CHAPTER XLIII.
Mrs. Hazelton entered the carriage, I have said, at the end of thelast chapter, without the slightest appearance of agitation orexcitement. Although now and then a flush, and now and then apaleness, had spread over her face during the conversation with LadyHastings, though her eye had emitted an occasional flash, and at othertimes had seemed fixed and meaningless, such indications of internalwarfare were all banished when she left the room, the fair smoothcheek had its natural color, the eye was as tranquil as that ofindifferent old age.
The coachman cracked his long whip, before four magnificent largehorses heaved the ponderous vehicle from its resting place, and Mrs.Hazleton sank back in the carriage and gave herself up to thought--butnot to thought only. Then all the smothered agitation; then all thestrong contending passions broke forth in fierce and fiery warfare. Itis impossible to disentangle them and lay them out, as on a map,before the reader's mind. It is impossible to say which at firstpredominated, rage, or fear, or disappointment, or the thirst ofvengeance. One passion it is true--the one which might be called themaster passion of her nature--soon soared towering above the rest,like one of those mighty spirits which rise to the dizzy and dangerouspinnacle of power in the midst of the turbulence and tempest whichaccompany great social earthquakes. But at first all was confusion.
"Never," she repeated to herself--"never!--it shall never be. If Islay her with my own hand it shall never be--foiled--frustrated inevery thing; and by this mere empty, moody child, who has been mystumbling block, my enemy, my obstruction, in all my paths. No, no, itshall never be!"
A new strain of thought seemed to strike her; her head leaned forward;her eyes closed, and her lips quivered.
There are many kinds of conscience, and every one has some sort, suchas it is. What I mean is, that there is almost in every heart a voiceof warning and reproof which counsels us to regret certain actions,and which speaks in different tones to different men. To theworldly--those who are habitually of the earth earthly--it holds outthe menace of earthly shame and misfortune and sorrow. Itrecapitulates the mistakes we have committed, points to the evilconsequences of evil deeds, shows how the insincerities and falsehoodsof our former course have proved fruitless, and how the cunningdevices, and skilful contrivances, and artful stratagems, have endedin mortification and reproach and contempt; while still the gloomyprospects of detection and exposure and public contumely and personalpunishment, are held up before our eyes as the grim portrait of thefuture.
I need not pause here to show how conscience affects those who,however guilty, have a higher sense--those who have a cloudy belief ina future state--who acknowledge in their own hearts a God ofjustice--who look to judgment, and feel that there must be animmortality of weal or woe. Mrs. Hazleton was of the former class. Thegrave was a barrier to her sight, beyond which there was no seeing.She had been brought up for this world, lived in this world, thought,devised, schemed, plotted for this world. She never thought of anotherworld at all. She went to church regularly every Sunday, read theprayers with every appearance of devotion, even listened to the sermonif the preacher preached well, and went home more practically atheistthan many who have professed themselves so.
What were her thoughts, then, now? They were all earthly still. Evenconscience spoke to her in earthly language, as if there were no othermeans of reaching her heart but that. Its very menaces were allearthly. She reviewed her conduct for the last two or three years,and bitterly reproached herself for several faults she discoveredtherein--faults of contrivance, of design, of execution. She had mademistakes; and for a time she gave herself up to bitter repentance forthat great crime.
"Caught in my own trap," she said; "frustrated by a girl--achild!--ay! and with exposure, perhaps punishment, before me. How shetriumphs, doubtless, in that little malignant heart. How she willtriumph when she brings forward her proofs, and overwhelms me withthem--if she has them. Oh, yes, she has them! She is mighty carefulnever to say any thing of which she is not certain. I have remarkedthat in her from a child. She has them beyond doubt, and now she issitting anticipating the pleasure of crushing me--enjoying theretrospect of my frustrated endeavors--thinking how she and Marlowwill laugh together over a whole list of attempts that have failed,and purposes that I have not been able to execute. Yes, yes, they willlaugh loud and gaily, and at the very altar, perhaps, will think withtriumph that they are filling for me the last drop of scorn anddisappointment. Never, never, never! It shall never be. That is theonly way, methinks;" and she fell into dark and silent thought again.
The fit lasted some time, and then she spoke again, muttering thewords between her teeth as she had previously done. "They will nevermarry with a mother's curse upon their union! Oh, no, no, I know hertoo well. She will not do that. That weak poppet may die before sherecalls her opposition--must die--and then they will live on lovingand wretched. But it must be made as bitter as possible. It must notstop there."
