The Story of Mrs Williams.

Evening Star, Issue 6819, 5 February 1886, Page 4

The Story of Mrs Williams.

I knew a very pretty young Irish widow, a Airs Williams. She had married, secretly, her young lover while still under ago, and when, there-

fore, no settlements could bo made. Ho died before ho reached his majority; and, as his parents were angry with the wedding, they refused to assist his widow. Hence, when I knew her she was in the position of a pretty woman wanting money and not knowing any trade or craft by which to earn it. She tried going on the stage, but failed ; literature, and failed ; teaching, but could get no pupils. At last she scraped together a little money, with which to furnish a house in Connaught square, and set up a boarding-house for ladies. Thus she had the appearance of a well-to-do householder in a wcll-cou-sidored neighborhood. Unluckily for her she met one evening, at the house of a lady who did not sift her acquaintances, a man who attached himself to her skirts, and never after left them—till he had accomplished his design. This man called himself by some high-sounding title which I now forget. He spoke several languages ; professed himself a universal kind of Christian, neither strictly Catholic nor entirely Protestant; gave out that ho had mesmeric power—that lie could read both the past and the future, and compel to his will the most refractory spirit ■ and, what was perhaps more to his purpose, that he had palaces all over the world—notably in Vienna, Venice, Rome, and Naples. And with all these advantages he pi’ofessed the most ardent attachment to my friend Mrs Williams; and very soon asked her to marry him. And she, overjoyed, said she would, seeing in this man her protector in the great battle which was almost too much for her, and her escape from an impecuniosity not at all to her liking. One day after thoir engagement she said to him that she could not afford the trousseau lit for his bride. The holder of a high-sounding title and the possessor of palaces scattered broadcast over Europe, how could she, the poor undoweral widow of a minor, find means to make herself bravo in accordance with his deserts 1 Whereupon lie tore out a blank cheque from a cheque-book, and Hung it over to her, saying “ Fill it up with anything under millions.”

When she refused he pressed her; and the more she refused the more ho pressed her. At last he narrowed his vague magnificence to a definite point, and said “At least fill it up with five thousand pounds.” She still resisted ; but this gave her a certain solid assurance for her airy hopes, for her solicitor went to the bank and found out that, in point of fact, live thousand pounds were lying there in the name of this man. After this there could ho no hesitation—no doubt; and they married, and went to Brighton for the honeymoon. Now begin the mysteries to which I have no solution. I only give them as they were told to me.

Mrs Williams was 0110 of those nervously alive and sleepless persons who go to bed at midnight and got up at daybreak. She lived with very little sleep ; but after her marriage she became extremely somnolent, and was always tumbling to sleep at all hours of the day. Her husband laughed at her complaints, and hinted at a tender physical cause for the changed condition. He used also to make her coll'ee with his own hands, which was to stimulate and awaken her, but it rather increased than diminished her drowsiness. In the midst of this odd state of things, suddenly one night appeared a dark, swarthy, illdressed man, who demanded to see the baron, as he called himself, and who did see him—said baron visibly disturbed. They had a long and angry discussion in a foreign language, of which my friend did not know the sound, nor could catch a word. After which the stranger left; but ho came the next day, and the same angry scene was repeated. Frightened out of her poor wits, already rather damaged by what had gone before, my friend besought her husband to deliver his soul of the truth, and tell her what all this meant. Whereupon he confessed. He said that he w r as not a baron, nor the owner of those splendid palaces, but tin; captain of a troop of banditti; that this swarthy, ill-dressed man was his lieutenant; and that the quarrel was about her and money. He had come over with that five thousand pounds, wdiich he had wanted her to take, to buy arms and ammunition for his band. Neglecting to do so, his lieutenant had followed him to see what he was about, and had tracked him here, as she knew. Then he opened a kind of spring knife, or stiletto, and told her that if she ever betrayed him he would put this into her. It made a wound that could not be healed, he added significant!}', sonow she knew what to expect. As soon as his back was turned, my poor friend rushed out of the house and went up to London, where she put herself under the care of her solicitors, who hid her and looked after her. Meanwhile her husband the baron—deposed in favor of the captain of banditti—also came to London in search of her. Not finding her, ho sold the lease of her house, the furniture, and all her belongings, and disappeared into the darkness whence ho had come. When 1 was in Paris I chanced to read the history of a famous escroc just then being tried for his crimes. Among those crimes was a small register of thirteen polygamous marriages ; the eleventh on the list was Elise Williams, Anglaise. He had been a courier and a croupier. This was indubitable. Also it was indubitable that ho had been a swindler of rare audacity, and corresponding success. But of the real meaning of the money in the bank, the ill-dressed man, the quarrel, and why Mrs Williams went to sleep after her coffee, I know no'hing.—Mrs Lynn Linton, in the ‘ Fortnightly.’