CHAPTER I.
THE PLOTTERS.
"'Tis a woman hard of feature, Old, and void of all good nature. 'Tis an ugly, envious shrew, Railing forever at me and you."--POPE.
It was Christmas Eve. All day long crowds of gayly dressed people hadwalked the streets, basking in the bright wintry sunshine. Sleigh aftersleigh went dashing past, with merrily jingling bells, freighted withrosy cheeks, and bright eyes, and youthful faces, all aglow withhappiness.
But the sun must set on Christmas Eve, as on all other days; and redly,threateningly, angrily, he sank down in the far west. Dark, sullenclouds came rolling ominously over the heavens; the wind blew piercinglycold, accompanied with a thin, drizzling rain that froze ere it fell.
Gradually the streets were deserted as the storm increased in fury; butthe Yule logs were piled high, the curtains drawn, and every house,_save one_, in the handsome street to which my story leads me, was allaglow, all ablaze with light.
In a lull of the storm the sounds of music and merry-making would riseand swell on the air, as light feet tripped merrily amid the mazes ofthe dance; or a silvery peal of laughter would break easily on thewayfarer's ear. The reflection of the light through the crimson curtainsshed a warm, rosy glow over the snowy ground, brightening the gloom ofthat stormy winter's night.
But rising dark, grim, and gloomy amid those gayly lighted mansions,stood a large, quaint building of dark-red sandstone. It stood byitself, spectral, shadowy, and grand. No ray of light came from thegloomy windows that seemed to be hermetically sealed. All around wasstern, black, and forbidding.
And yet--yes, from one solitary window there _did_ stream a long, thinline of light. But even this did not look bright and cheerful like therest; it had a cold, yellowish glare, making the utter blackness of therest of the mansion blacker still by contrast.
The room from which the light issued was high and lofty. The uncarpetedfloor was of black polished oak, as also were the wainscoting andmantel. The walls were covered with landscape paper, representing thehideous Dance of Death, in all its variety of frightful forms. The highwindows were hung with heavy green damask, now black with dirt and age.A large circular table of black marble stood in one shadowy corner, anda dark, hard sofa, so long and black that it resembled a coffin, stoodin the other.
A smoldering sea-coal fire, the only cheerful thing in that gloomy room,struggled for life in the wide, yawning chimney. Now it would die away,enveloping the apartment in gloom, and anon flame fitfully up, until theghostly shadows on the wall would seem like a train of ghastly spectersflitting by in the darkness. The elm trees in front of the house trailedtheir long arms against the window with a sound inexpressibly dreary;and the driving hail beat clamorously, as if for admittance.
On either side of the fire-place stood two large easy-chairs, cushionedwith deep crimson velvet. In these, facing each other, sat twopersons--a man and a woman--the only occupants of the room.
The woman was tall, straight, and stiff, and seemingly about fifty yearsof age. Her dress was a rustling black satin, with a small crapehandkerchief fastened on her bosom with a magnificent diamond pin. Herhands, still small and white, were flashing with jewels as they layquietly folded in her lap. A widow's cap rested on her head, which wasalternately streaked with gray and jet. But her face--so stern, sorigid, no one could look upon it without a feeling of fear. The lips--sothin that she seemed to have no lips at all--were compressed with a lookof unswerving determination. Her forehead was low and retreating, withthick black eyebrows meeting across the long, sharp nose, with a look atonce haughty and sinister. And from under those midnight brows glitteredand gleamed a pair of eyes so small, so sharp and keen--with such a lookof cold, searching, _steely_ brightness--that the boldest gaze mightwell quail before them. On that grim, hard face no trace of womanlyfeeling seemed ever to have lingered--all was stern, harsh, andfreezingly cold. She sat rigidly erect in her chair, with herneedle-like eyes riveted immovably on the face of her companion, whoshifted with evident uneasiness beneath her uncompromising stare.
