Mr. Mac Chizzle was not, therefore, what is termed “a respectable solicitor;” and the magistrate’s countenance assumed an appearance of austerity—for he had previously been possessed in Markham’s favour—when that individual announced that he appeared for the prisoner. Thus poor Whittingham, in his anxiety to do his beloved master a great deal of good, actually prejudiced his case materially at its outset.
Though unhappy and care-worn, Richard was not downcast. Conscious innocence supported him. Accordingly when he beheld Mr. Chichester enter the witness-box, he bowed to him in a friendly and even grateful manner; but, to his ineffable surprise, that very fashionable gentleman affected not to notice the salutation.
It is not necessary to enter into details. The nature of the evidence against Markham was that he had called at his guardian’s banker’s the day but one previously, to receive a sum of money; that he requested the cashier to change a five hundred pound Bank of England note; that, although an unusual proceeding, the demand was complied with; that the prisoner wrote his name at the back of the note, and that in the course of the ensuing morning it was discovered that the said note was a forgery. The prisoner was arrested; and upon his person was found a second note, of fifty pounds’ value, which was also a forgery. Two letters were also produced—one to Mrs. Arlington, and another to Mr. Monroe, which not only proved that the prisoner had intended to leave the country with strange abruptness, but the contents of which actually appeared to point at the crime now alleged against him, as the motive of his flight.
Markham was certainly astounded when he heard the stress laid upon those letters by the solicitor for the prosecution, and the manner in which their real meaning was made to tell against him.
The Magistrate called upon him for his defence; and Markham, forgetful that Mac Chizzle was there to represent him, addressed himself in an earnest tone to Mr. Chichester, exclaiming, “You can now set me right in the eyes of the magistrate, and in the opinion of even the prosecuting counsel, who seems so anxious to distort every circumstance to my disadvantage.”
“I really am not aware,” said Mr. Chichester, caressing his chin in a very nonchalant manner, “that I can throw any light upon this subject.”
“All I require is the truth,” ejaculated Richard, surprised at the tone and manner of his late friend. “Did you not give me that note for five hundred pounds to change for you? and did I not receive the second note from you in exchange for fifty sovereigns?”
Mr. Chichester replied in an indignant negative.
The magistrate shook his head: the prosecuting solicitor took snuff significantly;—Mac Chizzle made a memorandum;—and Whittingham murmured, “Ah! that mitigated villain Axminster.”
“What do I hear!” exclaimed Richard: “Mr. Chichester, your memory must fail you sadly. I suppose you recollect the occasion upon which Mr. Talbot gave you the five hundred pound note?”
“Mr. Talbot never gave me any note at all,” answered Chichester, in a measured and determined manner.
“It is false—false as hell!” cried Markham, more enraged than alarmed; and he forthwith detailed to the magistrate the manner in which he had been induced to change the one note, and had become possessed of the other.
“This is a very lame story, indeed,” said the magistrate; “and you must try and see if you can get a jury to believe it. You stand committed.”
Before Richard could make any reply, he was lugged out of the dock by the jailor; the next case was called on; and he was hurried back to his cell, whither Mac Chizzle and the butler were permitted to follow him.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE ENCHANTRESS.
“OH! how can I prove my innocence now?” exclaimed Richard, wringing his hands, and walking hastily up and down the cell: “how shall I convince the world that a fearful combination of circumstances has so entangled me in this net, that never was man so wronged before? how can I communicate my dread position to Monroe? how ever again look society in the face? how live after this exposure—this disgrace?”
“Master Richard, Master Richard,” cried the poor old butler, “don’t take on so—don’t now! Your innocence must conspire on the day of trial, and the jury will do you justice. Now, don’t take on so, Master Richard—pray don’t!”
As the faithful domestic uttered these words, the tears chased each other so rapidly down his cheeks that he seemed to need consolation quite as much as his master.
“Oh! that villain Chichester—the wretch—the cheat!” continued Richard; “and no doubt his vulgar companion Talbot is as bad. And the baronet—perhaps he also——”
Markham stopped short, and seated himself upon the bench. He suddenly became very faint, and turned ashy pale. Whittingham hastened to loosen his shirt-collar, and the policeman present humanely procured a glass of water.
In a few minutes he recovered: and he then endeavoured to contemplate with calmness the full extent of the perils which environed him. His opinion of Chichester and Talbot was already formed: but the baronet—could he have been a party to their scheme of villany? After a moment’s reflection, he answered the question to himself in an affirmative.
He had, then, fallen into a nest of adventurers and swindlers. But Diana—oh! no, she could not have been cognizant of the treacherous designs practised against him: she was doubtless made use of as an instrument to further the plans of the conspirators!
Such were his convictions. Should he then give her due warning in time, and afford her an opportunity of abandoning, ere it might be too late, an individual who would doubtless involve her, in the long run, in infamy and peril?
