“Those words have often been uttered by a deceased friend of mine—Thomas Armstrong,” observed Richard.
“Thomas Armstrong was a true philanthropist,” said the Colonel; “and were he alive now, he would tell you that subjects who take up arms against a bad prince are as justified in so doing as the prince himself could be in punishing those who violate the laws.”
“In plain terms,” said Richard, “General Grachia intends to espouse the popular cause against the tyranny of the Grand Duke?”
“Such is his resolution,” answered Colonel Morosino. “And now that you have heard all these particulars, you will probably listen with attention to the objects of my present visit.”
“Proceed, Colonel Morosino,” said Richard. “You must be well aware that, as one well attached to his Highness Prince Alberto, I cannot be otherwise than interested in these communications.”
“I shall condense my remarks as much as possible,” continued the officer. “General Grachia purports to enter into immediate relations with the Castelcicalans now in London and Paris. Of course the strictest secresy is required. The eventual object will be to purchase two or three small ships which may take on board, at different points, those who choose to embark in the enterprise; and these ships will have a common rendezvous. When united, they will sail for Castelcicala. A descent upon that territory would be welcomed with enthusiasm by nine-tenths of the population; and the result,” added Morosino, in a whisper,—“the inevitable result must be the dethronement of the Grand Duke and the elevation of Alberto to the sovereign seat.”
“That the project is practicable, I can believe,” said Markham; “that it is just, I am also disposed to admit. But do you not think that a bloodless revolution might be effected?”
“We hope that we shall be enabled successfully to assert the popular cause without the loss of life,” returned Morosino. “But this can only be done by means of an imposing force, and not by mere negotiation.”
“You consider the Grand Duke to be so wedded to his despotic system?” said Markham, interrogatively.
“What hope can we experience from so obstinate a sovereign, and so servile an administration as that of which Signor Pisani is the chief?” demanded the Colonel. “And surely you must allow that patriotism must not have too much patience. By allowing despots to run their race too long, they grow hardened and will then resist to the last, at the sacrifice of thousands of lives and millions of treasure.”
“Such is, alas! the sad truth,” said Richard. “At the same time a fearful responsibility attaches itself to those who kindle a civil war.”
“Civil wars are excited by two distinct motives,” returned the Colonel. “In one instance they are produced by the ambition of aspirants to power: in the other, they take their origin in the just wrath of a people driven to desperation by odious tyranny and wrong. The latter is a sacred cause.”
“Yes—and a most just one,” exclaimed Markham. “If then, I admit that your projects ought to be carried forward, in what way can my humble services be rendered available?”
“I will explain this point to you,” answered Colonel Morosino. “General Grachia, myself, and several stanch advocates of constitutional freedom, met to deliberate last evening upon the course to be pursued, after the General had returned from his interview with the Prince at Richmond. We sat in deliberation until a very late hour; and we adopted the outline of the plans already explained to you. We then recognised the necessity of having the co-operation of some intelligent, honourable, and enlightened Englishman to aid us in certain departments of our preliminary arrangements. We must raise considerable sums of money upon certain securities which we possess; we must ascertain to what extent the laws of this country will permit our meetings, or be calculated to interfere with the progress of our measures; we must purchase ships ostensibly for commercial purposes; and we must adopt great precautions in procuring from outfitters the arms, clothing, and stores which we shall require. In all these proceedings we require the counsel and aid of an Englishman of honour and integrity.”
“Proceed, Colonel Morosino,” said Richard, seeing that the Italian officer paused.
