“I should not like to do this without his consent,” she murmured to herself: “and yet the prisoner is so penitent—so contrite, that it would be a sin—nay, a crime, not to confirm the salutary impression which is now so strong upon him. Yes—yes,” she continued: “I will take this step upon my own responsibility! Surely he will not blame me for thus exceeding his instructions, when the cause is so good and the need seems so urgent!”
Thus speaking, she took down a large key from a nail inside a cupboard, and retraced her way to the subterranean.
In the meantime—during the ten minutes which her absence lasted—Old Death was agitated by a thousand conflicting thoughts. At one moment an infernal joy filled his heart, and he rubbed his hands together in horrible and fiend-like glee: at the next instant his countenance became convulsed with the hideous workings of his fears lest something should occur to prevent the Jewess from entering his cell. He seemed to live an age in that ten minutes; and he felt that if the terrific excitement which he thus endured, were to last for an hour, it would crush and overwhelm him. All the worst passions of his diabolical nature were set in motion like the waves of the sea: and in that short space of time were awakened feelings which, for intensity of awful spite and inveterate malignity, were probably never before nor since paralleled in the breast of man!
At length there was a slight rustling of a silk dress and the sound of a gentle though hasty tread in the passage without; and in a few moments the beautiful countenance of the Jewess appeared at the grated aperture.
“Blessed young lady!” exclaimed Old Death, suddenly exercising an immense mastery over his ferocious passions, and assuming a tone of mingled gratitude and hope.
“Heaven grant that the step which I am now taking may have a permanently beneficial effect!” said the Jewess, in a voice profoundly sincere, as she placed the key in the lock.
Then, with her gentle hands, she drew back the massive bolts; and in another moment she entered the dungeon in which the greatest miscreant that ever disgraced human nature was crouched upon the bed, like a tiger ready to spring from its lair.
For upwards of a minute this dreadful man could scarcely believe his eyes—could scarcely credit his own senses. Was it possible that she was there—there, in his presence—there, in his power? It appeared to be a dream; and a momentary dizziness seized upon him.
“Give me the Bible,” said the Jewess, taking the chair; “and do you draw near me.”
“Here is the book,” observed Old Death, in a deep tone which might well be mistaken for the sign of solemn feelings, and was indeed so interpreted.
The lady placed the sacred volume upon the table before her, and began to turn over its leaves in order to find the passage which she deemed most appropriate and suitable for the circumstances of the occasion. Having discovered the chapter which she sought, she raised her eyes towards Old Death’s countenance in order to assure herself that he was in readiness for her to begin; but a sudden sensation of horror and apprehension seized upon her, as she caught a glimpse of the diabolical expression of those features on which the pale light of the flickering lamp fell with sinister effect.
Then, with a howl of ferocious rage, that old man, whom the deep craving after a bloody vengeance now rendered as strong as a giant,—that old man precipitated himself upon the terrified Jewess with all the fury of a ravenous monster, the chair broke down beneath the shock; and with dreadful shrieks and appalling screams the Hebrew lady fell upon the dungeon-floor, held tight in the grasp of the miscreant, who was uppermost.
In another instant those shrieks and screams yielded to subdued moans; for his fingers had fixed themselves round her throat like an iron vice. Desperate—desperate were her struggles,—the struggles of the agony of death: but Benjamin Bones seemed to gather energy and force from the mere act of this strong resistance;—and as his grasp tightened round his victim’s neck, low but savage growls escaped his lips.
By degrees the struggling grew less violent—and a gurgling sound succeeded the moans of the Jewish lady. Tighter—and more tightly still were pressed the demon’s fingers, until his long nails entered her soft and palpitating flesh. Oh! it was horrible—horrible,—this scene of ruthless murder in that subterranean dungeon!
At length the movements of the victim became mere convulsive spasms: but her large dark eyes, now unnaturally brilliant, glared up at Old Death, fixedly and appallingly. Nevertheless, he was not terrified—he was not stricken with remorse! No—still, still he clung to his victim, his own eyes looking down ferociously into hers, and the workings of his countenance displaying a fiend-like triumph—a savage glory in the awful deed which he was perpetrating.
Nearly five minutes had elapsed from the instant when the murderer first sprang upon the unfortunate Jewess: and now, suddenly starting to his feet, he seized the lamp and dashed it upon her head. A low moan escaped her—and all was silent.
Yes—all was silent, and all was darkness too; for the light had been extinguished:—and Old Death precipitated himself from the dungeon.
He hurried along the subterranean, which he knew so well,—hurried along towards the spiral stair-case, wondering whether he should be enabled to effect his escape, yet almost reckless and desperate as to what might become of him, now that his savage vengeance was accomplished.
He ascended the stone steps—he entered the room which had for years and years served him as a bed-chamber, before he had been compelled to dispose of the house to Lord Ellingham. He passed into the laboratory: and as yet he had proceeded without interruption. Joy! joy! he should escape yet—the adjoining room, now fitted up as a handsome parlour, was likewise untenanted at the moment:—joy! joy! he is descending the stair-case leading to the hall!
