Rochester renewed his solicitations on the following day, and calling
into play his utmost fascination of manner, endeavoured to remove any
ill impression produced by his previous violence. She was proof,
however, against his arts; and though he never lost his mastery over
himself, he had some difficulty in concealing his chagrin at the result
of the interview. He now began to adopt a different course, and entering
into long discussions with Amabel, strove by every effort of wit and
ridicule, to shake and subvert her moral and religious principles. But
here again he failed; and once more shifting his ground, affected to be
convinced by her arguments. He entirely altered his demeanour, and
though Amabel could not put much faith in the change, it was a subject
of real rejoicing to her. Though scarcely conscious of it herself, he
sensibly won upon her regards, and she passed many hours of each day in
his society without finding it irksome. Seeing the advantage he had
gained, and well aware that he should lose it by the slightest
indiscretion, Rochester acted with the greatest caution. The more at
ease she felt with him, the more deferential did he become; and before
she was conscious of her danger, the poor girl was once more on the
brink of the precipice.
It was about this time that Leonard Holt, as has been previously
intimated, discovered her retreat, and contrived, by clambering up a
pear-tree which was nailed against the wall of the house, to reach her
chamber-window. Having received her assurance that she had resisted all
Rochester's importunities, the apprentice promised to return on the
following night with means to affect her liberation, and departed. Fully
persuaded that she could now repose confidence in the earl, Amabel
acquainted him, the next morning, with Leonard's visit, adding that he
would now have an opportunity of proving the sincerity of his
professions by delivering her up to her friends.
"Since you desire it," replied the earl, who heard her with an unmoved
countenance, though internally torn with passion, "I will convey you to
your father myself. I had hoped," he added with a sigh, "that we should
never part again."
"I fear I have been mistaken in you, my lord," rejoined Amabel,
half-repenting her frankness.
"Not so," he replied. "I will do anything you require, except deliver
you to this hateful apprentice. If it is your pleasure, I repeat, I will
take you back to your father."
"Promise me this, my lord, and I shall be quite easy," cried Amabel,
joyfully.
"I do promise it," he returned. "But oh! why not stay with me, and
complete the good work you have begun?"
Amabel averted her head, and Rochester sighing deeply, quitted the room.
An attendant shortly afterwards came to inform her that the earl
intended to start for London without delay, and begged her to prepare
for the journey. In an hour's time, a carriage drove to the door, and
Rochester having placed her and Prudence in it, mounted his horse, and
set forth. Late on the second day they arrived in London, and passing
through the silent and deserted streets, the aspect of which struck
terror into all the party, shaped their course towards the city.
Presently they reached Ludgate, but instead of proceeding to
Wood-street, the carriage turned off on the right, and traversing
Thames-street, crossed London Bridge. Amabel could obtain no explanation
of this change from Prudence; and her uneasiness was not diminished when
the vehicle, which was driven down a narrow street on the left
immediately after quitting the bridge, stopped at the entrance of a
large court-yard. Rochester, who had already dismounted, assisted her to
alight, and in answer to her hasty inquiries why he had brought her
thither, told her he thought it better to defer taking her to her father
till the morrow. Obliged to be content with this excuse, she was led
into the house, severely reproaching herself for her indiscretion.
Nothing, however, occurred to alarm her that night. The earl was even
more deferential than before, and assuring her he would fulfil his
promise in the morning, confided her to Prudence.
The house whither she had been brought was large and old-fashioned. The
rooms had once been magnificently fitted up, but the hangings and
furniture were much faded, and had a gloomy and neglected air. This was
especially observable in the sleeping-chamber appointed for her
reception. It was large and lofty, panelled with black and shining oak,
with a highly-polished floor of the same material, and was filled with
cumbrous chests and cabinets, and antique high-backed chairs. But the
most noticeable object was a large state-bed, with a heavy square
canopy, covered, with the richest damask, woven with gold, and hung with
curtains of the same stuff, though now decayed and tarnished. A chill
crept over Amabel as she gazed around.
"I cannot help thinking," she observed to Prudence, "that I shall breathe
my last in this room, and in that bed."
"I hope not, madam," returned the attendant, unable to repress a
shudder.
