Mary Barton Page #69

Mary Barton: A Tale of Manchester Life is the first novel by English author Elizabeth Gaskell, published in 1848. The story is set in the English city of Manchester between 1839 and 1842, and deals with the difficulties faced by the Victorian working class.

• Novel

								

the engravings that hung round the dining-room. It was so common to
him to be acquainted with crime, that he was far from feeling all his
interest absorbed in the present case of violence, although he could
not help having much anxiety to detect the murderer. He was busy
looking at the only oil-painting in the room (a youth of eighteen
or so, in a fancy dress), and conjecturing its identity with the
young man so mysteriously dead, when the door opened, and Mr. Carson
returned. Stern as he had looked before leaving the room, he looked
far sterner now. His face was hardened into deep-purposed wrath.

"I beg your pardon, sir, for leaving you." The superintendent bowed.
They sat down, and spoke long together. One by one the policemen were
called in, and questioned.

All through the night there was bustle and commotion in the house.
Nobody thought of going to bed. It seemed strange to Sophy to hear
nurse summoned from her mother's side to supper, in the middle of the
night, and still stranger that she could go. The necessity of eating
and drinking seemed out of place in the house of death.

When night was passing into morning, the dining-room door opened, and
two persons' steps were heard along the hall. The superintendent was
leaving at last. Mr. Carson stood on the front door-step, feeling the
refreshment of the cooler morning air, and seeing the starlight fade
away into dawn.

"You will not forget," said he. "I trust to you."

The policeman bowed.

"Spare no money. The only purpose for which I now value wealth is
to have the murderer arrested, and brought to justice. My hope in
life now is to see him sentenced to death. Offer any rewards. Name
a thousand pounds in the placards. Come to me at any hour, night or
day, if that be required. All I ask of you is, to get the murderer
hanged. Next week, if possible--to-day is Friday. Surely, with the
clues you already possess, you can muster up evidence sufficient to
have him tried next week."

"He may easily request an adjournment of his trial, on the ground of
the shortness of the notice," said the superintendent.

"Oppose it, if possible. I will see that the first lawyers are
employed. I shall know no rest while he lives."

"Every thing shall be done, sir."

"You will arrange with the coroner. Ten o'clock, if convenient."

The superintendent took leave.

Mr. Carson stood on the step, dreading to shut out the light and air,
and return into the haunted, gloomy house.

"My son! my son!" he said, at last. "But you shall be avenged, my
poor murdered boy."

Ay! to avenge his wrongs the murderer had singled out his victim,
and with one fell action had taken away the life that God had
given. To avenge his child's death, the old man lived on; with the
single purpose in his heart of vengeance on the murderer. True, his
vengeance was sanctioned by law, but was it the less revenge?

Are we worshippers of Christ? or of Alecto?

Oh! Orestes! you would have made a very tolerable Christian of the
nineteenth century!




CHAPTER XIX.

JEM WILSON ARRESTED ON SUSPICION.


   "Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
   Which, all confused, I could not know,
   Whether I suffered or I did,
   For all seemed guilt, remorse, or woe."

   COLERIDGE.


I left Mary, on that same Thursday night which left its burden of
woe at Mr. Carson's threshold, haunted with depressing thoughts. All
through the night she tossed restlessly about, trying to get quit of
the ideas that harassed her, and longing for the light when she could
rise, and find some employment. But just as dawn began to appear, she
became more quiet, and fell into a sound heavy sleep, which lasted
till she was sure it was late in the morning by the full light that
shone in.

She dressed hastily, and heard the neighbouring church-clock strike
eight. It was far too late to do as she had planned (after inquiring
how Alice was, to return and tell Margaret), and she accordingly went
in to inform the latter of her change of purpose, and the cause of
it; but on entering the house she found Job sitting alone, looking
sad enough. She told him what she came for.

"Margaret, wench! why she's been gone to Wilson's these two hours.
Ay! sure, you did say last night you would go; but she could na rest
in her bed, so was off betimes this morning."

Mary could do nothing but feel guilty of her long morning nap, and
hasten to follow Margaret's steps; for late as it was, she felt she
could not settle well to her work, unless she learnt how kind good
Alice Wilson was going on.

So, eating her crust-of-bread breakfast, she passed rapidly along the
streets. She remembered afterwards the little groups of people she
had seen, eagerly hearing, and imparting news; but at the time her
only care was to hasten on her way, in dread of a reprimand from Miss
Simmonds.

She went into the house at Jane Wilson's, her heart at the instant
giving a strange knock, and sending the rosy flush into her face,
at the thought that Jem might possibly be inside the door. But I do
assure you, she had not thought of it before. Impatient and loving as
she was, her solicitude about Alice on that hurried morning had not
been mingled with any thought of him.

Her heart need not have leaped, her colour need not have rushed so
painfully to her cheeks, for he was not there. There was the round
table, with a cup and saucer, which had evidently been used, and
there was Jane Wilson sitting on the other side, crying quietly,
while she ate her breakfast with a sort of unconscious appetite. And
there was Mrs. Davenport washing away at a night-cap or so, which, by
their simple, old-world make, Mary knew at a glance were Alice's. But
nothing--no one else.

Alice was much the same, or rather better of the two, they told her;
at any rate she could speak, though it was sad rambling talk. Would
Mary like to see her?

Of course she would. Many are interested by seeing their friends
under the new aspect of illness; and among the poor there is no
wholesome fear of injury or excitement to restrain this wish.

So Mary went up-stairs, accompanied by Mrs. Davenport, wringing the
suds off her hands, and speaking in a loud whisper far more audible
than her usual voice.

"I mun be hastening home, but I'll come again to-night, time enough
to iron her cap; 'twould be a sin and a shame if we let her go dirty
now she's ill, when she's been so rare and clean all her life-long.
But she's sadly forsaken, poor thing! She'll not know you, Mary; she
knows none on us."

The room up-stairs held two beds, one superior in the grandeur of
four posts and checked curtains to the other, which had been occupied
by the twins in their brief life-time. The smaller had been Alice's
bed since she had lived there; but with the natural reverence to one
"stricken of God and afflicted," she had been installed since her
paralytic stroke the evening before in the larger and grander bed,
while Jane Wilson had taken her short broken rest on the little
pallet.

Margaret came forwards to meet her friend, whom she half expected,
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