CHAPTER XLI.
ARREST OF LORD VINCENT AND FAUSTINA.
Our plots fall short like darts that rash hands throw
With an ill aim that have so far to go,
Nor can we long discovery prevent,
We deal too much among the innocent.
—Howard.
Lord Vincent was at Castle Cragg. Unable to absent himself long from the siren who was the evil genius of his life, he had come down on a quiet visit to her. A very quiet visit it was, for he affected jealously to guard the honor of one who in truth had no honor to lose. The guilty who have much to conceal are often more discreet than the innocent who have nothing to fear.
Mrs. MacDonald was still at the castle, playing propriety to the beauty. A very complacent person was Mrs. MacDonald.
This precaution deceived no one. The neighboring gentry rightly estimated the domestic life at Castle Cragg and the character of its inmates, and refrained from calling there.
This avoidance of her society by the county families galled
Faustina.
"What do they mean by it?" she said to herself. "I am the Honorable Mrs. Dugald. Ah, they think I have lost myself. But they shall know better when they see me the Viscountess Vincent, and afterwards, no one knows how soon, Countess of Hurstmonceux and Marchioness of Banff! Ah, what a difference that will make!"
And Faustina consoled herself with anticipations of a brilliant future, in which she would reign as a queen over these scornful prudes. But Faustina reckoned without Nemesis, her creditor. And Nemesis was at the door.
It was a wild night. The snowstorm that had been threatening all day long came down like avalanches whirled before the northern blast. It was a night in which no one would willingly go abroad; when everyone keenly appreciated the comfort of shelter.
Very comfortable on this evening was Mrs. Dugald's boudoir. The crimson carpet and crimson curtains glowed ruddy red in the lamplight and firelight. The thundering dash of the sea upon the castle rock below came, softened into a soothing lullaby, to this bower of beauty.
Lord Vincent and Mrs. Dugald were seated at an elegant and luxurious little supper that would have satisfied the most fastidious and dainty epicure. Three courses had been removed. The fourth—the dessert—was upon the table. Rare flowers bloomed in costly vases; ripe fruits blushed in gilded baskets; rich wines sparkled in antique flasks.
On one side of the table Faustina reclined gracefully in a crimson velvet easy-chair. The siren was beautifully dressed in the pure white that her sin-smutted soul, in its falsehood, affected. Her robe was of shining white satin, trimmed with soft white swan's- down; fine white lace delicately veiled her snowy neck and arms; white lilies of the valley wreathed her raven hair and rested on her rounded bosom.
She looked "divine," as her fool of a lover assured her. Yes, she looked "divine"—as the devil did when he appeared in the image of an angel of light.
How did she dare, that guilty and audacious woman, to assume a dress that symbolized purity and humility?
Lord Vincent lolled in the other armchair on the opposite side of the table, and from under his languid and half-tipsy eyelids cast passionate glances upon her.
Mrs. Macdonald had withdrawn her chair from the table and nearer the fire, and had fallen asleep, or complacently affected to do so; for Mrs. MacDonald was the soul of complacency. Mrs. Dugald declared that she was a love of an old lady.
"What a night it is outside! It is good to be here," said Faustina, taking a bunch of ripe grapes and turning towards the fire.
"Yes, my angel," answered the viscount drowsily, regarding her from under his eyelids. "What a bore it is!"
"What is a bore?" inquired Faustina, putting a ripe grape between her plump lips.
"That we are not married, my sweet."
"Eh bien! we soon shall be."
"Then why do you keep me at such a distance, my angel?"
"Ah, bah! think of something else!"
The viscount poured out a bumper of rich port and raised it to his lips.
"Put that wine down, Malcolm, you have had too much already."
He obeyed her and set the glass untasted on the board.
"That's a duck; now you shall have some grapes," she said, and, with pretty, childish grace, she began to pick the ripest grapes from her bunch and to put them one by one into the noble noodle's mouth.
"It is nice to be here, is it not, mon ami?" she smilingly asked.
"Yes, sweet angel!" he sighed languishingly.
"And when one thinks of the black dark and sharp cold and deep snow outside, and of travelers losing their way, and getting buried in the drifts and freezing to death, one feels so happy and comfortable in this warm, light room, eating fruit and drinking wine."
"Yes, sweet angel! but you won't let me have any more wine," said the viscount drowsily.
"You have had more than enough," she smiled, putting a ripe grape between his gaping lips.
