“But it was to him that you had passed yourself as the widow of a

General-officer in the Indian army,” persisted Laura: “and yet you

denied having ever made such a representation to any one. You perceive,

mother, that I cannot trust you: you are full of duplicity and deceit

even to me--and still you complain that a coolness subsists between us.”

“I may observe, on my side, Laura,” retorted the old woman, with a

subdued and cunning malignity, “that you were not more communicative

to me relative to the Marquis of Delmour than I was disposed to be to

you. We are therefore even upon that score; and, at all events, let us

not dispute. I shall now leave you, Laura--for I am well aware that

my room will be preferable to my company. It is my present intention

to remain in Paris; and from time to time I will send you tidings of

my whereabouts, so that you may duly remit me my quarterly income, as

promised just now. The cheque of the Marquis I shall send through the

medium of some Parisian banker.”

The old woman then took her departure, a cool “Good-bye” being all the

farewell salutation that passed between her daughter and herself as she

crossed the threshold of the handsome suite of apartments.

“Thank God! she is gone!” thought Laura, as she hastened to rejoin her

handsome Castelcicalan, who was growing impatient of her protracted

absence.

“The haughty and self-sufficient creature!” murmured Mrs. Mortimer to

herself, an she hastily descended the stairs: “she is completely in my

power--at my mercy--in every way!”

And did the old woman remain in Paris in fulfilment of her declared

intention?

No:--wearied and exhausted by travel as she already was, but animated

with an indomitable energy, Mrs. Mortimer hastened, late though the

hour now was, to procure a post-chaise and four; and while Laura was

passing a night of voluptuousness and love in the arms of the handsome

Count of Carignano, her mother was speeding along the road to Boulogne,

on her way back to London.

CHAPTER CLXXXV.

THE LAWYER’S HEAD CLERK.

It was about four o’clock in the afternoon of the day following the

incidents just related, that Mr. James Heathcote, the lawyer, was

seated at his writing-table in that private office which we have

already described to our readers,--when a low, timid knock at the door

fell upon his ears.

“Come in,” he exclaimed, in his short, abrupt, and almost brutal

manner, well knowing that the individual about to enter was the poor

wretch whom he bullied when in an ill-humour, and whom on all occasions

he was wont to make his vile agent and spaniel-like slave.

Creeping up as usual--rather than walking with the natural dignity of

a man--towards the table, Mr. Green bowed humbly and waited until his

dreaded, but also hated master should deign to give him leave to speak.

“Well, Mr. Green,” said Heathcote, after a pause of a few minutes,

during which he waited to see whether his grovelling serf would dare

to open his lips until he received permission,--for the lawyer was a

man who liked to ascertain the full extent of the power that he wielded

over his subordinates, and also to make _them_ feel that he _did_

exercise that power;--“well, Mr. Green, what news this afternoon?”

And, throwing himself back in his arm-chair, he passed his thin, yellow

hand through his iron-grey hair.

“If you please, sir, I have several things to report, as you were so

much engaged this morning that you could not give the time to hear

me,” observed Green, in that subdued and almost affrighted tone of

voice which years of servility had rendered habitual to him;--for such

is ever the case with those who mistake the most abasing sycophancy

for proofs of respect. And here we may observe that it is only in

the demoralising and degrading influence of Royal Courts that this

disgusting susurration is adopted as a species of homage to the

divinity raised up by man’s stupid and most reprehensible idolatry.

“Ah! I recollect--I was busy this morning,” exclaimed Mr. Heathcote.

“Well--what have you to report?”

“Please, sir,” resumed the trembling clerk, “Gregson the upholsterer

has put his affairs into the hands of Goodman and Meanwell, who have

got all his creditors save yourself, sir, to sign a letter of license;

and Mr. Goodman has been here this afternoon to say that unless you

will give your name also, his client must inevitably go into the

_Gazette_.”

“Then let him go--and to the devil also, if he chooses!” vociferated

Mr. Heathcote, flying into a passion--a most unusual thing with

one so cool, calculating, and self-possessed as he. “Goodman and

Meanwell are what are called _honest attorneys_--conscientious

lawyers--straightforward practitioners;--and they will exert all their

energies to carry their client through his difficulties. But I will

thwart them, Mr. Green--by God! I will thwart them; Gregson _shall_ go

into the _Gazette_--even if I lose every penny he owes me. I _hate_

your honest attorneys;”--and his lips were curled in bitter irony and

demoniac malignity. “Go on, sir!” he exclaimed savagely, as if it were

his wretched clerk who had irritated him.

“Thompson, sir--the defendant in Jones’s case, you know,” resumed Mr.

Green, “was arrested yesterday--in pursuance of your orders, sir.

I took the liberty of mentioning, sir, that his wife had just been

confined----”

“Well?” exclaimed Mr. Heathcote, impatiently.

“And that his eldest child was at the point of death, sir,” added

Green, more timidly than before.

“Well--what next?” demanded the attorney.

“The poor child has since died, sir.”

“The poor child, indeed! Who cares a fig about a child? Why--you are

growing quite soft-hearted, Mr. Green,” said Heathcote, in a tone of

cutting irony. “The _poor_ child, indeed! I suppose the wife has died

also?” he added, with heartless jocularity.

“Indeed, sir, I am sorry to say you are right in your conjecture,”

responded Green, scarcely venturing to make the announcement.

“No!--is it really the case, though?” exclaimed Heathcote, startled

for a moment at finding that what he had said as a brutal jest turned

out to be a solemn and shocking truth. “Well--what next?” he demanded,

mastering those emotions which he was ashamed at having betrayed.

“Thompson himself, sir--driven to despair by these numerous

afflictions--cut his throat in prison this afternoon,” added Mr. Green.

“Is this possible?” cried Mr. Heathcote, again excited to a degree more

powerful than the clerk had ever before observed: but speedily subduing

his feelings, by dint of a strong and almost superhuman effort--so

sudden and effective was it--he said, “Well--it is not my fault.

Maudlin sentimentalists will perhaps lay his death at my door----”

“I am afraid, sir, that _all_ the three deaths will be attributed to

you,” interrupted Green, with an affectation of exceeding meekness,

while from beneath his brows he darted a rapid glance of fiend-like

expression at his master--a glance which denoted how the man in his

secret soul feasted upon the pangs which now rent the heart of the

attorney.

“I am tough enough to bear everything that people may say of me, Mr.

Green,” observed Heathcote, in his usually cold tone of irony. “But

proceed with your communications.”

“Beale’s wife, sir, called this morning--you know Beale?--the man you

put into Whitecross Street prison, and whose wife and children have

been starving ever since----”

“Really, Mr. Green,” interrupted Heathcote, fixing a stern look upon

his clerk, “it would appear that you are purposely entering into minute

details this afternoon in order to annoy me. Of course I know who Beale

_is_----”

“_Was_, sir, if you please,” said Green, with difficulty concealing

the savage delight that he took in thus torturing--or, at least,

endeavouring to torture, his master.

“What do you mean, sir?” demanded Heathcote, savagely.

“That Beale died in the infirmary at Whitecross Street last night,

sir,” responded Green, his tone and manner becoming more abjectly

obsequious in proportion as his internal joy augmented at the

increasing excitement and irritation of his master.

“The man was doubtless a drunkard, Green,” observed Heathcote, roughly:

“and therefore, when no longer able to get liquor, the reaction carried

him off.”

“I dare say, sir, that you know best--and I am sure you must be right,”

returned the clerk, with a low bow: “but the man’s friends _do_ say

that a more sober, hard-working, and deserving fellow did not exist.”

[Illustration]

“And therefore I suppose that _his_ death will be laid at my door!”

exclaimed Heathcote, now for the first time in his life glancing

timidly--almost appealing, at his clerk, as if to implore him to devise

some excuse or start some palliation that might ease his troubled

conscience.

But Green, whose very obsequiousness and servility afforded him the

means of venting his spite on his hated master, pretended to take the

observation as an assertion and not an interrogatory, and replied in

a humble tone, “Your foresight and knowledge of the world, sir, are

beyond all dispute; and, as you say, Beale’s death is certain to be

laid at your door. But of course you are perfectly indifferent to the

tittle-tattle of scandalous tongues.”

Heathcote rose from his seat--or rather started from it, and walked

rapidly up and down the room thrice. He felt sorely troubled; for,

hardened as his heart was--obdurate as his soul had become, he could

not shut out the whispering voice of conscience which now proclaimed

him to be the author of all the deaths that his clerk had enumerated.

And, while he was racked by these painful convictions, the thought

suddenly flashed to his brain that Green had displayed a savage delight

in detailing those horrors; and, man of the world as James Heathcote

was, it occurred to him, as a natural sequence to the suspicion just

mentioned, that his clerk hated and abhorred him.

Acting under the influence of these impressions, he stopped suddenly

short close by the spot where Green was standing; and he fixed

his snake-like gaze upon the shabbily-dressed, senile-looking,

self-debasing individual, who appeared to be maintaining his eyes bent

timidly and reverentially on the floor--as if his master’s emotions

were something too sacred to look upon.

“Green!--Mr. Green!” exclaimed Heathcote, laying his hand with such

abruptness and also with such violence upon the grovelling wretch’s

shoulder, that it made him start convulsively--though he knew all the

while that his master had accosted him, and was also gazing on him.

“Yes, sir!” cried the clerk, raising his eyes diffidently toward

Heathcote’s countenance.

“Do you conceive that the deaths of those people can be righteously

attributed to me?” demanded the lawyer, speaking in a low, measured,

and solemn tone, and looking as if he sought to read into the most

secret depths of his clerk’s soul: “do you, I say, dare to associate

any act or deed of mine with _their_ fate?” he asked, raising his

voice, while his face became terrible to gaze upon.

“Who?--I, sir!” ejaculated Green, as if in astonishment at the

questions put to him; and his own countenance assumed such a sinister

aspect that Heathcote surveyed him with increasing suspicion and

distrust.

“Yes--you!” cried the lawyer, ferociously. “Now, mark me, Green,” he

continued, in a lower and more composed tone of voice,--“if you dare

to harbour ill feelings towards me--if even a scintillation of such

feelings should transpire from your words or manner, I will crush you

as I would a worm--I will send you to Newgate--abandon you to your

fate--and, if necessary, _help_ to have you shipped for eternal exile.”

“My God! how have I deserved these implied reproaches--these terrible

menaces?” demanded Green, his countenance expressing real alarm, and

his whole frame shivering from head to heel.

“Perhaps you have _not_ deserved them--and in that case they will

serve as a warning,” said Heathcote, now becoming suddenly calm and

imperiously scornful: “but I think that you _did_ merit all I have

uttered--and now you know me better, perhaps, than you knew me before.

However, let all this pass. I do not for an instant suppose that I

possess your affection; but I will guard against the effects of your

hate. Answer me not, sir: you cannot wipe away the impressions which

this afternoon’s scene has conjured up in my mind. And now proceed with

anything more that you may have to tell me.”

“Fox, the ironmonger, sir,” resumed Green, in a more timid and servile

tone than ever, and with a manner so cowed and grovelling that it

completely veiled the strong pantings for revenge and the emotions of

bitter, burning hate which dwelt in the clerk’s secret soul,--“Fox, the

ironmonger, sir, has realised all his property and absconded.”

“Did I not tell you to issue execution against his goods without

delay?” demanded Heathcote, angrily.

“I obeyed your commands, sir, as soon as the usual forms were gone

through,” responded Green: “but in the interval the man, knowing the

steps you were taking against him, sold off everything and ran away--no

one can tell whither.”

“Then all your intelligence is evil this afternoon, Mr. Green?” said

Heathcote. “What about Mrs. Sefton?”

“The spy that I set to watch her has reported her removal from Kentish

Town to a house at Bayswater, sir,” answered Green; “and as she has a

young lady with her--a Miss Vernon, it appears--she does not seem to be

busying herself in any way that might interfere with your interests.”

“But that insolent young nobleman--that Lord William Trevelyan?”

demanded Heathcote.

“I do not think he is troubling himself any more in the business, sir,”

answered Green.

“Good and well!” ejaculated the attorney. “These latter tidings

constitute something like an agreeable set-off in respect to all your

former communications. Hah!” he cried, suddenly interrupting himself,

as the clock proclaimed the hour: “five already! Well, you may go now,

Green--and see that your spies keep a good look-out upon the movements

of Mrs. Sefton and Lord William Trevelyan.”

