The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “I cannot undertake to bring the Countess hither, my lady,” said Sarah. “But I may now venture to inform you that I am charged with a message from my dear lady to her cruel husband, with which I am persuaded he will comply, and come to her.”

  “Lure him hither, and speedily, by any means you can, Sarah,” rejoined Lady Lake. “Before you go, help to raise me from my couch, and place me in that chair. It is well,” she cried, as her wishes were complied with. “I do not feel so feeble as I expected. I was sure revenge would give me strength. Now give me my black velvet robe, and my coif. Even in this extremity I would only appear as beseems me. And hark ye, Sarah, open that drawer, and take out the weapon you will find within it. Do as I bid you quickly, wench. I may need it.”

  “Here it is, my lady,” replied Sarah, taking out a dagger, and giving it to Lady Lake, who immediately concealed it in the folds of her robe.

  “Now go,” pursued the lady; “I am fully prepared. Let not a moment be lost in what you have to do. Do not give any alarm. But bid two of the trustiest of the household hold themselves in readiness without, and if I strike upon the bell to rush in upon the instant. Or if Luke Hatton should come forth, let him be detained. You understand?”

  “Perfectly, my lady,” replied Sarah, “and I make no doubt they will obey. I am sure it has only been Luke Hatton who, by his false representations, has kept them away, and I will remove the impression he has produced.”

  “Do not explain more than is needful at present,” said Lady Lake. “We know not precisely how this plot may have been laid, and must take its authors by surprise. You were once more intimate than I liked with that Spanish knave, Diego. Breathe not a word to him, or all will be repeated to his master.”

  “Rest assured I will be careful, my lady. I have seen nothing whatever of Diego of late, and care not if I never behold him again. But what is to happen to my dear lady?”

  “Leave her to me,” replied Lady Lake. “I hope yet to be able to save her. Ha! here comes the villain. Away with you, Sarah, and see that my orders are obeyed.”

  The handmaiden did not require the command to be repeated, but hastily quitted the room, casting a terrified look at the apothecary, who entered it at the same moment.

  Luke Hatton appeared greatly surprised on finding Lady Lake risen from her couch, and could not help exclaiming, as he quickly advanced towards her— “You up, my lady! This is very imprudent, and may defeat my plans.”

  “No doubt you think so,” rejoined Lady Lake; “but knowing you would oppose my inclination, I got Sarah to lift me from the couch, and tire me during your absence. Have you prepared the mixture?”

  “I have, my lady,” he replied, producing a small phial.

  “Give it me,” she cried, taking it from him.

  After examining the pale yellow fluid it contained for a moment, she took out the glass stopper, and, smelling at it, perceived it to be a very subtle and volatile spirit.

  “Is this poison?” she demanded, fixing her eyes keenly upon Luke Hatton.

  “On the contrary, my lady,” he replied, without expressing any astonishment at the question, “it would be an antidote to almost any poison. It is the rarest cordial that can be prepared, and the secret of its composition is only known to myself. When I said your ladyship would incur great risk in taking it, I meant that the reaction from so powerful a stimulant would be highly dangerous. But you declared you did not heed the consequences.”

  “Nor do I,” she rejoined. “Yet I would see it tasted.”

  “Your mind shall be made easy on that score in a moment, my lady,” said Luke Hatton.

  And taking a small wine-glass that stood by, he rinsed it with water and carefully wiped it; after which he poured a few drops of the liquid into it and swallowed them.

  During this proceeding Lady Lake’s gaze never quitted him for a second. Apparently satisfied with the test, she bade him return the phial to her.

  “You had better let me pour it out for you, my lady,” he replied, cleansing the glass as before. “The quantity must be exactly observed. Twenty drops, and no more.”

  “My hand is as steady as your own, and I can count the drops as accurately,” she rejoined, taking the phial from him. “Twenty, you say?”

  “Twenty, my lady,” rejoined Hatton, evidently displeased; “but perhaps you had better confine yourself to fifteen, or even ten. ‘T will be safer.”

