Part 13

"Not I--but I've heard of his mother. What inducement could he have to commit so dreadful a crime?"

"Revenge, sir!--The General, some two or three weeks since, seized his gun, and, poor gentleman, abused Tom fearfully, for he was in one of his terrifics; and Tom told him the next time he was on his grounds he would do for him--at least so it is said."

"Dreadful!--and what was this Tom Vallance, as I think you call him?"

"Nothing, sir! His mother is an industrious woman; and the lad was not that bad fellow, neither--but dreadfully idle. He had a good education; but his father dying two years since, Tom left school; and his mother, in place of sending him back, kept him at home: she was so fond of him that she let him do whatever he liked."

"How can she afford to maintain him?"

"She is very industrious, sir; and, as she was daft fond of him, every penny she could scrape together went into his pockets."

"Where is the accused?"

"Tom, sir, do you mean?--Why, before the Sheriff, making his declaration."

"Who succeeds the late baronet?"

"His nephew--a very nice chap. He was often at Merton when a lad; but he has not been here for many years. He'll be better liked than his uncle, though the old fellow was not so bad neither. But I must go, sir, for I hear the bell ringing in the travellers' room." So saying, he whipped his napkin under his arm, and withdrew with praiseworthy celerity.

The unknown traveller paced slowly up and down the room, apparently very much perplexed in his mind. He muttered--"Strange!--very strange!--caught in the room--a previous threat--all concurs." Shortly afterwards he again rang the bell, ordered in and paid his bill; and, taking a post-chaise to the next town, waited there only until the mail from Edinburgh to London stopped to change horses, and, having procured a seat, arrived in due time in the metropolis.

The investigation of facts connected with the death of Sir Thomas proceeded, and a strong case was made out against the accused. The two servants swore to the threat; and, although not giving exactly the waiter's version of it, made it pretty nearly as bad; for, not having heard the precise words, they supplied the defect in hearing by generalizing. "He threatened," they said, "to be revenged, and that he would come to the grounds for that purpose;" or used some such words, shewing a determined resolution of getting "_amends_" of their master. That the General met his death by a stab in the heart was plain enough; and that the servants found Tom beside him, grasping a bloody knife, was equally so. Presumptions were, therefore, strongly against him; nor did his declaration nor judicial statement help him much; for he admitted, after some little hesitation, that he had slipped into the grounds to redeem his threat of revenge by carrying off some very fine peaches, of which the General was very proud, and which he intended as a present to a neighbouring nobleman. Knowing that Sir Thomas was accustomed to take his siesta immediately after dinner, which was usually at five--for he followed a fashion of his own in this respect, which has, since his time, become popular--and that the gardener left at six, he lurked about the grounds till after that period, and then, easily getting into the garden, thought it prudent to see how the land lay before he proceeded to his labour of love.

The house of Merton was an old-fashioned building, or rather series of buildings, erected at different times; and the present possessor, who had a fancy for horticulture, had added an apartment, which opened by a glass door upon a terrace from which, by descending a few steps, he entered the garden. This room was, necessarily, remote from the rest of the mansion, and here Sir Thomas uniformly dined, summer and winter. After dinner was removed, and the dessert and wine placed on the table, the servants withdrew, and were forbidden to enter till seven o'clock, when coffee was served. Of all this Tom was perfectly cognizant.

Now Tom asserted that, as a precautionary measure, he resolved to peep into the room in question, to ascertain whether Sir Thomas was asleep before he took his boyish revenge; and seeing the glass door which led into the garden open, he proceeded, cautiously and slowly, till he got there, when, looking in, he observed his old enemy lying on the floor on his face. Astonished at this, and forgetting all sense of personal risk, he advanced to raise the baronet, when he discovered that he was dead, and a knife lying beside the body, which he picked up. Fear tied up his tongue for some few seconds, and he had barely time to give utterance to an exclamation of horror, when, the door opening, the servant gave the alarm, and before he had time to collect his scattered senses he was a prisoner. All this might have been true, and perhaps the story would have been treated with more consideration than it obtained, had it not been for the _previous threat_, which naturally induced a strong suspicion against Tom. The result was that, after the ordinary form had been gone through, the unhappy youth was fully committed to take his trial for the murder of Sir Thomas Vavasour Bruce Vavasour of Vavasour and Merton, Baronet.

