The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ada, the Betrayed; Or, The Murder at the Old Smithy. A Romance of Passion
Title: Ada, the Betrayed; Or, The Murder at the Old Smithy. A Romance of Passion
Author: James Malcolm Rymer
Release date: May 12, 2015 [eBook #48938]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Allan Hackney
Ada, the Betrayed;
or,
The Murder at the Old Smithy.
A Romance of Passion.
———
John Malcolm Rymer
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Storm.—The Old Smithy.—A Deed of Blood.—The Death Cry.—The Child of the Dead.—Remorse and Despair.
The Lull of the Tempest.—Morning is Coming.—The Child of Mystery.—The Necklace.—A Surprise and a Disappearance.—The Inscription.—The Lord of Learmont.
Ten Years have Flown.—The Old Rose Inn.—A Snow Storm.—Tom the Factotum.—An Arrival to the Old Smithy.—The Mysterious Stranger.
The Old Smithy.—A Lone Man.—The Alarm.—The Mysterious Conference.—Guilt and Misery.
The Morning.—A Visit.—Blasted Hopes.—The Arranged Meeting.—The Packet.—And the Knife.
Night Again.—The Ruins.—The Conference.—The Old Oaken Door.—The Resolve.
The Conference, Continued.—Mutual Security.—The Oaken Door and the Strange Appearance.—Mysteries Thicken.
The Mansion.—Offers of Magnitude.—The Double Plot.
London in 1742.—Gray’s Home.—The Child.—The Voice of Conscience.—A Visit.
The Disappearance.—Mrs. Bridget Strangeways and the Old Oaken Chest.—Albert’s Grief and Despair.
Learmont in London.—The Endeavour to Drown Thought.—Life in 1742.—All is not Gold that Glitters.
The Consequences of Crime.—A Familiar Friend.—A Cloud upon Learmont’s Felicity.
A Walk in the Park.—A Recognition.—The Question.—A Defiance.—Jacob Gray’s First Visit.—The Dream.
The Dark Threat.—The Biter Bit.—Another Murder Projected.—Learmont’s Reasoning.
Chase.—A Long Race, And its Results.
The Lone House in Ancient Lambeth.—The Boy.—A Solitary Heart.
“The Chequers,” at Westminster.—Britton’s Notions of Greatness.—“When the Wine is In, the Wit is Out.”
The Lone Max.—The Voice of Conscience.
Learmont’s Adventure.—A Discovery.—The Haunted House.—Exultation, and a Resolution.
The Guide.—The Old House.—The Murder.
A Sunny Morning.—The Chamber in the Old House.
Learmont at Home.—His Exultation.—The Smith.—The Plot.
The Projected Murder.—The Unconscious Sleeper.—A Night of Horror.
The Attempted Assassination.—A Surprise.—Ada’s Surmises.—The Agony of Gray.
The Escape.—Taunts.—The Confession.—Learmont’s Rage and Discomfiture.
The Morning.—The Body of the Murdered Man.—The Old Inn.—Jacob’s Reflections.
Ada’s Flight and Despair.—Old Westminster Bridge at Daybreak.—The Smith.—Mad Maud.
Ada’s Wanderings.—The Pearl Necklace.—A Kind Heart.—The Park.—A Joyous Meeting.—The Arrangement.
The Young Lovers.—The Gallant of a Hundred Years Since.—Hopes and Fears.—The Dream of a True Heart.
Jacob’s Return Home.—An Unexpected Visitor.—The Lonely Watch.
Ada’s Fate Again Against Her.—The Threat.—The New Home.
Albert’s Disappointment.—Tibbs, the Bear Warden.—The Search.—A Consultation.
Learmont at Home.—Dark Reflections.—The Summons.—The Confederates.—Suspicions.
The Girl in Her Melancholy Home.—The Prison House.—A Dungeon’s Gloom.—Unavailing Sorrow.
Ada’s Appeal.—The Promise.—Ada’s Despair.—Gray’s Triumph.
The Squire.—The Life of a Captive.—A Strange Fatality.—The Associates.
Learmont at Home.—The Baronetcy.—A Visitor.—The Rejected Offer.
Ada’s Lone Home.—The Summer.—An Adventure.
The Alarm.—The Pursuit.—A Mob in the Last Century.—The Fugitive.—Maud, the Beggar.
The Tale.—A Blighted Heart’s Despair.
The Interview.—Jacob Gray’s Meditations.—The Slip of Paper.—The Nail.—The Guilty Conscience.—The Departure.
Jacob Gray’s Fears.—The Promise.—Ada’s Meditations.
