Morrison Mysteries - The Dead Alive Ep. 4: The Confession

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Things are not going well for brothers Ambrose and Silas Meadowcroft. They're about to face a grand jury for the murder of John Jago.
And now Silas has turned against his brother, has accused Ambrose of killing Jago. Naomi Colbrook is doing all she can to save Ambrose because she loves him.
and Philip LeFranc is helping her for a very personal reason

he dare doing all she can to save Ambrose because she loves him. And Philip LeFranc is helping her for a very personal reason he daren't reveal.
The task seems all but hopeless. Still, steadfast Naomi keeps trying, having somehow got it in her head that Jago is actually still alive somewhere, hiding in humiliation after she

rebuffed him that night in the garden. But the whole story is about to be upended once again, this time by Ambrose himself.
Our narrator, attorney Philip LaFranc, picks up the story once again. Chapter 10

The Sheriff and the Governor. The question of time was now a serious one at Morwick Farm.
In six weeks, the court for the trial of criminal cases was to be opened at Narrowby. There, as we all knew, a grand jury would decide what charge to lay against the brothers Ambrose and Silas Meadowcroft.
As we waited, many letters reached us relating to our advertisement for John Jago, but none contained any positive information. Not the slightest trace of the lost man turned up.
Not the shadow of a doubt was cast on the prosecution's argument that his body had been destroyed in the kiln. Silas Meadowcroft held firmly to the horrible confession that he had made.
His brother, Ambrose, with equal resolution, asserted his innocence. At regular periods, I accompanied Naomi to visit him in prison.
As the day appointed for the opening of the court approached, he seemed to falter a little in his resolution. His manner became restless, and he grew irritably suspicious about the merest trifles.
Naomi noticed the alteration in her lover. It greatly increased her anxiety, though it never shook her confidence in Ambrose.
Miss Metacroft searched the newspapers for tidings of the living John Jago in the privacy of her own room. Mr.
Metacroft would see nobody but his daughter and his doctor and occasionally one or two old friends. I have since had reason to believe that during this time, Naomi began to comprehend my feelings for her.
But she did not let on. Her manner toward me steadily remained in the manner of a sister.

Finally, the sittings of the court began.

What happened next, though shocking, was no real surprise.

After hearing the evidence and examining the confession of Silas Meadowcroft,

the grand jury found a true bill against both the prisoners. The charge would be murder.
I had carefully prepared Mayomi's mind for the decision of the grand jury, and she bore the blow bravely. If you're not tired of it, she said, come with me to the prison tomorrow.
Ambrose will need a little comfort by that time. She paused and looked at the day's letters lying on the table.
Still not a word about John Jago, she said, and all the papers have copied the advertisement. I felt so sure we should hear of him long before this.
Do you still feel sure he's living? I ventured to ask. I am as certain of it as ever, she replied firmly.
He is somewhere in hiding. Perhaps he's in disguise.
Suppose we know no more of him than we know now when the trial begins. Suppose the jury...
She stopped shuddering. Death, shameful death on the scaffold, might be the terrible outcome.
We've waited for news to come to us long enough, Naomi resumed. We must find the tracks of John Jago for ourselves.
There's a week yet before the trial begins. Who will help me make inquiries? Will you be the man, friend LeFranc? It is needless to add, though I knew nothing would come of it, that I consented to be the man.
We made a plan to visit Ambrose in prison and then start our search. How that search was to be conducted was more than I could tell, and more than Naomi could tell.
We decided to begin by applying to the police to help us find John Jago, and then to be guided by circumstances. Was there ever a more hopeless program than this? Circumstances declared themselves against us right at the beginning.
Our request to visit Ambrose in prison

was a request to visit Ambrose in prison was for the first time refused. No reason was given.
Inquire as I might, the only answer was, not today. At Naomi's suggestion, we went to the prison to seek an explanation from the jailer on duty at the outer gate,

one of Naomi's many admirers.

He solved the mystery cautiously in a whisper.

The sheriff and the governor of the prison were then speaking privately

with Ambrose Metacroft in his cell.

They had expressly directed that no person should be admitted

to see the prisoner that day but themselves. What did that mean? We returned, wondering, to the farm.
There, Naomi, speaking by chance to one of the female servants, made certain discoveries. Early that morning, the sheriff had been brought to Morwick by an old friend of the Metacrofts, and a long interview had been held between Mr.
Metacroft and his daughter. Leaving the farm, the sheriff had gone straight to the prison and had proceeded with the governor to visit Ambrose in his cell.
Was some potent influence being brought privately to bear on Ambrose? We could only wait and see. Our patience was not severely tried.
The next day, enlightened us in a very unexpected manner. Before noon, the neighbors brought startling news from the prison to the farm.
Ambrose Meadowcroft had confessed himself to be the murderer of John Jago. He had signed the confession in the presence of the sheriff and the governor on that very day.
I saw the document. In substance, Ambrose confessed what Silas had confessed,

claiming, however, to have only struck Jago under intolerable provocation,

so as to reduce the nature of his offense against the law from murder to manslaughter.

