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) (15 page)

“You violate your compact, Signor
Verrina!” exclaimed the Jew, his rage now mastering his fears. “Wherefore
should I pay you tribute to protect me, when you enter my house and rob me thus
vilely?”

“In this case a lady is
concerned, good Isaachar,” responded the bandit, calmly; “and you know that
with all true cavaliers the ladies are pre-eminent. Once more, a fair night’s
repose, my much respected friend.”

Thus saying, Stephano Verrina
rose from the seat on which he had been lounging; and the Jew, knowing that
altercation and remonstrance were equally useless, hastened to afford the means
of egress to so unwelcome a visitor.

Stephano lingered a moment
opposite the house until he heard the door bolted and chained behind him; then
crossing the street, he rejoined his follower, Lomellino.

“All right, captain?” said the
latter, inquiringly.

“All right!” answered Stephano.
“Poor Isaachar is inconsolable, no doubt; but the countess will be consoled at
his expense. Thus it is with the world, Lomellino; what is one person’s misery
is another’s happiness.”

“Dost grow sentimental, good
captain?” exclaimed the man, whose ears were entirely unaccustomed to such
language on the part of his chief.

“Lomellino, my friend,” answered
Verrina, “when a man is smitten in a certain organ, commonly called the heart,
he is apt to give utterance to that absurdity which the world denominates
sentiment. Such is my case.”

 “You are, then, in love,
captain?” said Lomellino, as they retraced their way through the suburb of Alla
Croce.

“Just so,” replied the bandit
chief. “I will tell you how it happened. Yesterday morning, when those
impertinent sbirri gave me a harder run than I have ever yet experienced, I was
fain to take refuge in the garden of that very same Signor Wagner——”

“Who was yesterday arrested for
murder?” interrupted Lomellino.

“The identical one,” returned
Stephano. “I concealed myself so well that I knew I might bid defiance to those
bungling sbirri—although their scent was sharpened by the hope of the reward
set on my head by the prince. While I thus lay hidden, I beheld a scene that
would have done good to the heart of even such a callous fellow as yourself—I
mean callous to female qualifications. In a word, I saw one woman stab another
as effectually as——”

“But it was Wagner who killed the
woman!” ejaculated Lomellino.

“No such thing,” said Stephano
quietly. “The murderess is of the gentle sex—though she can scarcely be gentle
in disposition. And such a splendid creature, Lomellino! I beheld her
countenance for a few minutes, as she drew aside her veil that her eyes might
glare upon her victim; and I whispered to myself, ‘That woman must be mine; she
is worthy of me!’ Then the blow descended—her victim lay motionless at her
feet—and I never took my eyes off the countenance of the murderess. ‘She is an
incarnate fiend,’ I thought, ‘and admirably fitted to mate with the bandit
captain.’ Such was my reflection then; and the lapse of a few hours has only
served to strengthen the impression. You may now judge whether I have formed an
unworthy attachment!”

“She
 
is
 
worthy of you, captain!” exclaimed
Lomellino. “Know you who she is?”

“Not a whit,” replied Stephano
Verrina. “I should have followed her when she left the garden, and complimented
her on her proficiency in handling a poniard, but I was not so foolhardy as to
stand the chance of meeting the sbirri. Moreover, I shall speedily adopt
measures to discover who and what she is; and when I present myself to her, and
we compare qualifications, I do not think there can arise any obstacle to our
happiness—as lovers are accustomed to say.”

“Then it was
 
she
 
who murdered the Lady Agnes?” said
Lomellino.

“Have I not told you so? Signor
Wagner is as innocent of that deed as the babe unborn; but it is not for me to
step forward in his behalf, and thereby criminate a lady on whom I have set my
affections.”

“That were hardly to be expected
captain,” returned Lomellino.

“And all that I have now told
thee thou wilt keep to thyself,” added Stephano; “for to none else of the band
do I speak so freely as to thee.”

 “Because no one is so
devoted to his captain as I,” rejoined Lomellino. “And now that we are about to
separate,” added the man, as they reached the verge of the suburb, which was
then divided by a wide, open space from the city itself, and might even be
termed a detached village—“now that we are about to separate, captain, allow me
to ask whether the affair of Monday night still holds good?”

“The little business at the
Riverola Palace, you mean?” said Stephano. “Most assuredly! You and Piero will
accompany me. There is little danger to be apprehended; and Antonio has given
me the necessary information. Count Francisco sleeps at a great distance from
the point where we must enter; and as for his sister—she is as deaf as if she
had her ears sealed up.”

“But what about the pages, the
lackeys——”

“Antonio will give them all a
sleeping draught. Everything,” added the robber-chief, “is settled as cleverly
as can be.”

“Antonio is your cousin, if I err
not?” said Lomellino.

