THE EFFECT OF THE ORIENTAL TOBACCO.—THE
OLD HAG'S PAPERS.
Scarcely had Lady Ravensworth risen from the table, whereon stood the
untasted morning meal, when the housekeeper of the town-mansion entered
the room, and informed her mistress that Quentin had just arrived on
horseback from the Hall, and requested an immediate audience of her
ladyship.
Adeline was not unprepared for some such circumstance as this; she
however affected to believe that the sudden appearance of Quentin in
town bore reference to the illness of her husband; and when the valet
entered the apartment, she hastened to meet him, exclaiming, with
well-assumed anxiety, "Is any thing the matter with your lord? Speak,
Quentin—speak!"
"His lordship is certainly worse this morning, my lady: but——"
"But not dangerously so, Quentin?" cried Adeline, as if tortured by
acute suspense and apprehension.
"My lord is far—very far from well," returned Quentin: "but that is not
precisely the object of my coming to town so early. The truth is, my
lady, that Lydia Hutchinson has decamped."
"Lydia gone!" exclaimed Lady Ravensworth.
"Yes—my lady. But permit me to ask whether your ladyship brought your
jewel-casket to town with you yesterday morning."
"Certainly not, Quentin: I merely came for a few hours—or at least until
this morning——"
"Then our worst fears are confirmed!" ejaculated the valet. "Lydia has
decamped with your ladyship's jewel-case."
"The ungrateful wretch!" cried Adeline, feigning deep indignation. "Was
she not well treated at the Hall? was I a severe mistress to her?"
"She was not a favorite with the other dependants of your ladyship's
household," observed Quentin.
"And when did this happen? how did you discover her flight?" demanded
Lady Ravensworth.
"She was not missed until this morning, my lady; although there is every
reason to believe that she must have taken her departure last evening.
She had agreed with the housekeeper to take the first half of the night
in watching by the side of Lord Dunstable's bed; but as she did not make
her appearance at the proper time, it was concluded she had gone to
rest, and another female domestic took her place. This morning, the
gardener found the wicket of the southern fence open, and the key in the
lock: this circumstance excited his suspicions; and, on farther
investigation, he also found the key in the lock of the private door at
the same end of the building. He gave an alarm: a search was instituted;
and, after a time, your ladyship's chamber was visited, when the bureau
was discovered to be open and the casket of jewels was missed. The
servants were mustered; but Lydia had disappeared; and it was
subsequently ascertained that her bed had not been slept in all night.
Moreover, the candlestick which Lydia was in the habit of using when she
waited upon your ladyship, was found lying in the middle of your
ladyship's boudoir, as if it had been hastily flung down—probably in a
moment of alarm."
"And has nothing been missed save my jewels?" demanded Adeline, whose
plan had succeeded in all its details precisely as she had foreseen.
"Nothing—at least so far as we had been enabled to ascertain before I
left for town, my lady," answered Quentin. "And what is more remarkable
still, is that Lydia took none of her own things with her. It seems as
if she had gone to your ladyship's boudoir, discovered the key of the
bureau, and finding the jewel-casket there, was suddenly impelled by the
idea of the theft; so that she decamped that very moment—for it does not
appear that she even took a shawl, or a cloak, or a bonnet with her;
although, of course, as she had been so short a time in your ladyship's
service, the other female servants scarcely knew what clothes she
possessed."
"But the keys of the private door and the wicket?" exclaimed Adeline:
"how came she with them?"
"They might have been in your ladyship's room—by some accident,"
answered Quentin, with a little embarrassment of manner.
"Yes—I believe they were," said Adeline, blushing deeply—for she guessed
the cause of the valet's hesitation: he was evidently impressed with the
idea that his mistress had possessed herself of those keys to favor her
supposed amour with Colonel Cholmondeley.
But she willingly incurred even this suspicion, because, by apparently
accounting for the keys being in her room, it made the evidence stronger
against Lydia Hutchinson.
"Does his lordship yet know of this event?" inquired Adeline, after a
short pause.
"I communicated the fact to his lordship," answered Quentin; "but he
treated it with so much indifference, that I did not enter into any
details. I shall now, with your ladyship's permission, repair to Bow
Street, and lodge information of the robbery."
Lady Ravensworth suffered the valet to reach the door ere she called him
back; for nothing was more opposed to her plan than the idea of giving
any notoriety to the transaction, inasmuch as such a course might afford
Anthony Tidkins a clue to the entire mystery of the transaction in which
he had played so important a part.
Accordingly, as if impelled by a second thought, she said, "Stay,
Quentin: this step must not be taken."
"What, my lady?" cried the valet, in astonishment.
"I must show leniency in this respect," was the answer.
