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) (20 page)

“Perdition seize on those
Carmelite nuns!” cried Lomellino; “they seem to have got another victim!”

“
Another victim!
” murmured the marquis falling back
in his bed, a prey to the most torturing feelings; and then his lips framed the
sweet and tender name of “
Giulia
!”

A FEARFUL ACCUSATION

Fair
 
and beauteous art thou, O City of
Flowers! with thy domes and spires, and turrets overlooking the Arno’s silver
stream, and crowding together in that river’s classic pale; surrounded, too, by
oak-covered hills, and cypress groves, and gardens of olives and evergreens,
and presenting to the view of the spectator who stands on the lofty summit of
Monte Senario, so vast an assemblage of palaces as to justify the saying of
Ariosto, that it seemed as if the very soil produced them!

Or seen from the olive-crowned
hill of Fesole, consecrated by the genius of Milton, how glorious is thy rich
combination of beauty, thou Athens of Etruria!

The sun dawned upon the eventful
night, the incidents of
 
 which
have occupied so many chapters. The golden flood poured upon the Florentine
scene, so fair even in winter, bathing in yellow luster the mighty dome of the
cathedral of St. Mary, the ducal palace on its left, and the cupola of the
Medicean chapel on its right, and bringing out into strong relief against the
deep foliage of the evergreens the marble fronts of palaces, villas, and
convents, seated amidst the hills, or scattered through the vale—the whole
affording a rich and varied view, as if eternal summer reigned in that
delightful region and beneath the purple canopy of that warm Italian sky!

Alas! that the selfish interests,
dark passions, conflicting feeling, clashing aims, and black, black crimes of
men should mar the serenity and peace which ought to maintain an existence
congenial to this scene!

Scarcely had the orient beams
penetrated through the barred casements of the Jew Isaachar’s house in the
suburb of Alla Croce, when the old man was awakened from a repose to which he
had only been able to withdraw a couple of hours previously, by a loud and
impatient knocking at his gate.

Starting from his couch, he
glanced from the window, and, to his dismay, beheld the lieutenant of police,
accompanied by half a dozen of his terrible sbirri, and by an individual in the
plain, sober garb of a citizen.

A cold tremor came over the
unhappy Israelite, for he knew that this official visit could bode him no good:
and the dread of having encountered the resentment of the Count of Arestino,
immediately conjured up appalling scenes of dungeons, chains, judgment-halls
and tortures, to his affrighted imagination.

The dark hints which Manuel
d’Orsini had dropped relative to the possibility of the count’s discovering the
affair of the diamonds, and the certain vengeance that would ensue, flashed to
the mind of Isaachar ben Solomon; and he stood, as it were, paralyzed at the
window, gazing with the vacancy of despair upon the armed men, on whose steel
morions and pikes the morning sunbeams now fell in radiant glory.

The knocking was repeated more
loudly and with greater impatience than before; and Isaachar, suddenly restored
to himself, and remembering that it was dangerous as well as useless to delay
the admittance of those who would not hesitate to force a speedy entry, huddled
on his garments, and descended to the door.

The moment it was opened, the
sbirri and the citizen entered; and the lieutenant, turning shortly round upon
the Jew, said, “His Excellency the Count of Arestino demands, through my
agency, the restoration of certain diamonds which his lordship has good reason
to believe are in your possession. But think not that his lordship is desirous
of plundering you of these jewels which you hold as security for certain moneys
advanced, for here is the gold to repay thee.”

Thus speaking, the lieutenant
produced from beneath his cloak a heavy bag of gold; and Isaachar, now
considerably relieved of his apprehensions, led the way into the apartment
 
 where he had received the
Marquis of Orsini and Stephano de Verrina during the past night.

“Hast thou heard my message,
Israelite?” demanded the lieutenant.

“Yes, yes; and his lordship is a
worthy man—an estimable man. No oppressor of the poor defenseless Jew is he!
Would that Florence abounded in such nobles as the Count of Arestino!”

“Cease thy prating, Jew, and let
us dispatch this business,” cried the officer. “You see,” he added, glancing
toward his men, “that with these at my disposal, the ransacking of your
dwelling would be a light and easy matter.”

