A Disciple of Satan.
About the year 1866 I was summoned to attend a lady in Berri street, the
wife of an officer in the ----th Rifles. Her husband, Captain O’Grady,
had taken a furnished house for the winter, the quarters in the Quebec
Barracks being unsuited for the accommodation of a lady of her station,
and round the house on every hand evidences might be seen of both
wealth, taste and refinement. Mrs. O’Grady was a beautiful woman of
about twenty-two, and had only been married about a year; her husband,
who was an Irishman, loved her passionately, and gave me particular
charges concerning her, bidding me spare neither trouble nor expense to
render her illness as little irksome as possible. After her baby (a
fine boy) was born I attended her regularly every day, and, as she had
travelled in her youth and lived for some time in Germany, she invited
me to come and see her in the evenings whenever I was at leisure, so
that we might converse in the beautiful language of Schiller and Goethe,
and chat about that beautiful far-off land. Captain O’Grady
quite approved of this arrangement, and often used to join in the
conversation; it was in Germany he had met his wife, and he had a great
fancy for the soft German language, although speaking it but imperfectly
himself.
Shortly after the birth of his child, Captain O’Grady’s regiment was
ordered to Chambly, and he was obliged to separate from his wife for a
time. He used to drive in occasionally to Montreal to visit her, but at
this season of the year the roads were very bad, and, as the thermometer
sometimes fell 20 or even 30 degrees below zero, the journey was usually
attended with much discomfort and even some danger. On Christmas Day,
Mrs. O’Grady wished her husband to remain at Chambly and dine at the
mess, but he insisted on coming into Montreal and dining with his
family. He accordingly set out about eleven o’clock in the morning,
accompanied by a brother officer named Churchill, a lieutenant in the
same regiment.
It was a bitterly cold day, and the snow, which had been falling heavily
for some days, was blown in immense drifts across the roads, rendering
them almost impassable. The groom, being accustomed to obey, brought the
horses round with alacrity when ordered to do so, but he shook his head
ominously as he handed the reins to Captain O’Grady, and jumped into the
dickey.
Off they flew through the blinding snowdrifts, the fine horses going
at a tremendous speed, and threatening to overthrow the sleigh every
instant. The hot breath of the horses froze to the head-gear and
harness, rendering it perfectly white, and the three men were obliged
to pull their fur caps over their ears to avoid their being frozen. They
had not proceeded far on their journey when the road, which in summer
was clearly defined by fences on either side, diverged somewhat from
the ordinary course, and was made, for convenience, through an adjoining
farm, being marked with pine branches, stuck at intervals in the snow.
As our party proceeded, even these slight indications were invisible,
the drifts rising in some places to a height of twelve or fourteen
feet. In one of the latter the sleigh stuck fast, and the occupants were
obliged to get out, and wading up to their knees in snow to assist the
horses to regain _terra firma_, or at least a more compact body of snow.
Whilst engaged in this operation, Mr. Churchill noticed that the groom’s
nose was perfectly white, and on examination it was found to be frozen;
they accordingly set to work to rub it with snow, and at Captain
O’Grady’s suggestion he held a large body of snow to it for the
remainder of the journey, which had the effect of thawing it out.
In a short time they regained the high road, and went along at a
tremendous pace for three or four miles, when they entered the village
of Longueuil, which is situated on the south bank of the St. Lawrence, a
little below Montreal. They found the river completely frozen over, the
cold being intense, but the ice-bridge had only just been formed,
and the surface was rough and uneven, causing the sleigh to oscillate
fearfully, threatening every moment to overturn. The storm had by this
time increased to a perfect hurricane, and the drifting snow was driven
with intense force into the faces of both men and horses, causing the
latter to bound and gallop fearfully, to the extreme peril of those
behind them. O’Grady, however, was a skillful driver, and kept the
horses well in hand, calling to them from time to time in a reassuring
manner; as for Churchill, he rather enjoyed the little spice of danger,
and, as conversation was out of the question, he lit a cigar, and,
drawing the buffalo-robes tightly round him, made himself as comfortable
as possible. In a short time they arrived at their destination, and
throwing the reins to the groom, O’Grady dashed up stairs and in an
instant had his wife in his arms. She remonstrated with him about coming
in on such a terrible day, but descended to the drawing-room, and,
having welcome Mr. Churchill to her house, ordered the servant to set
the table for dinner. Just then the groom entered the house to enquire
when the carriage would be required in the evening, and the appearance
of his nose set the whole party laughing heartily; his proboscis had
assumed a deep red hue, and was swollen to an enormous size, giving him
a most comical appearance. O’Grady ordered him to bring the carriage
round at ten o’clock, and, dinner just then being announced, they
prepared, in true English fashion, to celebrate the Nativity.
