Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (181 page)

 
doubt the possibility of my
success in life, and
 
I
 
feel confident of it Do you
pursue your career under the auspices of that parent in whose wisdom you so
blindly repose: I will follow
 
mine
, dependent only on mine own resources.
This is the 10th of July, 1831; twelve years hence, on the 10th of July, 1843,
we will meet again upon this very spot, between the two trees, if they be still
standing. Remember the appointment: we will
 
then
 
compare notes relative to our
success in life!"
    The moment he had uttered these words, Eugene hastily
embraced his brother, who struggled in vain to retain him; and, having wrung
the hand of the old butler, who was now sobbing like a child, the discarded son
threw his little bundle over his shoulder, and hurried away from the spot.
    So precipitately did he descend the hill in the direction
leading away from the mansion, and towards the multitudinous metropolis at a
little distance, that he was out of sight before his brother or Whittingham
even thought of pursuing him.
    They lingered for some time upon the summit of the hill,
without exchanging a word; and then, maintaining the same silence, slowly
retraced their steps towards the mansion.

ELIGIBLE ACQUAINTANCES

     FOUR years passed away.
 
    During that interval no tidings of the discarded son reached
the disconsolate father and unhappy brother; and all the exertions of the
former to discover some trace of the fugitive were fruitless. Vainly did he
lavish considerable sums upon that object: uselessly did he despatch emissaries
to all the great manufacturing towns of England, as well as to the principal
capitals of Europe, to endeavour to procure some information of him whom he
would have received as the prodigal son, and to welcome whose return he would
have "killed the fatted calf:" - all his measures to discover his
son's retreat were unavailing.
 
    At length, after a lapse of four years, he sank into the
tomb - the victim of a broken heart!
    A few days previous to his death, he made a will in favour
of his remaining son, the guardianship of whom he intrusted to a Mr. Monroe,
who was an opulent City merchant, and an old and sincere friend.
    Thus, at the age of nineteen, Richard found himself his own
master, with a handsome allowance to meet his present wants, and with a large
fortune in the perspective of two years more. Mr. Monroe, feeling the utmost
confidence in the young man's discretion and steadiness, permitted him to
reside in the old family mansion, and interfered with him and his pursuits as
little as possible.
    The ancient abode of the family of Markham was a spacious
and commodious building but of heavy and sombre appearance. This gloomy aspect
of the architecture was increased by the venerable trees that formed a dense
rampart of verdure around the edifice. The grounds belonging to the house were
not extensive, but were tastefully laid out; and within the enclosure over
which the dominion of Richard Markham extended, was the green hill surmounted
by the two ash trees. From the summit of that eminence the mighty metropolis
might be seen in all its vastitude - that metropolis whose one single heart was
agitated with so many myriads of conflicting passions, warring interests, and
opposite feelings.
    Perhaps a dozen pages of laboured description will not
afford the reader a better idea of the characters and dispositions of the two
brothers than that which has already been conveyed by their conversation and
conduct detailed in the preceding chapter. Eugene was all selfishness and
egotism, Richard all generosity and frankness: the former deceitful, astute,
and crafty, the latter honourable even to a fault.
    With Eugene, for the present, we have little to do; the
course of our narrative follows the fortunes of Richard Markham.
    The disposition of this young man was some what reserved,
although by no means misanthropical nor melancholy. That characteristic
resulted only from the domesticated nature of his habits. He was attached to
literary pursuits, and frequently passed entire hours together in his study,
poring over works of a scientific and instructive nature. When he stirred
abroad for the purpose of air and exercise, he preferred a long ramble upon
foot, amongst the fields in the vicinity of his dwelling, to a parade of
himself and his fine horse amid the busy haunts of wealth and fashion at the
West End of London.
    It was, nevertheless, upon a beautiful after noon in the
month of August, 1835, that Richard appeared amongst the loungers in Hyde Park.
He was on foot and attired in deep mourning; but his handsome countenance,
symmetrical form, and thoroughly genteel and unassuming air attracted
attention.
    Parliament had been prorogued a fortnight before; and all
London was said to be "out of town." Albeit, it was evident that a
considerable portion of London was "in town," for there were many
gorgeous equipages rolling along "the drive," and the enclosure was
pretty well sprinkled with well-dressed groups and dotted with solitary
fashionable gentlemen upon foot.
    From the carriages that rolled past many bright eyes were
for a moment turned upon Richard; and in these equipages there were not wanting
young female bosoms which heaved at the contrast afforded by that tall and
elegant youth, so full of vigour and health, and whose countenance beamed with
intelligence, and the old, emaciated, and semi-childish husbands
 
