Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
ELIZA SYDNEY
THE reader will remember that the events already related have
brought us up to the close of 1838.
Thus three years had elapsed since the memorable trial which
resulted in the condemnation of Eliza Sydney to an imprisonment of twenty-four
long months in Newgate: and a year had passed since her release from that dread
abode.
We therefore return to her again in December, 1838 - about
the same time that those incidents occurred which we detailed in the last few
chapters.
Probably to the surprise of the reader, we again find Eliza
Sydney the mistress of the beautiful villa at Upper Clapton.
Yes: on the evening when we once more introduce ourselves to
her, she was sitting alone in the drawing-room of that house, reading by the
side of a cheerful fire.
She was now twenty-eight years of age; and, although
somewhat more inclining to embonpoint than when we first described her, she was
still a lovely and fascinating woman. That slightly increased roundness of form
had given her charms a voluptuousness the most ravishing and seductive, but the
effects of which upon the beholder were at. tempered by the dignity that
reigned upon her high and noble brow, and the chaste expression of her melting
hazel eyes.
She was one of those fine creatures - one of those splendid
specimens of the female sex, which are alone seen in the cold climates of the
north; for it appears to be a rule in nature that the flowers of our species
expand into the most luscious loveliness in the least genial latitudes.
There was a soft melancholy in the expression of her
countenance, which might have been mistaken for languor, and which gave an
additional charm to her appearance; for it was easy to perceive her mind was
now at ease, that delicate shade of sadness being the indelible effect of the
adventures of the past.
Her mind was at ease, because she was pure in heart and
virtuous in intention, - because she knew that she had erred innocently when
she lent herself to the fraud for which she had suffered, - because she
possessed a competency that secured her against care for the present and fear
for the future, - and because she dwelt in that strict solitude and retirement
which she loved, and which was congenial to a soul that had seen enough of the
world to learn to dread its cruel artifices and deceptive ways.
We said that it was evening when we again introduce Eliza to
the readers. A cold wind whistled without; and a huge Christmas log burnt at
the back of the grate, giving an air of supreme comfort to that
[word illegible, ed.]
-furnished room.
The French porcelain time-piece upon the mantel proclaimed
the hour of eight.
Scarcely had the silvery chime ceased, when Louisa entered
the room in great haste and excitement.
"Oh, ma'am! who do you think is here?" she cried,
closing the door carefully behind her.
"It is impossible for me to guess, Louisa," said
Eliza, smiling.
"Mr. Stephens!" exclaimed the servant: "and
he earnestly implores to see you!"
"Mr. Stephens!" echoed Eliza.
"Impossible!"
"It is him, flesh and blood: but so pale - so ghostly
pale - and so altered!"
"Mr. Stephens!" repeated Eliza. "You must be
mistaken - you must be dreaming; for you are
aware that, in accordance with
his sentence, he must be very - very far from England."
"He is here - he is in London - he is at your
door!" said Louisa emphatically; "and as far as I could see by the
light of the candle that I had with me when I answered his knock, he is in rags
and tatters."
"And he wishes to see me?" said Eliza, musing.
"Yes, ma'am."
There was a pause of a few moments.
"I will see him," exclaimed Eliza, in a decided
tone, after some consideration. "He may be in want - in distress; and I
cannot forget that he proclaimed my innocence in the dock of the Old
Bailey."
Louisa left the room: and in another minute the convict
Stephens stood in the presence of Eliza Sydney.
Altered! he was indeed altered. His eyes were sunken and
lustreless - his cheeks wan and hollow - his hair prematurely tinged with grey
- and his form thin and emaciated. He was moreover clad in rags - absolute
rags.
"My God!" ejaculated Eliza: "in what a condition
do you return to your native land!"
"And heaven alone knows what sacrifices I have made,
and what hardships I have undergone to come back!" said Stephens in a
hollow voice.
"You are pardoned, then?"
"Oh, no! crimes like mine are not so readily forgiven.
I escaped!"
"Escaped!" exclaimed Eliza: "and are you not
afraid of being recaptured ?"
"I must run that risk," replied Stephens,
sorrowfully. "But give me food - I am hungry - I am starving!"
The unhappy man sank upon a chair as he uttered these words;
and Eliza summoned Louisa to bring refreshments.
The servant placed a tray laden with provisions upon the
table, and retired.
Stephens then fell ravenously upon the food thus set before
him; while tears stood in Eliza's eyes when she thought that the miserable
wretch had once commanded in that house where he now craved a morsel of bread!
