Chapter 46 Part 2 of the Mysteries of London. Markham accompanied the Count back to the drawing room, where Sir Captain Smilex Dapper had seated himself next to the Signore, and Sir Cherry Bounce was endeavouring to divert the Countess with an account of their journey that evening from London. They both coloured deeply and bowed very politely when Richard entered the apartment. Well, as I was saying, continued Sir Cherry, one of the twethes woke at the bottom of the hill, and the wharfeth took to fight. Smilex swore like a trooper, but nothing could swap the faith till it wold flap down into a dry death. Dapper then wore like a ball, and I—and Cherry began to cry, strike me if he didn't, ejaculated the gallant Hussar, caressing his moustache. A countryman who passed by asked him if his mama knew he was out. Cherry thought that the fellow was in earnest, and assured him that he had her permission to undertake the journey. I never laughed so much in my life. Oh, naughty Dapper, to say that I cried. I mean, that that really is too cool. Well, we got the faith lifted out of the death and the thwaith mended.  I intend to put it into verse. Strike me ugly if I don't, cried the young officer, and perhaps the senorah would allow me to copy it into her album. Oh, I must read it first, said Isabella, laughing, but since you speak of my album, I must show you the additions I have received to its treasures. This is really a beautiful landscape, observed Captain Dapper, as he turned over the leaves of the book, which the beautiful Italian presented to him. Water flowing over the wheel of the mill is quite natural, strike me, and may I never know what fair woman's smiles are again if those trees don't seem actually to be growing out of the paper. Superb, ejaculated Sir Cherrybounds, the river literally waltzed along in the picture. The cows and the thief are walking in the green fields. Pue, who might have been the artist of this muffless production? That is a secret, said the senorah. And now read these lines. I read them yourself, Bella, said the Count. No one can do justice to them but you. Isabella accordingly read the following stanzas in a tone of voice that added a new charm to the words themselves. London. To us midnight and the beam of Cynthia shone in company with many a lovely star. Steeping in silver the huge Babylon whose countless habitations stretch afar. Plain, valley, hill, and rivers bank upon, and in whose mighty heart all interests jar. O sovereign city of a thousand towers, what vice is cradled in thy princely bowers? And if thou wouldst view fair London town aright, survey her from the bridge of Waterloo, and let the hour be at the morning's light, when the sun's earliest rays have struggled through the star-biss-spangled curtain of the night. And when Aurora's locks are moist with dew, then take thy stand upon that bridge and see London awake in all her majesty. Then to her greatest features seem to crowd down to the river's brink. Then does she raise from off her brow the everlasting cloud. Thus with her veil the coquette archly plays, and for a moment shows her features proud to catch the rembrant light of the sun's rays. Then may the eye of the beholder dwell on steeple, column, dome, and pinnacle. Yes, he may reckon temple, mart, and tower, the old historic sites, the halls of kings, the seats of art, the fortiless of power. The ships that waft our commerce on their wings, all these co-mingle in that dawning, and each into one common focus brings some separate moral of life senses so true, as all those objects form one point of view. The ceaseless hum of the huge Babylon has known no silence for a thousand years. Still does her tide of human life flow on.  Still do the millions toil to bless the few, and hideous want stalks all her pathways through. Beautiful, very beautiful, exclaimed Captain Dapper, strike me if I've ever heard more beautiful purchase. Almost as good as your lines on the sea-thurpent. Was the poem written by the same person that painted the landscape? The very same, answered Isabella, his initials are in the corner. I am. Who can that be? exclaimed Dapper. Robert Montgomery, perhaps, said Isabella, smiling with a charmingly arch expression of countenance. No! Witcher Markham! cried Sir Cherry. And then he and his friend, the Hussar Captain, were excessively annoyed to think that they had been extolling to the skies the performance of an individual who had frightened one out of his wits and boxed the ears of the other. Thus passed the evening, but Markham was reserved in melancholy. It was in vain that Isabella exerted herself to instill confidence into his mind by means of those thousand little attentions and manifestations of preference which lovers know so well how to exhibit, but which those around perceive not. Richard was firm in those resolutions which he deemed consistent with propriety and honour, and he deeply regretted the explanation and its consequences into which the enthusiasm of the moment had that evening led him. At length the hour for retiring to rest arrived. Richard repaired to his chamber, but not to sleep. His mind was too much harassed by the events of the evening, the plans which he had pursued and those which he intended to pursue, the love which he bought to Isabella, and the stern opposition which might be anticipated from her father, the persecution to which he was subject at the hands of the resurrection man, and the trail of evil fortune which appeared constantly to attend upon him. All of these he thought, and his painful meditations defied the advance of slumber. The window of his bed-chamber overlooked the garden at the back of the house, from which direction a strange and alarming noise suddenly broke in upon his reflections. He listened, and all was quiet. He therefore felt convinced that his terror was unfounded. A few moments elapsed, and he was again alarmed by a sound which seemed like the jarring of an unfastened shutter. A certain uneasiness now took possession of him, and he was determined to ascertain whether all was safe about the premises. He leapt from his bed, raised the window, and looked forth. The night was now pitch dark, and he could distinguish nothing, not even were the outlines of the trees in the garden discernable amidst that profound and dense obscurity. Markham held his breath, and the whispering of voices met his ears. He could not, however, distinguish a word they uttered. A low, hissing, continuous murmur, the nature of which it was impossible to mistake, convinced him that some persons were talking together immediately beneath his window. In a few moments the jarring of a door or shutter, which he had heard before, was repeated, and then the whispering ceased. By this time his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and he could now faintly discern the outlines of three human forms standing together at the back of the house. He could not, however, distinguish the precise nature of their present employment. It was nevertheless evident to him that they were not there with any honest intention in view, and he resolved to adopt immediate measures to defeat their burglarious schemes. He hastily threw on his clothes, struck a light, and issued from his room. Cautiously advancing along a passage was the Count, only half dressed with a pistol in each hand and a cutlass under his arm. This is fortunate, whispered the Count. I was a-coming to alarm you. There are thieves breaking in. You and I can manage them. It is of no use to call a bouncer or dapper. Take this cutlass, and let us descend gently. Here come the men's servants. The Count hurried downstairs, followed by Markham, and the three male domestics of the household. A noise was heard in the pantry, which was situate at the back of the house, on the same level with the hall.  There are five of them. It's no use. The Count rushed forward and burst open the door of the pantry, closely followed by Markham holding the candle. Two of the burglars made a desperate push down the kitchen stairs and escaped. The third was captured in an attempt to follow his companion. The light of the candle fell upon the villain's countenance, which was literally ghastly with a mingled expression of rage and alarm. Richard shuddered, for the captured burglar was no other than the resurrection man. Rich! exclaimed Markham, recovering his self-command. The law will at length reach you. What, do you know it as fellow? demanded the Count, somewhat surprised by the observation. No, me, cried the resurrection man. Of course he does. But supposing someone was to tell you a piece of valuable information, Count, about a matter closely concerning yourself and family, would you be inclined to be merciful? Of what Niger is of that information, it must be very valuable indeed if you think that I will enter into any compromise with such a you.  Miscreant, cried Markham, profane not that lady by even alluding to her. Stay, gust of fellow's impudence, said the Count. Perhaps he may really have something worth communicating. At all events I will try him. Now then, my man, what is it that you ever to say?  Hold, Count, exclaimed Markham, make no rash vow, you know not what a wretch silenced my dear friend, said the Count authoritatively. I will hear of the man, let him be who or what he may, and you do well to hear me, sir, continued the resurrection man.  