MRS. SLINGSBY AND MR. TORRENS.
While the scene, related in the preceding chapter, was taking place at
the residence of Lady Hatfield, in Piccadilly, incidents requiring
mention occurred elsewhere.
Mrs. Slingsby was seated in her drawing-room, a prey to the most
frightful alarms.
Sir Henry Courtenay had left her the evening before to acquaint Mr.
Torrens with Rosamond's flight, and consult with him relative to the
necessary steps to be taken to prevent the exposure which himself and
Mrs. Slingsby so much dreaded. On thus parting with her, the baronet had
faithfully promised to call early in the morning and inform her of the
particulars of his interview with Mr. Torrens;—but it was now past one
o'clock in the afternoon, and he had not made his appearance.
What could his absence mean?—had any thing disagreeable occurred?—was it
possible that Rosamond could have made away with herself, and that Sir
Henry had taken to flight through dread of an exposure and its
consequences?
The suspense which Mrs. Slingsby endured, was horrible—horrible!
Guilty consciences invariably magnify into giants even the most
dwarf-like causes of apprehension; and there was no exception to this
rule on the present occasion.
A hundred times had she glanced at the elegant or-molu clock on the
mantel—and as hour after hour passed, and he came not, her restlessness
increased to such a degree that it at length reached a state of nervous
excitement no longer endurable.
She accordingly hurried to her chamber, dressed herself in her
walking-attire, and having left word with her servants that in case Sir
Henry Courtenay should call, he was to be requested to wait until her
return, sped to the nearest hackney-coach stand, where, stepping into a
vehicle, she ordered the driver to take her over to Torrens Cottage.
Yes—thither she was determined to proceed without delay, even at the
risk of encountering Rosamond; though she could scarcely believe that
the wronged girl had returned home. For, not precisely remembering all
the details of the conversation which took place between herself and the
baronet, and which Rosamond had overheard, the guilty woman imagined
that something more than mere allusions might have been made to the
connivance of Mr. Torrens in the ruin of his daughter; and hence Mrs.
Slingsby's very natural supposition that the victim of the infernal plot
had not returned to the parental dwelling.
The coach did not proceed with particular celerity, and the distance
from the West End to Torrens Cottage was great:—Mrs. Slingsby had
therefore ample leisure to continue her harrowing meditations upon the
real or supposed dangers which menaced her.
In sooth, her position was by no means an enviable one—unless indeed a
convict under sentence of death might have preferred her state to that
of imminent and ignominious death. For circumstances appeared suddenly
to combine against her. She was in the family-way—and this was alone
sufficient to cause her the most serious chagrin, especially as her
impious scheme of proclaiming herself a second Johanna Southcott had
been so completely frustrated by the determined opposition of her
paramour. Then there was the affair of Rosamond Torrens, one word from
whose lips would have the effect of tearing away the mask of hypocrisy
which Mrs. Slingsby had so long worn, and exposing her to the world in
all the hideous nudity of her criminal character. Lastly, the
unaccountable absence of the baronet filled her mind with the most
serious misgivings; for she knew that if he had indeed absconded, and if
he should cease to maintain her in a pecuniary sense, her position would
become lamentable in the extreme.
All these maddening reflections raised a storm of agitation in her
guilty mind; and she could scarcely subdue her excitement so that it
should escape the notice of the coachman, as he opened the door of the
vehicle when it stopped opposite Torrens Cottage.
Mr. Torrens was at home; and Mrs. Slingsby was immediately conducted by
Jeffreys to the parlour—the very parlour where her paramour had been
murdered on the preceding evening!
Rosamond, from her bed-room window, had observed the arrival of the
hateful woman, and was lost in surprise at her conduct in daring to
visit her father's abode.
Mr. Torrens received Mrs. Slingsby in the apartment where, as we have
just stated, the awful tragedy of the previous night had been enacted;
and this was the first time the criminal pair had ever met.
Bad as Mr. Torrens himself was, he could not help feeling a sentiment of
extreme loathing and disgust for the woman who concealed so black a
heart beneath the garb of religious hypocrisy;—and, though he
endeavoured to speak politely to her as he desired her to be seated, his
manner was cold, reserved, and indicative of the influence which her
presence produced upon him.
