# Adventures of Susan Hopley/Volume 1/Chapter 5

CHAPTER V.
ILL NEWS.
On the morning succeeding the night Susan had passed so unpleasantly in her master's bedroom, when the servants assembled at breakfast, it was remarked that Mabel had not made her appearance; and Mrs. Jeremy the housekeeper, who was a precise personage, sent Susan to tell her, that if she did not attend at the appointed hours, she must go without her meals. Mabel, however, was not to be found in her dairy, nor any where about the house; and it was concluded that after doing her morning's work, she had gone to visit her sister Grace who lived in the village, a couple of miles off. Nothing more therefore was thought of her till the gardener came in some time afterward, and said that being attracted by the lowing of the ​cows, who had all assembled close to the park paling, he had been to see what was the matter, and discovered that they had not been milked. Further inspection of them, and of the dairy, proved this to be the case. Mrs. Jeromy vowed vengeance against the delinquent, and desired Susan, who understood the business, to supply her place for the immediate occasion. But when several hours elapsed and Mabel did not appear, her absence began to excite surprise as well as displeasure; more especially, when one of the men who had been to Mapleton with a horse to be shod, returned saying, he had called at Grace Lightfoot's to inquire if she was there, but that Grace assured him she had not seen her sister since the morning before. Upon this, Mabel's room, which adjoined the dairy, was examined, and from various indications, it was concluded that she had not slept there on the previous night. Her clothes were all found, except her bonnet and shawl, and such as she might be supposed to have worn; and there was nothing discovered that could throw the smallest light on the cause of her absence, except it was, that a man's glove was found on the floor; but whose glove it might be remained an enigma, that time only could solve. Mabel Lightfoot, beautiful and haughty as we have described her, had ​never been known to countenance the attentions of any man, either in her own station or a higher; nor was it suspected that any of the latter class were in pursuit of her. Andrew Hopley was the most favoured, or rather, the least disdained of her admirers; and even to him she had never shown any thing that amounted to encouragement.
Conjecture was therefore at a fault; and no one could suggest any probable solution of the mystery, as hour after hour passed, and the messengers that had been sent in search of her returned, and brought no tidings.
One circumstance recurred to Susan's mind, but it seemed almost too vague and unimportant to draw any conclusions from, and therefore she made no mention of it. It was, that on the night the man with the crooked nose had rung at the back-door, she had heard Mabel in conversation with some one as she passed her room; it was as she was returning to the kitchen after she had been up to look at her fires, and consequently not many minutes after she had seen him. The voice was that of a man; she thought nothing of it at the time, concluding it was some member of the family; but it now occurred to her that the stranger's saying he could not find his way, (in which ​there was certainly no difficulty,) and inquiring what place that was with the light in the window, might be a ruse to discover the dairymaid's quarters.
Susan, however, kept these reflections to herself; and indeed her thoughts were very much diverted from the mystery of Mabel's departure, by her anxiety for the arrival of the family and her brother, from whom the morning's post had brought no tidings; and when she had finished her household duties, she sat down with her needlework at one of the windows that looked towards the park gate, to watch for the first approach of a carriage.
It was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon when the sound of wheels announced an arrival. Not doubting it was the family, Susan started from her seat, but before she ran down stairs to meet them, she waited a moment to catch a glimpse of her brother in the rumble; but great was her disappointment when the vehicle drew near, to perceive it was not the expected carriage, but a hack post-chaise, in which sat a single traveller—a man, and a stranger.
Concluding it was some one seeking Mr. Wentworth about business, as was not uncommon, she had reseated herself and resumed her work, ​when the door opened, and Mr. Jeremy the butler entered with a face announcing "as a book where men might read strange matters," that he had something extraordinary to communicate.
"Is there any thing wrong, Sir?" said Susan, whose apprehensions of some unknown disaster were so much on the qui vive as to require little prompting.
"I am afraid there is," replied Mr. Jeremy; "but what I don't know. The man that's come in the post-chaise is a constable from Maningtree; and he says you, and I, and my wife, are to accompany him back immediately; and that you are to take with you all the letters you have received from Andrew since he went away."
"But what can we have to do with that, or Andrew either?" said Susan.
