She knew that the step approaching was that of Lydia; for Lydia allowed none of the other servants to enter her mistress’s own private chamber. The reason of this must be obvious to the reader:—Lydia only repaired thither for the sake of appearances—and not to do the work which it was her duty to perform. No—that had been left for Adeline herself to execute!
And now the handle of the lock was agitated—the door opened—and Lydia, bearing a light, entered the room.
Instantly Adeline closed the door violently—exclaiming, “WRETCH, your time is come!”
Lydia started—and dropped the light.
But in another second the Resurrection Man, springing like a tiger from his lair, rushed upon her from behind the curtain—seized her throat with his iron grasp—and threw her on the floor as easily as if she were a child.
The light had gone out—and the fearful deed was consummated in the dark.
A low gurgling—a suffocating sound—and the convulsions of a body in the agony of death, were the terrible indications to Adeline that the work was indeed in awful progress!
Faint and sick at heart—with whirling brain—and bright sparks flashing from her eyes—Lady Ravensworth leant against the door for support.
Two minutes thus elapsed—the gurgling sound every instant growing fainter and fainter.
Adeline felt as if her own senses were leaving her—as if she were going mad.
Suddenly a low, hoarse voice near her whispered, “It’s all over!”
Then Lady Ravensworth was suddenly recalled to the consciousness of her perilous position,—awakened to the necessity of carrying out all her pre-arranged measures of precaution to the end.
“We must now dispose of the body,” she said, in a low and hurried tone. “You must take it on your back, and carry it for a short distance, whither I will lead you. But, first—here is a bag: it contains two hundred and fifty sovereigns—fifty more than I promised you.”
The Resurrection Man clutched the gold eagerly:—the weight was sufficient to convince him that his patroness was not deceiving him.
While he was hugging his ill-earned gains, Adeline hastily felt her way to the bureau, opened it, and took forth her casket of jewels. She left the door of the bureau open, and the key in the lock.
The Resurrection Man now suffered her to replace the silk cap over his head—what would he not have done for one who paid so liberally?
Then, taking the body upon his back, he was led by Adeline from the boudoir.
They descended the stairs, and passed out of the mansion by the private door, which Adeline closed but left the key in the lock.
She conducted him through the grounds once more, leaving the wicket open—and proceeded across a field, in one corner of which was a large deep pond.
A pile of stones was near the brink.
“Throw the body upon the ground,” said Adeline.
The Resurrection Man obeyed, and seated himself quietly by it.
Adeline averted her eyes from the pale countenance, on which a faint stream of struggling moon-light stole through the darkness of the night;—and rapidly did she busy herself to secure her casket of rich jewels and several huge stones about the corpse. This she did by means of a strong cord, with which she had provided herself; for—fearful woman!—she had not omitted one single detail of her horrible plan—nor did she hesitate to sacrifice her precious casket to aid in the assurance of her own safety.
When this labour was finished,—and it did not occupy many minutes,—Adeline rolled the body down the precipitous bank into the pond.
There was a splash—a gurgling sound; and all was still.
“By God!” murmured the Resurrection Man; “this is the cleverest woman I ever met in my life. I really quite admire her!”
The words did not, however, reach the ears of Lady Ravensworth;—or she would have recoiled with abhorrence from that fearful admiration which she had excited in the mind of such a miscreant—a resurrectionist—a murderer!
“Every thing is now finished,” said Adeline, breathing more freely. “Let us depart.”
She led her companion across the fields:—her delicate feet were wet with the dew;—and though she felt wearied—oh! so wearied that she was ready to sink,—yet that woman—within a few weeks of becoming a mother—was armed with an almost superhuman energy, now that it was too late to retreat and her enemy was no more.
When they reached the cab, the driver was sleeping on his box; and before he was well awake, the Resurrection Man had entered the vehicle.
“Back to the place where you took up my companion,” said Adeline, as she followed Tidkins into the cab.
And now she was journeying side by side with one who had just perpetrated a cold-blooded murder,—she the promptress—he the instrument!
In three quarters of an hour they again stopped at the corner of the Edgeware Road, Adeline having removed the cap from the Resurrection Man’s head a few minutes previously.
The cab was dismissed:—Tidkins had vainly looked to discover its number. Adeline, by bribing the driver, had provided against that contingency also!
“Any other time, ma’am,” said Tidkins, “that you require my services—or can recommend me to your friends——”
“Yes—certainly,” interrupted Adeline. “Good night.”
And she hastened rapidly away.
“It’s no use for me to attempt to follow her,” murmured the Resurrection Man to himself: “she is too wary for that.”
He then pursued his way homewards, well contented with his night’s work.
And Adeline regained admittance to her own mansion, having so well contrived matters that the housekeeper never suspected she had once quitted it during the day or night.
Between three and four o’clock in the morning the rain began to pour down in torrents, and continued until past eight,—so that Lady Ravensworth was enabled to assure herself with the conviction that even the very footsteps of herself and Anthony Tidkins were effaced from the grounds belonging to the Hall, and from the fields in one of which was the pond to whose depths the corpse of the murdered victim had been consigned.
