LADY ALICE DAVENTRY; OR, THE NIGHT OF CRIME. [From the Dublin University Magazine.] LADY ALICE DAVENTRY; OR, THE NIGHT OF CRIME. DAVENTRY HALL, near the little village of the same name in Cumberland, is the almost regal residence of the Cliffords; yet it does not bear their name, nor, till within the last quarter of a century, had it come into their possession. The tragical event which consigned it to the hands of a distant branch of the Daventry family, is now almost forgotten by its occupants, but still lingers in the memory of some of humbler rank, who, in days gone by, were tenants under Sir John Daventry, the last of a long line of baronets of that name. Few men have entered life under happier auspices: one of the oldest baronets in the kingdom, in one sense, but just of age, in the other, possessed of an unencumbered rent roll of £20,000 per annum, he might probably have selected his bride from the fairest of the English aristocracy; but when he was twenty-three he married the beautiful and poor daughter of an officer residing in his vicinity. It was a love-match on his side-one partly of love, partly of ambition, on hers; their union was not very long, neither was it very happy, and when Lady Daventry died, leaving an infant daughter to his care, at the expiration of his year of mourning he chose as his second wife the wealthy and high-born widow of the county member. This was a marriage de convenance, and might have perhaps proved a fortunate one, as it secured to Sir John a wife suited to uphold his dignity and the style of his establishment, at the same time conferring on the little Clara the care of a mother, and the society of a playmate in the person of Charles Mardyn, Lady Daventry's son by her first marriage. But the marriage of convenience did not end more felicitously than the marriage of love—at the end of six months Sir John found himself a second time a widower. His position was now a somewhat unusual one-at twenty-seven he had lost two wives, and was left the sole guardian of two children, neither past the age of infancy; Clara Daventry was but two years old, Charles Mardyn three years her senior. Of these circumstances, Sir John made what he conceived the best, provided attendants and governesses for the children, consigned them to the seclusion of the Hall, while he repaired to London, procured a superb establishment, was famed for the skill of his cooks, and the goodness of his wines, and for the following eighteen years was an habitúe of the clubs, and courted by the élite of London society; and this, perhaps, being considered a blameless course, and inflicting as little of any sort of trouble or annoyance as possible, "Is Lady Alice in the boudoir ?" he asked. "Yes," she replied, "you do not want her?" Without answering, he passed on, and, opening the door, Charles Mardyn stood be fore the Lady Alice Daventry, his stepfather's wife. indulge in pleasures. Clara Daventry's Lady Alice with the quiet stealthiness of temperament was too passionless to covet it one calmly seeking to penetrate through a for these purposes; but she had accustomed mystery; and, despite her efforts to appear herself to look on these possessions as her unconcerned, it was evident she felt disright, and to picture the day when, through tressed by his scrutiny. The dinner was their far extent, its tenants should own her soon dispatched; Lady Alice complained of rule. Besides, Mardyn had awoke, if not a fatigue, and Clara conducted her to the boufeeling of affection, in Clara Daventry's doir designed for her private apartment. As breast, at least a wish to possess him-a she was returning she met Mardyn. wish in which all the sensuous part of her nature (and in that cold character there was a good deal that was sensuous) joined. She had perception to know her own want of attractions, and to see that her only hope of winning this gay and brilliant man of fashion was the value her wealth might be of in repairing a fortune his present mode of living was likely to scatter-a hope which, should her father marry, and have a male heir, would fall to the ground. In due time the papers announced the marriage of Sir John Daventry to the Lady Alice Mortimer. They were to spend their honeymoon at Daventry. The evening before the marriage, Charles Mardyn arrived at the Hall; it was some time since he had last been there; it was a singular day to select for leaving London, and Clara noticed a strange alteration in his appearance, a negligence of dress, and perturbation of manner unlike his ordinary selfpossession, that made her think that, perhaps, he had really loved her destined step-mother. Still, if so, it was strange his coming to the Hall. The following evening brought Sir John and Lady Alice Daventry to their bridal home. The Hall had been newly decorated for the occasion, and, in the general confusion and interest, Clara found herself degraded from the consideration she had before received. Now the Hall was to receive a new mistress, one graced with title, and the stamp of fashion. These are offenses little minds can hardly be thought to overlook; and as Clara Daventry stood in the spacious hall to welcome her step-mother to her home, and she who was henceforward to take the first place there, the Lady Alice, in her rich travelling costume, stood before her, the contrast was striking the unattractive, ugly girl, beside the brilliant London beauty-the bitter feelings of envy and resentment that then passed through Clara's mind cast their shade on her after destiny. During the progress of dinner, Clara noticed the