Chicago, Oct. 14, 18—.To S. Hazelton, Esq.,MontrealPerson answering description in advertisement inTribunefound here to-day, and placed under medical treatment.What shall we do?J——P——,—for Chief of Police.
Mr. Hazelton immediately telegraphed a reply, and, taking the next train, was soon able to identify his lost wife. The sight of him made the poor creature worse, and he was forbidden to call till she was in a less excitable condition. In about a week, though still suffering, she was removed to Montreal, and placed under the care of Dr. X——, to whom I communicated what I knew concerning her antecedents. In a comparatively short time she grew much better, and was able to converse intelligently, the subject of her departure and her illness being carefully avoided. Her husband attributed her mental aberration to the old cause, although why she should have gone to Chicago, he never could exactly understand.
Many years have now passed since these occurrences, and all the parties to this narrative are still alive. Mrs. Hazelton has never recovered from the effects of the shock received in Chicago, and sits brooding mournfully and in secret over her past transgressions, while her husband with unceasing devotion heaps coals of fire on her head. Grandison has since moved to New York, where he married again, and became an altered man. I met him in Montreal a short time since, but he carefully avoided all mention of either Mr. or Mrs. Hazelton, and did not dare to call either on them or the Sedleys. Once or twice his name was mentioned at the house of the latter, but it seemed to awaken sad recollections in the breast of Mrs. Hazelton, and was consequently avoided by the family. The latter have lived so far in ignorance of these occurrences, and it is to be hoped they will never be undeceived.
While still young, and unused to the many strange phases of life I had an adventure which, at that period of my career, made a deep impression on my mind. A rough-looking man called on me, and requested my immediate attendance on a sick woman at Point St. Charles, at that time a remote suburb of Montreal. As I hesitated to go with him, having a strange dread of accompanying him to such a lonely place, he seemed to think I was afraid of not receiving my fee, and, pulling a long purse out of his pocket he took out a handful of gold pieces, one of which he tendered me an advance. This made me all the more reluctant to accompany him, as I feared he might be a robber or freebooter of some kind, but, quickly controlling my emotions, I set my reason to work, and argued that, whatever he might be, he could have no motive other than that assigned for taking me with him, that he could gain nothing by way-laying or even murdering me, and so I put on my outer garments and got into the carriage beside him. The night was wet and stormy, and, just as we started, forked lightning flashed across the heavens in all directions, causing the horse to dash madly along as if to overturn the vehicle. This of course was a mere coincidence, but, with all my firmness of will and sound logical reasons for not being afraid, I could not altogether control my emotions as we drove through the lowest and dirtiest parts of Griffintown, which had at that time the reputation of harboring all sorts of Fenians, thieves and marauders. We crossed the canal and got out into the country, the rain descending in torrents, while the thunder crashed louder than ever. I believe that, had I been able to get out, I would have even then retreated, but I had no alternative but to remain and make the most of my position. Beyond a few words at starting, my companion said little; indeed conversation was impossible, as were jolted from side to side of the street, and the crashing of the thunder overhead would have drowned our most powerful efforts.
After about half an hour’s ride, the carriage stopped at a lonely house some distance on the Lower Lachine road, and, alighting, we entered, when I was piloted into an upper chamber, where a woman lay on a couch in need of my attendance. I felt altogether re-assured now, and at once opened my satchel to make the necessary preparations for my stay; still the room had not the air of an ordinary bedroom, and the presence of three men, all as rough-looking as my guide, made me suspicious as to their calling, more particularly as there was not a woman to be seen save my patient.
As soon as I had divested myself of my wet garments and hung them at the fire to dry, the men left the room, and I ordered the woman to undress and go to bed, which she did. I then tried to get some information from her as to who her husband was, and what was the occupation of the men I had seen, but she either was or pretended to be too sick to enter into conversation, and I was obliged to restrain my curiosity for the time at least. In about two hours the woman gave birth to a boy, and as soon as I could leave with safety, I donned my clothes and left for home, the man who had engaged me putting me into a cab with great politeness, and paying the driver, he ordered him to deposit me in safety at my residence.
The next morning I was surprised to read in the paper that a quantity of arms and ammunition had been sent here from the Fenian headquarters in New York, and that although it was known that they were secreted somewhere about Griffintown, the police had been altogether baffled in their search for them. A new light now dawned upon me, particularly as I recollected that the room in which my patient lay was filled with long, coffin-shaped boxes, the uses of which I had been unable to guess. I accordingly consulted with my husband as to what course I should pursue. Was I, having come by this information in my professional capacity, to shut my eyes to these doings, or, taking advantage of my position, to inform the police? My husband argued in this way:—If these people had been guilty of a crime, which could not now be ameliorated or averted, it would be a straining point for me to take advantage of what I had learnt by accident and to bring them to justice; but that as in this case a great national troublemight be averted, and many lives saved, by timely information, it was my duty to exert myself in the interests of the community by putting a check on their movements. With this end in view I communicated with Mr. P——, then Chief of Police, and from my description he said he had no doubt but these were the very persons of whom they were in search, and that if I could only manage to frame an excuse for the introduction of a detective, he would make sure of their identity before making any arrests.
