floor of the hall; and the consequence was that the porter sprang up,
and was out of bed in a trice.
Sir Gilbert Heathcote rushed upon him: but not in time to prevent the
man from springing a huge rattle and crying, “Help! help!”
Lord William Trevelyan hesitated not a moment how to act. He darted to
the truckle-bed--seized the keys from beneath the pillow--and sprang to
the door, leaving Sir Gilbert Heathcote wrestling desperately with the
porter.
The reader will remember that there were two doors; and the young
nobleman had only just time to open the first or inner one, when a
rapid glance cast behind showed him his friend Sir Gilbert upon the
floor, completely overpowered by the huge porter, who had placed his
knee upon the baronet’s chest.
It was Trevelyan’s hope that his friend would have been able to keep
the porter engaged in the struggle until he could have opened both the
doors, when he would have turned to the scene of strife, to rescue the
baronet; but scarcely had he observed that Sir Gilbert was already
vanquished, when four of the keepers rushed down stairs into the hall.
With the rapidity and force of a tiger springing upon its prey, Lord
William rushed on the huge porter, hurled him to a distance, and raised
up the prostrate baronet.
All this was the work of an instant: but in another moment the keepers
sprang upon the two friends, and closed with them.
The baronet was again borne down; but Trevelyan, who now saw that
the conflict was really becoming desperate, used the bunch of heavy
door-keys with such effect that he speedily disabled the two keepers
who had assailed him,--stretching one senseless on the floor, and
compelling the other to beat a retreat with the blood pouring down his
face.
To turn his attention to the two men who were dragging away Sir Gilbert
Heathcote, was the intrepid young nobleman’s next step; and in a few
moments the baronet, once more rescued from the enemy, was by the side
of his intrepid friend.
“Take the keys and open the front door!” cried Trevelyan, impetuously
pushing Sir Gilbert towards that extremity of the hall where the means
of egress lay. “Escape, in the name of heaven!--think not of me!”
And having thrust the keys into his friend’s hand, Lord William seized
the Doctor’s gold-headed cane, which hung to a hat-peg in the hall;
and placing himself between the front-door and the keepers, he cried,
“Beware how you provoke me--for I shall not hesitate to defend myself
to the death!”
But scarcely were these words uttered, when the two keepers from whom
he had rescued the baronet, returned to the charge, aided by the burly
porter.
The foremost was instantaneously felled by a blow vigorously dealt
with the cane; and, following up his advantage quickly as the eye can
wink, Trevelyan darted at the other keeper, whom he also levelled on
the spot. But in the next moment the gallant young nobleman was in the
grasp of the porter; and, dropping the cane as no longer useful in a
close tussle, he addressed himself with all his might to this last and
most desperate single combat.
The scene was very exciting; and all that we have yet described since
the first moment that the conflict commenced, did not occupy more than
two minutes.
Scarcely had the intrepid nobleman and the herculean porter closed
together, when the Doctor, attired in his dressing-gown and slippers,
and with his cotton night-cap on his head, appeared at the bottom of
the stairs, holding a chamber-candle in his hand.
At the same instant Sir Gilbert Heathcote had succeeded in opening the
front door; and the morning breeze poured into the hall, in a manner
doubtless highly refreshing to the porter, who, be it remembered, had
nothing on but his shirt--_his_ cap having fallen off in the conflict
which he had maintained with the baronet in the first instance.
Two of the discomfited keepers, animated by the presence of the
Doctor--or perhaps rendered ashamed of their pusillanimity--now
returned to the attack upon Trevelyan, who was just on the point of
hurling the porter to the ground. But Sir Gilbert, having made the
entrance free, rushed back to help his friend; and the contest was
again renewed with desperate energy,--the other two keepers, who had by
this time recovered their senses, joining in the struggle.
And hard would it have gone with Trevelyan and the baronet against such
odds, had not two new-comers suddenly appeared upon the scene.
For, the front door standing wide open, and the lamp being alight in
the hall, two gentlemen who were passing by the house at the time
beheld the extraordinary proceedings that were taking place within;
and the foremost, perceiving in an instant that the odds were two to
five,--namely, Trevelyan and the baronet against the four keepers and
the porter,--exclaimed at the top of a stentorian voice, “Be Jasus!
Frank, and we’ll just give a helping hand to the waker side!”
With these words, the redoubtable Captain O’Blunderbuss--nerved
with all the courage attributed by Sir Walter Scott to Lord
Marmion--“plunged into the fight.”
Or, in less poetical language, he darted into the hall--levelled the
herculean porter with a well-directed blow between the eyes--and sent
a couple of keepers sprawling over the aforesaid porter in an instant.
Frank Curtis, having imbibed just sufficient poteen to subdue his
habitual cowardice and arm him with the bastard though not the less
effectual valour which strong drink inspires, unhesitatingly followed
the example of his gallant leader, and bore his part in the fray; so
that in less than a minute a complete diversion was effected in favour
of Lord William Trevelyan and Sir Gilbert Heathcote, the enemy being
utterly discomfited.
“Villains! murderers! robbers!” shouted the infuriate Doctor, as loud
as he could bawl; and then the screams and shrieks of the affrighted
female servants were heard echoing from the stairs and landing-places.
“Let us depart!” cried Lord William Trevelyan; and, in a very few
moments, he pushed the baronet, the captain, and Frank Curtis, out of
the front door,--he himself pausing only for a single second to secure
the keys.
In another instant he was outside the house; and closing the door
behind him, he locked it so as to prevent the Doctor and his myrmidons
from instituting an immediate pursuit.
“Be Jasus! and this is the rummest lar-r-k I iver had in all my life!”
ejaculated Captain O’Blunderbuss, panting for breath.
“Come with us, gentlemen,” said Lord William, hastily addressing that
gallant officer and Frank Curtis: “you have rendered us a signal
service--and we must know you better. We have likewise certain
necessary explanations to give you relative to the strange scene in
which you took so generous a part. But come away directly--there is not
a moment to be lost--a hue and cry may be raised!”
“Be the power-rs! and is it bur-r-glars ye are?” cried the Captain,
somewhat regretting the precipitation with which he had mixed himself
up in the late affray.
“No--no: far from _that_!” exclaimed Lord William, laughing heartily
at the idea. “But let us get as quickly as we can out of this
neighbourhood.”
And away the four gentlemen scampered into the Cambridge Road, down
which they sped until they reached Mile End, where they fortunately
found a night-cab waiting for a fare.
Into the vehicle they got; and Lord William Trevelyan exclaimed, as an
instruction to the driver, “Park Square, Regent’s Park!”
Away the cab went; and both Captain O’Blunderbuss and Frank Curtis,
who had heard the aristocratic address thus given, were seized with an
insatiable curiosity to learn who their new acquaintances could be.
CHAPTER CXC.
A SCENE IN A CAB.
“Ginthlemen,” exclaimed the gallant Irishman, “I mane to inthroduce
myself and frind to ye without any more bother or pother. My frind,
then, ginthlemen, is Misther Frank Cur-r-tis--discinded from a fine
family, and once possissed of large estates, all of which, be Jasus!
he’s managed to ate up as clane as if dirthy acres were plum-pudding.
My name, ginthlemen, is Capthain O’Bluntherbuss, of Bluntherbuss Park,
Connemar-r-ra--where I shall be delighted to see ye any time ye may be
afther visiting Ould Ireland and I’m at home.”
“Permit me to shake hands with you, Captain O’Blunderbuss,” said the
young nobleman; “and with you also, Mr. Curtis. You have rendered me
and my friend a service which we cannot easily forget.”
“And which we shall never seek to forget,” added the baronet,
emphatically; and then there was a general shaking of hands inside the
cab.
Lord William Trevelyan next proceeded to inform his new friends who he
and Sir Gilbert Heathcote were; and the reader may conceive the huge
delight experienced by Captain O’Blunderbuss and Mr. Frank Curtis when
they found themselves in the company of a real nobleman and a real
baronet.
“And now, my lor-r-d,” said the gallant officer, “will ye be so
obleeging as to explain to us what house that was where all the pother
took place, and what was the maning of the pother itself: for, be the
holy poker-r! I can’t make head or tail of it!”
“The fact is,” responded Lord William Trevelyan, “it was a mad-house.”
“A mad-house!” ejaculated Mr. Frank Curtis, starting as if stung by a
serpent lurking in the straw at the bottom of the cab--while a cold
tremor came over him; for it instantly struck him that he and his Irish
companion had been instrumental in the escape of a couple of lunatics.
“A mad-house!” repeated the Captain, immediately entertaining the same
idea, although not sharing the apprehensions of his friend.
“Neither more nor less,” continued Trevelyan, perfectly unaware of the
impression which his words had produced upon the two gentlemen: for, as
the inside of the cab was quite dark, he could not observe the change
that took place in their countenances.
“You--you--don’t mean to--to--say,” stammered Curtis, fidgetting
uncommonly, and thrusting his hand outside the window to grasp
the handle of the door: for he began to think that the sooner he
emancipated himself from the cab, the better;--“you--you----”
“Hould your tongue, ye spalpeen!” vociferated the Captain, who, fully
acquainted with the character of his friend, guessed pretty accurately
all that was passing in his mind: for the worthy Irishman, on his part,
was determined not to separate from his new friends, whether they were
lunatics or not, until he had ascertained if any thing was to be got
out of them either in the shape of money or whiskey, or both;--“hould
your tongue, ye spalpeen! and let’s hear what his lor-rdship has to say
upon the matther.”
“Well, as I was informing you, gentlemen,” resumed Trevelyan,
who considered that a proper explanation was fully due to those
who had acted such a gallant part in the late proceedings, “the
house whence you just now so effectually aided us to escape, is a
lunatic-asylum--and the men against whom you fought were the keepers.”
“And who--who were the--the--lunatics?” asked Frank Curtis, perspiring
at every pore--for the effects of the whiskey which he had been
drinking were completely absorbed in the terror that now influenced him.
“Be Jasus! and I won’t have such questions put to my intimate frind
his lor-r-dship, and my parthicular frind the baronet!“ ejaculated
Captain O’Blunderbuss, bestowing upon Frank’s ribs such an unmerciful
nudge with his elbow that the gentleman who was made the recipient of
the said poke writhed horribly in his seat. “Prosade, sir--my lor-r-d,
I mane,” added the gallant officer, who, in spite of his civility
towards the nobleman and the baronet, firmly believed that they were
lunatics, and had usurped titles to which they had not the slightest
claim nor right.
“Your companion asked me who were the lunatics,” said Trevelyan,
beginning to be somewhat astonished at the manner of his new friends:
“well, to tell you the candid truth, myself and Sir Gilbert Heathcote
were supposed to be--although I leave you both to judge whether there
could have been the slightest ground for such an idea.”
“O Lord!--O Lord!” murmured Frank Curtis; and again his hand, which he
had withdrawn when the captain nudged him, was thrust out of the window
to grasp the door-latch.
“Are you unwell, my dear sir?” inquired Sir Gilbert Heathcote, in
a tone of much concern--for, being seated precisely opposite to
Curtis, he had heard the murmured ejaculations which had escaped that
individual’s lips.
“Yes--very,” replied Frank, with a hollow groan.
“Be asy, thin, can’t ye?” whispered the Captain savagely in his ear, at
the same time favouring him with another barbarous nudge in the ribs.
“Oh! it’s nothln’ at all, at all, with my frind, I can assure ye, my
lor-r-d and Sir Gilbert,” exclaimed the gallant officer aloud: “he’s
throubled with whazing in the throat when he’s been afther dhrinking an
exthra dhrop of potheen--and may be the motion of the cab don’t quite
agree with him, bad luck to his nonsense! Well, my lor-r-d, ye were
afther telling us that your lor-r-dship’s ownself and Sir Gilbert were
belaved to be the lunatics?”