“I will, sir,” was the reply; and the clerk bowed himself out of the

office.

Half an hour afterwards Mr. Green was wending his way towards the

aristocratic quarters of the West End; and at length he entered a

respectable-looking public-house in the neighbourhood of Portland Place.

Having called for some refreshment, he took up the newspaper to while

away the time until the arrival of the person whom he was expecting:

but he could not settle his thoughts to the perusal of the journal. He

read an article through, from beginning to end; and, when he reached

the termination, he had not retained a single idea of the subject.

The fact was that the man’s mind was excited and bewildered by the

scene which had taken place that afternoon with his master. He

felt that he had been trampled upon--treated with every possible

indignity--despised, menaced, and almost spit upon;--and he was

compelled to suffer all--to bear everything--to endure those flagrant

wrongs, without daring to murmur.

“But I will be avenged--terribly avenged!” thought he within himself,

as he bent over the table in the public-house parlour, supporting

his head upon his two hands: “yes--even though I should sacrifice

myself, I will be avenged sooner or later. For years and years have

I been his slave--his menial--his instrument--his tool;--and he has

kept me in such utter subjection that it was not until lately I

remembered that I really possessed a soul and a spirit of my own.

The hard-hearted--cruel--remorseless wretch! I hate and abhor him

with a malignant hatred and a savage abhorrence. No words are strong

enough--no terms sufficiently potent to convey even to myself an idea

of the magnitude of that aversion which I now entertain for him. But

if he has me in his power in one way, he is at my mercy in many other

others. He little suspects how deep an insight I possess into his

affairs--his machinations--his dark plots. He thinks that I behold but

the surface: he knows not that I have fathomed to the bottom!”

At this point in the clerk’s musings, the door of the parlour was

opened, and a respectable-looking man, dressed in black, but with a

white cravat entered the room.

“You are somewhat behind your time, Mr. Fitzgeorge,” said Green, as

this individual--who was Lord William Trevelyan’s valet--seated himself

by the clerk’s side.

“Only a few minutes,” responded Fitzgeorge. “And now to business

without delay. It is fortunate that we are all alone in this parlour at

present: otherwise I should have proposed to adjourn to a private room.

Have you thought well of the subject I mentioned to you yesterday?”

“I have,” was the answer, delivered in a tone of decision: “and I

am prepared to meet your wishes. But remember that I told you how

completely I am in the power of the villain Heathcote; and if he were

to discover that your noble master received his information through

me----”

“He cannot possibly detect your instrumentality in the business,

provided you do not betray yourself,” said Fitzgeorge.

“Then I cannot hesitate to serve you,” responded Green.

“Here are a hundred pounds in advance of the sum promised you,”

continued the valet, producing bank-notes to the amount named; “and the

other moiety shall be paid the moment the information you are about to

give me shall have proved to be correct.”

“Ah! it is a long--long time since I could call so much money my own,”

said Green, with a deep sigh, as he gazed upon the notes--half doubting

whether it were possible that they were about to find their way into

his pocket.

“Take up the money and use despatch--for my time is precious,”

exclaimed Fitzgeorge.

The clerk followed the first suggestion with amazing alacrity; and his

sinister countenance was now as radiant with joy as such a face could

be.

“Your master is generous--very generous,” he said, as soon as the

notes were secured in his waistcoat-pocket; “and I will serve him to

the utmost of my power. The mad-house to which Sir Gilbert Heathcote

has been consigned, is kept by Dr. Swinton, and is situated in the

neighbourhood of the new church facing the end of the Bethnal Green

Road.”

“I am well acquainted with the locality,” said Fitzgeorge. “The church

you speak of is in the Cambridge Road, and stands at one of the angles

of the Green?”

“Precisely so,” answered the clerk; “and the lunatic asylum looks upon

the Green itself, its back windows commanding a view of Globe Town. But

here is the exact address,” continued the man, producing a card from

his pocket.

“That is all I require,” said Fitzgeorge. “Three days hence you can

meet me here again; and if in the meantime I should have discovered

that Sir Gilbert Heathcote is really confined in Dr. Swinton’s asylum,

the other hundred pounds shall be handed over to you.”

The valet and the clerk then separated.

CHAPTER CLXXXVI.

DR. SWINTON.

The mad-house kept by Dr. Swinton was a spacious building, with a large

garden, surrounded by a high wall, at the back.

It was by no means a gloomy-looking place, although the casements were

protected by iron bars: for to mitigate that prison-like effect, the

curtains were of a cheerful colour, and the window-sills were adorned

with flowers and verdant evergreens in bright red pots. Moreover, the

front of the house was stuccoed; and wherever paint was used, the

colours were of the gayest kind.

The front door always stood open during the day-time, because there was

an inner door of great strength which led into the hall; and a porter

in handsome livery was constantly lounging about at the entrance.

The Doctor himself was an elderly person, of highly respectable

appearance, and of very pleasing manners _when_ he chose to be

agreeable: but no demon could exhibit greater ferocity than he, when

compelled to exercise his authority in respect to those amongst his

patients who had no friends to care about them.

It was between nine and ten o’clock in the evening of the day following

the interview between Fitzgeorge and Heathcote’s head clerk, that

a plain carriage and pair drove up to the door of Doctor Swinton’s

establishment.

The porter immediately rushed forward to open the door and let down the

steps of the vehicle; and two persons alighted.

One was a tall, handsome young man of genteel bearing, and handsomely

dressed: the other was some years older, and might be described as

respectable without having anything aristocratic in his appearance.

“Have the kindness to say that Mr. Smithson, accompanied by his friend

Mr. Granby, requests an interview with your master,” were the words

immediately addressed to the porter by the elder of the two visitors,

while the other appeared to be gazing about him in a vacant and stolid

manner.

“Walk in, gentlemen,” said the obsequious porter, with a low bow: he

then rang a bell, and a footman in resplendent livery opened the inner

door.

Mr. Granby and Mr. Smithson were now conducted through a spacious

hall into an elegantly furnished parlour, lighted by a superb lustre

suspended to the ceiling.

“The Doctor will be with you in a minute, gentlemen,” said the

domestic, who immediately retired to acquaint his master with their

arrival: but the moment the door had closed behind him, a smile of

deep meaning instantly appeared upon the lips of the visitors, as they

exchanged equally significant looks.

In a few minutes Dr. Swinton appeared--his countenance wearing such a

benignant expression that if the Saints at Exeter Hall could only have

bribed him to attend on the platform at their May Meetings, they would

have secured a sufficiency of _outward appearance_ of philanthropy to

draw gold from the purses of even the most cynical. In fact, the doctor

was precisely the individual from whose lips might be expected a most

touching and lachrymose speech upon the “benighted condition” of the

heathen, and the absolute necessity of procuring funds for the purpose

of circulating a million of Bibles amongst the poor savages of the

Cannibal Islands.

His thin grey hair was combed with precision over his high and massive

forehead: a smile played on his lips, showing his well-preserved

teeth;--and his eyes beamed with mildness--almost with meekness, as

if he had succeeded, by long perseverance, in resigning himself to a

profession which militated sadly against a natural benevolence of heart.

He was dressed in deep black; his linen was of the finest material and

of snowy whiteness;--he wore a low cravat; and his enormous shirt-frill

was prevented from projecting too much by means of a diamond pin that

could not have cost less than fifty guineas.

The middle finger of his right hand was adorned with a ring of equal

value; and a massive chain with a bunch of gold seals depended from his

fob.

We should have observed that the Doctor wore black silk stockings and

shoes--it being evening; and we have every cause to believe that the

reader may now form a tolerably accurate idea of that gentleman’s

personal appearance.

Leaning forward as he walked, and with a kind of mincing gait--half

familiar, and half obsequious--Dr. Swinton advanced towards the

visitors, only one of whom rose at his approach;--and this was Mr.

Smithson, the elder of the two. The other remained in an apparent state

of apathetic laziness on the sofa, where he had taken his seat.

“Your most obedient, Mr. Smithson,” said the Doctor, proffering his

hand to the individual whom he thus addressed. “This is your friend

Mr. Granby, I presume--the gentleman of whom you made mention when you

honoured me with a visit this morning.”

“Yes. Doctor--that is indeed my unfortunate friend Granby,” responded

Smithson, drawing the physician into the window-recess, and speaking in

a whisper.

“He is a fine, handsome young man,” observed the mad-doctor, glancing

towards the subject of his remark, and likewise adopting a low tone.

“What a pity it is!” he added, turning towards Mr. Smithson, and

placing his fore-finger significantly to his forehead.

“A thousand--thousand pities, Doctor!” was the reply, delivered in a

mournful voice. “Such a splendid intellect to be thus clouded!--such a

genius to be thus crushed--annihilated!”

“No--do not anticipate such a calamity,” hastily interposed the

physician. “Rather let us hope that a judicious system--_my_ system,

Mr. Smithson--will eventually succeed in effecting a cure. But have

you the regular certificates, my dear sir?--because you are well aware

that a heavy responsibility rests upon gentlemen of my profession, who

receive patients----”

“Everything is straightforward, Doctor,” interrupted Mr. Smithson,

producing two papers from his pocket. “These certificates are signed by

medical men of eminence, and whose honour is unimpeachable.”

“Oh! assuredly,” exclaimed Swinton, glancing over the documents: “Dr.

Prince is an ornament to the profession--and Mr. Spicer is equally well

known. I have not the pleasure of their personal acquaintance--but

I am no stranger to their high reputation and rigid integrity. So

far, so good, my dear sir,” continued the mad-doctor, restoring the

certificates to Smithson. “And now, I think, we have little more to say

in respect to arrangements----”

“Nothing that I am aware of,” interrupted Mr. Smithson. “When I saw

you this morning, you told me that your usual terms for first-class

patients were six hundred a-year----”

“Each quarter payable in advance, you will please to recollect, my dear

sir,” said the physician, in a tone of bland insinuation. “It is a mere

matter of form, you know--just the bare trouble of writing a cheque at

the beginning instead of the close of the three months----”

“Oh! pray offer no apology for such an excellent regulation,”

interrupted Smithson: “short accounts make long friends.”

“Ah! ah! very good--very good indeed!” said the Doctor, with a jocular

cachinnation. “You are quite right, my dear sir--quite right. Shall I

give you a stamped receipt?” he asked, as Smithson placed in his hands

two bank notes--one for a hundred and the other for fifty pounds.

“You can send me the acknowledgment at your leisure,” answered

Smithson. “And now, as I must take my leave, permit me to beseech you

to bestow all possible attention upon my unhappy friend, and to spare

no expense in rendering him as comfortable as possible. His relations,

who have empowered me thus to place him in your establishment, are very

wealthy, and will cheerfully augment the allowance, if required. No

coercion is necessary with him: he is very tractable and by no means

dangerous. At the same time, any thing resembling restraint would only

induce him to move heaven and earth to escape. He cannot even endure

to have his chamber-door locked at night; and you may safely trust him

with a candle. Indeed, he _will_ have a light. As for placing a keeper

in his room, such a step would be as unwise as it is uncalled for. But

I need not attempt to counsel a gentleman of your great experience and

well-known skill----”

“Pardon me, my dear sir,” interrupted Dr. Swinton, drawing himself up

at the compliment thus paid to his professional ability;--“but I am

always delighted to receive any hints which the friends of my patients

are kind enough to give me; and I can assure you that your suggestions

shall be fully borne in mind. Of course you will call upon Mr. Granby

occasionally?” asked the Doctor, in a tone which was as much as to

imply that the less frequent such visits were, the better he thought it

would be.

“Yes--I shall call now and then,” responded Smithson, catching the

physician’s meaning in a moment: “but not too often--as the visits of

friends are likely, no doubt, to produce an injurious effect on those

minds which, under the influence of your admirable system, are becoming

settled and tranquil. It is however my intention to return in a few

days, just to assure myself that Granby is comfortable, and likewise

that you are not displeased with your patient.”

“Very good,” said the Doctor; “I shall be delighted to see you. But

will you not remain and partake of supper with us? You will then have

an opportunity of judging how I treat my patients--for we all sit down

to table together,--at least, those who belong to the first class, and

who may be termed the parlour boarders. Besides, I forgot to mention

to you this morning that the religious principles of my patients are

not neglected, and that I keep a regular chaplain in the establishment.

If you will stay to supper, you will have the pleasure of hearing him

say grace before meat, and deliver a most soul-refreshing exhortation

afterwards. Indeed, I may consider myself highly fortunate in having

secured the spiritual services and the constant companionship of such a

worthy man as the Reverend Mr. Sheepshanks.”

“I should be much gratified by remaining to partake of your

hospitality,” answered Smithson,--“and even still more rejoiced to form

the acquaintance of such an estimable character as Mr. Sheepshanks;

but, unfortunately, my time is precious--and I must depart at once.”

With these words Smithson turned away from the window; and approaching

Mr. Granby, who was lounging upon the sofa, seemingly gazing on

vacancy, he touched him on the shoulder, saying, “Good bye, my dear

friend: you are going to stay here for a few days with Dr. Swinton--and

you will find yourself very comfortable.”

“I am already very comfortable,” observed Granby, beginning to play

with his fingers in a stolid, silly manner. “Can you talk with the

hands, Smithson?”

“Oh! yes--and I will come to-morrow and hold a conversation with you by

that method,” was the answer.

“Well--don’t forget,” said Granby; “and bring all my friends with

you,--twenty--thirty--forty of them, if you like. I shall know how to

entertain them.”

“In that case I will bring them all, my dear fellow,” returned

Smithson: then, in a whisper to the Doctor, he observed, “You perceive

how childish he is--but perfectly harmless.”

“Ah! I begin to fear with you that his cure will be no easy nor

speedily-accomplished matter,” responded the physician, also in a low

tone.

“But you will do your best, Doctor, I know,” said Smithson: then,

turning once more to his friend, he exclaimed, “Good-bye, Granby--I am

off.”

“Well, go--I don’t mean to accompany you,” answered the patient,

without moving from his recumbent position, and without even glancing

towards Smithson; but maintaining his eyes fixed upon his fingers, with

which he appeared to be practising the dumb alphabet. “Go along, I

say--I am very comfortable where I am.”

Mr. Smithson heaved a profound sigh, and, bidding the Doctor farewell,

hurried to the carriage, with his cambric handkerchief to his eyes.

“Ah! he feels deeply for his afflicted friend,” thought Dr. Swinton,

as he remained for a few moments on the threshold of the front door,

looking forth into the mild, clear, and beauteous night: “but I shall

be the greatest fool in existence if ever I allow Mr. Granby to recover

his reason. An annuity of six hundred pounds is not to be thrown away

in a hurry. But I must prevent this fellow Smithson from calling more

than once or twice a-year at the outside--and then only on stated days,

or else with a week’s notice. However, I shall get him here to supper

in a short time, and will then cajole him into anything I propose. He

is a soft-pated fool himself,--_that_ I can see with half an eye.”

Having arrived at this complimentary conclusion in respect to Mr.

Smithson, the Doctor returned to the room where Mr. Granby was still

lying upon the sofa, and still playing with his fingers.

CHAPTER CLXXXVII.

THE LUNATIC ASYLUM.

Almost immediately after the departure of Mr. Smithson, supper was

served up in a spacious and handsomely-furnished apartment.

The table literally groaned beneath the load of plate and China spread

upon it: a splendid epergne, upon a large silver tray, occupied the

middle of the board;--and numerous crystal decanters, containing choice

wines of various sorts, sparkled in the flood of golden light poured

forth from a magnificent lustre suspended to the ceiling.

Upwards of a dozen persons took their places at the table--all the

first-class patients partaking of their meals in the delectable society

of the Doctor.

That eminent individual seated himself at the head of the board;

and our old friend, Mr. Sheepshanks, occupied the other extremity.

The reverend gentleman, though now well stricken in years, was so

little altered since the reader last found himself in his company,

that no minute description of his personal appearance is again

necessary: suffice it to say, that his long, pale countenance was as

sanctimoniously hypocritical at ever,--his hair, now quite grey, was

combed with its wonted sleekness over his forehead,--and his speech

was as drawling in tone and as full of cant in respect to language,

as when we beheld him holding forth to the members of the South Sea

Islands Bible Circulating Society, or figuring so ignominiously in the

Insolvents’ Court.

Mr. Granby, being a new-comer, was placed in the post of

honour--namely, on the Doctor’s right hand: but the unfortunate young

gentleman did not appear to understand, much lest appreciate the

distinction--for he scarcely uttered a syllable, did but little justice

to the succulent viands, and remained for the most part of the time

gazing in listless vacancy straight before him.

We should however observe that, on first being introduced into

the supper-room, he had darted a rapid and searching glance

around,--embracing with that sweeping look the countenances of the

dozen patients who were already assembled there: but immediately

afterwards he resumed his stolid, meaningless expression, as if his

mind were indeed a blank and mournful void.

“Now, Mr. Sheepshanks,” said the Doctor, when all were duly seated at

the table, “will you ask the usual blessing?”

“With your permission, most respected sir,” replied the reverend

gentleman: then, with a countenance as rueful as if he were about to go

forth to the place of execution, he drawled out a lengthy grace in such

a droning voice, that one of the lunatics fell fast asleep, and did not

wake up again until the savoury odour of a plate of roast duck which

was placed before him recalled to him his recollection and his supper.

“How do you find yourself this evening, Mr. Sheepshanks?” inquired Dr.

Swinton, after having assured himself that all his guests were duly

served. “You were complaining of a bilious attack this morning.”

“Alas! yes, kind sir,” responded the reverend gentleman, in a most

doleful tone and with a profound sigh: “it pleased the Lord to ordain

that the salmon of which I partook bountifully at yesterday’s dinner

should disagree with me--or peradventure it was the cucumber;--but, by

the aid of the Divine blessing and the black draught, my dear patron,

I have pretty well come round again. Nevertheless, I feel my appetite

failing me.”

And as he uttered these words, Mr. Sheepshanks helped himself to about

a pound and a quarter of pigeon-pie--that being his second attack on

the same dish.

“I shall be happy to assist you to some roast duck, Mr. Sheepshanks,”

said the Doctor, after a pause of about seven minutes.

“It would be an act of rudeness to decline an offer which bespeaks

such delicate attentions on your part, worthy sir,” returned the pious

gentleman. “I have just managed to pick a morsel of this savoury pie;

and I will endeavour to get through the wing of a duck, with heaven’s

assistance.”

“So you shall,” said the Doctor. “In the meantime I recommend you to

take a little wine--for your stomach’s sake.”

“Ah! that was salutary advice which Paul gave to Timothy--‘_a little

wine for the stomach’s sake_,’” drawled out the excellent Mr.

Sheepshanks;--and to prove that he really thought so, he filled a

tumbler with claret and imbibed the delicious draught without a pause.

By this time a plate, containing the wing, leg, and part of the breast

of a duck, was placed before him; and, with a hollow groan as if he

thought he should never get through it all, he commenced the attack.

We may here observe that the Doctor, who was a widower, was fond

of good living himself, and was well pleased when he found any one

inclined to keep him company in the enjoyment of the pleasures of

the table. For this reason he especially admired the Reverend Mr.

Sheepshanks; and he well knew that when his chaplain pretended to have

no appetite at all, he was in reality prepared to do ample justice to

every dish. Hence the copious supply of duck which the physician had

sent him; and that hospitable gentleman heard with secret pleasure the

groan which Mr. Sheepshanks had given, and which was a sure indication

that the modesty of the reverend glutton would be so far overcome as to

induce him to allow the Doctor to help him again presently.

And here we may likewise remark that Swinton was no niggard of his good

cheer. If he kept an excellent table, he liked to see justice done to

the viands served up; and, as he received handsome remuneration from

the friends of his first-class patients, he could well afford to regale

them sumptuously, and amass a splendid fortune out of them into the

bargain.

In conversation of the trivial kind of which we have just recorded

a specimen, did the Doctor and Sheepshanks pass the time during

supper,--the patients all maintaining a profound silence, and

conducting themselves with the most perfect propriety. Indeed, were

it not for a certain vacancy in the eyes of some, and a peculiar but

inexplicable expression in the looks of the rest, it were impossible

for a stranger to believe that there were any lunatics at all in the

room.

After supper Mr. Sheepshanks delivered himself of a long prayer;--but

as his libations had been somewhat copious, in spite of his

bilious attack, his voice was occasionally so thick as to be

unintelligible,--and it appeared as if he at times fancied himself to

be an Irvingite speaking in the unknown tongues. Towards the conclusion

of his oration, which very much resembled a funeral sermon in those

parts where the meaning and sense could be caught, the reverend

gentleman became so much affected that he began to weep; and had a

maliciously-disposed person been present, he would have probably

entertained the derogatory notion that Mr. Sheepshanks was in that

maudlin condition vulgarly termed “crying drunk.”

However, the affair passed off to the satisfaction of the worthy

Doctor, who, as he thought of all that his chaplain had eaten and drunk

during the evening, felt really proud of having beneath his roof a man

of such splendid qualifications.

The after-supper oration being concluded, the keepers, all dressed in

plain clothes, made their appearance to conduct the patients to their

respective chambers; but as this was Granby’s first night in the house,

the Doctor volunteered to show him to the apartment prepared for his

reception.

The new inmate of the asylum immediately obeyed the hint which the

physician gave him relative to the hour for retiring; and he was

forthwith escorted up a handsome staircase to a long corridor on the

second floor. From this passage, which was carpeted, adorned with

statues in recesses, and lighted by lamps hanging to the ceiling,

opened several rooms, the doors of which were numbered.

At the entrance to the passage the Doctor pulled a wire which

communicated with a bell on the storey overhead; and a matronly,

respectable-looking woman made her appearance in answer to the summons.

“Which chamber is Mr. Granby to occupy, Mrs. Probert?” said the Doctor

to his housekeeper--for such was the situation filled by the female.

“I have moved the gentleman--you know whom I mean, sir--that was in

Number 7----”

“Ah! I understand,” interrupted the physician, with some degree of

impatience, as if he were afraid that his housekeeper was about to be

more communicative than was necessary in the presence of the stranger.

“Well--you have removed a certain person----”

“To Number 12, sir,” replied Mrs. Probert; “and therefore Mr. Granby

will please to occupy Number 7.”

“Very good,” said the Doctor. “Now, Mr. Granby, my dear friend--have

the kindness to follow me.”

The request was instantaneously obeyed; and the physician conducted

his docile patient into the room that had been selected for him, and

which was indeed the most spacious, airy, and elegantly furnished

bed-chamber in the whole establishment. It was usually appropriated

to any new-comer of the first class whose friends appeared to take an

interest in him; so that on the occasion of their first visit after his

location in the asylum, the doctor might be enabled to show them, with

pride, and even triumph, the magnificent apartment in which the patient

was lodged. It was afterwards an easy matter to remove him to another

and inferior, though still comfortable chamber--so as to make room for

another arrival; and it was very seldom that a lunatic ever thought of

mentioning to his friends, when they visited him again, the change of

apartments that had taken place.

Having introduced Mr. Granby into the elegantly furnished chamber, the

Doctor placed the candle upon the table, wished the young gentleman a

good night’s rest, and then retired--closing, but not locking, the door

behind him.

The moment he had departed, a remarkable and signal change took place

in the appearance and manner of Mr. Granby. His countenance lost its

stolid vacancy of expression, and became animated with its natural

intelligence; and, instead of seeming a dull, drivelling idiot, he

stood erect--a fine intrepid young man, conscious of the possession of

superior mental faculties, and prepared to carry out effectually the

scheme which had already been so successfully commenced.

Indeed, all further mystery in this respect being unnecessary, we may

as well at once declare that the fictitious Mr. Granby was the real

Lord William Trevelyan--and that Smithson, who had so well performed

the part of an afflicted and faithful friend, was none, other than the

astute valet, Fitzgeorge.

The young nobleman had made confidants of his two friends, Dr.

Prince and Mr. Spicer, who at his request had drawn up and signed the

certificates necessary to procure his introduction into the abode of

Dr. Swinton.

We must likewise here observe that when the short colloquy had occurred

between the Doctor and his housekeeper, it instantly struck Trevelyan

that allusion was made by them to Sir Gilbert Heathcote as being the

individual whose sleeping-place had been changed from No. 7 to No.

12. He had noticed that the woman had observed a degree of mystery in

referring, in the first instance, to the late occupant of the best

bed-room--and that the Doctor, as if fearful that walls had ears, or

that even a lunatic (such as he believed Trevelyan to be) might learn

a dangerous secret, had hastily interposed to prevent Mrs. Probert

from making a more direct allusion. All these circumstances induced

Trevelyan to conjecture that the late occupant of his room was none

other than Sir Gilbert; and, if this were the case, he had acquired the

certainty that the baronet was the tenant of a neighbouring apartment

in the same corridor.

It was now eleven o’clock; and the young nobleman resolved to wait

until a much later hour ere he took any steps in pursuance of the

clue which he believed himself to have gained relative to the chamber

occupied by his persecuted friend.

He walked to the window, and looked forth through the iron bars, upon

the mass of narrow lanes and squalid alleys constituting the suburb

known as Globe Town, and all the features of which were brought vividly

forward in the powerful moonlight,--for the atmosphere was as bright as

if it were of transparent quicksilver.

But in a few minutes, Trevelyan grew wearied of the sameness of the

prospect, so still and inanimate at that hour; and he began to examine,

more minutely than at first, the chamber in which he found himself.

A massive wardrobe of dark mahogany, and elaborately carved,

particularly attracted his notice; and, impelled by that curiosity

which frequently seizes upon persons who seek to while away an hour or

two by any means that opportunity or accident may afford, he opened

the large and heavy doors. There were several shelves inside, filled

with blankets and counterpanes, evidently deposited there during the

summer-months, when the beds required less clothing than in winter.

Trevelyan was about to close the doors, when he suddenly caught sight

of something that appeared to be a roll of papers thrust between the

blankets. He drew forth the object of his attention, and found that his

conjecture was correct; for he held in his hand a manuscript consisting

of several folios of foolscap closely written upon in a genteel and

fluent style.

A farther examination of the papers showed him, by means of certain

dates, that the manuscript was only recently composed; and an

indescribable feeling of interest, superior to any thing like vulgar

curiosity, prompted him to read the documents that had thus strangely

fallen into his possession.

Besides, he had determined to let a couple of hours slip away ere he

took any step in pursuance of the design that had brought him to the

mad-house; and he was by no means sorry at having discovered a mode of

passing the interval otherwise than by restlessly pacing his chamber or

gazing from the window.

He accordingly seated himself at the table, and commenced the perusal

of the extraordinary document that will be found in the ensuing chapter.

CHAPTER CLXXXVIII.

THE CONFESSIONS OF A LUNATIC.

“My blood has been boiling like a lava-stream. It appears to me as if

I can now freely respire the fresh air, after having only breathed

by gasps. What agony, then, has it been that has thus convulsed my

soul?--of what kind was the anguish which has left such strange and

unnatural sensations behind? Have I just awakened from a reverie

of burning thoughts and appalling visions?--or was there any truth

in the hideous things which seem to have passed like a frightful

phantasmagoria through my brain? What means this suffocating sob that

has struggled upward, and as it were spontaneously from my breast?

O God! it appears to me now as if the wildest--most maniacal ideas

have crowded into volumes, but become compressed into instants! Do I

rave?--am I really here--in a room elegantly furnished--and seated at

this table, writing? Is the bright sun-light streaming in at the open

casement?--and does the breeze penetrate into the chamber, fanning my

feverish cheek and throbbing brow, and wafting to me the delicious

perfume of flowers? Is all this true--or a dream? Am I still a denizen

of the earth,--that earth of which I seem for some time to have lost

all forgetfulness--dwelling during the interval in a chaos peopled with

horrible images--ghastly spectres--frightful beings of nondescript

shape? Oh, I remember--I found this paper, this pen, and this ink in

that large and massive ward-robe so exquisitely carved;--and something

tells me that there are persons watching my movements--spying my

actions--and who will be angry with me--perhaps ill-treat me--if they

behold me writing down my ideas. Oh! I am afraid--I am afraid. My God!

where am I? There is a hurry in my brain--my blood again begins to

boil--my hand trembles as I write. But wherefore do I write at all? I

know not:--and yet it seems to do me good!

“If any persons--any of those men whom I remember to have seen just

now--should endeavour to enter the room, I will hide my papers in

yonder ward-robe. Or else under the bed?--or between the mattresses?

No: in that ward-robe--it is the safest place, I feel confident.

“But why should I not go forth and walk in that garden which I can

see from the window?--or else penetrate into the fields at a great

distance, and lie down and think? If the breeze coming into this room,

does me good, how much more refreshed should I feel were I to ramble

about in the open country! Yes--I will go.

“What does this mean? I have tried the door--and it is locked! Who

dares to treat me thus--_me_--a gentleman of birth and fortune? I will

not endure such conduct: I will appeal to my brother, the magistrate,

for protection. He shall hang the wretches who have perpetrated this

insolence.

“O God! what do I see? There are bars at the window! Great heavens! I

shall go mad!

* * * * *

“MAD! Yes--that was the last word that I wrote yesterday--I suppose

it must have been yesterday--when I so hastily concealed my

papers, on hearing some one approach the door. I remember _that_

full well! Yes--it was an elderly man, with a mild and benevolent

countenance--dressed in black, with linen beautifully white--and with

a massive chain and seals. I looked at him well: but I knew him not. I

do not think that I ever saw him before. He sate down by my side--felt

my pulse--and asked me several questions. Ah! a thought flashes to my

mind: that good old gentleman is a doctor. And now,--yes--I think I can

recollect it all,--I abused him--I insulted him very grossly;--and then

some men entered and compelled me to go to bed. They undressed me by

force. I struggled against them; but it was useless.

“Oh! what does it all mean? Why those men to coerce me?--why that

doctor to attend upon me?--and why those bars at the window? Gracious

God! it cannot be--no--no--the horrible thought----

“Yes: it must be so--I am really mad!

* * * * *

“Again I sit down, calmly and tranquilly, to write. I have weighed well

my condition--have asked myself a thousand questions--have read what

I have written above--have striven to recollect all the past--have

carefully examined the present--and have dared to think of the future.

By all this--and by the bars at the window--I know that I am _mad_!

“Yes: but I can write the word now without growing excited; and I

must practise writing it again, so that I may by degrees gather to my

aid such an amount of self-possession as to be able to trace on this

paper all that has occurred to me. Then shall I possess a positive

memorial--a substantial key to the past; and should I again forget, in

an interval of delirium, all that has occurred, I can speedily recommit

the mournful history to my memory during a lucid interval like the

present.

“_Mad--mad--mad--mad!_ There--now I can write the word without the

least excitement; and this is a triumph already achieved. By gaining

a complete and accurate knowledge of my real position, I shall know

how to act. I am aware that I am in a lunatic asylum: I am also aware

that I have passed through intervals of fearful delirium. But I must

compose myself as much as possible. I cannot remain in this horrible

place;--and if I cannot become really sane again, I may at all events

pretend to be so--and then they will let me out. But in order to regain

my intellects, or appear to recover my reason, I must remember all that

has occurred to me, so as to be enabled to converse calmly and sensibly

on the subject. Stay! I will think--I will reflect profoundly for the

rest of the day; and to-morrow I will resume my pen.

“God forbid that the doctor or his men--or that prying old housekeeper,

should look into the wardrobe! I would not lose my manuscript for

worlds.

* * * * *

“_June 13th, 1846._

“I have learnt the day of the month. The doctor has been with me for

an hour; and he readily complied with my request to be furnished with

an almanack. He told me that this is the 13th of June; and henceforth

I hope I shall be enabled to keep the dates accurately. When I was

at school--but that is many years ago!--I used to make an almanack

to calculate how long it was to the holidays; and every evening I

scratched out the day that had just passed. Oh! happy--happy age of

boyhood--wilt thou never come back? hast thou gone for ever? Now must

I erase each day as it passes, and hope that the period of my release

is near at hand. _That_ shall be the holiday of my manhood, to which I

must look forward with such anxious--fervid--burning hope!

“But to my narrative.

“A hundred thousand pounds became mine on the day that I attained my

majority. That was nine years ago! I was my own master: my parents had

long been dead--and my guardians attempted not even to advise me--much

less control me. They were not relations--mere men of business to whom

my fortune had been intrusted, with a view to its accumulation. The

moment I became possessed of that wealth, I plunged headlong into the

vortex of pleasure. Heavens! in what dissipation did I indulge. Who

could drink deeper than I, and walk home steadily afterwards?--who

was more sought after and caressed amongst the fair sex?--who was

a more constant attendant at race-courses, gaming-houses, and the

haunts of fashionable vice and aristocratic debauchery? Fool that

I was! I imagined that to spend money profusely, was to enjoy life

largely. I had three mistresses at the same time,--three women, having

each a separate establishment, maintained at my cost! What were the

consequences? At five-and-twenty my constitution was nearly ruined,

and eighty thousand pounds of my fortune had been expended. The very

principles of my existence seemed to be undermined--disease was gnawing

at my vitals--an unbroken career of the wildest dissipation was

hurrying me, with race-horse speed, to the tomb!

“Suddenly I awoke, as from a dream. But it was not because remorse

touched me,--nor because good counsels were proffered me,--nor because

some latent feelings of virtue sprang into existence. Neither was it

because my fortune was nearly wasted and my health failing rapidly.

No: but it was because I at that epoch saw my Editha for the first

time! Oh! how can I retain my calmness _now_, when I think of her as

I _then_ beheld her,--beheld her in all the glory of her matchless

beauty--radiant with that loveliness that seemed to surround her with

the halo that only angels have! Yes--I was then twenty-five, and Editha

Greville was nineteen--that delightful age when the female figure

swells into womanly loveliness--round, full, and exquisitely modelled!

“We loved--almost at first sight; and though several weeks passed ere

I ventured to declare my passion, I could read in Editha’s eyes that

I was far from being displeasing to her. She was an only child; her

father was dead; her mother, though a woman of considerable wealth,

mixed little in society; and the wildness of my conduct was not

therefore fully known to Mrs. Greville. At the same time, she had heard

that I was extravagant and imprudent; but when I implored her to bestow

upon me the hand of her daughter, she yielded her assent, expressing

a hope that I had sown all my wild oats by that time, and should grow

steady in a matrimonial state. Thus was it that I became the recognised

suitor of Editha; and when some of Mrs. Greville’s friends, who knew

me well, represented to her that I was notoriously a half-ruined rake,

the old lady had too much confidence in all the promises of reformation

which I had made, to revoke the consent she had given to our union.

Besides, she saw that Editha was deeply attached to me, and that the

beauteous girl’s happiness depended on the smooth progress of love’s

course.

[Illustration]

“But, alas! painful thoughts forced themselves upon my mind. I felt

that my constitution was ruined--and I believed myself to be in a

consumption. Faithful to the solemn pledges which I had made to Mrs.

Greville, I established a complete change in my habits; and instead of

drinking wine to excess, I foreswore all alcoholic liquor whatsoever.

Likewise, instead of passing my nights in dissipation, I returned

home at an early hour and sought my couch. But the suddenness of this

alteration in my habits produced effects which I can only compare to

the terrible reaction that a man experiences when waking in the morning

after a night of deep debauch. A dead weight fell upon my spirits. I

became so low and depressed that horrible thoughts of suicide were

constantly floating in my brain. My nervousness was extreme, and

intensely painful. An unusually loud knock or ring at the front-door

would make me start as if I had committed a crime and was expecting

the officers of justice to come and arrest me. I was constantly

conjuring up the most shocking visions respecting the future; and when

immersed in those reveries, I verily believed that I was contemplating

realities--such was the morbid state of my mind!

“It was therefore natural that I should begin to reflect upon the step

which I had taken with regard to Editha. I had sought and won the

affections of a beautiful creature, who was possessed of a generous

heart, an amiable disposition, and a loving soul; and I was shocked to

think that such a being, in all the vigorous health of youthfulness,

should be led to the altar by one whose constitution was shattered,

whose vital energies were almost ruined, and who seemed to be hovering

on the very verge of the tomb! Oh! how maddening were these thoughts!

I looked upon myself as a villain--a deceiver; and often--often was I

on the point of throwing myself at Mrs. Greville’s feet and exclaiming,

‘_Pardon me, madam, for having dared to ask the hand of your daughter

in marriage! I am but a phantom--a shadow: the finger of Death is upon

me,--and if Editha should accompany me to the altar, it is probable

that in less than a year she will have to follow me to the tomb!_’--But

when I thought of Editha’s matchless beauty, and pondered upon the

immensity of the love that I experienced for her, I could not command

the courage necessary to enable me to resign the hope of possessing

such a treasure. Besides, in her society I could smile and be gay: her

musical voice was more ravishing to my ears than the inspired strains

of an improvisatrice;--her breath was more fragrant than the perfume of

flowers--her lips more delicious than the honey-dew upon the blossoms!

Oh! no--no: I could not resign my Editha! But no day had been as yet

fixed for our marriage--and six weeks had already elapsed since I had

proposed and was accepted. Shall I confess the truth? I dared not

ask her mother to name the day: I shrank from the idea as if I were

meditating a murder--had marked out my victim--but dreaded to settle

in my own mind the night and the hour when the assassin-blow should be

struck!

“I was lying in bed one morning, reflecting on all these things--for

the dark fit of despondency was upon me--when my valet entered the

room with the morning’s newspapers. I listlessly unfolded one of the

journals, when my eyes suddenly caught sight of an advertisement,

headed thus:--‘_Manhood, the Reasons of its Early Decline; with Plain

Hints for its Complete Resuscitation._’ This book was announced to

be an emanation from the pen of T. L. Surtees and Co., Consulting

Surgeons, residing in one of the streets leading out of Soho Square;

and it appeared by certain quotations of notices from the leading

newspapers, that the book was a medical treatise of great utility,

merit, and importance. Hope now dawned in upon my soul. Perhaps my

constitution was not irretrievably damaged? Perchance I might not be in

a consumption, after all? Such were my thoughts, after perusing that

advertisement over and over again; and I resolved to lose no time in

calling upon the able practitioners who undertook the resuscitation

of any constitution, no matter how hopeless the case might seem.

Accordingly, having hastily dressed myself, I repaired in a street

cab to the address indicated in the advertisement. The house was one

of imposing appearance; and the words ‘_Surtees and Co., Consulting

Surgeons_,’ were displayed in deep-black letters, on immense shining

zinc-plates. The fawn-coloured Venetian blinds were drawn down; and

I said to myself, as I alighted with a fluttering heart, ‘Doubtless

these eminent practitioners have patients waiting in every room to

consult them.’ Entering the passage, I found an inner door, with a

bronze knocker and a ground-glass fan-light, on which were inscribed

the same words as those that appeared on the polished zinc-plates. I

was immediately admitted by a footman, and conducted up stairs to a

drawing-room, every feature of which is at this moment as fresh in my

memory as if I were seated and writing there now.

“This apartment at first sight impressed me with an idea of luxurious

splendour; but a closer examination into its appointments showed me

that the most vulgar taste had presided over its fitting-up. The paper

was of crimson and gold; and to the walls were suspended several

paintings set in magnificent frames, which only rendered the daubs the

more miserably ludicrous. Two of them were covered with plate-glass,

as if they were very valuable; whereas they were as wretched as the

others. ‘Some unprincipled person,’ thought I, ‘must have imposed

upon these worthy doctors, by recommending pictures to which I would

not accord house-room. But men of philosophic minds and who are

devoted to professional studies, are seldom good judges of works of

art.’ Thus ruminating, I continued my examination of the apartment;

and I was struck with surprise at the utter vulgarity and absence of

taste which characterised the profusion of French porcelain ornaments

scattered about. Here was a Chinese Joss, with a moveable head: and

there was a pedlar mounted on a gigantic goat. At the corners of the

fire-place were two paintings evidently cut out of a picture, and

representing little charity-school girls. In the centre of the room

stood a loo-table, upon which a writing-desk was placed; and this was

surrounded by medical publications, bearing on their title-pages the

magical names of those gentlemen whom I was so anxiously waiting to

see. I had the curiosity to open one of the works: but I was disgusted

with the obscenity of the coloured plates which it contained. A

moment’s reflection, however, induced me to believe that there could

be nothing indecent in the development of the divine art of surgery;

and I felt ashamed of myself for having even for an instant entertained

such scruples. As a concluding observation respecting the drawing-room

itself, I must remark that its entire appearance indicated the taste of

a vulgar upstart, rather than the refined elegance of a polished mind.

“Having waited nearly three quarters of an hour, a footman made his

appearance, and, with many obsequious bows, conducted me down stairs

into a dining-room most gaudily and extravagantly furnished. The

same grovelling vulgarity of taste which I had noticed elsewhere

was apparent in the crimson damask curtains with yellow fringes and

tassels--the looking-glasses in ponderous frames--the showy daubs

suspended to the walls--and the furniture arranged for the purpose of

display. Folding-doors admitted me into an inner apartment, of equally

vulgar appearance; and beyond was a little room, only a few feet

square, and which the footman, as he ushered me in, denominated _the

surgery_.

“I must confess that my heart beat violently as I traversed those

two apartments leading to the _sanctum_ where I expected to find

myself in the presence of the eminent medical practitioners. I had

pictured to myself a couple of old and venerable-looking gentlemen,

with genius stamped upon their high bald foreheads, and their eyes

expressing all the powers of vigorous intellects. I was therefore

somewhat surprised when, on being introduced into the surgery, I beheld

only one individual, who was the very reverse of the portraiture I

had drawn by anticipation. His features were of the Jewish cast: his

complexion was of that swarthy and greasy description peculiar to the

lower order of the Hebrew race;--his hair was black and very thick;

and his whiskers met beneath his chin. His eyes were dark, and one

of them was larger than the other: his bottle-nose was rather on one

side; and his countenance altogether was as ignoble, as vulgar, and

as unintellectual as ever served as an index to a sordid, grovelling

soul. His dress was of the flashy kind which belongs partly to the

upstart or _parvenu_, and partly to the swell-mob’s-man. He wore a blue

dress-coat, a gaudy waistcoat, and large loose trousers hollowed at the

instep so as to be shaped to the polished leathern boot. A profusion of

jewellery decorated his person;--a thick gold chain, with a large key,

depended to his watch--his worked shirt was fastened with diamond and

blue enamel studs;--and his dirty hands were covered with costly rings,

which appeared as ill-placed upon the clumsy, grimy fingers as pearls

would be round the neck of a pig.

“Such was the individual in whose presence I found myself; and had I

not been at the time in such a desperate state of mind that I was eager

to clutch at a straw, I should at once have seen through the man and

his system. But I reassured myself with the adage which teaches that

we should never judge by outward appearances; and it flashed to my

mind that many men remarkable for the brilliancy of their intellect,

were far from being prepossessing in either person, manners, or

address. Moreover, I never had partaken in the shameful, unjust, and

absurd prejudices which too many of my fellow-countrymen entertain in

respect to the Jews; and therefore the mere fact of this Mr. Surtees

being a member of the Hebrew race produced on my mind no unfavourable

impression with regard to him.

“‘Pray be seated,’ said the medical gentleman, with a tone and

manner which I at the time mistook for professional independence,

but which I have since discovered to be the vulgar insolence of an

ignorant, self-sufficient upstart. I took a chair in compliance with

the invitation given; and when he had seated himself at his desk, he

extended his dirty but jewel-bedizened paw, saying, ‘Vill you obleege

me vith yer card?’--I did as requested; but not without a little

hesitation, for I had hoped to avoid giving my name and address.--‘Ah!

I see,’ said Mr. Surtees, in a musing tone, as he examined the card:

‘_Mr. Macdonald_,’ he continued, reading my name. ‘By the vay, air

you any relation to the Markiss of Burlington? ’cos his family name

is the same as your’n.’--I replied that I was not a relative of the

nobleman mentioned.--‘Vell, it don’t sinnify,’ proceeded Mr. Surtees.

‘The Markiss is a hexcellent friend of mine. He lays under a sight

of hobligations to me. He come to me in the first hinstance vith a

constitootion so veared out and shattered that no medical carpenter in

all Hingland could have mended it up except me. But in the course of a

foo weeks I putt him as right as a trivet; and now he’d go through fire

and vater to sarve me. It on’y cost him a couple of thousand pounds to

get quite cured; and that was cheap enow, ’evvins knows! But how comed

you to call upon me this mornin’? Were it in consekvence of having

perooged von of my medical vorks? Ah! them sells vell, them does! Or

were it ’cos you seed my adwer_tise_ment in the noospapers?’--I was

so completely bewildered by this outpouring of execrable English and

vile grammar, that for some moments I was utterly unable to answer the

questions put to me. Was it possible that this coarse, ignorant, and

self-sufficient vulgarian could be an eminent medical authority--the

author of valuable publications--the celebrated surgeon whom the

extracts from newspapers[21] quoted in his advertisement, spoke of so

highly? I was astounded. But again did hope blind me to what the man

really was: again did I reassure myself by the reflection that Mr.

Surtees might be an excellent surgeon, although he was a miserable

grammarian; and I accordingly recovered my self-possession sufficiently

to inform him that I had called in consequence of reading his

advertisement in the newspapers.

“The doctor seemed pleased at my answer, and immediately exclaimed,

‘Vell, sir, and vot a blessin’ it is that people _do_ read

adwer_tise_ments: ’cos vy? they gets at the knowledge of heminent

medikle prektishoners, which has devoted their lives to the hart of

ealing all kinds of diseases. You see before you, sir,’ he continued,

in a pompous tone, and with arrogant air, ‘a man vot knows hevery hin

and hout of the human constitootion. No von knows so vell as myself wot

consumption raly is.’--‘Then you have made consumption your particular

study, sir?’ I observed, seeing that he paused, in order to elicit some

remark from me.--‘Rayther!’ was his laconic answer. ‘The fact is,’ he

continued, ‘foo medikle men is aweer what consumption is, nor in vot

part of the frame it begins. Vy, I vonce knowed a gentleman, sir, which

had a rapid decline begin in the great toe of his left foot, and travel

up’ards, till it spread itself over the hentire system. The doctors

had all give him up, and the undertaker was actiwally thinking of the

good job he should soon have putt into his hand, ven I vos consulted. I

made him take seventeen bottles of my bootiful _Balm of Zura_, and he

rekivered in less than a fortnit.’

“Weak, nervous, and attenuated as I was, this anecdote made a deep

impression upon me. I forgot the bad grammar--I lost sight of the

arrogance and self-sufficient vulgarity: I saw and heard only the man

who solemnly assured me that he had redeemed a fellow-creature from the

jaws of death, when all other members of the faculty had given up the

case as hopeless. Mr. Surtees doubtless perceived that he had worked

me up to the pitch suitable to his purposes; and he accordingly said,

‘Vell, my good sir, vill you be so good as to explain wot it is that

you’ve come to consult me for?’ I then frankly and candidly confessed

that I had expended four-fifths of a large fortune in a career of

unbroken dissipation--that my constitution was grievously impaired,

if not absolutely ruined--that since I had given up drinking and all

other sources of unnatural excitement, I was subject to such frequent

fits of despondency that the idea of suicide was almost constantly

in my imagination--that I loved and was beloved by a beautiful girl

who was possessed of property--but that I felt afraid to contract the

matrimonial engagement, lest I should leave her an unprotected widow in

the course of a short time. Mr. Surtees listened with great attention;

and when I had concluded, he appeared to reflect profoundly. At length

he said, ‘Vell, let’s feel yer pulse.’--I extended my hand towards

him; and he applied his thumb to a part of my wrist where I did not

suppose that a pulse lay: but I concluded at the time that his great

proficiency in medicine had led him to discover a new pulse, and that

the best mode to test it was with the thumb.--‘Wery veak pulse indeed!’

he said, shaking his head with as much solemnity as the Chinese Joss

up in his drawing-room might have been expected to display. ‘But don’t

go for to give vay to despair, my dear sir; the case is a bad ’un, I

admit--a wery, wery bad ’un; and I can’t say as how that I ever knowed

a wusser. Pray, who’s the young lady which you intends to marry? I’ve

a motive in axing.’--I thought that as the learned gentleman was

already acquainted with my name and address, there could be no harm in

answering this new question, the more especially as even if I refused

to reply, he could easily institute those enquiries that would lead to

a knowledge of the fact: I accordingly satisfied him on that head. ‘Ah!

