Ralph; or, St. Sepulchre's and St. Stephen's

Chapter I

It is not ad gold that glitters in St. James's. In that aristocratic region there are many " bucks " whose right of property in themselves is doubtful — who, whde they lounge beneath the club windows, envied of the working public which bustles past them, are themselves doubtful where their couch will be laid the next night. Truly one half the world does not know how the other half hves ; and there are social puzzles in St. James's intricate enough to baffle the Mendicity Officers and the Bankruptcy Commissioners to boot. The streets are fided with folks who are very much of a feather — and fine fea thers are the common wear — but some of the gayest VOL. II. B plumage are ready to moult at the touch of a bailiff, and others wear their finery as an intentional disguise rather than for purposes of innocent adornment.

Great cities breed great contrasts. Misery is always close at hand where luxury has its splendid home, and extravagance never need do more than open its eyes to see its condemnation in the shape of want. Where the carcase is, there, we are told, are the eagles ; and we know that where the pigeons are gathered together, there will be found their pluckers. It is so in St. James's. Round about the modern palaces of Pall Mad — in the dubious neighbourhood of the Haymarket, are to be found the brigands of the West End. Not garotters. Oh ! dear no. Not starving men, who with hodow face and trembling limbs seize the food they despair of obtaining honestly. Not bravos of the Itahan type, romantic even in their cruelty7, clad in fantastic costume, with weapons gleaming like those in use upon the stage.

The brigands who are to be met with between Pad Mall and the Marble Arch are wise in their generation, and accordingly their sartorial outfit is like that of other men, though possibly more magnificent, and they abandon the argument of force entirely to the lower grades of the profession. Many a little East Eud " swell," who, upon his occasional holiday or upon a distant errand, treads these resounding pavements, would feel considerably reassured if he could follow the mustachio'd ex quisite, with whom be feels that personal compari son is odious — or tbe man whose unexceptionable whiskers and costume excite his bitterest envy — to their apology for a home at some third-rate lodging house or some questionable hotel. Mr. Wragley understood this neighbourhood pretty wed. He knew something of its dark as wed as its hght side.

A bid-broking business is calculated to bring strange sights to a man's observation. It might be contended that nature would not be uniform if there were not men as well as beasts of prey. And Mr. Wragley was better acquainted with the pike than with the gudgeons of Pall Mad. He knew these well, and it was to one of their haunts that his steps were now directed. The Crescent and Cross was not exactly an hotel. It had the capacity of one, but early in its career it had taken to drinking, to late hours and dissipated habits, and the consequence was tbat the bar had outgrown the other features of the establishment. In fact the bar was now everything at the Crescent and Cross. It is true that between the b2 windows of the first and second floors there appeared the word " Hotel" iu large wooden gilt letters, but the L had not maintained its equilibrium, and now seemed to carry upwards the drunken aspect of the ground floor.

No bond fide travellers woulcl ever have thought of putting up at the Crescent and Cross. In fact beyond the notice, "Beds," on the red lamp which overhung the street, there appeared to be no effort made to utilise the upper stories. The waiters evi dently appeared to consider anything but " goes of whisky" and " brandy and soda" " unnecessaries of life," and the barmaids, who, in spite of the most desperate efforts, could not repress their look of wan and wearied dissipation, could not have passed for chambermaids. But it woulcl be a great mistake to suppose that the upper stories of such estabhshments are left to the dust and mice of London, because there is no appearance of bustle about them to be compared with that which animates the ground floor. Such an alarming sacrifice is not very often made, and certainly was not made at the Crescent and Cross.

