CHAPTER XLI.
SIR ANDREW APPEARS IN A NEW CHARACTER—HIS DESIGNS ON DAME WORTHINGTON’S PROPERTY—HE CLAIMS RELATIONSHIP—THE POISONED DRAUGHTS—THE OLD DAME’S SAD EXPERIENCE IN THE WORLD—A STRANGER COMES UPON THE SCENE—NEWS FROM NED WARBECK.
SIR ANDREW APPEARS IN A NEW CHARACTER—HIS DESIGNS ON DAME WORTHINGTON’S PROPERTY—HE CLAIMS RELATIONSHIP—THE POISONED DRAUGHTS—THE OLD DAME’S SAD EXPERIENCE IN THE WORLD—A STRANGER COMES UPON THE SCENE—NEWS FROM NED WARBECK.
There was some mystery attached to old Dame Worthington, Sir Richard Warbeck, and his two adopted nephews, Charley and Wildfire Ned.
What this mystery was, no one could find out; but Mistress Haylark swore in her own heart that theremustbe one, and she would have given her finger-ends to have found it out.
All that we can say at present is that, in her youth and prime, good Dame Worthington must have been a great beauty, for even now she bore traces of it.
All we know for a positive fact is that, when rather over thirty, she condescended to marry a sea captain, who, through Sir Richard Warbeck’s influence at the India House, had the command of a brig.
There were no children from the marriage and old Worthington proved a worthless drunken fellow, and, when in his cups, gave way to all manner of extravagances.
His jealous, uproarious disposition was fully manifested upon every possible occasion when ashore.
When drunk he would lie on the sofa and sing uproarious songs all night, to the infinite disgust of fellow lodgers.
When, perhaps, only half inebriated, and tempted as usual by jealousy, he would toss the furniture about and break all the crockery.
So that, everything considered, his absence was far more preferable than his presence.
Hence, when the news arrived that the barque “Columbo” had grounded in a gale, on the Florida Reefs, with the loss of all hands, Dame Worthington gave vent to her feelings in a few sobs and a fainting fit, but more than this she betrayed little of that grief which might have been expected from a loved and cherished wife.
Her only true and fast friend through life was, as he always had been, old Sir Richard Warbeck.
He furnished a private hotel for her, the management of which fully occupied her time and brought in much money.
But now that Charley Warbeck was married and settled, she seemed in part satisfied, and looked even younger than ever.
But still she fretted much for Ned Warbeck, who was at sea, for of the two youths she loved him much the best.
He was younger, bolder, and far more handsome than Charley, but he was always a wild, harum-scarum youth; and, since he had run away to sea the old dame fretted much, wept in secret, and would have given the world to have seen her darling boy once more.
But everybody said that, since he had gone out in search of the Skeleton Crew, he would never return alive.
“Don’t believe such idle tales,” said Sir Richard, often. “Young Ned has got as many lives as a cat. Put him where you will, he is sure to fall on his feet.”
But now a stranger made Dame Worthington’s acquaintance.
This was no other than old Sir Andrew!
He had got tired of country life, and determined to start again in the city.
He had heard and knew that old Sir Richard was not only very wealthy and powerful, but that he constantly visited good Dame Worthington.
“She is a silly, soft-hearted woman,” thought Sir Andrew. “By going to live there, I shall fall across Sir Richard, and it may be that by-and-bye we may get better acquainted, and he may assist me in re-establishing myself in business.”
“If any one wants to get favours out of a man, let him flatter the woman that man most respects,” thought Sir Andrew.
He was a “canny Scot,” and, like all his nation, had a long, calculating head.
He had not been residing long at Dame Worthington’s, therefore—his wife was always in the country—when he and she became remarkably chatty together, and communicative.
Sir Andrew passed himself off as a widower, and told such a pitiful tale how he had been wronged and dishonoured by Phillip and his own daughter, that the good dame listened attentively to all the old hypocrite had to say, and not only sympathised with him, but even went so far as to plead his cause to Sir Richard, who, she thought, from his power and position, might help Sir Andrew on to the path of fortune once more.