"Just as you say, sweet love! You know I am your slave. You do with me as you like," he answered stupidly.
"Now," said Faustina, her thoughts still running on the contrast between the storm without and the comfort within, "what in this world would tempt one to leave the house on such a night as this?
"Nothing in the world, sweet love!"
"Malcolm, I do not think I would go out to-night, even in a close carriage, for a thousand pounds."
"No, my angel, nor for ten thousand pounds should you go."
"I like to think of the people that are out in the cold, though. It doubles my enjoyment," she said, as she put another fine grape in his mouth.
"Yes, sweet love!" he answered drowsily, closing his fingers on her hand and drawing her forcibly towards him.
"Ah! stop!" she exclaimed, under her breath, and directing his attention to Mrs. MacDonald, who sat with her eyes closed in the easy-chair by the chimney corner.
"She is asleep," said the viscount, in a hoarse whisper.
"No, no! you are not certain!" whispered Faustina.
"Come, come! sit close to me!" exclaimed the viscount, with fierce vehemence, drawing her towards him.
"You forget yourself! You are drunk, Malcolm!" cried Faustina, resisting his efforts.
At that moment there came a rap at the door; it was a soft, low tap, yet it startled the viscount like a thunderclap. He dropped the hand of Faustina and demanded angrily:
"Who the fiend is there?"
There was no answer, but the rap was gently repeated.
"Speak, then, can't you? Who the demon are you?" he cried.
"Why don't you tell them to come in?" said Faustina, in a displeased tone.
"Come in, then, set fire to you, whoever you are!" exclaimed Lord
Vincent.
The door was opened and old Cuthbert softly entered.
"What the fiend do you want, sir?" haughtily demanded the viscount; for he had lately taken a great dislike to old Cuthbert, as well as to every respectable servant in the house, whose humble integrity was a tacit rebuke to his own dishonor; and least of all would he endure the intrusion of one of them upon his interviews with Faustina.
"What brings you here, I say?" he repeated,
"An'it please your lairdship, there are twa poleecemen downstairs, wi' a posse at their tails," answered the old man, bowing humbly.
"What is their business here?"
"I dinna ken, me laird."
"Something about that stupid murder, I suppose."
Faustina started; she was probably thinking of Katie.
"I dinna think it is onything connected wi' Ailsie's death, me laird."
"What then? What mare's nest have they found now, the stupid
Dogberries?"
"I canna tak' upon mesel' to say, me laird. But they are asking for yer lairdship and Mistress Dugald."
"Me!"
This exclamation came from Faustina, who turned deadly pale, and stared wildly at the speaker. Indeed her eyes and her face could be compared to nothing else but two great black set in a marble mask.
"Me!"
"Aye, mem, e'en just for yer ain sel', and na ither, forbye it be his lairdship's sel'," replied the old man, bowing with outward humility and secret satisfaction, for Cuthbert cordially disapproved and disliked Faustina.
"Horror! I see how it is! The dead body of the black woman has been cast up by the sea, as I knew it would be, and we shall be guillotined—no!—hanged, hanged by the neck till we are dead!" she cried, wringing and twisting her hands in deadly terror.
"I wish to Heaven you may be, for an incorrigible fool!" muttered the viscount, in irrepressible anger; for, you see, his passion for this woman was not of a nature to preclude the possibility of his falling into a furious passion with her upon occasions like this. "What madness has seized you now?" he continued. "There is no danger; you have no cause to be alarmed. They have probably come about the murder of Ailsie Dunbar, Satan burn them! Cuthbert, what are you lingering here for? Go, see what it is!"
The old man bowed lowly, and left the room.
"Faustina!" exclaimed the viscount, as soon as Cuthbert had gone, "your folly will be the ruin of us both some day—will lead to discovery! Can you not let the black woman, as you call her, rest? Why will you be so indiscreet?"
"Oh, it is you who are indiscreet now," exclaimed Faustina, clasping her hands and glancing towards Mrs. MacDonald, whose sleep seemed too deep to be real.
"Try to govern yourself, then!" said the viscount.
"Ah, how can I, when I am quaking like a jelly with my terror?"
"You should not undertake dangerous crimes unless you possess heroic courage," said the viscount.
"Mon Dieu! it is you who will ruin us!" cried Faustina, stamping her small feet and pointing to Mrs. MacDonald.
The viscount laughed.
And at this moment old Cuthbert re-entered the room.
