In this situation she must have continued many hours; for when she recovered, she found the gloom of closing day had already pervaded the chamber. Her ideas at first felt confused; but by degrees a perfect recollection of all that had passed returned, and clasping her cold and trembling hands together, she called upon her father.
As she called upon him, she heard a faint noise outside the door; she started, but had not power to rise; and almost immediately it was opened, and the miserable woman she had seen in the morning entered.
"Rise (exclaimed she in a whispering voice), and follow me."
"Whither?" said Madeline, without obeying her.
"To your father; he waits to conduct you from this detestable house. I released him from his chamber, in the door of which D'Alembert left the key when he dragged you from it. But ask me no farther questions; D'Alembert but deferred going for the officers of justice till it grew dark; a moment's delay may therefore be fatal, and cut off all opportunity of escaping."
"Oh! let us fly, let us fly then," said Madeline, starting from the ground.
Softly and silently they descended to the hall, and turned down a long passage, terminated by a flight of steep stone stairs; these they also descended, and Madeline then found herself in a subterraneous room; a faint light glimmered from a recess at the extremity of it, which startled her, and she caught the arm of her companion.
Her terror, however, was but of short duration; almost instantly the voice of her father reached her ear, and she saw him approaching with extended arms; she sprung forward, and flung herself into them. "Oh! my child (he exclaimed, as he clasped her to his heart), in what a situation do I behold you!"
"My father, my dearest father (cried Madeline), do not let us complain of our situation; Oh! rather let us express our gratitude to that Being who has alleviated it, by giving us a friend who will extricate us from this abode of terror and of death;—but the moments are precious; we should lose no time."
"They are precious indeed (said the old woman); that door (pointing to one in the recess), opens upon a flight of steps which ascend to the court; here is the key of it," continued she, presenting it to St. Julian.
"But how shall we escape from the court?" demanded Madeline.
"Your father will be able with ease to unbar the door; and as Madame Fleury always sits at the back of the house, there is no danger of your being discovered."
"Oh! let us be quick," exclaimed Madeline.
St. Julian advanced to the door; but scarcely had he attempted to open it, when a violent tumult was heard without the court, and immediately after the steps of many people entering it. He paused—listened—and looked at his daughter. Horror almost froze her blood—"They are come (cried she), the ministers of death are come."
"I fear so (said the old woman). Hark! they have entered the house, and are now ranging through the apartments!"
"Is there no hope—is there no way of escaping?" asked Madeline distractedly.
"None (replied the old woman mournfully), but through the court."
"Is there no place of concealment?"
"No."
"Nor any fastening to this door?" advancing to the one through which they had entered.
"None, except a weak bolt that could be burst in a moment."
"Then all hope is over (cried Madeline, turning to her father). Oh! God (she continued, looking up to heaven), take me, take me from this scene of horror! let me die within the arms of my father!"—Almost fainting, she sunk upon his breast.
The tumult within and without became every instant more violent; and it was evident that one party surrounded the house for the purpose of guarding every passage, whilst another searched throughout it.
Madeline suddenly started from the arms of her father, and extinguished the light. "Let us go within the recess (cried she); if they do come down, they may not perhaps do more than merely look into the room." They accordingly crept into it, and placed themselves as close as they possibly could against the wall.
They had not been in this situation above two minutes, when they heard descending steps. "They are coming," cried Madeline, with a panting heart, whilst a cold dew burst from every pore.
She had scarcely spoken, when a light glimmered through the room, and a party of men rushed in it. "He is not here," vociferated one.—"Let us search elsewhere then," exclaimed another.—(Heaven hears our prayers, thought Madeline).—"We will first examine this room (said a third); these subterraneous chambers are generally surrounded with places for concealment."
The heart of Madeline died away at those words; and with a faint cry she sunk to the earth.
