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) (51 page)

Yakoub bowed, and hastened to
obey the commands which he had received—speeding toward Florence, attended by
two soldiers and two slaves. Demetrius then ordered his party to dismount and
rest for a short space upon the banks of the Arno. Some of his slaves
immediately pitched a tent, into which he conducted Nisida; and refreshments
were served to them.

When the repast was concluded,
and they were left alone together for a few minutes, Nisida’s manner suddenly
changed from calm patrician reserve to a strange agitation—her lips quivered,
her eyes flashed fire;—and then, as if desperately resolved to put into
execution the idea which she had formed, she seized Demetrius by the hand, bent
her head toward him, and murmured in the faintest whisper possible, “Start not
to hear the sound of my voice! I am neither deaf nor dumb. But this is not the
place for explanations. I have much to tell, you much to hear—for I can speak
to thee of Calanthe, and prove that he whom thou servest so zealously is a
wretch meriting only thy vengeance.”

“My God! my God!—what marvels are
now taking place!” murmured the Greek, surveying Nisida in profound
astonishment not unmingled with alarm.

“Silence—silence, I implore you!”
continued she, in the rapid, low, and yet distinctly audible whisper, “for
 
your
 
sake—for
 
mine
,
betray me not! Deaf and dumb must I appear—deaf and dumb must I yet be deemed
for a short space. But to-night, at twelve o’clock, you will meet me,
Demetrius, in the garden of the Riverola mansion;—and then I will conduct you
to an apartment where we may confer without fear of being overheard—without
danger of interruption.”

“I will not fail thee, lady,”
said the Greek, scarcely able to recover from the amazement into which Nisida’s
sudden revelation of her power of speech and hearing had thrown him: then, as
an oppressive feeling seized upon his soul, he demanded, “But Calanthe, lady,
in the name of heaven! one word more and let that word give me hope that I may
see my sister again!”

“Demetrius,” answered Nisida, her
countenance becoming ominous and somber, “you will never behold her more. The
lust of Ibrahim Pasha—nay, start not so violently—brought destruction and death
upon Calanthe!”

 The features of the young
Greek were at first distorted with anguish, and tears started from his eyes:
but in the next moment their expression changed to one denoting the fiercest
rage.

Nisida understood all that was
passing in his soul; and she bent upon him a significant glance, which said
more eloquently than language could have done—“Yes, vengeance thou shalt have!”

She then rose from the velvet
cushions which had been spread upon the ground within the tent, and waving her
hand in token of temporary farewell to Demetrius, hastened forth, mounted her
horse, and departed, alone and unattended, toward Florence.

Great was the surprise that
evening of the numerous servants and dependents at the Riverola mansion, when
Donna Nisida suddenly reappeared after an absence of very nearly seven
months—and that absence so unaccountable to them! Although her haughty and
imperious manner had never been particularly calculated to render her beloved
by the menials of the household, yet her supposed affliction of deafness and
dumbness had naturally made her an object of interest; and, moreover, as close
upon three months had elapsed since Count Francisco himself had disappeared in
a strange and alarming way two days only after his return from the wars, the
domestics were pleased to behold at least one member of the lost family come
back amongst them. Thus it was with sincere demonstrations of delight that the
dependents and menials welcomed Donna Nisida at Riverola; and she was not
ungracious enough to receive their civilities with coldness. But she speedily
escaped from the ceremonies of this reception: and, intimating by signs to the
female minions who were about to escort her to her apartments that she was
anxious to be alone, she hurried thither, her heart leaping with joy at the
thought of being once more beneath the roof of the palace of her forefathers.
And, Fernand—wast thou forgotten? Oh! no—no; in spite of all her revived
schemings and new plots, Nisida, thy well-beloved Nisida, had room in her heart
for thine image! On reaching her own suit of apartments, the key of which had
been handed to her by one of the female dependents, Nisida found everything in
the same state as when she last was there; and it appeared to her a dream, yes,
a very wondrous dream, that she had been absent for nearly seven months, and
during that period had seen and experienced such strange vicissitudes. The
reader need scarcely be informed that Nisida’s first impulse, on entering her
own suit of apartments in the Riverola mansion, was to hasten and gaze once
more upon the portrait of her mother, and intent, earnest, enthusiastic was the
upraised look now fixed upon that portrait, even as when we first saw Nisida
contemplating the sweet and benignant countenance in the second chapter of our
narrative. Yes:—and again was her gaze indicative of a devotion, an adoration,
a worship.

“Oh! my sainted mother,” thought
Nisida within her breast, “I have not proved ultimately faithless to the solemn
vows I pledged to thee upon thy death-bed! No; if for a time I yielded
 
 to the voluptuous idleness of
love and passion in that now far off Mediterranean isle, yet, at last did I
arouse myself to energy for young Francisco’s sake, and I came back as soon as
Heaven sent me the means of return to the place where my presence may best
serve
 
his
 
interests,
and carry out
 
thy
 
wishes! For, oh! when thou wast alive,
my worshiped, my adored mother, how good, how kind, how affectionate wast thou
toward me. And that tenderness of a mother for her offspring, ah! how well can
I comprehend it now; for I also shall soon become a mother. Yes, Fernand!
within the last week I have received the conviction that a being bearing thine
image will see the light in due time; and the honor of the proud name of
Riverola requires that our child must not be born of an unwedded mother! But
wilt thou seek me out, Fernand? Oh! where art thou now? whither was the bark,
in which I beheld thee last, wafting thee away?”