Again she paused and thought, and then said to herself, "That drugwhich the Italian monk sold me would do well enough if I did but fullyknow its effects. There are things which leave terrible signs behindthem--besides it is old, and may have lost its virtue. I must run norisk of that--and it must be speedy as well as sure. I have but fourand twenty hours--the time is very short;" and relapsing into silenceagain, she continued in deep and silent meditation till the carriagestopped at her own gates.
Mrs. Hazleton sat in the library that night for two or three hours,and studied diligently a large folio volume which she had taken downherself. She read, and she seemed puzzled. A servant entered to asksome unimportant question, and she waved him away impatiently. Thenleaning her head upon her hand she thought profoundly. She calculatedin her own mind what Emily knew--how much--how intimately, and how shehad learned it. Such a thing as remorse she knew not; but she had somefear, though very little--a sort of shrinking from the commission ofacts more daring and terrible than any she had yet performed. Therewas something appalling--there is always something appalling--in thecommission of a great new crime, and the turning back, as it were, ofthe mind of Mrs. Hazleton from the search for means to accomplish adeed determined, in order to calculate the necessity of that deed,proceeded from this sort of awe at the next highest step of evil tothose which she had already committed.
"She must know all," said Mrs. Hazleton to herself, after havingconsidered the matter for some moments deeply. "And she must havelearned it accurately. I know her caution well. From whom can she havelearned it?"
"From that young villain Ayliffe," was the prompt reply. "I was tooharsh with him, and in his fit of rage he has gone away at once totell this girl--or perhaps that old fool Dixwell. Most likely he hasfurnished her with evidence too, before he fled the country. Withoutthat I could have set Marlow's discoveries at naught. Yet I doubt hishaving gone to Dixwell; he always despised him. Mean as he washimself; he looked upon him as a meaner. He would not go to him towhine and cant over him. He would go to the girl herself. Her healways loved, even in the midst of his violence and his rage. He wouldgo to her or write to her beyond all doubt. She must be silenced. ButI must deal with another first. Come what will, this marriage shallnot take place. Besides, she is the most dangerous of the two. Thegirl might be frightened or awed into secresy, and it will take longertime to reach her, but nothing will keep that weak woman's tongue frombabbling, and in four and twenty hours her consent will be given tothis marriage. If I can but contrive it rightly, that at least may bestopped, and a part of my revenge obtained at all events. It must beso--it must be so."
She turned to the leaves of the book again, but nothing in thecontents seemed to give her satisfaction. "That will be too long," shesaid, after having read about a third of a page. "Three or four daysto operate! Who could wait three or four days when the object issecurity, tranquility, or revenge? Besides the case admits of nodelay. Before three of four days all will be over."
She read again, and was discontented with what she read. "That willleave traces,"
she said. "It must be the Italian's dose, I believe,after all. Those monks are very skilful men, and perhaps it may nothave lost its efficiency. It is easily tried," she exclaimed suddenly,and ascending quietly to her own dressing-room, she sought out fromthe drawer of an old cabinet a small packet of white powder, which sheconcealed in the palm of her hand. Then descending to the libraryagain, she sat for a few minutes in dull, heavy thought, and then ranga hand-bell which stood upon her table.
"Bring me a small quantity of meat cut fine for the dog," she said, assoon as her servant appeared. "He seems ill; what has been the matterwith him?"
"Nothing, madam," said the man, looking under the table where lay abeautiful small spaniel sound asleep. "He has been quite well allday."
"He has had something like a fit," said Mrs. Hazleton.
"Dear me, perhaps he is going mad," replied the man. "Had I not betterkill him?"
"Kill him!" exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton; "on no account whatever. Bring mea small plate of meat."
The man did as he was ordered, and on his return found the dog sittingat his mistress's feet, looking up in her face.
"Ah, Dorset," she said, speaking to the animal in a kindly tone, "youare better now, are you?"
The man seemed inclined to linger to see whether the dog would eat:but Mrs. Hazleton took the plate from him, and threw the poor beast asmall piece, which he devoured eagerly.
"There that will do," said Mrs. Hazleton. "You may leave the room."
