The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  In the recess of the window stood an oak table, covered with a piece of rich carpet fringed with gold, on which a massive silver inkstand and materials for writing were placed; and this table was seized upon by Lady Lake as a feature in her plot. Here she would have it the confession was signed by the Countess.

  Another point in reference to this scheme must not be passed unnoticed. We have mentioned the heavy hangings at the lower end of the room. According to the plotter, it was behind these that Sarah Swarton — the intended witness of the imaginary scene — was concealed. The principal subjects represented on the arras were the Judgment of Solomon, and the Temptation of our first Parents in the Garden by the Serpent. The hangings had evidently not been removed for years, and did not reach within two feet of the ground — a circumstance that had escaped the attention of Lady Lake — proving the truth of her husband’s observation, that in the best contrived plot some imperfection will exist certain to operate in its detection.

  To return to the unhappy Countess. So lost was she in reflection, that she did not remark Lord Roos’s return till made aware of it by a slight touch on the shoulder. When she raised her eyes, they fell upon an object that inspired her with the dread and aversion that a noxious reptile might have produced. She had never seen Luke Hatton before; and if she had figured him to her mind at all, it was not as anything agreeable; but she was not prepared for so hideous and revolting a personage as he appeared to be. His face was like an ugly mask, on which a sardonic grin was stamped. His features were large and gaunt, and he had the long, hooked nose, and the sharp-pointed bestial ears of a satyr, with leering eyes — betokening at once sensuality and cunning. He had the chin and beard of a goat, and crisply-curled hair of a pale yellow colour. With all this, there was something sordid in his looks as well as his attire, which showed that to his other vices he added that of avarice. A mock humility, belied by the changeless sneer upon his countenance, distinguished his deportment. It could be seen at once that, however cringing he might be, he despised the person he addressed. Moreover, in spite of all his efforts to control it, there was something sarcastic in his speech. His doublet and hose, both of which had endured some service, and were well-nigh threadbare, were tawny-coloured; and he wore a short yellow cloak, a great ruff of the same colour, and carried a brown steeple-crowned hat in his hand.

  “I await your ladyship’s commands,” said Luke Hatton, bowing obsequiously.

  “I have none to give you,” Lady Exeter rejoined with irrepressible disgust. “I have not sent for you. Go hence.”

  Not at all abashed by this reception, Luke Hatton maintained his place, and threw an inquiring glance at Lord Roos.

  “My dear Countess,” said the young nobleman, seating himself negligently upon a tabouret beside her, “I must pray you not to dismiss this worthy man so hastily. You will find him eminently serviceable; and as to his trustworthiness, I have the best reasons for feeling satisfied of it, because I hold in my hand a noose, which, whenever I please, I can tighten round his neck. Of this he is quite aware, and therefore he will serve us faithfully, as well from fear as from gratitude.”

  “Her ladyship may place entire confidence in me,” remarked Luke Hatton, with a grin. “This is not the first affair of the kind in which I have been engaged. I have prepared potions and powders which Mistress Turner (with whose reputation your ladyship must needs be acquainted) used to vend to her customers. My draughts have removed many a troublesome husband, and silenced many a jealous wife. I have helped many an heir to the speedy enjoyment of an inheritance, which, but for my assistance, would not have come to him for years. The lover with a rival in his way, who has come to me, has soon been freed from all anxiety on that score. The courtier, eager for a post which a superior held, has gained it by my aid. Yet none of those whom I have thus benefited have been suspected. Your ladyship, I repeat, need have no fears of me — and no scruples with me. State your wishes, and they shall be implicitly obeyed.”

  “I have no wish, except to be relieved of a presence which is disagreeable to me,” replied the Countess.

  Again Luke Hatton consulted Lord Roos with a regard.

  “I find I must act for her ladyship,” said the young nobleman. “You will take, therefore, the instructions I shall give you, as proceeding from her. What two names do you find upon that paper?”