extreme singularity of Mardyn's manner; noticed also the sudden flush of crimson that dyed Lady Alice's cheek on first beholding him, which was followed by an increased and continued paleness. There was at their meeting, however, no embarrassment on his part-nothing but the well-bred ease of the man of the world was observable in his congratulations; but during dinner Charles Mardyn's eyes were fixed on She was sitting on a low stool, and in a deep reverie, her cheek resting on one of her fairy-like hands. She was indeed a beautiful woman. No longer very young-she was about thirty, but still very lovely, and something almost infantine in the arch innocence of expression that lighted a countenance cast in the most delicate mould-she looked, in every feature, the child of rank and fashion; so delicate, so fragile, with those petites features, and that soft pink flesh, and pouting coral lips; and, in her very essence, she had all those qualities that belong to a spoiled child of fashion-wayward, violent in temper, capricious, and volatile. She started from her reverie; she had not expected to see Mardyn, and betrayed much emotion at his abrupt entrance; for, as though in an agony of shame, she buried her face in her hands, and turned away her head, yet her attitude was very feminine and attractive, with the glossy ringlets of rich brown hair falling in a shower over the fair soft arms, and the whole so graceful in its defenselessness, and the forbearance it seemed to ask. Yet, whatever Mardyn's purpose might be, it did not seem to turn him from it; the sternness on his countenance increased as he drew a chair, and, sitting down close beside her, waited in silence, gazing at his companion till she should uncover her face. At length the hands were dropped, and, with an effort at calmness, Lady Alice looked up, but again averted her gaze as she met his. "When we last met, Lady Alice, it was under different circumstances," he said, sar castically. She bowed her head, but made no answer. "I fear," he continued, in the same tone, "my congratulations may not have seemed warm enough on the happy change in your prospects; they were unfeigned, I assure you." Lady Alice colored. "These taunts are uncalled for, Mardyn," she replied faintly. "No; that would be unfair, indeed," he continued, in the same bitter tone, "to Lady Alice Daventry, who has always displayed such consideration for all my feelings." "You never seemed to care," she rejoined, and the woman's pique betrayed itself in the tone-"You never tried to prevent it." "Prevent what?" She hesitated, and did not reply. "Fool!" he exclaimed, violently, "did you think that if one word of mine could have stopped your marriage, that word would have been said? Listen, Lady Alice: I loved you once, and the proof that I did is the hate I now bear you. If I had not loved you, I should now feel only contempt. For a time I believed that you had for me the love you professed. You chose differently; but though that is over, do not think that all is. I have sworn to make you feel some of the misery you caused me. Lady Alice Daventry, do you doubt that that oath shall be kept?" His violence had terrified her she was deadly pale, and seemed ready to faint; but a burst of tears relieved her. "1 do not deserve this," she said; "I did love you I swore it to you, and you doubted me. "Had I no reason?" he asked. "None that you did not cause yourself; your unfounded jealousy, your determination to humble me, drove me to the step I took." The expression of his countenance somewhat changed; he had averted his face so that she could not read its meaning, and over it passed no sign of relenting, but a look more wholly triumphant than it had yet worn. When he turned to Lady Alice it was changed to one of mildness and sorrow. "You will drive me mad, Alice," he uttered, in a low, deep voice. "May heaven forgive me if I have mistaken you; you told me you loved me." "I told you the truth," she rejoined, quickly. "But how soon that love changed," he said, in a half-doubting tone, as if willing to be convinced. "It never changed!" she replied, vehemently. "You doubted-you were jealous, and left me. I never ceased to love you." "You do not love me now?" he asked. She was silent; but a low sob sounded through the room, and Charles Mardyn was again at her feet; and, while the marriagevows had scarce died from her lips, Lady Alice Daventry was exchanging forgiveness with, and listening to protestations of love from the son of the man to whom, a few hours before, she had sworn a wife's fidelity. It is a scene which needs some explanation; best heard, however, from Mardyn's lips. A step was heard along the passage, and Mardyn, passing through a side-door, re paired to Clara's apartment. He found her engaged on a book. Laying it down, she bestowed on him a look of inquiry as he entered. "I want to speak to you, Clara," he said. Fixing her cold gray eyes on his face, she awaited his questions. "Has not this sudden step of Sir John's surprised you?" "It has," she said, quietly. "Your prospects are not so sure as they were?" "No, they are changed," she said, in the same quiet tone, and impassive countenance. "And you feel no great love to your new stepmother?" "I have only seen Lady Alice once," she replied, fidgeting on her seat. "Well, you will see her oftener, now," he observed. "I hope she will make the Hall pleasant to you.' "You have some motive in this conversation," said Clara, calmly. "You may trust me, I do not love Lady Alice sufficiently to betray you." And now her voice had a tone of bitterness