LXXXV. THE HISTORY OF A LIVERY-SERVANT…

LXXXV. THE HISTORY OF A LIVERY-SERVANT

"My parents were very poor, but very honest; and I was their only child. My father was a light porter in a warehouse, earning fifteen shillings a week; and my mother took in washing to obtain a few shillings more. We lived in a court leading out of High Holborn, and occupied one room, which was very decently furnished for people in my parents' condition of life, the things moreover being all their own. My father had a good suit of clothes, and my mother a nice gown, bonnet, and shawl, for Sundays and holidays; and they also took care to keep me neat and decent in my dress. Neither of them ever went to the public-house except just to fetch the beer for dinner and supper; and they were always regular in their attendance at church. In addition to all these proofs of good conduct and respectability, they put by two or three shillings a-week as a provision against a rainy day; and you may be sure that to be able to do this, they lived very economically indeed. In fact a more industrious couple did not exist than my father and mother; and you will admit that they deserved to succeed in the world. This much I have heard from people who knew them; for they died when I was too young to be able to understand their ways or judge of their merits.

"It seems that my mother was a very pretty young woman. She had been a servant in the family of the merchant in whose warehouse my father was; and, an attachment, springing up between them, they married. The merchant, whose name was Shawe, had a son—a dissipated young man, addicted to gaming and bad company, and consequently a source of great uneasiness to his parents, who were highly respectable people. During the time that my mother was in service at the merchant's, Frederick Shawe was on the Continent, his father having sent him to a commercial establishment at Rotterdam, in the hope that he would amend his ways when under the care of comparative strangers. But this hope, it appears, was completely disappointed; and the young man was after all sent back to his father's house as irreclaimable. At this time my parents had been married three years, and I was two years old. My mother was in the habit of taking my father's dinner to him at the warehouse, whenever his duties prevented him from running home to get it; and on one of these occasions, Frederick Shawe saw her as she was going out of the establishment. He followed her, made insulting proposals, and behaved most grossly. She had me with her; and this circumstance rendered his conduct the more abominable, if any thing was wanting to aggravate it. Indeed, his persecution was carried to such an excess, that she was obliged to take refuge in a shop, where she went into hysterics through fright and indignation. Shawe sneaked away the moment he found that the master of the shop was disposed to take my mother's part against him; and when she was a little recovered, she was sent home in a hackney-coach. On the return of my father in the evening, she told him all that had occurred; and it seems that she had scarcely made an end of her narrative, when Frederick Shawe entered the room. He declared that he had come to express his sincere penitence for what he had done, and to implore that his father might not be made acquainted with his behaviour. He seemed so earnest, and so excessively sorry for his infamous conduct, that my parents consented to look over it. He thanked them over and over again, and took his departure. My father, however, desired his wife never to come to the warehouse to him any more, as he was unwilling to expose her to even the chance of a repetition of the insult.

"A few weeks after this occurrence Frederick Shawe one evening, when under the influence of liquor, called at our lodgings, my father being absent, and renewed his outrageous conduct towards my mother. An alarm was created in the dwelling—a constable was sent for—and the young gentleman was taken off to the watch-house. Of course the matter was now too serious to be hushed up; and the elder Mr. Shawe necessarily learnt all the particulars. His son was fined and held to bail to keep the peace towards Mrs. Jeffreys; and my father obtained another situation—for though the old merchant knew that his son was alone to blame, yet my father thought that he could not prudently remain in a place where he must daily meet a person who, he felt convinced, was now his sworn enemy. And such indeed did Frederick Shawe prove to be; for by misrepresentations and heaven only knows what other underhand means, he so successfully avenged himself that my poor father soon lost his new situation, and was totally unable to find another. The most infamous reports were circulated concerning him; and he took the cruel treatment he had received so much to heart, that his spirit was completely broken—he fell ill, and died in a few weeks.

"Poverty and despair thus seized upon my mother at the same moment. She saw all her happiness suddenly blasted by the agency of a reckless villain; and, to add to her afflictions, the only friend who showed any compassion for her or who came forward to assist her in the midst of her wretchedness—namely, the old merchant—was suddenly snatched away by the hand of death, ten days after the earth had closed over my father's remains. The poor woman was unable to bear up against her sorrows: she languished for a few months, and then departed this life, leaving me a friendless and unprotected orphan at the tender age of three years! You may guess what then became of me: I was taken to the workhouse!