The heir, at this eventful period, was in England, whither the body was transmitted, and deposited in the Vavasour mausoleum.

Meanwhile, Tom remained for some weeks in the county jail in a condition far from enviable. All attempts to induce a confession of guilt were abortive; he persisted in his declaration of innocence; but, as parties accused are not usually in the habit of confessing their crimes, these protestations were not considered worth much. Indeed, the only person he could convince was his poor mother, who gave implicit confidence to his assertions.

A change, and one for the better, had come over the accused in prison. How bitterly did he regret his former idle moments--how deeply did he lament the burden he had been on his mother. Many a vow did he make, that if he could get quit of this charge, he would eschew his former course of life, and be all a fond parent could ask. About the tenth day before the approaching sittings, Tom was visited by a gentleman, who proffered his assistance as his adviser. He had heard, he said, of the case; and was anxious, on his mother's account, to afford his aid: but he required a full and ample statement, without any concealment. Tom answered he had nothing to conceal; and he recapitulated everything he had formerly stated.

The stranger listened attentively and, after his client had concluded, shook his head. "Tom! you may be innocent--there is the impress of truth in what you state, and I can hardly doubt you; but still the evidence against you is so strong, that if you go to trial, I am fearful--very fearful of the result."

Tom's face, which had brightened as the stranger commenced, became clouded ere the remarks were finished; and, when they terminated, he burst into tears. "O sir!" he sobbed, "have pity on a poor misguided lad, who never meant evil to any one--who is as innocent of the crime of which he is accused as you are. Save me, sir! O save me! if not on my own account, at least on that of my poor mother, who will break her heart if I am condemned."

"I would willingly save you if I could," was the rejoinder; "but I cannot influence juries--I cannot sway the Court."

"And must I die, then? Must I, before my time, go down to my grave dishonoured and disgraced? O sir! if it had pleased Heaven to visit me with a deadly sickness, I would have left the world without one sigh except for my mother. But to be degraded as a felon--to be branded as a murderer--it is too--too much." He became so agitated that grief choked his utterance.

The stranger, obviously affected, look his hand. "Tom, have you firmness? There is a way, perhaps."

"How!" exclaimed the lad, eagerly.

"This room is only one storey from the ground, and escape is possible."

"Escape! No! no! The windows are barred with iron; besides, if I escape, it looks like guilt, and I cannot bear that."

"But, will staying behind prove your innocence? Will your suffering the last penalty of the law convince the world that you did not commit the murder?"

"True--very true! If I live, my innocence may yet be proved--but how to get through the window."

"That can be easily managed, if you will act like a man. It is now early. I will be with you again before the prison shuts. Remember! not one word to your mother. You may console her by saying that your agent--for such I am--has given you hopes. Nothing more. Remember!" So saying, he departed.

* * * * * *

It was rather late when the stranger, who called himself Mortlake, returned. Tom had kept his promise; and, by affording his mother hopes of an acquittal, contrived to infuse a happiness to which her bosom had been for many a week a stranger.

"Now, Tom!" said Mr Mortlake, in a low tone, "attend to me. I have brought you a file, some aquafortis, and a silken ladder. Apply the liquid to the bars, and it will gradually eat into the iron--then use your file, and the first impediment to your flight will be removed. Next fix the silken ladder firmly, and your descent is easy. Do not begin your operations until the inmates of the jail are asleep. You may get everything ready by the evening of the day after the morrow. As the clock strikes twelve, assistance will be at hand, and descend with the first stroke, if all is right. Some one will be waiting for you. He will whisper into your ear 'follow,' and you must follow as speedily as possible. But, again, I caution you to keep this a secret from your mother. Buoy her up with hopes; talk confidently of your acquittal; that you are to have a learned barrister from Edinburgh. This will get wind, and prevent any suspicion of your intended escape. Once safe, your mother will receive due notice; and be assured she shall not be allowed to suffer one moment more of suspense than is absolutely necessary. You will not see me again in prison, I hope."

