old friend, it is on behalf of two young people whom I .sincerely de&ire to b - l.fi 1 ". Ifc may not be quite a pleasant business, I am afraid it won't ; it s'eomed so painful to Bessie before to touch upon, that it would be absurd to suppose it will prove otherwise now ; still U'd got to be dom\ I'm not going to have B^ssdo Hyde and Phil Sonnies drift apart if I can help it. She's just the wifoforhim ; he's plenty of money and lots more to come. Oh, no ! I'm not ah all above doing a bit of match-making when I think it desirable, and I'll have the bells ringing at B^umborough about those two, or know the reason why.' No matter this to be put off, and the doctor determined to go over to Dyke and have the thing out at once. Unlike Philip, he knew he should have no difficulty about a tete-a-tete with Miss Hyde. Bessie undoubtedly regarded the doctor as a trusted friend, and he was of that age she might look upou him as not likely to misinterpret her confidences. He called next day upon the two ladies, as was his custom, about tea time, and after such desultory conversation as was usual, and having quietly informed Mrs Fox.sdyke that nothing fresh had transpired concerning her husband's melancholy end, said as he made his adieux, " Miss Hyde, walk to the gate with me please. I have something to say to you." 'You wouldn't deceive me, Doctor?' cried the widow. ' Surely there can be no more teitible news coming to me.' ' Not iv the least, my dear madam. What I have .to say to Miss Hyde concerns herself alone, and is a thing ohe need feel little misgiving about listening to. Will you oorae, Miss Bessie ?' ' Ye*, OI course ; my hat is in the hill, [feel half frightenod, Doctor,' she continued, as they passed the hall door. ' I don't know what you have to tell me, but I can never forget the night when PhilMr Soames sent for me into the btudy and told his terrible tale.' ' I have nothing terrible to tell you, nor you me, but, Bessie, I want you to comprehend that I consider I stand to you in the light of him who has gone. You know how intimate I have been at Dyke, and it has always appeared to me that poor Fossdyke looked upon you more iv the light of a ward than his wife's companion. I was, as you know, one of his most intimate friends, and am now his executor. I want you, Bessio, to regard me in the same light, and give me your confidence.' The girl's face looked a little troubled for a minute or so, aud then she replied, erravely, "It is only too good of you to take an interest in mo. As for confidences — ' and here she indulged in a little nervous laugh — ' what should I have to confide further than it was I upset the cream and not the cat.' •To begin upon,' said Dr. Ingleby, ' Philip Soames has acquainted me with all that has passed between you.' ' Then, I think Mr Soamos has been guilty of much indiscretion,' retorted the girl, as she reared her head, proudly. ' He might have relied upon my lips being seiled, and though I have nothing to reproach myself with, still I did not anticipate our affairs becoming common discourse.' 'Bessie, Bessie,' replied Dr. Ingleby, gently, ' please don't meet me in that spirit. It was in no braggadocio vein, believe me, that Phil told me the story of his wooing. It was tho wail of a rejected lover — rejected forsooth, as he honestly avers and believes, for some shadowy reason that could he but come by it might bo swept away in an instant.' 'Mr Soames did me an honour which, for reasons good and sufficient, I felb compelled to decline. He has told you that he asked me to be his wife, and, further, that for his own sake I was obliged to refuse his request. I thiuk Mr Soames is not treating me generously. I told him frankly that I could marry no man to whom I had not first told my story, | and that I had not courage to do that ; if | I had loved him. less it would have been easier, but I could not bear the dismay on his face when he learnt who I really was, or to have him stand by his offer from a pure sense of honour. I could not bear,' she continued, passionately, 'to embroil him with his own family, or that people should whisper and point to Philip Soames's wife as a woman with a shameful story attached to her. No! Dr. Ingleby, you are very gond, but I love Philip too dearly to be a millstone round his neck, or to have him at war with Hociety for my sake. If poor Mr Fossdyke had lived the decision would have rested with him. He know all about me, and I told him what had passed between me and Philip, but his advice is lost to me, and I believe I am acting for the best, doing what is right, in adhering to my original decision.' Bessie ceased speaking, but it was evident she was deeply moved, the long dark J ashes of her eyes were wet, and the girl's whole frame trembled slightly with emotion. Dr. Ingleby was not a little nouplus-ed. There could be no doubt that Bessie honestly loved Soames, and that it was entirely for his own sake she refused him. She certainly was a better judge than either he or Philip could pretend to be of the circumstances ; was it fair to wrinsr this jEpirl's story from her only to endorse her own view and acknowledge that the obstacles she deemed insurmountable really were bo ?

