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) (229 page)

Greenwood full well understood the meaning of this note without a
signature; and its contents tended to augment that happiness which the success
of his schemes infused into his breast.
    Hour after hour passed away;- at length, midnight sounded;
and all the servants, save Lafleur, were dismissed to their sleeping
apartments. 
    The cigars, the rum-punch, and the pleasurable reflections
into which the financier plunged, made the time elapse rapidly. One o'clock
struck; and a he had not found a single moment tedious. He was not anxious, nor
a prey to suspense, as other men a would have been; he felt certain that his
wishes would be accomplished, and he was therefore as composed as if he had
already been assured of their success.
    The clock struck two; and a low knock was heard at the front
door. Lafleur answered the summons; and in a few moments introduced the
Cracksman to the room where his master was sitting.
    "All right, sir," said that worthy, the moment
Lafleur had withdrawn.
    "And no violence, I hope?" cried Greenwood. 
    "Not a bit," returned the Cracksman. "We was
as gentle as lambs. We on'y pitched the small boy into a dry ditch that was by
the side of the road; and as for the gentleman, I just tapped him over the head
with the butt of a pistol to keep him quiet; but I did it myself to make sure
that it wasn't done too hard."
    "You surely have not murdered him?" said
Greenwood, his whole countenance suddenly convulsed with horror.
    "Don't be afeared; he was only stunned - you may take
my word for that" returned the Cracksman, coolly. "But here's all the
paper we found in his pocket; and as for his purse - it had but a few pounds in
it."
    Mr. Greenwood received the papers from the hands of the
Cracksman, and observed with a glance that amongst them was the document which
he had given a few hours previously to guarantee the safety of the fifteen
thousand pounds placed in his hands by Count Alteroni.
    "You are sure," he said, with some uneasiness
depicted upon his countenance, "that there is no danger to be apprehended
from the blow —"
    "Danger be d—d!" cried the Cracksman; "I know
from experience exactly what kind of' blow will stun, or break a limb, or kill
outright. I'll forfeit my reputation, if there's any harm in that there whack
which I gave to-night."
    "We must hope that you are right in your
conjecture," said Greenwood ;- then, taking his purse from his pocket, he
counted down forty-two sovereigns upon the table, adding, "That will make
up the fifty guineas promised."
    The Cracksman consigned the money to his fob, and then took
leave of his employer, hoping "
that he should have his custom in future
."
    The moment he was gone, Greenwood thrust the document, which
he had thus got back by a crime of an infamous nature, into the fire. When it
was completely consumed, he proceeded to examine the other papers. These
consisted chiefly of letters written in cypher, addressed to Count Alteroni,
and bearing the post-mark of Montoni, Castelcicala: the rest were notes and
memoranda of no consequence whatever.
    Mr. Greenwood, being unable to unriddle the letters written
in cypher, and considering that they were upon political subjects with which he
had little or no interest, consigned the entire packet of papers to the flames.
    He then retired to rest, and slept as soundly as if his
entire day had been passed in virtuous deeds.
    At about ten o'clock in the morning he received the
following letter from Richmond:-

"MY DEAR MR. GREENWOOD,
    "As I was on my way home last evening. I was suddenly
attacked by three villains in a dark and lonely past of the road. One of the
miscreants stunned me with the blow of a pistol, and threw the little jockey
into a ditch. Fortunately we are neither of us seriously injured. The robbers
plundered me of every thing I had about my person - my purse containing
thirty-four sovereigns, and all my papers, amongst which was the security I had
received from your hands a few hours before. You will perhaps have another
drawn.
    "I do not think it is worthwhile to make any
disturbance relative to the matter, as, in consequence of the darkness of the
night, I should be totally unable to recognise the miscreants.
        "Yours faithfully,
               
"ALTERONI."

    "Thank heavens, there is no danger in that
quarter!" exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, when he had perused this letter.
"He is not hurt - and he will not adopt any means to detect the culprits.
As for having another document drawn up - I can take my time about that, and he
will not dare press me for it as he did for the first. Besides, he will
consider my honourable intentions in the matter fully proved by having given
the one which he has lost! Thus have I obtained fifteen thousand pounds without
much trouble - thus have I thrown dust into the eyes of this count, and still
do I retain his confidence. And his lovely daughter - the beautiful Isabella,
with her large black eyes, her raven hair, her sweet red lips, and her
sylph-like form, - she shall be mine! I shall lead her to the altar - that
charming Italian virgin, whose very looks are heavens. Everything progresses
well: success attends all my plans; and to-night - to-night," he added,
"to-night will ensure me the gratification
 
of my desires and my vengeance
with regard to that haughty one of the villa!"

