“But, alas! painful thoughts forced themselves upon my mind. I felt that my constitution was ruined—and I believed myself to be in a consumption. Faithful to the solemn pledges which I had made to Mrs. Greville, I established a complete change in my habits; and instead of drinking wine to excess, I foreswore all alcoholic liquor whatsoever. Likewise, instead of passing my nights in dissipation, I returned home at an early hour and sought my couch. But the suddenness of this alteration in my habits produced effects which I can only compare to the terrible reaction that a man experiences when waking in the morning after a night of deep debauch. A dead weight fell upon my spirits. I became so low and depressed that horrible thoughts of suicide were constantly floating in my brain. My nervousness was extreme, and intensely painful. An unusually loud knock or ring at the front-door would make me start as if I had committed a crime and was expecting the officers of justice to come and arrest me. I was constantly conjuring up the most shocking visions respecting the future; and when immersed in those reveries, I verily believed that I was contemplating realities—such was the morbid state of my mind!
“It was therefore natural that I should begin to reflect upon the step which I had taken with regard to Editha. I had sought and won the affections of a beautiful creature, who was possessed of a generous heart, an amiable disposition, and a loving soul; and I was shocked to think that such a being, in all the vigorous health of youthfulness, should be led to the altar by one whose constitution was shattered, whose vital energies were almost ruined, and who seemed to be hovering on the very verge of the tomb! Oh! how maddening were these thoughts! I looked upon myself as a villain—a deceiver; and often—often was I on the point of throwing myself at Mrs. Greville’s feet and exclaiming, ‘Pardon me, madam, for having dared to ask the hand of your daughter in marriage! I am but a phantom—a shadow: the finger of Death is upon me,—and if Editha should accompany me to the altar, it is probable that in less than a year she will have to follow me to the tomb!’—But when I thought of Editha’s matchless beauty, and pondered upon the immensity of the love that I experienced for her, I could not command the courage necessary to enable me to resign the hope of possessing such a treasure. Besides, in her society I could smile and be gay: her musical voice was more ravishing to my ears than the inspired strains of an improvisatrice;—her breath was more fragrant than the perfume of flowers—her lips more delicious than the honey-dew upon the blossoms! Oh! no—no: I could not resign my Editha! But no day had been as yet fixed for our marriage—and six weeks had already elapsed since I had proposed and was accepted. Shall I confess the truth? I dared not ask her mother to name the day: I shrank from the idea as if I were meditating a murder—had marked out my victim—but dreaded to settle in my own mind the night and the hour when the assassin-blow should be struck!
“I was lying in bed one morning, reflecting on all these things—for the dark fit of despondency was upon me—when my valet entered the room with the morning’s newspapers. I listlessly unfolded one of the journals, when my eyes suddenly caught sight of an advertisement, headed thus:—‘Manhood, the Reasons of its Early Decline; with Plain Hints for its Complete Resuscitation.’ This book was announced to be an emanation from the pen of T. L. Surtees and Co., Consulting Surgeons, residing in one of the streets leading out of Soho Square; and it appeared by certain quotations of notices from the leading newspapers, that the book was a medical treatise of great utility, merit, and importance. Hope now dawned in upon my soul. Perhaps my constitution was not irretrievably damaged? Perchance I might not be in a consumption, after all? Such were my thoughts, after perusing that advertisement over and over again; and I resolved to lose no time in calling upon the able practitioners who undertook the resuscitation of any constitution, no matter how hopeless the case might seem. Accordingly, having hastily dressed myself, I repaired in a street cab to the address indicated in the advertisement. The house was one of imposing appearance; and the words ‘Surtees and Co., Consulting Surgeons,’ were displayed in deep-black letters, on immense shining zinc-plates. The fawn-coloured Venetian blinds were drawn down; and I said to myself, as I alighted with a fluttering heart, ‘Doubtless these eminent practitioners have patients waiting in every room to consult them.’ Entering the passage, I found an inner door, with a bronze knocker and a ground-glass fan-light, on which were inscribed the same words as those that appeared on the polished zinc-plates. I was immediately admitted by a footman, and conducted up stairs to a drawing-room, every feature of which is at this moment as fresh in my memory as if I were seated and writing there now.
“This apartment at first sight impressed me with an idea of luxurious splendour; but a closer examination into its appointments showed me that the most vulgar taste had presided over its fitting-up. The paper was of crimson and gold; and to the walls were suspended several paintings set in magnificent frames, which only rendered the daubs the more miserably ludicrous. Two of them were covered with plate-glass, as if they were very valuable; whereas they were as wretched as the others. ‘Some unprincipled person,’ thought I, ‘must have imposed upon these worthy doctors, by recommending pictures to which I would not accord house-room. But men of philosophic minds and who are devoted to professional studies, are seldom good judges of works of art.’ Thus ruminating, I continued my examination of the apartment; and I was struck with surprise at the utter vulgarity and absence of taste which characterised the profusion of French porcelain ornaments scattered about. Here was a Chinese Joss, with a moveable head: and there was a pedlar mounted on a gigantic goat. At the corners of the fire-place were two paintings evidently cut out of a picture, and representing little charity-school girls. In the centre of the room stood a loo-table, upon which a writing-desk was placed; and this was surrounded by medical publications, bearing on their title-pages the magical names of those gentlemen whom I was so anxiously waiting to see. I had the curiosity to open one of the works: but I was disgusted with the obscenity of the coloured plates which it contained. A moment’s reflection, however, induced me to believe that there could be nothing indecent in the development of the divine art of surgery; and I felt ashamed of myself for having even for an instant entertained such scruples. As a concluding observation respecting the drawing-room itself, I must remark that its entire appearance indicated the taste of a vulgar upstart, rather than the refined elegance of a polished mind.
“Having waited nearly three quarters of an hour, a footman made his appearance, and, with many obsequious bows, conducted me down stairs into a dining-room most gaudily and extravagantly furnished. The same grovelling vulgarity of taste which I had noticed elsewhere was apparent in the crimson damask curtains with yellow fringes and tassels—the looking-glasses in ponderous frames—the showy daubs suspended to the walls—and the furniture arranged for the purpose of display. Folding-doors admitted me into an inner apartment, of equally vulgar appearance; and beyond was a little room, only a few feet square, and which the footman, as he ushered me in, denominated the surgery.
