The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror)

by Eliza Parsons

  CHAPTER VIII

  Every attention that affection, and the duties of hospitality enjoined, was paid by Rhodophil to his sister-in-law, and no longer restrained by the prudence and pride of Ferdinand, he made her a number of considerable presents, increased the finery of her wardrobe, was assiduous to amuse her, and in short gained so highly on the esteem and gratitude of Claudina, that she insensibly felt her regret lessened for the loss of her husband, and although she sometimes felt and expressed a concern for his safety, yet the well-timed amusements Rhodophil prepared for her, left that occasional anxiety but as a passing cloud upon her memory, that was followed by brighter ideas. Ernest, who had engaged to pay every attention to his mistress, as he called her, found nothing was wanting from him to comfort her, and so captious is the human mind, that, though he would have been grieved to have seen her unhappy, yet he was very much displeased to see her so cheerful.

  She commanded the house entirely, every servant was at her disposal, and the master of it seemed to have no will but her's, no laws but of her making. If we look back, and see the very humble state in which Claudina had lived before she knew Ferdinand, and even the humble mediocrity which she enjoyed with him before the death of Count Renaud; if we consider that, though Ferdinand had procured masters to teach her accomplishments before she married, and of course with the advantages of his conversation her mind must have been enlightened, and her understanding improved, yet still a number of improper ideas, habitual from early life, would at times recur, and render both her sentiments and behaviour very unequal. She had been always taught to expect that her beauty would make her fortune, therefore of course she thought highly of her charms, and when she sometimes listened to the extravagant praises of Rhodophil, she was ready to blame herself for so quickly accepting the offer of a younger, portionless brother, when, in all probability, had she waited, she might have been a Countess.

  A too frequent repetition of those thoughts by degrees undermined the warmth of her affection for her husband, and one day, when walking in the garden with Rhodophil, that he was lavish in his encomiums on her person, she interrupted by asking, with a look of naivete, "How it happened, that, if he thought so well of her, he had not loved her like Ferdinand?"

  "And did I not love you?—Yes, Claudina," replied he, "from the first moment I adored you; but could I see my brother wretched?—Or could I hope you would reserve the blessing of your hand for me until my father's death? Neither dared I think of marrying you to involve you in wretchedness. Had you suffered for me, what I have known you to bear with Ferdinand, I should have been distracted. No, Claudina, such was the delicacy of my passion, that I chose to be miserable myself, rather than make the woman I adored unhappy; to lay her under the interdiction of a father, the weight of a curse would have sunk me to the grave."

  Not a word of this was lost on Claudina; every syllable sunk into her soul; she began to reflect on what she had forfeited by marrying Ferdinand, and blamed the ardour of that love which had sought its own gratification at her expense. Rhodophil saw the workings of her mind, and pursued his insidious tale.

  "When my brother married you, how great was my misery—what sleepless nights, what days of anguish! yet how did I labour for your happiness? Now I may tell you:—Know then, my father never allowed you one shilling; I invented that tale to spare your delicacy, that you might not feel yourself too much obliged to me; but could I do too much for the woman I adored? During my father's illness I laboured with uncommon zeal to procure a settlement for you, to procure a pardon for my brother. I ventured to brave his utmost resentment by taking him into the next room (not thinking his death so very near) in the hope of having him revoke that dreadful curse he had laid upon him; but, alas! he died, and all my endeavours were fruitless."

  "How!" exclaimed she, "Did he not see his father? Did he not forgive him on his death-bed?"

  "No," he replied, "he never saw the Count after the day your marriage was discovered."

  "Good Heavens!" said she, "what imposition, what falsities did Ferdinand tell me!" She then repeated to him what has been already mentioned, and the very circumstances which he had invented to calm her mind, and restore her peace, were now turned against him, as a piece of base duplicity, and the inference drawn was, 'that if he was capable of so much deceit in one thing, he might in another, and therefore she could have no confidence where there was room for doubts."—Rhodophil, who was perfectly acquainted with his brother's motives for the deception, pretended to be entirely ignorant of them, and, by the most artful finesse, gave a colouring to an action dictated by tenderness alone, that stamped an indelible impression on the mind of Claudina, to the injury of that love and truth she owed to the most affectionate of husbands.

