Venus in Boston Part 10

continued he; and summoning a couple of servants, he commanded a diligent search to be made in every part of the room--but still in vain; no package was to be found.

Everybody present, with but one exception, expressed their concern and astonishment; that exception was f.a.n.n.y Aubrey; she was much agitated, and pale as death.

It was suggested by the Chevalier and several others, that he must have dropped the package in the street, as it could not be found in the house. In reply to this, Mr. Goldworthy said--

"No, no, my friend--I will swear that I lost it in this very room, within an hour. Plague on it! what particularly vexes me, is, that it comprised all my present available capital--and to have it disappear in such a d----d unaccountable, mysterious manner! Why, curse it," cried the old gentleman, getting more and more angry--"if I didn't know the thing to be impossible, I should suspect that there was an accomplished pickpocket in the room!"

"So should I," dryly observed the Corporal; and so said the Hon. Mr.

Tickels, also.

The Chevalier arose, and said, with calm dignity--

"Gentlemen, I conceive that an insinuation has been made, derogatory to our honor. Mr. Goldworthy, your words indirectly imply a suspicion; I must request you, sir, to explain your words, and to state distinctly whether or no you suppose that any person present has robbed you. I also suggest that all here be carefully searched."

"Good heavens, my dear Chevalier!" cried Mr. Goldworthy, much excited--"can you think for a moment that I suspect you or these gentlemen, of an act so base and contemptible? Pardon my hasty words; vexation at my great loss (a serious one, I a.s.sure you,) for a moment overcame my temper. Let the package go to the devil, sooner than its loss should occasion the least uneasiness to any of us. Come, my dear friends, let's say no more about it."

Harmony was once more restored; but still f.a.n.n.y Aubrey looked so pale and agitated, that Miss Alice, crossing over to where she sat, anxiously inquired if she were unwell? The poor girl essayed to reply, but could not; it was evident to her friend, that she was struggling with feelings of the most painful nature. She pressed Alice's hand, burst into tears, and abruptly left the room.

"The poor girl is either very unwell, or very much troubled about something," whispered Alice to her cousin Clarence--"I will go and comfort her;" and having made her excuses to the company, she left the room, and followed f.a.n.n.y to her chamber.

Her departure was the signal for the guests to take their leave of their worthy host. Mr. Goldworthy warmly pressed the Chevalier's hand at parting, and said to him--

"To-morrow, my dear sir, you will be my son-in-law. Be kind to my Alice, she is a good girl, and worthy of you. G.o.d bless you both! I did intend to advance you a sum of money, sufficient to enable you to begin housekeeping in handsome style; but the loss of that large sum of money to-night will, I fear, place it out of my power to a.s.sist you much, at present. However, I shall endeavor to raise a respectable sum for you, in the course of a few days. Meantime, you and Alice must be my guests; and I am not sure but that I shall insist upon your continually residing beneath my roof--for I am a lonely old man, and so accustomed to the kind attentions and sweet society of my only daughter, that to part with her would deprive me of half my earthly joys. Farewell--may you and her be happy together!"

Tears stood in the eyes of the good old man, as he uttered these words; and again the conscience of the Chevalier upbraided him for his contemplated villainy--but still he paused not nor faltered in carrying out his diabolical schemes.

Meanwhile, the following scene occurred in f.a.n.n.y's chamber, to which Alice had repaired for the purpose of ascertaining the cause of the young girl's agitation and tears.

"What is the matter, my dear sister? For such I will call you," said Alice, clasping her arms around the weeping girl, who had thrown herself upon the bed without undressing.

"Oh, my friend, my benefactress!" cried f.a.n.n.y--"how can I help feeling so distressed, when I know that your happiness is about to be destroyed forever?"

"My happiness destroyed!" cried Alice, surprised and alarmed--"what mean you! Do you allude to my marriage to-morrow with the Chevalier Duvall?

