The Dark woman : or, The Days of the Prince Regent

Front matter

THE DARK WOMAN OK, THE DAYS OF THE PRINCE REGENT BY THE AUTHOR OF "EDITH THE CAPTIVE." WITH FIFTY-TWO ILLUSTRATIONS. DRAWN BY F. GILBERT, G. F. SARGENT, AND G. STANDFAST. VOL. I. LONDON:. PUBLISHED BY JOHN DICKS, 25, WELLINGTON STREET, STRANK 1861. INDEX TO THE ENGRAVINGS. So. 1. Allan Fearon Saves Marian ...... See Page 5 2. The Dark Woman and tlie Prince Regent . . . . • 9 3. Tbe Countess de Launy and Saili ...«•> 18 4. Sixte.n-Stringed Jack Finds his Daughter . . . . .27 5. Jack Singleton Defies the Dark Woman • . • i« • *"■* G. Meeting of the " Paul's Chickens " . . . . . .43 7. The Dark Woman has an Inter ■new with the Regent's A'alet . • -51 8. The Dark Womau Intimidates Biaks . . • • .58 9. The Princess Charlotte Beholds her Future Husband in tbe Magic Mirror 60 in. Annie Gray in the Power of Binks and the Dark Woman . . .75 11.

AUff n Pearon Calls upon Marian ...... 12. Annie Gray Bids Allan Depart ....••• ■" 13. The Dark Woman at tbe "Bugle Inn" . . V- . . 101 14. The P.egent and Annie Gray in Danger . 107 15. The Regent is made Captive ...... H» 16. Sir Hinckton Moys Converses with Annie Gray .... 123 17. Sir Hinckton Moys Visits Astorath ...... 130 18. The Regent's Miniature of Linda de Chevenaux . • .133 19. The Dark Woman Triumphs over the Secretary of State . . . 148 20. The Dark Woman Answers to the Summons ..... 160 21. Tbe Earl of Ilchester and Mr. Waller, alias the Dark Woman . . 164 22. Shucks and Brads Rescue Lucy ...... 171 23. Sixteen-stringed Jack makes a Discovery ...•■> 177 24. Mrs. Moon Attacks tbe Watchman ....•• I**5 25. Allan Fearon has a Presentiment of Evil ..... 194 26. Sir Hinckton Moys drives to Carlton House ..... 202 27.

Marian at the Door of Newgate ...... 28. Marian Faints in the Court of Justice ... • • • • 221* 29. Terror of Annie Gray and Sir Hinckton Moys .... 228 30. Marian Visits her Sister Annie ...•••• 237 31. The Dark Woman at Mrs. Adams's ..,..*•• 32. The Dark Woman Shoots the Officer ...-•• 25*1 33. The River Pirates at the Burnt Mill •> 34. The Dark AVoman at the Lone House . . • • • • 2^ 35. Annie Gray Quarrel3 with Sir Hinckton Moys . • • .275 36. The Countess de Blonde Visits the Governor of Newgate . . ,283 37. Ueath of Laura Adams.— Grief of Felix 29° 38. The Dark Woman Arrives with the Royal Pardon . . • .304 39. Sixteen-stringed Jack Assists Allan Fearon to Escape . • .306 40. The Dark Woman as Countess d'Umbka 41. Allan Fearon's First Interview with the Dark Woman i . .322 42. The Dark Woman Defies the Regent's Power . . • • .335 43.