"We know each other by name, Mr. Torrens," began Mrs. Slingsby; "but it
is only now that we have met. You can doubtless conjecture the object of
my visit——"
"Yes, madam," exclaimed Rosamond, suddenly bursting into the room,
evidently in a state of fearful excitement: then, hastily closing the
door, she added, "My father can too well divine the purport of this
insolent intrusion. You doubtless seek to recover possession of _me_—to
take me back to your infamous abode—to surrender me up to your own vile
paramour! Oh! my dear father, surely—surely you will not allow this
polluted creature to remain beneath your roof a minute longer!"
"Rosamond—Rosamond," said Mrs. Slingsby, becoming the colour of scarlet,
"you will regret those harsh words. I came for the purpose of giving
certain explanations to your respected parent——"
"Explanations, madam!" cried the young girl, with a bitter smile of
contempt. "What explanations can _you_ offer which _I_ have not already
given?"
"I have every reason to believe that you overheard a conversation
between Sir Henry Courtenay and myself," said Mrs. Slingsby, growing
bolder as she perceived that the atrocious complicity of Mr. Torrens was
not suspected by his daughter; "and that conversation seems to have
alarmed you—for your flight from the house was wild and precipitate."
"Had I not already tarried there too long?" demanded Rosamond
emphatically. "Oh! think not to be able to delude me any more with your
specious misrepresentations—your disgusting sophistry! A veil has fallen
from my eyes—and I now behold _you_, madam, and that baronet whom you so
much vaunted, in your proper colours."
"You are wrong thus to suspect us so cruelly," said Mrs. Slingsby. "The
conversation which you overheard was but the repetition of another
conversation which Sir Henry Courtenay had himself overheard between two
persons whom you know not, and which he was relating to me. But I appeal
to your father whether _he_ believes me——"
"Enough, madam!" exclaimed Rosamond, in a tone which convinced the base
woman that she was indeed no longer to be imposed upon. "My father knows
you to be a degraded hypocrite—and your insolence is extreme in thus
daring to violate the sanctity of the paternal dwelling to which I have
been forced to return for shelter and refuge. And were it not," she
added bitterly, "that I should be proclaiming my own dishonour, not a
moment's hesitation would I manifest in tearing away the mask from your
face, and exposing you to the world. Oh! when I think of all the
insidious wiles which you have practised—all the abhorrent tutoring
which you have brought to play upon my mind, I deplore—yes, deeply do I
deplore that necessity which compels me to place a seal upon my lips!"
Mrs. Slingsby had heard enough to satisfy her that no exposure would
take place at the hands of Rosamond; and she was not very solicitous to
prolong her visit. The cause of the baronet's absence she had yet to
learn; but she concluded that it was not at Torrens Cottage she must
seek to have her curiosity in that respect gratified.
She accordingly rose—bowed to Mr. Torrens, who had remained a mute but
most alarmed spectator of the whole scene—and hastily withdrew, just in
time to avoid coming in collision with John Jeffreys; for that worthy,
judging by the excited manner in which he, himself unobserved, had seen
Rosamond rush into the parlour, that something extraordinary was
connected with the arrival of Mrs. Slingsby, had very coolly and quietly
listened at the parlour-door to every word that was uttered within.
Mrs. Slingsby returned home, somewhat consoled by the conviction that
her character was safe from any vindictiveness on the part of Rosamond:
but she was still alarmed in respect to the baronet;—and this fear
increased greatly, when, on her arrival in Old Burlington Street, at
about four o'clock, she learnt that he had not called.
She immediately despatched a note to his residence; but the domestic
returned with the answer that Sir Henry Courtenay had not been home
since the preceding day—a circumstance which caused no small degree of
alarm in the baronet's household, inasmuch as though he often slept away
from his abode, his servants were invariably kept ignorant of those
proofs of irregularities on his part. In a word, he was accustomed so to
arrange matters, that his nocturnal outgoings were never suspected at
his own residence—and thus his absence on this occasion had naturally
inspired some degree of apprehension.
Mrs. Slingsby was astounded at the message which her servant had brought
back. She could not even hazard a conjecture relative to the cause of
Sir Henry Courtenay's disappearance; and she was at a loss where to
search for him.
She therefore resolved to remain at home in the hope that he would
presently call upon her; but time passed—and still he came not.