Tom's feelings were overcome. He seized Mortlake's hand, and pressed it to his lips, while tears flowed in torrents from his eyes. He could not speak.

Mortlake was affected. "And yet, poor kind-hearted boy," he said, "people could deem you guilty of a murder--how little did they know you. But away with tears. Be a man. You have a difficult part before you. See you flinch not!" Then changing his tone, and speaking loudly, "Well! I'm off to Edinburgh, where I shall see Andrew Crosbie. I have great faith in him; and, as he is not a greedy man, I dare say, Tom, I may get him to come here."

At this moment the jailer entered, saying it was time to leave; and Mortlake, pressing Tom's hand, bade him farewell, until his return from Edin burgh.

Tom treasured every word in his heart--not one syllable escaped his lips, that might induce the most suspicious person to imagine he contemplated flight. He spoke sensibly of his case; inducing his mother, and one or two persons, whom curiosity had prompted to visit him, to suppose that he was very sanguine of acquittal; and, as the fame of Andrew Crosbie extended over Scotland as a shrewd man and an able lawyer, this result was not thought by any means chimerical.

When the evening came, Tom commenced operations. He applied the liquid as directed, which soon corroded the iron at the bottom. The sides and top were more difficult, but their partial destruction was in time accomplished; and, when the eventful evening came, he had little difficulty in removing the grating. It was, of course, only injured at the ends; and, as the window was oblong, by altering the position of the grating, he obtained a substance sufficiently strong to which he attached the rope-ladder. Getting up to the window, he placed the grating reversed in the inside, and threw the ladder on the outside. To soften the fall of the iron after he had descended, he placed his mattress and bedclothes below; and, having thus made every preliminary arrangement, with the first stroke of twelve he commenced his descent; and, ere the last had died upon the breeze, the ground was reached in safety.

A figure, enveloped in a cloak, approached hurriedly, and whispered "follow!" He tossed a bundle to the fugitive, then turned to the left. The order was obeyed; and, after the lapse of an hour and a-half, Tom found himself in a wood, and the stranger opening a dark lantern--sliding shades at the side of which had previously been pulled down--disclosed to the eyes of Vallance the features of his agent, Mortlake.

The bundle was untied, and Tom found it to contain a capacious wrapper, a shawl, and bonnet with a veil. Those Tom was required to put on, and this matter being accomplished, the journey was resumed, and in about two hours they arrived at a small hamlet or village, where they found a gig waiting for them. Mortlake then addressed his companion:--"My dear Emily! be more composed--never mind your father--I will write to him, and all will yet be put to rights."

Tom, who had been previously instructed, spoke "small like a woman;" and, after some affected coyness, entered the carriage, when the parties drove off, leaving the man who had taken charge of the vehicle under the evident conviction that the strange man was a sad blackguard, and that the veiled lady was some unfortunate young woman who had been deluded away by his devices.

The news of Tom's escape excited universal astonishment, and no means were left untried to trace his footsteps; but every exertion was in vain, and his pursuers were completely at fault. It was universally admitted that some one must have furnished him with the implements that had procured his liberation; and his mother was, as a matter of course, the first one on whom suspicion lighted. The poor old woman, when the fact was announced, was equally amazed and pleased; but she could furnish no clue. Tom had seen a few people in prison, yet it was evident they had nothing to do with the escape. It was at last resolved that the agent was the accessory; but here the good people were at fault again, for no one, except the jailer, remembered having seen him, and he could give but a very imperfect description of him. He might be tall or so--rather think he was, but not sure--wore powder, and had, he believes, a black coat, but did not think he would know him again. This was all that could be elicited.