When she was alone again, she paused for a moment or two, thendeliberately unfolded the packet, and put a very small quantity of thepowder it contained upon a piece of the meat. This morsel she threw tothe poor animal, who swallowed it at once, and then she set down theplate upon the ground, which he cleared in a moment. After that Mrs.Hazleton turned to her reading again, and looked round once at the endof about two minutes. The dog had resumed his sleeping attitude, andshe read on. Hardly a minute more had passed ere the poor brutestarted up, ran round once or twice, as if seized with violentconvulsions, staggered for an instant to and fro, and fell over on itsside. Mrs. Hazleton rang the hell violently, and two servants ran inat once. "He is dying," she cried; "he is dying."
"Keep out of his way, madam," exclaimed one of the men, evidently ingreat fear himself, "there is no knowing what he may do."
The next instant the poor dog started once more upon his feet, uttereda loud and terrific yell, and fell dead upon the floor.
"Poor thing," said Mrs. Hazleton. "Poor Dorset! He is dead; take himaway."
The two men seemed unwilling to touch him, but when quite satisfiedthat there was no more life left in him, they carried him away, andMrs. Hazleton remained alone.
"Speedy enough," said the lady, replacing the large volume on theshelf. "We need no distillations and compoundings. This is asefficacious as ever. Now let me see. I must try and remember the sizeof the bottle, and the color of the stuff that was in it." She thoughtof these matters for some minutes, and then retired to rest.
Did she sleep well or ill that night? God knows. But if she sleptwell, the friends of hell must sometimes have repose.
The next morning very early, Mrs. Hazleton walked out. As the readerknows, she lived at no great distance from the little town, even bythe high-road, and that was shortened considerably by a path throughthe park. There was a poor man in the place, an apothecary, who hadcame down there in the hope of carrying away some of the practice ofgood Mr. Short. He had not been very successful, and his stock ofmedicines was not very great: but he had all that Mrs. Hazletonwanted. Her demands indeed were simple enough--merely a littlelogwood, a little saffron, and a little madder. Having obtained theseshe asked to see some vials, and selected one containing somewhat lessthan half a pint.
The good man packed all these up with zealous care, saying that hewould send them up to the house in a few minutes. Mrs. Hazleton,however, said she would carry them herself; but the very idea of thegreat lady carrying home a parcel, even through her own park, shockedthe little apothecary extremely, and he pressed hard to be permittedto send his own boy, till Mrs. Hazleton replied in a rather peremptorytone, "I always say what I mean, sir. Be so good as to give me theparcel."
When she reached her own house, she ordered her carriage to be at thedoor at half past twelve in order to convey her to the dwelling of SirPhilip Hastings. Upon a very nice calculation the drive, commenced atthat hour, would bring her to the place of her destination shortlyafter that precise period of the day when Lady Hastings was accustomedto take an hour's sleep. But Mrs. Hazleton had laid out her plan, anddid not thus act by accident.
Almost every lady in those days acted the part of a Lady Bountiful inher neighborhood, and gave, not alone assistance in food and money tothe cottagers and poor people about her, but medicine and sometimesmedical advice. Both the latter were very simple indeed; but thepreparation of these simple medicines entailed the necessity of whatwas called a still-room in each great house. In fact to be a LadyBountiful, and to have a still-room, were two of the conventionalitiesof the day, from which no lady, having more than a very moderatefortune, could then hope to escape. Mrs. Hazleton was in thestill-room, then, when her dear friend, who had already on oneoccasion given the death blow to her schemes upon Mr. Marlow's heart,drove up to the door and asked to see her.
The servant replied that his mistress was busy in the still-room, butthat he would go and call her in a moment.
"Oh, dear, no," replied the lady, entering the house with an elasticstep; "I will go and join her there, and surprise her in hercharitable works. I know the way quite well--you needn't come--youneedn't come;" and on she went to the still-room, which she enteredwithout ceremony.
Mrs. Hazleton was, at that moment, in the act of pouring a purpleishsort of fluid, out of a glass dish with a lip to it, into anapothecary's vial. She turned round sharply at the sound of theopening door, thinking that it was produced by a servant intrudingupon her uncalled. When she saw her friend, however, whose indiscreetadvice she had neither forgotten nor forgiven, her face for a momentturned burning red, and then as pale as death; and she had nearly letthe glass fall from her hand.
What was said on either part matters very little. Mrs. Hazleton wastoo wise to speak as sharply as she felt, and led the way from thestill-room as fast as possible; but her dear friend had in onemomentary glance seen every thing--the glass bowl, the vial, thefluid, and--more particularly than all--Mrs. Hazleton's sudden changesof complexion on her entrance.
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