Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
she
was there -
she
beheld his triumph - and
doubtless
she
participated in his own happy
feelings.
"Bravo, Edward Preston!" was re-echoed through the
house.
And then a dead silence prevailed.
All were anxious to hear Richard speak.
But just at the moment when he was about to acknowledge the
honour conferred upon him and his fair companion by the audience, a strange
voice broke upon the stillness of the scene.
"It is false! his name is not Preston —"
"Silence!" cried numerous voices.
"His name is —"
"Turn out that brawler! turn him out!"
"His name is —"
"Hold your tongue!"
"Silence!"
"Turn him out! turn him out!"
"His name is Richard Markham — the Forger!"
A burst of indignation, mingled with strong expressions of
incredulity, rose against the individual. who, from an obscure nook in the
gallery, had interrupted the harmony of the evening.
"It is true - I say! he is Richard Markham who was
condemned to two years' imprisonment for forgery!" thundered forth the
hoarse and unpleasant voice.
A piercing scream - the scream of a female tone - echoed
through the house: all eyes were turned towards the box whence it issued; and a
young lady with flaxen hair and pale complexion, was seen to sink senseless in
the arms of the elderly gentleman who accompanied her.
And in another part of the house a young lady also sank,
pale, trembling, and overcome with feelings of acute anguish, upon her father's
bosom.
So deeply did that dread accusing voice affect the sensitive
and astonished Mary-Anne and the faithful Isabella!
All was now confusion. The audience rose from their seats in
all directions; and the theatre suddenly appeared to be converted into a modern
Babel.
Overwhelmed with shame, and so bewildered by this cruel
blow, that he knew not how to act, Markham stood for some moments like a
criminal before his judges. Ellen, forgetting where she was, clung to him for
support.
At length, the unhappy young man seized Ellen abruptly by
the hand, and led her from the public gaze.
The curtain fell as they passed behind the scenes.
The audience then grew more clamorous - none scarcely knew
why. Some demanded that the man who had caused the interruption should be
arrested by the police; but those in the gallery shouted out that he had
suddenly disappeared. Others declared that the accusation ought to be
investigated ;- people in the pit maintained that, even if the story were true,
it had nothing to do with the success of the accused as a dramatic author;- and
gentlemen
in the boxes expressed their determination never to support a man,
in a public institution and in a public capacity, who had been condemned to
infamous penalties for an enormous crime.
Thus all was noise, confusion, and uproar, - argument,
accusation, and recrimination, - the buzzing of hundreds of tongues, - the
clamour of thousands of voices.
Some called "Shame!" upon the manager for
introducing a discharged convict to the notice of Englishmen's wives and daughters,
- although the persons who thus clamoured did not utter a reproach
against the immoral females who made no secret of their profligacy, and who
appeared nightly upon the stage as its brightest ornaments - nor did they
condescend to recall to mind the vicinity of that infamous saloon which vomited
forth numbers of impure characters to occupy seats by the sides of those wives
and daughters, whose purity was now supposed to be tainted because a man who
had undergone an infamous punishment, but who could
there
set no bad example, had
contributed to their entertainment!
And then commenced a riot in the theatre. The respectable
portion of the audience escaped from the scene with the utmost precipitation :-
but the occupants of the upper region, and some of the tenants of the pit,
remained to exhibit their inclination for what they were pleased to term
"a lark." The benches were torn up, and hurled upon the stage hats
and orange-peel flew about in all directions ;- and serious damage would have
been done to the theatre, had not a body of police succeeded in restoring
order.
In the mean time Markham and Ellen had been conducted to the
Green Room, where a glass of wine was administered to each to restore their
self-possession.
The manager was alone with them; and when Richard had time
to collect his scattered ideas, he seemed to awake as from a horrible dream.
But the ominous countenance of the manager met his glance; - and he knew that
it was all a fearful reality.
Then did Markham bury his face in his hands, and weep
bitterly - bitterly.