"I have sketched these circumstances just to show you how unfortunate I was in my earliest infancy. My parents would have lived to thrive and prosper had it not been for the miscreant Frederick Shawe; and under their protection I should have been happy. However, it was destined that my father and mother should be cut off thus early; and their cruel fate threw me as a pauper-child upon the parish. At the workhouse I remained until I was thirteen; and it was from an elderly couple whom distress brought to the same place, and who had known my parents well, that I learnt all the particulars which I have related to you. Well, at the age of thirteen I was transferred to the care of a surgeon and accoucheur, who took me into his house to clean the boots and shoes, run on errands, and beat up drugs in the mortar. Finding me active and, as he said, a good-looking lad—for I was not then seared with the small-pox as I am now—he put me into the regular livery of a doctor's boy after I had been with him a few months; and I was then entrusted with the delivery of the medicine. My master was an old man; and his wife was a bustling, active, elderly lady, in whom implicit confidence might be placed as long as she was well paid for her services and her secresy. You will understand what I mean very shortly. In fact one day I noticed a great deal of whispering between the doctor, his wife, and the housekeeper; and their looks were mysterious and important. Certain preparations, too, commenced, which showed me that a visitor was expected; for I was a shrewd and observing boy for my age. I was ordered to clean the windows in the spare bed-room and the well-furnished little parlour communicating with it; and while I was thus occupied, the housekeeper put the two apartments into the nicest possible order. I asked her if any one was coming to stay at the house, and was desired to mind my own business. I accordingly held my tongue; but my curiosity was only the more excited in consequence of the answer I received and the mystery in which the motive of the preparations in progress was involved. At an earlier hour than usual I was ordered to retire to my own room; but as it commanded a view of the street—it was Brook Street, Holborn—I sate up, watching at my window—for I felt sure that I had not been dismissed to my attic without some good reason. Nor was I mistaken. At about half-past ten a hackney-coach drove up to the door: two trunks were carried into the house, and a lady, muffled in a cloak, was assisted to descend from the vehicle by the doctor and his wife, who seemed to treat her with the greatest respect. I was able to notice all that passed, because the moon was bright and I was looking out of the open window. The lady accompanied the doctor and his wife in-doors; and the coach drove away.

"Next morning I saw the housekeeper take up a breakfast-tray to those rooms which I had now no doubt were occupied by the lady who had arrived the night before; but I was cautious not to appear even to notice that any thing unusual was going on, much less to ask questions,—for I remembered the rebuff I had already received in this latter respect. The cook and housemaid were as mysteriously reserved as the housekeeper herself; and I could not for the life of me make out what it all meant. To be brief, a month passed away; and though I never saw the tenant of the spare-rooms all the while, yet I knew that a tenant those rooms had; for the meals were regularly taken up—the doctor looked in there two or three times a day—and his wife passed hours together there. At length the housemaid, who was a pretty, wicked-looking girl of about nineteen, undertook to initiate me into the secret which so much puzzled me; and, taking advantage of a Sunday evening when she and I were alone together, the other servants having gone out, she explained how some young lady, who was not married, was about to become a mother—and how the spare-rooms were always kept for lodgers of that kind.—'Have you seen her?' I asked.—'No,' she replied; 'nor am I likely to see her. I have been four years in this house, and during that time there have been eight or ten ladies here in the same way; but I never caught a glimpse of the face of any one of them. They pay, or their friends pay for them, a good round sum to master for the accommodation; and that is the manner in which he has made so much money; for you can see that his regular practice is not very great. But you must not tell any body that I have been talking to you in this style, John; or else I shall lose my place.'—I promised her not to betray her.—'How old are you, John?' she asked.—'Going on for fourteen,' I said.—'You are a pretty boy,' she continued. 'Would you like to give me a kiss?'—'You would think me very rude,' I answered.—'No, I shouldn't: try.'—'But I should feel so ashamed,' I said.—'Then you are a fool, John,' exclaimed the pretty housemaid; and she got into a pet, which lasted all the rest of the evening.

"I lay awake a long time that night thinking of what I had heard concerning the lady in the private apartments; and, I can't say how it was—but I felt an extraordinary longing to catch a glimpse of her. The more I reflected on this wish, the stronger it grew: and at last I determined to gratify it somehow or another. Having come to this resolution I fell asleep. Next morning the twopenny postman at eight o'clock brought a letter directed to my master; but in the corner were two or three initials which I could not quite make out. I took it into the parlour, where the doctor was seated alone at the time; and, when he had glanced at the address, he said, 'Oh! it is to go up stairs: give it to the housekeeper:'—and he went on reading his newspaper. Here was an opportunity which presented itself almost as soon as my desire to see the tenant of the spare-rooms had been formed; and, without any hesitation, I hurried upstairs. I knocked at the door of the parlour communicating with the bed-chamber; and a sweet voice said, 'Come in.' I accordingly entered the room and beheld a beautiful creature of about seventeen or eighteen, dressed in a morning wrapper, all open at the bosom, and reclining in an arm-chair. She uttered an exclamation of surprise when she saw me, and drew the wrapper completely over her breast. It was evident that she had expected to see either the housekeeper or my mistress. I handed her the note, stammered out something about 'Master having told me to bring it up,' and then retired, awkward and embarrassed enough. A few minutes afterwards the bell of the spare-rooms was rung rather violently; and the housekeeper went up. She shortly came down again, and went into the parlour, to which I was presently summoned. The doctor and his wife were seated at the breakfast-table, looking as gloomy and solemn as possible, and the housekeeper was standing in the middle of the room. I suspected that a storm was brewing. 'John,' said the doctor, 'what induced you to take such a liberty as to enter the apartments of a lady who is lodging in my house?'—'Please, sir,' I answered, as boldly as possible, 'you told me to take up the letter; and I did so.'—The doctor, his wife, and the housekeeper looked at each other by turns; and then they all three looked very hard at me. 'Well,' said the doctor, 'I suppose it was a misunderstanding on the boy's part;'—for I did not blush nor seem at all confused while they were all staring at me.—'But you must not tell any one that you saw the lady up stairs, John,' exclaimed my mistress.—'I don't know a soul who would care about knowing such a simple thing, ma'am,' I replied, pretending to be very innocent indeed. I was then told to withdraw; and thus passed off this little affair.

