The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-01-16 00:00:00

[ALL RICIIITS RESERVED.]
CATHERINE'S MISTAKE,

OR,
A SECRET FOR YEARS.

CHAPTER XLLIC.
FLIGHT AGAIN.

MAXALL and Mrs. Faunce, as she still called herself,
remained a long time in that room, drinking raw
brandy, by the wretched light of a tallow candle.
Maxall could not have been guilty of such low indul-
gence once. He was by nature a refined and luxurious
debauches, and, had he had the means, would have
Pandered to his senses most extravagantly. But of
late he had fallen considerably in his social tastes and
requirements. Drink was the cry of Ms cowardly
nature—his guilty soul; and therefore he drank
furiouGly—anything, anyhow, and anywhere.
When Cleland crept from the room to her wretched
bed, neither of the two were in a state to observe it.
And there she left them, to indulge in her own bitter
thoughts, and reflect upon much that had fallen from
Maxall's lips concerning her father. Her mind was
soon made up as to the course she should pursue, and,
leaving her bed long before dawn, she set about
Putting her resolve in execution.
And this was to leave the house as soon as possible,
and return to Redfern in time to open her father's
eyes to what h was about to do, and save him. And
SO, in the dark December morning, Cleland left the
wretched lodging-house as secretly as she had left Red-
fern, with her dog under her arm, her tiny bundle,
and her half-emptied purse.
She knew the way to L—, and walked without
many wrong-goings to the terminus, just as the ex-
press was about to start. She had sufficient money
to pay her fare there, but not a penny beyond, and
from the station at Ashby she would have to walk six
miles to Redfern, unless she went to Lowmoor first,
and begged a lift from there in some wagon or cart
going on.
At five o'clock Cleland got out of the train at
Ashby, sick, weary, and frightened, yet borne up by
a strong purpose within. She had fasted all that
day, having nothing to buy food with, and being too
Proud to accept a biscuit offered her by a poorer pas-
senger than herself.
So she trudged bravely on to Lowmoor, her only
companion the dog she carried with her. No fear of
the lonely country road terrified her. She was the
Squire's daughter, and who in all the county would
assault her? _ _ _ _

No one did. Like many a poarer girl before
her, she went along lonely and unmolested. A shep-
herd and his flock passed her, on the moor-path—
nothing else, until she entered the town, two hours
after.
Her feet were sore and blistered; she was faint
from long fasting, and very sick at heart. The dog,
too, whined miserably, unless she carried him; and
its weight increased her fatigue. Still, her brave
heart did not fail her. She would not stop in Low-
moor, and ask for food and rest (which, as Miss
Ingestre, would have been most willingly bestowed
on her by almost any), for moments were precious,
and the eager, longing desire to see her father and
Redfern once more was the only craving she had.
Her tall, thin figure, clad in deep mourning, and
her veiled face, attracted no notice as she passed
through the gaily-lighted town, and up the long High:.
street, down which lief father had ridden only an
hour before. Past the church, beneath the shadow of
Which he was watching— past the long row of lamps
—past houses and people, out into the lonely country
road again, went Cleland, only bent on hurrying her
Poor limbs at their utmost speed.
Ah! could she but have known what she was
hastening from—could she but have seen, when look-
ing back at the lighted windows of the church, who
was in their shadow!
The girl, with her dog still under her arm, took
fresh heart when Lowmoor lights had disappeared
behind the hill.
"Five miles only," she thought; "and something
is sure to pass me before long on the way. The
Millers will be coming back from market, for to-day
is Tuesday."
Sure enough, ten minutes after, the sound of wheels
came grating up behind her, and, turning round, she
saw two lamps in the distance.
The vehicle came up, and she' saw at once it was a
tax-cart, with three men in it.
The driver halted on perceiving her at the roadside
"Hub! who be you, missus ? Want a lift ? "
Cleland's heart bounded. She recognised the voice
of the old cowkeeper at the home farm; and there
was the sheep-dog, too, wagging his tail and leaping
round about her. She merely answered in the
affirmative, and climbed up immediately.
One of the two men who sat in the back of the cart
very civilly made room for her in front, and put out
his hand to assist her in. It was a coarse, common
hand, but there was something white on the coat cuff,
like silver lace.
Was he a soldier? Cie wondered; and then, in
'nerving back, the light of the lamp flashed on another
bright thing about him but what, she could not make
Out. She did not puzzle long, for the cart went on,
and the motion soon sent her into a state of dreamy
langour, in which she could think of nothing. A
Sharp shock awoke her fully to a sense of where she
Was. One of the men in the back of the cart had
leaned forward, and pulled the reins out
..of the old

driver's hand—who, to tell the truth, was fast asleep
—and jerked the horse up in a precipitate halt, to
listen the better for a sound faintly heard in the
distance.
"A horse!" said one of the men.
"Ay, he is coming. Draw the cart across the
road."
And Cle and the old cowkeeper sat wondering what
it all meant Meanwhile, the horseman came on with
ft furious speed.