The cunning Scot knew that nothing pleases a woman more than flattery, particularly in one who is a “good listener,” and can hear out the many long stories which widows always have to tell.
Every one have their trials and troubles, as we have seen in this tale, besides Sir Andrew, hence it need not surprise any one to be informed that good Dame Worthington had a very long list of grievances to complain of in her dealings with the world.
It was her settled conviction that old widows were the most oppressed class in existence, and herself the most deeply wronged of them all.
Butchers, bakers, milkmen, and tax-collectors were her abomination, and she often sighed that boarding houses could not be carried on without them.
“For, my dear,” she would say, “one has scarcely got a few pounds in hand, before down come the bills upon you, first for one thing, and then for another, so that we never have a penny to call our own. And then, there’s ourlosses; ah, my dear, you haven’t theslightestnotion of what I have to suffer; poor folks like me have occasion to be ‘smart,’ these times, I can assure you, for we see a deal of this wicked world in a very short time.
“Just fancy, my dear; little more than two years ago, a very respectable-looking, genteel young man, calls on me.
“‘Good morning, Dame Worthington,’ says he.
“‘Good morning, sir,’ says I, ‘and what do you please to want?’
“‘I have been in search of hotel accommodation, ma’am,’ says he, ‘for several days; respectable apartments in a respectable neighbourhood, and hearing yours highly spoken of, I have called.’
“Well, my dear, he was the nicest young man you ever see; so mild and quiet, and honest looking, very much like my brother was before he was killed, and I thought that he certainly must be a very genteel, amiable young man, and I let him have the lodgings.
“After a few nights he got more and more at home with the lodgers, and even played the harp and guitar in the parlour; and Mistress Haylark said, and the other ladies also, that he was the nicest young man, that ever lived in my house.
“He dressed very stylish, my dear, andwouldhave his apartments arranged, and swept, and dusted oftener than anybody else, for which he was willing to pay ‘extra,’ he said, if required.
“The number of wax candles that young man had, and the coals, and odds and ends of different kinds, were considerable, my dear, but he said he had never denied himself in anything, being rich, and, therefore, couldn’t do without them.
“The number of things which shopmen sent in, was wonderful; new boots and shoes, new coats and waistcoats, and fine linen, until we all began to think, at one time, he was going to make a runaway match with Mistress Haylark’s daughter Fanny.
“For he seemed very sweet in that quarter, and Mistress Haylark was very fond of him also;toofond of him,Ithink, between ourselves, considering she’s a widow just as old as me almost, except she primps and paints, and wears false back hair.
“Oh, bless you, we all liked him amazing, and he was so nicely dressed and well behaved, and had so many ways of entertaining a room full of company, that the first month passed like a single week.
“Although my rule is ‘weekly payments,’ he was so polite, and offered me so many references that I felt I could trust my whole house in his hands.
“I loaned him several sums on different occasions, as he was out of ‘small change,’ he said, and after he had been two months in the house—oh! that I’m obliged to confess it—he, one night, suddenly disappeared, trunks and all! without paying any one a single penny, my dear!
“Oh, I was never taken aback so much in my whole life!
“Not that I cared for what he owedme, you know, although Iama poor lone widow without any natural protector, and earn every penny by the sweat of my brow.
“Oh, it hurt Miss Josephine Smith, next door, very much, my dear; she has never been the same girl since, for she was ‘dead on’ to him.
“Mistress Haylark was frantic almost; she had loaned him £10, and he walked off with her best diamond ring; think o’ that.
“How that diamond ring (‘paste,’ my dear, between ourselves) should have come intohishands is a mystery to me, without she gave it to him, which shows howsomepeople can lower themselves when they are manœuvring to marry off a daughter.
“But between you and me, although everybody knows that I am not given to backbiting or detracting, which I consider mean in anybody, but specially in a landlady talking of her own lodgers, who pay regular, and give little trouble, Imustsay, my dear, that I think at that time she was trying to get the young man herself!