After dinner, Mrs. O’Grady entertained the gentlemen with music, and,
having chatted on various topics very pleasantly they were aroused to
the fact that the evening social intercourse must draw to an end by the
clanging of the door-bell announcing the arrival of the groom from the
neighboring livery-stable with the horses. Taking an affectionate
leave of his wife, and promising to come into Montreal to dinner on the
following Sunday, O’Grady mounted the box, followed by the light-hearted
Churchill, and cracking his whip was soon speeding rapidly along into
the howling storm. Churchill lit another cigar, and shut his eyes to
avoid the blinding snowdrifts, while the driver was with difficulty
enabled to see his way. Arrived at the suburb known as Hochelaga,
O’Grady turned his horses’ heads towards the river, and they dashed
across the ice-bridge at the rate of about twelve miles an hour. On they
went at a terrible pace, the sleigh bumping and jolting over the rough
road, till bang they came upon a piece of ice, on to which the snow had
drifted, and over went the sleigh, turning its occupants head first on
the hard, icy road. Churchill was first on his feet, and, though bruised
and bleeding, succeeded in arresting the horses, who, now thoroughly
frightened, were about to run away; the groom also soon recovered
himself and ran to the assistance of his master, but the latter was
past all human aid, having fallen from the upper side of the sleigh bead
foremost on a piece of ice, and broken his neck. His companions were
struck dumb with grief and astonishment; however, they could not stand
freezing in the middle of the river, so, righting the sleigh, they
placed the dead man gently inside it, and drove slowly to Longueuil,
where a friendly _habitant_ placed the best room in his house at their
disposal.
Mrs. O’Grady, as may well be supposed, was very much shocked at the news
of her husband’s death. The body was brought to her house in Montreal,
and from thence to Mount Royal Cemetery, where it was interred, a
company of rifles firing a volley over the grave. For a time the young
widow was undecided whether to go back to her friends in England or
to remain in Canada, but, being unwilling to become dependent on her
relations, she accepted a situation as governess in a wealthy family
residing in the west end of Montreal, placing her infant son under the
charge of a nurse.
Mrs. Thomson, in whose service Mrs. O’Grady was employed, was the wife
of a wealthy English gentleman who had invested largely in Canadian real
estate and national enterprises. She had two daughters, aged 18 and 16,
respectively (whom Mrs. O’Grady was expected to train and prepare for
entrance into society), also a son about 22, who, although educated as
a lawyer, pursued no avocation other than the collection of rents on his
father’s estate, and minor offices in connection with the investment of
his money. Randolph Thomson, the young gentleman in question, suddenly
became very attentive to his sisters. There was not a single concert
or ball of importance to which he did not take them, whereas before
he could rarely be induced to accompany them anywhere. The girls never
tried to account for this sudden change in their brother’s behavior,
being too much engrossed in the enjoyment of the entertainments
aforesaid to trouble their heads about the matter; Mrs. Grundy, however,
had an idea that the handsome widow who officiated as governess had
something to do with the affair, and, a rumor of the kind reaching the
ears of Mrs. Thomson, the unfortunate widow was eventually obliged to
leave the house, much to the regret of the whole family, but especially
that of Randolph, whose brotherly attentions suddenly became less
marked, and in time ceased altogether.
Mrs. O’Grady, being once more thrown on her own resources, departed for
Sherbrooke, one of the most thriving towns in the Eastern Townships,
where she endeavored to make a respectable livelihood by teaching music.
She chose Sherbrooke rather than Montreal, because in the latter place
every lady who wished to earn her own living started out as a music
teacher, and the teachers were rapidly threatening to outnumber the
pupils, and to equal many of them as regards want of knowledge.
Close to Mrs. O’Grady’s new residence, and removed a short distance from
the town, there dwelt a wealthy old farmer named Clarkson. Mr. Clarkson
was a bachelor about 65 years old, who, by steady attention to his
farm and shrewd speculations, had amassed a considerable fortune, being
considered one of the “solid men” of Sherbrooke. Clarkson happening to
meet Mrs. O’Grady at the house of one of the principal clergymen, became
enamored of her at first sight, and at the first opportunity proposed
for her hand. This she was at first loth to give, her heart at the time
being elsewhere; but, as Clarkson offered to settle all his property on
her and her children, and he himself, though neither young nor handsome,
was very agreeable, and held a high position in the community, she
finally consented, and was led a second time to the hymeneal altar.