  “Those of your lordship’s wife and mother-in-law,” returned Luke Hatton.

  “You comprehend what her ladyship would have done with those persons?” said Lord Roos, looking at him steadfastly.

  “Perfectly,” replied Luke Hatton.

  “O, do not give this fatal order, my Lord!” cried Lady Exeter, trembling.

  “How many days do you require to effect their removal?” demanded Lord Roos, without appearing to notice her remark.

  “I do not require many hours,” replied Luke Hatton; “but it will be well not to be too precipitate. Neither must they die at the same time. All precaution shall be taken. The names are placed in a particular order. Is it so the Countess would have them taken? In that case I must commence with Lady Roos.”

  “Wretch! dost thou dare to make such an appeal to me?” cried Lady Exeter rising. “Begone, instantly, I say. Thou hast no order whatever from me; or if thou fanciest so, I revoke it.”

  “The order cannot be revoked,” cried Lord Roos, grasping her arm. “This is not a time for hesitation or repentance. Having commenced the work, you must go through with it — whether you will or not.”

  “Whether I will or not!” exclaimed Lady Exeter, regarding him with angry surprise. “Have I heard you aright, my Lord? Am I to be forced into association in this foul deed? Have I sunk so low in your esteem that you venture to treat me thus?”

  “Pardon me, Frances — pardon me!” he cried, imploringly. “I have said more than I intended. If I appear to exercise undue influence over you now, you will forgive me hereafter, because the situation is one that requires decision, and that quality I possess in a higher degree than yourself. Luke Hatton must obey the orders given him. And you must sanction them.”

  “Never!” she exclaimed, emphatically.

  “Then we part for ever,” cried Lord Roos. “No matter what the pang may be — nor what befals me — I will go. Farewell for ever, Countess!”

  “Stay!” she cried. “We must not part thus.”

  “Then you consent?” he exclaimed. “Luke Hatton receives his orders from you?”

  “Ask me not that question!” she cried, with a shudder.

  “If her ladyship will but sign this,” said Luke Hatton, holding towards her the paper on which the names were written, “it will suffice for me.”

  “You hear what he says, Frances. You will do it?” cried Lord Roos. “’Tis but a few strokes of a pen.”

  “Those few strokes will cost me my soul,” she rejoined. “But if it must he so, it must. Give me the pen.”

  And as Lord Roos complied, she signed the paper.

  “Nov you may go,” said Lord Roos to Luke Hatton, who received the paper with a diabolical grin. “You may count upon your reward.”

  “In a week’s time, my lord,” said Luke Hatton, still grinning, and shifting his glance from the half-fainting Countess to the young nobleman; “in a week’s time” he repeated, “you will have to put on mourning for your wife — and in a month for your mother-in-law.”

  And with a cringing bow, and moving with a soft cat-like footstep, he quitted the room, leaving the guilty pair alone together.

  VOLUME II.

  CHAPTER I.

  Poison.

  The execution of Lady Lake’s criminal and vindictive project would not have been long deferred, after the defeat she had sustained from Lord Roos, but for her husband’s determined opposition. This may appear surprising in a man so completely under his wife’s governance as was Sir Thomas; but the more he reflected upon the possible consequences of the scheme, the more averse to it he became; and finding all arguments unavailing to dissuade
his lady from her purpose, he at last summoned up resolution enough positively to interdict it.

  But the project was only deferred, and not abandoned. The forged confession was kept in readiness by Lady Lake for production on the first favourable opportunity.

  Not less disinclined to the measure than her father was Lady Roos, though the contrary had been represented to Sir Thomas by his lady; but accustomed to yield blind obedience to her mother’s wishes, she had been easily worked upon to acquiesce in the scheme, especially as the fabricated confession did not appear to hurt her husband, for whom (though she did not dare to exhibit it) she maintained a deep and unchanging affection. So utterly heart-broken was she by the prolonged and painful struggle she had undergone, that she was now almost indifferent to its issue.