“I must confess that my heart beat violently as I traversed those two apartments leading to the sanctum where I expected to find myself in the presence of the eminent medical practitioners. I had pictured to myself a couple of old and venerable-looking gentlemen, with genius stamped upon their high bald foreheads, and their eyes expressing all the powers of vigorous intellects. I was therefore somewhat surprised when, on being introduced into the surgery, I beheld only one individual, who was the very reverse of the portraiture I had drawn by anticipation. His features were of the Jewish cast: his complexion was of that swarthy and greasy description peculiar to the lower order of the Hebrew race;—his hair was black and very thick; and his whiskers met beneath his chin. His eyes were dark, and one of them was larger than the other: his bottle-nose was rather on one side; and his countenance altogether was as ignoble, as vulgar, and as unintellectual as ever served as an index to a sordid, grovelling soul. His dress was of the flashy kind which belongs partly to the upstart or parvenu, and partly to the swell-mob’s-man. He wore a blue dress-coat, a gaudy waistcoat, and large loose trousers hollowed at the instep so as to be shaped to the polished leathern boot. A profusion of jewellery decorated his person;—a thick gold chain, with a large key, depended to his watch—his worked shirt was fastened with diamond and blue enamel studs;—and his dirty hands were covered with costly rings, which appeared as ill-placed upon the clumsy, grimy fingers as pearls would be round the neck of a pig.
“Such was the individual in whose presence I found myself; and had I not been at the time in such a desperate state of mind that I was eager to clutch at a straw, I should at once have seen through the man and his system. But I reassured myself with the adage which teaches that we should never judge by outward appearances; and it flashed to my mind that many men remarkable for the brilliancy of their intellect, were far from being prepossessing in either person, manners, or address. Moreover, I never had partaken in the shameful, unjust, and absurd prejudices which too many of my fellow-countrymen entertain in respect to the Jews; and therefore the mere fact of this Mr. Surtees being a member of the Hebrew race produced on my mind no unfavourable impression with regard to him.
“‘Pray be seated,’ said the medical gentleman, with a tone and manner which I at the time mistook for professional independence, but which I have since discovered to be the vulgar insolence of an ignorant, self-sufficient upstart. I took a chair in compliance with the invitation given; and when he had seated himself at his desk, he extended his dirty but jewel-bedizened paw, saying, ‘Vill you obleege me vith yer card?’—I did as requested; but not without a little hesitation, for I had hoped to avoid giving my name and address.—‘Ah! I see,’ said Mr. Surtees, in a musing tone, as he examined the card: ‘Mr. Macdonald,’ he continued, reading my name. ‘By the vay, air you any relation to the Markiss of Burlington? ’cos his family name is the same as your’n.’—I replied that I was not a relative of the nobleman mentioned.—‘Vell, it don’t sinnify,’ proceeded Mr. Surtees. ‘The Markiss is a hexcellent friend of mine. He lays under a sight of hobligations to me. He come to me in the first hinstance vith a constitootion so veared out and shattered that no medical carpenter in all Hingland could have mended it up except me. But in the course of a foo weeks I putt him as right as a trivet; and now he’d go through fire and vater to sarve me. It on’y cost him a couple of thousand pounds to get quite cured; and that was cheap enow, ’evvins knows! But how comed you to call upon me this mornin’? Were it in consekvence of having perooged von of my medical vorks? Ah! them sells vell, them does! Or were it ’cos you seed my adwertisement in the noospapers?’—I was so completely bewildered by this outpouring of execrable English and vile grammar, that for some moments I was utterly unable to answer the questions put to me. Was it possible that this coarse, ignorant, and self-sufficient vulgarian could be an eminent medical authority—the author of valuable publications—the celebrated surgeon whom the extracts from newspapers21 quoted in his advertisement, spoke of so highly? I was astounded. But again did hope blind me to what the man really was: again did I reassure myself by the reflection that Mr. Surtees might be an excellent surgeon, although he was a miserable grammarian; and I accordingly recovered my self-possession sufficiently to inform him that I had called in consequence of reading his advertisement in the newspapers.
“The doctor seemed pleased at my answer, and immediately exclaimed, ‘Vell, sir, and vot a blessin’ it is that people do read adwertisements: ’cos vy? they gets at the knowledge of heminent medikle prektishoners, which has devoted their lives to the hart of ealing all kinds of diseases. You see before you, sir,’ he continued, in a pompous tone, and with arrogant air, ‘a man vot knows hevery hin and hout of the human constitootion. No von knows so vell as myself wot consumption raly is.’—‘Then you have made consumption your particular study, sir?’ I observed, seeing that he paused, in order to elicit some remark from me.—‘Rayther!’ was his laconic answer. ‘The fact is,’ he continued, ‘foo medikle men is aweer what consumption is, nor in vot part of the frame it begins. Vy, I vonce knowed a gentleman, sir, which had a rapid decline begin in the great toe of his left foot, and travel up’ards, till it spread itself over the hentire system. The doctors had all give him up, and the undertaker was actiwally thinking of the good job he should soon have putt into his hand, ven I vos consulted. I made him take seventeen bottles of my bootiful Balm of Zura, and he rekivered in less than a fortnit.’
“Weak, nervous, and attenuated as I was, this anecdote made a deep impression upon me. I forgot the bad grammar—I lost sight of the arrogance and self-sufficient vulgarity: I saw and heard only the man who solemnly assured me that he had redeemed a fellow-creature from the jaws of death, when all other members of the faculty had given up the case as hopeless. Mr. Surtees doubtless perceived that he had worked me up to the pitch suitable to his purposes; and he accordingly said, ‘Vell, my good sir, vill you be so good as to explain wot it is that you’ve come to consult me for?’ I then frankly and candidly confessed that I had expended four-fifths of a large fortune in a career of unbroken dissipation—that my constitution was grievously impaired, if not absolutely ruined—that since I had given up drinking and all other sources of unnatural excitement, I was subject to such frequent fits of despondency that the idea of suicide was almost constantly in my imagination—that I loved and was beloved by a beautiful girl who was possessed of property—but that I felt afraid to contract the matrimonial engagement, lest I should leave her an unprotected widow in the course of a short time. Mr. Surtees listened with great attention; and when I had concluded, he appeared to reflect profoundly. At length he said, ‘Vell, let’s feel yer pulse.’—I extended my hand towards him; and he applied his thumb to a part of my wrist where I did not suppose that a pulse lay: but I concluded at the time that his great proficiency in medicine had led him to discover a new pulse, and that the best mode to test it was with the thumb.—‘Wery veak pulse indeed!’ he said, shaking his head with as much solemnity as the Chinese Joss up in his drawing-room might have been expected to display. ‘But don’t go for to give vay to despair, my dear sir; the case is a bad ’un, I admit—a wery, wery bad ’un; and I can’t say as how that I ever knowed a wusser. Pray, who’s the young lady which you intends to marry? I’ve a motive in axing.’—I thought that as the learned gentleman was already acquainted with my name and address, there could be no harm in answering this new question, the more especially as even if I refused to reply, he could easily institute those enquiries that would lead to a knowledge of the fact: I accordingly satisfied him on that head. ‘Ah! I don’t know her,’ he observed, carelessly: then, after a few moments’ reflection, he said ‘Vell, I undertake to cure you; but the business vill be a hexpensive von. You must write me a cheque for a hundred guineas, my consultation fee; and then I’ll tell you wot you must do next.’—Reassured by the promises he thus held out, I unhesitatingly gave him a draft for the amount demanded. He then opened a drawer, and drew forth a small case containing six bottles. ‘This here is the rale elixir of life,’ he said, in a tone of solemn mystery: ‘it inwigorates the constitootion in no time, and puts a reglar stopper on the adwance of consumption. The Grand Turk has a case sent every veek to him through his Hambassador, and all the crowned heads in Europe is patients of mine, I may say. Take a bottle of this bootiful balm daily; and ven it’s all gone, come back again to me. The price of them six is fifteen guineas; and you can write me out another cheque at vonce.’—I hastened to comply with this demand; and Mr. Surtees bowed me out of the surgery.
