Bennett, Emerson - Oliver Goldfinch

by Oliver Goldfinch (lit)

  CHAPTER XV.

  THE PLOT AND THE TRAITOR.

  "I tell you, Acton," said Wesley to his companton, as they stood before the lodgings of Edgar and Virginia, "it's no use to think of venturing there now, for she'll know it's some trick to deceive her: so come away, leave all to me, and I'll make my plan succeed." "Why, Wesley, you see we are here now, and the bird is caught." "But surely, Acton Goldfinch, you're not fool enough to attempt force with a woman, when stratagem will succeed better. If she should scream, we'd have the whole town upon us." "O, I would only attempt the gentlest persuasion." "Pshaw! what would your persuasion do with her? And see," continued Wesley, pointing toward Edgar, "that young scape-grace has stopped. He likely suspects something, and if we stand here much longer, we'll have him back upon us. Come! we must leave, if only for policy's sake." Acton grumblingly consented, and the two worthies moved away together. Entering the Bowery, they shaped their course to one of the many grogeries surrounding the theater, and passing through the barroom into a more private apartment, called for a couple bottles of wine, over which, in low tones, they discussed the matter uppermost in their minds. "But, Wesley, how will you manage it?" asked Acton. "As I said before, leave that to me and you'll see. But I say, where'll you take her to, Acton?—have you got that fixed?" "Why, not exactly: I must take her where I'm acquainted, for there might be trouble with strangers. Ha! by Jove, I will do it!" he added, with flashing eyes, striking his fist on the table with a force that made the bottles and tumblers ring again. "Yes, she shall go there," he continued, rather to himself than his companion. "She has dared to threaten me to my teeth and cast me off, and I will show her that I can console myself with the society of one more beautiful still. And then, peradventure, she'll get in a passion and do some rash act—for of course she'll be jealous of her rival. Well, so much the better; for if she but break the law in one iota, I will have her dragged to prison, where I'll manage to keep her until my wedding is over. Yes, by—! I'll do it!" "And who is this person you're speaking of?" asked Wesley, carelessly. Acton gave a start of surprise. "Well, that is my business," he answered, sharply, now for the first time aware he had been thinking aloud. "You do your part, sir, and leave mine to me." Wesley made no reply, but there was a peculiar cunning expression on his ugly features, and a malicious gleam in his small, black eyes, as stealthily he watched the countenance of the other. Then he said, in a careless tone: "By-the-by, Master Acton, have you that fifty handy?" "Insolent dog!" returned the other, angrily; "do you want your pay before you do your work? Don't intrude mercenary affairs upon me, when you see I am busy with weighty matters." "So, so," grumbled Wesley to himself— "he calls me an insolent dog, eh?—and his father will make his money save him, eh! O ho, my good masters—we shall see— we shall see." "What do you think, Wes," said Acton, in a familiar, patronising tone, intended perhaps to allay any harsh feelings his previous language might have excited, and throwing off as he spoke a tumbler of wine: "think the little jade will be refractory, when she finds there is no backing out of the matter, eh?" "Hardly," answered Wesley. "Sewing girls, you know," continued the other, on whom the wine already began to take effect, "are not apt to be troublesome— at least I—ha, ha—I never found them so. But then you know," he added, with assumed gravity, stroking his chin complacently, "there is every thing in the looks of the person—eh! Wesley?" "Every thing," rejoined the other, quietly, eyeing him closely. A few more turns at the bottle made Acton very loquacious, and he began to talk of his own private plans with less and less reserve. Urging the liquor upon him, but taking care to keep a cool brain himself, Wesley watched his opportunity, and when he found the other in the right mood to be communicative, said: "Between friends, you know, Master Acton, there should be no reserve!" "That's fact," hiccupped the other; "that's a fact, by —! What do you wan't to know, Wes? Eh! what is it?" "Know? O, nothing in particular— only I was just thinking how — touchy you were about that little matter of the female." "Ha! ha!—yes, I see. Ah, you're a sly dog, Wes—by Jove, you are! Well, now, I'll tell you—for as you say, there should be no reserve among friends—and we're friends—eh! Wesley?" "We're friends," grinned the other. "Well that, you see, was my wife. Stop, now—that is, you see, she would have been my wife, but the priest or minister that married us, didn't happen to be either a priest or minister. You take, Wes, eh?— ha, ha, ha!" "I take," quietly rejoined the other; and then added, carelessly, sipping his wine: "A good joke—a capital joke. But, by-the-by, who is this female? and where does she live?" "O, she?