Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (10 page)

NISIDA’S EMOTIONS—THE DISGUISE—THE
PLOT

We
 
must now return to Nisida, whom
we left gazing from the window of the Riverola mansion, at the moment when
Wagner rushed away from the vicinity of his lady-love on the approach of
sunset.

The singularity of his conduct—the
look of ineffable horror and anguish which he cast upon her, ere he parted from
her presence—and the abruptness of his departure, filled her mind with the most
torturing misgivings, and with a thousand wild fears.

Had his senses suddenly left him?
was he the prey to fits of mental aberration which would produce so
extraordinary an effect upon him? had he taken a sudden loathing and disgust to
herself? or had he
 
discovered
 
anything in respect to her which had
converted his love into hatred?

She knew not—and conjecture was
vain! To a woman of her excitable temperament, the occurrence was particularly
painful. She had never known the passion of love until she had seen Wagner; and
the moment she did see him, she loved him. The sentiment on her part originated
altogether in the natural sensuality of her disposition; there was nothing
pure—nothing holy—nothing refined in her affection for him; it was his
wonderful personal beauty that had made so immediate and profound an impression
upon her heart.

There was consequently something
furious and raging in that passion which she experienced for Fernand Wagner—a
passion capable of every extreme—the largest sacrifices, or infuriate
jealousies—the most implicit confidence, or the maddest suspicion! It was a passion
which would induce her to ascend the scaffold to save him; or to plunge the
vengeful dagger into his heart did she fancy that he deceived her!

To one, then, whose soul was
animated by such a love, the
 
 conduct
of Fernand was well adapted to wear even an exaggerated appearance of
singularity; and as each different conjecture swept through her imagination,
her emotions were excited to an extent which caused her countenance to vary its
expressions a hundred times in a minute.

The fury of the desolating torrent,
the rage of the terrific volcano, the sky cradled in the blackest clouds, the
ocean heaving tempestuously in its mighty bed, the chafing of a tremendous
flood against an embankment which seems ready every moment to give way, and
allow the collected waters to burst forth upon the broad plains and into the
peaceful valleys—all these occurrences in the physical world were imagined by
the emotions that now agitated within the breast of the Italian lady.

Her mind was like the sea put in
motion by the wind; and her eyes flashed fire, her lips quivered, her bosom
heaved convulsively, her neck arched proudly, as if she were struggling against
ideas that forced themselves upon her and painfully wounded her boundless
patrician pride.

For the thought that rose uppermost
amidst all the conjectures which rushed to her imagination, was that Fernand
had conceived an invincible dislike toward her.

Wherefore did he fly thus—as if
eager to place the greatest possible distance between herself and him?

Then did she recall to mind every
interchange of thought that had passed between them through the language of the
fingers; and she could fix upon nothing which, emanating from herself, had
given him offense.

Had he then really lost his
senses?

Madly did he seem to be rushing toward
the Arno, on whose dark tide the departing rays of the setting sun glinted with
oscillating and dying power.

She still continued to gaze from
the window long after he had disappeared; obscurity was gathering rapidly
around; but, even had it been noonday, she would have seen nothing. Her ideas
grew bewildered: mortification, grief, anger, suspicion, burning desire, all
mingled together and at length produced a species of stunning effect upon her,
so that the past appeared to be a dream, and the future was wrapt in the
darkest gloom and uncertainty.

This strange condition of her
mind did not, however, last long; the natural energy of her character speedily
asserted its empire over the intellectual lethargy which had seized upon her,
and, awakening from her stupor, she resolved to waste not another instant in
useless conjecture as to the cause of her lover’s conduct.

Hastening to her own apartments,
she dismissed Flora Francatelli, whom she found there, with an abruptness of
gesture and a frowning expression of countenance amounting to an act of cruelty
toward that resigned and charming girl; so that as the latter hastened from the
room, tears started from her eyes, and she murmured to herself, “Can it be
possible that Donna Nisida suspects the attachment her brother has formed
toward
 
 me? Oh! if she do,
the star of an evil destiny seems already to rule my horoscope!”

Scarcely had Flora disappeared in
this sorrowing manner, when Nisida secured the outer door of her own suit of
apartments, and hurried to her bed-chamber. There she threw aside the garb
belonging to her sex, and assumed that of a cavalier, which she took from a
press opening with a secret spring. Then, having arranged her hair beneath a
velvet tocque shaded with waving black plumes, in such a manner that the
disguise was as complete as she could render it, she girt on a long rapier of
finest Milan steel, and throwing the short cloak edged with costly fur,
gracefully over her left shoulder, she quitted her chamber by a private door
opening behind the folds of the bed curtains.

A narrow and dark staircase
admitted her into the gardens of the Riverola mansion. These she crossed with a
step so light and free, that had it been possible to observe her in the
darkness of the evening, she would have been taken for the most elegant and
charming cavalier that ever honored the Florentine Republic with his presence.

In about a quarter of an hour she
reached the abode of Dr. Duras; but instead of entering it, she passed round
one of its angles, and opening a wicket by means of a key which she had about
her, gained access to the gardens in the rear of the mansion.

She traversed these grounds with
hasty steps, passing the boundary which separated them from the gardens of
Wagner’s dwelling, and then relaxing her pace, advanced with more caution to
the windows of this very apartment where Agnes had been so alarmed two months
previously, by observing the countenance at the casement.

But all was now dark within.
Wagner was not in his favorite room—for Nisida
 
knew
 
that this was her lover’s favorite
apartment.

Perhaps he had not yet returned?