Is it possible that he will escape? Fortune seems to favour the diabolical murderer; and his hand is now upon the latch of the front-door—he stands as it were once more upon the threshold of that great world which is so wide and has so many channels for the machinations of the wicked! The house seems deserted—not a questioning voice falls upon his ear,—not the step of a human foot, save his own, interrupts the silence of the place! Yes—it appears as if escape be now a certainty,—escape for him who dared not hope for it, and did not even think of it, when intent on the all-absorbing scheme of his vengeance!
And now the front-door opens to his touch: but—ah! he has blood upon his hands—the blood that had flowed from the neck of the murdered Jewess. He starts back—he hesitates for a moment,—but only for a moment: Old Death is not the man to remain long uncertain how to proceed in such a strait!
Thrusting his hands—his gore-stained hands—into his pockets, the demon-hearted monster issues as coolly and calmly from the house as if it were his own and he had nothing to fear. The fresh air of heaven—untasted by him for ten long weeks—comes gushing upon his face: he is free—he is free!
“Ah!” is the hasty ejaculation which now falls on his ear: he looks around—a man is bounding, flying towards him—and in another instant he is in the grasp of the Blackamoor.
A short and desperate struggle takes place; and a crowd immediately gathers near—for the Sessions are being held at Hicks’s Hall, on Clerkenwell Green, so that the neighbourhood presents the bustling appearance usual on such occasions.
“Seize him—hold him!” yells forth Old Death, as his powerful opponent hurls him towards the house-door, which the miscreant had not closed behind him.
“He is a mad-man—escaped from a lunatic asylum!” exclaimed the Blackamoor, horrible apprehensions filling his soul relative to the Jewess—for his eyes had caught sight of the blood upon Old Death’s hands.
“No—no—I am not a mad-man!” shrieked out the latter. “Seize him—hold him, I say:—he has escaped the scaffold—he is Tom Rain, the highwayman!”
At that dreadful announcement the Blackamoor was struck speechless and motionless, as if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet; and in the next instant he was in the grasp of Dykes and Bingham, who, having business at the Sessions House, happened to be amongst the crowd gathered at the entrance of Red Lion Street.
“Yes—seize him—hold him tight!” yelled Benjamin Bones: “he is Tom Rain, I tell you—his face is coloured purposely—but I knew that he is Tom Rain!”
“And hold that miscreant also!” ejaculated Rainford—for he indeed the Blackamoor was: “seize him—let him not escape!” he cried, recovering the power of speech, as his eyes again caught a glimpse of the blood-stained hands of Old Death. “There has been murder committed in this house——My God! my God!”
The crowd had now not only increased to such an extent as to render the way perfectly impassable; but a tremendous sensation suddenly seized upon the assemblage,—the news that Tom Rain, the celebrated highwayman, had escaped death by some miraculous means, and was once more in custody, circulating like wild-fire. Dykes and Bingham, knowing that in such a case the sympathies of the mob were most likely to turn in favour of the prisoner, hurried him and Old Death into the house, whither they were followed by three or four other constables; and the door was immediately closed in the face of the crowd, and secured within.
On reaching the sitting-room the first-floor, the party halted; and Old Death, now completely overcome by the excitement of the incidents which had so rapidly succeeded each other in a short half-hour, threw himself exhausted into a chair.
“Well, Mr. Rainford,” said Dykes, with something like a malicious grin, “I am sorry for this business—but how, in the name of all that’s wonderful, did you escape after being so deuced well hung as I seed you was with, my own eyes?”
“Silence!” ejaculated Rainford, in an imperious tone: “and come with me at once down below. For, as sure as you are there, murder—a horrible murder has been committed by that wretch,” pointing to Old Death, who now quivered beneath his furious looks; “and, if you doubt it, behold the blood upon his hands!” added Tom Rain, with a cold shudder.
“Bring him along with us, Bingham,” said Dykes, addressing his brother officer.
“No—no—I won’t go down there again!” yelled forth the murderer, his countenance becoming convulsed with horror; for he was now afraid of his crime, in the revulsion of his feelings.
“Well—let him stay here in custody,” observed Dykes; “and me and a couple of the runners will go with Mr. Rainford.”
The officer and the two myrmidons whom he had selected, accordingly proceeded with Tom Rain into the room where the trap-door of the spiral stair-case had been left open by Old Death; and the constables surveyed each other with, mingled apprehension and astonishment.
“You are not afraid?” exclaimed Rainford, in a contemptuous tone, as he lighted a lamp: then, with impatient excitement, he cried, “Do your duty, and come with me. Life may still be left in her—come—come!”
“Yes—yes: we shall go along with you, sure enough,” growled Dykes, as he led the way, followed by Rainford—the two runners closing the rear.
In three minutes more the little party entered the dungeon which had so lately been the prison-house of Old Death: and there what a dreadful spectacle met their eyes! The murdered lady was stretched upon the floor—her countenance horribly discoloured and swollen—the forehead completely smashed by the blow inflicted by the lamp which had been dashed at her—and her eyes staring with a stony glare, as if about to start out of their sockets.
“O Tamar! Tamar! my dearest—best beloved Tamar!” cried Tom Rain, in a tone of bitter—bitter anguish, as he threw himself upon his knees by the side of the corpse.
The officers, rude in heart, and rendered obdurate as they were by the very nature of their profession, stood back in respectful silence at this outburst of sorrow from the lips of the resuscitated highwayman.