  Letters very soon arrived from the much injured Ferdinand, acquainting them of his arrival at Vienna, his introduction to the Emperor, and the desirable situation in which he found himself placed. His expressions to Claudina were replete with tenderness, and all his anxiety arose from a separation that he knew must be equally painful to her. The only consolation he could promise to himself were her letters, and he besought her to indulge him with hearing of herself and children by every opportunity. To his brother he was grateful and affectionate; to Ernest kind and friendly, requesting him to watch over the health and peace of his beloved wife, whose tender sensibility he was apprehensive would injure her constitution.

  Poor Ferdinand! little did he conceive that his little bark of happiness was wrecked upon a fatal shore that blasted all his hopes for ever; much less could he have an idea to what hand he was indebted for conducting her to the port of destruction. Ernest, when he had perused his letter, sighed heavily:—"Alas!" said he, "how one fatal action has destroyed the peace of a whole family for ever! The mole that has long laboured to undermine the happiness of Ferdinand has now succeeded; his own rash hand first pointed the weapon that must wound his bosom beyond all possibility of a cure, for I too plainly see his wife is grown indifferent to him, and attached to the pleasures of the world!"

  Days and weeks passed away, and saw Claudina gay and happy; they heard often from Ferdinand, who had been twice in an engagement, and had been promoted.—When the campaign was over he hoped to return and embrace all the treasures he possessed in one circle, a tender wife, a generous and affectionate brother, and his darling children.—This hope, so flattering to him, was little capable of giving pleasure to the inhabitants of the Castle; and Ernest observed all at once a deep thoughtfulness take possession of the Count, and a pensive melancholy steal over the features of Claudina, for neither of which was there apparently any cause.

  One day, being in the room which had formerly been the library, and adjoining to Claudina's bed chamber, sitting at the window indulging his own reflections, he thought he heard the Count's voice in a whispering tone; there was nothing extraordinary or reprehensible in his being in her apartment, yet some how Ernest found his curiosity excited to know why the conversation should be in a whisper; he therefore listened, and though he could only make out indirect sentences and half words, he understood but too much, and retired overwhelmed with astonishment and horror; a scheme replete with the most unpardonable wickedness seemed to be in agitation, which it was his duty, if possible, to prevent.

  The following day Ernest sought out the Count's valet, who had been always more civil to him than ever his master had, since the old Count's death, and which indeed arose from a circumstance Ernest had long since forgotten. In the juvenile days of Rhodophil and Ferdinand, when they were riding out one day, accompanied by Peter (then also a lad) and Ernest, the horse of Peter took fright: Ernest, who had an excellent one, as quickly followed, overtook the other, and by a dexterous manoeuvre stopped the horse in the very moment when he must have plunged over a precipice. This signal service Peter never had forgotten, and though he could boast but of little principle or integrity in any one point, yet he always looked up to Ernest as the preserver of his life; when the old man scarcely remembe
red a single circumstance of it, and had sometimes been at a loss to account for Peter's particular civilities to him. These attentions, however, encouraged Ernest to address him, and to endeavour, if possible, to gain his confidence, being well assured that his master's secrets were in his possession.

  Meeting by chance in the gallery, the old steward invited him to his apartment in the evening, an honour Peter was proud of, and took care not to neglect: He found a good bottle of wine prepared for him, and a very friendly reception; both warmed his heart. After a little preparatory conversation the old Gentleman remarked, 'that he was fearful the Count, or his sister-in-law, was ill, as they appeared to be very dull and melancholy."

  "As to illness, Mr. Ernest," answered Peter, 'there is not much of that I believe; but they have enough to make them melancholy, when it is likely Mr. Ferdinand may soon come home."

  "How!" cried the other, 'that is strange indeed! I should rather think they would be overjoyed at that, though to be sure he won't stay long."

  "Ah! bless you, Mr. Ernest, you know nothing of the business, and yet it is as plain as the nose in your face."