Nothing more was said, and Amabel retired to rest. But not being able to
sleep, and having vainly tried to compose herself, she arose and opened
the window. It was a serene and beautiful night, and she could see the
smooth river sparkling in the starlight, and flowing at a hundred yards'
distance at the foot of the garden. Beyond, she could indistinctly
perceive the outline of the mighty city, while nearer, on the left, lay
the bridge. Solemnly across the water came the sound of innumerable
bells, tolling for those who had died of the plague, and were now being
borne to their last home. While listening to these sad sounds, another,
but more doleful and appalling noise, caught her ears. It was the
rumbling of cart-wheels in the adjoining street, accompanied by the
ringing of a hand-bell, while a hoarse-voice cried, "Bring out your
dead! bring out your dead!" On hearing this cry, she closed the window
and retired. Morning broke before sleep visited her weary eyelids, and
then, overcome by fatigue, she dropped into a slumber, from which she
did not awake until the day was far advanced. She found Prudence sitting
by her bedside, and alarmed by the expression of her countenance,
anxiously inquired what was the matter?
"Alas! madam," replied the attendant, "the earl has been taken suddenly
ill. He set out for Wood-street the first thing this morning, and has
seen your father, who refuses to receive you. On his return, he
complained of a slight sickness, which has gradually increased in
violence, and there can be little doubt it is the plague. Advice has
been sent for. He prays you not to disturb yourself on his account, but
to consider yourself sole mistress of this house, whatever may befall
him."
Amabel passed a miserably anxious day. A fresh interest had been
awakened in her heart in behalf of the earl, and the precarious state in
which she conceived him placed did not tend to diminish it. She made
many inquiries after him, and learned that he was worse, while the
fearful nature of the attack could not be questioned. On the following
day Prudence reported that the distemper had made such rapid and
terrible progress, that his recovery was considered almost hopeless.
"He raves continually of you, madam," said the attendant, "and I have no
doubt he will expire with your name on his lips."
Amabel was moved to tears by the information, and withdrawing into a
corner of the room, prayed fervently for the supposed sufferer. Prudence
gazed at her earnestly and compassionately, and muttering something to
herself, quitted the room. The next day was the critical one (so it was
said) for the earl, and Amabel awaited, in tearful anxiety, the moment
that was to decide his fate. It came, and he was pronounced out of
danger. When the news was brought the anxious girl, she fainted.
A week passed, and the earl, continued to improve, and all danger of
infection--if any such existed--being at an end, he sent a message to
Amabel, beseeching her to grant him an interview in his own room. She
willingly assented, and, following the attendant, found him stretched
upon a couch. In spite of his paleness and apparent debility, however,
his good looks were but little impaired, and his attire, though
negligent, was studiously arranged for effect. On Amabel's appearance he
made an effort to rise, but she hastened to prevent him. After thanking
her for her kind inquiries, he entered into a long conversation with
her, in the course of which he displayed sentiments so exactly
coinciding with her own, that the good opinion she had already begun to
entertain for him was soon heightened into the liveliest interest. They
parted, to meet again on the following day--and on the day following
that. The bloom returned to the earl's countenance, and he looked
handsomer than ever. A week thus passed, and at the end of it, he
said--"To-morrow I shall be well enough to venture forth again, and my
first business shall be to proceed to your father, and see whether he is
now able to receive you."
"The plague has not yet abated, my lord," she observed, blushingly.
"True," he replied, looking passionately at her. "Oh, forgive me,
Amabel," he added, taking her hand, which she did not attempt to
withdraw. "Forgive me, if I am wrong. But I now think your feelings are
altered towards me, and that I may venture to hope you will be mine?"
Amabel's bosom heaved with emotion. She tried to speak, but could not.
Her head declined upon his shoulder, and her tears flowed fast. "I am
answered," he cried, scarcely able to contain his rapture, and straining
her to his bosom.
"I know not whether I am doing rightly," she murmured, gazing at him
through her tears, "but I believe you mean me truly. God forgive you if
you do not."
"Have no more doubts," cried the earl. "You have wrought an entire
change in me. Our union shall not be delayed an hour. It shall take
place in Saint Saviour's to-night."
"Not to-night," cried Amabel, trembling at his eagerness--"to-morrow."
"To-night, to-night!" reiterated the earl, victoriously. And he rushed
out of the room.