At length the convict terminated his meal.
"I had eaten nothing," he said, "since
yesterday afternoon, when I spent my last penny to procure a roll. Last night I
slept in a shed near the docks, a large stone for my pillow. All this day I
have been wandering about the most obscure and wretched neighbourhoods of
London - not knowing whither to go, and afraid to be seen by any one who may
recognise me. Recognise me!" he added, in a strange satirical manner:
"that would perhaps be difficult;" then, sinking his voice almost to
a whisper, be said in a tonic of profound and touching melancholy, "Do you
not find me much - very much altered?"
"You have doubtless suffered deeply," said Eliza,
wiping away the tears from her eyes; for at that moment she remembered not the
injury brought by that man upon herself - she saw and knew of nought save the
misery of the hapless being before her.
"You weep, Eliza," exclaimed Stephens, "you
weep for me who am unworthy even of your notice!"
"Forget the past: I prefer dwelling upon the kindness
rather than the injuries I have experienced at your hands."
"Excellent woman!" cried the convict, deeply
affected. "Oh! you know not what I have endured - what dangers I have
incurred - what hardships I have undergone - what privations I have
experienced! Compelled to work my passage back to England as s common sailor -
a prey to the brutality of a tyrannical and drunken captain - exposed to all
the inclemencies of the weather, - no tongue can tell what I have gone through!
But I will not weary you with my complaints. Rather let me hear how you
yourself have fared."
"My tale is short," answered Eliza. "The two
years in Newgate passed away. God knows how they passed away - but they did
pass! Of that I will say no more - save that the most powerful interest was
exerted to obtain a mitigation of my sentence - but in vain ! The Secretary of
State assured the Earl of Warrington that he could not interfere with the very
lenient judgment awarded by the court relative to myself. One more circumstance
I must mention. Every three months, when the prison regulations allowed the
admission of the friends of those confined, a lady visited me; and though that
lady be the mistress of the Earl of Warrington, I would rejoice to call her
sister
."
"Oh I how rejoiced I am to know that you were not
without friends !" exclaimed Stephens.
"The Earl of Warrington sent me by this lady assurances
of his forgiveness, and even of his intention to befriend me, for the sake of
my dear departed mother. But, oh! who could have anticipated the noble - the
generous conduct pursued towards me by that nobleman ? The day of my liberation
dawned. Mrs. Arlington came in the earl's private travelling carriage, and
received me at the door of the prison. The carriage rolled away; and, when I
had recovered from the first emotions of joy at leaving that horrible place, I
found we were proceeding along the Hackney Road. I cast a glance of surprise at
Mrs. Arlington; she only smiled, and would not gratify my curiosity. At length
we came in sight of the villa, and my astonishment increased. Still Mrs.
Arlington only smiled. In a few minutes more the carriage entered the
enclosure, and drove up to this door. Mrs. Arlington seemed to enjoy my
surprise - and yet tears glistened in her eyes. Oh! the admirable woman: they
were tears of joy at the grateful task which the earl had imposed upon her. The
front door opened, and Louisa ran forward to welcome me. Mrs. Arlington took my
hand, and led me into the dining-room. The furniture was all entirely new. She
conducted me over the house: every room was similarly renovated. At length I
felt exhausted with pleasure, hope, and alarm, and sank upon the sofa in this
apartment. 'My dear Eliza,' said Mrs. Arlington, 'all that you survey is yours.
The very house itself is your own property. The Earl of Warrington has
purchased it for you; and his solicitor, Mr. Pakenham, will call upon you
to-morrow with the title-deeds.'- I fainted through excess of happiness and
gratitude.'
"How noble!" exclaimed Stephens. "I knew that
the Earl of Warrington had purchased this estate; for I had already mortgaged
it to its full value previous to that fatal epoch when all my hopes failed! My
brother, who resided in Liverpool, left England six months after my departure,
and went out to settle in New South Wales. He told me that the person who had
lent me the money upon this property, had disposed of it to the earl. My
brother's object was to settle at Sydney, and procure one to be allotted to him
as his servant. I should then have been free. But, alas! scarcely had he set
foot in the island, when he was seized with a malignant fever, which proved
fatal.
"Misfortunes never come singly," said Eliza. Then,
after a pause, she added. "Neither do blessings! And if I have been
greatly afflicted - I have also enjoyed some happiness. In reference to my own
narrative, I must add that Mr. Pakenham called on the following day, as Mrs.