THE DRUGGED WINE-GLASS

    RETURN we
once more to the villa at Upper Clapton. 
    Eliza Sydney's household
consisted only of Louisa and a peasant girl of about fifteen. She no longer
kept horses and dogs, as she was compelled by Stephens to do during the time of
her disguise, previously to her imprisonment. She therefore required 10 male
retainers, save an old gardener who lived in one of the out-houses. 
    A fictitious letter had
caused the faithful Louisa to set out on a long journey; and thus the principal
obstacle to the atrocious scheme of the conspirators against Eliza's peace and
honour was removed. 
    At ten o'clock on the
evening fixed for the perpetration of the foul deed, the servant-girl carried
the supper-tray to the dining-room where Eliza and Stephens were seated. The
domestic spread the table with the materials for the most sociable of all
meals, and, having placed two decanters upon the hospitable
 board, withdrew. 
    The countenance of
Stephens was particularly calm, considering the part he had undertaken to play
towards a woman whose loveliness alone was sufficient to disarm the hand of
enmity, and obtain the friendship of the most lawless. She had, moreover,
already suffered so much through him, - she had extended towards him the hand
of forgiveness and succour in his dire need, - and she possessed the most
generous, the most noble, and the most confiding of dispositions. Oh! should
not all these considerations have moved that man in her favour?
    He had received from
Eliza the hundred pounds which she had promised him. With that sum he might
have found his way to America, and still had a considerable balance in his
pocket. But he had determined to add to it the two hundred pounds more which
Greenwood had promised him. 
    Although calm, he was
very thoughtful. 
    "You seem
unhappy?" said Eliza, observing the pensive air of her guest. "Surely
you cannot regret your approaching departure from a land where your safety is
so fearfully compromised?"
    "And yet the land
of which you speak is the one of my birth; and when once I have left it, I may
reckon upon being destined to see it never again." 
    "Yes - it is hard
to bid an eternal adieu to one's native country. And yet," continued
Eliza, "there is but little to wed the sensitive mind to England. Since my
release I have passed nearly all my time in reading; and I am shocked to
perceive, from the information I have gleaned, that England is the only
civilized country in the world where death from starvation - literal
starvation, is common. Indeed, it is an event of such frequent occurrence, that
it actually ceases to create astonishment, and almost fails to excite dismay.
There must be something radically wrong in that system of society where all the
wealth is in the hands of a few, and all the misery is shared by
millions." 
    "You would then,
quit England without much regret?" said Stephens. 
    "For myself,"
answered Eliza, "I abhor a country in which poverty and destitution
prevail to such an extent, while there is so much to spare in the hands of the
favoured few. I sometimes look forth from the window, and survey that mighty
city which stretches over plain, hill, and valley, and which is ever extending
its mighty arms - as if in time it would embrace the entire island :- I gaze
upon it at that hour in the morning when the eternal cloud is raised for a
little space from its brow; and, as I mark the thousand spires which point up
into the cool clear sky, I tremble - I feel oppressed as with a weight, when I
reflect upon the hideous misery the agonising woe, the appalling sorrow that
want entails upon the sons and daughters of toil in that vast Babylon." 
    "And do you not
suppose that the same destitution prevails in the other great cities of
Europe?" 
    "Certainly not.
Were a person to die of actual starvation in Paris, the entire population would
rise up in dismay. With all our immense and cumbersome machinery of Poor Laws,
there is more real wretchedness in these islands than in any other country upon
the face of the earth, not even excepting the myriads who dwell upon the rivers
in China." 
    "The topic is
calculated to distress you, because you enter so deeply and feelingly into
it," said Stephens. "Take a glass of wine - it will compose
you." 
    Stephens filled two
glasses with Port wine; and almost at the same moment he exclaimed, "What
a bad light the lamp gives this evening." Then, in a feigned attempt to
raise the wick, he turned the screw the wrong way, and extinguished the
light. 
