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LONDON [Vol. II]
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WEEK passed away, during which the examination of Reginald Tracy took place
before the police-magistrate, and terminated in the committal of the rector to
The whole town rang with the extraordinary events which
had led to this crisis in the career of a man whose very name had so lately
The clergy were horror-struck at the disgrace [-61-]
brought upon their cloth by this terrific explosion; for people grew inclined to
look upon real ecclesiastical sanctity as nothing more nor less than a garb of
Some ministers of the gospel, more daring and
enthusiastic than the rest, boldly proclaimed from their pulpits that Reginald
Tracy was a saint and a martyr, against whom a horrible conspiracy had been
concocted in order to remove the imputation of murder from the young female who
had been discharged, and fix it on him.
Other clergymen entered into learned disquisitions to
prove that Satan must have obtained especial leave from God, as in the case of
Job, to tempt the most holy and pious of men; and that, having failed to seduce
him from the right path, the Evil One had accomplished a series of atrocities
all so artfully arranged as to fix the stain upon the rector of St. David's.
But there were some reverend gentlemen, who, having
always been jealous of Reginald Tracy's popularity, descanted in significant
terms upon the Shallowness of mere eloquence in the pulpit, and the folly of
running after "fashionable preachers." One venerable and holy
gentleman, who had been married three times, and had received from his wives an
aggregate of seventeen pledges of their affection, bitterly denounced in his
sermon the "whitened sepulchre," "tinkling cymbal," and
"unclean vessel," who had dared to set his face against the sacred
institution of matrimony.
The fashionable world was powerfully excited by the
exposure of Reginald Tracy. Some wiseacres shook their heads, and observed that
they had always suspected there was something wrong about the rector; others
plainly asserted that they had even prophesied what would happen some day. The
fair sex all agreed that it was a great pity, as he was such a charming
preacher and such a handsome man!
The press was not idle in respect to the business. The
newspapers teemed with "Latest Particulars;" and all the
penny-a-liners in London were on the alert to collate additional facts. Nine out
of ten of these facts, however, turned out to be pure fictions. One journal,
conducted on more imaginative principles than its contemporaries, promulgated a
new discovery which it had made in respect to the rector's history, and coolly
fixed upon his back all the murders which had occurred in the metropolis during
the previous dozen years, and the perpetrators of which had never yet been
Heaven knows Reginald Tracy was bad enough; but if one
believed all which was now said of him in the public journals, no monster that
ever disgraced humanity was so vile as he.
Some of the cheap unstamped periodicals treated their
readers with portraits of the rector; and as very few of the artists who were
employed to draw them had ever seen their subject, and were now unable to obtain
access to him, their inventive faculties were put to the most exciting test.
And, as a convincing proof that no two persons entertain the same idea of an
object which they have never seen, it may be observed that there was a most
extraordinary variety in the respective characteristics of these portraits.
In a word, the rector's name engrossed universal
attention: — a cheap romance was issued, entitled "The Murdered
Housekeeper; or, the Corrupt Clergyman;" — one of the minor
theatres attracted crowded houses by the embodiment of the particulars of the
case in a melodrama; — and Madame Tussaud added the effigy of
Reginald Tracy to her collection of wax-works.
But what were the feelings of Lady Cecilia Harborough
when the terrible announcement of the rector's arrest met her ears!
We must observe that when she first heard of the death
of the housekeeper, she entertained a faint suspicion that Reginald, and not
Katherine Wilmot, was the author of the deed. But while the young girl was yet
in prison, before the trial, and when Cecilia and the rector met, the latter so
eloquently expatiated upon the case, that Cecilia's suspicions were hushed; and
she learnt to look upon the housekeeper's death following so shortly on the
exposure of the rector's hypocrisy to that female as a remarkable coincidence
only. Moreover, the rector had all along declared his impression that the
housekeeper had committed suicide, and that the innocence of Katherine would be
made apparent before the judges.
Thus Cecilia's mind had been more or less tranquillised
during the interval which occurred between the housekeeper's death and the day
But when, in the afternoon of the day on which that
trial took place, the appalling news of Katherine's acquittal and Reginald's
arrest reached her ears, she was thrown into a state of the most painful
It was true that she could not in the slightest degree
be implicated in the enormous crime of which he was accused: but would her
guilty connexions with him transpire?
Her conscience entertained the worst forebodings in this
At one moment she thought of hastening to visit him in
his prison: then she reflected that suet. a course would only encourage a
suspicion calculated to proclaim that scandal which she was so anxious to avoid.
Fortunately Sir Rupert Harborough was still away from
home, with his friend Chichester, and thus Lady Cecilia had no disagreeable spy
to witness her distressing emotions and embarrassment.