  For some time her health had given way under the severe shocks she had endured; but all at once more dangerous symptoms began to manifest themselves, and she became so greatly indisposed that she could not leave her room. Extremely distressing in its effects, the attack resembled fever. Inextinguishable thirst tormented her; burning pains; throbbing in the temples; and violent fluttering of the heart. No alleviation of her sufferings could be obtained from the remedies administered by Luke Hatton, who was in constant attendance upon her; nor will this be wondered at, since we are in the secret of his dark doings. On the contrary, the fever increased in intensity; and at the end of four days of unremitting agony, — witnessed with cynical indifference by the causer of the mischief, — it was evident that her case was desperate.

  From the first Lady Lake had been greatly alarmed, for with all her faults she was an affectionate mother, though she had a strange way of showing her affection; and she was unremitting in her attentions to the sufferer, scarcely ever quitting her bedside. After a few days, however, thus spent in nursing her daughter, she herself succumbed to a like malady. The same devouring internal fire scorched her up, and raged within her veins; the same unappeasable thirst tormented her; and unable longer to fulfil her task, she confided it to Sarah Swarton, and withdrew to another chamber, communicating by a side door, masked by drapery, with that of Lady Roos.

  Devoted to her mistress, Sarah Swarton would have sacrificed her life to restore her to health; and she cared not though the fever might be infectious. The gentleness and resignation of the ill-fated lady, which failed to move Luke Hatton, melted her to tears; and it was with infinite grief that she saw her, day by day, sinking slowly but surely into the grave. To Lady Roos, the presence of Sarah Swarton was an inexpressible comfort. The handmaiden was far superior to her station, with a pleasing countenance, and prepossessing manner, and possessed of the soft voice so soothing to the ear of pain. But the chief comfort derived by Lady Roos from the society of Sarah Swarton, was the power of unbosoming herself to her respecting her husband, and of pouring her sorrows into a sympathising ear. Lord Roos had never been near his wife since her seizure — nor, that she could learn, had made any inquiries about her; but notwithstanding his heartless conduct, her great desire was to behold him once more before she died, and to breathe some last words into his ear; and she urged the wish so strongly upon her confidante, that the latter promised, if possible, to procure its accomplishment.

  A week had now nearly elapsed — the fatal term appointed by Luke Hatton — and it could be no longer doubted that, if the last gratification sought by Lady Roos were to be afforded her, it must not be delayed.

  The poor sufferer was wasted to a skeleton; her cheeks hollow; eyes sunk in deep cavities, though the orbs were unnaturally bright; and her frame so debilitated, that she could scarcely raise herself from the pillow.

  Sarah Swarton accordingly resolved to set out upon her errand; but before doing so, she sought an interview with Lady Lake, for the purpose of revealing certain fearful suspicions she had begun to entertain of Luke Hatton. She would have done this before, but there was almost insuperable difficulty in obtaining a few words in private of her ladyship. The apothecary was continually passing from room to room, hovering nigh the couches of his patients, as if afraid of leaving them for a moment, and he seemed to regard Sarah herself with distrust. But he had now gone forth, and she resolved to take advantage of his absence to make her communication.

  CHAPTER II.

  Counter-Poison.

  The physical tortures endured by Lady Lake were exceeded by her mental anguish. While the poison raged within her veins, the desire of vengeance inflamed her breast; and her fear was lest she should expire without gratifying it. Bitterly did she now upbraid herself for having delayed her vindictive project. More than once she consulted Luke Hatton as he stood beside her couch, with the habitual sneer upon his lips, watching the progress of his own infernal work, as to the possibility of renovating her strength, if only for an hour, in order that she might strike the blow. But he shook his head, and bade her wait. Wait, however, she would not, and she became at length so impatient, that he agreed to make the experiment, telling her he would prepare a draught which should stimulate her into new life for a short time, but he would not answer for the after consequences. This was enough. She eagerly grasped at the offer. Revenge must be had, cost what it would. And it was to prepare the potion which was to effect her brief cure that Luke Hatton had quitted her chamber, and left the coast clear for Sarah Swarton.