“I will not render it necessary,”
returned the Jew. “Tarry ye here a few moments and the diamonds shall be
delivered up.”

Isaachar proceeded into another
apartment, the lieutenant following him as far as the passage to see that he
did not escape. When the old man returned, he had a small rosewood case in his
hand: and from this box he produced the stones which had been extracted from
the settings the very day the jewels were first mortgaged to him.

“Now, signor,” said the
lieutenant, turning to the citizen in the plain sober garb, “as you are the
diamond merchant of whom his lordship the count originally purchased the
precious stones which have been traced to the possession of Isaachar, it is for
you to declare whether those be the true diamonds or not.”

The citizen examined the stones,
and having pronounced them to be the genuine ones, took his departure, his
services being no longer required.

The lieutenant secured the
rosewood case with its valuable contents about his person, and then proceeded
to settle with interest the amount claimed by the Jew, as the sum which he had
advanced on the jewels.

While this transaction was in
progress, the notice of one of the sbirri was attracted by the marks of blood
which appeared on the floor, and which, as the reader will recollect, had been
caused by the wound that the Marquis of Orsini had received from the robber
Stephano.

“It is decidedly blood,”
whispered the sbirro to one of his companions.

“Not a doubt of it,” observed
another. “We must mention it to the lieutenant when he has done counting out
that gold.”

“Do you know what I have heard
about the Jews?” asked the first speaker, drawing his comrades still further
aside.

“What?” was the general question.

“That they kill Christian
children to mix the blood in the dough with which they make the bread used at
their religious ceremonies,” answered the sbirro.

“Depend upon it. Isaachar has
murdered a Christian child for that purpose!” said one of his companions.

This atrocious idea gained
immediate belief among the ignorant sbirri; and as the Jew now quitted the room
for a few moments to secure the gold which he had just received, in his coffer
in the adjacent apartment, the police officers had leisure to point
 
 out to their superior the traces
of blood which they had noticed, and the suspicion which these marks had
engendered.

The lieutenant was not further
removed beyond the influence of popular prejudice and ridiculous superstition
than even his men: and though by no means of a cruel disposition, yet he
thought it no sin nor injustice to persecute the Hebrew race, even when
innocent and unoffending. But, now that suspicion, or what he chose to consider
suspicion, pointed at Isaachar ben Solomon as a dreadful criminal, the
lieutenant did not hesitate many moments how to act.

Thus, when the Jew returned to
the room with the fond hope of seeing his visitors take their speedy departure,
he was met by the terrible words, uttered by the officer of the sbirri. “In the
name of the most high inquisition, Isaachar, do I make you my prisoner!”

The unhappy Jew fell upon his
knees, stunned, terrified by the appalling announcement; and although he
assumed this attitude of supplication, he had not the power to utter a syllable
of intercession or of prayer. Horror had for the moment stricken him dumb: and
a thousand images of terror, conjured up by the fearful words, “the
inquisition,” suddenly sprung up to scare, bewilder and overwhelm him.

“Bind him, gag him!” ejaculated
the lieutenant: and this order was immediately obeyed: for whenever a prisoner
was about to be conveyed to the dungeons of the inquisition, he was invariably
gagged, in order that no questions on his part might evoke answers at all
calculated to afford him a clew to the cause of his arrest.

This precaution was originally
adopted in reference to those only who were ignorant of the charges laid
against them: but it had subsequently become common in all cases of arrest
effected in the name or on the part of the holy brotherhood.

The Palazzo del Podesta, or ducal
palace, was one of the most celebrated edifices in Florence. In strong contrast
with the various beautiful specimens of composite Tuscan, combined with a
well-assimilated portion of the Grecian character, which abounded in Florence,
the ducal palace was remarkable for the stern and gloomy character of its architecture.
Its massive and heavy tower, crowned with embattled and overhanging parapets,
seemed to frown in sullen and haughty defiance at the lapse of Time. The first
range of windows were twelve feet from the ground, and were grated with
enormous bars of iron, producing a somber and ominous effect. Within were the
apartments of the duke’s numerous dependents; and the lower portion of the
palace had been rendered thus strong to enable the edifice to withstand a siege
in those troublous times, when the contentions of the Guelphs and Ghibelines
desolated Florence. On the second floor there was in front a plain and simple
architrave, and on that story the windows were high and arched; for those
casements belonged to the ducal apartments. The upper stories were in the same
style; but the general aspect was stern and mournful to a degree.