He boasts of having secured the affections of your daughter and hopes to gull you into allowing him to marry her. Miscreant murderer, exclaimed Markham, no longer able to contain his indignation. Plute not innocence itself by these allusions to a lady who's spotless mind. Said the Count, let us hear patiently all of this man as to sigh. I can soon judge whether he be speaking the truth, and if he deceives me, I will assure him a now a mercy. But Count, allow me one word, I myself will unfold. Excuse me, Markham, interrupted the Italian noble with dignified firmness. I will hear this man first. Proceed. The villain I allude to is, of course, that Markham, continued the resurrection man.  What foul, what hideous columnly is this? Almost screamed the distracted Markham, as this totally unexpected and unfounded accusation met his ears. The Count himself was shocked at this announcement, for he suddenly recollected Richard's moody, embarrassed and thoughtful manner the whole evening, and his sudden intention of departing the next day. 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 neighborhood, it was walking with your daughter, and it was in consequence of certain little arrangements with me that he went back to London next day. 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 feeling. 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. Masterful God! cried the Count. This is about a tool through. Yes, I certainly spoke to him, said Richard, and ran on 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 a 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 has lost nearly all his property, he should not be displeased at an opportunity of getting a 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 a cracksman and a buffer, who I've 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 a 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. 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 her, sir. Seek a knot on my daughter, cried the Count in a stern voice, as he caught Richard arm and held him back. Let not a soul stir until my return. There was a noble and dignified air of command about Cal Tolteroni, 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 anything more to say demanded the Count of the Resurrection Man? Nothing, have I not said enough? And he glanced with fiendish triumph towards Markham. Nalsar, said the Count, turning to Richard, is the statement of this man easy to be refuted? Alas, I am compelled to admit that I am 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 Comter, but, say no more, God to forgive me, that I should have allowed such a manor to become the friend of my wife and daughter. The Count uttered these words in a tone of intense agony. Count Entoroni, 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 Tolbert, Alias Pocock, to the Count, but the new woman tossed it indignantly on the floor. You have confessed that you have been an enimate of the felons' jails. What explanation can you give that will wipe away so foul a stain? Depart, begun, defiled, 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 manor 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. A man accused of forgery, condemned to an infamous punishment, a liberated felon, a freed convict, in my family dwelling, oh, my God, I can scarcely constrain myself within the bounds of common pensions when I think of the indignity that I myself, my wife, and my earnest daughter have endured. With these words, the Count 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 ignomonious 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 honorable 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 milestone 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 happily 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 sat by the roadside, and pondered upon all that had just occurred.  This was now his fate. At length, afraid of being left alone with his own thoughts, which seemed to urge him to end his earfully woes in the blood of a suicide, he rose from the coal stone and 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. A not more fearful nor 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 cane appearing to burn like a red hot eye and upon his brow, and a terrible voice thundering in his ear. Chapter 47 Of the Mysteries of London This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lynn Thompson The Mysteries of London by George Reynolds Chapter 47 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 Mysteries 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 Mbompoin than when we first described her, she was still a lovely and fascinating woman, that slightly increased roundness of form had given her charms of eluptuousness, the most ravishing and seductive, but the effects of which upon the beholder were 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 langua, 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 introduced 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 furnished room. The French porcelain timepiece upon the mantle 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's impossible for me to guess, Louisa, said Eliza, smiling. Mr. Stevens exclaimed the servant, and he earnestly implores to see you. Mr. Stevens echoed Eliza, impossible. It is him, flesh and blood, but so pale, so ghostly pale, and so altered. Mr. Stevens, 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 Stevens stood in the presence of Eliza Sidney. Altered, he was indeed altered, his eyes were sunken and lustiless, his cheeks won 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 Stevens 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 Stevens 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. Stevens 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 wondering about the most obscure and wretched neighbourhoods of London, not knowing wither to go, and afraid to be seen by anyone 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, he 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 anew of naught save the misery of the hapless being before her.  Forget the past, I prefer dwelling upon the kindness rather than the injuries I have experienced at your hands. Excellent woman, quite 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 a common sailor, a prey to the brutality of a tyrannical and drunken captain, exposed to all the inclemences 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 in 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, how rejoiced I am to know that you are not without friends, exclaimed Stevens. 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 toward 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 and welcomed me. Mrs. Arlington took my hand, and led me into the dining-room. The furniture was all entirely new. She conducted me all over the house. Every room was similarly renovated. At length I felt exhausted with pleasure, hope, and alarm, and sank upon the sofa of 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 Stevens, 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. Miss Fortune's 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, tranquilized 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 blessed with kind friends, and I—I—am an outcast, said Stevens, 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. I'll 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 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 Stevens, 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 Stevens, 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 light brush. 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 Stevens. I could have wished to have seen you in a more prosperous state for your own sake, answered Eliza. But as I observe just now, I would rather remember the kindnesses I have received at your hand 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 may 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 where I captured, I should be sent back to that far-off climb, where so many of my fellow countrymen endure inconceivable miseries, and where my lot would become terrible indeed. I will assist you in your objects, said Eliza. Mr. Pakenham, who acts as my banker, has a hundred pounds of mine in his hands. Tomorrow I will draw that amount, and if it would be of any service towards the accomplishment of your plans. Oh Eliza, how can I sufficiently express my gratitude? interrupted Stevens. 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. Tomorrow 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. Stevens 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. End of Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Part 1 Mr. Greenwood's Visitors Mr. Greenwood was seated in his study the morning after the event which occupied the last chapter. He was dressed all negligent. A French velvet skullcap, embroidered with gold, sat upon his curled and perfumed hair. A sumptuous brocade silk dressing gown was confined around the waist by a gold cord, with large tassels hanging almost to his feet. His shirt collar was turned down over a plain broad black ribbon, the bow of which was fastened with a diamond brooch of immense value, and on his fingers were costly rings, sparkling with the tones of corresponding kind and worth. On the writing table an elegant French watch, attached to a long gold chain, lay amidst a pile of letters, just as if it had been carelessly tossed there. A cheque partly filled out for a thousand guineas, several banknotes and some loose gold were lying on an open writing desk, and at one end of the table, in seeming confusion a number of visiting cards, bearing the names of eminent capitalists, wealthy merchants, peers and members of parliament. All this spell-mell assemblage of proofs of wealth and tokens of high acquaintance was only apparent and not real. It was a portion of Mr. Greenwood's system, one of the principles of the art which he practiced in deceiving the world. He knew none of the capitalists and few of the aristocrats whose cards lay upon his table, and his own hand had arranged the manner in which the watch, the chequebook and the money were tossing about. Never did a coquette practice a particular glance, attitude or mannerism more seriously than did Mr. Greenwood.  