"I can't make it out," replied Jeremy. "However, we must go, that's certain; and as it's getting late, the sooner we set off the better. So tie up what you'll want in a handkerchief, and make haste down. Mrs. Jeremy's gone to get ready."
In a state of amazement and confusion indescribable, Susan proceeded to obey Mr. Jeremy's commands; and in a very short time they were prepared to set off.
​"I hope nothing has happened to my brother?" said she to the man when she met him in the hall below.
"Are you the footman's sister?" said he, eyeing her curiously.
"Yes, Sir," replied Susan. "There's nothing wrong with him I hope, is there?"
"Wait till you get to Maningtree," replied the man, shaking his head significantly; "you'll hear it all soon enough."
The unexpected summons, the mystery attending it, and these hints and innuendoes, whilst they perplexed Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy, threw poor Susan into an agony of alarm. That something had occurred in which Andrew was concerned was evident; and again the strange passage in his letter about the marriage, the visit of the man with the crooked nose, Mabel's disappearance, and her own dream, all presented themselves vividly to her mind; and although she could not tell how, nor see the links that united them, she could not help fancying that All these circumstances belonged to the same chain of events.
It was towards nine o'clock in the evening when the chaise drove up to the door of the King's Head inn at Maningtree. Several ​persons sons were lounging about the street; and when the carriage stopped, and the constable who was seated on the dicky, jumped off to open the door, there appeared a manifest desire on the part of the bystanders to obtain a glimpse of the travellers; and Susan heard a voice in the crowd say—"I believe one of them's the young man's sister;" whilst some cried, "Which is she?" and others ejaculated, "Poor thing!" Mr. Jeremy, with whom both Susan and Andrew were great favourites, heard all this too: and leaving his wife to the care of the constable, he kindly gave the poor girl his arm; who trembling, and ready to sink into the earth with fear and agitation, could scarcely support herself, as, preceded by a waiter, they were conducted to a small parlour at the extremity of the passage.
After procuring her a glass of water and a vial of hartshorn, the butler desired to be conducted to his master—to which the waiter replied, that Mr. Vigors the constable had gone up to let the gentleman know they were arrived; and presently afterwards Mr. Vigors appeared at the door, beckoning Mr. Jeremy to follow him.
When Jeremy entered the room above, he saw seated round a table, on which were decanters, glasses, and the remains of a dessert, four gentlemen, one of whom was Mr. Gaveston, the ​other three were strangers. On missing Mr. Wentworth, his first words were, "I hope nothing has happened to my master, Sir?"
"You have not heard?" said Mr. Gaveston, with an appearance of surprise.
"Nothing," answered Jeremy. "The constable wouldn't tell us why we were sent for."
"You desired me not, you know, Sir," said Vigors, who still stood by the door, with his hat in his hand.
"Very true," answered Gaveston, "I had forgotten. I think you may go now, Mr. Vigors, we shall not want you for the present;" and Vigors withdrew. "Take a glass of wine, Jeremy," continued Gaveston-"you've bad news to hear."
"I should be glad to know what it is at once, Sir," said Jeremy, who was a straight-forward sort of man, and entertained the most entire dis trust of Mr. Gaveston's sympathy or civilities.
"Nothing less than the death of your master, Jeremy," replied Gaveston, taking out his pocket-handkerchief and covering his face with it; "that rascal Andrew has robbed and murdered him."
"Andrew!" cried Mr. Jeremy—"Lord, Sir, the thing's unpossible!" for, grieved as the honest man was to learn the death of his master, ​his astonishment and incredulity at an accusation that appeared to him so monstrous, for a moment overpowered his other feelings.
"I fear it's too true," observed one of the gentlemen, whose name was Sir Thomas Taylor, and who was a magistrate for the county.
"Where is Andrew, Sir," said Jeremy; "does he confess it?"
"Gone off! escaped with his booty!" answered Gaveston, removing the handkerchief from his face.
"When did it happen?" inquired the butler.
"The night before last," answered he-"and though pursuit has been made in every direction-I myself have scoured the country, and hav'nt been off my horse till this evening-yet we can gather no tidings of the rascal. Once I thought I was upon his track-the description answered him exactly, and there was an evident desire of concealment; but the young man had a woman with him-therefore that couldn't be Andrew, you know, Mr. Jeremy."
Mr. Jeremy was silent.
"Andrew was never supposed to be connected with any woman that ever I heard of, was he?" repeated Mr. Gaveston.
"Not that I know of," answered Jeremy. "Andrew Hopley I take to be as good a young ​man us ever lived; and I should as soon suspect myself of such an act as I'd suspect him."
"But the thing's certain," replied Mr. Gaveston, "why else should the fellow make off?"
"It can't be denied that appearances are strongly against him," said Sir Thomas Taylor; "at the same time, we know that these are sometimes fallacious-and previous good character is not without its weight."
"I remember a remarkable case of circumstantial evidence," said the coroner, "where appearances were quite as condemnatory as in this instance, and yet the suspected person was innocent; and what was extraordinary the real criminal ultimately proved to be-"
"But, I repeat, is there any other way of accounting for the fellow's evasion than by supposing him guilty?" said Gaveston.
"There's no telling," answered Sir Thomas. "I remember a case in which the supposed criminal proved himself to have been one of the vic———"
"Oh, no doubt such mistakes do occur occasionally," interrupted Gaveston: "but they are rare, and cannot by any means be admitted as precedents; or the consequence would be to throw so much discredit and uncertainty on circumstantial evidence,-which, remember, ​gentlemen, is very often all the evidence we can get at,—that the march of justice would be altogether embarrassed and impeded.—But to pursue what I was saying; Andrew was never suspected of an attachment to any woman: was he, Jeremy?"
"There's few young men as have reached Andrew's years without," answered Jeremy. "Andrew may have fancied a girl as well as another, but there's no harm in that."
"Oh none-none in the world!" exclaimed Gaveston, with an air of extreme candour. "No, no; all I wanted to know for was because, as I mentioned, a suspicious person was observed on the road in company with a woman."
Jeremy was silent. There was something in all this inexplicable to him. He was an uneducated, but a very clear-headed man, and one who, to use his own phrase, was rarely deceived in man or woman. Of Andrew he entertained the highest opinion, founded on observation and experience, having known the lad from his childhood; whilst to Mr. Gaveston he had an antipathy so decided, that he used to liken it to the horror some people have of cats; and declare that he always felt an uncomfortable sensation when he was near him. Then, as for Mabel's ​having gone off with Andrew, which appeared to be the conclusion that would be drawn when her absence was known, and which, in short, he could not help suspecting was the insinuation Mr. Gaveston was driving at, he was as sceptical about that as the young man's guilt. He not only believed her incapable of countenancing or taking a part in the crime, but he was satisfied that she cared very little for Andrew; and was altogether actuated by views of a very different nature. He was even aware that Mr. Gaveston himself had offered to pay her more attention than was quite consistent with his engagement to Miss Wentworth; and he had observed them more than once in private conversation.
"To what amount is the robbery, Sir?" said he.
"Forty or fifty pounds," replied Gaveston. "At all events, whatever money Mr. Wentworth had in his portfolio is gone; as well as my pocket book and watch—is your wife below?" added he.
"She is, Sir," answered Jeremy; "and Susan also."
"I should like to ask her a few questions-Mrs. Jeremy, I mean, I think we may as well have her up?"
"Just as you please," said the other gentlemen.
​"I'll fetch her," said Jeremy, "if you wish to see her."
"No," said Gaveston; "stay where you are I'll send the waiter for her."
"Mrs. Jeremy," said he, when the housekeeper made her appearance, "I suppose you have heard what has happened?"
"The waiter has just told me as I came up stairs," said Mrs. Jeremy weeping-—"Good Lord! that one should be so deceived in any body! I'd have staked my life Andrew was as honest a lad as ever lived."
"And how do you know but what he is still?" said her husband.
"You'd a good opinion of him, too, then; had you, Mrs. Jeremy?" said Gaveston.
"An excellent one, Sir," replied the housekeeper. "I never knew a better young man--at least, than he seemed to be."
"It's strange," said Gaveston; "and almost staggers one; only that his making off tells so decidedly against him. If we could only get upon his track, and find where he's gone-by the by, Mrs. Jeremy, Andrew was not connected with any woman that you know of, was he?"
