"I'LL JOIN WITH THEE IN A MOST JUST REVENGE."
Fétis repaired to Bloomsbury Square next evening, not altogether with
the innocent simplicity of the lamb that goes to the slaughter, but with
the caution of an astute mind which perceives a snare in every civility,
and suspects a trap in every invitation.
"Why was the man so civil, and what does he know about my life in Venice
forty years ago?"
Those were the questions which had agitated the Frenchman's mind during
that brief remnant of the night which he had spent in restless
wakefulness, and they had proved unanswerable. Caution might have
prompted him to avoid Lord Lavendale's house and turn a deaf ear to that
nobleman's civilities; but anxiety made him curious, and fear of the
future made him bold in the present. He wanted to know the extent of
Lavendale's knowledge of his own past life, and to that end he accepted
his lordship's invitation. His vanity again, which was large, made him
suppose himself a match for Lord Lavendale in any intellectual
encounter.
"If he has courted me in order to pump me for the secrets of the past,
he will find he has wasted his trouble," thought Mr. Fétis, as his chair
was being carried through perilous St. Giles's.
It was eleven o'clock, a late hour for supper; but Lord Lavendale had
been at the House of Lords, and had dined with some of his brother peers
after the debate. Supper had been prepared in the late lord's private
sitting-room, a small triangular parlour at the end of a stately suite
of reception-rooms, a room which had been rarely used of late, but which
Herrick, for some unexplained motive, had selected as the scene of this
evening's entertainment. It was altogether the cosiest room in the
house, and with a heaped-up fire of sea-coal and oak logs in the wide
grate, a small round table laid for supper, a pair of silver candelabra
holding a dozen wax candles, and a side table loaded with all the
materials for a jovial evening, the little triangular parlour looked the
very picture of comfort.
The brightness and warmth of the room had an agreeable effect upon Mr.
Fétis, who had been chilled and depressed for the moment by those cold
and empty apartments through which a footman had ushered him by the
light of a single candle, borne aloft as the man stalked in advance with
a ghostlike air.
"Let me perish, my lord, but your empty saloons have given me the
shivers," said Fétis, as he warmed his spindleshanks at the blaze; "your
tall footman looked like a spectre."
"Come, come, Mr. Fétis, you are not the kind of man to believe in
apparitions," said Durnford gaily. "I think we are all materialists
here, are we not? We accept nothing for truth that cannot be
mathematically demonstrated."
Lavendale looked grave. "It is not every sceptic who is free from
superstition," he said. "There are men who cannot believe in a Personal
God, and who will yet tremble at a shadow. I have known an infidel who
would scoff at the Gospel, stand up for the story of the Witch of
Endor."
Mr. Fétis shrugged his shoulders, and did not pursue the argument.
The butler and a pair of footmen brought in the hot dishes, and opened a
magnum of champagne, and supper began in serious earnest--one of those
exquisite suppers for which Lavendale had been renowned in his wild
youth, when he had vied with the Regent Philip in the studied
extravagance of his table.
Fétis was a connoisseur, and his secret anxieties did not hinder him
from doing ample justice to the meal. Lavendale pretended to eat, but
scarcely tasted the delicacies which were set before him. Durnford ate
hurriedly, hardly knowing what he was eating, full of nervous
anticipation. Fétis was the only one of the party who could calmly
appreciate the talents of the _chef_ and the aroma of the wines.
He refused champagne altogether, as a liquor only fit for boyhood and
senility; but he highly approved the Burgundy, which had been laid down
by the last Lord Lavendale, and had been maturing for nearly fifteen
years.
"There is no wine like that which comes from the Côte d'Or," he said;
and then, in a somewhat cracked voice, he chirruped a stanza of
Villon's "Ballade joyeuse des Taverniers."
"I did not see your lordship at the opera to-night," he said presently.
"No, I was at a less agreeable entertainment. I was at the House of
Lords. Was the Opera House full?"
"A galaxy of fashion and beauty; but I think that lady whom I may call
my mistress still bears the palm. There was not a woman among them to
outshine Mr. Topsparkle's wife."
"He has reason to be proud of such a wife," said Lavendale lightly.