  “You think the larger dose might give me too much strength — ha! What say you to fifty, or a hundred?”

  “It must not be, my lady — it must not be. You will destroy yourself. It is my duty to prevent you. I must insist upon your giving me back the phial, unless you will consent to obey my orders.”

  “But I tell you, man, I will have a hundred drops of the cordial,” she cried pertinaciously.

  “And I say you shall not, my lady,” he rejoined, unable in his anger to maintain the semblance of respect he had hitherto preserved, and endeavouring to obtain forcible possession of the phial.

  But she was too quick for him. And as he stretched out his hand for the purpose, the dagger gleamed before his eyes.

  “Back, miscreant!” she cried; “your over-eagerness has betrayed you. I now fully believe what I have hitherto doubted, that this is a counter-poison, and that I may safely use it. It is time to unmask you, and to let you know that your villanies are discovered. I am aware of the malignant practices you have resorted to, and that my daughter and myself would have been destroyed by your poisonous preparations. But I now feel some security in the antidote I have obtained; and if I do perish I have the satisfaction of knowing that I shall not die unavenged, but that certain punishment awaits you and your employers.”

  On this she poured out half the contents of the phial into the glass, saying as she drank it, “I reserve the other half for Lady Roos.”

  Luke Hatton, who appeared thunder-stricken, made no further effort to prevent her, but turned to fly. Lady Lake, however, upon whom the restorative effect of the cordial was almost magical, ordered him to stay, telling him if he went forth he would be arrested, on hearing which he sullenly obeyed her.

  “You have not deceived me as to the efficacy of the potion,” said the lady; “it has given me new life, and with returning vigour I can view all things as I viewed them heretofore. Now mark what I have to say, villain. You have placed me and my daughter in fearful jeopardy; but it is in your power to make reparation for the injury; and as I hold you to be a mere instrument in the matter, I am willing to spare the life you have forfeited, on condition of your making a full confession in writing of your attempt, to be ‘used by me against your employers. Are you willing to do this, or shall I strike upon the bell, and have you bound hand and foot, and conveyed to the Gatehouse?”

  “I will write that I was employed by the Countess of Exeter to poison you and my Lady Roos,” replied Luke Hatton, stubbornly; “but I will do nothing more.”

  “That will suffice,” replied Lady Lake, after a moment’s reflection.

  “And when I have done it, I shall be free to go?” he asked.

  “You shall be free to go,” she replied.

  There were writing materials on an adjoining table, and, without another word, Luke Hatton sat down, and with great expedition drew up a statement which he signed, and handed to Lady Lake; asking if that was what she required?

  A smile lighted up her ghastly features as she perused it.

  “It will do,” she said. “And now answer me one question, and you are free. Will this cordial have the same effect on my daughter as on me?”

  “Precisely the same. It will cure her. But you must proceed more cautiously. Were she to take the quantity you have taken, it would kill her. Am I now at liberty to depart?”

  “You are,” replied Lady Lake.

  So saying, she struck the bell, and immediately afterwards the door was opened; not, however, by the attendants, but by Sir Thomas Lake.

  As the Secretary of State perceived that th
e apothecary avoided him, and would have passed forth quickly, he sternly and authoritatively commanded him to stay, exclaiming, “You stir not hence, till you have accounted to me for my daughter, who, I understand, is dying from your pernicious treatment. What ho, there! Keep strict watch without; and suffer not this man to pass forth!”

  CHAPTER III.

  Showing that “our pleasant vices are made the whips to scourge us.”

  We must now request the reader to visit the noble mansion in the Strand, erected by Thomas Cecil, then Earl of Exeter, and bearing-his name; in a chamber of which Lord Roos and the Countess of Exeter will be found alone together — alone for the last time.