Then, again, was it not better for Philip that things should remain as they wore, and he be free from what might probably turn out an unfortunate marriage, fio fur as connection went ? Society in ooun'ry places is even more intolerant than in big cities ; in London, for instance, who you are in not so rauoh consequence now-a-days as what you'vo got per annum, and can you keep clear of the law your iniquities aro not countod against you, provided your cook and your wines aro unimpeachable ; but none know better than Dr. Ingleby that if the ladies of Baumboroujrh once decided the antecedents of a new comer made her admission within society's pale inadmissable it would be a gigantic task to break through the taboo. ' Give me a few minutes to think, Bessie,' he, said at length. ' I want to give the best advice I can, to think what is best for both you and Philip.' And as they strolled slowly on it occurred to the doctor that Philip was in very genuine earnest about winning the girl for his wife, and was not likely to rest passive with things as they were ; that whether he interfered or not* the chances were that the young man sooner or later Would come at the truth and take his own way then without much reference to the opinion of friends or relations. It would be better, he thought, if he could induce Be3sie to yield him her confidence ; he should be judge cf the case now while he had }et opportunity to tender advice to both the young people. ' Bessie, you admit the decision of this affair would have rested with poor Fossdyke had he lived. Do you not think it would be best to look upon mo as standing in his place? True, in one case, uufortunately, you have a painful story to tell which would have been spared you in ] the other ; but you know I am sincerely i attached to Philip. I have known him | from a child, and know his character thoroughly— a man very resolute, and difficult to turn from a thing when his mind is once made up, and he is terribly in earnest about marrying you. It will be no light thing that will stop him, and, Bessio, remembar by your own confession he ha 9 friends iv the garrison should ho press the place hard.' The girl smiled, as she said softly — 1 Too true ; I've never denied it, but I'll be staunch to Philip's real welfare, never fear.' 4 Can you not trust an old friend of his, a man like myself, who kuows the world well, and who would be a much clearer and more dispassionate judge than himself, and who would not abet him in doing a foolish thing, to be judge of the ewe? It niciy be I shall pronounce your scruples groundless ; it may be I shall say, • Bessie Hyde, if you have any real love for Philip, run away from the place, and don't bring social ruin on the man for whom you profess affection.' ' Tha colour came and went in the girl's face, >as she listened to the doctor's speech. He had struck the right key ; he ignored her and affected to be only anxious about Philip's welfare. That was what she wanted. Would anyone decide between them thinking, only of him ? If her marriage waB pronounced possible she should be only too happy and thankful, but if for Philip's cake it were best she should go she would depart without a murmur. ' Dr. Ingleby-,' she said at length, 'if yon will promise to do that, to think only of Philip and never of me, I can perhaps muster up courage to tell you my story ; but, mind, I am never to be the cause of reproach to him. Tell me honestly if I am right in my views and, friends in the garrison notwithstanding, I'll take good care he never has chance to carry the place.' 1 My dear Bessie, I want to do what I deem best tor two young people of whom I am very fond, but my first consideration here I think ought to be Phil.' ' Yes,' she faltered, ' you mint not mind me. Remember, please, to ba the woman whose sad story was hung round his neck, and socially drowned him, would be infinitely more painful than giving him up altogether. You must not forget, will you V 'No,' replied the doctor, mechanically, 'I will not forget,' and as the words passed his lips he thought to himself, ' I have no fight either to forget your negation of self or honest love for the man who loves you.' ' Doctor,' Bessie continued, after a slight pause, 'you must know that I am nameless ; that I have no father ; that I am nobody's child. You understand,' eaid the girl in a low tone, as the blood rose to the roots of her hair, and her voice dropped almost to a whisper. ' You have no father you ever knew, I presume ?' observed Dr. Ingleby, enquiringly. ' I have no father at all, I tell you,' rejoined the girl, sharply. 