“But here I must leave off writing; for I am wearied—my brain begins to grow confused—and my memory fails me. Oh! what a fool—what an idiot I was, not to have seen through the man and his quackery on the occasion of that visit, the particulars of which I have detailed at such length.
“I again resume my narrative. Five days have elapsed since I last put pen to paper; and that interval has been one of darkness. Yes—the fit was upon me: but it has passed—and I am now calm and collected once again. I have just read over all that I have written above; and I have laughed heartily at the fidelity and minuteness of my description of the first visit that I paid to the quack-doctor. Let me now continue my narrative; for the incidents are once more all fresh and vivid in my memory.
“I am well aware that the imagination has much to do with our diseases and our cures. Possessed of what I deemed to be a salutary medicine, my spirits rose; and at the close of each of the six days during which the supply of balm lasted, I said to myself, ‘I certainly feel stronger and better.’ The fits of despondency were far less frequent, and less intense: my appetite improved—and the colour came partially back to my cheeks. This change was no doubt effected principally by the steady life which I adopted, and by the increased mental tranquillity which I experienced. I was moreover filled with hope that a complete restoration to health would be accomplished; and thus, while at the time I attributed everything to the medicine, I have not the least doubt that the stuff was utterly valueless in itself. Editha was rejoiced to find my spirits so much improving; and her mother expressed her delight at the regular habits which I had adopted. I did not mention to a soul my visit to Mr. Surtees: that was my secret—and a sense of shame made me cherish it religiously. At the expiration of the week I called upon him again, and on this occasion was at once admitted into his surgery. There was another fee of a hundred guineas—another six bottles of medicine prescribed, and another cheque given for the amount thereof. He asked me if I had read his book yet; and I was compelled to reply in the negative. ‘Vell, never mind,’ he said; ‘I ain’t offended; but you shall have a hopportunlty of perooging it before you come agen. I’ll jest step up into the drawing-room and get you von.’ He accordingly quitted the surgery; and during his temporary absence an irresistible feeling of curiosity prompted me to look at a note which lay open upon the table. I read it; and thus it ran, word for word:—‘Dear Joe, You ax me 2 lend you mi dipplomy for a few days, just to make a show with to a new payshent; but i vunce for all tell you as how i’d rayther not lett it go out of my house. Besides, it’s of no use to you, ’cos it’s made out in the name of La’Vert, and you’ve took the name of Surtees. So no more from your affecshonate brother, &c.’—This note was signed by the name of La’Vert; and therefore it was apparent that the real appellation of my friend Mr. Surtees was Joseph La’Vert. It struck me in a moment that I had become the dupe of a quack; but I had sufficient command over myself to restrain my indignation when he returned to the room. He was accompanied by a woman—I cannot say a lady—whom he introduced to me as his wife. And here I must pause to say a few descriptive words of her.
“Mrs. Surtees was a vulgar, dark-complexioned Jewess, with a long hooked nose. Her flesh seemed as if it had been smeared with oil, and then wiped with a dry towel; but on her cheeks she wore an immoderate quantity of rouge. She was exceedingly stout, with an enormous bust: her hair, rough and wavy, was arranged in bands and plastered down with quince-pips. She was dressed in the most outrageous style, and as she herself expressed it, ’was about to go hout for a haring in the carridge.’ Her gown was of green velvet; her shawl of bright red; and her bonnet of rose pink, adorned with a profusion of artificial flowers, inside and out. She wore very pink silk stockings and short petticoats, as she had conceived the erroneous impression that there was something attractive in her elephantine leg. As a matter of course, she carried a complete jeweller’s shop about her person. She wore no gloves; and her large red hands were covered with rings. Her ear-rings were of gold studded with turquoise; and now her portraiture is complete.
“Scarcely had the ceremony of introduction taken place, when another female bounced into the apartment, and she was immediately presented to me as Mrs. Surtees’ sister. Such a pair was never seen before! They looked like a butcher’s daughters in their Sunday’s best; and they were attired with an evidently studied view to contrast. For the sister’s gown was of blue velvet, her shawl of flaunting yellow hue, and her bonnet white. These ladles, having favoured me with a good long stare and a few observations relative to the weather and such-like common-place topics, quitted the room to enter their vehicle which was waiting at the door. Mr. Surtees had the gallantry to accompany them as far as the carriage; and the moment I was alone again, I had the curiosity to traverse the two rooms and take a peep from the front window. The equipage was in perfect keeping with the appointments of the house and the attire of the occupants. It was a barouche, painted bright blue on the body: but all the under part and wheels were of straw colour. The inside was lined with yellow morocco. It was drawn by two brown cobs, the harness exhibiting a profusion of silver; and the coachman’s livery was of a gaudy blue, with buttons also of silver.
“But while I was making these observations from the window, my ears were saluted with a brief colloquy that took place in the passage between Mr. Surtees and his wife, ere he handed her to the carriage. They doubtless believed that I had remained in the surgery, and little thought that I was near enough to catch all they said.—‘Vell, Joe,’ exclaimed Mrs. Surtees, ‘any monzel22 vith that pale-faced young feller vich you said were so ’ansome and made me come in to see?’—‘A good moza-motton,’23 he answered, with a vulgar chuckling laugh.—‘Oh! then, he stumped the guelt?’24 demanded the woman, joining in the cachinnation.—‘To be sure he did, my love,’ responded this precious consulting-surgeon: ‘and I means to have a good deal more out on him afore I’ve done.’—‘Oh! wery vell, then,’ returned Mrs. Surtees: ‘in this case the boy Abey must have a new polka hat, and little Joe a new welwet dress out of it’—‘All right!’ exclaimed the consulting-surgeon. ‘Come, cut along, and astonish the natives in the park a bit. I shall jine you presently.’ He then handed the two women into the carriage; and I hurried back to the surgery, where I seated myself till his return—so that he could not suspect I had quitted the place during his temporary absence. I longed to tell him all I knew or suspected relative to his real character: but a fear of exposure made me silent—and I took my leave of him with as much civility as I could bring myself to bestow upon such a person.