"Throughout that day I saw the pretty housemaid showing great anxiety to speak to me alone; but circumstances so occurred, that we had not an opportunity of exchanging a word in private together. At half-past nine I went to bed as usual, an hour before the other servants; and I soon fell asleep. But I was awoke by some one shaking me gently; and I was also startled by seeing a light in the room. In another moment my fears subsided; for my visitor was the pretty servant-girl in her night-gear. She sate down on the edge of the bed, and asked me what I was called into the parlour for in the morning. I told her all that had occurred. 'You are a dear boy,' she said 'not to have confessed that I had put you up to any thing; for that was what I was afraid of:'—and she gave me two or three hearty kisses. Then she asked me a great number of questions about the lady I had seen—what she was like—how old—the colour of her hair and eyes—and all sorts of queries of that kind. I replied as well as I could; and she seemed vastly to enjoy the idea of my cool impudence in taking up the letter just for the sake of getting a peep at the lady. In fact she was so much pleased with me, that she kept on kissing me; and all this ended just as you might suppose—for the pretty housemaid shared my bed during the remainder of the night. This occurrence was most unfortunate to us both; for we over-slept ourselves,—and the housekeeper, doubtless having vainly searched for us down stairs, came up to look after us. We were discovered fast asleep in each other's arms; and a terrible scene ensued. The housekeeper alarmed the doctor and his wife with her cries—for I suppose the old lady was quite scandalised, though she herself had often chucked me under the chin in a tender manner. The result was that the pretty housemaid was packed off without delay; and I was stripped of my livery, compelled to put on my workhouse clothes again, and sent back to the parish officers.

"At the very moment when I was conveyed into the presence of the overseers by the doctor, a middle-aged lady, magnificently dressed, was returning to her carriage which waited at the door. She immediately recognised the doctor as an acquaintance, and he addressed her by the name of Mrs. Beaumont. The exchange of a few remarks led the lady to observe that she had applied to the parish officers for a well-conducted, genteel-looking lad to take the place of a page in her household; and, as she spoke, she eyed me very attentively. The doctor informed her that I had been in his service and was a good boy in all respects save one:—and he explained to her the indiscretion which had compelled him to part with me; adding, 'The lad was no doubt won over by the young woman herself; but as my professional success depends on the reputation of my house, I could not overlook this occurrence.'—The lady declared that she entertained great compassion for me, and said what a pity it was that such a nice boy should be thrown back on the parish. In a word, the business ended by her agreeing to take me on trial; and, before the doctor left me, he whispered in my ear, 'You see, John, that I have not ruined your character as I might have done; and therefore you must be a good lad, and never mention to any one that you saw the lady who is now lodging at my house.'—He then took his departure; and Mrs. Beaumont, having arranged with the overseers relative to receiving me into her service, desired that I might be sent to her abode in the evening. The instructions were obeyed; and I entered my new place, the first appearances of which pleased me much.

"Mrs. Beaumont was a widow-lady of about six-and-forty, and was still a very handsome woman considering her age. Her house was in Russell Square; and she lived in an elgant style—keeping a butler, a footman, and three female domestics. She had a Miss Stacey residing with her as a companion; and this lady was about five or six-and-twenty—somewhat stout—and rather good-looking. The moment I entered my new place, I was supplied with a page's livery, and was informed that I was to consider myself at the orders of the butler. I soon found that I had got into very comfortable quarters; for the best of provisions were consumed in the kitchen as well as in the parlour, and the butler, who was fond of a glass of good liquor himself, often treated me to some likewise. Mrs. Beaumont saw a great deal of company; and there were dinner-parties or evening-parties at least three or four times every week. I had not been many days in this place, before I began to notice that both Mrs. Beaumont and Miss Stacey treated me with much the same kind of innocent familiarity which the housekeeper at the doctor's had shown towards me. They would pat me on the cheek, or chuck me under the chin, and tell me I was nice boy: but this they never did before each other—only when I happened to be alone with either one of them. Indeed, when they were together, and I entered the room to answer the bell or for any other purpose connected with my duties, they would both appear as indifferent towards me as if they had never shown any other feeling in my behalf. Of the two I liked Miss Stacey much the best, because she was younger; and I felt a strange excitement come over me whenever she began to toy about with me in the way I have described. One day, when I entered the drawing room, where I found her alone at the time, she said to me, 'John, you are a very nice boy; and here is half-a-guinea for you to buy what you like. Only don't let any one know that I gave you the money.'—'Certainly not, Miss,' I replied.—'And now, John,' she continued, 'I want you to answer me a question which I am going to put to you. Will you tell me the truth?'—I of course declared that I would.—'Then tell me,' she said, patting my face, and looking full at me with her large blue eyes, 'does Mrs. Beaumont ever play about with you as I do?'—'Oh! never, Miss,' I answered immediately, and without undergoing the least change of countenance.—'You are a good boy, John,' she said; and pulling me towards her, covered me with kisses. A double-knock at the front-door interrupted her amusement, which, as you may suppose, I took in very good part; and she hurried me out of the room, enjoining me not to tell any one that she played about with me.

