Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (184 page)

THE CONVERSATION

 THE parlour which that lovely and mysterious creature - who
now seemed a youth of about twenty - entered upon the ground floor, was
furnished with taste and elegance. Everything was light, airy, and graceful.
The windows were crowded with flowers that imparted a delicious perfume to the
atmosphere, mud afforded a picture upon which the eye rested with pleasure.
    A recess was fitted up with book-shelves, which were
supplied with the productions of the best poets and novelists of England and
France.
    Around the walls were suspended several paintings - chiefly
consisting of sporting subjects. Over the mantel, however, were two miniatures,
executed in water-colours in the first style of the art, and representing the
one a lovely youth of sixteen, the other a beautiful girl of twenty.
    And never was resemblance more striking. The same soft and
intelligent hazel eyes - the same light hair, luxuriant, silky, and shining -
the same straight nose - the same vermilion lips, and well-turned chin. At a
glance it was easy to perceive that they were brother and sister; and as the
countenance of the former was remarkably feminine and delicate, the likeness
between them was the more striking.
    Beneath the miniature of the brother, in small gilt letters
upon the enamelled frame, was the word WALTER;  under the portrait of the
sister was the name of ELIZA.
    Attired as she now was, the mysterious being whom we have
introduced to our readers, perfectly resembled the portrait of
 
Walter
: attired as she ought to have
been, consistently with her sex, she would have been the living original of the
portrait of
 
Eliza
.
    Upon a sofa in the parlour, some of the leading features of
which we have just described, a man, dressed with great neatness, but no
ostentatious display, was lounging.
    He was in reality not more than three or four and thirty
years of age; although a seriousness of countenance - either admirably studied,
or else  occasioned by habits of business and mental combination - made
him appear ten years older. He was handsome, well-formed, and excessively
courteous and fascinating in his manners: but, when he was alone, or not
engaged in conversation, he seemed plunged in deep thought, as it his brain
were working upon numerous plans and schemes of mighty and vital import.
    The moment the heroine of the boudoir entered the parlour,
Mr. Stephens - for he was the individual whom we have just described - rose and
accosted her in a manner expressive of kindness, respect, and patronage. 
    "My dear Walter," he exclaimed, "it is really
an age since I have seen you. Six weeks have elapsed, and I have not been near
you. But you received my letter, stating that I was  compelled to proceed
to Paris upon most particular business?"
    "Yes, my dear sir," answered the lady, - or in
order that some name may in future characterise her, we will call her Walter,
or Mr. Walter Sydney, for that was indeed the appellation by which she was
known,- "yes, my dear sir, I received your letter, and the handsome
presents and remittances accompanying it. For each and all I return you my
sincere thanks: but really, with regard to money, you are far too lavish
towards me. Remember that I scarcely have any opportunity of being
extravagant," added Walter, with a smile: "for I scarcely ever stir
abroad, save to take my daily rides; and you know that I never receive company,
that my acquaintances are limited, so limited —"
    "I know, my dear Walter, that you follow my advice as
closely as can be expected." said Mr
 
