City Crimes Part 12

'I shall play off a little prank upon this stranger,' thought Josephine to herself--'it will serve to amuse me.' And then she burst into a merry laugh, as she replied--

'I have no objection in the world, sir, to your sharing this grotto with me; but really, you make a great mistake--you suppose me to be a lady; but I'm no more a lady than you are, don't you see that I'm a _boy_?'

'Indeed!--a _boy_!' Exclaimed the stranger, surveying Josephine with great interest. 'By heaven, I took you for a female; and though you are a boy, I will say that you are an extremely pretty one.'

He entered into the grotto, and seated himself at her side. Taking her hand, he said--

'This hand is wonderfully fair and soft for a boy's. Confess, now--are you not deceiving me?'

'Why should I deceive you?' asked Josephine--'if my hand is fair and soft, it is because I have been brought up as a gentleman, and it has never become soiled or hardened by labor.'

'And yet,' rejoined the stranger, pa.s.sing his hand over the swelling outlines of her bosom, which no disguise could entirely conceal--'there seems to me to be something feminine in these pretty proportions.'

'You doubtless think so,' replied Josephine, removing his hand--'but you greatly err. The fact is, my appearance is naturally very effeminate, and sometimes it is my whim to encourage the belief that I am a female.

I came here to-night, resolved to produce that impression; and you see with what a successful result--you yourself imagined me to be a lady dressed in male attire, but again I a.s.sure you that you never were more mistaken in your life. The fullness of my bosom is accounted for, when I inform you that my vest is very skillfully _padded_. So now I hope you will be no longer skeptical in regard to my true s.e.x.'

'I no longer doubt you, my dear boy,' said the stranger, gazing at Josephine with increased admiration. 'Were you a lady, you would be beautiful, but as a boy you are doubly charming. Be not surprised when I a.s.sure you that you please me ten times--aye, ten thousand times more, as a boy, than as a woman. By heaven, I must kiss those ripe lips!'

'Kiss _me_!' responded Josephine, laughing--'come, sire, this is too good--you must be joking.'

'No, beautiful boy, I am serious,' exclaimed the stranger, vehemently--'you may p.r.o.nounce my pa.s.sion strange, unaccountable, and absurd, if you will--but 'tis none the less violent or sincere. I am a native of Spain, a country whose ardent souls confine not their affections to the fairest portion of the human race alone, but--'

'What mean you?' demanded Josephine, in astonishment. The stranger whispered a few words in her ear, and she drew back in horror and disgust.

'Nay, hear me,' exclaimed the Spaniard, pa.s.sionately--'it is no low-born or vulgar person who solicits this favor; for know,' he continued, removing his mask--'that I am Don Jose Velasquez, amba.s.sador to this country from the court of Spain; and however high my rank, I kneel at your feet and--'

'Say no more, sir,' said Josephine, interrupting him, and rising as she spoke--'it is time that you should know that your first supposition in reference to me was correct. I am a woman. I did but pretend, in accordance with a suddenly conceived notion, to deceive you for a while, but that deception has developed an iniquity in the human character, the existence of which I have heard before, but never fully believed till today. Your unnatural iniquity inspires me with abhorrence; leave me instantly and attempt not to follow me, or I shall expose you to the guests, in which case _His Excellency_ Don Jose Velasquez, amba.s.sador to this country from the court of Spain, would become an object of derision and contempt.'

The Spaniard muttered a threat of vengeance and strode hastily away.

Josephine put on her mask, and leaving the grotto, was about to return to the ball-room, when a gentleman, plainly but richly attired in black velvet, and closely masked, thus accosted her in a respectful tone--

'Lady--for your graceful figure and gait betray you, notwithstanding your boyish disguise--suffer me to depart so far from the formality of fas.h.i.+onable etiquette as to entreat your acceptance of me as your _chaperon_ through this beautiful place.'