seated by their sides, and whose
wealth had purchased their hands, but never succeeded in obtaining their
hearts.
    Richard, wearied with his walk, seated himself upon a bench,
and contemplated with some interest the moving pageantry before him. He was
thus occupied when he was suddenly accosted by a stranger, who seated himself
by his side in an easy manner, and addressed some common-place observation to
him.
    This individual was a man of about two-and-thirty, elegantly
attired, agreeable in his manners, and prepossessing in appearance. Under this
superficial tegument of gentility a quicker eye than Richard Markham's would
have detected a certain swagger in his gait and a kind of dashing recklessness
about him which produced an admirable effect upon the vulgar or the
inexperienced, but which were not calculated to inspire immediate confidence in
the thorough man of the world. Richard was, however, all frankness and honour
himself, and he did not scruple to return such an answer to the stranger's
remark as was calculated to encourage farther conversation.
    "I see the count is abroad again," observed the
stranger, following with his eyes one of the horsemen in "the drive."
"Poor fellow! he has been playing at hide-and-seek for a long time."
    "Indeed! and wherefore?" exclaimed Richard.
    "What! are you a stranger in London, sir?" cried
the well-dressed gentleman, transferring his eyes from the horseman to
Markham's countenance, on which they were fixed with an expression of surprise
and interest.
    "Very nearly so, although a resident in its immediate
vicinity all my life;" and, with the natural ingenuousness of youth,
Richard immediately communicated his entire history, from beginning to end, to
his new acquaintance. Of a surety there was not much to relate; but the
stranger succeeded in finding out who the young man was, under what
circumstances he was now living, and the amount of his present and future
resources.
    "Of course you mean to see life?" said the
stranger.
    "Certainly. I have already studied the great world by
the means of books."
    "But of course you know that there is nothing like
experience."
    "I can understand how experience is necessary to a man
who is anxious to make a fortune, but not to him who has already got one."
    "Oh, decidedly! It is frequently more difficult to keep
a fortune than it was to obtain one."
    "How - if I do not speculate?"
    "No; but others will speculate upon you."
    "I really cannot comprehend you. As I do not wish to
increase my means, having enough, I shall neither speculate with my own nor
allow people to speculate with it for me; and thus I can run no risk of losing
what I possess."
    The stranger gazed half incredulously upon Markham for a
minute; and then his countenance expressed a species of sneer.
    "You have never played?"
    "Played! at —?"
    "At cards; for money, I mean."
    "Oh! never!"
    "So much the better: never do. Unless," added the
stranger, "it is entirely amongst friends and men of honour. But will you
avail yourself of my humble vehicle, and take one turn round the Drive?"
    The stranger pointed as he spoke to a very handsome phaeton
and pair at a little distance, and attended by a dapper-looking servant in
light blue livery with silver lace.
    "Might I have the honour of being acquainted with the
name of a gentleman who exhibits so much kindness —"
    "My dear sir, I must really apologise for my sin of
omission. You confided your own circumstances so frankly to me that I cannot do
otherwise then show you equal confidence in return. Besides,
 
amongst men of honour
," he continued, laying
particular stress upon a word which is only so frequently used to be abused,
"such communications, you know, are necessary. I do not like that system
of familiarity based upon no tenable grounds, which is now becoming so
prevalent in London. For instance, nothing is more common than for one
gentleman to meet another in Bond-street, or the Park, or in Burlington Arcade,
for example's sake, and for the one to say to the other -
 
'My dear friend, how are you?' -
'Quite well, old fellow, thank you; but, by-the-by, I really forget your name!'
 
