In all ages of which we have record, England has been unlike any other
country in the world; nor has it been alone in the character of the
people, their political institutions, and their religious feelings,
that it has differed from all others; but the very aspect of the land
has been totally apart, shadowing forth in its very look the mind of
the people. We see forests and mountains, rocks, rivers, and
cataracts, wide fields and waving corn in other countries; but where
else would you see a green bowery lane like that, canopied with boughs
and tapestried with flowers, down which those two figures are now
walking slowly on? It is England all over--sweet, peaceful,
pleasant-looking England. Though the age is remote from that in which
we live; though the costume both of the man and woman is very
different from our own; though the plumed hat, and the hanging cloak,
and the slashed sleeve, might lead one to suppose one's self amongst
Spaniards; yet look at the trees with the ivy creeping up them, the
yellow banks, the small fields, the trim hedgerows, and not a doubt
remains that the scene is English.
But we must just listen to their conversation, too; and that, alas! is
very un-English. We must remember, however, that the age was one when
a number of events had tended to corrupt society generally, and the
court in particular; when the tone of the human mind, both in Britain
and in France, had become debased by the conduct and example of the
highest personages in the realm; when the monarch on the throne of
England, at least, though learned and witty, presented to his people
the pattern of all that is despicable, low, and vicious in a man, all
that is hateful and contemptible in a monarch; a tyrant without energy
or courage; a debauchee without fire or passion; a tricky politician,
without perspicuity or judgment; vain of his religion, yet wavering in
his doctrines, irreligious in his conduct, and blasphemous in his
discourse; proud of his cunning, yet always deceived and frustrated;
assuming the tone of command, yet led like an infant or a fool;
governed by others, though a despot himself; and only perfect in
grossness, selfishness, and treachery. With such a sovereign; with
minions imitating and despising him; with a court hungry of gold and
avaricious of vice; with the scaffold and the prison offered as
rewards for virtue, energy, and genius; can we be surprised that the
poison spread, more or less, through all classes; and that the nobles,
brought more immediately within the pestilential atmosphere of the
court, were peculiarly affected by the moral malady of the time? Can
we wonder that every kind of wickedness which the perverse heart of
man can conceive or generate was rife; that corruption of all kinds
was too common to excite attention; that brawls and murders were heard
of every day; and that the enemy or the rival, whom the knife could
not reach, found death in the platter or cup? Can we wonder that such
conversations as the following were heard by the ears of the air?
"He must be disposed of," said the gentleman, speaking to a lady of
extraordinary beauty who walked by his side; "he must be disposed of,
that is very clear."
"Ay, but how is it to be done?" asked the lady. "It is very well for
you to counsel me, but give me no help."
"Nay, sweetest Kate," replied her companion, "I am willing to give you
every help in the world; but I have heard that, during my long and
tedious absence from your fair side, you did not fail to console
yourself by reasonable tenderness for this same object of your present
hate."
"And do you believe such tales?" she exclaimed, turning her flashing
eyes upon him. "You do not, William, you do not! I am the creature of
your hands; you have made me what I am. From infancy till now you have
tutored and led, guided, commanded me--no, not commanded, but at least
directed; and you should know--"
"For that very reason I do know," he replied, "that it is the most
natural and likely thing in the world, dear Kate, that you should seek
a little consolation for a lover's absence. I say no more, I imply no
more; for I know that, if real love were in the case, the bold, brave
spirit in your heart, guided and directed as you say it has been by
me, would even to myself avow the fact, and daringly set all my rage
and jealousy at nought. Is it not so, sweet Kate?"
"Ay," she answered with a smile, "even so."
"Well then," he continued, "as you see I understand you fully, and
neither suspect nor doubt, but only think that in a vacant hour, dull,
and for mere idleness, you have trifled with a growing passion in this
great lord, till it has risen into a flame which has somewhat scorched
the fingers of the kindler--I say it must be by some means drowned
out. The only question is how, and that we must consider. But in order
to judge of the best means, I must know fully the provocation he has
given my fair love.--Nay, knit not your white brows, dear Kate, with
such a puzzled look: I will help you to explanations."
"You cannot," she said; "there can be no explanations, William Ifford.
It suffices to me, and should suffice to you, that he has offended and
insulted me--her whom you say you love."