To pen a hasty note to Mrs. Arlington was now a duty which he conceived entailed upon him, and which he immediately performed. He then wrote a letter to Mr. Monroe, detailing the particulars of his unfortunate position, and beseeching him not to be prejudiced against him by the report which he might read in the newspapers the following day.
“Whittingham, my old friend,” said Markham, when he had disposed of these matters; “we must now separate for the present. This letter for Mr. Monroe you will forward by post: the other, to Mrs. Arlington, you will take yourself to Bond Street, and deliver into her own hand.” Then, addressing himself to Mac Chizzle, he observed, “I thank you, sir, for your attendance here to-day. Whittingham will give you the address of my guardian, Mr. Monroe; and that gentleman will consult with you upon the proper course to be pursued. He will also answer any pecuniary demands you may have occasion to make upon him.”
Richard had preserved an unnatural degree of calmness as he uttered these words; and Whittingham was himself astonished at the coolness with which his young master delivered his instructions. The old butler wept bitterly when he took leave of “Master Richard;” and it cost the young man himself no inconsiderable effort to restrain his own tears.
“What is raly your inferential opinion in this matter?” demanded the butler of the lawyer, as they issued from the door of the police-office together.
“Why, that it was a capital scheme to raise the wind, and a very great pity that it did not succeed to a far greater extent,” cried the professional adviser.
“Well, if you put that opinion down in your bill and charge six-and-eightpence for it,” said Whittingham, with a very serious countenance, “I shall certainly dispute the item, and computate it, when I audit the accounts.”
“I am really at a loss to comprehend you,” said the lawyer. “Of course there are no secrets between you and me: indeed, you had much better tell me the whole truth——”
“Truth!” ejaculated Whittingham: “of course I shall tell you the truth.”
“Allow me to ask a question or two, then,” resumed the lawyer. “I suppose that you were in the plant, and divided the swag?”
Mr. Whittingham stared at the professional man with the mos
t unfeigned astonishment, which, indeed, was so great that it checked all reply.
“Well,” proceeded the shrewd Mr. Mac Chizzle, “it wasn’t a bad dodge either. And I suppose that this Monroe is a party to the whole concern?”
“Is it possible, Mr. Mac Chizzle,” exclaimed the butler, “that——”
“But the business is awkward—very awkward,” added the solicitor, shaking his head. “It was however fortunate that nothing transpired to implicate you also. When one pal is at large, he can do much for another who is in lavender. It would have been worse if you had been lumbered too—far worse.”
“Plant—pal—lumbered—lavender!” repeated Whittingham, with considerable emphasis on each word as he slowly uttered it. “I suppose you raly think my master is guilty of the crime computed to him?”
“Of course I do,” replied Mac Chizzle: “I can see as far into a brick wall as any one.”
“Well, it’s of no use argufying the pint,” said the butler, after a moment’s pause. “Here is Mr. Monroe’s address: perhaps when you have seen him, you will arrive at new inclusions.”
Mr. Whittingham then took leave of the solicitor, and proceeded to Bond Street.
Within a few yards of the house in which Mrs. Arlington resided, the butler ran against an individual who, with his hat perched jauntily on his right ear, was lounging along.
“Holloa, you fellow!” ejaculated Mr. Thomas Suggett—for it was he—“what do you mean by coming bolt agin a gen’leman in that kind of way?”
“Oh! my dear sir,” cried Whittingham, “is that you? I am raly perforated with delight to see you.”
Mr. Suggett gave a good long stare at Mr. Whittingham, and then exclaimed, “Oh! it is you—is it? Well, I must say that your legs are in a very unfinished condition.”
“How, sir,—how?” demanded the irritated butler.
“Why, they want a pair of fetters, to be sure,” said Suggett; and breaking into a horse-laugh, he passed rapidly on.
Whittingham felt humiliated; and the knock that he gave at the door of Diana’s lodgings was sneaking and subdued. In a few minutes, however, he was ushered into a back room on the first floor, where Mrs. Arlington received him.
“Here is a letter, ma’am, which I was to deliver only into your own indentical hand.”
“Is it—is it from your master?” demanded the Enchantress.
“It is, ma’am.”
“Where is Mr. Markham?” asked Diana, receiving the letter with a trembling hand.
“He is now in Bow-street Police-Office, ma’am: in the course of the day he will be in Newgate;”—and the old butler wiped away a tear.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Diana; “then it is really too true!”
She immediately tore open the letter, and ran her eye over the contents, which were as follow:—
“The villany of one of the individuals with whom you are constantly associating, and in whom it has been my misfortune to place unlimited confidence, will perhaps involve you in an embarrassment similar to the one in which I am now placed. I cannot, I do not for one moment imagine that you are in any way conversant with their vile schemes:—I can read your heart; I know that you would scorn such a confederacy. Your frankness, your candour are in your favour: your countenance, which is engraven upon my memory, and which I behold at this moment as if it were really before me, forbids all suspicions injurious to your honour. Take a timely warning, then: take warning from one who wishes you well: and dissolve the connexion ere it be too late.
“R. M.”