"The next day Mrs. Beaumont was rather indisposed, and kept her own chamber until the evening, when she descended to the drawing-room. Miss Stacey had gone out to a party at a married sister's; and, the footman being absent likewise, it devolved upon me to take up the tea-tray. 'Well, John,' said my mistress, 'are you comfortable in your present place?'—'Quite, thank you, ma'am,' I replied.—'You like it better than the doctor's?' she continued, smoothing down my hair, and then passing her hand over my face.—'Oh! a great deal ma'am.'—'But do you not miss the pretty servant-girl, John?' she asked, with a sly look and a half smile. 'Why, what a naughty boy you must be, and at such an age too!'—'It was all the young woman's fault, ma'am,' I said; 'and I hope you do not think any the worse of me for it.'—'If I had I should not have taken you into my service, John,' she answered. 'And to show you that I am really attached to you and consider you to be a very good boy, here's a sovereign for you. It is not on account of your wages, mind; but a little gift. You must not however tell any body that I gave it to you, or else you will make the other servants jealous.'—'I'll be sure not to tell, ma'am,' I said: 'and I thank you very much.'—'And now, John,' continued Mrs. Beaumont, 'I have one question to put to you, and you must tell me the truth. Does Miss Stacey ever speak kindly to you? I mean, does she ever do any thing to show you that she likes you better than the other servants?'—'No, ma'am,' I replied. 'On the contrary, I fancy she sometimes speaks sharp to me.'—'Oh! indeed,' said Mrs. Beaumont; and she then subjected me to the same kissing process that I had undergone on the part of Miss Stacey—only I did not like it quite so well. The old lady hugged me very tight, and seemed as if she wanted to say something, but did not exactly like to do so. At last she spoke out plainly enough, though in a whispering tone. 'John,' she said, 'I just now gave you a sovereign, because you are a good boy; and I will give you another if you will do what I ask you and not tell any one about it. Should you like to have another sovereign?'—'Very much indeed, ma'am,' I answered.—'Well, then,' continued Mrs. Beaumont, 'you must come to my room to-night, when the house is all quiet; because I want to speak to you very particularly indeed.'—'But I promised the servants, ma'am, to sit up to let Miss Stacey in,' I answered.—'So much the better,' observed Mrs. Beaumont. 'Miss Stacey has promised to be back by twelve at latest; and as soon as you have let her in, you can go up to your own room, and then a few minutes afterwards come down to mine.'—I promised to do exactly as I was desired; and, having received a few more kisses and pawings about, was suffered to return to the kitchen.

"The footman came back at eleven; and as Mrs. Beaumont had already retired to her chamber, all the servants except myself went off to theirs. I then remained alone in the kitchen, thinking of what had occurred between my mistress and myself, and not half liking the idea of sleeping with her—for I knew very well what her object was in asking me to go to her room. I wished it had been Miss Stacey who had made such an appointment with me; for, young as I was, I was greatly smitten with that lady; and I thought she had never looked so well as when I saw her that evening dressed for the party to which she had gone. She had on a very low gown, and her neck was so beautifully white, and her naked arms seemed so plump, that I was really quite in love with her. It gave me great pleasure to think that I had been chosen to sit up for her, and I longed for her return. The clock struck twelve; and a few minutes afterwards a vehicle stopped at the door. I knew it must be Miss Stacey who had come back; and I did not wait for the knock and ring, but hurried to the hall to admit her. She seemed pleased when she saw who it was that opened the door for her; and I observed that her countenance was rather flushed, as if she had been drinking an extra glass of champagne, of which I knew she was very fond. The moment I had closed and bolted the door, she asked me in a low whisper, whether any of the other servants were up. I answered in the negative.—'Does your mistress know that you are sitting up for me?' she next inquired.—'No, Miss,' I unhesitatingly said.—She began to caress me, and I found that she smelt rather strong of wine; but she looked so nice that I did not care about that; and I was so excited that I kissed her in return.—'Light me up stairs, John,' she at length said; 'and let us go as gently as possible, so as not to make any noise, on account of Mrs. Beaumont, who is unwell.'—I led the way up stairs, my heart beating violently; for I more than half suspected that I should not keep my appointment with my mistress that night. Nor was I mistaken: for, on reaching the door of Miss Stacey's chamber, she took my hand, drew me towards her, and said in a low, hurried whisper, 'Come down to my room in about a quarter of an hour: I wish to speak to you very particularly indeed.'—I promised to do so, and hurried up to my own chamber, Miss Stacey having previously lighted her candle and said, 'Good night, John,' in a tolerably loud voice, but making a sign to convince me that it was only a precaution on her part. When I reached my room, I sate down on the bed to think how I should act. My inclination prompted me to keep the appointment with Miss Stacey: my fears urged me to keep the one given me by Mrs. Beaumont. I cared nothing about the sovereign promised me by my mistress, now that I had received such an invitation from her pretty companion; and I thought that it would be very easy to excuse myself to Mrs. Beaumont, should she question me next day, by saying that I fancied her to be only joking, or perhaps trying me. So, at last, I resolved to follow my inclinations, and disregard my fears; and I acted in pursuance of this determination. I accordingly repaired to Miss Stacey's room, and was completely happy.