Stephens. "Three short
months more and my object will be achieved. We shall then be both of us above
the reach of Fortune's caprices and vicissitudes. Oh! how glorious - how grand
will be this achievement! how well worth all the sacrifices that I have
required you to make."
    "Ah! my dear sir," observed Walter, somewhat
reproachfully, "you must remember that you are now talking enigmas to me;
that I am at present only a blind instrument in your hands - a mere machine -
an automaton —"
    "Do not press me upon this head, Walter,"
interrupted Mr. Stephens, hastily. "You must not as yet be led to
comprehend the magnitude of my views: you must have patience. Surely I have
given you ample proofs of my good feeling and my honourable views towards
yourself. Only conceive what would be your present position without me; not a
relation, not a friend in the wide world to aid or protect you! I do not say
this to vaunt my own conduct: I am merely advancing arguments to prove how
confident I am in the success of my plans, and how sincere I am in my
friendship towards you. For, remember, Walter - I always forget your sex: I
only look upon you as a mere boy - a nephew, or a son, whom I love. Such is my
feeling: I am more than a friend; for, I repeat, I feel a paternal attachment
towards you!"
    "And I entertain feelings of deep - yes, of the deepest
gratitude towards you," said Walter. "But the motive of my constant
intercession to be admitted more into your confidence, is to be convinced - by
my own knowledge - that my present conduct tends to facilitate no dishonest, no
dangerous views. Oh! you will pardon me when I say this; for there are times
when I am a prey to the most horrible alarms - when fears of an indescribable
nature haunt me for hours together - and when I seem to be walking blindfold
upon the brink of an abyss!"
    "Walter, I am surprised that you should thus give way
to suspicions most injurious to my honour," said Mr. Stephens, whose
countenance remained perfectly collected and unchanged; "for the hundredth
time do I assure you that you have nothing to fear."
    "Then wherefore this disguise? why this constant cheat
relative to my sex? why this permanent deception?" demanded Walter, in an
impassioned tone.
    "Cannot the most rigorous honesty be connected with the
most profound prudence - the most delicate caution?" said Mr. Stephens,
adopting an attitude and manner of persuasion. "Do not judge of motives by
their mere superficial aspect: strange devices - but not the less honourable
for being singular - are frequently required in the world to defeat designs of
infamy and baseness."
    "Pardon my scepticism," said Walter, apparently
convinced by this reasoning; "I was wrong, very wrong to suspect you. I
will not again urge my anxiety to penetrate your secrets. I feel persuaded that
you conceal the means by which our mutual prosperity is to be effected, simply
for my good."
    "Now you speak rationally, my dear, my faithful and
confiding Walter," exclaimed Mr. Stephens. "It was just in this vein
that I was anxious to find you; for I have an important communication to make
this morning."
    "Speak: I am ready to follow your instructions or
advice."
    "I must inform you. Walter, that in order effectually
to work out my plans - in order that there should not exist the slightest
chance of failure - a third person is required. It will be necessary that he
should be conversant with our secret: he must know all; and, of course, he must
be taken care of hereafter. To be brief, I have already fallen in with the very
individual who will suit me; and I have acquainted him with the entire matter.
You will not object to receive him occasionally as a guest?"
    "My dear sir, how can I object? Is not this your house?
and am not I in your hands? You now that you can command me in all
respects."
    "I thought that you would meet my views with this
readiness and good will," said Mr. Stephens. "To tell you the real
truth, then - I have taken the liberty of inviting him to dine with us here
this day."
    "To-day"
    "Yes. Are you annoyed?"
    "Oh! not at all: only, the preparations —"
    "Do not alarm yourself. While you were occupied with
your toilet, I gave the necessary instructions to the cook. The old woman is
almost blind and deaf, still she knows full well how to serve up a tempting
repast; and as I am believed by your three servants to be your guardian, my
interference in this respect will not have appeared strange.
    "How could they think otherwise?" ejaculated
Walter. "Did not you provide those dependants who surround me? Do they not
look upon you as their master as well as myself? Are they not aware that the
villa is your own property? And have they not been led to believe - with the
exception of Louisa, who alone of the three knows the secret - that the state
of my health compelled you to place me here for the benefit of a purer air than
that which your residence in the city affords?"
    "Well, since my arrangements meet with your
satisfaction," said Mr. Stephens, smiling, "I am satisfied. But I
should tell you that I invited my friend hither not only to dine, but also to
pass the day, that we might have an opportunity of conversing together at our
leisure. Indeed," added Mr. Stephens, looking at his watch, "I expect
him here every moment."
    Scarcely were the words uttered when a loud knock at the
front door echoed through the house.
    In a few minutes Louisa appeared, and introduced "Mr.
Montague."

A CITY MAN -  SMITHFIELD SCENES

GEORGE MONTAGUE was a tall, good-looking young man of about three
or four-and-twenty. His hair and eyes were black, his complexion rather dark,
and his features perfectly regular
    His manners were certainly polished and a agreeable; but
there was, nevertheless, a something reserved and mysterious about him - an
anxiety to avert the conversation from any topic connected with himself - a
studied desire to flatter and gain the good opinions of those about him, by
means of compliments at times servile - and an occasional betrayal of a belief
in a code of morals not altogether consistent with the well-being of society,
which constituted features in his character by no means calculated to render
him a favourite with all classes of persons. He was, however, well-informed
upon most topics, ambitious of creating a sensation in the world, no matter by
what means; resolute in his pursuit after wealth, and careless whether the
paths leading to the objects which he sought were tortuous or straightforward.
He was addicted to pleasure, but never permitted it to interfere with his
business or mar his schemes.
 
Love
 
with him was merely the
blandishment of beauty; and
 
friendship
 
was simply that bond which connected him with those individuals
who were necessary to him. He was utterly and completely selfish; but he was
somehow or another possessed of sufficient tact to conceal most of his faults -
of the existence of which he was well aware. The consequence was that he was
usually welcomed as an agreeable companion; some even went so far as to assert
that he was a "devilish good fellow" and all admitted that he was a
thorough man of the world. He must have commenced his initiation early, thus to
have acquired such a character ere he had completed his four-and-twentieth
year!
    London abounds with such precocious specimens of thorough
heartlessness and worldly mindedness. The universities and great public schools
let loose upon society every half year a cloud of young men, who think only how
soon they can spend their own property in order to prey upon that of others.
These are your "young men
 
