"His swarthy visage spake distress,
But this might be from weariness;
His garb with sanguine spots was dyed,
But these might be from his courser's side;
He drew the token from his vest * *
Me, not from mercy did they spare,
But this empurpled pledge to bear!"--_Giaour._
The sun was setting on the Apennines, bathing them in purple, as the
postilion bearing the fatal news of the tragedy of Val di Bovino neared
the outskirts of Foggia.
Close to the road leading to Naples, the last of a row of villas, was
the residence of the Earl of Wentworth. It was a small one compared to
his villa at Naples; but sufficiently large to excite the attention of
the traveller. Built on a gentle eminence, surrounded by orange groves
bearing their golden burden, its front aspect faced the Apennines,
embracing a fine view of the rich country around, as well as the immense
_tavoliere_ of Apulia, the pasturage of numerous herds of cattle during
the winter.
On the balcony looking down the high road sat the Countess, now more
matured in age than when we last saw her. She was still extremely
handsome, and, in the opinion of many, her ripened beauty exceeded her
girlish charms. She was somewhat more inclined to _embonpoint_ than of
old, but had worn remarkably well, and still possessed the same
luxuriant quantity of hair, more richly brown than ever; the same
winning, soft blue eye; the same clear complexion. Her countenance was
saddened, but affliction had not soured; and when she smiled her smile
was sweet as ever. Time had lightly laid his touch on her; she scarce
looked five-and-twenty, though she was half a dozen years older at
least.
A little distance from the Countess stood Lady Augusta, who was then
past eleven. She was tall for her age, and built on a large scale; her
eyes were her mother's, but her hair was very much fairer; her
well-formed mouth betrayed the firmness of the De Veres. She was too
young for us to judge of her character, or even what her appearance
would yet be; but, if ever a mother's prayers and loving example are
sure of a reward, doubtless Augusta would grow in beauty of mind and
person all the Countess wished.
"Augusta, love, is there no sign yet of our guests? Look if you can see
the carriage. They should have been here long ago."
"No, mamma dear, I see nothing. We shall hear the wheels first, for the
orange-trees hide the turn in the road."
"No sign of Lennox yet?" said the Marquis, entering the verandah. "'Pon
my word they are taking it easily."
"Indeed, I am beginning to feel nervous,--the roads are so unsafe. I
wish they had started earlier," said the Countess.
"Pooh! you are always thinking of the brigands. I tell you Lennox wrote
to say he would take guards."
"I know; but that Luigi is such a dreadful man! I quite dread going
drives. And if he heard of my jewels coming,--he gets news of
everything. I do hope nothing will happen."
"Never a fear. Young Lennox is a smart fellow. They will come all right.
They are armed, and the sbirri with them. Luigi knows too well to risk
an attack."
"I hear the clatter of a horse, mamma," said Augusta. "Ah! see, here he
comes. How he rides; and he is stopping at our gate."
"Oh! I hope there is nothing wrong. Do go and see, Arranmore. How my
heart beats!"
Lord Arranmore, without waiting to be asked, had left the balcony, and
at the porch learned the dreadful tidings from the postilion, who,
almost dead with terror, crossing himself and calling every saint to his
aid, by broken sentences told all, producing also the ensanguined scarf.
The Marquis ordered the servants to give him refreshment (but the poor
man had little peace till he had told them the whole twenty times over,
and each time a little more exaggerated than the last), and then
returned to break the news to the Countess.
"Your fears are, alas! too true," he said. "Our friends have been
attacked and fearfully murdered!"
"Merciful heavens!" exclaimed the Countess; "is this true?"
"Too true. The wretched postilion, who alone survived, told me all. Poor
young Lennox attacked them boldly, but was soon overpowered; then poor
Lennox! Faith! the tale is too shocking for your ears. Enough to say, he
was murdered, and the heads of father and son stuck on poles! The worst
part is, all your jewels are gone too!"
"Oh! Arranmore! do not say so! I would gladly have lost every trinket in
the world to save one life. But, Caroline, poor girl, what has become of
her?" said the Countess, whilst unfeigned tears of sorrow coursed her
cheeks.
"Ah! poor girl! she was carried off by the ruffian Adrian Vardarelli.
Luigi is a bloodthirsty villain! but Adrian a--I won't say my fears!"
"Oh! my poor Caroline! my heart bleeds for her indeed! But had they not
guards? How did it happen?"