Was the confession really the true statement of what had taken place?

Or had the sheriff and governor, acting in the interests of the family name,

persuaded Ambrose to try this desperate means of escaping death on the scaffold?

Thank you. Or had the sheriff and governor, acting in the interests of the family name, persuaded Ambrose to try this desperate means of escaping death on the scaffold? Who was to tell Naomi of this last and saddest of all the calamities which had fallen on her? Knowing how I loved her in secret, I felt an invincible reluctance to be that person.
But had any other members of the family told her what happened? Yes, the lawyer was able to answer me. Miss Metacroft had told her.
I was shocked when I heard it. Miss Metacroft was the last person in the house to spare the poor girl.
Miss Meadowcroft would make the hard tidings doubly terrible to bear in the telling. I tried to find Naomi, without success.
She'd always been accessible, but other times, was she hiding herself from me now? The idea occurred to me as I was descending the stairs after vainly knocking at the door of her room and was determined to see her. I waited a few minutes and then suddenly ascended the stairs.
And on the landing, I met her, just leaving her room. She tried to run back, but I caught her by the arm and detained her.
With her free hand, she held her handkerchief over her face so as to hide it from me. You once told me I had comforted you, I said to her gently.
Won't you let me comfort you now? She still struggled to get away, and still kept her head turned from me. Don't you see that I am ashamed to look at you in the face? She said in low, broken tones.
Let me go. I still persisted in trying to soothe her.
I drew her to the window seat. I said I would wait until she was able to speak to me.
She dropped on the seat and wrung her hands on her lap. Her downcast eyes still avoided meeting mine.
Oh, she said to herself, what madness possessed me. Is it possible that I ever disgraced myself by loving Ambrose Meadowcroft? She shuddered.
The tears slowly rolled over her cheeks. Don't despise me, Mr.
LaFranc, she said faintly. I tried, honestly tried, to put the confession before her in its least unfavorable light.
His resolution has given way, I said. He has done this, despairing of proving his innocence, in terror of the scaffold.
She rose with an angry stamp of her foot. She turned her face on me with the deep red flush of shame in it, and the big tears glistening in her eyes.
No more of him, she said sternly. If he is not a murderer, what else is he, a liar and a coward?

I've done with him forever. I'll never speak to him again.
She pushed me furiously away from her, advanced a few steps toward her own door, stopped and then came back to me. The generous nature of the girl spoke in her next words.
I'm not ungrateful to you, friend LeFranc. When a woman in my place, as shamed as I have been shamed, she feels it very bitterly.
Give me your hand. She put my hand to her lips before I was aware of her and kissed it and then ran back to her room.
I sat down on the place which she had occupied. She had looked at me for one moment when she kissed my hand, and I forgot Ambrose and his confession.
I forgot the coming trial. I forgot my professional duties and my English friends.
There I sat, with absolutely nothing in my mind were the picture of Naomi's face at the moment when she had last looked at me. At Designer Shoe Warehouse, we believe that shoes are an important part of, well, everything.
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All along, she believed Ambrose was innocent, and now suddenly and without explanation, he has confessed. Not much more to do but get through the trial and see things to their bitter end.
Philip takes his place in court, helping the defense. The only other family member who attends is Miss Meadowcroft, as solemn and pinched as always.
Chapter 11 The Pebble and the Window Miss Meadowcroft and I were the only representatives of the family at the farm who attended the trial. We went separately to Narrowby.
Except for ordinary greetings at morning and night, Miss Meadowcroft had not said one word to me since the time when I told her I did not believe John Jago to be a living man. I've purposely abstained from encumbering my narrative with legal details.
I now propose to state the nature of the defense, but in the briefest outline only. We insisted on making both the prisoners plead not guilty.

This done, we took an objection to the legality of the proceedings. At starting, we appealed to the old English law that there should be no conviction for murder until the body of the murdered person was found, or proof of its destruction obtained beyond a doubt.
We denied that sufficient proof had been obtained in the case, now before the court. The judges consulted and decided that the trial should go on.
We took our next objection when the confessions were produced in evidence. We declared that they had been extorted by terror or by undue influence,

and we pointed out certain minor particulars in which the two confessions failed to corroborate each other.

Once more the judges consulted, and once more they overruled our objection.

