CHAPTER CLVIII.

Mrs. Mortimer in London.

Mrs. Mortimer,--as we must now call her whom we have already known as Mrs. Slingsby, Mrs. Torrens, and Mrs. Fitzhardinge,--arrived in London two days after the scene which took place between her daughter and herself in the Rue Monthabor at Paris.

The wily woman was intent upon accomplishing the aim that had brought her back to the English metropolis; but as the reader may well imagine, she had not the least trace of her husband--nor the slightest clue to his whereabout. Indeed, it was only a conjecture with her that he was in London at all;--but she had worked this suspicion up into a certainty in her own mind; and the object she hoped to gain was quite important enough to lead her to resolve upon leaving no stone unturned in order to arrive at a successful issue.

On setting foot in the metropolis, she took up her abode at a small coffee-house in an obscure street in the Borough of Southwark; and having assumed a somewhat mean attire, she repaired, in the dusk of the evening after her arrival, to the vicinity of the dwelling which in former times bore the name of Torrens Cottage.

This house, as the reader will recollect, was situate between Streatham and Norwood; and the old woman, who knew the world well, and read the human heart profoundly, calculated that Torrens, impelled by that inscrutable and mysterious curiosity which prompts persons under such circumstances, was likely, if indeed in London, to visit the neighbourhood where he had once dwelt, and which had proved for him the scene of such dire misfortune.

Mrs. Mortimer knew that Torrens had passed many happy days at that cottage, and had there cherished the grandest hopes of acquiring a great fortune by means of building-speculations: she was also aware that he had at the same place bargained for the sale of his daughter’s virtue--beheld the ravisher lying murdered upon the sofa--and been arrested on suspicion of the heinous crime. The place, then, was replete with the most varied and conflicting reminiscences for the old man; and Mrs. Mortimer said to herself, “The morbid feelings which must exist in such a heart as his, will probably induce him to visit the neighbourhood of the house that once was his home.”

Such was her calculation; and, acting upon this impression, she sped on foot towards the dwelling where she had once dwelt a few brief hours as the wife of the man whom she was searching after.

It was nine o’clock in the evening when she turned into the lane where twenty years before Tom Rain had robbed Frank Curtis of the two thousand pounds.

In a few minutes Mrs. Mortimer came in sight of the cottage, the walls of which were glistening white amidst the summer evening semi-obscurity; and her heart beat quickly as she thought of the long--long time that had elapsed since she last saw that spot where _she_ also had been arrested on a capital charge!

What changes--what vicissitudes had marked her existence since that epoch!

She had been in Newgate, and had there given birth to a daughter, who had accompanied her into exile:--the daughter had grown up--had become as profligate, though not altogether as criminal as her mother--and had at length defied the authority of that parent who thus surpassed her in the extent of her iniquity!

Yes--many and striking had been the events that had characterised the old woman’s career since last she saw those white, glistening walls:--but there was the cottage apparently unchanged in outward appearance,--although it was more completely hemmed in by trees than when she quitted it upwards of nineteen years back.

For the large trees which were there in her time, had grown larger, and the saplings had expanded into trees also;--and a high, thick, verdant hedge surrounded the garden.

“Ah!” thought the old woman to herself, as she sped down the lane, “I could almost wish that the cottage was mine, and that I might retire with a competency to this sweet seclusion, no more to commingle in the strife and turmoil of the great--the busy--the jarring world. But this may not be! My life is destined to be stormy until the end. I feel that it is--and I must yield to the destiny that urges me on!”

Melancholy sentiments had risen up in her soul as she gave way to these thoughts; but their current was suddenly cut short--or rather diverted into another channel, when, emerging from the lane, she found herself in front of the cottage.

A light was visible through the shutters of the parlour--that very parlour where Sir Henry Courtenay was murdered, and whither she herself was borne in a fainting fit, after having been arrested in the hall on a charge of forgery.

A cold shudder crept over the old wretch, hardened and heartless as she was: for she remembered all the acuteness--all the intensity of the anguish she had experienced, when she had awakened to consciousness on that dread occasion, and found herself in the custody of the servitors of justice.