Everything he did was the result of a calculation, and had a name. Every word he spoke, however rapid the utterance, was duly weighed and measured.  How perverted were great talents, how misapplied so extraordinary quickness of apprehension in this instance. Mr. Greenwood contemplated the arrangements of his writing table with calm satisfaction, and a smile of triumph curled his lip, as he thought of the position to which such little artifices as those had helped to raise him. He, despite the world, he laughed at society, and he cared not for the law. He walked boldly up to the extreme verge where personal security ceased and peril began, but he never overstepped the boundary. He had plundered many. He had enriched himself with the wealth of others. He had built his own fortunes upon the ruins of his fellow men's hopes and prospects. But still he had so contrived all his schemes that the law could never reach him, and if one of his victims accused him of villainy, he had a plausible explanation to offer for his conduct. If a person said to him, your schemes have involved me in utter ruin and deprive me of every penny I possessed, he would unblushingly reply, What does the man mean? He forgets that I suffered far more than he did, and that where he lost hundreds, I lost thousands. It is impossible to control speculations. Some turn up well, some badly, and this man might as well blame the keeper of a lottery office because his ticket did not turn up a price, as attempt to throw any odium upon me.  Greenwood had commenced his ways of intrigue and pursuits of duplicity in the city, where he was known as George Montague. The moment he had obtained a considerable fortune, he repaired to the West End, added the name of Greenwood to his other appellations, and thus commenced, as it were, a new existence in a new sphere. He possessed the great advantages of exercising a complete control over all his feelings, passions, and inclinations. Save with respect to women. In this point of view, he was completely sensualist, a heartless for luxury. He would spare neither expense nor trouble to gratify his amorous desires, where he formed a predilection. And if, in any case, he would run a risk of involving himself in the complexities of civil or criminal law, the peril would be encountered in an attempt to satisfy his lustful cravings. There are many men of this stamp in the world, especially in great cities, and more especially in London. Mr. Greenwood, having completed the arrangements of his study in the manner described, rang the bell. His French valet, Le Fleur, made his appearance in answer to the summons. Mr. Greenwood then threw himself negligently into the armchair at his writing table, and proceeded to issue his instructions to his dependent. Le Fleur, the count-outs of Rony will call this morning. When he has been here about ten minutes, bring me in this letter. He handed his valet a letter, sealed and addressed to himself. At about twelve o'clock, Lord Tremorden will call. Let him remain quietly for a quarter of an hour with me, and then come in and say, The Duke of Portsmouth has sent round, sir, to know whether he can positively rely upon your company to dine this evening.  Perfectly, sir, answered Le Fleur, without the slightest variation of countenance, for he was too politic and too finished a valet to attempt to criticise his master's proceedings by means of even a look. So far so good, resumed Mr. Greenwood. Sir Rupert Harborough will call this morning, and you will tell him that I am not at home. Yes, sir. Lady Cecilia Harborough will call at one precisely. You will conduct her to the drawing room. Yes, sir. And all the time she is here, I shall not be at home to a soul. No, sir. At four o'clock I shall go out in the cab. Duke can then pay a visit to Upper Clapton, and as detained by any indirect means you can light upon, whether Miss Sidney still inhabits the villa, and whether she still pursues the same retired and secluded mode of existence as when you last made inquiries in that quarter. Yes, sir. And you can ride round by Holloway and find out, also by indirect inquiries, remember, whether Mr. Markham is at home, and any other particulars relative to him which you can glean. I have already told you that I have the deepest interest in being acquainted with all that young man does. He is my newest actions even. I will attend to your orders, sir. Tonight you will dress yourself in me in attire and repair to a low public house on Saffron Hill, known by the name of the boozing Ken by the thieves and reprobates of that district. You will inquire for a man who frequents that house and who is called Tom the Cracksman. No one knows him by any other name. You will tell him who your master is and that I wish to see him upon very particular business. He must be here tomorrow night at nine o'clock. Give him this five-pound note as an earnest of good intentions. And now take these duplicates and that bank note for five-hundred pounds and just go yourself to the pawnbrokers in the Strand. And redeem the diamonds mentioned in these tickets. You will have time before anyone comes. Yes, sir. And should the Lord from Mordin happen to be here when you return? Hand me the packet, which you will have wrapped up in white paper, saying, with the dukes compliments, sir. Yes, sir. Thus ended the morning's instructions. The valet took the letter which Mr. Greenwood had written to himself, the duplicates and the banknotes, and retired. In half an hour, he returned with a small purple Morocco case containing a complete set of diamonds, worth at least twelve-hundred guineas. He again withdrew and returned in a few minutes, but this time it was to usher in Count Altarone. Mr. Greenwood received the Italian noble with more than usual affability and apparent friendship. I am delighted to inform you, my dear Count, he said, when they were both seated, that our enterprise is progressing well. I yesterday received a letter from a certain capitalist, to whom I applied relative to the loan of two-hundred thousand pounds, which I informed you it was necessary to raise, to carry out our undertaking, in addition to the capital which you and I have both subscribed. And I have no doubt that I shall succeed in this point. Indeed, he is to send me his decision this very morning. Then I hope that at length the company is definitively formed, said the Count. Definitely, answered Mr. Greenwood, and the deed by which you guarantee to me the safety of the money I have embarked, let the event be what it may, said the Count. That will be ready tomorrow evening. Can you dine with me tomorrow and terminate that portion of the business after dinner? My solicitor will send the deed hither by one of his clerks at half-past eight o'clock. With the pleasure, said the Count, evidently pleased at this arrangement. There has been some delay, said Mr. Greenwood, but really the fault has not existed with me. You will excuse my anxiety in this respect. Indeed, I have probably pressed you more than I ought for the completion of that security. But you will remember that I have embarked my all into this enterprise. Do not attempt an apology. You have acted as a man of prudence and caution. You will find that I shall behave as a man of business. I am perfectly satisfied, said the Count. I should not have advanced my money, unless I have been so perfectly satisfied with your representations. For, unless you want to turn up in a Maya favor in my own country, I must have forever regressed the fact to remain in exile from Castexicala. And that good fortune will shine upon me from that quarter, I can scarcely expect. My liberal principles have offended the Grand Duke and the old nobility of that estate. And now that the aristocracy there has again the ascendancy and is likely to retain it, I can hope for nothing. I would gladly have aided the popular cause and obtained, for the people of Castexicala, a constitutioner. But the idea of representative principles is odious to those now in power. I believe that you were a staunch adherent of the Prince of Castexicala, who is the nephew of the raiding Grand Duke and the heir apparent to the throne, said Mr. Greenwood. You have been rightly informed, but if the Pope and the Kings of Naples and Sardinial support the aristocracy of Castexicala, that a prince will be excluded from his inheritance and a foreigner will be placed upon the Grand Ducal Throne. In this case, the prince will be in exile until his death, without even a pension to support him, so irritated at the old aristocracy against him. I believe that Castexicala is a fine state, a beautiful country, extensive, well-cal, devoted and productive. It contains a two million of inhabitants. The capital of Montoni is a magnificent city, over a hundred thousand souls. The revenues of the Grand Duke are two hundred thousand pounds of sterling a year, and yet he's not contented. He does not study his people's happiness. And where at the present moment is that gallant prince, who has thus risked his accession to the throne for the welfare of his fellow countrymen, inquired Greenwood. That reminds a secret, answered the Count. Is Partizanza alone