A WELCOME FRIEND.
As if struck by a flash of lightning, Adeline fell insensible upon the
stairs.
When she awoke, she found herself in bed,—not in the chamber where the
murder of Lydia Hutchinson had been perpetrated: no—never since that
fatal night had Lady Ravensworth dared to sleep in her boudoir;—but she
had adopted as her own apartment, one quite at the opposite end of the
building.
Yet, vain—oh! passing vain were the endeavours of the murderess to
escape from the phantom of her victim:—had she fled to the uttermost
parts of the earth—had she buried herself amidst the pathless forests of
America, or made her abode on the eternal ice of the northern pole,—even
thither would the spectre have pursued her!
It was midnight when Lady Ravensworth awoke in her chamber, after having
fainted upon the stairs.
An ejaculation of terror escaped her lips—for she instantly recollected
all that had passed.
The curtains were immediately drawn aside; and a charming female
countenance, but totally unknown to Adeline, beamed upon her.
"Tranquillise yourself, lady," said the stranger: "it is a friend who
watches by your side."
"A friend!" repeated Adeline, with a profound sigh: "have I indeed a
friend? Oh! no—no: I am surrounded by enemies!"
And covering her face with her hands, she burst into an agony of tears.
"Pray compose yourself, Lady Ravensworth," said the stranger, in so
sweet and musical a tone that it carried to the heart conviction of
friendly intentions.
"And who are you that thus feel an interest in one so woe-begone as I?"
asked Adeline, relieved by her tears.
Then she turned her still streaming eyes towards the stranger who spoke
in so kind, so soothing, so convincing a manner; and she beheld, by the
mellowed light of the lamps that burnt in the chamber, a female of
lovely person, but clad in deep black, and wearing the peculiar cap
which bespeaks the widow.
The respectability of this garb combined with the softness of the lady's
tone and manner, and the sweet amiability of her fine countenance, to
produce the most favourable impression upon the wretched
Adeline,—wretched alike through her own misdeeds and those of others!
"You ask me who I am," answered the stranger:—"rather seek to know
wherefore I am here! Compose yourself, and I will explain the latter
mystery in a few words. This evening I received tidings—from an
authority which I cannot doubt, but which I dare not name—of a fearful
conspiracy that is in progress against you,—not only against _you_, but
I fear also against your child."
"Oh! heavens—I begin to understand it all!" shrieked Lady Ravensworth,
the presence of Gilbert Vernon and Anthony Tidkins in that mansion, and
evidently leagued together, recurring to her mind. "But how did you hear
this! how did you learn the terrible tidings which other circumstances
proclaim so fatally to be, alas! too true?"
"Lady, ask me not for my authority," was the reply. "Were I to reveal
it, I should incur the chance of ruining a source of intelligence which
may enable me to frustrate other diabolical schemes that might be
conceived, even as I hope to baffle the one that is now in progress
against yourself. You are no doubt watched by enemies of a desperate
character—one of whom has every thing to gain by the death of your
child."
"Oh! you allude to Gilbert Vernon—my brother-in-law!" exclaimed Adeline.
"He is already in this house—accompanied by his valet, who——"
She checked herself ere she uttered another word that might have led her
new friend to marvel how she could possibly have obtained any previous
insight into the character of that attendant upon her brother-in-law.
"And that valet, by all I have heard," said the strange lady, "is a man
of the most fiend-like soul—the most remorseless disposition,—a man
capable of every atrocity—every crime,—and who is so ready to accomplish
any enormity for gain, that were there another Saviour to betray, he
would become another Judas."
"Oh! what a picture you are drawing!" cried Lady Ravensworth, with a
cold shudder—for she knew how much of that appalling description was
true!
"It is not to intimidate you, that I am thus candid," was the reply;
"but simply to convince you in what danger you are placed, and how
deeply you need the assistance of a sincere friend."
"And that friend—" said Adeline.
"Is myself," answered the stranger. "It is true, I am but a woman—a
poor, weak woman, as the lords of the creation style our sex;—but I
possess the heart to aid you—the spirit to defend you—and the courage to
dare every peril in your behalf!"
"Excellent woman!—heaven must have sent you to me!" cried Adeline,
reassured by these words; and, as she spoke, she caught her new friend's
hand and pressed it enthusiastically to her lips. "But, your name!—tell
me your name!—that I may address you in terms of affection, and
hereafter speak of you in those of gratitude."
"Call me by any name you will," was the reply; "but ask me no more
concerning myself. In aiding you, I must impose the conditions upon
which I offer to befriend you! I have no selfish motive:—my own social
position places me above all interested views. No:—through the purest
feelings of humanity have I sought you. Listen to me a few moments in
patience. This evening I heard the principal details of the plot
contrived against your peace: I learnt enough to prove that you have
enemies capable of the very worst deeds to secure their own ends. I
resolved upon hastening to your aid—of offering myself as your
companion, your friend, until the peril be averted. I arrived at
Ravensworth Hall at about nine o'clock this evening, and requested an
interview with you. I was told that you had just been seized with a fit,
and conveyed to your chamber. I replied that I was well known to
you—that I had even come in pursuance of an invitation received from
you—and that my presence was most opportune since you were so suddenly
taken ill. Your lady's-maid was summoned, and, in consequence of my
representations, I was admitted to your chamber. You had partially
recovered, and had sunk into a sound sleep. I assured the maid that she
need not remain with you, as I would watch by your side. This is the
tale I have told—an innocent falsehood to ensure a good aim. If you wish
me to remain with you, it will be for you to repeat to your servants the
same story of our previous acquaintance. This will be necessary to
account to Vernon for my presence in the mansion, and for the terms of
inseparable friendship on which we must appear to be together. For from
this night I shall not lose sight of yourself or your child, until the
danger that threatens that innocent infant be averted. As for my name—I
dare not allow it to be known here; for Vernon is acquainted with a
certain individual to whom that name is not strange, and who, were he to
learn that I am here, would perhaps suspect that I had some ulterior
motive. Indeed, it was a conversation between your brother-in-law and
that individual to whom I allude, which was overheard by a person
devoted to my interests, and which discourse betrayed enough to show
that one terrible deed had already been committed by Vernon, and that he
was meditating another."