Exercising, however, a powerful control over her feelings, she stepped up to the front-door, and knocked boldly,--not in a sneaking, timid, uncertain manner, but with firmness and decision.

The summons was almost immediately answered by a pretty-looking, neatly-dressed, and very respectable servant-maid of about eighteen or nineteen; and Mrs. Mortimer’s eyes now commanded a view of the hall where the constables had made her their prisoner,--that fatal incident which became as it were an ominous and most conspicuous finger-post in the road of her chequered existence!

“Can I be permitted, without causing inconvenience, to speak a few words to your master or mistress?” inquired Mrs. Mortimer, subduing the feelings aroused by the reminiscences of the past, and addressing herself to the business of the present.

“Surely you must have made some mistake,” said the servant-girl, speaking, however, in a mild and respectful tone. “No gentleman resides here.”

“Then allow me to see your mistress, young woman,” persisted Mrs. Mortimer, slipping two half-crowns into the maid’s hand.

“I will carry your message to my mistress,” said the domestic coldly, and at the same time indignantly repulsing the proffered bribe. “Walk in, if you please.”

Mrs. Mortimer entered the hall; and as the light of the lamp suspended to the ceiling now fell fully upon her, the servant-maid saw that she was somewhat meanly dressed, and that her countenance was none of the most pleasant to look upon. The impression thus made upon the domestic was not particularly favourable towards the old woman; but the girl was artless and unsuspicious naturally, and therefore strove to smother a feeling which she fancied to be uncharitable towards a complete stranger. She was therefore about to enter the parlour to deliver the message of the visitor, when the door of that room suddenly opened, and a beautiful young creature, of about nineteen, made her appearance.

We must pause for a for minutes to describe the being that burst, like a seraphic vision, upon the amazed and dazzled sight of Mrs. Mortimer.

Picture to yourself, reader, a tall, sylph-like figure of exquisite symmetry, reminding the observer of the Grecian models of classic female beauty,--with the deeply-hollowed back--the swelling chest and bosom, well matured but not voluptuously large--and the high, swan-like neck on which the oval head was gracefully fixed,--then fancy a countenance of the most agreeable expression and rare loveliness, with eyes not very large, but of the deepest black and most melting softness, and with brows finely arched and somewhat thickly pencilled,--a forehead lofty and smooth, and over which the raven hair was parted in two massive, shining bands,--a nose with the slightest trace of the Roman curve, and with the nostrils pink as delicate rose-leaves,--a small mouth, the least thing plump and pouting, and revealing teeth small, even, and white as pearls,--and a complexion of a clear, living white, with the carnation flush of health upon either cheek;--picture to yourself all this assemblage of charms, gentle reader, and you will then have a complete idea of the enchanting creature of nineteen, who suddenly appeared on the threshold of the parlour-door.

We may, however, add, ere we resume the thread of our narrative, that this beauteous being was attired in a white dress, with a high corsage, and that she wore no other ornaments than a pair of ear-rings, and a fancy ring on one of her taper fingers.

Advancing towards Mrs. Mortimer, she said in a musical voice and a kind tone, “I think I overheard you request a few minutes’ interview with the mistress of this house----”

“Such was indeed the favour I solicited,” observed the old woman, hastily. “If my presence would not inconvenience you for a little while,--and if you will accept my sincere apologies for the apparent obtrusiveness of the request, as well as for the lateness of the hour at which it is made----”

“Oh! pray do not deem it necessary to excuse a proceeding which I am sure you will explain to my satisfaction,” interrupted the young lady, with a sincerity which emanated from the artlessness of a disposition entirely unsophisticated. “Walk in, madam,” she added, in a kind and by no means ceremonial tone, as she conducted Mrs. Mortimer into the parlour, the door of which the servant-maid immediately closed behind them.

Mrs. Mortimer now found herself in the very room which was fraught with so many exciting and varied reminiscences for her. The golden lustre of the handsome lamp which stood upon the table, was shed upon the scene of those crushing incidents that had suddenly made her a prisoner for a forgery which she had committed, and her husband a prisoner on a charge of murder of which he was innocent!

