Adventures of Susan Hopley/Volume 1/Chapter 16
CHAPTER XVI.
JULIA BEGINS TO RELATE THE HISTORY OF HER PARENTS.
"I will tell you nothing but the truth," said Julia, in answer to Mrs. Wetherall, who in compliance with Mr. Simpson's directions, had requested her to communicate as much as she might think proper of her history, in order that he might the better know how to serve her, "but to enable you to comprehend my story, I must first give you some account of my parents.—I almost fear to begin," she continued, after a short silence, and wiping away the tears that were gathering in her eyes—"you will repent of your charity, and of having sheltered such an one as I am under your roof."
"Indeed, I shall not," returned Mrs. Wetherall; "you have nothing to fear on that head, either from me or my husband. And if you had things to tell me twenty times worse than I am sure you have, I should still have reason to bless the chance that brought you here;" for Mr. Wetherall, partly to relieve his own mind, and partly to engage his wife's co-operation in the plans of retrenchment that he projected immediately commencing, had, in the course of the evening after Mr. Simpson's visit, confessed to her his guilt, and acquainted her with his miraculous escape from detection, and with Mr. Simpson's generous offers of assistance. "I mean, because it has been the occasion of our knowing Mr. Simpson," she added, observing that Julia looked surprised, "who my husband says is one of the best of men, and has already done us a great service. So proceed, and tell me whatever you please without apprehension."
"My father," continued Julia, "was the only son of a tradesman, who aspired to bring him up to the Church, and with this view gave him the rudiments of an excellent education; but before this could be completed, or the young man ordained, misfortune, sickness, and death, overtook the parent, and the son was left alone in the world to shift for himself.
"It happened that my grandfather had an acquaintance in the way of business at Nantes; and this person, who came over occasionally to make purchases of English merchandise for his trade, had been commissioned by a brother-in-law of his, who kept an academy, to look out for some young man who would be willing to undertake the situation of English teacher in his establishment; which was chiefly supported by the mercantile class, who having considerable intercourse with this country and America, made it a point that their sons should be taught the language.
"On learning the death of his friend and the overthrow of my father's prospects, this gentleman proposed the situation to him, and advised him to accept it; which, after consulting the few friends he had on the subject, he finally did, and accompanying the stranger abroad, was installed at once in his office.
"Here he remained for two years, with little to complain of, except that his salary was too low to allow him to lay by any thing for future contingencies; but at the end of that period, the master of the establishment died, and poor Valentine, (that was my father's christian name,) was thrown once more destitute, on the pity of the world. He had, however, by this time, so far improved his acquaintance with the language, that he thought himself fully competent to undertake the office of French teacher in an English school; and he proposed to return to his own country with that view; but whilst his departure was delayed by the want of sufficient funds for the journey, a certain notary called Le Moine, a relation of one of his pupils, offered him employment. This gentleman, whose business lying amongst the merchants, frequently had deeds, agreements, and processes, brought before him where a knowledge of English was requisite, wanted a clerk who understood both languages; and engaged my father at a comfortable salary in that capacity. Here he was well treated, and might have lived very happily, but that one circumstance interfered with his tranquillity.
"Monsieur Le Moine had an only daughter, of whom he was extremely fond and proud, for whom he destined the little fortune he was acquiring by his professional labours, and whom he aspired to see well married. My father, however, had not been many months under Monsieur Le Moine's roof, before he perceived that this young lady regarded him with a too favourable eye. Numerous were the excuses she made to visit the office to inquire for her father, when she knew he was not there, to get a pen mended, or to ask for a sheet of paper; and when Valentine was alone, she would linger on one pretence or another, drawing him into conversations and discussions, which she invariably contrived to turn on the subjects of love and marriage. However flattered the young man was by his conquest, as soon as he perceived her prepossession, he took every pains to avoid giving it encouragement, aware that it could only be to him a source of fresh misfortunes. He was quite certain that so far from consenting to his union with his daughter, the very first suspicion of her attachment would be the signal for his immediate dismissal from Monsieur Le Moine's service. He was by no means in a situation to take a portionless bride, had he even been so much in love as to contemplate marrying the young lady without her father's approbation; added to which, the obligations he lay under to Monsieur Le Moine made him recoil from any such idea. It must also be admitted, that these good principles and prudential views were considerably fortified by an attachment he had formed for the youngest daughter of the lately deceased schoolmaster—an attachment which, though mutual, was scarcely likely to terminate more happily than the others, both parties being penniless, and the young lady's surviving parent utterly averse to the connexion. The lovers, however, contrived occasionally to meet and walk together in the suburbs and remote parts of the town; and sometimes a little note or a confidential messenger would give Valentine a hint, that the mamma and sister were to be absent from home at a certain time, and that Ma'm'selle Aurore would be alone.