Mr. Clarkson was very proud of his handsome wife, he ordered a handsome
phaeton and pair of bay ponies from Montreal for her private use, and
gave her an unlimited allowance of pin money, and she might be seen
any afternoon, fashionably attired, driving from one shop to another,
followed by the admiring eyes of the bank clerks and beaux, and the
envious glances of the single young ladies of Sherbrooke.
After three or four months Mrs. Clarkson told her husband that she had
been invited to go on a visit to Montreal, and urged him to allow her to
accept it, particularly as her little boy was afflicted with sore eyes,
and there was no oculist of ability in the town. Her husband readily
consented, and, with the promise that she would return in a few weeks,
Mrs. Clarkson came to Montreal, and calling at my house informed Madame
Charbonneau (in my absence) that she wished to remain there if possible,
as she was about to be confined. When I got home she confessed to me
that she had been on terms of intimacy with Randolph Thomson, and begged
me not to inform her husband, as he was exceedingly jealous, and would
kill her if he suspected the true state of affairs.
Promising to do the best I could under the circumstances I had rooms
prepared for both her and her boy, and secured the best medical
attendance for the latter, whose eyes were in a very bad state from long
neglect. It was two weeks before Mrs. Clarkson’s baby (a boy) was born,
and very unpleasant rumors were circulated round the town, which,
coming to the ears of the old gentleman caused him to write a very stiff
letter, ordering his wife to return immediately. This, of course, she
could not do, and as she was unable to frame an excuse for refusing to
I do so, she determined to take no notice of his letter, and, if brought
to task concerning it, _to deny having received it_, the letter being
unregistered. Fortunately for her, if not for himself, her boy’s eyes
continued to defy the skill of Dr. Fulford, the oculist to whose care
she had committed him, and it was imperative that they should remain
in Montreal a week or two longer. This fact was communicated to Mr.
Clarkson, but his sister (who had continued to reside with him after his
marriage) persuaded him to have nothing more to do with his wife, and
related to him the rumors she had heard, allowing them (as may well be
supposed) to lose nothing in the narration.
Mrs. Clarkson was naturally very much put out when she learnt how her
sister-in-law had acted; but, being both a strong-minded and crafty
woman, she determined to put a bold face on the matter, and if possible
to pay off old scores with her sister-in-law. She accordingly placed her
baby out to nurse, and, as soon as she felt strong enough, set out
for Sherbrooke. She found her husband’s house locked against her,
but, nothing daunted, she went straight to the mayor’s residence, and
explained that, having gone to Montreal with her husband’s permission,
she had (as soon as _her boy_ was sufficiently recovered) returned to
her home, and found the door locked against her. The mayor (a particular
friend of Clarkson’s) told her to come with him and he would see her
righted, but she refused, saying that she had already gone to her
husband’s house and been refused admission, and that she would not go
again until he came to fetch her; she then departed and engaged rooms at
the hotel.
The mayor, wishing to save his friend any public scandal, went to him,
and remonstrated with him on his conduct, explaining that, as his wife
had gone to Montreal with his permission, he was legally responsible for
all her expenses, and that in refusing to admit her into his house
he had rendered himself liable for an expensive lawsuit. On this poor
Clarkson got so frightened that he ordered his team to be brought round,
and, driving to the hotel, implored his wife to accompany him to his
house, begging her forgiveness for his conduct, and promising that he
would do anything to make amends.
Mrs. Clarkson now felt that she had obtained a grand advantage, and,
assuming an air of injured innocence, enquired who had set him against
her. Poor Clarkson was reluctantly compelled to admit that his sister
had had something to do with it, on which his wife refused to live under
the same roof with such a vile slanderer (’), and insisted that, before
she returned, the lady _who had taken away her character_ should leave
the house. In fact, she managed the affair so well, and exhibited such
an amount of “cheek,” that the poor man actually sent his sister away,
and drove with a magnificent team of horses to bring home the woman whom
he had refused to admit into his house.
For several months they lived happily together, Mrs. Clarkson _going on
a visit to Montreal_ whenever it stated her. In process of time she gave
evidence of being _enceinte_, and old Clarkson’s joy knew no bounds, as
he evidently rejoiced at the prospect of having an heir. Had he known,
however, that his wife, in visiting Montreal, was invariably met by
Randolph Thomson, it is questionable whether his joy would not have
been considerably moderated. Before the child was born the old man died,
leaving all his property to his wife and his expected heir. His sister,
who really was devoted to him, was left without a penny, and entirely
dependent on the charity of Mrs. Clarkson. The widow, however, had
not forgotten the part played by Mrs. Clarkson during her brother’s
lifetime, and being now steeped in wickedness, her better nature was
almost entirely lost. She turned the faithful sister from her door,
and she, the false wife, was with her illegitimate child (born almost
immediately after the old man’s death) snugly installed in the home that
in all equity and justice should have belonged to the woman she ejected.