The palace was built, as indeed
nearly all the Florentine mansions
 
 then
were, and still are, in the form of a square; and around this court, which was
of an antique and gloomy cast, were numerous monumental stones, whereon were
inscribed the names of the nobles and citizens who had held high offices in the
state previous to the establishment of the sway of the Medici.

It was beneath the Palazzo del
Podesta that the dungeons of the criminal prison and also those of the
inquisition were situated.

In a cell belonging to the former
department, Fernand Wagner was already a captive; and Isaachar ben Solomon now
became the inmate of a narrow, cold, and damp stone chamber, in that division
of the subterrane which was within the jurisdiction of the holy office.

THE VISIT OF THE BANDITTI TO THE
RIVEROLA PALACE

It
 
was Monday night, and within an
hour of the time appointed by Stephano for the meditated invasion of the
Riverola Palace.

Francisco had already retired to
rest, for he was wearied with vain and ineffectual wandering about the city and
its environs in search of some trace that might lead him to discover his lost
Flora.

Indeed, the few days which had
now elapsed since her mysterious disappearance had been passed by the young
count in making every possible inquiry and adopting every means which
imagination could suggest to obtain a clew to her fate. But all in vain. And
never for a moment did he suspect that she might be an inmate of the Carmelite
Convent, for, although he was aware of the terrible power wielded by that
institution, yet feeling convinced that Flora herself was incapable of any
indiscretion, it never struck him that the wicked machinations of another might
place her in the custody of the dreaded Carmelite abbess.

We said that Francisco had
retired to rest somewhat early on the above-mentioned night, and the domestics,
yielding to the influence of a soporific which Antonio, the faithless valet,
had infused into the wine which it was his province to deal out to them under
the superintendence of the head butler, had also withdrawn to their respective
chambers.

Nisida had dismissed her maids
shortly before eleven, but she did not seek her couch. There was an expression
of wild determination, of firm resolve, in her dark black eyes and her
compressed lips which denoted the courage of her dauntless but impetuous mind.
For of that mind the large piercing eyes seemed an exact transcript.

Terrible was she in the decision
of her masculine—oh! even more than masculine—character, for beneath that
glorious beauty with which she was arrayed beat a heart that scarcely knew
compunction, or that, at all events, would hesitate at nothing calculated to
advance her interests or her projects.

Though devoured with ardent
passions, and of a temperament naturally voluptuous and sensual even to an
extreme, she had
 
 hitherto
remained chaste, as much for want of opportunity to assuage the cravings of her
mad desires, as through a sentiment of pride—but since she had loved Wagner—the
first and only man whom she had ever loved—her warm imagination had excited
those desires to such a degree, that she felt capable of making any sacrifice,
save one—to secure him to herself.

And that one sacrifice which she
could not make was not her honor: no, of that she now thought but little in the
whirlwind of her impetuous, ardent, heated imagination. But, madly as she loved
Fernand Wagner—that is, loved him after the fashion of her own strange and
sensual heart—she loved her brother still more; and this attachment was at
least a pure, a holy sentiment, and a gloriously redeeming trait in the
character of this wondrous woman, of a mind so darkly terrible.

And for her brother’s sake it was
that there was one sacrifice—a sacrifice of a tremendous, but painfully
persevered-in project—which she would not make even to her love for Fernand
Wagner! No, rather would she renounce him forever—rather would she perish,
consumed by the raging fires of her own ungratified passions, than sacrifice
one tittle of what she deemed to be her brother’s welfare to any selfish
feeling of her own!

Wherefore do we dwell on this
subject now?

Because such was the resolution
which Nisida vowed within her own heart, as she stood alone in her chamber, and
fixed her eyes upon a document, bearing the ducal seal that lay upon the table.