“We then found ourselves at a loss where to look for such a confidential auxiliary and adviser; when one of our assembly spoke in this manner—‘I came to this country, as you well know, at the same time as his Highness the Prince. From that period until the present day I have frequently seen his Highness; and I became aware of the acquaintance which subsisted between his Highness and an English gentleman of the name of Richard Markham, who was introduced to his Highness by the late Thomas Armstrong. I am also aware that a misunderstanding arose between the Prince and Mr. Markham: the nature of that misunderstanding I never learnt; but I am aware that, even while it existed, Richard Markham behaved in the most noble manner in a temporary difficulty in which his Highness was involved. I also know that the motives which led to that misunderstanding have been completely cleared away, and that the Prince now speaks in the highest terms of Mr. Richard Markham. Address yourself, then, to Mr. Markham: he is a man of honour; and with him your secret is safe, even if he should decline to meet your views.’—Thus spoke our friend last night; and now the cause and object of my visit are explained to you.”
“You have spoken with a candour and frankness which go far to conquer any scruples that I might entertain in assisting you,” said Richard. “At the same time, so important a matter demands mature consideration. Should I consent to accept the office with which you seek to honour me, I should not be a mere lukewarm agent: I should enter heart and soul into your undertaking; nor should I content myself with simply succouring you in an administrative capacity. Oh! no,” added Richard enthusiastically, as he thought of Isabella, “I would accompany you on your expedition when the time came, and I would bear arms in your most righteous cause.”
“Generous young man!” cried the Colonel, grasping our hero’s hand with true military frankness: “God grant that your answer may be favourable to us. But pray delay not in announcing your decision.”
“This time to-morrow evening I will be prepared to give you an answer,” returned Markham.
The Colonel then took his leave, saying, “To-morrow evening I will call again.”
CHAPTER CLVI.
THE DECISION.
Richard Markham retired to rest, but not to immediate slumber.
The proposal of Colonel Morosino was of a most perplexing nature.
Our hero longed to be enabled to show his devotion to Isabella by exerting himself in what must eventually prove her father’s cause; but he was afraid of acting in a manner which might displease the Prince.
Then he reflected that the Prince had uttered those expressive words, “Were I less than I am, I would consent to take up arms in defence of the liberties of Castelcicala.”
The more Richard pondered upon these words, the more was he inclined towards the service proposed to him; and when he remembered that he should be associated with some of the most gallant and disinterested of Italian patriots, he felt a generous ardour thrill and animate his bosom.
“Oh! if I could but achieve some deed that would render me worthy of Isabella,” he thought, “how should I bless the day when I adopted the cause of those brave exiles who now seek my aid! Yes—I will join them, heart and soul; and in me they shall have no lukewarm supporter! The die is cast;—and this resolution must either make or mar me for ever!”
Richard then gradually fell into a profound slumber: but the subjects of his latest thoughts became the materials of which his dreams were woven.
Imagination carried him away from his native land, and whirled him on board a vessel which was within sight of the Castelcicalan coasts. Presently a descent upon the land was effected; and then Richard fancied himself to be involved in the thickest of a deadly fight. Next he saw himself entering Montoni at
the head of a victorious army; and it seemed to him as if he were the object of attraction—as if the salutations of countless multitudes were addressed to him—and as if he returned them! Then the scene changed, by one of those rapid transitions so peculiar to dreams; and he found himself standing at the altar, the lovely Isabella by his side. A tiara of diamonds adorned her brow, and on his own was a princely coronet. Then the ceremony was completed; and friends with smiling countenances gathered around to congratulate him and his lovely bride; and the swelling words “Your Highness” and “My Lord” echoed upon his ears. He turned to address his thanks to those who thus felicitated him—and awoke!
“A dream—a dream!” he exclaimed, as the gay pageantry of the vision yet dwelt vividly in his mind: “but will the most happy episode therein ever be fulfilled?”
Richard rose with depressed spirits; for a dream of that nature—by raising us to the highest eminence to which our aspirations ever soared, and then dashing us back again to the cold realities of earth—invariably leads to a powerful reaction.
The day passed without any incident of importance; and by the time the evening arrived, Richard had recovered his mental serenity.
Punctual to his appointment, Colonel Morosino made his appearance.
He came in a chaise, accompanied by another individual; but the latter did not alight from the vehicle.
