THE FORGED BILLS.
At half-past four o'clock on the following afternoon, Ellen Monroe was
in the immediate vicinity of the Bank of England.
She had been to receive a small sum of money which an old debtor of her
father's, residing in Birchin Lane, had written to state that he was in
a condition to pay; and she was now on her return to Markham Place.
The evenings of January are obscure, if not quite dark, at that hour;
and the lamps were lighted.
As she was proceeding along Lothbury, Greenwood suddenly passed her. He
was walking rapidly, in a pre-occupied manner, and did not perceive her.
But she beheld _him_; and she turned to speak to him; for in spite of
all the injuries which her parent, her benefactor Richard, and herself
had sustained at his hands, he was still the father of her child!
Scarcely had she thus turned, when he drew his handkerchief from his
pocket—still hurrying on towards Tokenhouse Yard.
Ellen quickened her pace; but in a few moments her foot encountered an
object on the pavement.
She stooped, and picked it up.
It was a pocket-book.
Conceiving that Greenwood might have dropped it, as she had found it on
the very spot where she had seen him take his handkerchief from his
pocket, she ran in the direction which she supposed him to have pursued;
but as, in the mean time, he had turned into the narrow alley called
Tokenhouse Yard, and as she continued her way along Lothbury towards
Throgmorton Street, she did not of course overtake him.
Finding that her search after him was unavailing, she determined to
examine the contents of the pocket-book, and ascertain if it really did
belong to him; in which case, she resolved to proceed straight to Spring
Gardens, and restore it to him.
Retracing her steps along Lothbury, she entered Cateaton Street; and
turning into the Old Jewry, which was almost deserted, she stopped
beneath the light of a lamp to open the pocket-book.
It contained several letters, addressed to "G. M. GREENWOOD, ESQ.,
M.P.;" and thus her doubts were cleared up at once. But as she was thus
investigating the interior of the pocket-book, her eye fell upon a
number of bills of exchange, all drawn and endorsed by Mr. Greenwood,
and accepted for large sums by noblemen, well-known landowners, and
eminent merchants. A rapid glance over these documents convinced Ellen
that the aggregate amount which they represented could not fall far
short of twenty-five thousand pounds; for, in addition to the fictitious
bills obtained from Pennywhiffe, Greenwood had placed in his pocket-book
several genuine ones which he legitimately possessed.
Miss Monroe's scrutiny did not altogether occupy a minute; and,
carefully securing the pocket-book about her person, she hurried towards
Cheapside, where she entered a cab, directing the driver to take her to
Spring Gardens.
She did not forget Greenwood's former conduct in having her carried away
to his house in the country; but she did not apprehend any ill-usage at
his hands in a part of London where succour would be so readily obtained
as in Spring Gardens. It was therefore without hesitation that she
resolved to proceed direct to his own dwelling in that quarter.
In due time the vehicle stopped at Greenwood's house in Spring Gardens.
With a beating heart Ellen knocked at the door, which was almost
immediately opened by Filippo.
"Ah! Miss Monroe!" he exclaimed, as the light of the hall-lamp fell upon
her beautiful countenance.
"Yes—it is I at Mr. Greenwood's house," she answered, with a smile: "is
he at home?"
"No, Miss—he has gone into the City; but he will be back at six o'clock
at the latest."
"Then I will wait for him," said Ellen.
Filippo conducted her up stairs.
In the window of the staircase still stood the beautiful model of the
Diana, holding a lamp in its hand,—that model which was the image of her
own faultless form.
On the landing-place, communicating with the drawing-room, was also the
marble statue, the bust of which was sculptured in precise imitation of
her own.
And, when she entered the drawing-room, the first object which met her
eyes was the picture of Venus rising from the ocean, surrounded by
nereids and nymphs,—that Venus which was a faithful likeness of herself!
Oh! how many phases of her existence did these permanent representations
of her matchless beauty bring back to her memory!
When Filippo left her, and she found herself alone, she fell upon a
sofa, and gave way to a violent flood of tears.
Then she felt relieved; and she began to ask herself wherefore she had
come thither? Was it because she was glad to have found an excuse for
calling upon him who was the father of her child? was it because she was
anxious to receive his thanks—from his own lips—for restoring to him his
pocket-book? She scarcely knew.
Half an hour passed in reflections of this nature—reflections which
branched off in so many different ways, and converged to no satisfactory
point—when a cab suddenly drove up to the house.
In another minute hasty steps ascended the stairs—they approached the
drawing-room—and Greenwood rushed in, banging the door furiously behind
him.
"My God! what have I done?" he exclaimed, frantically—for he did not
immediately perceive Ellen, whom a screen concealed from his view. "The
pocket-book is lost—gone! I am ruined—should those forged bills——"
He said no more, but threw himself upon a chair, and buried his face in
his hands.