"Well?" asked Lord Vincent.
"If you please, me laird, they say they maun see yer lairdship's sel' and the leddy," said the old man.
"What the blazes do they want with us? Was ever anything so insolently persistent? Go and tell the fellows that I cannot and will not see them to-night! And if they are disappointed it will serve them right for coming out on such a night as this, They must have been mad!"
"Verra weel, me laird. I'll tell them," said the old man, departing.
"Compose yourself, Faustina, this business has no reference to you, I assure you. When they asked for us, they merely wished to see us to put some questions about the case of Ailsie Dunbar," said the viscount, who had not the slightest suspicion that there was, or could be, a warrant out for his arrest. He fancied himself entirely secure in his crimes. He believed the negroes to be safe beyond the sea; sold into slavery in a land of which they did not even understand the language, and from which they never would be allowed to return. He believed Claudia to be crushed under the conspiracy he had formed against her. He believed her father to be far away. And so he considered himself safe from all interruptions of his iniquities. What was there, in fact, to arouse his fears? What had he to dread?
Nothing, he thought.
And he was still laughing at Faustina's weakness as he stood with his back to the fire, when once more the door opened and old Cuthbert reappeared, wearing a frightened countenance and followed by two policemen.
Faustina shrieked with terror, covered her face with her hands, and shrunk back in her chair. Mrs. MacDonald, aroused by the shriek from her real or feigned sleep, opened her eyes and stared.
But Lord Vincent, astonished and indignant, strode towards the door and demanded of his old servant:
"What means this intrusion, sir? Did I not order you to say to these persons that I would not see them to-night? How dare you bring them to this room?"
"'Deed, me laird, I could na help it! When I gi'e them yer lairdship's message they e'en just bid me gang before, and sae they followed me up, pushing me to the right and left at their ain will," said Cuthbert sullenly.
Lord Vincent turned to the intruders and haughtily demanded:
"What is the meaning of this conduct, fellows? Were you not told that I would not see you to-night? How dare you push yourselves up into the private apartment of these ladies? Leave the room and the house instantly."
"We will leave the room and the house, my lord; but, when we do so, you and that lady must go with us," said the taller of the two policemen, advancing into the room.
"What?" demanded the viscount.
"Mon Dieu!" shrieked Faustina.
"Gracious, goodness, me, alive!" exclaimed Mrs. MacDonald.
"You are wanted," answered the policeman, whose name by the way was
McRae.
"What do you mean, fellow? Leave the room, I say, before I order my servant to kick you out!" fiercely cried the viscount.
The policeman immediately stepped up to the side of his lordship and laid his hand upon his shoulder, saying:
"Malcolm Dugald, Lord Vincent, you are my prisoner."
"Your prisoner, you scoundrel! hands off, I say!" cried the viscount.
"I arrest you in the Queen's name, for the abduction and selling into slavery of the three negroes, Catherine Mortimer, James Mortimer, and Sarah Sims," said McRae, taking a firmer hold of his captive.
"Let go my collar, you infernal villain, and show me your warrant!" thundered Lord Vincent, wrenching himself from the grasp of the policeman.
McRae calmly produced his warrant and placed it in the hands of the viscount.
Lord Vincent, astonished, terrified, but defiant, held the document up before his dazed eyes and tried to read it. But though he held it up with both hands close to his blanched face, it trembled so in his grasp that he could not trace the characters written upon it.
While he held it thus, McRae slyly drew something from his own pocket, approached the viscount and—click! click—the handcuffs were fastened upon the wrists of his lordship!
Down fluttered the warrant from the relaxed fingers of the viscount, while his face, exposed to view, seemed set in a deadly panic as he gazed upon his captor.
"Look to him, Ross," said McRae, addressing his comrade and pointing to the viscount.
Then he stepped up to the cowering form of Mrs. Dugald, who had shrunk to the very back of her deep velvet chair. Laying his hand upon her shoulder he said:
"Faustina Dugald, you are my prisoner. I arrest you, in the Queen's name, upon the charge of having aided and abetted Lord Vincent in the abduction of—"
"Oh, horror! let me go, you horrid brute!" cried Faustina, suddenly finding her voice, interrupting the officer with her shrieks and springing from under his hand.
She rushed towards the passage door with the blind impulse of flight and tore it open, only to find herself stopped by a posse of constables drawn up without. They had come in force strong enough to overcome resistance, if necessary.
