THE PROGRESS OF LYDIA HUTCHINSON'S VENGEANCE.
"What means this new device, terrible woman?" cried Adeline, advancing
towards Lydia Hutchinson, and giving vent to the question which was
uppermost in her mind.
"Ah! you have already detected my handiwork in the new source of torment
which is now open against you?" said Lydia, with a smile of triumphant
contempt.
"I know that you have forged a letter in imitation of my writing——"
began Adeline.
"And that letter has already produced the desired effect," interrupted
Lydia, coolly; "for five minutes have scarcely elapsed since Colonel
Cholmondeley stole from the private door opening upon the garden."
"Then you were watching the results of your detestable scheme," cried
Lady Ravensworth, in a tone bitter with rage.
"Not only I—but half a dozen of the other dependants of the household,"
returned Lydia.
"Merciful God! you have done this, vile woman?" screamed Lady
Ravensworth. "No—no: you surely could not have been so wicked?"
"I have done it," replied Lydia, in her calm, impassive manner.
"Then it is now for _me_ to think of vengeance!" said Adeline,
conquering the turbulent emotions of passion which agitated within her,
and flinging herself once more upon the sofa, while her thoughts
wandered to the address concealed in the casket of jewels.
"_You_ think of vengeance!" repeated Lydia, scornfully. "Oh! I should
rejoice if you were to meet me with my own weapons—for such conduct on
_your_ part would afford _me_ scope and excuse for augmenting the means
of punishment which I employ. And now listen to the details of that
scheme by which I have this evening so successfully degraded you."
"Wretch!" muttered Adeline, hoarsely between her teeth.
"Hard names break no bones, my lady," said Lydia. "But again I enjoin
you to listen to what I have to tell you. I knew your handwriting
well—and it was no difficult thing to imitate it. I penned that letter
which the Colonel ere now showed you—and I enclosed the key. In the note
I desired that no allusion might be made by him to that letter, because
I wished the interview to be a long one, and I suspected that the
suddenness and boldness of his unexpected intrusion would cause a
protracted conversation ere any question on your part would elicit from
him the means by which he had obtained access to your privacy. Nor was I
mistaken."
"Then you listened—you overheard all that passed between us?" cried
Adeline.
"Nearly every word," answered Lydia: "I only quitted the door of this
chamber when he was about to leave it."
"And therefore you are well aware that he received no criminal
encouragement on my part?"
"Oh! is there nothing criminal in the fact of a lady accepting her
seducer—her former lover—the father of her first child, as her friend?
And such a friend as Cholmondeley would prove!" continued Lydia, in a
tone of the most mordent sarcasm: "such a friend! Good heavens! does
your ladyship suppose that that man who is so selfish in his pleasure—so
unprincipled in his adoption of means to procure the gratification of
his wishes—would content himself with the cold title and small
privileges of a friend? No—no! Were you to encourage his visits to this
boudoir, ere the third were passed, you would become criminal again!"
"And was it to render me criminal again that you inveigled him hither by
an atrocious forgery?" exclaimed Adeline.
"Such was not my object," replied Lydia; "although I have no interest in
protecting your virtue! _Your virtue_—the virtue of Adeline Enfield—the
virtue of Lady Ravensworth! Where was ever virtue so immaculate?"
"Beware lest you destroy every particle of virtue—that is, of
forbearance—remaining within me," cried Adeline, her thoughts again
reverting to the address which she had concealed in her jewel-casket.
"Could you kill me, I believe you capable of laying violent hands upon
me," returned Lydia; "for I know how you must hate _me_—even as
sincerely as I loathe _you_! But I have before told you that I am
stronger than you!"
Adeline made no answer: her mind now dwelt with less horror than before
upon the possible use which she might be driven to make of the address
in the casket.
