The Mysteries of London (Vol. 1-4). George W. M. Reynolds
"Go on," said the count.
"I met that man," continued the body-snatcher, pointing contemptuously towards Markham, "a little more than a fortnight ago in this neighbourhood: he was walking with your daughter; and it was in consequence of certain little arrangements with me that he went back to London next day. Oh! I am well acquainted with all his movements."
"And you sought my life in a manner the most base——" began Markham, unable to restrain his feelings.
"Silence, Markham!" exclaimed the count, still more authoritatively than before. "Your time to speak will come."
"We planned this work while he was in London," continued the Resurrection Man; "and this very evening he told me over the garden wall that all was right."
"Merciful God!" cried the count: "this is but too true!"
"Yes, sir—I certainly spoke to him," said Richard—"and from the garden too——"
"Mr. Markham, this continued interruption is indecent," exclaimed the count emphatically, while a cold perspiration burst out upon his forehead; for he had recalled to mind the incident respecting the garden.
"I have little more to add, count," said the Resurrection Man. "This Markham told me that you had plenty of plate and money always in the house; and as he had lost nearly all his property, he should not be displeased at an opportunity of getting hold of a little swag. It was agreed that we should meet in London to arrange the business; and so we did meet at the Dark House in Brick Lane, where we settled the affair along with the Cracksman and the Buffer, who have just made off. This is all I have to say—unless it is that me and your friend Markham first got acquainted in Newgate——"
"Newgate!" ejaculated the count, with a thrill of horror.
"Yes—Newgate; where he was waiting to be tried for forgery, for which he got two years in the Compter. And that's all. Let him deny it if he can."
Scarcely were these terrible words uttered by the Resurrection Man, when a loud—long—and piercing scream was heard, coming from the direction of the staircase; and then some object instantly fell with violence upon the marble floor of the hall.
"Isabella! Isabella!" ejaculated Markham, turning hastily round to hurry to her assistance.
"Stop, sir—seek not my daughter," cried the count, in a stern voice, as he caught Richard's arm and held him back. "Let not a soul stir until my return!"
There was a noble and dignified air of command about Count Alteroni, as he uttered these words, which could not escape the notice of Richard Markham, even amidst the crushing and overwhelming circumstances that surrounded him.
The count took the candle from Markham's hand, and hastened to the aid of his daughter, who, half-dressed, was lying upon the cold marble of the hall. He hastened to raise her; and at that moment the countess appeared upon the stairs, followed by a lady's-maid bearing a lamp.
The count reassured her in respect to the safety of the house, consigned Isabella to her care, and then returned to the pantry, where his presence was awaited in silence.
"Have you any thing more to say?" demanded the count of the Resurrection Man.
"Nothing. Have not I said enough?"—and he glanced with fiendish triumph towards Markham.
"Now, sir," said the count, turning to Richard; "is the statement of this man easy to be refuted?"
"Alas! I am compelled to admit that, the victim of the most extraordinary circumstantial evidence ever known to fix guilt upon an innocent man, I was a prisoner in Newgate and the Compter; but——"
"Say no more! say no more! God forgive me, that I should have allowed such a man to become the friend of my wife and daughter!"
The count uttered these words in a tone of intense agony.
"Count Alteroni, allow me one word of explanation," said Richard. "Only cast your eyes over this paper, and you will be convinced of my innocence!"
Markham handed the document signed by Talbot, alias Pocock, to the count; but the nobleman tossed it indignantly on the floor.
"You have confessed that you have been an inmate of the felons' gaols: what explanation can you give that will wipe away so foul a stain? Depart—begone! defile not my house longer with your presence!"
Vainly did Markham endeavour to obtain a hearing. The count silenced him with an air of command and an imposing dignity of manner that struck him with awe. Never did the Italian nobleman appear more really noble than when he was thus performing that which he considered to be an imperious duty. His fine form was drawn up to its full height—his chest expanded—his cheeks were flushed—and his eyes flashed fire. Yes—even beneath his dark complexion was the rich Italian blood seen mantling his countenance.
"Go, sir—hasten your departure—stay not another minute here! A man accused of forgery—condemned to an infamous punishment—a liberated felon—a freed convict in my family dwelling—— Holy God! I can scarcely restrain myself within the bounds of common patience when I think of the indignity that myself, my wife, and my innocent daughter have endured."
With these words the colonel pushed Markham rudely from the pantry, and ordered a servant to conduct him to the front door.
The blood of the young man boiled in his veins at this ignominious treatment;—and yet he dared not rebel against it!
The Resurrection Man took his departure at the same time by the garden at the back of the house.
As Markham turned down the shrubbery, a window on the third floor of the count's dwelling was thrown open; and the voices of Sir Cherry Bounce and the Honourable Captain Dapper were heard loading him with abuse.
Bowed down to the earth by the weight of the misfortune which had just fallen upon his head—crushed by unjust and unfounded suspicions—and sinking beneath a sense of shame and degradation, which all his innocence did not deprive of a single pang—Markham dragged himself away from the house in which he had passed so many happy hours, and where he left behind him all that he held dear in this life.
He seated himself upon a mile-stone at a little distance from the count's mansion, to which he turned his eyes to take a last farewell of the place where Isabella resided.
Lights were moving about in several rooms;—perhaps she was ill?
Most assuredly she had heard the dread accusations which had issued from the lips of the Resurrection Man against her lover;—and she would haply believe them all?
So thought Richard. Human language cannot convey an adequate idea of the heart-rending misery which the poor oppressed young man endured as he sate by the road-side, and pondered upon all that had just occurred.
Shame upon shame—degradation upon degradation—mountain upon mountain rolled on his breast, as if he were a modern Titan, to crush him and keep him down—never more to rise;—this was now his fate!
At length, afraid of being left alone with his own thoughts, which seemed to urge him to end his earthly woes in the blood of a suicide, he rose from the cold stone, turned one last sorrowful and lingering glance towards the mansion in the distance, and then hurried along the road to Richmond as if he were pursued by bloodhounds.
And not more fearful nor more appalling would those bloodhounds have been than the horrible and excruciating thoughts which haunted him upon his way, and of which he could not divest himself; so that at length a species of delirium seized upon him as he ran furiously onward, the mark of Cain appearing to burn like red-hot iron upon his brow, and a terrible voice thundering in his ear—"Freed Convict!"
CHAPTER XLVII.
ELIZA SYDNEY.