Britton at the Chequers.—The Visit.—A Mysterious Stranger.—The Good Company.
The Fête.—Villany Prospers for a Season.—An Interruption.—The Dance.
The Ball-room.—A Noble Family.—The Interruption.—Unexpected End of Learmont’s Fête.
Albert Seyton.—The Lonely Search.—A Suggestion.—An Important Visit.
The Pursuit.—The Attempted Murder.—A Providential Interference.—The Papers.
The Meeting at Mill-bank.—The Knife.—Ada’s Fate Hangs on a Thread.—The Bold Plunge.
The Smith’s Anger.—A Drunken Tour through Westminster in the Olden Time.—The Watch.—A Scene at the Chequers.—The Determination.
The Old House Again.—Ada’s Alarm.—Gray and His Gold.
A Human Voice.—The Departure.—An Unexpected Meeting.—The Reception.
Gray’s Cunning.—Danger Thickens.—The Hour of Retribution has not Come.
The Proposal.—Gray’s Reasoning.—The Vault.—Ada’s Tears.—A Guilty Heart’s Agony.
The Search.—The Confession.—The Strange Report.—An Awful Dilemma.
The Lonely Watcher.—Gray’s Cunning.—The Cupboard on the Stairs.
The Death of the Elder Seyton.—Albert’s Grief.—The Prophecy.
The Smith at Learmont House.—The Breakfast.—The Threat, and its Results.—The Caution.
The Escape.—A Song of the Times.
The Projected Murder.—The Alarm.—The Death-Shot.—Ada’s Anguish and Indignation.
The Ruin at Night.—The Fire.—Gray’s Behaviour.—A Challenge.—Old Westminster Again.
The Alcove on the Bridge.—Gray’s Speech to Ada.—The Flight.—The Hunt.—The Last Refuge.
The Dark Court.—A Deed of Blood.—The Pursuit Continued.—The Mother and the Child.
A Mother’s Care.—The Pursuit.—A Successful Ruse.—The Second Visit.
The Staircase.—The Old Attic.—A Friend in Need.—Fair Play.—Gray’s Despair.
The Escape over the Houses.—Many Perils.—Gray’s Great Sufferings.—The Guide Rope.
The Robbers.—The Drugged Wine.—Visions of the Mind Diseased.
Ada’s Escape.—The Magistrate.—Ada’s Ignorance of London Localities.—Learmont’s Fright.
An Anecdote.—Sir Francis Hartleton’s House at Westminster.—The Reception.—Ada’s Conduct and Feelings.
Jacob Gray and His Kind Friends.—The Plunder.—Thieves’ Morality.—The Drive to Hampstead.
Ada at Sir Francis Hartleton’s.—The Philosophy of a Young Heart.—A Confession.—The Pleasure of Sympathy.
Albert Seyton’s Destitution.—A Lone and Wearied Spirit.—The Application to Learmont, and the Meeting with Sir Francis Hartleton.
Jacob Grey in the Hampstead Fields.—The Placard.—The Reward.
Gray’s Proceedings.—A Narrow Escape.—The Night Visit to Learmont.
The Chequers.—Britton’s Corner.—An Alarm.—The Mysterious Stranger.—A Quarrel.—A Fight and a Little Anatomy.
An Interview with a Secretary of State.—Sir Francis Hartleton’s Difficulties.
Gray’s Visit to Learmont.—The Disappointment.—A Week of Terror.—The Street Newsvender.
The Disappointment.—The Last Resource.—A Strange Meeting.—The Confession.
Britton and Learmont.—Mind and Matter Produce Similar Results.—Learmont’s Weakness and Fears.—The Chair.
A Walk and a Meeting.—The Vision at the Open Casement.—Learmont’s Perturbation.
The Jew and the Necklace.—Gray’s Troubles and Surmises.—An Adventure.
The Pursuit.—A Successful Ruse.—The Long Night.—Gray’s Terror.
The Return of Learmont.—The Interview.—Doubts and Fears.
The Troublesome Shoe-maker.—Gray’s Agony and Danger.—The Flight.
Ada’s Home.—A Happy Scene.—The Serenity of Goodness.
Britton in His Glory Again.—The Song and the Legal Functionary.—The Surprise.
The Old Associates.—Gray’s Fears.—The Old Attic at the Chequers.
The Smith’s Plot Against Gray.—An Accommodating Friend.
Gray on the House Tops.—Specimens of the Rising Generation.—The Old Attic.
The Interview between Albert and Learmont.—The Promise, and Albert’s Relation.
The Unfortunate Confidence of Albert Seyton.—Learmont’s Promises and Treachery.