Ellen instantly comprehended it all:—the bills which she had seen in the
pocket-book were forgeries!
Rapid as lightning a train of new reflections passed through her
brain:—a project suggested itself;—she hesitated for a moment—but only
for a moment:—she thought of her child—and she was resolved.
Assuming all her calmness, and calculating in an instant all the chances
of her scheme, she rose from the sofa, and slowly approached the chair
on which Greenwood was seated.
He heard a step in the room, and raised his eyes.
"Ellen!" he exclaimed, starting back in surprise.
She murmured a _Christian name_—but it was not _George_.
"Call me not _that_, Ellen!" cried Greenwood, fiercely: "the time is not
come! But tell me," he added, speaking thickly, and at the same instant
casting upon her a glance which seemed to pierce her inmost soul,—"tell
me—were you here—in this room—when I came in?"
"I was," answered Ellen, gazing, in her turn, fixedly upon him.
"And you heard——"
"I heard every word you uttered," continued Miss Monroe, keeping her
eyes still bent upon him.
"Ah! then you know——"
"_That you have committed forgery_," added Ellen, in an emphatic tone;
"_and that you are ruined_!"
"Damnation!" ejaculated Greenwood. "What did you come for? why are you
here? To gloat over my falling fortunes—to make yourself merry at my
ruin—to taunt me with the past—to laugh at me in my adversity—to——"
"Then it _is_ true," thought Ellen, within herself: "these bills _are_
forgeries—and he is in my power.—No," she exclaimed aloud; "such was not
my object."
"Then, go—leave me—depart!" cried Greenwood, frantically. "I am in no
humour to listen to you now! But, Ellen," he added, suddenly becoming
cool—desperately cool:—"tell me—speak—you will not betray me?"
"No—that is, on _one_ condition," answered Ellen.
"One condition!" repeated Greenwood: "name it!"
"That you make me your wife," was the steady reply.
"My wife!" exclaimed Greenwood, laughing hysterically. "Do you know
whose wife you would become?—the wife of a forger! Have you not learnt
that dread secret? But, perhaps, it is to mock me that you offer to
become my wife! Oh! I understand you full well, Ellen! When I was rich
and beyond the reach of the law, I would not marry you;—and now you mean
me to comprehend that since I am ruined, and every moment in danger of
being dragged to a station-house, _you_ would scorn the alliance! The
jest is good:—no—the revenge is just! But it is not the less bitter to
me, Ellen!"
"By heavens, you wrong me!" cried Ellen. "Listen with calmness—with
composure—if you can!"
"I cannot, Ellen—I cannot! I am mad! A few months—nay, even a few weeks
ago, I was happy—wealthy—prosperous:—now I am ruined—miserable—lost! Oh!
the grand prospects that were so lately open before me!"
"Again I say, listen. All is not so bad as you imagine," said the young
lady, in a hasty tone.
"What do you mean, Ellen? what _can_ you mean?" he exclaimed,
bewildered. "Do you not understand the nature of a forgery—the
consequences which it entails? True—I did not perpetrate the forgery
with my own hands;—but the bills are all drawn—all endorsed by me! Oh!
it is dreadful—it is terrible!"
"I will not keep you any longer in suspense," said Ellen. "Your
pocket-book is found——"
"Found!" repeated Greenwood, electrified by that word, and not knowing
whether it imported good or evil to him: "found! Did you say——"
"Yes—found," answered Miss Monroe;—"and by me!"
"By you, Ellen?" cried Greenwood. "No—it is impossible!"
"How, then, should I know that you had lost a pocket-book?" asked the
young lady.
"True! And you have found it? Oh! then I am saved—I am saved! Give it to
me, Ellen—give it to me!"
And he advanced towards her, with out-stretched hands.
"No—not yet," exclaimed the young lady, in a firm tone. "In this
room—yes, in this very room—I went down upon my knees, and implored you
to save me from disgrace—to give a father's name to the child who was
then as yet unborn. And you refused my supplication—you turned a deaf
ear to my agonising entreaties. Oh! I remember that scene but too well.
You would not do me justice—and I told you that you might live to repent
your cruelty towards me!"
"What! you will now avenge your alleged wrongs!" cried Greenwood, his
countenance becoming livid with mingled fear and rage: "you will deliver
me up to justice? No—I will tear the pocket-book from you—I will destroy
the proofs of my folly—my crime; and then——but why should I waste time
in idle words like these; I must act! Give me the book!"
And he rushed towards her, as a tiger springs upon its victim.
But Ellen, light as the fawn, glided away from him, and took such a
position that a table was between them, and a bell-pull within her
reach.
