 | CHAPTER XVI.
THE ABDUCTION. Oliver Goldfinch, or, The hypocrite |  |
16. CHAPTER XVI.
THE ABDUCTION.
Hurrying to the nearest coach-stand,
Wesley sprang into the first vehicle
he came to, and bade the driver urge his
horses to Elizabeth street, as if life and
death depended on his speed. When the
carriage stopped at the place designated,
he leaped out in haste, and was immediately
joined by Acton, who said, in a low
tone:
“Curses on your laziness, Wes! I have
been waiting till the marrow of my bones
seems froze. Had you delayed five minutes
longer, I should have been cosily making
love to that pretty seamstress up
there, and warming myself by her cheerful
fire.”
“And you'd have spoiled all by doing
so,” replied the other; “and my plan
wouldn't have been worth repeating.”
“I don't know about that. I think the
girl would have been perfectly satisfied
with such a good looking gallant by her
side;” and again he stroked his chin, as
was his wont when egotism led him to
compliment himself. “But I didn't do it,
Wesley, you know; and so for the plan
at once—for I am very impatient to be
off.”
“Well, you must remember and follow
my instructions to the letter, or all's up
with us. In the first place, you must be
very civil to the girl—must not even ask
questions you, and then only to answer
her.”
“What! and must I not make love, eh?”
“Pshaw! be done with your nonsense.
The girl thinks she's going to be taken to
a friend's house, a long ways off, which
she never saw nor the friends either.”
“Good! I like that—it is capital. But
what is her name, Wes?”
“Hush! You must of course take
a long ride before you come to Mott street;
and no matter what she asks or asserts,
you must pretend you know all about it,
and answer to please her.”
“Good again—that I can do.”
“May be she'll think she knows the
place, and that it isn't her friend's house;
but you must swear it is, you know, and
say the resemblance is great and so on.”
“I understand.”
“And then, when you've once got her
under cover, why you know what to do
better than I can tell you.”
“Right there, my diamond!”
“Your own name, for the present, is Mr.
Wallace, and you're a particular friend
of the Mortons.”
“What Mortons?” inquired Acton,
quickly, in an altered tone.
“O, hang it! any Mortons to suit her.”
“Bravo!—ha, ha!—I take.”
“And that's all. Now I'll go and bring
her down to you, and you can tell the
driver where to go.”
Saying which, Wesley separated from
Acton, and ascending the stairs, knocked
at Virginia's door. In a moment it cautiously
opened, and the latter, all pale,
and tearful, and seemingly heart-broken,
stood before him. A sight of her disconsolate
appearance, and the remembrance
of its being caused by his own villainy,
somewhat touched the callous heart of
even Nathan Wesley, and he muttered to
himself:
“If it wasn't I know no harm 'll come
to her—curse me if I'd go on with this affair
any farther! As it is, she'll think me
a scoundrel, and so will Ellen. But no
matter; I've been so considered all my
life, and might as well have the game as
the blame.”
Then addressing her:
“Well, Miss Courtly,” he said, “the
coach is at the door, and Mr. Wallace
waits with it to conduct you to the Mortons,
who'll be happy to see you as soon
as possible.”
“You have seen them, then?” said Virginia,
eagerly.
“Have seen them.”
“And what said they of my brother?”
“Why, that you needn't give yourself
any uneasiness, Miss Courtly—that he'd
soon be free.”
“Thanks! thanks, sir, for your kindness!
Oh, poor Edgar! how much he has
to suffer! And then to sleep in a prison!”
“I beg pardon, ma'am,” interrupted Wesley,
who was fearful of a scene, and impatient
to take himself off: “I beg pardon—but
the coach is waiting, and Mr.
Wallace bade me ask you would hurry, as
it is already late.”
“I will be ready in a moment,” returned
Virginia; and hastily covering the fire,
putting on her bonnet and shawl, she
blew out the light, locked the door, and
accompanied Wesley down stairs.
The coach was standing ready, with the
door open; and assisting Virginia into it,
Wesley motioned Acton, who stood at a
little distance, to approach, when he
simply introduced him as Mr. Wallace.—
Then seeing him seated by Virginia, he
shut the door and sung out to the driver that
all was right. Crack went the whip, and
away rolled the carriage, to the great
satisfaction of the attorney, who, watching
it out of sight, shook his fist after it, and
muttered:
“You called me an insolent dog to-night
did you, Master Acton?—and your father
says he'll make his money save him! By
my soul! I'm neither a dog nor a fool, as
you both shall find out to your cost before
many days;” and chuckling inwardly at
some schemes of his own, he turned away
and directed his steps to Mott street.
