The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics)

by George W. M. Reynolds

  “I dare say you are surprised to see a—a female—alone and unprotected—visit your abode in this—in this unceremonious manner?” said Adeline, after a long pause, but still fearfully embarrassed.

  “I am not surprised at any thing, ma’am, in this world,” replied Tidkins: “I’ve seen too much ever to wonder. Besides, it is not the first time that I have had dealings with gentlemen and ladies even of the highest class. But I ask no impertinent questions, and make no impertinent remarks. One thing, however, I should like to learn, ma’am—if it would not be rude: and that is, how you came to address yourself to me for whatever business you may have in hand?”

  “That I cannot explain,” returned Adeline: then, after a moment’s thought, she said, “Will it not be sufficient for you to know that I obtained your address from one of those high-born persons to whom you ere now alluded?”

  “Quite sufficient, ma’am,” answered Tidkins. “In what way can I aid you?”

  “I scarcely know how to explain myself,” said Lady Ravensworth. “I require a great service—a terrible one; but I am prepared to pay in proportion.”

  “Do not hesitate with me, ma’am,” observed Tidkins, his countenance brightening up considerably at the prospect of reaping a good harvest by means of his new customer. “Of course you require something which a lawyer can’t do, or else you’d go to one: therefore what you want is illegal, ma’am; and my business, in a word, is to do every thing which can be done in opposition to the law.”

  “But are you prepared to accomplish a deed which, if detected——Oh! I cannot explain myself! No:—let me depart—I never should have come hither!”

  And Adeline was seized by a sudden paroxysm of remorse and alarm.

  “Calm yourself, ma’am,” said Tidkins. “If you wish to go, I cannot prevent you; but if you really need my aid—in any way—no matter what—speak at your leisure. I am not particular, ma’am, as to what I undertake; and don’t think I mean to offend you in what I’m going to say—it’s only to give you confidence towards me, and to afford you an idea of what I now and then do for great folks and others, both male and female. Suppose a lady has pawned or sold her diamonds to pay a gaming debt, she wants a sham burglary got up in the house to cover the loss of them: well, ma’am, I’m the man to break in and carry off a few trifles, besides forcing open the door of the closet or bureau where the casket of jewels ought to be. Or perhaps a tradesman who is about to become bankrupt, wants the stock removed to a place of safety where he can have it again after a time: there again, ma’am, I’m the individual to accomplish the whole affair in the night, and give the house the appearance of having been robbed. Or else a gentleman insures his house and furniture, and wants the money: he goes off into the country—his place is burnt to a cinder during his absence—and no one can possibly suspect him of having had any thing to do with it. Besides, the whole thing seems an accident—so cleverly do I manage it. And, to go a little farther, ma’am—if a lady should happen to want to get rid of a severe husband—an illegitimate child—an extortionate lover—or a successful rival——”

  “Or a bitter enemy?” added Lady Ravensworth, hastily—for she had been enabled to collect her thoughts and compose herself while Tidkins was thus expatiating upon his exploits.

  “Yes, ma’am—or a bitter enemy,” he repeated;—“it’s all the same to me; for,”—and he lowered his voice as he spoke—“I have either the means of imprisoning them till they’re driven raving mad and can be safely removed to an asylum—or I make shorter work of it still!” he added, significantly.

  “Ah! you have the means of imprisoning persons—of keeping them for ever out of the way—and yet not go to the last extreme?” said Adeline, catching at this alternative.

  “I have, ma’am,” was the calm reply.

  “But wherefore do you speak thus freely to me? why do you tell me so much?” demanded Adeline, a vague suspicion entering her mind that this fearful man knew her. “I am a complete stranger to you——”

  “Yes, ma’am: and you may remain so, if it suits your purpose,” answered Tidkins, who divined the motive of her observations. “Tell me what you wish done—pay me my price—and I shall ask you no questions. And if you think that I am incautious in telling you so much concerning myself, let me assure you that I am not afraid of your being a police-spy. The police cannot get hold of such persons as yourself to entrap men like me. I know that you have business to propose to me: your words and manner prove it. Now, ma’am, answer me as frankly as I have spoken to you. You have a bitter enemy?”