"Give yourself up, Faustina. It is the best thing you can do," said the viscount.
She stared wildly like a hunted hare, and then turned and made a dash towards her bedroom door, but only to be caught in the arms of McRae, who stepped suddenly thither to intercept her mad flight.
He held her firmly with one hand, while with the other he drew something from his pocket and suddenly snapped the handcuffs upon her wrists.
She burst into passionate tears.
"I am sorry to do this, madam, but you forced me to it," said McRae gravely and kindly.
She was a pitiable object as she stood there, guilty, degraded, and powerless. Her wreath of lilies had been knocked off and trampled under foot in the scuffle. The bouquet of lilies that rested on her bosom was crushed. Her lace and swan's-down trimmings were torn. Her hair was disheveled, her face pale, and her eyes streaming with tears.
"Why do they make me a prisoner?" she sobbed.
"I told you, madam, it was for your share in the abduction of—"
"Abduction! abduction! I don't know what you mean by abduction! I did not kill the black negro person! I did not put her into the sea! It was Lord Vincent! I never helped him! No, not at all! He would not let me! And if he would, I should not have done it! He did it all himself! And it is cruel to make a poor, small, little woman suffer for what a big man does!" she cried, amid piteous tears and sobs.
"Faustina! Faustina! what are you saying?" exclaimed the viscount, in consternation.
"The truth, my lord viscount; you know it! The truth, messieurs, I assure you! Lord Vincent killed the black negro woman and threw her into the sea! And I had nothing to do with, it! I did not even know it until all was over! And I will tell you all about it, messieurs, if you will only take these dreadful things off my poor, little, small wrists and let me go! It is cruel, messieurs, to fetter and imprison a poor, small little woman, for a big man's crime! Let me go free, messieurs, and I will tell you all about him," pleaded this weeping creature, who for the sake of her own liberty was willing to give her lover up to death.
But you need not be surprised at this; for I told you long ago that there can be no honor, faith, or love among thieves, let the biographers of the Jack Shepherds and Nancy Sykeses say what they please to the contrary. "Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?" The criminal is the most solitary creature upon earth; he has no ties—for the ties of guilt are nothing; they snap at the lightest breath of self-interest.
Faustina's plea dismayed her accomplice and disgusted her captor.
"Madam," said the latter, "you had better hold your peace. Your words criminate yourself as well as Lord Vincent."
"How do they criminate myself? Oh, mon Dieu! what shall I do, since even my denials are made to tell against me!" she whimpered, wringing her hands.
"Faustina, be silent!" said the viscount sternly.
"My lord, we are ready to remove you," said McRae, advancing toward the viscount.
"Where do you intend to take us then?" demanded the viscount, with a blush of shame, though with a tone of defiance.
"To the police station house, for the night. In the morning you will be brought before the magistrate for examination."
"To your beast of a station house?" said the viscount.
The policeman bowed.
"Ah, mon Dieu! will he take us out into the snow to-night? I cannot go! I should freeze to death! I should perish in the storm! It would be murder!" cried Faustina, wringing her hands.
"You see it would be barbarous to drag a lady out in this horrible weather. Can you not leave her here for the night? and if you consider yourself responsible for her safe-keeping, can you not remain and guard her?" inquired his lordship, speaking, however, quite as much, or even more, for himself than for Faustina; for he was well aware that, if she were left, he would be also left.
"My lord, it is impossible. I could not be answerable for my prisoner's safety if she were permitted to remain here all night, no matter how well guarded she might be. It was only a few weeks ago that a prisoner—a young girl she was, charged with poisoning— persuaded me to hold her in custody through the night in her own chamber. I did so, placing a policeman on guard on the outside of each door. And yet, during the night she succeeded in making her escape down a secret staircase and through a subterranean passage, and got clear off. It was in just such an ancient place as this, my lord. I came near losing my office by it; and I made a resolution then never to trust a prisoner of mine out of my sight until I got him or her, as the case might be, safe under lock and key in my station house."
"But, mon Dieu! mon Dieu! what will become of me?" wailed Faustina.
"It will kill her. She is very tender," urged Lord Vincent.
"Your lordship may order your own close carriage for her use. She may wrap up in all her furs. And though she may still suffer a good deal from the long, cold ride, she will not freeze, I assure you," said McRae.
"Ah, but what do you take me for at all? I say that I did not kill the black negro woman; Lord Vincent did it."
"Madam, neither you nor my lord are accused of murder," said McRae.
