The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth
Page 529
Lord Roos seemed unable or unwilling to reply; and a deep pause ensued for a few moments, during which the guilty pair shunned each other’s regards. It was broken at length by Lady Exeter, who said, reproachfully, “You should have burnt my letters, William. Without them, they would have had no evidence against me. Imprudent that you were, you have destroyed me!”
“Reproach me not, Prances,” he rejoined. “I admit my imprudence, and blame myself severely for it. But I could not part with a line I had received from you. I inclosed the letters in a little coffer, which I deposited in a secret drawer of that cabinet, as in a place of perfect safety. The coffer and its contents mysteriously disappeared. How it was purloined I cannot inform you.”
“Do your suspicions alight on no one?” she inquired.
“They have fallen on several; but I have no certainty that I have been right in any instance,” he replied. “That I have some spy near me, I am well aware; and if I detect him, he shall pay for his perfidy with his life.”
“Hist!” cried Lady Exeter. “Did you not hear a noise?”
“No,” he rejoined. “Where?”
She pointed to the little passage leading to the ante-chamber. He instantly went thither, and examined the place, but without discovering any listener.
“There is no one,” he said, as he returned. “No one, in fact, could have obtained admittance without my knowledge, for my Spanish servant, Diego, in whom I can place full confidence, is stationed without.”
“I distrust that man, William,” she observed. “When I asked whom you thought had removed the letters, my own suspicions had attached to him.”
“I do not think he would have done it,” Lord Roos replied. “He has ever served me faithfully; and, besides, I have a guarantee for his fidelity in the possession of a secret on which his own life hangs. I can dispose of him as I please.”
“Again that sound!” exclaimed the Countess. “I am sure some one is there.”
“Your ears have deceived you,” said the young nobleman, after examining the spot once more, and likewise the secret entrance by which the Countess had approached the chamber. “I heard nothing, and can find nothing. Your nerves are shaken, and make you fanciful.”
“It may be so,” she rejoined. But it was evident she was not convinced, for she lowered her tones almost to a whisper as she continued. It might be that the question she designed to put was one she dared not ask aloud. “What means do you purpose to employ in the execution of your design?”
“The same as those employed by Somerset and his Countess in the removal of Sir Thomas Overbury; but more expeditious and more certain,” he replied under his breath.
“Dreadful!” she exclaimed, with a shudder. “But the same judgment that overtook the Somersets may overtake us. Such crimes are never hidden.”
“Crimes fouler than theirs have never been brought to light, and never will. There was one in which Somerset himself was concerned, involving the destruction of a far higher personage than Overbury; and this dare not even be hinted at.”
“Because the greatest person in the land was connected with it,” returned the Countess, “I conclude you refer to the death of Prince Henry?”
“I do,” answered Lord Roos. “Somerset would never have been questioned about Overbury, if his fall had not been resolved upon by the King.”
“One other question, and I ask no more,” said the Countess, scarcely able to syllable her words. “Who is to administer the deadly draught?”
“Luke Hatton, Lady Lake’s apothecary. He is a creature of mine, and entirely devoted to me.”
“Our lives will be in his hands ever afterwards,” said the Countess, in a deep whisper.
“They will be in safe keeping,” he rejoined, endeavouring to reassure her.
“O, William! I would I could prevail upon you to defer this project.”
“To what end? The sooner it is done the better. It cannot, indeed, be deferred. I shall send for Luke Hatton to-night.”
At this announcement, the Countess, who had gradually been growing fainter and becoming paler, lost all power of supporting herself, and, uttering a cry, fell into his outstretched arms in a state of complete insensibility.
While Lord Roos, half distracted, was considering what means he could adopt for her restoration, a man, with an almost tawny complexion, hair and eyes to match, and habited in the young nobleman’s livery of crimson and white, suddenly entered from the ante-chamber.
“How dare you come in unsummoned, Diego?” cried Lord Roos, furiously. “Begone instantly, sirrah!”.
“I crave your lordship’s pardon,” replied the Spanish servant; “but I was obliged to apprise you that your wife, the Baroness Roos, and Lady Lake are without, and will not be denied admission.”
“Damnation!” exclaimed Lord Roos. “What brings them here at such an hour? But you must on no account admit them, Diego — at least, till I have had time to remove the Countess to her own chamber. What a cursed mischance!”
Diego instantly withdrew, apparently to obey his lord’s command; but he had scarcely entered the little passage when two ladies pushed past him, and made their way into the room. They arrived just in time to intercept Lord Roos, who was conveying his insensible burthen towards the secret staircase.
The young nobleman was as much confounded by their appearance as if two spectres had risen before him. Both ladies were very richly attired, and the younger of the two was by no means destitute of beauty, though of a pale and pensive character. The elder had a full, noble figure, haughty features, now lighted up with a smile of triumph as she gazed on Lord Roos. Very different was the expression of the other, who seemed so much grieved and agitated by what she beheld, as to be almost ready to lapse into the same condition as the Countess.
If Lord Roos could have seen the grin upon Diego’s swarthy visage, as he stood at the entrance of the passage leading to the ante-chamber, he would have had little doubt to whom he was indebted for this surprise.