"Fill your glass, I beg, Mr. Fétis, or I shall doubt your liking for
that wine. She is not his first wife, by the way--nor his first
beautiful wife. My Italian friend told me that Topsparkle carried off
one of the handsomest women in Venice when he left that city. What
became of the lady?"
"She died young."
"In Italy?"
"No, my lord. Mr. Topsparkle brought the young lady to London, and she
died of colic--or in all likelihood of the plague--at his house in Soho
Square."
"Was she his wife?"
"That question, my lord, rests with Mr. Topsparkle's conscience. If he
was married to the young lady I was not admitted to his confidence. I
was not present at the marriage; but she was always spoken of in the
household as Mrs. Topsparkle; and I, as a servant, had no right to
question her claim to that title."
"I have heard that there was something mysterious about her death;
something that aroused suspicion in the neighbourhood."
"O, my lord, all sudden deaths are accounted suspicious nowadays. There
has not been a prince of the blood royal, or a nobleman that has died in
France during the last thirty years, but there has been talk of poison,
although the disease has been as obvious in its characteristics as
disease can ever be. Smallpox, ague, putrid fever, have one and all been
put down to the late Regent and his accomplices; whereas that poor
good-natured prince would scarce have trodden willingly upon a worm.
Never was a kinder creature, yet his heart was wrung many a time by the
vilest accusations circulated with an insolent openness. As for Mrs.
Topsparkle's death, I could give you all the medical details, were you
curious enough to listen to them."
His manner was serenity itself; and it was difficult to suppose that
guilt could lurk under so placid an aspect, so easy a bearing. Yet last
night the first allusion to his life in Venice had blanched his cheek
and made his hand tremulous. The difference was that he had then been
unprepared, while to-night he was fortified against every shock, and had
schooled himself to answer every question.
"The suspicion was doubtless unfounded," said Lavendale, "but I have
heard that the slander banished Mr. Topsparkle from this country."
"My master was over sensitive regarding the lampoons and libels which
are rife at all elections, and which were directed against him with
peculiar venom on account of his wealth, his youth, and his
accomplishments," answered Fétis. "He left England in a fit of disgust
after the Brentford Election; and as a Continental life had always
suited his humour, he lived abroad for thirty years, with but
occasional visits to his native country."
"You stand by him with a truly loyal spirit, which is worthy of all
admiration," said Durnford.
"'Twere hard if there were no fidelity between master and servant after
forty years' service. I know Mr. Topsparkle's failings, and can
compassionate him where he is weak and erring. He is a man of a jealous
temper, and did not live altogether happily with the Italian lady of
whom you were talking. It was known in the household that they had
quarrelled--that there had been tears, scenes, recrimination on his
side, distress on hers. This knowledge was the only ground for suspicion
among the busy-bodies of the neighbourhood when the young lady died
after an illness of two days. The fools did not take the trouble to know
or to consider that she had never properly recovered her health after
the birth of her infant."
"What became of that infant, Mr. Fétis?"
"She was educated abroad, and turned out badly. I can tell you nothing
about her," replied Fétis, with an impatient shrug. "I had nothing to do
with her bringing up, nor do I know her fate. I have never tried to pry
into my master's secrets."
"But surely you, who were so much more than a servant, almost a brother,
must have known everything," urged Lavendale; and then with a lighter
air he added, "but 'tis inhospitable to plague you about the history of
the past when we are met here to enjoy the present. What say you to a
shake of the dice-box to raise our spirits?"
Fétis assented eagerly, with all a gamester's gusto, and he and Lord
Lavendale spent nearly an hour at hazard, until the Frenchman had a pile
of guineas lying in front of him, and in the pleasure of winning had
drank deep of that fine old Burgundy which he had praised at supper. He
played with a feverish excitement which Lavendale had remarked in his
manner on the previous evening; but to-night the fiery energies of the
man were intensified. He was like a man possessed by devils.
When Lavendale grew weary of losing, and would have left off, the
Frenchman urged him to go on a little longer.
"I am generally an unlucky wretch: you will have your revenge
presently," he said eagerly, and after a few more turns Fétis began to
lose.
Lavendale swept up the dice and flung them into a drawer.
"It would have been unmannerly to leave off while you were winning,
Monsieur Fétis," he said; "but now the luck is turned against you, I
will own I have had enough. What can be this passion of cards which
possesses some of us to grovel for a long night over the board of green
cloth? I have never known the gambler's fiercest fever, though I have
played deep enough in my time; and now my soul soon sickens of the stale
diversion."
The Frenchman pocketed his pile of gold with a mechanical air, and
looked about him like a man awakened suddenly from a feverish dream. His
hands trembled a little as he adjusted his wig, which had been pushed
awry in his excitement. His eyes had a glassy brightness, and it was
obvious that he was the worse for liquor.
"Good-night, my lord; Mr. Durnford, your servant. I fear I have kept
your lordship up very late. If we have trenched somewhat on the dead of
night--"
"Monsieur Fétis, the pleasure of your society has been an ample
recompense for the loss of slumber," said Lavendale. "My chairmen shall
take you home. They have been told to wait for you."
"Indeed, your lordship is too considerate."
"The rest of my people have gone to bed, I believe; Durnford, will you
light Monsieur Fétis to the hall?"
Herrick took a candle from a side table and led the way through the
empty rooms, cold and dark and unspeakably dismal after the light and
warmth of that cosy parlour in which the three men had supped. The
atmosphere struck a chill to the soul of Fétis as he entered the first
of those disused reception-rooms. Herrick's one candle shed but a faint
gleam of light, which served only to accentuate the gloom. Gigantic
shadows, strange forms of vague blackness, like the monstrous
inhabitants of some mysterious underworld, seemed to emerge out of the
corners and creep towards Fétis--dragon-like monsters, with spreading
pinions and eagle claws. They were but the shadow-forms of incipient
delirium tremens; but to him who beheld them they were unspeakably
horrible.
Yet these were as nothing to that which came afterwards.
He crept with a curious cat-like gait across the room, shrinking from
side to side to avoid the clutch of those shadowy claws, to avoid being
caught up and enfolded for ever beneath those dark pinions, but on the
threshold of the next room he gave a wild yell of agony, and fell on his
knees, grovelling, the powdered wig pushed from his bald head by those
nerveless hands of his, and drops of cold sweat breaking out upon his
wrinkled forehead.
At the further end of the room, luminous in the faint rays of a lamp, he
saw a shadow in a long white garment, a pale face, and dark eyes gazing
upon him with a solemn stillness, a pale immovable countenance, like
that of the dead.
"Spare me! spare me!" he cried. "O, pale, sad victim, have I not atoned?
Haunt me no more, poor murdered wretch, betrayed, betrayed, betrayed at
every turn! Thy cup of sorrow was full, but O, forgive thy much more
wretched murderer! Pity, and pardon!"
The words came in short gasps--uttered in a shrill treble that was
almost a scream. They had a sound like the cry of a tortured
animal--seemed hardly human to those who heard them. He held his hands
before his eyes, clasped convulsively over the eyeballs to shut out the
vision that appalled him; and then gradually he collapsed altogether,
and sank fainting on the threshold.
When consciousness returned he was seated in front of an open window,
the cool night air blowing in upon him, sharp with the breath of late
autumn.
"Where am I?" he faltered.
"You are with those who have judged and condemned you," answered
Lavendale solemnly. "Murderer!"
"Who dares call me by that name?"
"I, Lavendale. My friend here, Durnford, is witness with me of your
guilty terror. You have seen the ghost of her whom you murdered, or
helped to murder. You have seen the ghost of your innocent victim,
Margharita Vincenti."
"It was Topsparkle's crime. I was but the assistant and tool. The guilt
was his. I was only a faithful servant."
"I doubt you were the inspirer of most of his iniquities at that time,"
said Lavendale. "It was your knowledge of poisons which put him in the
way of accommodating his sated love and gratifying his revenge at one
stroke. It is only the dead who do not come back."
That last gust of October wind did its work. Fétis rose to his feet with
his nerves restored, and faced his accuser with an easy insolence.
"Your lordship's wine has been too strong for my poor brain," he said
lightly, "and I fear I have troubled you with one of my raving fits. My
good little wife will tell you that I am subject to a kind of brain
fever after anything in the way of a debauch. Your lordship should not
have tempted me to so far exceed my usual two bottles. Pray, Mr.
Durnford, be so good as to show me to the hall. I shall not trouble your
lordship's chairmen. The walk home will steady my poor head. Your
lordship's most humble and deeply obliged servant."
He gave a low bow, a succession of bows rather, with which he bent and
wriggled himself out of Lord Lavendale's presence, in a series of
serpentine curves.
Lavendale made as if he would have sprung at him, longing to clutch at
that wizened throat and pin the secret murderer to the floor, to
imprison him for the rest of the night, and deliver him over to the
officers of justice in the morning; but Durnford laid a warning hand
upon his shoulder.
"Let him go," he whispered. "There is no evidence against him yet."
Lavendale submitted, and Durnford led the way to the hall, and saw Mr.
Fétis out of doors with supreme courtesy. Fétis flung a couple of crowns
to the sleepy chairmen as he passed out.
"Get to your beds, my good fellows," he said. "My legs are steady enough
to carry me home, in spite of your master's Burgundy."
"Why did you not help me to detain him?" asked Lavendale, when Durnford
rejoined him in the wainscoted parlour. "What can justice want more than
the wretch's own confession of his guilt?"
"Justice--as represented by a Bow Street magistrate--would want a great
deal more evidence than the incoherent ravings of a drunkard, repeated
at second hand. Our moral certainty that Fétis poisoned your old
Venetian's granddaughter will not hang him, any more than the suspicions
of the neighbours and the apothecary forty years ago."
"Yet I think your little play succeeded, and that the craven hound
revealed himself clearly enough at sight of your poor pale wife, scared
to death at the part she had to act, and looking every inch a ghost.
Neither you nor I can ever doubt that he and Topsparkle were accomplices
in a villainous murder. A pleasant reflection for one who loves
Topsparkle's wife, and might have run away with her, yet chose to play
the moralist and leave her in a murderer's clutches."
"'Twould have been a worse murder to slay her honour, as you would have
done. She is safe enough with her wicked old husband, guarded and fenced
round by society. Lady Judith is a personage. Topsparkle trembles at her
frown."
"Yes, as the devils are said to tremble before the Eternal; but his
heart may rebel against her all the same, torn by jealous fury. To know
himself old, effete, a mere simulacrum of humanity, and to see her
surrounded by all the bucks and bloods of the town, idolising and
pursuing her: could the infernal powers in Tartarus invent a more
horrible agony for a worn-out old profligate? And when once a man has
got his hand at poisoning, how easy the art! See how often my Lord This
or my Lady That is hustled into the family vault after a three days'
illness--a fever, a putrid sore-throat, the Lord knows what! Two or
three doses of arsenic or antimony, and the trick is done. 'Putrid
fever,' says the physician. 'Your house is unhealthy, Mr. Topsparkle. I
have heard your first wife died of the same kind of malady. You should
move further to the West; the new houses in Cavendish Square are almost
in the country. Here you are too near to Newgate and the Compter. The
foul odours of the gaol-birds are blown in at your windows by every east
wind.' Do you think Lady Judith's untimely death would be more than a
nine days' wonder, happen when it might?"
"I think you should concern yourself less about her, dear Jack, for your
own peace of mind."
"That was shattered long ago, friend. It is gone irrevocably, shivered,
smashed, annihilated, like that glass goblet which was once the luck of
Eden Hall. O, that Topsparkle is a damned villain! Could I but see him
and his accomplice at the Old Bailey, I would answer the dread summons
cheerfully. But to die and leave those two behind, and to leave her in
their power!"
"God grant that you may outlive those ancient sinners."
"God will not grant it, Herrick. My days are numbered, like the beads
upon a rosary--I am telling them off bead by bead--'tis but a short
string."
"Dear Jack, if thou would'st consult a physician instead of talking this
wild nonsense, and if thou would'st but take care of thyself--"
"I might live to be ninety--on ass's milk--like Hervey. Open another
bottle of Burgundy, Herrick, we are too much in the dismals."
"You shall have no more to-night."
"Shall I not, Mentor? Then I will go to bed and dream I am in Mahomet's
paradise, where lovely woman intoxicates instead of wine."