with a series of disasters in the flight; were pitched out of Mr. Carlton’s carriage into the mud—I suppose he was driving madly like a second Phaëton—and Miss Laura lost one of her shoes. She’s Lady Laura now—and was then, for that matter, if they had but known it: it’s said that Mr. Carlton did know it. They got married at Gretna Green or some of those convenient places, and when they came back to South Wennock were remarried again. You should have seen St. Mark’s church! Crowds upon crowds pushed into it.”
“And you amidst the rest, I suppose,” remarked Mrs. Grey.
Frederick laughed. “Carlton was as white as a sheet, and kept looking round as if he feared some interruption. Bad men are always cowards. By the way, Lady Jane has come back to the house on the Rise.”
“My boy, do you know I think you are too bitter against Mr. Carlton. It was not a right thing, certainly, to run away with a young lady, but that is not our affair; and it is very wrong to incite people against your papa—if he does do it; but, with all that, you are scarcely justified in calling him a bad man.”
“Ah, but that’s not all,” said Frederick. “Mother, I hate Mr. Carlton! As to being bitter against him, I only wish I could be bitter; bitter to some purpose.”
“Frederick!”
The boy half sank upon his knees to bring his face on a level with Mrs. Grey’s, and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“I believe it was Mr. Carlton who put the prussic acid into the draught.”
Mrs. Grey, startled to tremor, almost to anger, frightened at the temerity of Frederick, could only stare at him.
“Look here,” he continued, in some excitement. “The draught went out of our house right, I know, and the boy delivered it as it was sent. Why then did Mr. Carlton take hold of it when it arrived and call out that it smelt of prussic acid? It could not have smelt of prussic acid then; or, if it did, some magic had been at work.”
Mrs. Grey knew how fond her son was of fancies, but she had never seen him so terribly earnest as this. She put up her hand to stop his words.
“It is of no use, mother; I must speak. This suspicion of Mr. Carlton fell upon me that night. When we heard of the death, I and Uncle John ran down to Palace Street. Carlton was in the chamber, and he began talking of what had taken place, and of his own share in the previous events of the evening: how he had smelt the draught on its being brought in, and his coming off to ask
Mr. Stephen Grey whether it was all right, and then going home and making up a draught on his own account and not getting back with it in time. He told all this readily and glibly, and Uncle John and Mr. Lycett took it in for gospel; but I did not. A feeling suddenly came over me that he was acting a part. He was too frank, too voluble; it was exactly as though he were rehearsing a tale learnt by heart; and I declare that a conviction flashed into my mind that it was ho who had done it all.”
“You frighten me to faintness,” gasped Mrs. Grey. “Have you reflected on what might be the awful consequences to Mr. Carlton were such an accusation to get abroad?”
“I am not going to speak of it abroad; but mother, I must tell you: it has been burning my heart away since that night. I dare not breathe it to papa or to Uncle John: they would call it one of my crotchety fancies, and say I was only fit for Bedlam. But you know how often you have been surprised at the quickness with which I read people and their motives, and you have called it a good gift from God. That Carlton was acting a part that night, I am certain; there was truth neither in his eye nor on his lip. He saw that I doubted him too, and wanted to get me from the chamber. Well, that was the first phase in my suspicion; and the next was his manner at the inquest. The same glib, ready tale was on his tongue; he seemed to have all the story at his fingers’ ends. The coroner complimented him on the straightforward way in which ho gave his evidence; but I know that I read lie in it from the beginning to the end.”
“Answer me a question, Frederick. What has so prejudiced you against Mr. Carlton?”
“I was not previously prejudiced against him. I declare to you, mamma, that when I entered the chamber where the poor lady lay dead, I had not, and never had had any prejudice against Mr. Carlton. I had felt rather glad that ho had set up in the place, because papa and Uncle John and Whittaker were so worried with the extent of the practice. It was when he was speaking of the draught that an inward conviction stole over me that ho was speaking falsely, deceitfully, and that he knew more about it than he would say.”
“I should call it an inward fiddlestick, were the subject less awfully serious,” reproved Mrs. Grey. “It would be better for you to bring reason and common-sense to bear upon this, Frederick, than an ‘inward conviction,’ vague and visionary. Was this young lady not a stranger to Mr. Carlton?”
“I expect she was. To him as well as to us.”