surpassing Mardyn's; he looked steadily at her; she met and returned his gaze, and that interchange of looks seemed to satisfy both. Mardyn at once began: "Neither of us have much cause to like Sir John's new bride; she may strip you of a splendid inheritance, and I have still more reason to detest her. Shortly after my arrival in London, I met Lady Alice Mortimer. I had heard much of her beauty-it seemed to me to surpass all I had heard. I loved her; she seemed all playful simplicity and innocence; but I discovered she had come to the age of calculation, and that though many followed, and praised her wit and beauty, I was almost the only one who was serious in wishing to marry Lord Mortimer's poor and somewhat passée daughter. She loved me, I believe, as well as she could love any one. That was not the love I gave, or asked in return. In brief, I saw through her sheer heartlessness, the first moment I saw her waver between the wealth of an old sensualist, and my love. I left her, but with an oath of vengeance; in the pursuit of that revenge it will be your interest to assist. Will you aid me?" "How can I?" she asked. "And I suppose you have provided means to accomplish your scheme?"" "They are provided for us. Where could we find materials more made to our hands? -a few insinuations, a conversation overheard, a note conveyed opportunely-these are trifles, but trifles are the levers of human action." There was no more said then; each saw partly through the insincerity and falsehood of the other, yet each knew they agreed in a common object. These were strange scenes to await a bride, on the first eve in her new home. Two or three months have passed since these conversations. Sir John Daventry's manner has changed to his bride: he is no longer the lover, but the severe, exacting husband. It may be that he is annoyed at all his long-confirmed bachelor habits being broken in upon, and that, in time, he will become used to the change, and settle down contentedly in his new capacity; but yet something more than this seems to be at the bottom of his discontent. Since a confidential conversation, held over their wine between him and Charles Mardyn, his manner had been unusually captious. Mardyn had, after submitting some time, taken umbrage at a marked insult, and set off for London. On Lady Alice, in especial, her husband spent his fits of ill-humor. With Clara, he was more than ever friendly; her position was now the most enviable in that house. But she strove to alleviate her stepmother's discomforts by every attention a daughter could be supposed to show, and these proofs of amiable feeling seemed to touch Sir John, and as the alienation between him and his wife increased, to cement an attachment between Clara and her father. Long and dreary did the next four months appear to the beautiful Lady of Daventry, who, accustomed to the flattery and adulation of the London world, could ill-endure the seclusion and harsh treatment of the Hall. alluded to, there was much to work on a jealous and exacting husband. The contrast in age, in manner, and appearance, was too marked, not to allow of the suspicion that his superiority in wealth and position had turned the scale in his favor a suspicion which, cherished, had grown to be the demon that allowed him. no peace of mind, and built up a fabric fraught with wretchedness on this slight foundation. All this period Lady Alice's demeanor to Mardyn was but too well calculated to deepen these suspicions. Now, too, had come the time to strike a decisive blow. In this Clara was thought a fitting instrument. "You are indeed unjust," she said, with a skillful assumption of earnestness; "Lady Alice considers she should be a mother to Charles-they meet often; it is that she may advise him. She thinks he is extravagant that he spends too much time in London, and wishes to make the country more agreeable to him." "Yes, Clary, I know she does; she would be glad to keep the fellow always near her." "You mistake, sir, I assure you; I have been with them when they were together; their language has been affectionate, but as far as the relationship authorizes." "Our opinions on that head differ, Clary; she deceived me, and she shall suffer for it. She never told me she had known him; the fellow insulted me by informing me when it was too late. He did not wish to interfereit was over now-he told me with a sneer." "He was wounded by her treatment; so wounded, that, except as your wife, and to show you respect, I know he would never have spoken to her. But if your doubts can not be hushed, they may be satisfactorily dispelled." "How-tell me?" Lady Alice and Charles sit every morning in the library; there are curtained recesses there, in any of which you may conceal yourself, and hear what passes. "Good-good; but if you hint or breathe to them-" "I merely point it out," she interrupted, as a proof of my perfect belief in Charles' principle, and Lady Alice's affection for you. If a word passes that militates against that belief, I will renounce it." At the end of that time, Charles Mardyn again made his appearance; the welcome he received from Sir John was hardly courteous. Clara's manner, too, seemed constrained; but his presence appeared to remove a weight" from Lady Alice's mind, and restore her a portion of her former spirits. From the moment of Mardyn's arrival, Sir John Daventry's manner changed to his wife: he abandoned the use of sarcastic language, and avoided all occasion of dispute with her, but assumed an icy calmness of demeanor, the more dangerous, because the more clearsighted. He now confided his doubts to Clara; he had heard from Mardyn that his wife had, before her marriage, professed an attachment to him. In this, though jestingly A sneer distorted Sir John's features.