She rang the bell: her French servant responded to the summons; and Adeline desired that the gardener might be immediately sent into her presence.
The maid withdrew, and conveyed by signs the order which she had received; for she was unable to speak a single word of English.
The old man, who was deliberating with his wife upon the best means of breaking to Lady Ravensworth the unpleasant fact of there being a putrid corpse in the mansion at that very moment, received the command with a ludicrous expression of fear and vexation on his countenance; and he repaired to the presence of his mistress in a state of mind about as agreeable as if he were on his road to an auto-da-fé.
“Abraham,” said Lady Adeline, “there are certain circumstances which render my return to this house far from pleasant. Almost heart-broken by the loss of that dear, dear child who constituted my only earthly joy, I come back to my native land with the hope of at least finding tranquillity and peace in the retirement of Ravensworth Hall. But scarcely do I alight from my carriage, when I encounter upon the very threshold of my home a party of revellers whom your imprudence permitted to celebrate their orgies within these walls. This fault I was inclined to pardon: but when, upon the first superficial glance around the principal apartments, I perceive that many valuable articles have disappeared——”
“Disappeared, my lady!” cried the old man, starting in a manner rather indicative of surprise than of guilt.
“Yes, Abraham,” returned Lady Ravensworth, severely: “pictures—ornaments—time-pieces—China bowls—and several objects of less value are missing from these apartments. Have you removed them elsewhere?”
“Oh! my lady,” cried the gardener, “you can’t think that I would rob you! As God is my judge, neither me nor my wife has touched a single thing in the place—leastways, unless it was to dust and clean ’em. The door has been kept locked——”
“But if you have been in the habit of allowing strangers the use of these apartments——”
“No, my lady—this was the fust and the last time that me and my old ’ooman did such a thing,” exclaimed the gardener, emphatically: “and we didn’t know we was a-doing anythink so wery wrong—seeing your ladyship wasn’t here.”
“And you have not even observed that certain pictures and ornaments had disappeared?” inquired Adeline, who knew not what to conjecture—for the manner and words of the old man were indeed stamped with genuine and wholesome honesty.
“Never, my lady—we never noticed it,” was the answer. “For my part, I seldom come into these rooms at all: but my old ’ooman dusted ’em out regular once a month or so; and if she’d missed anythink I should have knowed of it in a moment. But——”
“But what, Abraham?” said Lady Ravensworth, in a kinder and much more conciliatory tone.
“There’s one circumstance that has very often troubled me and my wife more than once—or twice—or a dozen times even, my lady: and yet——”
“Speak candidly. Why do you hesitate?” she said.
The old man cast a hurried glance around, for it was now growing dusk,—and, sinking his voice to a whisper, he said, “The Hall is troubled, my lady.”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed Adeline starting from her seat, as if those words had electrified her. “Explain yourself, old man—speak!”
“Ah! my lady—there’s no doubt on it!” returned Abraham, again looking suspiciously around. “Mr. Vernon can’t rest in his grave—his sperret walks——”
“A truce to this idle folly!” cried Lady Ravensworth, her tone once more becoming severe.
Had the old man assured her that he had seen the spirit of Lydia Hutchinson, she would have been suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of tremendous awe; and she would have sunk beneath the appalling weight of an announcement the truth of which she would not have dared to question. This influence, however, could only have been exercised over her by the superstition associated with her own dread crime; and when, contrary to her expectation, but greatly to her relief—the phantom she so much dreaded was not the one of which the old man spoke, she immediately rejected his tale as unworthy of credit.
“A truce to this idle folly!” she cried; “and prepare yourself to give the explanations which my solicitor may require at your hands to-morrow. Leave me.”
“I hope your ladyship——”
“Leave me, I say; and send my maid up with lights.”
“Yes, my lady—certainly I will,” returned the old man, without moving from the place where he stood: “but before I go—I must acquaint your ladyship—leastways, I must in dooty state that—though it ain’t a wery pleasant thing—still it wasn’t my fault—as my old ’ooman can prove to your ladyship——”
“Leave me!” cried Adeline, in a tone which showed that she was determined to be obeyed. “If you have any apology to offer for your conduct—which, I regret to say, is now placed beyond all doubt by the confusion of your manner—you must satisfy my legal adviser upon that head. Fear not, however, that I will seek to punish an old man who cannot have many years to remain in this world: no—I am not vindictive—my own sufferings,” she added, with a profound sigh, “have taught me to be merciful to others. But I do not desire to prolong this conversation now. Leave me, I repeat—leave me!”
The gardener endeavoured to obtain a farther hearing:—for he was most anxious to communicate the fact of the dead body being in the house; but Adeline waved her hand in a manner so authoritative, that the poor old man had no alternative than to obey.
He accordingly left the room, quite bewildered by the injurious suspicions which had arisen in the mind of his mistress against his honesty; for he had spoken naught save the plain truth when he declared that the disappearance of the pictures and ornaments had never been observed by either himself or his wife.