"No, Sir," answered the housekeeper. "Andrew was a very virtuous youth, as far as ever I knew. I believe he was fond of a young woman ​-one of his fellow servants, but there was nothing between them more than should be."
"You're sure they were not married?" said Mr. Gaveston.
"Oh, no, Sir," replied Mrs. Jeremy, "Indeed, I don't think Mabel had any mind to him."
"Did he correspond with her during his absence?" inquired Mr. Gaveston.
"I believe he did write her a letter," answered the housekeeper.
"If I had known this before we should have sent for her also," said Mr. Gaveston; "and I think it would be right to do so still. What do you say, gentlemen?"
"Perhaps it might be as well," said Sir Thomas, "and desire her to bring the letter with her."
"We'll despatch Vigors again," said Mr. Gaveston; "and we may get her here time enough for the inquest to-morrow."
"I'm sure I don't know whether he'll find her," said Mr. Jeremy; "for we missed her this morning, and she wasn't come back when we left Oakfield."
"How!" said Mr. Gaveston, suddenly turning round on his chair with a look of astonishment, and glancing at the other gentlemen—"missed her? what do you mean?" Whereon Mrs. ​Jeremy narrated the particulars of Mabel's disappearance, and the ineffectual search that had been made for her.
"And you've reason to believe that she did not sleep in her own apartment last night?" said Mr. Gaveston.
"So we think," replied the housekeeper.
"Pray what sort of a girl is this Mabel?" said he. "If I recollect, she's rather pretty?"
"She's very handsome," replied Mrs. Jeremy. "She was thought the prettiest girl in the county, high or low."
"Just describe her person," said Mr. Gaveston. "What was the colour of her hair?"
"Her hair is black," replied Mrs. Jeremy, "and her---"
"Stop a moment," said Mr. Gaveston, whilst he appeared to be searching for something in his pockets, whence he presently drew a scrap of white paper.
"This is a memorandum I made from the people's description of the two persons that had attracted observation--the man answers to Andrew exactly. Now let us hear about the woman. Perhaps you'll compare as she goes on, Sir Thomas," and he handed the paper to the magistrate.
"She has black hair, and blue eyes," continued Mrs. Jeremy.
​"And what's her complexion?" said Mr.Gaveston, "and her height?"
"Her complexion's a beautiful white and red; and she's neither tall nor short—much about my height," replied the housekeeper.
The description and the memorandum tallied exactly; and the consequent conclusion was, that Andrew and Mabel had gone off together; and that the persons Mr. Gaveston had heard of were the fugitives. Upon which he declared his determination to spare neither trouble, expense, nor personal exertion, to discover them; and announced his intention of mounting his horse the moment the inquest was over, and never to relax in the pursuit till he had traced them to their concealment. In the meantime a messenger was despatched to Oakfield, to ascertain if Mabel had returned, or if any news of her had been obtained.
Poor Susan first learned her misfortune from the lips of Mr. Jeremy; and it would be need less to enlarge on her amazement, grief, and incredulity; and the only consolation she had was in finding that the butler, of whose discernment she had a high opinion, was as unwilling to believe in Andrew's guilt as she was. Still, the question of "Where the devil is he?" which the worthy man blurted out ever and anon, in ​the height of his perplexity, was a most confounding one, and "where is Mabel?" not much less so.
Susan suggested that he too might have been murdered-but then his body would have been found as well as Mr. Wentworth's-or he might have been carried off for some purpose by the criminals; but Mr. Jeremy objected that carrying off people against their will in England was no easy matter in these days. Finally, she suggested that he might have become aware of the murder, and of the direction taken by those who had perpetrated it, and have gone in pursuit of them. This supposition appeared, at once, the most probable and the most consoling; and to it they ultimately inclined.
Still, through the sleepless hours of the ensuing night, strange thoughts would find their way into Susan's mind; and again and again her dream, and the visit of the man with the crooked nose, recurred to her-though howto connect them with the catastrophe, she could not tell. However, the following morning was appointed for the inquest, when it was possible some light might be thrown on the mystery; and in tears, prayers, and interminable conjectures she passed the intervening hours.