"One terrible deed has already been committed!" exclaimed Adeline, in
affright: "to what can you allude!"
"Alas!" replied Eliza Sydney,—for she was the generous-hearted
unknown,—"did the lamentable death of Lord Ravensworth excite no
suspicions in your mind?"
"Oh! now I see it all!" cried Adeline, clasping her hands together, and
speaking with hysterical vehemence: "Gilbert Vernon _was_ in England—it
_was_ his voice that I heard in the ruins;—and it was he who sent the
fatal and poisoned weed which carried my husband to the tomb!
Monster—monster that you are, Gilbert Vernon!"
And she sank back exhausted upon the pillow, from which she had raised
herself as she screamed forth that last accusation.
Several minutes elapsed ere she grew calm enough to explain to Eliza the
meaning of her exclamation relative to the voice in the ruins.
"You see how well arranged have been all Vernon's plans," observed
Eliza; "for, in the conversation with the individual to whom I have
already alluded, he admitted that he had been some time in England. Oh!
there can be no doubt that he was awaiting the effect of the poisoned
weed;—for I read in the newspapers the account of your husband's strange
and mysterious death after a few months of atrophy, and which fatal
event was alleged to have been hastened by his passionate attachment to
a peculiar oriental tobacco. It is now for you to remain retired and
tranquil—to keep your child constantly with you—and to allow me to act
as I shall think fit. In a short time I hope to be enabled to collect a
chain of evidence that may establish Vernon's guilt. At present there is
strong suspicion—but no proof—that he caused the death of his brother."
"But I will not stay here—in this lonely house," cried Adeline: "I will
seek safety with my father!"
"And think you that change of dwelling will screen your child from the
intrigues—the infernal intrigues and plots of a man who found means,
while at a distance, to murder his brother with a fatal poison?"
demanded Eliza. "No—he would accomplish his purpose, wherever you might
conceal the heir of Ravensworth! But if we can obtain proofs of his past
crime or of his present intention—if we can so contrive that we may
place him within the reach of justice,—then—and only then will there be
safety for your child. If you seek refuge with your relatives, he will
see that he is suspected; and his schemes will only be prosecuted with
the more caution."
"I am in your hands—I will follow your advice in all things," said
Adeline: "but, in the name of heaven! devise means to bring these
dangers and perplexities to a speedy issue."
"Trust to me, Lady Ravensworth," returned Eliza. "In the first place, is
there still left in the house any of that oriental weed whose effects
were so fatal upon your husband?"
"There is," answered Adeline; "and I think I divine your motive for
asking the question. You would have the tobacco analysed and tested by a
skilful chemist? That step was taken shortly after my lamented husband's
death, by the desire of Mr. Graham—a medical gentleman who attended him
in his last moments. Not that any suspicion against Gilbert Vernon had
then arisen: no—it was curiosity and a love of science which prompted
Mr. Graham thus to act."
"And the result?" said Eliza, interrogatively.
"No trace of a deleterious substance could be discovered," was the
answer.
"Providence will open another road to the discovery of that man's
guilt," observed Eliza. "But you must now compose yourself to sleep: the
night is far advanced—and you need rest."
"Rest!—oh! not for me!" said Adeline, with a dreadful shudder, as she
thought of the murdered Lydia Hutchinson.
But Eliza Sydney did not comprehend that Lady Ravensworth had any source
of affliction save the machinations of her enemies.
In the morning, Eliza wrote the following letter to Filippo Dorsenni,
Greenwood's valet:—
"_Ravensworth Hall, April 16th, 1841._
"You will see by the superscription that I am on the spot where
danger menaces an innocent babe of a month old. Vernon and Anthony
Tidkins are both here; but Lady Ravensworth has placed herself
entirely under my guidance.
"I wish you to undertake the three following commissions as speedily
as possible.
"The first is to form an acquaintance with the landlady of the house
in Stamford Street where Gilbert Vernon lodged, and endeavour to
glean from her not only how long he lived in her dwelling, but any
other particulars concerning him she may be willing to communicate.
This task you must execute with great precaution, so that in case
Vernon should call upon her she may not inform him that you have
actually sought information at her hands. Should she be skilfully
drawn into gossiping discourse upon the subject, she would not
mention to Vernon that she had breathed a word in connexion with him
or his affairs.
"In the second place, you must endeavour to discover the abode of
the beautiful Georgian, Malkhatoun, whom, as you informed me some
months ago—shortly after my arrival in England—Mr. Greenwood made
over to his friend the Honourable Major Dapper.
"In the third place you must find some trusty person who will
immediately set off for Beyrout. Fortunately, an extra Overland Mail
departs to-morrow evening. The instructions of the individual whom
you may thus employ are contained in the enclosed letter. Doubtless,
amongst the few Castelcicalans who are now resident in London, you
are acquainted with one who will undertake this mission, for the
expenses of which I forward you a cheque upon my bankers.
"You can write to me to report the progress of these three
commissions."