The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume I

“Can you reject it, when refusal will be so bitter?”

Kate gave a slight shudder, as though that pang was greater than all the rest.

“There is fortunately no difficulty in the matter whatever,” said Jekyl, speaking rapidly. “You will, of course, have many things to purchase before you leave this. Well; take the carriage and your maid, and drive to the Ponte Vecchio. The last shop on the right-hand side of the bridge is ‘Morlache’s.’ It is unpromising enough outside, but there is wealth within to subsidize a kingdom. I will be in waiting to receive you, and in a few minutes the whole will be concluded; and if you have your letter ready, you can enclose the sum, and post it at once.”

If there were many things in this arrangement which shocked Kate, and revolted against her sense of delicacy and propriety, there was one counterpoise more than enough to outweigh them all: she should be enabled to serve her father, she, who alone of all his children had never contributed, save by affection, to his comfort, should now materially assist him. She knew too well the sufferings and anxieties his straitened fortune cost him, she witnessed but too often the half-desperation in which he would pass days, borne down and almost broken-hearted! and she had witnessed that outbreak of joy he would indulge in when an unexpected help had suddenly lifted him from the depth of his poverty. To be the messenger of such good tidings to be associated in his mind with this assistance, to win his fervent “God bless you!” she would have put life itself in peril; and when Jekyl placed so palpably before her the promptitude with which the act could be accomplished, all hesitation ceased, and she promised to be punctual at the appointed place by three o’clock that same afternoon.

“It is too early to expect to see Lady Hester,” said Jekyl; “and indeed, my real business here this morning was with yourself, so that now I shall drive out to Midchekoff’s and make all the arrangements about the villa. Till three, then, good-bye!”

“Good-bye,” said Kate, for the first time disposed to feel warmly to the little man, and half reproach herself with some of the prejudices she used to entertain regarding him.

Jekyl now took his way to the stables, and ordering a brougham to be got ready for him, sauntered into the house, and took his coffee while he waited.

CHAPTER XXXV. RACCA MORLACHE

There is something of mediaeval look and air about the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, which gives it a peculiar interest to the traveller. The quaint little low shops on either side, all glittering with gold and gems; the gorgeous tiaras of diamonds; the richly enamelled cups and vases aside of the grotesque ornaments of peasant costume; the cumbrous ear-rings of stamped gold; the old-fashioned clasps and buckles of massive make; the chains fashioned after long-forgotten models; the strings of Oriental pearls, costly and rare enough for queens to wear, are all thrown about in a rich profusion, curiously in contrast to the humble sheds for they are little more that hold them.

The incessant roll of equipages, – the crowd and movement of a great city; the lingering peasant, gazing with rapturous eyes at the glittering wares; the dark Israelitish face that peers from within; the ever-flowing tide of population of every rank and age and country, giving a bustle and animation to the scene, so beautifully relieved by the view that opens on the centre of the bridge, and where, in a vacant space, the Arno is seen wending peacefully along, and scattering its circling eddies beneath the graceful arches of the “Santa Trinita,” that little glimpse of hill and vineyard and river, the cypress-clad heights of San Miniato, and the distant mountain of Vallombrosa, more beautiful far than all the gold Pactolus ever rolled, or all the gems that ever glittered on crown or coronet.

There was one stall at the end of the bridge so humble-looking and so scantily provided that no stranger was seen to linger beside it. A few coral ornaments for peasant wear, some stamped medals for pious use, and some of those little silver tokens hung up by some devout hands as votive offerings at a holy shrine, were all that appeared; while, as if to confirm the impression of the scanty traffic that went on, the massive door was barred and bolted like the portal of a prison. An almost erased inscription, unrenewed for nigh half a century, told that this was the shop of “Racca Morlache.”

There may have been much of exaggeration in the stories that went of the Jew’s enormous wealth; doubtless many of the accounts were purely fabulous; but one fact is certain, that from that lowly roof went forth sums sufficient to maintain the credit of many a tottering state, or support the cost of warlike struggles to replace a dynasty. To him came the heads of despotic governments, the leaders of rebellious democracy, the Russian and the Circassian, the Carlist and the Cristino. To the proud champion of divine right, or the fearless promulgator of equality, to all he was accessible. Solvency and his profit were requirements he could not dispense with; but, for the rest, in what channel of future good and evil his wealth was to flow, whether to maintain a throne or sap its foundation, to uphold a faith or to desecrate its altars, to liberate a people or to bind their fetters more closely, were cares that sat lightly on his heart.

He might, with his vast means, have supported a style like royalty itself. There was no splendor nor magnificence he need have denied himself; nor, as the world goes, any society from which he should be debarred, gold is the picklock to the doors of palaces as of prisons; but he preferred this small and miserable habitation, which for above two centuries had never borne any other name than the “Casa Morlache.”