"Have pity upon my child (exclaimed the wretched St. Julian, bending over her, whilst the shouts of the men pierced his ears, and re-echoed through the chamber); have pity upon her, and aid me in recovering her ere you tear me from her!"
"Tear you from her! (repeated a voice which made him start from his daughter—the tender, the well-remembered voice of de Sevignie)—Oh! never (cried he, darting from amidst his companions, and snatching the still senseless Madeline from the ground), Oh! never shall Madeline be torn from the arms of her father!"
Something like a ray of hope gleamed upon the mind of St. Julian—"I am all amazement!" exclaimed he.
"You are free—you are safe (said de Sevignie); 'tis friends, not foes, that you behold; but I can give no explanation till this suffering angel is revived."
His promised explanation we shall anticipate in the following Chapter.
CHAPTER IX
Endure and conquer: Jove will soon dispose
To future good your past and present woes.
Resume your courage, and dismiss your care;
An hour will come, with pleasure to relate
Your sorrows past; as benefits of fate
Endure the hardships of your present state;
Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate.
The elder D'Alembert was son to the Marquis of Montmorenci's sister, and heir to his titles and fortunes if he died without children. He was brought up with a taste for pleasure and extravagance—a taste which, on becoming his own master, a circumstance that took place at a very early period in life, he indulged to the utter derangement of his paternal income. From the distresses which he was consequently involved in, and which his assumed character of steadiness and propriety prevented his disclosing to his uncle, he extricated himself by an union with an opulent heiress, whom the elegance and insinuation of his manners captivated, and was thus enabled again to set forward in the career of dissipation which his embarrassments had a little interrupted. Lafroy, the son of his nurse, his companion from the cradle, and attendant from the time he required an attendant, was the confident of all his profligate pursuits, and assisted him in the expenditure of such sums as materially injured his income, and again plunged him in distress.
To reveal that distress, he was now more unwilling than ever to do, from a conviction, that now more than ever he should be condemned for the dissipation which had involved him in it: he therefore set his wits to work to contrive ways and means for supplying his emergencies, and concealing it.
Knowing as he did, that if the Marquis of Montmorenci was without a son, he should, as his heir, gain what credit he required, he could not look upon the young Philippe but with eyes of envy and malignancy—as upon a person who prevented his being extricated from his difficulties. Philippe, however, was of a delicate constitution; and he indulged a hope, that if he once entered the world without the watchful eye of a parent over him, he might be led into such courses as would eventually destroy his health, and terminate his existence: it was a hope derived from a self-experience of the dangerous situation in which a young man of rank and fashion stands when unacquainted with the world, and unguarded by any friend. As a means of poisoning his mind, he had often wished to get Lafroy into his service; he knew of no person better calculated for sowing the seeds of vice, and leading the unwary into the flowery paths of dissipation. Ac
cordingly, on a continental tour being settled for Philippe, he offered Lafroy to the Marquis for his son: having already made that tour himself, he said he knew the necessity there was for a young man being accompanied in it by some person on whom he could depend; he therefore recommended Lafroy as such a person, as one whose principles no temptation could warp, and whose integrity would be a guard for him against the designs of the artful.
The Marquis, who believed the offer of D'Alembert (as he himself indeed declared it) to be suggested by the purest friendship, accepted it with the most heartfelt gratitude, and Lafroy was taken into the suite of his son.
From Italy Lafroy wrote an account of all his operations to D'Alembert; and with the utmost chagrin, one declared, and the other heard, that the mind of Philippe was too well fortified by virtue and reflection to be led astray.
Notwithstanding the ill success of his plan, and the inconveniences he was often subjected to from the loss of Lafroy, D'Alembert would not recall him, still trusting that time and perseverance would sap the foundation which had hitherto resisted all the attacks that were made upon it.