“I knew that I had been completely and thoroughly victimised: but on reflection, I was glad of it. I saw that the circumstance of taking the medicine had stimulated my imagination, and had thereby aided in improving my health. On my return home, I threw the six bottles away without drinking another drop of the trashy balm; and I sent at once for a respectable physician, who, for a fee of five guineas, gave me proper advice. I then came to the conclusion that it is always better, under any emergency, to have recourse to legitimate assistance than to seek the aid of advertisers—no matter whether the subject involved be medicine, law, or money. My health improved rapidly; and at the expiration of three months I became the happy husband of the equally happy Editha.
Here must I pause for a time: the recollection of my wedding-day has revived memories which overpower me!
“I resume my narrative. Twelve months had elapsed after my marriage with the loveliest and most amiable woman in the universe; and nothing had transpired to interrupt our felicity. A boy had blest our union—and I was as happy as a husband and father could possibly be. My health was almost completely re-established; and my habits were regular and domestic. I loathed the idea of those exciting pleasures and feverish enjoyments in the vortex of which I had nearly wrecked everything—health, fortune, and reputation; and Mrs. Greville, who dwelt with us, would often assure me with a smile that I was the very pattern of good husbands. My brother, who had become a magistrate, was a frequent visitor at our house; and all was progressing in peace, comfort, and tranquillity, when an incident suddenly occurred to interfere with that smiling prospect.
“It was late one evening, shortly after my beloved Editha’s recovery from her confinement, that I was informed that a person who refused to give his name desired to speak with me in private. I ordered the servant to show him into the library; and thither I immediately afterwards proceeded. The man whom I encountered there was a short, thick-set fellow, with a forbidding countenance: he was flashily dressed, and had about him an air of jaunty impudence as if he had come upon some evil mission in which he knew that he should succeed. I asked him his business, without inviting him to be seated—for I conceived a dislike to him the instant I set eyes upon his sinister features. ‘Your name is Macdonald?’ he said, flinging himself into a chair in a very free-and-easy manner.—‘There is no necessity for you to acquaint me with that fact,’ I observed, assuming as chilling a tone as possible.—‘Oh! but there is, though!’ he ejaculated: ‘because I must make sure that I am speaking to the right person. Well, you admit your name: now will you tell me whether you’re the gentleman that married Miss Editha Greville?’—‘What means this impudence?’ I demanded angrily. ‘Explain your business, sir, without farther circumlocution.’—‘I’ll come to the point in a minute,’ returned the man, quite unabashed. ‘Fifteen or sixteen months ago you used to visit a certain gentleman who lives not a hundred miles from Soho Square.’—I started and turned pale: for it struck me in a moment that the fellow was alluding to the consulting-surgeon.—‘Well, now I see that it’s all right,’ he exclaimed, doubtless drawing this inference from the confusion of my manner. ‘Of course you would rather it shouldn’t be known that you did visit the gentleman,’ he added emphatically.—‘I do not understand your meaning,’ I replied.—‘Look here, then,’ continued the fellow: ‘it would not be very pleasant to have your brother, your mother-in-law, your friends, your tradesmen, your servants, and even your wife, made acquainted with the fact that you were under Mr. Surtees for some time previous to your marriage.’—‘I never visited him but twice!’ were the words that I gasped out, for horrible sensations were coming rapidly over me.—‘Never mind how often it was,’ cried the man, in a brutal tone: ‘you did call to consult him, and that’s enough for me. Now then, ’tis for you to say how much you’ll give me to keep the secret.’—‘Wretch! extortioner!’ I ejaculated, rage succeeding alarm in my breast—‘It’s of no use to attempt to bully me,’ said the ruffian, with the most cold-blooded composure: ‘I want money, and I mean to get it out of you.’—‘Or else?’ I said, all my wretched feelings returning, as I saw myself threatened with exposure, shame, and irretrievable degradation.—‘Or else,’ he repeated, ‘I shall tell the secret to all the people I have named; and then we shall see whether you will ever hold up your head in society again.’—‘And how much money do you require?’ I asked, my heart sinking within me.—‘Five hundred will do for the present,’ he responded imperiously.—‘For the present?’ I cried, echoing his words: ‘what! do you mean to visit me again for such a purpose?’—‘Not if you shell out at once, and without making any more words about it,’ he said.—There was no alternative save to comply; and I accordingly counted into his hand the Bank-notes for the sum named. In another minute he had taken his departure—and I was left alone to meditate upon the scene that had just occurred.
“It was a long time before I could so far compose my countenance and my feelings as to be able to return to the parlour without exciting the suspicions of my wife and mother-in-law that something unpleasant had taken place. But I managed to conceal the sorrow which the event of the evening had engendered within me; and early on the following morning I paid a visit to Mr. Surtees. He did not appear at first to recollect me—or, at all events, if he did, he was a wonderful adept in playing the part of forgetfulness: but when I mentioned my name, he exclaimed, ‘Vy, is it possible that you’ve come back to consult me again?’—‘Far from it,’ I answered, with a bitterness which I could not hide, and which he failed not to notice; for he bit his lip, and coloured deeply. I then related to him the particulars of the visit I had received on the previous evening, and accused him of being the prime mover in the matter. But he repelled the charge with so much indignation—whether real or feigned I cannot even now determine—that I certainly believed him at the time; and, were I at present writing for the purpose of having my narrative read by the world, I should be loth indeed to have it inferred that Mr. Surtees was in reality mixed up with the case of extortion. Much as I hate and despise him, I will not do him a wanton injustice; and I am therefore bound to state that he was warm and energetic in his assurances of complete innocence respecting the transaction.—‘But how could the man have known that I ever did visit you?’ I asked.—‘Vell things does get abroad in a many most unaccountable vays,’ he responded: ‘but I take my Gosh to witness that I’m as clear of this business as the babe vot’s unborn. Vot can I do to conwince you that such is the fect?’—‘I do not entertain such a dreadful opinion of human nature as to disbelieve you, sir,’ was my rejoinder; and I took my leave. But, distressed and harassed as I was, I could not help noticing the strong and disagreeable odour of fried fish that came up from the lower regions of the dwelling: nor could I avoid a smile as I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Surtees, who was running hastily up stairs, having evidently emerged from the kitchen—for her swarthy countenance was as greasy as it could be, and her appearance was dirty and slovenly in the extreme. Yet, a few hours later in the day, this woman would doubtless turn out in all the flaunting gaud of her rainbow attire and in the profuse display of her costly jewellery!