However," added the fashionable
gentleman with a smile, "here is my card. My town-quarters are Long's
Hotel, my country seat is in Berkshire, and my shooting-box is in Scotland, at
all of which I shall be most happy to see you."
    Richard, who was not only highly satisfied with the candour
and openness of his new friend, but also very much pleased and amused with him,
returned suitable acknowledgments for this kind invitation; and, glancing his
ekes over the card which had been placed in his hands, perceived that he was
conversing with the HONOURABLE ARTHUR CHICHESTER.
    As they were moving towards the phaeton, a gentleman,
elegantly attired, of about the middle age, and particularly fascinating in his
manners, accosted Mr. Chichester.
    "Ah! who would have thought of meeting you here - when
London is actually empty, and am ashamed of being yet left in it? Our mutual
friend the duke assured me that you were gone to Italy!"
    "The duke always has some joke at my expense,"
returned Mr. Chichester. "He was once the cause of a very lovely girl
committing suicide. She was the only one I ever loved; and he one day declared
in her presence that I had just embarked for America. Poor thing! she went
straight up to her room, and —"
    "And!' echoed Richard.
    "Took poison!" added Mr. Chichester, turning away
his head for a moment, and drawing an elegant cambric handkerchief across his
eyes.
    "Good heavens!" ejaculated Markham.
    "Let me not trouble you with my private afflictions.
Sir Rupert, allow me to introduce my friend Mr. Markham:- Mr. Markham, Sir
Rupert Harborough."
    The two gentlemen bowed, and the introduction was effected.
    "Whither are you bound?" inquired Sir Rupert.
    "We were thinking of an hour's drive," leisurely
replied Mr. Chichester; "and it was then my intention to have asked my
friend Mr. Markham to dine with me at Long's. Will you join us, Sir Rupert
?"
    "Upon my honour, nothing would give me
 
