The woman in red : a romance

Front matter

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WOMAN IN RED

Contents

prologue.

ling Platers II. The Murder of Margaret d'Arbel . 11

CHAP. PASS

Chapter I. Tiie Strolling Players

The scene of our tale opens in the village of Castellan, on the French side of the great Alpine range. The inhabitants are a simple, primitive race, in character and habits partaking of the gaiety and enthusiastic nature of the Frenchman, and the quiet, somewhat lazy, contentment of the Italian. An honest living was easily earned in Castellan, without very hard labour or privation. Taxes were scarcely known; the soil was prolific, rents low; and the mountains afforded abundant game for the huntsman, and the valleys pasture for the shepherds' flocks. Thus, then, it happened that the simple-hearted inhabitants led a very pleasant life, dividing their time almost equally between work and play. Fete-days and saints' -days came so often, indeed, that, had all been strictly observed, the crops and the herds would have stood a poor chance.

But to our story.

B

We will introduce our readers to the cottage of Margaret d'Arbel, a widow woman with one son — a child of some four years. Now the widow's income was scanty, and she did not disdain to eke it out by taking charge of young children whose parents might be compelled to be absent, or unable to attend to them themselves.

At the time of which we speak, the good woman had confided to her charge the infant daughter of «ne Miriam, wife of Reuben, a Jew trader in gold and jewels. The Jews at this period, and in this happy valley, were not only tolerated, but met with liberal and kind treatment — a singular thing in that age, when persecution and contumely were the rule for this unfortunate race, mercy and kindness the exception.

Reuben had gone over the Alps on an important trading journey, by which he hoped to realise a largw sum of money. In this he was not disappointed for he wrote from Genoa to his wife Miriam to join him there, as he had business for which he needed her aid. He added, at the end of his letter, that he had been fortunate beyond his fondest hope, and not only had made a large sum of money by his mercantile dealings, but had succeeded in recovering a debt which had long been owing him, and which he had despaired of ever receiving.

And now, while the happy wife and husband are hurrying homeward, looking forward to again embracing their infant Naomi, let us see what is being enacted at the cottage of Margaret d'Arbel. Yvhen business called Margaret away from her cottage, she

THE STROLLING PLAYERS. 3

was accustomed to leave it in charge of a village girl named Ninon, who tended the infant daughter of the Jews, and Margaret's own son Claude.

The girl Ninon — young, light-hearted, and coquettish— was one day thus left in charge of the hut, when the sound of music fell on her ear, and running to the door, she espied coming down the street of the village a party of strolling players, headed by a band of a few instruments.

One from among the players stepped up to the girl and accosted her. The man was not ill-looking; but his features bore a dissipated expression, and his attire, though gaudy and pretentious, was by no means neat or elegant.

" Well, my pretty maid," he said, in jaunty tones, " are you going to patronise us to-night, — to see the thrilling play, the moving scenes ; to hear the merry jests with which we shall enliven our audience ?"

Now Ninon had never seen a play in her life, and gazed with curiosity and admiration on the gay attire of the stroller.

" And are you going to play to-night, sir 1 and what is the admission-money ?"

"To you, my pretty mountain -bird, nothing. Never let it be said that Victor Sanson, comedian, tragedian, and manager, took money from so charming a damsel. See, here is a card of admission. And now, fair maid, will you give a poor player a drink of milk, or even water ?"

" Oh, surely, sir, surely," cried the girl delightedly. " A card of admission to the play," she continued, reading the ticket, " and in the front seats !

Oh, this is delightful ! Come in, sir ; come in, pray. I will get you milk."

" Thanks, thanks, sweet one," said Sanson, gallantly chucking her under the chin as he entered.

The girl hurried off, and returned in a moment with a cup of milk, which she gave him.

" My girl," said the stroller jauntily, " will you go after my company, and tell them to encamp — that I am tired, and will rest awhile here ?"

" Surely, sir, surely," said Ninon cheerfully. " I will return in a few moments."

Then the girl left the manager of the strolling players to himself.