“My God!” murmured the unhappy man, clasping his hands together; “who shall break these fearful tidings to your father and your sister? And will they not reproach me?—will they not attribute this frightful calamity to that project of reformation which I had devised in behalf of Benjamin Bones? O Tamar—my dearest Tamar—who could have foreseen that such a terrible destiny was in store for thee!”
And, bowing down his head, he wept bitterly.
Suddenly loud voices were heard from the top of the spiral stair-case, summoning Dykes thither.
“Come along, sir—it is useless to remain here!” cried the officer, speaking hastily but respectfully to Tom Rain, who suffered himself to be led away—or rather, he did not offer any resistance to those who conducted him thence.
“Well—what now!” demanded Dykes, hurrying up the steps, at the head of which his friend Bingham was continuing to shout after him.
“Why—don’t you know,” was the reply, “that Government has offered a reward for the diskivery of the chap wot carried off Sir Christopher Blunt and Dr. Lascelles—about that there Torrens’s affair——”
“Well—what then?” cried Dykes, impatiently.
“Blowed if it ain’t Tom Rain,” responded Bingham: “he did it—and we’ve knabbed him. So that’s a cool two hundred and fifty a piece!”
“By goles!” ejaculated Dykes, his countenance expanding into the most glorious humour possible, as if all remembrance of the horrible scene he had just witnessed were banished from his mind: “this is good news, though,” he added, as he emerged from the stair-case into the little back room with which it communicated. “But how do you know that the chap as kidnapped the knight and the doctor is Mr. Rainford?”
“Because I’ve been talking with old Ben Bones,” answered Bingham; “and he told me as how he’d been kidnapped too, and kept a prisoner down there for a matter of ten weeks;—and how there was a lot on ’em—and Josh Pedler and Tim Splint among the rest. So, when he mentioned them names, I pricks up my ears—and I asks him a question or two; and I find that they was all kidnapped just at the time that the Torrens affair was a-making sich a noise: so it’s a clear case.”
“Clear enough, to be sure!” exclaimed Dykes.
“Ben Bones doesn’t seem to know any thing about that affair,” continued Dykes: “cos why, he was lugged off and took down in that there place afore the business was made public by Sir Christopher and the doctor. But, I say—what has happened below?”
“A young o’oman killed—that’s all,” answered Dykes. “So here’s a pretty day’s business for us, Bingham: a man that had been hung, took up fust—then a murder diskivered, and the murderer in our power—and now this here affair about the Government reward. Well—we’ve been rather slack lately—and a little okkipation’s quite a blessin’.”
Thus conversing together, Mr. Dykes and Mr. Bingham returned to the apartment where Old Death was still sitting in a chair, watched by a couple of constables: but the moment Rainford, who had only a confused idea, of what was passing around him, was led into that room, he started back in horror—exclaiming, “No—no: I cannot bear to be in the company of this dreadful man!”
Old Death, to whom he pointed, grinned in savage triumph: but Rainford had already rushed back into the laboratory, attended by Dykes and two runners. Almost at the same instant, the lad Cæsar who had heard from the crowd outside enough to convince him that Rainford had been discovered, and also that a person answering the description of Old Death had first denounced the resuscitated highwayman, and had then himself been arrested on a charge of murder,—Cæsar, we say, now made his appearance, and threw himself at his master’s feet, exclaiming wildly, “Oh! no—my generous friend—my more than father—they shall not take you from us!”
“Jacob,” said Tom Rain, raising the distracted youth, who was no other than the reader’s former acquaintance, Jacob Smith,—“do not yield to grief. We have need of all our courage on this occasion. I have received a frightful blow—wounded I am in the tenderest point—oh! I can scarcely restrain my anguish, while conjuring you to be calm! And yet it is necessary to meet my afflictions face to face! Hasten, then, to Finchley—and break the sad intelligence to Mr. de Medina and Esther: tell them, Jacob—as gently as you can—tell them that Benjamin Bones has crowned all his enormities by——”
“My God! it is then too true!” ejaculated the youth; covering his face with his hands.
“Yes—Tamar is no more!” added Rainford, tears gushing from his eyes. “My poor wife has been brutally—foully murdered by that miscreant!”
Jacob Smith hurried away, his own heart feeling as if it were about to break.
“And now,” said Tom Rain, suddenly turning towards Dykes, “I appeal to you as men to allow me to superintend the removal of the remains of that lady, who was my wife, to a chamber in this house; and then, that duty being performed, I shall be ready to accompany you whithersoever you may choose to conduct me.”
“We are not particular for an hour or so, Mr. Rainford,” returned Dykes. “Indeed, it would be better to let the crowd disperse a little; and if so be you don’t mind staying here a bit, we’ll wait till dark. The evenings is long now, you see——”
“I should have wished to remain here until the relatives of the deceased lady had time to arrive and take charge of the body,” interrupted Tom Rain: “but I dared not ask such a favour at your hands. As it is, however, I thank you.”
“But you must likewise let old Ben Bones stay here, until after dusk at least,” urged Dykes: “for if it was knowed to the people outside that it was the ancient fence who had killed a woman, they’d be after tearing him to pieces. So we must smuggle him out presently.”
Rainford gave his consent to the proposition: he was too sick at heart—too profoundly overwhelmed by misfortune, to attempt to argue any question that might arise from the lamentable incidents of that evening.
The arrest of Tom Rain and Old Death took place at about twenty minutes to six on the evening in question; and by ten o’clock that night the news were circulated throughout every quarter of the metropolis.
The incidents involved in the double arrestation were well adapted to produce as much excitement as the extraordinary adventures of Sir Christopher Blunt and Dr. Lascelles ten weeks previously.
In the first place, a man who had been publicly executed at Horsemonger Lane, was now discovered to be alive, having been doubtless resuscitated in some extraordinary way; although the more credulous and wonder-loving portion of the community were firmly convinced that Tom Rain had never been hanged at all, but that the body of some prisoner recently deceased at the time was ushered through the dreadful ordeal instead of the formidable highwayman.
In the second place, this said Thomas Rainford was said to be the mysterious personage who, usurping the attributes of justice, had kidnapped Dr. Lascelles and Sir Christopher Blunt, and had somehow or another disposed of the real murderers of Sir Henry Courtenay, after having devised the necessary means to prove and make public the innocence of Mr. Torrens.
In the third place, a notorious fence, named Benjamin Bones, who had defied the police and the laws for many, many years, had at last fatally entangled himself with justice, by committing a diabolical murder upon the person of Thomas Rainford’s wife.
And, in the fourth place, it had been discovered that there were situate two houses in the very heart of London having a subterraneous passage connecting them, and this subterranean communicating with several dark and gloomy dungeons, decently furnished, and in which half-a-dozen prisoners had recently been confined. One of these prisoners was now known to be Benjamin Bones; but what had become of the other five?
Such were the circumstances which took the whole town by storm, and produced a tremendous sensation from one end of London to the other—the intelligence reaching even Lady Hatfield, retired and secluded as was her mode of living.
Shortly after ten o’clock on that eventful evening, a private carriage drove up to the house in Red Lion Street; and Mr. de Medina, Esther, and Lord Ellingham alighted. Jacob Smith leapt down from the box; and in a few moments the entire party entered the dwelling, thus disappearing from the gaze of the assembled crowd.
The Jew, his daughter, and the young nobleman were immediately conducted by one of Rainford’s dependants into the apartment where the unhappy husband of the murdered Tamar was pacing up and down, Dykes sitting in a corner watching his movements. The prisoner was no longer disguised: during the interval which had elapsed since his arrest, he had, by the officer’s express desire, washed off the black dye from his face and hands; and he now wore his natural aspect in one sense—though, in another, his expressive countenance was altered by the despair that filled his soul.
“Oh! Thomas—what terrible afflictions have occurred!” exclaimed Lord Ellingham, as he flew into his half-brother’s arms.
“You will not reproach me, Arthur——-Oh! do not augment my grief!” cried Rainford: and he wept bitter tears.
“No one will reproach you, excellent young man,” said Mr. de Medina, taking the hand of his bereaved son-in-law. “But——Oh! my daughter—my daughter, Tamar! Great God! thou hast chosen to afflict me deeply—deeply!”
In the meantime, Esther de Medina had thrown herself into a chair, giving way to the wildest paroxysms of grief—the Earl of Ellingham having vainly accosted her with the hope of importing some slight consolation. But, alas! he himself was a prey to the most poignant anguish: and, even had he been more calm, how was it possible to comfort Esther de Medina for the loss—the cruel assassination—of that sister whom she loved so tenderly and so well?
“Thomas,” at length said the Earl, approaching his half-brother, “has Jacob Smith told us the dreadful tale correctly?—and is it—he—Benjamin Bones—who has done this? My God! I have scarcely been able to comprehend all the terrible particulars!”
“It is true—it is too true—I know that it is!” exclaimed Mr. de Medina, shaking his head in despair. “Yes—Tamar is no more; but—at least—let me behold her remains!”
Rainford turned an appealing glance towards Dykes, as much as to say, “You surely will allow me to proceed unwatched and unguarded along with these mourners to the chamber where the corpse lies?”
But Dykes, who understood the meaning of that glance, said in a respectful though firm tone, “I dare not trust you out of my sight!”
“I will be answerable for him, officer!” cried the Earl of Ellingham. “Do you know me? I——”
“I know who you are, my lord,” answered Dykes; “but I cannot oblige you.”
“Is not grief such as that which you now contemplate,” said the nobleman, indicating the weeping father and sister of the deceased lady,—“is not such grief as this too solemn for the intrusion of a stranger?”
“Since your lordship forces me to speak plain,” returned Dykes, “Mr. Rainford is my prisoner on two charges——”
“On two charges!” ejaculated the Earl: then, remembering all that his brother had passed through, he said mournfully, “But, just heavens! one is enough!”
“As your lordship observes,” began Dykes, “one is——”
At that moment another private carriage rattled up to the door of the house, and a lady, alighting with feverish impatience, was instantaneously admitted into the dwelling. In less than a minute she was ushered by Jacob Smith into the room where the mourning party were assembled.
“Lady Hatfield!” cried Tom Rain, the moment she raised her veil: and, as if her presence were another blow on such an occasion, he staggered and would have, fallen had not the Earl of Ellingham caught him in his arms.
“Pardon this intrusion,” said Georgiana, advancing into the middle of the apartment; “and believe me when I assure you that nothing save the hope of being in some degree able to lighten the afflictions which pour upon you all—nothing,” she added emphatically, “but such a hope as this would have induced me to break upon your privacy. The dreadful rumours current in the metropolis reached me ere now—and I flew hither, only—alas! to hear them confirmed. But—Mr. Rainford——”
She stopped short—trembled—and seemed for an instant overcome by feelings of an unutterable nature. The bitterness—the intensity of grief which oppressed the others, was in some degree absorbed for the moment by the profound interest which the presence of Lady Hatfield excited, her words having given promise of hopes the nature whereof defied all conjecture.
But suspense on the part of her listeners was not destined to last long.
“Mr. Rainford,” she resumed, exercising a powerful control over her emotions, “you have sustained an affliction so great that it is almost impossible to impart consolation to you. Yet—even in the midst of such woe as this which has overtaken you—it may at least be a satisfaction to learn that the judgment of a criminal tribunal no longer hangs over you—that the past is indeed the past, and cannot be revived——”
“Georgiana!” cried the Earl of Ellingham, surveying her in profound astonishment; “what mean you?”
“I mean that Thomas Rainford is pardoned!” exclaimed Lady Hatfield: “I mean,” she continued, the wildest astonishment having sealed the lips of all who heard her,—“I mean that the sentence passed upon him months ago is dissolved—annihilated;—and here is the royal decree—bearing the Sovereign’s seal—and countersigned by the Secretary of the Home Department! ’Tis a full pardon for Thomas Rainford!”
Thus speaking, she handed Lord Ellingham a paper: but it fell from his hands—for his half-brother had sunk senseless upon the floor.
Water was speedily procured and all the usual means adopted to restore him. It was, however, some time ere he gave signs of life; and then, beckoning Georgiana towards him, he said in a faint tone, “May the great God above us bless you—for you are an angel!”
It was undoubtedly an immense alleviation of the general sorrow to learn that Rainford had received a full pardon for all those offences which had drawn down on his head the sentence of death pronounced at the Old Bailey; and the Earl of Ellingham, having now hastily glanced over the paper which decreed this act of royal mercy, submitted it to the examination of Mr. Dykes.
“Well, my lord,” said that officer, “I see and hear plain enough that one of the charges on which I held Mr. Rainford prisoner, is knocked on the head; and I’m glad of it—’specially as ’tis the most serious of the two. But I must still keep him in custody, he being the man who kidnapped Sir Christopher Blunt and Dr. Lascelles——”
“Wait—one moment!” exclaimed Rainford, a sudden thought flashing to his mind and restoring him to the wonted energies of his character.
While all present watched his movements with breathless interest, he hastened to a writing desk standing on a table in a recess; and thence he took a pocket-book, which he opened, and the contents of which he scanned rapidly as he turned over the various papers one after the other.
“Here it is!” he cried triumphantly at last; and, drawing forth a slip of paper, he handed it to Lord Ellingham, who mechanically read it aloud:—
“We acknowledge a sense of deep obligation to the bearer of this memorandum, the said bearer having rendered us special service; and we hold ourselves bound to grant him any boon which he may demand at our hands, so that it be not inconsistent with our royal honour, nor prejudicial to the interests of the State.
“Given this 3rd of March, in the year 1827.
“You are saved, Thomas—you are saved, in all respects!” exclaimed Mr. de Medina, pressing with affectionate warmth the hand of his son-in-law, while tears trickled down the old man’s venerable countenance.
“All this is so truly astonishing,” cried the Earl of Ellingham, “that I am bewildered. How you, my excellent friend—my sister,” he added, turning towards Lady Hatfield, “obtained the royal pardon for Thomas Rainford, I well know—indeed, I have all along known.”
“You!” ejaculated Georgiana, in profound astonishment.
“Yes—I overheard your interview with the King in the Blue Velvet Closet at Carlton House,” continued the Earl; “and now I comprehend all the greatness and generosity of your conduct! Oh! and you must pardon me too, for having become a listener on that occasion, and for having ever since entertained suspicions most injurious to your honour.”
“The remainder of the tale can then be told by myself,” said Tom Rain, hastily: “for it was I—I, the Blackamoor—the negro—who saved your ladyship from insult and outrage, also at Carlton House. But—” he continued, glancing in a significant manner towards Dykes,—“all these explanations shall be for another and more convenient opportunity. In the meantime, Arthur,” he added, “it is for you to repair at once to the Home Secretary, and obtain from him all we require to ensure my complete freedom, by virtue of that acknowledgment bearing the sign-manual of the King.”
The Earl of Ellingham instantaneously undertook this commission, although at so late an hour; but he fortunately happened to be aware that the Secretary for the Home Department had a reception that evening, and was therefore certain to be at home.
Dykes, who had been led on from one source of astonishment to another, and who perceived that Thomas Rainford not only possessed powerful friends, but likewise the patronage and favour of the King himself,—the worthy Mr. Dykes, we say, now volunteered to withdraw into another room, merely requesting his prisoner to pledge his honour not to leave the house until the order of the Secretary of State should fully and completely release him from custody. The promise was given forthwith; and Dykes repaired to the apartment where Old Death was still remaining in the custody of Bingham and the other constables.
Immediately after the officer had retired, Georgiana rose to take her departure. This was the first time that she had ever seen the Medinas; but she accosted them with the affability of a well-bred lady, and proffered them her deepest and sincerest sympathy on account of the dreadful loss which they had sustained. They received these proofs of friendship in a manner which denoted the gratitude of their hearts; and Georgiana, on taking leave, shook them cordially by the hand.
Then, extending her hand likewise to him whose mere name had hitherto been sufficient to send a cold shudder through her entire form,—yes, extending her hand to him also, in the true spirit of Christian forgiveness,—but without raising her eyes to his countenance, she said, “Mr. Rainford, may you yet know many years of happiness!”
He pressed her hand with grateful fervour—and a tear dropped upon it: but he could not utter a word. His heart was too full to allow him to express his thanks—his admiration of the noble conduct of that woman whom, in a moment of delirium, as it were, he had outraged and ruined! Ah! bitter—bitter were thy reminiscences as thus thou didst stand before thy generous benefactress, Tom Rain!
Mr. de Medina—perceiving that his son-in-law was overcome by emotions which were not altogether intelligible to him—offered his arm to escort Lady Hatfield to her carriage; and Georgiana drove home with a heart rejoicing at the good she had done—for Lord Ellingham’s sake!
The Jew returned to the apartment where he had left Esther and Rainford; and there they all three mingled their grief together, for the loss of the lovely and much-loved Tamar.
But over this scene we shall draw a veil: sorrow such as they experienced cannot be adequately described. Neither shall we do more than allude to the violence of the grief and the poignancy of the anguish which were felt when they repaired to the chamber to which the remains of the murdered Tamar had been conveyed. The reader does not require to be informed that this was a ceremony of the most painful description.
While, therefore, Mr. de Medina, Esther, and Rainford, are mingling their tears and lamentations,—while, too, the Earl of Ellingham is absent on his mission to the Home Secretary, armed with the document which bore the autograph and seal of George the Fourth,—we shall request our reader to accompany us to the apartment where Old Death remains in the custody of Bingham and the subordinate officials.
When Dykes made his appearance in the room just alluded to, he found Benjamin Bones rocking himself to and fro on the chair in which he was seated, while Bingham and the runners were partaking of refreshments at the table.
The old miscreant was horribly pale; end there was a wild glaring of the eyes which enhanced the ghastly expression of his countenance. The man was in fact hideous to behold.
Now that he had leisure for reflection, and that the excitement attending the perpetration of his bloody vengeance had passed away, he had become fearfully alive to the awful predicament in which be stood; nevertheless his entire aspect denoted dogged obduracy; and could he have recalled the past, it is more than probable that he would have played precisely the same part over again.
“Well, Mr. Dykes,” said Bingham, as the worthy thus addressed entered the room, “will you jine us here in a bit of grub? You see, we’re pitching into the cold jint like bricks; and the beer is fust-rate.”
“So is the pickles,” growled one of the runners, who was naturally of a surly disposition, and could not help speaking in a grunting tone even when best pleased.
“Come, sit down with us,” urged Mr. Bingham. “But, I say though, what have you done with Tom Rain?”
“Done with, him, indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Dykes, swelling with the importance of a man who had astounding news to communicate: “what hasn’t he done for his-self, you mean?”
“Has he cut his throat—or taken poison?” demanded Old Death, eagerly.
“Not he!” cried Dykes. “Why—you cursed old fence, you’ve always got wicked notions in your head—you have. Mr. Rainford is a genelman, every inch of him—and I always knowed it. He’s got a power of slap-up friends as won’t leave him long in the lurch, I can tell you.”
And the officer bestowed a significant wink upon his listeners, whose curiosity he had now worked up to the highest pitch.
“What—what has he done?” gasped Old Death, terribly excited with suspense. “Do you mean to say——that is—has he——escaped?” he demanded, scarcely able to give utterance to the word; so fearful was he lest Tom Rain, against whom he cherished a fiend-like hatred, should not again figure upon the scaffold.
“Patience—patience,” said Mr. Dykes, taking a chair. “In the fust place, you must know, that in comes a lady—and who should she be but that very same Lady Hatfield as I’m sure Tom Rain robbed some months ago near Hounslow, although I couldn’t bring the thing home to him at the time——”
“Well—well,” muttered Old Death, the agony of whose suspense was perfectly excruciating.
“But fust I should tell you,” resumed Mr. Dykes, “that Miss de Medina comes in with her father and Lord Ellingham——”
Old Death gave vent to a savage growl.
“And now I understand all about that diamond affair, Bingham, you know,” continued the officer; “for, although one of the sisters is a corpse and her face is disfigured, I never in my life see such a likeness as there is between them.”
We should observe that Old Death had already learnt, from the communications which had been made in his presence by the runners who were first in charge of Tom Rain on this eventful evening, that it was not Esther de Medina whom he had slain, but Tamar—the wife of the man whom he considered to be his most mortal enemy.
“But as I was a-saying,” continued Dykes, “in comes Lady Hatfield; and, behold ye! she makes a regular set speech to prepare us all for what’s about to take place; and then she tells us plump that Tom Rain has received his Majesty’s free pardon!”
“No—no!” yelled forth Old Death: “it’s a lie—it’s a lie!”
“Hold your tongue, you cursed fence!” exclaimed Mr. Dykes, deeply indignant at having his word thus unceremoniously called in question. “Lady Hatfield had the paper with her, all reglar according to the stattit in that case made and purwided.”
“It’s a forgery—a rank forgery!” shrieked Benjamin Bones, his countenance becoming truly appalling with its hideous workings. “And you have let him go, upon that pretence——you——you have——”
And he fell back in his chair, gasping for breath.
“Wot an inweterate old scoundrel it is,” observed Bingham. “Here—give him a glass of beer, Bill; for, by goles, he’ll suffocate—and the scaffold will be cheated of its dues after all.”
The runner, to whom the command was addressed, approached Old Death and offered him a tumbler of porter: but the savage monster repulsed it brutally, ferocious growls escaping from his breast.
“Well—leave him alone, then,” said Bingham.
The runner accordingly resumed his seat and his attack upon the cold viands at the same time.
“I tell you what it is, Mr. Ben Bones,” exclaimed Dykes: “I have seen a many free pardons—’specially where genelmen that got into trouble was concerned, for it’s seldom that a poor devil has interest enough to get such a thing—and I know precious well that the one I see just now, was as reglar as possible. It had the King’s own name—his sign-mangle, they call it—and his precious big seal—and the Home Secretary’s signatur underneath.”
“He will escape—he will escape yet!” yelled forth Old Death, clasping his hands together, as if in mortal agony. “The wretch—he will escape the gibbet—he—he——”
And again he gasped in so frightful a manner that his eyes seemed to be starting from his head, and his attenuated frame literally writhed in convulsive spasms.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, after a long pause, during which his shocking appearance had produced a dead silence of horror and amazement: “I have thought of something”—and he grinned malignantly. “Did you not say that men had been spirited away—in that Torrens’ affair——”
“To be sure I did,” answered Bingham, to whom the question was addressed: “and Tom Rain did it. Well, what about that, Mr. Dykes?”
“Why—that seems to be knocked on the head also,” was the reply: “though I have no doubt we shall get the reward, because we did our dooty in arresting him; and if so be that the Home Secretary chooses to grant him a pardon in that respect also——”
“He won’t—he won’t!” ejaculated Old Death, with feverish—nay, with hysterical excitement. “He does not dare do it! No—no—Tom Rain must swing for that, at all events! ’Tis as good as being accessory to the murder—’tis shielding the murderers! Ha! ah! he will swing for that—he will swing for that!”
“I’m blessed if he will, though,” said Dykes, bluntly; “for it seems that he’s got a paper signed by the King which will put him all to rights—and though I don’t exactly understand that part of the business, I’m pretty sure Tom Rain is in no danger. Lord Ellingham has got the matter in hand; and he has gone up to the Home Office. That’s why I left Mr. Rainford at liberty—just taking his word of honour that he wouldn’t bolt.”
“He’ll deceive you—he’ll run away—he’ll escape!” cried Old Death. “You are mad to trust him! Go—seize on him again—put hand-cuffs——”
“Yes—on you, in no time—if you don’t hold your tongue,” interrupted Mr. Dykes. “But ain’t all this a rummy business, though?” he demanded, turning towards Bingham and the subordinate officials. “The old Jew seems a most respectable gentleman—I’d take his bail for any amount, if I was a magistrate. And really his daughter is a sweet young o’oman: the Earl’s going to marry her, I’ll swear to it.”
“Mr. Dykes—Mr. Dykes,” whispered Old Death in his ear; and the officer, turning suddenly round again, perceived that the tall, gaunt form of the fence was close behind him.
“Well—what do you want?” demanded the functionary.
“One word—one word only,” murmured Bones, in a low, guttural, sepulchral tone, while his frame shook with nervous excitement: “one word, I say—only one word.”
“Now, then—what is it?” asked Dykes, suffering the old man to draw him towards the recess containing the door which opened into the laboratory.
“I must speak to you in private—I have something particular to tell you,” was the urgent and impatient reply. “Come into this room—I shan’t keep you a moment.”
“Well—I suppose I must humour you,” said the officer, in a surly tone. “One should look upon you as a dead man; for besides your nick-name, the law will soon make you one in right good earnest.”
With this brutal jest—brutal even in respect to so awful a miscreant as Old Death—the Bow Street functionary conducted him into the laboratory, where a light happened to be burning, and the door of which apartment Benjamin Bones closed cautiously behind them.
“Now, then—make haste, and tell us all you have got to say,” said Dykes, eyeing the old man suspiciously and in such a meaning fashion as to imply that any attempt at escape would assuredly prove abortive.
