The Mysteries of London Volume 1

by Reynolds, George W. M.

  She thought of Markham as she uttered these words: indeed, the image of her lover was ever uppermost in the mind of the charming and affectionate girl.

  “I am afraid,” said the count, after a pause, “that the moral you have just advanced, Bella, is rather that of the stage and the romancist than of real life. And yet,” he added fervently, “to entertain such an idea as mine is to question the goodness and the justice of Providence. Yes—I must believe in earthly rewards and punishments. You are right, my child—you are right: the wicked man will not ever triumph in his turpitude; nor may the virtuous one be oppressed until the end.”

  “No—or else were there small hope for us,” said the countess solemnly. “The great men of Castelcicala must some day perceive who is their real friend.”

  “Alas!” exclaimed Isabella, “it is hard to be mistaken and suspected by those whose good opinions we would fain secure.”

  The count resumed the perusal of the newspaper; but his eyes had not dwelt many minutes upon the page ere he uttered a loud exclamation of mingled astonishment and alarm.

  The ladies looked towards him in a state of the most painful suspense: and this feeling was not immediately removed, for the count, with an ashy pale face, continued to read the article that had caught his eyes, for some moments, ere he explained the cause of his emotion.

  “Heavens!” exclaimed the countess, “are there any bad tidings from Italy?”

  “No—the hand which strikes the blow which ruins us, is not so far distant,” answered the nobleman; throwing the paper upon the table. “Ah! we were premature,” he continued bitterly, “in founding our hopes upon the justice with which virtue is rewarded and vice punished!”

  “The blow which ruins us?” said the countess, a prey to the most acute anxiety.

  “Yes—Tomlinson has stopped payment,” cried the Italian exile; “and—and we are ruined!”

  “My dear father,” said Isabella, hastening to fling her arms around the neck of her much-loved sire, “all may not be so bad as you imagine!”

  “Ruined!” repeated the countess; and, taking up the newspaper, the following article instantly met her eyes:—

  “ROBBERY AND STOPPAGE OF TOMLINSON’S BANK.

  “The City was yesterday morning thrown into a state of the greatest fermentation by a rumour which prevailed at about eleven o’clock, that the above-mentioned old-established and well-known banking establishment had been plundered to an enormous amount, and had suspended its payments. Unfortunately the rumour was but too true; and our reporter, upon repairing to Lombard Street, found an immense crowd collected in front of the bank. The doors were closed; and the following notice was posted up:—‘JAMES TOMLINSON is under the painful necessity of suspending the affairs of the bank, at least for the present. The flight of the cashier, with money and securities to an amount bordering upon a hundred thousand pounds, is the cause of this unfortunate step. Further particulars will be made known as speedily as possible.’ It is impossible to describe the dismay which was depicted upon the countenances of those amongst the crowd who are sufferers by this calamity; and many very painful scenes took place. One widow lady who had placed her little all in the concern, and who arrived upon the spot, to draw her half-yearly interest, only a few moments after the doors were closed, was taken away in a state of madness. We have since learnt that the unfortunate lady has entirely lost her reason.

  “Our reporter upon prosecuting his inquiries, gleaned the following particulars of the occurrence which led to the stoppage of the bank; and we have every reason to believe that the narrative which they furnish may be relied upon.

  “It appears that the cashier, whose name was Michael Martin, is a very old man, and has been for many years in the service of the present and late proprietors of the bank. His presumed integrity, his known experience, and his general conduct, had led to his elevation to the post of head cashier—a situation which he has filled for upwards of ten years, without exciting a suspicion relative to his proceedings. It is, however, supposed that he must have been pursuing a most nefarious course for a considerable length of time, for reasons which we shall state presently. On Thursday evening, Mr. Tomlinson, who, it appears, is the sole proprietor of the establishment, although the business has been all along carried on under its original denomination of Tomlinson & Co., quitted the bank at five o’clock, as usual, leaving the cashier to see all safe, and close the establishment for the day, according to custom. When Mr. Sanderson, one of the clerks, arrived at the bank at nine o’clock yesterday morning, he was surprised to find that the doors were not yet opened. The other clerks arrived shortly afterwards, and their surprise at length turned into alarm. Still the integrity of the cashier was not for a moment suspected; it was, however, imagined that something must have happened to him—an idea that was strengthened by the fact that the cashier occupied a room in the establishment, and there was consequently no reason to account for the doors remaining closed. The char-woman, who waited upon the cashier and swept out the bank, &c., came up to the door while the clerks were thus deliberating, and stated that she had not been able to obtain admission that morning as usual. It was now determined by Mr. Sanderson to obtain the assistance of a policeman, and force an entrance. This was done; and egress was obtained by breaking through the windows and shutters (which close inside) of the bank parlour. Mr. Sanderson and the constable immediately proceeded to the cashier’s private room, which is on the ground-floor, and in which the iron safe was kept. The bed had not been slept in during the night. Attention was then directed to the safe, when it was found that it was open, and its contents had been abstracted. The front door of the bank was opened, and the clerks admitted. Mr. Tomlinson was then immediately sent for. That gentleman arrived by ten o’clock; and a farther investigation took place under his directions. The result of this search was a discovery that not only had the specie, notes, and securities disappeared, but even the cash-books, and all the papers that could throw any light upon the financial affairs of the establishment. It is this circumstance which induces a belief that the cashier must have carried on a system of plunder for a considerable length of time.