Mr. Wragley seemed to know better than this, for he made his way through the smad crowd of cabmen and hangers-on — or loungers about — by whichever title this nondescript class of persons may choose to be called — and on reaching the bar beckoned familiarly to one of the young ladies who had retreated to her stool within the metal-covered arc which enclosed her domain, and was looking with a vacant stare at her customers while they disposed of the draughts she had just distributed among them. " Here, Miss," said Mr. Wragley, trying to attract her attention. " What is it ? " said the young Hebe so ad dressed, not moved to make haste by Mr. Wragley' s appearance. "I want to speak to you," said Mr. Wragley, and standing on tiptoe he stretched his head as far as possible over tbe counter. The barmaid did not seem very eager for Mr. Wragley's confidence, but sbe leaned down towards him, though in a very deliberate manner.

" Is Mr. Taverner here now ? " said Mr. Wragley in a low voice. " You are a new girl," he continued, " or else you woulcl have known me as one of the Captain's old friends." " Miss " looked suspiciously at the lawyer, and then, having apparently made up her mind during this short pause, said, " Yes ; I beheve he has lately come back, you'll find him on the first floor : one of the waiters will show you." Mr. Wragley was fond of doing things for himself, and especially he had a great dislike to being announced. It was so much better, he thought, to drop upon one's friends — there was no teding the advantage which such a policy gave to a cautious and observant man. He groped his way up the id lighted staircase, narrowly avoiding a fad over a pile of dirty plates, from which a cat was enjoying an olla podr'ula of leavings.

He was not disturbed by the stale, musty smed — indigenous to such places — which hung about the staircase, aud with which the whole of the Crescent and Cross was pervaded. He made straight for the first floor, but on arriving there he found all the doors locked. Mr. Wragley tapped at one of them, a running fire of small taps. Not the dull knock of a dim, nor the loud knock of a man of business, but a reassuring series of taps, by which he designed to convey to Taverner that a friend, perhaps a lady, was requesting admittance. Mr. Wragley's knocks grew bolder and bolder, until at length he was forced to the opinion that no one was within, or that, if they were, it w*as not in his power to get them to come out. He went down stairs, and, having missed the door which opened into the bar, was making his way along the passage leading to the private entrance, in tending to let himself out, when the door was opened from outside, and a well-dressed man entered the gloomy passage.

It was Taverner himself, older in appearance by twenty years than when we saw him last. His dress was unexceptionable ; in fact no one would have supposed that the proprietor of those shaky hands and that deboshed countenance could have tied a cravat as his was tied, or that he woulcl have been so careful as to the whiteness of Ids linen. But Taverner had not, in his own estimation, suffered much by his fall. He had, indeed, nothing by which to measure it. He had never known a standard of virtue, or morality7, or excellence, save of that sort of excedence by which he was now sur rounded. He had always thought it a fine thing to make a good book upon a race, or to be able to chink a quart of beer or a pint of brandy7. He had always thought it creditable to seduce women, and a venial sin to cheat men.

So that to be cut off from the society of honest men and women — to be mixed with blacklegs and soi-disant captains, with sharpers, prize-fighters, and shameless women, — did not seem to him a great misfortune. He had sustained an attack of delirium tremens; but even this dire avenger of the wrongs which such men do their bodies was made light of by him and his present associates, and perhaps to have endured the tor tures of " del. tre." was regarded as rather an en viable distinction. He lived as such men usually live— from hand to mouth. If he had been asked what were his hopes or prospects, he would have answered that he hadn't any. He had mortgaged the future far too deeply for him ever to hope to redeem it. Sometimes he had not any money for weeks together, and then, piece by piece, his wardrobe found its way to the nearest pawnbroker's, until a lucky coup enabled him to retake it to his use.

He hved by playing at cards or pool at second-rate bdliard-rooms, and by betting on horse-races. By his own actions he had darkened very fan* prospects in life; — with what appeared to be obstinate determination, he had alienated from himself every respectable connexion and acquaintance he once possessed, and he had made his name disgracefully notorious in the society of those by whom he had been known in his youth. And yet Taverner, this man about town, — this swindler, this gambler, — whose hand was against every man, thought himself an injured individual, one whose misfortunes were solely attributable to the unfair oppression of the world. Mr. Wragley knew his man at once, and advancing said, " How are you, Captain ? I've been knocking at your door for tbe last ten minutes." Taverner was not pleased to see the lawyer.