"We had been an hour together, when a knock at the door alarmed us. Who could it be? what could it mean? We remained silent as the dead. The knock was repeated, and was immediately followed by Mrs. Beaumont's voice, saying, 'Miss Stacey, dear! Miss Stacey!'—'Good God! what can she want?' whispered Miss Stacey to me; 'she is perhaps unwell, and will come into the room to speak to me. John, my dear boy, you must get under the bed, and keep as quiet as a mouse.'—This was done in a moment, and Miss Stacey bundled my clothes under the bed after me. She then opened the door, and, sure enough, my mistress entered the room, saying, 'I am sorry to disturb you, my dear; but I am so unwell I cannot sleep. I have got such nervous feelings that I am really afraid to be alone.'—'Had I not better call up one of the servants and send for the doctor, my dear madam?' asked Miss Stacey, her voice trembling; I could well conjecture why.—'No, thank you, dear,' answered the lady; 'if you have no objection, I will pass the remainder of the night with you.'—'Oh! with pleasure, ma'am,' exclaimed Miss Stacey. 'I will accompany you to your room directly.'—'We may as well remain here,' replied Mrs. Beaumont; and it struck me that there was something strange in the way that she spoke. Miss Stacey urged that it was very injurious for persons in delicate health to change their beds; but Mrs. Beaumont declared it to be a mere prejudice. Miss Stacey invented some other frivolous excuse, and I suppose that this confirmed Mrs. Beaumont's suspicions; for she immediately exclaimed, 'Really, one would suppose that you wished to get rid of me, Miss Stacey!'—'To speak candidly, my dear madam,' was the reply, 'I can't bear sleeping with another person.'—'Indeed!' said Mrs. Beaumont. 'Hey day! what shoes have we here? Why, surely these cannot be your's, my dear?'—I have noticed that the more spiteful ladies are together, the more they 'dear' each other.—'It must be some oversight on the part of one of the servants,' said Miss Stacey, in a faint tone.—'It's very strange!' cried Mrs. Beaumont; and I heard her stoop down and take up the unfortunate shoes. Oh! how I did shiver and tremble! and how sincerely I wished both the amorous ladies at the devil at that moment! But matters grew speedily much worse; for, in stooping down to pick up the shoes, Mrs. Beaumont had spied my trowsers; and these she fished up in another moment. Miss Stacey shrieked; Mrs. Beaumont raised the drapery hanging round the bed to the floor—and, behold! by the light of the candle which had been left burning in the room, she discovered unfortunate me!

"I cannot tell you what a scene ensued. Mrs. Beaumont raved like a mad-woman, and Miss Stacey protested her innocence. The house was alarmed—the other servants came down to the door—and Mrs. Beaumont's reproaches and upbraidings, levelled against Miss Stacey and myself, made every thing known to them. I scarcely know how I had pluck enough to play the part which I did play; but it is, notwithstanding, a fact that I was resolved to screen Miss Stacey, and throw all the scandal on Mrs. Beaumont. I accordingly begged to be allowed to explain; and when I could obtain a hearing, I swore that Mrs. Beaumont had given me a sovereign, and promised me another to sleep with her—that I had mistaken the room—and that the moment I had seen Miss Stacey enter and perceived my error, I had managed to creep under the bed, unnoticed by her. Mrs. Beaumont went into strong hysterics at this accusation, and was conveyed away to her own apartment by the female servants, while I hurried off to my own room. You may suppose that I scarcely slept a wink all the remainder of the night. I knew that I had lost both my place and my character—but I felt satisfied in having done all I could to screen poor Miss Stacey, though it did not strike me at the time that my version of the business could not possibly be taken as a very probable story. Next morning the butler came up to me very early, and in a long, humbugging speech, assured me that, out of good feeling towards me, Mrs. Beaumont had consented to keep me in her service, and look over the affair, if I would confess the truth. I however persisted in my original statement, and displayed the sovereign that Mrs. Beaumont had given me. The butler went away, telling me not to leave my room until he came back. Half an hour passed before he returned, and again he tried to argue me into his views; but I was obstinate, and the interview ended by his desiring me to pack up my things and leave the house directly. This I very willingly agreed to, and in a few minutes my preparations were complete. 'Where are you going to, youngster?' asked the butler, when he had paid me the amount of wages due.—'I don't know,' was my reply.—'Well,' he said, 'I should advise you to take a room at the family washerwoman's. She has got one to let, I know; and if you hold your tongue about what has occurred in this house, I will try and get you another place.' I readily gave the required promise, and also followed the advice relative to the lodging, in which I was installed in another half hour.