  Startled by the abrupt entrance and looks of the handmaiden, Lady Lake anxiously inquired if all was well with her daughter.

  “As well as it, seems ever likely to be with her, my lady,” replied Sarah Swarton. “She is somewhat easier now. But has your ladyship courage to listen to what I have to tell you?”

  “Have I ever shown want of courage, Sarah, that you should put such a question?” rejoined Lady Lake, sharply.

  “But this is something frightful, my lady.”

  “Then do not hesitate to disclose it.”

  “Has your ladyship never thought it a strange illness by which you and my Lady Roos have been seized?” said Sarah, coming close up to her, and speaking in a low, hurried tone, as if afraid of being overheard, or interrupted.

  “Why should I think it strange, Sarah?” returned Lady Lake, regarding her fixedly. “It is a dreadful and infectious fever which I have taken from my daughter; and that is the reason why Sir Thomas, and all others, except Luke Hatton and yourself, are forbidden to come near us. What we should have done without you, Sarah, I know not, for Luke Hatton tells me the rest of the household shun us as they would a pestilence. I trust you will escape the disorder, and if I am spared your devotion shall be adequately requited. As to Luke Hatton, he seems to have no fear of it.”

  “He has no reason to be afraid,” replied Sarah, significantly. “This is no fever, my lady.”

  “How!” cried Lady Lake. “Would you set up your ignorance against the skill and science of Luke Hatton? Or do you mean to insinuate—”

  “I insinuate nothing, my lady,” interrupted Sarah; “but I beseech you to bear with fortitude the disclosure I am about to make to you. In a word, my lady, I am as certain as I am of standing here, that poison has been administered both to you and to my Lady Roos.”

  At this terrible communication, a mortal sickness came over Lady Lake. Thick damps gathered upon her brow, and she fixed her haggard eyes upon Sarah.

  “Poisoned!” she muttered; “poisoned! If so, there is but one person who can have done it — but one — except yourself, Sarah!”

  “If I had committed the crime, should I have come hither to warn you, my lady?” rejoined Sarah.

  “Then it must be Luke Hatton.”

  “Ay,” replied Sarah, looking round anxiously. “It is he. When he did not think I noticed him, I chanced to see him pour a few drops from a phial into the drink he prepares for your ladyship and my Lady Roos; and my suspicions being aroused by his manner as much as by the circumstance, I watched him narrowly, and found that this proceeding was repeated with every draught; with this difference merely, that the dose was increased in strength by one additional
drop; the potion administered to your ladyship being some degrees less powerful than that given to my dear lady, and no doubt being intended to be slower in its effects. That it was poison, I am certain, since I have tested it upon myself, by sipping a small quantity of the liquid; and I had reason to repent my rashness, for I soon perceived I had the same symptoms of illness as those which distress your ladyship.”

  “Why did you not caution me sooner, Sarah?” said Lady Lake, horror-stricken by this narration.

  “I could not do so, my lady,” she replied. “It was only yesterday that I arrived at a positive certainty in the matter, and after my imprudence in tasting the drink, I was very ill — indeed I am scarcely well yet; and, to tell truth, I was afraid of Luke Hatton, as I am sure he would make away with me, without a moment’s hesitation, if he fancied I had discovered his secret. Oh, I hope he will not come back and find me here.”

  “Who can have prompted him to the deed?” muttered Lady Lake. “But why ask, since I know my enemies, and therefore know his employers! Not a moment must be lost, Sarah. Let Sir Thomas Lake be summoned to me immediately. If he be at Theobalds, at Greenwich, or Windsor, let messengers be sent after him, praying him to use all possible dispatch in coming to me. I cannot yet decide what I will do, but it shall be something terrible. Oh, that I could once more confront the guilty pair! And I will do it — I will do it! Revenge will give me strength.”