His visit could mean no good to him. He woulcl have liked to take Mr. Wragley by the collar and put him out into the street ; but, in addition to the dle gality of such a proceeding, Taverner's nature was far too cowardly to suggest a personal encounter, except under circumstances which would secure Ids victory. He recognised tbe lawyer at a glance, and said, with as httle politeness as possible, "What the do you want with me ? You don't suppose I've got any money, do you?" " No, I didn't think that," said Mr. Wragley, quietly ; " I came, because I wanted to see you upon some other matters. Shad I go first ? " And with a manner unruffled by Taverner's coarse recep tion, the little lawyer pointed the way up-stairs with his umbreda. Taverner surrendered instantly. It was not in the nature of such a man to resist the subtle force of a stronger wdl ; and if Mr. Wragley was not very strong, Taverner was very weak.

He ascended the stairs and unlocked his door. There were the remains of a supper upon the table, and the general appearance of the room was one of extreme dis comfort. " I want to ask you a few questions about our friend the Major," said Wragley, taking a seat. " D— n the fellow ! I'm glad you are after him. I wish him joy of your attentions; he's been the ruin of me," replied Taverner. " You know he is a slippery customer. Some interesting particulars have turned up respecting his family, of which I am anxious to get to the bottom." " I must know all about it before I speak," said Taverner, sullenly7, but unable to subdue an interest in anything which seemed likely to threaten the fortunes of Evelyn. " Lawyers must respect confidence ; they can't be expected to tell ad they know." And having said this, Mr. Wragley buttoned his coat, as though he were locking up himself and his secrets from observation.

" You don't get anything out of me, then," said Taverner, with a dogged air. "It isn't much that I want to know, but I wish to find out where the Major's elder brother is to be heard of, that's ad." "And so you think to make a tool of me. You've come to the wrong shop, Wragley. I've nothing to lose, and don't care that for you." Taverner snapped his fingers. He had managed to work himself up to a pitch of resistance very unusual with him. One of tlie strongest feelings remaining to him was hatred of Evelyn. He hated him for his superior knavery — for the easy7 mastery which the Major possessed over himself ; and no thing woulcl have given him greater gratification than to learn that stdl greater misfortunes were hkely to come upon Evelyn. He was therefore proportionately annoyed when Wragley refused to gratify his malignant curiosity.

But his astonish ment was great when the lawyer deliberately re peated Ids question as to whether he knew anything of Evelyn's brother in a tone which seemed to demand an answer. His resolution failed for a moment, but his animosity was strong enough to preserve his determination. " Go and find out," he answered boldly. " I mean to find out," said Wragley ; " and, in order to obtain your assistance, I see that I shad be compelled to cad your attention to that deed you deposited with me some years ago." Taverner moved uneasdy, and threw an anxious glance at the lawyer. "You'd have my share of the property whenever it falls in ; I can't give you any other security. There ought to be enough to cover my debts to you, but if there is not, you won't have made a bad thing out of it altogether— you know that very well."

" The other securities are all right enough, I'll take care of that," said Mr. Wragley. " I'm speaking now of the deed of gift. There is, I think, some little — informality — about — the — signature." The law-yer spoke slowly, keeping his eye fixed upon Taverner, upon whom these few words had a marvellous effect. He trembled violently, and his complexion changed from its usual paleness to a livid green. He knew that he was detected in the forgery. Mr. Wragley watched the effect of his words, and it was not without a sensation of relief that he saw Taverner prostrated with terror. He perceived the confirmation of his suspicions as to the signature of the deed of gift, and felt that Taverner was now wholly in his power. With a well-suppressed air of triumph, he said, before Taverner had recovered anything Idee self possession, " I neither want to bark nor bite, Captain, and you need not force me to show my teeth.