“Something of the kind,” replied
Stephano; “but what is better and more binding—we are friends. And yet, strange
to say, I never was within the precincts of the Riverola mansion until the
night before last, and—more singular still—I have never, to my knowledge, seen
any members of the family in whose service Antonio has been so long.”

“Why, Florence is not much
honored with your presence during the day-time,” observed Lomellino; “and at
night the great lords and high-born ladies who happen to be abroad, are so
muffled up—the former in their cloaks, the latter in their veils——”

“True—true; I understand all you
would say, Lomellino,” interrupted the captain; “but you know how to be rather
tedious at times. Here we separate, I repair to the Arestino Palace, and you——”

“To the cavern,” replied
Lomellino: “where I hope to sleep better than I did last night,” he added.

“What! a renewal of those
infernal shriekings and screamings, that seem to come from the bowels of the
earth?” exclaimed the captain.

“Worse than ever,” answered
Lomellino. “If they continue much longer, I must abandon my office of
treasure-keeper, which compels me to sleep in the innermost room——”

“That cannot be allowed, my
worthy friend,” interrupted the captain; “for I should not know whom to appoint
in your place. If it were not that we should not betray our own stronghold,”
continued Stephano, emphatically, “we would force our way into the nest of our
noisy neighbors, and levy such a tribute upon them as would put them on their
good behavior for the future.”

“The scheme is really worth
consideration,” remarked Lomellino.

“We will talk more of it another
time,” said the captain. “Good-night, Lomellino. I shall not return to the
cavern until very late.”

The two banditti then
separated—Lomellino striking off to
 
 the
right, and Stephano Verrina pursuing his way toward the most aristocratic
quarter of Florence.

Upon entering the sphere of
marble palaces, brilliantly lighted villas, and gay mansions, the robber chief
covered his face with a black mask—a mode of disguise so common at that period,
not only amongst ladies, but also with cavaliers and nobles, that it was not
considered at all suspicious, save as a proof of amatory intrigue, with which
the sbirri had no right of interference.

THE COUNTESS OF ARESTINO

We
 
must now introduce our readers to
a splendid apartment in the Arestino Palace.

This room was tastefully
decorated and elegantly furnished. The tapestry was of pale blue; and the
ottomans, ranged round the walls in Oriental style, were of rich crimson satin
embroidered with gold. In the middle stood a table covered with ornaments and
rich trinkets lately arrived from Paris—for France already began to exercise
the influence of its superior civilization and refinement over the south of
Europe.

The ceiling of that room was a
master-piece of the united arts of sculpture and painting. First, the hand of
the sculptor had carved it into numerous medallions, on which the pencil of the
painter had then delineated the most remarkable scenes in early Florentine
history. Round the sides, or cornices, were beautifully sculptured in marble
the heads of the principal ancestors of the Count of Arestino.

It was within half an hour of
midnight, and the beautiful Giulia Arestino was sitting restlessly upon an
ottoman, now holding her breath to listen if a step were approaching the
private door behind the tapestry—then glancing anxiously toward a clepsydra on
the mantel.

“What can detain him thus? will
he deceive me?” she murmured to herself. “Oh! how foolish—worse than
foolish—mad—to confide in the promise of a professed bandit! The jewels are
worth a thousand times the reward I have pledged myself to give him! wretched
being that I am!”

And with her fair hand she drew
back the dark masses of her hair that had fallen too much over her polished
brow: and on this polished brow she pressed that fair hand, for her head ached
with the intensity of mingled suspense and alarm.

Her position was indeed a dangerous
one as the reader is already aware. In the infatuation of her strong,
unconquerable, but not less guilty love for the handsome spendthrift Orsini,
she had pledged her diamonds to Isaachar ben Solomon for an enormous sum of
money, every ducat of which had passed without an hour’s delay into the
possession of the young marquis.

Those diamonds were the bridal
gift of her fond and attached, but, alas! deceived husband, who, being many
years older than herself, studied constantly how to afford pleasure to the wife
of whom he was so proud. He was himself an extraordinary judge
 
 of the nature, purity and value
of precious stones; and, being immensely rich, he had collected a perfect
museum of curiosities in that particular department. In fact, it was his
amateur study, or, as we should say in these times, his peculiar hobby; and
hence the impossibility of imposing on him by the substitution of a hired or a
false set of diamonds for those which he had presented to his wife.

It was, therefore, absolutely
necessary to get these diamonds back from Isaachar, by fair means or foul. The
fair means were to redeem them by the payment of the loan advanced upon them;
but the sum was so large that the countess dared not make such a demand upon
her husband’s purse, because the extravagances of her lover had lately
compelled her to apply so very, very frequently to the count for a
replenishment of her funds. The foul means were therefore resorted to—an old
woman, who had been the nurse of the countess in her infancy, and to whom in
her distress she applied for advice, having procured for the patrician lady the
services of Stephano Verrina, the bandit-captain.