  “I have indeed,” answered Adeline, reassured that she was not known to the Resurrection Man: “and that enemy is a woman.”

  “Saving your presence, ma’am, a woman is a worse enemy than a man,” said Tidkins. “And of course you wish to get your enemy out of the way by some means?”

  “I do,” replied Adeline, in a low and hoarse tone—as if she only uttered those monosyllables with a great exertion.

  “There are two ways, ma’am,” said the Resurrection Man, significantly: “confinement in a dungeon, or——”

  “I understand you,” interrupted Lady Ravensworth, hastily. “Oh! I am at a loss which course to adopt—which plan to decide upon! Heaven knows I shrink from the extreme one—and yet——”

  “The dead tell no tales,” observed Tidkins, in a low and measured tone.

  Adeline shuddered, and made no reply.

  She fell back in the chair, and rapidly reviewed in her mind all the perils and circumstances of her position.

  She wished to rid herself of Lydia Hutchinson—for ever! She was moreover anxious that this object should be effected in a manner so mysterious and secret that she might not afterwards find herself at the mercy of the agent whom she employed in her criminal purpose. She had, indeed, already settled a plan to that effect, ere she called upon Tidkins. During the whole of the preceding night had she pondered upon that terrible scheme; and so well digested was it that Lydia might be made away with—murdered, in fine—and yet Tidkins would never know whom he had thus cut off, where the deed was accomplished, nor by whom he had been employed. Thus, according to that project all traces of the crime would disappear, without the possibility of ever fixing it upon herself.

  Now this idea was disturbed by the hint thrown out relative to imprisonment in a dungeon. Were such a scheme carried into effect, Tidkins must know who his prisoner was, and by whom he was employed. A hundred chances might lead to an exposure, or enable Lydia to effect her escape. Moreover, by adopting this project, Adeline saw that she should be placing herself at the mercy of a ferocious man, who might become an extortioner, and perpetually menace her by virtue of the secret that would be in his keeping. She felt that she should live in constant alarm lest Lydia might effect her release by bribery or accident. But chiefly did she reason that she had suffered so much at the hand of one who was acquainted with a dread secret concerning her, that she shrank from the idea of so placing herself at the mercy of another.

  All these arguments were reviewed by the desperate woman in far less time than we have occupied in their narration.

  But while she was thus wrapped up in her awful reverie, Tidkins, who guessed to a certain extent what was passing in her mind, sate silently and patiently awaiting her decision between the two alternatives proposed—a dungeon or death!

  Had he been able to penetrate with a glance through the folds of that dark veil, he would have beholden a countenance livid white, and distorted with the fell thoughts which occupied the mind of his visitor:—but never once during this interview did he obtain a glimpse of her features.

  “Mr. Tidkins,” at length said Adeline, in a low tone and with a visible shudder, “my case is so desperate that nothing but a desperate remedy can meet it. Were you acquainted with all the particulars, you would see the affair in the same light. Either my enemy m
ust die—or I must commit suicide! Those are the alternatives.”

  “Then let your enemy die,” returned the Resurrection Man.

  “Yes—yes: it must be so!” exclaimed Adeline, stifling all feelings of compunction: then taking from beneath her cloak a heavy bag, she threw it upon the table, the chink of gold sounding most welcome to the ears of the Resurrection Man. “That bag contains a hundred sovereigns,” she continued: “it is only an earnest of what I will give if you consent to serve me precisely in the manner which I shall point out.”

  “That is a good beginning, at all events,” said Tidkins, his eyes sparkling with joy beneath their shaggy brows. “Go on, ma’am—I am ready to obey you.”