“_Facilis descensus Averni_.”--It is wonderful how easy the descent
really is, when once the first false step is taken. As the avalanche,
which at first becomes slowly loosened from its lofty position,
gradually descends with greater and greater rapidity till it is dashed
into the abyss, so does the frail mortal, who at first shudders at
the bare thought of an immoral act, rush headlong into sin till her
desperate career is suddenly checked, often in a manner fearful to
contemplate. Mrs. Clarkson had now all that any woman could reasonably
be expected to desire. She had triumphed over her sister-in-law and
those of her husband’s relatives who had circulated rumors detrimental
to her character, and had become the possessor of a comfortable home,
without the incubus of an impotent husband. But she was not content;
Randolph Thomson, turning his back on her and his boy, had married a
young lady of fortune; so vowing vengeance against men in general for
their _falseness and inconstancy_. Mrs. Clarkson laid herself out to
entrap and ensnare every man who came in her way, and in this manner to
revenge herself (as she by some strange mental process led herself to
imagine) on her false lover.
The deceased Mr. Clarkson had a brother named William, a bachelor, whose
farm was adjacent to that now possessed by the widow. William was nearly
twenty years younger than his brother, and was considered rather a
good-looking man by his acquaintances. It is possible that, but for
her _liaison_ with Thomson, Mrs. Clarkson would, long ere this, have
fascinated him with her beauty and blandishments; but, he had hitherto
escaped unscathed, though openly admiring his brother’s wife, and taking
her part against the scandal-mongers when speculation was rife as to the
cause which detained her in Montreal. In looking round for some one to
entrap and ensnare, Mrs. Clarkson’s eye naturally fell upon William, as
the most eligible party in her immediate vicinity; and she was the
more anxious to secure him, because, with a woman’s far-seeing eye and
long-reaching vengeance, she wished to circumvent her sister-in-law,
who, being unmarried (and likely to remain so), had undertaken to keep
house for her younger brother, and would, as matters at that moment
stood, have likely outlived him and inherited his property. Opportunity
was not long wanting for her to effect her object; William was the sole
executor to his brother’s estate, and, as business often brought them
together at the late Mr. Clarkson’s lawyer’s office in Montreal, it was
not strange that the widow should almost immediately have opened the
campaign, which she did on the first occasion of their meeting in the
city, beginning, as most great generals do, with a little skirmishing,
in order to draw out her opponent. It was a beautiful spring morning,
and, as they had appointed to meet in Montreal at eleven o’clock, Mr.
Clarkson called to drive his sister-in-law to the depot to meet the
train. To his surprise, that lady declined to accompany him, reminding
him that she was now alone in the world, and that if during her
husband’s life-time the tongue of scandal was directed against her
reputation, how much the more would it be so now that her natural
protector was no more. William, being little of a gossip himself, urged
her to be above such petty pandering to public opinion, and to follow
her inclinations, but she replied naively.--“A woman has nothing to
depend on but her reputation, and she cannot be too careful, you know.”
“Perhaps you are right,” William replied, laughing, and so he permitted
the widow to order her own buggy round, and follow him a few minutes
later to the depot. But even this precaution did not satisfy the wily
Mrs. Clarkson. She knew that many Sherbrooke people would be on the
trains both going and coming, and that inquisitive eyes would watch, and
gossiping tongues would relate all that passed during the journey,
so she induced Miss Cuthbert, a neighbor of hers, to accompany her,
promising her a pleasant day in Montreal.
The train had not arrived when the ladies alighted at the depot, but the
ever-acute widow instructed her servant man not to drive away, but to
wait and see if any parcels had been sent from Portland. She did not
expect any parcels from Portland, but she wished all the neighbors who
might be going on the train to see her man with the buggy, in case they
might imagine she had come in the carriage with William. When they got
on board the train, of course, her brother-in-law took a seat with her
and Miss Cuthbert, but the widow pretended to be engrossed in a novel,
leaving the younger lady to carry on the conversation. A boy approached
with “prize packages” of candies, and William, buying two, handed them
to the ladies, requesting them to see what fortune had in store for
them. Miss Cuthbert opened hers eagerly, and, amidst the almonds and
lozenges, discovered a gilt brooch, which she laughingly fastened on her
breast. William offered to open the widow’s for her, but she interrupted
him, saying:
“My fortune has been told already, give it to Miss Cuthbert.”
“Oh, yes! give it to me,” said the sprightly girl, and hastily opening
it, she poked amongst the candies and pulled out a small article rolled
in tissue paper; unrolling the paper eagerly she disclosed _a plain gilt
ring_.
