Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II)

“What is it? – what can it be?” were uttered by many in broken voices; while others, too much terrified to speak, sank half fainting upon their seats, their colorless cheek and livid lips in terrible contrast to their gay attire.

“There! listen to it again! – Good Heaven! what can it be?”

“It’s a death ‘keen’!” said a country gentleman, a magistrate named Goring; “something must have happened among the people?”

And now, none knew from what quarter arising, or by whom spoken, but the dreadful word “Murder” was heard through the room. Many issued forth to ask for tidings; some stayed to assure and rally the drooping courage of others; some, again, divested of the “motley,” moved hurriedly about, seeking for this one or that. All was terror, confusion, and dismay.

“Oh, here is Mr. Linton!” cried several, as, with his domino on his arm, pale, and like one terror-struck, he entered the room. “What is it, Mr. Linton? Do you know what has happened?”

“Get Mrs. Kennyfeck and the girls away,” whispered he to a friend, hurriedly; “tell them something – anything – but take them from this.”

“What!” exclaimed Meek, to whom Linton had whispered something, but in a voice too low to be clearly audible.

“Kennyfeck is murdered!” said Linton, louder.

As if the terrible tidings had floated on the air, in an instant it was on every tongue, and vibrating in every ear; and then, in heartrending screams of passionate grief, the cry of the widow and her children burst forth, cry following cry in wild succession. Seized with an hysteric paroxysm, Mrs. Kennyfeck was carried to her room; while of her daughters, the elder sat mute, speechless and, to all seeming, insensible; the younger struggling in convulsive passion to go to her father.

What a scene was that! How dreadful to mark the symbols of levity – the decorations by which pleasure would mock the stern realities of life – surrounded as they now were by suffering and sorrow! to see the groups as they stood; some ministering to one who had fainted, others conversing in low and eager whispers. The joyous smiles, the bright glances were gone, as though they had been by masks assumed at will; tears furrowed their channels through the deep rouge, and convulsive sobs broke from beneath corsets where joy alone had vibrated before. While in the ballroom the scene was one of terror and dismay, a few had withdrawn into a small apartment adjoining the garden, to consult upon what the emergency might require. These were drawn together by Linton, and included Sir Andrew MacFarline, the Chief Justice, Meek, and a few others of lesser note. In a few words Linton informed them that he heard the tidings as he passed through the hall; that a peasant, taking the mountain path to Scariff, had come upon the spot where the murder was committed, and found the body still warm, but lifeless – “he also found this weapon, the bore of which was dirty from a recent discharge as he took it up.”

“Why, this pistol is Mr. Cashel’s!” exclaimed Sir Andrew, examining the stock closely; “I know it perfectly – I have fired with it myself a hundred times.”

“Impossible, my dear Sir Andrew!” cried Linton, eagerly. “You must be mistaken.”

“Where is Mr. Cashel?” asked the Chief Justice.

“No one seems to know,” replied Linton. “At a very early hour this morning he left this in company with poor Kennyfeck. It would appear that they were not on the best of terms together; at least, some of the servants overheard angry words pass between them as they drove away.”

“Let us call these people before us,” said Sir Andrew.

“Not at present, sir. It would be premature and indiscreet,” interposed the judge., Then, turning to Linton, he added, “Well, sir, and after that?”

“After that we have no tidings of either of them.”

“I’ll swear to the pistol, onyhow,” said Sir Andrew, who sat staring at the weapon, and turning it about in every direction.

“Of what nature were the differences between Cashel and Kennyfeck supposed to be?” asked Meek of Linton.

“It is impossible to collect, from the few and broken sentences which have been reported; possibly, dissatisfaction on Cashel’s part at the difficulty of obtaining money; possibly, some misunderstanding about his intentions regarding one of the girls, whom the Kennyfecks were silly enough to suppose he was going to marry.”

A slight tap at the door here arrested their attention. It was Mr. Phillis, who came to say that footsteps had been heard in Mr. Cashel’s dressing-room, although it was well known he himself had not returned.

“Might he not have returned and entered the room unseen, sir?” said the Chief Justice, who cast a shrewd and piercing look upon the valet.

“Scarcely, my Lord, since he is known to every servant in the house, and people are passing and repassing in every direction.”

“But there is every reason to believe that he has not returned at all,” interposed Linton. “It is some one else has been heard in his dressing-room.”

