The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics)

by George W. M. Reynolds

  “Excellent lady!” cried Markham; “you accumulate kindnesses so rapidly upon me, that I know not how to testify my gratitude. And, Morcar, too—how thoughtful of him! Oh! I have indeed found good friends.”

  “You are doubtless anxious to learn how you came into this house,” said the banker. “I will tell you—for you will not allow your mind to compose itself until you know every thing. I had been to pass the day with a friend whose country seat is at a few miles’ distance from Pinalla; and I was returning home in an open chaise, attended by my groom, when, in the middle of a lane which I had taken as a short cut, I was accosted by a man who seemed frantic with grief, and implored me to render assistance to his master. He spoke in English; and fortunately I understand that language tolerably well. In a word, the person who accosted me, was your dependant Morcar. He has since explained to me how you had separated at Friuli, in order to gain the Neapolitan frontier by different routes; and it seems that he was journeying along that lane, when he stumbled over a body in the path. The light of the moon speedily enabled him to recognise his master. At that moment my chaise fortunately came up to the spot. Not knowing who you were, but actuated by that feeling which would prompt me to assist any human being under such circumstances, I immediately proposed to convey you to my own house. Your dependant was overjoyed at the offer; and I desired him to accompany you. He would not tell me your real name, but when I questioned him on that point, gave a fictitious one. The poor fellow did not then know how I might be disposed towards the Constitutionalists who had survived the slaughter near Ossore. You may therefore conceive my astonishment when on my arrival at my house, I discovered a letter in a case fastened to a riband beneath your garments, as I helped to undress you. These words, ‘To my dear friend, Richard Markham,’ in a handwriting well known to me, immediately excited a suspicion in my mind; and when I had procured the attendance of my physician and ascertained that there was a hope of your eventual recovery—although your wound was a serious one—I questioned Morcar more closely than before. But he would not confess that you were Richard Markham. I then showed him the letter which I had found about your person. Still he obstinately denied the fact. At length, in order to convince him that I was really sincere in my good feeling towards you, I showed him several letters from the deceased Mr. Armstrong to me, and in which you were favourably mentioned. Then he became all confidence; and I can assure you that he is a most faithful and devoted creature towards you.”

  While the banker was yet speaking, he drew from his pocket the morocco case containing Armstrong’s letter, and laid it upon the bed.

  Richard warmly pressed his hand with grateful fervour.

  He then in a few words narrated the particulars of the attack made upon him by the banditti in the narrow lane, and concluded by saying, “I consider the fact of the ruffians overlooking that document when they rifled me, as another proof of heaven’s especial goodness towards me; for I value this relic of my departed friend as dearly as my life.”

  “And you are still ignorant of its contents?” said the banker, with a smile.

  Richard was about to explain the nature of the mysterious instructions which Armstrong had written on the envelope, when Viviani stopped him, saying, “I know all. Some months before his death Armstrong wrote to me his intentions concerning you; and therefore, I presume that ‘when you are destitute of all resources—when adversity or a too generous heart shall have deprived you of all means of subsistence—and when your own exertions fail to supply your wants, you will open the enclosed letter. But should no circumstances of any kind deprive you of the little property which you now possess—and should you not be plunged into a state of need from which your own talents and exertions cannot relieve you,—then will you open that letter on the morning of the 10th of July, 1843, on which day you are to meet your brother.’ ”

  So astonished was Markham, while the banker recapitulated the very words of Armstrong’s mysterious instructions, that he could not utter a syllable until the excellent man had finished speaking; and then he cried, in a tone of the most unfeigned surprise. “My dear sir, you know all, then?”

  Signora Viviani laughed so heartily at Markham’s astonishment, that her good-natured countenance became quite purple.

  “Indeed, I do know all,” exclaimed the banker, laughing also; “and that is not surprising, either, seeing that every farthing Armstrong has left you is in my hands. But I must not say any more on that head: indeed, I am afraid I have violated my departed friend’s instructions to me by saying so much already. However, my dear Richard—for so you must allow me to call you, as I am a sort of guardian or trustee towards you—you will not want to open that letter until the 10th of July, 1843; for if you require money, you have only to draw a cheque upon me, and I will honour it—aye, even for ten or fifteen thousand pounds.”

  “Is it possible that I am awake? am I not dreaming? is this fairy-land, or Castelcicala?” said Richard. “I am overwhelmed with happy tidings and kindnesses.”

  Again did the good banker and his merry sister—who, though bachelor and spinster, possessed hearts overflowing with the milk of human kindness, and who felt towards Richard almost as a father and mother would feel towards their own child,—again did they laugh heartily; until the lady remembered that their patient might be too much excited.

  “And now I dare say you are anxious about your faithful Morcar,” said the banker. “In truth, he is a mystery whom I cannot fathom. All I know of him is that he is most devotedly attached to you. He comes to the house every evening, and sits by your bed-side a couple of hours, or perhaps more; and then he takes his departure again. In vain have I pressed him to remain here—to live here so long as you are my guest: no—he declares that he has business on his hands; and he keeps that business a profound secret. He is always absent save during those two or three hours which he spends near you.”