And, all the while that these
thoughts were agitating within her mind, Donna Nisida kept her eyes intently
fixed on the portrait; but on reflecting a second time that should she fail to
meet with Wagner soon again, or should he prove faithless to her, or if,
indeed, he should nurse resentment and loathing for her on account of her
unworthy conduct toward him on the island, and that her child should be born of
an unwedded mother,—when, we say, she thought of this dread probability a
second time, she burst into tears, and turned away from the contemplation of
her mother’s countenance. And Nisida so seldom wept, that when tears did escape
the usually sealed up springs of her emotions, they came in torrents, and were
most bitter and painful to shed. But she at length triumphed over her feelings,
or rather, their outpourings relieved her; and now the remembrance of another
duty which she had resolved upon performing the moment she should reach home
again was uppermost in her mind. She contemplated a visit to the mysterious
closet—the dark cabinet of horrible secrets, in order to ascertain whether
curiosity had triumphed over Francisco’s prudence, or if any one indeed had
violated the loneliness of that chamber in which the late Count of Riverola,
had breathed his last. She accordingly took a lamp in her hand, for it was now
far advanced in the evening, and proceeded to the apartment where a father’s
dying injunctions had been given to her brother, and which that father and that
brother had so little suspected to have been heard and greedily drunk in by her
ears. The door of the room was locked; Nisida accordingly proceeded forthwith
to her brother’s chamber; and there, in a secret place where she knew he had
been accustomed to keep papers or valuables, she found the key of the chamber
containing the mysterious closet, but not the key of the closet itself. Of this
latter circumstance she was glad; inasmuch as she conceived that he had adopted
her counsel to carry it invariably secured about his person, so that no prying
domestics might use it in his absence. Returning, therefore, with the one key
which she had found, she entered the apartment where her father had breathed
his last.

Unchanged was its appearance, in
mournfulness and gloom
 
 unchanged,
in arrangements and features precisely the same as when she last was there, on
the night when she intercepted the banditti in their predatory visit. She drew
aside the hangings of the bed, a cloud of dust flew out—and for a few moments
she stood gazing on the couch where the dark spirit of her sire had fled from
its mortal tenement! And as she still lingered near the bed, the remembrance of
the death-scene came so vividly back to her mind, that for an instant she
fancied she beheld the cold, stern, relentless countenance of the late Count of
Riverola upon the pillow; and she turned away more in loathing and abhorrence
than alarm, for through her brain flashed in dread association with his memory,
the awful words—“And as the merciless scalpel hacked and hewed away at the
still almost palpitating flesh of the murdered man, in whose breast the dagger
remained deeply buried—a ferocious joy—a savage, hyena-like triumph filled my
soul; and I experienced no remorse for the deed I had done!”

Yes, she turned aside, and was
advancing rapidly toward the mysterious closet, when—holy God!—was it reality
or imagination? Was it a human being or a specter from another world? For a
tall, dark form, muffled apparently in a long cowl—or it might be a cloak, but
Nisida was too bewildered to discriminate aright—glided from the middle of the
room where her eyes first beheld it, and was lost to view almost as soon as
seen. Strong minded as Nisida was, indomitable as was her courage, and far away
as she was from being superstitious, yet now she staggered, reeled, and would
have fallen had she not come in contact with the mysterious closet, against
which she leaned for support. She gasped for breath, and her eyes were fixed
wildly upon the door by which the figures had disappeared. Nevertheless, she
had so far retained her presence of mind as to grasp the lamp firmly in her
hand, for at that moment, after such a fright, in the room where her father had
died, and in the close vicinity of the fearful cabinet, even Nisida would have fainted
with terror to be left in darkness.

“’Twas imagination—naught save
imagination,” she thought within herself, as she exerted all her power to
surmount the alarms that had seized upon her. “But no! I remember to have
closed the door carefully behind me, and now it is open!”

As that reminiscence and
conviction flashed to her mind, she nerved herself to advance into the passage;
but all was silent, and not a soul was there save herself. Scarcely knowing
what to think, yet ashamed to give way to superstitious fears, Nisida retraced
her steps, and proceeded to examine the door of the closet. She was satisfied
that it had never been opened since the night of her father’s death; for the
seals which she had induced Francisco to place upon the lock next day were
still there. But all the while she was thus scrutinizing the door, the lock,
and the seals, she could not help occasionally casting a furtive glance around,
to convince herself that the tall, dark, muffled form was not standing behind
her: and, as she retraced her way to her own apartments, she stopped now and
then through dread that
 
other
footsteps beside her own
echoed in the long and lonely corridors of
 
 the
old mansion. She, however, regained her chamber in safety, and fell into a deep
reverie respecting the tall figure she had seen. Were it not for the fact, of
which she was confident, of her having closed the door on entering the room
where her father had died, she would have concluded that her imagination had
deluded her; but she now feared lest she might be watched by spies for some
unknown and hostile purpose. It was perplexing, to say the least of it; and
Nisida determined to adopt all possible precautions against her secret enemies,
whoever they might be.

She accordingly arose from her
seat—put off her upper garment—donned her thin but strong corselet—and then
assumed the black velvet robe which reached up to her throat, concealing the
armor beneath. Her flexible dagger—that fatal weapon which had dealt death to
the unfortunate Agnes—was next thrust into the sheath formed by the wide border
of her stomacher; and Nisida smiled with haughty triumph as if in defiance to
her foes. She then repaired to one of the splendid saloons of the mansion; and
ere she sat down to the repast that was served up, she dispatched a note
acquainting Dr. Duras with her return, and requesting his immediate presence.
In about half an hour the physician arrived, and his joy at beholding Nisida
again was only equaled by his impatience to learn the cause of her long absence
and all that had befallen her during the interval.

She made a sign for the old man
to follow her to the retirement of her own apartments; and then, having closed
the door, she said to him in a low tone, “Doctor, we will converse by means of
signs no more; for, though still forced to simulate the deaf and dumb in the
presence of the world, yet now—with you, who have all along known my terrible
secret—our discourse must be too important to be carried on by mere signs.”