It is needless to say that the ladies who had thus broken upon Lord Roos’s privacy, and obtained full confirmation of their suspicions (if they had any doubts remaining) were his wife and mother-in-law.
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Tress of Hair.
How to extricate himself from the dilemma in which he was placed, Lord Roos scarcely knew. But he had a good deal of self-possession, and it did not desert him on the present trying occasion. After such consideration as circumstances permitted, he could discern only one chance of escape, and though well-nigh hopeless, he resolved to adopt it. If consummate audacity could carry him through — and it was required in the present emergency — he had no lack of it.
Hitherto, not a word had passed between him and the intruders on his privacy. Lady Lake seemed to enjoy his confusion too much to do anything to relieve it, and his wife was obliged to regulate her movements by those of her mother. Without breaking the silence, which by this time had become painfully oppressive, he proceeded to deposit the still inanimate person of the Countess of Exeter upon a couch, and, casting a handkerchief, as if undesignedly, over her face, he marched quickly up to the spot where Diego was standing, and said to him, in a deep, determined tone, but so low as not to be overheard by the others:
“You have betrayed me, villain; and unless you obey me unhesitatingly, and corroborate all my assertions, however startling they may appear, you shall pay for your treachery with your life.”
This done, he turned towards the two ladies, and with more calmness than might have been expected, addressed himself to Lady Lake:
“You imagine you have made an important discovery, Madam,” he said; “a discovery which will place me and a noble lady, whose reputation you and your daughter seek to injure, in great perplexity. And you conclude that, being completely (as you fancy) in your power, I shall consent to any terms you and Lady Roos may propose, rather than suffer you to go forth from this chamber and reveal what you have seen in it. Is it not so, Madam?”
“I thank your ladyship for your clemency,” said Lord Roos, with mock humility.
“O, my dear lord! do not for ever close the door between us!” cried Lady Roos. “Return to me, and all shall be forgiven.”
“Peace, Elizabeth!” exclaimed Lady Lake, impatiently. “Know you not, from sad experience, that your husband is inaccessible to all gentle entreaty? His heart is steeled to pity. Solicit not that which is your right, and which must be conceded, whether he like or not. Let him bend the knee to you. Let him promise amendment, and implore pardon, and it will then be for you to consider whether you will extend forgiveness to him.”
Lady Roos looked as if she would fain interrupt her mother, but she was too much under her subjection to offer a remark.
“It is time to undeceive you, Madam,” said Lord Roos, wholly unmoved by what was said. “I am not in the strait you suppose; and have not the slightest intention of soliciting Lady Roos’s pardon, or making any promise to her.”
“O mother! you see that even you fail to move him,” said Lady Roos, tearfully. “What is to happen to me?”
“You will make me chide you, daughter, if you exhibit this weakness,” cried Lady Lake, angrily. “Let me deal with him. In spite of your affected confidence, my lord, you cannot be blind to the position in which you stand. And though you yourself personally may be careless of the consequences of a refusal of our demands, you cannot, I conceive, be equally indifferent to the fate of the Countess of Exeter, which that refusal will decide.”
“I am so little indifferent to the safety of the Countess, Madam, that I cannot sufficiently rejoice that she is out of the reach of your malice.”
“How, my lord!” exclaimed Lady Lake, astounded at his assurance. “Out of reach, when she is here! You cannot mean,” she added, with an undefinable expression of satisfaction, “that she is dead?”
“Dead!” ejaculated Lady Roos; “the Countess dead! I thought she was only in a swoon.”
“What riddle is it you would have us read, my lord?” demanded Lady Lake.
“No riddle whatever, Madam,” replied Lord Roos. “I only mean to assert that the person you behold upon that couch is not the Countess of Exeter.”
“Not the Countess!” exclaimed Lady Roos. “Oh, if this were possible! But no, no! I cannot be deceived.”
“I now see the reason why her face has been covered with a ‘kerchief,” cried Lady Lake. “But it shall not save her from our scrutiny.”
So saying, she advanced towards the couch, with the intention of removing the covering, when Lord Roos barred her approach.
“Not a step nearer, Madam,” he cried, in a peremptory tone. “I will not allow you to gratify your curiosity further. You and Lady Roos may make the most of what you have seen; and proclaim abroad any tale your imaginations may devise forth. You will only render yourselves ridiculous, and encounter derision in lieu of sympathy. No one will credit your assertions, because I shall be able to prove that, at this moment, Lady Exeter is in a different part of the palace.”
“This bold falsehood will not serve your turn, my lord. Whoever she may be, the person on that couch shall be seized, and we shall then ascertain the truth.”
And she would have moved towards the door, if Lord Roos had not caught hold of her arm, while at the same time he drew his sword. Thinking from his fierce looks and menacing gestures that her mother might be sacrificed to his fury, Lady Roos fell on her knees before him, imploring pity; and she continued in this supplicating posture till Lady Lake angrily bade her rise.