Chapter I

February the 1st, in the year 1814, a magnificent masquerade ; and, notwithstanding the intense cold of the season, for the snow was heaped up in the streets, and the Thames was frozen oompletely from bank to bank, never had the vast area of the magnificent building been more entirely filled by a madly-excited throng, and never before bad there seemed that utter abondonment to tho DETAILS THE REMARKABLE EVENTS WHICH TOOK PLACE AT THE OPERA HOUSE ON THE NIGHT OP FEBRUARY THE FIRST, 1814. At the Italian Opera House, now named Her Majesty's Theatre, there was, on the night of No. 1. — Dark Woman. Then there were fights for places — fights almost pleasure of the scene which characterised the maskers. for life. Laughter loud, shrill, hysterical in its vehemence — prolonged beyond all power of cessation — ! a Babel of voices tbat rang through the house ! with a million of echoes ; music that, with it3 clashing sounds, only now and then made itself heard above the wild rout of noises ; now and then the angry tones of quarrel, the screams of those entangled in some brawl ; those of the softer sex, who were as well represented, so far as numbers went, in the busy scene ; whirling, dancing figures, half-mad with excitement ; the blaze of lights ; the aroma of rich wines ; the sparkle of jewels ; the clash of swords ; all made up a confusion and riot that, up to the hour of three o'clock on the morning of the 2nd of February, showed no signs of flagging or abating.

Many of the maskers had changed their costumes twice and thrice in the course of the even- Several maskers fell headlong into tho midst of the toiling mob below, from th'e boxes. Cries arose for constables — cries for the guards — summonses for help of any shape. And then — then at half-past three o'clock ex actly, one voice raised a shriek so intense in its terror and distraction, that for a moment it had the effect of stilling all other sounds ; and tho motley throng was still. Still, perhaps, while you could have counted five moderately quick — still in voice, still in gestures ; and during tbat brief period the same voice that had uttered the high and terrible scream, cried out, " The chandelier!" A magnificent chandelier of heavy cut glass, carrying a thousand wax candles, depended from the ceiling.

The agitation of the air, the concussion of tho main supports of the building, or some defect in the chain-work that supported it, or all these reasons combined, produced the effect. The chandelier was seen coming down. A massive chain with broad links appeared to be its principal support. These broad links wero seen to collapse, and become narrow ones. Tbe chandelier moved bodily down about two feet. ing, so that tbe confusion in false recognitions, and the jests, and the disputes consequent there upon, kept up that strange roar of sounds which could be heard, like the subdued murmur of the sea, at some streets' length from the busy scene. The wine, fiery as it was, and indiscriminately indulged in, did its demoniac duty, and by the time we mention — three o'clock — intoxication be gan to add its vague terrors to the scene of mental excitement.

Then a yell so awful, that it might be supposed the concussion of the air above aided the catastrophe, arose from the throng below. There was a wild, terrific fight to get out of the way of the falling mass. It was perfectly unsuccessful that fight to escape; not a soul could get out of the way. Those out side the entrance of tho pit fought them back into their places. Then down came the chandelier ! Then arose still wilder laughter from the whirl ing throng ; still louder shouts — still fiercer brawls and quarrels. Swords were drawn, and more than one sudden quarrel was as suddenly ended in bloodshed. The shrieks of dismay that wonld then arise rang high above the music. All order was lost. The throng became a mob ; the dancing ceased ; the music was hushed. Officers, Turks, Indians, fiends, grotesque animals, dominoes, — all were mingled up together in one dense mass with an army of dancing-girls, flower-sellers, ballet posturers, mythological divinities, and, in fact, every possible and impossible representation of real or supposed existences in and above or below the world.

Roaring, shouting, screaming, and yelling — crying for more wise, crying for more music, for more dancing, in a place now so full, that not a square yard could have been found unoccupied in even the remotest corner Then the patrons of the entertainment began to get alarmed. Then those present, who still retained any sense and sobriety, sought to escape from the Bedlamite throng. A contest began which threatened to become serious. Some two or three hundred people were making efforts to escape from the place ; and some fifty or sixty of these were so thoroughly alarmed, tbat their efforts, without accompliahing their object only made confusion worse confounded. ' It was something dreadful to look down from the tier of boxes upon the whirling, roaring ex cited mass, in the boarded-over area of pit and stage. r But those boxes were full ; and fresh applicants for breathing space in them were each moment appearing either from the corridors and passages behind, or climbing up bodily from the pit.