“Mr. Markham,” said the Colonel, when he was alone with our hero, in the library, “have you made up your mind?”
“I have,” answered Richard, in a decided tone.
“And your decision——”
“Is to join you, heart and soul—to throw myself with enthusiasm into your cause—to co-operate with you as if I were a Castelcicalan subject,” said Richard, his handsome countenance glowing with animation, his fine dark eyes flashing fire, and his nostrils dilating with the ardour which filled his soul.
“I am no prophet, if you ever repent this decision,” said Colonel Morosino, pressing Richard’s hands warmly. “Will you now permit me to introduce a gentleman who has accompanied me?”
“With much pleasure,” answered Markham.
The Colonel stepped out, and at the expiration of a few moments returned, accompanied by a tall, thin, military-looking man, whose lofty bearing and eagle eye bespoke him as one who had been accustomed to command.
“Mr. Markham,” said the Colonel, “may you soon become better acquainted with General Grachia.”
The veteran proffered Richard his hand with true military frankness, and observed, “I rejoice to find that your decision is favourable to our views.”
“You will also find that I shall be zealous and unwearied in your service,” rejoined Markham.
“Our proceedings,” continued General Grachia, “must be conducted with caution, so that no rumour prejudicial to our measures may reach Castelcicala.”
“I believe it to be understood,” said Markham, “that should the Grand Duke change his policy to such an extent that the Castelcicalans may obtain their just rights and privileges by means of his concessions, before our own projects shall be ripe for execution,—that, in this case, we at once abandon them.”
“Assuredly,” replied General Grachia. “God knows the purity of my motives, and that I would not plunge my country into civil war without the pressure of a dire necessity. Neither am I adopting extreme measures from vindictive motives because the Grand Duke has banished me not only from office but also from the territory. Had I assented to his despotic decrees I might have retained my high position in the cabinet, and aggrandized my own fortunes at the same time. As a proof of my integrity, Mr. Markham, read this document.”
The General produced from his pocket-book a letter which had been sealed with the ducal signet, and was addressed “To His Excellency General Grachia, Minister Secretary of State for the Department of War.”
This document he handed to Richard, who found that it was an autograph letter from the Grand Duke to the General, written at the time when the military disturbances occurred at Montoni. It remonstrated with General Grachia for refusing to countersign the ordinance decreeing the disbandment of the three regiments, and promising him the rank of Marquis and the Premiership if he would but consent to aid his Serene Highness in carrying out the proposed rigorous measures.
“To this letter I replied by sending in my resignation,” said General Grachia; “and thus I wrecked my own fortunes, and made my wife and children exiles.”
“You acted nobly—like a true patriot,” cried Markham, contemplating the veteran with admiration. “If for one instant I entertained a scruple in embracing your cause, it is now annihilated; for you have honoured me with the most convincing proofs of your patriotism.”
“I served the Grand Duke faithfully,” said the General; “and I cannot reproach myself for any measure which I ever recommended to his Serene Highness. Although deeply attached to Prince Alberto, I did not oppose the marriage of the Grand Duke; because I believed that, upon principle, sovereigns are entitled to as much freedom in affairs so nearly touching their domestic happiness, as any of their subjects. I saw in the present Grand Duchess an amiable lady; and I knew that she was a virtuous one from the strong recommendations which she received from his Highness Prince Alberto and the Earl of Warrington to myself and my family. I supported, then, that marriage upon principle—upon a conviction which I entertain. I believe that sovereigns have a right to consult their own happiness in marriage; but I never will admit that they have a right to enslave their subjects. I will maintain the privileges of princes, when I consider them encroached upon by the people: with equal readiness will I protect the people against the tyranny of princes.”
Richard listened with admiration to these noble sentiments; and he could not help exclaiming, “How blind sovereigns often seem to the merits and honesty of those who would counsel them wisely!”
“Such is too frequently the case,” observed Colonel Morosino.