Amabel was no sooner left to herself than she repented what she had
done. "I fear I have made a false step," she mused; "but it is now too
late to retreat, and I will hope for the best. He cannot mean to deceive
me."
Her meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Prudence, who came
towards her with a face full of glee. "My lord has informed me of the
good news," she said. "You are to be wedded to him to-day. I have
expected it all along, but it is somewhat sudden at last. He is gone in
search of the priest, and in the mean time has ordered me to attire you
for the ceremony. I have several rich dresses for your ladyship--for so
I must now call you--to choose from."
"The simplest will suit me best," replied Amabel, "and do not call me
ladyship till I have a right to that title."
"That will be so soon that I am sure there can be no harm in using it
now," returned Prudence. "But pray let me show you the dresses."
Amabel suffered herself to be led into another room, where she saw
several sumptuous female habiliments, and selecting the least showy of
them, was soon arrayed in it by the officious attendant. More than two
hours elapsed before Rochester returned, when he entered Amabel's
chamber, accompanied by Sir George Etherege and Pillichody. A feeling of
misgiving crossed Amabel, as she beheld his companions.
"I have had some difficulty in finding a clergyman," said the earl, "for
the rector of Saint Saviour's has fled from the plague. His curate,
however, will officiate for him, and is now in the church."
Amabel fixed a searching look upon him. "Why are these gentlemen here?"
she asked.
"I have brought them with me," rejoined Rochester, "because, as they
were aware of the injury I once intended you, I wish them to be present
at its reparation."
"I am satisfied," she replied.
Taking her hand, the earl then led her to a carriage, which conveyed
them to Saint Saviour's. Just as they alighted, the dead-cart passed,
and several bodies were brought towards it. Eager to withdraw her
attention from the spectacle, Rochester hurried her into the old and
beautiful church. In another moment they were joined by Etherege and
Pillichody, and they proceeded to the altar, where the priest, a young
man, was standing. The ceremony was then performed, and the earl led his
bride back to the carriage. On their return they had to undergo another
ill-omened interruption. The dead-cart was stationed near the gateway,
and some delay occurred before it could be moved forward.
Amabel, however, suffered no further misgiving to take possession of
her. Deeming herself wedded to the earl, she put no constraint on her
affection for him, and her happiness, though short-lived, was deep and
full. A month passed away like a dream of delight. Nothing occurred in
the slightest degree to mar her felicity. Rochester seemed only to live
for her--to think only of her. At the end of this time, some
indifference began to manifest itself in his deportment to her, and he
evinced a disposition to return to the court and to its pleasures.
"I thought you had for ever abandoned them, my dear lord," said Amabel,
reproachfully.
"For awhile I have," he replied, carelessly.
"You must leave me, if you return to them," she rejoined.
"If I must, I must," said the earl.
"You cannot mean this, my lord," she cried, bursting into tears. "You
cannot be so changed."
"I have never changed since you first knew me," replied Rochester.
"Impossible!" she cried, in a tone of anguish; "you have not the
faults--the vices, you once had."
"I know not what you call faults and vices, madam," replied the earl
sharply, "but I have the same qualities as heretofore.
"Am I to understand, then," cried Amabel, a fearful suspicion of the
truth breaking upon her, "that you never sincerely repented your former
actions?"
"You are to understand it," replied Rochester.
"And you deceived me when you affirmed the contrary?"
"I deceived you," he replied.
"I begin to suspect," she cried, with a look of horror and doubt, "that
the attack of the plague was feigned."
"You are not far wide of the truth," was the reply.
"And our marriage?" she cried--"our marriage? Was that feigned
likewise?"
"It was," replied Rochester, calmly.
Amabel looked at him fixedly for a few minutes, as if she could not
credit his assertion, and then receiving no contradiction, uttered a
wild scream, and rushed out of the room. Rochester followed, and saw her
dart with lightning swiftness across the court-yard. On gaining the
street, he perceived her flying figure already at some distance; and
greatly alarmed, started in pursuit. The unfortunate girl was not
allowed to proceed far. Two persons who were approaching, and who proved
to be Etherege and Pillichody, caught hold of her, and detained her till
Rochester came up. When the latter attempted to touch her, she uttered
such fearful shrieks, that Etherege entreated him to desist. With some
difficulty she was taken back to the house. But it was evident that the
shock had unsettled her reason. She alternately uttered wild, piercing
screams, or broke into hysterical laughter. The earl's presence so much
increased her frenzy, that he gladly withdrew.