    "How awkward I
am!" he cried; and, while Eliza hastened to re-light the lamp, he poured a
few drops from a phial into one of the glasses of wine. 
    The lamp was lighted
once more; and Eliza had resumed her seat. 
    Stephens handed her the
fatal glass. 
    "May all health and
happiness attend you," he said "and may God reward you for your
generosity towards me." 
    The words did not stick
in his throat as he gave them utterance. 
    "And may you
prosper in another clime," exclaimed Eliza in a tone which proved that the
wish came from the bottom of her heart. 
    She then drank a portion
of the wine in her glass. 
    The countenance of
Stephens did not change as Eliza imbibed the soporific fluid. He contemplated
her beauteous face with as much calmness as if he had just administered to her
a potion calculated to embellish her charms, and add to her health and
happiness. 
    "Either my taste
deceives me," said Eliza, placing the half-emptied glass upon the table;
"or this wine has some defect which I cannot understand." 
    "No - it is
excellent," returned Stephens. 
    "I drink so little
that I scarcely know the proper taste," observed Eliza. "The pure
spring water is my favourite beverage." 
    "It is considered
an unlucky omen to leave unfinished the glass in which you pledge the health of
one who is about to traverse the ocean," said Stephens. 
    "In that
case," answered Eliza, with a smile, "I will relieve your
superstitious fears;" and she drained her glass. 
    Half an hour passed in
conversation; and Eliza felt an irresistible drowsiness coming over her. She
endeavoured to rally against it - but in vain; and at length she would have
fallen from her chair fast asleep, had not Stephens rushed forward and caught
her. 
    He then rang the bell
for the servant.
     "Your mistress is
unwell - she has been complaining all the evening; and she has now fallen into
a profound sleep. I will assist you to convey her up stairs to her
chamber."
    Stephens and the servant
carried the entranced lady to the boudoir.
    Having placed her upon the
bed, Stephens left the servant to undress her, and hastily descended to the
hall. He opened the front door with caution, and whistled.
    Two men emerged from the
total darkness without, and glided into the hall. Stephens conducted them into
a back parlour, and gave them the key to lock themselves in.
    He himself then returned to
the dining room, where he tranquilly awaited the arrival of Mr Greenwood.
    Midnight was proclaimed at
length.
    A low knock at the front door
fell upon Stephens's ear.
    He hastened to obey the
summons, and admitted Greenwood into the house.
    They repaired to the
dining-room together.
    "Your wishes have been
obeyed in all respects," said Stephens. "Eliza is in your power the
servant has retired to her own room. Give me my reward - for I am in a hurry to
leave a dwelling to which my presence will have brought so much misery."
    And yet this man did not seem
appalled nor horror-struck at the infernal nature of the crime for which he
thus demanded the recompense.
    "You will await me here
five minutes," said Greenwood; and he left the room.
    At the expiration of that interval
he returned, the fire of triumph and lust flashing from his eyes.
    "It is all well - you
have not deceived me," he observed in a tone of joy and exultation;
"I have seen her, buried in a profound sleep - stretched like a beauteous
statue in her voluptuous bed! The light of a lamp plays upon her naked bosom:
the atmosphere of her chamber is soft, warm, and perfumed. Such charms are
worth a kingdom's purchase!  She is mine - she is mine: here is your
reward!"
    Greenwood handed a bank-note
to his accomplice - or rather instrument in this atrocious proceeding and
Stephens then took his departure.
    But as he passed through the
hall, he thrust a letter, addressed to Eliza Sydney, beneath the carpet that
covered the stairs.
    The moment Greenwood was
alone, he paced the dining-room for a few minutes, to feast his imagination
with the pleasures of love and triumph which he now beheld within his reach.
    "Yes - she is
mine," he said "she is mine no power on earth can now save her! Oh!
how will I triumph over the proud and haughty beauty, when to-morrow she awakes
and finds herself in my arms. She will thrust her hand beneath the pillow for
her long sharp dagger; it will not be there! She will extend her arm towards
the bell-rope; it will be cut! And then she may rave - and weep - and reproach
- and pray; I shall smile at her grief - her eyes will be more beautiful when
seen through her tears! I shall compel her then to crave to be my mistress
-  she who refused to be my wife! Oh! what a triumph is within my
reach!"
    He paused; filled a tumbler
half full of wine - and drank the contents at a draught.