"Dare to attempt violence towards me," she exclaimed, "and I summon your
servants. Then—in their presence—I will proclaim their master a forger!
Provoke me not—my spirit is roused—and your fate hangs upon a thread!"
"Damnation!" cried Greenwood, grinding his teeth with rage. "Can nothing
move you, Ellen?"
"Yes—the _one condition_ that I ere now named," she answered, drawing
herself up to her full height, and assuming all the influence of her
really queenly beauty.
"Agreed!" ejaculated Greenwood. "Give me the pocket-book—I take God to
witness that I will make you my wife within a week from this day."
"You regard an oath no more than a mere promise," replied Ellen, calmly,
and with a slightly satirical curl of the lip.
"I will give you the promise in writing, Ellen," persisted Greenwood,
urged to desperation.
"Neither will _that_ satisfy me," said the young lady. "When our hands
are joined at the altar, I will restore you the proofs of your crime;
and God grant," she added solemnly, "that this peril which you have
incurred may serve as a warning to you against future risks of the same
fearful kind."
"You have no faith in my word—you have no confidence in my written
promise, Ellen," cried Greenwood: "how, then, can you be anxious to have
me as a husband?"
"That my child may not grow up with the stain of illegitimacy upon
him—that he may not learn to despise his mother," answered Ellen,
emphatically; "for _he_ need never know the precise date of our union."
"But you know, Ellen," again remonstrated Greenwood, "that there are
circumstances which act as an insuperable barrier to this marriage.
Could you tell your father that you have espoused the man who ruined
him—ruined Richard,—and also admit, at the same time, that this man was
the father of your child! Consider, Ellen—reflect——"
"There is no need of consideration—no need of reflection," interrupted
Miss Monroe. "I care not about revealing the fact of my marriage for the
present. In a few years—when our child can comprehend his true
position,—_then_ it would be necessary to declare myself a wife."
"But there is another difficulty, Ellen," persisted Greenwood: "my
name——"
"Let us be wedded privately—in some suburban church, where you stand no
chance of being recognised as George Montague Greenwood, and where your
_right name_ may be fearlessly inscribed upon the register."
"A woman who is determined to gain her point, annihilates all
difficulties," muttered Greenwood to himself.
"How do _you_ decide?" asked Ellen. "Remember that _I_ am firm. I have
these alternatives before me—either to obtain a father's name for my
child, or to avenge the wrongs of my own parent and myself. Consent to
make me your wife, and the proofs of your crime shall be returned to you
at the altar: refuse, and to-morrow morning I will prepare the way for
vengeance."
"Ellen, I consent to your proposal," said Greenwood, in a tone of deep
humiliation; "but upon condition that our marriage shall never be
proclaimed until that day, when——"
"I understand you; and I cheerfully agree to the proposal," interrupted
Miss Monroe. "You can believe _my_ word:—besides, you _must_ know that I
also should have reasons to conceal our union, until you chose to
declare your real name."
"Then be it as you propose, Ellen. To-morrow morning, early, I will
procure a special license, and we will be united at Hackney. You can
meet me at the church precisely at ten o'clock in the morning: I will
have every thing in readiness. But whom will you ask to accompany you?"
"Marian—the faithful servant who has been so devoted to my interests,"
answered Miss Monroe.
"I think that I should prefer the wife of that surgeon—Mrs. Wentworth, I
mean—as the witness to our union," said Greenwood. "I dislike the idea
of domestics being entrusted with important secrets. Besides, Mrs.
Wentworth has never seen me—knows not that I am passing by the name of
Greenwood—and, in a word, is a lady."
"Be it as you will in this instance," returned Ellen. "Mrs. Wentworth
shall accompany me—I can rely upon her."
She then rang the bell.
"What do you require, Ellen?" asked Greenwood, alarmed by this movement
on her part.
"Merely to ensure the presence of one of your servants, as I pass from
this spot to the door of the room," replied Ellen. "You can give him
some order to avert suspicion."
Filippo made his appearance; and Ellen then took leave of Mr. Greenwood,
as if nothing peculiar had occurred between them.
Oh! with what joy—with what fervid, intoxicating joy—did she return to
Markham Place! She had subdued _him_ whose cold, calculating, selfish
heart was hitherto unacquainted with honourable concessions;—she had
conquered him—reduced him to submit to her terms—imposed her own
conditions!
Never—never before had she embraced her child with such pride—such
undiluted happiness as on that evening. And never had she herself
appeared more beautiful—more enchantingly lovely! Her lips were wreathed
in smiles—her eyes beamed with the transports of hope, triumph, and
maternal affection—a glow of ineffable bliss animated her
countenance—her swelling bosom heaved with rapture.
"You are very late, my dear child," said Mr. Monroe, when she took her
seat at the tea-table: "I began to grow uneasy."