Day after day passed; Reginald had been committed, as
before stated, to Newgate; and Cecilia heard nothing from him.
At length at the expiration of a week from the day of
his arrest, a dirty, shabby-looking lad called in Tavistock Square, and
requested to see Lady Cecilia Harborough alone.
He was accordingly admitted to her presence.
"Please, ma'am," he said, "I've come with a message from Mr.
Tracy, which is in Newgate. He is a wery nice gen'leman, and is certain sure to
be hung, they say."
"Who are you?" demanded Cecilia, with
"Please, ma'am, I belong to an eating-house in the
Old Bailey," returned the boy; "and I take in Mr. Tracy's meals to
"And what do you want with me?"
"Please, ma'am, Mr. Tracy says will you go and see
him to-morrow morning between ten and eleven?"
"In Newgate!" ejaculated Lady Cecilia, with an
"Oh! yes, ma'am: I goes in there three times [-62-]
every day o' my life; and so I'm sure you need n't he afraid to wisit it just
"Well — I will think of it. Have you
any thing else to say to me?"
"Please, ma'am, Mr. Tracy says that you've no call
to give your own name at the gate; but if you pass yourself off as his sister,
just come up from the country, you can see him alone in his cell. But if you
don't do that you'd on'y be allowed to speak to him through the bars of his
yard. He would have wrote to you, but then the letters must be read by the
governor before they goes out; and so it would have been known that he sent to
you. He never thought of speaking about it to me till this morning; and I
promised to do his arrand faithful. That's all, ma'am."
"And enough too," said Lady Cecilia, in a tone
of deep disgust, as she threw the lad a few shillings across the table in the
room where she received him.
"Is there any message, ma'am, to take back to Mr.
Tracy?" asked the boy; "'cos I shall see him the first thing in the
"You may say that I will do as he desires,"
answered Cecilia: "but beware how you mention to a soul that you have been
here. Forget my name as you had never heard it."
"Yes, ma'am — to be sure," replied
the boy; "and thank'ee kindly."
He then pocketed the money, and took his departure.
"Newgate, Newgate!" thought Lady Cecilia, when
she was once more alone: "there is something chilling — menacing- — awful
in that name! And yet I must penetrate into those gloomy cells to see — whom?
A murderer! Oh! who would have thought that the rich, the handsome, the
renowned, the courted, the flattered rector of St. David's would become an
inmate of Newgate? A murderer! Ah — my God, the mere idea is
horrible! And that uncouth boy who said coolly that he was certain to be hanged!
Reginald — Reginald, to what have you come? Would It not have been
better to dare exposure — contumely — infamy — reproach,
than to risk such an appalling alternative? But reputation was dearer to this
man than aught in the world beside! And he is rich: — what will he
do with his wealth? Perhaps it is for that he desires my presence? Who
This idea determined Lady Cecilia upon visiting Newgate
on the following day.
She did not reflect that she herself was the first link
in that chain which had so rapidly wound itself around the unhappy man, until it
paralysed his limbs in a criminal gaol. She often asked herself how he could
have been so mad as to commit the deed that menaced him with the most terrible
fate; but beyond the abstract event itself she never thought of looking.
The morning dawned; Lady Cecilia rose, and dressed
herself in as unpretending a manner as possible.
At half-past nine she went out, took a cab at the
nearest stand, and proceeded to Newgate. She ascertained, by inquiry, which was
the prison entrance, and ascended the steps leading to the half-door, the top of
which was garnished with long iron spikes.
A stout, red-faced turnkey, with a good-tempered
countenance, admitted her into the obscure lobby, behind which was a passage
where a gas-light burns all day long.
"Who do you want, ma'am?" said the turnkey.
"Mr. Tracy," was the reply.
"Are you any relation to him?"
"His sister. I have just arrived from the
"Please to write your name down in this book."
Lady Cecilia, who seldom lost her presence of mind,
instantly took up the pen, and wrote down "ANNE TRACY."
"Excuse me, ma'am," said the turnkey,
"but if you have any knife in your pocket you must leave it here."
"I have none," answered Cecilia.
"Take that passage, ma'am, and you will find a
turnkey who will admit you to Tracy's cell."
All titular distinctions are dropped in Newgate.
Lady Cecilia proceeded along the passage as she was
desired, and at length reached a large stone vestibule, from which several doors
opened into the different yards in that part of the building.
She accosted a turnkey, informing him whom she came to
visit; and he bade her follow him.
In a few moments he stopped at a massive door opened it,
and said, "Walk in there, ma'am."
She advanced a few steps: the door closed behind her;
and she found herself in the presence of Reginald Tracy.