“Because, although my eyes are not the best in the world, on account of the troubles I have gone through, and the many briny tears I have shed, Icansee as far as most folks, and when I hear silk rustling on a dark landing, and hear a scuffling going on, it don’t take long for me to guess which way the wind is blowing in certain quarters that I know of, my dear.”
“You see there are so many different kinds of people, that it takes great experience and the patience of Job, to keep a respectable boarding house the way it should be.
“Now, there’s Mistress Tiffler, my dear, who keeps a house just round the corner—why bless you, I wouldn’t have a place like hers for all the world—I can’t go by the house without turning up my nose,for really it seems to smell of nothing else but grease and dirt.
“Nobodylooks clean at that house; and, as to feeding, good gracious! you should only see what half-starved wretches they are. Well, how can it be otherwise, my dear?
“She goes off to market, and buys up all kinds of rubbish, which I wouldn’t touch. She boards ’em cheap, and is a regular vixen, my dear; a perfect ‘hurricane’ as my poor, lost sailor husband used to say.
“But then, of course, there is no comparison between me and such a woman as that. How she gets along with the Germans, and French, and others who live in her place, I can’t see.
“They are always having rows there, but no one can even whisper, and say that anything of the kind ever happened to my house, except once, when two of the lodgers, young city clerks, fell out about a servant girl, who was rather good-looking, and knocked each other down stairs.
“You have no notion, my dear, of my troubles.
“If I have mutton as the principal dish some one grumbles, if I have beef another sniffs and says he’s dined already.
“Then Mistress this is too lazy to come down to breakfast, and almost pulls the bell down for Sarah to take it up to her.
“Then Miss the other, her daughter, don’t like tea nor coffee and must have chocolate and toast; while two or three others eat hot cakes faster than we can make ’em; and then there’s more grumbling and threatening to leave, until it worries my very life out almost.
“I don’t care much about how thementalk, you know, because I can managethem.
“If their boots and hot water aren’t ready I can plead an excuse of some kind, and even if theydo‘burst out’ like, and tell you what they think, and threaten to go, I don’t dislike ’em, because, as my poor husband used to say, ‘after the storm there’s always a calm,’ and thenmyturn comes.
“If they owe anything I talks like a sensible woman to ’em, and ‘rides a high horse,’ but if they don’t I only smiles, and takes no notice.
“Oh, I can get along with the men, my dear, I always could. I would rather have to do withtenmen thanonewoman; and wouldn’t have one in the house at all if I could help it.
“But, then, you see, my dear, menwillhave women in the house; I don’t blame ’em a bit, it looks natural like.
“A house don’t look right without a woman or two but; heaven keep me from having a houseful of young women and young men!
“I tried it once, but it wouldn’t answer, my dear.
“Oh, the sorrow and vexation I had with ’em. I had my hands full, and soon gave it up.
“Young widows in the house are just as bad.
“I abominate widows in the house from my heart, particularly when young and handsome, although I am a widow myself.
“There’s always trouble about ’em, and they are always flirting with some one, and getting the men into fusses.
“But what can you do, my dear? You must havesomeone that’s attractive to keep the men together, otherwise the place would be as cold and cheerless to ’em as an ice-house.
“But, then, my dear, they talk so much, there’s no end to their chatter.
“You can’t keep ’em from it, and the older they get the more they have to say about their neighbours.
“Not thatIcare, you know, my dear; they can talk as much as they like for allme, so they pays their bills, and don’t actually insult me to my face.
“But it is very aggravating, my dear, to see ’em chatting and whispering in each other’s rooms, passing unkind remarks behind one’s back, and appearing all smiles and friendly like before your face.
“It don’t matter what you do for ’em, my dear, they will talk about you; and, although I’m no eavesdropper, and wouldn’t listen at any one’s door for all the world, Idoknow certain things of certain parties, which would surprise certain quarters, if it was only whispered in their ear confidentially, my dear.
“But I’mnotone of that kind; I know my position too well for that, my dear, and wouldn’t lower my dignity by peeping into their rooms when they are out, not me! or prying into boxes and drawers, and rummaging about with their work-boxes and private notes. No indeed, nothing of that kind in my house, my dear.