"Oh! brood—brood over plans of vengeance," exclaimed Lydia; "and
remember that I defy you! All the dark malignity which is now expressed
in your lowering countenance, does not terrify me. But listen to the
conclusion of the narrative which I ere now began. My object in
effecting the prolongation of the interview between Cholmondeley and
yourself, was to afford me leisure to warn those of your servants to
whom I had already hinted my suspicions of your infidelity."
Adeline started convulsively, but checked the reply which rose to her
lips.
"I stationed myself in the garden, accompanied by the housekeeper,"
continued Lydia; "for I suspected that your Colonel would not allow one
evening to elapse ere he availed himself of the invitation which he
supposed to have come from you. Nor was I mistaken. We saw him creep
stealthily along towards the private door: we saw him enter. Then, while
I flew hither to listen in the passage to what might pass between you,
the housekeeper hastened to fetch Quentin——"
"Quentin!" cried Adeline, with a shudder.
"Yes—your husband's principal valet and four of the other servants, that
they might watch your supposed lover's departure," continued Lydia. "But
fear not that the tidings will reach your husband. No: my vengeance does
not seek to wound him:—I pity him too much for that! My sole object was
to degrade _you_ in the eyes of your domestics, as _I_ have been
degraded in the eyes of the world; for I must reduce _your_ situation as
nearly as I can to the level of what _mine_ so lately was—that you may
understand how much I have suffered, and how strong is my justification
in avenging myself on the one whose bad example and ungrateful heart
threw me into the ways of vice and sorrow."
"And how can _you_, detestable woman, prevent my servants from
circulating this terrible scandal?" cried Lady Ravensworth, trembling as
she beheld ruin and disgrace yawning like a black precipice at her feet,
ready to engulph her: "how can _you_ seal the lips of Quentin, so that
this same scandal shall not reach the ears of my husband?"
"I have enjoined them all to secrecy on many grounds," answered Lydia:
"I have pointed out to them the necessity of waiting for ampler proofs
of your guilt—I have represented to them the propriety of sparing you in
your present position, so near the time of becoming a mother as you
are—and I have also conjured them to exercise forbearance on account of
their lord, for whom they all feel deeply."
"Oh! how kind—how considerate were you in my behalf!" exclaimed Adeline,
bitterly: "and yet—were I already a mother—you would not hesitate,
doubtless, to wreak your fiend-like vengeance upon my poor innocent
babe."
"God forbid!" cried Lydia, emphatically: "no—it is enough that I punish
_you_."
"And yet every taunt you throw in my teeth—every indignity you compel me
to undergo—every torture you inflict upon me, redound in their terrible
effects upon the child which I bear in my bosom," said Lady Ravensworth,
pressing her clasped hands convulsively to her heart.
"I know it—and I regret it," returned Lydia coldly: "but I cannot
consent to forego one tittle of all the tortures which my mind suggests
as a punishment for such a bad and heartless creature as yourself. I
shall now leave you; for I have more work in hand. I have undertaken to
sit up during the first half of the night, in the chamber of the wounded
Lord Dunstable. The housekeeper will relieve me for the second half."
"Heavens! have you found another object whereon to wreak your
vengeance?" exclaimed Adeline. "Then may God have mercy upon the unhappy
man!"
"Yes—pray for him, Adeline: he will have need of all your sympathy!"
With these words Lydia Hutchinson left the boudoir.
It was now nine o'clock in the evening: Mr. Graham had been left to dine
alone; and Adeline felt the necessity of proceeding to the drawing-room,
to join her guest in partaking of coffee.
A plea of indisposition was offered for her absence from the
dinner-table; and to her questions concerning his patient, Mr. Graham
replied favourably.
The evening dragged its slow length wearily along; for Adeline was too
much depressed in spirits to prove a very agreeable companion. She
moreover fancied she beheld an impudent leer upon the countenances of
the domestics who served the coffee; and this circumstance, although in
reality imaginary, only tended to complete her confusion and paralyse
her powers of conversation.
