Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 203: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

pec Se } | Se _ ee 190 ‘e T' -uat sealed packet,” I continued, “I have -yofided to the hands of a friend; and I said at the ‘time that if ever I should remain for twenty-four hours absent from my home without sending a written explanation to account for my absence, this friend of mine was to consider that I was the victim of treachery at your hands. My farther in- junctions were to the effect that, in the case which I have named, the seal of the packet was to be broken and its contents were to be read. Need I _add, Captain St. Clair, that on the perusal of those ' contents this friend of whom I am speaking will appeal to the law—not merely on my behalf, but to | bring yourself to justice? And therefore, Captain St. Clair, you may now kill me if you think fit: you may add another deed of turpitude to the black catalogue of your crimes—you may even surround with the deepest mystery the murder of myself: but, oh! for all your former misdeeds there will be exposure and there will be punishment !” ' §t. Clair looked aghast as I thus spoke, The tale that I told relative to the sealed packet and the solemn injunctions to a friend, was a mere fabrication, suggested at the instant by the de- sperate circumstances in which I was placed: but the reader will doubtless admit that it was a venial as well as justifiable falsehood. I had hardly dared hope it would have the effect which I now saw that it produced: St. Clair believed it fully, and he was frightened. “You taunted me just now,” I continued, “ with the belief that you would abandon your hopes and desigus concerning me: but it is for me to taunt you with having rushed madly into a new crime towards me in the infatuated confidence of your own self-sufficiency. Did you suppose that I should fail to adopt precautions, when all past ex- perience had shown me how desperately persever- ing you could be in your wickedness? No!—and as for your pledge, made on a certain memorable evening—not very long ago—in St. James’s Park —not for an instant didI believe it! My precau- tions have therefore been taken; and if that packet be once opened, the consequences are inevitable— the hand of justice fastens itself upon Captain St. Clair !”’ He seemed thoroughly irresolute how to act: his scornful self-sufficiency, his haughty confidence in himself, were gone. He was pale, and he trembled. But at length an idea seemed to strike him; and he said contemptuously, “ Do not trust too much to your friend Norman. Within two hours from this present moment the packet shall be wheedled from his possession ad ** Acain does your accustomed astuteness fail to serve you,” I replied, assuming an air of confidence as well as of scornful defiance in proportion as having carefully felt my way, I acquired the as- surance that I was treading on safe ground. “ You think to ascertain from my lips the name of that friend to whom I have confided the packet: but you will not succeed in learning it. It is not Mr. Norman—neither is it Mr. Richards: but it is to & professional man—a solicitor—a man of resolute- ness and determination, who will do his duty, if by circumstances he be called upon to act.” “Of course you mean Parks?” said St. Clair, almost contemptuously, as he felt convinced that he had fathomed the secret. ‘Mr, Parks is a villain!’ I rejoined: “and he PR ee Oe ee Lae Oe ee TS ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. knows my opinion of him. If you have not learnt this much from his lips, you hold less com. munication than I had fancied with those who are the instruments of your vile purposes.” Again St. Clair looked bewildered: he felt him- self baffled and defeated at every point. He was about to say something more, when he suddenly turned upon his heel and quitted the room. He locked the door behind him; and his footsteps re- treated hastily along the landing. What did he now mean to do? At one moment my success had seemed certain: I had expected to hear him sue for terms and implore my continued secresy in respect to his misdeeds, as the condition of my immediate release. Ah! doubtless he was going to consult with Lady Lilla Essendine? Perhaps they would say to each other that they had better risk everything, even the assassination of myself, than suffer me to go again into the world after this new outrage which had been per- petrated against me. And now I blamed myself for having in my fabricated tale represented so long an interval as that of twenty-four hours be- fore the pretended packet was to be opened. Yeé I had not inconsiderately specified this period: I had done so because I thought that it would seem more consistent with truth. I had fan. cied that it would appear improbable if I had particularized a shorter period of disappearance as a signal for exciting so much alarm in the mind of the friend to whom, according to my statement, I had entrusted the packet. I could not therefore in justice blame myself for any over- sight, inconsiderateness, or deficiency of astute policy. But what meant St. Clair to do? Had he in reality gone to consult with Lady Lilla Essendine? Oh! if I were to be left to her mercy—if my lite were to depend upon her decision—adieu to all hope! I knew that a woman whose soul is thoroughly nerved to crime, becomes even more desperate and unscrupulous than the most criminal of men: one of my own favourite characters—that of Lady Macbeth—afforded, though but the poet’s creation, a striking example of that truth. Time passed on: if was now seven o’clock in the evening. Seven o’clock!—and in another hour Beatrice would have to appear at the theatre —that is to say, unless her spirit were completely crushed by the thought that I had wilfully broken my promise to return and that I had deliberately abandoned her. I was terribly uneasy on her account as well as on myown. A hundred times did I rush to the window with the intention of shrieking for assistance: but the dread of those two ferocious-looking men restrained me. I en- deavoured to console myself in respect to Beatrice. I said, “ When she found that I did not return, she doubtless sought me in Hunter Street: she must have there learnt that I had not been home since the morning; and she will think that lam still engaged entirely on her own business.” And yet I could not thus satisfy my mind. I knew that the pride of Beatrice would prevent her from seeking me again, if she fancied that I had voluntarily and intentionally deserted her. Ina word, I was tortured by every species of horrible idea, not only relative to myself, but respecting Beatrice likewise. It was at seven o’clock that I last consulted my eg CONNIE OOKS