CHAPTER XCVI.
ABOUT THE RIGHTFUL MRS. NUTTER OF THE MILLS, AND HOW MR. MERVYN RECEIVED
THE NEWS.
Little Doctor Toole came out feeling rather queer and stunned from
Sturk's house. It was past three o'clock by this time, and it had
already, in his eyes, a changed and empty look, as his upturned eye for
a moment rested upon its gray front, and the window-panes glittering in
the reddening sun. He looked down the street towards the turnpike, and
then up it, towards Martin's-row and the Mills. And he bethought him
suddenly of poor Sally Nutter, and upbraided himself, smiting the point
of his cane with a vehement stab upon the pavement, for having forgotten
to speak to Lowe upon her case. Perhaps, however, it was as well he had
not, inasmuch as there were a few not unimportant facts connected with
that case about which he was himself in the dark.
Mr. Gamble's conducting clerk had gone up stairs to Mrs. Nutter's door, and being admitted, had very respectfully asked leave to open, for that lady's instruction, a little statement which he was charged to make.
This was in substance, that Archibald Duncan, Mary Matchwell's husband, was in Dublin, and had sworn informations against her for bigamy; and that a warrant having been issued for her arrest upon that charge, the constables had arrived at the Mills for the purpose of executing it, and removing the body of the delinquent, M. M., to the custody of the turnkey; that measures would be taken on the spot to expel the persons who had followed in her train; and that Mr. Charles Nutter himself would arrive in little more than an hour, to congratulate his good wife, Sally, on the termination of their troubles, and to take quiet possession of his house.
You can imagine how Sally Nutter received all this, with clasped hands
and streaming eyes, looking in the face of the man of notices and
attested copies, unable to speak—unable quite to believe. But before he
came to the end of his dry and delightful narrative, a loud yell and a
scuffle in the parlour were heard; a shrilly clamour of warring voices; a dreadful crash of glass: a few curses and oaths in basses and barytones; and some laughter from the coachmen, who viewed the fray from outside through the window; and a brief, wild, and garrulous uproar, which made little Sally Nutter—though by this time used to commotion—draw back with her hands to her heart, and hold her breath. It was the critical convulsion; the evil spirit was being eliminated, and the tenement, stunned, bruised, and tattered, about to be at peace.
Of Charles Nutter's doings and adventures during the terrible interval
between his departure on the night of Mary Matchwell's first visit to
the Mills, and his return on this evening to the same abode, there is a
brief outline, in the first person, partly in answer to questions, and
obviously intended to constitute a memorandum for his attorney's use. I
shall reprint it with your leave—as it is not very long—verbatim.
'When that woman, Sir, came out to the Mills,' says this document, 'I
could scarce believe my eyes; I knew her temper; she was always damnably
wicked; but I had found out all about her long ago; and I was amazed at
her audacity. What she said was true—we were married; or rather, we
went through the ceremony, at St. Clement Danes, in London, in the year
'50. I could not gainsay that; but I well knew what she thought was
known but to herself and another. She had a husband living then. We
lived together little more than three months. We were not a year parted
when I found out all about him; and I never expected more trouble from
her.
'I knew all about him then. But seventeen years bring many changes; and
I feared he might be dead. He was a saddler in Edinburgh, and his name
was Duncan. I made up my mind to go thither straight. Next morning the
Lovely Betty, packet, was to sail for Holyhead. I took money, and set
out without a word to anybody. The wretch had told my poor wife, and
showed her the certificate, and so left her half mad.