Sanson surveyed the hut with the air of a man who could appreciate comfort, and who had not been accustomed to much of it.

The girl had not been gone a minute, when another man entered — so stealthily as not to disturb the stroller until he spoke.

" Halloa, friend Sanson !"

He who was addressed started, and an exclamation broke from him :

" Hubert Malissey — not dead !"

" Victor Sanson — not hanged ! na, ha, ha 1" laughed the other, with grim pleasantry. "I am sure, worthy friend, it is full time."

Sanson gazed at the new-comer as though doubting the evidence of his senses. He who was addressed as Hubert Malissey was by no means a pleasing specimen of humanity. Low-browed, blackhaired, swarthy, and of forbidding features, he looked the brawny ruffian he was. His dress partook some-

THE STROLLING PL AYTT: 5

what of tiiitt 01 & :uou:;lain shepherd, dashed with a little of the mendicant, and with a great deal of the brigand and vagabond.

" Why, I thought you were dead — had been shot ; so they said."

" So who said ?" asked Hubert, smiling grimly.

" Why, all your friends at Genoa."

" Ah ! well, you see, for once they were wrong. It is true I was left for dead in the mountains, but was found by a goatherd, who took me to his hut, and tended me till I was well ; and now, you see, here I am."

" And what are you doing here 1"

" What am I doing here ? Ha, ha ! that's good. Why, do you know that this is my house, my furniture r

" Yours !"

" Yes, mine."

" How ?"

" Do you know who occupies this house ?"

" Not a bit."

" Then I will tell you : one Margaret d'Arhel, supposed to be a widow."

"Well, what of that?"

" Every thing of that, my friend, considering that Margaret dArbel is not a widow."

" Not a widow !" said Sanson.

" No • for her husband is alive."

" Alive !"

" Yes ; and I am he."

"The devil!"

" Ay, it is the devil indeed. And now, frieud

6 THE WOMAN IN EED.

Sanson, let me ask you a question : What are you doing here ]"

"What am I doing here? — nothing. I saw a pretty girl at the door, and, making an excuse that I wanted a drink, entered ; that is all. And you — have you come to claim your wife, after your long absence V

'•'Not I. Listen, Sanson." Hubert approached, and said in a low tone : " I've got a little business on ; I have come for a child."

'•' A child ! — your own child ?" said Sanson, who was completely mystified.

" Confound it! no, man. Some one else's child — a girl. A thousand ducats for an infant girl — what think you of that V

" A thousand ducats !"

" Ay, a thousand ducats. Will you join me, and share V"

" How are they to be earned ?"

" Listen. My wife Margaret thinks I have been dead for years, as did you. I have discovered that she takes children in to nurse. She has one now, an infant girl" (and here he sunk his voice to an ominous whisper), " worth a thousand ducats."

" A thousand ducats ! — but how ?"

" A wealthy nobleman has offered me a thousand ducats to procure him a female child. His carriage is now without the village ; in a few minutes he will drive through. I shall hand him the child, and go to seek my reward whenever it pleases me. I want your help— at least I may want it j and I offer you a share. What say you ?"

THE STROLLING PLAYERS. 7

"A thousand ducats — a share! "lis tempting, certainly, to a poor devil like me. But steal a child ! The child will not be injured ?"

" I am with you, and will meet you anon."

So saying, Victor Sanson went out.

"Look here, my friend," the other cried after him ; " mind you keep your tongue between your teeth, or — you know Hubert Malissey," he said, in a low, threatening tone.

When Sanson had left, he looked around the room. His eye fell on a cradle in one corner. Advancing to it, he drew back the curtain. An infant lay asleep, sleeping the calm sleep of innocence — a sleep which for many years had not visited Hubert Malissey.

" Ha, the very thing. I was not wrongly informed, then. Hubert, my boy, you have this day earned a thousand ducats."

He was preparing to lift the infant from the cradle, when a step alarmed him. He went back into the centre of the room, and the next moment a woman hurriedly entered. She started on seeing him, and seemed as though she could scarce believe her eyes.