—why, her name's Ellen Douglas, and she lives in Mott street." "And so she's going to interfere in some wedding of yours, eh?" "Ha! ha! yes; and that's the richest joke of all. Come, I'll tell you about it. You must know I have been paying my addresses to the fair, and lovely, and angelic Edith Morton, and—But stop—her health first, Wesley, and then to proceed." And having drank her health, as he termed it, with drunken gravity, Acton proceeded to give the other a short history of Ellen Douglas, and of the most important events which had occurred during their acquaintance, up to the time when he was commanded from her presence, all of which the reader has a knowledge. And then he said, in conclusion, with somewhat awakened energy: "But she must not interfere in this affair of Edith! No, by —! she must not interfere there! Is there not some way to prevent it, Wesley?" and he gave his confederate a peculiar look. "Some way," nodded Wesley, catching the other's dark meaning. "Yes," pursued Acton, slowly, eyeing the other steadily, "there is a way, and I may yet need your services. If she attempt what she has threatened, I—" "May put her out of the way," chimed in Wesley, in a low tone, as the other paused. Acton started, his eyes gleamed darkly, and reaching across the table, he seized Wesley's hand and shook it heartily. "You are a clever fellow," he said; "you see things at a glance that others might never see. By Jove! I was getting drunk just now—but the thought of this affair has made me sober again. Come, as it is not far from here, by Jove, I'll show you where Ellen lives, and on the way we will talk over the matter." No proposition, at the moment, could have suited We sley better; for he had deep schemes of his own to concoct; and to know the abode of Ellen, was one of the most important steps towards their campletion; therefore he quickly arose and signified his readiness to depart immediately. Acton had more than once insulted him— but he had passed it by, simply because he had scen no opportunity to revenge himself compatibly with his devilish nature. To-night he had called him an insolent dog; and now that he fancied there was a chance for deep and lasting retaliation, he had sworn in his heart to execute it. To what extent he succeeded will presently be seen. By the time Acton and Wesley reached the abode of Ellen, the former had become perfectly sober—owing, doubtless, to the weakness of the wine and the excited state of his feelings—and already began to regret having made the other his confident; but it was too late now to repent, and so he determined, if possible, to profit by a sorry mistake. "That is the house," he said, pointing to the building from the opposite side of the street. "And you design taking the girl there, eh?" queried Wesley. "Why, that was my intention—but, by Jove, I hardly know what to think of it. Ellen has a high temper, and may prove troublesome." "Pshaw! cannot you manage a woman?" sneered Wesley. "By —! it shall be so!" cried the other, taking fire at the thought. "I will take her there; and when she is fairly mine, I will set them face to face, and show the haughty Ellen another triumph. I hate her—for twice has she made a coward of me—and I would have her see that I have regained the courage of a man, and dare urge her to do her worst. If she attempt to harm me, by —! I'll kill her on the spot, and get off by proving it self-defence— though I would rather avoid so bold a measure, for it would of course make a talk and reach the ears of Edith. But better even that," he added, in the next breath, "than have her go there in person; for I could easily trump up some story to screen myself, particularly as money can buy all kinds of evidence. Yes, it's settled—I'll do it!" he concluded abruptly. "Right," rejoined Wesley. "Now I'll tell you how to proceed. You must
go back to the place and reconnoiter till I come with a coach, and then I'll manage, with your assistance, to entice the girl into it, and give you farther instructions." "Good!" said Acton, approvingly. "Be quick, Wesley, and you shall find me on hand;" and the two worthies separated, going opposite directions. Wesley managed, however, to keep his eye on Acton till he had completely disappeared, and then hastening to the abode of Ellen, he requested to see her on business admitting of no delay. He was kept some time in waiting, but finally gained admission, and was conducted to her apartment. Although a rather advanced hour, Ellen had not yet retired, but was partly reclining on an elegant sofa, guitar in hand, singing a plaintive song, the following words of which sounded mournfully in the ear of Wesley, as, full of astonishment and admiration, both of the apartment and singer, he halted just within the door, gazed around, and listened. SONG. "My hope, alas! is o'er, My sun must set in gloom, And for me, nevermore All refreshing spring shall bloom— For my feet must pass before To the dark and silent tomb. "Shall we meet, mother, dear, When the cord is cut in twain Which doth bind my spirit here, Where no sorrow is nor pain? O say thou wilt be near, And thy child shall live again! She ceased, and laying aside her instrument, arose and advanced to Wesley, who was still so much amazed at what he saw, as almost to forget his errand. Her pale features, viewed by the soft light of the apartment, he fancied the most beautiful he had ever beheld; and he was already pondering how to address her, when she relieved him by saying: "Well, sir, I understand you wish to see me on important business!" "I—I—do," stammered Wesley. "Say on, then—for it must be important that calls you here at this late hour. If you have much to say, perhaps we had better be seated." "Not—not much to say," rejoined Wesley, in his blandest tone. "Madam— Miss Ellen, I mean—I hardly know how to begin. I suppose you know Acton Goldfinch?" Ellen started, her eyes flashed, and her form towered aloft, as she replied, haughtily: "If you bring a message from him, sir, our conference is ended." "I bring no message from him, Miss Ellen--but I've come to speak of him. He's a villain!" "How know you that?" rejoined the other, quickly. "Because I know him well, and have known him long, and because it's of meditated villainy on his part I've come to see you." "Say on, sir!" "He's about to bring a lady here, to this house, this night, whom he'll entice away by treachery." "Indeed, sir! and how know you this?" inquired Ellen, eagerly, changing color and breathing hard. "Because he told me so himself—or rather, because I overheard him laying the plan." "Bring her here!