"In the evening the butler came to me, and gave me the addresses of several families in whose service pages were wanted. 'You will have to apply to the butlers at those houses,' he said, 'and therefore you can refer them to me. I will endeavour to make it all right for you, as I should be sorry to see a promising young lad ruined for want of a character.' I thanked him very much, pretending to see nothing but pure friendship in his conduct, although I was quite enough experienced in the ways of the world to understand that Mrs. Beaumont herself had instigated this lenient treatment as a means of sealing my lips. I ventured to ask him about Miss Stacey, and he at once told me that she had left the house at a very early hour in the morning. I longed to enquire if he knew where she was gone, but dared not. On the following day I called at the various addresses which the butler had given me, and was not considered suitable at any. At one I was thought too young—at another too old: here I was too short—there I was too tall. In fact, the objections were trivial, but fatal. I was returning to my lodging along Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, when I saw in a shop window a notice that a livery boy was wanted, and that applications were to be made within. I entered the shop, and received the address of a house in the same street. There I went, and was shown into a small parlour, where I was kept waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour. At last a gentleman and lady—an elderly couple—entered the room, and I was immediately subjected to no end of questions, all of which I answered in the most satisfactory manner, because I did not hesitate to say 'Yes' when an affirmation was required, and 'No' when a negative was necessary. At last the gentleman said to the lady, 'Well, my love, what do you think?'—'What do you think, my dear?' asked the lady.—'I think, my dear——' began the gentleman.—'So do I, Mr. Turner,' exclaimed the lady, without waiting to hear what her husband did think. It however appeared that they perfectly well understood each other; for the lady, turning towards me, said, 'We will give you a trial if the butler at your last place speaks as well of you as you assure us he will. But you will have to be very active here, for I must tell you that this is a boarding-house——'.—'A boarding-house of the highest respectability,' interrupted the gentleman, looking very solemn indeed, as if he was afraid that I was going to say I didn't believe him.—'And there are many ladies and gentlemen to wait upon,' continued Mrs. Turner: 'but we shall see.' I then withdrew. Mr. Turner went about my character in the evening, and found every thing satisfactory; and next day I entered my new place, wondering what adventures would befal me here.

"This boarding-house proved to be the hardest place I ever was in. I had to get up at five in the morning to clean six pairs of boots and ten pairs of ladies' shoes. If they did not shine well, I was blown up on all sides; and if I did make them shine well, Mrs. Turner blew me up for wasting the blacking. Then I had to bees-wax heaven knows how many chairs and tables, and to clean the windows from top to bottom at least twice a-week. In the middle of my work I was constantly interrupted by knocks at the door, or errands to run upon. Then at meal-times something was always wanting—something had always been forgotten. The cleaning of knives and plated forks and spoons would have alone been a good four hours' work for a strong man. If I did them properly and devoted time to them, I was scolded for being slow and lazy: and if I knocked them off in a hurry, they were sure to be found fault with. Sometimes the bells of half a dozen rooms would ring in the morning, when the boarders were getting up, all at the same instant; and if I was long in taking up any particular gentleman's hot water to shave, or any lady's shoes, I was certain to hear of it when Mrs. Turner came down into the kitchen. In fact, it was a hard life, and an unthankful office; for when I did my best, I could not give satisfaction; and yet the cook and housemaid—the only servants kept besides myself—were candid enough to declare that I was the best lad that had ever been in the house during their time.

"There was one elderly lady—a Miss Marigold—who seemed to have taken a particular hatred for me; and only because when, one day, she began to caress me in the same way that Mrs. Beaumont and Miss Stacey had done, I laughed in her face and told her to keep her wrinkled old hands to herself. From that minute she grew desperately malignant against me, and was always finding fault. I determined to have my revenge, and waited patiently for the opportunity. That occasion came at last. One evening Miss Marigold retired earlier to bed than usual; and Mrs. Turner rang for me in the parlour. I went up and found my mistress alone. 'John,' she said, 'go directly with this box,'—pointing to a round paste-board one on the table—'to the hair-dresser's, and tell him that you will call for it at eight precisely to-morrow morning. Then, in the morning, when you come back with it, send it up by the housemaid to Miss Marigold's room.'—I took the box, which was tied round with string, and was particularly light. It immediately struck me that it must be Miss Marigold's wig: for I was convinced she wore one. Accordingly, as I went along the street, I stepped up an alley; and by the light coming from the window of a house, unfastened the strings to peep inside. Sure enough, it was Miss Marigold's wig. It immediately struck me that her going to bed earlier than usual was only an excuse to be able to send her wig in time for the hair-dresser to do it up that night; and this circumstance, joined to the fact that she wanted it the very next morning, convinced me that Miss Marigold had but one wig belonging to her. I therefore resolved that some accident should occur to the wig before it went back to her; but in the meantime I took it to the hair-dresser. He seemed to understand what it was; for without opening the box, the strings of which I had carefully re-fastened, he promised me that I should have the article when I came back in the morning, shortly before eight.