  “My plan is this,” continued Adeline, forcing herself to speak with calmness:—“you will meet me to-night at the hour and place which I shall presently mention; you will accompany me in a vehicle some few miles; but you must consent to be blindfolded as long as it suits my purposes to keep you so: when the deed is accomplished, you shall receive two hundred sovereigns in addition to the sum now lying before you; and you will return blindfolded with me to the place where I shall think fit to leave you. Do you agree to this?”

  “I cannot have the least objection, ma’am,” answered Tidkins, overjoyed at the prospect of obtaining such an important addition to the ill-gotten gains already hoarded. “Where and when shall I meet you?”

  “This evening, at nine o’clock—at the corner of the Edgeware Road and Oxford Street,” replied Adeline.

  “I will be punctual to the minute,” said the Resurrection Man.

  Lady Ravensworth then took her departure.

  As soon as it was dusk, Tidkins filled a basket with provisions, and repaired to the subterranean dungeon where the old hag was confined.

  “How do you get on?” he demanded, as he placed the basket upon the table.

  “Alack! I have not half completed my task,” returned the old woman: “my thoughts oppress me—my hand trembles—and my sight is bad.”

  “Then you will have to wait in this place a few hours longer than I expected,” said Tidkins. “But that basket contains the wherewith to cheer you, and you need not expect to see me again until to-morrow morning, or perhaps to-morrow night. So make yourself comfortable—and get on with your work. I shall keep my word about the reward—do you keep yours concerning the true history and the written proofs of Katherine’s parentage.”

  “I shall not deceive you—I shall not deceive you,” answered the hag. “Alack! I am too anxious to escape from this horrible den.”

  “You may leave it to-morrow night for certain,” returned Tidkins: “at least, it all depends on yourself.”

  He then closed the door, bolted it carefully, and quitted the subterranean.

  While he was engaged in making some little changes in his toilet ere he sallied forth to his appointment with the veiled lady, he thus mused upon a project which he had conceived:—

  “I have more than half a mind to get the Buffer to dog that lady and me, and find out where she takes me to. And yet if we go far in a vehicle, the Buffer never could follow on foot; and if he took a cab, it would perhaps be observed and excite her suspicions. Then she might abandon the thing altogether; and I should lose my two hundred quids extra. No:—I must trust to circumstances to obtain a clue to all I want to know—who she is, and where she is going to take me.”

  Having thus reasoned against the project which he had for a moment considered feasible, the Resurrection Man armed himself with a dagger and pistols, enveloped himself in his cloak, slouched his hat over his forbidding countenance, and then took his departure.

  CHAPTER CCXIX.

  THE MURDER.

  It wanted five minutes to nine o’clock when Anthony Tidkins reached the corner of Oxford Street and the Edgeware Road.

  A cab was standing a few yards up the latter thoroughfare; and as the driver was sitting quietly on his box, without endeavouring to catch a fare, it instantly struck the Resurrection Man that his unknown patroness might be the occupant of the vehicle, and was waiting for him.

  He accordingly approached the window, and by the reflection of a shop gas-light, perceived the veiled lady inside.

  “Is it you?” she said, unable to distinguish his countenance beneath his slouched hat.

  “Yes, ma’am. All right,” he cried to the driver; and, opening the door, entered the cab.

  It then moved rapidly away—the driver having evidently received his instructions beforehand.

  “Draw up the window,” said the lady.

  Tidkins obeyed.

  “You remember your promise to be blindfolded?” continued Adeline.

  “I have forgotten nothing that passed between us, ma’am.”

  He had taken off his hat upon entering the vehicle; and Adeline now drew over his head a large flesh-coloured silk cap, or bag, fitted with a string that enabled her to gather it in and fasten it round his neck—but not so tightly as to impede the free current of air.

  “I am sorry to be compelled to subject you to any inconvenience,” she said, loathing herself at the same time for being compelled to address this conciliatory language to such a man—a murderer by profession.

  “Don’t mention it, ma’am: it’s all in the way of business.”