"The continued insensibility my father testified to the regard of the notary's daughter, together with some other circumstances, at length induced her to suspect that his heart was defended by a previous attachment; and being a girl of high spirit, and strong passions, her wounded pride and disappointed affection urged her to various stratagems to penetrate the secret; but as Valentine and his mistress were, from the necessity of their position, extremely cautious, her endeavours were for a long time fruitless. At length, however, accident seemed disposed to favour her curiosity. Monsieur Le Moine happening to be called to Paris on business, Julie was at liberty to indulge her inclination by spending more of her time than usual in Valentine's company; and, one day, when on some pretext or another she was lounging in the office, a little commissionaire entered, and gave the young clerk a note, on opening which she observed him to blush and look confused.
"'Fort bien,' said he to the messenger, whom he seemed anxious to get rid of—'c'est assez—you may go;' and, conscious of his own embarrassment, and that Julie's eye was upon him, he threw the note with an air of affected indifference amongst other papers on the desk at which he was writing, intending the moment she left the room to destroy it. But she had seen enough in his manner to awaken her suspicions, and she resolved not to quit her ground till she had satisfied them: so drawing a chair to a part of the room where she had full view of Valentine and the papers, she took down a volume of the Causes Célébres, that with other law books stood upon the shelves, and seating herself began to read, or at least to pretend to do so; her whole attention, in effect, being fixed on the young clerk and the note.
"In this way they had sat some time, he wishing her away, and she plotting how to get a sight of the billet, when a footman opened the door to say that Monsieur le Comte d'Emerange was below in his carriage and begged to speak to Monsieur Le Moine or his clerk.
"There was no alternative—Valentine could do no otherwise than go on the instant; and he had neither courage nor presence of mind sufficient to destroy his note first, or to take it with him.
"No sooner had he closed the door, than like a hawk on her prey Julie darted on the paper, and with an eager eye devoured the following words:
"'Come to me when your office closes—I shall be alone to-night, and to-morrow night; Aurore—.'
"When Valentine returned, he found Julie sitting exactly as he had left her—and as he took his seat at the desk, he glanced his eye over the papers, and saw the note lying just where he had thrown it. 'I was mistaken,' he said to himself, 'she has no suspicion;' and he took up his pen and continued his work, whilst she, shortly afterwards, with an air of perfect insouciance, left the room.
"It so happened, however, that on that particular evening Valentine was unable to avail himself of his mistress's invitation, being under the necessity of preparing some papers of importance for a cause that was to come on the next day. He therefore sent a note to her to that effect; at the same time, promising to be with her on the following evening.
"In the mean time Julie was eager with impatience for the moment that was to satisfy her suspicions, and would perhaps, moreover, afford her the means of revenging the mortification she had endured on her happier rival; for many indications led her to believe that the intercourse, of whatever nature it might be, was clandestine, and she did not despair of finding some way to break it off.
"When the usual hour for closing the office approached, she dressed herself in a black gown, shawl, and bonnet; and seating herself in an apartment, that with the door ajar, gave her an opportunity of seeing whoever went in or out of the house, she awaited Valentine's movements. But the usual hour arrived, and passed, and Valentine still wrote on. The clock struck again and again, till at length she counted twelve. 'He can't mean to go,' thought she, 'or has he any suspicion I am watching him ?' and she arose softly and extinguished her light, that when Valentine opened the door he might have no reason to imagine her up so much after her customary hour for retiring. It was some time past one, and Julie was beginning to think that she might as well go to bed, in reality, as it must be too late for any rendezvous that night; when she heard the door bell ring violently, and saw Valentine, a moment afterwards, on the summons being repeated, pass through the passage to answer it. Who the stranger was she could not see, nor could she distinctly hear what was said—but the voice was a man's, and she fancied she distinguished the words, 'Come, come quickly!' At all events, they were but few, whatever they might be—the interview was momentary—Valentine returned hastily into the office, snatched up his hat and cloak, and accompanied the stranger from the house.
"'She has sent for him!' exclaimed Julie, and furious with jealousy, she rushed out after them. The feeble light of the street lamps only just enabled her to discern two figures moving rapidly away, and she ran lightly on, till she was sufficiently near to be in no danger of losing sight of them, trusting to her black dress and soft step to protect her from observation. One walked rather in advance of the other, and as they were both about the same height, and both wore dark cloaks, she could not distinguish which was Valentine and which the stranger—but she fancied Valentine was the last.
"On they went—so fast that it was not without considerable difficulty Julie succeeded in maintaining her distance—through street after street they hurried, till they reached the outskirts of the town, and there they stopped at a small villa, the door of which being ajar, they entered and disappeared.
"'Here then she lives,' thought Julie, as she drew near to survey the premises—'the rest I shall easily discover—whether she be maid or wife; and she shall pay a heavier price for her pleasure than she dreams of! But now I must return, for Valentine will doubtless stay till morning, and I can't remain here all night;' and the excitement being somewhat abated, she began to contemplate with terror her lonely situation, the hour, and the distance she had to retrace.
"Just, however, as she was turning away, she was startled by the sound of a foot, and on looking round, she perceived one of the figures that had entered, come out again, close the door, and move rapidly back towards the town; but whether it was Valentine, or the other, she could not discern.
"'At all events, I'll keep near him,' thought she. 'It will be a protection, whichever it is—besides, if it is Valentine, I may be returning with half my errand if I don't trace him further.' Whoever it was, he walked back even faster than he had come, and she was frequently obliged to run to keep him in view. He returned by the same way till he reached the heart of the town—he then turned down a narrow street—stopped at the door of a cabaret, where there was still a light glimmering through the windows, knocked with his knuckles against the door, which being presently opened, he entered, and she saw him no more. Whilst he was waiting to be admitted the town clocks struck three, and the commencement of a heavy shower of rain warned Julie to hasten away. 'That is not Valentine,' said she to herself—'he has remained at the villa with his lady—this was but the messenger that was sent to fetch him,' and she returned to her home, where Madeleine the maid-servant, whose services she secured by a few franks opportunely administered, let her in. She went to bed, possessed with rage and jealousy; and passed the sleepless hours till morning, meditating plans of vengeance to be wreaked on her happy rival.
With the first dawn of light she arose. She felt an irresistible desire to return to the villa—to survey it by daylight—find out by whom it was inhabited, and perhaps detect Valentine in the very act of leaving it clandestinely. She dressed herself hastily, and having warned Madeleine not to be alarmed at her absence, she hurried along through the streets she had carefully marked the night before, and soon drew near the spot, where she did not doubt the man she loved was happy in the arms of her rival.
"The front of the house looked on the high road, the back into a garden; and on each side of the main door, there was a small door in the wall which led into it. One of these was locked, the other, which opened into a little alcove, was not, and she lifted the latch to take a peep at the garden, and to observe if there were any outlet on that side; but there was none. The garden was not large, but it was carefully cultivated, and surrounded by a wall of middling height. 'He must then come out by the front,' thought she; and she took up her position in the recess formed by the garden door that was locked, determined to await Valentine's appearance. She had not waited long when she heard the door of the house open, but instead of the person she expected to see, there came out, hastily, two women, apparently servants, who being neither young nor handsome, had not the air of rivals to be feared. Whoever they were, however, they set off with all the speed they could command towards the town, and were soon out of sight.
"They had not been gone long, when Julie's attentive ears distinguished a sound that appeared like the opening of a window at the back of the house; and presently afterwards, the sound of feet on the other side of the door she was leaning against—the latch was lifted and an effort made to open it, which proving ineffectual the feet retreated. She expected to see the person, whoever it was, (and she had little doubt but it was Valentine,) emerge from the other door; but in this she was disappointed. The feet continued to retreat till the sound ceased altogether.
"If it were, as she suspected, Valentine taking his early departure, which way could he escape? She felt almost certain from the short survey she had made that there was no back door. 'He has got out of the window, and will climb over the wall:' and as the idea rushed into her mind, she darted to the other door and opened it. There, sure enough, she saw what she was looking for. Valentine was at the top of the wall; and before she could make a step towards him, he had leaped down on the other side. 'Perfidions traitor! Barbarous villain!' every epithet of abuse she could think of, was lavished on him at this confirmation of her suspicions; forgetting, as ladies are apt to do on these occasions, that he had never made any vows to her. However, her objurgations were squandered on the vacant air. Valentine was beyond her reach, and she had only to debate whether she should return home the way she came, or remain where she was, till she had made some discovery with respect to the inmates of the house. After some deliberation, her desire to meet Valentine, to confront him, to hear what excuse he would make for staying out all night, determined her to the former measure, and she retraced her steps as fast as she could. When she reached home, he had not yet arrived; but secure that she should see him ere long, she desired Madeleine to bring her a cup of coffee, and sat down at the window to watch his approach, and meditate her plans of vengeance. But hour after hour passed, and no Valentine appeared; and to account for his absence, I must now relate his part in the adventures of the night.