So silent, so imperceptible were those attacks, that Philippe never was alarmed by them; they were like the sting of the asp,
That best of thieves, who with an easy key
Dost open life, and unperceiv'd by us,
Ev'n steal us from ourselves, discharging so
Death's dreadful office better than himself;
Touching our limbs so gently into slumber,
That Death stands by, deceived by his own image,
And thinks himself but sleep.
Lord Philippe returned to France without the smallest alteration in his principles; and the hopes of D'Alembert died away—hopes, however, which revived on Philippe's declaring his resolution of going back to Italy, when he had been but a few months returned from it. Something more than a mere inclination to travel he was convinced attracted him so immediately from home; and he gave the necessary instructions to Lafroy to watch him narrowly.
Lafroy suspected an attachment between him and Lady Elenora Dunlere; and his suspicions were confirmed by Lord Philippe's passing that time at the castle of her father, which, on quitting his own home, he had declared he would spend in Italy. To know the nature of the attachment, what kind of connexion it had formed, or was likely to form, between them, he laid himself out to gain the confidence of Blanche, with whose perfect knowledge of all that passed in the family he was acquainted. Ignorant, innocent, the very child of simplicity, Blanche was not long proof to his artifices—artifices which were aided by every blandishment that had power to touch a susceptible heart, and her virtue and promised secrecy to her ladies were soon sacrificed to him. From being taken into the family of the Earl when quite a child, and brought up in a great degree with his daughters, Blanche was treated more as an humble friend than servant, and entrusted with the most important secrets. Her protectors doubted not the principles which they had implanted, nor the sincerity of the attachment which their tenderness deserved, and she professed. With the marriage of both her ladies, with the relationship between their husbands, and the concealment of Lord Philippe's marriage from his brother, she was acquainted, and all those particulars she communicated to Lafroy, who transmitted them to his employer.
Scarcely were they known to D'Alembert ere they suggested a most horrid and complicated scheme of baseness and cruelty to him; a scheme of which there appeared every probability of success. That Lausane, the injured son of the Marquis, could easily be worked up to the destruction of a brother, who deprived him of his right, he could not doubt; and if Philippe fell, it would surely, he thought, be an easy matter to get rid of Lausane. On Lafroy's return to the Castle of Montmorenci, he finally adjusted and arranged his plans. The manner in which they were executed and accomplished is already known. Josephe, at whose cottage Lausane lodged, was, as has been already mentioned, the brother of Lafroy, and Claude was a companion and particular friend, whom D'Alembert, on parting with him, took at his recommendation to supply his place.
D'Alembert charged Lafroy to secure Blanche, lest any after-repentance should tempt her to betray them: he accordingly inveigled her from the castle, by representing the delights she would experience if she went to Paris; and immediately after the fatal rencounter between the brothers, he put her into the hands of Claude, who conveyed her thither to the house of Madame Fleury. D'Alembert also charged him to destroy the son of Philippe, whose existence interfered as much with his prospects, as that of the father's had done. Lafroy promised obedience to all his commands; but the last was one he never meant to fulfil. He was so great a villain himself, he could place no confidence in others; and therefore believed, that if he had no tie upon D'Alembert, he never should receive the rewards he had been promised, and thought his services entitled to. He therefore determined to preserve the infant: nor was he stimulated to his preservation by a mere distrust of D'Alembert; another motive equally powerful influenced him, namely the aggrandizement of his own family through his means. Proud, ambitious, and disdainful of his dependant situation, he resolved on bringing up the son of Lord Philippe as his own nephew, the child of his brother Josephe; and at a proper age, insisting on an union taking place between him and the daughter of D'Alembert; "when supposed to be allied to the proud House of Montmorenci (said he), I shall no longer be permitted to be a dependant in it; the family will then enrich, will then ennoble me and mine."