That document contained the
decision of his highness in respect to the memorial which she had privately
forwarded to him in accordance with the advice given her a few days previously
by Dr. Duras. The duke lost no time in vouchsafing a reply; and this reply was
unfavorable to the hopes of Nisida. His highness refused to interfere with the
provisions of the late count’s will; and this decision was represented to be
final.

Therefore it was that Nisida
solemnly vowed within herself to persevere in a course so long ago adopted, and
ever faithfully, steadily, sternly adhered to since the day of its
commencement; and, as if to confirm herself in the strength of this resolution,
she turned her eyes with adoring, worshiping look toward the portrait of her
maternal parent, those eloquent, speaking orbs seeming almost to proclaim the
words which her lips could not utter, “Yes, mother—sainted mother! thou shalt
be obeyed!”

Then she hastily secured the
ducal missive in an iron box where she was in the habit of keeping her own
private papers, and which opened with a secret spring.

But did she, then, mean to
renounce her love for Wagner? Did she contemplate the terrible alternative of
abandoning him in his misfortune, in his dungeon?

No—far from that! She would save
him if she could; she would secure him to herself, if such were possible; but
she would not sacrifice to these objects the one grand scheme of her life, that
scheme which had formed her character as we now find it, and which made her
stand alone, as it were, among the millions of her own sex!

 And it was to put into
execution the plan which she had devised to effect Wagner’s freedom, that she
was now arming herself with all the resolution, all the magnanimity, all the
firmness with which her masculine soul was capable.

The dial on the mantel in the
chamber marked the hour of eleven; and Nisida commenced her preparations.

Having divested herself of her
upper garment, she put on a thin, but strong, and admirably formed corselet,
made so as to fit the precise contour of her ample bust, and completely to
cover her bosom. Then she assumed a black velvet robe, which reached up to her
throat, and entirely concealed the armor beneath. Her long flexible dagger was
next thrust carefully into a sheath formed by the wide border of her stomacher;
and her preparations for defense in case of peril were completed.

She now took from a cupboard six
small bags, which were nevertheless heavy, for they were filled with gold; and
these she placed on a table. Then seating herself at that table, she wrote a
few lines on several slips of paper, and these she thrust into her bosom.

Having accomplished her
arrangements thus far, the Lady Nisida took a lamp in her hand, and quitted her
apartments.

Ascending a staircase leading to
the upper story, she paused at one of several doors in a long corridor, and
slowly and noiselessly drew the bolt, by which that door might be fastened
outside.

This was Antonio’s room; and
thus, by Nisida’s precaution, was he made a prisoner.

She then retraced her way to the
floor below, and proceeded to the apartment in which her father breathed his
last, and where the mysterious closet was situated.

No one until now had entered that
room since the day of the late count’s funeral; and its appearance was gloomy
and mournful in the extreme; not only on account of the dark, heavy hangings of
the bed, and the drawn curtains of the windows, but also from the effect of the
ideas associated with that chamber.

And as Nisida glanced toward the
closet-door, even she trembled, and her countenance became ashy pale; for not
only did she shudder at the thought of the horrors which that closet contained,
but through her brain also flashed the dreadful history revealed to her by the
manuscript—of which, however, only a few lines have as yet been communicated to
the reader. But she knew all—she had read the whole; and well—oh! well might
she shudder and turn pale.

For terrible indeed must have been
the revelations of a manuscript whereof the few lines above alluded to gave
promise of such appalling interest,—those lines which ran thus: “Merciless
scalpel hacked and hewed away at the still almost palpitating flesh of the
murdered man, in whose breast the dagger remained deeply buried,—a ferocious
joy—a savage, hyena-like triumph now——”

But we are to some extent
digressing from the thread of our narrative.

 Nisida placed the lamp in
the chimney, in such a way that its light was concealed so as to leave all the
immediate vicinity of the door in a state of complete darkness; and she seated
herself in a chair close by, to await the expected events of midnight.

Slowly, slowly passed the
intervening twenty minutes; and the lady had ample leisure to reflect upon all
the incidents of her life—ay, and to shudder too at one which had dyed her hand
with blood—the blood of Agnes!