Yes, I see you do. Silly girl, that marriage will render me the happiest of women; what reason have you for supposing otherwise? The Chevalier loves me, and I sincerely reciprocate his affection; so dry your tears, for you know you are to be bridesmaid, and smiles better become you than tears."

These words were spoken in the kindest and gentlest tone; but f.a.n.n.y exclaimed--

"Miss Alice, you are cruelly deceived in that man."

"Deceived!" cried the young lady--"what mystery is hidden in your words?

Oh, if you love me, f.a.n.n.y--and you have often told me that you did--instantly explain the meaning of your dreadful declaration."

"Listen to me, Miss Alice," said f.a.n.n.y, with a calmness that strangely contrasted with her previous agitation--"and I will tell you plainly what I have seen, and what I think. To you I owe everything: the comforts of a home, the kindness of a friend, and the benefits of a superior education, now enjoyed by my brother and myself--two poor orphans, who, but for your benevolence, would be dependent upon the world's cold charity. My grat.i.tude I can never express; my heart alone can feel it--but oh! believe me, I would gladly lay down my life to promote your happiness. How, then, can I see future years of misery awaiting you, without tears of anguish--without feeling an intense anxiety to preserve you from a fate ten times worse than death?"

"Do not interrupt me, I pray you," continued f.a.n.n.y, seeing that Alice was about to speak--"To-morrow you are engaged to be married to the man calling himself the Chevalier Duvall. When I first saw him, I was struck with his beauty and accomplishments--his brilliant wit, and graceful manners; and when, in sisterly confidence, you informed me that he was your affianced husband, you know how warmly I congratulated you on having won the affections of a man who, as I then believed, was in every way calculated to make you happy.

"Alice, I tell you that man is a villain!" cried f.a.n.n.y, with startling emphasis--"I saw him pick your father's pocket of the money that was lost; yes, I alone saw him do it; _that_ was the cause of my agitation and tears. Do not marry him, for he is a robber and a scoundrel!"

"Say no more, Miss Aubrey," said Alice, rising with an air of cold dignity, which plainly indicated her entire disbelief of the statement she had just heard--"Say no more: you have mistaken your position, when you seek to prejudice me against a gentleman whom I am so soon to call my husband. Nay, not a word more--I will not listen to you. The Chevalier Duvall is the very soul of honor; and to accuse _him_--how can I say it?--of the crime of _theft_, is so preposterous that it would be ludicrous under any other circ.u.mstances. f.a.n.n.y, I can scarcely believe that you have been actuated by _jealousy_ in telling this dreadful story; I will try to think that your eyes deceived you, and that you really _thought_ that you saw the Chevalier do as you have said. But oh!

how mistaken you are, unhappy girl! when you impute such a crime to one of the n.o.blest and best of men."

"But, Miss Alice," cried f.a.n.n.y, almost angrily--for she was certain of the truth of her statement--"I tell you that I am not mistaken; I saw--"

"Silence, I entreat--I command you!" cried the young lady, now thoroughly indignant at the disgraceful accusation which had been brought against her lover--"speak not another word to me on this odious subject, or you forfeit my friendship forever. Good night; learn in future to be more discreet."

So saying, Alice left the unhappy young girl to her bitter tears. Soon wearied nature a.s.serted her rights, and she sobbed herself to sleep. But her slumbers were disturbed by hideous dreams: in fancy she again saw the magnificent Chevalier dexterously abstract the package of money from Mr. Goldworthy's pocket--then she thought that the brilliant stranger stood over her, and surveyed her with an expression of fearful menace.