The confessions were admitted into evidence. The Chief Justice summed up.
He charged, in relation to the confessions, that no weight should be attached to a confession incited by hope or fear, and he left it to the jury to determine whether the confessions in this case had been so influenced. In the course of the trial, it had been shown for the defense that the sheriff and the governor of the prison had told Ambrose, with his father's knowledge and sanction, that the case was clearly against him, that the only chance of sparing his family the disgrace of his death by public execution lay in making a confession, and that they would do their best, if he did confess, to have his sentence commuted to imprisonment for life.
As for Silas, he was proved to have been beside himself with terror when he made his abominable charge against his brother. We had trusted that our arguments would influence the verdict of the jury on the side of mercy.
And after an absence of an hour, they returned into court with the verdict of guilty against both the prisoners. Guilty.
When asked if they had anything to say in mitigation of their sentence, Ambrose and Silas solemnly declared their innocence and publicly acknowledged that their respective confessions had been wrung from them by the hope of escaping the hangman's noose. This statement was not noticed by the bench.

The prisoners were both sentenced to death.

On my return to the farm, I did not see Naomi.

Miss Meadowcroft informed her of the result of the trial.

Half an hour later, one of the women servants handed me an envelope

bearing my name on it. In Naomi's handwriting.
The envelope enclosed a letter, and with it a slip of paper on which Naomi had hurriedly written these words. For God's sake, read the letter I send to you, and do something about it immediately.
I looked at the letter. It was written by a gentleman in New York.
Only the day before he had, by the merest accident, seen the advertisement for John Jago cut out of a newspaper and pasted into a book of curiosities kept by a friend. Upon this, he wrote to Morwick Farm to say that he had seen a man exactly answering to the description of John Jago, but bearing another name, working as a clerk in a merchant's office in Jersey City.
Having time to spare before the mail went out, he had returned to the office to take another look at the man before he posted his letter, and to his surprise, he was informed that the clerk had not appeared at his desk that day. His employer had sent to his lodgings, and had been informed that he had suddenly packed up his bag after reading the newspaper at breakfast, had paid his rent, and had gone away, and nobody knew where.
It was late in the evening when I read these lines. I had time for reflection before it would be necessary for me to act.
My doubts of John Jago's existence remained unshaken by this letter.

I believed it to be nothing more or less than a heartless and stupid hoax.

The striking of the hall clock roused me from my meditations.

I counted the strokes.

Midnight. I rose to go up to my room.
Everybody else on the farm had retired to bed, as usual, more than an hour since. The stillness in the house was breathless.
I walked softly by instinct as I crossed the room to look out at the night. The lovely moonlight met my view.
It was like the moonlight on the fatal evening when Naomi had met John Jago on the garden walk. My bedroom candle was on the side table.
I had just lighted it. When the door suddenly opened and Naomi herself stood before me, recovering the first shock of her sudden appearance, I saw instantly in her eager eyes, in her deadly pale cheeks, that something serious had happened.
A large cloak was thrown over her, a white handkerchief was tied over her head, her hair was in disorder. She had evidently just risen in fear and in haste from her bed.
What is it? I asked, advancing to meet her. She clung, trembling with agitation, to my arm.
John Jago, she whispered. I could hardly believe says, Where? I asked.
In the backyard, she replied, under my bedroom window. The emergency was far too serious to allow of any consideration for the small proprieties of everyday life.
Let me see him, I said. I am here to fetch you, she answered in her frank and fearless way.
Come upstairs with me. Hers was the only bedroom which looked out on the backyard.
On her way up the stairs, she told me what had happened. I was in bed, she said, but not asleep, when I heard a pebble strike against the window pane.
I waited, wondering what it meant. Another pebble was thrown against the glass.
So far I was surprised, but not frightened. I got up and I ran to the window to look out, and there was John Jago looking up at me in the moonlight.
Did he see you? Yes. He said, come down and speak to me.
I have something serious to say to you. Did you answer him? As soon as I could catch my breath, I said, Wait a little, and ran downstairs to you.
What shall I do? Let me see him, and I will tell you. We entered her room.
Keeping cautiously behind the window curtain, I looked out. There he was.
His beard and mustache were shaved off. His hair was close cut, but

there was no disguising his wild brown eyes or the peculiar movement of his spare wiry figure

as he walked slowly to and fro in the moonlight, waiting for Naomi. For the moment, my own