"Leniency, my lady, towards one who has robbed your ladyship of jewels
worth, as I understand, at least two thousand pounds!" ejaculated
Quentin, his surprise increasing.
"Yes—such is my desire, upon second thoughts," she continued. "My dear
cousin Lady Bounce is deeply interested—I scarcely know exactly why—in
this young woman; and I feel convinced that she would rather induce her
husband Sir Cherry to repay me for the loss of my jewels, than see Lydia
Hutchinson, bad though she must be, involved in so serious a dilemma. I
shall therefore feel obliged to you, Quentin, to keep the affair as
secret as possible—at least until I have communicated with Lady Bounce."
"Your ladyship's commands shall be obeyed," said the obsequious valet,
with a bow. "In this case, I may return immediately to the Park."
"Let the carriage be got ready, and I will myself hasten thither,"
answered Adeline; "as you say that his lordship is somewhat worse."
Quentin retired, well persuaded in his own mind that the leniency of his
mistress was caused by her fears lest the presumed fact of the keys of
the private door and the wicket having been kept in her room might lead
to inquiries calculated to bring to light her supposed amour with
Colonel Cholmondeley.
Thus was it that one of the engines of Lydia's vengeance,—namely, the
trick by which she had induced the Colonel to enter her mistress's
boudoir, and the fact of making the other servants privy to that
visit,—now materially served the purposes of Adeline.
In a quarter of an hour the carriage was ready; and Lady Ravensworth was
soon on her way back to the Hall.
On her arrival, she found that the circumstance of Lydia Hutchinson's
disappearance had yielded in interest to one of a more grave and
absorbing character.
Lord Ravensworth was dying!
She hastened to his apartment, and found him lying in bed—in a state of
complete insensibility—and attended by Mr. Graham, who had sent off an
express to town (by a shorter way than the main road by which Adeline
had returned) for eminent medical assistance.
It appeared that about an hour previously the nobleman's bell had rung
violently; and when the servants hurried to the room, they found their
master in a fit. He had probably felt himself suddenly attacked with an
alarming symptom, and staggered from his chair to the bell-rope, and had
then fallen upon the floor. Mr. Graham had been immediately summoned;
and by his orders Lord Ravensworth was conveyed to bed.
But he had continued insensible—with his eyes closed; and the only sign
of life was given by his faint, low breathing.
It is scarcely necessary to state that Mr. Graham exerted all his skill
on behalf of the dying man.
Adeline affected the deepest sorrow at the condition in which she found
her husband;—but the only grief which she really experienced was caused
by the prospect of being shortly compelled to resign all control over
the broad lands of Ravensworth, in case her as yet unborn child should
prove a daughter.
In the course of the day two eminent physicians arrived from London; but
the condition of Lord Ravensworth was hopeless: nothing could arouse him
from the torpor in which he was plunged; and in the evening he breathed
his last.
Thus was it that this nobleman had at length accomplished—involuntarily
accomplished—his self-destruction by the use of the oriental tobacco
sent to him by his brother Gilbert Vernon!
On the first day of February there had been a marriage at Ravensworth
Hall: on the sixteenth there was a funeral.
How closely does mourning follow upon the heels of rejoicing, in this
world!
* * * * *
On the same night when Lord Ravensworth breathed his last, the following
scene occurred in London.
It was about eleven o'clock when the Resurrection Man and Mr. Banks
entered the cell in which the old woman was confined.
"Is your labour done?" demanded Tidkins, in a surly tone, as if he
expected a farther delay in the business.
"God be thanked!" returned the foul hag; "it is complete."
And she pointed to several sheets of paper, written upon in a hand which
showed that the harridan had been no contemptible pen-woman in her
younger days.
The Resurrection Man greedily seized the manuscript, and began to
scrutinise each consecutive page. As he read, his countenance displayed
grim signs of satisfaction; and when, at the expiration of a quarter of
an hour, he consigned the papers to his pocket, he said, "Well, by what
I have seen this really looks like business."
"The old wessel has done her dooty at last," observed Mr. Banks, shaking
his head solemnly; "and what a blessed consolation it must be for her to
know that she has made a friend of you that's able to protect her from
her enemies while she lives, and of me that'll bury her on the newest
and most economic principles when she's nothing more than a defunct old
carkiss."
"Consolation, indeed!" cried Tidkins: then, counting down ten sovereigns
upon the table, he said, "Here's what I promised you, old woman, for the
fulfilment of the first condition. Now me and Banks will take you home
again; and when you give me up the written proofs you spoke of, you
shall have t'other ten quids."
"Alack! I've earned these shining pieces well," muttered the hag, as she
wrapped the sovereigns in a morsel of paper, and concealed them under
her clothes.
