“Oh! think not that I am deceived by him, dear friend,” answered Lady Ravensworth: “think not that my suspicions relative to him are hushed. No—no: else wherefore should I complain of this cruel suspense? There are times, indeed, when I could throw myself at his feet—implore him to quit these walls—and beg upon my knees for mercy towards my child! Does this show that I have forgotten all those circumstances which have led us to look upon him with an abhorrence that we have alike had so much difficulty to conceal?”
“I am aware of all you must suffer,” answered Eliza, with a profound sigh; for she pitied—deeply pitied the wretched but criminal woman: “still it is for your child’s sake that I have tutored you to play this game of hypocrisy,—that I have induced you and compelled myself to endure the society of one who is loathsome to us both,—and that we have even condescended to veil beneath smiles our consciousness of his character and atrocious designs. This has been the sum of our hypocrisy;—and how venial it is! And now that all my plans are so nearly matured—with the exception of the return of my messenger from Beyrout——”
“And on his return?” said Adeline, anxiously.
“Have I not assured you that the moment which places in my hands the conclusive proofs of Vernon’s guilt—the only link wanting to complete the chain——”
Eliza Sydney was suddenly interrupted by an exclamation which came from the lips of Gilbert Vernon.
She rose, and hastened to the window.
“Here is a troop of poor fellows who doubtless endeavour to earn an honest penny by their agility and skill,” said Vernon; “and in a country where mendicity is a crime, even such a livelihood as theirs is honourably gained.”
Had not Eliza Sydney’s curiosity been at the moment attracted by the strange appearance of the corps of mountebanks to whom Vernon alluded, and who were advancing towards the Hall, she would have been struck with surprise at the emanation of such generous sentiments from so cold-hearted, austere, and aristocratic a person as he.
But her attention was for the time directed towards six persons, five of whom were clad in the light grotesque manner in which mountebanks appear at country-fairs, and even not unfrequently in the streets of London. They wore flesh-coloured stockings, nankin breeches, and jackets of variegated colours, as if, in respect to this latter article of their apparel, they attempted to vie with the peculiar costume of world-renowned Harlequin. The sixth was dressed in a common garb, and wore a hideous mask.
One of the jugglers carried an enormous drum slung behind his back, and had a set of Pandean pipes tucked in his neckcloth beneath his chin; and another was laden with a wicker-basket. The man who was dressed in the common garb and wore the mask, bore a long rod wish a net twisted round it, upon his shoulder. A fourth carried two stout stakes; and the remaining two were empty-handed, although it was evident by their dress that they took no small share in the performances which itinerant mountebanks and conjurors of this kind are in the habit of exhibiting.
We must observe, in respect to the man who wore the mask, and who, as the reader already knows, was the gipsy Morcar, that beneath his ample straw hat, and over the edges of the mask, projected huge bushes of reddish-yellow hair, which seemed as if they had once belonged to a door-mat. He walked, a little apart from the others, in company with the man who carried the stakes.
“These conjurors evidently contemplate an exhibition upon the lawn before the windows,” said Eliza Sydney, as the men drew nearer to the house. “I will send them out some money and request them to retire, as such performances are not suitable to a spot where mourning is still worn for the deceased lord.”
“That were a pity, Mrs. Beaufort,” returned Vernon. “These poor creatures have their little feelings as well as performers on the boards of our national theatres; and I am sure you possess too good a heart to wound them. No—let them remain; and if you can induce her ladyship to witness their sports from the balcony, she might be cheered for the moment.”
“I should be sorry to wound the feelings of any living being who did not injure me,” answered Eliza: “but——”
“Nay, my dear Mrs. Beaufort,” interrupted Vernon, “do not refuse me this request. You cannot think that I am boy enough to care for the tricks of these jugglers; but I am well aware—setting aside any consideration on their behalf—that the most trivial and frivolous amusement will often produce a favourable impression upon the spirits. Let Lady Ravensworth come to the window.”
Eliza scarcely knew how to offer any farther objection: she was, however, about to make some remark in answer to Mr. Vernon, when the point at issue was settled by that gentleman beckoning the foremost mountebank to advance under the window.
“Now, my good fellow,” he exclaimed, looking over the parapet of the balcony, and tossing the man a sovereign, “let us see how well you can amuse us.”
“Thank’ee, sir,” cried the man, receiving the money in his straw-hat. “We’ll do our best, you may depend upon it, sir.”
He then returned to his companions, who had stationed themselves at a short distance on the lawn.
The mountebanks forthwith commenced their preparations.
The wicker-basket was placed upon the ground; and its contents were speedily disposed in a manner to suit the performances. A long rope was tied to two trees of about twenty yards’ distance from each other: some common blue plates and a wash-hand basin were laid upon the grass; and then a number of small yellow balls were ranged in a line, and at short intervals apart, across the lawn.
