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) (297 page)

CHAPTER CXX.

THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

IT was nine o'clock in the morning.
    Ellen was lying, pale and tearful, in her bed, by the side
of which sate her father.
    The past light had worked a fearful change in the old man:
his countenance was haggard, his look desolate and forlorn.
    At one moment his lips quivered as if with concentrated
rage: at another he wiped tears from his eyes.
    Ellen watched him with the deepest interest.
    "And you persist in refusing to acquaint me with
 
the name of him who has
dishonoured you?" said the old man, in slow and measured terms.
    "Oh! my dear father, why will you persist in torturing
me?" exclaimed Ellen. "Do you think that I have not suffered
enough?"
    "Oh! I can well believe that you have suffered, Ellen -
suffered profoundly," returned Monroe; "for you were reared in the
ways of virtue; and you could not have fallen into those of crime without a
remorse. Suffered! but how have I not suffered during the last few hours! When
I read that fearful secret, I became a madman. I had but two ideas: my daughter
was a mother, and her child's name was Richard! What could I think? I went
straight to the room where our benefactor was sitting: I closed the door; I
approached him, with the rage of a demon in my breast, and I said, '
Villain!
is my daughter's honour the price of the hospitality which you have shown
towards me?
' He was thunderstruck; and I showed him the letter. He burst
into tears, exclaiming, '
Could you believe me capable of such infernal
atrocity?
' Then we reasoned together; we conversed upon the subject; and
his noble frankness of manner convinced me that I had erred - grossly erred! He
implored me to allow the night to pass ere I revealed to you the appalling
discovery which I had made: he dreaded the effects of my excited state of wind;
he thought that rest would calm me. But there was no rest for me! I retired to
my room; and there - when alone - I felt that I could not endure meditation. I
came to your chamber; and then - O God! the doubt to which I had yet so fondly
clung was dissipated!"
    My dear father, if you knew all," said Ellen, weeping,
"you would pity me - oh! you would pity me! Do not think that I
surrendered myself to him who is the father of my child, in a moment of passion
: do not imagine that the weakness was preceded by affection on my part for him
who led me astray!"
    "Unhappy girl, what mean you ?" ejaculated Mr.
Monroe. "Would you rob yourself of the only plea of extenuation which
woman in such a case can offer? Speak, Ellen!"
    "I will tell you all - that is, all I know," added
Ellen, with a blush. "You remember that when we retained to live in that
horrible court in Golden Lane, the second thus we were reduced to poverty, -
you remember what fearful privations we endued? At length our misery reached a
point when it became intolerable; and one morning you set out with the
determination of seeking relief from the bounty of Richard Markham."
    "I well remember it," said Monroe.
"Proceed."
    "You can then call to mind the circumstance of my
absence when you returned home to our miserable abode —"
    "I do - I do:  hours passed - I had gold - and you
were absent!" ejaculated the old man, with feverish impatience.
    "And when I returned home - late -" continued
Ellen, her voice scarcely rising above a whisper, and her face, neck, and bosom
suffused with burning blushes, "did I not bring you gold also ?"
    "Merciful heavens!" cried Monroe, starting from
his seat; "say no more, Ellen - say no more - or I shall go mad! Oh, God!
I comprehend it all! You went and sold yourself to some libertine, for gold
!"
    The old man threw himself into his daughter's arms, and wept
bitterly.
    "Father - dear father, calm yourself," said Ellen.
"I could not see you want - I  had no faith in the success of your
appeal to him who has since been our benefactor - I thought that there was but
one resource left;- but," she added, her eyes kindling with the fire of
pride, while her father sank back into his seat, "I call my God to witness
that I acted not thus for myself. Oh, no! death sooner should have been my
fate. But you, my dear father, you wanted bread; you were starving; and that
was more than I could bear! I sinned but once - but once; and never, never have
I ceased to repent of that fatal step - for my one crime bore its fruit!"
    Monroe was convulsed with grief. The tears trickled through
the wrinkled hands with which he covered his venerable countenance; his voice
was lost in agonising sobs, and all he could utter were the words, "Ellen,
my daughter, it is for me to ask pardon of you!"
    "No, say not so, dear father - say not so!"
ejaculated Miss Monroe, throwing her arms around him, and kissing his forehead
and hands. "No, my dear father, it was not your fault if misery drove me
to despair. But now you perceive," she added solemnly, "that I was
more to be pitied than to be blamed; and  - and," she murmured, the
falsehood at such a moment almost suffocating her, "you understand why I
cannot tell you who was the father of my child!"
    There was something so terrible in the idea that a young,
virtuous, and lovely girl had prostituted herself to the first unknown
libertine who had bid a price for her charms, - something so appalling to a
father in the thought that his only child had been urged by excess of misery
and profound affection for him, to such a dismal fate, that Monroe seemed to
sink under the blow!
    For some thus did his daughter vainly endeavour to solace
him; and it was only when she herself began to rave and beat her bosom with
anguish and despair, that the old man was recalled to a sense of the necessity
of calming his almost invincible emotions.
    The father and daughter were at length restored to partial
tranquillity by each other's endeavours at reciprocal consolation, and were
commingling their tears together, when the door opened.
    Markham, followed by Marian, entered the room. But what was
the surprise of Mr. Monroe  -what was the joy of Ellen, when Marian
advanced towards the bed, and presented the child to his mother!
    "A parent must not be separated from her
offspring!" said Richard; "henceforth, Ellen, that infant must be
nurtured by thee."
    "Oh! good, generous friend, my more than brother!"
exclaimed Ellen, with an ebullition of feeling that might almost be termed a
wild paroxysm of joy; and she pressed the infant to her bosom.
    "Richard," said Mr. Monroe, "you possess the
noblest soul that over yet blessed or adorned a human being."
    Marian stooped over the bed, apparently to caress the
sleeping infant, but in reality to whisper these words in Ellen's ears: "
Fear nothing : I was sent to fetch the child; and Mr. Wentworth will keep your
secret inviolably."
    Ellen cast a look of profound gratitude upon Marian; for
this welcome announcement assured her that the surgeon would never admit the
fact of possessing any clue, direct or indirect, to the father of the babe
which she held in her arms.
    In a few minutes, when she had recovered herself from the
horrible alarm that had filled her mind lest Markham had himself been to see
Mr. Wentworth,
 