now? Of course I would not attempt to intrude upon matters so sacred, said Greenwood, where I not deeply interested in yourself, whom I know to be one of his most staunch adherents. At that moment the door opened and the floor entered, bearing a letter which he handed to Mr. Greenwood. He then retired. Will you excuse me? said Greenwood to the Count. Then, opening the letter, he appeared to read it with attention. At the expiration of the few moments, he said, This letter is from my capitalist. He gives me both good and bad news. He would advance the loan, but he cannot command the necessary amount for three months. Loner will be three months more delay, exclaimed the Count in a tone of vexation. Three months? And what is that? And he had nothing, cried Mr. Greenwood. You can satisfy yourself to my friend's sincerity. With these words he handed to the Count the letter which he had written to himself in a feigned hand, and to which he had affixed a fictitious name and address. The Count read the letter and was satisfied. He then rose to depart. Tomorrow evening, at the seven o'clock o'clock o'pong to Ali, I shall do myself a laplagia of awaiting upon you. In a few days, you remember, I and my family are coming up to town to pass us some time with Lord Tremoldin. And I shall then be bold and presumptuous enough, said Greenwood, to endeavor to render myself acceptable to the Senora Isabella. By the by, exclaimed the Count, I forgot to inform you of the villainy of that rich demarcum, whom I received into the bosom of my family and treated as a son or a brother. His villainy ejaculated Greenwood in a tone of unfaith and surprise. A villainy, the most atrocious, cried the Count. He is a man branded with the infamy of a feather's jail. Impossible, said Greenwood, this time affecting the astonishment expressed by his countenance. It is, alas, too true. The night before last, he invited thieves to break into my dwelling unto those of miscreants, and he bolstered of his intentions to win the fiver of my daughter. Oh, no, no, said Mr. Greenwood infratically. You must be misinformed. On the contrary, I ever received evidence on it too corroborative of what I tell you. But when I come at a more evening, I will give you the detail. The Count then took his departure. Thank God, said Mr. Greenwood to himself the moment the door had closed behind the Italian nobleman. I have succeeded in pulling off that bothering count for three good months. Much may be done in the meantime, and if I can secure his daughter, all will be well. I can then pension him off for a hundred and fifty pounds a year and retain possession of his capital. But this deed he demands, the deed of guarantee, he presses for that. I must give him the security to show my good will and then neutralize that concession on my part in the manner already resolved upon. A strange was the account he gave me of Richard Markham. That unhappy young man appears to be a victim of the most wonderful combination of suspicious circumstances ever known, for guilty he could not be. Oh, no, impossible. Mr. Greenwood's meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Lord Tremorde. This nobleman was a short, stout, good-tempered man. Being a large land-holder, he exercised considerable influence in his county, of which he was the Lord Lieutenant, and he boasted that he could return six members to Parliament in spite of the reform bill. His wife was, moreover, allied to one of the richest and most important families in the hierarchy of aristocracy, and thus a Lord Tremordin, with no talent, no knowledge, no acquirements to recommend him, but with certain political tenets which he inherited along with the family estate and which he possessed for no other reason than because they were those of his ancestors. Lord Tremordin, we say, was a very great man in the House of Lords. He seldom spoke, it is true, but then he voted and dictated to others how to vote, and in this existed his power. When he did speak, he uttered an awful amount of nonsense, but the reporters were very kind, and so his speeches read well. Indeed, he did not know them again when he perused them in print in the morning after their delivery. Moreover, his wife was a blue stocking and dabbled a little in politics, and she occasionally furnished her noble husband with a few hints which might have been valuable had he clothed them in language a little intelligible. For the rest, Lord Tremordin was a most hospitable man, was fond of his bottle, and fancied himself a sporting character because he kept hounds and horses, and generally employed an agent to make up a book for him at races, whereby he was most amazingly plundered. My dear Lord! exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, conducting his noble visitor to a seat. I am delighted to see your lordship look so well. So you have parted with electricity. I heard of it yesterday at Tattershaw's. Yes, and a good price I had for him. By the way, my dear Greenwood, I must not forget to thank you for the hawk you sent me. It is superb. I am delighted that your lordship is pleased with it. Have you seen Sir Rupert Harbour lately? My scapegoat son-in-law. I wish I had never seen him at all. He ejaculated his lordship. He has ever had an ear in debt again, and I swear most solemnly that I will do nothing more for him, not to the amount of a penny-piece. Cecilia, too, has quarrelled with her mother, and even if she had not, Lady Tremorgin is the last woman on earth to advance the machilling. It is a pity, a great pity, said Mr. Greenwood, apparently musing. Then, after a brief pause, he added, You never can guess, my dear Lord, why I wish to see your lordship so particularly this morning, about the match between electricity and galvanism. The odds are three to four. That was not exactly my business, said Mr. Greenwood, with a bland smile. The fact is, the representation of Rottenborough will be vacant in a few weeks. I know positively that the present member intends to accept the children hundreds. I have received a similar imitation, observed his lordship. At present the matter is a profound secret. Yes, a profound secret, known only to the member's friends, and me and my friends, and you and your friends, added the nobleman, seriously meaning what he said, without any attempt at irony or satire. Of course there will be an election in February, shortly after the houses meet, continued Greenwood. I was going to observe to your lordship that I should be most happy to offer myself as a candidate. You, Greenwood, what are you a politician? Not so profound nor so well versed as your lordship, but I flatter myself that aided by your lordship's advice, Lady Tremorion would never consent to it, and by Lady Tremorion's suggestions it would never do. She will have a mark of rank and family, and excuse me, Greenwood, although you are no doubt rich enough for a lord, and well educated and clever and so on, the juice of it is that we don't know who the devil you are. An excellent family, an excellent family, my dear lord, exclaimed Mr. Greenwood. And although nothing equal to your own, which I know to be the most ancient in England, or Scotland, or Ireland, either, or Scotland, or Ireland, or even Europe, still— No, it cannot be done, Greenwood. It cannot be done, interrupted the nobleman. I would do anything to oblige you, but at that moment the door opened, and the fleur entered the study. If all you please, sir, said the French valet, the Duke of Portsmouth has sent round to know whether he can positively rely upon your company to dinner this evening. My best compliments to his grace, la fleur, said Mr. Greenwood, affecting to meditate upon this message for a moment. And I would do myself the honour of waiting on his grace at the usual hour. Very good, sir, and la fleur retired. Well, after all, resumed Lord Tremorion, who had not lost a word of this message and the answer, I think I might undertake to arrange the Rottenborough business for you. You have high acquaintances, and they often do more good than high connections. Sir, we will consider that matter settled. I am deeply obliged to your lordship, said Greenwood, with the calmness of a man who has never entertained a fear of being ultimately unable to carry his point. You will see that I shall imitate at the la hause your lordship's admirable conduct in the upper, to the very best of my ability. Of course. You will always support the measures I support, and oppose those which I may oppose. Oh, that is a matter of course. What will become of society? Where should we be if the commons did not obey the great land-holders who allow them to be returned? Ah, not indeed, said the nobleman, shaking his head ominously. But really, Greenwood, I wasn't at all aware that you were half so clever a politician, as I see you are. Your lordship does me honour. I know how to value your lordship's good opinion, said Greenwood, in a meek and submissive manner. Then, after a moment's silence, he added, By the by, I understand that our mutual friend, Al Tyrone, and his amiable wife and beautiful daughter, are going to pass the first few weeks of the new year with your lordship and Lady Tremordian. Yes, we shall be very gay. The senora must pick up a husband amongst the young nobles or sions of great families for which she will meet this winter in London. Do not know, my lord, said Greenwood, sinking his voice to a mysterious whisper, that Count Al Tyrone detests scarcity. Are you not aware that he and the ladies have accepted your kind invitation under the impression that they will enjoy the pleasing society of your lordship