My second visit to the house was made in the morning. I found my patient very weak and feverish, and, although it was only what I had expected, took advantage of the fact to express my fears that the case was one requiring the most skillful treatment, and that unless I were permitted to call in a medical man of eminence, I would not be responsible for the consequence. The woman’s husband was very much averse to this; but, as I urged it strongly, and his wife (of whom he was apparently fond) seconded my request, he finally consented, and the same afternoon called, accompanied by Detective F——, whom I introduced as my consulting physician. Whilst I mixed some simple remedies for my patient, the detective carefully examined the boxes, which he was unable to move, and which we were both convinced contained arms and ammunition for the destruction of the peaceful inhabitants of Montreal. Mr. F—— carefully noted the position of everything in and about the house, he also took a good look at the surroundings, and then we departed for the police station. The Chief was for making an immediate arrest of the whole party, but I dissuaded him, urging him, in the interests of humanity, to wait till the woman was out of danger; he then agreed to wait for a few days, keeping the house and its inmates under constant surveillance.
The woman got better day by day, and at the end of a week, the Chief, fearful lest something might occur to mar his plans, sent a detachment of armed policemen to arrest the Fenian emissaries and capture the stores. In some way or another the men got wind of the affair, and made their escape across the lines, leaving the poor woman and her helpless babe alone and unprotected. The police entered the house unopposed; they found there several dozen, muskets and rifles, also about a hundred bayonets and five thousand rounds of ball cartridge. The woman refused to give the slightest information as to the names or identity of her companions; she said she knew nothing about the arms contained in the boxes, that the latter had been brought there by a strange man, and left in charge of her husband, and that she had never seen them opened. As the men were evidently by this time safe in Uncle Sam’s dominions, the police contented themselves with securing the ammunition, leaving the woman to shift for herself. As I did not like the idea of leaving her in the room alone and uncared for, I explained the matter to the neighbors, who good-naturedly undertook to look after her till she received money from her husband to pay her passage to New York. As, although I had no compunction in assisting to break up this den of ruffians, I pitied the poor woman, who was probably innocent of any crime, I handed her the gold piece which her husband had given me, and did not leave her till assured that the neighbors would look after her till her departure. In later years I have often passed the scene of these transactions, and a shudder passed through my frame as I remembered my experiences among the Fenians.
About the year 1866 I was summoned to attend a lady in Berri street, the wife of an officer in the ——th Rifles. Her husband, Captain O’Grady, had taken a furnished house for the winter, the quarters in the Quebec Barracks being unsuited for the accommodation of a lady of her station, and round the house on every hand evidences might be seen of both wealth, taste and refinement. Mrs. O’Grady was a beautiful woman of about twenty-two, and had only been married about a year; her husband, who was an Irishman, loved her passionately, and gave me particular charges concerning her, bidding me spare neither trouble nor expense to render her illness as little irksome as possible. After her baby (a fine boy) was born I attended her regularly every day, and, as she had travelled in her youth and lived for some time in Germany, she invited me to come and see her in the evenings whenever I was at leisure, so that we might converse in the beautiful language of Schiller and Goethe, and chat about that beautiful far-off land. Captain O’Grady quite approved of this arrangement, and often used to join in the conversation; it was in Germany he had met his wife, and he had a great fancy for the soft German language, although speaking it but imperfectly himself.
Shortly after the birth of his child, Captain O’Grady’s regiment was ordered to Chambly, and he was obliged to separate from his wife for a time. He used to drive in occasionally to Montreal to visit her, but at this season of the year the roads were very bad, and, as the thermometer sometimes fell 20 or even 30 degrees below zero, the journey was usually attended with much discomfort and even some danger. On Christmas Day, Mrs. O’Grady wished her husband to remain at Chambly and dine at the mess, but he insisted on coming into Montreal and dining with his family. He accordingly set out about eleven o’clock in the morning, accompanied by a brother officer named Churchill, a lieutenant in the same regiment.
It was a bitterly cold day, and the snow, which had been falling heavily for some days, was blown in immense drifts across the roads, rendering them almost impassable. The groom, being accustomed to obey, brought the horses round with alacrity when ordered to do so, but he shook his head ominously as he handed the reins to Captain O’Grady, and jumped into the dickey.
Off they flew through the blinding snowdrifts, the fine horses going at a tremendous speed, and threatening to overthrow the sleigh every instant. The hot breath of the horses froze to the head-gear and harness, rendering it perfectly white, and the three men were obliged to pull their fur caps over their ears to avoid their being frozen. They had not proceeded far on their journey when the road, which in summer was clearly defined by fences on either side, diverged somewhat from the ordinary course, and was made, for convenience, through an adjoining farm, being marked with pine branches, stuck at intervals in the snow. As our party proceeded, even these slight indications were invisible, the drifts rising in some places to a height of twelve or fourteen feet. In one of the latter the sleigh stuck fast, and the occupants were obliged to get out, and wading up to their knees in snow to assist the horses to regainterra firma, or at least a more compact body of snow. Whilst engaged in this operation, Mr. Churchill noticed that the groom’s nose was perfectly white, and on examination it was found to be frozen; they accordingly set to work to rub it with snow, and at Captain O’Grady’s suggestion he held a large body of snow to it for the remainder of the journey, which had the effect of thawing it out.