“The plan upon which I propose to act is simply this,” resumed General Grachia:—“one of the most humble, but not the least sincere, of those refugees who support us, will take a house in London in his own name; and there shall our headquarters be fixed. There shall we hold our meetings; and thence will our correspondence be expedited to those whom we can trust, and on whose support we can rely. In order to avoid all cause of suspicion, I shall take a house for myself and suite at the West End, where I shall, however, lead a comparatively secluded life. Fortunately, the greater portion of my property consisted in money in the public funds of Castelcicala; and for that I obtained securities which may be easily realised in London. My friend Morosino stands in the same position. Between us we can muster some twenty thousand pounds; and other exiles, who are favourable to our views, can throw ten thousand more into the common stock.”
“To which I shall also be permitted to contribute my quota,” interrupted Richard.
“Not if we can manage without it,” answered General Grachia; “and I have no doubt that pecuniary resources will not be wanting in this good cause.”
The General then proceeded to a more detailed development of his plans; but as we shall have to deal with them fully hereafter, we will take leave of the subject for the present.
Before we conclude this chapter we must record two or three little incidents that maintain the continuous thread of our narrative.
A week after the demise of Miss Gregory, the funeral took place at a suburban cemetery. The bereaved father and afflicted brothers were the chief mourners; but Richard also followed the remains of the departed girl to the tomb. An elegant but chaste and unassuming monument marks the spot where she reposes in her narrow bed.
At the expiration of the seven days during which she had been remanded, Katherine was examined a second time before the magistrate, and was fully committed for trial.
A Coroner�
��s Inquest had in the meantime recorded a verdict of Wilful Murder against her.
She was accordingly conveyed to Newgate.
But Richard Markham did not neglect her interests; and Morris Benstead was busy in adopting every possible measure to fathom the deep mystery in which the awful deed was still shrouded.
CHAPTER CLVII.
THE TRIAL OF KATHERINE WILMOT.
The March sessions of the Central Criminal Court commenced upon a Monday morning, as usual.
On the Wednesday Katherine Wilmot was placed in the dock, to take her trial for the murder of Matilda Kenrick.
The particulars of the case had produced a great sensation; and the door-keepers of the gallery of the court reaped a rich harvest by the fees for admission.
Katherine was deadly pale; but she had made up her mind to conduct herself with fortitude; and her demeanour was resigned and tranquil.
Richard Markham was in the gallery of the court; but his manner was uneasy and anxious:—he had heard nothing of Benstead, the policeman, for the preceding forty-eight hours: and not a fact had that individual communicated to the counsel for the prisoner which might tend to prove her innocence or even throw a doubt upon her guilt!
When called upon to answer to the indictment, Katherine pleaded, in a firm tone, “Not Guilty.”
The counsel for the prosecution then stated the case, which was supported by the following testimony:—
Henry Massey deposed: “I am a surgeon, and reside in Great Coram Street. One evening, early in February, a young female came to my shop and purchased two ounces of laudanum. She brought no phial with her. I gave it to her in a phial of my own, which I labelled Poison. On the following evening I was summoned to the house of the Rev. Mr. Tracy. I was introduced into the kitchen, where I found the deceased lying back in her chair quite dead. A young female was there; and I recognised her to be the one who had purchased the poison at my shop. She is the prisoner at the bar. From this circumstance and others which transpired, I suspected her to have poisoned the deceased; and I had her given into custody. The Rev. Mr. Tracy was in the kitchen when I arrived. He was doing all he could to recover the deceased. He was deeply affected. On the following day I examined the deceased, and found that she had died by poison. That poison was laudanum. I discovered so large a quantity in her, by the usual tests, that she must have experienced a deep lethargy almost immediately after taking the poison, and could not have lived many minutes. I cannot say that she did not take it voluntarily, and with the object of committing suicide. There was nothing upon the table near her—no cup, glass, nor any drinking vessel. The phial produced is the one in which I sold the poison.”
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 18