Various reasons were given out for a choice so singular; among others, it was said that the Grand-Duke was accustomed to visit the Jew by means of a secret passage from the “Pitti;” while some alleged that the secret frequenters of Morlache’s abode all came by water, and that in the dark night many a boat skimmed the Arno, and directed its course to the last arch of the Ponte Vecchio. With these rumors we have no concern, nor with Morlache himself have we more than a passing business.

When Kate Dalton had driven up to the door, she had all but determined to abandon her intention. The arguments which in the morning had taken her by surprise seemed now weak and futile, and she was shocked with herself for even the momentary yielding to Jekyl’s counsels. Her only doubt was whether to drive on without further halt, or leave some short message, to the effect that she had called but could not delay there. This seemed the better and more courteous proceeding; and while she was yet speaking to the dark-eyed, hook-nosed boy who appeared at the door, Jekyl came up.

“Be quick, Miss Dalton! Don’t lose an instant,” said he. “Morlache is going to the palace, and we shall miss him.”

“But I have changed my mind. I have resolved not to accept this assistance. It is better far better that I should not.”

“It is too late to think of that now,” said he, interrupting, and speaking with some slight degree of irritation.

“How too late? What do you mean?”

“That I have already told Morlache the whole story, and obtained his promise for the loan.”

“Oh, sir! why have you done this?” cried she, in a voice of anguish.

“I had your free permission for it, Miss Dalton. When we parted this morning, the matter was fully agreed on between us; but still, if you desire to retract, your secret is in safe keeping. Morlache never betrays a confidence.”

“And he has heard my name!” cried she, in a broken, sobbing tone.

“Not for the first time, be assured. Even Croesus looked up from his ingots to ask if it were ‘la belle Dalton;’ and when I said ‘Yes,’ ‘That’s enough,’ replied he; ‘would that all my moneys had so safe investment!’ But stay; there is Purvis yonder. He is pretending to examine an eye-glass in that shop opposite, but I see well that he is there only en vedette.”

“What shall I do?” exclaimed the poor girl, now torn by impulses and emotions the most opposite.

“One thing you must do at once,” said Jekyl; “get out of the carriage and visit two or three of the shops, as if in quest of some article of jewelry. His anxiety to learn the precise object of your search will soon draw him from his ‘lair.’”

The decision of this counsel, almost like a command, so far imposed upon Kate that she at once descended, and took Jekyl’s arm along the bridge. They had not gone many yards when the short, little, shuffling step of Purvis was heard behind them. Lingering to gaze at some of the splendid objects exposed for sale, they at last reached a very splendid stall, where diamonds, pearls, and rubies lay in heaps of gorgeous profusion. And now Purvis had stationed himself exactly behind them, with his head most artistically adjusted to hear everything that passed between them.

Jekyl seemed to feel his presence as if by an instinct, and without even turning his eye from the glass case, said, in a voice of some disparagement,

“All modern settings! very lustrous very brilliant, but not at all what we are looking for.”

Kate made no reply; for, while she had scruples about abetting a mere scheme, she was not the less eager to be free of the presence of the “Great Inquisitor.”

“That, perhaps,” said Jekyl, pointing to a magnificent cross of brilliants, “would not go ill with the necklace, although the stones are smaller. Say something, anything,” added he, in a lower tone; “the spell is working.”

“That is very handsome,” said Kate, pointing at a venture to an object before her.

“So it is,” said Jekyl, quickly. “Let us see what value they place upon it. Oh, here is Mr. Purvis; how fortunate! Perhaps in all Florence there is not one so conversant with all that concerns taste and elegance, and, as an old resident, happily exempt from all the arts and wiles played off upon our countrymen.”

“How d’ye do d’ye do?” cried Purvis, shaking hands with both. “You heard of the bl-bl-blunder I made last night about the Ar-Archduke?”

“Not a word of it,” replied Jekyl.

“I told him he was a-a-a fool,” cried Purvis, with a scream and a cackle that very constantly followed any confession of an impertinence.

“Meno male!” exclaimed Jekyl. “Even princes ought to hear truth sometimes; but you can help us here. Mr. Purvis, do you see that chatelaine yonder, with a large emerald pendant; could you ascertain the price of it for Miss Dalton? They’ll not attempt to be extortionate upon you, which they would, assuredly, if she entered the shop.”

“To be sure; I’ll do it with pl-pleasure. Who is it for?”

“That ‘s a secret, Mr. Purvis; but you shall hear it afterwards.”

“I guess al-ready,” said Scroope, with a cunning leer. “You ‘re going to be m-m-m-married, ain’t you?”

“Mr. Purvis, Mr. Purvis, I must call you to order,” said Jekyl, who saw that very little more would make the scene unendurable to Kate.