"They met a count at their last stage--no real count, but a disguised
brigand--who got everything out of our poor murdered friend. Alas! he
little knew to whom he spoke. They hired two ruffians to guard them
instead of the sbirri! though heaven knows they would not have helped
them much! Then they were attacked--their false guards turned on them,
and the postilion fled to hide in the woods, and from his hiding place
saw the whole! I cannot repeat the horrors he saw, or the cold-blooded
butchery! There was a quarrel between the Vardarelli, it seems, for poor
Caroline, and Adrian mortally wounded Luigi. In the midst of the
conflict some twenty sbirri appeared. Adrian galloped off with his
prize. A fierce hand-to-hand fight took place, which ended in the total
annihilation of the sbirri, and the victorious miscreants carried off
their booty, and dead and wounded, as well as the dying Luigi. It is a
comfort to think that vagabond has got his desert, and the whole country
will be rid of a nuisance."
"This is a most fearful tragedy. Alas! what a lawless land this is, but
perhaps the man may have exaggerated the truth, and they may be only
captive, God grant it."
"I fear it is too true; this stained scarf tells its tale. Luigi never
spared men; it was his plan to torture and then stick the heads of his
victims on poles. Adrian only spares his captives for worse than death;
poor Caroline, a sad fate is hers. However, this has now come to a pass,
the whole country are up in arms, and they are determined to find out
their hiding place, a secret that has baffled search as yet. I shall
join, and so will Wentworth, and we will be avenged on the rascals,"
said the Marquis.
"Oh no, do not think of such a thing, dear Lord Arranmore. Wentworth
shall never go; if anything happened to him it would kill me; for my
sake leave their punishment to the troops. Wentworth shall go and see
the King of Naples. Let us go and seek my husband, he must be told of
this awful event. Poor Mr. Lennox and his son, and poor Caroline! I feel
sick at heart for her. How I shall treasure this sad relic,--and all
perhaps on my account! I would I had not asked them to bring my jewels."
The Marquis, accompanied by the Countess and their daughter, then
descended to seek the Earl, who was busy with state papers in his study.
The Marquis knocked, no answer came,--he opened the door, the Earl was
not there; his desk lay open on the table, his quill was dipped in the
ink, and a half written letter lay on the floor.
"Curious he isn't here, and yet I only left him half an hour ago; he
must have gone out into the garden; see, the windows are open: shall we
go and see, Countess?"
"Yes, let us go. Augusta love, put your hat on, and bring me a shawl,
the dew is falling heavily."
In a few minutes they all three walked out through the Venetian windows,
which opened on a smooth lawn bounded on all sides by orange trees, and
explored the gardens to see if the Earl was there, as it was a favourite
evening resort. After an hour, when it grew dark and chilly, they gave
up the search, and returned. He was not in the house either; the
servants were next questioned, but had not seen their lord. Lady
Wentworth began to get anxious, and sent several servants to various
friends' houses near, as well as the reading-rooms, and any other place
where he might have gone to in Foggia. After a long, anxious time they
returned, but without news.
"I am quite distressed," said the Countess, sinking on a sofa. "I am so
anxious. Where can he be? this dreadful night has quite upset me. Where
is my husband?" and she burst into tears.
"Dear Lady Wentworth, you have no cause for any anxiety; remember the
Earl is continually away at night; he often goes to tea somewhere you
must know; we have not sent to the right house."
"I know it is foolish of me, but I cannot help it, I am so shaken by
this awful night; oh, if anything has happened to him, I shall die.
Where is my Wentworth? Why did he not tell me where he was going to?"
Lord Arranmore did all he could to pacify the lady, but it was in vain
he told her to fear nothing, as time sped on, and no sign of her lord
still. Augusta had gone to her room, the Countess and he sat in the
drawing-room, or rather she sat sobbing with grief, whilst he stood at
the window straining his eyes to catch any glimpse of his
brother-in-law. The moon had already risen round and full, showering
down a light equal to many a day in the north. Every now and then he
would say a word of comfort, begging her not to weep--"he would soon
come;" but as time still went on, and not a sign of the absent one, he
too began to feel a misgiving in his heart, and his mind readily
conjured up real, or fancied terrors. The letter unfinished, the windows
open; he had evidently gone for a walk but had not returned; could he
have heard the fatal report, and with his natural impetuosity at once
ridden off to the spot? as he thought of this a sigh unwittingly escaped
him as he fancied the perilous position his friend was in. The quick ear
of the Countess caught it, and suddenly springing up she ran to him;
taking one of his strong hands between her own delicate fingers, she
looked up into his face with a despairing earnestness that went to his
heart, and with tears standing in her large blue eyes, asked him why he
sighed.