While some of the men were making these arrangements, Morcar and his companion advanced to within a short distance of the balcony, and drove the two stakes firmly into the ground. To the tops of these stakes they fastened the ends of the iron rod, without however unrolling the net, but in such a manner that the rod itself would revolve with ease, and the entire net might be drawn out in a moment. They then took their posts each by one of the stakes, and there remained motionless.
In the meantime the man with the drum and the mouth-organ had commenced his instrumental harmony, such as it was; and, at the sound, the servants of the Hall flocked from their offices to the steps of the entrance, well pleased to observe that the monotony of their existence in a dwelling where no company was now received, was about to be broken by even the performances of a few wandering mountebanks.
In the drawing-room, Vernon was still stationed at the balcony; and the nurse, holding the sleeping child in her arms, had approached the open window outside of which Vernon was thus standing.
Eliza Sydney had returned to the side of Lady Ravensworth, to whom she mentioned the presence of the mountebanks and the encouragement which they had received from Mr. Vernon.
“Does he suppose that my spirits can possibly be elevated by a buffoonery of this nature?” said Adeline, her lip curling with contemptuous hauteur. “Besides, such a proceeding is most indecent—most indelicate—on the very spot where a funeral so lately passed!”
“And yet it suits not our present purpose to anger him,” returned Eliza.
Lady Ravensworth was about to reply, when Quentin entered the room and placed a letter in Eliza’s hands.
The valet then withdrew.
Eliza immediately recognised the writing of the faithful Filippo, and opened it in haste.
Her countenance evinced signs of satisfaction as she perused its contents; but ere she reached the end, she sighed deeply.
“You have evil tidings there,” whispered Lady Ravensworth, who had attentively watched her friend’s countenance. “And yet, methought you smiled at first.”
“I smiled,” answered Eliza, also in a low tone, “because I was rejoiced to find that the only link wanting to complete the chain of evidence against that villain”—glancing towards the window as she thus spoke—“is now complete;—and to-morrow——”
�
�Ah! your messenger is returned from Beyrout?” said Adeline, joyfully. “Then wherefore seem sorrowful?”
“Because the tidings which I now receive confirms the terrible suspicion that your husband was indeed murdered,—coldly—systematically—methodically murdered,—by his own brother!” answered Eliza. “Alas! for the honour of human nature that such things should be!”
Adeline became red as scarlet, and a profound sigh escaped her bosom;—for was she not also a disgrace to human nature?
Eliza forgot at the moment that her words were calculated to wound the already deeply lacerated heart of Lady Ravensworth;—else not for a moment—criminal as Adeline was—would those words have escaped her tongue.
Neither did she perceive the acute emotions which she had awakened; for she was intent upon the reflections excited by the arrival of Filippo’s letter.
In the meantime the sports upon the lawn had commenced.
One of the mountebanks ascended to the tightrope, and performed many curious evolutions, much to the amusement not only of the servants assembled upon the steps at the entrance, but even of the nurse at the window.
When the dancing was over, a second juggler balanced first a blue plate, and then the basin, on the point of a long stick—making them spin rapidly round, to the especial delight of the female servants. The nurse, too, was so very much amused that she crossed the threshold of the window, and advanced a little upon the balcony, the better to view the performance.
Vernon seemed intent upon the sports, and did not appear to notice that the ladies were not spectators also. But perhaps he might have thought that they were at another window.
And all this while Morcar, with his mask and bushy yellow hair, and his assistant Mike, were stationed each by one of the stakes to which the net was fixed.
From time to time Vernon had looked over the balcony at these two men, whose presence there seemed somewhat to annoy him: and when the exhibition of the plates and basin was over, he leant forward, exclaiming, “Well, my good fellow, when does your turn come? and what are you going to do with that iron pole and net?”
“You shall see presently, sir,” replied Morcar. “It will be the best trick of the whole—as I know you’ll admit.”
“It is all right,” thought Vernon to himself. “These fellows know not the motive for which they were hired; and therefore the fact of their placing the net there can only be a coincidence. However it is far enough away from the flag-stones to suit my purpose.”
Such were the rapid reflections which passed through Vernon’s brain.
And had searching eyes been fixed upon his countenance now, they would have observed that although he seemed to watch the sports with a zest passing strange in a man of his years, there were far more important matters agitating in his brain;—for his face was pale—his lips quivered from time to time—and, even while his head remained stationary as if he were looking straight towards the lawn, his eyes were wild and wandering.
Amidst the servants on the steps of the entrance stood the Resurrection Man, apparently one of the most enthusiastic admirers of the sport. But he—as well as his employer in the balcony—was somewhat annoyed when he beheld the iron rod and the net which was rolled round it, placed upon the stakes on the verge of the lawn almost beneath the open window of the drawing-room. Another circumstance likewise engaged his attention. This was that he had only seen five jugglers when he had first hired them for the performances; whereas there were now six present. He, however, consoled himself with the idea that the man in the mask and his companion had taken their station so near the balcony, simply because their exhibition, whatever it was, should be better viewed by the inmates of the drawing-room; and relative to the presence of the sixth juggler, he said to himself upon second thoughts, “Well, after all, the troop might have been joined by another comrade since I saw them last night.”