    "Now for my victory -
now for the fruits of my intrigue!" he resumed. "But let me wait one
moment longer! let me ask myself whether, it be  really true that the
lovely Eliza Sydney will shortly bless my arms - that she is at this moment in
my power. It is - it is; and I shall now no longer delay the enjoyment of that
terrestrial paradise!" 
    With these words, he
left the dining-room, and crossed the hall towards the staircase. 
    He was now about to
ascend to the boudoir. 
    His foot was upon the
first step, when he was rudely seized from behind, and instantly gagged with a
pocket-handkerchief. 
    Turning his head
partially round, in a vain effort to escape from the powerful grasp in which he
found himself, he encountered, by the light of the lamp that hung in the hall,
the glance of the Cracksman. 
    "The deuce! "
exclaimed the burglar in a low and subdued tone: "this is a rum go!
Working 
for 
you last night, and 
against
 you
to-night! But, never mind: we must fulfil our agreement, let it be what it
will. I can however tell you for your satisfaction that we don't mean to hurt
you. So come along quiet; and all will be right." 
    "What's the meaning
of this, Tom?" said the Cracksman's companion, who was no other than the
Resurrection Man: "you don't mean to say that you know this
fellow?" 
    "He's the one that
we did the job for last night on the Richmond road," answered the
Crackaman. 
    "And he's got
plenty of tin," added the Resurrection Man significantly. " We can
perhaps make a better bargain with him than what Stephens has promised us for
this night's business." 
    "Yes - but we can't
talk here,
"
returned the Cracksman: "so come along. I've got my plan all cut and
dry." 
    Greenwood conveyed
several intimations, by meant of signs, that he wished to speak; but the two
ruffians hurried him out of the house. 
    They conducted him
across the fields to an empty barn at a distance of about a mile from the
villa. During the journey thither they conversed together in a flash language
altogether unintelligible to their captive, who was still gagged. A difference
of opinion evidently seemed to subsist between the two men, relative to the plan
which they should pursue with regard to Greenwood; but they at lengths appeared
to agree upon the point. 
    With regard to Greenwood
himself, he was a prey to a variety of painful feelings,- disappointment in hi.
designs upon Eliza at the moment when he appeared to stand upon the threshold
of success, - bitter malignity against Stephens who had thus duped him,- and
alarm at the uncertainty of the fate which might await him at the hands of the
villains in whose power he thus strangely found himself. 
    The night was
pitch-dark; but the moment the two ruffians with their captive entered the
barn, a lantern in the hands of the Cracksman was suddenly made to throw a
bright light forwards. 
    That light fell upon the
countenance of Stephens, who was standing in the middle of the shed. 
    "All right,"
said the Cracksman. " We pinioned the bird without trouble; and he ain't a
strange one, neither." 
    "What! do you mean
that you know him?" demanded Stephens. 
    "That's neither
here nor there," replied the Cracksman. "We don't tell secrets out of
school, 'cos if we did, there'd be no reliance put in us; and we does a great
many pretty little jobs now and then for the swell folks. But here is your bird
- delivered at this werry spot, accordin' to agreement."
    "Well and good," said Stephens. "Tie him a
hand and foot." 
    The Cracksman and the Resurrection Man instantly obeyed
this command: they threw Greenwood upon a truss of straw, and fastened his
hands together, and then his feet, with strong cord.  
    "Here is your reward," said Stephens, as soon
as this was accomplished. "I have now no more need of your
services." 
    He handed them some money as he thus spoke; and, having
counted it, the two villains bade him good night and left the barn, which was
now enveloped in total darkness. 
    "Montague Greenwood," said Stephens, as soon
as he was alone with his prisoner, "your design upon Eliza Sydney was too
atrocious for even a man who has been knocked about in the world, as I have, to
permit. You dazzled me with the promise of a reward which my necessities did
not permit me to a refuse ;- and you moreover secured my co-operation by means
of menaces. But I was determined to defeat your treacherous designs - to avenge
myself for the threats which you uttered against me - and to obtain the
recompense you had promised me, at  the same time. How well I have
succeeded you now know. The whole of yesterday morning did I wander amongst the
sinks of iniquity and haunts of crime in Clerkenwell, and the neighbourhood of
Saffron Hill; and accident led me into a low public house where I encountered
two men who agreed to do my bidding. I tell you all this to convince you that
never for a moment was I villain enough - bad though I may be - to pander to
infamy of so deep a dye as that which you meditated. I have taken measures to
acquaint the noble-hearted woman whose ruin you aimed at, with the entire
history of this transaction, so that she may be upon her guard in future. With
reference to you, here I shall leave you: in a few hours the labourers of the
farm will no doubt discover you, and you will be restored to liberty when Eliza
has awakened from her torpor, and I shall be far beyond the danger of
pursuit." 