and had learnt that the father of the child was so far known that
he had engaged to furnish the means for its support,- in a few minutes, we say,
she turned to her father, and said: "Our benefactor's goodness deserves
every explanation from us; tell him the extent of my misfortune - reveal to him
the origin and cause of my shame - let nothing be concealed."
    "Ellen," said Richard, "I know all! forgive
me, but I reached the door of your room when you were telling your sad tale to
your father; and I paused - because I considered that it was improper to
interrupt you at such a moment. And, if I overheard that affecting narrative,
it was not a mean curiosity which made me step and listen - it was the deep
interest which I now more than ever feel in your behalf."
    "And you do not despise me?" said Ellen, hanging
down her head.
    "Despise you!" ejaculated Richard, "I deeply
sympathise with you! Oh, no! you are not criminal; you are unfortunate. Your
soul is pure and spotless!"
    "But the world - what will the world think," said
Ellen, "when I am seen with this babe in my arms?"
    "The world has not treated you so well, Ellen,"
returned Markham, "that its smiles should be deeply valued. Let the world
say what it will, it would be unnatural - inhuman - to separate a mother from
her child; unless, indeed," he added, "it is your desire that that
innocent should be nursed among strangers."
    "Oh, no - no!" exclaimed Ellen. "But my
unhappy situation shall not menace your tranquillity, nor shall the tongue of
scandal gather food from the fact of the residence of an unwedded mother
beneath your roof. I will retire, with my father, to some secluded
spot —"
    "Ellen," interrupted Markham, "were I to
permit that arrangement, it would seem as If I were not sincere in the interest
and commiseration, instead of the blame, which I ere now expressed concerning
you. No: unless you and your father be wearied of the monotonous life which you
lead with me, home will you both continue to dwell; and let the world indulge
in its idle comments as it will."
    "Your benevolence finds a reason for every good deed
which you practise," said Ellen. "Ah! Richard, you should have been
born a prince, with a princely fortune: how many thousands would then have been
benefited by your boundless philanthropy."
    "My own misfortunes have taught me to feel for those of
others," answered Richard; "and if the world were more anxious than
it is to substitute sympathy for vituperation, society would not be the
compound of selfishness, slander, envy, and malignity that it now is."
    "It is settled, then, Richard," murmured Ellen,
"that my babe shall henceforth experience a mother's care!"
    And Ellen covered her child with kisses and with tears.
    At that moment the infant awoke; and a smile played over its
innocent countenance.
    Ellen pressed it more closely and more fondly to her bosom.

CHAPTER CXXI.

HIS CHILD!