The old woman sank into a chair, and gazed around her with no affectation of emotion. The appointments of the room were changed--materially changed, it was true: but her eyes, nevertheless, recognised full well--oh! full well--the very spot where had stood the sofa on which she had awakened to the consciousness of her desperate condition,--the spot, too, where Torrens was standing when the officers arrested him on suspicion of the murder of Sir Henry Courtenay!

For a few minutes the old woman was powerfully affected by the recollections thus vividly conjured up; but, at length calling all her courage to her aid, she regained her self-possession--and then a rapid survey made her acquainted with the elegant and tasteful style in which the parlour was now fitted up. All the furniture seemed to be nearly new. Upon the table in the middle were several drawings, in pencil and in water-colours, lying in an open portfolio--a box of paints and brushes--and several prettily bound volumes of the best modern English poets. Where a sofa had been placed in the time when Mrs. Mortimer last knew the cottage, a handsome upright pianoforte now stood; and in the nearest corner was a magnificent harp. On the cheffoniers in the window-recesses were porcelain vases filled with flowers; and to the walls were suspended several excellent pictures, the subjects of which were chiefly landscapes. Everything, in a word, denoted the chaste elegance and delicate refinement of the taste that had presided in the fitting up of that room.

Mrs. Mortimer, having recovered her self-possession, turned towards the young lady, who had been watching her with mingled interest and surprise.

“You will pardon me,” said the old woman, “if I were for a few moments overcome by reminiscence of an affecting nature----”

“Compose yourself, madam--pray, compose yourself,” interrupted the beauteous girl, in a sweet tone and winning manner; for not only was the most artless amiability natural to her, but she thought she perceived in the language of her visitor something superior to what the condition of her apparel and her personal appearance generally would have otherwise led her to infer.

“Never can I sufficiently thank you for the urbanity--the kindness, with which you treat me, my dear young lady!” exclaimed the old woman. “But am I not intruding upon your leisure--perhaps keeping you away from some companion----”

“Oh! no--I am all alone here,” said the young lady, with an ingenuous frankness that excited a feeling of interest--almost of admiration, even in the breast of such an one as Mrs. Mortimer. “When I say alone,” continued the beauteous creature, “I do not of course allude to the servants--because they cannot be called companions, you know; although the old housekeeper is very kind and good-natured; and Jane--the maid who gave you admission just now--is a sweet-tempered girl.”

“And is it possible that you dwell here in complete seclusion!” demanded the old woman, rendering her voice as mild and her manner as conciliating as possible.

“Oh! I am accustomed to this seclusion, as you style it, madam,” exclaimed the young lady, gaily: “for years I have lived in this manner, with my books--my music--my drawings;--and I am very happy,” she added, in a tone which left not a doubt as to the sincerity of her statement. “At the same time,” she continued, after a few moments’ pause, and in a somewhat more serious voice, “I could wish that my dear papa visited me a little oftener--and that circumstances, of which I am however ignorant did not prevent----”

“What! does not your father live with you, my dear young lady?” asked Mrs. Mortimer, surveying her with the most unfeigned surprise.

“Alas! he does not,” replied the artless girl, her looks and her tone now becoming suddenly mournful: but, in the next moment, her countenance brightened up, and she observed, “At the same time I am wrong to give way to sorrow in that respect, since my dear father assures me that the reasons are most important--most grave----”

She checked herself: for it suddenly struck her that she was bestowing her confidence upon one who was a total stranger to her, and that such frankness might possibly be indiscreet.

“And your mother, my dear lady?” said Mrs. Mortimer, interrogatively.

“I never knew her,” answered the lovely creature, in a low and almost sad tone. “But I have been all this time wearying you with remarks and revelations concerning myself--forgetting that I should have first suffered you to give the promised explanation relative to your visit. You may address me as Miss Vernon--or Agnes Vernon, if you choose: for that is my name. And now, tell me the object of your call.”