He was a man of forty, or thereabouts, so small of stature that,standing side by side, he could scarcely have reached the woman'sshoulder. But, notwithstanding his diminutive size, his limbs weredisproportionately large for his body, giving him the appearance ofbeing all legs and arms. His little, round bullet-head was set on aprodigiously thick, bull-like neck; and his hair, short, and bristlingup over his head, gave him very much the look of the sun, as pictured inthe almanacs.
This prepossessing gentleman was arrayed in an immaculate suit of black,with a spotless white dickey, bristling with starch and dignity, and amost excruciating cravat. Half a dozen rings garnished his claw-likehands, and a prodigious quantity of watch-chain dangled from his vest.The worthy twain were engaged in deep and earnest conversation.
"Well, doctor," said the lady, in a cold, measured tone, that wasevidently habitual, "no doubt you are wondering why I sent for you insuch haste to-night."
"I never wonder, madam," said the doctor, in a pompous tone--which,considering his size, was quite imposing. "No doubt you have someexcellent reason for sending for me, which, if necessary for me to know,you will explain."
"You are right, doctor," said the lady, with a grim sort of smile. "I_have_ an excellent reason for sending for you. You are fond of money, Iknow."
"Why, madam, although it is the root of all evil----"
"Tush, man! There is no need for Satan to quote Scripture just now," sheinterrupted with a sneer. "Say, doctor, what would you do to earn fivehundred dollars to-night?"
"Five hundred dollars?" said the doctor, his small eyes sparkling, whilea gleam of satisfaction lighted up his withered face.
"Yes," said the lady, "and if well done, I may double the sum. Whatwould you do for such a price?"
"Rather ask me what I would _not_ do."
"Well, the job is an easy one. 'Tis but to----"
She paused, and fixed her eyes on his face with such a wild sort ofgleam that, involuntarily, he quailed before her.
"Pray go on, madam. I'm all attention," he said, almost fearing to breakthe dismal silence. "'Tis but to--_what_?"
"Make away with--a woman and child!"
"Murder them?" said the doctor, involuntarily recoiling.
"Do not use that word!" she said, sharply. "Coward! do you really blanchand draw back! Methought one of your profession would not hesitate tosend a patient to heaven."
"But, madam," said the startled doctor, "you know the penalty which thelaw awards for murder."
"Oh, I perceive," said the woman, scornfully, "it is not the crime youare thinking of, but your own precious neck. Fear not, my good friend;there is no danger of its ever being discovered."
"But, my _dear_ madam," said the doctor, glancing uneasily at the stern,bitter face before him, "I have not the nerve, the strength, northe----"
"_Courage!_" she broke in, passionately. "Oh, craven--weak,chicken-hearted, miserable craven! Go, then--leave me, and I will do itmyself. You dare not betray me--you _could_ not without bringing yourneck to the halter--so I fear you not. Oh, coward! coward! why did notheaven make _me_ a man?"
In her fierce outburst of passion she arose to her feet, and her tallfigure loomed up like some unnaturally large, dark shadow. The manquailed in fear before her.
"Go!" she said, fiercely, pointing to the door, "You have refused to_share my crime_. Go! poor cowardly poltroon! but remember, MadgeOranmore never forgives nor forgets!"
"But, my dear Mrs. Oranmore, just listen to me one moment," said thedoctor, alarmed by this threat. "I have not refused, I only objected. Ifyou will have the goodness to explain--to tell me what I must do, Iwill--see about it."
"See about it!" hastily interrupted the lady. "You _can_ do it--it is inyour power; and yes, or no, must be your answer, immediately."
"But----"
"No buts, sir. I will not have them. If you answer yes, one thousanddollars and my future patronage shall be yours. If you s
ay no, yonder isthe door; and once you have crossed the threshold, beware! Now, DoctorWiseman, I await your reply."
She seated herself again in her chair; and, folding her hands in herlap, fixed her hawk-like eyes on his face, with her keen, searchinggaze. His eyes were bent in troubled thought on the floor. Not that thecrime appalled him; but if detected--_that_ was the rub. Doctor Wisemanwas, as his name implies, a man of sense, with an exceedinglyaccommodating conscience, that would stretch _ad libitum_, and nevertroubled him with any such nonsense as remorse. But if it werediscovered! With rather unpleasant vividness, the vision of a hangmanand halter arose before him, and he involuntarily loosened his cravat.Still, one thousand dollars _were_ tempting. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman hadnever been so perplexed in his life.