“You have come here without my permission, Madam,” Lord Roos cried furiously to his mother-in-law, “and you shall not depart until I choose. Secure the door, Diego, and bring me the key. It is well,” he continued, as the injunction was obeyed.
Lady Lake submitted without resistance to the constraint imposed upon her. She could not well do otherwise; for though her screams would have brought aid, it might have arrived too late. And, after all, she did not intend to settle matters in this way. But she betrayed no symptoms of fear, and, as we have stated, ordered her daughter to discontinue her supplications.
“And now, Madam,” said Lord Roos, releasing Lady Lake, as he took the key from Diego, “I will tell you who that person is,” pointing to the couch.
“Add not to the number of falsehoods you have already told, my lord,” rejoined Lady Lake, contemptuously. “I am perfectly aware who she is.”
“But I would fain hear his explanation, mother,” said Lady Roos.
“What explanation can be offered?” cried Lady Lake. “Do you doubt the evidence of your senses?”
“I know not what I doubt, or what I believe,” exclaimed Lady Roos distractedly.
“Then believe what I tell you, Bess,” said her husband. “This is the countess’s handmaiden, Gillian Greenford.”
“An impudent lie!” cried Lady Lake.
“A truth, my lady,” interposed Diego. “A truth to which I am ready to swear.”
“No doubt of it, thou false knave, and double traitor! thou art worthy of thy lord. There is no lie, however absurd and improbable, which he can invent, that thou wilt not support. Thou art ready now to perjure thyself for him; but let him place little reliance on thee, for thou wilt do the same thing for us to-morrow.”
“I scarcely think it probable, my lady,” Diego replied, bowing.
Lady Lake turned from him in supreme disgust.
“Admitting for a moment the possibility of your lordship’s assertion being correct,” said Lady Roos, “how comes Gillian Greenford (for so methinks you name her) in her mistress’s attire?”
“‘T is easily explained, chuck,” Lord Roos rejoined. “Anxious, no doubt, to set herself off to advantage, she hath made free with the countess’s wardrobe. Your own favourite attendant, Sarah Swarton, hath often arranged herself in your finest fardingales, kirtlets, and busk-points, as Diego will tell you. Is it not so, rascal?”
“‘T is precisely as my lord hath stated, my lady,” said the Spaniard to Lady Roos. “When Sarah Swarton hath been so habited, I have more than once mistaken her for your ladyship.”
“Yet Sarah is very unlike me,” said Lady Roos.
“That only shows how deceptive appearances are, chuck, and how little we ought to trust to them,” observed Lord Roos.
“How can you suffer yourself to be thus duped, Elizabeth?” said Lady Lake.
“Because her ladyship would rather believe me than you, Madam,” rejoined Lord Roos. “But she is not duped.”
“Heaven forgive him!” exclaimed Diego, aside.
“And supposing it were Gillian, how would the case be mended, as far as you are concerned, Elizabeth?” said Lady Lake. “Are you not as much injured by one as by the other?”
“It may be,” replied her daughter, “but I am jealous only of the Countess. I would kneel to any other woman, and thank her, who would tear my husband from her embraces!”
“Weak fool! I disown you,” exclaimed Lady Lake, angrily.
“What a wife!” cried Diego, apart. “His lordship is quite unworthy of her. Now I should appr
eciate such devotion.”
At this juncture there was a slight movement on the part of Lady Exeter, and something like a sigh escaped her.
“She revives!” whispered Lady Lake to her daughter. “We shall soon learn the truth. I will find a means to make her speak. Well, my lord,” she added aloud, and speaking in a sarcastic tone, “if you will have it so, it is idle to dispute it. But what will the Countess say, when she discovers your infidelity?”
On this a brisker movement took place on the couch, and a hand was raised as if to snatch away the ‘kerchief.
“We have her,” whispered Lady Lake triumphantly to her daughter. “Surely,” she proceeded aloud, “the Countess will deeply resent the transfer of your affections to her handmaiden.”
Lord Roos saw the peril in which he stood. A moment more and Lady Lake had gained her point, and the Countess betrayed herself.
“Lady Exeter will place little reliance on any representations you may make, Madam,” he said, giving particular significance to his words, “except so far as they concern herself, and then she will take care to refute them. As to the circumstance of Gillian Greenford visiting me, fainting in my arms (from excess of timidity, poor girl!) and being discovered by you and Lady Roos in that position, the Countess will laugh at it when it comes to her knowledge — as why should she do otherwise? But she will feel very differently when she finds that you and your daughter insist that it was she herself, and not her handmaiden, whom you beheld. Rely on it, Madam, Lady Exeter will contradict that assertion, and disprove it.”
“Let it be disproved now. Let the person on that couch disclose her features, and we shall then see whether she be the Countess or Gillian.”
“Ay, let her do that, my lord, — let her speak to us,” urged Lady Roos.
“Diablo! how is this request to be complied with, I marvel?” said Diego apart.
But Lord Roos was too experienced a player to be defeated by this turn in the game.
“Gillian has already been sufficiently annoyed,” he cried; “and shall not submit to this ordeal. Besides, she has relapsed into insensibility, as you see.”