“I must again repeat that I quitted Mr. Surtees’ abode with the conviction that he was anything but an accomplice in the scheme of extortion; and I said to myself, as I returned homeward, ‘The scene of last night is one of those penalties which we are doomed to pay for the irregularities and evil courses of our youthful years. But, even though Surtees himself be innocent, is not the extortionate deed all the same a result of an infamous system of quackery? Destroy that system—and the quietude of men’s homes could not thus be troubled by the visits of extortioners!’—By degrees my mind grew calmer; and as weeks and months fled away, I had almost ceased to think of the occurrence which had so much ruffled me, when one evening the man reappeared at the house. Again was the ominous message delivered to me while I was seated in the society of my beloved wife and her excellent mother—again did I see the man in private—and again was I compelled to endure his cool insolence and yield to his extortionate demands. Another five hundred pounds was transferred from my pocket to his own;—and once more was I forced to veil the real condition of my feelings when I rejoined the ladies in the parlour. And now, as time slipped away, I did not lose the misgivings that this second visit had excited in my mind—I could not forget that I was in the power of a villain, who was certain to come back again. Months passed; and a third time—I remember it well—it was on Christmas eve,—the fatal message was delivered to me. On this occasion I started so violently and betrayed so much confusion that both my wife and mother-in-law observed my agitation. I however hurried away, without responding to their anxious enquiries; and when once more in the presence of the extortioner, I heaped the bitterest reproaches upon him. He heard me with a coolness and a self-possession that only augmented my wrath; and at length I ceased speaking through sheer exhaustion. He then informed me, in his imperious and rude manner, that he had an opportunity of emigrating under the most favourable services—that he required a thousand pounds—and that if I gave him this sum, he would never trouble me again. I bound him by the most solemn oaths to that pledge; and, to save myself from a shame that would have crushed me down to the very dust and rendered life intolerable, I gave the miscreant a cheque on my bankers for the large amount which he demanded. But on my return to the company of my Editha and Mrs. Greville, I was compelled to invent falsehoods to account for my confusion; and I beheld, with pain and bitter grief, that they both saw that I was deceiving them—that I was concealing the real truth—and that there was something upon my mind!25
“Oh! yes—and they conjectured truly; for my peace was now so thoroughly disturbed, that I despaired of regaining it. I felt convinced that, in spite of the villain’s solemn vows, he would come back again; and I dreaded to be at home—for every knock at the door made me start nervously. If I walked or rode out, on my return I dreaded lest the servants should inform me that a certain person had called for me during my absence, and would look in again in the evening. Thus my life became a veritable burthen to me; and my sorrow was aggravated by the stern necessity of retaining it all in my own breast. Often and often did I think of inventing some excuse to induce my wife and her mother to consent that we should break up our establishment in London, and repair to the continent. But what apology could I devise for such a strange proceeding?—and, moreover, would not the extortioner find me out, if he set himself to the work? because to imagine any feasible ground for changing our name, was impossible. Thus months passed away, without seeing me determine upon any plan to frustrate the extortioner should he return; and I saw that my Editha’s health and spirits began to fail—because she knew that I was secretly unhappy!
“And the extortioner did come back: and again was I forced to yield to his demands. Two thousand pounds did he obtain from me on this occasion; and when I reminded him of his solemn pledges and sacred vows, he laughed outright in my face. Oh! how I hated—abhorred—loathed that man! I could have slain him on the spot: but I thought of my dear wife and innocent boy, and I restrained my hand. And now my mind became seriously unsettled—a painful nervousness constantly maintained its influence over me—my health gave way again, as rapidly under the heavy weight of sorrow as it did beneath the wearing effects of dissipation. Oh! yes—and what was worse than all, was that my Editha grew paler and thinner day by day—visibly;—and I dared not attempt to console her—I could not force my tongue to frame a lie to assure her that I myself was happy. Thus was our once happy home changed to a scene of gloom: a deep despondency hung upon us all—and I perceived, with ineffable anguish, that Mrs. Greville began to view me with distrust. Perhaps she thought that some crime lay heavy upon my soul: yes—this must have been her impression—or she would doubtless have questioned me. But she did not live long enough to behold the sad catastrophe: a short though severe illness snatched her to the tomb—and, circumstanced as I was, I rejoiced in secret at the event,—for I said to myself, ‘There is at all events one being the less to deceive—one being the less to watch me with mournful and silently appealing looks!’—O God! It was not strange—it was not wonderful if madness were beginning even then to undermine the strong tower of my reason!
“Scarcely were the remains of my mother-in-law consigned to the tomb, when the extortioner reappeared at the house. His demands increased in proportion to the concessions which were made to him by my fears; but I was totally unable to comply with his present exigences. It is true that there was much property still left;—but it was settled on my wife—and I could not command from my own resources the sum needed. This I candidly told him, and besought him to be merciful;—yes, with tears in my eyes did I beseech him. The wretch! the monster! what cared he for my grief—my anguish? He desired me to have recourse to a discounter—gave me the address of a money-lender—and said he should return on the following evening. Accordingly—impelled by my wretched, wretched destiny—I visited the money-lender, who advanced me three thousand pounds on my own acceptance, and at most usurious interest. The whole of that money found its way into the pocket of the extortioner; and when he had taken his departure, I fell down in a fit. For days and days did I keep my bed; and when I awoke to consciousness, it was from a delirium. My dear wife was seated by my bed-side; but, O God!—how pale—how altered—how wan she was with long vigils and deep grief! I questioned her guardedly to ascertain whether in my ravings I had betrayed my secret: but I learnt, beyond all doubt, that I had not. Then I began to breathe more freely; and she, throwing her arms about my neck, exclaimed, while tears streamed in torrents down her cheeks, ‘My beloved husband, you have some dreadful grief preying upon your mind. May I not be made your confidant? I have observed that always after the visits of the man who calls every now and then, and invariably in the evening, you are stricken as with a heavy affliction. Oh! what does it all mean?—I endeavoured to console her—to soothe her—to reassure her as well as I could; but I saw that she only pretended to be solaced, for my sake!
“Well—I recovered: but happiness and I had shaken hands for ever. I felt as if I were followed about by an invisible demon, whose breath poisoned the very atmosphere that I breathed. I know that my brain was reeling—that my reason was tottering that I was going mad! Often did I think seriously of murdering my wife and child, and putting an end to my own existence. But I dared not lay violent hands upon them; and I had too much moral courage still left to seek death so long as there remained a single tie, however feeble, to bind me to life. But a new misfortune was in store for me—for us. A solicitor in whom I and my wife trusted, obtained our signatures to certain deeds under the foulest representations; and by virtue thereof he sold out all the stock standing in Editha’s name in the Bank. He then absconded; and we were suddenly reduced from affluence to comparative penury. I was unable to honour my acceptance; and the discounter would listen to no terms. He said that he had passed it away in the regular course of business, and could not take it up himself. I was arrested and thrown into prison. My friends deserted me, believing that wanton extravagance on my part had led to this catastrophe. Yes: all save my beloved wife deserted me—and she, the angel! remained faithful to me! We had two hundred and fifty pounds a year still left; and on the houses which produced this income, my wife insisted on raising the money necessary to obtain my release. But such a proceeding would have left us beggars; and I could not endure the idea of misery for one—two—three persons! No: the property was so secured that my creditor could not touch it—and I resolved, by the advice of an attorney, to apply for relief to the Insolvents’ Court. I did so; and the creditor opposed me on the ground of extravagance. I could give no account of the manner in which I had disposed of the money he had advanced me—and when the opposing counsel asked me, on my oath, whether I had not lost it at gambling, I greedily snapped at the means of explanation thus furnished, and perjured myself by the utterance of an affirmative. Oh! that miscreant extortioner!—he drove me to ruin—a prison—the Insolvents’ Court—perjury—and lastly to a mad-house! Great God! how can I write thus tranquilly when I think of all the wrongs that I have endured?