"Well, woman, do you know me?" he growled.

" Know you 1 Great God ! it cannot be — "

" It is, though."

" Hubert !"

"Yes — your husband. Come," he said, with a loud laugh, and flinging himself into a chair, " wby do you not welcome me back V

The woman seemed stunned by the sudden shock.

"I thought you were dead— four years ago," sug gasped presently.

'• tSut I'm not, you see."

"They told me you had been shot by French soldiers."

" I was shot, and left for dead ; but, as you see, I am not dead, and here I am. Come, I am hungry and thirsty ; give me food and wine, then we will proceed to business."

The woman obeyed, and proceeded to spread the table, stealing ever and anon a frightened, distrustful look at her husband, but saying not a word.

Hubert Malissey, having satisfied his appetite and quenched his thirst, turned round his chair and faced her.

"And now, Margaret, most amiable wife, you want to know, I dare say, what brings me here. You think, doubtless, 'tis not love for you."

"You never showed me any," she said, with a shudder.

" You never deserved any. But to business. They tell me that you have taken to nursing other people's children. How many have you now ?"

" But one. Why do you ask V

'• Because I want the best — the one most suitable to my purpose. Ha, ha ! how you look ! I don't mean the fattest ; I'm not an ogre, and going to eat it. Oh, no ; I will put the sweet babe to better use."

" In Heaven's name, Hubert, what mean you V

THE STROLLING PLAYERS. 9

" Mean ! I mean that I want yonder infant asleep in the cradle, and mean to have it — that's all."

"The child! Unfeeling man, you jest," she cried. " The infant child of Miriam !"

" No, I don't jest, as I'll let you know. That child is worth a thousand ducats ; so you and Miriam, whoever she may be, must put up with the loss."

As he spoke, he moved towards the cradle ; but with a cry the woman ran between the child and him.

" No, no ; you shall not touch the child !"

He seized her by the arm, and, exerting his great strength, hurled her away.

"Listen, woman, nor dare to thwart me — "

She stood motionless, looking with terror on him.

" Your own child, where is he— our child V

" Claude ? Safe in the inner room," she said, looking over her shoulder.

" Ha ! you think he is safe, do you 1 Listen to me. You hope to train up your child in your own humdrum way, do you 1 Educate him, you call it, don't you V he added sneeringly. " Dare to cross me, and I, his father, will bring him up — educate him."

" You ! No, no — Heaven forbid !" she cried in horror.

"Ay, I myself, his father, will train him up to be a vagabond, a bandit, a villain like myself. So beware, woman !"

Margaret turned deadly pale, and gasped for breath. Hubert moved slowly towards the cradle.

" Yes, train him up to be a man of violence and blood — a thief, a robber, a murderer — till at last he shall end his clays on the scaffold ! So once again, woman, beware !"

At that moment the sound of wheels was heard, as a carriage drove down the street. Hubert hastily took up the infant, and wrapped it in his cloak. Margaret rushed towards him with a shriek, but he warned her off; and she, poor woman, terrified at his terrible words, and still more terrible look, did not dure attempt to prevent him.

The road ran past one side of the cottage. Large windows descended nearly to the ground, and were now open. The carriage stopped, and stepping out through these open windows, Hubert handed the child to a richly-dressed gentleman within. Then the vehicle drove off at a rapid pace, and Hubert, reentering the cottage, addressed Margaret, who was weeping and wringing her hands with grief.

" Woman, remember my Avords. I go now. Dare to breathe to a soul who took away the child, and your life is forfeit. And not only your life — that is not all. Rest assured I will keep my promise with regard to the boy. Remember !"

Then he hurriedly left, and Margaret was alone with her misery.

" What shall I say to the poor mother 1 What shall I say to Miriam, when she comes to demand her child of me 1 Wretch that I am, I should have defended her with my life !"

She threw herself in a chair, and, burying her face in her hands, sobbed bitterly. Poor woman!

