Mr. Greenwood had not made her wait many moments when he entered the drawing-room.
Lady Cecilia rose, and hastening towards him, said, “Oh! Mr. Greenwood, what can you think of me after the imprudent step I have taken in coming alone and unattended?”
“I can only think, Lady Cecilia,” said Greenwood, handing her to a seat, and taking a chair near her, “that you have done me an honour, the extent of which I can fully appreciate.”
“But why insist upon this visit to you? why could you not have called upon me?” inquired the lady impatiently.
“Your ladyship wishes to consult with me upon financial affairs: and every capitalist receives visits, and does not pay them, when they refer to business only.”
“Thank you for this apology for my conduct. I fancied that I was guilty of a very great imprudence; you have reassured me upon that head;”—and a smile played upon the fair patrician’s lips.
“In what manner can I be of service to your ladyship? You perceive that I will save you the trouble of even introducing a disagreeable subject.”
“Well, Mr. Greenwood,” said Lady Cecilia, with that easy familiarity which is always shown towards those who are confidants in cases of pecuniary embarrassment,—“you are well aware of Sir Rupert’s unfortunate situation; and of course his position is also mine. We are literally without the means of paying the common weekly bills of the house, and the servants’ wages. I have quarrelled with my mother; and my father will not advance another sixpence.”
“Your ladyship is well aware that Sir Rupert Harborough has no security to offer; and if he had, I would scarcely advance money to him—since I know that your ladyship seldom profits by any funds which he may possess.”
“Oh! that is true, Mr. Greenwood!” ejaculated Lady Cecilia, emphatically. “Would you believe it—even my very diamonds are gone? Sir Rupert has made away with them!”
“In plain terms he pawned them.”
“He did:—but that is such a horrid avowal to make! When one thinks that it is generally supposed that the poor alone have recourse to such means, and that we in the upper class do not even know what is meant by a pawnbroker’s——Oh! how false is that idea! how erroneous is that impression!”
“It is, indeed,” said Greenwood. “The jewels of half the high-born ladies in London have been deposited at different times in the hands of the very pawnbroker where yours were.”
Lady Cecilia stared at Mr. Greenwood in profound astonishment: then, as a sudden idea seemed to flash across her brain, she added, “But Sir Rupert must have told you of this?”
“He did.”
“Do you know,” continued the lady, “that I have actually lost the receipts or duplicates—or whatever you call them—which the pawnbroker gave when Harborough sent the diamonds by a trusty servant of ours.”
“Those duplicates Sir Rupert Harborough handed over to me,” said Greenwood. “I lent him a hundred pounds upon them yesterday morning!”
“Oh! how ungrateful he is—how unworthy of one particle of affection!” exclaimed Lady Cecilia. “He knew how distressed—literally distressed I was for ready money; and he never offered me a guinea!”
“Are you so distressed as that?” inquired Mr. Greenwood, drawing his chair closer to that of his fair visitor.
“Why should I conceal any thing from you, when I come to consult you upon my embarrassments?” said Lady Cecilia, tears starting into her eyes. “I am literally disgraced! I cannot go to court, nor appear at any grand réunion, for the want of my jewels; and I am indebted to old Lady Marlborough to the amount of two hundred pounds which she lent me. Yesterday she wrote for the sixth time for the money, and actually observed in her letter that she considered my conduct unlady-like in the extreme. If I do not pay her this day, I shall be ruined—exposed—ashamed to show my face in any society whatever!”
“You would therefore make any sacrifice to relieve yourself from these embarrassments?” said Greenwood interrogatively.
“Oh! any sacrifice! To obtain about eight hundred or a thousand pounds, to redeem my jewels and pay my most pressing debts—Lady Marlborough’s, for instance—I would do any thing!”
“You would make any sacrifice? You would do any thing, Lady Cecilia?” repeated Greenwood emphatically. “That is saying a great deal; and an impertinent coxcomb—like me, for instance—might perhaps construe your words literally, and be most presumptuous in his demands.”
“My God, Mr. Greenwood—what do you mean?” exclaimed the lady, a slight flush appearing upon her cheeks. “My case is so very desperate—I have no security to offer at present—and yet I require money,—money I must have! Tell me to throw myself into the Thames a year hence, so that I have money to-day, and I would willingly subscribe to the contract. I could even sell myself to the Evil One, like Dr. Faustus—I am so bewildered—so truly wretched!”
“Since you have verged into the regions of romance, and mentioned improbabilities, or impossibilities,” said Mr. Greenwood, “suppose another strange case;—suppose that a man threw himself at your feet—declared his love—sought yours in return—and proffered you his fortune as a proof of the sincerity of his heart?”
“Such generous and noble-minded lovers are not so easily found now-a-days,” returned Lady Cecilia: “but, if I must respond to your question, I am almost inclined to think that I should not prove very cruel to the tender swain who would present himself in so truly romantic a manner.”
Greenwood caught hold of Lady Cecilia’s hand, fell at her feet, and presented her with the purple morocco case containing the diamonds.
“Heavens!” she exclaimed, half inclined to suppose that this proceeding was a mere jest,—“what do you mean, Mr. Greenwood? Surely you were not supposing a case in which you yourself were to be the principal actor?”
“Permit me to lay my heart and fortune at your feet!” said Greenwood. “Nay—you cannot repulse me now: you accepted the alternative; your own words have rendered me thus bold, thus presumptuous!”
“Ah! Mr. Greenwood,” exclaimed the fair patrician lady, abandoning her left hand to this bold admirer, and receiving the case of diamonds with the right; “you have spread a snare for me—and I have fallen into the tangled meshes!”
“You can have no compunction—you can entertain no remorse in transferring your affections from a man who neglects you, to one who will study your happiness in every way.”
“But—merciful heavens! you would not have me leave my husband altogether? Oh! I could not bear the éclat of an elopement: no—never—never!”
“Nor would I counsel such a proceeding,” said Greenwood, who was himself astonished at the ease with which he had obtained this victory: “you must sustain appearances in society; but when we can meet—and when we are together—oh! then we can be to each other as if we alone existed in the world—as if we could indulge in all the joys and sweets of love without fear and without peril!”
“Yes—I will be yours upon these terms—I will be yours!” murmured Cecilia. “And—remember—you must be faithful towards me; and you must never forget the sacrifice I make and the risk I run in thus responding to your attachment! But—above all things—do not think ill of me—do not despise me! I want something to love—and some one to love me;—and you sympathise with my distress—you feel for my unhappiness—you offer me your consolations: oh! yes—it is you whom I must love—and you will love me!”
“For ever,” answered the libertine; and he caught that frail but beauteous lady in his arms.
* * * * * *
An hour elapsed: Lady Cecilia had taken her departure, richer in purse but poorer in honour;—and Greenwood had returned to his study.
The flush of triumph was upon his brow; and the smile of satisfaction was upon his lip.
Lafleur enter
ed the room.
“While you were engaged, sir,” said the valet, “Sir Rupert Harborough called. He was most anxious to see you. I assured him that you were not at home. He said he would call again in an hour.”
“You can then admit him.”
The valet bowed and withdrew.
Mr. Greenwood then wrote several letters connected with the various schemes which he had in hand. His occupation was interrupted by the entrance of Sir Rupert Harborough.
With what ease and assurance—with what unblushing confidence did the libertine receive the man whose wife he had drawn into the snares of infamy and dishonour!
“You really must excuse my perseverance in seeing you this day,” said Sir Rupert, who perceived by Greenwood’s attire that he had not been out of the house that morning; “but I am in such a mess of difficulties and embarrassments, I really know not which way to turn.”
“I was particularly engaged when you called just now,” said Greenwood; “and you are aware that one’s valet always answers ‘Not at home’ in such cases.”
“Oh! deuce take ceremony,” exclaimed Sir Rupert. “See if you can do any thing to assist me. Lord Tremordyn has literally cut me; and Lady Tremordyn is as stingy as the devil. Besides, she and Lady Cecilia have quarrelled; and so there is no hope in that quarter.”
“I really cannot assist you any farther—at present,” observed Greenwood. “In a short time I shall be enabled to let you into a good thing, as I told you a little while ago; but for the moment—”
“Come, Greenwood,” interrupted the baronet; “do not refuse me. I will give you a post-obit[125] on the old lord: he is sure to leave me something handsome at his death.”
“Yes—but he may settle it upon your wife in such a manner that you will not be able to touch it.”
“Suppose that Lady Cecilia will join me in the security?”
“Insufficient still. Lord Tremordyn may bequeath her ladyship merely a life interest, without power to touch the capital.”
“Well—what the devil can I do?” exclaimed the baronet, almost distracted. “Point out some means—lay down some plan—do any thing you like—but don’t refuse some assistance.”
Mr. Greenwood reflected for some minutes; and this time his thoughtful manner was not affected. It struck him that he might effect a certain arrangement in this instance by which he might get the baronet completely in his power, and lay out some money at an enormous interest at the same time.
“You see,” said Mr. Greenwood, “you have not an atom of security to offer me.”
“None—none,” answered Sir Rupert: “I know of none—if you will not have the post-obit.”
“The only means I can think of for the moment,” pursued Mr. Greenwood, “is this:—Get me Lord Tremordyn’s acceptance to a bill of fifteen hundred pounds at three months, and I will lend you a thousand upon it without an instant’s delay.”
“Lord Tremordyn’s acceptance! Are you mad, Greenwood?”
“No—perfectly sane and serious. Of course I shall not call upon him to ask if it be his acceptance—neither shall I put the bill into circulation. It will be in my desk until it is due; and then—if you cannot pay it——”
“What then?” said the baronet, in a subdued tone, as if he breathed with difficulty.
“Why—you must get it renewed, that’s all!” replied Mr. Greenwood.
“I understand you—I understand you,” exclaimed Sir Rupert Harborough: “it shall be done! When can I see you again?”
“I shall not stir out for another hour.”
“Then I shall return this afternoon.”
And the baronet departed to forge the name of Lord Tremordyn to a bill of exchange for fifteen hundred pounds.
“I shall hold him in iron chains,” said Greenwood to himself, when he was again alone. “This bill will hang constantly over his head. Should he detect my intrigue with his wife, he will not dare open his mouth; and when I am tired of that amour and care no more for the beautiful Cecilia, I can obtain payment of the entire amount, with interest, from Lord Tremordyn himself; for his lordship will never allow his son-in-law to be ruined and lost for fifteen or sixteen hundred pounds.”
Again the study door opened; and again did Lafleur make his appearance.
“A person, sir, who declines to give his name,” said the valet, “solicits an interview for a few minutes.”
“What sort of a looking person is he?”
“Very pale and sallow; about the middle height; genteel in appearance; respectably clad; and I should say about forty years of age.”
“I do not recollect such a person. Show him up.”
Lafleur withdrew, and presently introduced Stephens.
For a few moments Greenwood surveyed him in a manner as if he were trying to recollect to whom that pale and altered countenance belonged; for although Stephens had made considerable improvement in his attire, thanks to the contents of Eliza’s purse, he still retained upon his features the traces of great suffering, mental and bodily.
“You do not know me?” he said, with a sickly smile.
“Stephens! is it possible?” exclaimed Greenwood, in an accent of the most profound surprise.
“Yes—it is I! No wonder that you did not immediately recognise me: were I not fearfully altered I should not dare thus to venture abroad by daylight.”
“Ah! I understand. You have escaped?”
“I have returned from transportation. That is the exact truth. Had it not been for an angel in human shape, I should have died last night of starvation. That generous being who relieved me was Eliza Sydney.”
“Eliza Sydney!” cried Greenwood. “She received you with kindness?”
“She gave me food, and money to obtain clothes and lodging. She moreover promised to supply me with the means to reach America. I am to return to her this evening, and receive a certain sum for that purpose.”
“And she told you that I was residing here?” said Greenwood inquiringly.
“Yes. I thought that you might be enabled to assist me in my object of commencing the world anew in another quarter of the globe. I shall arrive there with but little money and no friends;—perhaps you can procure me letters of introduction to merchants in New York.”
“I think I can assist you,” said Greenwood, musing upon a scheme which he was revolving in his mind, and which was as yet only a few minutes old: “yes—I think I can. But, would it not be better for you to take out a few hundred pounds in your pocket? How can you begin any business in the States without capital?”
“Show me the way to procure those few hundreds,” said Stephens, “and I would hold myself ever your debtor.”
“And perhaps you would not be very particular as to the way in which you obtained such a sum?” demanded Greenwood, surveying the returned convict in a peculiar manner.
“My condition is too desperate to allow me to stick at trifles,” answered Stephens, not shrinking from a glance which seemed to penetrate into his soul.
“We understand each other,” said Greenwood. “I have money—and you want money: you are a returned transport, and in my power. I can serve and save you; or I can ruin and crush you for ever.”
“You speak candidly, at all events,” observed Stephens, somewhat bitterly. “Try promises first; and should they fail, essay threats.”
“I merely wished you to comprehend your true position with regard to me,” said Greenwood, coolly.
“And now I understand it but too well. You require of me some service of a certain nature—no matter what: in a word, I agree to the bargain.”
“The business regards Eliza Sydney,” proceeded Greenwood.
“Eliza Sydney!” exclaimed Stephens, in dismay.
“Y
es; I love her—and she detests me. I must therefore gratify two passions at the same moment—vengeance and desire.”
“Impossible!” cried Stephens. “You can never accomplish your schemes through my agency!”
“Very good:” and Mr. Greenwood moved towards the bell.
“What would you do?” demanded Stephens, in alarm.
“Summon my servants to hand a returned convict over to justice,” answered Greenwood, coolly.
“Villain! you could not do it!”
“I will do it:” and Greenwood placed his hand upon the bell-rope.
“Oh! no—no—that must not be!” exclaimed Stephens. “Speak—I will do your bidding.”
Mr. Greenwood returned to his seat.
“I must possess Eliza Sydney—and you must be the instrument,” he said in his usual calm and measured tone. “You are to return to her this evening?”
“I am. But I implore you—”
“Silence! This evening I am engaged—and to-morrow evening also. The day after to-morrow I shall be at liberty. You will invent some excuse which will enable you to postpone your departure; and you will contrive to pass the evening after to-morrow with Eliza Sydney. Can you do this?”
“I can, no doubt: but, again, I beg—”
“No more of this nonsense! You will adopt some means to get her faithful servant Louisa out of the way; and you will open the front-door of the villa to me at midnight on the evening appointed.”
“You never can effect your purpose!” cried Stephens emphatically. “Were you to introduce yourself to her chamber, she would sooner die herself, or slay you, than submit to your purpose!”
“She must sleep—sleep profoundly!” said Greenwood, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, and regarding his companion in a significant manner.
“My God! what an atrocity!” ejaculated Stephens, with horror depicted upon his countenance.
The Mysteries of London Volume 1 Page 49