"Alas! young man," said the manager, "it was
an evil day for both you and me, when you sought and I accorded my patronage.
This business will no doubt injure me seriously. You are a young man of
extraordinary talent ;- but it will not avail you in this sphere again.
You have enjoyed one signal triumph - you have experienced a most heart-rending
overthrow. Never did defeat follow upon conquest so rapidly. The power of your
genius will not vanquish the opinion of the public. I do not blame you: you
were not compelled to communicate your former history to me ;- and it was I who
forced you to go forward."
Markham was consoled by the language of the manager, who
spoke in a kind and sympathising tone of voice.
Thus the only man who would suffer in a pecuniary point of
view - or, at least, he who would suffer most - by the fatal occurrence of that
evening, - was also the only one who attempted to solace the unhappy Markham.
As for poor Ellen - she was overwhelmed with grief.
"You gave me fifty guineas for that fatal - fatal
drama," said Richard, after a long pause. "The money shall be
returned to you to morrow."
"No, my young friend, - that must not be
done!" exclaimed the manager, taking Richard's hand. "Your noble
conduct in this respect raises you fifty per cent. in my opinion."
"Yes - he is noble, he is generous!" cried Ellen.
"He has been a benefactor to myself and my father: it is at his house that
we live; and never until this evening were we aware of each other's avocations.
in respect to the stage."
"How singular a coincidence!" exclaimed the
manager. "But I hope that I shall not lose the services of the principal
attraction of my company?"
"Yes," said Ellen firmly: " I shall never
more appear in public in that capacity of which I was lately so enamoured, but
for which I have suddenly entertained an abhorrence."
"A few days' repose and rest will induce you to change
your mind, I hope?" said the manager, who was really alarmed at the
prospect of losing a figurante of such talent and an actress of such great
promise.
"We shall see - I will reflect," returned Ellen,
unwilling to add to the annoyances of the kindhearted manager.
"You must not desert me," said this gentleman, -
"especially at a time when I shall require all the attractions possible to
restore the reputation of my house."
Markham now rose to take his departure.
"I should not advise you to leave the house
together," said the manager. "There may be a few malcontents in the
street ;- and, at all events, it will be as well that the ladies and gentlemen
of my company should not know of your intimate acquaintance with each other.
Such a proceeding might only compromise Miss Fitzherbert."
Markham cordially acceded to this suggestion; and it was
agreed that he should depart by the private door, and that Ellen should return
home in the usual manner by herself.
But before they separated, the two young people agreed with
each other that the strictest silence should be preserved at the Place, not
only with respect to the events of that evening, but also in regard to the
nature of the avocations in which they had both lately been engaged.
Markham succeeded in escaping unobserved from the theatre ;-
and, humiliated, cast down, heartbroken, - bending beneath an insupportable
burden of ignominy and shame,- with the fainting form of Isabella before his
eyes, and the piercing shriek of Mary-Anne, whom he had also recognised, in his
ears, - he pursued his precipitate retreat homewards.
But what a dread revelation had been made to him that
evening! His mortal enemy - his inveterate foe had escaped from the death
which, it was hitherto supposed, the miscreant had met in the den of infamy
near Bird-Cage. Walk some months previously: - his ominous voice still
thundered its Markham's ears ;- and our unhappy hero once more saw all his
prospects ruined by the unmitigated hatred of the Resurrection Man.
THE ITALIAN VALET
ELLEN retired to her private dressing-room, and hastily threw
aside her theatrical garb.
She assumed her usual attire, and then stole away from the
establishment, without waiting to say farewell either to the manager or any of
her acquaintances belonging to the company.
As she left the private door of
the theatre, she saw several persons loitering about - probably in hopes of
catching a glimpse of the author who had been so signally disgraced that
evening, and whose previous departure from the house was unperceived.
She drew her veil closely over her countenance; but not
before one fellow, more impudent than the rest, and whose cadaverous
countenance, shaggy eve-brows, and sinister expression, struck a momentary
terror into her soul, had peered beneath her bonnet.