Were it not that _she_ now dreamt of vengeance in her turn,—were it not
that she beheld a chance of speedily ridding herself for ever of the
torturess whom circumstances had inflicted upon her,—she could not
possibly have endured the weight of the last indignity forced upon her.
To be made the object, as she deemed herself to be, of her very
servants' scandalous talk and insulting looks, was a position so utterly
debasing, that she would have fled from it by means of suicide, had she
not consoled herself by the idea that a terrible vengeance on the
authoress of her degradation was within her reach.
Crime is like an object of terror seen dimly through the obscurity of
night. When afar off from it, the appearance of that object is so
vaguely horrible—so shapelessly appalling, that it makes the hair stand
on end; but the more the eye contemplates it—the more familiar the
beholder grows with its aspect—and the nearer he advances towards it,
the less terrible does it become; until at length, when he goes close up
to it, and touches it, he wonders that he was ever so weak as to be
alarmed by it.
We have seen Lady Ravensworth recoiling with horror from the bare idea
of perpetrating the crime which the possession of the self-vaunted
bravo's address suggested to her imagination:—the next time it entered
her thoughts, she was less terrified;—a few hours passed—and she was now
pondering calmly and coldly upon the subject.
O God! what is the cause of this? Is there implanted in the heart of man
a natural tendency towards even the blackest crimes—a tendency which
only requires the influence of particular circumstances to develop it to
its dark and terrible extreme?
* * * * *
We may here explain the motives which had induced Colonel Cholmondeley
to endeavour to renew his connexion with Adeline.
Of love remaining for her he had none—even if he had ever experienced
any at all. But his interests might have been probably served by the
restoration of his former influence over her.
He was a man of ruined fortunes—having dissipated a large property; and
although he still contrived to maintain appearances, the struggle was a
severe one, and only kept up with the desperate view of "hooking an
heiress."
Thus, when he found the letter and the key in the carriage—naturally
presuming that Adeline had herself thereby intimated her readiness to
renew their former _liaison_,—he began to reflect that Lord Ravensworth
was dying—that Lady Ravensworth might, should she have a son, be
speedily left a wealthy widow—or that at all events she must acquire
some fortune at her husband's decease,—and that he should be acting
prudently to adopt all possible means to regain his ancient influence
over her.
This explanation will account for his readiness to act in accordance
with the hint which he had fancied to have been conveyed by Adeline
through the medium of the letter and the key: it will also show
wherefore he humoured her, during their interview, in respect to
accepting the colder denomination of _friend_, instead of the warmer one
of _lover_.
The reader may imagine his confusion, when an explanation took place
relative to the letter and the key; nor need we describe the bitter
feelings with which he beat his ignominious retreat.
* * * * *
It was eleven o'clock at night.
Mr. Graham had just left his patient in a profound sleep, and had
retired to the bed-room allotted to him, Lydia Hutchinson having already
come to keep the promised vigil by the couch of the wounded nobleman.
The curtains were drawn around the bed: waxlights burnt upon the mantel.
A deep silence reigned throughout the mansion.
Lydia Hutchinson threw herself back in the arm-chair, and gave way to
her reflections.
"Thus far has my vengeance progressed: but it is not yet near its
termination. It must fall alike upon the woman who first taught me the
ways of duplicity and vice, and on him who used the blackest treachery
to rob me of my innocence. Oh! who would have ever thought that I—once
so humane in disposition—once possessed of so kind a heart that I
sacrificed myself to save a friend,—who would have thought that I could
have become such a fiend in dealing forth retribution? But my heart is
not yet completely hardened: it is only towards those at whose hands I
have suffered, that my sympathies flow no longer. And even in respect to
the hateful Adeline, how often—oh! how often am I forced to recall to
mind all my wrongs—to ponder, to brood upon them—in order to nerve
myself to execute my schemes of vengeance! When she spoke this evening
of her unborn child, she touched my heart:—I could have wept—I could
have wept,—but I dared not! I was compelled to take refuge in that
freezing manner which I have so well studied to assume when I
contemplate her sufferings. My God! thou knowest how great are my
wrongs! A father's grey hairs brought down with sorrow to the grave
impel me to revenge:—the voice of a brother's blood appeals to me also
for revenge! Revenge—revenge—upon Adeline and on the perfidious nobleman
sleeping here!"