“Just so,” answered Trevelyan; “and had not the affair proved a very
serious one to my friend Heathcote, I should be inclined to laugh at
the ludicrous manner in which it terminated. Heathcote was immured
in that asylum under most treacherous circumstances a short time
ago--although, I need scarcely inform you, there was not the slightest
pretense for the imputation of insanity----”
“Be the holy poker-r! and any one that’s blind could see that same!”
ejaculated Captain O’Blunderbuss.
“O Lord!” again moaned Frank Curtis; and he slily and stealthily turned
the handle of the cab door.
“Determined to rescue my friend,” continued Lord William Trevelyan,
“I induced two medical gentlemen, who are under some obligations to
me, and whom I admitted into my confidence, to sign the necessary
certificates to consign me to a lunatic asylum----”
“O Lord--O Lord!” groaned Curtis, more deeply than before; for even if
he had hitherto entertained any doubt as to the state of Trevelyan’s
mind, the singular averment just made was quite sufficient to confirm
him in the opinion that he was in company with a decided lunatic.
“What the divvel ails ye, man?” growled Captain O’Blunderbuss.
“Prosade, my lor-r-d. I’m dapely intherested in your lor-rdship’s
narrative.”
“Having thus obtained the certificates,” continued Trevelyan, “I
tutored my valet how to act--and he accordingly consigned me to the
care of Dr. Swinton--the old gentleman whom you saw in a dressing-gown
and night-cap at the foot of the stairs.”
“An arrant ould scounthrel, I’ve no doubt,” interjected the Captain.
“It was necessary, under the circumstances,” resumed Trevelyan, “to
fight Sir Gilbert’s enemies with their own weapons. Cunning against
cunning--duplicity against duplicity! That was the plan I adopted; and
I affected insanity so well, that the Doctor was completely deceived.”
“Be the power-rs! this is excellent,” ejaculated Captain O’Blunderbuss.
“It’s not ivery one that could desayve a mad-docthor so well.”
“I really believe that he imagined me to be as mad as a March hare,”
said Trevelyan.
“And so you are!” yelled forth Frank Curtis, suddenly throwing the door
wide open and making a desperate attempt to leap from the cab, even at
the risk of breaking his neck or fracturing his skull--for his terrors
had risen to such a pitch that confinement in the vehicle along with
two persons whom he firmly believed to be downright mad-men, had become
utterly unendurable:--but the iron grasp of the Captain clutched him
by the back part of his collar just as he was on the point of bounding
franticly forth into the road--and he was compelled, not however
without a struggle, to resume his seat.
This proceeding on the part of Frank Curtis suddenly opened the eyes
of both Trevelyan and the baronet to the impressions which the recent
proceedings had unmistakeably and naturally made on the minds of
their new friends: as if a light had darted in upon them, they now
comprehended the cause of Frank Curtis’s singular manner almost ever
since they first entered the vehicle;--and they likewise perceived
(though they did not rightly interpret) the courtesy which had not only
rendered Captain O’Blunderbuss so good a listener to the explanations
given by Trevelyan, but had also prompted him to silence and coerce his
companion as much as possible.
Accordingly, Trevelyan and Sir Gilbert Heathcote simultaneously broke
out into such a hearty fit of laughter that Frank Curtis began to
console himself with the idea that they were at least harmless; while
Captain O’Blunderbuss set them down as the merriest lunatics he had
ever encountered in all his life, and joined with unfeigned cordiality
in their glee.
“And so you really thought that we were mad?” exclaimed Trevelyan, as
soon as he could compose himself sufficiently to speak.
“Oh! not at all, at all!” cried the Captain.
“But Mr. Curtis firmly believes that we are neither more nor less than
lunatics?” said the young nobleman, enjoying the scene.
“Be Jasus! and if he darrs insulth your lor-rdship and your
lor-rdship’s frind by even suspicting such a thing, he shall mate me
to-morrow mornin’ at twelve paces on Wimbledon Common!” exclaimed the
gallant and warlike gentleman.
“Really you excite yourself too much in our behalf, Captain,” observed
Trevelyan, who saw plainly enough that O’Blunderbuss was adopting
just such a tone and manner as one would use to conciliate and soothe
lunatics. “Now tell us the truth, my dear sir,” continued the young
nobleman: “do you not think that if we are actually and positively
crazy, you and Mr. Curtis cannot boast of being perfectly sane?”
“Be Jasus! and that same is precisely what I’ve often been afther
thinking!” cried the Captain, determined to humour the supposed
lunatics as much as possible. “As for Frank Curtis here, he’s as mad as
the Irish pig that wouldn’t go one particular way save and excipt at
such times that it belaved it was being driv another. As for meself,
bad luck to me! I’m not blind to my own failings--and I know purty well
that I’m as cracked as any damned ould laky tay-kettle.”
The accommodating humour of Captain O’Blunderbuss, who unhesitatingly
pronounced himself and his friend Mr. Curtis to be insane, under the
impression that such an admission would prove highly gratifying to
those to whom it was made, produced such an effect upon the young
nobleman and the baronet, that they became almost convulsed with
laughter: and it was indeed fortunate that this scene occurred,
inasmuch as its extreme ludicrousness tended materially to raise the
spirits of Sir Gilbert Heathcote after the wrongs he had suffered and
the incarceration he had endured.
It is impossible to say how long the equivoque and the consequent
hilarity would have lasted, had not the cab suddenly stopped in front
of a handsome house in Park square.
“Now,” thought both Captain O’Blunderbuss and Frank Curtis at the
same time, “we shall see the bubble burst very shortly; and it will
transpire who our two mad friends really are.”
The summons at the front-door was speedily answered by the appearance
of Fitzgeorge in his plain clothes and a couple of footmen in livery,
all of whom had waited up the whole night in expectation of the
probable return of their master.
As for Fitzgeorge, he ran up to the door of the cab, and perceiving Sir
Gilbert inside, exclaimed with unaffected delight, “Thank God! your
lordship’s scheme has proved triumphant!”
At these words Captain O’Blunderbuss and Mr. Frank Curtis uttered
involuntary ejaculations of astonishment: for they began to think that
one of their new friends was really a nobleman after all, and that they
might neither of them prove to be lunatics in the long run.
Leaping from the cab, Trevelyan invited the gallant gentleman and his
companion to enter the house, observing, with a laugh, “However insane
we may all be, we will at least exercise the common prudence of taking
a little refreshment after all the hard work and momentous proceedings
of the night.”
In a few instants the Captain and Frank found themselves conducted into
an elegantly furnished apartment, in the midst of which was a table
laid out with costly plate, and spread with a cold repast consisting
of dainties that made their months water even to gaze upon. It was
likewise a source of great satisfaction to the two gentlemen to behold
a buffet well stored with wine and spirits, amongst which latter the
Captain had no difficulty in recognising some poteen of the real
orthodox colour.
The nobleman and his guests took their seats at table, and did
ample justice alike to viands and to wine. Indeed, it was amazingly
refreshing to behold the appetite with which the Captain and Frank
Curtis addressed themselves to the former, and the zest with which they
partook of the latter. They no longer believed that either Trevelyan
or Sir Gilbert was mad; and when the former gave them the whole
particulars of the story which he had only half finished in the cab,
they laughed heartily at the misconceptions they had formed.
Under the influence of the poteen, which was duly produced after
supper,--if supper such a meal could called, as it was now long past
three o’clock in the morning,--the Captain and Frank Curtis became
particularly talkative; when it appeared that, existing under grievous
apprehension of certain formidable beings denominated “sheriff’s
officers,” they had hired lodgings in the classic region of Globe
Town, and that, having spent the evening and best portion of the night
at a public-house in the Hackney Road, they were taking a short cut
homeward, past the Doctor’s house, when they became the witnesses of
the scene wherein they immediately after bore so distinguished a part.
From these and other revelations, which the Captain purposely
suffered to ooze out as if quite unintentionally, Trevelyan and Sir
Gilbert gleaned sufficient to convince them that their new friends
were “gentlemen under a cloud;” and they were not sorry at having
ascertained a fact which at once placed them in a position to testify
their gratitude for the services of the night.
Accordingly, after exchanging a few words in a low tone with Sir
Gilbert, Lord William Trevelyan wrote something upon a slip of paper,
and then addressed Captain O’Blunderbuss and Frank Curtis in the
following manner:--
“You will pardon me, my friends, for the liberty I am about to take
and the observations I am on the point of offering. But it has struck
Sir Gilbert Heathcote and myself, from certain words which fell from
your lips in the excitement of convivial discourse, that you have
experienced some little disappointment respecting the arrival of
remittances; and we shall be alike honoured and rejoiced if you will
permit us to use the freedom of friends under such circumstances. It
is probable that a few hundreds may be of some trifling service to you
at this moment; and it will prove a source of unfeigned delight to Sir
Gilbert and myself if, in return for the generous aid you afforded us,
we can in any way relieve you from a temporary inconvenience.”
Thus speaking, Lord William handed the slip of paper to Captain
O’Blunderbuss, who, hastily glancing at it as he folded it up
preparatory to consignment to his pocket, observed that it was a cheque
for five hundred pounds.
“Be Jasus! my dear frinds,” he exclaimed, addressing himself to the
young nobleman and the baronet, “ye do things in such a handsome way
that I don’t know how to expriss my thanks at all, at all. Curthis, ye
spalpeen!” he cried, suddenly turning round upon his companion, “why
the divvel don’t ye jine in making a spache on the occasion?--since
my lor-r-d and Sir Gilbert have lint us five hunthred pounds to
relave us from our timporary difficulties. But I’ll unthertake to
repay that same, my frinds,” he continued, again addressing his words
directly to Trevelyan and Heathcote, “the moment I resave my rints
from Ould Ir-reland--and bad luck to ’em! So here’s afther wishing us
succiss--and be damned to all mad-docthors, say I!”
Having achieved this beautiful peroration, Captain O’Blunderbuss tossed
off at a single draught the entire contents of a large tumbler of
scalding toddy, and then rose to take his departure.
Frank Curtis, who was in a most glorious state of mental
obfuscation--beholding two Trevelyans, two baronets, two captains,
and heaven only knows how many wax-candles--was with some difficulty
induced to stand upon his legs; and his Irish friend was more troubled
still to make him use the aforesaid legs when he did get upon them.
However, after some little persuasion and more threatening on the part
of the Captain, Frank Curtis suffered himself to be led forth from the
hospitable mansion.
As soon as Trevelyan and Sir Gilbert Heathcote were alone, the former
related to his friend the particulars of the various interviews which
had taken place between himself and Mrs. Sefton--that lady’s discovery
of her daughter Agnes--and her removal to the villa at Bayswater.
The baronet was profoundly agitated--but it was with mingled surprise
and joy--when he heard those tidings relative to Agnes: he rose and
paced the room with uneven steps,--and then, reseating himself,
appeared anxious to make certain revelations--or rather, unbosom his
mind to his young friend. But, feeling perhaps unequal to the task
at that moment, after the long hours of excitement through which he
had just passed, he said, abruptly, “Trevelyan, I have matters of
importance to confide to you: but it shall be for another occasion! I
must now leave you--’tis nearly five o’clock--the morning has dawned
some time--and I am impatient to repair to the villa at Bayswater.”
“Will you not take an hour’s repose before you depart?” inquired Lord
William Trevelyan.
“Oh! I could not close my eyes in sleep again until I have embraced
those who----But pardon me for this excitement--this agitation,”
exclaimed Sir Gilbert, interrupting himself suddenly. “To-morrow I will
tell you all--everything,” he added, pressing Trevelyan’s hand warmly:
“and then you will better comprehend the feelings which move me now.
Farewell, my dear friend, for the present.”
Sir Gilbert was about to take his departure, when Fitzgeorge entered
the room, and addressing himself to his master, said, “My lord, I had
forgotten to inform your lordship that when I returned hither last
evening, after leaving you at Dr. Swinton’s, I found the Marquis of
Delmour waiting----”
“The Marquis of Delmour!” ejaculated Sir Gilbert Heathcote.