In a short time they regained the high road, and went along at a tremendous pace for three or four miles, when they entered the village of Longueuil, which is situated on the south bank of the St. Lawrence, a little below Montreal. They found the river completely frozen over, the cold being intense, but the ice-bridge had only just been formed, and the surface was rough and uneven, causing the sleigh to oscillate fearfully, threatening every moment to overturn. The storm had by this time increased to a perfect hurricane, and the drifting snow was driven with intense force into the faces of both men and horses, causing the latter to bound and gallop fearfully, to the extreme peril of those behind them. O’Grady, however, was a skillful driver, and kept the horses well in hand, calling to them from time to time in a reassuring manner; as for Churchill, he rather enjoyed the little spice of danger, and, as conversation was out of the question, he lit a cigar, and, drawing the buffalo-robes tightly round him, made himself as comfortable as possible. In a short time they arrived at their destination, and throwing the reins to the groom, O’Grady dashed up stairs and in an instant had his wife in his arms. She remonstrated with him about coming in on such a terrible day, but descended to the drawing-room, and, having welcome Mr. Churchill to her house, ordered the servant to set the table for dinner. Just then the groom entered the house to enquire when the carriage would be required in the evening, and the appearance of his nose set the whole party laughing heartily; his proboscis had assumed a deep red hue, and was swollen to an enormous size, giving him a most comical appearance. O’Grady ordered him to bring the carriage round at ten o’clock, and, dinner just then being announced, they prepared, in true English fashion, to celebrate the Nativity.
After dinner, Mrs. O’Grady entertained the gentlemen with music, and, having chatted on various topics very pleasantly they were aroused to the fact that the evening social intercourse must draw to an end by the clanging of the door-bell announcing the arrival of the groom from the neighboring livery-stable with the horses. Taking an affectionate leave of his wife, and promising to come into Montreal to dinner on the following Sunday, O’Grady mounted the box, followed by the light-hearted Churchill, and cracking his whip was soon speeding rapidly along into the howling storm. Churchill lit another cigar, and shut his eyes to avoid the blinding snowdrifts, while the driver was with difficulty enabled to see his way. Arrived at the suburb known as Hochelaga, O’Grady turned his horses’ heads towards the river, and they dashed across the ice-bridge at the rate of about twelve miles an hour. On they went at a terrible pace, the sleigh bumping and jolting over the rough road, till bang they came upon a piece of ice, on to which the snow had drifted, and over went the sleigh, turning its occupants head first on the hard, icy road. Churchill was first on his feet, and, though bruised and bleeding, succeeded in arresting the horses, who, now thoroughly frightened, were about to run away; the groom also soon recovered himself and ran to the assistance of his master, but the latter was past all human aid, having fallen from the upper side of the sleigh bead foremost on a piece of ice, and broken his neck. His companions were struck dumb with grief and astonishment; however, they could not stand freezing in the middle of the river, so, righting the sleigh, they placed the dead man gently inside it, and drove slowly to Longueuil, where a friendlyhabitantplaced the best room in his house at their disposal.
Mrs. O’Grady, as may well be supposed, was very much shocked at the news of her husband’s death. The body was brought to her house in Montreal, and from thence to Mount Royal Cemetery, where it was interred, a company of rifles firing a volley over the grave. For a time the young widow was undecided whether to go back to her friends in England or to remain in Canada, but, being unwilling to become dependent on her relations, she accepted a situation as governess in a wealthy family residing in the west end of Montreal, placing her infant son under the charge of a nurse.
Mrs. Thomson, in whose service Mrs. O’Grady was employed, was the wife of a wealthy English gentleman who had invested largely in Canadian real estate and national enterprises. She had two daughters, aged 18 and 16, respectively (whom Mrs. O’Grady was expected to train and prepare for entrance into society), also a son about 22, who, although educated as a lawyer, pursued no avocation other than the collection of rents on his father’s estate, and minor offices in connection with the investment of his money. Randolph Thomson, the young gentleman in question, suddenly became very attentive to his sisters. There was not a single concert or ball of importance to which he did not take them, whereas before he could rarely be induced to accompany them anywhere. The girls never tried to account for this sudden change in their brother’s behavior, being too much engrossed in the enjoyment of the entertainments aforesaid to trouble their heads about the matter; Mrs. Grundy, however, had an idea that the handsome widow who officiated as governess had something to do with the affair, and, a rumor of the kind reaching the ears of Mrs. Thomson, the unfortunate widow was eventually obliged to leave the house, much to the regret of the whole family, but especially that of Randolph, whose brotherly attentions suddenly became less marked, and in time ceased altogether.
Mrs. O’Grady, being once more thrown on her own resources, departed for Sherbrooke, one of the most thriving towns in the Eastern Townships, where she endeavored to make a respectable livelihood by teaching music. She chose Sherbrooke rather than Montreal, because in the latter place every lady who wished to earn her own living started out as a music teacher, and the teachers were rapidly threatening to outnumber the pupils, and to equal many of them as regards want of knowledge.
Close to Mrs. O’Grady’s new residence, and removed a short distance from the town, there dwelt a wealthy old farmer named Clarkson. Mr. Clarkson was a bachelor about 65 years old, who, by steady attention to his farm and shrewd speculations, had amassed a considerable fortune, being considered one of the “solid men” of Sherbrooke. Clarkson happening to meet Mrs. O’Grady at the house of one of the principal clergymen, became enamored of her at first sight, and at the first opportunity proposed for her hand. This she was at first loth to give, her heart at the time being elsewhere; but, as Clarkson offered to settle all his property on her and her children, and he himself, though neither young nor handsome, was very agreeable, and held a high position in the community, she finally consented, and was led a second time to the hymeneal altar.