She had reached this point in her musings, when Lord Dunstable moved,
and coughed gently.
He was awake.
"Graham," he murmured, in a faint tone: "for God's sake give me some
drink—my throat is parched!"
"Mr. Graham is not present," answered Lydia: "chance has brought _me_
hither to attend upon you."
Thus speaking, she drew aside the curtains.
Lord Dunstable cast one glance up to that countenance which looked
malignantly on him.
"Lydia!" he said: "is that you? or is my imagination playing me false?"
"It _is_ Lydia Hutchinson, whom you betrayed—whose brother fell by your
hand—and who is now here to taunt you with all the infamy of your
conduct towards her," was the calm and measured reply.
"Am alone with you?—is there none else present?" asked Dunstable, in a
tone of alarm.
Lydia drew the curtains completely aside; and the nobleman cast a hasty
look round the room.
"You see that we are alone together," she said; "and you are in my
power!"
"What would you do to me, Lydia?" he exclaimed: "you cannot be so wicked
as to contemplate——"
"I am wicked enough to contemplate any thing horrible in respect to
_you_!" interrupted the avenging woman. "But fear not for your life.
No:—although your hands be imbrued with the blood of my brother, I would
not become a murderess because you are a murderer."
"Did a man apply that name to me," said Dunstable, darting a savage
glance towards Lydia's countenance, "he should repent his insolence
sooner or later."
"And are you not a murderer as well as a ravisher?" cried Lydia, in a
taunting tone. "By means the most vile—the most cowardly—the most
detestable—the most degrading to a man, you possessed yourself of my
virtue. Afterwards, when my brother stood forth as the avenger of his
sister's lost honour, you dared to point the murderous weapon at him
whom you had already so grossly wronged in wronging me. Ravisher, you
are a cowardly villain!—duellist, you are a cold-blooded murderer!"
"Lydia—Lydia, what are _you_?" cried Lord Dunstable; "a fiend—thus to
treat a wounded man who is so completely at your mercy!"
"And how did you treat me when I was at your mercy at the house of your
equally abandoned friend Cholmondeley?" continued Lydia. "Was not the
wine which I drank, drugged for an especial purpose? Or, even if it were
not—and supposing that I was intemperate,—granting, I say, that the
stupefaction into which I fell was the result of my own imprudence in
drinking deeply of a liquor till then unknown to me,—did you act
honourably in availing yourself of my powerlessness to rob me of the
only jewel I possessed? I was poor, my lord—but I was still
virtuous:—you plundered me of that chastity which gave me confidence in
myself and was the element of my good name! No prowling—skulking—masked
thief ever performed a more infernal part than did you on that foul
night!"
"And now that years have passed, you regret the loss of a bauble—call it
a jewel, indeed!—which I certainly seized an opportunity to steal, but
which you would have given me of your own accord a few days later, had I
chosen to wait?" said Dunstable, speaking contemptuously, and yet with
great difficulty.
"It is false—it is false—it is false!" replied Lydia, in a hoarse voice
that indicated the rage which these words excited in her bosom. "I never
should have yielded to you: never—never! But when once I was lost, I
became like all women in the same state—reckless, indifferent! Villain
that you are, you make light of your crimes. Oh! I am well aware that
seduction—rape, even, under such circumstances as those in which you
ravished me—are not deemed enormities in the fashionable world: they are
achievements at which profligates like yourself laugh over their wine,
and which render them favourites with the ladies! Yon call seductions
and rapes by the noble name of '_conquests_!' O glorious conqueror that
_you_ were, when you lay down by the side of a mere girl who was
insensible, and rifled her of the only jewel that adorned her! How was
your victory celebrated? By my tears! What have been its consequences?