“Yes, sir,” replied Fitzgeorge. “The Marquis appeared to be in a very
excited state, and was most anxious to see your lordship,” continued
the valet, again addressing himself to his master. “I assured him that
your lordship was gone out of town, and might not return for a day or
two--whereupon he almost flew into a rage with me for giving him such
information. He paced the room in great agitation, and asked me several
questions relative to any ladies who might visit at the mansion: but I
answered that your lordship was not accustomed to receive visitresses
at all. At length he took his departure, stating that he should call
again in the morning at ten o’clock, and take his chance of finding
your lordship at home.”
“I understand full well the meaning of this visit on the part of the
Marquis,” said Sir Gilbert Heathcote to Trevelyan, when the valet had
retired; “but I have not time for explanations now. My impatience to
repair to Bayswater is intense, unseasonable though the hour is for
arousing ladies from their slumbers. One request I have, however,
to make, my dear Trevelyan,” added the baronet; “and this is, that
you will not, under any circumstances, communicate to the Marquis of
Delmour the address of the villa occupied by Mrs. Sefton and Agnes.”
“Be well assured, my dear friend,” answered the young nobleman, “that
the secret is safe with me.”
The baronet wrung Trevelyan’s hand with the cordial warmth of deep
gratitude and sincere attachment, and then took his departure.
Lord William lay down for a few hours, and enjoyed a sound slumber
until nine o’clock, when he rose and dressed himself to receive the
Marquis of Delmour.
Punctually as the clock struck ten, a handsome carriage drove up to the
door; and the Marquis, hastily alighting, was immediately conducted
into the drawing-room where Trevelyan awaited his presence.
CHAPTER CXCI.
THE OLD MARQUIS AND THE YOUNG LORD.
“My lord, you are a man of honour, I have heard,” began the Marquis,
without any prefatory observations; “and I feel assured that you will
at once relieve me from a most painful state of suspense. Pardon
the excitement which I display--and justify the good opinion I have
conceived of you by giving me without delay the information I am about
to seek. In a word, where is Agnes--my daughter Agnes--the young lady
whom you have seen walking in the garden of the secluded cottage near
Norwood?”
“Is that beautiful creature indeed your lordship’s daughter?” exclaimed
Trevelyan, not altogether surprised at the announcement: for the
agitation which Sir Gilbert Heathcote had shown when the name of the
Marquis of Delmour was mentioned, and the request which he had made to
the effect that the residence of Mrs. Sefton should be kept secret, had
already created in the mind of Lord William a suspicion of the real
truth.
“Yes--Agnes is indeed my daughter--and I am proud of her!” cried the
Marquis. “But I know that she was inveigled away from the cottage
by one who----by her own mother, in fine----and I am likewise aware
that you subsequently entrusted her to the care of a lady of your
acquaintance. This latter information I obtained from a certain Mrs.
Mortimer----”
“The information was correct, my lord,” answered Trevelyan. “And now I
must candidly confess that I have a very difficult part to perform: for
I will not condescend to a falsehood--and I dare not reveal the truth.
This much, however, I unhesitatingly declare--that, by a singular
coincidence, the lady to whom I conducted your lordship’s daughter
proved to be none other than her mother.”
“Her mother! then she is at this moment in the care of that woman?”
ejaculated the Marquis, his excitement increasing: “and you will not
tell me where I can find them?”
“That is the truth which, as I said ere now, I dare not repeat,”
responded Trevelyan, profoundly touched by the evident grief of the old
nobleman.
“Will you be the means of separating a father from his child?” asked
the Marquis, now sinking through exhaustion upon a sofa--for hitherto
he had remained standing, although Trevelyan had twice courteously
indicated the chair that had been placed for his accommodation.
[Illustration]
“Were I to yield to your lordship’s desire,” said the young
nobleman,--“were I to give you the address of--of--”
“Call _her_ Mrs. Sefton, if you will,” interrupted the Marquis,
bitterly: “I know that she passes and has long passed under that name.”
“Well, my lord--were I to give you the address of that lady,” resumed
Trevelyan, “I should be adopting a course calculated to separate a
mother from her child.”
“But that mother is unworthy of being entrusted with the care of her
daughter!” exclaimed the Marquis of Delmour, emphatically.
“My lord, I have not the slightest inclination to enter into matters of
a private nature, and regarding your own family,” said Trevelyan, with
firmness, yet courtesy--and even with commiseration for the sorrow of
the old noble: “much less,” he added, “should I like to be constituted
a judge between your lordship and the Marchioness of Delmour--for such
I presume Mrs. Sefton to be.”
“Without placing your lordship in any disagreeable or invidious
position,” said the Marquis, growing more tranquil as his naturally
powerful mind suggested the utter inutility of giving way to
excitement, “I may yet address you not only in your capacity of
a nobleman endowed with high intelligence and strict notions of
integrity, but also as one who--unless I be much deceived--experiences
an honourable passion for my daughter. Ah! I perceive by your
countenance that such indeed is the sentiment you entertain for Agnes:
and now, therefore, as her father will I address you--as her parent,
her protector, and her natural guardian, I invoke your attention.”
“It would be disrespectful alike to your age and rank, and also to your
position as the father of her whom I sincerely and devotedly love, were
I to refuse to hear whatever your lordship may have to communicate,”
said Trevelyan, after a few moments reflection.
“Thanks--a thousand thanks!” ejaculated the Marquis: “I shall yet move
you in my favour! But tell me--you are acquainted with one whom, if you
please, we will continue to call Mrs. Sefton: has she ever communicated
to you any particulars of her earlier life?”
“Frankly and candidly,” replied the young nobleman, “she has confided
to me a portion of those particulars; and I have this day learnt
sufficient to fill up the few blanks which she left in her narrative.”
“You know, then,” resumed his lordship, “that I wedded her against her
consent: but I knew not at the time--as God is my judge!--that I was
so completely sealing her misery by that marriage. Sophia--that is her
Christian name--was young and beautiful when I first saw her--Oh! so
beautiful that I became madly in love with her: and you may perhaps
be aware that love is selfish--claiming its object at any price, and
at any sacrifice. Her father was in deep pecuniary difficulties--nay,
more--he had done things which would have dishonoured his name and
even endangered his personal safety. I had an enormous fortune at my
command--I told him that I adored his daughter--and he promised me her
hand. On that occasion he concealed from me the fact that the young
lady’s affections were already engaged: indeed, he assured me that
love was as yet a stranger to her bosom, but that she had been struck
by my appearance, although I was so much her senior. The duplicity
of the father was the first fault in that long chain of unpleasant
circumstances and untoward incidents: and, relying on all that he had
thus told me, I at once advanced a hundred thousand pounds to relieve
him from his embarrassments. Soon, however, did I begin to perceive
that my visits were rather tolerated than encouraged by his charming
daughter Sophia; and then I learnt--but not from _her_ lips--that she
loved another. I felt indignant with the father--while I passionately
coveted the daughter; and under the influence of those feelings I
pressed my suit. I was resolved not to be made a dupe by the sire, and
sacrificed by the young lady to a rival. Had she herself frankly and
candidly revealed to me the state of her affections--thrown herself
upon my mercy--appealed to my honour, I should have acted a generous
part, my lord--yes--I should have been generous!”
“But the young lady was coerced by her father, who intimidated her at
one time and ridiculed her at another,” observed Trevelyan: “I remember
full well that she told me of her sire’s unfeeling conduct towards her.”
“Yes--and to me also she made the same revelation, when it was too
late,” continued the Marquis. “However, it was under such inauspicious
circumstances that our marriage took place; and again I appeal to
heaven to attest the truth of my words when I declare that I treated
her with all possible tenderness, affection, and regard.”
“She has done your lordship that justice in narrating those particulars
to me,” remarked Trevelyan.
“But I could not render her happy,” resumed the Marquis: “she was
constantly weeping--and our honeymoon resembled an interval of mourning
after a funeral, rather than a season of felicity succeeding a bridal.
Much as I exerted myself to please her--lavish as I was with money to
procure her the means of recreation and enjoyment--profuse as I became
with the most costly gifts, not only to herself but likewise to all her
relatives and friends, I could never win a smile from her lips. Now
your lordship will admit that this was more than an unpleasant life
to lead--it was absolutely wretched. But your lordship may conceive
the deep vexation which I experienced when, having succeeded on one
occasion in inducing the Marchioness to appear at a ball given by some
friends, I saw her pale countenance suddenly glow with animation and
her eye light up with joy as Gilbert Heathcote advanced to solicit
her hand for a quadrille. And she smiled, too--yes, she smiled--and,
oh! how sweetly upon _him_, as her elegant figure moved with dignity
and grace in the mazy dance. My soul seemed as if it were withering
up within me: I am confident that I must have eyed them with the
ferocity of a lynx. But Sophia appeared to have forgotten that I was
present--that there was such a being in the world as I: her whole
attention was devoted to my rival--her whole thoughts were absorbed in
the pleasure of his society. She danced with him more than once--she
sate next to him at the supper-table--and after the banquet she waltzed
with him. I have ever detested that voluptuous--that licentious--that
indecent dance: but how I loathed--oh! how I loathed it on this
occasion! I tore myself away from the ball-room, and sought a secluded
corner in the card-room. There I endeavoured to reason with myself
upon the absurdity of my jealous rage--of the ridicule to which any
manifestation of the feeling would expose me--and of the contempt I
should inevitably draw down upon myself from my wife, did I allow her
to perceive how much I was annoyed at what she would doubtless consider
a trivial matter. Thus exercising a powerful command over my emotions,
I even assumed a smiling countenance when we returned home, and when I
congratulated her upon having been in such high spirits. But all her
coldness and inanimation had come back, and I thought within myself
that she would not appear thus if Gilbert Heathcote were still in her
society.”
“My lord, pardon me--but wherefore enter into details which only arouse
reminiscences so painful to yourself?” interrupted Trevelyan.
“Bear with me yet a little while,” said the Marquis, speaking in so
mild and plaintive a tone that Lord William could not find it in his
heart to manifest any impatience or any farther disinclination to
hear the old nobleman’s narrative: “bear with me, I say--for I have
a motive in entering into these details,” he continued. “At the same
time, I will not be too prolix, although there are a thousand little
circumstances which recur to my memory, and which might be quoted to
prove how patient and enduring I was under the cruel indifference
wherewith I was treated. But I will content myself by observing
that Sophia smiled only on those occasions when she encountered
Gilbert Heathcote in society or in the fashionable promenades: at
other times she shrouded herself in a species of dreamy apathy. Her
father, perceiving when it was too late how utterly he had wrecked
his daughter’s happiness, died of a broken heart: but, strange to
say, it was not long after this event that Sophia appeared suddenly
to rally a little and seek a more active existence. She began to take
frequent airings in the carriage--grew addicted to shopping--accepted
every invitation that was sent for balls, routs, card-parties, and
concerts--and requested me to take a box at the Opera: in fine,
she speedily plunged into the routine of fashionable dissipation.
Nevertheless, when alone with me, she was ever cold and reserved--if
not positively sullen and morose. In the course of time she was in the
way to become a mother--and I hoped that the birth of a child might
subdue a portion of her coldness towards me, even if the tie were not
strong enough to induce her to love me. But when Agnes--my darling
Agnes--was born, her manner varied not one tittle in respect to myself.
Time passed on--and at last I began to entertain serious suspicions of
the fidelity of my wife--for I found that she had frequent interviews,
not altogether accidental, with Sir Gilbert Heathcote, who about that
time succeeded to a baronetcy and a tolerable fortune. I remonstrated
with the Marchioness upon her imprudence--to give her conduct no
harsher name; and then began a series of quarrels, disputes and
bickerings, which made my life more wretched than ever. On one of those
occasions she reproached me for having married her--and she declared
that she never had loved, and never could love me. Alas! I knew it but
too well,--knew also that she _had_ loved, and _still_ loved another!