CHAPTER L.
"HE COMETH NOT."

ertutsrmAs morning broke, with a raw, cold mist dis-
guising it. The bare trees were beaded over with the
damp, and those in the distance looked grey and un-
defined as the hills. The country roads were broken
UP by the previous frosts, and were now scarcely
Passable. Still, Catherine, on foot, and through the
cold morning air, journeyed patiently along them.
She had risen at six o'clock, To set out for Redfern
Church; and now, at eight precisely, the little square
tower came in view, buried among the tall elms and
Pines in the corner of the park.
She did not look much like a bride, poor thing! as,
Weary and travel-stained, she entered the little gate
of the churchyard. Her black garments imparted a
sad and sombre aspect to her figure, and her unveiled
face was not that of a joyful bride.
Many and mournful thoughts had filled her heart
during that long, solitary walk. Her reflections
turned sadly en the character of the man who was
thus strangely about to become her husband for the
second time. True, she loved him dearly, or, rather,
the old love, which had never wholly died out of her
heart, had revived again in youthful vigour, and
'fastened itself passionately about him. True; but
• the man she had loved was not in the same degree
Worthy of that love now.
She thought of him in his youth and freshness, in
his Purity of soul and rectitude of heart; then as he
was now—the fair promise gone, the full ripeness of
Sin upon him; his lonely life, blighted by the evil
he himself had wrought; his forsaken home, his dead
Sou and ungrateful daughter—and then infinite pity
filled her heart, as she thought of these things, and
his yearning for something better, the something
better which she might bring to his repentant heart
—the hope of a purer and holier life. And then she
said—
" For this I marry him—for this, and this only.
God help me in my work! God help me in my
aching!"
The hand of the clock was pointing five minutes
beyond the hour. Strange that the church doors
should not be open, nor the bridegroom looking out.
She walked all round the graveyard, but not a sound
Was there beside her, own footfall, and no living
creature in sight. Half-past eight, and still no one
came.
Her feet were very cold and wet, her face was
blanched, and her hands trembled as she sat down at
last on the rails of a little tomb beneath a yew tree, to
watch the face of the clock and the pathway across
the Park. 'Never, in all the after years of her life, did
that forlorn woman forget those hours of her life—
tho e two hours she sat and watched for a face that
never appeared, a step that never stirred the dead
leaves on the ground.
If you, reader, know what it is to wait at the tryst-
jog-place, and wait in vain, to you I need not recount
her silent agGny of mind, her wretched fears, her
tears, too deep down in their fount to flaw; nor how
She envied the poor little birds their joyous flight, the
grazing sheep in the park their happy unconscious-
fleas; how, at last, she feared to lift her eyes to the
remorseless clock, whose hand would steal the precious
moments from her sieht ; how her ears were rendered
se acute that she heard the far-off flutter of a leaf to
t„,he ground, and thought, with a start, "He comes ! "
0; Silence still; the leaf has settled down—the path
aS empty. Watch again.
A robin perched in a hawthorn bush, quite near,
'suddenly burst forth into song—a plaintive, sweet
little song, but wintry and chill as the scene around
'lllled with fitful gusts of melancholy, and then
"Ymg away in a sort of lingering, sweet despair. It
Was a strange, joyless song, that of the robin, and
nen it was ended, and the little creature gone,
,u...atherine's tears fell, for its sadness had gone straight
',her heart, and melted its hardness.
he she rosé, and thought, "where shall I go ? "
itne roof and chimneys of Redfern rose high above the
treee-tops. She cast a wistful glance that way, then
,I,llt her steps toward them. She knew, as she went,
17e. master was not there; she felt that he could not
,f m that house alive, and she waiting hopelessly in
vue churchyard.
vaT:aere was an air of strange solitude about the
ebi e' No signs of busy life were visible; not a
naney of all the great stacks sent up a curl GC
8111(3ke all c through the foggy air. The shutters, too, were
I°sed, and the hall door locked. She rang the
:le: Ilona° bell, and its 6Np-sounding reverberation
elms a the rooks fluttering from their roosts in the
sh With a dismal croaking.
waited some time on the steps, and then the

bolts within were shot back, the door opened, and
Domingo's black face looked out.
Lors, its Missy Waco! Blest! Well, I'se berry
glad to see you again, missy, berry glad. Massa not
come home since last night. Missy Cle not 't home,
MassEkMaxall not 't home—no ene 't home 'cept me
and the rest ob 'em."