Now perhaps you will have the kindness to answer my question." " I'll ted you ad I know," said Taverner faintly7, as if he were imploring mercy at the hands of the lawyer. " But, indeed," he continued, " beyond hearing Evelyn speak of his brother, I know nothing of him, and have not a notion where he lives." " Can't you find out for me ? " said Wragley, harshly. " I will if I can," rephed Taverner ; " but if Evely*n won't tell you, he won't tell me, I'm sure." " Now look here," continued Wragley, hi a me nacing voice, " if yrou want to keep good friends with me, you'll make it your business to look after this httle matter. You can make inquiries among men who have known the Major for a long while ; and whatever you pick up, let me know." " Very wed, I wdl," said Taverner, despondingly. " And now, good morning to you," said the lawyer.

" If you can do this httle job for me in the next week or two, I think I shall make you a present of that deed, which, between you and me, I suspect isn't worth much more than your personal security." And with this bitter sneer Mr. Wragley left the room, making his way to Ely Place. As he passed through his clerks' office, Mr. Stubber left Ids desk, and, meeting him, said, " Please, sir, I want to speak to you." "Wed, speak away, can't you?" replied Mr. Wragley, snappishly. His expedition to St. James's had not given him much satisfaction. It was evident that Mr. Stubber had something of uncommon importance to communicate, or he would not have kept Mr. Wragley standing whde he curled his hair with one hand and twisted his long goose-qudl into cordage between the other and his teeth. But at length these occupations seemed to restore his self-confidence, and having engaged both hands upon au enormous locket appended to his watch-chain — which, possibly, possessed some talis manic attraction for them, — he was about to reply, when Mr. Wragley interrupted him : — " Do you wish to come into my private room ?

" said tbe lawyer, looking at Mr. Nottage. " No ; it concerns Mr. Nottage as well as myself," replied Stubber, whose nervousness continued to display itself in his more rapid manipulation of the locket. " Come, come, what is it ? " asked Mr. Wragley, impatiently. " You are not going to keep me here all day, I hope." " It's not an office matter ; it's a private matter," said Stubber. " Fact is, sir, I'm going to be — married the day after to-morrow, and Mr. Nottage is coming to — coming with me — if you will be kind enough to spare us both for that day." " Is that ad ? " said Mr. Wragley. "That's all," replied Stubber, a httle disappointed to hear his principal making light of an affair which seemed to him so important. " Are you going to get married, too, Nottage ? " said Mr. Wragley, turning to his old clerk.

" No, sir ; my marrying days are over long ago. But if it is wed done, it is the best thing that can happen to a man." And Mr. Nottage looked up kindly at Stubber, whom the mention of the ap proaching ceremony seemed to have deprived of his wonted savoir-faire. " You preach without having ever practised," said Mr. Wragley. " I wish you joy7, Stubber," he con tinued. " I hope you don't intend to be away from your work long. Come with me, Nottage ; I want to speak with you." . " You were with Mrs. Dixon when she died, I think you told me," said Mr. Wragley, when they were both in his private room. " Did she leave nothing for her husband— in case he should turn up?" Mr. Nottage had never felt himself more encum bered with a secret than since Mrs. Dixon's death. When he and his sister compared theh* recodection of her last broken sentences, they agreed that there could be no doubt of their truth so far as they related to Ralph.

They felt sure tbat there was stdl some unexplained mystery about his birth, and that it had beeu known to Mrs. Dixon, and was now known to Mr. Wragley. And they were only too glad to believe that Ralph was, after all — as they knew he woulcl wish to be, — the son of a gentleman. There would now be no reason for his concealment. And Mr. Nottage longed for the time to come when he could ted the welcome news to Ralph himself. His suspicions as to Mr. Wragley's knowledge of the circumstances connected with Ralph's birth were confirmed by tbe minute cross-examination to which his employer had subjected him upon being informed of Mrs. Dixon's death. From what she had said, and from his knowledge of Mr. Wragley, he felt sure he should best serve Ralph's interests by not being very communicative to the lawyer.