It is not to be wondered at,
then, if the Countess of Arestino were a prey to the most poignant anxiety, as
each successive quarter of an hour passed without bringing either Stephano or
any tidings from him. Even if she feigned illness, so as to escape the ceremony
of the following day, relief would only be temporary, for the moment she should
recover, or affect to recover, her husband would again require her to accompany
him to the receptions of the prince.

Giulia’s anguish had risen to
that point at which such feelings become intolerable, and suggest the most
desperate remedies—suicide,—when a low knock behind the pale-blue arras
suddenly imparted hope to her soul.

Hastily raising the tapestry on
that side whence the sound had emanated, she drew back the bolt of a little
door communicating with a private staircase (usually found in all Italian
mansions at that period), and the robber chief entered the room.

“Have you succeeded?” was
Giulia’s rapid question.

“Your ladyship’s commission has
been executed,” replied Stephano, who, we should observe, had laid aside his
black mask ere he appeared in the presence of the countess.

“Ah! now I seem to live—breathe
again!” cried Giulia, a tremendous weight suddenly removed from her mind.

Stephano produced the jewel-case
from beneath his cloak; and as the countess hastily took it—nay, almost
snatched it from him, he endeavored to imprint a kiss upon her fair hand.

Deep was the crimson glow which
suffused her countenance—her neck—even all that was revealed of her bosom, as
she drew haughtily back, and with a sublime patrician air of offended pride.

“I thank you—thank you from the
bottom of my soul, Signor Verrina,” she said in another moment; for she felt
how completely circumstances had placed her in the power of the bandit-chief,
and how useless it was to offend him. “Here is your reward,” and she presented
him a heavy purse of gold.

“Nay, keep the jingling metal,
lady,” said Stephano; “I stand
 
 in
no need of it—at least for the present. The reward I crave is of a different
nature, and will even cost you less than you proffer me.”

“What other recompense can I give
you?” demanded Giulia, painfully alarmed.

“A few lines written by thy fair
hand to my dictation,” answered Stephano.

Giulia cast upon him a look of
profound surprise.

“Here, lady, take my tablets, for
I see that your own are not at hand,” cried the chief. “Delay not—it grows
late, and we may be interrupted.”

“We may indeed,” murmured Giulia,
darting a rapid look at the water-clock. “It is within a few minutes of
midnight.”

She might have added—“And at
midnight I expect a brief visit from Manuel d’Orsini, ere the return of my
husband from a banquet at a friend’s villa.” But of course this was her secret;
and anxious to rid herself of the company of Stephano, she took the tablets
with trembling hands and prepared to write.

“I, Giulia, Countess of
Arestino,” began the brigand, dictating to her, “confess myself to owe Stephano
Verrina a deep debt of gratitude for his kindness in recovering my diamonds
from the possession of the Jew Isaachar, to whom they were pledged for a sum
which I could not pay.”

“But wherefore this document?”
exclaimed the countess, looking up in a searching manner at the robber-chief;
for she had seated herself at the table to write, and he was leaning over the
back of her chair.

“’Tis my way at times,” he
answered, carelessly, “when I perform some service for a noble lord or a great
lady, to solicit an acknowledgment of this kind in preference to gold.” Then,
sinking his voice to a low whisper, he added with an air of deep meaning, “Who
knows but that this document may some day save my head?”

Giulia uttered a faint shriek,
for she comprehended in a moment how cruelly she might sooner or later be
compromised through that document, and how entirely she was placing herself in
the bandit’s power.

But Stephano’s hand clutched the
tablets whereon the countess had, almost mechanically, written to his subtle
dictation; and he said, coolly: “Fear not, lady—I must be reduced to a
desperate strait indeed when my safety shall depend on the use I can make of
this fair handwriting.”

Giulia felt partially relieved by
this assurance: and it was with ill-concealed delight that she acknowledged the
ceremonial bow with which the bandit-chief intimated his readiness to depart.

But at that moment three low and
distinct knocks were heard at the little door behind the arras.

Giulia’s countenance became
suffused with blushes: then, instantly recovering her presence of mind, she
said in a rapid, earnest tone, “He who is coming knows nothing concerning the
jewels, and will be surprised to find a stranger with me.
 
 Perhaps he may even recognize
you—perhaps he knows you by sight——”

“What would you have me do,
lady?” demanded Stephano. “Speak, and I obey you.”

“Conceal yourself—here—and I will
soon release you.”

She raised the tapestry on the
side opposite to that by which Stephano had entered the room; and the
robber-chief hid himself in the wide interval between the hangings in the wall.

All this had scarcely occupied a
minute; and Giulia now hastened to open the private door, which instantly gave
admittance to the young, handsome, and dissipated Marquis of Orsini.