"And do love," answered he whom we have hitherto seen under the name of
Lovet, "ay, better far than all the thousand I have loved and been
loved by before. But yet it matters much, my Kate; for, if the injury
and the insult,--as from something you let drop a day or two ago I do
suspect,--touches me in the slightest possible degree, my course is
very plain, and I will cut his throat ere the moon be an inch broader.
But if it refer to you alone, it might be dangerous to take the step
of the duello on such a topic, as giving point to certain rumours of
our close friendship which would mar all our plans."
The lady looked down, bending her large, dark, haughty eyes sternly
upon the ground; but she murmured in a low tone, "He treated me as he
might treat a common harlot; and when I mortified his vanity by cold
repulse, he spoke of you, called you my paramour, vowed he could prove
the facts and make my shame public to all the world. Now, though I
would break, by any means--at any risk, that idle tie to your cold
hypocritical cousin Hillingdon, yet I would fain do so without having
the finger of every smooth, well-concealed, mock-virtuous woman of the
court pointed at me in scorn. He said he could prove it, I tell
you.--You start, William, and turn pale: that is not as if your blood
fired up like mine."
"My blood has something else to do, bright Kate," answered her cousin.
"Why I started was, because your tale awakens a strange doubt in my
mind. There was safe in my house, when I left England, a little agate
casket with a secret lock, which kept good guard over your dear,
long-preserved letters.--Here is the key hanging ever round my neck;
but yesterday, when I sought for that casket, I could not find it;
and, thinking that it had been mislaid, I left the search, trusting to
meet with it another day. Can any one have stolen those letters?--At
all events that man must not live much longer; but, my dear Kate, it
will not do to fight on such a cause of quarrel. Nay, moreover, if I
seek occasion against him, he will judge rightly of the cause, and
spread his tale of scandal to the world,--perhaps produce his proofs,
if he really have any. We must employ quieter means, wear a smooth
face towards him, and, as we do with a wild beast that we fear, lure
him into a trap well prepared beforehand. How did you part, in enmity
or calmly?"
The lady had turned very pale as he spoke of the loss of the casket;
and some time passed ere she answered his question. He repeated it,
however, in a quiet, tender tone; and, looking up she said, "He cowed
me--rage sank beneath fear, and I smoothed my brow--nay, even smiled
and laughed, in order to gain time, till I could speak with you. But
you were long ere you arrived, and now it is too late to perfect any
plans. He comes to-morrow evening, and has promised to bring the
proofs he spoke of with him."
"Not too late, not too late," answered her companion. "I will speed
home like lightning, search for these letters, be with you again
to-morrow early; and then, if you have courage and resolution, we will
find means to rid us of one whom we cannot deal with openly. I will
have all prepared if you will but second me. Where will my lord your
uncle be tomorrow?"
"A hundred miles hence and more," replied the lady. "He and my good
aunt, do not return for two days to come."
"Then all will go easily," rejoined the other. "The man must die--he
must not reach Royton alive."
"But blood is soon traced," she said, in a tone of hesitation.
"We will have no blood," replied her lover, with a smile: "men die
occasionally of very rapid diseases. I will plan it all--you must
execute."
"But how shall we get the papers from him," asked the lady,
"without--"
"That must be cared for," answered Lovet. "You must be tender, my fair
Kate, till you have got him to produce his proofs; give him fair
hopes, and lead him on. He will sup here, of course; and after supper,
when he has trifled with somewhat dangerous viands, bid him show the
weighty evidence he spoke of. When they are all spread forth, I will
come in, to your surprise and his, and take my own again. Then, if he
be inclined to quarrel, one hasty thrust, given ere any one has time
to hear his tale, will settle all, and I shall pass blameless, for
despatching one whom I found insulting my sweet cousin. It will be a
claim, too, on her love--a fair motive in the world's eyes for her (in
gratitude) to give me her soft hand."
The lady smiled with a meaning look. There was no surprise; there was
no horror; there seemed hardly to be any fear. Had her mind been
conversant with those ideas before? Who can tell? Such deeds were
assuredly common in that day, and, at all events, they were commonly
reported. The rumour of crimes always generates fresh ones of the same
character. There is an infection in the very sound of such deeds, and
the mind that hears it often catches the moral pestilence and dies. As
she thought--and for some moments she did not reply--a look of triumph
rose in her glittering eyes. "Ay!" she repeated, "ay! he shall rue it!
Yes, he shall rue it!--William, you are right. It would not do to
raise a clamour about this man's death, by taking your usual mode of
settling such affairs; but against one thing you must guard right
carefully, that his death be not traceable to us--unless, indeed, it
be in hasty brawl, where weapons are soon out, and execution done ere
men have time to think. I mean, if he quits my house alive, they must
not be able to show that it was in the cup, or in the food which he
there partook, that he found his fate."
"I will take care," said her cousin, significantly; "but you must be
both ready and resolute, my sweet Kate,--no doubt--no hesitation--no
weak remorse."
"I have none!" replied the lady, lifting her hand boldly; "we kill a
wolf or a tiger, a snake or a shark. It is the first principle of
nature and of right to destroy that which would destroy us. His death
is needful to my life. He dies, or I die.--Nay, more; I feel the
hunter's spirit within me, and life, for life, I would rather die
myself with him, than not see him die."
"His offence must have been bitter," answered her cousin; "though it
was very needful to our happiness that Hillingdon should be out of our
way, you never thought of using such means with him."
"I may have thought of it," answered the lady, musing; "but I would
not have done it, William. In moments of eager impatience, I may have
wished him dead--nay, have said so, I think, to you; but yet I would
have practised nought against his life. Hillingdon never offended me.
He loved me not; but, as I loved him not, that was no offence. His
tone was courteous, too, when he did write to me or to my uncle.
Plainly and boldly he said he wished the contract dissolved; but I
wished it too, and therefore it was a kindness, not an injury. His
very absence, that he might never see me, had--as he turned it, and I
believe as he felt it--a certain courtesy. Nay: Hillingdon, though
cold and stiff, and opposite in almost everything to my nature and my
wishes, is still a high and noble-minded man, a gentleman in heart and
spirit."
Her companion bit his lip, for he loved not to hear his cousin's
praises from that lady's tongue. He was silent, however, and she
proceeded: "But this man has, indeed, offended me bitterly, as you
say. Encouraged by a light smile, and perhaps some idle freedom--I
will not deny it--he thought I had become his slave, assumed the air
of triumph, boasted, I doubt not, of his conquest amongst drunken
comrades, and thought mine was a heart that would bear the insolent
tone, the rude assumption of success, the air and words of conquest.
Fool! I taught him better; and then he threatened to turn my bold
contempt to burning shame--he did more than threaten, William. He it
is, and he alone, who has staid the dissolution of my infant marriage
with Hillingdon.--The judges were all agreed--the king himself was
won, when this man stepped in. The minion persuaded the king, by his
cringing arts, to pause.--Nay, look not doubtful! He told me so
himself; with scornful triumph vowed my fate was in his hands; and
said, if I had not treated him so disdainfully I should have been now
as free as air. Do not the facts bear out the assertion? All that was
required by any one was Hillingdon's oath in open court that he had
never seen me since I was ten years old. He came and gave it. Then
suddenly the king paused and prevaricated, and Algernon returned
disgusted and despairing. Have I not cause to say this man is a viper
in my way? Have I not a right to set my heel upon his head?"
"Assuredly!" replied William Ifford; "and the sooner the better, my
sweet Kate. I see that your mind is made up and your courage equal to
the task. He sups here; he will dine at Hertford, at the inn there. I
will take care--though the deed cannot be done there on account of the
many eyes upon us--that some circumstance of suspicion shall occur at
Hertford to direct the doubts of men afterwards away from your house.
I have a powder brought from Italy, which I have heard has been most
serviceable in the great house of Medici. May it prove as useful to
us! And now farewell, my Kate. I will not go up to the mansion with
you, as I must return to-morrow morning. Do not pause and ponder on
our plans, lest your resolution fail."
"No fear!" she answered, with a calm look; "my courage is firmer than
you think, William. Adieu!"
Sir William Ifford left her, and walked back to a village about half a
mile distant, where he had left his horse. At first he went quick, as
if in haste; but after he had turned out of the lane his pace became
slower, and he meditated, murmuring a part of his thoughts as he
proceeded. "A dangerous housekeeper!" he said; "and yet a glorious
creature--not the most faithful in her loves, I fear--yet how can I
blame her? I have not been right faithful myself--and she was alone.
We will both do better when we are wedded.--There must be more in this
affair than she thinks fit to own--she could not hate so strongly had
she not somewhat loved. Well, when he is dead that will be wiped out;
her own hand will avenge both herself and me. Yet it is hardly politic
to teach her tricks which she may practise hereafter on myself.--I am
a bold man to link myself to one so well tutored; but for such a
woman, and for such a fortune, who would not be bold? All that will be
needed is care for the future,--and a sure antidote in my doublet
pocket."
Full of such reflections, he reached the village, and, mounting his
horse, rode on to a house which, with the small estate around it, had
descended to him from his mother. His patrimonial property had been
long spent, and even this was not unencumbered. Springing to the
ground, he mounted the six steps which led up into an arched porch
covered with ivy, opened the door, and went in. A servant was called
and ordered to bring a fresh horse, and then William Ifford paused a
moment in the hall, bending his eyes upon the marble pavement in deep
meditation. It seemed of a very gloomy character too. Perhaps it was
remorse that moved him; for the heart, however sunk in vice and folly,
shrinks from the touch of a new crime. Rarely does it happen that it
is so corrupted that there is not some sound spot left somewhere; and
so long as there is, that part will tremble at the first touch of the
corroding poison which has destroyed all the rest. His brow became
very cloudy, and gathered thick over his deep, keen eye; his lip
quivered; and the fingers of the hand which had fallen by his side
were seen to move slowly together, till they were clenched firmly in
the palm. The light, the scoffing, and the scornful will have their
moments of thought, of doubt, and of depression, as the vicious of
regret. There comes upon us all, against our will, we know not how, we
know not whence, a shadow as from the gloomy, inevitable rock before
us, clouding the sparkling sunny path in which we sported, rendering
the gay dreams gloomy, and the clear future obscure. It is the time to
ask ourselves, whither that path tends, where those sports may end.
But still the counteracting power of evil, waging his eternal war
against all good, suggests some reason, presents some excuse for
following the impulse of the wilful heart along the course of error;
till at length, when all warnings have been given, and every
opportunity neglected, the toils of our own acts close round us; and,
in the inextricable net which we ourselves have aided to weave, we
struggle in vain; till death takes us forth, and an unknown state
begins.
Slowly and even sadly Sir William Ifford raised his eyes and cast a
melancholy glance around the dim old hall. There was an air of
desolation and neglect about it, very different from the gay and
splendid scenes in which he was accustomed and loved to move. The look
of poverty was stamped upon it; and in an instant flashed before his
eyes the image of a long future of care and penury, and forced
self-denial and niggardly restraint. "It must be," he cried, "it must
be done;" and, hurrying to an old oaken cabinet, which he opened with
one of the keys he wore about him, took out an extremely minute vial
filled with some white substance, and gazed at it attentively for an
instant; then, placing it in his pocket, he entered his bed-chamber,
and drew forth from a large chest a masker's beard, nearly white, and
several separate locks of silver hair. With these, put safely up, he
rode away towards the town of Hertford, which he reached shortly after
nightfall; but, before he entered the street, he fastened the false
locks to the lining of his hat and brought them over his forehead and
his neck. The beard completed a disguise sufficiently close to prevent
any eyes, but such as knew him very well, from recognising him; and
then, entering the town, he dismounted at a small public house, and
walked on foot towards the principal inn in the great street. About
half an hour after, he might be seen speaking in the court-yard to a
man in a white night-cap and apron. Their conversation seemed merry,
too; for few even knew better how to assume familiar courtesies
towards the lower classes, when he liked it, than William Ifford.
"You foolish dog," he cried, at length; "will you lose a good gold
piece just for your vanity in your art? I tell you it is for a bet
with him. I vowed I would make him eat bitter pottage ere a week were
over; and I ask you not to do aught that can hurt him. There's many an
innocent herb, and salutary too, that tastes like soot in the mouth.
Take your choice of them, and stuff his pottage and the first two
dishes full of it. Go out into the garden and get some bitter endive,
or any other purifier of the blood. So will you be sure that no harm
can come of it. I must have it done, however; and here is a gold piece
for your pains."
The man seemed still to hesitate; but William Ifford doubled the
offered bribe, and the cook's virtue could not resist the temptation.
"Keep your own counsel," said the gentleman, as he left him, "and all
is safe. I shall laugh heartily to-morrow night, when I hear him curse
the bitter soup he had at Hertford."
Thus saying, he turned away, mounted his horse again and rode back. On
the following morning early he was once more by the Lady Catherine's
side; and for two long hours they talked eagerly with meaning looks,
but in low tones, as if they feared to be overheard, although they
well knew that no ear was near to hear them. But there is a
consciousness in crime of an ever open eye, an ear that is never
closed.