CHAPTER CCXX.
THE EFFECT OF THE ORIENTAL TOBACCO.—THE OLD HAG’S PAPERS.
Scarcely had Lady Ravensworth risen from the table, whereon stood the untasted morning meal, when the housekeeper of the town-mansion entered the room, and informed her mistress that Quentin had just arrived on horseback from the Hall, and requested an immediate audience of her ladyship.
Adeline was not unprepared for some such circumstance as this: she however affected to believe that the sudden appearance of Quentin in town bore reference to the illness of her husband; and when the valet entered the apartment, she hastened to meet him, exclaiming, with well-assumed anxiety, “Is any thing the matter with your lord? Speak, Quentin—speak!”
“His lordship is certainly worse this morning, my lady: but——”
“But not dangerously so, Quentin?” cried Adeline, as if tortured by acute suspense and apprehension.
“My lord is far—very far from well,” returned Quentin: “but that is not precisely the object of my coming to town so early. The truth is, my lady, that Lydia Hutchinson has decamped.”
“Lydia gone!” exclaimed Lady Ravensworth.
“Yes—my lady. But permit me to ask whether your ladyship brought your jewel-casket to town with you yesterday morning.”
“Certainly not, Quentin: I merely came for a few hours—or at least until this morning——”
“Then our worst fears are confirmed!” ejaculated the valet. “Lydia has decamped with your ladyship’s jewel-case.”
“The ungrateful wretch!” cried Adeline, feigning deep indignation. “Was she not well treated at the Hall? was I a severe mistress to her?�
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“She was not a favourite with the other dependants of your ladyship’s household,” observed Quentin.
“And when did this happen? how did you discover her flight?” demanded Lady Ravensworth.
“She was not missed until this morning, my lady; although there is every reason to believe that she must have taken her departure last evening. She had agreed with the housekeeper to take the first half of the night in watching by the side of Lord Dunstable’s bed; but as she did not make her appearance at the proper time, it was concluded she had gone to rest, and another female domestic took her place. This morning, the gardener found the wicket of the southern fence open, and the key in the lock: this circumstance excited his suspicions; and, on farther investigation, he also found the key in the lock of the private door at the same end of the building. He gave an alarm: a search was instituted; and, after a time, your ladyship’s chamber was visited, when the bureau was discovered to be open and the casket of jewels was missed. The servants were mustered; but Lydia had disappeared; and it was subsequently ascertained that her bed had not been slept in all night. Moreover, the candlestick which Lydia was in the habit of using when she waited upon your ladyship, was found lying in the middle of your ladyship’s boudoir, as if it had been hastily flung down—probably in a moment of alarm.”
“And has nothing been missed save my jewels?” demanded Adeline, whose plan had succeeded in all its details precisely as she had foreseen.
“Nothing—at least so far as we had been enabled to ascertain before I left for town, my lady,” answered Quentin. “And what is more remarkable still, is that Lydia took none of her own things with her. It seems as if she had gone to your ladyship’s boudoir, discovered the key of the bureau, and finding the jewel-casket there, was suddenly impelled by the idea of the theft; so that she decamped that very moment—for it does not appear that she even took a shawl, or a cloak, or a bonnet with her; although, of course, as she had been so short a time in your ladyship’s service, the other female servants scarcely knew what clothes she possessed.”
“But the keys of the private door and the wicket?” exclaimed Adeline: “how came she with them?”
“They might have been in your ladyship’s room—by some accident,” answered Quentin, with a little embarrassment of manner.
“Yes—I believe they were,” said Adeline, blushing deeply—for she guessed the cause of the valet’s hesitation: he was evidently impressed with the idea that his mistress had possessed herself of those keys to favour her supposed amour with Colonel Cholmondeley.
But she willingly incurred even this suspicion, because, by apparently accounting for the keys being in her room, it made the evidence stronger against Lydia Hutchinson.
“Does his lordship as yet know of this event?” inquired Adeline, after a short pause.
“I communicated the fact to his lordship,” answered Quentin; “but he treated it with so much indifference, that I did not enter into any details. I shall now, with your ladyship’s permission, repair to Bow Street, and lodge information of the robbery.”
Lady Ravensworth suffered the valet to reach the door ere she called him back; for nothing was more opposed to her plan than the idea of giving any notoriety to the transaction, inasmuch as such a course might afford Anthony Tidkins a clue to the entire mystery of the transaction in which he had played so important a part.
Accordingly, as if impelled by a second thought, she said, “Stay, Quentin: this step must not be taken.”
“What, my lady?” cried the valet, in astonishment.
“I must show leniency in this respect,” was the answer.
“Leniency, my lady, towards one who has robbed your ladyship of jewels worth, as I understand, at least two thousand pounds!” ejaculated Quentin, his surprise increasing.
