The Tragedy of the Chain Pier by Charlotte Mary Brame (heaven official's blessing novel english TXT) 📖

not use such a horrible word."

"It is a horrible thing, sir, but it has been done," replied the boatman.


CHAPTER III.


Why the word "murder" struck me with such a horror I cannot tell. I stood looking at the old boatman like one struck with dismay. I was on the point of saying that it was quite impossible, for I had been on the Chain Pier last night, and had seen nothing of the kind. Some prudent impulse restrained me.

"I would not go so far as to say it was murder," interrupted a sturdy boatman. "I have been about here a great many years, and I have seen some queer things. I should hardly call this murder."

"It was a life taken away, whether you call it murder or not," said the old man.

"May be; but I am not sure. I have seen many mad with misery, but murder is a rare thing."

"What is it?" I asked.

"A child, sir--only a little child," said the sturdy boatman. "The body of a little child found drowned off the pier here."

Now, why should I start and tremble and grow sick at heart? What had it to do with me? I knew nothing of any murdered child, yet great drops formed on my brow, and my very heart trembled.

"A little child found drowned," I repeated; "but how do you know it was murdered? It may have fallen into the water."

"It was not old enough for that, sir," said the elder boatman; "it is but a fair little mite--a baby girl; they say not more than three months old."

Ah! why did the beautiful, desperate face I had seen the night before flash before my eyes then?

The boatman went on:

"It is plain to my eyes that it is a murder, although the child is but a tender babe; all the greater murder for that; a bigger child might have helped itself; this one could not."

"Tell me about it," I said.

Ah! if my heart would but stop beating, or if the beautiful, desperate face would but fade from my memory.

"It was James Clayton who found it," continued the old man. "He was at work in the jetty this morning when he caught sight of something moving up and down with the waves. At first he thought it looked like an old rag, and he took no notice of it; then something about it attracted his attention more and more. He went nearer, and found that it was a gray and black shawl, that had caught on some large hooks which had been driven into the wooden pillars for some purpose or other--a woman's shawl, sure as could be; some lady, he thought, had dropped it over the pier, and it had caught on these hooks below the water. Jim was pleased. He thought, if worth anything, he might get a trifle reward for it; if not, he might take it home to his old mother.

"He took his boat to the spot, but, sir, to Jim's surprise, he found it was not only a shawl, but a bundle. He thought he had found a treasure, and hastened to get it quickly off the hooks. It had been caught more tightly by accident than it could have been placed there by human hands. It was tight on the hooks, and he had to tear the shawl to get it off. He lost no time opening it, and there was a little, fair child, drowned and dead.

"It was not a pleasant sight, sir, on a bright morning, when the sunshine was dancing over the waves. Jim said his heart turned quite faint when he saw the little white body--such a fair little mite, sir, it was enough to make the very angels weep! Some woman, sir--Heaven forbid that it was the mother--some woman had dressed it in pretty white clothes. It had a white gown, with lace, and a soft white woolen cap on the little golden head. A sorry sight, sir--a sorry sight! Jim said that when he thought of that little tender body swinging to and fro with the waves all the night, he could not keep the tears from his eyes.

"It was meant to sink, you see, sir," continued the man, with rough energy; "it was never meant to be caught. But the great God, He is above all, and He knows the little one was not to sink to the bottom, like lead. It is true, sir, and murder will out."

"But is nothing known?" I asked. "Surely such a thing could never be done without some one seeing or knowing something about it."

"I am afraid, sir, no one knows but the one who did it. Some woman, sir, had dressed the little thing--a man would never have thought of the soft woolen cap. And I can tell you another thing, sir--a man would never have killed a child like that; not that I am upholding men--some of them are brutes enough--but I do not think any man would throw a little babe into the water. When a woman is bad, she is bad, and there is nothing vile enough for her."

I though of the beautiful and desperate face. Heaven grant that she might have nothing to do with this! And yet--the black and gray shawl!

"Whereabouts was it?" I asked.

He pointed with his hand to the very spot where she had stood.

"Just there," he said. "It was there the little bundle was thrown, and there, just below the line of the jetty, it was caught by the hooks."

The identical spot where she had stood. Oh, beautiful, despairing face, what was hidden underneath your mask of stone?