  Very different was the deportment of the guilty pair towards each other from what it used to be. The glances they exchanged were no longer those of passionate love, but of undissembled hatred. Bitter reproaches had been uttered on one side, angry menaces on the other. Ever since the fatal order had been wrested from the Countess, her peace of mind had been entirely destroyed, and she had become a prey to all the horrors of remorse. Perceiving the change in her sentiments towards him, Lord Roos strove, by the arts which had hitherto proved so successful, to win back the place he had lost in her affections; but failing in doing so, and irritated by her reproaches, and still more by her coldness, he gave vent to his displeasure in terms that speedily produced a decided quarrel between them; and though reconciled in appearance, they never again were to each other what they had been.

  As this was to be their final meeting, they had agreed not to embitter it with unavailing reproaches and recriminations. Lord Roos acquainted the Countess that he had decided upon travelling into Italy and Spain, and remaining abroad for a lengthened period; and the announcement of his intention was received by her without an objection. Perhaps he hoped that when put to this trial she might relent. If so, he was disappointed. She even urged him not to delay his departure, and concluded her speech with these words —

  “Something tells me we shall meet no more in this world. But we are certain to meet hereafter at the Judgment Seat. How shall we regard each other then?”

  “Trouble me not with the question,” rejoined Lord Roos gloomily; “I have not come here to listen to sermons, and will brook no more reproaches.”

  “I do not mean to reproach you, William,” she returned meekly; “but the thought of our dire offence rises perpetually before me. Would we could undo what we have done!”

  “I tell you it is too late,” rejoined Lord Roos harshly.

  At this moment Diego suddenly presented himself, and apologizing for the abruptness of his entrance, accounted for it by saying that Sarah Swarton besought a word with his Lordship. She brought a message, he added, from Lady Roos, who was much worse, and not finding his Lordship at his own residence had ventured to follow him to Exeter House to deliver it.

  “I will come to her anon,” said Lord Roos carelessly.

  “No, no; admit her at once, Diego,” cried the Countess; “I would hear what she has to say.” And the next moment Sarah Swarton being ushered into the room, she rushed up to her and eagerly demanded, “How fares it with your lady? Is there any hope for her?”

  “None whatever,” replied Sarah, shaking her head sadly. “She is past all chance of recovery.”

  “Then Heaven pardon me!” ejaculated the Countess, clasping her hands together, and falling upon her knees.

  Sarah Swarton gazed at her in astonishment; while Lord Roos, rushing towards her, commanded her to rise.

  “Take heed what you say and do, Countess,” he whispered. “You will excite this woman’s suspicions.”

  “Why should your ladyship implore Heaven’s pardon because my poor dear lady is near her end?” inquired Sarah.

  “I sue for it because I have caused her much affliction,” replied the Countess.

  “Your message, Sarah — your message?” interposed Lord Roos. “What have you to say to me?”

  “My lady desires to see you once more before she expires, my lord,” replied Sarah. “She would take leave of you; and — and — she has something to impart to you. You will not refuse her last request?”

  “He will not — he will not, I am sure,” cried the Countess, seeing him look irresolute.

  “I did not expect to be seconded by you, my lady,” observed Sarah, in increasing surprise.

  “Would that I, too, might see her and obtain her forgiveness!” exclaimed the Countess, without heeding the remark.

  “An idle wish, and not to be indulged,” said Lord Roos.

  A sudden idea appeared to strike Sarah, and she cried, “Your ladyship’s desire may possibly be gratified. My poor lady desires to part in peace with all the world, even with those who have injured her. I will communicate your wishes to her, and it may be she will consent to see you.”

  “You shall have a reward well worthy of the service if you accomplish it,” said the Countess. “Hasten to her with all speed, my Lord, and I will follow in my litter, ready to attend Sarah’s summons.”

  “I like not the plan,” rejoined Lord Roos. “You are wrong to go. Why need you see her?”

  “Why?” she answered, regarding him fixedly. “Because it may be some little consolation to me afterwards.”

  “Then go alone,” said Lord Roos savagely. “I will not accompany you.”

  “I do not ask you to accompany me, but to precede me,” she replied. “Now, mark me, my Lord,” she added in a low, firm tone, “and be assured I do not advance more than I will perform. If you refuse your wife’s dying request, I will go back with Sarah and confess all to her.”