And it was likewise after one of those disputes to which I have alluded
that a horrible suspicion first entered my mind--a suspicion that the
Marchioness had been unfaithful to me, and that Agnes was not my own
child.”
“Oh! my lord--continue this painful narrative no farther!” exclaimed
Trevelyan. “It shocks me to be thus made the depositary of secrets of
so delicate a nature!”
“Again do I implore your patience, Lord William,” cried the Marquis:
“and as I have advanced thus far in my sad story, permit me to carry it
on to the conclusion. I was observing, then, that a dreadful suspicion
seized upon me--and yet I dared not accuse my wife of incontinency.
_She_ divined what was passing in the depths of my tortured soul--_she_
conjectured the nature of the apprehension which now began to haunt me
like a ghost! Oh! how I longed to question her--to know the worst--or
to hear her proclaim the injustice of my suspicion: but, no--I dared
not touch upon the subject--my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth
whenever I sought to frame the words that should accuse her. And in
this manner did we drag on a wretched existence,--I experiencing all
the misery of having a young wife who could not love me--and she
feeling all the bitterness of her position in being allied to an old
husband who had grown so jealous and so suspicious. At last the day
came when all my repugnance to utter the fatal accusation suddenly
vanished. I had been more than ordinarily provoked--for at a _dejeuner_
given at the house of some friends, the Marchioness received with such
evident satisfaction the marked attentions of Sir Gilbert Heathcote,
that I felt myself insulted and outraged in the presence of the
entire company. Accordingly, when we returned home in the afternoon,
a violent scene took place between the Marchioness and myself; and
it was then that, in a paroxysm of rage, I proclaimed the suspicion
which I had for some time cherished--I accused her of infidelity--I
revealed the doubt which existed in my mind relative to my paternal
claims to the affections of the infant Agnes. Never--never shall I
forget that memorable day! The Marchioness heard me--gazed on me
fixedly--appeared stupefied and astounded for nearly a minute,--while
her countenance became pale as marble--her lips quivered--and her bosom
heaved convulsively. I was terrified at her manner--she appeared at
that moment to be _Injured Innocence_ personified--I could have thrown
myself at her feet and implored her pardon! But, in a thick and hollow
voice, she said, ‘_All is now at an end, my lord, between you and me!
We part--for ever!_’--A dizziness came over me--I felt that I had done
wrong--that I had gone too far,--and I would have given worlds to be
able to recall the fatal accusation! For I was now as firmly convinced
of her innocence, as I had a few minutes before been deeply imbued with
suspicion;--and I cursed--I anathematised the rashness that had marked
my conduct. It was a painful--a distressing scene: for I remember that
I fell upon my knees to implore her forgiveness--to beseech her to
remain, if not for my sake, at least for that of the child. But this
appeal only excited her the more: and when I adjured her in the name
of her infant daughter to stay, she uttered a wild cry and fled, as if
suddenly seized with insanity, from the house.”
Here the Marquis paused for a few moments, and passed his handkerchief
rapidly over his eyes:--the reminiscences of the past were still
powerful enough to move him to tears!
“I shall not now detain you long, my lord,” he resumed. “Whither my
wife went, I knew not;--but in a short time I heard that she was
living in the strictest seclusion and under a feigned name. Will
you not despise me when you learn that I employed a spy to watch
her actions--to institute inquiries concerning her pursuits and her
conduct? But I will conceal nothing from you--and I candidly admit
that such was the course which I adopted: for, though I still believed
that she was innocent up to the time when my abrupt accusation drove
her from the house, I nevertheless naturally conjectured that, on thus
quitting me, she had sought the protection of him whom she loved. I
was not therefore surprised to hear that Sir Gilbert Heathcote was a
frequent visitor at the abode of Mrs. Sefton--by which name she was now
known:--but I was unable to glean any positive evidence of criminality
on her part. And did I seek such evidence? Yes--for a raging jealousy
had taken possession of me; and I longed to punish _her_ for daring to
love my rival as she did! But as time passed on and sober reflection
worked its influence upon me, I grew ashamed of the course I had
adopted--and I now resolved to hush up to the utmost of my power the
unhappy position in which I stood with regard to my wife. For I already
felt deeply attached to my little daughter--and I determined that, if
human precautions could prevent such a misfortune, she should never
have to blush for a mother’s shame. I was strengthened in this resolve
by the fact that the Marchioness herself was disposed to shroud the
past in secrecy as much as possible: else wherefore the feigned name
which she had adopted, and the seclusion in which she dwelt? But in the
course of a few months certain events transpired which threatened to
lay bare to the public the whole of this most painful history. I must
explain myself more fully by stating that my wife’s father had made
a will leaving some landed property to me, and which was to descend
to the child or children that might spring from my marriage with his
daughter. A distant male relative of his now set up a claim to that
property; and proceedings were taken in the Court of Chancery, from
which it transpired that the Marquis and Marchioness of Delmour were
living apart--by mutual consent, as it was alleged--and that their
infant child was in the charge of the Marquis himself. I shall not
weary you with particulars nor details: suffice it to say that the
proceedings took such a turn and were of such a nature as to lead to
a decree to this effect--that the claims of the distant relative were
rejected--that trustees were appointed by the Court to administer the
property, until Agnes should attain the age of twenty-one--and that, as
no allegation of misconduct had been made against the Marchioness of
Delmour, she should have the charge of her daughter!”
This portion of the Marquis’s narrative will explain to the reader
wherefore, when conversing with his daughter at the cottage, as
detailed in Chapter CLXI., he said to her, “Two years more, and I
shall no longer have any secrets from you:” because at the expiration
of that period, Agnes would attain her majority. The decree in
Chancery likewise explained the ground upon which Mrs. Sefton--_alias_
the Marchioness of Delmour--had observed to Trevelyan, in Chapter
CLXXXI., that “the law was in her favour,” in respect to any endeavour
that might be made to wrest Agnes from her care; and the same fact
elucidates the meaning of her ladyship’s remark that two years must
elapse ere she could venture to dispose of the hand of her daughter in
marriage.
“Thus was it,” resumed the Marquis, after a brief pause, “that those
accursed proceedings which I did not provoke, and which, when once
commenced, I could not arrest,--thus was it that they suddenly placed
my infant daughter within the jurisdiction of the Chancery Court,
and deprived me of the right of retaining her in my care. It is true
that I might have instituted counter-proceedings in respect to this
portion of the decree: but then I should have been compelled to
attack the reputation of my wife--prove her to be an adultress, if
such evidence could be acquired--and cover a noble family with shame,
while a species of hereditary taint would cling to the reputation of
my Agnes. Now, my lord, you can understand my motive in rearing her
under circumstances of such privacy--such secresy,--in dooming her
to an existence of seclusion--almost of solitude,--and of adopting
all possible precautions to prevent her falling into the hands of her
mother. And now, also, that you are acquainted with this most sad--this
most unhappy history, I appeal to you whether you will be the means of
permitting the innocent Agnes to remain in the care of her unworthy
parent. If you really love her, my lord--if you propose to make her
your wife when she attains her majority--I put it to your honour and
to your good sense whether it be preferable that she should pass the
interval of two years with her mother, who occupies so equivocal a
position--or with her father, who has ever done his duty towards her.”
Trevelyan was cruelly embarrassed by this appeal, which in reality
carried so much weight with it and involved so important a point,
that he knew not how to act. Much as he was disposed to make all
possible allowances for Mrs. Sefton--as we had better continue to call
her,--much as he pitied her in consequence of the wretched marriage
into which she had been forced--and great as the excuse was for her
connexion with Sir Gilbert Heathcote,--he nevertheless could not avoid
being shocked at the idea of the young creature whom he intended to
make his wife, remaining in the maternal care.
His good sense and propriety of feeling naturally prompted him,
therefore, to advocate the father’s claim to the guardianship of Agnes:
but on the other hand, the solemn pledge he had given to Sir Gilbert
Heathcote, and likewise his confidence in the good principles of Mrs.
Sefton, in spite of her equivocal position--all this forbade him to
side at once with the Marquis. Yet how was he to remain neutral?--he
who had such a deep and tender interest in the welfare of the
lovely--the innocent--the artless Agnes!
While he was still hesitating what course to adopt, and walking up
and down the room in an excited manner,--while, too, the Marquis of
Delmour, who remained seated upon the sofa, was watching him with the
most intense anxiety,--a loud double knock and ring at the front door
startled both the noblemen.
“I will not receive any one at present!” exclaimed Trevelyan; and
hastily opening the drawing-room door, he hurried out upon the landing,
whence he was about to give instructions to the hall-porter to deny him
to the visitor, whoever it might be.
But the front-door was already opened; and both the Marquis and
Trevelyan heard the hall-porter observing, evidently in reply to a
question that had been put to him--“His lordship is particularly
engaged, madam, at the present moment: the Marquis of Delmour is with
his lordship in the drawing-room.”
“The Marquis of Delmour--eh?” exclaimed a female voice, not unknown to
either of the noblemen. “Oh! I am acquainted with the Marquis as well
as with my friend Lord William--and I will therefore take the liberty
of intruding upon them.”
Before the hall-porter could offer any farther objection, the obtrusive
female brushed past him and hurried up the marble staircase--Trevelyan
having already retreated into the drawing-room.
In a few moments the young nobleman and the Marquis were equally
annoyed by the appearance of Mrs. Mortimer, who, decked out in the
gayest style, thus unceremoniously forced her way into their presence.
CHAPTER CXCII.
MRS. MORTIMER IN LONDON AGAIN.
“This is really most fortunate, my lords!” exclaimed the old woman,
as she entered with a smirking countenance and a self-sufficient air.
“I wished to see you both as early as convenient this morning--and,
behold! I find you together. How is the pretty Agnes? Has not your
lordship discovered that I told you the truth, when I referred you
to this house for information respecting her?” she inquired, turning
towards the Marquis.
“Yes, madam,” he exclaimed, hastily: “and as I shall proceed direct
hence to my bankers, to instruct them relative to certain cheques which
I recently gave in Paris, you may present your draft in the course of
the day with the certainty of receiving the amount. I presume that it
was for this purpose you desired to see me!”
“Precisely so, my lord,” responded the old woman, scarcely able to
conceal the boundless joy which she now experienced: for the Marquis
had given her precisely the very information which she was anxious to
obtain--namely, _that his banker would in the course of the day be
directed to cash the various cheques he had recently given when in
Paris!_
“And what business can you possibly have to transact with me, madam?”
demanded Lord William Trevelyan, in a tone of the most chilling hauteur.
“I thought of doing your lordship a service,” answered Mrs. Mortimer;
“and yet the manner in which I am received, is but a sorry recompense
for my good intentions.”
“To speak candidly, madam,” said the young noble, “I mistrust your
intentions and do not require your services.”
“It is true enough that the presence of the Marquis here has
forestalled the purport of my own visit,” observed Mrs. Mortimer,
secretly enjoying the vexation which she evidently caused Lord William
by remaining in the room. “But I may as well prove to you that those
intentions which you affect to mistrust, were really good; and
therefore I will at once inform your lordship that I came to relate
to you all that took place between the Marquis and me in Paris three
days ago. For I thought that I might as well prepare you for a visit on
the part of my Lord Delmour; and I was in hopes of being the first to
reveal to you the high birth of the young lady whom you had believed to
be plain _Agnes Vernon_.”
“For which officiousness you would have expected a handsome
remuneration,” said Lord William, with a contemptuous curling of the
lip. “No--madam: you will not obtain a single guinea from me! I can
read your character thoroughly--and, grieved as I am to be compelled to
address a female in so harsh a manner, I must nevertheless beg you to
relieve me of your presence as speedily as possible.”