"I must now inform you that there was an elderly gentleman at the boarding-house, whose name was Prosser. Captain Prosser he was called; and a jovial kind of old bird he was too. He was amazingly fond of breaking out now and then, staying away all night, and coming home between six and seven in the morning, so precious drunk that he could not see a hole through a ladder. But he was always sensible enough to know that he must not make a noise; and when I let him in on these occasions, he would put his fore-finger by the side of his nose in such a comical fashion, as much as to say, 'Don't let any body know it!' that I could scarcely keep from laughing. Well, on this very night, when the affair of the wig occurred, the Captain went out for a spree; and it happened that he came home rather later than usual the next morning. I had just returned with the wig-box, and had it still in my hand, when the Captain's low sneaking knock at the door summoned me to open it. He came in worse than I had ever seen him before: he could scarcely keep upon his legs, and his head rolled about on his shoulders just as if he had no bones in his neck at all. His hat, too, was smashed completely in; and his coat was slit completely up the back to the very collar. Such a comical figure I never saw in my life. He staggered into the hall, seeming quite to forget where he was, or what he wanted there. A thought struck me, and I resolved to put it into execution. He was so uncommonly drunk, and yet so quiet and tractable, that I saw I could do with him just as I liked: so I led him into the parlour where the long table was laid for breakfast; but no one had come down yet. I seated him on the sofa in such a way that he could not fall off, and in a few moment he was in a sound sleep. I removed his hat, took the wig from the box and fixed it all awry upon his head, purposely tumbling all the curls, so as to make it appear as if he had thus adorned himself with his own hand. I then stole away from the room; and, having suffered about ten minutes to elapse, so as to bring the time nearer to breakfast before the exposure should take place, I went into the kitchen to tell the housemaid that there was a box in the parlour which she must presently take up to Miss Marigold. But she, not knowing what the box might contain, waited a few minutes more to finish something that she was about; and I did not choose to hurry her. At last Miss Marigold's bell rang; and I laughed in my sleeve to think that the poor lady would vainly wait for her wig. The housemaid hastened to answer the summons, and I followed her as far as the parlour, under pretence of taking up some plates for the breakfast-table. But just before we reached that room, seven or eight of the boarders, ladies and gentlemen alike, came pouring down stairs to breakfast; and the moment they entered the parlour, such screams of amazement burst from the women, and such roars of laughter from the men. The housemaid hurried into the room, and I behind her; and almost immediately afterwards in came Mr. and Mrs. Turner, and all the rest of the boarders, except poor Miss Marigold!

"And what a sight burst upon their view! The screams and the roars of laughter had awoke Captain Prosser; and he was sitting, propping himself up, in the corner of the sofa, and looking stupidly about him, as if quite unconscious of where he was, and certainly ignorant of the reason which drew all eyes upon him. Such a comical spectacle as he was, with the wig perched all crooked upon his head! At length the ladies began to give vent to their indignant feelings. 'Shameful!' said one.—'Well, I never!' cried another.—'And this in a respectable boarding-house!' exclaimed a third.—'It all comes of having such a monster as the Captain in the place!' observed a fourth.—'But whose wig is it?' cried one of the gentlemen, a humorous fellow in his way; and, approaching the leather box, he took it up. 'MISS MARIGOLD!' at length he exclaimed, his eyes catching some writing in the inside.—Mrs. Turner, who had suspected the ownership of the wig, declared that she should go into hysterics; but her husband begged her not to do any thing of the kind; and so she followed his advice. Of course no suspicion fell upon me. When questioned, I said that I had brought home the box without knowing its contents; that I had put it on the sofa; and that before I had gone down stairs to tell the housemaid to take it up to Miss Marigold, I had opened the front door to let in the Captain. The thing was therefore clear:—the Captain had come in, in a state for which he ought to be ashamed of himself; and nothing would please him but he must decorate himself with poor Miss Marigold's wig! Such was the explanation agreed upon by all present; and while two or three of the gentlemen conveyed the Captain up to his own room, the wig having been previously removed from his head, Mrs. Turner went up to break the fatal news to Miss Marigold. To make an end of this part of my story, I need only say, that Miss Marigold left the house on the sly the moment her wig was done up again by the hair-dresser; and Mrs. Turner easily persuaded the ladies to forgive the Captain, on condition that he would stand a dozen of wine—which he did.