Fortunately, as Ellen considered it, a cab was close by; and
the driver was standing on the pavement with his hand grasping the door-latch,
as if he were expecting some one.
"Cab, ma'am?" said he, as Ellen approached.
Ellen answered in the affirmative, mentioned her address,
and stepped into the vehicle.
The driver banged the door, and mounted his box.
The man with the cadaverous countenance watched Ellen into
the vehicle, and exchanged a sign of intelligence with the driver.
The cab then drove rapidly away.
Another cab was standing at a little distance; and into this
the man with the cadaverous countenance stepped. There was already an
individual in it, who, when the former opened the door, said, "All
right?"
"All right," was the reply.
This second cab, containing these two individuals, then
followed rapidly in the traces of the first.
Meantime Ellen had thrown herself back in the vehicle, and
had given way to her reflections.
The events of that memorable evening occupied her attention.
A coincidence, of a nature fitted only for the pages of a romance, had revealed
to Markham and herself the history of each other’s pursuits. While she had been
following the occupation of a figurante, he was devoting his time to dramatic
composition. He had retained his employment a secret: she had dissembled hers..
He had accidentally applied for the patronage of the same manager who had taken
her by the hand. He had assumed a false name: so had she. Chance led her to
take a part in his drama ;- her talent had materially contributed to its
success. A triumph was achieved by each ;- and then came the overwhelming,
crushing denunciation which turned his joy to mourning - his honour to disgrace
- his glory to shame. She felt as if she were identified with his fate in this
one respect :- he was her benefactor; she esteemed him: and she seemed to
partake in his most painful emotions as she pondered upon the incidents of that
evening.
And then she retrospected over the recent events which had
chequered her own life. The cast of her countenance embellished statues ;- her
likeness lent its attraction to pictures ;- her bust was preserved in marble ;-
her entire form feasted the eyes of many a libertine in the private room of the
photographic department of a gallery of science ;- her virtue had become the
prey of one who gave her a few pieces of paltry gold in exchange for the
inestimable jewel of her purity ;- her dreams had been sold to a mesmerist ;-
her dancing had captivated thousands;- her tragic talent had crowned the
success of a drama. What remained for her now to sell? what talent did she
possess which could now be turned to advantage? Alas! she knew not!
Her meditations were painful; and some time elapsed ere she
awoke from her reverie.
At length she glanced towards the window : the night was
beautifully clear, though piercing cold - for it was now the month of December;
and the year 1839 was drawing to a close.
The vehicle was proceeding along a road skirted only by a
few leafless trees, and wearing an aspect strange and new to her.
The country beyond, on either side, seemed to present to her
view different outlines from those which frequent passage along the road
leading to Markham Place had rendered familiar to her eyes. Again she gazed
wistfully forth :- she lowered the window, and surveyed the adjacent scenery
with redoubled interest.
And now she felt really alarmed; for she was convinced that
the driver had mistaken the road.
She called to him, and expressed her fears.
"No - no, ma'am," he exclaimed, without relaxing
the speed at which the vehicle was proceeding; "there's more ways than one
of reaching the place where you live. Don't be afraid, ma'am - it's all
right."
Ellen's fears were hushed for a short time; but as she leant
partially out of the window to survey the country through which she was
passing, the sounds of another vehicle behind her own fell upon her ears.
At any other time this circumstance would not have produced
a second thought; but on this occasion Ellen felt a presentiment of evil.
Whether the mournful catastrophe of the evening, or her recent sad reflections,
- or both united, had produced this morbid feeling, we cannot say. Sufficient
is it for us to know that such was the state of her mind; and then she
remembered the warning contained in the letter so mysteriously sent to her a
short time previously at the theatre.
Again she addressed the cabman but this time he made no
answer ; and in a few minutes he drove up to the door of a small house which
stood alone by the side of that dreary road.
Scarcely had he alighted from his box, when the second cab
came up and stopped also.