My ruin and utter degradation! Detestable man, of what have you to
boast? Of plunging a poor, defenceless woman into the depths of
misery—of hurrying her father to the grave with a broken heart—of
murdering her brother! Those are your conquests, monster that you are!"
[Illustration]
Weak as was the young nobleman's frame,—attenuated as was his mind by
suffering and by prostration of the physical energies, it is not to be
wondered at if those terrible reproaches produced a strange effect upon
him,—uttered as they were, too, in a tone of savage malignity, and by a
woman with whom he found himself alone at an hour when all the other
inmates of the mansion were probably rocked in slumber.
That evanescent gleam of a naturally spirited disposition which had
enabled him to meet her first taunts with a contemptuous reply, had
disappeared; and he now found himself prostrated in mind and
body—rapidly yielding to nervous feelings and vague alarms—and almost
inclined to believe himself to be the black-hearted criminal which Lydia
represented him.
"And when such profligates as you appear in the fashionable world, after
some new conquest," proceeded Lydia, "how triumphant—how proud are ye,
if the iniquity have obtained notoriety! Ye are the objects of all
conversation—of all interest! And what is your punishment at the hands
of an outraged society? Ladies tap you with their fans, and say slyly,
'_Oh! the naughty man!_' And the naughty man smiles—displays his white
teeth—and becomes the hero of the party! But all the while, how many
bitter tears are shed elsewhere on his account! what hearts are breaking
through his villany! Such has doubtless been your career, Lord
Dunstable: and I do not envy you the feelings which must now possess
you. For should that wound prove fatal—should mortification ensue—should
this, in a word, be your death-bed, how ill-prepared are you to meet
that all-seeing and avenging Judge who will punish you the more severely
on account of the high station which you have held in the world!"
"Water, Lydia—water!" murmured Lord Dunstable: "my throat is parched.
Water—I implore you!"
"How could I give you so poor a drink as water, when you gave me wine?"
"Oh! spare those taunts! I am dying with thirst."
"And I am happy in the thirst which now possesses me—but it is a thirst
for vengeance!"
"Water—water! I am fainting."
"Great crimes demand great penance. Do you know in whose mansion you
are? This is Ravensworth Hall," added Lydia; "and Lady Ravensworth is
Adeline—Cholmondely's late paramour."
"I know all that," said Lord Dunstable, faintly: "but how came you
here?"
"It were too long to tell you now."
"Water, Lydia,—Oh! give me water!"
"Tell me that you are a vile seducer—and you repent."
"Oh! give me water—and I will do all you tell me!"
"Then repeat the words which I have dictated," said Lydia, imperiously.
"I am a seducer——"
"No: a _vile_ seducer!"
"A vile seducer—and I repent. Now give me water!"
"Not yet. Confess that you are a ruthless murderer, and that you
repent!"
"No—never!" said Dunstable, writhing with the pangs of an intolerable
thirst. "Water—give me water!"
"You implore in vain, unless you obey me. Confess——"
"I do—I do!" exclaimed the miserable nobleman. "I confess that I am—I
cannot say it!"
"Then die of thirst!" returned Lydia, ferociously.
"No: do not leave me thus! Give me water—only one drop! I confess that I
murdered your brother in a duel—and I deeply repent that deed! Now give
me to drink!"
"First swear that you will not complain to a living soul of my treatment
towards you this night," said Lydia, holding a glass of lemonade at a
short distance from his lips.
"I swear to obey you," murmured Dunstable, almost driven to madness by
the excruciating anguish of his burning thirst.
"You swear by that God before whom you may so soon have to appear?"
continued Lydia, advancing the glass still nearer to his parched mouth.
"I swear—I swear! Give me the glass."
Then Lydia allowed him to drink as much as he chose of the refreshing
beverage.
At that moment the time-piece struck one, and a low knock was heard at
the door.
"I now leave you," said Lydia, in a whisper, as she leant over him.
