“This is Mr. Tom Fellows,” he said. “I have brought him because he has something to say to you.”
“Mr. Tom Fellows,” I said, looking at him intently for his face was vaguely familiar.
He said: “You are wondering who I am, Lady Cadorson,” he said, “and I must apologize for calling on you at such a time. But this is a matter of extreme importance. It is due to a deathbed promise that I am here.”
I remembered the name Fellows. It was a Fellows who had hanged after the Nottingham riots for his part in them.
He said: “I see you are wondering who I am. We met once in Mr. Barrington’s factory when I was with my father guarding the looms.”
My mind went back to that momentous day. Yes, I had seen the looms and the man named Fellows guarding them.
“I remember,” I said.
“You know my brother. He came to work for you. He called himself Toby …”
“Toby! Your brother!”
“Yes, he was my brother. After your husband’s death he came back to Nottingham.”
“But he was not Toby Fellows …”
“He changed his name. His own was known. When he came back he worked in horticulture. He was felling a tree in the forest. There was an accident and he was badly hurt. He lived for a week and during that week what he had done weighed heavily upon him, and he made me swear that I would find you and give his confession to you in person.”
“What… was his confession?”
“Let me explain. He was a young lad when our father was hanged. Ten years old. He adored his father. He used to listen to him for hours. Our father was a leader in a way. He used to talk to the men and rally them together.”
“Was he one of the leaders of the Luddites?”
“No. He saw the folly of breaking up the looms. He said that improvements had to come. On that day he was caught up with the rioters. He worked with them. You know what happened. He was sentenced to death. My brother never got over it. That was Tobias … Toby for short. He became obsessed by revenge. He used to say ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ Yes, he wanted vengeance. Your husband represented the enemy. He would not be content until a life had been taken for the one his father lost. You know the rest. He came to work for you. He had decided that only when Edward Barrington or his father was killed would justice have been done. He was always a strange lad—going in for boxing at the fairs, and he thought it was a heaven-sent opportunity when he was asked to work in the sick room. He killed Mr. Edward Barrington in just retribution, he said, for the murder of his father. But faced with death himself he was horrified by what he had done. He said he could not rest until you were told because suspicion hung heavily over certain people, including you from whom he had had nothing but kindness. He prevailed on me to find you, to bring you to him that he might confess all and when that could not be done he begged me to find you and tell you in person.”
“It was good of you to come,” I said. “I understand the poor young man’s feelings.”
“I wish I could have found you before he died. I wish I could have gone back and told him I had seen you. He excused himself by the fact that Mr. Barrington was an invalid who would never recover, and he insisted that he would not have stood by and seen someone else accused of the crime which he had committed. He said he had made it appear as suicide.”
“Then my husband never said what Toby told the coroner he had. I found it hard to believe that he would discuss such a matter with him.”
“My brother said he had tried to make it so that no one would be accused. He would never have allowed anyone to stand trial for murder. He just wanted justice done … ‘an eye for an eye.’ He kept stressing that.”
Jake had stood up. “I think my wife is a little tired. Our daughter is but a few days old.”
“Forgive me,” said Tom Fellows. “But I had this duty to discharge.”
“How can I thank you for coming,” I said.
“I will see that you are given some refreshment,” Jake told him and turned to look at me with a rather special smile.
I lay in my bed. I could see my baby’s cradle—it was on rockers, the cradle which had been used by the babies of the family for the last two hundred years.
I was glad of those few moments alone for I was filled with an emotion which I should have found it impossible to hide.
The haunting fear had been swept away now that I knew the truth. It was dazzling, revealing and irrefutable.
Jake came back.
“The poor fellow hadn’t had a meal for twenty-four hours,” he said.
He came to the bed and taking my hand smiled at me.
“Well,” he said, “so now you know. I didn’t do it.”
“Jake,” I said. “I’m so glad.”
“I always used to tell myself that you believed I did it and yet… you married me all the same. I was hurt to be under suspicion, but I always said to myself, ‘She loves me truly. She has married me even though she believes I may be a murderer.’ What more could a man ask for than that his love should take him, sinful as she believed him to be!”
“I’m sorry, Jake.”
He kissed my hand.
“Forgiven,” he murmured. “I have no regrets … now. I shall always remember you loved me enough to take me as I am … to risk your future… just to be with me. That was enough for me. And now that you have learned of my innocence you will love me more than ever, will you not?”
“No, I couldn’t, because I loved you completely and utterly before.”
“Well spoken,” he said. Then he stood up abruptly and went to the baby’s cradle because I am sure he did not want to show the depth of his emotion.
“Do you know,” he said, “I believe she takes after me.”
“Well,” I said, as moved as he was, “she might do worse.”
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