“I have been compelled to desist again: but at length I resume my pen. My ideas are rapidly becoming more settled: I think that I shall recover altogether, if I can but manage to escape from this place!
“I stated that I appeared at the Insolvents’ Court, and was opposed by the holder of the bill for three thousand pounds. The Commissioner remanded me to prison for twelve months as a punishment for wanton and profligate expenditure. I shall not dwell upon that long incarceration: it was horrible to a sensitive soul like mine. Even Editha, patient and loving as she was, failed to solace me altogether. There were intervals of anguish so bitter that I fancied myself at times to be already dead and enduring the torments of hell. Dreadful thought! But at length the time passed—and I was once more free. We took a neat little cottage in the suburbs of the metropolis; and tranquility seemed to have been restored to us at last. Our son throve gloriously: Oh! what a handsome boy he became—what a handsome boy he must be now! Nearly two yeas passed—and I was recovering my mental serenity, when one day I met the extortioner in the street. Oh! what a cold shudder came over me as I saw his eyes fixed upon me! It seemed as if a horrible spectre had suddenly started up from the earth to horrify and appal me. I beheld Ruin personified; and a faintness came over me. But I was recalled to a poignant sense of my misery by the well-known voice, that fell upon my ears, making fresh demands upon my purse. I took the man into an obscure public-house close by; and, as there was no one in the room save ourselves at the time, we could converse freely upon the business. Freely, indeed! when every word he uttered fell like drops of molten lead upon my heart—and every syllable I breathed in return hissed from my parched tongue like water passing over red hot iron! What could I do? The fiend insisted upon having money, and swore that he would follow me home. He, however, measured his demands to my means, and insisted upon having three hundred pounds by a given hour the next evening. We parted—and I saw that he dogged me: indeed, he did not attempt to conceal himself nor his intentions as he followed me until I entered my own door—and I knew that it was useless either to turn upon him in a hostile manner, or to attempt to baffle his aim.
“Heaven only knows how I contrived to explain to my wife the reason of my altered appearance—or rather, how I managed to conceal the real cause beneath a falsehood. But I did succeed in reassuring her somewhat; and on the following day I went to the discounter—the same discounter who had lent me money before—to ask him for a loan. It was a desperate step, taken by a desperate man: but, to my surprise, he consented without the slightest hesitation to accommodate me. I received the money—gave my note of hand—and paid the amount to the extortioner. But things had now reached a crisis with me—and I became so unsettled in my mind that Editha was seriously alarmed. I remember that my brother, the magistrate, was sent for; and he visited the house after having been long estranged from me. Then a mist came over my memory; and, when I awoke, I was—here!
“Yes—here, where I now pen these lines! Oh! I have been mad—raving mad; and Heaven knows that I have endured enough to make me so. Such persecution could only end in insanity. But I am better now: nay—I am well—although my friends will not believe it. My brother was here yesterday; and I saw by the way in which he humoured me when I told him I was fast recovering my reason, that he still imagines me to be insane. I implored him to let me see Editha and my boy: he declared that I should have that pleasure next Sunday. He likewise told me that they were well in health, but deeply grieved on my account.
“Now I have made up my mind how to act. I shall escape from this horrible place, and proceed to France. There I shall adopt an assumed name—and thence I shall write to Editha to join me at once with our son. We shall be beyond the reach of the extortioner—and tranquil, if not happy days may yet await us. Yes—this is my hope! But shall I destroy the manuscript upon which I have laboured so arduously, and which has furnished me with an occupation that has done me so much good? No: I cannot consent to annihilate the papers which contain a narrative so fraught with awful warning. But does it not likewise contain my secret?—and is not my name mentioned in the course of the recital? Hark! footsteps approach—I must conceal my papers——”
Thus terminated the extraordinary manuscript which Lord William Trevelyan found in the wardrobe, and the perusal of which occupied him nearly two hours.
He was undecided how to dispose of the papers. Should he return them to the place where they had been concealed?—should he destroy them?—should he take them away with him, in the hope of being one day enabled to discover their writer, and by restoring them to him convince him that they had fallen into the possession of an honourable man, who, though having had the curiosity to read them, would, nevertheless, religiously keep the secret which they contained?
For, from the abrupt termination of the manuscript, Lord William very naturally concluded that the unfortunate author had succeeded in effecting his escape from the lunatic-asylum very shortly after he had penned the last words in the narrative; and the young nobleman, therefore, considered it to be possible, though perhaps not very probable, that he might sooner or later encounter Mr. Macdonald in the great and busy world.
Lord William had likewise another motive for retaining the papers.
The reader has seen enough of him to be aware that there was in his disposition much of the same chivalrous spirit and philanthropic principle which characterised the Earl of Ellingham; and it was therefore natural that he should become suddenly impressed with the idea of adopting measures, in due course, for the purpose of fully exposing the atrocious system of quackery that was carried on by pseudo-medical advertisers.
He remembered that the newspapers contained many advertisements announcing such works as the one which had proved the means of ensnaring the unfortunate Mr. Macdonald; and he was resolved to lose no time in employing his solicitor to institute all the necessary inquiries into the characters, histories, proceedings, and social positions of the scoundrels who thus accumulated large fortunes by means of the most atrocious quackery, deceit, rascality, and extortion.
The manuscript which chance had this night thrown in his way, contained so many important particulars, and furnished such a complete clue to the entire ramifications of the dark iniquity which the young nobleman was determined to expose, that he regarded it as a powerful auxiliary to the crusade he was about to undertake; and this consideration, added to the motives already mentioned, decided him in retaining possession of the document.
It was now one o’clock in the morning; and a profound silence reigned throughout the lunatic asylum.
Lord William noiselessly opened the door of his chamber, and looked forth into the long passage, which was partially lighted by a single lamp that had been left burning.
No living being was to be seen; and nothing disturbed the dead stillness of the hour and the place.
It now struck the young nobleman that the door of the chamber which he was anxious to enter—namely, No. 12, in the same passage as his own apartment—was most probably locked; and, in this case, he made up his mind to force it at all risks.
A little farther reflection suggested to him that, inasmuch as he had seen the housekeeper with only a single key in her hand, it was probable that this key was a pass to all the chambers; and he thence inferred that the key of his own room might perhaps fit the lock of the door belonging to No. 12.
At all events this was the first experiment that he resolved to try; and, without any longer delay, he proceeded as cautiously as possible down the passage, until he reached the chamber which he hoped and believed to be the one occupied by his friend.
There was a bolt outside the door: this was immediately drawn back;—and Trevelyan essayed the key.
To his indescribable joy, the key turned easily in the lock; and, with a beating heart, the nobleman entered the room—closing the door behind him.
