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

by George W. M. Reynolds

  The valet quitted the room; and Eliza then advanced towards Gilbert Vernon, exclaiming in a loud tone, “Arrest this villain—hold him—keep him safely, till the officers of justice can be sent for. He murdered his brother; and ere now he has sought to murder that innocent babe!”

  As these words, uttered with terrible emphasis fell upon the ears of the servants, a cry of horror and execration burst from their lips; and Vernon starting up, exclaimed, “Who accuses me? Wretches—you dare not say that I did such deeds?”

  But the next moment he was pinioned by a pair of powerful arms; for Morcar, who had hastily thrown off his mask and wig, was prepared to secure the guilty man.

  “Release me, villain!” cried Vernon, struggling furiously—but without avail; for some of the male domestics of the household now assisted the gipsy to retain him. “You shall suffer for this outrage—you shall pay dearly for your conduct! Who dares accuse me of an attempt on that child’s life?”

  “I!” answered Eliza Sydney, boldly.

  “And I also!” echoed Morcar.

  “Yes—and I too, murderous wretch!” exclaimed the nurse, stepping forward.

  “This is absurd—ridiculous!” cried Vernon ceasing to struggle, and sinking back into the chair. “You all know how I loved my nephew—how I fondled the dear infant; and you cannot—no—you cannot suppose——”

  “I recollect it all now!” ejaculated the nurse, vehemently. “The sudden explosion of those fireworks frightened me dreadfully, and I loosened my hold upon the child: but—if I was standing before my God, I could declare with truth that the babe was at that very same moment pushed from my arms!—Oh! yes—I remember it all now!”

  A second burst of indignation on the part of the servants struck terror to the heart of the guilty wretch, who writhed upon his chair; while the workings of his ashy pale countenance—the convulsive movements of his lips—and the wild rolling of his eyes, were terrible—terrible!

  Nevertheless he mustered up courage sufficient to exclaim, “That woman speaks falsely! She dropped the child—and she would throw the blame on me!”

  “She speaks truly,—vile—black-hearted man!” cried Eliza. “And now, learn that the sole object of my presence in this mansion has been to frustrate your diabolical plots, which for weeks have been known to me!”

  “You!” said Vernon, quailing beneath the indignant glance of abhorrence which the royal widow fixed upon him.

  “Yes,” she continued: “not only have I remained here to frustrate your plots—which, alas! would have succeeded in destroying the child, had not some strange accident, as yet unaccounted for, at least to me, saved the innocent babe from being dashed to pieces against the stones beneath the balcony;—but I have also adopted those measures which will bring all your guilt most terribly home to you! Treacherous—infamous man, I denounce you as the murderer of your brother!”

  “ ’Tis false—false as hell!” cried Vernon.

  “It is, alas! too true,” returned Eliza. “I have damning proofs against you!”

  “Again I declare it is false!” said Gilbert, violently.

  “Let us see,” resumed Eliza. “You profess to have arrived from the East a few weeks ago; and you have been in England since December or January last! Lady Ravensworth heard your voice in the ruined lodge——”

  “Ridiculous!—a mere coincidence—a false impression!” exclaimed Vernon.

  “And your landlady in Stamford Street can prove that you lodged with her for several months,” added Eliza.

  “Monster!” ejaculated one of the servants who had hold upon him.

  “All this proves nothing,” cried Vernon, furiously.

  “But the tobacco which you sent your brother was poisoned,” said Eliza, with bitter emphasis.

  “ ’Tis false! It has been submitted to tests: the surgeon who attended my brother had it analysed. All the inmates of the household can speak to this fact.”

  “And I also have had it analysed,” returned Eliza; “and by a native of the East! Fire alone can develope its poisonous qualities; and the ablest chemists in England shall shortly test it by means of that process!”

  “Even were it the rankest poison known, you cannot show that I sent it to my brother. I deny the charge—I scorn the imputation!” cried Gilbert Vernon.

  “You will speak in a tone of diminished confidence,” said Eliza, calmly, “when you hear that I despatched a messenger to Beyrout—that the very place where you purchased the tobacco in that town has been discovered—that the merchant who shipped it for you has made an affidavit before the British Consul at Beyrout to this effect—and that the precise time when you embarked from Beyrout for England has also been ascertained. Nay, more—the letters sent to your address in that town announcing the death of your brother, reached their destination long after you had left, and were never opened—nor even seen by you! Yet you affected to return to England in consequence of the receipt of those letters.”

  “And who are you, madam, that have taken such pains to collect these particulars, which you are pleased to call evidence against me?” demanded Vernon. “Is the scion of a noble race to be maligned—outraged—accused of atrocious crimes by an unknown but meddling woman?”

  “Again you speak at random,” answered Eliza; “for did I choose to proclaim my title and my rank, you would admit that not even the owners of the proud name of Ravensworth possess a dignity so exalted as mine. Let me, however, return to the sad subject of my discourse: let me convince you that the evidence of your crime is so overwhelming that penitence and prayer would become you far more than obstinacy, and haughty but vain denial! For if there be farther proofs of your guilt required, seek them for yourself in those circumstances which induced you to take into your service Anthony Tidkins, the Resurrection Man!”

  Vernon shuddered fearfully as these words fell upon his ears; for it seemed as if a sledge-hammer had been suddenly struck upon his brain.

  “And if farther proofs are really wanting, lady,” said Morcar, “it is for me to supply them. This morning I was concealed in the ruins of a cottage at no great distance from the Hall; and there my ears were astounded with the damnable plot which this man and his accomplice had conceived against the life of the infant heir of Ravensworth. Why I did not immediately betray them—why I resolved on counteracting that plot, I will explain on a more fitting occasion. But let me inform you that it was by my device the child was saved; for the instant that the arms of the jugglers were raised to throw the detonating balls upon the ground, the net was unrolled—rapid as lightning—by my companion and myself; and the babe was caught in it as he fell!”

  “Excellent man!” exclaimed Eliza Sydney, while a murmur of applause passed amongst the assembled servants: “who are you? what is your name?”

  “I am one of that wandering tribe called Gipsies, madam,” was the answer: “and my name is Morcar.”

  “Morcar!” echoed Eliza. “Oh! I have heard of you before—often—very often! The Prince of Montoni speaks of you as a friend; and your services to him in the Castelcicalan war have become a matter of history.”

  “Ah! is it possible!” cried Morcar, who for some moments had been studying Eliza’s features with attention—for he had seen many portraits of her during his sojourn in Italy, and a light now broke in upon his memory: “is it possible that I am in the presence of her to whom that great Prince owes his life? Oh! madam, I also have to thank your Serene Highness—humble as I am—for the safety and freedom which I experienced after the defeat at Ossore.”

  And, as he spoke, Morcar abandoned his hold upon Gilbert Vernon, and fell upon his knees before the royal widow.

  “Rise, Morcar,” she hastily exclaimed: “I have renounced for ever the proud title of Grand-Duchess, and would henceforth be known as Eliza Sydney. Moreover, this is no time for homage—even were I
disposed to receive it.”

  “The knee of Morcar bows not to princes because they are princes,” returned the gipsy, proudly and yet respectfully; “but to men or women who by their virtues deserve such homage.”

  At that moment a cry of alarm burst from the servants who had still retained their hold upon Vernon; and at the same instant this guilty man sprang furiously from their grasp—hurled them violently aside—and, ere a single hand could stop his mad career, rushed to the window.

  Morcar bounded after him: but it was too late.

  Gilbert Vernon had precipitated himself from the balcony!

  The sound of his fall upon the pavement beneath,—and the sound of a human being thus falling has none other like it in the world,—struck upon every ear in that drawing-room.

  Some of the servants hastened down stairs, and ran to the spot where Vernon lay.

  They raised him—they bore him into the hall; but the moment the light of the lamps fell upon him, they perceived that all human aid was unavailing.

  His skull was literally beaten in, and his hair was covered with his blood and brains!

  Thus did he meet the fate which he had all along intended for his infant nephew.

  Terrible suicide—but just retribution!

  * * *

  Half an hour after this dread event a travelling carriage rolled rapidly away from Ravensworth Hall.

  In it were seated Adeline, with her child upon her lap, her lady’s-maid, and the nurse.

  The faithful Quentin, who had been induced by the persuasion of Eliza Sydney to remain in the service of Lady Ravensworth, occupied the dickey behind the vehicle.

  Adeline was now on her way to Dover, whence she purposed to pass to the continent; her intention being, in pursuance of the advice of Eliza, to seek some retired spot in the south of France, where she might at least find tranquillity and repose, if not happiness, after the rude storms to which she had lately been so fearfully exposed.

  Not that this self-expatriation was compulsory on account of Lady Ravensworth’s one dread crime: it was nevertheless the project to which we have before alluded, and by which means Eliza had planned that Adeline should escape from the consequences of any revelation that might be made by the Resurrection Man in respect to the murdered Lydia Hutchinson.

  But no such revelation was made, inasmuch as Tidkins had disappeared from the mansion ere Quentin received the order to secure him. For the instant the cry of “Saved! saved!” fell upon the ears of the Resurrection Man and conveyed to him the stunning fact that the scheme had failed—that the child had escaped, in some marvellous manner, the fate intended for it,—then did he know full well that Ravensworth Hall was no longer the place for him. Reckless of what might become of Vernon, and unnoticed by the servants amidst the confusion which prevailed immediately after the fall of the child from the balcony, Tidkins slipped out of the mansion by the back way, and was speedily beyond the reach of danger.

  Thus terminated that terrible series of incidents which constitute so strange an episode in the annals of the family of Ravensworth.

  But ere Adeline took her departure from the mansion of that noble race whose name she bore, she had learnt, with surprise and joy, that the excellent friend whom heaven had sent her, and by whose touching language and admirable example her own heart had been brought to a state of sincere and profound penitence,—she had learnt, we say, that this noble-hearted woman was one whose brow a diadem had lately graced!

  We may also observe that Morcar refused the liberal recompense which both Adeline and Eliza proffered him for the most important service which he had rendered in defeating Vernon’s plan at a moment when, in spite of all the precautions and the various measures adopted by Eliza, it seemed to touch upon the verge of a success fatal to the existence of the infant heir.

  Satisfied with the approval of his own conscience, and attended by the blessings of a mother whose child he had saved, Morcar returned with the jugglers to the Three Kings, where he completely satisfied them for the disappointment they had experienced in respect to the wondrous properties of his net; and on the ensuing morning he parted from them, to pursue his own way.

  Eliza Sydney passed the night at Ravensworth Hall; and, after the Coroner’s Inquest had sate next day upon the body of the suicide Vernon, she returned to her peaceful villa at Clapton.

  CHAPTER CCXXXIX.

  THE RESURRECTION MAN’S RETURN HOME.

  As the Resurrection Man hurried through the fields, amidst the darkness of the night, he vented in horrible imprecations the rage he experienced at the failure of a scheme to which he had devoted so much time and trouble.

  He knew that the blank acceptance which he had extorted from Vernon, and which he had looked upon as the safe guarantee of the speedy acquisition of three thousand pounds, was now but a valueless slip of paper; and he cursed himself for having been foolish enough to advance some two or three hundred guineas of his own money to furnish his late employer with the supplies necessary for his purposes.

  But as a set-off against these disappointments he had one consolation—a consolation which to a less avaricious mind would have been more than commensurate with the losses that Tidkins deplored. He was possessed of Lady Ravensworth’s valuable casket of jewels, which he had removed a few days after he had obtained it in the manner already described, to his house in Globe Town.

  And it was to this den that he was now repairing. He was as yet unacquainted with the fate of Gilbert Vernon; but, supposing it probable that justice might already have that individual in his grasp, he at once determined to provide for his own safety. Abandoning, therefore, all his long-nourished schemes of vengeance against the Prince of Montoni, the Rattlesnake, and Crankey Jem, Tidkins was now intent only on securing his treasure, and taking his departure for America with the least possible delay.

  It was about two o’ clock in the morning when the Resurrection Man, sinking with the fatigues of his long and circuitous journey round all the northern outskirts of London, arrived at his own house.

  Wearied as he was, he wasted no time in snatching a temporary repose: a glass of spirits recruited his strength and invigorated his energies; and, with his bunch of keys in his hand, he repaired from his own chamber to the rooms on the ground-floor.

  It will be remembered that on a former occasion—on his return home, in the middle of the month of March, after his escape from the Middlesex House of Correction,—the Resurrection Man had perceived certain indications which led him to imagine that the step of an intruder had visited the ground-floor and the subterranean part of his house. His suspicions had fallen upon Banks; but an interview with this individual convinced him that those suspicions were unfounded; for although he did not question him point-blank upon the subject, yet his penetration was such, that he could judge of the real truth by the undertaker’s manner.

  Since that period Tidkins had visited his house in Globe Town on several occasions—indeed, as often as he could possibly get away from Ravensworth Hall for the greater portion of a day; and, perceiving no farther indications of the intrusion of a stranger, he became confirmed in the belief which had succeeded his first suspicions, and which was that he had been influenced by groundless alarms.

  But now, the moment he put the key into the lock of the door in the alley, he uttered a terrible imprecation—for the key would not turn, and there was evidently something in the lock!

  Hastily picking the lock with one of those wire-instruments which are used for the purpose by burglars, he extracted from it a piece of a key which had broken in the wards.

  Fearful was now the rage of the Resurrection Man; and when he had succeeded in opening the door, he precipitated himself madly into that department of his abode.

  But what pen can describe his savage fury, when, upon lighting a lantern, he saw the trap raised, and the brick remo
ved from the place in the chimney where it covered the secret means of raising the hearth-stone?

  Plunging desperately down into the subterranean, at the risk of breaking his neck, Tidkins felt like one on whose eyes a hideous spectre suddenly bursts, when he beheld the door of a cell—the very cell in which his treasure was concealed—standing wide open!

  Staggering now, as a drunken man—and no longer rushing wildly along,—but dragging himself painfully,—Tidkins reached that cell.

  His worst fears were confirmed: the stone in the centre was removed from its place;—and his treasure was gone!

  Yes:—money-bags and jewel-casket—the produce of heaven only knows how much atrocity and blackest crime—had disappeared.

  This was the second time that his hoarded wealth was snatched from him.

  Then did that man—so energetic in the ways of turpitude, so strong in the stormy paths of guilt,—then did he sink down, with a hollow groan, upon the cold floor of the cell.

  For a few minutes he lay like one deprived of sense and feeling, the only indications of life being the violent clenching of his fists, and the demoniac workings of his cadaverous countenance.

  Cadaverous!—never did the face of a wretched being in the agonies of strangulation by hanging, present so appalling—so hideous an appearance!

  But in a short time the Resurrection Man started up with a savage howl and a terrible imprecation: his energies—prostrated for a period—revived; and his first idea, when arousing from that torpor, was vengeance—a fearful vengeance upon the plunderer.

  But who was that plunderer? whose hand had suddenly beggared him?

  His suspicions instantly fixed themselves upon two persons—the only two of his accomplices who were acquainted with the mysteries of the subterranean.

  These were Banks and the Buffer.