"Alas, Ellen," he fondly said, "I sighed to see you so unhappy at
nothing."
"My dear Arranmore, tell me the truth; do you not now fear? hide nothing
if you know it from me. Oh, deceive me not, you too are anxious."
Often when we wish to comfort people we say the worst things we can by a
sort of heartless chance--contrariety. The Marquis, anxious to alleviate
her fears by assigning a cause for her husband's absence, said the very
worst thing he could.
"I think it is not at all unlikely, Ellen, that Wentworth has heard the
news, and gone off with soldiers to the spot."
"Gracious Heavens!" cried the Countess, "I never thought of that; it is
too true, that must be it, and he is now in those dreadful ruffians'
power,--he is perhaps, wounded,--he may be--"
But her lips refused to frame the word, all she thought to say was lost
in a wild scream, as she sunk on the floor, in a dead swoon. The
Marquis, terrified at what he had thoughtlessly done, rang the bell,
while he lifted the insensible lady, and placed her on a sofa. The fit
proved a long and dangerous one, and it was not till the doctor had been
sent for that Lord Arranmore felt free from alarm. The medical gentleman
said there was no cause for any apprehension, and in a short time she
would recover. In the excitement occasioned by the Countess's illness
the absence of the Earl was partially lost sight of, and whilst the
Marquis was bending over the patient, he was somewhat surprised by the
sudden reappearance of the Earl _in propria persona_, who when his
lady's illness was told him, rushed to the drawing-room, and forcing his
way through the surrounding servants, in an agony of fear pressed his
wife's hand, exclaiming:
"I knew it, see what my folly in not telling her has done. I think
everything is leagued to rob me of my mind to-night,--mysterious guides,
horrid butcheries, robbers' dens, and now my wife dying."
The voice of her husband acted as a restorative when the doctor was
beginning to think all would fail, and the Countess opened her eyes.
When she saw the object of her solicitude she burst into tears, crying--
"God be thanked you are safe, my own Wentworth! where have you been? why
did you leave me?"
"My darling, I could not help it, I was unwillingly lured away, but you
shall hear all when you are better; we must get you to bed at once, the
horrors of this evening have been too much for you."
The Countess grew rapidly better, and ere long was calmly sleeping away
her terrors, whilst the Earl drew the Marquis aside and told him the
cause of his absence. For more than two hours they were closely closeted
together, and as they shook hands the Earl said:
"It has been truly the most wonderful day of my life."
"It indeed seems so,--it is the most extraordinary history I ever heard
in my life,--it out-Herods all romances and novels. Faith, you were a
bold fellow to risk your life amongst such ruffians."
"Had I not I should never have known all this; poor John, such an
end,--and the other--"
"After all, you would have been happier in blissful ignorance, but you
are sure it is not a tissue of lies?"
"Lies, oh, dear no, I have the proofs here," (producing a large packet
of papers,) "besides, I saw enough to prove the truth of at least part;
but we must not talk any longer to-night; to-morrow we will sift the
whole to the bottom, and see what is to be done for our unfortunate
friends; their remains must be decently interred if we can obtain them.
I would we could trace Caroline Lennox, and he who took her away. We
shall have enough to do, first here and then in England, for thither I
must go; we shall have work for the Crown lawyers."
"I' faith I hardly like to go home through that horrid valley; what if
they cut us up too?"
"No fears, I have a pass for all Italy; no brigand would harm us were he
to see this paper."
The Earl produced a small paper, on which were inscribed some
hieroglyphical marks, on which the Marquis looked with some interest.
"This is a queer country after all," he said, "but we are got to talking
again. Good night, I shall be glad to sleep off my thoughts."
"And I too," said the Earl; "but sleep will not chase mine away. Good
night, I must see how Ellen is."
With these words they parted and sought their different rooms. The Earl
found his wife calmly sleeping, and kissing her white forehead, prepared
to follow her example. Whilst the whole house are bathed in
forgetfulness we shall trespass on our readers' time a little longer,
and account for the Earl's mysterious absence for so many hours. But as
it is a long story we must leave it for the few next chapters, and we
hope they will be sufficiently interesting to reward the reader's
careful perusal of their strange contents.