Mr. Clarkson was very proud of his handsome wife, he ordered a handsome phaeton and pair of bay ponies from Montreal for her private use, and gave her an unlimited allowance of pin money, and she might be seen any afternoon, fashionably attired, driving from one shop to another, followed by the admiring eyes of the bank clerks and beaux, and the envious glances of the single young ladies of Sherbrooke.
After three or four months Mrs. Clarkson told her husband that she had been invited to go on a visit to Montreal, and urged him to allow her to accept it, particularly as her little boy was afflicted with sore eyes, and there was no oculist of ability in the town. Her husband readily consented, and, with the promise that she would return in a few weeks, Mrs. Clarkson came to Montreal, and calling at my house informed Madame Charbonneau (in my absence) that she wished to remain there if possible, as she was about to be confined. When I got home she confessed to me that she had been on terms of intimacy with Randolph Thomson, and begged me not to inform her husband, as he was exceedingly jealous, and would kill her if he suspected the true state of affairs.
Promising to do the best I could under the circumstances I had rooms prepared for both her and her boy, and secured the best medical attendance for the latter, whose eyes were in a very bad state from long neglect. It was two weeks before Mrs. Clarkson’s baby (a boy) was born, and very unpleasant rumors were circulated round the town, which, coming to the ears of the old gentleman caused him to write a very stiff letter, ordering his wife to return immediately. This, of course, she could not do, and as she was unable to frame an excuse for refusing to I do so, she determined to take no notice of his letter, and, if brought to task concerning it,to deny having received it, the letter being unregistered. Fortunately for her, if not for himself, her boy’s eyes continued to defy the skill of Dr. Fulford, the oculist to whose care she had committed him, and it was imperative that they should remain in Montreal a week or two longer. This fact was communicated to Mr. Clarkson, but his sister (who had continued to reside with him after his marriage) persuaded him to have nothing more to do with his wife, and related to him the rumors she had heard, allowing them (as may well be supposed) to lose nothing in the narration.
Mrs. Clarkson was naturally very much put out when she learnt how her sister-in-law had acted; but, being both a strong-minded and crafty woman, she determined to put a bold face on the matter, and if possible to pay off old scores with her sister-in-law. She accordingly placed her baby out to nurse, and, as soon as she felt strong enough, set out for Sherbrooke. She found her husband’s house locked against her, but, nothing daunted, she went straight to the mayor’s residence, and explained that, having gone to Montreal with her husband’s permission, she had (as soon asher boywas sufficiently recovered) returned to her home, and found the door locked against her. The mayor (a particular friend of Clarkson’s) told her to come with him and he would see her righted, but she refused, saying that she had already gone to her husband’s house and been refused admission, and that she would not go again until he came to fetch her; she then departed and engaged rooms at the hotel.
The mayor, wishing to save his friend any public scandal, went to him, and remonstrated with him on his conduct, explaining that, as his wife had gone to Montreal with his permission, he was legally responsible for all her expenses, and that in refusing to admit her into his house he had rendered himself liable for an expensive lawsuit. On this poor Clarkson got so frightened that he ordered his team to be brought round, and, driving to the hotel, implored his wife to accompany him to his house, begging her forgiveness for his conduct, and promising that he would do anything to make amends.
Mrs. Clarkson now felt that she had obtained a grand advantage, and, assuming an air of injured innocence, enquired who had set him against her. Poor Clarkson was reluctantly compelled to admit that his sister had had something to do with it, on which his wife refused to live under the same roof with such a vile slanderer (’), and insisted that, before she returned, the ladywho had taken away her charactershould leave the house. In fact, she managed the affair so well, and exhibited such an amount of “cheek,” that the poor man actually sent his sister away, and drove with a magnificent team of horses to bring home the woman whom he had refused to admit into his house.
For several months they lived happily together, Mrs. Clarksongoing on a visit to Montrealwhenever it stated her. In process of time she gave evidence of beingenceinte, and old Clarkson’s joy knew no bounds, as he evidently rejoiced at the prospect of having an heir. Had he known, however, that his wife, in visiting Montreal, was invariably met by Randolph Thomson, it is questionable whether his joy would not have been considerably moderated. Before the child was born the old man died, leaving all his property to his wife and his expected heir. His sister, who really was devoted to him, was left without a penny, and entirely dependent on the charity of Mrs. Clarkson. The widow, however, had not forgotten the part played by Mrs. Clarkson during her brother’s lifetime, and being now steeped in wickedness, her better nature was almost entirely lost. She turned the faithful sister from her door, and she, the false wife, was with her illegitimate child (born almost immediately after the old man’s death) snugly installed in the home that in all equity and justice should have belonged to the woman she ejected.
“Facilis descensus Averni.”—It is wonderful how easy the descent really is, when once the first false step is taken. As the avalanche, which at first becomes slowly loosened from its lofty position, gradually descends with greater and greater rapidity till it is dashed into the abyss, so does the frail mortal, who at first shudders at the bare thought of an immoral act, rush headlong into sin till her desperate career is suddenly checked, often in a manner fearful to contemplate. Mrs. Clarkson had now all that any woman could reasonably be expected to desire. She had triumphed over her sister-in-law and those of her husband’s relatives who had circulated rumors detrimental to her character, and had become the possessor of a comfortable home, without the incubus of an impotent husband. But she was not content; Randolph Thomson, turning his back on her and his boy, had married a young lady of fortune; so vowing vengeance against men in general for theirfalseness and inconstancy. Mrs. Clarkson laid herself out to entrap and ensnare every man who came in her way, and in this manner to revenge herself (as she by some strange mental process led herself to imagine) on her false lover.