MR. GREENWOOD was sitting in his study, - the handsomely fitted-up
room which we have before described, - the same morning on which the babe was
restored to its mother, through the admirable feeling of Richard Markham.
    Mr. Greenwood was studying speeches for the ensuing session
of Parliament. He employed two secretaries who composed his orations; one did
the dry details, and the other the declamatory and rhetorical portions. Each
received thirty shillings a week, and worked from nine in the morning until
nine at night, with half an hour three times a day for meals - which said meals
were enjoyed at their own expense. And then Mr. Greenwood hoped to reap all the
honours resulting from this drudgery on the part of his clerks.
    The studies of the Member of Parliament were interrupted by
the introduction of Mr. Arthur Chichester.
    "I am off to France to-morrow," said this
gentleman, throwing himself lazily upon a sofa; "and I called to see if I
could do anything for you on that side of the water."
    "No, nothing," answered Greenwood. "Do you
propose to make a long stay in France?"
    "I shall honour Paris with my presence for about a
month," said Chichester.
    "During which time," added Greenwood, with a
smile, "you will contrive to get rid of all the money which Mrs. Viola
Chichester so generously supplied."
    "Generously indeed!" said Chichester, laughing
heartily. "So far from thinking of running through the money, I hope to
double it. Although the public gambling-houses have been abolished in France,
there is plenty of play at the private clubs. But you must not imagine that I
have a perfect fortune in my possession: the means adopted to obtain the cash
cost a mint of money: there were five hundred pounds to Tomlinson for his
assistance; five hundred to you, for your aid, advice, and advances - (there is
a splendid alliteration for you!) - and three hundred to poor Anthony
Tidkins."
    "Poor indeed!" ejaculated Greenwood. "
According to what you told me, the miserable wretch must be in a blessed state
of pecuniary nudity."
    "It is perfectly tree," said Chichester. "
When he came to meet me and Tomlinson on the night that Viola was to be released,
in the dark alley adjoining his house, he was like a furious hyena. It seems
that he bad awoke up ten minutes before the hour appointed for our meeting, and
then discovered his loss as I before described it to you."
    "I should not like to have such a man as my
enemy," observed Greenwood, carelessly.
    "Nor I either. Bless us, how he did swear! I never
heard such imprecations come from a human being's mouth before. He vowed that
he would undertake no other business, nor devote himself to any other pursuit,
until he had traced the woman who had robbed him, and avenged himself upon her.
Flaying alive, he said, was too good for her! Well, - I gave him twenty pounds,
poor devil, through good nature; and Tomlinson gave him ten through fear; for
it appears that this Tidkins exercises some extraordinary influence over that
cowardly stockbroker —"
    "Ahem!" said Greenwood. "And so poor
Tidkins," he added, "did not set out on his travels after the thief
empty-handed?"
   
 
"By no means. But he is a
useful fellow, and one might want him again."
    "True," said Greenwood: "he is one of the
necessary implements which men of the world must make use of at times, to carve
out their way to fortune. Have you heard anything of your beloved wife?"
    "Nothing more than what I have already told you,"
answered Chichester. "She has given up her abode at the Cambridge Heath
gate, and taken apartments at a house in the very heart of the City, and where
there are plenty of other lodgers. She is determined to be secure. However,"
continued Chichester, with a smile, "so long as she holds her tongue about
that little matter - which she seems inclined to do - she need not fear any
further molestation from me."
    "I question whether you would have released her that
evening, had she not made her escape," said Greenwood.
    "Oh, indeed I should," returned Chichester;
"I did not wish to push things too far; and I really believe that another
week's confinement in that terrible place, which I have described to you, would
have turned her mad in reality. Then again, I should have been afraid of that
cowardly, snivelling fool, Tomlinson, who insisted upon accompanying me to
ensure her release. That man has every inclination to be a downright rogue; but
he lacks the courage."
    "Have you seen your friend Harborough lately?"
inquired Greenwood.
    "To tell you the truth, he is going with me on my
present expedition to Paris. His name, you know, sounds well: Sir Rupert
Harborough, Bart., son-in-law of Lord Tremordyn, - eh?"
    "His name must be somewhat worn out, I should
imagine," observed Greenwood, playing with his watch-chain. "Have you
seen Lady Cecilia?"
    "No: she has her suite of apartments, and Sir Rupert
has his - they do not interfere with each other. Sir Rupert, however, notice
that Lady Cecilia has a great many visitors of the male sex; and amongst
others, an officer of the grenadier guards, seven feet seven inches high,
including his bear-skin cap."
    "Indeed! Lady Cecilia is then becoming a confirmed
demirep," observed Greenwood, without pausing to think who helped to make
her so.
    "There is no doubt of that," said Chichester.
"But you seem up to your neck in business as usual."
    "Yes: I am busily engaged in behalf of the Tory
party," answered Greenwood. "The future Premier has great confidence
in me. I have bought him over seven votes from the Whig side during the recess;
and the moment the Tories succeed to power, I shall be rewarded with a
baronetcy."
    "You are making your way famously in the world,"
said Chichester, rising to leave.
    "Pretty well - pretty well," returned Greenwood,
with a complacent smile.
    Chichester then shook hands with his friend, and departed.
    Half an hour elapsed, during which Mr. Greenwood pursued his
studies, when lie was again interrupted by the entrance of a visitor.
    This time it was Mr. Tomlinson, the stockbroker.
    After having transacted a little pecuniary business
together, Greenwood said, "What have you done with the old man?"
    "I have taken a lodging for him in an obscure street of
Bethnal Green, and there he is residing," answered Tomlinson.
    "My plan was better," observed Greenwood,
dogmatically: "you should have had him locked up in one of Tidkins's
subterranean cells, and allowed three or four shillings a week for his
maintenance."
    "Impossible!" cried Tomlinson, indignantly.
"I could never have acted so unmanly - so ungrateful - so atrocious a
part."
    "Well, just as you please," returned the Member of
Parliament: "of course you know best."
    "We will not discuss that point," said Tomlinson.
    "That is precisely what I said some time since to a
deputation from the free and independent electors of Rottenborough, when they
sent to remonstrate with me on a certain portion of my parliamentary conduct,"
observed Mr. Greenwood.
    At this moment Lafleur entered and whispered something in
his master's ear.
    Tomlinson took his leave, and the valet proceeded to admit
Marian into the presence of his master.
    "Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Greenwood: "anything wrong,
Marian?"
    "That may be according to the light in which you view
the news I am come to communicate, sir," replied the servant. "In a
word, Miss Monroe's father and Mr. Markham have discovered all."
    "All! no - not
 
all
!" cried Greenwood, turning deadly
pale; "surely Ellen could not  —"
    " When I said
 
all
, sir," replied Marian,
"I was wrong. Mr. Monroe and my master have discovered that Miss Ellen is
a mother; and her child is now with her."
    "What! at Markham Place ?" demanded Greenwood.
    "Yes, sir."
    "And it is known also who - what person - the father, I
mean —"
    "Miss Ellen has maintained
 
that
 
a profound secret, sir,"
said Marian.
    "Thank heaven!" ejaculated Greenwood, now
breathing freely. "But Mr. Wentworth - the surgeon —"
    "He has also promised to remain dumb relative to what
little be knows. You are best aware, sir, whether Miss Monroe has studied your
wishes, or your interests, in remaining silent herself relative to you, and in
recommending Mr. Wentworth, through me, to say nothing that may prove that she
is really acquainted with the father of her child."
    "But how was the discovery made? Tell me all,"
exclaimed Greenwood, impatiently.
    "The explanation is short. Mr. Wentworth sent a note
relative to the health of the infant, last evening, to Miss Monroe; and she
inadvertently left it upon the table in the same room where her father was
sitting."
    "And her father - and Richard - Mr. Markham,  I
mean," said Greenwood, "are acquainted but with the bare fact that she
is a mother?"
    "That is all, sir. But, oh! if you only knew the excuse
that Miss Ellen made to avoid additional explanations," continued Marian,
"you yourself - yes, you, sir, would be affected."
    "What was that excuse ?" demanded Greenwood.
    "I can scarcely believe for one moment that it was
true," said Marian, musing, rather than replying to his question.
    "But what was it? cried the Member of Parliament 
impatiently.
    "Oh! she spoke of the misery to which her father and
herself had once been reduced, and she
 
said that, prompted by despair,
she had sold her virtue to one whom she knew not - whom she had never seen
before nor since."
    "Ah! she said
 
that
," murmured Greenwood. -
"And were her father and your master satisfied ?"
    "The old man wept well-nigh to break his heart, and Mr.
Markham said that henceforth the child should stay with its mother in his
house. Oh! sir, there lives not a man of nobler disposition than my master : he
is all that is generous, humane, liberal, and upright!"
    Mr. Greenwood turned aside, and appeared to contemplate some
papers with deep interest for nearly a minute; and then he passed a
handkerchief rapidly over his face.
    Marian thought, as she afterwards informed Ellen, that he
wiped tears from his eyes!
    He made no reply, however, to her observations; but rang the
bell for his French valet.
    When Lafleur entered the room, Mr. Greenwood said, "You
will proceed immediately to the abode of Mr. Wentworth, at Holloway: you will
hand him from me this bank-note for fifty pounds; and you will say to him these
words: '
As the child has been removed through an unforeseen occurrence from
your care, its father sends you this as a small token of his gratitude for the
kindness you have manifested towards it; and he hopes that, should you be
questioned upon the subject, you will not reveal the fact that you ever had the
slightest communication from its father.
' Go - and return quickly."
    Lafleur received the bank-note, bowed, and left the room.
    "You can inform Miss Monroe of the step which I have
thus taken to ensure the surgeon's secrecy," said Greenwood, addressing
himself to Marian.
    "I shall not fail to do so, sir," answered the
servant.
    She then withdrew.
    When the door closed behind her Greenwood threw himself hack
in his chair, murmuring, " My child beneath Richard's roof !"