The Woman in White (77 page)

"Yes," I replied, "but I have some inquiries still to make. I
suppose the clergyman who officiated here in the year eighteen
hundred and three is no longer alive?"

"No, no, sir, he was dead three or four years before I came here,
and that was as long ago as the year twenty-seven. I got this
place, sir," persisted my talkative old friend, "through the clerk
before me leaving it. They say he was driven out of house and
home by his wife—and she's living still down in the new town
there. I don't know the rights of the story myself—all I know is
I got the place. Mr. Wansborough got it for me—the son of my old
master that I was tell you of. He's a free pleasant gentleman as
ever lived—rides to the hounds, keeps his pointers and all that.
He's vestry-clerk here now as his father was before him."

"Did you not tell me your former master lived at Knowlesbury?" I
asked, calling to mind the long story about the precise gentleman
of the old school with which my talkative friend had wearied me
before he opened the register-book.

"Yes, to be sure, sir," replied the clerk. "Old Mr. Wansborough
lived at Knowlesbury, and young Mr. Wansborough lives there too."

"You said just now he was vestry-clerk, like his father before
him. I am not quite sure that I know what a vestry-clerk is."

"Don't you indeed, sir?—and you come from London too! Every
parish church, you know, has a vestry-clerk and a parish-clerk.
The parish-clerk is a man like me (except that I've got a deal
more learning than most of them—though I don't boast of it). The
vestry-clerk is a sort of an appointment that the lawyers get, and
if there's any business to be done for the vestry, why there they
are to do it. It's just the same in London. Every parish church
there has got its vestry-clerk—and you may take my word for it
he's sure to be a lawyer."

"Then young Mr. Wansborough is a lawyer, I suppose?"

"Of course he is, sir! A lawyer in High Street, Knowlesbury—the
old offices that his father had before him. The number of times
I've swept those offices out, and seen the old gentleman come
trotting in to business on his white pony, looking right and left
all down the street and nodding to everybody! Bless you, he was a
popular character!—he'd have done in London!"

"How far is it to Knowlesbury from this place?"

"A long stretch, sir," said the clerk, with that exaggerated idea
of distances, and that vivid perception of difficulties in getting
from place to place, which is peculiar to all country people.
"Nigh on five mile, I can tell you!"

It was still early in the forenoon. There was plenty of time for
a walk to Knowlesbury and back again to Welmingham; and there was
no person probably in the town who was fitter to assist my
inquiries about the character and position of Sir Percival's
mother before her marriage than the local solicitor. Resolving to
go at once to Knowlesbury on foot, I led the way out of the
vestry.

"Thank you kindly, sir," said the clerk, as I slipped my little
present into his hand. "Are you really going to walk all the way
to Knowlesbury and back? Well! you're strong on your legs, too—
and what a blessing that is, isn't it? There's the road, you can't
miss it. I wish I was going your way—it's pleasant to meet with
gentlemen from London in a lost corner like this. One hears the
news. Wish you good-morning, sir, and thank you kindly once
more."

We parted. As I left the church behind me I looked back, and
there were the two men again on the road below, with a third in
their company, that third person being the short man in black whom
I had traced to the railway the evening before.

The three stood talking together for a little while, then
separated. The man in black went away by himself towards
Welmingham—the other two remained together, evidently waiting to
follow me as soon as I walked on.

I proceeded on my way without letting the fellows see that I took
any special notice of them. They caused me no conscious
irritation of feeling at that moment—on the contrary, they rather
revived my sinking hopes. In the surprise of discovering the
evidence of the marriage, I had forgotten the inference I had
drawn on first perceiving the men in the neighbourhood of the
vestry. Their reappearance reminded me that Sir Percival had
anticipated my visit to Old Welmingham church as the next result
of my interview with Mrs. Catherick—otherwise he would never have
placed his spies there to wait for me. Smoothly and fairly as
appearances looked in the vestry, there was something wrong
beneath them—there was something in the register-book, for aught
I knew, that I had not discovered yet.

Once out of sight of the church, I pressed forward briskly on my
way to Knowlesbury.

The road was, for the most part, straight and level. Whenever I
looked back over it I saw the two spies steadily following me.
For the greater part of the way they kept at a safe distance
behind. But once or twice they quickened their pace, as if with
the purpose of overtaking me, then stopped, consulted together,
and fell back again to their former position. They had some
special object evidently in view, and they seemed to be hesitating
or differing about the best means of accomplishing it. I could
not guess exactly what their design might be, but I felt serious
doubts of reaching Knowlesbury without some mischance happening to
me on the way. These doubts were realised.

I had just entered on a lonely part of the road, with a sharp turn
at some distance ahead, and had just concluded (calculating by
time) that I must be getting near to the town, when I suddenly
heard the steps of the men close behind me.

Before I could look round, one of them (the man by whom I had been
followed in London) passed rapidly on my left side and hustled me
with his shoulder. I had been more irritated by the manner in
which he and his companion had dogged my steps all the way from
Old Welmingham than I was myself aware of, and I unfortunately
pushed the fellow away smartly with my open hand. He instantly
shouted for help. His companion, the tall man in the gamekeeper's
clothes, sprang to my right side, and the next moment the two
scoundrels held me pinioned between them in the middle of the
road.

The conviction that a trap had been laid for me, and the vexation
of knowing that I had fallen into it, fortunately restrained me
from making my position still worse by an unavailing struggle with
two men, one of whom would, in all probability, have been more
than a match for me single-handed. I repressed the first natural
movement by which I had attempted to shake them off, and looked
about to see if there was any person near to whom I could appeal.