The scene again changed; she was alone, in a vast and splendid apartment, reclining upon a sumptuous couch; delicious music, from invisible minstrels, soothed her soul into a sort of dreamy and voluptuous trance; an unearthly happiness filled her heart--her senses were intoxicated with delight. Suddenly, in the dim distance, she saw a Hideous Object, and the blood went tingling through her veins with terror; it had the form of a gigantic reptile; slowly it crawled towards the couch on which she lay; dim grew the light from the sparkling chandeliers--heavy grew the air with noxious odors; the Hideous Object crouched beneath the bed; she heard its deep breathing--its heavy sighs; then it reared its awful form above her, and then approached its ghastly head to hers; she felt its foul breath upon her cheek--its green dragon-like eyes penetrated her soul, and made her brain dizzy--it fanned her by the flapping of its mighty wings. It breathed into her ear vile whispers, tempting her to crime. It placed its huge vulture's claw upon her heart, as if to tear it from her breast. She awoke.

Gracious heavens! there--there--at her bed-side, stood a human form, its countenance dark and threatening--the savage features almost totally concealed by ma.s.ses of black and s.h.a.ggy hair. A rough, hard hand rested upon her breast, and a pair of fierce, cruel eyes struck terror to her soul.

She uttered one piercing scream, and fainted. The report of a pistol was heard; then hasty footsteps descended the stair-case; the hall was rapidly traversed--the street door was opened and shut with a loud noise--and all was still.

In a few minutes the affrightened inmates of the mansion, half dressed, were hastening to the scene of the late tumult; Mr. Goldworthy and his daughter Alice were among them. What was the astonishment and dismay of the startled group, on discovering that f.a.n.n.y Aubrey was nowhere to be found, while at her chamber door, wounded and bleeding, lay the insensible form of Clarence Argyle!

They raised the young gentleman, and placed him upon the bed; a physician, who fortunately resided next door, and was almost instantly upon the spot, p.r.o.nounced the wound severe, but not dangerous. He had been shot in the breast; the ball was with some difficulty extracted, and the patient rendered as comfortable as possible.

But where was the clue to all this fearful mystery? What had become of f.a.n.n.y Aubrey? Who had dared to enter that house at midnight, and after nearly murdering one of the inmates, carry off a young lady? What was the _object_ of the perpetrator of the outrage? These were the questions uttered by everybody present; but no one could answer them.

Both Mr. Goldworthy and Alice watched over the sufferer during that night. Towards morning, he revived sufficiently to tell them all he knew of the dreadful occurrence which had taken place. His chamber adjoined that of f.a.n.n.y; he had been aroused from his slumbers by her piercing scream; instantly leaping from his bed, he rushed into the young lady's apartment, and saw a tall, black-visaged ruffian standing over her apparently insensible form, in the act of dragging her from the couch.

The villain turned suddenly, drew a pistol upon the young gentleman, and fired. Clarence fell, severely wounded, and remained unconscious of everything, until he found himself stretched upon a bed of pain, with his uncle and cousin watching him with affectionate solicitude.

On learning that poor f.a.n.n.y had disappeared--undoubtedly carried off by the ruffian whom he had seen in her chamber--the grief and rage of Clarence knew no bounds. Regardless of his wound and sufferings, he would have arisen from his bed and gone in pursuit of the ravisher, had he not been restrained by his more considerate relatives, who represented to him the folly and danger of his undertaking such a hopeless task, in his precarious state of health. Overcome by their united persuasions, as well as by a consciousness of his own bodily weakness, he contented himself with his uncle's a.s.surance that every effort would immediately be made to discover the whereabouts of poor f.a.n.n.y, and restore her to her friends.

Early the next morning, Corporal Grimsby, as being the friend and guardian of the missing girl, was apprised of the fact of her abduction.

It is needless for us to repeat all the singular oaths with which the eccentric, good old man expressed his honest indignation, when he received the alarming intelligence; suffice it to say, he swore by the nose of Napoleon, and by his own whiskers, (an oath which he used only on very solemn occasions,) never to rest until he had discovered f.a.n.n.y, his darling _protege_, and severely punished her rascally kidnapper.