Stationing himself nearly opposite the
lodgings of Ellen, Wesley rather impatiently
awaited the arrival of the vehicle containing
the cousins. And sorely was his
patience tried; for it was a cold night, and
a full hour before the carriage made its
at the right place, and immediately the
figure of a man sprang from it and assisted
a female to alight. The latter looked
around curiously, and then Wesley
heard her say:
“Why, is this Calvin Morton's?”
“Calvin Morton's!” exclaimed Acton,
in astonishment; and then remembering
Wesley's instructions, he quickly added:
“Ah—yes—O, I had forgot. Yes, this
is the place—this is Morton's.
“Strange!” said Virginia, glancing
round and over the way, to the very spot
where her poor mother had breathed her
last. “It all looks very familiar to me, and I
could almost make oath I stand in Mott
street.”
“Yes,” said Acton, hurriedly, and rapping
heavily on the door—“there is some
resemblance, I own. How tardy servants
are,” he continued, for the purpose of engaging
the other's attention till he could
get her within the house. “I am sometimes
completely out of patience, waiting
their slow motions. Ah, here ls one
at last!” he added, as he heard the rattling
of bolts and chains; and almost at the
same moment the door opened slightly,
and a voice from within said:
“Who's there?”
“It is I—Mr. Wallace,” answered Acton,
loudly; and then in a hurried whisper,
too low to reach the ears of Virginia, added:
“Acton Goldfinch, with a lady. Open
quick, and call me Wallace!”
The door immediately swung open, and
Mr. Wallace was politely invited to enter.
“This is the lady of whom I went in
quest,” he continued, slyly winking at the
attendant. “Show us up stairs, and (winking
again) send Mrs. Morton to us at once.”
Then watching his opportunity, he whispered
in the attendant's ear: “Conduct us
to the Green Room, as we call it, and
send your mistress after a little, and tell
her my name is Wallace, and hers Morton.
I have a beauty to tame, you see.
Isn't she pretty?”
The other nodded and smiled.
“And how is Ellen?”
“Not well.”
“Curse her! she always was getting
sick, and so I've picked up something better.
But mum! Not a word to her of
this!”
Then joining Virginia, Acton said he
had just been giving the servant a few instructions,
and forthwith conducted her into
a very handsomely furnished apartment,
though possessing nothing of the gorgeousness
of Ellen's, from which a door
opened into a bed-room, of which this was
the ante-room or parlor. On the center-table
stood a globe lamp, which sent forth
a soft, pleasant light, and a cheerful fire
was burning in the grate. Placing a couple
of chairs before the latter, Acton requested
Virginia to remove her bonnet and
shawl and be seated. Scarcely had she
done so, when the door opened,and the mistress
of the house, familiarly known as
Madame Costellan, entered. Acton rose
and introduced her to Virgina as Mrs.
Morton, but did not introduce Virginia to
her, for the simple reason he did not know
her name himself, owing to the cunning
precaution of Wesley, who rightly judged
such knowledge would ruin his scheme;
for base as Acton Goldfinch was, he had
a family pride, and would just as soon have
meditated the cutting of his own throat as
treating his kinswoman in this scandalous
manner.
But circumstances had completely deceived
him in this matter. In the first
place, his plotting father had never told
either of his children that the Courtlys
were in the city—in fact, he never at any
time mentioned the name of Courtly in
their presence—and hence, neither dreamed
of having indigent relations so near.