"Another will watch by your side during the remainder of the night.
To-morrow evening I shall visit you again. Remember your oath not to
utter a complaint that may induce the surgeon to prevent me from
attending on you. If you perjure yourself in this respect, I shall find
other means to punish you:—and then my vengeance would be terrible
indeed!"
Lord Dunstable groaned in anguish, and closed his eyes—as if against
some horrific spectre.
Lydia smiled triumphantly, and hastened to admit the housekeeper.
"His mind wanders a little," she whispered to the person who thus came
to relieve her in the vigil; "and he appeared to think that I wished to
do him a mischief."
"That is a common thing in delirium," answered the housekeeper, also in
a low tone, inaudible to the invalid. "Good night."
"Good night," returned Lydia.
She then withdrew—satisfied at having adopted a precautionary measure in
case the nobleman should utter a complaint against her.
And she retired to her own chamber gloating ever the vengeance which she
had already taken upon the man who had ruined her, and happy in the hope
of being enabled to renew those torments on the ensuing night.
* * * * *
We must conclude this chapter with an incident which has an important
bearing upon events that are to follow.
Adeline arose early on the morning following that dread night of
vengeance, and dressed herself before Lydia made her appearance in the
boudoir.
Hastening down stairs, Lady Ravensworth ordered breakfast to be
immediately served, and the carriage to be got ready.
When she returned to the boudoir to assume her travelling attire, Lydia
was there.
"You have risen betimes this morning, madam," she said; "but if you
think to escape the usual punishment, you are mistaken."
"I am going to London, Lydia, upon important business for Lord
Ravensworth," answered Adeline; "and as you have frequently declared
that you do not level your vengeance against _him_, I——"
"Enough, madam: I will do nothing that may directly injure the interests
of that nobleman, whom I sincerely pity. When shall you return?" she
demanded in an authoritative manner.
"This evening—or at latest to-morrow afternoon," was the reply, which
Adeline gave meekly—for she had her own reasons not to waste time by
irritating her torturess on this occasion.
"'Tis well, Adeline," said Lydia: "I shall not accompany you. _You_ are
always in my power—but Dunstable may soon be far beyond my reach; and I
would not miss the opportunity of passing the half of another night by
his bed-side."
Adeline was now ready to depart; and Lydia attended her, for appearance'
sake, to the carriage.
Ere the door of the vehicle was closed, Lady Ravensworth said to Lydia,
"You will prepare my room as usual for me this evening—and see that the
fire be laid by eleven o'clock—as it is probable that I may return
to-night."
Lydia darted upon her mistress a glance which was intended to say—"You
shall soon repent the authoritative voice in which you uttered that
command;"—but she answered aloud, in an assumed tone of respect, "Yes,
my lady."
The footman closed the door—and the carriage drove rapidly away for the
town-mansion at the West End.
And as it rolled along, Adeline mused thus:—
"Now, Lydia, for vengeance upon _you_! You have driven me to
desperation—and one of us must die! Oh! I have overreached you at last!
You think that I am bound upon business for my husband:—no, it is for
_you_! And well did I divine that your schemes of vengeance against the
poor wounded nobleman would retain you at the Hall: well was I convinced
that you would not offer to accompany me! At length, Lydia, you are in
my power!"
Then, as she smiled with demoniac triumph, Adeline took from her bosom
and devoured with her eyes the address that she had picked up in the
ruins of the gamekeeper's cottage.
There was only an old housekeeper maintained at the town-mansion, to
take care of the dwelling; and thus Adeline was under no apprehension of
having her motions watched.
Immediately after her arrival, which was shortly before eleven in the
forenoon, she repaired to a chamber, having given instructions that as
she had many letters to write, she desired to remain uninterrupted.
But scarcely had the housekeeper withdrawn, when Adeline enveloped
herself in a large cloak, put on a common straw bonnet with a thick
black veil, and left the house by a private door of which she possessed
the key.