and Lady Tremordian, and a few select friends only? I'm glad you have told me that, explained the nobleman. We will have no gaiety at all. The Count has honoured me with his utmost confidence and his sincere friendship, said Greenwood. Oh, of course. You would be welcome on all occasions. Do not wait for invitations. I give you a general one. I am more than ever indebted to your lordship. After a little more conversation in the same strain, the nobleman took his leave, more pleased with Mr. Greenwood than ever. This gentleman, the moment he was alone, threw himself into his chair and smiled complacently. Gained all my points, he said, musing, I shall be a member of Parliament. The fair Isabella will stand no chance of captivating some wealthy and titled individual who might woo and win her, and I have obtained a general invitation to Lord Tremordian's dwelling. I alone shall therefore have an opportunity of paying court to this Italian beauty. End of Chapter 48 Part 1 Recorded by Dave Wills Chapter 48 Part 2 of The Mysteries of London This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Dave Wills Mysteries of London by George Reynolds Chapter 48 Part 2 Mr. Greenwood's visitors The French valet entered the room. Lady Cecilia Arbor is in the drawing rooms there. Mr. Greenwood thrust the Morocco case containing the diamonds into the pocket of his dressing-gown and then proceeded to the apartment where the lady was waiting. Lady Cecilia Arbor was about two and twenty, and very beautiful. Her hair was urban, her eyes blue, and her features regular. Her figure was good, but she was very slightly made, a perfect silk in symmetry and model. Nurse amidst fashionable pleasure and aristocratic dissipation, she was without those principles which are the very basis of virtue. If she were true and faithful to her husband, it was only because she had not been strongly tempted to prove otherwise. If she had never indulged in an intrigue, it was simply because one to her taste had never come in her way. Her passions were strong, her disposition decidedly sensual. Thus was it that she had become an easy prey to Sir Rupert Habra, and when she had discovered that she was in a way to become a mother, in consequence of that amor, she only repented her conduct through dread of shame, and not for the mere fact of having deviated from the path of virtue. Her disgrace was concealed by a patched-up marriage with her seducer, a trip to the continent, and the death of the child at its birth, and thus there was no scandal in society attached to the name of Lady Cecilia Habra. Mr. Greenwood had not made her wait many moments when he entered the drawing-room. Lady Cecilia rose, and hastening towards him said, Oh, Mr. Greenwood, what can you think of me after the imprudent step I have taken in coming alone and unattended? I can only think, Lady Cecilia, said Greenwood, handling her to a seat and taking a chair near her, that you have done me an honour, the extent of which I can fully appreciate. But why insist upon this visit to you? Why could you not have called upon me? inquired the lady impatiently. Your ladyship wishes to consult with me upon financial affairs, and every capitalist receives visits and does not pay them. When they refer to business only, thank you for this apology for my conduct. I fancy that I was guilty of every great imprudence. You have reassured me upon that head, and a smile played upon the fair patrician's lips. In what manner can I be of service to your ladyship?  Well, Mr. Greenwood, said Lady Cecilia, with that easy familiarity which is always shown to those who are confidants in cases of pecuniary embarrassment. You are well aware of Sir Rupert's unfortunate situation, and, of course, his position is also mine. We are literally without the means of paying the common weekly bills of the house and the servants' wages. I have quarrelled with my mother, and my father will not advance another sixpence. Your ladyship is well aware that Sir Rupert Harbra has no security to offer, and if he had, I would scarcely advance money to him, since I know that your ladyship sold and profits by any funds which he may possess. Oh, that is true, Mr. Greenwood, ejaculated Lady Cecilia emphatically. Would you believe it? Even my very diamonds are gone. Sir Rupert has made away with them. In plain terms, he pawned them. He did, but that is such a horrid avowal to make, when one thinks that it is generally supposed that the poor loan have recourse to such means, and that we in the upper class do not even know what is meant by a pawnbroker's. Oh, how false is that idea! How erroneous is that impression! It is indeed, said Greenwood. The jewels of half the high-born ladies in London have been deposited at different times in the hands of the very pawnbroker where yours were. Lady Cecilia stared at Mr. Greenwood in profound astonishment. Then, as a sudden idea seemed to flash across her brain, she added, But Sir Rupert must have told you of this. He did. Do you know, continued the lady, that I have actually lost the receipts or duplicates, or whatever you call them, which the pawnbroker gave when Harbora sent the diamonds by a trusty servant of ours? Those duplicates Sir Rupert Harbora handed over to me, said Greenwood. I lent him a hundred pounds upon them yesterday morning. Oh, how ungrateful he is! How unworthy of one particle of affection! exclaimed Lady Cecilia. He knew how distressed, literally distressed I was for ready money, and he never offered me a guinea. Are you so distressed as that? inquired Mr. Greenwood, drawing his chair closer to that of his fair visitor. Why should I conceal anything from you when I come to consult you upon my embarrassments? said Lady Cecilia, tears starting into her eyes. I am literally disgraced. I cannot go to court, nor appear at any grand reunion for the want of my jewels, and I am indebted to old Lady Marlborough to the amount of two hundred pounds which she lent me. Yesterday she wrote for the sixth time for the money, and actually observed in her letter that she considered my conduct un-ladylike in the extreme.  You would therefore make any sacrifice to relieve yourself from these embarrassments? said Greenwood interrogatively. Any sacrifice to obtain about eight hundred or a thousand pounds to redeem my jewels and pay my most pressing debts? Lady Marlborough's, for instance. I would do anything. You would make any sacrifice. You would do anything, Lady Cecilia? repeated Greenwood infactically. That is saying a great deal, and an impertinent cockscomb like me, for instance, might perhaps construe your words literally and be most presumptuous in his demands. My God, Mr. Greenwood, what do you mean? exclaimed the lady, a slight flush appearing up her cheeks. My case is so very desperate. I have no security to offer at present, and yet I require money. Money I must have. Tell me to throw myself into the Thames a year hence, so that I have money today, and I would willingly subscribe to the contract. I could even sell myself to the evil one, like Dr. Faustus. I am so bewildered and so truly wretched. Since you have verged into the regions of romance and mentioned improbabilities or impossibilities, said Mr. Greenwood, suppose another strange case. Suppose that a man threw himself at your feet, declared his love, sought yours in return, and proffered you his fortune as a proof of the sincerity of his heart. Such generous and noble-minded lovers are not so easily found nowadays, returned Lady Cecilia. But if I must respond to your question, I am almost inclined to think that I should not prove very cruel to the tender swaying who would present himself in so truly romantic a manner. Greenwood caught hold of Lady Cecilia's hand, fell at her feet, and presented her with the purple Morocco case, containing the diamonds. Heavens! she exclaimed, half inclined to suppose that this proceeding was a mere jest. What do you mean, Mr. Greenwood? Surely you were not supposing the case in which you yourself were to be the principal actor. Permit me to lay my heart and fortune at your feet, said Greenwood. Nay, you cannot repulse me now. You accepted the alternative. Your own words have rendered me thus bold, thus presumptuous. Ah, Mr. Greenwood exclaimed the fair patrician lady, abandoning her left hand to this bold admirer, and receiving the case of diamonds with the right. You have spread a snare for me, and I have fallen into the tangled meshes. You can have no compunction. You can entertain no remorse in transferring your affection from a man who neglects you to one who will study your happiness in every way. But merciful heavens, you would not have me leave my husband altogether? Oh, I could not bear the acclour of an elopement. No, never, never! Nor would I counsel such a proceeding, said Greenwood, who was himself astonished at the ease with which he had obtained this victory. You must sustain appearances in society. But when we can meet and when we are together, oh, then we can be to each other as if we alone existed in the world, as if we could indulge in all the joys and sweets of love without fear and without peril. Yes, I will be yours upon these terms. I will be yours, murmured Cecilia. And remember, you must be faithful towards me, and you must never forget the sacrifice I make, and the risk I run in thus responding to your attachment. But above all things, do not think ill of me. Do not despise me. I want something to love, and someone to love me. And you sympathise with my distress. You feel for my unhappiness. You offer me your consolations. Oh, yes, it is you who my must love, and