The French maid carried lights up to the drawing-room, and received from Lady Ravensworth instructions to prepare the bed-chamber situate in the northern extremity of the building: this, in fact, was the same apartment that Adeline had occupied after she had ceased to inhabit her boudoir, and during the interval between the murder of Lydia Hutchinson and the suicide of Gilbert Vernon.
The lady’s-maid retired to fulfil her mistress’s directions; and Adeline was left once more alone.
The solemn silence that prevailed throughout the mansion added to the depression of her spirits; and she could not combat against a vague presentiment of approaching evil, which gradually acquired a greater influence over her.
It is well known that many animals have an instinctive knowledge of impending danger, even while its source remains as yet unseen. The noble steed that bears the traveller through the forest, snuffs the air, paws the ground, and swerves uneasily from his path, when in the vicinity of the lair where the lion lies concealed: the little bird flutters wildly above the thicket which hides the lurking snake;—and the buffalo trembles through every limb as he approaches the tree from the dense foliage of which, high over head, the terrible anaconda is prepared to spring.
Is such a feeling as this never known to human beings?
We believe that it is.
And certain was it that Adeline became the prey of a similar influence—vague, sinister, and undefined,—as she sate in the loneliness of the large apartment around which her glances wandered with an uneasiness that did not diminish.
She rose from her seat and walked to the window: it was now quite dark—the sky was over-clouded—and neither moon nor stars appeared.
“I could wish that the evening were less gloomy,” she said to herself. “And how long Quentin seems to be!”
Then she remembered that he had many purchases to make; for it was not expected that the gardener would have provided the requisite stock of provisions and necessaries, even if he had received the letter announcing Lady Ravensworth’s intended return.
“Still I wish he would come!” said Adeline. “He is a faithful servant—and I should feel more secure were he near me. What can be this dreadful depression of spirits which I experience? Alas! happiness and I have long been strangers to each other: but never—never have I felt as I do to-night!”
She started: it struck her that the handle of the folding doors communicating with the next room was agitated.
Yes: it was no delusion—some one was about to enter.
Yielding to fears which were the more intense because they were altogether inexplicable, she leant against the wall for support—her eyes fixed, under the influence of a species of fascination, upon the doors at the farther extremity of the room.
Slowly did one of those folding-doors open; and for an instant, in the wild turmoil of her feelings, the unhappy woman half expected to behold the spectre of Lydia Hutchinson appear before her.
But—no: it was a man who entered.
The lights flared with the draught created by the opening of that door; and for a few moments Adeline could only perceive the dark form, without being able to distinguish his features.
Not long, however, did this painful uncertainty last; for as the intruder advanced towards the almost fainting lady, the light suddenly shone full upon his countenance;—and, with feelings of indescribable horror, she once more found herself in the presence of the Resurrection Man.
CHAPTER CCXLIX.
THE RESURRECTION MAN’S LAST FEAT AT RAVENSWORTH HALL.
“Holy God protect me!” shrieked Adeline, staggering to a sofa, on which she fell.
But her senses did not leave her: a profound conviction of the terrible position in which she was again placed, suddenly nerved her with a courage and a strength that astonished even herself; and starting from the sofa, she confronted the Resurrection Man, saying, “What do you here?”
“That’s my business,” answered Tidkins, gruffly. “You see that I am here:—here I have been for a long time—and here I shall remain as much longer as it suits my purpose. That is,” he added, with a significant leer, “unless you make it worth my while to take myself off.”
“Detestable extortioner!” ejaculated Adeline: “am I never to know peace again?”
“Well—now that’s your business, my lady,” replied the Resurrection Man. “The fact is, I find this place so much to my liking, and it answers my views as well as my safety so well, that I am in no hurry to quit it. You may look as black as you please: but you ought to know by this time that Tony Tidkins is not the man to be frightened by a lady’s frown.”
“The law will protect me,” said Adeline, now labouring under the most painful excitement.
“Yes—and punish you too,” added the Resurrection Man, coolly.
“Now listen to me,” continued Lady Ravensworth, speaking with hysterical volubility: “human forbearance has limits—human patience has bounds. My forbearance is exhausted—my patience is worn out. Sooner than submit to your persecutions—sooner than be at the mercy of your extortions,—I will seek redress at the hands of justice—aye, even though I draw down its vengeance upon my own head at the same time!”
And she flew towards the bell-pull.
But the Resurrection Man caught her ere her hand could reach the rope; and dragging her back, he pushed her brutally upon the sofa. Then, drawing a pistol from his pocket, he said in a terribly ominous tone, “If you attempt that dodge again, I’ll shoot you through the head as sure as you’re now a living woman.”
Adeline contemplated him with eyes expressive of the wildest alarm.
“You see that it’s no use to play tricks with me, young lady,” continued the Resurrection Man, as he replaced the pistol in his pocket.
