Ghost.—"Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold."
Hamlet.—"Speak, I am bound to hear."—Hamlet.
"Your Lordship," continued the old sailor, "when tired of Juana pensioned her off, gave her apartments in London, and a handsome allowance, provided she would never more seek after or speak to you again. You then went to Scotland, and soon after your arrival there Miss Ravensworth returned and met you. I was sent by the Captain to hire the Peel of Cessford as a house in which Juana might reside, and Sir Richard Musgrave was enrolled as a conspirator also.
"The Captain, L'Estrange, and he, had an interview with Juana: the two former left for Scotland to visit your Lordship; Sir Richard and the girl followed. Our second plan was to let Miss Ravensworth believe you were married, and if she would not credit it show Juana. L'Estrange called on the young lady and hinted it, even showed your letters to Juana, but she would not read them; indeed, she destroyed them, and seemed rather to love you the better, as many girls do love unsteady men with the hope of reforming them. Whilst I and the girl Juana were at Cessford's Peel, a picnic, or some such mummery, was made to the ruins, and the Captain, though very angry at it at first, tried to turn the mischance to good account.
"Juana was dressed as an Italian minstrel and taught a part to play; it was thought likely you would, with your usual hospitality, give her a shelter at the Towers, and L'Estrange was then to show Miss Ravensworth how false you were to her, in harbouring the girl thus in disguise, whilst paying her attentions. This plan was overthrown in a curious way; Juana followed you and the lady up the wood to a cave, where she heard you propose, and Miss Ravensworth accept, on the condition you never afterwards spoke to her. I said she was deluded by a false hope of becoming a Countess: now she saw things in a new light, and absolutely refused to go to the Towers. That night, after much trouble, the Captain prevailed on L'Estrange to try the third scheme: he was to disappear mysteriously, and a rumour to be got abroad he had met with foul play. Suspicion was to be thrown on Miss Ravensworth, and, under disguise of officers of the King, we were to carry her to Cessford's Peel, and force her to marry L'Estrange. Sir Richard Musgrave acted his part well as officer, and, as you know, she was carried off: I and Farmer Forbes and his son played a part too as assistants. No clue would ever have been found, till we had terrified Miss Ravensworth into submission, had Juana not found out she was sister to her old lover, George Ravensworth. She went and betrayed us on the very night things were to be brought to an issue.
"The Captain and I accompanied L'Estrange to the girl's room, and then left him to settle it with his sweetheart: it appeared he had little fancy for it, and had made the preconcerted signal for assistance, when the Captain saw your Lordship and several others in sight! He and I fled by secret passages, and whilst I lay caché, he joined your party with the utmost coolness, and assisted in binding L'Estrange, whispering him he was true under false colours, as well as threatening Miss Ravensworth and Juana with his vengeance if they inculpated him. When L'Estrange was in prison, the night before his trial the Captain visited his cell at midnight, and gave him a file and rope to make his escape with, whilst I and young Forbes waited for him in the Hunter's Bog; it was a terrible night of thunder and lightning, but he made his escape, and that night he and I sailed for Germany. He was pretty hard up for money then, and not long after he married a Polish lady, the Countess Czinsky, whose name he assumed. But he never loved her, and cared only for her money, and when the Captain, after having shot Musgrave, joined him, they both left for St. Petersburgh.
"It was about this time Juana gave birth to a daughter, Leonora,—who brought you here; she died soon after, and I often thought she had met with foul play; this afternoon her murderer confessed he had poisoned her in revenge for her treachery—there he lies—he was a bad man! About the time of Christmas, a year afterwards, L'Estrange, still hankering after his old lady-love, hearing from Archy Forbes the Countess was living in retirement at the Towers, proposed reconnoitring, and if practicable carrying her off. The Captain did not much admire the plan, thinking it impossible, but we came across, and he rode up to see how matters stood. The news had been false, the Towers were full, so we weighed sail, and were off in our schooner in the very dirtiest night of snow and storm I ever recollect. We had intended to go straight to Naples, but cruised down Africa, and getting aboard some Algerines, tried our hand at the slave trade a year or two, and took many a black cargo across to the West Indies, but we grew sick o' that, and having a good ballast of shiners went to Italy. From that time the Captain and L'Estrange became brigands, and taking the name of Vardarelli, a name famous, inspiring fear in every bosom, carried on a successful trade. This morning they made an attack on an Englishman going to visit your Lordship at Foggia, and carrying rich jewels. I have already told you the rest."
The old man ceased his narrative, and again took a long draught of wine. For some moments the Earl moved not nor spoke. Tumultuous thoughts disturbed his mind, and he scarce knew what to say, or how to express his surprise at thus listening to the long records of conspiracy, plot, and crime he had been exposed to by his nearest relatives. He felt now inclined to disbelieve the whole story, now half doubting; and then his position,—the whole scene around seemed to verify the old man's tale.
"Whoever you may really be," said the Earl, "your story is one of the blackest villanies I ever heard; the actors seem to have been allied with the Evil One. And yet, what proof have I this is not an ingeniously devised tale? I must have proofs."
[H]"And you shall. Old Bill would but half have done his work had he no proofs,—there, my Lord (taking a bundle of papers), there lie the proofs. Those papers are signed by all the actors in my tale, and are no forgeries; you may examine them at your leisure."
The Earl took the parcel and secreted it beneath his cloak; then, rising once more, approached the mortal remains of John de Vere; once more he looked on the brother of his youth, and could scarce believe him capable of such atrocities. What a life had his been! The wild, cruel boy had grown up the careless, dare-devil, vicious, young man, the infamous desperado whose power and malice terrified the whole of Southern Italy! But death pays all debts, says the poet, and even here it hid a multitude of sins. There were softer memories connected with the departed: He had been the child who had shared his childish amusements; the youth with whom he had hunted, ridden, and shot; the young man with whom he shared many a scene of joy or danger. In these associations he forgot how, while he ate his bread, he had been intriguing against him; how he had plotted to procure his misery, and, by unparalleled dissimulation, seemed his friend whilst he was his worst foe,—despite all, he was his brother still. The fixed eye, the pale brow, the lifeless face asked his pity; the tears started in the good Earl's eyes as he bent over all that was once John Captain de Vere, and it was some time ere he could frame the question:—