about
 
town:" as they grow older
they become "men
 
upon
 
the town." In their former capacity they graduate in all the
degrees of vice, dissipation, extravagance, and debauchery; and in the latter
they become the tutors of the novices who are entering in their turn upon the
road to ruin. The transition from the young man about town to the man upon the
town is as natural as that of a chrysalis to a butterfly. These men
 
upon
 
the town constitute as
pestilential a section of male society as the women
 
of
 
the town do of the female portion of the community. They are alike
the reptiles produced by the great moral dung-heap.
    We cannot, however, exactly class Mr. George Montague
with the men upon the town in the true meaning of the phrase, inasmuch as he
devoted his attention to commercial speculations of all kinds and under all
shapes, and his sphere was chiefly the City; whereas men upon the town seldom
entertain an idea half "so vulgar" as mercantile pursuits, and never
visit the domains of the Lord Mayor save when they want to get a bill
discounted, or to obtain cash for a check of too large an amount to be
entrusted to any of their high-born and aristocratic companions.
    Mr. George Montague was, therefore, one of that
multitudinous class called "City men" who possess no regular offices,
but have their letters addreseed to the Auction Mart or Garraway's, and who
make their appointments at such places as "the front of the Bank,"
"the Custom-house Wharf;" and "under the clock at the
Docks."
    City men are very extraordinary characters. They all know
"a certain speculation that would make a sure fortune, if one had but the
capital to work upon;" they never fail to observe, while making this
assertion, that they
 
could
 
apply to a friend if they chose, but that they do not choose to
lay themselves under the obligation; and they invariably affirm that
nothing is more easy than to make a fortune in the City, although the greater
portion of them remain without that happy consummation until the day of their deaths.
Now and then, however, one of these City men
 
does
 
succeed a in "making a
hit" by some means or other; and then his old friends, the very men who
are constantly enunciating the opinion relative to the facility with which
fortunes are obtained in the City, look knowing, wink at each other, and
declare "that it never could have been done unless he'd had somebody with
plenty of money to back him."
    Now Mr. Montague was one of those who adopted a better
system of logic than the vulgar reasoning. He knew that there was but little
merit in producing bread from flour, for instance: but he perceived that there
was immense credit due to those who could produce their bread without any flour
at all. Upon this principle he acted, and his plan was not unattended with success.
He scorned the idea "that money was necessary to beget money;" he
began his "City career," as he sometimes observed, without a
farthing; and he was seldom without gold in his pocket.
    No one knew where he lived. He was some times seen getting
into a Hackney omnibus at the Flower Pot, a Camberwell one at the Cross Keys;
or running furiously after a Hammersmith one along Cheapside; but as these
directions were very opposite, it was difficult to deduce from them any idea of
his domiciliary whereabouts.
    He was young to be a City man; the class does not often
include members under thirty; but of course there are exceptions to all rules;
and  Mr. George Montague was one.
    He was then a City man: but if the reader be anxious to know
what sort of
 
business
 
he transacted to obtain his living; whether he dabbled in the
funds, sold wines upon commission, effected loans and discounts, speculated in
shares, got up joint-stock companies, shipped goods to the colonies, purchased
land in Australia at eighteen- pence an acre and sold it again at one-and-nine,
conducted compromises for insolvent tradesmen,  made out the accounts of
bankrupts, arbitrated between partners who disagreed, or bought in things in a
friendly way at public sales; whether he followed any of these pursuits, or
meddled a little with them all, we can no more satisfy our readers than if we
attempted the biography of the Man in the Moon,- all we can say is, that he was
invariably in the City from eleven to four; that he usually had "an excellent
thing in hand just at that moment;" and, in a word, that he belonged to
the class denominated
 
City Men
!
    We have taken some pains to describe this gentleman; for
reasons which will appear hereafter.
    Having been duly introduced to Walter Sydney by Mr.
Stephens, and after a few observations of a general nature, Mr. Montague glided
almost imperceptibly into topics upon which he conversed with ease and fluency.
    Presently a pause ensued; and Mr. Stephens enquired "if
there were anything new in the City?"
    "Nothing particular," answered Montague. "I
have not of course been in town this morning; but I was not away till late last
night. I had a splendid thing in hand, which I succeeded in bringing to a
favourable termination. By-the-by there was a rumour on 'Change yesterday
 
afternoon, just before the close,
that Alderman  Dumkins is all wrong."
    "Indeed," said Stephens; "I thought he was
wealthy."
    "Oh! no;
 