Learmont’s Improved Prospects.—The Park.—Ada’s Recollections.—The Meeting.
Learmont’s Sneers.—The Spy.—The Amateur Constable.
Gray’s Peril.—A Peep into Domestic Affairs.—The Corpulent Lady.—The Man who Was Hung on Monday.
The Mystery Explained.—The Escape.—Jacob Gray’s New Lodging.
Learmont’s Treachery to Albert Seyton.—The Plot Against Gray.
Gray at Home.—The Confession.—A Walk through Westminster in Search of a Wig.
Jacob Gray’s Disguise.—The Troublesome Shoemaker Again.—The Visit.
Mad Maud and the Magistrate.—The Scraps of Gray’s Confession.
The Revelation.—Learmont’s Deep Duplicity.—Albert’s Gratitude.
The Last Meeting.—Mutual Cunning.—The Squire and Jacob Gray.
The Pursuit.—The Spy.—The Three Wherries on the Thames.
The Chase on the Thames.—Albert’s Successful Disguise.—The Old Stairs at Buckingham-street.
Gray at Home.—Albert’s Joy and Exultation.—The Meeting in the Old Door Way.
Strong Drink at the Chequers.—The Summons to Britton.—His Majesty’s Amusements.
The Walk in Search of Albert.—The Recognition at Charing Cross.
Sir Francis Hartleton’s Surprise at Albert’s Place of Destination.—The Watch on the Squires’ House.—Ada’s Disappointment.
The Visit to Gray’s House.—Learmont’s Exultation.
Albert’s Love and Determination.—The Squire’s Dream.
Ada’s Faith in Albert Seyton.—The Confidence of a Generous Heart.
Learmont’s Visit to the Chequers.—The Sleeping Smith.
The Search.—The Assignation.—Britton’s Surprise and Exaltation.
The Hour of Eleven.—Gray in His Solitary Home.—The Lover’s Watch.—The Eve of the Murder.
From Twelve to One.
The Murder.
After the Murder.
The Arrest.
The Interview and the Exculpation.—Sir Francis Hartleton’s Caution.
Albert’s Despair.—The Tests of Truth.
The Meeting of the Lovers.
The Lovers.—The Interview of Sir Francis Hartleton with the Secretary of State.—The Ball.
The Confession.
The Consultation with Albert and Ada.—The Arrangement for the Ball.
Learmont and Britton after the Murder.
Albert’s Visit to Learmont.—The Squire’s Triumph.
The Masked Ball.
The Death of Learmont.
The Pursuit for Britton.
Conclusion.
Lloyd’s
Penny Weekly Miscellany
of
Romance and General Interest
There's not a passion of the mind,
A moving thraldom of the o’verwrought brain,
But with the magic of an art which is immortal,
Is enshrined here.—Ben Jonson.
I have a tale of war for knight
Lay of love for beauty bright,
Fairy tale to lull the heir,
Goblins grim the maids to scare.—Scott.
Vol. I.
London:
Printed and Published by E. Lloyd, 12 Salisbury Square, Fleet Street.
———
1843.
PREFACE
Prefaces, like prologues, have nearly gone out of fashion; but the Editor of Lloyd’s Penny Weekly Miscellany feels, that upon the completion of the first volume of his labours, he is bound to say something to his patrons, if it is but to thank them most heartily and sincerely for a degree of patronage, such as he may venture to say, few, if any, periodical publications have been able to boast of. When we first launched our Miscellany upon the stream of time, we were gratified to find that the breath of popular applause filled its sails, and bore it gallantly forward past many a proud competitor; and we have found, by the experience of twelve months, that the fair wind that urged us onwards was not “a mere passing gale,” for each week has materially increased our circulation, until the Miscellany now occupies a place in the periodical literature of Great Britain (and, in fact, wherever the English language is spoken), which may well fill the hearts of both Publisher and Editor with the most grateful feelings towards their best friends—the Public.
Having said thus much of the past, it behoves us to say something of that which is to come. First and foremost then, those pens which have already received the meed of popular applause, will still continue to
“Weave their airy fictions”
in our pages. The Author of “Ada, the Betrayed; or, the Murder at the Old Smithy,” in particular, has several novelties in progress, which from time to time will appear.
Secondly,—We shall make it our study to maintain the high majesty of virtue over the turbulence of vice, and to make our pages, while they glow with the romantic and the chivalrous, so replete with true nobility of sentiment, that we shall, as hitherto, find our way, and maintain our place, among the young and pure of heart.