At length there was a loud double knock at the door; and she fancied it
was the announcement of Sir Henry's arrival. But, instead of the object
of her anxiety, Mr. Torrens was ushered into the drawing-room.
"I fancied, madam," he said, "that you had some particular reason in
calling upon me just now, and which the presence of the unfortunate
Rosamond prevented you from explaining. I therefore lost no time in
waiting upon you."
"My alarm was somewhat appeased by the words which fell from your
daughter's lips," answered Mrs. Slingsby, motioning to her visitor to be
seated; "inasmuch as she expressed her intention of remaining silent on
a subject which neither I nor you would wish to become a matter of
public gossip. But I am astonished and grieved at the behaviour of Sir
Henry Courtenay, who left me last night with the intention of proceeding
direct to your house, and whom I have not since seen."
"He came not to me, madam," answered Mr. Torrens, with an unblushing
countenance.
"This is most extraordinary—most alarming!" cried Mrs. Slingsby; "for he
has not been home all night—nor yet to-day—and I begin to have vague
suspicions that something wrong must have occurred."
"Sir Henry Courtenay is a gallant man——"
"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Slingsby hastily, as if the subject were not a
very agreeable one: "but he also _maintains_ a character for propriety
and good conduct—and his dependants are never suffered to know that he
stays away from home at night. You see that I am compelled to be candid
with you—for the affair is most serious. Now, only reflect for a moment,
Mr. Torrens, upon what my state of mind would be, were I questioned
relative to Sir Henry's disappearance. Suppose, I say, that he did not
soon come back—that he continued to be missing,——it would transpire that
he was with me until late last evening—that we went out together,—for we
_did_ go out, to search for Rosamond,—and that I came back alone."
"No one could suspect _you_, madam, of having made away with him,"
observed Mr. Torrens.
"No—but I should be overwhelmed with the most embarrassing questions,"
exclaimed Mrs. Slingsby hastily. "And, do you know, that remark of
your's has inspired me with horror and alarm? No one would suspect _me_
of having made away with him! Of course not:—how could a weak woman
assassinate a man in the streets of London, and not leave a trace of the
dreadful deed behind? But might not inquiries be made—might it not be
discovered that Sir Henry and myself were frequent visitors—I must speak
candidly to you—to a house of ill-fame? And then—oh then! what a
dreadful exposure would take place!"
"You are torturing yourself with vain apprehensions, Mrs. Slingsby,"
said Mr. Torrens, experiencing the greatest difficulty to conceal his
own agitation.
"I should have thought that _you_, Mr. Torrens, would have assisted me
with your advice—considering how we have been involved in the same
transaction—rather than treat my fears with levity," said Mrs. Slingsby,
in an excited manner. "And, if I tell you the candid truth," she added,
fixing her eyes upon his countenance in a way which seemed intended to
read the inmost secrets of his soul, "I must declare my conviction that
_you_ know more of the cause of the baronet's disappearance than you
choose to admit."
"I—madam!" exclaimed Mr. Torrens, shrinking from the accusation in spite
of himself.
"Yes—_you_," returned the lady, growing more and more excited: "and that
suspicion which I hazarded, I scarcely know why, is now confirmed by
your manner. I again say, yes—you know more of the cause of Sir Henry
Courtenay's disappearance than you are willing to admit. I am convinced
that he _did_ visit you last night—and if he never came back, what
account will you give?—what explanation will you render? Your anxiety in
coming after me just now,—the singularity of your remark that no one
would suspect _me_ of foul play towards the baronet,—and your
trepidation when I named the suspicion which had flashed to my mind
concerning you,—all these circumstances convince me that you are no
stranger to the cause of Sir Henry Courtenay's disappearance."
"Madam—this outrageous charge—implying a crime of which I am utterly
incapable——" began Mr. Torrens, scarcely knowing how to meet the
accusation, and seriously inclined to divulge the whole truth.
"I do not say that you have _murdered_ Sir Henry Courtenay," interrupted
Mrs Slingsby, speaking in a low tone, and giving a strong, hollow
emphasis to that dreadful word which few can breathe without a shudder:
"but that some quarrel may have taken place between you—that you were
compelled to appear violent and vindictive in respect to him, your
daughter perhaps being present—and that all this led to a fatal issue,
are things which now seem to form a complete and connected train of
horrible impressions in my mind. At all events, Mr. Torrens," she added,
sinking her voice to a low whisper, "be candid with me—tell me the whole
truth—and we will consult together, circumstances having already
rendered us colleagues in _one_ transaction."