  "Why, you know, Peter, I never pry into secrets, and am no tattler of other people's affairs."

  "No, I'll be sworn, you ar'n't; you are a good man, Sir, and don't know what wickedness goes forward here."—"Why don't you drink, Peter?"

  "I do, I do, thank your love." Two or three glasses opened his heart still more freely. "To tell you the truth, Mr. Ernest, my master, the Count, is but a bad man, for seeing he has got all the fortune, he might have let his brother keep his wife to himself."

  "How! why, sure! why, you do not think he wants to separate them, do you?"

  "Bless your soul, why they be leagued together, and to my mind Madame Claudina loves him more than ever she did her husband."

  "Astonishing!" cried Ernest.

  "Yes, 'tis astonishing to be sure, because Mr. Ferdinand is a much handsomer man; but I'll let you know the whole if you'll be secret."

  "You know I am no talker, Peter."

  "Nor more you ar'n't, for you never made mischief on any poor servant, so I'll tell you, then, as sure as you be alive, Madame is a breeding."

  "Impossible!" exclaimed the other.

  "No, no, 'tis not impossible, the truth is out, and master wants to persuade her to go away to some place in Hungary, as if she runned away, and then they think Mr. Ferdinand will kill himself, or break his heart, or something, and then they two are to be married. This was one scheme; then another was, to have Mr. Ferdinand way-laid and killed, for if he comes home all will come out, and then 'twill for a certainty be murder among them."

  "Good Heavens! what treachery and infamy! How did you learn all this, Peter?"

  "Why, because I am in master's secrets; he can't do without me."

  "Then I conjure you, Peter, to let me know all your proceedings; I will amply reward you, and God will bless you if you serve the innocent."

  "Why, as to that, Sir, I know I am not very innocent to be sure; but I love you, for you saved my life you know, when the horse was going to caper over the mountain with me, and so I think it my duty to serve you, and if you desire me I will tell you all, only don't speak a word of it to master or any body." This Ernest faithfully promised, and Peter engaged to step into his room, whenever he could gain any intelligence to communicate.

  This information of Peter's corroborating the conversation he had overheard in the library, left Ernest no room for doubt of a connexion terrible to think of, yet what steps to take, whether to acquaint Ferdinand with the dreadful secret, or to let him still remain ignorant and happy, were measures he thought must depend on the result of their determinations, and for the knowledge of them he depended on Peter. Nothing particular transpired for two days. Claudina's dejection increased, and she seemed very ill, her appetite was lost, and frequent faintings alarmed the family; but she refused to have medical advice, and said it was only weakness from a violent cold. On the third night, however, she was seized with convulsions, only her maid and Rhodophil attended her, and for hours her life was in great danger; but towards the morning she grew better. Rhodophil seemed transported that the convulsions had left her, and observed among the servants that his sister-in-law had for many years been subject to those fits at times, and the approach of the disorder had occasioned the weakness and dejection of her spirits for some days before, he was glad the crisis was over.

  This tale passed current with the servants; but Ernest had his suspicions, which a short time confirmed, for she soon recovered, and was as gay and as happy as usual. The arrival of Ferdinand, in about three weeks after, seemed to give general joy in the family.—Ernest alone was unhappy, because he knew too much, yet he resolved to be silent, rather than destroy the peace of his beloved master, (as he always called him) and render his future days miserable.

  CHAPTER IX

  Ferdinand had a month's leave of absence; he had been promoted to a higher rank than he could have hoped for, his prospects in the army were such as to inspire a hope of being in a short time able to provide for his family. He returned to them enlivened by expectation, and transported to embrace a darling wife, and a generous brother. In the evening, when retired to the apartment of his Claudina, when expressing his raptures at seeing her so well and happy, a deep and hollow groan made him start from his chair, and threw his wife into a trembling fit.—"What, or where does that groan come from?" cried she. He was about to answer, when a second, still more alarming, was followed by those words from the same voice Ferdinand had twice before heard:—"Fly, fly from her arms, as you would avoid sin and death!"—Claudina shrieked and fainted. Her husband rang the bell for assistance. She relapsed from one fit into another for several hours; all was fright and confusion, for he did not choose to account for her disorder among the servants: One, however, observed these were worse fits than she had lately, because they lasted longer.