  Lord Roos looked as if he could have annihilated her, and muttered a terrible imprecation on her head.

  “Threaten me — ay, and execute your threats hereafter if you will,” continued the Countess in the same low decided tone, “but go you shall now.”

  Her manner was so irresistible that Lord Roos was compelled to obey, and he quitted the room without a word more, followed by Diego and Sarah Swarton, the latter of whom signed to the Countess that she might depend upon the fulfilment of her wishes.

  They had not been gone many minutes before Lady Exeter entered her litter, and wholly unattended by page or serving-man, except those in charge of the conveyance, caused herself to be conveyed to Sir Thomas Lake’s lodgings in Whitehall.

  CHAPTER IV.

  How the forged Confession was produced.

  Summoning up all his firmness for the interview with his lady, Lord Roos entered her chamber, attended by Sarah Swarton, and beheld her propped up by pillows, bearing evident marks in her countenance of the severe sufferings she had endured. She was emaciated in frame, and almost livid in complexion; hollow-cheeked and hollow-eyed; but still with a look of unaltered affection for him.

  Having fulfilled her mission, Sarah left them alone together.

  He took the thin fingers extended towards him, and pressed them to his lips, but scarcely dared to raise his eyes towards his wife, so much was he shocked by her appearance. It was with difficulty she gave utterance to the words she addressed to him.

  “I thank you for coming to me, my Lord,” she said; “but you will not regret your kindness. We are quite alone, are we not? My eyes are so dim that I cannot distinguish any object at the other end of the room — but I can see you plainly enough, my dear Lord.”

  “We are alone, Elizabeth,” replied Lord Roos, in a voice of some emotion, after glancing around.

  “Then I may speak freely,” she continued. “What I predicted has occurred. You did not do well, my dear Lord, to take that phial from me and place it in other hands. Nay, start not! I know I am poisoned: I have known it from the first. But I have made no effort to save myself, for I was aware it was your will I should die.”

  “O, Elizabeth!” murmured her husband.

  “I was aware of it,” she repeated; “and as I have never voluntarily disobeyed you, I would not now thwart your purpose, even though I myself must be the sacrifice. It was to tell you this tha
t I have sent for you. It was to forgive — to bless you.”

  And as she spoke she threw her arms round his neck, and he felt his cheek wet with her tears.

  “This is more than I can bear,” cried Lord Roos, in a voice suffocated by emotion. “I thought I had firmness for anything; but it deserts me entirely now. You are an angel of goodness, Elizabeth; as I am a demon of darkness. I do not deserve your forgiveness.”

  “You will deserve it, if you will comply with the request I am about to make to you,” she rejoined, looking at him beseechingly.

  “Whatever it be it shall be granted, if in my power,” he rejoined earnestly. “I would redeem your life, if I could, at the price of my own. You have exorcised the evil spirit from me, Elizabeth.”

  “Then I shall die happy,” she replied, with a smile of ineffable delight.

  “But the request! What is it you would have me perform?” he asked.

  “I would have you spare my mother,” she replied. “I know she has been dealt with in the same way as myself; but I also know there is yet time to save her.”

  “It shall be done,” said Lord Roos, emphatically. “Where is she?”

  “In the adjoining chamber.”

  “Is Luke Hatton in attendance upon her?”

  “In constant attendance,” she rejoined. “That man has obeyed you well, my Lord. But take heed of him: he is a dangerous weapon, and may injure the hand that employs him. Strike gently upon that bell. He will attend the summons.”

  Lord Roos complied; when, to his astonishment and dismay, the curtains shrouding the entrance to the adjoining room were drawn aside, and Lady Lake stalked from behind them. Never before had she surveyed her son-in-law with such a glance of triumph as she threw upon him now.

  “You were mistaken you see, Elizabeth,” said Lord Roos to his lady. “Your mother needs no aid. She is perfectly well.”