  A profound silence then ensued between them.

  On his part the Resurrection Man, who was intimately acquainted with London and all its multitudinous mazes, endeavoured to follow in his mind the course which the vehicle was taking; and for some time he was enabled to calculate it accurately enough. But it presently turned off to the left, and shortly afterwards took several windings, which completely baffled his reckoning. He accordingly abandoned the labour, and, trusted to accident to furnish him with the clue which he desired.

  On her side, Adeline was a prey to the most horrible emotions. Now that she had carried the dread proceedings up to the point which they reached, she recoiled from urging them to the awful catastrophe. Vainly did she endeavour to tranquillise herself with the specious reasoning that she would not become a murderess, since her hands were not to do the deed,—or that even if that name must attach itself to her, she was justified in adopting any means, however extreme, to rid herself of a remorseless enemy:—vainly did she thus argue:—the crime she was about to commit, or to have committed for her, seemed appalling! Often during this long ride was she on the point of declaring to her terrible companion that she would stop short and abandon the murderous project at once: and then would come soul-harrowing remembrances of Lydia’s tyranny, accompanied by violent longings after vengeance.

  Thus did nearly three quarters of an hour pass, when the cab suddenly halted.

  “Put on your hat—draw up your cloak-collar—and hold down your head as you alight,” said Adeline in a rapid whisper.

  The Resurrection Man understood her; and the darkness of the night favoured the precautions which Lady Ravensworth had suggested to prevent the driver, who opened the door, from observing that Tidkins’s face was covered with the flesh-coloured silk.

  “Wait until our return,” said Adeline: “we may not be back for two, or even three hours;—but in any case wait.”

  And she placed a piece of gold in the man’s hand.

  She then took the arm of Tidkins and hurried him across the fields—for such he could feel the soil upon which he was walking to be.

  In this manner did they proceed for upwards of half an hour, when they reached the fence surrounding the gardens of Ravensworth Hall. Adeline opened the wicket by means of a key which she had with her, and hurried her companion through the grounds to the private door at the southern extremity of the mansion. This she also opened and looked again when they had entered. She then conducted the Resurrection Man up the staircase, and finally into her boudoir.

  Gui
ding him to a chair, she released him from the silk cap; but when it was removed, he could perceive nothing—for the room was quite dark.

  “My enemy is certain to come hither shortly,” whispered Adeline: “it may be directly—or it may be in an hour;—still she is sure to come. I shall conceal you behind a curtain—in case the wrong person might happen to enter the room by accident. But when any one comes in, and you hear me close the door and say ‘WRETCH!’ rush upon her—seize her by the throat—and strangle her. Are you strong enough to do this?—for no blood must be shed.”

  “Trust to me, ma’am,” returned Tidkins. “The woman—whoever she may be—will never speak again after my fingers once grasp her neck.”

  Adeline then guided him behind the curtain of her bed; and she herself took her post near the door.

  And now succeeded a most appalling interval of nearly twenty minutes,—appalling only to Adeline: for her hardened accomplice was thinking far more of the additional sum he was about to earn, than of the deed he was hired to perpetrate.

  But, Adeline—oh, her thoughts were terrible in the extreme! Not that she dreaded the failure of the deadly plot, and a consequent exposure of the whole machination:—no—her plans were too well laid to admit that contingency. But she felt her mind harrowing up, as it were, at the blackness of the tragedy which was in preparation.

  Twenty minutes, we said, elapsed:—twenty years of mental agony—twenty thousand of acute suffering, did that interval appear to be.

  At length a step echoed in the corridor;—nearer and nearer it came.

  Good God! what pangs lacerated the heart of Lady Ravensworth;—and even then—far as she had gone—she was on the point of rushing forward, and crying, “No! no!—spare—spare her!”

  But some demon whispered in her ear, “Now is the time for vengeance!”—and she retained her post—she stifled the better feelings that had agitated within her—she nerved herself to be merciless and unrelenting.