"Where am I?" demanded Ellen, now seriously
alarmed.
An individual, who had alighted from the second cab,
hastened to open the door of the first, and assist Ellen to alight.
"You must get down here, Miss," he said, in a
dialect and tone which denoted him to be a foreigner.
Ellen saw at a glance that he was a tall elderly man, with a
dark olive complexion, piercing black eyes, but by no means an unpleasant
expression of countenance. He was dressed in black, and wore a large cloak
hanging loosely over his shoulders.
"Get down here!" repeated Ellen. "And why?
where am I ? who are you? Speak."
"No harm will happen to you, Miss," replied the
tall stranger. "A gentleman is waiting in this house to see you."
"A gentleman!" cried Ellen. " Ah! can it be
Mr. Greenwood?"
"It is, Miss: you need fear nothing."
Ellen was naturally of a courageous disposition; and the
circumstances of her life had tended to strengthen her mind. It instantly
struck her that site was in the power of her persecutor's myrmidons, and that
resistance against them was calculated to produce effects much less beneficial
for her than those which remonstrance and firmness might lead to with their
employer.
She accordingly accompanied the tall stranger into the
house.
But what was the astonishment of the poor creature when she
encountered in the hail the very old hag whom she had known in the court in
Goldenlane, and who had originally introduced her to the embraces of Mr.
Greenwood!
The horrible wrinkled wretch grinned significantly, as she
conducted Ellen into a parlour very neatly furnished, and where a cheerful fire
was burning in the grate.
Meantime the tall stranger issued forth again, and ordered
the driver of the cab in which Ellen had arrived to await further instructions.
He then accosted the cadaverous looking man who had accompanied him in the second
cab, and who was now loitering about in front of the house.
"Tidkins," said he, "we do not require your
services any further. The young lady made no resistance, and consequently there
has been no need for the exercise of your strong arm. Here is your reward. You
can return to London in the same cab that brought you hither."
"Thank you, my friend," exclaimed the Resurrection
Man. " Your master knows my address, the next time he requires my
services. Good night."
"Good night," said the tall man and when he had
seen the second cab depart, he re-entered the house.
In the hall he met Mr. Greenwood.
"Well, Filippo - all right, eh?" said this
gentleman, in a whisper.
"All right, sir. We managed it without violence; and
the lady is in your power."
"Ah! I thought you would do the business genteelly for
me. Lafleur is a faithful fellow, and would do any thing to serve me; but he is
clumsy and awkward in an intrigue of this kind. No one can manage these little
matters so well as a foreigner. A Frenchman is clever - but an Italian
incomparable."
"Thank you, sir, for the compliment," said
Filippo, with a low bow.
"Oh! it is no compliment," returned Greenwood.
" Three or four little things that I have entrusted to you since you have
been in my service, were all admirably managed so far as you were concerned;
and though they every one failed afterwards, yet it was no fault of yours. I am
well aware of that."
The Italian bowed.
"And now I must present myself to this haughty beauty,"
said Greenwood.
"Am I to dismiss the vehicle which brought her hither,
sir?" demanded Filippo.
"Yes: you will stay here to-night."
The Italian valet bowed once more, and returned to the
driver of the vehicle that brought Ellen thither.
"My good fellow," said Filippo, in a hurried tone,
"here is your money for the service rendered up to this moment. Are you
now disposed to earn five guineas in addition?"
"Certainly, sir," replied the man.
"Then drive to the bend in the road yonder,"
continued Filippo. "There you will find a large barn, belonging to my
master's property here. You can house your horse and cab comfortably there. But
do not unharness the animal. There is a pond close by; and you will find a
bucket in the barn. There is also hay for your horse. Wait there patiently till
I come to you."
The cabman signified acquiescence; and Filippo returned to
the house.
Meantime the old hag, as before stated, had conducted Ellen
to a parlour, where the young lady threw herself upon a sofa, her mind and body
being alike fatigued with the events and anxieties of the evening.