Il seemed to grow larger as it came with an awful swing through the hot air! Crash ! It was with a dull, heavy crash it reached the mass of heads beneath it 1 A roar of pain — a terrible cry arose from the killed and maimed people ! The house was suddenly darkened ! Those thousand lights had, at one blow, shorn it of its refulgent splendour I There only remained a few side lights in and about the stage, aud in tbe corridors ! And there, upon that arena which had glittered with youth, with beauty, and witb mad delight, lay a writhing, shrieking mass— a mass of bright colours — of broken glass — of blood ! Close the eyes, that they may not seo those poor glittering worms of fantastic pleasure, in their gay and sparkling habiliments, seeking to writhe their way with broken limbs from the catastrophe I Shut the ears against the groans — the shrieks — the prayers — there were prayers thea — of tbe wounded and of the dying I Then arose a new cry I " Fire !"

" Fire I fire I fire !" shouted a thousand voices "Fire! fire! fire!" Tbe dresses, light and gauzy, of some of those who had not been within the actual circle of death comprehended by the falling chandelier had been set fire to I THE DABK WOMAN. The wax candles had been scattered far and wide by the concussion of the huge mass of glass that covered them, and had fallen, still ignited, on many an inflammable costume ! It was dreadful to see these poor creatures shrieking in flames ! Those flames caught the light hangings with which the house was adorned for the occasion! Long wreaths of artificial roses caught light, and the bright flames ran along them with a rapidity that the eye could scarcely follow ! The whole interior of the Opera House appeared to be in flames ! in his heart, and he at once strode forward in the direction of the cry.

But the object he had at heart — the rescuing of one whom he loved from that great danger — was, however, each moment more and more difficult, inasmuch as the house was each moment getting darker. The absence of the chandelier had made a won deriul difference, and now the isolated candles about the boxes, and corridor3, and stage, had many of them burnt out. The flame that had ran along the hangings, and the artificial flowers that had been festooned from tier to tier of the boxes, had enveloped many of the wax-lights, and melted them to hot drops in a moment. The whole theatre, then, when Allan Fearon strode forward in the direction of the sound he had heard, and which his heart translated into an answer to his summons, was but in a dubious twilight. Still he strode on — on over the dying and the dead ; for he could not pick his steps.

With a shriek for help, a young girl clung to his feet. The heat was now suffocating ! "Fire! fire! fire!" That was now the cry that stifled all others — the cry that came from all throats, and which struck like a death-knell upon all ears ! Panting, bleeding, and with their gay dresses torn to shreds, and hanging about them in fluttering fragments, some of the maskers now began to show themselves in the open street ! They were of those nearest to the doors, and who had managed to e3cape ! They lifted up their arms, and raised cries of joy a3 they felt the keen night air; some flung themselves upon the great heaps of snow, and rolled in the frigid mass. But within the house the scene of horror and dismay continued. "Oh! save me! — save me! I am burnt! Oh, God, be merciful to me! Save mel — save mel" She was very young — almost a child.

Her attire was a light zephyr-like collection of brilliant colours ; and, by the cap she wore, and the little silver bells to it and to ber sleeves, it might be supposed that she represented a " Folly," which was then a very common and popular masquerade costume. And now, amid the scene of confusion, of semi darkness and dismay, there began to come out into relief from the general throng, episodes com pounded of suffering and of heroism. At tbe first cry of fire, and when those few persons first emerged from the house, a young man had, from the colonnade, where he had been striving to keep himself warm in the ample folds of a thick cloak, sprung into the house, felling right and left several of the maskers, who were as anxious to leave the scene of terror as he seemed to be to enter it, and who would cot let him pass.

" Save me! Oh, do save me ! God will reward you ! I am not wicked ! I was ordered here — you will comprehend ! I am of the ballet !" "I cannot! — I cannot!" "Ob, mercy! — mercy!" " Unhand me, my poor girl I If I can, I will come to you again. Why, you are on fire!" " I am ! — I am !" She burst into tears, and shrieked, and sobbed. Some portion of her pretty costume was in smouldering flame ! Allan untwined his cloak from around him, and pressed it closely about the " Folly." "I cannot see a mere child, like yon, burnt to death 1" Door-keepers, check-takers, ana ticket-collectors, all had fled at that first cry of fire, and there was no impediment to any one seeking the interior of the building. So this young man songht it. He had flung his cloak not off, but behind him, having the clasp still fastened round his neck, but he found it impeded him, so he rapidly wound it round him, and held it close with one hand while he dashed into the Opera House.