The deceased Mr. Clarkson had a brother named William, a bachelor, whose farm was adjacent to that now possessed by the widow. William was nearly twenty years younger than his brother, and was considered rather a good-looking man by his acquaintances. It is possible that, but for herliaisonwith Thomson, Mrs. Clarkson would, long ere this, have fascinated him with her beauty and blandishments; but, he had hitherto escaped unscathed, though openly admiring his brother’s wife, and taking her part against the scandal-mongers when speculation was rife as to the cause which detained her in Montreal. In looking round for some one to entrap and ensnare, Mrs. Clarkson’s eye naturally fell upon William, as the most eligible party in her immediate vicinity; and she was the more anxious to secure him, because, with a woman’s far-seeing eye and long-reaching vengeance, she wished to circumvent her sister-in-law, who, being unmarried (and likely to remain so), had undertaken to keep house for her younger brother, and would, as matters at that moment stood, have likely outlived him and inherited his property. Opportunity was not long wanting for her to effect her object; William was the sole executor to his brother’s estate, and, as business often brought them together at the late Mr. Clarkson’s lawyer’s office in Montreal, it was not strange that the widow should almost immediately have opened the campaign, which she did on the first occasion of their meeting in the city, beginning, as most great generals do, with a little skirmishing, in order to draw out her opponent. It was a beautiful spring morning, and, as they had appointed to meet in Montreal at eleven o’clock, Mr. Clarkson called to drive his sister-in-law to the depot to meet the train. To his surprise, that lady declined to accompany him, reminding him that she was now alone in the world, and that if during her husband’s life-time the tongue of scandal was directed against her reputation, how much the more would it be so now that her natural protector was no more. William, being little of a gossip himself, urged her to be above such petty pandering to public opinion, and to follow her inclinations, but she replied naively.—“A woman has nothing to depend on but her reputation, and she cannot be too careful, you know.” “Perhaps you are right,” William replied, laughing, and so he permitted the widow to order her own buggy round, and follow him a few minutes later to the depot. But even this precaution did not satisfy the wily Mrs. Clarkson. She knew that many Sherbrooke people would be on the trains both going and coming, and that inquisitive eyes would watch, and gossiping tongues would relate all that passed during the journey, so she induced Miss Cuthbert, a neighbor of hers, to accompany her, promising her a pleasant day in Montreal.
The train had not arrived when the ladies alighted at the depot, but the ever-acute widow instructed her servant man not to drive away, but to wait and see if any parcels had been sent from Portland. She did not expect any parcels from Portland, but she wished all the neighbors who might be going on the train to see her man with the buggy, in case they might imagine she had come in the carriage with William. When they got on board the train, of course, her brother-in-law took a seat with her and Miss Cuthbert, but the widow pretended to be engrossed in a novel, leaving the younger lady to carry on the conversation. A boy approached with “prize packages” of candies, and William, buying two, handed them to the ladies, requesting them to see what fortune had in store for them. Miss Cuthbert opened hers eagerly, and, amidst the almonds and lozenges, discovered a gilt brooch, which she laughingly fastened on her breast. William offered to open the widow’s for her, but she interrupted him, saying:
“My fortune has been told already, give it to Miss Cuthbert.”
“Oh, yes! give it to me,” said the sprightly girl, and hastily opening it, she poked amongst the candies and pulled out a small article rolled in tissue paper; unrolling the paper eagerly she discloseda plain gilt ring.
“Put that on, also,” said Mrs. Clarkson.
“Oh, no!” answered Miss Cuthbert, “I will try to get some one to put it on for me.”
With this careless banter the time passed away till they reached Montreal, Mrs. Clarkson playing the shy widow to perfection, and, as may naturally be supposed, not only raising herself in the estimation of her brother-in-law, but drawing him in a strange manner within the radius of her fascinating influences.
On arriving in the city they entered a carriage, and were driven to St. James street, where Mr. St. Jerome, the lawyer, had his office. In about an hour their business was transacted, and William invited the ladies to Alexander’s to partake of luncheon, but this the widow discreetly declined, being aware that the pastry-cook’s in question was a celebrated rendezvous for all country-folk. Pleading as an excuse that she wanted, to do some shopping, she advised William not to trouble about them, as they would prefer shopping alone, and that, if fatigued, they could easily drop in for an ice at some respectable confectioner’s. “Besides,” added Mrs. Clarkson, “I have promised to take Miss Cuthbert up the mountain this afternoon, as she has never been to the summit of Mount Royal, though living so near the city bearing its name.”
“If you are going up the mountain, I pray you will allow me to accompany you. I never visit Montreal without ascending it at least once,” said Mr. Clarkson. “If you do not wish me to go shopping, I will not intrude, but I will feel myself slighted if you compel me to ascend the mountain alone.”
The widow feigned to give a reluctant consent, and accordingly they arranged to meet on Place d’Armes at two o’clock, and to drive to the base of the mountain together. At that time the beautiful mountain from which Montreal derives its name, and most of its beauty, had not been acquired by the city. It was private property, and there were no elegant roads by which to drive to its summit; indeed, it was only by the courtesy of the proprietors that persons were allowed to ascend the famous hill, and enjoy the beautiful scenery and bracing air: even then the task of ascending was no easy one, and ladies were generally glad of the company of one or more of the hardier sex, if only to assist them in clambering up the steep ascent.