In the nextplace, Acton had seen Virginia
for the first time when she was procuring
work, as already recorded; and struck
with her beauty, and believing her an ordinary
seamstress, had made the insulting
advances which were checked by Dudley,
whom he knew as an honorable young
man, and therefore little cared to meet
under such humiliating circumstances.—
He had apparently departed an entirely
different course to the one pursued by
Dudley and Virginia, but, notwithstanding,
had kept them in view and traced the latter
he had related his adventure to Wesley,
whom he had long before discovered an
adept in the arts of villainy, and offered
him fifty dollars if he would find a way to
place this girl in his power. Wesley, ever
ready to gain money without any scruples
as to honesty, soon reconnoitered the
premises, and found, much to his surprise
and gratification, it was the abode of Edgar
and Virginia, for whom he had been
searching since their removal from Mott
street. This fact he at once made known
to the millionaire, but concealed from Acton,
well aware that to inform him the
girl was his own cousin, would be to lose
himself the fifty dollars, besides a little
quiet revenge, which he had determined
on from the first, in order to wipe
out old scores. As chance would have
it, and as he partially expected, Wesley
was enabled to kill two birds with one
stone; for the arrest of Edgar gave him
an opportunity to entrap Virginia, in what
manner the reader has already seen. At
first Wesley had thought of nothing more
than to gain his reward and revenge, by
getting Acton to abduct his cousin, and
leaving him to his own chagrin, mortification
and disappointment when he
should become aware of the fact, which
he doubted not would occur in time to
avoid serious consequences. But when
Acton again insulted him, he determined
to be more deeply revenged, and therefore,
guided by circumstances, took the course
already described.
Wearing different habiliments—never
having scanned his features closely,
and her mind, too, being otherwise occupied—Virginia
had not as yet recognized
in Acton the individual who once insulted
her.
Having thus, we trust, explained every
thing to the satisfaction of the reader, we
will again take up the thread of our story.
On being introduced as Mrs. Morton,
Madame Costellan bowed to her guest,
eyeing her closely the while, and then advancing,
offered her her hand and bade
her welcome. But she had a part of her
own to play, under the directions of Ellen;
and turning to Acton, she whispered a
few words in his ear, and both left the
apartment together. Scarcely had the
door closed behind them, when it again
opened quickly, and Ellen Douglas, entering
in haste, flew to Virginia, her features
very pale and her step nervous with excitement.
Surprised, yet pleased to see
her where she least expected, Virginia
started to her feet, with a smile of recognition,
and extending her hand, exclaimed:
“You here, Ellen Douglas?”
“Rather let me say, you here, Virginia
Courtly!—alas! poor girl! you little dream
where!” said the other, hurriedly.
“What mean you?” asked Virginia,
alarmed at Ellen's tone and manner.
“That you are in the snares of a villain,
who, but for the treachery of a confederate,
might soon have had another
damning sin added to his long catalogue,
already stretched beyond God's mercy.”
“You alarm me!—you speak in riddles
—I cannot comprehend!”
“Poor girl! you little know you are beneath
a roof which covers none but guilty
heads.”
“And are the Mortons, then, so base?”
“The Mortons!” cried Ellen, in her turn
astonished; “what Mortons?”
“Is not this the house of Calvin Morton,
to which my brother, who has just
been dragged to prison for a crime he never
committed, bade me instantly repair?”
“Calvin Morton!” exclaimed Ellen,
still more astonished: “Are you then acquainted
with him or his family?”
“I am not—but Edgar is. Good heavens!
what do you mean, Ellen? Am I
not beneath his roof?”
“I would to God you were! No! you
are beneath the roof that has long sheltered
me—within a stone's throw of where
your poor mother died.”
“Merciful God!—do you speak truth?—
you set my poor brain in a whirl of bewilderment!”
“No wonder, girl, if you fancied yourself
secure at Calvin Morton's. You have
been deceived, Virginia—wofully deceived
—and by the same villain who first deceived
me—whom I once loved but now hate—
your own cousin—Acton Goldfinch.”
“Impossible!” gasped Virginia, too
much astonished, alarmed and bewildered
to say more.
“All true as holy writ! It was Acton
Goldfinch that brought you here—but by
what juggler's art I know not. Tell me
how it chanced, and I in return will tell
you what I know. Be quick, or we may
be interrupted before my plans are completed!”
and hurriedly Virginia and Ellen
related to each other the prominent events
of the night.
“You are supposed,” said Ellen, in conclusion,
“to be a poor, unprotected girl,
and are brought here for the worst of purposes—that
Acton Goldfinch may triumph
over me. But I have him, and he shall
sneak from this house like a whipped cur!
—or,” she added, with a wild, vindictive
glare, “he shall hence on a journey
that sends no travellers back. Calm
your agitation — act as though nothing
had occurred to annoy you—let him
draw himself into his own devilish snare.