“When shall you see your master again?” enquired Diana of the butler, after the perusal of this letter.
“To-morrow, ma’am—with the blessing of God.”
“My compliments to him—my very best remembrances,” said Mrs. Arlington; “and I feel deeply grateful for this communication.”
Whittingham bowed, and rose to depart.
“And,” added Diana, after a moment’s pause, “if there be anything in which my humble services can be made available, pray do not hesitate to come to me. Indeed, I hope you will call—often—and let me know how this unfortunate business proceeds.”
“Then you don’t believe that Master Richard is capable of this obliquity, madam?” cried the butler.
“Oh! no—impossible!” said Diana emphatically.
“Thankee, ma’am, thankee,” exclaimed Whittingham: “you have done my poor old heart good. God bless you, ma’am—God bless you.”
And with these words the faithful dependant took his departure, not a little delighted to think that there was at least one person in the world who believed in the innocence of “Master Richard.” In fact, the kindness of Diana’s manner and the sincerity with which she had expressed herself on that point, effectually wiped away from the mind of the butler the reminiscences of Mac Chizzle’s derogatory suspicions, and Suggett’s impertinence.
After a few minutes’ profound reflection, Diana returned to the drawing-room, where Sir Rupert Harborough, Mr. Chichester, and Talbot were seated.
Her fine countenance wore an expression of melancholy seriousness; and there was a nervous movement of the under lip that denoted the existence of powerful emotions in her bosom.
“Well, Di.,” exclaimed the baronet; “you seem annoyed.”
“You will be surprised, gentlemen, when I inform you who has been here,” she said, resuming her seat upon the sofa.
“Indeed!” cried Chichester, turning pale: “who could it be?”
“Not an officer, I hope?” exclaimed the baronet.
“The chimley-sweeps, perhaps,” suggested Mr. Talbot.
“A person from Mr. Markham,” said Diana, seriously. “By his appearance I should conceive him to be the faithful old servant of his family, of whom I have heard him speak.”
“Whittingham, I’ll be bound!” ejaculated Chichester. “And what did he want?”
“He brought me a letter from his master,” returned Diana. “You may read it, if you please.”
And she tossed it contemptuously towards Chichester.
“Read out,” cried Talbot.
Mr. Chichester read the letter aloud, as he was requested.
“And what makes the young spark write to you in that d——d impudent and familiar style?” demanded the baronet, angrily.
“You cannot but admit that his letter is couched in a most friendly manner,” said the lady, somewhat bitterly.
“Friendly be hanged!” cried the baronet. “I dare say you feel a most profound and sisterly sympathy for the young gaol-bird. After all, your profuse expenditure and extravagance helped to involve me in no end of pecuniary trouble; and I was compelled to have recourse to any means to obtain money. Somebody must suffer;—better Markham than any one of us.”
“You do well, sir, to reproach me for being the cause of your embarrassments,” answered Diana, her countenance becoming almost purple with indignation. “Have I not basely lent these rooms to your purposes, and acted as an attraction to the young men whom you have inveigled here to plunder at cards? I have never forgiven myself for the weakness which prompted me thus far to enter into your schemes. But when you informed me of your plans relative to the forged notes, I protested vehemently against so atrocious a measure. Indeed, had it not been for your solemn assurance that you had abandoned the idea—at all events so far as it concerned Markham—I would have placed him upon his guard—in spite of your threats, your menaces, your remonstrances!”
Diana had warmed as she proceeded; and by the time she reached the end of her reply to the baronet’s villanous speech, she had worked herself up almost into a fury of rage and indignation. Her bosom heaved convulsively—her eyes dilated; and her lips expressed ineffable scorn.
“Perdition!
” exclaimed the baronet: “the world is coming to a pretty pass when one’s own mistress undertakes to give lessons in morality.”
“A desperate necessity, sir,” retorted Diana, “made me your mistress;—but I would sooner seek an asylum at the workhouse this moment, than become a partner in villany of this stamp.”
“And, as far as I care,” said the baronet, “you may go to the workhouse as soon as you choose.”
With these words he rose and put on his hat.
Diana was about to answer this last brutal speech; but she determined not to provoke a discussion which only exposed her to the insolence of the man who was coward enough to reproach her with a frailty which had ministered to his pleasures. She bit her lips to restrain the burst of emotions which struggled for vent; and at that moment her bearing was as haughty and her aspect as proud as the superb dignity of incensed Juno.
“Come, Chichester,” said the baronet, after a pause of a few minutes; “I shall be off. Talbot—this is no longer a place for any one of us. Madam,” he added, turning with mock ceremony to Diana, “I wish you a very good afternoon. This is the last time you will ever see me in these apartments.”
“I wish it to be so,” said Diana, still stifling her rage with difficulty.
“And I need scarcely observe,” exclaimed the baronet, “that after all that has passed between us——”
“Oh! I comprehend you, sir,” interrupted the Enchantress, scornfully: “you need not fear me—your secrets are safe in my possession.”
The Mysteries of London Volume 1 Page 22