“Would it not be as well to despatch messengers to Drumcoologan,” said Meek, “and assure ourselves of Cashel’s safety? Up to this we are ignorant if he have not shared the fate of poor Kennyfeck.”

“The very suggestion I was about to make. I ‘ll take Phillis along with me, and set out this instant,” cried Linton.

“We shall miss your assistance greatly here, sir,” said the Chief Justice.

“Your Lordship overvalues my poor ability; but I will hasten to the utmost, and be soon back again.” And thus saying, he left the room, followed by Phillis.

“There must be an inquest at once,” said the Chief Justice. “The coroner has power to examine witnesses on oath; and it seems to me that some clew to the affair will present itself.”

“As to this room, don’t you think it were proper to inquire if any one be really within it?” asked Meek.

“Yes; we will proceed thither together,” replied the judge.

“I canna be mistaken in the pistol; I ‘ll swear to that,” chimed in Sir Andrew, whose whole thoughts were centred on that object.

“Well, Mr. Goring,” said Meek, as that gentleman advanced to meet them in the corridor, “have you obtained any clew to this sad affair?”

The magistrate drew near, and whispered a few words in the other s ear. Meek started, and grasped the speaker’s arm convulsively; then, after a pause, said, “Tell the Chief Justice.” Mr. Goring approached, and said something in a low voice to the judge.

“Be cautious, sir; take care to whom you mention these circumstances, lest they be bruited about before we can examine into them,” said the Chief Justice; then retiring into a window with Sir Andrew and Meek, he continued: “This gentleman has just informed me that the impress of a boot with a high heel has been discovered near the spot where the murder was committed; which boot exactly tallies with that worn by Mr. Cashel.”

“The pistol is his; I’ll tak’ my oath on that,” muttered Sir Andrew.

“Here’s Phillis coming back,” said Meek. “What’s the matter, Phillis?”

“Mr. Linton sent me back, sir, to say that the ivy which covered the wall on the east end of the house has been torn down, and seems to infer that some one must have climbed up it, to reach my master’s dressing-room.”

“This is a very important circumstance,” said the Chief Justice. “Let us examine the room at once.” And so saying, he led the way towards it.

Not a word was spoken as the party passed along the corridor and ascended the stairs; each feared, even by a syllable, to betray the terrible suspicions that were haunting his mind. It was a solemn moment; and so their looks and gestures bespoke it. The house itself had suddenly become silent; scarce a sound was beard within that vast building, which so late had rung with revelry and joy. A distant door would clap, or a faintly heard shriek from some one still suffering from the recent shock; but all else was hushed and still.

“That is the room,” said Meek, pointing to a door, beneath which, although it was now daybreak, a stream of light issued; and, slight as the circumstance was, the looks exchanged among the party seemed to give it a significance.

The Chief Justice advanced and tapped at the door. Immediately a voice was heard from within that all recognized as Cashel’s asking, —

“Who’s there?”

“We want you, Mr. Cashel,” said the judge, in an accent which all the instincts of his habit had not rendered free from a slight tremor.

The door was immediately thrown wide, and Roland stood before them. He had not changed his dress since his arrival, and his torn sleeve and blood-stained trousers at once caught every eye that was fixed upon him. The disorder, too, was not confined to his own haggard look; the room itself was littered with papers and letters, with clothes strewn carelessly in every direction; and conspicuously amid all, an open pistol-case was seen, from which one of the weapons was missing. A mass of charred paper lay within the fender, and a great heap of paper lay, as it were, ready for burning, beside the hearth. There was full time for those who stood there to notice all these particulars, since neither spoke, but each gazed on the other in terrible uncertainty. Cashel was the first to break the silence.

“Well, sirs,” said he, in a voice that only an effort made calm, “are my friends so very impatient at my absence that they come to seek me in my dressing-room?”

“The dreadful event that has just occurred, sir,” said the judge, “makes apology for our intrusion unnecessary. We are here from duty, Mr. Cashel, not inclination, still less caprice.”

The solemnity of manner in which he spoke, and the grave faces around him on every side, seemed to apprise Roland that bad tidings awaited him, and he looked eagerly to each for an explanation. At length, as none spoke, he said, —

“Will no one vouchsafe to put an end to this mystification? What, I pray, is this event that has happened?”

“Mr. Kennyfeck has been murdered,” said the judge.