But how changed was he! His cheeks were ghastly
pale — his eyes sunken — his hair was in disorder — his
person dirty and neglected.
"This is kind of you, Cecilia," he said,
without rising from his chair. "Sit down, and lose no time in
conversing — we have not much time to be together."
"Oh, Reginald! " exclaimed Cecilia, as she
took a seat, "what a place for us to meet in!"
"Now do not give way to ejaculations and laments
which will do no good," said Reginald. "If you can maintain your
tranquillity it will be advantageous to yourself. You know that I am possessed
of some property?"
"The world always believed you to be rich,"
"I have lately been extravagant," continued
Reginald: "still I have a handsome fortune remaining. As I am not yet
condemned," he added bitterly, "I can leave it to whom I choose. Do
you wish to be my heiress!"
"Ah! Reginald — this proof of your
affection — "
"No superfluous words, Cecilia," interrupted
the rector impatiently. "If you wish to possess my wealth you must render
me a service-an important service, to merit it."
"Any thing in the world that I can do to benefit
you shall be performed most faithfully," said Lady Cecilia.
"And you will not shrink from the service which I
demand? The condition is no light one."
"Name it. Whatever it be, I will accept it — provided
that it do not involve my safety," returned Cecilia.
"Selfishness!" exclaimed the rector
contemptuously. "Listen attentively. To-morrow my solicitor will attend
upon me here. To him I shall make over all my property — in trust
for the person to whom I choose to bequeath it. He is an honourable man, and
will faithfully perform my wishes. I have not a relation nor a friend in the
world who [-63-] has any particular claim upon me.
I can constitute you my heiress: at my death," he added slowly, "all I
possess may revert to you, — the world remaining in ignorance of the
manner in which I have disposed of my wealth. But if I thus enrich you, I demand
from your hands the means of escaping an infamy otherwise inevitable."
"I do not understand you," said Cecilia,
The rector leant forward, fixed a penetrating glance
upon his mistress, and said in a hollow and subdued tone, "I require
poison — a deadly poison!"
"Poison!" echoed Cecilia, with a shudder.
"Yes: do you comprehend me now? Will you earn
wealth by rendering me that service?" he asked eagerly.
"What poison do you require?" demanded Cecilia
"Prussic acid: it is the most certain — and
the quickest," answered the rector. "If you are afraid to procure it
yourself, the old hag in Golden Lane will, assist you in that respect."
"And must it really come to this?" said
Cecilia. "Is all hope dead?"
"My doom is certain — if I live to meet
it," answered Reginald, who only maintained the composure which he now
displayed by the most desperate efforts to subdue his emotions. "The
evidence is too damning against me. And yet I imagined that I had adopted such
precautions! "he continued, in a musing tone. "I felt so confident
that the poor, old woman would appear to have died by her own hand! I sent the
footman out of the way, not upon a frivolous cause, but on an errand which would
bear scrutiny. I made the housekeeper herself get rid of Katherine. I did all
that prudence suggested. But never — never did I anticipate that another
would be charged with the crime! And yet, when suspicion attached itself so
strongly to that poor innocent girl, what could I do? I had but two
alternatives — to allow her to suffer, or to immolate myself by
proclaiming her guiltlessness. Oh! Cecilia, you know not — you
cannot conceive all that I have suffered since that fatal evening! Often and
often was I on the point of going forward and confessing all, in order to save
that innocent girl. But I had not the courage! When I gave my testimony, I
rendered it as favourable towards her as possible. I laboured hard to encourage
the suspicion that the deceased had been her own destroyer. But fate had
ordained that all should transpire."
He paused, and buried his face in his hands.
A sob escaped his breast.
"This is childish — this is foolish in
the extreme," he suddenly cried. "Time is passing — and
you have not yet decided whether you will render me the service I require, upon
the consideration of inheriting all my wealth."
"I will do what you ask of me," said Cecilia,
in a low but decided tone.
"And do not attempt to deceive me," continued
Reginald; "for if you bring me a harmless substitute for a deadly poison,
you will frustrate my design, it is true-but I shall live to revoke the bequest
made in your favour."
"I will not deceive you, Reginald — If
you be indeed determined," said his mistress.
"I am determined. We now understand each
other: to me the poison — to you the wealth."
"Agreed," was the answer.
"The day after to-morrow you will return — provided
with what I require?" said Reginald.
"You may rely upon me."
"Then farewell, Cecilia, for the present."
The rector offered the lady his hand: Cecilia pressed it
with affected fervour, though in reality she almost recoiled from the touch.
Profligate as she was, she had no sincere sympathy for a
Nor was she sorry when she once more found herself
beyond the terrible walls of Newgate.
chapter < | THE MYSTERIES OF
LONDON [Vol. II]
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