“Yes—such is my desire, upon second thoughts,” she continued. “My dear cousin Lady Bounce is deeply interested—I scarcely know exactly why—in this young woman; and I feel convinced that she would rather induce her husband Sir Cherry to repay me for the loss of my jewels, than see Lydia Hutchinson, bad though she must be, involved in so serious a dilemma. I shall therefore feel obliged to you, Quentin, to keep the affair as secret as possible—at least until I have communicated with Lady Bounce.”
“Your ladyship’s commands shall be obeyed,” said the obsequious valet, with a bow. “In this case, I may return immediately to the Park.”
“Let the carriage be got ready, and I will myself hasten thither,” answered Adeline; “as you say that his lordship is somewhat worse.”
Quentin retired, well persuaded in his own mind that the leniency of his mistress was caused by her fears lest the presumed fact of the keys of the private door and the wicket having been kept in her room might lead to inquiries calculated to bring to light her supposed amour with Colonel Cholmondeley.
Thus was it that one of the engines of Lydia’s vengeance,—namely, the trick by which she had induced the Colonel to enter her mistress’s boudoir, and the fact of making the other servants privy to that visit,—now materially served the purposes of Adeline.
In a quarter of an hour the carriage was ready; and Lady Ravensworth was soon on her way back to the Hall.
On her arrival, she found that the circumstance of Lydia Hutchinson’s disappearance had yielded in interest to one of a more grave and absorbing character.
Lord Ravensworth was dying!
She hastened to his apartment, and found him lying in bed—in a state of complete insensibility—and attended by Mr. Graham, who had sent off an express to town (by a shorter way than the main road by which Adeline had returned) for eminent medical assistance.
It appeared that about an hour previously the nobleman’s bell had rung violently; and when the servants hurried to the room, they found their master in a fit. He had probably felt himself suddenly attacked with an alarming symptom, and staggered from his chair to the bell-rope, and had then fallen upon the floor. Mr. Graham had been immediately summoned; and by his orders Lord Ravensworth was conveyed to bed.
But he had continued insensible—with his eyes closed; and the only sign of life was given by his faint, low breathing.
It is scarcely necessary to state that Mr. Graham exerted all his skill on behalf of the dying man.
Adeline affected the deepest sorrow at the condition in which she found her husband;—but the only grief which she really experienced was caused by the prospect of being shortly compelled to resign all control over the broad lands of Ravensworth, in case her as yet unborn child should prove a daughter.
In the course of the day two eminent physicians arrived from London; but the condition of Lord Ravensworth was hopeless: nothing could arouse him from the torpor in which he was plunged; and in the evening he breathed his last.
Thus was it that this nobleman had at length accomplished—involuntarily accomplished—his self-destruction by the use of the oriental tobacco sent to him by his brother Gilbert Vernon!
On the first day of February there had been a marriage at Ravensworth Hall: on the sixteenth there was a funeral.
How closely does mourning follow upon the heels of rejoicing, in this world!
* * *
On the same night when Lord Ravensworth breathed his last, the following scene occurred in London.
It was about eleven o’clock when the Resurrection Man and Mr. Banks entered the cell in which the old woman was confined.
“Is your labour done?” demanded Tidkins, in a surly tone, as if he expected a farther delay in the business.
“God be thanked!” returned the foul hag; “it is complete.”
And she pointed to several sheets of paper, written upon in a hand which showed that the harridan had been no contemptible pen-woman in her younger days.
The Resurrection Man greedily seized the manu
script, and began to scrutinise each consecutive page. As he read, his countenance displayed grim signs of satisfaction; and when, at the expiration of a quarter of an hour, he consigned the papers to his pocket, he said, “Well, by what I have seen this really looks like business.”
“The old wessel has done her dooty at last,” observed Mr. Banks, shaking his head solemnly; “and what a blessed consolation it must be for her to know that she has made a friend of you that’s able to protect her from her enemies while she lives, and of me that’ll bury her on the newest and most economic principles when she’s nothing more than a defunct old carkiss.”
“Consolation, indeed!” cried Tidkins: then, counting down ten sovereigns upon the table, he said, “Here’s what I promised you, old woman, for the fulfilment of the first condition. Now me and Banks will take you home again; and when you give me up the written proofs you spoke of, you shall have t’other ten quids.”
“Alack! I’ve earned these shining pieces well,” muttered the hag, as she wrapped the sovereigns in a morsel of paper, and concealed them under her clothes.
The Resurrection Man now proceeded to blindfold her carefully; and the operation reminded him of the process to which he had submitted on the preceding night, at the hands of his veiled patroness. He next helped the old woman to put on her cloak, the hood of which he threw over her bonnet so that a portion of it concealed her face; and Banks then led her away from the subterranean, while Tidkins remained behind them for a few moments to secure the doors.
The party now proceeded, by the most unfrequented streets, through Globe Town into Bethnal Green; but it was not until they reached Shoreditch, that the Resurrection Man removed the bandage from the old hag’s eyes.
Then she gazed rapidly around her, to ascertain where she was.
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 89