A reward of fifty pounds was offered by the magistrates for the capture of Tom; and Sir Edward Bruce Vavasour increased it to one hundred and fifty, expressing, at same time, his anxiety that the accused should be retaken.

Whilst all were in a state of excitement, fresh fuel was added to the flame by the following letter, bearing the Liverpool post-mark, which Mrs Vallance received from her son:--

"DEAREST MOTHER,--I am well, and as happy as one unjustly accused can be. Though fate has sundered us, you are ever in my thoughts. I have found a protector--fear not for me. You shall regularly hear from

"Your affectionate son," &c.

Beneath was written:--"Your son will yet be a blessing to you. Accept this trifle." And a twenty pound note was found enclosed.

"What a fool!" said the wise ones, "only to think of letting us know where he is." And, upon the hint, away trotted the officers with a criminal warrant, to be backed, as it is termed, by an English justice in Liverpool, where, to their great vexation, he was not to be found.

Meanwhile, the object of their pursuit was out of all danger. His friend and he at last found themselves on the road to Wooler.

"Tom!" said Mortlake, when they alighted at the inn, "you must pass for my wife. I have everything provided for that purpose in my portmanteau; meanwhile, keep down your veil, and wrap your cloak about you."

He then took out a complete suit of female apparel, and speedily his protegée was metamorphosed into a tall and handsome, although somewhat masculine, female. We need not tire our readers with a detail of the subsequent journey southward, and may only mention that Mortlake left the horse and gig at Wooler, where, obtaining a seat for himself and his companion in the mail, they arrived in safety at Barnet. Here Tom resumed his sex; and, in a new suit of clothes, appeared, as he really was, a good and intelligent looking young man.

From Barnet, the travellers proceeded in a chaise to London, where Mortlake took lodgings, and, after the lapse of a few days, disclosed to the youth his ulterior purposes.

"Mr Vallance!" said he.

"Do not call me 'Mr'--if you do, I shall think I have offended you."

"Well, Tom, then. Listen to what I have to say. You have been my companion now for nearly three weeks. During that time I have studied you, and the opinion I have formed is favourable. You possess good qualities and excellent talents: these have been obscured but not extinguished by your recent follies, not to give them a harsher name. By giving way to passion and using threats, which, from you, were ill-judged and ill-timed, you have barely escaped an ignominious death. Far be it from me to say that the late owner of Merlon was justified in the intemperate language he used; but you know that at times he had no control over himself, and you should have made allowances for what was really a disease. Of your innocence I have not the slightest doubt, otherwise I would never have aided your escape from jail. I think the lesson you have had is one you can never forget; and I prophesy that Thomas Vallance may yet assume that position in society which good conduct and perseverance ever secure."

Tom heard this eulogium, qualified as it was, with great delight. "Try me! O try me, my best friend!--give me an opportunity of evincing, by the propriety of my conduct, how much I feel your benevolence. To please you shall be the study of my future life."

"Well, Tom, you shall have a trial; but you must leave me, and cross the seas. It is not safe for either of us that you remain here."

Tom's countenance fell. "And must I leave _you_--the only being in the world, save my mother, whom I love? but your commands are to me as laws, and they shall be obeyed."

"Well, then--the family with which I am connected have large possessions in Antigua, and there is a wealthy mercantile establishment over which I have no inconsiderable control--so much so, that any recommendation from me or mine will meet with immediate attention. I shall place you there as a clerk; and if you discharge the duties of the office satisfactorily, means shall be afforded of advancing you: in one word, everything shall be made to depend upon your good behaviour. Preparations have already been making for your departure, and I have procured from the senior partner of Mortlake, Tresham, & Co., an order for your appointment, with a letter of recommendation to Mr Tresham, the resident partner, whose good graces I sincerely wish you may acquire."