In conclusion, we can only add, that as we have done so will we do, and while Lloyd’s Penny Weekly Miscellany shall lose none of its present attractions, we pledge ourselves that neither expense, time, or trouble, shall be spared to add to it every attractive feature which may grow out of the intelligence and spirit of the age, our wish bring to render it a rational companion for all classes of persons. We must likewise, in some degree, claim for ourselves the merit, if we may be allowed the term, of laying before a large and intelligent class of readers, at a charge comparatively insignificant, those same pleasures of the imagination which have hitherto, to a great extent, only graced the polished leisure of the wealthy; and, at the same time that we have done so, we have found with unmingled satisfaction that correct tastes, glowing fancies, and an admirable perception of the poetical and the beautiful, are as well to be found by the humblest fire-sides, as in the lordly mansions of the great and the noble.
To our numerous Correspondents we have to return our sincere thanks for many literary favours, as well as for much friendly commendation they have been pleased to bestow upon our labours, and with a sanguine hope that we and our Readers shall proceed as pleasantly together to the year 1844, as we have to 1843, we gratefully thus introduce our first volume to their notice.
Ada, the Betrayed;
or,
The Murder at the Old Smithy.
A Romance of Passion.
———
Around the winter’s hearth the tale is told,
To lisping infancy and hoary age;
It is a story of strange passion—of grief and tears—
Of joy and love, and all the elements of mind
Which make us what we are.
Scott.
CHAPTER I.
The Storm.—The Old Smithy.—A Deed of Blood.—The Death Cry.—The Child of the Dead.—Remorse and Despair.
It was towards the close of the year 1795 that a storm, unequalled in duration and fury, swept over one of the most fertile districts of England, spreading consternation and dismay among the inhabitants of several villages, and destroying in a few short hours the hopes of many an industrious family, who looked to the nearly ripened grain of the fertile fields for their means of subsistence through the coming winter.
The day had been lowering and overcast. An unusual sultriness had pervaded the air, and although more than sixty miles of hill and dale laid between the spot to which we allude and the Northern Ocean, which washes the eastern shore of England, several sea birds (a most unwonted sight) had flown, screeching and wailing, over the rich corn-fields and promising orchards.
The day had worn gradually on, and it was not until the sun was lost amid a mass of fiery clouds in the glowing west that any precise indications of the approaching tempest presented themselves. Then, however, when the long shadows from the trees began to lose their identity in the general gloom of the rapidly approaching night, a singular moaning wind began to blow from the north-west.
The cattle showed alarm and uneasiness—the birds flew low and uncertainly—horses trembled in their stables, and the hoarse scream of various large birds of prey as they flew over the farm-house, or settled on the roofs, had a peculiarly discordant effect. It would seem as if there was something in the air which enabled the inferior animals to know and dread the awful strife of the elements which was about to ensue.
The glowing clouds in the west rapidly disappeared, and the night fell over the land as if a black pall had been suddenly cast over the face of Nature. The wind momentarily increased in violence. Now it moaned like an evil spirit round the gable ends of the houses; then again, with a wild whistle and a rushing sound, it would sweep past the latticed windows like a wild animal seeking its prey.
Occasionally there would be a lull in the tempest, and in one of these the heavens were lit up with a flash of lightning of such power and brilliancy, that all who saw it closed instantly their eyes in dismay, and trembled with apprehension. Then followed thunder—thunder that shook the houses to their foundations, and boomed and rattled in the sky with so awful a sound that many of the villagers sunk upon their knees to pray, for they thought the end of the world was at hand, and they should never see the blessed sun again. Mothers clasped their screaming children to their breasts, and wept in bitterness of heart. Strong men shook with fear, and when again the wind arose, and, like a giant’s arm, levelled hedges, trees, haystacks, and some houses, a cry of dismay arose from the villagers, and the bells were rung in the rural churches. Some screamed—some prayed—some wept and rung their hands. All was horror, uncertainty, and despair!
The storm had lasted several hours, and still, the forked lightning darted in livid streaks from cloud to cloud. The awful thunder filled the air with its hundred echoes, and the wind swept over a scene of desolation, for the smiling corn-fields were no more; the laden fruit trees were levelled with the soil, and many a cottage had its humble thatch torn off, and presented but its bare walls to the moaning blast.
The principle fury of the land storm seemed to have been levelled at a little village which occupied the gentle slope of a beautiful and fertile valley, some few miles from Ashby-de-la-Zouch, and through the lowest portion of which a branch of the river Derwent wound its serpentine course. The village was called Learmont, from the name of a noble family who, since the Norman conquest, had been the owners of the land.
There was scarcely a house, from the humblest cottage to the lordly mansion of the Learmonts, which had not suffered by the hurricane; and to add to the dismay of the inhabitants, who in fear and dread had rushed from their homes, there arose about the hour of midnight the dreadful cry of fire!