“Put that on, also,” said Mrs. Clarkson.
“Oh, no!” answered Miss Cuthbert, “I will try to get some one to put it
on for me.”
With this careless banter the time passed away till they reached
Montreal, Mrs. Clarkson playing the shy widow to perfection, and, as may
naturally be supposed, not only raising herself in the estimation of her
brother-in-law, but drawing him in a strange manner within the radius of
her fascinating influences.
On arriving in the city they entered a carriage, and were driven to St.
James street, where Mr. St. Jerome, the lawyer, had his office. In about
an hour their business was transacted, and William invited the ladies
to Alexander’s to partake of luncheon, but this the widow discreetly
declined, being aware that the pastry-cook’s in question was a
celebrated rendezvous for all country-folk. Pleading as an excuse that
she wanted, to do some shopping, she advised William not to trouble
about them, as they would prefer shopping alone, and that, if fatigued,
they could easily drop in for an ice at some respectable confectioner’s.
“Besides,” added Mrs. Clarkson, “I have promised to take Miss Cuthbert
up the mountain this afternoon, as she has never been to the summit of
Mount Royal, though living so near the city bearing its name.”
“If you are going up the mountain, I pray you will allow me to accompany
you. I never visit Montreal without ascending it at least once,” said
Mr. Clarkson. “If you do not wish me to go shopping, I will not intrude,
but I will feel myself slighted if you compel me to ascend the mountain
alone.”
The widow feigned to give a reluctant consent, and accordingly they
arranged to meet on Place d’Armes at two o’clock, and to drive to the
base of the mountain together. At that time the beautiful mountain from
which Montreal derives its name, and most of its beauty, had not been
acquired by the city. It was private property, and there were no elegant
roads by which to drive to its summit; indeed, it was only by the
courtesy of the proprietors that persons were allowed to ascend the
famous hill, and enjoy the beautiful scenery and bracing air: even then
the task of ascending was no easy one, and ladies were generally glad of
the company of one or more of the hardier sex, if only to assist them in
clambering up the steep ascent.
Mr. Clarkson went to lunch, and then to the Corn Exchange to transact
some business, arriving in Place d’Armes precisely at two o’clock.
Shortly afterward she saw the ladies emerge from the French Church
of Notre Dame, and cross the square to meet him. Miss Cuthbert was
delighted with the church. Although a Protestant, she admired it as an
architectural art-work, the elaborate adornment, too, of the interior
pleased her, and accorded with her womanly tastes. Mrs. Clarkson had
seen both inside and outside so often that neither had now any more
effect on her; indeed, not only was her heart steeled to the refining
influences of the building, but also to the doctrines inculcated within
it; she had started on the downward path, and never once dared to look
up again, even for a moment.
“Well, you are sharp on time,” said Miss Cuthbert, addressing Mr.
Clarkson.
“Yes, indeed, I have been walking the streets for nearly an hour,
wondering if the hands on the Seminary clock would ever indicate the
hour of two. I had almost persuaded myself that the public clocks had
all stopped, but my watch, which was ticking, told me that they were
going on with methodical regularity.” He addressed himself to Miss
Cuthbert, but his eyes were turned slightly towards Mrs. Clarkson, who,
blushing slightly (she could blush at pleasure), turned away her head,
and appeared to be quite confused.
William hailed a cab, and they drove up University street, as far as the
carriage road permitted them. Dismissing the “carter,” they entered the
adjacent field, and ascended by a winding path which at that time
ran through the property of Mr. (now Sir Hugh) Allan. Miss Cuthbert,
although she lived faraway from all mountains or hills of any kind, was
remarkably active, and bounded up the steep ascent like a deer. Mrs.
Clarkson was a _dear_ of another kind, and she was obliged to cling to
her brother-in-law for support, which latter he was by no means adverse
to giving, after about twenty minutes climbing they arrived at the “view
point” immediately over Sir Hugh Allan’s residence, when everything
was immediately forgotten in the inspeakable emotion excited by the
magnificent panorama before them. At their feet lay the beautiful
city, the rows of shade trees, clothed with verdure, lending a gorgeous
setting to the elegant limestone buildings. In front rolled the mighty
St. Lawrence, nearly two miles wide, the vast expanse being relieved
by St. Helen’s Island, with its luxuriant foliage. On the right the
Victoria Bridge, that monument of engineering skill, stretched across
the mighty river towards the picturesque village of St. Lambert; while
further to the westward might be seen Nun’s Island with its shady
groves, at the head of which rushed the boiling waters of the famous
rapids of Lachine. I have in my youth travelled through both Germany and
Switzerland and, later, through the beautiful scenery of New Hampshire
and Vermont, but nowhere do I remember having seen a view so grand, or
a panorama so picturesque, as that to be seen from the brow of Mount
Royal.