This gentleman's speech was distinguished by a voice uncommonly melodious, and an accent peculiarly refined; he was evidently a person of education and respectable social position. The tones of his voice struck Josephine as being familiar to her; yet she could not divine who he was, and concluded that there only existed an accidental resemblance between his voice and that of some one of her friends. His manner being so frank, and at the same time so gentleman-like and courteous, that she replied without hesitation--

'I thank you, sir--I will avail myself of your kindness.' She took his proffered arm, and they began slowly to promenade the princ.i.p.al avenue of the conservatory, engaged at first in that polite and desultory discourse which might be supposed to arise between a lady and gentleman who meet under such circ.u.mstances.

At length, becoming fatigued, they entered a pretty little arbor quite remote from observation, and seated themselves upon a moss-covered trunk. After a few commonplace observations, the gentleman suddenly addressed Josephine in a start of ardent pa.s.sion.

'Lady,' he exclaimed, taking her hand and pressing it tenderly, 'pardon my rudeness; but I am overcome by feelings which I never before experienced. Although your face is concealed by your mask, I know you are beautiful--the rich luxuriance of your raven hair, and the exquisite proportions of this fair hand, are proofs of the angelic loveliness of your countenance. Am I presumptuous and bold--does my language give you offence?--if so, I will tear myself from your side, though it will rend my heart with anguish to do so. You do not speak--you are offended with me; farewell, then--'

'Stay,' murmured Josephine--'I am not offended, sire--far from it; you are courteous and gallant, and why should I be displeased?' The gentleman kissed her hand with rapture.

'Oh,' said he, in a low tone--'I am entranced by your kindness. You will be surprised when I a.s.sure you that I am but a novice in the way of love; and yet I most solemnly declare that never before have I pressed woman's hand with pa.s.sion--never before has my heart beat with the tumult of amorous inclination--never before have I clasped woman's lovely form as I now clasp yours.' And he encircled the yielding form of Josephine with his arms.

'Why have you been such a novice in the delights of love?' she asked, permitting him to clasp her pa.s.sionately to his breast.

'Dear lady,' he replied--'my position in life is one that precludes me in a great measure from the enjoyment of sensual indulgences; and I have heretofore imagined myself impervious to the attacks of Venus; but ah!

you have conquered me. My leisure moments have been devoted to study and contemplation; I ventured here to-night to be a spectator of the joys of others, not designing to partic.i.p.ate in those joys myself. The graceful voluptuousness of your form, developed by this boyish costume, fired my soul with new and strange sensations, which, so help me heaven! I never experienced before. Ah, I would give half of my existence to be allowed to kiss those luscious lips!'

'You can have your wish at a far less expense,' murmured the lady, her bosom heaving with pa.s.sionate emotions.

'But first remove that mask,' said the gentleman, enraptured at the success of the first intrigue of his life.

'I have no objection to uncover my countenance, provided you bestow upon me a similar favor,' replied Josephine.

'I am most anxious to preserve my _incognito_,' said the gentleman, in a tone of hesitation. 'My standing and peculiar occupation in life are entirely incompatible with such a festival as this, and my reputation would be dangerously compromised, if not utterly ruined. Nay, then, since you insist upon it, fair creature, I will unmask, trusting to your honor as a lady to keep my secret.'

He uncovered his face, and Josephine was thunderstruck when she recognized in the amorous stranger, no less a personage than Dr.

Sinclair, the pious and eloquent rector of St. Paul's.

Yes--that learned and talented divine, who had so often denounced the sins and follies of the fas.h.i.+onable world, and declaimed particularly against the demoralizing influences of masquerade b.a.l.l.s--that young and handsome preacher, whose exalted reputation for sanct.i.ty and holiness had induced the amorous Josephine and her licentious mother to suppose him inaccessible to their l.u.s.tful glances, and far removed from the power of temptation--that model of purity and virtue was now present at this scene of profligate dissipation, gazing into the wanton eyes of a beautiful siren, his face flushed with excitement, and his heart palpitating with eager desire!

For a few moments Josephine sat overcome by astonishment, and could not utter a single syllable.

'You seem surprised, dear lady,' said Dr. Sinclair--'may I ask if you have ever seen me before?'

'You can read in my countenance an answer to your question,' replied Josephine, taking off her mask.

'Heavens, Miss Franklin!' exclaimed the divine. It was now his turn to be astonished.

'We meet under extraordinary circ.u.mstances,' said Dr. Sinclair after a short and somewhat embarra.s.sing pause. 'Had I known that you are one who every Sabbath sits under my ministration, no earthly consideration would have induced me to disclose myself--not even the certainty of enjoying your favors. However, you know me now, and 'tis impossible to recall the past; therefore, beautiful Miss Franklin, do not withhold from the preacher that kindness which you would have granted to the private gentleman.--Let us religiously preserve our secret from the knowledge of the world: when we meet in company, let it be with the cold formality which exists between persons who are almost strangers; but now let us revel in the joys of love.'

The superb but profligate Josephine needed no urgent persuasion to induce her to become a guilty partic.i.p.ator in a criminal _liaison_ with the handsome young rector whom she had so long regarded with the eyes of desire;--_hers_ was the conquest, that unprincipled lady of fas.h.i.+on; and _he_ was the victim, that recreant fallen minister of the gospel.

Humbled and conscience-stricken, Dr. Sinclair left Livingston House and returned to his own luxurious but solitary home; while Josephine was driven in her carriage to Franklin House, the flush of triumph on her cheeks and her proud, guilty heart reeling with exultation.

CHAPTER XI

_The Condemnation to Death--the Burglar's Confession and Awful Fate in the Iron Coffin._

The arrest of Frank Sydney for the murder of Maria Archer created an immense excitement throughout the whole community.--His wealth, standing in society, and former respectability caused many to believe him innocent of the dreadful crime imputed to him; but public opinion generally p.r.o.nounced him guilty. The following article, extracted from a newspaper published at that period, will throw some light upon the views held in reference to the unhappy young man, and show how the circ.u.mstances under which he was arrested operated prejudicially to him:--

'ATROCIOUS MURDER. Last night, about nine o'clock, cries of murder were heard proceeding from the house No.--Bowery. The door was forced open by several citizens and watchmen, who, on entering a room on the second story, found the body of a young woman named Maria Archer stretched upon a sofa, her throat cut in a horrible manner, and standing over the corpse a young gentleman named Francis Sydney, holding in his hand a large Bowie knife, covered with blood. The landlady, Mrs.

Flint, stated that Maria had that afternoon announced her intention to remove from the house in the evening; at about eight o'clock, Mr. Sydney called, _disguised_, and went up into the room of the deceased;--after a while, she (the landlady), being surprised that Maria did not begin to remove, went up to her room, and on opening the door, saw the young woman lying upon the sofa, her throat cut, and Mr. Sydney standing over her with the knife in his hand. On seeing this she screamed for a.s.sistance, and her cries had brought the watchman and citizens into the house, as we have stated.

'Mr. Sydney is a very wealthy young man, and has heretofore been highly respected. There can be no doubt of his guilt. He had probably formed a criminal connection with Mrs. Archer, whose character for chast.i.ty did not stand very high; it is supposed that it was in consequence of this intimacy that Mrs.

Sydney recently separated from her husband. It is also presumed that a quarrel arose between Sydney and his paramour in consequence of his refusal to supply her with what money she demanded. This belief is predicated upon the following note, in the handwriting of Sydney, which was found upon the person of his murdered victim:--

'Mrs. Archer.--Madam: I shall this evening call upon you to confirm the words of my messenger. The unfortunate career which you have followed, is now nearly ended. Extortion and oppression shall triumph no longer. F.S.'

'This note, it will be perceived, accuses her of extortion and contains a threat, &c. Alarmed at this, the poor young woman determined to leave the house that night--but was prevented by her paramour who barbarously slew her.

'The prisoner, whose appearance and behavior after his arrest proved his guilt, was conveyed to the Tombs, to await his trial for one of the most atrocious murders that has stained our criminal courts for many years.'