That fearful cry struck terror to every heart, and those who had breath to shriek joined the shout, and “fire! fire!” passed from mouth to mouth, in all the different tones and cadences of fear and hopelessness.
All uncertainty as to the precise locality of the fire was soon removed, for the flames from a large irregular building, standing somewhat apart from the other houses, quickly marked it as the spot of the conflagration.
“It’s at the Old Smithy,” cried a dozen voices.
The words had scarcely passed their lips, when a woman darted into the centre of the throng, shrieking wildly,—
“Aye—it is at the Old Smithy! The time has come—I knew. I have told you all; you, and you, and you, I’ve told. Ha! Ha! Ha! Heaven has at last forged a bolt for the Old Smithy! Do you stand aghast! Can you put out yon light? No—no—no! I know you cannot. The Old Smithy gone at last. Ha! Ha! I am happy now—happy now! You do not stir. You are right—quite right. Let him, Andrew Britton—that’s his name—let him roast and writhe in the flames—let his skin blacken in curling lights—let his flesh drop from him in the hissing, roaring fire—let his bones whiten, and glow, and crackle into long white splinters, as they will—as I know they will; but I want to see it, my masters—I want to see it. Live—live and shriek, Andrew Britton, till I come. Hark! now. I hear him. Hark!—music—music—’tis music.”
She was about to bound off in the direction of the blazing house, leaving her listeners aghast at her terrible denunciations, when a man of forbidding aspect and Herculean build rushed into the midst of the throng of villagers round her, and with one blow of his clenched hand struck her insensible to the earth.
A cry of “shame! shame!” arose, and a young man stepping forward, exclaimed,—
“Unmanly ruffian! How dared you strike the woman? You know as well as all we that she is mad. Andrew Britton, you are a coward, and well you merit your name of ‘The Savage.’”
“Down with the savage!” cried several.
“He has killed poor Mad Maud,” said one.
“Is she not always crying out against me?” growled the ruffian. “Is there anything too bad for the old beldame to say of me, Andrew Britton?”
“Not dead! not dead!” suddenly cried she whom the villagers called Mad Maud, springing to her feet. “Mind ye all, Andrew Britton is to die before I do. Ha! Ha!—Not dead! To the Smithy—to the Smithy.”
She darted off in the direction of the blazing house, and, as if by one impulse, the villagers followed her, shouting,—
“To the Smithy—to the Smithy!”
The building, which was in flames, had at one time evidently been of a much higher character than its present appearance warranted. It consisted of a large uninhabited house, with two wings, one of which had been converted into a smithy, and was in the occupation of Andrew Britton, the smith, who stood high in favour of the then Squire Learmont, whose property the old house was.
The fire was in the other wing to that which had been converted into a smithy, and when the villagers arrived they found it so enveloped in flames, that any attempt to save it seemed perfectly in vain.
“Blood—blood is spilling,” cried Mad Maud, rushing close to the flaming building. “I heard it. A deed of blood! Hark!—hark!”
The villagers were horror-stricken by hearing piercing shrieks coming from the interior of the burning house.
“There!” cried the maniac exultingly; “that’s a death cry. Ha! Ha! Ha! Brave work—brave work. Andrew Britton, where are you?”
“Here,” cried the smith. “Look at me, all of you, and swear hereafter you saw me here while—while—”
“While the murder was doing!” cried Maud.
“Murder?” said the villagers, as if with one voice.
“Drivelling idiot!” roared Britton. “By—”
Before the oath could escape his lips, there dashed from among the burning ruins a figure which might well strike terror into every heart. It was that of a man, but so blackened and scorched was he by the fire that he scarcely looked human.
“Help! Help!” he screamed. “Murder! Murder!”
Every heart was paralysed as he dashed into the centre of the throng, screaming with pain.
“The child! The child!” he screamed. “The child of the dead—save her! Save her!”
Many hands were immediately stretched forward to take from his arms an infant that the villagers now perceived he carried.
He resigned his charge, and then flinging his arms above his head, he cried,—
“Save me—save me from myself—from the glance of the dead man’s eye—from blood save me. Oh, save me from conscience. The hell has begun.”
His last words rung faintly on the ears of the horrified crowd, for having given up the child, he then bounded onwards, and was soon lost to sight and hearing in the darkness of a plantation which grew on the border of the stream that watered the valley.
Britton, the smith, glared with eyes of fury after the shrieking fugitive, then clenching his hand, he shook it wildly in the air, and breathing a bitter curse, turned from the burning portion of the house, and dashed into the wing in which was the Smithy.