“What is it that you require?” asked Adeline, in a faint and supplicating tone: “what can I do to induce you to depart and never molest me more? Oh! have mercy upon me, I implore you—have mercy upon me! I have no friends to protect me. I am widowed and childless. My poor boy has been snatched from me—my sole earthly solace is gone! But why do you persecute me thus? Have I ever injured you? If you hate me—if you look upon me as an enemy, kill me outright:—do not—do not take my life by inches. Your presence is slow torture!”
“Will you listen to reason?” demanded Tidkins: “can you speak calmly for a few minutes?”
“I will—I can,” returned Adeline, shuddering dreadfully as the Resurrection Man drew nearer to her.
“Well, then—if you keep your word, our business will soon be brought to an end,” he said, planting himself coolly in a chair opposite to her. “You must know that I’ve been living in this house almost ever since you left it.”
“Living here!” cried Adeline, indignation mastering a considerable portion of her terror.
“Yes—living here as snug as a bug in a rug,” returned Tidkins, chuckling as if he considered the fact to be an excellent joke. “The truth is I had certain reasons of my own for being either in or near London: and I looked about for a safe place. Happening to pass this way a few weeks after that business about Vernon, you know——”
“Proceed—proceed!” said Adeline, impatiently.
“I’m in no hurry,” replied Tidkins.
“But my servant may come—Quentin will be here shortly—I expect him every minute——”
“He won’t hurt me, my lady,” said Tidkins, calmly. “If he attempted to lay a hand on me, I’d shoot him on the spot. However, I will go on quicker—since you wish it. Well, as I was saying, I passed by this way and saw the house all shut up. Inquiries at the village down yonder let me know that you was gone, and that there was no one but an old man and his wife about the premises. Nothing could suit me better: I resolved to take up my quarters here directly;—and I pitched upon the very room where Vernon threw himself out of the window. One day I heard the two old people talking in the next apartment, which they were dusting out; and I found, by their discourse, that they believed in ghosts. That was a glorious discovery for me: I soon saw that certain little devices which I practised made them think that Vernon’s spirit haunted the place—and so I boldly opened the shutters and made myself comfortable, when I took it into my head. They weren’t at the house, it seems, when I was staying here two years ago; and so they didn’t know who I really was. Thus, when they saw me standing in the balcony—which I often did just to amuse myself by frightening them a little—they firmly believed it was Gilbert Vernon’s spirit that haunted the place. Lord! how I have laughed sometimes at the poor old souls!”
“It is you, then,” cried Adeline, a sudden idea striking her, “who have been plundering the Hall during my absence?”
“Well—you may call it by that name, if you like,” said Tidkins, with the most provoking calmness. “I don’t hesitate to admit that I have now and then walked off with a small picture—or a time-piece—or a mantel ornament—or what not—just to raise supplies for the time being. But you ought to be very much obliged to me that I’ve left any thing at all in the whole place. Such forbearance isn’t quite in keeping with my usual disposition.”
“Villain! this to me—and said so coolly!” cried Lady Ravensworth, again starting from her seat.
“Pray keep where you are, ma’am,” observed Tidkins, pushing her back again upon the sofa; “you promised to listen to reason.”
“Reason!” exclaimed Adeline: “and do you call it reason when I am compelled to hear the narrative of your villanies—the history of your depredations on my property?”
“You knew what I was when you sought my acquaintance,” said the Resurrection Man; “and after all, I’ve only just been taking the little liberties which one friend may use with another.”
“Friend!” repeated Adeline, in a tone expressive of deep disgust, as she retreated as far back upon the sofa as possible.
“Come—we’re only wasting ti
me by all this disputing,” said the Resurrection Man. “The whole thing lies in a nut-shell. You’ve come home again—and you want to enjoy undisputed possession of your own house. Well—that is reasonable enough. But, by so doing, you turn me out of doors; and I don’t exactly know where I shall find a crib so safe and convenient as this. I must have an indemnity, then: and that is also reasonable on my part.”
“Until you told me that you had robbed the house,” exclaimed Adeline, in a tone of almost ungovernable indignation,—such as she had not experienced for a long, long time,—“I was prepared to purchase your departure with a sum of money: but now,—now that I have the most convincing proofs of your utter profligacy—even if such proofs were wanting,—now that I see the folly of reposing the slightest trust in one who studies nothing save his own wants and interests,—I will think of a compromise no longer.”
“You will repent your obstinacy,” said Tidkins. “Remember how you have dared me on a former occasion, and how I reduced you to submission.”
“True!” ejaculated Adeline, in a calmer and more collected tone than she had yet assumed during this painful interview: “but at that time I was crushed by the weight of difficulties—overwhelmed with embarrassments and perils of the most formidable nature. I would then have committed any new crime to screen the former ones: I would have effected any compromise in order to avert danger. But now—what is there to bind me to existence? Nothing—unless it be the enjoyment of seclusion and tranquillity. These are menaced by your prosecutions: and I will put an end to this intolerable tyranny—or perish in the attempt. This is my decision. Let us be at open war, if you will: and ’tis thus I commence hostilities!”
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 125