“Mr. Dykes, you are a good man—and a kind man—I know you are,” began Old Death, in a coaxing tone and with a manner indicating the most dreadful state of nervous excitement: “you would not like to see a poor, miserable old creature like myself sent to—to—the scaffold. No—no—you would not—you would not. But I know that it must be made worth your while—you understand me—and—and—I will give you all I have—yes, all I have—several thousand pounds—for I have got several thousands!” he added, with a ghastly grin. “But no one knows where they are except myself,—and you and I can go together to the place—and I will give you every guinea—yes, every guinea, Mr. Dykes—remember, every guinea I say—if you will agree to this.”
“Agree to what?” demanded Dykes, affecting not to comprehend the old villain.
“Oh! just as if you didn’t understand me, my dear friend—my good, kind friend!” exclaimed Benjamin Bones, becoming more coaxing in his tone, which was as low and subdued as his sepulchral voice would admit. “Do consider for an instant—an old man like me to be in such trouble! You wouldn’t be happy if you had it on your mind that you had been the means—the actual means of sending such a wretched creature as myself to the scaffold? Speak to me, Mr. Dykes! Five thousand pounds—yes—five thousand pounds, in good gold guineas—if—if——”
“If what?” asked the officer, with the most provoking determination not to understand any thing that was not explained in unmistakeable words.
“If you—you will let me escape!” whispered Old Death, while his eyes seemed to penetrate to the very soul of the man towards whom he bent in a confidential way as he spoke.
“Now that’s English,” said Dykes, whose countenance gave not the least indication of the manner in which he intended to receive the proposition.
“And—and you will agree, won’t you?” asked Bones. “Remember—five thousand guineas—all to be paid in one lump—this very night——”
“Well, now—it can’t be done, old chap,” interrupted Dykes, in a cool—almost brutal manner, as if he were glad of the opportunity to encourage hope for a time, merely for the sake of destroying it with a rude hand and in an abrupt way.
“It can’t be done,” murmured Old Death, despair seizing upon him: “it can’t be done, you say?”—and his eyes glanced wildly around.
“Is this all you have to tell me?” demanded the officer. “Because, if so——”
“Five thousand guineas!—and he refuses it!” ejaculated Bones. “My God! what will become of me?—what will become of me?”
And still his looks wandered rapidly about the apartment.
“Now, then—let as go back into the next room, if you please,” said Dykes; “for I don’t see no use in staying here, wasting our time.”
At that instant Old Death’s eyes settled upon something on a shelf close at hand; and, suddenly springing aside, he seized upon a bottle—the particular object for which he had been searching with his eager glances.
Dykes, without even having a moment’s leisure to make a single conjecture relative to his intentions, but instinctively foreseeing that something wrong was contemplated, closed upon the old man in an instant.
With the speed of lightning did Benjamin Bones raise the bottle which his right hand grasped; and in leas than the twinkling of an eye would it have been smashed down upon the officer, who, seeing his danger, by a natural impulse held down his head—when a yell of agony burst from the lips of the old miscreant.
For, as he raised the bottle, the glass stopper fell out, and the burning vitriol streamed down on his head and over his countenance, a few drops only falling upon Dykes, and those principally on his clothes.
The officer instantaneously fell back; and Old Death threw himself on the floor, where he rolled in horrid agonies—writhing like a stricken snake, and shrieking franticly, “Oh! my eyes! my eyes!”
Bingham and the subordinate functionaries rushed in from the adjoining apartment; and, having assured themselves that Dykes was unhurt—although his escape from the burning fluid was truly miraculous—they turned their attention towards Old Death. One of them obtained water, and dashed it over him; but still he rolled and writhed—uttering dreadful cries, mingled with horrid imprecations—and rubbing his face madly with his hands. For the miserable wretch was burnt in an appalling manner; and his sight was gone!
We must pause for a single moment to explain his design—that design which so signally failed and brought down such frightful consequences upon himself. Perceiving that all hope of being able to bribe Mr. Dykes was frustrated, he thought of the only alternative that could possibly be attempted—an escape. At the same instant that this last idea was formed, it flashed to his mind that Dr. Lascelles had been accustomed to keep many deadly poisons and ardent fluids in the laboratory. His eyes wandered round in search of them; and they lighted upon a large bottle, labelled “Vitriol.” To break it over the officer’s head, and escape in the confusion that must ensue by means of the little chamber which had once been his bed-room, and which, as the reader may recollect, had two doors—one opening from the laboratory, and the other into apartments beyond,—this was the hastily conceived but discomfitted design of Old Death!
The desperate project had failed—and in a desperate manner, too: for the miscreant had received mortal injuries—and his sufferings were horrible. A pint of vitriol had streamed over his head—penetrating beneath his clothes, all down his neck and chest—burning him horribly, even to his very eyes in their sockets!
Rainford, alarmed by the hideous yells which had reached him in another part of the spacious house, rushed into the laboratory to ascertain the cause, having begged Mr. de Medina and Esther to await his return. At the same instant that he entered by one door, Jacob Smith made his appearance by another; and Dykes hastily explained what had occurred. Rainford accordingly issued immediate orders to transport the dying man to a bed-chamber; and fortunately, at this crisis, Dr. Lascelles arrived at the house.
The physician had been alarmed by the rumours which prevailed relative to the incidents that had occurred in Red Lion Street: but a few words, rapidly exchanged with Tom Rain, relieved the doctor of all apprehensions on account of his friend—and all his attention was now devoted to Old Death.