THE MURDER OP MARGARET D'ARBEL. ] 1

her sense of duty, her compassion for the feelings of the poor mother when her loss should be known, and her own love for the child, overwhelmed her with grief.

CHAPTER II. THE MURDER OF MARGARET D'ARBEIi

Margaret D'ARBELsat thus engrossed in her sorrow, and heard not the entry of another.

" Margaret, Margaret ! what ails you ? Are you ill r

" Not ill, Miriam," said the poor woman ; " not ill, but very miserable."

" Miserable ! Why so 1 I left you happy enough. Come, cheer up ; drive away these gloomy fits of depression, and tell me of my child — my darling Naomi."

"Naomi! ah!"

A bitter pang shot through Margaret's heart. How could she tell the fond mother that her child had been stolen %

" Is any thing the matter V cried Miriam, in sudden terror. " The child — my child — she is not

ill r

" She is not ill," said Margaret, forcing the words with difficulty from her lips.

"Ah!'' cried the mother joyously; "I breathe again. Come, Margaret, where is the child ? I long to embrace her."

Miriam advanced towards the cradle ; but Mar-

J 2 THE WOMAN IN RED.

garet, full of terror, and unwilling she should suddenly learn the truth, held her back.

"Ah, I see," said the mother smiling; " she sleeps, and you are unwilling I should disturb her. But fear not ; I will press my lips lightly — so lightly, aa only a mother can — on her brow. Come, good Margaret ; let me kiss my child."

In spite of all Margaret's efforts, she passed by, and drew back the curtain of the cradle.

A cry of dismay broke from her.

" Gone ! What does this mean, Margaret 1"

But Margaret was totally unable to reply.

" Ah, I see," said the Jewish mother, a light seeming to break in upon her ; " you have her in your own room. I will run there to my darling."

Then she hastened up a flight of stairs to seek her child.

"Angels of heaven," muttered poor Margaret, " what can I do 1 what shall I do ? How can I tell her that her child is gone 1 Naomi is her sole thought night and day ; and when I tell her that Naomi is gone, her heart will break."

She glanced towards the cradle. Near it hung some of the lost child's tiny clothes.

" Ah !" cried Margaret, starting up ; "I must remove these ; she must not see them. I must break the news to her gently."

Then she commenced removing the clothes, and was so occupied when the Jewess returned, looking very pale, and now seriously alarmed.

" Margaret, for Heaven's sake, tell me of my

?HE MU&DER OF MARGARET D'ARBEL. 13

child — my Naomi !" she cried distractedly. " Do not longer tease me."

Then her eyes fell on the little clothes which the poor nurse was trying to conceal.

"Ah !" she screamed, darting at them. " Something terrible has happened. Speak ! A deadly chill is at my heart. Naomi ! She is dead !"

" No, no — not dead !" gasped Margaret ; " not dead !"

" Where, then, is she 1 Speak, woman !"

Miriam grasped her by the arm so forcibly, that she cried out with pain.

" No, no ; she is not dead, not dead, but — "

"But what? Speak!"

" Lost ! Lost for ever !"

A piercing scream burst from the lips of the mother, while Margaret buried her face in her hands, and sobbed convulsively.

The bereaved mother ran to her, and grasping her by the arm, shook her, demanding, in fierce accents :

" My child — my child — my Naomi ! Woman, give me my child !"

" Mercy — mercy ! I cannot ; it is stolen."

" Stolen ! by your connivance ! Wicked woman, where is my child — my Naomi ?" she shrieked."

" Spare me ! Spare me, Miriam ! I cannot give her to you. She is stolen from me."

"Stolen! By whom?"

That was all Margaret auswered; and turning deadly pale, she pressed her hand to her heart. She dared not answer, for she remembered Hubert's errible words — his devilish threats — respecting her own son Claude.

At this moment, and while the two women were standing face to face — Miriam with gleaming eyes, trembling with passion, like an angry tigress ; Margaret shrinking and cowering before the angry gaze of the mother robbed of her young — there entered the cottage a man past the middle age, dressed in the gaberdine and cap then almost universally worn by the Jews.