— When not blinded by passion, he saw clearly through character and motives. He had by this discerned Clara's dislike to Lady Alice, and now felt convinced she suggested the scheme as she guessed he would have his suspicions confirmed. He saw thus far, but he did not see through a far darker plot-he did not see that, in the deep game they played against him, Charles and Clara were brow. She leant her head on his breast, and confederates. her long hair fell over his arm as she lay like a child in his embrace. A few minutes later the library was empty, when the curtains that shrouded a recess near where the lovers had sat were drawn back, and Sir John Daventry emerged from his concealment. His countenance betrayed little of what passed within; every other feeling was swallowed up in a thirst for revenge-a thirst that would have risked life itself to accomplish its object--for his sus That was a pleasant room; without, through bayed windows, lay a wide and fertile prospect of sunny landscape; within, it was handsomely and luxuriously furnished. There were books in gorgeous bindings; a range of marble pillars swept its length; stands of flowers, vases of agate and alabaster, were scattered on every side; and after breakfast Mardyn and Lady Alice made it their sittingroom. The morning after the scheme sug-picion had gone beyond the truth, black, gested by Clara, they were sitting in earnest converse, Lady Alice, looking pale and careworn, was weeping convulsively. "You tell me you must go," she said; "and were it a few months later, I would forsake all and accompany you. But for the sake of my unborn infant, you must leave me. At another time return, and you may claim me." "Dear Alice," he whispered softly, "dear, dear Alice, why did you not know me sooner? Why did you not love me more, and you would now have been my own, my wife?" "I was mad," she replied, sadly; "but I have paid the penalty of my sin against you. The last year has been one of utter misery to me. If there is a being on earth I loathe, it is the man I must call my husband; my hatred to him is alone inferior to my love for you. When I think what I sacrificed for him," she continued, passionately, "the bliss of being your wife, resigned to unite myself to a vapid sensualist, a man who was a spendthrift of his passions in youth, and yet asks to be loved, as if the woman most lost to herself could feel love for him." It was what he wished. Lady Alice had spoken with all the extravagance of woman's exaggeration; her companion smiled; she understood its ineaning. "You despise me," she said, "that I could marry the man of whom I speak thus.” "No," he replied; "but perhaps you judge Sir John harshly. We must own he has some cause for jealousy." Despite his guarded accent, something smote on Lady Alice's ear in that last sentence. She turned deadly pale-was she deceived? But in a moment the sense of her utter helplessness rushed upon her. If he were false, nothing but destruction lay before her she desperately closed her eyes on her danger. "You are too generous," she replied. "If 1 bad known what I sacrificed-" Poor, wretched woman, what fear was in her heart as she strove to utter words of confidence. He saw her apprehensions, and drawing her toward him, whispered loving words, and showered burning kisses on her dreadful as was the truth to a husband's ears, and he fancied that his unborn infant owed its origin to Charles Mardyn; when, for that infant's sake, where no other consideration could have restrained her, Lady Alice had endured her woman's wrong, and while confessing her love for Mardyn, refused to listen to his solicitations, or to fly with him; and the reference she had made to this, and which he had overheard, appeared to him but a base design to palm the offspring of her love to Mardyn as the heir to the wealth and name of Daventry. It wanted now but a month of Lady Alice's confinement, and even Mardyn and Clara were perplexed and indecisive as to the effect their stratagem had upon Sir John. No word or sign escaped him to betray what passed within-he seemed stricken with sudden age, so stern and hard had his countenance become, so fixed his icy calmness. They knew not the volcanoes that burned beneath the undisturbed surface. A sudden fear fell upon them; they were but wickedthey were not great in wickedness. Much of what they had done appeared to them clumsy and ill-contrived; yet their very fears lest they might be seen through urged on another attempt, contrived to give confirmation to Sir John's suspicions, should his mind waver. So great at this time was Mardyn's dread of detection that he suddenly left the Hall. He knew Sir John's vengeance, if once roused, would be desperate, and feared some attempts on his life. In truth his posi tion was a perilous one, and this lull of fierce elements seemed to forerun some terrible explosion-where the storm might spend its fury was as yet hid in darkness. Happy was it for the Lady Alice Daventry that she knew none of these things, or hers would have been a position of unparalleled wretchedness, as over the plotters, the deceived, and the foredoomed ones, glided on the rapid moments that brought them nearer and nearer, till they stood on the threshold of crime and death. And now, through the dark channels of fraud and jealousy, we have come to the eve of that strange and wild page in our story, |