"We meet again, Miss," said the old woman,
lingering near the table, on which refreshments of several luxurious kinds were
placed. "You came no more to visit me in the court; and yet I watched from
a distance the brilliancy of your career. Ah! what fine things - what fine
things I have introduced you to, since first I knew you."
" If you wish to serve me," said Ellen, "
help me away from this place, and I will recompense you largely."
"For every guinea that you would give me to let you go,
I shall receive two for keeping you in safe custody," returned the hag.
"Name the price that you are to have from your
employer," cried Ellen ; "and I will double it."
"That you cannot do, Miss. Besides, have I not your
interests to consider? Do I not know what is good for you? I tell you that you
may become a great lady - ride in a magnificent carriage - have fine clothes
and sparkling jewels - and never know again what toil is. I should not be so
squeamish if I were you."
"Silence, wretch!" cried Ellen, exasperated more
at the cool language of calculation in which the old woman spoke, than with the
prospects she held out and the arguments she used.
"Ah ! Miss," resumed the hag. nothing discomfited,
"I am not annoyed with you, for the harsh way in which you speak to me. I
have seen too much of your stubborn beauties in my life to be abashed with a
word. Lack-a-day! they all yield in time - they all yield in time!"
And the old hag shook her head seriously, as if she had
arrived at some great moral conclusion.
Ellen paid no attention to her.
"Ah! Miss," continued the hag, "I was once
young like you - and as beautiful too, wrinkled and tanned as I now appear. But
I was not such a fool to my own interests as you. I lived luxuriously for many,
many years - God knows how many - I can't count them now - I don't like to
think of those happy times. I ought to have saved money - much money; but I frittered
it all away as quick as I got it. Now, do you take my advice: accept Mr.
Greenwood's offers ;- he is a handsome man, and pays like a prince."
The argument of the old hag was cut short by the entrance of
the individual of whom she was just speaking.
She left the room; and Ellen was now alone with Greenwood.
"Sir, are you the author of this cowardly outrage which
has been perpetrated upon me?" demanded Ellen, rising from the sofa, and
speaking in a firm but cold tone.
"Call it not an outrage, dearest Ellen
—"
"It is nothing else, sir; and if you have one spark of
honour left - one feeling of respect for the mother of your child," added
Miss Monroe, sinking her voice, "you will allow me to depart without
delay. Or, that condition I will forget all that has transpired this evening.''
"My dear. girl, you cannot think that I have taken all
this trouble to be thwarted by a trifling obstacle at the end, or that I have
merely had you brought hither to have the pleasure of letting you depart again
after one minute's conversation. No, Ellen : listen to me! I have conceived a
deep - profound - a fervent affection for you —"
"Cease this libertine's jargon, Mr. Greenwood,"
interrupted Ellen. "You must know that your
sophistry cannot deceive me as it
has done so many - many others."
"Then in plain terms, Ellen, you shall be mine - wholly
and solely mine - and I will remain faithful to you until death."
"I will become your wife, for the sake of my child: on
no other terms will I consort with you. As surely as you attempt to force me to
compliance with your will, so certainly will I unmask you sooner or later. I
will expose you - I will tell the world who you are - I will proclaim how you
obtained your fortune by the plunder of your own —"
"Silence, Ellen!" thundered Greenwood, his face
becoming purple with indignation. "Remember that the least word calculated
to betray my secret, would lead to a revelation of yours; and the result would
be the execrations of your father showered down upon your devoted head."
"I care not for that catastrophe - I care not for mine
own past dishonour - I care not for the existence of that child of whom you are
the father," exclaimed Ellen in a rapid and impassioned tone. " I
will not be immolated to your desires - I will not succumb to your wishes,
without revenge! Oh! full well do I comprehend you - full well do I know how
you calculated when you resolved to perpetrate this outrage. You thought that I
must suffer every thing at your hands, and not dare proclaim my wrongs:-
you fancied that my lips are sealed against all and every thing connected with