"Mortlake!--is he a relation of yours?"

"Yes! but you must ask no questions--seek to know nothing beyond what I choose to disclose. You must renounce your name. You will therefore, in future, be known as Thomas Mortlake, the son of a distant relation of mine. Such is the legend that must be circulated. Now, write to your mother. Would to heavens! I could permit an interview, but that cannot be. Give me the letter, sealed if you choose, as I have a particular mode of transmitting it to her; and I wish it to appear, as the former one did, that it came from Liverpool. Be cautious and guarded in what you communicate, but mention that, in future, she shall have such an allowance as will make her easy for life. Now, farewell for a few hours, and be sure to have your letter ready when I return."

Tom was left to his own reflections. The letter to Mrs Vallance was written; and, by the time that Mortlake returned, Tom was sufficiently composed to veil his feelings, and meet him as of old.

"Everything is arranged," said Mortlake; "in a few days you sail from the Thames by the brig _Tresham_. You will have every accommodation afforded that a gentleman can require: a suitable wardrobe is preparing: in short, my dear young friend, you shall appear to these West Indians as their equal, and in such guise as suits the proud name of Mortlake. One thing more, and I have done. The present Baronet of Vavasour has, through his mother, property in Antigua, and is distantly related to the elder partner of the firm. You will, therefore, seem as if you knew him not; and even in regard to myself, I wish little or nothing said. That curiosity will be excited, I doubt not, but I leave you to baffle it."

Time passed with unusual rapidity--so, at least, Mr Thomas Mortlake opined; and the day of his departure having at length arrived, he was not a little startled when his friend made a very early appearance, accompanied by a young lady. Advancing towards him, she said--"Mr Mortlake! I am happy to have had this opportunity of seeing you previous to your departure, and of personally wishing you every success in the calling in which you are about to engage. Your friend has no secrets from me, and I am acquainted with every particular of your singular history."

"Yes!" exclaimed his protector; "I conceal nothing from this lady, and she feels as much interest in you as I do myself. We propose to accompany you to the ship."

Tom felt somewhat confused by this unexpected introduction; but that natural sense of propriety which is inherent in some minds, and which others vainly endeavour to acquire, enabled him to acquit himself in a manner that gave equal satisfaction to both visitors. The party then proceeded to the vessel, where Mortlake and the lady satisfied themselves that due provision had been made for the accommodation of their protegé.

"Mr Mortlake!" said the lady at parting, "I have used the freedom of an old friend, and placed in your cabin a small collection of books, which, I have no doubt, will materially help to deprive your voyage of half its tedium; and, when you arrive at the place of your destination, if you could devote any leisure hours to their study, be assured the benefit will be incalculable."

"Believe me," he answered, "my kind patrons, whatever may be my fate, I never can forget the wondrous acts of kindness that have been lavished on me. If an anxious desire to discharge the duties of my office--if a determination to surmount difficulties, coupled with a firm resolution to act fairly and honourably by my neighbours--can be taken as an earnest of my anxiety to please, on this you may rely; and if my exertions be crowned with success, the pleasure will be doubled when I remember it is all owing to you."

"Tom," said Mr Mortlake, "you are eloquent; but time flies, and we must part."

"I have but one request more--no doubt it is needless. Be kind! O be kind to my poor mother!"

"On that," replied the lady, "you may depend. And now, farewell!"

Tom took her hand, and pressed it respectfully to his lips; then, turning to his friend, tried to give utterance to "farewell!" The word would not pass his lips. Forgetting all difference of rank, he threw his arms around Mortlake's neck, and wept. In a moment, as if ashamed of his freedom, or want of manliness, he hastily withdrew from his embrace.

Mortlake was moved. He pressed the lad affectionately to his breast--"God bless you, my dear fellow; in me you have ever a steady friend. And now, farewell!"

They separated; and years elapsed ere Mortlake and his friend again met.

* * * *