—brave me to my face again!" muttered Ellen, striving to keep down her excited passions: "Let him— let him, if he dare!" And then to Wesley: "Well, sir, do you know this female? and who is she? and why come you to me, when you should be doing her a service by warning and defending her as becomes a man?" "I'll answer your questions as you've asked them," replied Wesley. "This female I know—she's poor, but virtuous— and I come to you, that you may render her a good service and get her honest thanks for it. She'll be enticed away, thinking she's going to another place— but she'll be brought here, and the rest I leave to you. If you want to revenge yourself on a black-hearted villain, now is your chance to do it by protecting her." "But why do you think I desire revenge? Do you know any thing of my history?" "If I did'nt," replied Wesley, "I'd never been here on this errand. I know all, Miss Ellen—and I know you've been shamefully abused and wronged, by one who has abused and wronged me! (and his eyes gleamed maliciously,) for which I'll be revenged, if it hangs me!" "And so he has made a boast of my disgrace, has he?" rejoined Ellen, in a low, deep tone, eyeing the other intently. "Yes, time and again, over his cups; and he laughs at your threats, and drinks toasts to your speedy passage to another world." For a few moments Ellen stood speechless, gazing upon Wesley with an expression that seemed to freeze his blood, and made him fearful for what he had said. Then she slowly sank upon an ottoman, bowed her face upon her hands, and groaned as one suffering the extreme of bodily pain. Wesley did not venture another remark, till again looking up, with truly haggard features, she broke the gloomy silence, by saying: "And who is this new victim? You have not yet told me who she is." "Why she's a poor orphan girl thatcame to this city, some time ago, with her mother and brother, expecting to get money from a rich uncle here. But she and they were disappointed, I believe, and the old woman took on and died about it; and she and her brother, as I understand, have had a rather hard time to get along. Not more than three hours ago, her brother was arrested for forgery—and of the peril she's in, I've already told you." "Her name?" almost shrieked Ellen, springing up so suddenly that Wesley involuntarily took a step backwards.— "Her name?" she cried again, starting forward and seizing the astonished attorney by the arm, who looked as if he doubted her sanity. "Speak!" she continued, vehemently: "tell me the name of this girl!" "Why, perhaps I should be--" "Nay, her name? her name?" interrupted Ellen, stamping her foot impatiently. "Is it Courtly? Do you speak of Edgar and Virginia Courtly?" "What! you know them?" rejoined Wesley, all amazement. "Ha! it is so—it is so!" cried Ellen, almost frantic with passion. "The wretch! the villain! the monster!—and he dares assail her virtue—his own flesh and blood, as it were! Ham like, he should be cursed to all posterity, and die the death of a brute—unwept, unpitied, and unremembered, save with loathing! O, I could tear him in pieces for the thought! Let him but harm a hair of her innocent, unprotected head, and by the Justice Seat of Heaven, I swear to follow and drag him to an early grave, and to endless perdition! His own cousin!—his father's sister's child! O, Heaven! what a wretch!" "But he don't know she's his cousin," put in Wesley, as the other paused. "Indeed! are you sure?" cried Ellen, catching at the thought. "Sure," answered the other. "And do you think this knowledge would make any difference with him?" "Think it would." "I have it, then!" said Ellen, triumphantly. "Let him bring her here, and if he have one iota of a man's soul in his breast, he shall, ere he leave this house, be made to curse himself as the meanest thing that walks the face of the earth. And Edgar dragged to prison!" she continued, looking straight at Wesley: "Oh, there is foul wrong somewhere, which the guilty shall yet tremble for! God help the right, and shield the innocent from hell's own dire inventions! And how soon will Virginia be here?" "Soon," was the answer. "Go, then, sir; and if you have aught to do with this dark scheme, help it to succeed. Your part—if, as I fancy, you have one in the game—shall be winked at, for the important information you have given me." "I've told you before," replied Wesley, "I scek revenge on Acton Goldfinch; and besides, the girl is a sweet creature to look at, she never wronged me, and I'd save her from harm." "Go, then, and rest satisfied, that once here with his fair cousin, you shall be revenged on Acton, and Virginia shall escape scathless. Go, now—for I have plans of my own to perfect, and would be alone." "I obey, Miss Ellen," answered the attorney, respectfully; and bowing he departed. So soon as she was once more by herself, Ellen rang a bell; and to the domestic who answered it, she said, in a commanding tone: "I would speak with Madame Costellan." The servant withdrew, and in a few minutes Ellen was joined by the person whose presence she desired—a handsome female, richly dressed, and scarce turned of thirty years. With her, Ellen held a short but eager conference, the nature of which it is needless for us here to disclose.