"Anxious to finish the work he had in hand, he had sat up far beyond his usual hour, and was still diligently plying his pen through the concluding lines of the document he was preparing, when he was roused by the loud and hasty summons of the bell, which has already been alluded to. At first, imagining from the lateness of the hour, that it was either a mistake, or a piece of mischief of some wanderer of the night, he did not move; but a second peal, louder than the first, succeeding, he hastened to the door to inquire the cause of so unusual a disturbance.
"'Is this the house of Monsieur Le Moine?' eagerly asked a man who stood there, muffled in a blue mantle and a slouched hat.
"'It is,' replied Valentine.
"'Then come quickly,' cried the man, seizing his arm as he spoke—'the patient is dying of a wound—there is no time to lose—bring with you what is needful; and in the name of God, make haste!'
"'I'll only fetch my hat and cloak,' said Valentine, who concluded that the service required was to draw up some testamentary document of importance, and that as Monsieur Le Moine was absent he must supply his place as well as he could. Equipping himself, therefore, in haste, and thrusting a sheet of parchment in his pocket, without stopping to ask more questions, he set off after the stranger, who at a rapid pace conducted him to the house to which Julie had followed them, pushed open the door, and without even waiting to shut it, ascended the stairs by the light of a small lantern which he drew from under his cloak—unlocked a chamber door, made a sign to Valentine to enter, which he had no sooner done, than he instantly closed it upon him, saying, 'You'll see what's necessary;' and turning the key, was heard descending the stairs as fast as he had mounted them.
"Alarmed by so strange an adventure, and fearing he had been lured into a snare by a villain for some desperate purpose, he used every effort to open the door; but in vain. He then rushed to the window, threw it open, and called as loudly as he could for aid, but no sound answered his appeal.
"Whilst he was still looking out of the window, endeavouring to discover by the imperfect light how he was situated and whether there was any chance of escape that way, by letting himself down to the ground, he fancied he heard a slight movement in the room behind him, and turning suddenly round to investigate the cause, he, to his horror, beheld, by the light of a night lamp that stood on the table, a ghastly figure of a man in a bloody shirt and night cap, peeping out between the curtains of the bed, who the moment Valentine's eye met his, let go the curtain and disappeared.
"Transfixed with fear and horror, the young man at first stood motionless, staring on the curtains, from between which he expected again to see the fearful apparition emerge; but all remaining quiet, he presently ventured to cast his eyes round the room to ascertain if there were any one else in it besides himself and the figure he had seen; but perceiving no one, he next summoned courage to advance towards the table, take up the lamp, and approach the bed.
"Valentine was young, and his situation was so extraordinary, that he may be excused for hesitating some time before he ventured to withdraw the curtain; when, however, at length, he did so, there lay the person he had seen, to all appearance, dead; at least, he would not have doubted his being so, had he not given signs of life so lately. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, his face of a ghastly hue, and both the sheets and his own person smeared with blood.
"'In the name of God, Sir,' exclaimed Valentine, 'what is the meaning of this, and for what purpose am I brought hither?' but the man not only made no answer, but he showed no symptoms of hearing that, or any other question Valentine put to him; and after contemplating the body for some time, he came to the conclusion, that the exertion the person, whoever he might be, had made, in rising to look through the curtains, had been a last effort of nature, and that he was now really gone.
"But now again recurred the question, for what purpose had he been brought there to be shut up in a room with this dying stranger? Where were the friends, where the attendants, that should have surrounded the bed? The bed, too, of ease and affluence; for there was nothing that indicated poverty or destitution. On the contrary, the house appeared a good one, and was situated in a respectable quarter; and the furniture of the apartment he was in, was not only handsome, but abundant. Had the occupant of the bed been murdered? But, no; it did not seem probable that, in that case, a notary of all persons should have been sent for, unless by the friends of the victim; and none such appeared; so that he rather concluded the stains about the linen proceeded from the patient's having been lately bled.
"Again he examined the room, the window, and the door; but without finding any means of escape. He remembered he had a clasp-knife in his pocket, and thought that by its assistance he might possibly pick the lock; but it broke in the attempt, so having tried all he could without success, he saw nothing left but patience, and resolved to compose his mind as well as he could, and sit down quietly to await the events of the morning.
"In spite of his unpleasant situation, he had not sat long, before he fell into a doze, from which he was aroused by what appeared to him some movement of the person in the bed. Hastily he started up, and seizing the lamp, drew aside the curtain—but all was still as before. Again, he spoke—but no sign of life was given; so concluding it had been fancy, he once more composed himself in an easy chair, where fatigue soon overcoming him he fell into a sound sleep, from which he did not awaken till he was aroused some hours afterwards by a knocking at the room door.