Fear not; all is arranged; no harm shall
come to you. He knows you not yet—
but he shall, and to his sorrow. I will be
near you—so fear not! Hark! I hear
steps. I must conceal myself. Remember!
be calm and firm!” and Ellen sprang
into the adjoining apartment, leaving Virginia
half frightened out of her senses,
just as the other door opened and admitted
Acton Goldfinch.
“I beg pardon for keeping you so long
waiting alone!” he said, blandly, searching
in vain on both sides of the lock for
the key, which the wise precauton of Ellen
had removed. “Curse it!” he muttered
to himself, as he closed the door and
sprung a bolt, which might prevent ingress
if not egress; and then turning to
Virginia, he added, with a smile, and in
the softest tone he could assume: “Mrs.
Morton wished to see me on a little private
business—but I fear my absence has
made the time tedious. Ha!” he ejacuulated,
for the first time marking the agitation
of Virginia, and coming close to
her; “what has happened to make you
tremble so, and look so pale?”
“I am not well,” she answered, shuddering
and turning away her head.
“Nay, sweet girl,” he said, placing one
hand carelessly on her shoulder, “do not
turn away from one who loves you.”
With the bound of a tiger springing
upon its prey, Virginia leaped from her
seat, and with heaving bosom and flashing
eyes boldly confronted her cousin. As
she did so, she for the first time became
aware that he who now stood before her
was the same who had once insulted her.
“Ha! I know you now,” she said, indignantly.
“This is not the first time we
have met. Go! I would not see your face
again. Go! and send my friends to me.”
“I am your friend,” rejoined Acton;
“the best friend you have in the world.—
See here,” and he proffered her a well
filled purse.
Crimson with shame and indignation,
Virginia looked him defiantly in the eye
for a moment, and then said, with assumed
composure, and in a tone peculiar for its
determined distinctness:
“Go, sir, ere I call those here who will
chastise you for a scoundrel!”
Acton laughed.
“Do not think to intimidate me, my
pretty one,” he said: “I have tamed many
a one as wild as you. Come! let me
swear to you I love you.”
“And swear falsely, villain!”
“No, on my honor, truly! I love you,
and you alone; and it was to tell you my
love I brought you here.”
“Here!” echoed Virginia, in pretended
surprise, carrying out the instructions of
Ellen. “Did I not come here at my own
request?”
“Not exactly.”
“How so? Is not this the house of
Calvin Morton?”
“Calvin Morton!” exclaimed Acton,
turning pale, and his whole manner changing.
“Do you then know Calvin Morton
or his family?”
“O, no!” answered Virginia; “but I
have understood he is a great lawyer, and
my brother wished me to see him.”
“O, yes,” rejoined Acton, greatly relieved,
“he is a great lawyer, and to-morrow
I will take you to him, and will go
bail for your brother besides—that is,” he
added, “if you will not treat my love with
you here, I admit; but then you will recollect
it was done for love and forgive me
—will you not, my little beauty?”
Virginia replied not; and Acton, fancying
he had made some impression, proceeded
in a still softer and more musical
strain:
“O, if you did but know how ardently I
love you—how I have pined for your sweet
presence ever since I first beheld you—
how I have sworn to prize and adore
you above all others—I am sure you
would let your beautiful eyes, in which
there is a heaven of blue, look pityingly
upon me and bid me hope! Come, dearest,
sit thee down, and let me breathe my
tale of holy love into, I trust, a not unwilling
ear!” and he approached to take her
hand.
“Off!” cried Virginia, playing her part;
“you do not love me!”
“By heavens, I do! By all things bright
and beautiful, on earth or above earth—
by all the beaming stars, which are no
match for your sparkling eyes—I swear
to you I love you, and only you—that I
never loved before, and never will again!”
“Then if you love me, you will do what
I command.”
“Any thing, my angel!—only name it,
and it shall be done.”
“Stand aside, then, and let me pass,
and do not attempt to follow,” returned
Virginia, resolutely, taking a step or two
toward the door, as if to quit the apartment.
“Nay, not that—any thing but that!”
cried Acton, springing forward and intercepting
her. “You must not leave here
so soon.”
“What, sir!—dare you stop me? Begone,
I tell you, or I will alarm the
house!”
“Well, then,” answered Acton, with a
smile of triumph, “I may as well inform
you, that your alarming the house, as you
call it, will avail you nothing, since it is
well understood here that you and I are
lovers. None, I assure you, will interfere,
even should you cry your lungs hoarse;
so make your calculations accordingly.”