"Ah! what, then, do you accuse us of?"
"You will hear at the magistrate's office, madam," said the policeman, losing patience.
"I say, what—whatever it was, Lord Vincent did it!"
"Faustina, be silent! If no remnant of good faith leads you to spare me, spare yourself at least," said the viscount.
"Will you order your carriage?" said McRae.
"Cuthbert, go down and have the close carriage brought around. Put the leopard skins inside and bottles of hot water," ordered the viscount.
"Madam, you had better summon your maid and have your wrappings brought to you, and anything else you may wish to take with you," advised McRae.
"Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu! must I leave this beautiful place to go to a horrid prison. Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" wept Faustina, wringing her hands.
"Shall I ring for your maid?" inquired McRae.
"No, you monster!" shrieked Faustina. "Do you think I want Desiree, whose ears I boxed this morning, to come here to see me marched off to prison? She would be glad, the beast! she would laugh in her sleeve, the wretch! Madame MacDonald, will you get my bonnet and sables?" she said, turning to her companion.
"Yes, my dear, suffering angel, I will do all that you wish me to do. Ah! you remind me of your countrywoman, Queen Marie Antoinette, when she was dragged from the luxurious Tuileries to the dreary temple," whined sympathizing Complacency.
"Good Heaven! woman, do not speak of her. She was guillotined!" cried Faustina, with a shiver of terror.
"But you shall not be, my dear; you shall come out clear; and they who have accused you shall be made ashamed," said Mrs. MacDonald, as she passed into Faustina's dressing room.
Presently she came forth, bearing a quilted silk bonnet, a velvet sack, a sable cloak, a muff and cuffs, and warm gloves and fur-lined boots, and what not; all of which she helped Faustina to put on. While she was kneeling on the floor and putting on the beauty's boots she said:
"I think some of these men might have the modesty to turn their backs, if they canna leave the room. Ah, my poor dear! now you remind me of my own countrywoman, poor Queen Mary Stuart, when she complained on the scaffold of having to undress before so many men! Now you have to dress before so many."
"Oh, God, you will be the death of me, with your guillotined women! You turn my flesh to jelly, and my bones to gristle, and my heart to water!" cried Faustina, with a dreadful shudder, as she rose to her feet, quite ready, as far as dress was concerned, for her journey.
"Will my poor, dear, suffering angel have anything else?" said Mrs.
MacDonald.
"Yes. Oh, dear, that I should have to leave this sweet place for a nasty prison! Yes, you may get together all that fruit and nuts and cake and wine, and don't forget the bonbons, and have them put in the carriage, for I don't believe I could get such things in the horrid prison! And, stay—put me a white wrapper and a lace cap in my little night-bag; and stop—-put that last novel of Paul de Kock in also. I will be as comfortable as I can make myself in that beast of a place."
"Blessed angel! what a mind you have; what philosophy; what fortitude! You now remind me of your illustrious compatriot, Madame Roland, who, when dragged from her elegant home to the dreadful prison of the Conciergerie, and knowing that in a few days she must be dragged from that to the scaffold, yet sent for her books, her music, her birds, and her flowers, that she might make the most of the time left," said Mrs. MacDonald, as she zealously gathered up the desired articles.
"Silence! I shall dash my brains out if you speak to me of another headless woman!" shrieked Faustina, stopping both her ears.
Old Cuthbert put his head in to say that the carriage was ready. Lord Vincent ordered him to load himself with the luxuries that had been provided for Faustina and put them into the carriage, and then in returning to fetch him his overshoes, cloak, and hat. All of these orders were duly obeyed.
When all was ready Lord Vincent shook hands with Mrs. MacDonald was saying:
"We must all bow to the law, madam; but this is only a passing cloud. We shall be liberated soon. And I hope we shall find you here when we return."
"Ye may be sure of that, my lord. And may Heaven grant you a speedy deliverance," she answered.
Faustina next came up to bid her good-by.
"Good-by! Good-by! my sweet, suffering angel. Bear up under your afflictions; fortify your mind by thinking of the martyred queens and heroines who have preceded you," said Mrs. MacDonald, weeping as she embraced Faustina.
"Good Heaven, I shall think of none of them! I shall think only of myself and my deliverance!" said Faustina, breaking from her.
They went downstairs, marshaled by the policemen. They entered the carriage, two policemen riding inside with them, and one on the box beside the coachman. And thus they commenced their stormy night journey.