“I have no wish to intrude myself any longer upon your lordships,”
observed Mrs. Mortimer; and, with a respectful curtsey to the Marquis
and a stiff inclination of the head to Trevelyan, she took her
departure.
“And now, my lord,” said the impatient Marquis, “that we are relieved
of the company of that despicable woman--for in no other light can I
regard her--may I solicit your decision in the important matter that
yet remains to be settled?”
“It grieves me--believe me, my dear Marquis, it pains me to keep you in
suspense,” returned Trevelyan: “but on one side my inclination prompts
me to act in accordance with your wishes--on the other, my word is
pledged to retain the abode of--of----”
“Mrs. Sefton,” interrupted the old nobleman, hastily.
“To retain the address of that lady a profound secret,” added
Trevelyan. “But this much I will promise--this much I will
undertake:--without delay to repair to Mrs. Sefton and urge her to
deliver up Lady Agnes to your care. I have that confidence in her
rectitude of principle, which induces me to hope for success when I
shall have placed the entire matter before her in its proper light.”
“With this assurance I must rest contented for the present,” observed
the Marquis. “But hear the resolution to which I have come,” he
continued, rising from his seat, and speaking in a tone of excitement.
“Hitherto I have done all I could--aye, and far more than the
generality of injured husbands would have done--to cast a veil over
the unhappy circumstances which I have this morning related to you.
But should she refuse to deliver up my daughter to my care--should she
entrench herself behind the decision of the Chancery Court--I shall
then remain peaceable no longer. It shall be war--open war--between her
and me. I will appeal to the tribunals of my country--I will apply to
the Ecclesiastical Court and the House of Lords for a divorce--and I
will adopt the necessary proceedings and furnish the proper evidence to
induce the Lord Chancellor to deprive the erring mother of the care of
her child. Such is my determination, Lord William--and you may use the
menace, which is no idle one, to bring that woman to reason.”
With these words the Marquis pressed the hand of the young nobleman,
and took his leave hastily.
Mrs. Mortimer, who was seated in a cab at a little distance, watching
for the departure of the Marquis, beheld him enter his carriage, which
immediately drove away; and the humbler vehicle was thereupon directed
to follow the more imposing equipage.
The carriage proceeded into the Strand, and stopped at the door of an
eminent banking-house, which the Marquis entered.
Mrs. Mortimer, having dogged him thither, alighted at a little distance
and dismissed the cab.
She watched the old nobleman come forth again; and then she repaired to
a coffee-house in the neighbourhood where she ordered some refreshment
to be served up in a private room. She likewise demanded writing
materials; and when she was left to herself, she drew forth the cheque
for six hundred pounds which the Marquis of Delmour had given her.
“Now for the grand blow,” she thought within herself, as she carefully
examined the draft: “and it must be struck boldly, too! But the aim is
worth all the risk:--sixty thousand pounds or transportation--those
are the alternatives! I have been possessed of enough money in my life
to know how sweet it is--and I have seen enough of transportation to
be well aware how bitter it is! And the former is so sweet that it
is worth while chancing all the bitters of the latter to obtain it.
Besides--apart from the delicious feeling of having a vast fortune
at my command--how delightful will it be to over-reach the haughty
Perdita--or Laura, as she chooses to call herself!”
And here the old woman’s lips curled into a contemptuous sneer.
“I have hitherto managed matters cleverly enough,” she continued in
her musings. “Ah! hah! Lord William Trevelyan thought that I called
upon him either to gratify some idle curiosity or to extort money. He
little suspected my drift! It was to see whether the Marquis had been
to him--to learn whether my information had been found correct--to
ascertain whether I might present the draft at the bankers’. And then
the old Marquis himself!--it was lucky that I found him there--I was
saved the trouble of calling at his mansion to worm out of him whether
he had instructed his bankers to pay the cheque,--not _my_ paltry draft
for six hundred--but Perdita’s grand amount of sixty thousand! In all
this I succeeded admirably: and now for the desperate venture.”
Having thus communed with herself, Mrs. Mortimer partook of a little
refreshment; for she was anxious to while away an hour before she went
to the bank, so as not to present herself too soon after the visit of
the Marquis of Delmour to the establishment.
When she had eaten and drank as drunk as much as she cared for, she
addressed herself to the grand project which she had in view, and in
furtherance of which she had demanded the private room and the writing
materials at the coffee-house.
The writing of the Marquis was execrably bad; and it was not a very
difficult matter to add _ty_ to the _six_, and transform the word
_hundred_ into _thousand_, in the body of the cheque; while the simple
addition of 00 to the 600_l._ written in figures in the corner,
completed the forgery.
The cheque, therefore, now stood for _sixty thousand pounds_, instead
of _six hundred_, payable to _bearer_, no particular name being
mentioned as the intended recipient.
When the old woman had thus transformed the document, a glow of triumph
animated her hideous countenance: but in a few moments a chill--a cold,
creeping tremor came over her--as if a clammy snake were gradually
coiling itself around her form, underneath her clothes;--for she
remembered all the sensations which she had experienced when she
committed the forgery of Sir Henry Courtenay’s name nineteen years
previously!
By a desperate effort the old woman shook off the painful feeling that
thus influenced her; and, resolving to allow herself no more leisure
for reflection, _lest her thoughts should make a coward of her_,
she rang the bell--paid the trifling amount incurred--and took her
departure from the coffee-house.
During her walk to the bank, which was close at hand, she rapidly
calculated in her mind all the chances of success. The Marquis had
unquestionably been thither to give instructions relative to the
draft held by Laura as well as that which had been given to herself;
and there was not the slightest reason to fear that her daughter had
followed so closely on her steps from Paris as to have been able to
visit the bank during the hour that had just elapsed. As for the
excellence of the forgery--or rather of the alterations, Mrs. Mortimer
entertained no apprehension on that score; and thus, all things
considered, she deemed failure to be impossible.
With an apparent outward composure, but with a palpitating heart, the
old woman entered the bank, and presented her cheque to one of the
clerks. He surveyed it narrowly--took it into the private office,
or parlour, doubtless to submit it to one of the proprietors of the
establishment or some responsible person--and remained away upwards of
two minutes.
Two minutes!--but that interval was an age--a perfect age in the
imagination of the old woman! It was an interval composed of such
intense feelings that the hair of a young person might have turned
suddenly grey,--feelings of such burning hope and such awful suspense,
of such profound terror and fervid expectation, that while molten lead
appeared to drop upon one side of her heart, ice seemed to lay upon the
other!
At length the clerk came back; and Mrs. Mortimer darted a
rapid--searching--penetrating glance at his countenance.
Nothing save respect and civility could she trace thereon: and she
instantly knew that she was safe!
Then came such a revulsion of feeling--such a subsiding of the terrors
and such an exaltation of the hopes which she had conceived--that it
was as if she were shooting upwards from the profundity of a deluge of
dark waters and suddenly breathed the fresh air again and beheld the
bright sun and the smiling heavens overhead.
The clerk proceeded to count out bank-notes for the sum specified
in the cheque; and as he handed the fortune--yes, literally a
fortune--over to the old woman, he considerately gave her a caution to
take care of the vile characters who frequently lurked about the doors
of banking-houses.
Mrs. Mortimer thanked the clerk for his well-meant advice, and sallied
forth from the establishment, with a heart so elate that she could
scarcely believe in the success of the tremendous fraud, now that it
had passed triumphantly through the ordeal.
But as she was crossing the threshold, she heard a name suddenly
mentioned; and, hastily turning her head, she found herself face to
face with Jack Rily, the Doctor!
CHAPTER CXCIII.
JACK RILY AND MRS. MORTIMER.
The individual whom Mrs. Mortimer thus unexpectedly and unpleasantly
encountered, had made a considerable improvement in his personal
appearance during the few days that had elapsed since she saw him last.
The old fur cap, the greasy velveteen shooting-jacket, the rusty
waistcoat, the corduroy trowsers, and the heavy high-lows, were
exchanged for a shining silk hat, a complete suit of black clothes,
and a pair of Wellington boots: his shirt was likewise new and clean,
and he wore a satin stock instead of the blue cotton handkerchief tied
loosely round his neck.
He had evidently endeavoured to make himself look as respectable as
he could: but the almost African hue of his complexion--the horrible
hare-lip, through the opening of which the large white teeth glistened
up to the gums--and the yellow fire that seemed to shine in the small
and restless eyes, gave him such a peculiar aspect that it was scarcely
possible for any one who passed to avoid noticing him.
“Mrs. Mortimer, my beloved tiger-cat, how are you?” he exclaimed,
grasping the old woman’s hand and shaking it violently.
“Very well, thank you, Mr. Rily: but pray do not detain me now, there’s
a good soul--for I have not a moment to spare----”
“I shan’t detain you, old beauty,” interrupted Jack; “because I’ll
just do myself the pleasure of walking along with you. Come--take my
arm--you needn’t be ashamed to do so now: I think I’m pretty tidily
rigged--eh?”
Thus speaking, he glanced complacently over his own person, and then
bestowed a look upon the outward appearance of Mrs. Mortimer, who, as
we have already observed, was dressed with unusual gaiety.
“Come, my dear--take my arm,” exclaimed the Doctor.
“Really, Mr. Rily, you must excuse me,” said the old woman, who was
most anxious to get away from the vicinity of the bank, but by no
means desirous of remaining in the company of the Doctor: “I have a
particular matter to attend to immediately! If, however, you desire to
see me, I shall be most happy to meet you this evening----”
“This fiddlestick!” interrupted Jack Rily, impatiently. “You know that
you never kept the appointment you made with me after that Stamford
Street affair the other day--when you went away with the young girl in
the cab; and yet you assured me that there was money to be got through
her----”
“Well, well--I have not time to talk of the matter now,” said Mrs.
Mortimer, angrily: “and I _must_ take my leave of you.”
“Lord bless you! I’m not going to be put off in this fashion, old
lady,” cried Jack. “It suits me to have a little further chat with
you--and I’m determined the whim shall be gratified. So take my arm at
once, and come along. If we stand here palavering, we shall soon have a
mob about us--because it isn’t every day that two such handsome people
as you and I are seen together,” he added, with a horrible chuckle.
“But perhaps you are not going my way,” said Mrs. Mortimer, still
hesitating to take the proffered arm, and deeply vexed at this
encounter.
“Oh! yes I am--because I’ll go any way you like,” responded Jack Rily,
in the most accommodating spirit.
“Well--you shall be my companion for a short time,” exclaimed Mrs.
Mortimer, affecting to laugh in good humour; and, taking his arm, she
proceeded with him along the Strand.
“I met our friend Vitriol Bob last night at a public-house,” observed
Jack, who seemed quite proud of having the hideous old woman clinging
to him. “He looked remarkably savage when he saw me in my bran new
toggery--for he thought to himself that the money which purchased it
ought to have belonged to him. I hadn’t seen him since the night in
Stamford Street; and, as he had the impudence to stare at me in a
threatening manner, I went up to him and whispered in his ear, ‘_What
about old Torrens, Bob?_’ He turned quite livid with rage, and ground
his teeth together; then, after a few moments’ consideration, he
said--also in a whisper--‘_If it wasn’t that you knew that secret, I’d
serve you out nicely, old fellow: but I’ll be even with you yet, I dare
say._’--‘_Whenever you like, Bob_,’ said I; and then we sate down in
different parts of the room and stared at each other all the time we
were smoking our pipes. But not another word passed between us; and
the other people who were present, knowing that we were excellent pals
until lately, wondered what the devil was the matter.”
“And did he bury the dead body, do you know?” inquired Mrs. Mortimer.
“I didn’t put the question to him,” answered Jack Rily. “Nothing more
passed between us than what I have just told you: but I have no doubt
that he laid old Torrens two or three feet under the kitchen floor in
the Haunted House. And now, how do you suppose that I and Vitriol Bob
stand with regard to each other?”