Mr. Clarkson went to lunch, and then to the Corn Exchange to transact some business, arriving in Place d’Armes precisely at two o’clock. Shortly afterward she saw the ladies emerge from the French Church of Notre Dame, and cross the square to meet him. Miss Cuthbert was delighted with the church. Although a Protestant, she admired it as an architectural art-work, the elaborate adornment, too, of the interior pleased her, and accorded with her womanly tastes. Mrs. Clarkson had seen both inside and outside so often that neither had now any more effect on her; indeed, not only was her heart steeled to the refining influences of the building, but also to the doctrines inculcated within it; she had started on the downward path, and never once dared to look up again, even for a moment.
“Well, you are sharp on time,” said Miss Cuthbert, addressing Mr. Clarkson.
“Yes, indeed, I have been walking the streets for nearly an hour, wondering if the hands on the Seminary clock would ever indicate the hour of two. I had almost persuaded myself that the public clocks had all stopped, but my watch, which was ticking, told me that they were going on with methodical regularity.” He addressed himself to Miss Cuthbert, but his eyes were turned slightly towards Mrs. Clarkson, who, blushing slightly (she could blush at pleasure), turned away her head, and appeared to be quite confused.
William hailed a cab, and they drove up University street, as far as the carriage road permitted them. Dismissing the “carter,” they entered the adjacent field, and ascended by a winding path which at that time ran through the property of Mr. (now Sir Hugh) Allan. Miss Cuthbert, although she lived faraway from all mountains or hills of any kind, was remarkably active, and bounded up the steep ascent like a deer. Mrs. Clarkson was adearof another kind, and she was obliged to cling to her brother-in-law for support, which latter he was by no means adverse to giving, after about twenty minutes climbing they arrived at the “view point” immediately over Sir Hugh Allan’s residence, when everything was immediately forgotten in the inspeakable emotion excited by the magnificent panorama before them. At their feet lay the beautiful city, the rows of shade trees, clothed with verdure, lending a gorgeous setting to the elegant limestone buildings. In front rolled the mighty St. Lawrence, nearly two miles wide, the vast expanse being relieved by St. Helen’s Island, with its luxuriant foliage. On the right the Victoria Bridge, that monument of engineering skill, stretched across the mighty river towards the picturesque village of St. Lambert; while further to the westward might be seen Nun’s Island with its shady groves, at the head of which rushed the boiling waters of the famous rapids of Lachine. I have in my youth travelled through both Germany and Switzerland and, later, through the beautiful scenery of New Hampshire and Vermont, but nowhere do I remember having seen a view so grand, or a panorama so picturesque, as that to be seen from the brow of Mount Royal.
For a while the entire party gazed in speechless admiration at the scene before them, when Miss Cuthbert exclaimed:
“I can say, with the apostle of old, ‘It is good for us to be here.’”
“And buildthree tabernacles? queried Mrs. Clarkson.
“Oh, no, two would do. One for me, and another for you and Mr. Clarkson.”
At this rejoinder Mrs. Clarkson bit her lips, and changed the conversation immediately.
When they had surveyed the city, the river, and the country on the opposite shore, they prepared to ascend to the highest part of the mountain, where the observatory stands, imbedded in trees. Here they sat down for a time to rest, and partake of some light refreshment which they had brought with them; they then proceeded to descend on the other side, passing through the Protestant and Catholic cemeteries, both elaborately laid out, and looking like beautiful flower gardens, rather than burial grounds. As they neared Côte des Neiges Miss Cuthbert commenced to scamper along like a child, and at one short declivity, she started off at a run, calling on the others to follow. Clarkson took his companion’s hand and invited her to descend in like manner, but, almost at the first step, his sister-in-law uttered a sharp scream and fell forward on the grass, informing them that her foot had turned under her, and that she had sprained her ankle.
William was almost beside himself. He felt that he had foolishly induced her to forget herself so far as to indulge in a wild romp and thus injure her ankle. He wished Miss Cuthbert at the bottom of the sea, and wondered how they were to get the beautiful cripple home, as they were removed from residences or conveyances of any kind, and Mrs. Clarkson was no small weight. There being nothing else for it, however, the sturdy farmer lifted her in his arms and carried her to the house of the caretaker of the cemetery; then, leaving her gently on a sofa, he started for the inn at Côte des Neiges, thinking he might obtain the means of conveyance to Montreal.
On his arrival at the inn he was informed that there was no livery stable of any kind for miles around, and that the private buggy of the proprietor was at the moment in Montreal, whither the landlady had driven for provisions. Just then a team was driven at a rapid speed from the direction of St. Laurent; it contained two young gentlemen from Montreal, who had driven round the mountain attended by a groom. On hearing the particulars of the accident they at once, with great gallantry, gave up their vehicle, a mail phaeton, for the use of the disabled lady, cheerfully undertaking to walk the remainder of the way (about four miles), and enjoining Mr. Clarkson to bring the carriage to their stable so soon as he had deposited his fair companions in a place of safety.