He suspected that some sinister motive made Mr. Wragley desirous of keeping the secret to himself; and he would hardly be willing to give it up now. So Mr. Nottage and his sister determined that the proper course to adopt was to communicate to Ralph as quickly as possible ad they knew and ad their suspicions upon the subject. And on his own account, Mr. Nottage resolved to watch his employer, and to endeavour, as far as he could by7 sah* means, to get hold of the information which he felt sure Mr. Wragley was possessed of. With this one idea in his mind, Mr. Nottage was equal to evading the questionings of Mr. AVragley. He thought he should be able to communicate with Ralph when the next remittance for his foster mother disclosed an address to winch a letter could be sent. He did not betray* any excitement as he stood at Mr. Wragley's table, but answered his questions readdy.

" She said notldng about her husband more than ' Poor Bid, poor Bid ! ' " " And about Ralph, that boy in whom you in terested me so much, did the poor woman say anything about his unhappy parents ? " " She was insensible and delirious ad the whde VOL. II. c that I was with her on the night she died," an swered Mr. Nottage, evading the question. " Did you find anything curious among her traps — her furniture ? " " No, nothing ; we sold them to pay her debts, and I had to make up the balance; but it only came to a few shillings," said Mr. Nottage. " If you should ever hear anything about her or her husband, I shall be glad if you wid let me know of it ; and," added Mi*. Wragley, " if you can find that poor boy Ralph, I shad be very wilhng to take him into the office, — out of respect to you, Nottage." "Thank you, sh*," said the old man. And as he went back to his work he thought it was rather an unequal match — himself against Mr. Wragley.

Chapter II

Inasmuch as Londoners will drop the rough aspi rate, it is rather unfortunate that the names of so large a number of the suburban parishes commence with tbe letter H. Their sins of omission become so much the more evident. The consequence is tbat proletarian Islington has just as grand a sound as genteel Highbury, Hodoway, or Highgate. When Mr. Stubber and Miss Amelia Tuffey talked of the prospect of their future, " Tghbury " was always the chosen seat of their happiness. There were rows upon rows of small houses springing up there, upon which the lovers had already cast longing eyes. Stubber did not exactly manage his court ship as Miss Fuskin woulcl have had it done. He duly presented himself to take his Sunday walk with Amelia, but he never appeared quite certain that he was not doing a foolish thing.

He seemed to be making a silent protest against the un business-like character of the proceeding. The fact was that the regularity of his week-day occupation o2 had become so habitual, that Mr. Stubber hardly knew how to behave himself under these extraordinary circumstances. But now his wedding-day was come, and Mr. Stubber experienced the unusual sensation of a holiday. He had lately removed into the new house which was destined to receive Mrs. Stubber. Surrounded by cheap and showy* furniture, purchased at an establishment which issued startling advertisements " To those about to marry," the bridegroom was awaiting the arrival of Mr. Nottage and a friend who was to do duty as " best man." Dressed in new clothes, he sat in a new chair, with a most uncomfortable air of newness about hhn. Every7 now and then he took a look at himself in the chimney-glass, but without detecting any dis arrangement iu his costume.

His hair was re splendent with grease, and hung together hi solid looking masses. Determining to do the thing handsomely, he had been measured for a real wed ding suit by Aaron and Son. That establishment decreed that the ceremony should be discharged in a blue coat with bell-mouthed sleeves, the bright red linings of which were purposely visible. The heart which was now supposed to be in Miss Tuffey's keeping was, in point of fact, covered with a figured silk waistcoat, with a very retiring collar. Perhaps the silk was very costly, or perhaps the fashion was designed to show as much shirt-front as possible. Mr. Stubber had purchased for sixpence a magnificent set of shirt studs. If they had been worn in the first tier at Covent Garden, or at any of the fashionable assemblies chronicled in the "Morn ing Post," no one would have doubted that they were composed of emeralds and garnets.

