Act V Scene I. Enter Stukely, Bates, and Dawson
Bates.
Poor Lewson! But I told you enough last night. The thoughts of him are horrible to me.
Stu. In the street, did you say? And no one near him?
Bates. By his own door; he was leading me to his house. I pretended business with him, and stabbed him to the heart, while he was reaching at the bell.
Stu. And did he fall so suddenly?
Bates. The repetition pleases you, I see. I told you, he fell without a groan.
Stu. What heard you of him this morning?
Bates. That the watch found him in their rounds, and alarmed the servants. I mingled with the crowd just now, and saw him dead in his own house. The sight terrified me.
Stu. Away with terrors, till his ghost rise and accuse us. We have no living enemy to fear—unless ’tis Beverley; and him we have lodged safe in prison.
Bates. Must He be murdered too?
Stu. No; I have a scheme to make the law his murderer. At what hour did Lewson fall?
Bates. The clock struck twelve, just as I turned to leave him. ’Twas a melancholy bell, I thought, tolling for his death.
Stu. The time was lucky for us. Beverley was arrested at one, you say?
[To Dawson.
Daw. Exactly.
Stu. Good. We’ll talk of this presently. The women were with him, I think?
Daw. And old Jarvis. I would have told you of them last night, but your thoughts were too busy. ’Tis well you have a heart of stone, the tale would melt it else.
Stu. Out with it then.
Daw. I traced him to his lodgings; and pretending pity for his misfortunes, kept the door open, while the officers seized him. ’Twas a damned deed—but no matter—I followed my instructions.
Stu. And what said he?
Daw. He upbraided me with treachery, called You a villain, acknowledged the sums you had lent him, and submitted to his fortune.
Stu. And the women—
Daw. For a few minutes astonishment kept them silent. They looked wildly at one another, while the tears streamed down their cheeks. But rage and fury soon gave them words; and then, in the very bitterness of despair, they cursed me, and the monster that had employed me.
Stu. And you bore it with philosophy?
Daw. Till the scene changed, and then I melted. I ordered the officers to take away their prisoner. The women shrieked, and would have followed him; but We forbad them. ’Twas then they fell upon their knees, the wife fainting, the sister raving, and both, with all the eloquence of misery, endeavouring to soften us. I never felt compassion till that moment; and had the officers been moved like Me, we had left the business undone, and fled with curses on ourselves. But their hearts were steeled by custom: the tears of beauty, and the pangs of affection, were beneath their pity. They tore him from their arms, and lodged him in prison, with only Jarvis to comfort him.
Stu. There let him lie, till we have farther business with him. And for You, Sir, let me hear no more of your compassion. A fellow nursed in villainy, and employed from childhood in the business of hell, should have no dealings with compassion.
Daw. Say you so, Sir? You should have named the devil that tempted me.
Stu. ’Tis false. I found you a villain; therefore employed you—But no more of this—We have embarked too far in mischief to recede. Lewson is dead; and we are all principals in his murder. Think of that. There’s time enough for pity, when ourselves are out of danger. Beverley still lives, though in a jail. His ruin will sit heavy on him; and discoveries may be made to undo us all. Something must be done, and speedily. You saw him quarrelling with Lewson in the street last night?
[To Bates.
Bates. I did; his steward, Jarvis, saw him too.
Stu. And shall attest it. Here’s matter to work upon. An unwilling evidence carries weight with him. Something of my design I have hinted t’you before. Beverley must be the author of this murder; and We the parties to convict him. But how to proceed, will require time and thought—Come along with Me; the room within is fitter for privacy. But no compassion, Sir—(To Dawson) We want leisure for’t—This way.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. changes to Beverley’s lodgings.
Enter Mrs. Beverley, and Charlotte.
Mrs. Bev. No news of Lewson yet?
Char. None. He went out early, and knows not what has happened.
Mrs. Bev. The clock strikes eight—I’ll wait no longer.
Char. Stay but till Jarvis comes. He has sent twice to stop us till we see him.
Mrs. Bev. I have no life in this separation. O! what a night was last night! I would not pass another such, to purchase worlds by it. My poor Beverley too! What must He have felt!—The very thought distracts me! To have him torn at midnight from me! A loathsome prison his habitation! A cold damp room his lodging! The bleak winds, perhaps, blowing upon his pillow! No fond wife to lull him to his rest! and no reflections but to wound and tear him!—’Tis too horrible! I wanted love for him, or they had not forced him from me. They should have parted soul and body first. I was too tame.
Char. You must not talk so. All that we could we did; and Jarvis did the rest. The faithful creature will give him comfort. Why does he delay coming?
Mrs. Bev. And there’s another fear. His poor master may be claiming the last kind office from him—His heart perhaps is breaking.
Char. See where he comes!—His looks are chearful too.