I don’t know her,’ he observed, carelessly: then, after a few moments’

reflection, he said ‘Vell, I undertake to cure you; but the business

vill be a hexpensive von. You must write me a cheque for a hundred

guineas, my consultation fee; and then I’ll tell you wot you must do

next.’--Reassured by the promises he thus held out, I unhesitatingly

gave him a draft for the amount demanded. He then opened a drawer,

and drew forth a small case containing six bottles. ‘This here is

the rale elixir of life,’ he said, in a tone of solemn mystery: ‘it

inwigorates the constitootion in no time, and puts a reglar stopper on

the adwance of consumption. The Grand Turk has a case sent every veek

to him through his Hambassador, and all the crowned heads in Europe is

patients of mine, I may say. Take a bottle of this bootiful balm daily;

and ven it’s all gone, come back again to me. The price of them six is

fifteen guineas; and you can write me out another cheque at vonce.’--I

hastened to comply with this demand; and Mr. Surtees bowed me out of

the surgery.

“But here I must leave off writing; for I am wearied--my brain begins

to grow confused--and my memory fails me. Oh! what a fool--what an

idiot I was, not to have seen through the man and his quackery on the

occasion of that visit, the particulars of which I have detailed at

such length.

* * * * *

“_June 18th, 1846._

“I again resume my narrative. Five days have elapsed since I last put

pen to paper; and that interval has been one of darkness. Yes--the fit

was upon me: but it has passed--and I am now calm and collected once

again. I have just read over all that I have written above; and I have

laughed heartily at the fidelity and minuteness of my description of

the first visit that I paid to the quack-doctor. Let me now continue my

narrative; for the incidents are once more all fresh and vivid in my

memory.

“I am well aware that the imagination has much to do with our diseases

and our cures. Possessed of what I deemed to be a salutary medicine,

my spirits rose; and at the close of each of the six days during which

the supply of balm lasted, I said to myself, ‘I certainly feel stronger

and better.’ The fits of despondency were far less frequent, and less

intense: my appetite improved--and the colour came partially back

to my cheeks. This change was no doubt effected principally by the

steady life which I adopted, and by the increased mental tranquillity

which I experienced. I was moreover filled with hope that a complete

restoration to health would be accomplished; and thus, while at the

time I attributed everything to the medicine, I have not the least

doubt that the stuff was utterly valueless in itself. Editha was

rejoiced to find my spirits so much improving; and her mother expressed

her delight at the regular habits which I had adopted. I did not

mention to a soul my visit to Mr. Surtees: that was my secret--and a

sense of shame made me cherish it religiously. At the expiration of the

week I called upon him again, and on this occasion was at once admitted

into his surgery. There was another fee of a hundred guineas--another

six bottles of medicine prescribed, and another cheque given for the

amount thereof. He asked me if I had read his book yet; and I was

compelled to reply in the negative. ‘Vell, never mind,’ he said; ‘I

ain’t offended; but you shall have a hopportunlty of perooging it

before you come agen. I’ll jest step up into the drawing-room and get

you von.’ He accordingly quitted the surgery; and during his temporary

absence an irresistible feeling of curiosity prompted me to look at a

note which lay open upon the table. I read it; and thus it ran, word

for word:--‘_Dear Joe, You ax me 2 lend you mi dipplomy for a few days,

just to make a show with to a new payshent; but i vunce for all tell

you as how i’d rayther not lett it go out of my house. Besides, it’s of

no use to you, ’cos it’s made out in the name of La’Vert, and you’ve

took the name of Surtees. So no more from your affecshonate brother,

&c._’--This note was signed by the name of La’Vert; and therefore it

was apparent that the real appellation of my friend Mr. Surtees was

Joseph La’Vert. It struck me in a moment that I had become the dupe

of a quack; but I had sufficient command over myself to restrain my

indignation when he returned to the room. He was accompanied by a

woman--I cannot say a lady--whom he introduced to me as his wife. And

here I must pause to say a few descriptive words of her.

“Mrs. Surtees was a vulgar, dark-complexioned Jewess, with a long

hooked nose. Her flesh seemed as if it had been smeared with oil, and

then wiped with a dry towel; but on her cheeks she wore an immoderate

quantity of rouge. She was exceedingly stout, with an enormous bust:

her hair, rough and wavy, was arranged in bands and plastered down

with quince-pips. She was dressed in the most outrageous style, and

as she herself expressed it, ’was about to go hout for a haring in

the carridge.’ Her gown was of green velvet; her shawl of bright red;

and her bonnet of rose pink, adorned with a profusion of artificial

flowers, inside and out. She wore very pink silk stockings and short

petticoats, as she had conceived the erroneous impression that there

was something attractive in her elephantine leg. As a matter of course,

she carried a complete jeweller’s shop about her person. She wore no

gloves; and her large red hands were covered with rings. Her ear-rings

were of gold studded with turquoise; and now her portraiture is

complete.

“Scarcely had the ceremony of introduction taken place, when another

female bounced into the apartment, and she was immediately presented

to me as Mrs. Surtees’ sister. Such a pair was never seen before!

They looked like a butcher’s daughters in their Sunday’s best; and

they were attired with an evidently studied view to contrast. For the

sister’s gown was of blue velvet, her shawl of flaunting yellow hue,

and her bonnet white. These ladles, having favoured me with a good long

stare and a few observations relative to the weather and such-like

common-place topics, quitted the room to enter their vehicle which was

waiting at the door. Mr. Surtees had the gallantry to accompany them

as far as the carriage; and the moment I was alone again, I had the

curiosity to traverse the two rooms and take a peep from the front

window. The equipage was in perfect keeping with the appointments of

the house and the attire of the occupants. It was a barouche, painted

bright blue on the body: but all the under part and wheels were of

straw colour. The inside was lined with yellow morocco. It was drawn by

two brown cobs, the harness exhibiting a profusion of silver; and the

coachman’s livery was of a gaudy blue, with buttons also of silver.

“But while I was making these observations from the window, my ears

were saluted with a brief colloquy that took place in the passage

between Mr. Surtees and his wife, ere he handed her to the carriage.

They doubtless believed that I had remained in the surgery, and

little thought that I was near enough to catch all they said.--‘Vell,

Joe,’ exclaimed Mrs. Surtees, ‘any monzel[22] vith that pale-faced

young feller vich you said were so ’ansome and made me come in to

see?’--‘A good moza-motton,’[23] he answered, with a vulgar chuckling

laugh.--‘Oh! then, he stumped the guelt?’[24] demanded the woman,

joining in the cachinnation.--‘To be sure he did, my love,’ responded

this precious consulting-surgeon: ‘and I means to have a good deal more

out on him afore I’ve done.’--‘Oh! wery vell, then,’ returned Mrs.

Surtees: ‘in this case the boy Abey must have a new polka hat, and

little Joe a new welwet dress out of it’--‘All right!’ exclaimed the

consulting-surgeon. ‘Come, cut along, and astonish the natives in the

park a bit. I shall jine you presently.’ He then handed the two women

into the carriage; and I hurried back to the surgery, where I seated

myself till his return--so that he could not suspect I had quitted the

place during his temporary absence. I longed to tell him all I knew or

suspected relative to his real character: but a fear of exposure made

me silent--and I took my leave of him with as much civility as I could

bring myself to bestow upon such a person.

“I knew that I had been completely and thoroughly victimised: but on

reflection, I was glad of it. I saw that the circumstance of taking

the medicine had stimulated my imagination, and had thereby aided in

improving my health. On my return home, I threw the six bottles away

without drinking another drop of the trashy balm; and I sent at once

for a respectable physician, who, for a fee of five guineas, gave me

proper advice. I then came to the conclusion that it is always better,

under any emergency, to have recourse to legitimate assistance than to

seek the aid of advertisers--no matter whether the subject involved

be medicine, law, or money. My health improved rapidly; and at the

expiration of three months I became the happy husband of the equally

happy Editha.

Here must I pause for a time: the recollection of my wedding-day has

revived memories which overpower me!

* * * * *

“_June 20th, 1846._

“I resume my narrative. Twelve months had elapsed after my marriage

with the loveliest and most amiable woman in the universe; and

nothing had transpired to interrupt our felicity. A boy had blest our

union--and I was as happy as a husband and father could possibly be.

My health was almost completely re-established; and my habits were

regular and domestic. I loathed the idea of those exciting pleasures

and feverish enjoyments in the vortex of which I had nearly wrecked

everything--health, fortune, and reputation; and Mrs. Greville, who

dwelt with us, would often assure me with a smile that I was the very

pattern of good husbands. My brother, who had become a magistrate, was

a frequent visitor at our house; and all was progressing in peace,

comfort, and tranquillity, when an incident suddenly occurred to

interfere with that smiling prospect.

“It was late one evening, shortly after my beloved Editha’s recovery

from her confinement, that I was informed that a person who refused

to give his name desired to speak with me in private. I ordered the

servant to show him into the library; and thither I immediately

afterwards proceeded. The man whom I encountered there was a short,

thick-set fellow, with a forbidding countenance: he was flashily

dressed, and had about him an air of jaunty impudence as if he had

come upon some evil mission in which he knew that he should succeed.

I asked him his business, without inviting him to be seated--for I

conceived a dislike to him the instant I set eyes upon his sinister

features. ‘Your name is Macdonald?’ he said, flinging himself into a

chair in a very free-and-easy manner.--‘There is no necessity for you

to acquaint me with that fact,’ I observed, assuming as chilling a

tone as possible.--‘Oh! but there is, though!’ he ejaculated: ‘because

I must make sure that I am speaking to the right person. Well, you

admit your name: now will you tell me whether you’re the gentleman

that married Miss Editha Greville?’--‘What means this impudence?’

I demanded angrily. ‘Explain your business, sir, without farther

circumlocution.’--‘I’ll come to the point in a minute,’ returned the

man, quite unabashed. ‘Fifteen or sixteen months ago you used to visit

a certain gentleman who lives not a hundred miles from Soho Square.’--I

started and turned pale: for it struck me in a moment that the fellow

was alluding to the _consulting-surgeon_.--‘Well, now I see that it’s

all right,’ he exclaimed, doubtless drawing this inference from the

confusion of my manner. ‘Of course you would rather it shouldn’t be

known that you _did_ visit the gentleman,’ he added emphatically.--‘I

do not understand your meaning,’ I replied.--‘Look here, then,’

continued the fellow: ‘it would not be very pleasant to have your

brother, your mother-in-law, your friends, your tradesmen, your

servants, and even your wife, made acquainted with the fact that you

were under Mr. Surtees for some time previous to your marriage.’--‘I

never visited him but twice!’ were the words that I gasped out, for

horrible sensations were coming rapidly over me.--‘Never mind how often

it was,’ cried the man, in a brutal tone: ‘you did call to consult him,

and that’s enough for me. Now then, ’tis for you to say how much you’ll

give me to keep the secret.’--‘Wretch! extortioner!’ I ejaculated, rage

succeeding alarm in my breast--‘It’s of no use to attempt to bully

me,’ said the ruffian, with the most cold-blooded composure: ‘I want

money, and I mean to get it out of you.’--‘Or else?’ I said, all my

wretched feelings returning, as I saw myself threatened with exposure,

shame, and irretrievable degradation.--‘Or else,’ he repeated, ‘I shall

tell the secret to all the people I have named; and then we shall see

whether you will ever hold up your head in society again.’--‘And how

much money do you require?’ I asked, my heart sinking within me.--‘Five

hundred will do for the present,’ he responded imperiously.--‘For the

present?’ I cried, echoing his words: ‘what! do you mean to visit me

again for such a purpose?’--‘Not if you shell out at once, and without

making any more words about it,’ he said.--There was no alternative

save to comply; and I accordingly counted into his hand the Bank-notes

for the sum named. In another minute he had taken his departure--and I

was left alone to meditate upon the scene that had just occurred.