you will love me forever, answered the Libertine, and he caught that frail but beauteous lady in his arms. An hour elapsed. Lady Cecilia had taken her departure, richer in purse, but poorer in honour, and Greenwood had returned to his study. The flush of triumph was upon his brow, and the smile of satisfaction was upon his lip. La fleur entered the room. While you were unguided, sir, said the valley, Sir Rupert Abera called. He was most anxious to see you. I assured him that you were not at arm. He said he would call again in an hour. You can then admit him. The valley bowed and withdrew. Mr. Greenwood then wrote several letters, connected with the various schemes which he had in hand. His occupation was interrupted by the entrance of Sir Rupert Abera. With what ease and assurance, with what unblushing confidence did the Libertine receive the man whose wife he had drawn into the snares of infamy and dishonour? You really must excuse my perseverance in seeing you this day, said Sir Rupert, who perceived by Greenwood's attire that he had not been out of the house that morning. I really don't know which way to turn. I was particularly engaged when you called just now, said Greenwood, and you are aware that one's valley always answers, not at home, in such cases. Oh, just take ceremony, exclaimed Sir Rupert. See, if you can do anything to assist me, Lord Tremorton has literally cut me, and Lady Tremorton is as stingy as a devil. Besides, she and Lady Cecilia have quarrelled. So there's no hope in that quarter. I really cannot assist you further, at present, observed Greenwood. In a short time I shall be able to let you into a good thing, as I told you a little while ago. But for the moment come, Greenwood, interrupted the baronet, do not refuse me. I will give you a post of it of the old Lord. He is sure to leave me something handsome at his death. Yes, but he may settle it upon your wife in such a manner that you will not be able to touch it. Suppose that Lady Cecilia would join me in the security. Insufficient still, Lord Tremorton may bequeath her ladyship merely a life interest without power to touch the capital. Well, what the devil can I do, exclaimed the baronet, almost distracted.  Mr. Greenwood reflected for some minutes, and this time his thoughtful manner was not affected. It struck him that he might affect a certain arrangement in this instance by which he might get the baronet completely in his power and lay out some money at an enormous interest at the same time. You'll see, said Mr. Greenwood, you have not an atom of security to offer me. None, none, answered Sir Rupert. I know of none, if you will not have the post of it. The only means I can think of at the moment, pursued Mr. Greenwood, is this. Get me Lord Tremorton's acceptance to a bill of fifteen hundred pounds at three months, and I will lend you a thousand upon it without an instant delay. Lord Tremorton's acceptance? Are you bad, Greenwood? No, perfectly sane and serious. Of course I shall not call upon him to ask if it be his acceptance. Neither shall I put the bill into circulation. It will be in my desk until it is due. Then, if you cannot pay it, what then, said the baronet, in a subdued tone, as if he breathed with difficulty. Why, you must get it renewed, that's all, replied Mr. Greenwood. I understand you. I understand you, exclaimed Sir Rupert Harbara. It shall be done. When can I see you again? I shall not stir out for another eye. Then I shall return this afternoon. And the baronet departed to forge the name of Lord Tremorton to a bill of exchange for fifteen hundred pounds. I shall hold him in iron chains, said Greenwood to himself, when he was again alone. This bill will hang constantly over his head.  And when I am tired of that amour, and care no more for the beautiful Cecilia, I can obtain payment of the entire amount with interest from Lord Tremorton himself. For his lordship will never allow his son-in-law to be ruined and lost for fifteen or sixteen hundred pounds. Again the study door opened, and again did La Fleur make his appearance. The person who declined to give his lime, said the valet, solicits our interview for a few minutes. What sort of a looking person is he? Very pale and shallow, about a middle-eyed, gentile in appearance, respectably clad, and I should say about forty years of age. Trying to not recollect such a person? Show him up. La Fleur withdrew, and presently introduced Stevens. For a few moments Greenwood surveyed him in a manner as if he were trying to recollect to whom that pale and altered countenance belonged. For although Stevens had made considerable improvement in his attire, thanks to the contents of Eliza's purse, he still retained upon his features the traces of great suffering, mental and bodily. You do not know me, he said with a sickly smile. Stevens, is it possible? exclaimed Greenwood in an accent of the most profound surprise. Yes, it is. No wonder that you did not immediately recognize me. Were I not fearfully altered, I should not dare thus to venture abroad by daylight. I understand. You have escaped? I have returned from transportation. That is the exact truth. Had it not been for an angel and human shape, I should have died last night of starvation. That generous being who relieved me was Eliza Sidney. Eliza Sidney? cried Greenwood. She received you with kindness. She gave me food and money to obtain clothes and lodgings. She moreover promised to supply me with the means to reach America. I am to return to her this evening and receive a certain sum for that purpose. And she told you that I was residing here? said Greenwood inquiringly. Yes, I thought that you might be enabled to assist me in my object of commencing the world anew in another quarter of the globe. I shall arrive there with but little money and no friends. Perhaps you can procure me letters of introduction to merchants in New York. I think I can assist you? said Greenwood, musing upon a scheme which he was revolving in his mind and which was as yet only a few minutes old. Yes, I think I can. But would it not be better for you to take out a few hundred pounds in your pocket? How can you begin any business in the States without capital? Show me the way to procure these few hundreds, said Stevens, and I would hold myself ever your debtor. And perhaps you would not be very particular as to the way in which you obtain such a sum? demanded Greenwood surveying the returned convict in a peculiar manner. My condition was too desperate to allow me to stick at trifles, answered Stevens, not shrinking from a glance which seemed to penetrate into his soul. We understand each other, said Greenwood. I have money and you want money.  You speak candidly at all events, observed Stevens somewhat bitterly. Try promises first, and should they fail, essay threats. I merely wished you to comprehend your true position with regard to me, said Greenwood Cooley. And now I understand it but too well. You require of me some service of a certain nature, no matter what. In a word, I agree to the bargain. The business regards Eliza Sidney, proceeded Greenwood. Eliza Sidney? exclaimed Stevens in dismay. Yes, I love her and she detests me. I must therefore gratify two passions at the same moment. Vengeance and desire. Impossible, cried Stevens. You can never accomplish your schemes through my agency. Very good. And Mr. Greenwood moved towards the bell. What would you do? demanded Stevens in alarm. Summon my servants to hand a returned convict over to justice. Answered Greenwood Cooley. Villain, you could not do it. I will do it. And Greenwood placed his hand upon the bell rope. Oh no, no, that must not be. Speak, I will do your bidding. Mr. Greenwood returned to his seat. I must possess Eliza Sidney and you must be the instrument, he said in his usual calm and measured tone. You want to return to her this evening? I am, but I implore you. Silence! This evening I am engaged and tomorrow evening also. The day after tomorrow I shall be at liberty. You will invent some excuse which will enable you to postpone your departure and you will contrive to pass the evening after tomorrow with Eliza Sidney. Can you do this? I can, no doubt. But again, I beg, no more of this nonsense. You would adopt some means to get her faithful servant Louisa out of the way and you will open the front door of the villa to me at midnight on the evening appointed. You never can affect your purpose.  She must sleep, sleep profoundly, said Greenwood, sinking his voice almost to a whisper and regarding his companion in a significant manner. My God, what an atrocity! ejaculated Stevens with horror depicted upon his countenance. Perhaps you prefer to return to the horrors of transportation, the miseries of Norfolk Island, said Greenwood satirically. No death sooner, cried Stevens, striking the palm of his right hand against his forehand. Greenwood approached him and whispered for some time in his ear. Steven listened in silence and when the liberty had done, he signified a reluctant assent by means of a slight nod. You understand how you are to act, said Greenwood aloud. Perfectly, answered Stevens, he then took his departure. Scarcely had he left the house when Sir Rupert Harbour returned. The baronet was deadly pale and trembled violently. Greenwood affected not to observe his emotions, but received the bill of exchange which the baronet handed to him, and with as much coolness as if he were concluding a perfectly legitimate transaction. Having read the document, he handed a pen to the baronet to endorse it. Sir Rupert affixed his name to the back of the forged instrument with a species of desperate resolution. Mr. Greenwood consigned the bill to his desk and then wrote a cheque for a thousand pounds which he handed to the baronet. Thus terminated this transaction. When the baronet had taken his departure, Mr. Greenwood summoned Lafleur and said, You need not institute any inquiries relative to Miss Sidney at Upper Clapton. My orders relative to Mr. Markham remain unchanged, and mind that the fellow known as Tom the Cracksman is here to-morrow evening at nine o'clock. Mr. Greenwood, having thus concluded his morning's business, partook of an elegant luncheon and then proceeded to dress for his afternoon's ride in the park. End of Chapter 48. Read by Dave Wills Chapter 49. Of the Mysteries of London This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. The Mysteries of London by George Reynolds Chapter 49. The Document The more civilization progresses, and the more refined becomes the human intellect, so does human iniquity increase. It is true that heinous and appalling crimes are less frequent, but every kind of social, domestic, political, and commercial intrigue grows more into vogue. Human ingenuity is more continually on the rack to discover the means of defrauding a neighbor or cheating the world. The sacred name of religion is called in to aid and further the nefarious devices of the schema.  Mere brute force is now less frequently resorted to, but the refinements of education or the exercise of duplicity are the engines chiefly used for the purposes of plunder. The steel engravers' art and the skill of the calligrapher are mighty implements of modern misdeed. Years and years are expended in calculating the chances of cards and dice, education, manners, and goal looks are essential to the formation of the adventurers of the present day. The bankruptcy court itself is a frequent avenue to the temple of fortune, and in order to suit this new and refined system of things, the degrees of vices themselves are qualified by different names, so that he who gambles at a gaming table is a scamp, and he who propagates a lie upon the exchange, and gambles accordingly, and with success, is a respectable financier. Chicanery, upon a small scale, and in a miserable dark office, is a degradation, but the delicate and elaborate chicanery of politics by which a statesman is enabled to outwit parties or deceive whole nations is a masterpiece of human talent. To utter a falsehood in private life, to suit a private end, is to cut oneself off from all honourable society, but to lie day and night in a public journal, to lie habitually and boldly in print, to lie in a manner the most shameless and barefaced in the editorial columns of a newspaper, is not only admissible but conventional, and a proof of skill, tact, and talent. Thus is modern society constituted, let him deny the truth of the picture who can. London is filled with Mr. Greenwoods, they are to be found in numbers at the West End. Do not for one moment believe, reader, that our portrait of this character is exaggerated. In pursuing the thread of a narrative like this, there will naturally be found much to alarm, to astonish, and to shock. But, however appalling the picture, it teaches lessons which none can regret to learn. The chart that would describe the course to virtue must point out, and lay bare the shoals, the quicksands, and the rocks of vice, which render the passage perilous and full of terrors. With these few remarks we pursue our history. At seven o'clock in the evening of the day following the one, on which we have seen Mr. Greenwood conducting his multifarious schemes and transactions with the precision of a minister of state, Count Altaroni arrived at that gentleman's house in Spring Gardens. He was shown into the elegantly furnished drawing-room, where Mr. Greenwood received him. The Count was, however, the only one of all the financiers' visitors, who did not seem dazzled by the proofs of wealth and luxury that prevailed around. The Italian nobleman remarked these indications of great riches, and considered them the guarantees of Mr. Greenwood's prosperous position in the world. But, apart from this view of the splendour and sumptuousness of the mansion, he neither appeared astonished nor struck with admiration. The truth was that Mr. Greenwood's abode, with all its magnificent decorations and ornaments, its costly furniture, and its brilliant display of plate was a mere hovel compared to the Count's own palace at Montoni, the capital city of Castile's Sicala. Mr. Greenwood and the Count had not exchanged many words, ere dinner was announced. The banquet, although only provided for the founder of the feast, and his one guest, was of a most magnificent description, every luxury which London could produce appearing upon the table. At half-past eight o'clock the clock of Mr. Greenwood's solicitor arrived, and was introduced into the dining-room. He had brought with him a deed by which Greenwood bound himself to be answerable to Count Altaroni for the sum of fifteen thousand pounds, which the latter had placed in the hands of the former for the purpose of speculation in a certain steam-packet company, Greenwood recognising his responsibility towards the Count to the above extent, whether the company should succeed or not, it having been originally agreed that he, Greenwood, should incur all risks, he had undertaken the sole direction of the enterprise. This deed was signed by George M. Greenwood, witness by the attorney's clock, and handed to Count Altaroni. The clock then withdrew. Mr. Greenwood ordered a bottle of the very best burgundy to be opened, and drank a bumper to the health of the Signora Isabella. Scarcely was this toast disposed of, when Le Fleur entered the room and said, a courier with dispatchers from your correspondence in Paris, sir, has just arrived, and requests to see you instantly. I have shown him into the study. Very good! exclaimed Greenwood, suddenly assuming a business air. Will you excuse me, Count, for a few minutes? I shall take my leave, since you are likely to be much occupied," said the nobleman. On the contrary, pray, remain. I insist upon it. I shall not be long with this messenger, cried Mr. Greenwood, and we must empty another bottle before I allow you to take your departure. The Count suffered himself to be overruled, and Mr. Greenwood repaired to his study, while knowing that, instead of a courier from Paris, he should there find Tom the Cracksman. Nor was he mistaken. That individual was sitting very comfortably in an armchair near the fire, gazing around him, and wondering, amongst other things, where the master of the house kept his strongbox. "'You are known, I believe,' said Greenwood, carefully closing the door, as the Cracksman. "'That's my title, sir, for want of a better,' answered the villain. "'You are, perhaps, astonished that I have sent for you here,' continued Greenwood. "'But I wish a certain service performed this very night, and for which I will pay you liberally. "'What's the nature of the service?' demanded the Cracksman, darting a keen and penetrating glance at Greenwood. "'A highway robbery,' coolly answered this individual. "'Well, that's plainer now,' said the Cracksman. "'But first tell me how you come to know of me, and where I was to be seen, because how can I tell but what this is all a plant of yours to get me into trouble? "'I will answer you candidly and fairly. A few years ago, when I first entered on a London life, I determined to make myself acquainted with all the ways of the metropolis, high or low, virtuous or vicious. I disguised myself on several occasions in very mean clothes, and visited all the flash-houses and patty-cribs, amongst others the boozing-ken in Great Saffron Hill. There you were pointed out to me, and your skill, your audacity, and your extraordinary luck in alluding the police were vaunted by the landlord of that place in no measured terms. "'Well, this is singular. Blow me if it ain't,' cried the Cracksman. "'Another person found me out just in the same way this very morning. Only, and he wants a little private job done for him. But that's for tomorrow night. Elsemever, I never blab to one of what I have done or am going to do for another. You tonight, him tomorrow night. Art of all, the landlords have fooled the talk so free. How do you know you weren't a trap in disguise?' "'Because I told him that my object was merely to see life in all its shapes, and I was then so very young I could scarcely have been considered dangerous. However, I have occasionally indulged in such rambles, even very lately, and only a few weeks ago I looked in at the boozing-ken dressed as a poor countryman. There I saw you again, and I overheard you say to a friend of yours, whom you called the buffer, that you were generally there every evening to see what was going on.' "'All right,' cried the Cracksman. "'Nah, what's the robbery, and what's the reward?  I'm manner now to try it on, but if so be the chap is stronger than me, he is a tall, powerful person. And by no means likely to surrender without a desperate resistance.' "'Well, all that can be arranged,' said the Cracksman coolly. "'Not knowing what you wanted with me, I'd brought two of my pals along with me, and they're out in the street, or in the alley leading to the park.  