Arlington had promised; and he placed the deeds in my hand. I desired him to
retain them in his care for me. He then informed me that the Earl of Warrington
had purchased for me an annuity of four hundred pounds a-year. Oh! such
generosity overwhelmed me. I begged to be allowed to hasten and throw myself at
the feet of that excellent nobleman; but Mr. Pakenham intimated that his
lordship was averse to an interview. In a word, he made me understand that I
might never hope to thank my benefactor to his face, and that a letter
expressing my feelings would be equally unwelcome. The good lawyer, however,
tranquillised my mind on one point: the earl has no aversion to me - entertains
no animosity against me; but he cannot bear to contemplate the offspring of the
woman whom he himself loved so madly!"
"Thus you are happy, and blest with kind friends; and I
- I am an outcast!" said Stephens, in a tone of bitter remorse." Oh!
what would I give to be able to recall the past! Blessed, however, be that
strange and unaccountable curiosity which led me into this neighbourhood
to-night! I say, blessed be it - since it has been the unexpected means for me
to hear and know that you at least are happy. Oh! conceive my astonishment
when, on approaching the villa, I inquired of a peasant, '
Who dwells here,
now?
' and he replied, '
Miss Sydney!
' I could not mistake that
announcement: I was already prepared by it for the narrative which you have
given me of the Earl of Warrington's generosity.
"Without him, what should I be at this moment?"
said Eliza. "He has been more than a friend to me, - his kindness was
rather that of a father or a brother! And that angel Mrs. Arlington, who
visited me in prison - who poured consolation into my soul, and sustained me
with hopes that have been more than realised, - oh! how deep a debt of
gratitude do I owe to her also. She did not conceal from me her true position
in reference to the Earl of Warrington: she detailed to me the narrative of her
sorrows; and I learnt that George Montague was the base deceiver who first
taught her to stray from the paths of virtue."
"George Montague!" exclaimed Stephens. "What
has become of that man? He is artful, talented, designing, and might perhaps be
able to serve me if he would."
"He has assumed, I am told, the name of Greenwood, and
dwells in a magnificent house in Spring Gardens. This I learnt from Mrs.
Arlington, who called here a few days ago. She also informed me that Montague
had circulated a report amongst his acquaintances, that the death of a distant
relation had put him in possession of considerable property, and rendered the
assumption of the name of Greenwood an indispensable condition of its
enjoyment."
"And thus has Montague risen," said Stephens;
"while I am humbled to the dust! His intrigues and machinations have
enriched him; and the story of the death of a wealthy relation is no doubt the
apology for the sudden display of the treasures he has been amassing for the
last four or five years. Have you seen him lately ?"
" He called here a few days after my release from
imprisonment," said Eliza, with a alight blush; "but I did not choose
to see him. I love solitude - I prefer retirement."
"And my visit has most disagreeably intruded upon your
privacy," observed Stephens.
"I could have wished to have seen you in a more
prosperous state, for your own sake," answered Eliza; "but as I
observed just now, I would rather remember the kindnesses I have received at
your hands, than the miseries which have resulted from your guilty deception.
If with my modest and limited means I can assist you, speak! What do you
propose to do ?"
"My object is to proceed to America, where I might be
enabled to obtain an honest livelihood by my mercantile experience and
knowledge. Every moment that I prolong my stay in England is fraught with
increased peril to my safety; for were I captured, I should be sent back to
that far-off clime where so many of my fellow-countrymen endure inconceivable
miseries, and where my lot would become terrible indeed."
" I will assist you in your object," said Eliza.
"Mr. Pakenham, who acts as my banker, has a hundred pounds of mine in his
hands: to-morrow I will draw that amount; and if it will be of any service towards
the accomplishment of your plans —"
"Oh, Eliza! how can I sufficiently express my
gratitude?" interrupted Stephens, joy and hope animating his care-worn
countenance and firing his sunken eyes.
"Do not thank me," said Eliza. "I shall be
happy if I can efface one wrinkle from the brow of a fellow-creature. For your
present necessities take this," and she handed him her purse.
"To-morrow evening I shall expect you to call again; and I will then
provide you with the means to seek your fortune in another quarter of the
world."
Stephens shed tears as he received the purse from the fair
hand of that noble-hearted woman.
He then took his departure with a heart far more light than
when he had knocked humbly and timidly at the door of that villa an hour
before.