“It was a long time before I could so far compose my countenance and

my feelings as to be able to return to the parlour without exciting

the suspicions of my wife and mother-in-law that something unpleasant

had taken place. But I managed to conceal the sorrow which the event

of the evening had engendered within me; and early on the following

morning I paid a visit to Mr. Surtees. He did not appear at first to

recollect me--or, at all events, if he did, he was a wonderful adept

in playing the part of forgetfulness: but when I mentioned my name,

he exclaimed, ‘Vy, is it possible that you’ve come back to consult me

again?’--‘Far from it,’ I answered, with a bitterness which I could

not hide, and which he failed not to notice; for he bit his lip, and

coloured deeply. I then related to him the particulars of the visit

I had received on the previous evening, and accused him of being the

prime mover in the matter. But he repelled the charge with so much

indignation--whether real or feigned I cannot even now determine--that

I certainly believed him at the time; and, were I at present writing

for the purpose of having my narrative read by the world, I should be

loth indeed to have it inferred that Mr. Surtees was in reality mixed

up with the case of extortion. Much as I hate and despise him, I will

not do him a wanton injustice; and I am therefore bound to state that

he was warm and energetic in his assurances of complete innocence

respecting the transaction.--‘But how could the man have known that I

ever _did_ visit you?’ I asked.--‘Vell things does get abroad in a many

most unaccountable vays,’ he responded: ‘but I take my Gosh to witness

that I’m as clear of this business as the babe vot’s unborn. Vot can I

do to conwince you that such is the fect?’--‘I do not entertain such

a dreadful opinion of human nature as to disbelieve you, sir,’ was my

rejoinder; and I took my leave. But, distressed and harassed as I was,

I could not help noticing the strong and disagreeable odour of fried

fish that came up from the lower regions of the dwelling: nor could I

avoid a smile as I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Surtees, who was running

hastily up stairs, having evidently emerged from the kitchen--for her

swarthy countenance was as greasy as it could be, and her appearance

was dirty and slovenly in the extreme. Yet, a few hours later in the

day, this woman would doubtless turn out in all the flaunting gaud of

her rainbow attire and in the profuse display of her costly jewellery!

“I must again repeat that I quitted Mr. Surtees’ abode with the

conviction that he was anything but an accomplice in the scheme of

extortion; and I said to myself, as I returned homeward, ‘The scene of

last night is one of those penalties which we are doomed to pay for the

irregularities and evil courses of our youthful years. But, even though

Surtees himself be innocent, is not the extortionate deed all the same

a result of an infamous system of quackery? Destroy that system--and

the quietude of men’s homes could not thus be troubled by the visits of

extortioners!’--By degrees my mind grew calmer; and as weeks and months

fled away, I had almost ceased to think of the occurrence which had

so much ruffled me, when one evening the man reappeared at the house.

Again was the ominous message delivered to me while I was seated in

the society of my beloved wife and her excellent mother--again did I

see the man in private--and again was I compelled to endure his cool

insolence and yield to his extortionate demands. Another five hundred

pounds was transferred from my pocket to his own;--and once more was

I forced to veil the real condition of my feelings when I rejoined

the ladies in the parlour. And now, as time slipped away, I did not

lose the misgivings that this second visit had excited in my mind--I

could not forget that I was in the power of a villain, who was certain

to come back again. Months passed; and a third time--I remember it

well--it was on Christmas eve,--the fatal message was delivered to me.

On this occasion I started so violently and betrayed so much confusion

that both my wife and mother-in-law observed my agitation. I however

hurried away, without responding to their anxious enquiries; and when

once more in the presence of the extortioner, I heaped the bitterest

reproaches upon him. He heard me with a coolness and a self-possession

that only augmented my wrath; and at length I ceased speaking through

sheer exhaustion. He then informed me, in his imperious and rude

manner, that he had an opportunity of emigrating under the most

favourable services--that he required a thousand pounds--and that if

I gave him this sum, he would never trouble me again. I bound him by

the most solemn oaths to that pledge; and, to save myself from a shame

that would have crushed me down to the very dust and rendered life

intolerable, I gave the miscreant a cheque on my bankers for the large

amount which he demanded. But on my return to the company of my Editha

and Mrs. Greville, I was compelled to invent falsehoods to account

for my confusion; and I beheld, with pain and bitter grief, that they

both saw that I was deceiving them--that I was concealing the real

truth--and that there was something upon my mind![25]

“Oh! yes--and they conjectured truly; for my peace was now so

thoroughly disturbed, that I despaired of regaining it. I felt

convinced that, in spite of the villain’s solemn vows, he would come

back again; and I dreaded to be at home--for every knock at the

door made me start nervously. If I walked or rode out, on my return

I dreaded lest the servants should inform me that a certain person

had called for me during my absence, and would look in again in the

evening. Thus my life became a veritable burthen to me; and my sorrow

was aggravated by the stern necessity of retaining it all in my own

breast. Often and often did I think of inventing some excuse to

induce my wife and her mother to consent that we should break up our

establishment in London, and repair to the continent. But what apology

could I devise for such a strange proceeding?--and, moreover, would not

the extortioner find me out, if he set himself to the work? because

to imagine any feasible ground for changing our name, was impossible.

Thus months passed away, without seeing me determine upon any plan to

frustrate the extortioner should he return; and I saw that my Editha’s

health and spirits began to fail--because she knew that I was secretly

unhappy!

“And the extortioner _did_ come back: and again was I forced to

yield to his demands. Two thousand pounds did he obtain from me

on this occasion; and when I reminded him of his solemn pledges

and sacred vows, he laughed outright in my face. Oh! how I

hated--abhorred--loathed that man! I could have slain him on the spot:

but I thought of my dear wife and innocent boy, and I restrained

my hand. And now my mind became seriously unsettled--a painful

nervousness constantly maintained its influence over me--my health

gave way again, as rapidly under the heavy weight of sorrow as it

did beneath the wearing effects of dissipation. Oh! yes--and what

was worse than all, was that my Editha grew paler and thinner day by

day--visibly;--and I dared not attempt to console her--I could not

force my tongue to frame a lie to assure her that I myself was happy.

Thus was our once happy home changed to a scene of gloom: a deep

despondency hung upon us all--and I perceived, with ineffable anguish,

that Mrs. Greville began to view me with distrust. Perhaps she thought

that some crime lay heavy upon my soul: yes--this must have been her

impression--or she would doubtless have questioned me. But she did

not live long enough to behold the sad catastrophe: a short though

severe illness snatched her to the tomb--and, circumstanced as I was,

I rejoiced in secret at the event,--for I said to myself, ‘There is at

all events one being the less to deceive--one being the less to watch

me with mournful and silently appealing looks!’--O God! It was not

strange--it was not wonderful if madness were beginning even then to

undermine the strong tower of my reason!

“Scarcely were the remains of my mother-in-law consigned to the tomb,

when the extortioner reappeared at the house. His demands increased

in proportion to the concessions which were made to him by my fears;

but I was totally unable to comply with his present exigences. It is

true that there was much property still left;--but it was settled on

my wife--and I could not command from my own resources the sum needed.

This I candidly told him, and besought him to be merciful;--yes, with

tears in my eyes did I beseech him. The wretch! the monster! what

cared he for my grief--my anguish? He desired me to have recourse

to a discounter--gave me the address of a money-lender--and said he

should return on the following evening. Accordingly--impelled by my

wretched, wretched destiny--I visited the money-lender, who advanced

me three thousand pounds on my own acceptance, and at most usurious

interest. The whole of that money found its way into the pocket of the

extortioner; and when he had taken his departure, I fell down in a fit.

For days and days did I keep my bed; and when I awoke to consciousness,

it was from a delirium. My dear wife was seated by my bed-side; but, O

God!--how pale--how altered--how wan she was with long vigils and deep

grief! I questioned her guardedly to ascertain whether in my ravings

I had betrayed my secret: but I learnt, beyond all doubt, that I had

_not_. Then I began to breathe more freely; and she, throwing her

arms about my neck, exclaimed, while tears streamed in torrents down

her cheeks, ‘My beloved husband, you have some dreadful grief preying

upon your mind. May I not be made your confidant? I have observed that

always after the visits of the man who calls every now and then, and

invariably in the evening, you are stricken as with a heavy affliction.

Oh! what does it all mean?--I endeavoured to console her--to soothe

her--to reassure her as well as I could; but I saw that she only

pretended to be solaced, for my sake!

“Well--I recovered: but happiness and I had shaken hands for ever. I

felt as if I were followed about by an invisible demon, whose breath

poisoned the very atmosphere that I breathed. I know that my brain was

reeling--that my reason was tottering that I was going mad! Often did

I think seriously of murdering my wife and child, and putting an end

to my own existence. But I dared not lay violent hands upon _them_;

and I had too much moral courage still left to seek death so long as

there remained a single tie, however feeble, to bind me to life. But

a new misfortune was in store for me--for _us_. A solicitor in whom I

and my wife trusted, obtained our signatures to certain deeds under

the foulest representations; and by virtue thereof he sold out all the

stock standing in Editha’s name in the Bank. He then absconded; and

we were suddenly reduced from affluence to comparative penury. I was

unable to honour my acceptance; and the discounter would listen to no

terms. He said that he had passed it away in the regular course of

business, and could not take it up himself. I was arrested and thrown

into prison. My friends deserted me, believing that wanton extravagance

on my part had led to this catastrophe. Yes: all save my beloved wife

deserted me--and she, the angel! remained faithful to me! We had two

hundred and fifty pounds a year still left; and on the houses which

produced this income, my wife insisted on raising the money necessary

to obtain my release. But such a proceeding would have left us beggars;

and I could not endure the idea of misery for one--two--three persons!

No: the property was so secured that my creditor could not touch

it--and I resolved, by the advice of an attorney, to apply for relief

to the Insolvents’ Court. I did so; and the creditor opposed me on the

ground of extravagance. I could give no account of the manner in which

I had disposed of the money he had advanced me--and when the opposing

counsel asked me, on my oath, whether I had not lost it at gambling,

I greedily snapped at the means of explanation thus furnished,

and perjured myself by the utterance of an affirmative. Oh! that

miscreant extortioner!--he drove me to ruin--a prison--the Insolvents’

Court--perjury--and lastly to a mad-house! Great God! how can I write

thus tranquilly when I think of all the wrongs that I have endured?

* * * * *

“_July 23rd, 1846._

“I have been compelled to desist again: but at length I resume my

pen. My ideas are rapidly becoming more settled: I think that I shall

recover altogether, if I can but manage to escape from this place!

“I stated that I appeared at the Insolvents’ Court, and was opposed

by the holder of the bill for three thousand pounds. The Commissioner

remanded me to prison for twelve months as a punishment for wanton and

profligate expenditure. I shall not dwell upon that long incarceration:

it was horrible to a sensitive soul like mine. Even Editha, patient and

loving as she was, failed to solace me altogether. There were intervals

of anguish so bitter that I fancied myself at times to be already dead

and enduring the torments of hell. Dreadful thought! But at length the

time passed--and I was once more free. We took a neat little cottage

in the suburbs of the metropolis; and tranquility seemed to have been

restored to us at last. Our son throve gloriously: Oh! what a handsome

boy he became--what a handsome boy he must be now! Nearly two yeas

passed--and I was recovering my mental serenity, when one day I met

the extortioner in the street. Oh! what a cold shudder came over me as

I saw his eyes fixed upon me! It seemed as if a horrible spectre had

suddenly started up from the earth to horrify and appal me. I beheld

_Ruin_ personified; and a faintness came over me. But I was recalled

to a poignant sense of my misery by the well-known voice, that fell

upon my ears, making fresh demands upon my purse. I took the man into

an obscure public-house close by; and, as there was no one in the

room save ourselves at the time, we could converse freely upon the

business. Freely, indeed! when every word he uttered fell like drops

of molten lead upon my heart--and every syllable I breathed in return

hissed from my parched tongue like water passing over red hot iron!

What could I do? The fiend insisted upon having money, and swore that

he would follow me home. He, however, measured his demands to my means,

and insisted upon having three hundred pounds by a given hour the next

evening. We parted--and I saw that he dogged me: indeed, he did not

attempt to conceal himself nor his intentions as he followed me until I

entered my own door--and I knew that it was useless either to turn upon

him in a hostile manner, or to attempt to baffle his aim.