Yet, though she shuddered thus,
she did not look upon it with that unbounded, tremendous horror that would be
experienced by a lady similarly placed in these times; for jealousy was a
feeling that, by the tacit convention of a vitiated society, was an excuse for
even murder; and, moreover, she possessed the true Italian heart, which deemed
the death of a rival in love a justifiable act of vengeance.

But she felt some compunction,
because she had learnt, when it was too late, that Agnes was not the mistress
of Fernand Wagner; and she was convinced that in affirming this much he had
uttered the strictest truth.

Thus was she rather grieved at
the fatal mistake than appalled by the deed itself; and she shuddered because
she knew that her fearful impetuosity of disposition had led to the unnecessary
deed which had entailed so dark a suspicion and so much peril upon her lover.

She was in the midst of these and
other reflections connected with the various salient features of her life, when
the door of the room was slowly and cautiously opened, and a man entered,
bearing a lantern in his hand.

Two others followed close behind
him.

“Shut the door, Lomellino,” said
the foremost.

“But are you sure that this is
the room?” asked the man thus addressed.

“Certain,” was the reply.
“Antonio described its situation so clearly——”

“Then why did he not join us?”

“How do I know? But that need not
prevent us——”

Nisida at this moment raised the
lamp from the fire-place, and the light flashing at that end of the room,
produced a sudden start and ejaculation on the part of the banditti.

“Perdition!” cried Stephano,
“what can this mean?”

Nisida advanced toward the robbers
in a manner so calm, so dignified, so imperious, and so totally undaunted by
their presence, that they were for a moment paralyzed and rooted to the spot as
if they were confronted by a specter.

But at the next instant Stephano
uttered an exclamation of mingled surprise and joy, adding, “By my patron
saint! Lomellino, this is the very lady of whom I spoke to you the other
evening!”

“What, the one who did the
business so well in——”

“Yes, yes,” cried Stephano
hastily; “you know what I mean—in Wagner’s garden! But——”

Nisida had in the meantime drawn
from her bosom one of the
 
 slips
of paper before alluded to; and, handing it to the bandit-chief, she made a
hasty and imperious motion for him to read it.

He obeyed her with the mechanical
submission produced by astonishment and curiosity, mingled with admiration for
that bold and daring woman, whom he already loved and resolved to win: but his
surprise was increased a hundred-fold, when he perused these lines:—“I am the
Lady Nisida of Riverola. Your design is known to me; it matters not how. Rumor
has doubtless told you that I am deaf and dumb; hence this mode of
communicating with you. You have been deluded by an idle knave—for there is no
treasure in the closet yonder. Even if there had been, I should have removed it
the moment your intended predatory visit was made known to me. But you can
serve me; and I will reward you well for your present disappointment.”

“What does the paper say?”
demanded Lomellino and Piero, the captain’s two companions, almost in the same
breath.

“It says just this much,”
returned Stephano—and he read the writing aloud.

“The Lady Nisida!” ejaculated
Lomellino. “Then it is she who used her dagger so well in Wagner’s garden.”

“Peace, silly fool!” cried
Stephano. “You have now let out the secret to Piero. True, ’tis no matter, as
he is as stanch to me as you are; and therefore he may as well know that this
lady here was the murderess of the young female in Wagner’s garden: for I saw
her do the deed when I was concealed among the evergreens there. She is as much
in our power as we are in hers, and we will let her know it if she means any
treachery.”

“But how could she have
discovered that we meant to come here to-night, and what our object was?” asked
Piero.

“Antonio must have peached, that’s
clear!” returned Stephano; “and therefore he did not join us, as agreed, in the
hall down-stairs. But no matter. It seems there’s gold to be earned in this
lady’s service: and even if there wasn’t I have such an affection for her I
would cut the throat of the duke or the cardinal archbishop himself merely to
give her pleasure.”

Then turning toward Nisida, whose
courage seemed partially to have abandoned her, for her countenance was ghastly
pale, and her hand trembled so that it could scarcely hold the lamp, Stephano
made a low bow, as much as to imply that he was entirely at her service.