A labourer was at work in an adjoining field who must have
witnessed all that had passed. I called to him to follow us to
the town. He shook his head with stolid obstinacy, and walked
away in the direction of a cottage which stood back from the high-
road. At the same time the men who held me between them declared
their intention of charging me with an assault. I was cool enough
and wise enough now to make no opposition. "Drop your hold of my
arms," I said, "and I will go with you to the town." The man in
the gamekeeper's dress roughly refused. But the shorter man was
sharp enough to look to consequences, and not to let his companion
commit himself by unnecessary violence. He made a sign to the
other, and I walked on between them with my arms free.

We reached the turning in the road, and there, close before us,
were the suburbs of Knowlesbury. One of the local policemen was
walking along the path by the roadside. The men at once appealed
to him. He replied that the magistrate was then sitting at the
town-hall, and recommended that we should appear before him
immediately.

We went on to the town-hall. The clerk made out a formal summons,
and the charge was preferred against me, with the customary
exaggeration and the customary perversion of the truth on such
occasions. The magistrate (an ill-tempered man, with a sour
enjoyment in the exercise of his own power) inquired if any one on
or near the road had witnessed the assault, and, greatly to my
surprise, the complainant admitted the presence of the labourer in
the field. I was enlightened, however, as to the object of the
admission by the magistrate's next words. He remanded me at once
for the production of the witness, expressing, at the same time,
his willingness to take bail for my reappearance if I could
produce one responsible surety to offer it. If I had been known
in the town he would have liberated me on my own recognisances,
but as I was a total stranger it was necessary that I should find
responsible bail.

The whole object of the stratagem was now disclosed to me. It had
been so managed as to make a remand necessary in a town where I
was a perfect stranger, and where I could not hope to get my
liberty on bail. The remand merely extended over three days,
until the next sitting of the magistrate. But in that time, while
I was in confinement, Sir Percival might use any means he pleased
to embarrass my future proceedings—perhaps to screen himself from
detection altogether—without the slightest fear of any hindrance
on my part. At the end of the three days the charge would, no
doubt, be withdrawn, and the attendance of the witness would be
perfectly useless.

My indignation, I may almost say, my despair, at this mischievous
check to all further progress—so base and trifling in itself, and
yet so disheartening and so serious in its probable results—quite
unfitted me at first to reflect on the best means of extricating
myself from the dilemma in which I now stood. I had the folly to
call for writing materials, and to think of privately
communicating my real position to the magistrate. The
hopelessness and the imprudence of this proceeding failed to
strike me before I had actually written the opening lines of the
letter. It was not till I had pushed the paper away—not till, I
am ashamed to say, I had almost allowed the vexation of my
helpless position to conquer me—that a course of action suddenly
occurred to my mind, which Sir Percival had probably not
anticipated, and which might set me free again in a few hours. I
determined to communicate the situation in which I was placed to
Mr. Dawson, of Oak Lodge.

I had visited this gentleman's house, it may be remembered, at the
time of my first inquiries in the Blackwater Park neighbourhood,
and I had presented to him a letter of introduction from Miss
Halcombe, in which she recommended me to his friendly attention in
the strongest terms. I now wrote, referring to this letter, and
to what I had previously told Mr. Dawson of the delicate and
dangerous nature of my inquiries. I had not revealed to him the
truth about Laura, having merely described my errand as being of
the utmost importance to private family interests with which Miss
Halcombe was concerned. Using the same caution still, I now
accounted for my presence at Knowlesbury in the same manner, and I
put it to the doctor to say whether the trust reposed in me by a
lady whom he well knew, and the hospitality I had myself received
in his house, justified me or not in asking him to come to my
assistance in a place where I was quite friendless.

I obtained permission to hire a messenger to drive away at once
with my letter in a conveyance which might be used to bring the
doctor back immediately. Oak Lodge was on the Knowlesbury side of
Blackwater. The man declared he could drive there in forty
minutes, and could bring Mr. Dawson back in forty more. I
directed him to follow the doctor wherever he might happen to be,
if he was not at home, and then sat down to wait for the result
with all the patience and all the hope that I could summon to help
me.

It was not quite half-past one when the messenger departed.
Before half-past three he returned, and brought the doctor with
him. Mr. Dawson's kindness, and the delicacy with which he
treated his prompt assistance quite as a matter of course, almost
overpowered me. The bail required was offered, and accepted
immediately. Before four o'clock, on that afternoon, I was
shaking hands warmly with the good old doctor—a free man again—
in the streets of Knowlesbury.

Mr. Dawson hospitably invited me to go back with him to Oak Lodge,
and take up my quarters there for the night. I could only reply
that my time was not my own, and I could only ask him to let me
pay my visit in a few days, when I might repeat my thanks, and
offer to him all the explanations which I felt to be only his due,
but which I was not then in a position to make. We parted with
friendly assurances on both sides, and I turned my steps at once
to Mr. Wansborough's office in the High Street.

Time was now of the last importance.

The news of my being free on bail would reach Sir Percival, to an
absolute certainty, before night. If the next few hours did not
put me in a position to justify his worst fears, and to hold him
helpless at my mercy, I might lose every inch of the ground I had
gained, never to recover it again. The unscrupulous nature of the
man, the local influence he possessed, the desperate peril of
exposure with which my blindfold inquiries threatened him—all
warned me to press on to positive discovery, without the useless
waste of a single minute. I had found time to think while I was
waiting for Mr. Dawson's arrival, and I had well employed it.
Certain portions of the conversation of the talkative old clerk,
which had wearied me at the time, now recurred to my memory with a
new significance, and a suspicion crossed my mind darkly which had
not occurred to me while I was in the vestry. On my way to
Knowlesbury, I had only proposed to apply to Mr. Wansborough for
information on the subject of Sir Percival's mother. My object
now was to examine the duplicate register of Old Welmingham
Church.