  “We regret to state that the shock was so great that Mr. Tomlinson was conveyed to his residence in a state bordering upon distraction.”

  “FURTHER PARTICULARS.

  “A reward of £3000 has been offered for the apprehension of the cashier; and a description of his person has been forwarded to all the principal seaports. [For Description see our advertising columns.] Our reporter learnt last evening that Mr. Tomlinson was more composed, and had even exerted himself to consult with some friends upon the best course to pursue. It, however, appears that so entirely did he confide in his cashier, that he is only able to give a vague and meagre account of the nature of the securities abstracted. They were, however, the bills and bonds of several great foreign and colonial mercantile houses. We regret to hear that Mr. G. M. Greenwood, M.P., had paid a considerable sum of money into the bank, on Thursday morning. It appears that upwards of fifty thousand pounds in specie and notes (the numbers of which are now unknown, they having been entered in one of the books taken away) and forty-four thousand in securities have disappeared.

  “There is every reason to suppose that the delinquent will be speedily captured, as it is impossible for him to travel with a large amount of specie without exciting suspicion.”

  “LATEST PARTICULARS.

  “In order to institute the fullest and most complete investigation into the affairs of the bank, it was resolved, at a late hour last evening, at a meeting of the principal creditors, Mr. Greenwood in the chair, that a docket should be struck against Mr. Tomlinson. At the same time, it is our duty to observe that this is done with no ill-feeling towards that gentleman, who is deserving only of universal sympathy, and, in no way, of blame.”

  “The name of that man Greenwood, in connexio
n with this affair,” said the count, “impresses me with the idea that all is not right. Moreover, how could the cashier have removed a large quantity of specie without attracting attention in a thoroughfare so frequented at all hours as Lombard Street? There is something wrong at the foundation of this history of the robbery.”

  “Alas! little does it matter now to us, whether Mr. Tomlinson be a false or an unfortunate man,” said the countess; “there is one thing certain—we are ruined!”

  “Yes—my dearest wife, my beloved daughter,” exclaimed the count, “we are in a pitiable situation—in a foreign land! It is true that I have friends: the Earl of Warrington—Lord Tremordyn, both of whom know our secret, and have faithfully kept it—would gladly assist me; but I would not—could not apply to them—even though it be to settle the few debts which I owe!”

  “Still there remains one course,” said the countess, hesitating, and regarding her husband with anxious timidity.

  “One course!” ejaculated the count. “Ah! I know full well to what you allude; but never, never will I sell my rights for gold! No, my dear wife—my beloved daughter—we must prepare ourselves to meet our misfortunes in a becoming manner.”

  “Dear father,” murmured Isabella, “your goodness has conferred upon me an excellent education: surely I might turn to advantage some of those accomplishments—”

  “You, my sweetest girl!” cried the nobleman, surveying with feelings of ineffable pride the angelic countenance of the lovely being that was leaning upon his shoulder: “you—my own darling girl—a lady of your high rank become a governess! no—never, never!”

  “Isabella, you are worthy of your noble sire,” said the countess enthusiastically.

  And, even in the hour of their misfortune, that exiled—ruined family found inexpressible solace in the sweet balm of each other’s love!

  CHAPTER LXXVII.

  A WOMAN’S SECRET.

  IT was now seven months since Ellen Monroe became the victim of George Greenwood.

  She bore in her bosom the fruit of that amour; and until the present time she had managed to conceal her situation from those around her.

  She now began to perceive the utter impossibility of veiling her disgrace much longer. Her health was failing, and her father and Markham were constantly urging upon her the necessity of receiving medical advice. This recommendation she invariably combated to the utmost of her power; and in order to give a colour to her assurance that she suffered only from some trivial physical ailment, she was compelled to affect a flow of good spirits which she was far—very far from experiencing.

  Markham had frequently questioned her with the most earnest and friendly solicitude relative to the causes of those intervals of deep depression which it was impossible for her to conceal;—he had implored her to open her mind to him, as a sister might to a brother;—he had suggested to her change of scene, diversion, and other means of restoring her lost spirits;—but to all he advanced she returned evasive replies.

  Richard and the aged father of the young lady frequently conversed together upon the subject, and lost themselves in conjectures relative to the cause of that decaying health and increasing unhappiness for which the sufferer herself would assign no feasible motive. At times Mr. Monroe was inclined to believe that the privations and vicissitudes which his daughter had experienced during the two years previous to their reception at the hospitable dwelling of Richard Markham, had engendered a profound melancholy in a mind that had been so painfully harassed, and had implanted the germs of a subtle malady in a system never constitutionally strong. This belief appeared the more reasonable when the old man called to mind the hours of toil—the wearisome vigils—and the exposure to want, cold, and inclement weather, which had been endured by the poor girl in the court in Golden Lane; and Markham sometimes yielded to the same impression relative to the causes of a mental and physical decline which every day became more apparent.