“If they meets me on the landing and says,
“‘Dame Worthington, will you come in for a few moments?’
“I always says,
“‘Certainly, with pleasure, Mistress Perkins; how do you do this morning ma’am? you are looking very well, I never saw you look so young and captivating, indeed I didn’t. Come in! of course I will, for a few minutes, to have a friendly chat, like, about old times.’
“But I always says,
“‘Please don’t offer me any refreshment, Mistress Perkins,’ I says, ‘because my stomach is weak, and I can’t stand it; a thimbleful of brandy would knock me over, my dear, in a minute.’
“Because a glass of ginger wine don’t costmuch, you know, my dear; and if you acceptstheirlittle deceitful offers, they always takes advantage of it to wear the very legs off the poor servant girl, and me too, if I’d let ’em.
“But I lets ’em ring away till tired, and takes no notice, until they comes down stairs themselves, and then when they knocks at my door, I seems surprised not to hear the bell, and then they gets what they want.
“Bless you, my dear, if something wasn’t done, we should wear the stairs out.
“First there’s old Mr. Brown upstairs, he wants hot water half-a-dozen times a day and can’t hear the dinner bell without it is rung outside his door.
“Mistress Perkins is always in want of something, and that wretched pet dog of hers isalwayscausing trouble.
“It was only the other day I missed a beefsteak off the kitchen table, and at last I traced it upstairs to Mistress Perkins,’ door, where the dog stood growling and showing his teeth, until in fright I upset the servant maid and her pail of water, and fell headlong down stairs.”
The smiling old scoundrel, Sir Andrew, would sit and listen to the good old dame, as she recounted her trials and troubles, and would nod in approval as meekly as a lamb.
But he was a deep designing old villain, as we shall see.
It is true that the old dame had fallen downstairs and seriously hurt herself and was then very ill.
He also had learned that, in some way, she was a very distant relation of his, and the only one then living.
This discovery greatly surprised old Dame Worthington, and Sir Richard Warbeck also; but the cunning scoundrel supported his statement to relationship with so much plausible, but fictitious, evidence that both Sir Richard and Dame Worthingtontook the cunning Scotchman into their confidence.
Sir Andrew had now “the game in his own hands,” he thought, and he also came by the information, that should Sir Richard die first,allhis property, if Phillip Redgill was proved guilty of the crimes of which Captain Jack accused him, would all go to Charley, Ned Warbeck, and Dame Worthington.
“As she has made her will already,” thought Sir Andrew, “and left me a small sum, and the rest to the Warbecks, it would not be very difficult to get the will altered altogether inmyfavour,
“And poison her!”
This devilish design he resolved to put into execution.
He was very attentive to old Dame Worthington, and would suffer no one, as a “relation,” in the absence of Sir Richard, to administer to her any medicine, however simple.
With these opportunities in his hand, Sir Andrew made good use of his time.
He never allowed a chance to pass him, but, day by day, was gradually poisoning her.
The old dame got weaker and weaker every day.
The doctors could not make it out.
Yet the sole object of her thoughts was the adventurous stray one, Ned Warbeck, “her favourite boy.”
While propped up in her chair, one day in the parlour, and surrounded by her friends, she was continually speaking of her “poor sailor boy,” Ned, when a gentleman, who was present, said,
“Well, madam, I know not who your young favourite is, but I am a sailor myself and love the profession.”
“It is a compliment to me to hear you speak in such glowing terms of our gallant tars.
“And the bravest of them all is Ned Warbeck, I know,” said the old dame with a flushed cheek.
“Of course he is,” said old Sir Andrew, trying to smile, but at the same time, congratulating himself at the potent power of the secret poison he was daily administering for the sake of the good old dame’s money. “Ned Warbeck, of course he is the bravest of the brave,” he muttered, “there isn’t a lad in all the king’s navy like to him.”
“Ned Warbeck?” said the stranger, in astonishment.
“Yes, do you know him?” asked the good dame, in great curiosity.
The stranger did not answer, but said, “If you will only listen, I’ll tell you something that will gratify you.”
So saying, he lit his pipe again, and commenced his story round the crackling winter fire.