For a while the entire party gazed in speechless admiration at the scene
before them, when Miss Cuthbert exclaimed:
“I can say, with the apostle of old, ‘It is good for us to be here.’”
“And build _three tabernacles_? queried Mrs. Clarkson.
“Oh, no, two would do. One for me, and another for you and Mr.
Clarkson.”
At this rejoinder Mrs. Clarkson bit her lips, and changed the
conversation immediately.
When they had surveyed the city, the river, and the country on the
opposite shore, they prepared to ascend to the highest part of the
mountain, where the observatory stands, imbedded in trees. Here they
sat down for a time to rest, and partake of some light refreshment which
they had brought with them; they then proceeded to descend on the other
side, passing through the Protestant and Catholic cemeteries, both
elaborately laid out, and looking like beautiful flower gardens, rather
than burial grounds. As they neared Côte des Neiges Miss Cuthbert
commenced to scamper along like a child, and at one short declivity, she
started off at a run, calling on the others to follow. Clarkson took his
companion’s hand and invited her to descend in like manner, but, almost
at the first step, his sister-in-law uttered a sharp scream and fell
forward on the grass, informing them that her foot had turned under her,
and that she had sprained her ankle.
William was almost beside himself. He felt that he had foolishly induced
her to forget herself so far as to indulge in a wild romp and thus
injure her ankle. He wished Miss Cuthbert at the bottom of the sea, and
wondered how they were to get the beautiful cripple home, as they were
removed from residences or conveyances of any kind, and Mrs. Clarkson
was no small weight. There being nothing else for it, however, the
sturdy farmer lifted her in his arms and carried her to the house of
the caretaker of the cemetery; then, leaving her gently on a sofa, he
started for the inn at Côte des Neiges, thinking he might obtain the
means of conveyance to Montreal.
On his arrival at the inn he was informed that there was no livery
stable of any kind for miles around, and that the private buggy of
the proprietor was at the moment in Montreal, whither the landlady had
driven for provisions. Just then a team was driven at a rapid speed
from the direction of St. Laurent; it contained two young gentlemen
from Montreal, who had driven round the mountain attended by a groom.
On hearing the particulars of the accident they at once, with great
gallantry, gave up their vehicle, a mail phaeton, for the use of the
disabled lady, cheerfully undertaking to walk the remainder of the way
(about four miles), and enjoining Mr. Clarkson to bring the carriage to
their stable so soon as he had deposited his fair companions in a place
of safety.
On reaching the cemetery, William found the widow looking wretched,
indeed, and apparently suffering great pain. Her face brightened,
however, as she saw the carriage and was convinced that they would be
able to get to Montreal in time for the night train for Sherbrooke.
William assisted Miss Cuthbert into the trap, and placed Mrs. Clarkson
carefully beside her; then, mounting the box, he thanked the caretaker
for his kind offices and drove, via Côte des Neiges hill, to Montreal.
He suggested to Mrs. Clarkson that it would be better for her to take
a room at the St. Lawrence Hall for a few days, and enjoy perfect rest
till her ankle got better, but she, remembering her past experiences,
preferred to travel at once to her home, and so avoid all scandal.
William drove straight to the Grand Trunk terminus in St. Bonaventure
street; and, placing the ladies in a Pullman car, drove up to Sherbrooke
street with the team, which he left, as directed, at the young
gentleman’s residence. He proceeded along to St. Lawrence Main street,
where he hailed a cab, and drove back to the terminus. Shortly after his
return to the depot the train started, and in a few hours they reached
Sherbrooke.
It was considerably past midnight when they got to Mrs. Clarkson’s
residence, so Miss Cuthbert remained with her till morning, doing all
she could to alleviate her pain. Shortly after breakfast William called;
and as his sister-in-law was confined to her room, he considerately kept
her company till Miss Cuthbert had gone home and obtained permission
to remain a while longer with the disabled lady. There is nothing that
tries a man’s heart so much as to see a woman (particularly a beautiful
woman) in pain. The widow was aware of this, and so, although the sprain
was purely accidental, and was not included in her programme, turned it
to such good account that the poor bachelor was fairly hooked, and began
to think seriously that he had got into an awkward fix.
Marriage with a deceased brother’s wife was illegal, and no clergyman
could perform the marriage ceremony without violating the laws of
both Church and State; even if one could be prevailed on to follow the
dictates of his conscience, and to stretch a point in their favor (as
was sometimes done) society would not recognize their union, and would
shun them as open adulterers. In vain did his sister-in-law urge on him
that the law was absurd, and that, as there was no blood-relationship
between them, there could be nothing criminal in their living
together; he had not the moral courage to face the cold criticism of
a narrow-minded and bigoted community, and, though mad with passionate
love, he hesitated to take the fatal plunge.