  “And when he is here,” added the banker’s sister, laughing, “he will not allow a soul save himself to do any thing for you. No—he must smooth your pillow—he must raise your head, and give you your cooling drink—he must hold your hands when the delirium is on you (but, thank heaven! that has passed now);—in a word, no one is permitted to be your nurse save himself.”

  “The good, faithful creature!” cried Markham, tears standing on his long, dark, and slightly curled lashes. “Heaven grant that he be not involving himself in any difficulty.”

  “He seems prudent and steady,” said the banker; “and those are grand qualities. Moreover, these men of Egyptian origin have strange fancies and whims. In any case, he will be more communicative to you than he is to us.”

  “You have now gratified my curiosity in many—many ways,” said Richard; “but there is one more point——”

  “You are interminable with your questions,” exclaimed Signora Viviani, laughing. “Now, remember—this is the last we will answer on the present occasion, or we shall really fatigue you.”

  “Oh! no,” returned our hero. “When the mind labours under no suspense, how soon the physical energies revive.”

  “Speak, then,” said the banker.

  “What is the present condition of Castelcicala? has it been ameliorated, or rendered more deplorable?”

  The banker’s countenance fell.

  “My dear Richard,” he replied, “strange and striking events have occurred during the last few days,—events which it pains me to recount, as it will grieve you to hear them. The Grand Duchess fled from the capital—no one knows wherefore. It is certain that she reached Montecuculi in safety; and her farther progress is a complete mystery. All traces of her cease there. But that is not all. An army of thirty thousand Austrians, Richard,—an army of foreigners has been called into the State by Angelo III. Ten days ago it crossed the Roman frontiers, and encamped beneath the walls of Montoni.”

  “Merciful heaven!” ejaculated Richa
rd: “an army of occupation in the country!”

  “Alas! that I should tell the truth when I say so,” continued the banker, in a melancholy tone. “The Grand Duke intends to enforce his despotism by means of foreign bayonets. Four thousand Austrians moved on as far as Abrantani, where they are placed under the command of Captain-General Santa Croce, that province being considered the most unsettled, and the one exhibiting the greatest inclination to raise the standard of liberty. But Montoni, Richard,—Montoni, our capital, has set a glorious example. The same day that the Austrians appeared beneath its walls, its inhabitants rose against the Grand Duke and his infamous Ministers. The Municipal Council, with the Mayor at its head, declared its sittings permanent, and proclaimed itself a Committee of Government. The garrison, consisting of ten thousand brave men, pronounced in favour of the Committee. The Grand Duke and his Ministers fled to the Austrian camp, and took refuge with Marshal Herbertstein, the generalissimo of the foreign army of occupation. And now, Richard—now the Grand Duke and his Austrian allies are besieging the capital of Castelcicala!”

  “Alas! these are terrible tidings,” said Richard, astounded at all he had just heard, and at the rapidity with which so many important events had occurred.

  “Terrible tidings they must be to one who, like you, has fought for Castelcicalan liberty,” continued the banker. “Oh! that I should have lived to see my country thus oppressed—thus subject to a foreign yoke! But I have not yet told you all. The Lord High Admiral of Castelcicala has declared in favour of the Grand Duke, and has instituted a blockade, with all his fleet, at the mouth of the Ferreti, so that no provisions may be conveyed into the besieged capital. The garrison of Montoni is, however, behaving nobly; and as yet the Austrians have made no impression upon the city. But a famine must ensue in Montoni;—and then, all hope will be lost!”

  “And the other great cities of Castelcicala?” asked Richard: “do they make no demonstration in this terrible crisis?”

  “Alas—no! Martial law every where prevails and had we not a humane and merciful Captain-General at the head of the province of Pinalla, our condition here would be desperate indeed. You are doubtless aware that all the Constitutionalists who were taken prisoners at the battle of Ossore, are now prisoners in Estella——”

  Signor Viviani was interrupted by the entrance of a servant, who came to announce that Morcar requested admittance to the sick-room.

  The kind-hearted banker and his no less excellent sister withdrew, in order to allow the gipsy an opportunity of free and unrestrained intercourse with his master.

  CHAPTER CLXXXIV.

  ESTELLA.

  Nothing could exceed the joy which the faithful Morcar experienced on finding his master restored to consciousness, and evidently in a fair way towards convalescence.

  The reader may imagine with what enthusiasm the gipsy dwelt upon the kindness of Signor Viviani and his sister; and when the grateful fellow had exhausted all his powers of speech in depicting the excellent qualities of these good people, he begged Markham to acquaint him with his adventures since they separated at Friuli.

  Richard related those particulars which are already known to the reader; and he did not forget to reproach Morcar for having refused to accept his share of the purse at the tavern in the suburbs of the above-mentioned town.

  “I knew that I should not require the gold, sir,” answered Morcar; “for an individual of my race finds friends and brethren all over the world. Nor was I an exception to that rule. At a short distance from Friuli I fell in with an encampment of Cingani—for so the gipsies are called in Italy; and I was immediately welcomed in a way becoming to my position as the heir to the sovereign of the Zingarees of Great Britain.”