"Miriam," he said slowly, "what means this turmoil ? It is, methinks, a strange greeting."

" Reuben ! Oh, accursed be this day ! The child — our child — our darling Naomi !"

" The child — Naomi — what of her ? She is not dead ?"

" Not dead. O God ! not dead, but lost to us for ever."

And then the poor mother threw herself into a chair, and sobbed as though her heart would break.

The grief of Reuben, though it did not find vent in tears and sobs, was no less than that of his wife.

"Woman," he said, in a trembling voice, "what mean you ? Speak ; explain yourself."

" Pardon me — have pity on me ; I could not help it !" gasped Margaret, between the sobs which shook her frame. " A man came and took away your child."

" A man ! and you suffered him to do so 1 You should have given your life to defend your charge, accursed woman 1"

THE MURDER OF MARGARET D'ARBEL. 1 5

" Curse me not, good Eeuben ; curse me not, for pity's sake !"

" Where did this man go 1 — who was he V

" He handed the child to a man in a carriage, which drove off instantly."

"And you suffered him to do so? Who was this man 1 — do you know him ?"

No answer.

" Ah ! your hesitation condemns you. You know the robber of my child !"

Margaret fell on her knees before him, and hid her face.

" Speak, woman !"

" I dare not," she murmured.

" Dare not ! And yet you dare to tell me, whom you have suffered to be robbed, that you dare not ! Woman, answer me, or, as sure as Jehovah reigns in heaven, thou diest !"

" I cannot — dare not !"

"Answer!" cried Miriam, now also approaching her threateningly. " Answer ! Who stole my child?"

"No, no; I cannot — will notl" sobbed Margaret.

Eeuben advanced to her, and, furious with grief at the loss of his darling Naomi, uplifted his staff, as though to strike her down. But Miriam seized his arm, and stayed the threatened blow.

" Let me deal with her," said the Jewess. " I will wring the secret from her breast. Woman," — to Margaret, — " accursed woman ! dare not to trifle witL % mother's feelings. My child ! who has stolea my child t Speak ; or I will invoke on thee the curse of the Most High."

But Margaret spoke not.

"You will not? Then listen, whilst I curse thee !"

" Yes, yes ; I will speak, I will tell all. God will forgive and protect me and my boy," she cried frantically. " Listen ; I will tell you. I saw and noted the arms on the carriage. The man who carried off the child — "

Suddenly there rang forth the sharp report of a pistol or carbine. Margaret gave a piercing shriek, and placed her hand to her side. Miriam caught her as she was falling, and supported her to a chair.

The blood was pouring from a wound in the loft side of the chest. Her words had been cut short by the assassin's hand ; and Miriam was not destined to hear who had stolen her child.

Keuben rushed to the window ; but the assassin, whoever he was, had vanished. Then he proceeded to cry " Murder !" and alarm the village. In a very short time the cottage of Margaret d'Arbel was crowded by the horrified villagers.

No aid could be rendered, however, for the wound was fatal ; and in five minutes she sank into the sleep of death, bearing with her the secret which had cost her her life.

END OF PKOLOGUE.

CHAPTER I.

THE PROPHECY.

We must now beg the reader's permission to change the scene and date. Sixteen years have passed ; and, leaving the village at the foot of the Alps, we will transport ourselves to the city of Genoa.

A considerable crowd may be seen walking in procession through the streets, carrying flags and banners. It is evidently some fete-day or religious festival, for all the members of this procession are dressed in their best clothes ; the twinkling of guitars and the shrill melody of the Italian flute forming a pleasant accompaniment to the merry voices of the townspeople.

Arrived at an open space or square, in the centre of which is an equestrian statue, the people halt, the procession breaks up ; and, standing or sitting carelessly about, all give themselves up to desultory gossip.

Let us listen to the conversation with which one of the many groups is occupied.

The eyes of the people composing this group are directed to a house in the extreme corner of the square. The windows of this dwelling are all closed, and the shutters up ; and for all that can be seen, it appears uninhabited.