Mrs. Clarkson, however, having carried the outposts and principal
barriers successfully, was not to be thwarted by a mere matter of
sentiment. She expressed her intention of departing forthwith for
Detroit, assuring him that she would no longer remain in a country where
such intolerant bigotry existed, and instructed him, if he loved her as
he pretended, to sell his property in Canada and follow her thither.
Clarkson was loth to leave his relations and the home of his childhood,
but the temptress lured him gradually on, refusing at times even to
see a man who valued his narrow-minded friends’ opinion rather than her
love, and at length he consented to sell his farm for whatever it
would bring, and to rejoin her in Detroit. This was another piece of
generalship on the part of the widow, as, did they remain in Canada, she
could not, in the event of her husband’s death hold the property which
would revert to her hated sister-in-law; but that being now converted
into cash she was at liberty to squander it during her husband’s
life-time, retaining the fortune left by her first husband for the
future use of herself and children.
For a time Mr. Clarkson lived with his sister-in-law in a princely style
in Detroit. They entertained largely and handsomely, and most of their
guests neither cared nor enquired who they were, or whence they came.
They had not been there more than six weeks when Mrs. Clarkson made the
acquaintance of Count Von Alba, who for some time had been the lion
of fashionable circles in Detroit. Von Alba was a Russian, who (for
political reasons said his friends, for criminal reasons said his
enemies) had emigrated to America and lived on his fortune (his friends
insisted)--his wits, said his enemies again.
Whichever surmise was correct, Von Alba was undoubtedly good-looking.
He stood five feet eleven inches in his stockings, and was powerfully
built; his complexion, like most Russians was dark, and his lofty
forehead was surmounted with curls of the darkest brown. At the time of
the Clarksons residence, the Count was about five-and-thirty years
old; he had naturally a genial manner and a good-humored expression of
countenance, and a scar on his forehead (obtained, he said, when a lad,
at Inkerman) made him an object of feminine admiration, while he was at
the same time greatly envied by the opposite sex.
Von Alba was a sort of Admirable Crichton. He rode like Nimrod, danced
like Terpsichore, drove like Jehu, shot like William Tell, and sang like
Sims Reeves. It was in the _latter_ accomplishment, however, that
he chiefly excelled; he would stand up at the end of a crowded
drawing-room, and, playing a delicate accompaniment on his guitar, would
vocalize one of the passionate love-songs of his native land. Sometimes
he sang in English, then his defective pronunciation lent a strange
charm to his singing, which, although it could scarcely be accounted
for, made itself felt even in the bosoms of the dilettanti.
Strange to say, although courted and run after by nearly all the
eligible young ladies, the Count became so fond of Mrs. Clarkson’s
society that scarcely a day passed but he was found at her house. At the
fair lady’s “Thursday Evenings,” of course, he was one of the principal
attractions, added to which he dined and lunched frequently at her
house, and escorted her to balls and parties: her husband not caring for
the everlasting round of excitement, and, far from feeling jealous of
the Count, he was proud to think that his choice of a companion should
be endorsed by one who presumably was a competent judge.
It was not long till the lady was at her old tricks again, and what
Randolph Thompson had been to her before, Von Alba soon became, the
simple husband encouraging these visits, and allowing his wife to
squander his money lavishly on her paramour. Mrs. Grundy in the
meanwhile began to be suspicious, and rumors, at first vague and
indefinite, became almost pointed accusations against Mrs. Clarkson. The
poor husband, although not altogether crediting the fact that there
was a foundation for these reports, saw the necessity, in the equivocal
position in which both he and his wife stood, of putting a stop to all
suspicious intercourse with the Count; and, being resolute enough when
so disposed, he forbade his wife to meet Von Alba any more in private,
or to invite him to her house.
This, as may be supposed, brought matters to a crisis and brought on a
terrible quarrel between the abandoned woman and her husband. She saw
that the game was up as far as Detroit was concerned, and so, managing
to forge her husband’s name to a cheque for several thousand dollars,
she went the next day with great boldness to the bank where he kept his
money and presented it; it was cashed by the clerk without hesitation,
and that evening, abandoning both Clarkson and her children, she
went, accompanied by her paramour, to the depot and took the train for
Montreal, where they went to an hotel, registering their names as Mr.
and Mrs. Mortimer, of New York. Notwithstanding their false names and
altered attire they were traced to the St. Lawrence Hall, Mrs. Clarkson
being surprised, on coming from breakfast one morning, to observe her
husband busily scanning the register at the office counter. The Count
had not seen him, but Mrs. Clarkson hurried him upstairs and told him
that their whereabouts was discovered, and that they must take refuge in
flight before Clarkson had time to take steps for their apprehension.