On reaching the cemetery, William found the widow looking wretched, indeed, and apparently suffering great pain. Her face brightened, however, as she saw the carriage and was convinced that they would be able to get to Montreal in time for the night train for Sherbrooke. William assisted Miss Cuthbert into the trap, and placed Mrs. Clarkson carefully beside her; then, mounting the box, he thanked the caretaker for his kind offices and drove, via Côte des Neiges hill, to Montreal. He suggested to Mrs. Clarkson that it would be better for her to take a room at the St. Lawrence Hall for a few days, and enjoy perfect rest till her ankle got better, but she, remembering her past experiences, preferred to travel at once to her home, and so avoid all scandal.
William drove straight to the Grand Trunk terminus in St. Bonaventure street; and, placing the ladies in a Pullman car, drove up to Sherbrooke street with the team, which he left, as directed, at the young gentleman’s residence. He proceeded along to St. Lawrence Main street, where he hailed a cab, and drove back to the terminus. Shortly after his return to the depot the train started, and in a few hours they reached Sherbrooke.
It was considerably past midnight when they got to Mrs. Clarkson’s residence, so Miss Cuthbert remained with her till morning, doing all she could to alleviate her pain. Shortly after breakfast William called; and as his sister-in-law was confined to her room, he considerately kept her company till Miss Cuthbert had gone home and obtained permission to remain a while longer with the disabled lady. There is nothing that tries a man’s heart so much as to see a woman (particularly a beautiful woman) in pain. The widow was aware of this, and so, although the sprain was purely accidental, and was not included in her programme, turned it to such good account that the poor bachelor was fairly hooked, and began to think seriously that he had got into an awkward fix.
Marriage with a deceased brother’s wife was illegal, and no clergyman could perform the marriage ceremony without violating the laws of both Church and State; even if one could be prevailed on to follow the dictates of his conscience, and to stretch a point in their favor (as was sometimes done) society would not recognize their union, and would shun them as open adulterers. In vain did his sister-in-law urge on him that the law was absurd, and that, as there was no blood-relationship between them, there could be nothing criminal in their living together; he had not the moral courage to face the cold criticism of a narrow-minded and bigoted community, and, though mad with passionate love, he hesitated to take the fatal plunge.
Mrs. Clarkson, however, having carried the outposts and principal barriers successfully, was not to be thwarted by a mere matter of sentiment. She expressed her intention of departing forthwith for Detroit, assuring him that she would no longer remain in a country where such intolerant bigotry existed, and instructed him, if he loved her as he pretended, to sell his property in Canada and follow her thither.
Clarkson was loth to leave his relations and the home of his childhood, but the temptress lured him gradually on, refusing at times even to see a man who valued his narrow-minded friends’ opinion rather than her love, and at length he consented to sell his farm for whatever it would bring, and to rejoin her in Detroit. This was another piece of generalship on the part of the widow, as, did they remain in Canada, she could not, in the event of her husband’s death hold the property which would revert to her hated sister-in-law; but that being now converted into cash she was at liberty to squander it during her husband’s life-time, retaining the fortune left by her first husband for the future use of herself and children.
For a time Mr. Clarkson lived with his sister-in-law in a princely style in Detroit. They entertained largely and handsomely, and most of their guests neither cared nor enquired who they were, or whence they came. They had not been there more than six weeks when Mrs. Clarkson made the acquaintance of Count Von Alba, who for some time had been the lion of fashionable circles in Detroit. Von Alba was a Russian, who (for political reasons said his friends, for criminal reasons said his enemies) had emigrated to America and lived on his fortune (his friends insisted)—his wits, said his enemies again.
Whichever surmise was correct, Von Alba was undoubtedly good-looking. He stood five feet eleven inches in his stockings, and was powerfully built; his complexion, like most Russians was dark, and his lofty forehead was surmounted with curls of the darkest brown. At the time of the Clarksons residence, the Count was about five-and-thirty years old; he had naturally a genial manner and a good-humored expression of countenance, and a scar on his forehead (obtained, he said, when a lad, at Inkerman) made him an object of feminine admiration, while he was at the same time greatly envied by the opposite sex.
Von Alba was a sort of Admirable Crichton. He rode like Nimrod, danced like Terpsichore, drove like Jehu, shot like William Tell, and sang like Sims Reeves. It was in thelatteraccomplishment, however, that he chiefly excelled; he would stand up at the end of a crowded drawing-room, and, playing a delicate accompaniment on his guitar, would vocalize one of the passionate love-songs of his native land. Sometimes he sang in English, then his defective pronunciation lent a strange charm to his singing, which, although it could scarcely be accounted for, made itself felt even in the bosoms of the dilettanti.
Strange to say, although courted and run after by nearly all the eligible young ladies, the Count became so fond of Mrs. Clarkson’s society that scarcely a day passed but he was found at her house. At the fair lady’s “Thursday Evenings,” of course, he was one of the principal attractions, added to which he dined and lunched frequently at her house, and escorted her to balls and parties: her husband not caring for the everlasting round of excitement, and, far from feeling jealous of the Count, he was proud to think that his choice of a companion should be endorsed by one who presumably was a competent judge.
It was not long till the lady was at her old tricks again, and what Randolph Thompson had been to her before, Von Alba soon became, the simple husband encouraging these visits, and allowing his wife to squander his money lavishly on her paramour. Mrs. Grundy in the meanwhile began to be suspicious, and rumors, at first vague and indefinite, became almost pointed accusations against Mrs. Clarkson. The poor husband, although not altogether crediting the fact that there was a foundation for these reports, saw the necessity, in the equivocal position in which both he and his wife stood, of putting a stop to all suspicious intercourse with the Count; and, being resolute enough when so disposed, he forbade his wife to meet Von Alba any more in private, or to invite him to her house.