“I hope it ‘s not an It-It-Italian fellow; for they ‘re all as poor as Laza-Laza-Laza – ”

“Yes, yes, of course; we know that. Your discretion is invaluable,” said Jekyl; “but pray step in, and ask this question for us.”

“I’ll tell who’ll do better,” said Purvis, who, once full of a theme, never paid any attention to what was said by others. “Midche-Midche-Midche-k-k-off; he owns half of – ”

“Never mind what he owns, but remember that Miss Dalton is waiting all this time,” said Jekyl, who very rarely so far lost command of his temper; and at last Purvis yielded, and entered the shop.

“Come now,” said Jekyl to his companion; “it will take him full five minutes to say ‘chatelaine,’ and before that we shall be safely housed.” And with these words he hurried her along, laughing, in spite of all her anxieties, at the absurdity of the adventure. “He ‘ll see the carriage when he comes out,” added he, “and so I ‘ll tell the coachman to drive slowly on towards the Pitti.” And thus, without asking her consent, he assumed the full guidance at once; and, ere she well knew how or why, she found herself within the dark and dusty precincts of Morlache’s shop.

Jekyl never gave Kate much time for hesitation, but hurried her along through a narrow passage, from which a winding flight of stone steps led downwards to a considerable distance, and at last opened upon a neat little chamber on the level of the Arno, the window opening on the stream, and only separated from it by a little terrace, covered with geraniums in full flower. There was a strange undulating motion that seemed communicated from the stream to the apartment, which Jekyl at once explained to his companion as a contrivance for elevating and depressing the chamber with the changes in the current of the river; otherwise the room must have been under water for a considerable portion of the year. While he descanted on the ingenuity of the mechanism, and pointed attention to the portraits along the walls, the Kings and Kaisers with whom Morlache had held moneyed relations, the minutes slipped on, and Jekyl’ s powers as a talker were called upon to speak against time, the figety nervousness of his manner, and the frequent glances he bestowed at the timepiece, showing how impatiently he longed for the Jew’s arrival. To all Kate’s scruples he opposed some plausible pretext, assuring her that, if she desired it, no mention should be made of the loan; that the visit might be as one of mere curiosity, to see some of those wonderful gems which had once graced the crowns of royalty; and that, in any case, the brief delay would disembarrass them on the score of Purvis, whose spirit of inquiry would have called him off in some other direction. At last, when now upwards of half an hour had elapsed, and no sound nor sight bore token of the Jew’s coming, Jekyl resolved to go in search of him; and requesting Kate to wait patiently for a few minutes, he left the room.

At first, when she found herself alone, every noise startled and terrified her; the minutes, as she watched the clock, seemed drawn out to hours. She listened with an aching anxiety for Jekyl’s return, while, with a sorrowing heart, she reproached herself for ever having come there. To this state of almost feverish excitement succeeded a low and melancholy depression, in which the time passed without her consciousness; the half-dulled sounds of the city, the monotonous plash of the stream as it flowed past, the distant cries of the boatmen as they guided their swift barks down the strong current, aiding and increasing a feeling that was almost lethargic. Already the sun had sunk below the hills, and the tall palaces were throwing their giant shadows across the river, the presage of approaching night, and still she sat there all alone. Jekyl had never returned, nor had any one descended the stairs since his departure. Twice had she shaken off the dreamy stupor that was over her, and tried to find the door of the chamber, but, concealed in the wainscoting, it defied her efforts; and now, worn out with anxiety and disappointed, she sat down beside the window, gazing listlessly at the water, and wondering when and how her captivity was to end.

The lamps were now being lighted on the quays, and long columns of light streaked the dark river. Across these a black object was seen to glide, and as it passed, Kate could perceive it was a boat that advanced slowly against the current, and headed up the stream. As she watched, it came nearer and nearer; and now she could hear distinctly the sound of voices talking in French. What, however, was her surprise when, instead of making for the centre arches of the bridge, the boat was vigorously impelled across the river, and its course directed towards the very place where she sat?

However painful her situation before, now it became downright agony. It was clear there were persons coming; in another moment she would be discovered, unable to explain by what course of events she had come there, and thus exposed to every surmise and suspicion that chance or calumny might originate. In that brief but terrible moment what self-accusings, what reproaches of Jekyl crossed her mind; and yet all these were as nothing to the misery which coming events seemed full of. For a second or two she stood irresolute, and then with something like an instinct of escape, she stepped out upon the little terrace that supported the flowers, and, trembling with fear, took her stand beneath the shadow of one of the great buttresses of the bridge. The frail and half-rotten timbers creaked and bent beneath her weight, and close under her feet rolled along the dark river, with a low and sullen sound like moaning. Meanwhile the boat came nearer, and slowly gliding along, was at last brought up at the window. Two figures passed into the chamber, and the boatmen, as if performing a long-accustomed task, rowed out a few lengths into the stream to wait.