I
 
knew the contrary eighteen months
ago! It appears he has been starting joint-stock company to work the Ercalat
tin mines in Cornwall —"
    "And I suppose the mines do not really exist?"
    "Oh! yes; they do - upon his maps! However, he has been
exhibiting certain specimens of tin; which be has passed off as Ercalat
produce; and it is now pretty generally known that the article was supplied him
by a house in Aldgate." 
    "Then he will be compelled to resign his gown?"
    "Not he! On the contrary, he stands next in rotation
for the honours of the civic chair, and he intends to go boldly forward as if
nothing had happened. You must remember that the aldermen of the City of London
have degenerated considerably in respectability during late years, and that
none of the really influential and wealthy men in the City will have anything
to do with the corporation affairs. You no see any great banker nor merchant
wearing the aldermanic gown. The only alderman who really possessed what may be
called a large fortune, and whose pecuniary position was above all doubt,
resigned his gown the other day in disgust at the treatment which he received
from his brother authorities, in consequence of his connexion with the
 
Weekly Courier
 
- the only newspaper that boldly, fearlessly, and effectually
advocates the people's cause."
    "And Dumkins will not resign, you think?"
    "Oh! decidedly not. But for my part," added
Montague, "I feel convinced that the sooner some change is made in the
City administration the better. Only conceive the immense sums which the
corporation receives from various sources, and the uses to which they are
applied. Look at the beastly guzzling at Guildhall, while there are in the very
heart of the City Augean stables of filth, crime, and debauchery to be cleansed
- witness Petticoat-lane, Smithfield —"
    A species of groan or stifled exclamation of horror issued
from the lips of Walter as Montague uttered these words: her countenance grew
deadly pale, and her entire frame appeared to writhe under a most painful
reminiscence or emotion.
    "Compose yourself, compose yourself," said Stephens,
hastily. "Shall I ring for a glass of water, or wine, or anything —"
    "No, it is past," interrupted Walter Sydney;
"but I never think of that horrible - that appalling adventure without
feeling my blood curdle in my veins. The mere mention of the word Smithfield
—"
    "Could I have been indiscreet enough to give utterance
to anything calculated to annoy?" said Montague, who was surprised at this
scene.
    "You were not aware of the reminiscence you awoke in my
mind by your remark," answered Walter, smiling; "but were you
acquainted with the particulars of that fearful night, you would readily excuse
my weakness."
    "You have excited Mr. Montague's curiosity,"
observed Stephens, "and you have now nothing to do but to gratify
it."
    "It is an adventure of a most romantic kind -  an
adventure which you will scarcely believe - and yet one that will make your
hair stand on end."
    "I am now most anxious to learn the details of this
mysterious occurrence," said Montague, scarcely knowing whether these
remarks were made in jest or earnest.
    Walter Sydney appeared to reflect for a few moments; and
then commenced the narrative in the following manner:- 
    "It is now a little more than four years ago - very
shortly after I first arrived at this house - that I rode into town, attended
by the same groom who is in my service now. I knew little or nothing of the
City, and felt my curiosity awakened to view the emporium of the world's
commerce. I accordingly determined to indulge in a ramble by myself amidst the
streets and thoroughfares of a place of which such marvellous accounts reach
those who pass their youth in the country. I left the groom with the horses at
a livery-stable in Bishopsgate-street, with a promise to return in the course
of two or three hours. I then roved about to my heart's content, and never gave
the lapse of time a thought. Evening came, and the weather grew threatening.
Then commenced my perplexities. I had forgotten the address of the stables
where the groom awaited my return; and I discovered the pleasing fact that I
had lost my way just at the moment when an awful storm seemed ready to break
over the metropolis. When I solicited information concerning the right path
which I should pursue, I was insulted by the low churls to whom I applied. To
be brief, I was overtaken by darkness and by the storm, in a place which I have
since ascertained to be Smithfield market. I could not have conceived that so
filthy and horrible a nuisance could have been allowed to exist in the midst of
a city of so much wealth. But, oh! the revolting streets which branch all from
that Smithfield. It seemed to me that I was wandering amongst all the haunts of
crime and appalling penury of which I had read in romances, but which I never
could have believed to exist in the very heart of the metropolis of the world.
Civilisation appeared to me to have chosen particular places which it
condescended to visit, and to have passed others by without even leaving a
foot-print to denote its presence."
    "But this horrible adventure?" said Montague.
    "Oh! forgive my digression. Surrounded by darkness,
exposed to the rage of the storm, and actually sinking with fatigue, I took
refuge in an old house, which I am sure I could never find again; but which was
situated nearly at the end, and on the right-hand side of the way, of one of
those vile narrow streets branching off from Smithfield. That house was the den
of wild beasts in human shape! I was compelled to hear a conversation of a most
appalling nature between two ruffians, who made that place the depot for their
plunder. They planned, amongst other atrocious topics, the robbery of a
country-seat, somewhere to the north of Islington, and inhabited by a family of
the name of Markham."
    "Indeed! What - how strange!" ejaculated Montague:
then immediately afterwards, he added, "How singular that you should have
overheard so vile a scheme!"
    "Oh! those villains," continued Walter, "were
capable of crimes of a far deeper dye They discussed horror upon horror, till I
thought