"I was detained a long time at the office of your debtor," answered
Ellen. "To-morrow morning I intend to pay a visit to Mrs. Wentworth, and
shall invite myself to breakfast with her. So you need not be surprised,
dear father," she added, with a sweet smile, "if I do not make my
appearance at your table."
"You please me in pleasing yourself, dear Ellen. Moreover, I am
delighted that you should cultivate Mrs. Wentworth's acquaintance. Most
sincerely do I hope," continued Mr. Monroe, "that we shall have letters
from Richard to-morrow. The communications which we have already
received are not satisfactory to my mind. God grant that he may be by
this time safe in Naples—if not on his way to England."
"Alas! the enterprise has been a most unfortunate one for him!" returned
Ellen, a cloud passing over her countenance. "I understand his noble
disposition so well, that I am convinced he deeply feels the defeat of
Ossore."
We must observe that the news of our hero's success at Estella had not
yet reached England.
"It will be a happy day for us all," said Mr. Monroe, after a pause,
"when Richard once more sets foot in his own home—for I love him as if
he were my son."
"And I as if he were my brother," added Ellen;—"yes—_my brother_," she
repeated, with strange emphasis upon these words.
* * * * *
On the following morning, a few minutes before ten o'clock, a
post-chaise stopped at the gate of the parish church of Hackney; and Mr.
Greenwood alighted.
He was pale; and the quivering of his lip denoted the agitation of his
mind.
The clock was striking ten, when a hackney-coach reached the same point.
Greenwood hastened to the door, and assisted Mrs. Wentworth and Ellen
Monroe to descend the steps.
As he handed out the latter, he said, in a hurried whisper, "You have
the pocket-book with you?"
"I have," answered Ellen.
The party then proceeded to the church, the drivers of the vehicles
being directed to await their return at a little distance, so as not to
attract the notice of the inhabitants.
The clergyman and the clerk awaited the arrival of the nuptial party.
The ceremony commenced—proceeded—and terminated.
Ellen was now a wife!
Her husband imprinted a kiss upon her pale forehead; and at the same
moment she handed him the pocket-book.
In a few minutes the marriage-certificate was in her possession.
Drawing her husband aside, she said, "Let me now implore you—for your
own sake—for the sake of your child—if not for _mine_—to abstain from
those courses——"
"Ellen," interrupted Greenwood, "do not alarm yourself on that head. My
friend the Marquis of Holmesford lent me ten thousand pounds last
evening; and with that sum I will retrieve my falling fortunes. Yes—you
shall yet bear a great name. Ellen," he added, his countenance lighting
up with animation; "_a name that shall go down to posterity!_ But, tell
me—has your father received any tidings from Richard?"
"None since those of which I wrote to you. We are not yet aware whether
he be in safety, or not."
"You will write to me the moment you receive any fresh communication?"
"Rest assured that I shall not forget that duty."
"And now, Ellen, we must pass the day together. We will spend our
honeymoon of twenty-four hours at Richmond. Mrs. Wentworth can return
home, and send word to your father that she means to keep you with her
until to-morrow morning."
"If you command me, it is my duty to obey," replied Ellen.
"I do—I do," answered Greenwood, earnestly. "You are now mine—the
circumstances which led to our union shall be forgotten—and I shall
think of you only as my beautiful wife."
"Oh! if this be really true!" murmured Ellen, pressing his hand
fervently, and regarding him with affection—for he was the father of her
child!
"It _is_ true," answered Greenwood;—but his bride perceived not how much
of sensual passion prompted him on the present occasion. "I know that
you have been faithful to me—that the hope of one day becoming my wife
has swayed your conduct. Of _that_ I have had proofs."
"Proofs!" repeated Ellen, with mingled surprise and joy.
"Yes—proofs. Do you not remember the Greek Brigand at the masquerade,
where you met and so justly upbraided that canting hypocrite, Reginald
Tracy?"
"I do. But that Greek Brigand——"
"Was myself!" replied Greenwood.
"You!" exclaimed Ellen, with a smile of satisfaction.
"Yes: and I overheard every sentence you uttered. But we may not tarry
here longer: speak to Mrs. Wentworth, that she send a proper excuse to
your father; and let us depart."
Ellen hastened to the vestry where the surgeon's wife was seated near a
cheerful fire; and the arrangement desired by Greenwood was soon made.
The party then proceeded to the vehicles.
Mrs. Wentworth bade the newly-married couple adieu, having faithfully
promised to retain their secret inviolate; and Greenwood handed her into
the hackney-coach.
He and Ellen entered the post-chaise; and while the surgeon's wife
retraced her way to her own abode, the bride and bridegroom hastened to
Richmond.