  "What then," asked Ferdinand, "has she before now had such seizures as this?"

  "Yes, Sir," answered the servant, "a short time ago, and my master told us, as to be sure you know, that Madame was often troubled with them."

  This information surprised him, the conclusion in his own mind was, that she had before now been alarmed in a similar manner; but the words dwelt upon his memory:—What could be their import—"As you would avoid sin and death!" Good God! how shocking! He had not time, however for much reflection, the state his wife lay in chiefly engrossed his attention; he insisted upon medical advice, and a physician was sent for. Before he could make his appearance distraction had seized her brain; she talked wild and incoherent, of death, murder, Rhodophil and Ferdinand! When the Doctor came he declared her in a frenzy fever, and methods were taken to lower it so effectually, that in a few hours she lay quite in a torpid state, insensible to every thing round her.—Poor Ferdinand withdrew for a few moments at the request of Rhodophil.

  "Alas!" cried he, "is this my welcome! Have I returned home with the dear delight of being happy in the bosom of my family, and must this dreadful prohibition cause me consummate wretchedness!"

  "What prohibition?" asked Rhodophil, eagerly. Ferdinand was sensible that he had said too much, that he had excited a curiosity he knew not how to elude. After a little pause and consideration, he acquainted Rhodophil with the preceding circumstance, adding, 'that the voice seemed to be his father's." The other sunk back in his chair, pale and trembling, unable to utter a syllable, his eyes fixed on his brother with a wild inquiring look.—"I see," said Ferdinand, "you are extremely shocked; had not Claudina been present with me, I should hardly have ventured to relate to you so strange and improbable a circumstance, fearful lest you should have ridiculed my visionary ideas; but I am too well assured of the reality."

  "Of what?" cried the Count, falteringly: "What did you hear else?"

  "No more than the words I have repeated, words sufficient to harrow up my soul, to fill me with dreadful apprehensions, and terrifying images. What they mean, Hea
ven only knows, for I am not conscious of any crimes, and after having so long lived with my wife, why this alarming caution now? Why, I am forbidden to return to her arms by supernatural powers, is beyond my comprehension to define; I see only that there is, there must be, some dreadful cause, and that I am marked out for misery. O, Rhodophil! wretched are the days of those who fail in their first duties, obedience to a parent; and sure destruction follows a father's curse." No longer able to repress his emotions Ferdinand wept aloud.

  Rhodophil, who was by this time a little recovered (though his eye was still wandering with an affrighted glance, and his limbs no longer boasted their usual steadiness) sought to speak comfort to his brother: "I will not (said he) tell you that it is possible your senses might be deceived; I am neither credulous, nor superstitious, yet I think you would do right to pay some observance to a warning from the dead, and all that we can infer is, that the union between you and your wife is displeasing to Heaven."—"Wherefore," cried Ferdinand, 'the want of birth and riches is no crime in the sight of God; I married unknown to my father, that was a sin against his authority; but can it be a crime of that magnitude to draw down the displeasure of Heaven?

  "Oh! yes, if it provoked a father's malediction, it rendered both criminal, and I am the wretched victim; I am singled out from hundreds who have committed the same error, the same unpardonable act of disobedience, to be held up as a pharos to warn unthinking youth of the miseries attending a too hasty connexion unsanctioned by a parent's approbation. Oh! my father, I am indeed severely punished!"

  This apostrophe drove Rhodophil from the room; he could not support the sight of his brother's distress. Ernest immediately entered; the afflicted heart clings for consolation to the first sympathizing friend; the old man was shocked to see him; he rested his head on the shoulder of Ernest, whilst he repeated what had happened in Claudina's apartment. "Dear unhappy creature!"—added he, "I have destroyed her peace, my fatal love has undone her; in humble obscurity she might have been happy, and I have dragged her into wretchedness."