A dark suspicion crossed his mind that the villain Tickels was at the bottom of the business; acting upon the first impulse of the moment, he instantly proceeded to the residence of the old libertine, forced his way into his presence, and boldly accused him of the deed. Mr. Tickels was perfectly on his guard, for he had expected such a visit; with cool politeness he a.s.sured the Corporal that until that moment he knew nothing of the matter; he was sorry that his _friend_ should suspect him of any partic.i.p.ation in such a piece of rascality; he had long since cleansed and purified himself of the wicked and silly pa.s.sion which he at one time felt for Miss Aubrey; he sincerely hoped that nothing unpleasant would befall her; he'd do all in his power to seek her out; and concluded by coolly inviting the Corporal to breakfast with him.

"Breakfast with the devil!" cried the old man, indignantly--"sooner would I sit down to table in social companionship with--with _Jew Mike_ himself!" and as he uttered these words, he gazed keenly into the other's countenance. Tickels started, and turned deadly pale; the Corporal, with a sarcastic smile, bowed with mock politeness, and withdrew.

"Swords and carving-knives! I thought so," he muttered, after he had left the house--"a masterly stroke, that; a masterly stroke! This villain Jew Mike is the _cher amie_ of Sow Nance, as she is called; and Nance is in the confidence of Tickels; what wonder that the dirty s.l.u.t recommended her _pal_ and paramour to the old libertine, as a fit agent to abduct my poor f.a.n.n.y--and what wonder that he was employed to accomplish that object? But first, I'll hasten to Mr. Goldworthy's house, and question the young man who was wounded; if his description of the villain corresponds with the appearance of Jew Mike, then there can be no further doubt on the subject, and I shall know what course to pursue. Egad! how old Tickels changed color when I mentioned Jew Mike!

His confusion alone indicated his guilt. 'Sdeath; I have no time to lose; may heaven preserve and guard that poor, persecuted orphan girl!"

On reaching Mr. Goldworthy's house, he requested to be conducted immediately to Clarence's chamber. In answer to his inquiries, the young man stated that the villain who had wounded him was a tall, powerfully built person, his face almost entirely concealed by a profusion of black hair. The Corporal rubbed his hands with glee.

"Jew Mike, by the bones of the great Mogul!" he exclaimed--"and now that I am on the right scent, I shall soon ferret out the ravenous wolves that have carried my poor lamb to their infernal den. Ah, Corporal Grimsby, thou art a cunning dog!" So saying, he departed on his benevolent errand of endeavoring to rescue f.a.n.n.y Aubrey from the power of her enemies.

That evening, from every window of Mr. Goldworthy's princely mansion in Howard street, shone brilliant lights. It was the eve appointed for the marriage of Alice and the Chevalier Duvall.

In consequence of the melancholy and startling events which took place in the house on the preceding night--the severe wounding of Clarence, and the abduction of f.a.n.n.y--it had been suggested by both Alice and her father, that it would be proper to defer the performance of the ceremony for a short time, or until the fate of the missing girl could be ascertained; the Chevalier, however, strongly opposed this proposition, and a.s.suming the authority of an accepted suitor, delicately but firmly insisted that the marriage should take place that evening, as had been previously arranged "for," said he, "to defer the consummation of our happiness will not a.s.sist in the recovery of Miss Aubrey. When I become your husband, my Alice, I can with far more propriety aid in seeking the lost one, for were we to remain unmarried, my interest in the poor young lady might be imputed to improper or even dishonorable motives."

This reasoning had the desired effect; it was decided that the marriage ceremony should not be postponed.

Alice had not communicated to the Chevalier the story which f.a.n.n.y had told her, concerning the affair of the lost package of money--for as she utterly disbelieved the tale, (imputing it to the effects of an excited imagination,) she had no desire to wound the feelings of her lover by acquainting him with the absurd charge (as she thought) which had been brought against him. How blind is love to the imperfections, the faults, and even the crimes of the object of its adoration! We believe it is Shakespeare who says:

"Love looks not with the eye, but with the mind, And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind."