ROSAMOND AT HOME.
We shall follow Mr. Torrens homeward, and see how he acquitted himself
of the disagreeable and difficult task of breaking his matrimonial
intentions to his daughter, the fair but ruined Rosamond.
It was past nine o'clock in the evening when he reached the cottage; and
Rosamond, with a charming filial solicitude to render her parent's home
as comfortable as possible, had superintended the preparations for
supper. Exercising a command, too, over the sad feelings which filled
her bosom, and invoking resignation with Christian fortitude to her aid,
she even manifested a species of cheerfulness as she opened the
front-door at the sound of his well-known knock. But, alas! it was not
the innocent—artless cheerfulness of other days:—it was merely the
struggle of the moonbeam to pierce the mass of dark and menacing clouds!
And now behold the father and daughter seated at the supper-table—that
repast which the care of Rosamond had endeavoured to render as agreeable
as possible, but which was disposed of hastily and without appetite on
either side.
At length, when the things were cleared away and Mr. Torrens had
fortified his courage with sundry glasses of wine, he prepared to enter
on the grave and important subject which occupied his mind.
"Rosamond, my love," he said, speaking in as kind a tone as it was
possible for his nature to assume, "I have something to communicate to
you, and shall be glad if you will hear me calmly and without
excitement. I have this evening seen Mrs. Slingsby."
"That woman!" exclaimed the daughter, starting. "Oh! I had hoped that
her name would no more be mentioned in this house."
"I begged of you not to give way to excitement—I warned you to be
reasonable," said Mr. Torrens severely. "Surely you can accord me your
attention when I am anxious to discourse with you on matters of
importance?"
"Pardon me, dearest father—and, oh! do not blame nor reproach me if I
manifest a very natural irritability—a loathing—an abhorrence——"
She could say no more, but burst into a flood of tears.
Mr. Torrens suffered her to give full vent to her emotions; for he knew
that the reaction would produce comparative calmness.
"Rosamond," he at length said, "you _can_ be reasonable when you
choose—and I do hope that you have sufficient confidence in your father
to accord him your attention and to believe what he may state to you.
Listen then—and rest assured that I should never take the part of any
one against my own daughter. I have seen Mrs. Slingsby."
Rosamond gave a convulsive start; but her father, appearing not to
observe it, proceeded.
"It struck me," he continued, "that she would never have had the
presumption and impudence to call here this morning, if she were really
as guilty as you supposed her to be. I therefore deemed it an act of
justice to ascertain the nature of those explanations which she
proffered in this room, and which your presence cut short. With that
object in view, I proceeded to her abode; and she assured me that she
was entirely innocent of any connivance in the atrocity perpetrated by
Sir Henry Courtenay——"
"Innocent!" almost shrieked Rosamond. "Oh! my dear father, you know not
how specious—how plausible that woman can be when she chooses; and it
has suited her purpose to be so with you. But be not deceived——"
"Do you imagine that I am not old enough and sufficiently experienced to
discriminate between sincerity and duplicity?" demanded Mr. Torrens. "I
tell you, Rosamond, that you wrong Mrs. Slingsby—that your suspicions
are most injurious! Reflect—consider before you thus condemn! You
overheard a few words which immediately threw you into a state of such
excitement that your imagination tortured all the subsequent discourse
into an evidence of guilt on the part of a lady who is deeply attached
to you—who loves you as if she were your own mother—and who will die of
grief if you continue thus to misjudge her. Yes, Rosamond—Mrs. Slingsby
has declared that she will put a period to her existence if you persist
in your present belief! She accuses you of ingratitude towards her,
after all her affectionate kindness in your behalf; and, should she
carry her dreadful threat into execution—which I much fear, for she
seems literally distracted—her blood will be upon your head!"
[Illustration]
"Merciful heavens!" exclaimed Rosamond, appalled by this terrible
announcement. "But if I cannot command my own convictions?" she added
hastily.
"You must cherish a Christian spirit—you must be less prompt in forming
opinions—less ready to arrive at those convictions which you represent
to be uncontrollable," said Mr. Torrens, endeavouring to bewilder his
daughter, and thereby render her spirit ductile and her mind pliant, so
that he might manage both as he pleased. "So far from nourishing
malignity against Mrs. Slingsby, you should seek consolation with her;
for your own mother is not here to console you!"
"God be thanked that my mother is not here to witness my disgrace!"
ejaculated Rosamond, clasping her hands fervently.
"For the sake of my daughters I was wrong—yes, I was wrong not to have
married again," said Mr. Torrens, as if musing to himself. "I should
have given a protectress to my children—a lady who would have been a
second mother to them; and then all this would not have occurred! But it
is not yet too late to ensure your future welfare, Rosamond, by those
means," he added, turning towards his daughter, who had listened with
surprise to her father's previous observations; "and in accomplishing
that aim, I may at the same time afford a convincing proof to a
deserving, wrongly-suspected, and misjudged woman of my own esteem, and
inferentially of your regret at the calumniatory sentiments you have
cherished concerning her."
"My dear father—I do not understand you!" cried Rosamond, a dreadful
suspicion weighing on her mind; and which, nevertheless, seemed so wild
and ridiculous—so utterly impossible to be well-founded, that she
fancied she had not rightly comprehended the sentiments of her parent.
"I am thinking how I can best ensure your welfare and happiness,
Rosamond," he said, "by giving you a substitute for that maternal
protectress whom you have lost—one who will be a companion and a friend
to you——"
"Father!" exclaimed Rosamond, horrified at the idea of having a
step-mother, and trembling with indescribable alarms lest she had indeed
too well read her sire's intentions respecting the _one_ whom he
proposed to invest with that authority.
"Will you hear me with calmness?—will you subdue this excitement, which
amounts to an undutiful aversion to all I am projecting for your sake?"
demanded Mr. Torrens, again assuming a severe tone: then, perceiving
that his daughter was dismayed by his manner, he hastily added, as if
determined at once to put an end to a painful scene, "If I have
consulted you, Rosamond, on the step that I propose to take, it was
because I deemed you sensible and reasonable enough to merit that proof
of confidence on my part, and obedient enough to submit becomingly to
the dictates of my superior wisdom and experience. Know, then, that it
is my intention to marry again—_for your sake_—and that my inclinations,
as well as my interests, induce me to fix my choice upon Mrs. Slingsby."
Rosamond uttered not a word, but fell back senseless in her chair.
"Obstinate fool!" muttered Torrens between his teeth, as he hastened
forward to save her from slipping off on the fender. "But I will neither
argue nor consult any more—I will command, where I wish to be obeyed."
He applied a scent-bottle to her nostrils; and she soon gave signs of
returning animation. Opening her eyes, she glanced wildly at her father,
as if to interrogate him whether that were really true which appeared to
have been haunting her like a horrid dream.
"Father—father," she murmured, grasping his hands; "you will not—no, you
will not do what you have said! Oh! I implore you—I conjure—sacrifice
not your own happiness and mine at the same instant! I was not mistaken
in one syllable that I overheard between that woman and that man—and
their discourse filled me with horror. She is his paramour, father—she
is in a way to become a mother——"
"Silence, daughter!" cried Mr. Torrens, sternly. "And now listen to me,
while I make you acquainted with my _commands_! Not only is it my
intention to marry Mrs. Slingsby, but I desire that you will treat her
with respect—if not with affection. And as you value my love and the
continuance of my kindness, you will observe these instructions. If any
thing more be wanting to induce you to comply with my desire, that
additional argument will, perhaps, be found in the fact that if I do not
marry Mrs. Slingsby, I shall be ruined—utterly undone—my property
wrested from me—my person conveyed to a prison—and _you_ thrust out,
houseless and penniless, into the wide world, without a soul to protect
or befriend you. Now I have told you all—and it is for you to decide
whether your prejudices shall prevail against my most substantial
interests."
Rosamond was astounded at the words which met her ears; and she knew not
how to reply.
For a few moments she stood gazing vacantly upon her father's
countenance, as if to read thereon a confirmation of words, the import
of which seemed too terrible to be true: then, probably experiencing the
necessity of seeking the solitude of her own chamber for the purpose of
giving vent to the overflowing fulness of her heart's emotions, she
hurried from the room.
Poor friendless girl! dreadful was the position in which she found
herself placed! Oh! why were not Clarence and Adelais near to console
her—to receive her beneath their protecting influence? Alas! she would
not have dared to face them, even were they in the metropolis at the
time; for she could not have revealed to them her dishonour—Oh! no, she
would sooner have died!
Throwing herself on a seat in the privacy of her bed-chamber, she burst
into tears, and gave vent to her anguish in heart-rending sobs.
An hour passed—and still she thought not of retiring to rest;—she was in
a state of utter despair!
She heard her father ascend to his chamber: but this circumstance
reminded her not that the usual hour when she herself sought her couch
had gone by.
Suddenly she was aroused from the deep reverie of woe that had succeeded
the violent outburst of her anguish, by the movement of the handle of
the door, as if some one were about to enter her room.
She started and listened, the bed being between the place where she was
and the door, so that she could not see the latter.
Yes—some one was indeed entering the chamber.
With a faint scream she darted forward, and beheld a man in the act of
closing the door behind him.
The intruder was Jeffreys, the recently-hired servant.
"What has brought you hither, John?" enquired Rosamond, in hasty and
anxious tone—for she feared lest something had happened to her father.
"Nothink but your own beautiful self, Miss," answered the ruffian,
advancing towards her as well as he was able—for he was much
intoxicated.
"Begone!" cried Rosamond, her whole countenance becoming suddenly
crimson with indignation. "Begone, I say—and to-morrow my father will
know how to punish this insolence."
"Your father, Miss, won't do no such a thing," returned Jeffreys; "and
it'll be all the worse for you if you holler. I know a many things that
wouldn't render it safe for master to quarrel with me. So give me a
kiss——"
"Villain!" exclaimed Rosamond, bursting into tears: "how dare you thus
insult me? Leave the room—or I alarm the house at any risk!"—and she
rushed towards the bell-pull.
"None of that nonsense, Miss—_or I'll hang your father, as sure as
you're alive_!" said Jeffreys, placing his back to the door, folding his
arms, and surveying Rosamond with the insolence of a licentious, drunken
bully.
"Hang my father!" repeated the unhappy girl, staggering back and sinking
into a chair—for so many dreadful things had recently occurred, that her
mind was more attuned to give immediate credence to evil than to receive
good tidings.
"Yes, by jingo!" said Jeffreys: "I can hang him any day I like. But
what's more, I know pretty well all that's happened to you. I didn't
listen for nothink at the parlour door this morning when that Mrs.
Bingsby or Stingsby, or whatever her name is, was here."
"My God! my God!" murmured Rosamond, pressing her hands to her brow with
all her might—for she felt as if she were going mad.
"Now don't take on so, Miss," said Jeffreys: "I'm sure I didn't mean to
vex you like that. But the fact is I've took a great fancy to you: and
if so be I let out that your father did draw a knife across the throat
of that baronet which come here last night, and which I s'pose was the
same you spoke of this morning to Mrs. Bingsby——"
"Monster!" shrieked Rosamond, in a shrill, penetrating tone—for she was
unable any longer to subdue the horrible emotions which racked and
tortured her, goading her almost to madness.
In another instant Mr. Torrens was heard to rush from his chamber—a
moment more, and he forced his way into his daughter's room, hurling the
villain Jeffreys forward with the violence exerted in dashing open the
door.
"Father—dear father!" exclaimed Rosamond, springing into his arms; "save
me—save me from that monster, who has told me such dreadful—dreadful
things!"
"Be calm, Rosamond," said Mr. Torrens in a low and hoarse tone; "or you
will alarm the other servant. Jeffreys," he added, turning towards the
fellow who was swaying himself backwards and forwards, in the middle of
the room, in that vain attempt to appear sober so often made by drunken
men, "how dare you to intrude here? But follow me—I must speak to you
alone."
"Father—one word," said Rosamond, in a voice indicative of deep feeling.
"This man uttered a frightful accusation against you—Oh! an accusation
so terrible that my blood curdles——"
"Nonsense, Rosamond!" interrupted Mr. Torrens, cruelly agitated: "you
see that he has taken a drop too much—he is a good well meaning
fellow—and will be very sorry in the morning——"
"Sorry! why the devil should I be sorry?" cried Jeffreys, with the
dogged insolence of inebriation. "I don't know what I've got to be sorry
for——"
"Come, come," said Mr. Torrens, gently pushing his daughter aside, and
approaching the man-servant in a coaxing, conciliatory way; "this is
carrying the thing too far, John——"
"Well—well, we can talk it over in the morning, Miss—and I dare say we
shall make matters right enough together," stammered the drunken hind,
as he allowed himself to be led away from the chamber by Mr. Torrens.
"You're a pretty gal—and if I said anythink amiss——"
The almost maddened father hurried him over the threshold, and Rosamond
hastened to secure the door behind them both.
Then flinging herself into a chair, she exclaimed, "My God! what horrors
have met my ears this night! Misfortunes—crimes—woes—fears—outrages have
entered the house, like an army carrying desolation along with it! But
my father—a murderer—Oh! heavens—no—no—it cannot be! And yet that dread
accusation—so cool—so systematic——my God! my God!"
And she wept as if her heart would break.
From this painful—or rather most agonising condition of mind, she was
aroused by a low knock at her door; and, in answer to her question who
was there, the voice of her father replied.
She hastened to admit him;—but, as he entered, she started back,
appalled by the ghastliness of his countenance, every lineament of which
denoted horror and fearful emotions.
"Father, tell me all—keep me not in suspense—let me know the worst!"
exclaimed Rosamond, clasping her hands in an imploring manner. "Dreadful
things have happened, I am sure—and my brain is reeling, maddening!"
"Daughter," said Mr. Torrens, taking her hand, "you _must_ and you
_shall know_ the worst now—for I find that the miscreant Jeffreys has
indeed told you too much for me to attempt to conceal the truth——"
"Just heavens! my father—stained with blood—the blood of vengeance on
account of his dishonoured daughter;" said Rosamond, speaking in broken
sentences and with hysterical excitement, while her eyes were fixed
intently and with a fearfully wild expression upon the haggard
countenance of her sire.
"No—not so, Rosamond," answered Mr. Torrens emphatically. "Sit
down—there—and try and compose yourself for a few moments, while I give
you an explanation which circumstances have rendered imperative."
The wretched girl suffered herself to be placed on a seat: her father
then drew another chair close to the one which she occupied—and, leaning
with folded arms over the back of it, he continued in these terms:——
"Last night—after you had retired to your room—Sir Henry Courtenay
called. Yes—he dared to visit the house into which such dishonour and so
much misery had been brought by his means. But he came to offer every
possible atonement which it was in his power to make; and then I
ascended to your room—here—to make you aware of his presence in the
parlour below and of the proposals which I had received. But I found you
in a state of mind too profoundly excited to bear the announcement—I
remained with you to console and tranquillise you—and, when I saw that
you were growing more calm, I retraced my way down stairs. Merciful
heavens! what a spectacle then met my eyes!"
And Mr. Torrens, having introduced his fearful history by this deceptive
and well coloured preface, proceeded to narrate the facts of the murder
precisely as they had really occurred,—not forgetting to mention the
robbery of a sum of money which he had left on the table. He then
explained the part which John Jeffreys had subsequently performed in the
occurrences of the preceding night; and he wound up in the following
manner:——
"Thus you perceive, dear Rosamond, how a fearful combination of
circumstances would fix dark and dreadful suspicions on me, were this
tragedy to be brought to light. And now, too, you can understand how
that miscreant Jeffreys dared to presume upon his knowledge of the
shocking event—how, believing me to be completely in his power, he
fancied that I dared not defend my own daughter from his licentious
ruffianism. And, more than all this, Rosamond—Mrs. Slingsby holds me
also beneath the rod of terrorism! For she knew that the baronet came
hither last night—she knew also that he did not return—and I was
compelled to reveal to her the whole truth, even as circumstances have
now forced me to reveal it to you. And this is the secret of my intended
marriage with her—a marriage that will take place to-morrow, and into
which she has coerced me! Thus, Rosamond, if you ever loved and if you
still love your unhappy father—pity him, pity him—but do not reproach
him—nor aggravate his grief and his mental anguish by thought or deed on
your part!"
So ingeniously had Mr. Torrens blended truth and fiction in his
narrative, to work upon the feelings of his daughter,—so artfully had he
combined and explained the various incidents in order to represent
himself as the victim of cruel circumstances—that the generous-minded
Rosamond felt the deepest commiseration and sympathy on behalf of her
father rapidly taking possession of her soul.
"My dearest parent," she said, "I crave your pardon—I implore your
forgiveness, for having wronged you by the most unjust—the most horrible
suspicions! But the conduct of that man Jeffreys—his awful
accusation—the reluctance you appeared to exhibit in dealing summarily
with him, when you entered the room the first time this night,—all these
things operated powerfully upon my mind, which has been attenuated by so
many dreadful shocks within the last ten or twelve days! Alas! what
sorrows have overtaken us—what perils environ us! Let us fly from this
neighbourhood, dear father—let us leave England——"
"It is impossible, Rosamond!" interrupted Mr. Torrens hastily. "I had
myself thought of that means of ensuring personal safety: but I
abandoned the idea almost as soon as formed—for it was better to stay
here, surrounded by danger, yet having bread to eat, than seek a foreign
clime to starve!"
"We can work, dear father—we can toil for our livelihood! But,
no—never should you be reduced to such a painful necessity, so long as
your daughter has health and strength to labour for our mutual
support!" exclaimed the excellent-hearted girl. "Oh! let us fly—let us
quit this country—let us repair to France! I have some few
accomplishments—drawing—music—a knowledge of all the branches of
needlework; and it will be hard indeed if I cannot earn enough to
procure us bread."
"No—no, Rosamond—it cannot be!" said Mr. Torrens, tears now trickling
down his cheeks—for the better he became acquainted with the admirable
traits of his daughter's character—traits which adversity, misfortune,
and danger now developed—the more bitterly did his heart smite him for
the awful treachery he had perpetrated with regard to her.
"And wherefore is it impossible?" she asked. "Consider, my dear father,
by what circumstances you are now surrounded. On one side is Jeffreys
whom you dare not offend—whom you cannot discharge—and from whose
ruffianism your daughter is not safe. On the other side, is this
marriage with Mrs. Slingsby—a marriage which I now perceive to be forced
upon you—a marriage that will bring into this house a person whom
neither of us can ever love or respect!"
"Enough! enough! Rosamond," exclaimed Mr. Torrens: "all these sad
things—these dangers and these sacrifices—have become interwoven with
the destiny which it is mine to fulfil; and I must pursue my painful
course—follow on my sad career, in the best manner that I may. I cannot
risk starvation in a foreign land—I could not support an existence
maintained by the toils of my daughter. Besides, I am confident of being
able to realise a fortune by my speculations in this neighbourhood.
Here, then, must I remain. And now, Rosamond, it remains for you to
decide whether you will receive the mother-in-law whom imperious
circumstances force upon you—or whether you will abandon your father!"
"Never, never will I leave you!" cried the affectionate girl, throwing
her arms around her parent's neck, and embracing him tenderly.
The interview—the painful interview between the father and his child
then terminated. The former retired to his own apartment, a prey to
feelings of the most harrowing nature; and the latter sought her couch,
to which slumber was brought through sheer exhaustion.
But the horrors of the early portion of the night were perpetuated in
her dreams!