Mrs. Mortimer gazed in astonishment upon the charming being who was seated opposite to her. Never had the old woman beheld so fascinating a specimen of infantine artlessness and unsophisticated candour. There was nothing artificial--nothing unreal in Agnes Vernon: the innocence of her soul--the purity of her mind--the chastity of her thoughts, were apparent in every word she uttered and in every feature of her bewitching face!

Yes--the old woman gazed long and ardently upon the sweet countenance of that young creature,--gazed as if in an adoration forced upon a savage mind by the apparition of some radiant being from a heavenly sphere!

“Madam, I am waiting for you to reply to me,” said Agnes, looking down and blushing deeply, beneath the steadfast gaze thus fixed upon her.

“A thousand pardons, Miss Vernon,” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer, recovering her self-possession. “I was lost in thought: many--many reflections, of a varied and conflicting nature, pressed upon my mind,--for I must inform you that I was once the occupant of this beautiful little house----”

“Indeed!” ejaculated the young lady, who now began to suspect--or, at least, thought that she had obtained a glimpse of--the motive which had brought her visitor thither. “You have come, then, to cast your eyes upon a spot which is familiar to you?”

“Precisely so, Miss Vernon,” said the old woman. “And now let me announce myself to you as Mrs. Mortimer. I am the widow of a General in the army, and have only just returned from India.”

“Oh! then I can well understand, my dear madam,” cried Agnes, firmly believing every word that was said to her,--“I can well understand your anxiety and longing to visit the place where you doubtless once dwelt with the husband you have lost.”

“You have read my purpose accurately, Miss,” said the old woman, wiping her eyes as if she were moved to tears by reminiscences of the past.

“But this is most singular, indeed!” suddenly exclaimed the young lady.

Mrs. Mortimer gazed upon her with astonishment; for the observation that had just escaped Miss Vernon’s lips was as extraordinary as the impulse which had prompted it was mysterious.

“Yes,” continued the beautiful creature: “this is indeed most singular!”

“Are you surprised at my boldness in thus obtruding myself upon your presence?” asked Mrs. Mortimer, fixing her eyes in a searching manner upon the charming countenance of the young lady: “or do you doubt the existence of the sentiment which brought me hither?”

“Oh! no--no, madam!” exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of the deepest sincerity, while her features suddenly betrayed the grief which she experienced at being suspected of what she would have regarded as a cruel scepticism. “I am sure you could have no other motive for coming hither than the one you alleged: but I said it was singular--because, another person--a few days ago----”

“Ah!” ejaculated Mrs. Mortimer, a sudden idea striking her: in a word, she already felt confident that her visit would not prove abortive, and that she had acted with sagacity in seeking the first trace of Torrens at the very house which he had inhabited years ago.

“You now appear to be surprised in your turn,” observed Agnes, struck by the ejaculation which had burst from the old woman’s lips.

“Yes, dear young lady,” said Mrs. Mortimer; “I was indeed surprised--inasmuch as I gathered from your words that another person, actuated by the same sentiment as that which brought me to this spot----”

“And do you know _that other person_, then?” inquired Agnes.

“That is precisely what I have now to ascertain,” answered the old woman. “The moment I understood the sense of your observation respecting the visit of another individual to the cottage, I began to wonder whether it were any friend of my earlier years--perhaps even a relative----”

“He was an old man, with grey hair and a care-worn countenance,” said Agnes, perceiving that Mrs. Mortimer paused and seemed to be deeply affected; “and he told me that he also had once dwelt in this house. He sate down in this very parlour, and appeared to be overcome with grief for a long time. I offered to leave the room, that he might be alone with his mournful reflections: but he conjured me to stay. And then he informed me that he had known griefs so profound--vicissitudes so terrible--privations so great, that they had almost driven him mad; and, when I proposed in as delicate a manner as possible to afford him such relief as my means would permit, he assured me that he was poor no longer, and that he had gold at his command. Then, in another moment, he exclaimed, with an emphasis which almost frightened me--‘_But, oh! that I were indeed the penniless, half-starving wretch I was some days ago!_’”

“Ah! he said _that_--did he?” muttered the old woman to herself. “Remorse has already overtaken him--and he will the more easily yield to my menaces and become my victim!”