'lam a love child. I have been brought up by my aunt, and impressed all my life with the disgrace of my birth. I have only seen my mother now and apain. She has always been upon these occasions kind, tender, and anxious to provide me with everything I might want ; but my stern auut used to interfere with her austere ways and lauguage, and remind her sister that when she took charge of me it was upon the express stipulation that she had control of me for good, and that I was not to have my head turned with the frivolities and fripperies of my mother's position. It was long enough before I understood what my mother's position was. She had run away from a serious family at Clapham with a theatrical gentleman, and had naturally taken to the same profession. I was the unfortunate result of this union, if uniou it can be called, as I am afraid, Dr. Ingle by, continued the girl, blushing rosy red, ' my mother never was married.' ' There is no very serious obstacles in all this, Bessie ; unless you have something much worse to tell I shall give you away yet, my dear.' The girl shot him a grateful glance before continuing her narrative, and then resumed — ' When my cousins grew up they were no longer to be repressed, they wanted more life and gaiety, and speedily overruled their mother, which, of course, ia clnded their father, and got it. Dances, parties, and even an occasional theatre became the order of the day. My uncle undoubtedly disapproved of it, but as for my aunt, she thought the new regime possessed great opportunities of settling her daughters, and so acquiesced in it. Then came my offending. I unluckily proved more attractive than my cousins, and no sooner did this become apparent than my home was made uubearable to me. I was for ever twitted with my birth, or rather want of it ; and at last confided my troubles to Mr Fossdyke, who was an old friend of my mother, and who often came to see me. He not only offered me this place of companion to his wife but counselled my taking it, saying, ' Remember, Bessie, you are not dependent upon these people ; you have to earn your own living, no doubt, but while she lives there is always an allowance from your mother to look forward to ; thi% of course, goes to your aunt a present, but it will be paid down to yourself if you come to us. I snail allow you fifty pounds a year, which, in addition to your mother's hundred, ought to make you ft well-to-do young woman, considering you live at Dyke for nothing. And see it all proved.' • Still, Bessie, yon surely must know there is nothing very dreadful in all this. Illegitimacy is no such terrible stigma in those titnus ; if there are people who

would carp at it, there are plenty of others who would laugh at the idea of ita being any ban to marriage or social advancement of any sort in these days.' 4 But my mother is an actress, said Bessie, in low tones, 1 That may sound very terrible to your fantastical aunt and uncle, but to people who live in the world that is nothing now-a-days. Indeed, from the time of the Stuarts down to that of her present Gracious Majesty, royality and nobility have always had a great admiration for the ladies of the theatrical profession. Who is she ? I mean what is her stage name f 1 Miss Nydia Willoughby,' rejoined Bessie, with eyes rivetted on the ground. I • Miss Nydia Willoughby ; let me see, dear me, I know the name. Where did I hear it! I don't think I ever 9aw her. 1 • That is her stage name, and I believe she sings at the Syringa Music Hall.' 1 Good heaven?, the Syringa ! why that is the place of which this James Foxborough is the proprietor.' 'Yes, and my mother is Mrs James Foxborough,' faltered Be?sie, in a low tone. To say that Dr. Ingleby was astounded at this last revelation really did not describe that gentleman's state. He was completely stupefied by the announcement, and for a minute or two remained silent. At last he said, ' Foxborough is not your father, though ?' 'No, I tell you I never knew my father. I never saw my mother until the year before I came here, except quite as a child, and saw as I told you but little then of her. Mr Fossdyke, who was her man of business and an old friend, called upon me about twice a year as a child, and.perhaps a little oftener as I grew up ; and now, Dr. Ingleby, you know my history. With the staiu I bear upon my name, how could I marry Philip, and the last awful tragedy has made matters still worse ; I am the stepdaughter of the murderer of one of his most intimate friends, though I never* even saw the miserable man.' ' My dear Bessie,' said the doctor, after a slight pause, 4 1 tell you fairly, lam so bewildered by what you have told me that I don't think at present I am quite a clear judge of the circumstances. In all your story it is not quite evident to me there is any impediment to your marrying Philip. You acted like an honest girl when you aaid you could not consent to do so until he knew your history ; that you should shrink from telling it was only natural. Still Philip alone can decide upon this matter. There is nothing in reality against yourself, and if yon follow my advice you will keep your own counsel. It is not necessary that, with the exception of Philip, anyone in Baumborough should know more about you than they do at present. If you give permission I shall make him acquainted with your story ; but otherwise, of course, my lips are sealed. 1 'Yes, Dr. Ingleby, I should wish Philip to know all I have told you. It will convince him, at all events, that I am no heartless coquette. Give him, give him my love, and Bay I wish it could have been otherwise ; but he will now see the impossibility of my saying other than I have done.' ' Good-bye, Bessie,' rejoined Dr. Ingleby, as they reached the gate. ' You have a staunch friend in me, whatever may bo your future lot ; and remember, my dear, I shall feel proud to give you away yet, and claim the privilege should it come to pass.' Bessie Hyde nnde no reply in words, but her eyes thanked the doctor with mute eloquence as they shook hands.