"This is a melancholy business, my lord," observed Etherege, as they
quitted the room together, "and I am sorry for my share in it. We have
both much to answer for."
"Do you think her life in danger?" rejoined Rochester.
"It would be well if it were so," returned the other; "but I fear she
will live to be a perpetual memento to you of the crime you have
committed."
Amabel's delirium produced a high fever, which continued for three days.
Her screams were at times so dreadful, that her betrayer shut himself up
in the furthest part of the house, that he might not hear them. When at
last she sank into a sleep like that of death, produced by powerful
opiates, he stole into the room, and gazed at her with feelings which
those who watched his countenance did not envy. It was hoped by the
chirurgeon in attendance, that when the violence of the fever abated,
Amabel's reason would be restored. But it was not so. Her faculties were
completely shaken, and the cause of her affliction being effaced from
her memory, she now spoke of the Earl of Rochester with her former
affection.
Her betrayer once ventured into her presence, but he did not repeat the
visit. Her looks and her tenderness were more than even _his_ firmness
could bear, and he hurried away to hide his emotion from the attendants.
Several days passed on, and as no improvement took place, the earl, who
began to find the stings of conscience too sharp for further endurance,
resolved to try to deaden the pangs by again plunging into the
dissipation of the court. Prudence had been seized by the plague, and
removed to the pest-house, and not knowing to whom to entrust Amabel, it
at last occurred to him that Judith Malmayns would be a fitting person,
and he accordingly sent for her from Saint Paul's, and communicated his
wishes to her, offering her a considerable reward for the service.
Judith readily undertook the office, and the earl delayed his departure
for two days, to see how all went on; and finding the arrangements, to
all appearances, answer perfectly, he departed with Etherege and
Pillichody.
Ever since the communication of the fatal truth had been made to her by
the earl, his unfortunate victim had occupied the large oak-panelled
chamber, on entering which so sad a presentiment had seized her; and she
had never quitted the bed where she thought she would breathe her last.
On the night of Rochester's departure she made many inquiries concerning
him from Judith Malmayns, who was seated in an old broad-cushioned,
velvet-covered chair, beside her, and was told that the king required
his attendance at Oxford, but that he would soon return. At this answer
the tears gathered thickly in Amabel's dark eyelashes, and she remained
silent. By-and-by she resumed the conversation.
"Do you know, nurse," she said, with a look of extreme anxiety, "I have
forgotten my prayers. Repeat them to me, and I will say them after you."
"My memory is as bad as your ladyship's," replied Judith,
contemptuously. "It is so long since I said mine, that I have quite
forgotten them."
"That is wrong in you," returned Amabel, "very wrong. When I lived with
my dear father, we had prayers morning and evening, and I was never so
happy as then. I feel it would do me good if I could pray as I used to
do."
"Well, well, all in good time," replied Judith. "As soon as you are
better, you shall go back to your father, and then you can do as you
please."
"No, no, I cannot go back to him," returned Amabel. "I am the Earl of
Rochester's wife--his wedded wife. Am I not Countess of Rochester?"
"To be sure you are," replied Judith--"to be sure."
"I sometimes think otherwise," rejoined Amabel, mournfully.
"And so my dear lord is gone to Oxford?"
"He is," returned Judith, "but he will be back soon. And now," she
added, with some impatience, "you have talked quite long enough. You
must take your composing draught, and go to sleep."
With this she arose, and stepping to the table which stood by the side
of the bed, filled a wine-glass with the contents of a silver flagon,
and gave it to her. Amabel drank the mixture, and complaining of its
nauseous taste, Judith handed her a plate of fruit from the table to
remove it. Soon after this she dropped asleep, when the nurse arose, and
taking a light from the table, cautiously possessed herself of a bunch
of keys which were placed in a small pocket over Amabel's head, and
proceeded to unlock a large chest that stood near the foot of the bed.
She found it filled with valuables--with chains of gold, necklaces of
precious stones, loops of pearl, diamond crosses, and other ornaments.