Mr. Stub ber was most pleased with his trousers. Aaron's man had told him that they could hardly get the material fast enough to supply the demand there was for these wedding garments. In colour they were between lavender and purple, but their most distinctive feature was a broad black stripe clown each leg, which had the appearance of sticking plastering Mr. Stubber together. To say that he disliked the idea of being married would be quite untrue. Though the walls of this fragment of a block of houses were damp, and its doors awry with warping, and its floors creaky from weakness, yet its contents woulcl be sufficient to have testified to the contrary. Together, and with due deliberation, he and his Amelia had selected the furniture. It was pretentious rather than sound, certainly-, and a glue-pot might have proved a useful RALPH ; OR, supplement, but it represented a great part of Stub ber's savings, and he valued it accordingly.

He had turned up the sleeve of his wedding coat, and was rubbing various chalk marks from underneath the table, when the whole house was shaken violently by a knock at the door. " You don't mind rubbing your shoes, do you ? " said Mr. Stubber, when he had admitted a young man, whose crisp curly had and small features indicated a lively temperament. He was far more happy7 in his attire than tbe bridegroom, and bad an air of superior smartness which w7ould not have submitted to the decrees of Aaron and Son as to the decoration of his person. Jim Biggs was a good-lookiug young man, and if his manner or appearance, or both, seemed to remind one of Chan cery* Lane or Judge's Chambers, this was not sur prising, seeing that he, hke Mr. Stubber, was an attorney's clerk. " How do you feel, Stubby, this morning ?

" he asked, when the bridegroom had shown him, with manifest pride, into the room. "Bobbish," rephed Mr. Stubber ; and then, looking down upon the carpet, said, " That's a hand some thing, ain't it, Biggs? They told me you couldn't match that Kidder' hi all London at 2s. 6d. a yard." And Mr. Stubber surveyed the floor triumphantly. " You'd better go and tie yourself up, Jimmy, like me," he continued ; " it has a rum feeling at first, but you soon get used to it." " I shall wait and see how it works with you," said Mr. Biggs. " What time are you to be turned off, Stubby?" " Eleven o'clock we're to be at the chapel," rephed Stubber, gravely, as if suggesting a rebuke to Biggs for making comparisons between the prac tices of the Old Badey and the ceremonies of Zoar Chapel. Mr. Stubber woulcl have liked to smoke, but the wedding garments — to say nothing of the newly-furnished room, — prevented him.

Both were standing at the window, looking out for Mr. Not tage, who in a few minutes made his appearance in the street, staring about him for the house, in a helpless state of bewilderment. " Let's go and meet him," said Stubber. " It's quite time we were off." Mr. Nottage attempted to explain how that he had forgotten the address, and had nearly lost himself altogether. He had made some concession to circumstances by putting on a white waistcoat, of which the coUar was very high and the waist RALPH; OR, very short. He wore a hght neck-handkerchief, an unusual display with him. And although, some what shabby in costume, yet Mr. Nottage looked a gentleman. " We must take care he doesn't run away, Mr. Nottage," joked Mr. Biggs, as they walked towards Mr. Tuffey's house. Mr. Tuffey was a builder and a coal-merchant and a commission-agent, besides being a surveyor, and a plumber, painter, and glazier.

In fact he was anything that turned up. He had been a bank rupt lately, having ventured far out of the depth of his pocket in some budding speculations in the neighbourhood. He was always in a mess about buildings. Once he had been found using the sides of tea-chests for floor joists in a passage, where he had contracted to use good fir wood of such-and such dimensions. His house was a very uncertain establishment. The Tuffey family — which was large — fodowed the fortunes of their father's undertakings. They* were generally to be found in an unfinished house, one of a row of still more unfinished houses. At present they were the sole inhabitants of Cromwed Terrace. In fact the Terrace had nothing but a name and the residence of the Tuffey famdy to boast of. Where the pavement woulcl be laid some day was now bids and holes strewed with brick-bats.