  Then, again, Richard thought that the fresh air of the healthy locality where she now dwelt, and the absence of all care in respect to the wherewithal to sustain life, would have produced a beneficial effect. He enjoined her father to question her whether she cherished some secret affection—some love that had experienced disappointment; but to this demand she returned a positive negative: and her father assured his young friend that Ellen had had no opportunity of obtaining the affection of another, or of bestowing her own upon any being who now slighted it. Of course her true position was never suspected for a moment; and thus the cause of Ellen’s unhappiness remained an object of varied and conflicting conjectures.

  Seven months had now passed since that fatal day when the accursed old hag, whose name we have not allowed to defile these pages, handed her over to the arms of a ruthless libertine;—seven months of mental anguish and physical suffering had nearly flown;—the close of July was at hand;—and as yet Ellen had decided upon no plan to direct her future proceedings. She sometimes thought of returning to Greenwood, and endeavouring to touch his heart;—but then she remembered the way in which they had parted on the occasion of her visit to his house in Spring-Gardens;—she recalled to mind all she knew of the character of the man;—and she was compelled to abandon this idea. She felt that she would sooner die than accept his succour in the capacity of a mistress;—and there were, moreover, moments when she entertained sentiments of profound hatred, and experienced a longing for revenge, against the man who refused to do her justice. Then, again, she recollected that he was the father of the child which she bore in her bosom; and all her rancorous feelings dissolved in tears.

  At other times she thought of throwing herself at her father’s feet, and confessing all. But what woman does not shudder at such a step? Moreover, frail mortals invariably place reliance in the chapter of accidents, and entertain hopes, even in situations where it is impossible for those hopes to be realised.

  To Richard Markham she would not—dared not breathe a syllable that might lead him to infer her shame;—and yet where was she to find a friend save in the person of her father and her benefactor?

  Most pitiable was the situation of this poor girl. And yet she already felt a mother’s feeling of love and solicitude for her unborn babe. Often—often in the still hour of night, when others slept, did she sit up and weep in her chamber;—often—often, while others forgot their cares in the arms of slumber, was she a prey to an agony of mind which seemed to admit of no solace. And then, in those hours of intense wretchedness, would the idea of suicide steal into her mind—that idea which suggests a last resource and a sure relief as a term for misery grown too heavy for mortal endurance. But, oh! she trembled—she trembled in the presence of that dread thought, which each night assumed a shape more awfully palpable, more fearfully defined to her imagination. She struggled against the idea: she exclaimed, in the bitterness of her agony, “Get thee behind me, tempter;”—and yet there the tempter stood, more plainly seen, more positive in its allurement than ever! That poor, helpless girl balanced in her mind whether she should dare human scorn, or in one mad moment resign her soul to Satan!

  There was a piece of water at the back of the house close by the main road; and thither would her footsteps lead her—almost unvoluntarily, for the tempter pushed her on from behind;—thither would she repair at noon, to contemplate the sleeping waters of the lake within whose depths lurked one pearl more precious in the eyes of the unhappy than the brightest ornaments set in regal diadems,—the pearl of Oblivion! Thither did the lost one stray: upon the margin of that water did she hover like the ghost of one who had sought repose beneath that silver surface;—and, oh! how she longed to plunge into the shining water—and dared not.

  At eve, too, when the sun had set, and every star on the dark vault above was reflected on the bosom of the lake, and the pure argent rays of the lovely moon seemed to fathom its mysterious depths,—then again did she seek the bank; and as she stood ga
zing upon the motionless pool, she prepared herself to take the one fatal leap that should terminate her sorrows—and dared not.

  No—she shrank from suicide; and yet the time had now come when she must nerve herself to adopt some decided plan; for a prolonged concealment of her condition was impossible.

  Markham’s household consisted of Whittingham, Holford, and a female domestic of the name of Marian. This woman was a widow, and had been in the service of our hero only since his release from incarceration. She was between forty and fifty; and her disposition was kind, easy, and compassionate.

  One night—about an hour after the inmates of the place had retired to their chambers—Ellen was sitting, as usual, mournfully in her room, pondering upon her unhappy condition, and dreading to seek a couch where her ideas assumed an aspect which made her brain reel as if with incipient madness,—when she heard a low knock at her door. She hastened to open it; and Marian instantly entered the room.

  “Hush, my dear young lady,” she said in a whisper: “do not be alarmed;”—and she carefully closed the door behind her.

  “What is the matter, Marian?” exclaimed Ellen: “has any thing happened? is my father ill?”

  “No, Miss—do not frighten yourself, I say,” replied the servant. “I have come to console you; for I can’t bear to see you pining away like this—dying by inches.”

  “What do you mean, Marian?” said Ellen, much confused.

  “I mean, my dear Miss,” continued the servant, “that if you won’t think me impertinent, I might befriend you. The eyes of a woman are sharp and penetrating, Miss; and while every body else in the house is wondering what can make you so pale, and ill, and low-spirited, I do not want to conjecture to discover the cause.”