But such is not the case ; for, listening to the talk of the people, we learn that it is inhabited by one known as Rudiga the Sorceress, or the Woman in Red, as she is called. An animated discussion is

c going on, as to whether this woman be indeed invested with the power of diving into futurity and practising unholy arts, or whether she is, as some think, but a clever impostor.

There are not many among the people who favour the latter view ; but there are three men especially who vindicate the idea, and maintain that the so-called sorceress is but a clever charlatan. These three are known as Hector Fiaramonte, Bravadura, and Spada. Their characters are, at the best, suspicious ; and they have no ostensible means of living.

In those days there were many such men to be found in Italian towns, — half thieves, half bravoes, — ready for gold to undertake any work, however villanous or dangerous.

If we scrutinise the features of these men, those of two strike us as familiar ; and we recognise in Hector Fiaramonte our old acquaintance Victor Sanson, the manager of strolling players, and in Bravadura, Hubert Malissey, the husband of the murdered Margaret d'Arbel, and the man who stole the infant child of the poor Jewess.

" Talk not to me of sorcerers and witchcraft !" said Bravadura scornfully ; " the woman is a rank impostor. Did she not, a year ago, prophesy that some day I should ride in my carriage 1 That day has not come yet."

" No, my friend ; but it will," said Hector Fiaramonte.

" The devil it will ! When, my honest friend V

" When ?" replied the other, with a loud laugh.

" Why, when you are driven to the place of execution in a government cart."

" And when that day comes for Bravadura, Hector Fiaramonte won't be far away."

" Well, well," said another of the crowd, " whether in this case she prophesied truly or not, matters little. That she is indeed a sorceress, I can vouch ; for did she not prophesy the death of the Grand Duke ?"

" Yes, when he was lying dangerously ill. Why, the very physicians who attended him knew -well he could not recover," said Bravadura. " You must give us a better instance than that, Matteo Puitti, to convince us that this woman can indeed read the future."

" She told me of events that happened years ago in my native village of Castellan, on the other side of the Alps ; she told me the maiden name of my wife Ninon. More, she told me of a murder committed sixteen years ago, whose author was never discovered."

" A murder ! ha I who was murdered V asked Fiaramonte.

"A poor woman, named Margaret d'Arbel — "

A sudden exclamation broke from Bravadura, and his swarthy face turned pale.

" Ha ! and did she say who was the murderer, this sorceress of yours V

" No ; I asked her, and though I pressed the question, she refused to answer me. ' I know,' she said, ' the name of the murderer, and in clue time will speak it; but not now.' That is all I could elicit from her,"

" Ah, ball ! I don't believe a word of it. She imposes on the weak and ignorant by her outlandish dress, and by the mystery which surrounds her. I'll bet a ducat, that if we could see the inside of this dismal house of hers, it would prove much like any other."

It was Hector Fiaramonte who spoke; and to his words Bravadura replied :

" What say you, my friend, if we have a peep 1 You mount on my shoulders, and you can then look through the chink at the top of the shutter."

" Be not so rash," said Matteo Puitti. " Tis a terrible woman ; and if you anger her, she will assuredly cast a spell upon you."

"A pest upon her spells!" said Fiaramonte. " Come, Bravadura, let me get upon your back. I'll have a peep, if it costs me my eyes."

Then Bravadura stood up against the door of the mysterious house, and the other proceeded to mount his shoulders. But before he could mount, an unexpected interruption took place : the door was thrown open, and on the threshold appeared the Woman in Bed. She advanced with slow and solemn steps, the crowd falling back in dismay before her.

Her appearance was well calculated to strike the ignorant with awe. She was a tall woman, past the middle age, with the remnants of great beauty on her stern, hard features. Her complexion was dark and swarthy, and she wore on her head a turban of coloured silk, in the fashion of Eastern women. Her dress was entirely of red ; and she wore many grotesque ornaments, which the vulgar considered to be charms and spells. Even Fiaramonte, who affected to doubt her supernatural powers, fell back before her.