As soon as he had securely lodged the child in the hands of Josephe, who, immediately after the departure of Lausane from his cottage, repaired to the Alps for the purpose of receiving it, and easily prevailed on his wife to acknowledge it as her's; he disclosed his scheme to D'Alembert, solemnly declaring at the moment he did so, that if he did not acquiesce in it, he would betray him to the Marquis. This threat—a threat which, from the disposition of Lafroy, D'Alembert doubted not his putting into execution if incensed, conquered all opposition to it; and he agreed, at a proper age, to give his daughter to the supposed son of Josephe.
But he was still more in the power of Lafroy than he imagined: Lafroy and Claude had watched the meeting between the brothers; and on Lausane's flying from the bleeding body of Philippe, they hastened to it. As they bent over it with a kind of savage triumph at the success of the execrable scheme they had been concerned in, they suddenly beheld it tremble. Lafroy was startled, and laid his hand upon the breast; he felt the heart faintly flutter; "Lausane (he exclaimed), has but ill-performed the work we gave him."
"I'll try if I cannot do it better," said Claude, and he snatched up the dagger, with which Lausane had stabbed Lord Philippe, and which lay beside him.
"Hold! (cried Lafroy, catching his arm as he raised it for the purpose of striking Lord Philippe to the heart), a thought strikes me—we had better endeavour to preserve than destroy his existence;—the life of his son is precarious; if our schemes relative to him are accomplished, we can easily destroy the father; if they are disappointed, our declaring his existence will at all times compel D'Alembert to comply with our demands, be they ever so extravagant."
"True (cried Claude); but how will you conceal him, or manage about his wounds?"
"There is an extensive cave (replied Lafroy), contiguous to the vaults of the castle, known but to few, and which Blanche showed to me; the former inhabitants of the castle used it as a place for depositing treasure in, and accordingly fortified it with iron doors. Thither, with your assistance, I can now convey him; and, as I have a knowledge of surgery, I shall dress his wound, and from the castle bring whatever I deem necessary for him:—for the purpose of attending him, I shall continue here till Josephe has left the child with his wife; he shall then return to supply my place; and as his affinity to me is not known, his appearance can excite no suspicion."
"But inhabited as the castle is (said Claude), you cannot, without danger of detection, secrete him long within the cave."
"No (replied Lafroy), I cannot; as soon, therefore, as he
regains sufficient strength to enable him to bear the fatigue of the journey, I shall return hither, and with your assistance and Josephe's convey him elsewhere."
This cruel scheme, which doomed the unfortunate Philippe to worse than death, to lingering misery, was put into practice without farther hesitation; and Claude was then dispatched for Blanche, who waited impatiently to commence her journey with him to Paris.
No sooner was D'Alembert informed of the death of Philippe, than he devised a scheme for the destruction of Lausane. This, it may be supposed, he meant easily to effect by accusing him of murder, and consequently drawing upon him the vengeance of an enraged and afflicted father. But this was not by any means his intention;—an open accusation would, he knew, occasion a public trial, at which there could be no doubt but Lausane would declare the artifices which had instigated him to the destruction of his brother—a declaration that might, that would indeed, in all probability, D'Alembert feared, raise suspicions against himself. To prevent, therefore, all danger of such suspicions, he determined to have him privately destroyed; for which purpose, he meant to dispatch some of his well-tried emissaries to the habitation of Lord Dunlere, habited as officers of justice, to demand Lausane as a murderer; whom, on getting into their hands, they were to convey to a proper place for such a deed of horror, and put to death, but in such a manner, that his death should seem the effect of some sudden disorder. To aid in this diabolical plan, he himself travelled in disguise to the Alps, with his emissaries; and he was the person who alarmed the good monk so much by declaring his intention of searching every where for Lausane. The story invented in consequence of that declaration, completely frustrated his designs; and he returned not a little delighted to his home, at the idea of Death's having proved such a friend to him, by freeing him both from the trouble and danger of putting Lausane out of the way himself. With him died away all apprehension of detection, and all fears of disappointment relative to the estates of Montmorenci; and his dissipation, in consequence of the certainty of his expectations being realized, was unbounded.
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 325