Strong, agile, and lithe of limb was this young man, and he avoided the wild, desperate grasps of many who seemed to see in him one who came to succour, and who would only too gladly have seized upon him and appropriated all bis strength to their own preservation. They were like drowning persons who made frantic efforts to seize upon some strong swimmer. But this young man shook them off and still advanced. He stood amid the fragments of the chandelier, and he called out in a voice that rose high above all other sounds, " Marian ! Marian ! for the love of God, speak to me if you yet live I Marian I Marian ! It is I, AUan Fearon, who speak to you. Marian 1 Marian 1" Then there was a half-stifled shriek. It was not a name — it was not a word — it was only a sound. But Allan Fearon knew it. It found an echo " I am fifteen !" she sobbed.

" Alas !— alas ! And in such a scene as this !" The girl cried bitterly. But her dress was no longer on fire : so Allan took his cloak from around her, and glancing about him, he said, " I will lift you out of this scene of terror into the box above us. From there you can probably escape." Even as he spoke, he lifted the light figure, and half tossed it into the box that was nearest at hand in the first tier. Then on he strode, and he cried out again, " Marian ! Marian !" The cry that he had heard before again replied to him. and amid the dust— the gleaming red light of the fire, which now began to cast a lurid hue upon the scene — he saw an arm raised, aud waving to him. " I am here !" he cried. Another moment, and he had reached a heap of dead and fainting people, and he had dragged from them a young girl.

" Marian ! Marian !" he cried. " Oh, Allan !" WOMA^" There came a dull red light down the little staircase that was in front of him, and it fell upon the fair face of the young girl that Allan Fearon held in his arms, and tinged it with a more than mortal beauty. She fainted at once in his arms ! Then he saw that she, too, was dressed in the costume of a " Folly." There were little silver bells over her entire dress, and it was composed of the primitive colours — red, blue, and yellow — and was, like that of the young creature he had placed in one of the boxes, much tom and injured by fire and violence. The theatre was now tolerably clear of those who had strength to leave it. They had fought their way out into the winter beyond the hot walls. But the dead, the dying, and those whom terror or pressure had consigned to the temporary ob livion of fainting, were still there.

There was a strange red light, too, growing more intense each moment ! "Oh, Marian! Marian!" he said, "how this poor trusting heart has loved you !" His tears fell like rain upon tbe insensiblo face ; and he kissed the still lips passionately, as he cried, " Speak to me I — oh, speak to me ! and tell me that you love me still ; for we shall not again look upon the light of heaven I Marian — my own dear Marian, speak to me !" Tbe red light from the staircase increased, and the air grew hotter. A strange, mournful sound, like the sighing of wind, came upon Allan Fearon's ears. What can it be '' The wood-work about the upper boxes was in flames ! No cool breath falls upon his brow. Ob, heaven, flame — the roaring of flame ! Surely, all is lost now ! And yet what a death ! What a death for the young, the strong, and the gifted, such as he!

But beyond groans, sighs, and sobs, the wild roar of sounds had ceased ; and the roll of the drums of the Foot Guards, as they approached in a strong party to the house, could be plainly heard. "Marian! my Marian still 1" said Allan Fearon. " I will save you from all these horrors, or I will perish with you." She lay like a faded lily on his breast. She might be dead ! Oh ! terrible thought for that youn,g heart that beat only for her ! "Help! help!" he cried. It was aa iupulse tbat made the sounds come from his lips, for he felt tbat there was no present help but in himself; and with the form of the young girl clasped in his arms, he looked about him to discover the door by which he had reached the scene of terror and devastation, that he might as speedily escape with her as he had entered the theatre. * "No, no!" he cried; "I will not yield yet!

Not yet! not yet!" He sprang some steps up the staircase, for he fancied that the hottest air came along the pas sage where lie was. Then, with a deep sigh, the young girl wbo was resting on his heart opened her eyes.

Chapter II. Shows How The Prince Regent Was In Great Peril

; AND WHO HE MET, AND HOW HE ESCAPED FROM THE OPERA HOUSE. But he could not see it ! Coming from the open air, he had found no difficulty in reaching the area of the house ; but now that he would fain emerge from it witb all expedition, he was puzzled and confounded by various entrances, and exits, and low doorways, that seemed to be on all sides of him. Yes, Marian opened her eyes. The red glare pro bably had awakened her — had chased away the swoon into wbich she had fallen. But to find herself in the arms of any one was to her a matter of profound surprise; but when she saw that one was Allan Fearon, the half stifled cry she uttered was so much compounded of surprise and joy, that all his tenderness for her spoke in the few words he uttered. " Be of good heart, my own dear Marian ; for I will live for and with you, or die with you I" "Oh, Allan!"

But to delay might be death ! The theatre might really be on fire, and soon some of the heavier portion of its roof and deco rations might begin to fall. Allan felt that there was no time to lose. " Tbat i3 surely the door at which I entered," he said as he darted through an opening that was near at hand. There was a hot smothering kind of air in tho passage in which he found himself, and Allan hurried along it as quickly as he could. It took a turn to the right— then it presented to him a narrow flight of steps. Allan felt a cold perspiration start npon his forehead, as the conviction began to grow upon him that he was lost in the intricate passages of the great building. Marian waj still insensible. Tbe young man began to think it was a happy chance that she was so. " Hush, dear one !" "You do not know."

" Yes, that you were in danger." " And you — you " " Have come to save you 1" " But how — how, Allan — how are you here ?" "It matters not. Ah! we cannot pass this way ! The flames rise, and threaten us with destruction ! We must descend again !" Allan had reached about twenty steps up tbe narrow stairs which bad presented themselves to him ; but he was met by a body of flame that let him see at once the necessity of a prompt retreat. "I can die with you, my lost Marian !" he said. " You were lost to me, I fear, before now, since you thought proper to make one of the throng in this place. Alas! alas I that you, whom I thought all gentleness, all purity, and all virtue, should be here, one of the riotous assemblage of a masquerade." Marian began to sob; and even as ho wonld have striven to hush some child to repose, Allan Fearon held her to his heart, as he said, " Hush ! hush, dear one !

All may yet be well ! The hand of heaven can turn aside these flames, so that they may not touoh you. Let ns hope yet — hope ever, my Marian !" " But— but " He felt the weight increase upon him, and he was sure that she had either died or had fallen into a swoon. "Yes, dear!" "Why do we not go out— out now, Allan?" " I fear I do not know the way ; but here is another passage." " Oh, heaven ! How selfish we are in our own dangers, and our own griefs !" " Are we, Marian ?" Then with frantic vehemence be again shouted for aid, but no one seemed to hear him, and de spair began to creep over the heart of the young man. There were others, too, still involved in the dangers of that awful night, and it is necessary that we should pay immediate attention to the proceedings of those others, although we leave Allan Fearon and Marian Gray, of whose history and attachment we shall soon know more, in so unenviable a situation.

There was a slight tone of reproach in tbe way in which this question was put. "Oh, no — no! Not you, Allan!— not you! It was of myself I spoke !" " And you did yourself injustice !" " No, no ! Poor Annie, where is sbe ?" " Annie ! Your sister Annie ! She i3 not surely in this place?" At this grand and attractive masquerade at the Italian Opera House on the first day of February, in the year 1814, were present the Royal Princes. His Royal Highness George Prince of Wales, then Regent of this kingdom, in consequence of the more noticeable insanity of George the Third, was present. " Yes, oh, yes !" " Good heavens I she, too?" "It was to follow her — it was to try to rescue her that I came here. Allan !" Ilia Royal Highness the Duke of York, too, graced with his presence the festive scene, a3 the newspapers of the period said; and with them came the swarm of parasites, and panders, and flatterers, who made up the Court of the royal brothers, and particularly of the Regent, who was present on a special mission.

Some few moments before the fall of the great chandelier, the Regent, who was masked and attired in a Persian costume, which was made all in one piece, and under which he had an ordinary evening dress, spoke rather impatiently to his then " Master of the Pleasures," Sir Hinckton Moys. "Well, Moys, where is she? Where is she? I only ask you that for the second time." " She should be here!" " Ah ! Then— then " " What would you say ?" "You were not attracted by the glare, the glitter, the false refulgence of this place — the pursuit of tbe phantom pleasure ? It was not tbat which brought you hither, Marian?" "Oh, no, no! Allan, did you think — could you think so of me ?" "No! Oh, no, my dear Marian!" " I followed Annie hither, because accident discovered to me that she had made an acquaintance who had induced her to come to this masquerade to-night.

My object was to watch over her." " A blessed object, Marian 1" "You do not blame me, Allan?"' " Blame you, dear one ? Oh, no, no ! But " "Ab, thero is a but!" " I was going to say tbat if you had confided in me " "Should be?" " And she will bo !" "But " " Yes, yes, there was my fault !" " We will say no more of it, dear Marian !" " Ob, Allan, Allan, I am dying ! The heat stifles me ! I cannot breathe !" "By Jove!" "What is it?" "There she is! Why, she is in domino!" " Where? where?" "Good heavens! Whither shall I fly with you for air? Hilloa! Help, help 1 Hilloa! To stay here in these close and stifling passages must be death ! We will, at least, fly from them 1 They cannot be endless!" " There, close by that column with the roses all ronnd — the red and white roBes." "Oh, ah! but I can't see her for that domino cloak she has about her; and I begin to suspect, do you know, Moys, that she is not much."

" Oh, your Royal Highness will speak differently when you see her. Ha! ha! There now !" The j'oung girl in the domino, of whom they had been speaking, at that moment let her cloak fall from her, and she, too, appeared in the pic turesque and fanciful costume of a " Folly." Sbe was young and fair, and singularly hand some ; but there was just that indescribable something about ber look, and air, and manner, which betrayed the ill-regulated, unstable mind of which the votaries of pleasure partake. And yet she was then innocent and pure. How long would she remain ao, with such eyea upon her as those now bent upon an investigation of her charms? Tbe young man ran along the narrow passages, which did, indeed, seem endless ; and still clasp ing to his heart tbe object of his love, he occa sionally called out for aid.

" Help ! help ! We are lost in the passages of the house ! Help ! help ! We do not know our way 1" The air seemed to get hotter and hotter. The darkness increased, for the glare of light from the area of the pit of the house was far from them, and the only sound they heard was that terrible roar which signified the close neighbourhood of flame — of that flame which was consuming the air so necessary to their vitality. "Farewell, Allan!" said Marian faintly. "No! oh, noi" "By Jove!" said the Regent. "Ah!" said Sir Hinckton Moys, rubbing bis hands together with satisfaction. " By Jove !" said the Regent, again. " I thought you would say that." " 1 faint !7' " Ch«er np, my only one ! Oh, there will be help soon ! " I die !" " Ob, heaven, no !" " Thin ?" " But I don't comprehend ?" ■'Eh?" " Rather thin, is she not ?"

"Thin? She thin? Oh, oh!" " Well, perhaps it's the dress ?" " Of course it's the dress." " Follow !" A small light, so small that it looked like a star of the third or fourth magnitude only, appeared in the intense darkness of the place in which the Regent fonnd himself. But that star-like light, small as it was, seemed at once to let him know that the place he was in extended farther than he thought. "Ab, then," ha said, "this is not a cupboard?" " No," replied the voice. " Follow !" " But I think I would rather go out by the way I came in." " No doubt." " Not the slightest." "Very good." "Your Royal Highness is pleased?" " To be sure I am." "Then I will go to her now. She is looking for me." " Your plan remains the same ?" " It does. She is bewildered by this wild riot." "By Jove, it is a wild riot.