The chamber was quite dark: but Trevelyan speedily groped his way to the window and drew aside the curtains, so as to permit the powerful moonlight to pour its silver flood into the room.
He now approached the bed—and there, to his delight, he beheld the well-known, though worn and wasted, countenance of his friend Sir Gilbert Heathcote, who was wrapped in slumber.
Lord William shook him gently; the baronet awoke with a sudden start and ejaculation; but at the same instant a friendly voice said, hurriedly, “Fear nothing! ’tis I—Trevelyan—and I am come to deliver you from this accursed place.”
Sir Gilbert, who had raised his head from the pillow, fell back again, and closed his eyes for a few moments. He fancied that he was dreaming. He could not believe that those welcome words had in reality sounded in his ears, or that the moonlight had shown him the form of his friend by the bed-side.
Trevelyan did not choose to interrupt the baronet’s reverie immediately; he comprehended the prudence of allowing him to collect his scattered ideas, and compose his thoughts.
“Is it really you, my dear young friend?” Sir Gilbert asked abruptly; and, starting up in the bed, he seized Trevelyan’s hand, and gazed fixedly upon his countenance.
“Yes, it is no dream,” responded Lord William, pressing the baronet’s hand with all the fervour of his generous friendship; “I am here to effect your escape, and there is no time to be lost.”
Still the baronet could scarcely believe the joyful announcement thus made to him; and Trevelyan, duly impressed with the necessity of tranquilising and reassuring his friend’s mind as much as possible ere the attempt at departure should be made,—fearing likewise that the baronet’s intellect had been somewhat impaired by the sense of wrong and the horrors of imprisonment in a lunatic asylum,—began to speak upon such topics as were calculated to direct his thoughts into a salutary channel.
“My dear Heathcote,” he said, “endeavour to call to your aid as much calmness and self-possession as possible; for a single inadvertence or false step may ruin our project by alarming the house. Remember that the place is as well protected and defended, and probably as well watched, as a gaol: and we must proceed with caution—courage—and coolness.”
“But how did you find your way into the establishment?” enquired Sir Gilbert, his ideas becoming more settled.
“By pretending to be insane,” answered Trevelyan; “and I have succeeded in thoroughly duping the Doctor.”
“Oh! my generous—my noble-hearted friend!” exclaimed the baronet: “how can I ever sufficiently prove my gratitude——”
“Hush! speak not with excitement!” interrupted Trevelyan. “I am only doing towards you what you would unhesitatingly perform for me under the same circumstances. And now—as I am anxious to relieve your mind as much as possible from any uneasiness or suspense that it may experience—I must at once inform you that Mrs. Sefton is in good health, and at this moment in the happy expectation of shortly seeing you again; for she is aware of the scheme which I have adopted to restore you to liberty.”
“Heaven be thanked for these assurances!” exclaimed Sir Gilbert: then, after a few moments’ pause, he said, “I need scarcely ask you to explain how you became acquainted with Mrs. Sefton. She was no stranger to the friendship subsisting between you and me—and I therefore conclude that, alarmed by my sudden and inexplicable disappearance, she sought your counsel and assistance.”
“All has occurred precisely as you conjecture,” answered Trevelyan. “But do you now feel equal to the task——”
“Of making an effort to recover my freedom?” ejaculated Sir Gilbert, leaping from the couch. “Let us not lose another moment! The atmosphere of this place seems oppressive, and heavy to breathe. I pant—I yearn—I long for liberty.”
Thus speaking, the baronet began hastily to put on his attire, and in a few minutes he was dressed.
“Now,” said Trevelyan, “we must decide upon the course to be adopted. Doubtless there is a porter to keep watch all night in the hall?” he added, interrogatively.
“Yes,” answered Sir Gilbert: “and I am also certain that a man patrols the garden. Besides, the keepers inside the house are as wakeful and as watchful as the fiends of Pandemonium; and the least noise will bring half-a-dozen strong and desperate fellows upon us. For my part, I have not the slightest objection to embrace the alternative of fighting our way through all opposition——”
“But the consequences of defeat would be most disastrous,” interrupted Trevelyan. “The Doctor would thereby gain an excuse for coercing both you and me; and although I am as it were my own prisoner, yet I have sworn not to quit these walls unless accompanied by you.”
“Generous friend!” exclaimed Sir Gilbert. “Were we well armed, we might bid defiance to the Doctor and all his gang: but weaponless—powerless as we are——”
“Do not despond, Heathcote,” said Trevelyan, observing that the baronet spoke in a mournful tone: “the task that I have undertaken, I will accomplish! There appear to me to be two modes of procedure. The first is to descend as noiselessly as possible to the hall—seize upon the porter—master him—and then effect our escape by the front-door. The other is to force away the bars from the window of this room—make a rope of the bed-clothing—descend into the garden—and take our chance with the watchman. Either project is attended with the risk of creating an alarm: but it is for you to decide, from your knowledge of the premises and the habits of its inmates, which scheme is the more feasible.”
“The former,” responded Sir Gilbert, after a few moments’ deep reflection. “The watchman in the garden would probably observe us at the window, removing the bars; and an alarm would thus be raised even before we were prepared to attempt an escape by those means. On the other hand, the porter sleeps in the hall:—of this fact I am well assured, because I saw the bed temporarily made up for him there on the night that I was brought hither:—therefore our chances of success lie in that direction.”
“Such also is my idea,” observed Trevelyan. “Let us proceed at once—and permit me to take the lead.”
The young nobleman and the baronet stole cautiously forth from the chamber, treading so lightly that their steps raised not a sound to disturb the silence which prevailed throughout the establishment.
They descended to the first floor in safety: and there they paused for a few minutes on the landing, listening with suspended breath.
The deep and regular respiration of the porter now reached their ears from the hall below; and they thus obtained the assurance that the man slumbered.
Exchanging looks of satisfaction, they descended the last flight of stairs;—and, by the hall lamp, they perceived the porter comfortably ensconced in a truckle-bed that was made up for him in a convenient corner. The light fell on his rubicund countenance, which was surmounted by a cotton nightcap: but the brawny arm that lay outside the coverlid, and the tracing of his form as shaped by the bed-clothes, showed full well that he was a man of herculean stature and proportionate strength.
Nothing daunted—but resolving upon a desperate effort to accomplish the purpose he had in view—Lord William Trevelyan led the way into the hall; and he had just ascertained the fact that there was a bunch of large keys peeping forth from beneath the sleeping porter’s pillow, when the door of the supper-room suddenly opened, and Mr. Sheepshanks staggered forth.
The reverend gentleman carried a candle in his hand; and, by his flushed countenance, vacant stare, and unsteady walk, he was evidently in a pretty advanced state of intoxication. In fact—and there is no necessity to disguise the matter—the pious minister had sate up to enjoy himself alone; and he had carried his libations to such an extent that he was now, at two o’clock in the morning, most awfully drunk.