"Well, doctor, well," impatiently broke in the lady, "have youdecided--_yes_ or _no_?"
"Yes," said the doctor, driven to desperation by her sneering tone.
"'Tis well," she replied, with a mocking smile, "I knew you were toosensible a man to refuse. After all, 'tis but a moment's work, and allis over."
"Will you be good enough to give me the explanation now, madam?" saidthe doctor, almost shuddering at the cold, unfeeling tone in which shespoke.
"Certainly. You are aware, doctor, that when I married my late husband,Mr. Oranmore, he was a widower with one son, then three years old."
"I am aware of that fact, madam."
"Well, you also know that when this child, Alfred, was five years ofage, _my_ son, Barry, was born."
"Yes, madam."
"Perhaps you think it unnecessary for me to go so far back, doctor, butI wish everything to be perfectly understood. Well, these two boys grewup together, were sent to school and college together, and treated inevery way alike, _outwardly_; but, of course, when at home, Barry wastreated best. Alfred Oranmore had all the pride of his Englishforefathers, and scorned to complain; but I could see, in his flashingeyes and curling lips, that every slight was noticed. Mr. Oranmore neverinterfered with me in my household arrangements, nor did his son evercomplain to him; though, if he had, Mr. Oranmore had too much good senseto mention it to _me_."
The lady compressed her lips with stately dignity, and the doctor lookeddown with something as near a smile as his wrinkled lips could wear._He_ knew very well Mr. Oranmore would not have interfered; for neverafter his marriage had the poor man dared to call his soul his own. Thelady, however, did not perceive the smile, and went on:
"When Barry left college, he expressed a desire to travel for two orthree years on the Continent; and I readily gave him permission, for Mr.Oranmore was then dead. Alfred was studying law, and I knew his dearestwish was to travel; but, as a matter of course, it was out of thequestion for _him_ to go. I told him I could not afford it, that itwould cost a great deal to pay Barry's expenses, and that he must giveup all idea of it. Barry went, and Alfred staid; though, as thingsafterward turned out, it would have been better had I allowed him togo."
Her eyes flashed, and her brows knit with rising anger, as shecontinued;
"You know old Magnus Erliston--Squire Erliston, as they call him. Youknow also how very wealthy he is reputed to be--owning, besides themagnificent estate of Mount Sunset, a goodly portion of the village ofSt. Mark's. Well, Squire Erliston has two daughters, to the eldest ofwhom, in accordance with the will of his father (from whom he receivedthe property), Mount Sunset Hall will descend. Before my husband'sdeath, I caused him to will his whole property to my son Barry, leavingAlfred penniless. Barry's fortune, therefore, is large, though far frombeing as enormous as that Esther Erliston was to have. Well, the squireand I agreed that, as soon as Barry returned from Europe they should bemarried, and thus unite the estates of Oranmore and Erliston. NeitherBarry nor Esther, with the usual absurdity of youth, would agree to thisarrangement; but, of course, their objection mattered little. I knew Icould easily manage Barry by the power of my stronger will; and thesquire, who is rough and blustering, could, without much difficulty,frighten Esther into compliance--when all our schemes were suddenlyfrustrated by that meddler, that busy-body, Alfred Oranmore."
She paused, and again her eyes gleamed with concentrated hatred andpassion.
"He went to Mount Sunset, and by some means met Esther Erliston. Beingwhat romantic writers would call one of 'nature's princes,' he easilysucceeded in making a fool of her; they eloped, were married secretly,and Squire Erliston woke up one morning to learn that his dainty heiresshad abandoned papa for the arms of a _beggar_, and was, as the wife of apenniless lawyer, residing in the goodly city of Washington.