I'm glad that you have your companions so near. Of course they will assist you. In anything, the resurrection man and the buffer will stick to me like bricks. Very good. I will now explain to you what I want done. Between eleven and twelve o'clock a gentleman will leave London for Richmond. He will be in his own cabriolet with a tiger only twelve years old behind. The cab is light blue, the wheels streaked with white. This is peculiar and cannot be mistaken. The horse is a tall bay with silver-mounted harness. This gentleman must be stopped, and everything his pockets contain, everything mined, must be brought to me. Whatever money there may be about him shall be yours. And I will add fifty guineas to the amount. But all that you find about his person, save the money, must be handed over to me. I understand, said the cracksman. Does he carry pistols? I should imagine not. Never mind, the resurrection man has got a couple of barkers, but supposedly shouldn't come at all. What then? You shall have twenty guineas for your loss of time. Here are ten as an earnest. That's business, said the cracksman. Any more instructions? No, I need scarcely say that no unnecessary violence is to be used. Leave all that to me. He will sit up and wait for me? Yes. Give a low single knock at the door, and the same servant who sought you out last night and let you in just now will admit you again. The cracksman gave a significant nod. And took his departure. Mr. Greenwood returned to the dining-room, where he had left the count. My news from Paris is of the most satisfactory nature, he observed. My correspondence in that city, moreover, promised me their best support in our new enterprise. I am delighted to hear that your letters have pleased you, said the count. The two gentlemen then broached another bottle of burgundy, and Mr. Greenwood conversed with even more sprightliness than usual. Indeed, the count fancied that he had never found his host so agreeable and entertaining. At eleven o'clock precisely, the count's cabriolet was announced, and the nobleman took his departure, with the conviction that, under his present circumstances, Mr. Greenwood was the most eligible suitor for the hand of Isabella that was likely to present himself. As soon as the count had taken his departure, Mr. Greenwood rang for his slippers and dressing-gound, drew close to the cheerful fire that burnt in the grate, and ordered Le Fleur to make him a tumbler of the best pineapple rum punch, this exhilarating beverage and a fragrant Havana cigar enabled Mr. Greenwood to pass the time away in a most comfortable and soul-soothing manner, and it was thus that he mused as he watched the pale, blee transparent smoke of his cigar breathing upwards to the ceiling. I began the world without a shilling, and at an age when I had no experience in the devious ways of society, and what am I now, the possessor of sixty thousand pounds? A few years ago I slept in coffee-houses, paying apents a night for my bed. I breakfasted for Thrapin's apenie, dined for tempants, and sucked for tuppence. Now the luxuries of the four quarters of the world tempt my palate at every meal. At the outset of my career my transactions were petty rogueries. Now I play my false cards to produce me thousands at a stake. I once purchased my coat for twelve shillings in Holywell Street. There is not now a tailor at the West End who will not give credit to George Greenwood. My wealth purchases me every kind of pleasure. I can afford to bestow a thousand guineas upon the woman, who, daughter of a peer, and wife of a baronet, throws herself into my arms. One single scheme produces me ten times that amount. And Isabella, beautyous Isabella, shall be my wife. I shall receive no dowry with her, it is true, because I have obtained all her father's fortune in advance. But I shall be proud to introduce a lovely wife, the daughter of a count, and descended from a long line of ancestry in that fashionable sphere to which I must henceforth belong. I shall be a member of Parliament. Lord Tremorden can easily obtain for use a baronet see in due time, and then the peerage is not a height too difficult to aspire to. Oh, if with a coronet upon my brow and Isabella by my side I can drive in my chariot too, Le Fleur entered the room at this moment, and handed a letter to his master. Greenwood opened it, and read as follows. I have done your bidding in every particular up to the present moment. Louisa set off this afternoon for Birmingham, having received a letter stating that her only sister is at the point of death in that town. You will of course understand by whom that letter was written. I have, moreover, invented an excuse relative to the date of the departure of the New York packets from Liverpool, by which means I am unable to remain in London without exciting the suspicions of Eliza. I shall pass tomorrow evening with her. You may rely upon being admitted at midnight. Greenwood full well understood the meaning of this note without a signature, and its contents tended to augment the happiness which the success of his schemes infused into his breast. Hour after hour passed away. At length midnight sounded, and all the servants, save Le Fleur, were dismissed to their sleeping apartments. The cigars, the rum punch, and the pleasurable reflections into which the financier plunged made the time elapse rapidly. One o'clock struck, and he had not found a single moment tedious. He was not anxious, nor a prey to suspense, as other men would have been. He felt certain that his wishes would be accomplished, and he was therefore as composed as if he had already been assured of their success. The o'clock struck too, and a low knock was heard at the front door. Le Fleur answered the summons, and in a few moments introduced the cracksman to the room where his master was sitting. "'All right, sir,' said that worthy, the moment Le Fleur had withdrawn. "'And no violence, I hope,' cried Greenwood. "'Not a bit,' returned the cracksman. We was as gentle as lambs.  "'You surely have not murdered him,' said Greenwood, his whole countenance suddenly convulsed with horror. "'Don't be afraid. He was only stunned. You may take my word for that,' returned the cracksman coolly. "'But here's all the paper we found in his pocket, and as for his purse it had but a few pans in it.' Mr. Greenwood received the papers from the hands of the cracksman, and observed with a glance that amongst them was the document which he had given a few hours previously to guarantee the safety of the fifteen thousand pounds placed in his hands by Count Altaroni. "'You are sure,' he said, with some uneasiness, depicted upon his countenance, that there is no danger to be apprehended from the blow?' "'Danger be damned,' cried the cracksman. "'I know from experience exactly what kind of blow will stun or break a limb or kill outright. I'll forfeit my reputation if there's any arm in that there whack which I gave tonight. "'We must hope that you are right in your conjecture,' said Greenwood. Then, taking his purse from his pocket, he counted down forty-two sovereigns upon the table, adding, "'That will make up the fifty guineas promised.'" The cracksman consigned the money to his fob, then took leave of his employer, hoping that he should have his custom in future. The moment he was gone, Greenwood thrust the document, which he had thus got back by a crime of an infamous nature, into the fire. When it was completely consumed he proceeded to examine the other papers. These consisted chiefly of letters written in cipher, addressed to Count Altaroni, and buried the postmark of Montoni, Castel Sicala. The rest were notes and memoranda of no consequence whatever. Mr. Greenwood, being unable to unriddle the letters written in cipher, and considering that they were upon political subjects, with which he had little or no interest, consigned the entire packet of papers to the flames. He then retired to rest and slept as soundly as if his entire day had been passed in virtuous deeds. At about ten o'clock in the morning he received the following letter from Richmond. My dear Mr. Greenwood, as I was on my way home last evening, I was suddenly attacked by three villains in a dark and lonely part of the road. One of the miscreants stunned me with the blow of a pistol and threw the little jockey into a ditch. Fortunately we are neither of us seriously injured. The robbers plundered me of everything I had about my person, by purse containing thirty-four sovereigns and oil of my papers, amongst which was the security I had received from your hands a few hours before. You will perhaps have another drawn. I do not think it is worthwhile to make any disturbance relative to the matter, as, in consequence of the darkness of the night, I should be totally unable to recognize the miscreants. Yours faithfully, Al-Taroni. Thank heavens there is no danger in that quarter, exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, when he had perused this letter. He is not hurt, and he will not adopt any means to detect the culprits. As for having another document drawn up, I can take my time about that, and he will not dare press me for it, as he did for the first. Besides, he will consider my honorable intentions in the matter fully proved, by having given the one which he has lost. Thus have I obtained fifteen thousand pounds without much trouble. Thus have I thrown dust into the eyes of this count, and still do I retain his confidence, and his lovely daughter, the beautiful Isabella, with her large black eyes, her raven hair, her sweet red lips, and her silk-like form. She shall be mine. I shall lead her to the altar, that charming Italian virgin, whose very looks are heavens. Everything progresses well. Success attends all my plans, and to-night, to-night, he added, to-night will ensure me the gratification of my desires and my vengeance with regard to that haughty one of the villa.