“As enemies, I should suppose,” replied Mrs. Mortimer, wondering by
what means she could possibly shake off her disagreeable companion.
“As mortal--implacable--unrelenting enemies,” continued the man,
lowering his voice: for his loud talking had already attracted the
notice of the passers-by in the Strand, and he had just caught sight
of a policeman who appeared to be eyeing him rather suspiciously.
“Yes--as bitter enemies,” he repeated. “Not that I have any resentment
_now_ against Bob: because my revenge is gratified, and I am more than
even with him. But as he will take the first opportunity to thrust a
knife into my ribs, or dash his vitriol bottle in my face, whenever he
catches me in a lonely place,--why, I must be prepared to struggle with
him to the very death. So, my old tiger-cat,” added the Doctor, with
amazing cheerfulness, considering the gravity of the topic, “whenever
he and I do so meet, only one of us will walk away alive. That’s as
certain as that you’re leaning on my arm, and that I’m proud of your
company.”
“Is Vitriol Bob, as you call him, such a desperate fellow?” inquired
Mrs. Mortimer, wishing the Doctor at the hottest place she could think
of.
“Why, I’ve told you all about him before,” exclaimed Jack. “And now let
me give you a little piece of advice about yourself, old gal----”
“About me!” repeated Mrs. Mortimer, with a shudder occasioned by a
presentiment of what she was going to hear.
“Yes--about you, my tiger-cat,” repeated the Doctor. “Remember that
Vitriol Bob never forgets or forgives--and he owes you _one_. That’s
all! But, when I think of it, I shall constitute myself your lawful
protector--because I never _did_ meet any woman so precious ugly as you
are; and ugliness, when joined to ferocity, is beauty in my eyes--as I
have before told you.”
“Well, well--we will discuss all these points another time,” said Mrs.
Mortimer. “I must leave you here,” she added, stopping suddenly short
at the corner of Wellington Street, leading to Waterloo Bridge.
“Your way is mine,” observed Jack Rily, coolly, as he compelled her to
walk on. “But, by the bye, what were you doing in that bank at the door
of which I met you?”
“I merely went in to see a clerk of my acquaintance,” replied the
old woman, cursing in her heart the odious companion who thus
pertinaciously attached himself to her.
“Come, that won’t do, old gal!” exclaimed Jack, as he paid the toll for
them both at the gate of the bridge. “I am so well acquainted with all
the rigs and moves of London life, as to be able to tell in a moment
whether a person coming out of a bank has been to receive money, or
not. If it’s a gentleman, he feels at his breeches-pocket to see that
the cash is all safe--or he buttons his coat over his breast which
proves that the notes are in his waistcoat. If it’s a woman, she gripes
her reticule precious tight--or smoothes down her dress just over where
her pocket is--or else settles her shawl over her bosom, when the notes
are there. This last was precisely what you did; and therefore, my old
tiger-cat, I know that you’ve got money in the bosom of your dress as
well as if I saw you put it there.”
“You’re quite wrong for once in your life, Mr. Rily,” said Mrs.
Mortimer, trembling at the remarks which had just fallen upon her ears.
“Then why does your arm shake so as it hangs in mine?” demanded the
Doctor, with an imperturbability which frightened the old woman more
than if he had actually used threats: for, little as she had seen of
him, she was well enough acquainted with his character to perceive that
he was meditating mischief.
“My arm did _not_ shake,” cried Mrs. Mortimer, mastering up all her
courage and presence of mind, “But here we are at the end of the
bridge, and I must bid you good-bye. When shall we meet again?”
“We are not going to separate in a hurry, I can tell you,” said the
Doctor: “so don’t think it. You know I love you,” he added with a
horrible grin, which opened his harelip so wide that he seemed to be an
ogre about to devour her; “and I love much more still the bank-notes
that you have got in your bosom. Besides, it is my duty to protect you
from Vitriol Bob; and, in addition to all this, I think we shall be
able to knock up a very cozie partnership together.”
“And suppose that I decline the honour you intend me?” asked the old
woman, assuming a tone of bitter sarcasm in order to induce Rily to
believe that she was not afraid--though, in reality, her heart was
sinking within her.
“In the case which you have suggested, I shall force you to do as I
choose and act as I desire,” coolly responded the Doctor.
“Force me, indeed!” repeated the old woman, withdrawing her arm, and
stopping short in the Waterloo Road.
“Yes--force you,” said Jack Rily, compelling her to take his arm again
and also to walk on. “You had better not provoke me, because I am not
the man to stick at trifles; and if you make a noise and raise a mob,
I will swear black and blue that you are my wife--that you have bolted
with my money--and that the notes are concealed somewhere about your
person. Then, if the police should interfere, you will have to give
an account of how you became possessed of the notes aforesaid;--and I
dare say, from the estimate I have formed of your character, you would
not like to be questioned on that point. In a word, then--unless I am
mightily deceived--you have committed some nice little bit of roguery;
and I mean to go halves with you.”
This tirade was spun out to such a length and delivered in such a
measured tone of coolness, that Mrs. Mortimer, who was perfectly
astounded at the menaces with which it opened, had leisure to recover
her self-possession: but the rapid survey of her position which she was
enabled to take while the Doctor was finishing his harangue, was far
from consolatory. She had indeed committed a little roguery, and would
indeed be sorry to be questioned by the police; and she knew, moreover,
that Jack Rily was quite capable of carrying all his threats into
immediate execution.
What, then, was she to do? There was no alternative but to bend to
circumstances--make the best of a bad job--and trust to the chapter of
accidents so as to avail herself of any occurrence that might turn up
in her favour.
“Well--you keep silent, old gal,” said the Doctor, after a short pause.
“Is it that you don’t admire me sufficiently to take me as a husband,
in the fashion of leaping over the broom-stick?”
“It is of the utmost importance that I should attend to certain
pressing matters,” returned Mrs. Mortimer; “and afterwards I shall be
happy to fall into all your plans and projects.”
“Well, we will attend to the pressing matters together,” said the
Doctor. “A husband and wife must have no secrets from each other. But
since we have come this way, and as my abode happens to lie in the
immediate neighbourhood, I propose at once to introduce you thereto
and install you as mistress of the place. I have got a comfortable
crib--for Torrens’s money did wonders for me as you may well suppose.”
At this moment a project flashed to the mind of the old woman. What if
she were to yield, without farther hesitation or remonstrance, to the
Doctor’s proposals, and watch her opportunity either to murder him or
escape when he was asleep? By wheedling herself into his confidence,
she would know where he deposited the money which, she feared, must
pass from her hands into his own; and she could repossess herself of
it, if he were disposed of, or if she were wakeful while he slept.
“I do not mind accompanying you to your lodgings,” she said; “and
there we can talk over the whole business much better than in the open
street.”
“There! now you are getting into a better frame of mind,” observed Jack
Rily. “This way:”--and he turned into the low streets lying on the
left-hand side of the Waterloo Road, between Upper Stamford Street and
the New Cut.
The neighbourhood alluded to swarms with brothels of the most infamous
description; and half-naked women may be seen at all hours lounging
about at the doors, and endeavouring to entice into their dens any
respectable-looking men who happen to pass that way. Robberies are of
frequent occurrence in those houses of ill fame; and the great aim of
the vile females inhabiting them, is to entrap persons who are the
worse for liquor and whose appearance denotes a well-filled purse.
Neighbourhoods of this kind should be shunned by all decent persons, as
if a pestilence were raging there!
It was into Roupel-street that Jack Rily conducted Mrs. Mortimer; and
when he had introduced her to a small but well furnished parlour, with
a bed-chamber communicating by means of folding-doors, he produced a
bottle of brandy, saying, “Now let us drink to our happy meeting this
day!”
Filling two glasses with the potent liquor, he handed one to the old
woman, who swallowed the contents greedily: for she felt that she stood
in need of a stimulant.
“Now, my beautiful tiger-cat,” exclaimed the Doctor, as he drew
down the blind over the window, “I am about to subject you to a
little ceremony which may be perhaps looked upon as the least thing
uncourteous; but it must be accomplished all the same. So don’t let us
have any bother about it.”
Thus speaking, he approached the cupboard whence he had taken the
brandy, and drawing forth a huge clasp-knife, he touched a spring which
made the blade fly open and remain fixed as if it were a dagger.
“You do not mean to hurt me?” exclaimed the old woman, now becoming
terribly alarmed--so much so, that she sank exhausted into a chair,
while her looks were fixed appealingly on the man’s countenance.
“Not unless you grow obstreperous or have any of your nonsense,” said
Jack. “I love you too well to harm you,” he added, with a leer that
made him more hideously ugly than ever: “but I must have my own way all
the same. So just be so kind as to place upon the table the Bank-notes
which you have got in the bosom of your gown. It is but fair that I
should have a wife who can bring me a dowry--and you must leave it to
my generosity,” he went on to say, with a chuckling laugh, “how much I
shall settle upon you afterwards.”
[Illustration]
While he was thus speaking, Mrs. Mortimer rapidly revolved in her mind
all the chances that were for or against her at that moment. Were she
to scream and attempt resistance, could she succeed in alarming the
neighbourhood before the miscreant would have plunged his dagger into
her?--or, indeed, would he have recourse to such an extreme measure
at all? These questions she at once decided against herself; and,
reverting to her former project of affecting obedience, she thrust her
hand into her bosom, dexterously separated a couple of the notes from
the rest of the bundle, and threw those two upon the table.
Jack Rily instantly snatched them up; and when he perceived that they
were for _a thousand pounds_ each, he could scarcely contain his joy.
Flinging the terrible clasp-knife on the floor, he rushed upon the old
woman, who was seized with too sudden and too profound a terror to
permit her even to give utterance to the faintest ejaculation--for she
thought that he intended to murder her: but her cruel apprehensions
fled in another moment when the loathsome monster, throwing his arms
about her neck, began to embrace and fondle her as if she were a
blooming beauty of seventeen instead of a hideous harridan upwards of
sixty. Nevertheless, old and polluted as she was, and inured to all
circumstances of disgust as her term of transportation had rendered
her, she revolted with a sickening sensation from the pawings and
caresses of the hare-lipped wretch who had thus enfolded her in his
horrible embrace. She therefore struggled to rid herself of him--to
escape from his arms: but he, almost maddened with the joy which the
sight of the bank-notes had raised up in his breast, hugged her only
the more tightly in proportion as her resistance became the more
desperate.
“By heavens! I’ll kiss you again, old gal!” he exclaimed. “I care
not how ugly the world may consider you----Be quiet now, can’t
you?----to me you’re a paragon of beauty----Perdition! let go of me,
you hell-cat----there! now you’re magnificent in your rage--that’s the
humour I like to see a woman in----Hey-dey! what’s that?”
And, as he uttered this ejaculation, he suddenly quitted his hold upon
Mrs. Mortimer, and pounced upon something that had rolled on the floor.
It was the bundle of Bank-notes, which had fallen from the old woman’s
dress during the struggle.
“By Jove! here’s a treasure--a fortune--a King’s ransom!” ejaculated
the Doctor, scarcely able to believe his eyes, as he hastily turned
over the notes with his hands. “My God! it is impossible!” he cried,
his wonderment increasing to such a pitch, that he began to think he
must be insane: then, a sudden idea striking him, he turned abruptly
towards Mrs. Mortimer, who had sunk back, exhausted and overwhelmed
with rage and grief, into the chair. “Ah! I understand it all now,”
he said, his voice changing in a moment to the low tone of solemn
mystery: “you are a nice old girl, you are! Yes--yes--I understand it
at last! These are all queer screens[26]--and you went into the bank to
smash[27] some of them. By Jove! it’s glorious.”
Mrs. Mortimer, who was gasping for breath, could make no reply: her
mouth was parched--her tongue was as dry as if she had been travelling
for hours over a desert without tasting water.