Besides these, there were shawls and stuffs of the richest description.
While contemplating these treasures, and considering how she should
carry them off without alarming the household, she was startled by a
profound sigh; and looking towards the bed, perceived to her great
alarm, that Amabel had opened her eyes, and was watching her.
"What are you doing there, nurse?" she cried.
"Only looking at these pretty things, your ladyship," replied Judith, in
an embarrassed tone.
"I hope you are not going to steal them?" said Amabel.
"Steal them?" echoed Judith, alarmed. "Oh, no! What should make your
ladyship think so?"
"I don't know," said Amabel; "but put them by, and bring the keys to
me."
Judith feigned compliance, but long before she had restored the things
to the chest, Amabel had again fallen asleep. Apprised by her tranquil
breathing of this circumstance, Judith arose; and shading the candle
with her hand, crept noiselessly towards the bed. Dark thoughts crossed
her as she gazed at the unfortunate sleeper; and moving with the utmost
caution, she set the light on the table behind the curtains, and had
just grasped the pillow, with the intention of plucking it from under
Amabel's head, and of smothering her with it, when she felt herself
restrained by a powerful grasp, and turning in utmost alarm, beheld the
Earl of Rochester.
VI. THE CERTIFICATE.
"Wretch!" cried the earl. "An instinctive dread that you would do your
poor charge some injury brought me back, and I thank Heaven I have
arrived in time to prevent your atrocious purpose."
"Your lordship would have acted more discreetly in staying away,"
replied Judith, recovering her resolution; "and I would recommend you
not to meddle in the matter, but to leave it to me. No suspicion shall
alight on you, nor shall it even be known that her end was hastened.
Leave the house as secretly as you came, and proceed on your journey
with a light heart. She will never trouble you further."
"What!" exclaimed Rochester, who was struck dumb for the moment by
surprise and indignation, "do you imagine I would listen to such a
proposal? Do you think I would sanction her murder?"
"I am sure you would, if you knew as much as I do," replied Judith,
calmly. "Hear me, my lord," she continued, drawing him to a little
distance from the bed, and speaking in a deep low tone. "You cannot
marry Mistress Mallet while this girl lives."
Rochester looked sternly and inquiringly at her. "You think your
marriage was feigned," pursued Judith; "that he was no priest who
performed the ceremony; and that no other witnesses were present except
Sir George Etherege and Pillichody. But you are mistaken. I and Chowles
were present; and he who officiated _was_ a priest. The marriage was a
lawful one; and yon sleeping girl, who, but for your ill-timed
interference, would, ere this, have breathed her last, is to all intents
and purposes Countess of Rochester."
"A lie!" cried the earl, furiously.
"I will soon prove it to be truth," rejoined Judith. "Your retainer and
unscrupulous agent, Major Pillichody, applied to Chowles to find some
one to personate a clergyman in a mock marriage, which your lordship
wished to have performed, and promised a handsome reward for the
service. Chowles mentioned the subject to me, and we speedily contrived
a plan to outwit your lordship, and turn the affair to our advantage."
The earl uttered an ejaculation of rage.
"Being acquainted with one of the minor canons of Saint Paul's, a worthy
and pious young man, named Vincent," pursued Judith, utterly unmoved by
Rochester's anger, "who resided hard by the cathedral, we hastened to
him, and acquainted him with the design, representing ourselves as
anxious to serve the poor girl, and defeat your lordship's wicked
design--for such we termed it. With a little persuasion, Mr. Vincent
consented to the scheme. Pillichody was easily duped by Chowles's
statement, and the ceremony was fully performed."
"The whole story is a fabrication," cried the earl, with affected
incredulity.
"I have a certificate of the marriage," replied Judith, "signed by Mr.
Vincent, and attested by Chowles and myself. If ever woman was wedded to
man, Amabel is wedded to your lordship."
"If this is the case, why seek to destroy her?" demanded the earl. "Her
life must be of more consequence to you than her removal."
"I will deal frankly with you," replied Judith. "She discovered me in
the act of emptying that chest, and an irresistible impulse prompted me
to make away with her. But your lordship is in the right. Her life _is_
valuable to me, and she _shall_ live. But, I repeat, you cannot marry
the rich heiress, Mistress Mallet."