And then Domingo shuffled along, and opened the
door of the library for her to enter. The shutters
were closed, and there Wag no fire in the grate, for
which inadvertency Domingo apologised, saying the
servants were all in bed axceht himself.

"hey do as dey like, missy, when you go. I rout
'em up, now though, lazy debils ! You seen massa ob
late,?"
"When did you see him last?"
"Yesterday night he come home, but rode off agin
d'rectly ; not seen him since, missy. I come light up
de, fire prensly; wake up dem debils first."
raft Domingo had been ..one a very few minutes
before he returned, with his black face many shades
whiter, and trembling all over.
Oh, missy! my poor dear massa—my poor dear
m4ssa!"
What is it, Domingo? she cried, starting up;
""shat is it ? "
" 0 Lor ! 0 Lor ! his horse—dat are horse he rode
laist night—is waiting at the stable gates, but no
massa!" And he pushed away, wailing, miserably.
;Catherine was lying insensible on the floor.
It was a long time before her senses returned, and
then it was the kind face of Madame Bernstein that
first greeted her dizzy sight, and Lina, kneeling at her
side, was gently chafing her stone-cold hands with her
oWn tiny ones.
i" Catherine, my poor Catherine! are you better
now? „Where is no one here, no one save Lina, to see
that I know and love you. Poor thing! what a hard
fate is yours." - She led; almost lifted, the fainting
creature to a sofa, and then pilloWed her head on her
stout arm, and told Lina to go and get some wine and
water immediately.
Lina ran, and when the door had closed on her,
madame whispered—
" You need not mind the child, Catherine, she
knows all—it must all come to light now—and
the " But the listener opened her white lips,
and gasped out a name—
Mr. Ingestre ?" Her imploring eyes said the
rest.

"Well, my dear, it is a sad thing," was the re-
spoiase ; "but, then, if gentlemen will behave like
felons, they must expect a felon's punishment. Who
would have thought that, after all these years going
by, it should come to light! Some one is a traitor,
Catherine, and for my part, I suspect that black
servant George brought with him from Jamaica, and
the ward together, have made out this and that, until
they have made up a case against him. I fear things
look very black, my dear. You know he did marry
you, although he denied it so wickely afterwards;
and then he certainly has married another lady
while you were alive, and brought up his children
as legitimate. What a mercy that fine young man
never lived to know it !—and the poor girl, too.
Oh, my dear, George is a very heartless and wicked
mar, ! "

Poor Catherine's astonishment at hearing this was
very_great ; she could only ask one thing—

"Where was he ? "

"My dear, have you not heard? Then what have
they been frightening you with? My child! George
Ingestre is in St. David's Gaol, arrested on the charge
of bigamy."
The hearer did not faint again; she opened her
large eyes with wonder and amazement, and said—
"I do not quite comprehend. Will you tell me,
dear madame?"

"As far as I can hear, Catherine (for Mr. Ingram
brought the news this morning), some one has found
out that he married you before he married his last
wife."

"But the marriage with me," she gasped, "was
not a legal one. I showed you the letter in which he
said so, in Jamaica. You saw that letter? "

"Certainly, I remember but too well; but I sup-
pose it was a marriage after all, and some one is
trying to prove it so. I must tay I never supposed
George Ross capable of such a piece of villany ; but
there's no saying what men will do when they are
tempted. There are some strange things coming to
light, my poor Catherine—we must be prepared. Oh,
here is Lina."

But Catherine had sunk back, unconscious once
more.

CHAPTER LL
A ISINE EXPLODES.

TRUE enough, so far—George Ross Ingestre, Esq.,
was arrested, and in the city prison, on the charge of
bigamy, preferred against him by Helen Inge,stre, his
lawful and living wife. He was at present allowed
by courtesy to occupy one of the governor's rooms,
and was in the enjoyment of excellent health and
spirits.
Cleland was with him (she had visited him con-
stantly since his arrest that night), and with her hand
griped in his own, he sat laughing and jesting with
the governor and officials.

The inquiry into the case was to be made before a
bench of magistrates, among whom he himself was
wont to take his seat; but even this humiliating fact
did not repress his spirits, as he turned to his
daughter, and said, with a laugh—
" Never mind, Cle, my pet! they won't send me
over the sea yet, for, unfortunately, I was not married
yesterday, as I intended to be."
But, papa, they have got the license, with your
name and Miss Wace's in it."

"Mrs. Ingestre, Cle ; say Mrs. Ingestre," he put in.
"And the note to Mr. Dawson, telling him to be
at the church. They will know you meant to marry
her."