“And yet,” resumed Jack Rily, scrutinising the notes more narrowly
still, “these are precious good imitations--too good to be imitations,
indeed. I know enough of Bank-notes--aye, and of forged ones too--to
see that these are the genuine flimsies. Blood and thunder! what a
glorious old wretch you are!” he cried, again surveying her with a
joy that was entirely unfeigned and amounted almost to admiration.
“I suppose you have committed some splendid forgery. But of course
it must be something of that kind,” he added, a sudden reminiscence
striking him: “or else you wouldn’t have been so deucedly alarmed when
I threatened just now to kick up a row in the streets and attract the
notice of the police. So, you perceive, that I was pretty keen in my
surmises. I knew you had money concealed in your bosom--and I was
equally well convinced you had not obtained it by means that would bear
inquiry. However, here it is--in my possession--and it can’t be in
safer hands. I’ll just sit down quietly, and count how much there is.”
Thus speaking, the monster picked up his clasp-knife, which he closed
and consigned to his pocket; and he next proceeded to inspect the
Bank-notes. But when he discovered the enormous sum to which they
amounted, his astonishment grew to such an extreme as even to subdue
his joy; and, shaking his head slowly, he observed, “This is such a
heavy affair that the police will leave no stone unturned to detect
the holders of the notes. Whatever we do, must be done at once; and in
order that I should be able to judge what course to pursue, you must
give me all the particulars of the transaction.”
Mrs. Mortimer was struck by the truth of this observation: for she knew
that the moment the forgery was detected, payment of the notes would
be stopped, and advertisements announcing the usual caution would be
inserted in the newspapers.
“Well, I suppose there is no use in disguising the real truth,” she
exclaimed, recovering her self-possession; “and I will tell you all
about it in a few words. A certain nobleman----”
“Who is he?” demanded Rily. “Come--speak out plainly.”
“The Marquis of Delmour, since you must know,” returned the old woman.
“And what did he do,” asked the man, impatiently.
“He gave me a cheque for six hundred pounds for a particular service
that I rendered him; and he also gave my daughter----”
“Ah! you have got a daughter, eh?” exclaimed Jack Rily. “Is she
anything like yourself?”
“She is as beautiful as an angel,” answered Mrs. Mortimer, a
scintillation of a mother’s pride flashing at the moment in her bosom:
“but as depraved and dissolute as a demoness,” she added almost
immediately. “Well, this Marquis of Delmour was wheedled by her out
of a cheque for sixty thousand pounds; and though my daughter kept it
quiet enough, I found out the secret. So away I sped--back to England I
came----”
“Where did all this happen, then?” demanded Jack.
“In Paris--three days ago,” replied Mrs. Mortimer. “On my arrival in
London, my course was easy----”
“You may almost say _natural_,” interrupted the Doctor. “I understand
the business plainly enough at present. You altered your six hundred
pound draft into one for sixty thousand--and you have thus forestalled
your daughter?”
“That is precisely how the matter stands,” said the old woman.
“And when is it likely that your daughter will be in London to present
_her_ cheque?” asked the Doctor.
“I should say that I had about twelve hours’ start of her,” was the
response; “and then, as she would not travel by night--having a
handsome young foreigner as her companion--the circumstance of her
stopping to sleep on the road would delay her pretty nearly another
twelve hours. Besides, she believes me to be still in Paris--she has
not the least idea of my sudden return to England; and therefore she
has no particular motive to induce her to adopt any extraordinary
speed.”
“Well, well,” cried the Doctor, impatiently: “but all this palaver does
not answer my question. When do you expect your daughter will reach
London?”
“This evening,” replied the old woman: “too late to present her
cheque at the bank. And there _are_ means--yes, there are means,” she
continued in a musing tone, “which, if skilfully adopted, would compel
my daughter to refrain from offering her draft at all, and likewise
force her to leave us in undisturbed possession of the money.”
“And those means?” demanded Jack Rily, his eyes brightening.
“Before I explain myself, let us come to a thorough understanding,”
said Mrs. Mortimer. “Will you restore me one-half of the amount you now
hold in your possession? I am content to abandon the other half to you.”
“Yes, that is a bargain,” answered Jack Rily; “for I see that you do
not relish the idea of living with me altogether, and that you will
leave me when this matter is properly settled. Is it not so?”
“Well, such is indeed my intention,” responded the old woman.
“Our relative position now stands in this manner,” continued Jack
Rily: “there are sixty thousand pounds’ worth of good notes. With all
my connexion amongst fences and receivers of such flimsy, I could not
manage to obtain gold for more than two or three thousand in the
course of the day; and to-morrow morning your daughter may present
her cheque, when a discovery will take place, and all the rest of
the notes will be useless. As for going over to the continent, and
endeavouring to pass them there, the thing would be ridiculous; for
the advertisements in the newspapers would put all the money-changers
in Europe upon their guard. Thus far, then, the notes are not worth
more than two or three thousand pounds to me. But, on the other hand,
you say that you have the means of stopping your daughter’s mouth, and
compelling her to put up with the loss. In this case, the whole amount
of notes becomes available; and therefore we will share and share
alike.”
“Then give me my moiety at once,” said the old woman, with greedy
impatience.
“No such thing!” ejaculated Rily: “I must have some guarantee that
you act properly in this business; and you can have no hesitation in
putting your trust in me, because you have had a proof of my good
feeling before. I have not forgotten that you saved my life in the
struggle with Vitriol Bob; and the same feeling that made me give
you half the spoil _then_, will prompt me to act with equal fairness
now. You are therefore at liberty to depart when you choose, and to
go where you like: the notes will remain in my possession--and when
you come back to me with the assurance that you have prevented your
daughter from taking any step that may lead to an explosion of the
whole business, your share shall be immediately forthcoming. I have now
put the matter in the proper light; and with such a good understanding,
there can be no quarrelling. As to whether you afterwards choose to
become my broom-stick wife, I must leave it entirely to yourself: for
though I should be as happy as a king in the possession of your old
person and sixty thousand pounds, yet I shall be able to console myself
for your loss by means of the thirty thousand that will remain to me.”
During this long tirade, all the first portion of which was delivered
in a tone of business-like seriousness, Mrs. Mortimer was hastily
reflecting upon the improvement that had so unexpectedly taken place
in the aspect of her affairs: for she now found herself at liberty to
leave the monster whom she loathed and abhorred, and she had every
chance of regaining and being able to make use of the moiety of the
Bank-notes.
She accordingly assented to the conditions proposed by the Doctor,
leaving the broom-stick marriage “an open question;” and having settled
her disordered attire, she took her departure--not however before she
had been compelled to submit to another hugging on the part of the
hare-lipped wretch whose caresses were so revolting and intolerable.
CHAPTER CXCIV.
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER AGAIN.
It was about five o’clock in the evening of the same day on which
these events occurred, that Laura Mortimer and the Count of Carignano,
attended by Rosalie, arrived in London by the South Eastern Railway;
and they immediately repaired to an hotel at the west-end of the town.
Although the young Italian nobleman had experienced sufficient leisure
for reflection with regard to the step which he was about to take, the
enthusiasm of his passion had not undergone the least abatement: on
the contrary, the more he saw of Laura, and the longer he was in her
company, the more ardently did he burn to make her his wife.
Nor can this infatuation on his part be a subject of wonder or surprise
with our readers: for when it is remembered that the artful creature
united the most winning ways and captivating manners to the most
transcendent loveliness, and that the Count of Carignano had the warm
Italian blood flowing in his veins,--when, too, it is recollected
that the syren maintained an incessant fire upon his heart with the
artillery of her charms and her fascinations--never permitting the
conversation to droop throughout the journey, and never seeming wearied
of lavishing the tenderest caresses upon her handsome companion,--when
all these circumstances are taken into consideration, it cannot be
a matter of wonderment if the silken chains in which Lorenzo was
ensnared, were completely rivetted.
There was also this fact which served to strengthen _his_ love and
_her_ power: namely, that she had not invited him to return to her
in Paris--she had not sought to retain him within the sphere of her
influence on the occasion of their first amour--she had not played the
part of a mere adventuress or husband-hunter towards him. No: she had
dismissed him with the understanding that their connexion could not be
renewed--that she could neither become his wife nor his mistress;--and
the young man had of his own accord flown back to her, as a suppliant
for her hand! That she _could_ be an adventuress or a husband-hunter,
never therefore entered his imagination--even if for an instant he
paused to ponder with any degree of seriousness upon her character; and
so far from considering that he was bestowing any favour upon her by
making her the sharer of his wealth and title, he looked upon himself
as the party owing the obligation--he regarded himself as the happy
individual who had the greater reason to rejoice at the connexion.
On her part, Laura Mortimer was most anxious that the marriage-knot
should be tied as speedily as possible: for she naturally longed to
place beyond all possibility of doubt or disappointment the brilliant
destiny that had suddenly developed itself to her view. Even the
possession of the cheque for sixty thousand pounds was a secondary
consideration, in comparison with her desire to secure that proud title
of Countess which was now within her reach.
Having partaken of a hasty dinner at the hotel, Laura and her intended
husband repaired without delay to a fashionable house-agent in the
neighbourhood; and it happened that he had upon his list a furnished
villa of which possession might be taken at an hour’s notice. It was
situated in Westbourne Place, Pimlico, and was in perfect readiness
for the reception of occupants. Thither the Count, Laura, and the
house-agent immediately proceeded; and as the villa fully corresponded,
in all its conveniences and appointments, with the description given,
an arrangement was effected upon the spot for the tenancy.
Laura and the Count returned, however, to the hotel for that night;
and early in the morning they repaired to Doctors’ Commons, where the
young nobleman speedily obtained a special license. Thence, attended
by Rosalie, they drove to a church at no very great distance; and by
eleven o’clock the hands of Laura Mortimer and the Count of Carignano
were united at the altar.
The incidents of this forenoon had, however, been closely watched by
Mrs. Mortimer.
The wily old woman, upon quitting the Doctor the day before, had
reasoned thus within herself:--
“Laura has captivated a young Italian nobleman _whom she feels she
can love--whom she already loves--and who possesses a proud title and
princely revenues_. Those were the very words which she used when she
communicated her matrimonial intentions to me in Paris. I know her well
enough to be fully convinced that she will not delay a moment after
her return to London, in securing her admirer. A special license must
be the means--and, as her intended husband is a foreigner, Laura will
no doubt accompany him, at least into the neighbourhood of Doctors’
Commons. Even the presentation of her cheque at the banker’s will
be quite a secondary matter, when compared with the grand object of
securing the coronet which she so much covets!”
It was in consequence of these reflections that Mrs. Mortimer rose
early in the morning and repaired to the district of Doctors’ Commons,
where it is no difficult matter to become an observer without being
observed, in the maze of narrow streets and little courts forming that
neighbourhood. Nor was she mistaken in her conjecture--neither had she
long to wait. In a short time a carriage--hired from the hotel--made
its appearance, and a handsome young man, with a clear olive complexion
and a glossy moustache, alighted. A lady thrust out her head to give
him a few whispered instructions; and the beauteous countenance was
not so completely shaded by the white bonnet and the veil, but that
Mrs. Mortimer, from the nook where she had concealed herself, could
recognise the features of her daughter. In a short time the handsome
Italian returned, his own countenance glowing with delight; and the
moment he re-entered the vehicle, it drove away. Mrs. Mortimer had
a cab in attendance; and she followed the carriage to within sight
of the church at which it stopped. She then dismissed the cab, and
boldly entered the church, in order to become perfectly convinced that
no unexpected accident should interfere with the marriage ceremony.
Seating herself in a pew at a distance from the altar, she could
behold everything without being observed by those whom she was thus
watching. She saw Laura converse for a few moments with the sexton, who
immediately afterwards hurried away; and in about a quarter of an hour
he returned in company with the clergyman and the clerk. The ceremony
then took place; and when the Count of Carignano was leading Laura back
to the carriage, Rosalie being in close attendance upon them, Mrs.
Mortimer suddenly emerged from the pew.
For an instant her daughter started and seemed profoundly vexed at
this abrupt and unaccountable appearance of her parent; but in the
next moment she recovered her self-possession, and, assuming a smiling
countenance, said, “I thought you were in Paris; this therefore is an
unexpected pleasure. Permit me, Lorenzo,” she added, turning, towards
her husband, “to present my mother, who has thus accidentally happened
to enter, _for her own devotions_, the very church where our marriage
has taken place.”
As she uttered these words, Laura glanced with imperious signification
at the old woman, as much as to enjoin her not to undeceive the
Count relative to the accidental nature of this meeting: for the
bride now understood full well that her mother had been watching her
movements--though for what purpose she could not possibly divine.
“I am delighted to have the honour of an introduction to Mrs.
Mortimer,” said the Count, taking the old woman’s hand: “and I hope
that she approves of the alliance which her daughter has just formed?”
“Oh! assuredly, my lord,” answered the harridan: “but I regret that I
was not duly invited to be present at the ceremony. However, I am not
the less contented that it should have taken place; and as my stay in
London is very short, your lordship will perhaps excuse me if I crave a
few minutes’ private conversation with my daughter.”
“You may accompany us to the house which we have taken, mother,” said
Laura: “and my dear Lorenzo will there grant us an opportunity of
discoursing alone----on family matters----for a short time.”
“Certainly!” exclaimed the nobleman, who was too happy to offer an
objection to anything proposed by his charming wife, and who saw
nothing sinister nor strange in the present scene, unless indeed it
were the sudden and unexpected presence of the mother: but as she had
offered no objection to the match, he did not choose to trouble his own
felicity with any conjecture as to the cause of her abrupt appearance
on the occasion.
The bride, bridegroom, Mrs. Mortimer, and Rosalie (who had acted as
bridemaid) accordingly entered the carriage, which drove away at a
rapid pace towards Pimlico.
During the ride the conversation was of that general nature which
settled upon no particular topic, and which therefore needs no detail
here; and on the arrival of the party at the beautiful little villa
in Westbourne Place, Mrs. Mortimer and Laura were speedily closetted
together.
The moment they were thus alone, Laura’s countenance suddenly changed;
and her features assumed an expression of something more than
sternness--for it was rage--as she said in an imperious tone, “Why have
you been watching my movements?--and how dared you thus to intrude
yourself upon me at such a time and place?”
“Because it is of the utmost importance that I should confer with
you at once on a subject of deep interest to us both,” replied Mrs.
Mortimer, adopting a voice and manner of such cool insolence as to
convince the shrewd and penetrating Laura that some circumstance had
transpired to enable the old woman to proclaim her independence.
“And of what nature is that subject?” inquired the young lady, still
treating her mother with a coolness almost amounting to disdain.
“In one sense, I am completely in your power: in another sense, you
are entirely in mine,” returned Mrs. Mortimer; “and therefore mutual
concessions are necessary to enable us both to enjoy peace, and follow
our own ways unmolested.”
“You must explain yourself more fully yet,” said Laura, believing the
announcement that _she_ was in her mother’s power to allude to the
secrets which the old woman might reveal relative to the dissoluteness
of her former life. “If you desire me to render you any service,” she
added, after a few moments’ pause, “you should not address me in the
shape of menaces; because you know my disposition well enough to be
fully aware that I am not likely to yield to them, even though my own
interests should suffer by my obstinacy in that respect.”
“Perhaps you will talk differently in a few minutes,” observed the old
woman. “If we now stand face to face as enemies, it is your own fault.”
“We will not re-argue all the points involved in that accusation,” said
Laura. “Remember the scene in Suffolk Street--remember also the remarks
which passed between us the other evening in Paris; and then cease to
charge me with the misunderstandings that may have sprung up between
us. You desired to play the despot’s part--I resisted--and in these
few words all our differences are summed up. But I imagine that those
differences were settled, and that an arrangement was made, whereby
you were to dwell apart from me and receive a quarterly stipend of two
hundred pounds. Have you thought better of the business?--or do you
require some other terms?”
“Yes--I require other terms, indeed,” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer: then,
fixing her eyes full upon the countenance of her daughter, she said, “I
am in possession of a secret which would ruin you----”
“Enough, mother!” ejaculated Laura, her beauteous countenance becoming
scarlet with rage. “I will hear no more--for I understand your menace.
But now listen to _me_! You fancy that I am in your power:--you think
that if you seek my husband and reveal to him all the particulars of my
past life--my amours--my profligacy,--you flatter yourself, I say, that
his love will turn to hatred, and that he will discard me! Now, I dare
you to do your worst--I fear you not! In the first place, you shall not
see my husband again: in the second, you could succeed in working no
change in his sentiments towards me. I would give you the lie to every
word you uttered! He knows that I am not a goddess of purity: but I
should have little difficulty in persuading him that you are magnifying
a comparatively venial frailty into a monstrous dissoluteness. And now,
mother, you may leave me as speedily as you choose--and spare me the
pain of thrusting you from my doors by main force.”
Sublime and grand in the majesty of her beauty was the
voluptuous--wanton--unprincipled Perdita,--(for on this occasion
we must give her the name which so admirably represents her
character),--as, drawn up to her full height, and with heaving bosom,
flashing eyes, and expanding nostrils, she thus addressed her mother.
Having laid aside her bonnet, shawl, and long white gloves, she
seemed like a Pythoness in her bridal garments; and her manner was as
energetic and awe-inspiring, as her voice was emphatic and determined
in its full silver tones.
But the old woman lost not her composure: on the contrary, she listened
to her daughter with the calm insolence of one possessing a last
argument the enunciation of which would crush and overwhelm.
“One word, Laura,” she said, in a voice that commanded the young lady’s
attention: “one word--and then act as you choose. If I ere now adopted
a tone of menace, it was not with the intention of wielding such paltry
and poor weapons as those to which you have alluded. I had not _then_,
and have not _now_, the slightest intention of venting my spite in
petty tittle-tattle relative to your amours: I will not afford you the
chance,” she added, with keen sarcasm, “of using your sophistry for the
purpose of colouring your dissoluteness so as to give it the air of a
mere feminine frailty.”
“Cease this long preface, and come to the point at once,” said Laura, a
vague fear coming over her, but which she concealed beneath a cold and
rigid expression of countenance: at the same time, she saw full well
that her mother was really possessed of some secret power whereof she
was determined to make the most.
“My preface is done,” continued Mrs. Mortimer; “and now for the matter
to which it was to lead. You have this day married the Count of
Carignano?”
“You need scarcely ask that question,” said Laura; “since you have ere
now accompanied us from the church where the ceremony was performed.”
“And you will henceforth style yourself _Countess of Carignano?_”
proceeded the old woman, still adopting an interrogatory style.
“Certainly,” responded Laura: “I shall use the title to which marriage
has given me a right. But to what point, may I once more ask, is all
this long discourse to come?”
“To _this_,” answered the old woman, approaching her daughter and
sinking her voice to a low whisper: “to _this_,” she repeated, her
countenance becoming stern and resolute, while she abruptly stamped her
foot imperiously upon the carpet: “to _this_, Laura--that your marriage
of to-day is no marriage at all--that you consequently have no more
right than I to the title of Countess--and that you have drawn down
upon your head the peril of a prosecution for _bigamy_!”
An ice-chill came upon the heart of the young lady as these withering
words met her ears: but, by means of an effort so powerful that it was
anguish even to exercise it,--yes, agony thus to restrain her pent-up
rage from finding a vent in a furious outburst,--she preserved an
outward calmness which astonished her mother, who had expected to bring
her down as an abject suppliant upon her knees.
“You must still explain yourself farther,” said Laura, in a cold tone.
“What! you affect not to understand me?” exclaimed the old woman. “Or
would you have the insolence to deny that you are already married to
Charles Hatfield?”
“I do not condescend to a falsehood upon the subject--at least with
_you_,” responded Laura, contemptuously: though internally her
agitation was immense.
“And yet you _did_ deny it in Paris,” said the old woman. “But I was
aware of the fact at the time--and I cherished the secret, well knowing
that it would serve me some day or another. I little thought, however,
that I should so soon be compelled to make use of it.”
“And for what purpose have you now proclaimed your knowledge thereof?”
demanded Laura, a gleam of joy lighting up in her soul as she perceived
that her mother was vexed and embarrassed by the calmness with which
her menaces were received.
“In a word,” resumed the old woman, “we are in the power of each other.
You can transport _me_--and I can transport _you_.”
“Again must I request you to explain yourself,” said Laura. “You
are evidently fencing with something that you wish, yet fear to
communicate.”
“I will speak out at once,” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer. “The cheque which
the Marquis of Delmour gave me for six hundred pounds, I altered in
such a way as to make it represent sixty thousand; and I yesterday
obtained the amount from the bankers. If you present _your_ cheque, I
shall be ruined; and therefore I propose a compromise.”
“And by way of opening the negociation, you level menaces at my head,”
said Laura, who, though at first startled by the announcement of the
tremendous fraud perpetrated by her mother, had speedily recovered her
self-possession.
“What, then, is your decision?” asked the old woman, trembling from
head to foot, and no longer able to conceal the horrible fears that had
come upon her: for she began to fancy that her daughter would not yield
even to the threats that had been used to coerce her. “What is your
decision, I repeat?”
“To refuse all compromise--to accept the gauntlet which you threw down
at first, and which you would now gladly take back again--to place
myself in a condition of open hostility to you!” answered Laura, her
countenance growing stern and pale, and her lips quivering slightly.
“But it will be transportation for us both,” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer:
“I for forgery--you for bigamy!”
“Permit me to give you _my_ view of the case,” said Laura. “I hold a
cheque for sixty thousand pounds, which I shall present to-morrow; and
the money must be paid to me. The bankers will be the sufferers by the
forgery--not I, nor the Marquis of Delmour. This disposes of one part
of the question. For the rest, I have only to observe that even if I
were tried and convicted for bigamy, a fortune of sixty thousand pounds
would be no mean consolation during, perhaps, imprisonment for two
years or transportation for seven. I am not, however, so sure that any
prosecution of the kind will take place, be you never so vindictive:
for I question whether you will have the courage to open your lips to
accuse _me_ of bigamy, seeing that it would not only be _forgery_ with
which I should charge you--but _murder!_”
“Murder!” repeated the old woman, half in indignation and half in
terror: “what mean you?”
“I mean that Mr. Torrens, your husband, _met with a violent death_,”
answered Laura,--“that you yourself gave me this information--and that
you came over to London to be revenged upon him for his conduct of
former times! Now, mother,” she exclaimed, her countenance suddenly
becoming radiant with triumph,--“_now_ will you dare to repeat your
menaces against me?”
The old woman staggered back a few paces, and sank into a chair.
The tables had been completely turned against her: she had come to
conquer--and she must depart conquered;--she had sought out Laura in
the hope of reducing her to submission--she was herself now crushed and
overwhelmed.
There was something shocking in the mortal enmity which had thus
sprung up between the mother and daughter,--the former threatening
transportation--the latter pointing to the gibbet looming in the
distance!
“But you know--you know, in your own heart, that I did _not_ take the
life of Torrens?” suddenly ejaculated the old woman, starting from her
seat.
“I know nothing more than what you yourself told me, mother,” said
Laura; “and if the matter should happen to go before the magistrate
for investigation, I shall only state _what I do know_--and shall not
assist your cause with any conjecture relative to your innocence.”
“And would you send me to the scaffold?” demanded the wretched woman,
her voice becoming plaintive and mournful: “would you place me in such
a position that I must inevitably sink beneath a mass of circumstantial
evidence, and be condemned as a murderess?”
“Would you send your own child into transportation, the horrors of
which you yourself have experienced?” asked Laura, bitterly.