“But I will pass!” persisted Virginia.
“Nay, you shall not!” cried Acton,
catching hold of her; “and for the attempt,
even, I will have a kiss, if I die for it.”
Virginia gave a piercing scream, and
struggled violently to escape—but in
vain.
“Be quiet, do!” said Acton: “I tell you
I will have a kiss, and resistance is useless;”
and as he struggled to make good
his boast, Virginia screamed again.
At this moment a third figure, unseen
by Acton, glided swiftly to his side, and
the voice of Ellen sounded in his ear.
“Wretch!” she cried; “guilty wretch!
what do you with the innocent more?—
Have you not damned your soul enough
already?”
“Ha!” exclaimed Acton, turning fierce-upon
the intruder, almost overpowered
with surprise and rage: “What do you
here, interfering with my affairs?”
“I come to protect the unprotected—to
guard the innocent—to right the wronged
and curse the guilty! For shame, vile
wretch that you are—base miscreant—for
shame! Down on your knees and sue for
the pardon of her who is your equal in
birth, as she is your superior in virtue so
much as Heaven is of Hell! Is it not
enough that you would wrong and have
wronged those who are no akin to you,
but you must bring your hellish deeds
home upon your own relation—your father's
sister's child?
“What is the meaning of this?” cried
Acton, all amazement.
“It means, vile dog! that you have this
night enticed away, for a base purpose,
your own poor cousin, Virginia Courtly;
and that but for a more honest villain than
yourself, you might have been guilty of a
crime for which slow death on the rack
were the only adequate punishment!”
“My cousin!” exclaimed Acton, looking
at Virginia. “Impossible! This is
some trick to deceive me! I have no
cousins in the city—the Courtlys are in
Baltimore.”
“On my part,” returned Virginia, “there
is no deceit. As sure as your name is
Acton Goldfinch, mine is Virginia Courtly;
and as sure as you are the son of Oliver
Goldfinch, I am the child of his late
though I shame to own it, and would to
Heaven I could sunder the tie of consanguinity.”
“Hear you that, most monstrous of
monsters?” hissed Ellen in bis ear. “Go!
take your worthless body hence!—crawl
away like a thrice-beaten cur!—and the
next time you attempt to triumph over me,
entice your own sister to be your companion,
and be sure you have neither confidants
nor confederates!”
“By —! there is such a thing as
goading me too far, Ellen Douglas; and
though I played the coward twice to you
—mark me! I will never do it again: so
beware, ere you crowd a desperate man
too far!”
“You fancy yourself desperate and no
coward?” asked Ellen, quickly, with a
singular, almost unearthly gleam in her
dark eye, which she fixed piercingly upon
Acton's.
“I fancy myself both,” replied Acton:
“so be careful!”
“Now will I prove you,” she cried, triumphantly.
“Here are two vials, (holding
one in each hand) both alike, and
both contain the deadliest of poison. If
you are desperate, and not a coward, now
is the time to wipe out your disgrace. I
dare you to the trial! Drain you one, I
will the other;” and she reached both toward
him, that he might take his choice.
At first Acton turned pale and took a
step back, as if aghast at the idea. The
next moment a malicious smile of triumph
flashed over his features and sparkled
in his eyes; and seizing one of the vials,
he threw out the cork suddenly, and crying,
“I accept your challenge,” placed
it to his lips.
Quick as lightning Ellen imitated the
movement, and would have drank, but for
Virginia, who, with a scream of terror,
sprang forward and dashed the poison to
the floor.
“Here is the other,” said Acton, coolly,
reaching his own vial toward Ellen. “I
was only trying to see if you were in earnest.”
Ere Ellen could reply, there came a
heavy rap on the door; and springing for
ward she threw it open. To her surprise,
a fine, noble-looking gentleman, accompanied
by two roughly clad individuals, entered,
one of which latter stepping up to
the astonished Acton, laid a hand heavily
on his shoulder, saying gruffly:
“Acton Goldfinch, I arrest you!”
At the same time the foremost, approaching
Virginia, breathed her name in
a low, tender voice. She started, looked
at him eagerly, blushed, hesitated, and
then yielding to a powerful impulse, threw
herself forward, and was caught half fainting
in the arms, and tenderly strained to
the wildly beating heart of—Dudley.
| CHAPTER XVI.
THE ABDUCTION. Oliver Goldfinch, or, The hypocrite | |