But to continue the thread of our narrative.
The last beams of the setting sun were flickering faintly in the western horizon, when the jugglers commenced what may be termed the third act of their performances—namely, the athletic exercises. They had wrestling matches, took extraordinary leaps, and performed various other feats of strength and skill. These being over, one of the band threw himself back, supporting himself with his hands on the ground, and in this position ran on all fours along the line of yellow balls, picking them up with his mouth, one after the other, with astonishing rapidity.
This feat elicited a burst of applause from the servants on the steps; and the nurse, still holding the child in her arms, advanced close up to the parapet of the balcony.
The sun had already set when that last feat began: the twilight was, however, sufficiently strong to permit the spectators to obtain a good view of the performance. But the jugglers now paused for a few minutes to rest themselves; and during that interval the duskiness sensibly increased.
“I wonder what these men are going to do with their iron pole and net,” observed Vernon. “Surely their turn must have come now?”
The nurse looked over the parapet to see whether the man in the mask and his companion were still stationed near their apparatus, the use of which puzzled her amazingly.
At that moment two of the jugglers who had advanced from the lawn towards the flag-stones that skirted the wall of the mansion, threw each a detonating-ball upon the pavement.
The explosion was loud—abrupt—startling; and a volume of dense smoke instantly burst as it were from the ground, enveloping the balcony, and pouring even into the drawing-room through the open window.
And, almost at the same instant that the explosion took place, a terrible scream pierced the air; and this was followed by agonising shrieks, mingled with frantic cries of “The child! the child!”
“Merciful heavens!” ejaculated Eliza Sydney, rushing from her seat near Lady Adeline to the window.
But she was met by the nurse, who darted in from the balcony, clasping her hands together, and still screaming wildly—“The child! the child!”
“Holy God!” cried Vernon, also rushing into the room: “the infant has fallen over! Oh! my nephew—my dear nephew!”
And he sank upon a chair, as if overcome by his grief.
“Murderer!—vile—detestable assassin!” exclaimed Eliza Sydney: “this was no accident!”
“Madam,” cried Vernon, starting from his seat, “recall those words—or I will not answer for my passion!”
“No—I dare you—monster, murderer that you are!” ejaculated Eliza, as she forced the nurse, who was raving violently, to a sofa.
At that moment shouts of delight were heard from below; and loud cries of “Saved! saved!” reached all the inmates of the drawing-room—save Lady Ravensworth, who had fainted the instant the first wild scream of the nurse had struck her ears like a death-omen.
“Saved! saved!” repeated the nurse, catching at the joyous sound, and now becoming hysterical with the effects of the revulsion of emotions thereby produced.
“Oh! if it be indeed true!” cried Eliza Sydney, darting towards the balcony; but it was now too dark to distinguish any thing that was passing below.
Her suspense did not, however, endure many moments longer; for the door of the drawing-room was suddenly thrown open, and the man in the mask rushed in, crying “Saved! saved!”
Eliza Sydney hastened to meet him, and received the child in her arms.
The little innocent was indeed unhurt, to all appearance, but was crying bitterly.
“Thank God! thank God!” exclaimed Eliza, fervently, as she pressed the child to her bosom.
Quentin now made his appearance with lights, and several of the servants had followed him as far as the door of the room.
“Call the lady’s-maid, Quentin, for your mistress,” said Eliza, hastily: “she has fainted! Bring water—vinegar—pe
rfume; I dare not part with the child!”
The lady’s-maid was close by; and, hastening into the room, she devoted the necessary attentions to Adeline, who, soon recovering, opened her eyes, gazed wildly around, and then exclaimed in a frantic tone, “My child! my child!”
“He is safe—he is unharmed, dear lady,” said Eliza Sydney, advancing towards the sofa with the babe in her arms.
“Give him to me—to me only,—for I am his mother—and I will protect him!” cried Adeline in a shrieking tone: then, receiving the infant from her friend, she clasped it with frantic fondness to her bosom.
In the meantime—although this scene occupied but a few minutes—Gilbert Vernon had sunk upon a chair, like one intoxicated. A film came over his eyes—his brain reeled—and he could not accurately distinguish what was passing around him. Amidst the sudden chaos into which his ideas were plunged, one thought was alone clear—defined—and unobscured; and this was that the child was saved!
The moment Eliza Sidney had consigned the heir of Ravensworth to the arms of his mother, she said in a hasty whisper to Quentin, “Secure Anthony Tidkins without delay, and order the carriage immediately.”
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 110