[Illustration]

“Heaven only knows how I contrived to explain to my wife the reason

of my altered appearance--or rather, how I managed to conceal the

real cause beneath a falsehood. But I did succeed in reassuring her

somewhat; and on the following day I went to the discounter--the same

discounter who had lent me money before--to ask him for a loan. It

was a desperate step, taken by a desperate man: but, to my surprise,

he consented without the slightest hesitation to accommodate me. I

received the money--gave my note of hand--and paid the amount to the

extortioner. But things had now reached a crisis with me--and I became

so unsettled in my mind that Editha was seriously alarmed. I remember

that my brother, the magistrate, was sent for; and he visited the house

after having been long estranged from me. Then a mist came over my

memory; and, when I awoke, I was--here!

“Yes--here, where I now pen these lines! Oh! I have been mad--raving

mad; and Heaven knows that I have endured enough to make me so. Such

persecution could only end in insanity. But I am better now: nay--I

am well--although my friends will not believe it. My brother was here

yesterday; and I saw by the way in which he humoured me when I told

him I was fast recovering my reason, that he still imagines me to be

insane. I implored him to let me see Editha and my boy: he declared

that I should have that pleasure next Sunday. He likewise told me that

they were well in health, but deeply grieved on my account.

“Now I have made up my mind how to act. I shall escape from this

horrible place, and proceed to France. There I shall adopt an assumed

name--and thence I shall write to Editha to join me at once with our

son. We shall be beyond the reach of the extortioner--and tranquil,

if not happy days may yet await us. Yes--this is my hope! But shall I

destroy the manuscript upon which I have laboured so arduously, and

which has furnished me with an occupation that has done me so much

good? No: I cannot consent to annihilate the papers which contain a

narrative so fraught with awful warning. But does it not likewise

contain my secret?--and is not my name mentioned in the course of the

recital? Hark! footsteps approach--I must conceal my papers----”

CHAPTER CLXXXIX.

SCENES IN THE LUNATIC ASYLUM.

Thus terminated the extraordinary manuscript which Lord William

Trevelyan found in the wardrobe, and the perusal of which occupied him

nearly two hours.

He was undecided how to dispose of the papers. Should he return

them to the place where they had been concealed?--should he destroy

them?--should he take them away with him, in the hope of being one day

enabled to discover their writer, and by restoring them to him convince

him that they had fallen into the possession of an honourable man, who,

though having had the curiosity to read them, would, nevertheless,

religiously keep the secret which they contained?

For, from the abrupt termination of the manuscript, Lord William very

naturally concluded that the unfortunate author had succeeded in

effecting his escape from the lunatic-asylum very shortly after he

had penned the last words in the narrative; and the young nobleman,

therefore, considered it to be possible, though perhaps not very

probable, that he might sooner or later encounter Mr. Macdonald in the

great and busy world.

Lord William had likewise another motive for retaining the papers.

The reader has seen enough of him to be aware that there was in his

disposition much of the same chivalrous spirit and philanthropic

principle which characterised the Earl of Ellingham; and it was

therefore natural that he should become suddenly impressed with the

idea of adopting measures, in due course, for the purpose of fully

exposing the atrocious system of quackery that was carried on by

pseudo-medical advertisers.

He remembered that the newspapers contained many advertisements

announcing such works as the one which had proved the means of

ensnaring the unfortunate Mr. Macdonald; and he was resolved to lose

no time in employing his solicitor to institute all the necessary

inquiries into the characters, histories, proceedings, and social

positions of the scoundrels who thus accumulated large fortunes by

means of the most atrocious quackery, deceit, rascality, and extortion.

The manuscript which chance had this night thrown in his way, contained

so many important particulars, and furnished such a complete clue to

the entire ramifications of the dark iniquity which the young nobleman

was determined to expose, that he regarded it as a powerful auxiliary

to the crusade he was about to undertake; and this consideration, added

to the motives already mentioned, decided him in retaining possession

of the document.

It was now one o’clock in the morning; and a profound silence reigned

throughout the lunatic asylum.

Lord William noiselessly opened the door of his chamber, and looked

forth into the long passage, which was partially lighted by a single

lamp that had been left burning.

No living being was to be seen; and nothing disturbed the dead

stillness of the hour and the place.

It now struck the young nobleman that the door of the chamber which he

was anxious to enter--namely, No. 12, in the same passage as his own

apartment--was most probably locked; and, in this case, he made up his

mind to force it at all risks.

A little farther reflection suggested to him that, inasmuch as he

had seen the housekeeper with only a single key in her hand, it was

probable that this key was a pass to all the chambers; and he thence

inferred that the key of his own room might perhaps fit the lock of the

door belonging to No. 12.

At all events this was the first experiment that he resolved to try;

and, without any longer delay, he proceeded as cautiously as possible

down the passage, until he reached the chamber which he hoped and

believed to be the one occupied by his friend.

There was a bolt outside the door: this was immediately drawn

back;--and Trevelyan essayed the key.

To his indescribable joy, the key turned easily in the lock; and, with

a beating heart, the nobleman entered the room--closing the door behind

him.

The chamber was quite dark: but Trevelyan speedily groped his way to

the window and drew aside the curtains, so as to permit the powerful

moonlight to pour its silver flood into the room.

He now approached the bed--and there, to his delight, he beheld the

well-known, though worn and wasted, countenance of his friend Sir

Gilbert Heathcote, who was wrapped in slumber.

Lord William shook him gently; the baronet awoke with a sudden start

and ejaculation; but at the same instant a friendly voice said,

hurriedly, “Fear nothing! ’tis I--Trevelyan--and I am come to deliver

you from this accursed place.”

Sir Gilbert, who had raised his head from the pillow, fell back again,

and closed his eyes for a few moments. He fancied that he was dreaming.

He could not believe that those welcome words had in reality sounded in

his ears, or that the moonlight had shown him the form of his friend by

the bed-side.

Trevelyan did not choose to interrupt the baronet’s reverie

immediately; he comprehended the prudence of allowing him to collect

his scattered ideas, and compose his thoughts.

“Is it really you, my dear young friend?” Sir Gilbert asked abruptly;

and, starting up in the bed, he seized Trevelyan’s hand, and gazed

fixedly upon his countenance.

“Yes, it is no dream,” responded Lord William, pressing the baronet’s

hand with all the fervour of his generous friendship; “I am here to

effect your escape, and there is no time to be lost.”

Still the baronet could scarcely believe the joyful announcement thus

made to him; and Trevelyan, duly impressed with the necessity of

tranquilising and reassuring his friend’s mind as much as possible ere

the attempt at departure should be made,--fearing likewise that the

baronet’s intellect had been somewhat impaired by the sense of wrong

and the horrors of imprisonment in a lunatic asylum,--began to speak

upon such topics as were calculated to direct his thoughts into a

salutary channel.

“My dear Heathcote,” he said, “endeavour to call to your aid as much

calmness and self-possession as possible; for a single inadvertence

or false step may ruin our project by alarming the house. Remember

that the place is as well protected and defended, and probably as well

watched, as a gaol: and we must proceed with caution--courage--and

coolness.”

“But how did you find your way into the establishment?” enquired Sir

Gilbert, his ideas becoming more settled.

“By pretending to be insane,” answered Trevelyan; “and I have succeeded

in thoroughly duping the Doctor.”

“Oh! my generous--my noble-hearted friend!” exclaimed the baronet: “how

can I ever sufficiently prove my gratitude----”

“Hush! speak not with excitement!” interrupted Trevelyan. “I am only

doing towards you what you would unhesitatingly perform for me under

the same circumstances. And now--as I am anxious to relieve your

mind as much as possible from any uneasiness or suspense that it may

experience--I must at once inform you that Mrs. Sefton is in good

health, and at this moment in the happy expectation of shortly seeing

you again; for she is aware of the scheme which I have adopted to

restore you to liberty.”

“Heaven be thanked for these assurances!” exclaimed Sir Gilbert: then,

after a few moments’ pause, he said, “I need scarcely ask you to

explain how you became acquainted with Mrs. Sefton. She was no stranger

to the friendship subsisting between you and me--and I therefore

conclude that, alarmed by my sudden and inexplicable disappearance, she

sought your counsel and assistance.”

“All has occurred precisely as you conjecture,” answered Trevelyan.

“But do you now feel equal to the task----”

“Of making an effort to recover my freedom?” ejaculated Sir Gilbert,

leaping from the couch. “Let us not lose another moment! The atmosphere

of this place seems oppressive, and heavy to breathe. I pant--I

yearn--I long for liberty.”

Thus speaking, the baronet began hastily to put on his attire, and in a

few minutes he was dressed.

“Now,” said Trevelyan, “we must decide upon the course to be adopted.

Doubtless there is a porter to keep watch all night in the hall?” he

added, interrogatively.

“Yes,” answered Sir Gilbert: “and I am also certain that a man patrols

the garden. Besides, the keepers inside the house are as wakeful and as

watchful as the fiends of Pandemonium; and the least noise will bring

half-a-dozen strong and desperate fellows upon us. For my part, I have

not the slightest objection to embrace the alternative of fighting our

way through all opposition----”

“But the consequences of defeat would be most disastrous,” interrupted

Trevelyan. “The Doctor would thereby gain an excuse for coercing both

you and me; and although I am as it were my own prisoner, yet I have

sworn not to quit these walls unless accompanied by you.”

“Generous friend!” exclaimed Sir Gilbert. “Were we well armed, we might

bid defiance to the Doctor and all his gang: but weaponless--powerless

as we are----”

“Do not despond, Heathcote,” said Trevelyan, observing that the baronet

spoke in a mournful tone: “the task that I have undertaken, I will

accomplish! There appear to me to be two modes of procedure. The first

is to descend as noiselessly as possible to the hall--seize upon the

porter--master him--and then effect our escape by the front-door. The

other is to force away the bars from the window of this room--make

a rope of the bed-clothing--descend into the garden--and take our

chance with the watchman. Either project is attended with the risk of

creating an alarm: but it is for you to decide, from your knowledge of

the premises and the habits of its inmates, which scheme is the more

feasible.”

“The former,” responded Sir Gilbert, after a few moments’ deep

reflection. “The watchman in the garden would probably observe us at

the window, removing the bars; and an alarm would thus be raised even

before we were prepared to attempt an escape by those means. On the

other hand, the porter sleeps in the hall:--of _this_ fact I am well

assured, because I saw the bed temporarily made up for him there on the

night that I was brought hither:--therefore our chances of success lie

in that direction.”

“Such also is my idea,” observed Trevelyan. “Let us proceed at

once--and permit me to take the lead.”

The young nobleman and the baronet stole cautiously forth from the

chamber, treading so lightly that their steps raised not a sound to

disturb the silence which prevailed throughout the establishment.

They descended to the first floor in safety: and there they paused for

a few minutes on the landing, listening with suspended breath.

The deep and regular respiration of the porter now reached their ears

from the hall below; and they thus obtained the assurance that the man

slumbered.

Exchanging looks of satisfaction, they descended the last flight

of stairs;--and, by the hall lamp, they perceived the porter

comfortably ensconced in a truckle-bed that was made up for him in a

convenient corner. The light fell on his rubicund countenance, which

was surmounted by a cotton nightcap: but the brawny arm that lay

outside the coverlid, and the tracing of his form as shaped by the

bed-clothes, showed full well that he was a man of herculean stature

and proportionate strength.

Nothing daunted--but resolving upon a desperate effort to accomplish

the purpose he had in view--Lord William Trevelyan led the way into

the hall; and he had just ascertained the fact that there was a bunch

of large keys peeping forth from beneath the sleeping porter’s pillow,

when the door of the supper-room suddenly opened, and Mr. Sheepshanks

staggered forth.

The reverend gentleman carried a candle in his hand; and, by his

flushed countenance, vacant stare, and unsteady walk, he was evidently

in a pretty advanced state of intoxication. In fact--and there is no

necessity to disguise the matter--the pious minister had sate up to

enjoy himself alone; and he had carried his libations to such an extent

that he was now, at two o’clock in the morning, most awfully drunk.

The moment Lord William caught sight of the inebriate minister, he

sprang upon him--placed his hand tightly over his mouth--and, thrusting

him back into the supper-room, said in a low but hasty and threatening

tone, “Move hence at your peril!”

He then closed and locked the door.

But in the short and decided scuffle an untoward accident had occurred.