"Yes, indeed, I did! and I do."
"But, papa, how can you, when my mother is
alive ? "

"I say, Mr. Gore," he interrupted, "they cannot
punish me for a crime not yet committed, eh? What
do you say?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, I am rather puzzled,
sir; I cannot understand it at all. Two men come
down from London and want you—tell us you
have married a second wife while your first one is
"Yes, yes; all very true. But when is Colonel
Towers coming? am I to wait all this blessed morn-
ing before I get off? I'm in a hurry. Hark! there
is a carriage; look out of the window, my girl. Who
is it?"

"Papa, it is Maxall and—and--" She hid her
face on his shoulder, and sobbed.
" Your mother ? Out with it, for she is your
mother, poor child! Ah, yes! Max and she have laid
their heads together, as you said. The little villain—
no, the poor boy—thinks he will get the money I
promised him all the sooner if I cross the seas, and
she is to share it with him; that was the plan, Cle,
was it not? I presume I shall have the pleasure of
seeing her in court; will you keep by my side, child,
or go to hers?"
There was no verbal reply to this; she only looked
up into his face, and held his hand.
"My darling! triue to the heart's core, I see. Why
did you ever leave me, Cle ? "
"Because I had not courage to live in the same
house with you and know—know that my mother
was alive, and Miss Waco so cruelly deceived. I
should have betrayed you, papa."
"And how did you ever know your mother was
alive ? " he asked, with a frown.
" Ah, Maxall told me. Maxall took me to see her;
she has been at Redfern to see me. She was always
begging me to live with her; but I cannot, for,
indeed, papa, she does not love me."
"I know that; she loves nothing but drink. Ah I
here is Colonel Towers, at last. Come, Cle, take my
arm, and remember you are walking with a felon ! "
His gay spirits returned in an instant, and he
entered the hall, where the assembled magistrates
awaited him, with a smile on his lip. He shook hands
with each one, and then took a seat at the long table,
with Cle beside him.

Maxall, and the woman who always called herself
Mrs. Faunce, were there, not far distant from him.
She was handsomely dressed, had an air of good
breeding, and her manner that morning was ex-
tremely suave and pleasing.

A Mr. Bell, employed by her, was there to prefer
the charge against George Ross Ingestre, to the effect
that he had wilfully and knowingly intermarried with
one Catherine Wace, his first wife, Helen, being then
alive, and not dead, as given out.
At this time there was a slight disturbance in the
room, ; the door opened, and two ladies entered.
Before it could close again, two other perLons had
followed—Mr. Kent and Keziah Faunee.
The lawyer came up and shook his client warmly
by the hand, and then took a seat at his side. Mrs.
Faunce remained standing near_ the door, her hands
folded, and her eyes cast down.
The proceedings were by no means formal. Cere-
mony seemed thrown aside at the justice-room in St.
David's for the nonce, and each gentleman present
questioned accuser and culprit in a very irregular
manner.
Colonel Towers was the first to pooh-pooh the whole
affair.
"Never heard anything so absurd in all my life.
Ingestre, what on earth does it all mean? Contradict
it, man ! "
George Ross shrugged his shoulders.
"What am I to say, your worship? "
"Why, that the lady is not your wife."
"Which lady ? " And he sent his gaze with
passionate longing towards a tall veiled figure stand-
ing beside the baroness. But no one heard the cry
of his heart—" Oh, my Catherine ! "

"No, no—this lady..."
And then, for the first time, ingestre and the
woman looked each at the other.

He shuddered, and turned away.
"Yes—that creature is my wife!"
There followed a dead silence. The magistrates
looked grave; Colonel Towers shook his head.
"A bad business, Ingestre, I am afraid. Very un-
pleasant thing for us to commit you. Good heavens!
where did you marry the s-cond wife?"
"Where, indeed? that is more than I can tell,
Perhaps Mr. Bell, who appears to know all about the
matter, will inform us."
"The prisoner married Catherine Wace, two days
ago, in Redfern Church."
Mr. Kent interposed, and prevented Ingestre's
smiling reply.
"Gentlemen, you will, of course, require proof of
the assertion lust brought forward. Mr. Dawson iri

the curate of Redfern church, an the only clergy-
man who officiates there. Mrs. Ingestre, through
her lawytz, tells you her husband married another
lady at that church on such a day of this mor th.
Now. Mr. Dawson, whom I have seen this mornalg,
but who, unfortunately, is too unwell to be present,
gives me his written deposition, in proper form, that
George Ross Ingestre was never married in Redfern
Church on that day, nor on any other. For the last
week the keys of the church have never left his pos-
session; and no one, not even himself, has entered
that said church until yesterday morning, when the
usual service was performed. Moreover, I can bring
a witness who will prove that the lady on whom my
client has unfortunately fixed his affections, was made
aware of circumstances she had been kept in igno-
rance of, in due time to prevent the contemplated
marriage with Mr. Ingestre. The witness is here—
Keziah Faune,e."
Then Keziah Faunce was called up, and told her
tale.

(To be continued.)