    Stephens ceased; and taking a long rope from the corner
of the barn where he had concealed it, he fastened it to the cord which already
confined the hands and feet of Greenwood. He then attached the ends firmly to
one of the upright beams of the barn, so as to prevent the captive from
crawling away from the place. 
    This precaution being adopted, Stephens took his
departure. 
    It would be impossible to describe the rage, vexation,
and disappointment which filled the breast of Greenwood while Stephens
addressed him in the manner described, and then bound him with the cord. Yet
during this latter process he lay perfectly quiet, - well aware that any
attempt at escape on his part would at that moment be totally unavailing. 
    Five minutes elapsed after Stephens had left the barn,
and Greenwood was marvelling within himself how long he should have to remain
in that unpleasant position - bound with cords, and gagged in such a way that
he could only breathe through his nostrils, - when the sounds of footsteps fell
upon his ear, and the light of the Cracksman's lantern again flashed through
the barn. 
    "Well, sir," said the Cracksman, "your
friend is gone now; and so we can have a word or two together. You see, we
couldn't help you afore, 'cos we was obliged to fulfil our agreement with the
man which hired us for the evening. Now it is just likely that you may have to
remain here for some hours if so be we don't let you loose; so tell us what
you'll give us for cutting them cords." 
    The Cracksman removed the gag from Greenwood's mouth,
as he uttered these words. 
    "I will give you my purse," exclaimed the
discomfited financier, "if you will release me this moment. It contains
ten or a dozen guineas." 
    "Thank'ee kindly," said the Cracksman, drily;
"we've got that already. We helped ourselves to it as we came across the
fields. Don't you see, we always make it a rule to have the plucking of all
pigeons which we're hired to snare. You told us we might take all we found on
the swell in the sky-blue cab; and that man with the sallow complexion that
hired us to do this here business to-night, said, 'I will give you twenty
pounds, and you can help yourselves to all you find about the gentleman you're
to operate on.' " 
    "Call upon me to-morrow, and I will give you
another twenty pounds to free me from these bonds," said Greenwood. 
    "That's only the price of a good corpse,"
said the Resurrection Man. "Make it thirty."
    "Yes - make it thirty," added the Cracksman. 
    "Well - I will give you thirty guineas,"
cried Greenwood: "only delay not another instant. My limbs are stiffening
with the cold and with the confinement of these accursed cords." 
    "Let it be thirty, then," said the Cracksman.
"Here, Tony," he added, turning towards his companion, "hold
this here light while I cut the cords. And while I think of it, Mr. Greenwood,
I shan't call upon you for the money; but you'll send it to the landlord of the
Boozing-ken, where your servant came and found me. Mind it's there by to-morrow
night, or else you'll repent it - that's all. Blowed if we haven't had two good
nights' work on it, Tony. But, my eye! wasn't I surprised yesterday when the
man with the sallow face which hired us for to-night, told me that we was to
come to that there willa yonder, and I found out as how it was the same that
I'd cracked three year ago along with Bill Bolter and, Dick Flairer. Arter all,
there's been some curious, things about all these matters - partickler our
having to tackle to-night the wery gentleman which we served last night."
    "Come - don't talk so much, Tom," said the
Resurrection Man; "but let's make haste and be off."
    "There - it's done," exclaimed the Cracksman
"the cords is all cut: you can get up, sir." 
    Greenwood arose from the straw upon which he had been
lying, and stretched his limbs with as much pleasure as if he had just
recovered from a severe cramp. 
    He then reiterated his promise to the two men relative
to the reward to be paid for the service just rendered him; and, having
inquired of them which was the nearest way to the West End, he set out upon his
long and lonely walk home, depressed, disappointed, and hesitating between
plans of vengeance against Stephens and fears of exposure in his own vile and
defeated machinations with regard to the beautiful Eliza Sydney.