“I did not catch your observation, madam,” said Agnes.

“I was only musing, my dear child,” hastily responded Mrs. Mortimer, “upon the misfortunes of this strange world of ours. Doubtless some dreadful affliction had touched the brain of that poor old man of whom you have been speaking.”

“Such was indeed my fear,” exclaimed Agnes; “and, much as I pitied him, I confess that I was greatly relieved when he took his departure.”

“Was his visit a long one, my dear young lady?” asked Mrs. Mortimer.

“He remained here for upwards of an hour,” was the reply.

“And was it in the evening that he called?” inquired the old woman.

“Yes--between eight and nine o’clock; and he rose from his seat as the time-piece struck ten,” responded Agnes. “I know not precisely wherefore--but it is nevertheless true that his presence began to alarm me, although I had done him no injury, and indeed had never in my life seen him before. But there was such a wild expression in his eyes----”

“Ah! doubtless the poor old man was overcome by many painful recollections,” said Mrs. Mortimer. “I suppose he did not mention his name to you, Miss Vernon?”

“No--and I did not like to ask him,” was the frank and ingenuous reply. “His mind was evidently much unsettled,--for it alternated between a profound grief and a restless excitement--so that while he was here, I was at one moment moved to sympathise with him, and at another forced to regard him with vague apprehension. When he spoke of the fact that he himself had once been the occupant of this dwelling, he glanced hastily around the parlour, and murmured three or four times in a tone scarcely audible, ‘_This is the very room--the very room!_’ I could not divine what he meant, and of course dared not ask him,” added Agnes, with that charming ingenuousness of manner which denoted the pure child of nature, untainted by the artificial formalities of a vitiated state of society.

“How long have you resided here, Miss?” inquired the old woman, after a brief pause, during which she reflected on all that the beauteous girl had just told her,--at the same time chuckling inwardly at the certainty of having ascertained two grand facts: namely, that Torrens was possessed of plenty of gold, and that he was in London.

“I have lived in this pretty house for nearly three years, madam,” answered Agnes. “Before that period I----But now,” she added, checking herself, “I am again troubling you with my own affairs, whereas you have sufficient upon your mind to engross all your attention. Oh! yes--you must have,” exclaimed the artless girl,--“having only just returned to England after so long an absence in India! But you did not tell me whether you recognised in the old gentleman of whom I have been speaking, any relative or friend--any person, in fine, in whom you are interested.”

“Yes, my dear young lady,” responded Mrs. Mortimer; “methinks that he cannot be altogether unknown to me;--and yet, my thoughts are so bewildered at this moment--the reminiscences which have been awakened in my mind by this visit to a spot where I myself once dwelt, and where I have passed so many happy hours with my dear deceased husband, General Mortimer----”

“Oh! do not weep, madam--compose yourself, I beseech you!” exclaimed Agnes, whose unsuspicious soul was touched by the grief which her artful visitor simulated so aptly.

“Dear young lady,” murmured Mrs. Mortimer, pressing Miss Vernon’s hand to her lips, “you will perhaps allow me to visit you again?”

“Oh! certainly,” was the reply, given with cheerful and unaffected cordiality. “You are the widow of an officer of high rank--and therefore I cannot be doing wrong by receiving you at my house. At the same time,” added Agnes, after a moment’s reflection, “I do not imagine that my father----”

But the young lady’s remark was cut short in the middle by a loud knocking at the front-door. Mrs. Mortimer started up, as she felt that she was an intruder, and that her business there was of an equivocal character not likely to stand the test of any inquiry that might be put by a person less artless and unsophisticated than Miss Vernon herself: but that young lady, having a pure conscience, and not dreaming that she had even acted with imprudence in permitting a stranger to foist herself upon her, said in a cheerful manner, “Oh! it is my father’s knock--I know it well! You need not be uneasy.”

At this moment the parlour-door opened, and the pretty maid-servant appeared on the threshold to usher in a gentleman of whose personal appearance we must give a brief description.