The moment Lord William caught sight of the inebriate minister, he sprang upon him—placed his hand tightly over his mouth—and, thrusting him back into the supper-room, said in a low but hasty and threatening tone, “Move hence at your peril!”
He then closed and locked the door.
But in the short and decided scuffle an untoward accident had occurred.
The candlestick had dropped from Mr. Sheepshanks’ hand on the marble floor of the hall; and the consequence was that the porter sprang up, and was out of bed in a trice.
Sir Gilbert Heathcote rushed upon him: but not in time to prevent the man from springing a huge rattle and crying, “Help! help!”
Lord William Trevelyan hesitated not a moment how to act. He darted to the truckle-bed—seized the keys from beneath the pillow—and sprang to the door, leaving Sir Gilbert Heathcote wrestling desperately with the porter.
The reader will remember that there were two doors; and the young nobleman had only just time to open the first or inner one, when a rapid glance cast behind showed him his friend Sir Gilbert upon the floor, completely overpowered by the huge porter, who had placed his knee upon the baronet’s chest.
It was Trevelyan’s hope that his friend would have been able to keep the porter engaged in the struggle until he could have opened both the doors, when he would have turned to the scene of strife, to rescue the baronet; but scarcely had he observed that Sir Gilbert was already vanquished, when four of the keepers rushed down stairs into the hall.
With the rapidity and force of a tiger springing upon its prey, Lord William rushed on the huge porter, hurled him to a distance, and raised up the prostrate baronet.
All this was the work of an instant: but in another moment the keepers sprang upon the two friends, and closed with them.
The baronet was again borne down; but Trevelyan, who now saw that the conflict was really becoming desperate, used the bunch of heavy door-keys with such effect that he speedily disabled the two keepers who had assailed him,—stretching one senseless on the floor, and compelling the other to beat a retreat with the blood pouring down his face.
To turn his attention to the two men who were dragging away Sir Gilbert Heathcote, was the intrepid young nobleman’s next step; and in a few moments the baronet, once more rescued from the enemy, was by the side of his intrepid friend.
“Take the keys and open the front door!” cried Trevelyan, impetuously pushing Sir Gilbert towards that extremity of the hall where the means of egress lay. “Escape, in the name of heaven!—think not of me!”
And having thrust the keys into his friend’s hand, Lord William seized the Doctor’s gold-headed cane, which hung to a hat-peg in the hall; and placing himself between the front-door and the keepers, he cried, “Beware how you provoke me—for I shall not hesitate to defend myself to the death!”
But scarcely were these words uttered, when the two keepers from whom he had rescued the baronet, returned to the charge, aided by the burly porter.
The foremost was instantaneously felled by a blow vigorously dealt with the cane; and, following up his advantage quickly as the eye can wink, Trevelyan darted at the other keeper, whom he also levelled on the spot. But in the next moment the gallant young nobleman was in the grasp of the porter; and, dropping the cane as no longer useful in a close tussle, he addressed himself with all his might to this last and most desperate single combat.
The scene was very exciting; and all that we have yet described since the first moment that the conflict commenced, did not occupy more than two minutes.
Scarcely had the intrepid nobleman and the herculean porter closed together, when the Doctor, attired in his dressing-gown and slippers, and with his cotton night-cap on his head, appeared at the bottom of the stairs, holding a chamber-candle in his hand.
At the same instant Sir Gilbert Heathcote had succeeded in opening the front door; and the morning breeze poured into the hall, in a manner doubtless highly refreshing to the porter, who, be it remembered, had nothing on but his shirt—his cap having fallen off in the conflict which he had maintained with the baronet in the first instance.
Two of the discomfited keepers, animated by the presence of the Doctor—or perhaps rendered ashamed of their pusillanimity—now returned to the attack upon Trevelyan, who was just on the point of hurling the porter to the ground. But Sir Gilbert, having made the entrance free, rushed back to help his friend; and the contest was again renewed with desperate energy,—the other two keepers, who had by this time recovered their senses, joining in the struggle.
And hard would it have gone with Trevelyan and the baronet against such odds, had not two new-comers suddenly appeared upon the scene.
For, the front door standing wide open, and the lamp being alight in the hall, two gentlemen who were passing by the house at the time beheld the extraordinary proceedings that were taking place within; and the foremost, perceiving in an instant that the odds were two to five,—namely, Trevelyan and the baronet against the four keepers and the porter,—exclaimed at the top of a stentorian voice, “Be Jasus! Frank, and we’ll just give a helping hand to the waker side!”
With these words, the redoubtable Captain O’Blunderbuss—nerved with all the courage attributed by Sir Walter Scott to Lord Marmion—“plunged into the fight.”
Or, in less poetical language, he darted into the hall—levelled the herculean porter with a well-directed blow between the eyes—and sent a couple of keepers sprawling over the aforesaid porter in an instant.
Frank Curtis, having imbibed just sufficient poteen to subdue his habitual cowardice and arm him with the bastard though not the less effectual valour which strong drink inspires, unhesitatingly followed the example of his gallant leader, and bore his part in the fray; so that in less than a minute a complete diversion was effected in favour of Lord William Trevelyan and Sir Gilbert Heathcote, the enemy being utterly discomfited.
“Villains! murderers! robbers!” shouted the infuriate Doctor, as loud as he could bawl; and then the screams and shrieks of the affrighted female servants were heard echoing from the stairs and landing-places.
“Let us depart!” cried Lord William Trevelyan; and, in a very few moments, he pushed the baronet, the captain, and Frank Curtis, out of the front door,—he himself pausing only for a single second to secure the keys.
In another instant he was outside the house; and closing the door behind him, he locked it so as to prevent the Doctor and his myrmidons from instituting an immediate pursuit.
“Be Jasus! and this is the rummest lar-r-k I iver had in all my life!” ejaculated Captain O’Blunderbuss, panting for breath.
“Come with us, gentlemen,” said Lord William, hastily addressing that gallant officer and Frank Curtis: “you have rendered us a signal service—and we must know you better. We have likewise certain necessary explanations to give you relative to the strange scene in which you took so generous a part. But come away directly—there is not a moment to be lost—a hue and cry may be raised!”
“Be the power-rs! and is it bur-r-glars ye are?” cried the Captain, somewhat regretting the precipitation with which he had mixed himself up in the late affray.
“No—no: far from that!” exclaimed Lord William, laughing heartily at the idea. “But let us get as quickly as we can out of this neighbourhood.”
And away the four gentlemen scampered into the Cambridge Road, down which they sped until they reached Mile End, where they fortunately found a night-cab waiting for a fare.
Into the vehicle they got; and Lord William Trevelyan exclaimed, as an instruction to the driver, “Park Square, Regent’s Park!”
Away the cab went; and both Captain O’Blunderbuss and Frank Curtis, who had heard the aristocratic address thus given, were seized with an insatiable curiosity to learn who their new acquaintances could be.