"I have nothing to tell you, Mrs. Slingsby, in respect to this
business," said Mr. Torrens; "and I am as astonished at Sir Henry
Courtenay's disappearance as yourself."
"Then, if I were questioned," observed the lady, "you would have no
objection to my saying that I parted last night from Sir Henry Courtenay
near St. James's Church, Piccadilly, his last words being to the effect
that he was about to call at Torrens Cottage on particular business?"
As she thus spoke, Mrs. Slingsby fixed her eyes in a searching—nay, a
piercing manner upon the countenance of her companion, who for a moment
quailed and betrayed evident signs of the desperate efforts he was
making to conceal his agitation.
"Yes—you may safely say _that_, if you perceive any utility in so
doing," returned Mr. Torrens at length: then, his features suddenly
assuming a ferocious expression, he added, "But why proclaim war against
me! Do we not know too much of each other to render such a warfare safe
or useful to either? Were you not the paramour of Sir Henry
Courtenay?—did you yourself not admit ere now that you visited a house
of ill-fame with him?—and are you not at this moment with child by him?
Woman—woman," muttered Torrens between his teeth, "provoke me not,—or it
shall be war indeed—war to the knife!"
"Be reasonable, sir," said Mrs. Slingsby, now assuming a cold and
resolute air; "and let us talk as two accomplices ought to converse—and
not with menaces and threats."
"Agreed, madam—but be you reasonable also," returned Mr. Torrens.
"Then wherefore keep anything secret from me?" demanded Mrs. Slingsby.
"I have read the truth—I have divined it—and your language has just
confirmed my impression. But think not that I care for Sir Henry
Courtenay, as a loving mistress or wife might care for him. No," she
added contemptuously: "any affection which I may ever have experienced
towards him, has long since vanished."
"And of what avail would it be to you to know that Sir Henry Courtenay
was no more, even for a moment granting that he indeed exists no
longer?" asked Torrens.
"I will tell you," replied Mrs. Slingsby in a low and hoarse whisper,
while she looked intently and in a manner full of dark meaning into her
companion's eyes, as she bent her countenance towards him. "If I were
assured that Sir Henry Courtenay was indeed no more, I would become
possessed of two thousand pounds by ten o'clock to-morrow morning."
"Ah!" ejaculated Mr. Torrens, his mind instantly conceiving the idea of
sharing the produce of whatever plan the lady might adopt to accomplish
her purpose—for we have already said that his necessities were still
great, and that, unless he shortly obtained funds, he would be as badly
off as he was ere he sold the virtue of his daughter.
"Yes," resumed Mrs. Slingsby; "and to show you that I have more
confidence in you than you have in me, I will give you a full and
complete explanation. Sir Henry Courtenay promised me two thousand
pounds as a reward for my connivance in the plan respecting Rosamond."
"Go on—go on," said Mr. Torrens hastily.
"That reward I have not received, because the payments which Sir Henry
had to make to you, and other claims upon him, had caused him to
overdraw his bankers. But yesterday morning he paid in eight thousand
pounds; and he intimated to one of the partners that he should give me a
cheque for two thousand in the course of the afternoon. The fact is,"
continued Mrs. Slingsby, "those bankers believe that I have property in
India, which Sir Henry Courtenay's agent there manages for me, and that
the proceeds therefore pass through Sir Henry's hands. This tale was
invented to account for the numerous and large cheques which I have
received from the baronet on that bank:—it was the saving clause for my
reputation. Now, those two thousand pounds which were promised me I can
have for little trouble and a small risk."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Torrens, becoming more and more interested in this
explanation.
"Yes," continued Mrs. Slingsby, "and I will tell you how almost
immediately. But I must first observe that I should have received the
cheque last evening had not the sudden flight of Rosamond interrupted
the discourse which I was having with the baronet, and thrown us into
confusion. But,"—and again she lowered her voice to an almost inaudible
whisper—"I can imitate the handwriting of Sir Henry Courtenay to such a
nicety that it would defy detection. Now, do you understand me?"
"I do—I do," answered Mr. Torrens.
"And you perceive that I have full confidence in _you_," added the
widow.
Mr. Torrens rose and paced the room for a few minutes. He was
deliberating within himself whether he should repose an equal trust in
Mrs. Slingsby; and he decided upon doing so. She saw what was passing in
his mind, and remained silent, confident as to the result.
"My dear madam," he said, resuming his seat, "I will at once admit to
you that Sir Henry Courtenay is indeed no more."
The lady heard him with breathless attention; for though she was fully
prepared for the avowal, yet when it came it sounded so awfully—so
ominously, that she received it with emotions of terror and dismay.
"It is indeed too true," continued Torrens: "but think not for a moment
that I am a murderer! No—no; bad as I may be—as I know myself to be, in
fine—I could not perpetrate such a deed as that. A strange and wonderful
combination of circumstances led to the shocking catastrophe. Listen—and
I will tell you all."
Mr. Torrens then related every incident of the preceding evening,
suppressing only that portion of the tale which involved the fact of his
servant John Jeffreys being acquainted with the occurrence, and having
lent his aid in disposing of the body. This circumstance he concealed
through that inherent aversion which man ever has to confess that he is
in the power of any one; and he made it appear, by his own story, that,
unassisted, he had buried the corpse.
At first Mrs. Slingsby was incredulous relative to the version of the
murder which she heard. She thought that Torrens was himself the
perpetrator of the act; but when he declared how cruelly the robbery of
his money had embarrassed him, and when she reflected that there really
could have been no reason urgent or strong enough to induce him to make
away with the baronet, she ended by fully believing his narrative.
"Then he is indeed no more!" she exclaimed. "But, my God! what will be
thought of his disappearance?—and will not those enquiries, which I so
much dread, be made?"
"As no suspicion can possibly fall upon either yourself or me,"
responded Mr. Torrens, "it is far from likely that any such enquiries
will be instituted. No—you need not be alarmed on that head, my dear
madam. I should rather be inclined to entertain apprehensions for the
success of your own scheme of——the forgery," he added, after a moment's
pause.
"No danger can possibly attend that undertaking," said Mrs. Slingsby.
"The baronet stated at the bankers' that he should give me the cheque
yesterday; and it will be paid in a moment, even if they have already
heard of his disappearance, which is scarcely probable, because the
fears excited by that fact have not as yet become so strong as to lead
to the suspicion that he has indeed met with foul play."
"You are, then, confident of being enabled to counterfeit his
handwriting successfully?" asked Mr. Torrens.
"Beyond all possibility of doubt," replied the widow.
"And shall you want my assistance?" inquired Torrens, thinking how he
could start a pretext for claiming a portion of the expected proceeds of
the nefarious plan.
"Listen to me," said Mrs. Slingsby, after a few moments' deliberation,
and now speaking as if she had finally come to a settled resolution on a
particular point, which she had been revolving in her mind almost ever
since Mr. Torrens entered the room: "I have something to propose to you
which regards us both, and which may suit yourself as well as it would
suit me. You are involved in embarrassments?"
"I am indeed," replied Mr. Torrens, now awaiting breathless suspense the
coming explanation, which, by the leading question just put, appeared to
relate to some scheme for relieving him of his difficulties.
"And these embarrassments are very serious?" continued the widow.
"So serious that they are insurmountable, as far as I can see at
present," was the response.
"Then you fear executions—arrest—prison—and all the usual ordeal of an
insolvent debtor?" asked the lady.
"Just so: and sooner than enter on that ordeal, I would commit suicide,"
rejoined Mr. Torrens.
"The alternative I have to propose to you is not quite so serious nor
alarming as that," resumed Mrs. Slingsby. "I have shown you that I can
put myself in possession of two thousand pounds to-morrow morning: will
that sum relieve you completely from your difficulties?"
"And enable me to carry out those speculations which must produce a
large fortune," answered Torrens.
"Then those two thousand pounds are at your disposal, on one condition,"
said Mrs. Slingsby.
"And that condition?" gasped Mr. Torrens, in mingled joy and suspense.
"Is that you marry me," returned Mrs. Slingsby, as calmly as if she were
making a bargain of a very ordinary nature.
"Marry you!" exclaimed her companion, quite unprepared for this
proposal.
"Yes—marry me," repeated the widow. "You want money to save you from
ruin—I want a husband to screen me from disgrace. You are involved in
pecuniary troubles—I am in a way to become a mother. I can save your
person from a gaol—you can save my character from dishonour."
"The arrangement is indeed an equitable one," said Mr. Torrens, not
without the least scintillation of satire in his remark: "but I see one
fatal objection."
"And that is your daughter Rosamond," observed Mrs. Slingsby. "Surely
the whim—the aversion—or the phantasy of a girl will not induce you to
reject a proposal which will save you from ruin and imprisonment?"
"And yet, what could I say to her? how could I explain my conduct? what
would she think, after all she knows of you?" demanded Mr. Torrens.
"She has not the power to prevent the match; and that is the principal
point in the matter," returned Mrs. Slingsby coolly. "You may as well
urge as an objection that Clarence Villiers, my nephew, is your
son-in-law; but I am not so foolish as to be alarmed at such scruples,
and you must have seen too much of the world to allow yourself to be
irretrievably ruined for the sake of a few idle punctilios. Give me your
decision at once—aye or nay. If it be the former, the marriage may be
celebrated by special license to-morrow evening; if it be the latter,
there is at once an end of the business, and we need not be the less
good friends."
"You regard the whole proposition, then, entirely as a matter of
_business_," said Mr. Torrens. "Well—that is indeed the way to look at
it. Of course, if we strike a bargain and unite our fortunes, we shall
require only one establishment. Will you break up this in Old Burlington
Street, and be contented to dwell at my Cottage?"
"Certainly," was the reply. "The sale of my furniture will pay my debts,
and perhaps leave a surplus; at all events we shall have the two
thousand pounds clear."
"And that sum you will place in my hands to-morrow morning?" said Mr.
Torrens interrogatively.
"No—to-morrow evening, _after_ the ceremony," responded the widow.
"Then we cannot trust each other?" continued Mr. Torrens.
"I think we should act prudently to adopt as many mutual precautions as
possible," observed Mrs. Slingsby coolly.
"Granted!" exclaimed Mr. Torrens. "And what guarantee have I that, when
once the indissoluble knot shall have been tied, you will hand me over
the promised sum?"
"Simply the fact that I do not wish to marry a man who will be the next
morning conveyed away to a prison."
"That is a mere assertion, and no security," remonstrated Mr. Torrens;
"we are talking the matter over in a purely business-like sense. Now, as
far as I can see, the advantages will be all on your side. If you happen
to be in debt, you will have a husband on whose person your creditors
will pounce instead of on your own; and, at all events, as you are with
child, you will have a person whom you can represent as the legitimate
father of the expected offspring."
"I will tell you how the business can be managed," said Mrs. Slingsby,
after a pause. "A thought has struck me! I will lodge the money in the
hands of a very respectable solicitor whom I know, and you can accompany
me to his office for the purpose. In his keeping shall it remain, with
the understanding that it is to be paid to you on your becoming my
husband."
"Good!" observed Mr. Torrens. "Who is the solicitor?"
"Mr. Howard," was the answer.
"I know him, and have no objection to him as the agent in the business.
I think we have now got over all obstacles in that respect. A difficult
task will it however prove to me to prepare my daughter this evening for
the step which I am to take to-morrow."
"Oh! I have no doubt you will succeed," said Mrs. Slingsby: "it would be
indeed hard if a father could not overcome, with his reasoning, the
objections of his own child."
"I must do my best," observed Torrens, rising. "At what hour to-morrow
shall I call to accompany you to the lawyer's?"
"At about twelve. I shall go to the bank between ten and eleven; and you
can in the meantime obtain the marriage-license."
"It shall be done," returned Mr. Torrens. "The ceremony will be
performed here?" he added interrogatively.
"Yes—at seven o'clock in the evening. I will make arrangements with two
ladies whom I know, to be bridesmaids, and Dr. Wagtail will give me
away. After the ceremony we will repair to Torrens Cottage."
Thus, calmly and deliberately, was settled the solemn covenant between
the man who had sold his daughter's virtue and the licentious woman who
was now prepared to commit a forgery!
And the worthy pair separated, Mr. Torrens having embraced his intended
wife, because he considered a kiss to be as it were the seal of the
bargain just concluded, and also because Mrs. Slingsby by her manner
appeared to invite the salutation.