agitation almost overpowered me. I had so firmly believed that John Jago was dead.
What shall I do? Naomi repeated. Is the door of the dairy open? I asked.
No, but the door of the tool house around the corner is not locked. Very good.
Show yourself at the window and say to him, I'm coming directly. The brave girl obeyed me without a moment's hesitation.
There had been no doubt about his eyes and his gait. There was no doubt now about his voice, and he answered softly from below.
All right. Keep him talking to you where he is now, I said to Naomi, until I've had time to get around the other way to the tool house.
Then pretend to be fearful of discovery and bring him around the corner so I can hear him behind the door. We left the house together and separated silently.
Naomi followed my instructions with a quick intelligence where stratagems are concerned. I had hardly been a minute in the tool house before I heard him speaking to Naomi on the other side of the door.
The first words which I caught distinctly related to his motive for secretly leaving the farm. Mortified pride, doubly mortified by Naomi's contemptuous refusal and by the personal indignity offered to him by Ambrose.
That was at the bottom of his disappearing from Morwick. He admitted he had seen the advertisement, and it actually encouraged him to keep in hiding.
After being laughed at and insulted and denied, I was glad, said the miserable wretch, glad to see some of you had serious reason to wish me back again. It rests with you, Miss Naomi, to keep me here and to persuade me to save Ambrose by showing yourself and owning to my name.
What do you mean? I heard Naomi ask sternly. He lowered his voice, but I could still hear him.
Promise you will marry me, he said, and I will go before the magistrate tomorrow and show him that I am a living man. Suppose I refuse.
In that case, you will lose me again, and none of you will find me until Ambrose is hanged. Are you villain enough, John Jago, to mean what you say? asked the girl, raising her voice.
If you attempt to give the alarm, he answered, as true as God is above us, you will feel my hand on your throat. It's my turn now, miss, and I am not to be trifled with.
Will you have me for your husband? Yes or no? No, she answered loudly and firmly. I burst open the door and seized him as he lifted his hand on her.
He had not suffered from the overwork and fatigue that had weakened me, and he was the stronger man of the two. And Naomi saved my life.
She struck up his pistol as he pulled it out of his pocket with his free hand and presented it at my head. And the bullet was fired into the air instead of into my brain.
I tripped up his heels at the same moment. The sound of the pistol alarmed the house,

and we two together kept him on the ground until help arrived.

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The End of It. John Jago was brought before the magistrate,

and John Jago was identified the next day.

The lives of Ambrose and Silas were, of course, no longer in peril,

but there were legal formalities to be observed

before the brothers could be released from prison as innocent men.

And during the interval, certain things happened, which may be briefly mentioned here before I close my narrative. Mr.
Meadowcroft, the elder, broken by the suffering which he had gone through, died suddenly of a rheumatic affection of the heart. His will, clearly influenced by his daughter, Miss Meadowcroft, left a lifetime of income to his sons, but the farm was bequeathed to his daughter, along with the recommendation that she should marry his best and dearest friend, Mr.
John Jago. Armed with the power of the will, the heiress of Warwick sent an insolent message to Naomi, requesting her to no longer consider herself a resident of the farm.
Miss Meadacroft positively refused to believe that John Jago had ever asked Naomi to be his wife, or had ever threatened her if she refused. She accused me, as she accused Naomi,

of trying meanly to injure John Jago, in her estimation, out of hatred toward him. And she sent to me, as she had sent to Naomi, a formal notice.
Leave the house. We two banished ones met the same day in the hall with our traveling bags in our hands.
We are turned out together, friend LeFranc, said Naomi, with her quaint comical smile. You will go back to England, I guess, and I must make my own living in my own country.
Women can get employment in the States if they have a friend to speak for them. Where shall I find somebody who can give me a place? I saw my way to saying the right word at the right moment.
I have got a place to offer you, I replied. She suspected nothing so far.

That's lucky, sir, was all she said.

Is it in a telegraph office or a dry goods store?

I astonished my little friend by taking her then and there in my arms and giving her my first kiss.

The office is by my fireside, I said,

and the salary is anything you'd like.

And the place, Naomi, if you have no objection to it,

is the place of my wife.

I have no more to say,

except that years have passed since I spoke those words, and I am as fond of Naomi as ever. Some months after our marriage, Naomi wrote to a friend at Narraby for news of what was going on at the farm.
The answer informed us that Ambrose and Silas had emigrated to New Zealand and that Miss Metacross was alone at Morwick Farm.

John Jago had refused to marry her.

John Jago had disappeared again, and nobody knew where. End And so it ends.
The Dead Alive by Wilkie Collins. An improbable little tale, certainly.
Such a thing could never actually happen in real life. And yet, Collins added a brief note on the final page.
Quote, The first idea of this little story was suggested to the author by a trial, which actually took place. The published narrative of this strange case is titled, The Trial, Confessions, and Conviction of Jesse and Stephen Bourne for the Murder of Russell Colvin and the return of the man supposedly murdered.
Yes, that's right. The whole story is based on a real set of brothers who were arrested and then falsely confessed to the murder of a man who was alive the whole time.
The man only reluctantly revealed himself just weeks before one of the brothers was to be executed. And then a final note from Collins.
All the improbable events in the story are matters of fact taken from the printed narrative. But anything which looks like truth is, in nine cases out of ten, the invention of the author.
So, was there a Naomi behind those real events? Was there a love story? That, I'm afraid, is left for your imagination to decide.. Morrison Mysteries

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