"Pretty Esther doubtless imagined that she had only to throw herself atpapa's feet and bathe them with her tears, to be received with openarms. But the young lady found herself slightly mistaken. SquireErliston stamped, and raged, and swore, and frightened every one in St.Mark's out of their wits; and then, calming down, 'vowed a vow' never tosee or acknowledge his daughter more. Esther was then eighteen. If shelived to reach her majority, Mount Sunset would be hers in spite of him.But the squire had vowed that before she should get it, he would burnSunset Hall to the ground and plow the land with salt. Now, doctor, Iheard that, and set myself to work. Squire Erliston has a youngerdaughter; and I knew that, if Esther died, that younger daughter wouldbecome heiress to all the property, and she would then be just as good awife for Barry as her sister. Well, I resolved that Esther should nolonger stand in my way, that she should never live to reach hermajority. Start not, doctor, I see that you do not yet know MadgeOranmore."
She looked like a very fiend, as she sat smiling grimly at him from herseat.
"Fortune favored me," she continued. "Alfred Oranmore, with two or threeother young men, going out one day for a sail, was overtaken by a suddensquall--they knew little about managing a boat, and all on board weredrowned. I read it in the papers and set out for Washington. After muchdifficulty I discovered Esther in a wretched boarding-house; for, afterher husband's death, all their property was taken for debt. She did notknow me, and I had little difficulty in persuading her to accompany mehome. Three days ago we arrived. I caused a report to be circulated atWashington that the wife of the late Alfred Oranmore had died in greatpoverty and destitution. The story found its way into the papers; I sentone containing the account of her death to Squire Erliston; so alltrouble in that quarter is over."
"And _Esther_?" said the doctor, in a husky whisper.
"Of her we will speak by and by," said the lady, with a wave of herhand; "at present I must say a few words of my son Barry. Three weeksago he returned home; but has, from some inexplicable cause, refused toreside here. He boards now in a distant quarter of the city. Doctor,what says the world about this--is there any reason given?"
"Well, yes, madam," said the doctor, with evident reluctance.
"And what is it, may I ask?"
"I fear, madam, you will be offended."
"'Sdeath! man, go on!" she broke in passionately. "What sayeth thefar-seeing, all-wise world of him?"
"'Tis said he has brought a wife with him from Europe, whom he wishes toconceal."
"Ha! ha!" laughed the lady, scornfully. "Yes, I heard it too--abarefooted bog-trotter, forsooth! But 'tis false, doctor! false, I tellyou! You must contradict the report everywhere you hear it. That any oneshould dare to say that my son--my proud, handsome Barry--would marry apotato-eating Biddy! Oh! but for my indignation I could laugh at theutter absurdity."
But the fierce gleam of her eye, and the passionate clenching of herhand, bespoke her in anything but a laughing humor.
"I would not for worlds this report should reach Lizzie Erliston," shesaid, somewhat more calmly. "And speaking of her brings me back to hersister. Doctor, Esther Oranmore lies in yonder room."
He startled slightly, and glanced uneasily in the direction, but saidnothing.
"Doctor," continued Mrs. Oranmore, in a low, stern, impressive voice,while her piercing eyes seemed reading his very soul, "_she must neverlive to see the sun rise again_!"
"Madam!" he exclaimed, recoiling suddenly.
"You hear me, doctor, and you _must_ obey. She must not live to seeChristmas morning dawn."
"Would you have me murder her?" he inquired, in a voice quiveringbetween fear and horror.
"If you will call it by that name, yes," she replied, still keeping herblazing eyes fixed immovably on his face. "She and her child must die."
"Her child!"
"Yes, come and see it. The night of its birth must be that of itsdeath."
She rose, and making a motion for him to follow her, led the way fromthe apartment. Opening a heavy oaken door, she ushered him into a dimbed-room, furnished with a lounge, a square bedstead, whose dark draperygave it the appearance of a hearse, and a small table covered withbottles and glasses. Going to the lounge, she pointed to somethingwrapped in a large shawl. He bent down, and the faint wail of an infantmet his ear.
"_She_ is yonder," said the lady, pointing to the bed; "examine thesebottles; she will ask you for a drink, _give_ it to her--you understand!Remember, you have promised." And before he could speak, she glided fromthe room.