Thus thought the lady; and she
walked slowly round the spacious dwelling, which, like the generality of the
patrician mansions of Florence in those times—as indeed is now the case to a
considerable extent—stood in the midst of extensive gardens.

There were lights in the
servants’ offices; but every other room seemed dark. No; one window in the
front, on the ground-floor, shone with the luster of a lamp.

Nisida approached it, and beheld
Agnes reclining in a pensive manner on a sofa in a small but
elegantly-furnished apartment. Her countenance was immediately overclouded; and
for an instant she lingered to gaze upon the sylph-like form that was stretched
upon that ottoman. Then she hastily pursued her way; and, having perfected the
round of the building, once more reached the windows of her lover’s favorite
room.

Convinced that he had not
returned, and fearful of being observed by any of the domestics who might
happen to pass through the gardens, Nisida retraced her way toward the dwelling
 
 of Dr. Duras. But her heart was
now heavy, for she knew not how to act.

Her original object was to obtain
an interview with Wagner that very night, and learn, if possible, the reason of
his extraordinary conduct toward her: for the idea of remaining in suspense for
many long, long hours, was painful in the extreme to a woman of her excitable
nature.

She was, however, compelled to
resign herself to this alternative; and, having let herself through the wicket
belonging to the physician’s gardens, she directed her steps homeward.

On her way she passed by the gate
of the Convent of Carmelite Nuns—one of the wealthiest, most strictly
disciplined, and celebrated monastic establishments in the Florentine Republic.

It appeared that a sudden thought
here struck her; for ascending to the steep leading to the gate, she paused
beneath the lamp of the deep Gothic portico, took out her tablets, and hastily
wrote the following words:

“Donna Nisida of Riverola
requests an interview with the Lady Abbess Maria to-morrow at midday, on a
matter seriously regarding the spiritual welfare of a young female who has
shown great and signal disregard for the rites and ordinances of the most Holy
Catholic Church: and in respect to whom the most severe measures must be
adopted. Donna Nisida will visit the holy mother to-morrow at midday.”

Having written these words,
Nisida tore off the leaf and thrust it through a small square grating set in
the massive door of the convent. Then ringing the bell to call attention to the
gate, she hastily pursued her way homeward.

She had gained the gardens of the
Riverola mansion, and was advancing toward the door of the private staircase
leading to her chamber, when she suddenly perceived two dark figures standing
within a few yards of her. Fearful that they might be domestics belonging to
the household, she hastily and noiselessly retreated within the deep shade of
the wall of the mansion, and there she remained motionless.

We must now detail the conversation
which passed between the two individuals whose presence in the garden had thus
alarmed the Lady Nisida.

“But are you sure of what you
say, Antonio?” demanded one of the men.

“By Saint Jacopo! I cannot be
mistaken,” was the reply. “The closet has been locked up for years and years,
and the old count always used to keep the keys in an iron chest, which was also
carefully locked and chained round. What can the place possibly contain but a
treasure?”

“After all it is only conjecture
on your part; and that being the case, it is not worth while to risk one’s
life——”

“You are a coward, Stephano!”
exclaimed Antonio, angrily. “The closet has got a heavy, massive door, and a
prodigiously strong lock; and if these precautions were not adopted to protect
a hoard of wealth, why were they taken at all, let me ask you?”

“There is something in what you
say,” replied Stephano;
 
 “but
you do wrong to call me a coward. If it were not that we were cousins, and
linked by a bond of long maintained friendship, I would send my rapier through
your doublet in a twinkling.”

“Nay; I do not mean to anger
thee, Stephano,” cried the valet. “But let us speak lower: chafe not, I pray
thee!”

“Well—well!” said the other,
gloomily; “go on, in the name of your patron saint! Only keep a guard upon your
tongue, for it wags somewhat too freely; and remember that a man who has been
for fifteen years the captain of as gallant a band as ever levied contributions
on the lieges of the republic, is not to have ‘
coward
’ thrown in his teeth.”

“Let it pass, good Stephano!”
urged the valet. “I tell thee that a closet whereof I have spoken, can contain
naught save a treasure—perhaps in gold—perhaps in massive plate.”

“We can dispose of either to our
advantage,” observed the bandit, with a coarse chuckle.

“Will you undertake the
business?” demanded Antonio.

“I will,” was the resolute
answer; “and as much to convince you that Stephano is not a coward, as for any
other reason. But when is it to be done? and why did you make an appointment to
meet me here, of all places in Florence?”

“It can be done when you choose,”
replied Antonio; “and as for the other questions, I desired you to meet me
here, because I knew that you would not refuse a fine chance; and, suspecting
this much it was necessary to show you the geography of the place.”

“Good!” observed the
robber-chief. “To-morrow night I have a little affair in hand for a reverend
and holy father, who is sure to be chosen superior of his order if his rival in
the candidature be removed; and in four-and-twenty hours the said rival must be
food for the fishes of the Arno.”

“Then the night after that?”
suggested Antonio.

“Pre-engaged again,” returned the
bandit-captain coolly. “A wealthy countess has been compelled to pledge her
diamonds to a Jew; on Sunday next she must appear with her husband at the
palace of the Medici; and on Saturday night, therefore, the diamonds must be
recovered from the Jew.”

“Then the husband knows not that
they are so pledged?” said Antonio.

“Scarcely,” answered the brigand.
“They were deposited with the Jew for a loan which the countess raised to
accommodate her lover. Now do you understand?”

“Perfectly. What say you to next
Monday night?”

“I am at your service,” responded
Stephano. “Monday will suit me admirably, and midnight shall be the hour. And
now instruct me in the nature of the locality.”