The Resurrection Man now proceeded to blindfold her carefully; and the
operation reminded him of the process to which he had submitted on the
preceding night, at the hands of his veiled patroness. He next helped
the old woman to put on her cloak, the hood of which he threw over her
bonnet so that a portion of it concealed her face; and Banks then led
her away from the subterranean, while Tidkins remained behind them for a
few moments to secure the doors.
The party now proceeded, by the most unfrequented streets, through Globe
Town into Bethnal Green; but it was not until they reached Shoreditch,
that the Resurrection Man removed the bandage from the old hag's eyes.
Then she gazed rapidly around her, to ascertain where she was.
"Ah! you'll never guess where you've been locked up for the last ten or
twelve days," said the Resurrection Man, with a low chuckle.
"Never—as sure as she's a sinful old creetur'!" remarked Banks.
The worthy trio then pursued their way to Golden Lane.
On their arrival at the court, the hag uttered an exclamation of delight
when she beheld the filthy place of her abode once more: but her joy was
suddenly changed into sadness as a thought struck her; and she
exclaimed, "I wonder what has become of the poor dear children that are
dependant on me?"
She alluded to the juvenile prostitutes whom she had tutored in the ways
of vice.
Heaving a deep sigh at the reflection, she took a key from her pocket,
and opened the door of her house.
A little delay occurred in obtaining a light; but at length she found a
candle and matches in a cupboard at the end of the passage.
Mr. Banks now officiously opened the door of the old woman's parlour;
but this act was followed by a sweeping, rustling noise—and the
undertaker started back, uttering a yell of agony.
The hag screamed too, and nearly dropped the light; for her large black
cat had flown at Banks as he entered the room.
The fact was that the poor animal had been left in that apartment, when
the old woman first set out with the Resurrection Man and the undertaker
for Hounslow; and it had gone mad through starvation.
Tidkins rushed forward the moment his friend gave vent to that scream of
anguish, and caught the cat by the neck and hind legs with his powerful
fingers, as it clung, furious with rage, to the breast of the
undertaker, whose dingy shirt frill and front its claws tore to rags.
"Don't strangle it—don't strangle it!" cried the hag, with unfeigned
anxiety—for the only thing she loved in the world was her huge black
cat.
"Stand back, old witch!" exclaimed Tidkins: "this beast is capable of
tearing you to pieces."
And in spite of the violent pressure he maintained with his fingers upon
its throat, the animal struggled fearfully.
"They say the cussed wessel has nine lives," observed Mr. Banks,
dolefully, as he beheld the tattered state of his linen and smarted with
the pain of the cat's scratches upon his chest.
"Don't kill it, I say!" again screamed the hag: "it will be good with
me—it will be good with me."
"Too late to intercede," said the Resurrection Man, coolly, as he
literally wrung the cat's neck: then he tossed the carcass from him upon
the stairs.
"Poor thing!" murmured the old woman: "poor thing! I will bury it
decently in the yard to-morrow morning."
And she actually wiped away a tear,—she who felt no pity, no
compunction, no sympathy in favour of a human soul!
"She'll bury it, will she?" muttered Banks, endeavouring to smooth his
linen: "on economic principles, I suppose."
The trio then entered the parlour: but before she could compose herself
to attend to business, the old hag was compelled to have recourse to her
gin; and fortunately there was some in her bottle. Her two companions
refreshed themselves in a similar manner; and Tidkins then said, "Now
for the proofs of all you've said in your history."
"Not all—not all: I never said all," cried the hag; "only of a part. And
so, if you will lay the other ten sovereigns on the table, you shall
have the papers."
The old woman spoke more confidently now; for she felt herself to be
less in the power of her two companions than she so lately was.
The Resurrection Man understood her, and smiled grimly, as he counted
the money before her.
She then took a pair of scissors, cut a small hole in the mattress of
her bed, and drew forth a pocket-book, which she handed to Tidkins.
It was tied round with a piece of riband—once pink, now faded to a dingy
white; and its contents were several letters.
The Resurrection Man glanced over their superscriptions, muttering to
himself, "Well, you have not deceived me: I have brought you to reason—I
thought I should. Ha! what have we here? '_To Mr. Markham, Markham
Place, Lower Holloway._'—And here is another to him—and another.—But
this next is different. '_To the Marquis of Holmesford, Holmesford
House._'—Slap-up fellow, that—a regular old rake: keeps a harem, they
say.—And here is another to him.—Then we have one—two—three, all
directed alike—to '_Mrs. Wilmot_,' and no address: conveyed by hand, I
suppose. And that's all."
With a complacent smile—as complacent as a smile on such a countenance
could be—the Resurrection Man secured the pocket-book with its contents
about his person.
He and Banks then took their leave of the old woman.