This, as may be supposed, brought matters to a crisis and brought on a terrible quarrel between the abandoned woman and her husband. She saw that the game was up as far as Detroit was concerned, and so, managing to forge her husband’s name to a cheque for several thousand dollars, she went the next day with great boldness to the bank where he kept his money and presented it; it was cashed by the clerk without hesitation, and that evening, abandoning both Clarkson and her children, she went, accompanied by her paramour, to the depot and took the train for Montreal, where they went to an hotel, registering their names as Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, of New York. Notwithstanding their false names and altered attire they were traced to the St. Lawrence Hall, Mrs. Clarkson being surprised, on coming from breakfast one morning, to observe her husband busily scanning the register at the office counter. The Count had not seen him, but Mrs. Clarkson hurried him upstairs and told him that their whereabouts was discovered, and that they must take refuge in flight before Clarkson had time to take steps for their apprehension.
Ringing the bell, Von Alba bade the boy to have their bill made out and receipted, and to have their luggage sent to the station in time for the next train for New York.
“There is no New York train till 3.15,” said the boy.
“When is there one for Toronto?” asked the Count.
“Not till eight this evening, but the Lachine train, which meets the mail boat, leaves at 11.30.”
“That is what I mean,” said Von Alba; “we will go by that;” then, packing hastily, the two culprits descended by the ladies staircase, and, entering a carriage, drove off to procure tickets for Toronto.
All this time Mr. Clarkson was quietly seated in the breakfast-room, taking light repast after his long journey. That the persons he sought were in the hotel he felt confident; but there were so many gentlemen with their wives real or pretended, from all parts, that he was puzzled to conjecture which of the names in the register was that assumed by the Count. At length he resolved to take the boy into his confidence; and, handing him a gold piece, he began to question him concerning the guests now quartered in the hotel. When he had described the pair he wanted, the boy said: “W’y these ere must be the pair wat’s just gone to the Toronto boat!” Clarkson said not a word; but, handing a card to the cashier, rushed out of the hotel, and, jumping into a cab, bade the driver to go with all speed to the Upper Canada boat. Had he thought for a moment he would have recollected that the boat leaves the wharf early in the morning, and proceeding slowly through the canal, stops to take on passengers at the head of the Lachine Rapids. In his blind haste, however, he had forgotten this; and lost so much time in going to the wharf that, when he eventually learnt the truth and got to the depot, the train was just leaving the platform.
There was nothing for it now but to wait for the train for the west, and to get on board the steamer at Kingston. He had at least the satisfaction of knowing that they were on the boat like rats in a trap, and that, except the delay in confronting the villain Von Alba and his wretched companion, he was as successful as possible in his pursuit of the fugitives. Returning to the city, he procured the assistance of a detective, who undertook to accompany him to Kingston, and assist him in apprehending and arresting the fugitives.
By this time the steamship “Hungarian,” on which the wretched pair had embarked, was ploughing the waters of Lake St. Louis. After a time they passed through the Beauharnois and Cornwall canals, and entered the labyrinth of beautiful patches known as the “Thousands Islands.” As they emerged from this lovely spot the saloon became suddenly filled with smoke, and in a few minutes cries of “Fire! Fire!” were heard on every hand. A rush was made for life preservers, while the crew of five or six men vainly endeavored to extinguish the flames. The captain ordered boats to be lowered, but, the men being excited, and badly drilled at best, the boats were successively swamped, leaving the poor terrified creatures only a choice of two fearful deaths.
One of the sailors handed Mrs. Clarkson a life preserver, which she requested Von Alba to fasten round her waist, but the cowardly fellowsnatched it from her, and, hastily securing it round his own waist, swung himself overboard, leaving her to perish in the flames! He was not to escape so easily, however; with a bitter yell of mingled rage and despair the wretched woman mounted the taffrail, and plunging straight for the spot where he rose to the surface dragged him under again and again with fearful maledictions. The passengers who still remained on deck could do nothing to separate them, and although the life preserver would have sustained both of them easily in the water, so great was the woman’s bate on the discovery of Von Alba’s cowardly treachery, that she did not even give a thought to her own escape, so intent was she on dragging him to the bottom. The expression of her face, lit up as it was by the blaze of the burning; steamer, was terrible to behold: the veins in her head and neck were swollen almost to bursting, and she died cursing with bitter malediction the man for whom she had sacrificed not only herself, but her husband and her children.
The steamer burned to the water’s edge, only a few of those who had jumped overboard escaping. The bodies of the guilty pair were discovered at some distance from the wreck, Mrs. Clarkson’s hand being tightly clutched round her companion’s throat, while his tongue and eyes protruded fearfully.
With sad and heavy heart Clarkson returned to Detroit, and, having gathered together what remained of his former property, prepared to return to Canada. He took with him the children of his late wife, placing them both as boarders at the College at Lennoiville till they were old enough to be apprenticed to some trade or profession. He never quite recovered from the shock received on hearing of the manner of Mrs. Clarkson’s death and that of her paramour, but became prematurely aged when he realized that, instead of the sweet angelic creature whom he thought he had married, he found that he had wedded a regular disciple of Satan.