  “But how did you render yourself intelligible to your Italian brethren?” asked Richard, with a good natured smile at the solemn manner in which his follower had uttered the concluding portion of his observations.

  “We have a language peculiar to ourselves, sir,” replied Morcar; “and although it is not very rich in words, it nevertheless contains sufficient to enable us to converse freely with each other. I travelled with the Cingani belonging to the encampment; and when we arrived in the neighbourhood of Pinalla, I took leave of them with the intention of hastening over the frontier to Naples. God ordained that I should strike into the same path which you were pursuing; and I could not have been many yards behind you, when you were attacked by the banditti in the manner you have just explained to me. You may conceive my grief when I found you lying senseless in that gloomy lane, and when the moonlight, falling on your countenance, showed me who you were. Had it not been for the accidental arrival of Signor Viviani on the spot, and at that particular moment, I cannot say what would have become of us. You know the rest.”

  “Not entirely, my dear Morcar,” said Richard. “I do not wish to penetrate into your secrets; but I am anxious to learn wherefore you refused the hospitality of Signor Viviani’s mansion?”

  “When I found that you were amongst friends, sir,” answered Morcar, “and that there was no longer any necessity for me to proceed to Naples, I returned to my brethren, the Cingani. I have dwelt with them ever since; but have occasionally called to inquire after you.”

  “Nay, my faithful friend,” exclaimed Richard, taking the gipsy’s hand, “do not depreciate your own goodness of heart. I have learnt how regularly you came to pass the evening by my side, and how kindly you ministered to me. Heaven grant that the day may arrive when I shall be enabled to reward you adequately.”

  “You must not talk any more at present, sir,” said the gipsy. “If you will only remain quiet for a few days, you will be quite well; and then—”

  “And then, what?” asked Richard, seeing that the gipsy checked himself.

  “And then we can deliberate on the best course to adopt,” replied Morcar.

  Our hero saw that his dependant had some plan in his head; but he did not choose to press him on the subject.

  * * * * *

  A fortnight had elapsed since Richard Markham awoke to consciousness in the house of the generous Castelcicalan banker.

  This interval had produced a marvellous change in his physical condition.

  A powerful constitution, aided by excellent medical advice, and the unremitting attention of his kind friends, enabled him to triumph over the severity of the treatment which he had experienced at the hands of the banditti.

  He was now completely restored to health—with the exception of a partial weakness and pallor which naturally followed a long confinement to his couch.

  But by means of gentle exercise in the garden belonging to the banker’s house, he was rapidly recovering his strength, and the hues of youth again began to bloom upon his cheeks.

  It was on the 26th of December, 1840, that he had a long conversation with the banker and Morcar. A certain project was the topic of this debate,—a project for which Morcar had arranged all the preliminaries during Richard’s illness, and which our hero now burned to carry into execution. Signor Viviani raised but one objection; and that was only for the purpose of delaying, not renouncing, the scheme in view. He feared lest Markham’s health might not be sufficiently restored to enable him to embark so soon in the enterprise. But this doubt was completely over-ruled by his young friend, whose enthusiastic soul could not brook delay in a matter that was so near and dear to his heart.

  The deliberations of the three individuals who formed this solemn council lasted for four hours, and concluded at sunset. Richard then wrote several letters, which he sealed and placed in the hands of Signor Viviani, saying, “You will forward these only in case of my death.”

  The banker wrung our hero’s hand cordially, exclaiming, “No, my generous—my gallant-hearted young friend; something within me seems to say that there will be no need to dispatch those letters to your friends in England; for proud succ
ess shall be yours!”

  Signora Viviani entered the room at this moment, and in a tone of deep anxiety, inquired the result of the deliberation.

  “The expedition is to take place,” replied the banker, solemnly.

  “Ah! Signor Markham,” exclaimed the lady; “have you well weighed the contingencies? Do not imagine that I would attempt to dissuade you from so generous,—so noble an undertaking!—oh! no,—I should be the last to do so. And yet—”

  “My dear madam,” interrupted Richard, with a smile, “I appreciate all your kind anxiety in my behalf; but I must fulfil my duty towards those unfortunate creatures who embarked in an enterprise of which I was one of the chiefs.”

  “It would be improper in me to urge a single argument against so noble a purpose,” said the banker’s sister. “May God prosper you, Richard.”

  The old lady wiped the tears from her eyes as she spoke.

  It was now quite dusk; and our hero signified his intention of taking his departure. He confided the morocco case containing Armstrong’s letter, to his excellent friend, the banker, and at the same time expressed his deep gratitude for all the kindness he had experienced at the hands of that gentleman and his sister.

  “Do not talk thus, my noble boy,” ejaculated the old man; “it makes me melancholy—as if I were never to see you more; whereas, I feel convinced that there are many, many happy days in store for us all! Here, Richard—take this pocket-book: it contains bank-notes to some amount. But if you require more, hesitate not to draw upon me for any sum that you need. And now, farewell—and may all good angels watch over you!”