Ringing the bell, Von Alba bade the boy to have their bill made out and
receipted, and to have their luggage sent to the station in time for the
next train for New York.
“There is no New York train till 3.15,” said the boy.
“When is there one for Toronto?” asked the Count.
“Not till eight this evening, but the Lachine train, which meets the
mail boat, leaves at 11.30.”
“That is what I mean,” said Von Alba; “we will go by that;” then,
packing hastily, the two culprits descended by the ladies staircase,
and, entering a carriage, drove off to procure tickets for Toronto.
All this time Mr. Clarkson was quietly seated in the breakfast-room,
taking light repast after his long journey. That the persons he sought
were in the hotel he felt confident; but there were so many gentlemen
with their wives real or pretended, from all parts, that he was puzzled
to conjecture which of the names in the register was that assumed by the
Count. At length he resolved to take the boy into his confidence; and,
handing him a gold piece, he began to question him concerning the guests
now quartered in the hotel. When he had described the pair he wanted,
the boy said: “W’y these ere must be the pair wat’s just gone to the
Toronto boat!” Clarkson said not a word; but, handing a card to the
cashier, rushed out of the hotel, and, jumping into a cab, bade the
driver to go with all speed to the Upper Canada boat. Had he thought for
a moment he would have recollected that the boat leaves the wharf early
in the morning, and proceeding slowly through the canal, stops to take
on passengers at the head of the Lachine Rapids. In his blind haste,
however, he had forgotten this; and lost so much time in going to the
wharf that, when he eventually learnt the truth and got to the depot,
the train was just leaving the platform.
There was nothing for it now but to wait for the train for the west,
and to get on board the steamer at Kingston. He had at least the
satisfaction of knowing that they were on the boat like rats in a trap,
and that, except the delay in confronting the villain Von Alba and his
wretched companion, he was as successful as possible in his pursuit of
the fugitives. Returning to the city, he procured the assistance of a
detective, who undertook to accompany him to Kingston, and assist him in
apprehending and arresting the fugitives.
By this time the steamship “Hungarian,” on which the wretched pair had
embarked, was ploughing the waters of Lake St. Louis. After a time they
passed through the Beauharnois and Cornwall canals, and entered the
labyrinth of beautiful patches known as the “Thousands Islands.” As they
emerged from this lovely spot the saloon became suddenly filled with
smoke, and in a few minutes cries of “Fire! Fire!” were heard on every
hand. A rush was made for life preservers, while the crew of five or
six men vainly endeavored to extinguish the flames. The captain ordered
boats to be lowered, but, the men being excited, and badly drilled at
best, the boats were successively swamped, leaving the poor terrified
creatures only a choice of two fearful deaths.
One of the sailors handed Mrs. Clarkson a life preserver, which she
requested Von Alba to fasten round her waist, but the cowardly fellow
_snatched it from her_, and, hastily securing it round his own waist,
swung himself overboard, leaving her to perish in the flames! He was
not to escape so easily, however; with a bitter yell of mingled rage and
despair the wretched woman mounted the taffrail, and plunging straight
for the spot where he rose to the surface dragged him under again and
again with fearful maledictions. The passengers who still remained on
deck could do nothing to separate them, and although the life preserver
would have sustained both of them easily in the water, so great was the
woman’s bate on the discovery of Von Alba’s cowardly treachery, that
she did not even give a thought to her own escape, so intent was she on
dragging him to the bottom. The expression of her face, lit up as it was
by the blaze of the burning; steamer, was terrible to behold: the veins
in her head and neck were swollen almost to bursting, and she died
cursing with bitter malediction the man for whom she had sacrificed not
only herself, but her husband and her children.
The steamer burned to the water’s edge, only a few of those who had
jumped overboard escaping. The bodies of the guilty pair were discovered
at some distance from the wreck, Mrs. Clarkson’s hand being tightly
clutched round her companion’s throat, while his tongue and eyes
protruded fearfully.
With sad and heavy heart Clarkson returned to Detroit, and, having
gathered together what remained of his former property, prepared to
return to Canada. He took with him the children of his late wife,
placing them both as boarders at the College at Lennoiville till they
were old enough to be apprenticed to some trade or profession. He never
quite recovered from the shock received on hearing of the manner of Mrs.
Clarkson’s death and that of her paramour, but became prematurely aged
when he realized that, instead of the sweet angelic creature whom he
thought he had married, he found that he had wedded a regular disciple
of Satan.