"You should go on the pier, sir, and see for yourself," said the old man. "The superintendent of the police is there now; but they will never find out who did that. Women are deep when they are wicked, and the one who did this was wicked enough."

There was a slight suggestion on the part of the little group as to the morning being a dry one. We parted on very satisfactory terms.

I went on the pier, and under the wooden shelter where I had sat last night I saw a group--the superintendent of the police with one of the officers, the manager of the pier, the keepers of the different stalls, a few strangers, and Jim, the boatman, who had found the little bundle dripping wet. Oh, Heaven, the pathos of it! On the wooden seat lay the little bundle, so white, so fair, like a small, pale rose-bud, and by it, in a wet heap, lay the black and gray shawl. I knew it in one moment; there was not another word to be said; that was the same shawl I had seen in the woman's hands when she dropped the little bundle into the sea--the self-same. I had seen it plainly by the bright, fitful gleam of the moon. The superintendent said something to me, and I went forward to look at the little child--so small, so fair, so tender--how could any woman, with a woman's heart, drop that warm, soft little nursling into the cold, deep sea? It was a woman who killed Joel--a woman who slew Holofernes--but the woman who drowned this little, tiny child was more cruel by far than they.

"What a sweet little face!" said the superintendent; "it looks just as though it were made of wax."

I bent forward. Ah! if I had doubted before, I could doubt no longer. The little face, even in its waxen pallor, was like the beautiful one I had seen in its white despair last night. Just the same cluster of hair, the same beautiful mouth and molded chin. Mother and child, I knew and felt sure. The little white garments were dripping, and some kind, motherly woman in the crowd came forward and dried the little face.

"Poor little thing!" she said; "how I should like to take those wet things off, and make it warm by a good fire!"

"It will never be warm again in this world," said one of the boatmen. "There is but little chance when a child has lain all night in the sea."

"All night in the sea!" said the pitiful woman; "and my children lay so warm and comfortable in their little soft beds. All night in the sea! Poor little motherless thing!"

She seemed to take it quite for granted that the child must be motherless; in her loving, motherly heart she could not think of such a crime as a mother destroying her own child. I saw that all the men who stood round the body were struck with this.

"What will be done with it?" she asked.

"It will go to the dead-house at the work-house," said the superintendent, "and the parish will bury it."

Then I stood forward.

"No!" I cried; "if the authorities will permit, I will take upon myself the expense of burying that little child--it shall not have a pauper's funeral; it shall be buried in the beautiful green cemetery in the Lewes Road, and it shall have a white marble cross at the head of its grave."

"You are very good, sir," said the superintendent, and the pitiful woman cried out:

"Heaven bless you, sir! I would do the same thing myself if I could afford it."

"There must be an inquest," said some one in the crowd; "we ought to know whether the child was dead before it was thrown into the water."

"I hope to Heaven it was!" cried the woman.

And I said to myself that, if that were the case, it would not be murder--not murder, but some mad, miserable mother's way out of some dreadful difficulty.

Surely on the beautiful, despairing face I had not seen the brand of murder. If the little one had been dead, that would lessen the degree of wickedness so greatly.

The woman who had dried and kissed the tiny waxen face bent over it now.

"I am sure," she said, "that the child was alive when it touched the water."

"How do you know?" asked the superintendent, curiously.

"Look at the face, sir, and you will see."

"I see nothing," he replied.

"I do," she said. "I see just what you would see on the face of a baby suddenly plunged into cold water. I see the signs of faint, baby surprise. Look at the baby brows and the little hand spread wide open. It was living when it touched the water, I am sure of that."

"A doctor will soon settle that question," said the superintendent.

Then the little one was carried by rough but not ungentle hands to the dead-house on the hill. I went with it. I overheard the superintendent tell the master of the work-house that I was a rich man--an invalid--and that I passed a great deal of my time at Brighton. In a lowered voice he added that I was very eccentric, and that happening to be on the Chain Pier that morning, I had insisted upon paying the expenses of the little funeral.

"A kind, Christian gentlemen," the master said. "I am glad to hear it."

I shall never forget the pitiful sight of that tiny white form laid on the table alone--quite alone--I could not forget it. The matron had found a little white dress to wrap it in, and with kindly thought had laid some white chrysanthemums on the little, innocent breast. Whenever I see a