greater pleasure; but I am
engaged to meet the duke at Tattersall's; and I am then under a solemn promise
to dine and pass the evening with Diana."
    "Always gallant - always attentive to the ladies!"
exclaimed Mr. Chichester.
    "You know, my dear fellow, that Diana is so amiable, so
talented, so fascinating, so accomplished, and so bewitching, that I can refuse
her nothing. It is true her wants and whims are somewhat expensive at times;
but —"
    "Harborough, I am surprised at you! What! complain of
the fantasies of the most beautiful woman in London - if not in England - you a
man of seven thousand a year, and who at the death of an uncle —"
    "Upon my honour I begrudge her nothing!"
interrupted Sir Rupert, complacently stroking his chin with his
elegantly-gloved hand. "But, by the way, if you will honour me and Diana
with your company this evening - and if Mr. Markham will also condescend
—"
    "With much pleasure," said Mr. Cbichester;
"and I am sure that my friend Mr. Markham will avail himself of this
opportunity of forming the acquaintance of the most beautiful and fascinating
woman in England."
    Richard bowed: he dared not attempt an excuse. He had heard
himself dubbed the friend of the Honourable Mr. Arthur Chichester; his ears had
caught an intimation of a dinner at Long's, which he knew by report to be the
head-quarters of that section of the fashionable world that consists of single
young gentlemen; and he now found himself suddenly engaged to pass the evening
with Sir Rupert Harborough and a lady  of whom all he knew was that her
name was Diana, and that she was the most beautiful and fascinating creature in
England.
    Truly, all this was enough to dazzle him; and he accordingly
resigned himself to Mr. Arthur Chichester's good will and pleasure.
    Sir Rupert Harborough now remembered "that he must not
keep the duke waiting;" and having kissed the tip of his lemon-coloured
glove to Mr. Chichester, and made a semi-ceremonious, semi-gracious bow to
Markham - that kind of  bow whose formality is attempered by the blandness
of the smile accompanying it - he hastened away.
    It may be, however, mentioned as a singular circumstance,
and as a proof of how little he cared about keeping "the duke"
waiting, that, instead of proceeding towards Tattersall's, he departed in the
direction of Oxford-street.
    This little incident was, however, unnoticed by Richard -
for the simple reason, that at this epoch of his life he did not know where
Tattersall's was.
    "What do you think of my friend the baronet?"
inquired Mr. Chichester, as they rolled leisurely along "the Drive"
in the elegant phaeton.
    "I am quite delighted with him," answered Richard;
"and if her ladyship be only as agreeable as her husband —"
    "Excuse me, but you must not call her '
her ladyship
.'
Address her and speak of her simply as Mrs. Arlington."
    "I am really at a loss to comprehend —-"
    "My dear friend," said Chichester, sinking his
voice, although there was no danger of being overheard, "Diana is not the
wife of Sir Rupert Harborough. The baronet is unmarried; and this lady-"
    "Is his mistress," added Markham hastily. "In
that case I most certainly shall not accept the kind invitation I received for
this evening."
    "Nonsense, my dear friend! You must adapt your
behaviour to the customs of the sphere in which you move. You belong to the
aristocracy - like me - and like the baronet! In the upper class, even
supposing you have a wife, she is only an encumbrance. Nothing is so
characteristic of want of gentility as to marry early; and as for children,
pah! they are the very essence of vulgarity! Then, of course, every man of
fashion m London has his mistress, even though he only keeps her for the sake
of his friends. This is quite allowable amongst the aristocracy. Remember, I am
not advocating the cause of immorality: I would not have every butcher, and
tea-dealer, and linen-draper do the same. God forbid! Then it would, indeed, be
the height of depravity!"
    "Since it is the fashion, and you assure me that there
is nothing wrong in this connexion between the baronet and Mrs. Arlington - at
least, that the usages of high life admit it - I will not advance any farther
scruples," said Richard; although he had a slight suspicion, like the
ringing of far-distant bells in the ears, that the doctrine which his companion
had just propounded was not based upon the most tenable grounds.
    It was now half-past six o'clock in the evening; and, one
after the other, the splendid equipages and gay horsemen withdrew in somewhat
rapid succession. The weather was nevertheless still exquisitely fine; indeed,
it was the most enchanting portion of the entire day. The sky was of a soft and
serene azure, upon which appeared here and there thin vapours of snowy white,
motionless and still; for not a breath of wind stirred the leaf upon the tree.
Never did Naples, nor Albano, nor Sorrentum, boast a more beautiful horizon;
and as the sun sank towards the western verge, he bathed all that the eye could
embrace - earth and shy, dwelling and grove, garden and field - in a glorious
flood of  golden light.
    At seven o'clock Mr. Chichester and his new acquaintance sat
down to dinner in the coffee-room at Long's Hotel. The turtle was
unexceptionable; the iced punch faultless. Then came the succulent neck of
venison, and the prime Madeira. The dinner passed off pleasantly enough; and
Richard was more and more captivated with his friend. He was, however, somewhat
astonished at the vast quantities of wine which the Honourable Mr. Chichester
swallowed, apparently without the slightest inconvenience to himself.
    Mr. Chichester diverted him with amusing anecdotes, lively
sallies, and extraordinary narratives; and Richard found that his new friend
had not only travelled all over Europe, but was actually the bosom friend of
some of the most powerful of its sovereigns. These statements, moreover, rather
appeared to slip forth in the course of conversation, than to be made
purposely; and thus they were stamped with an additional air of truth and
importance.
    At about half-past nine the Honourable Mr. Chichester
proposed to adjourn to the lodgings of Mrs. Arlington. Richard, who had been
induced by the example of his friend and by the  excitement of an
interesting conversation, to imbibe more wine than he was accustomed to