"Several months passed away after this incident without any adventure worth relating. It was a most unpleasant place; but there was amusement in it; and moreover there was a certain love-affair in progress, in which I felt interested, and the end of which I was determined to wait and see. Not that I was an actor in it at all; but only a go-between. The fact was, that amongst the boarders there was a widow-lady, of about seven or eight and twenty—a very pretty woman, whose name was Percy. There was also a young gentleman of very effeminate appearance, but possessing a handsome—or rather a beautiful countenance, and a very slight figure. He was also short—a complete doll of a man; for he was within four years as old as the widow. His name was Hulse. This couple fell in love with each other: or rather, I think, the love was all on the side of the young gentleman, who possessed some little property and better prospects, whereas the widow was notorious as a husband-hunter ever since she had been in the boarding-house, and was moreover very poor. She was however sweetly pretty; and she had such wicked eyes that it gave me strange sensations to meet her looks. It was in this way that I came to know of the love-matter existing between Mr. Hulse and Mrs. Percy. About the time when the adventure of the wig took place, Mr. Hulse one evening asked me to give a letter privately to the widow-lady; and he slipped half-a-crown into my hands. You may have already seen that I possessed no small degree of curiosity, and I longed to know what that letter could possibly contain. I took it up into my own room with me, and tried to catch a glimpse at the writing inside; but it was so carefully folded that I could not. At last, to my joy, I perceived that the wax was stamped with a seal which was invariably left lying in the ink-stand drawer in the parlour, for the general use of the boarders. I therefore hesitated no longer to open the letter, breaking the wax as carefully as possible. The letter was a declaration of love, the writer stating that he had not courage to make the avowal in words; and he implored a written answer, observing that the lad John was to be trusted, as he seemed a quiet steady youth. I was much amused by the letter, and early next morning I re-sealed it by means of the stamp in the ink-stand drawer: then, watching the opportunity when Mrs. Percy descended to breakfast, I gave it to her as she was coming down stairs. In the evening she put into my hands an answer, accompanied by a shilling for myself; and as she smiled significantly, and showed her pretty white teeth, I felt that I could do any thing to obtain a kiss from that sweet mouth. Fortunately this letter was also fastened with the house-seal, and I was therefore able to read its contents. It thanked Mr. Hulse for the favourable opinion he had entertained of her, and stated that she felt she could love him, but that she required a more explicit avowal of his intentions. This letter I re-sealed and gave to the young gentleman. A reply was ready in the evening; and another half-crown was slipped into my hand. This letter I likewise read, and found that Mr. Hulse professed the most honourable intentions, but begged that their engagement (should the correspondence have that result) might be kept a secret, as he had an uncle (from whom he had considerable expectations) to consult, but who was at present abroad and would not be in England again for several months. The lady's answer, which also passed through my hands, was quite satisfactory; and in the course of a few days I saw that the tender pair exchanged significant looks when they thought themselves unperceived, and that Mr. Hulse was gradually losing much of his bashfulness. Nevertheless frequent notes passed between them, and several presents were made to the lady by the young gentleman, all of which went through my hands and were duly inspected by me. It may seem strange that two people living in the same house should require the aid of a go-between; but such was the fact—for I believe Mr. Hulse to have been one of the very sentimental and romantic class of lovers who are fond of mystery and of tender correspondence.

"This absurd courtship went on for several months; and the lovers little suspected that I was as well acquainted with its progress as themselves. At length I perceived by one of Mr. Hulse's letters that his uncle was expected home in a few days, and he spoke of the necessity which would compel him to go on a visit to the old gentleman, but also expressed his hopes that the result would be according to the wishes of the lady and himself. And in less than a week he did depart on the proposed visit, having previously exchanged most tender and affectionate letters with the widow. The very next morning a new boarder arrived—a gentleman who in every respect was quite different from Mr. Hulse. He was tall, largely-made, and wore a great deal of hair about his face. Without being handsome, he was a very fine man; and he talked away at a rapid rate, getting on good terms with all the other boarders by the time breakfast was over, and very intimate indeed before the cloth was removed after dinner. He sate next to the widow, to whom he paid great attention; and she appeared very well satisfied with his civilities. In fact, in one single day he made more progress in thrusting himself into the good graces of Mrs. Percy than Mr. Hulse had done in a week. The name which the gentleman bore at the house was Jameson; but I did not believe it to be his right one, because his hat had the initials of F. S. in it; the same letters were marked, as I heard from the housemaid, on all his linen; and they were also described by means of brass nails on the lid of his trunk. However, a few days passed; and I saw that Mr. Jameson and Mrs. Percy were becoming more and more intimate. They sate together at meals—they lounged together on the sofa in the drawing-room—and, as I watched them narrowly, I saw that they exchanged glances which convinced me that Mr. Hulse had been forgotten by the faithless lady. Somehow or another I took an immediate hatred to Mr. Jameson, the moment he set foot in the house; and this feeling was increased by his harsh and commanding ways towards me. I was moreover sorry for Mr. Hulse, who had been kind and generous in his behaviour to me; and I longed to do Jameson some evil turn. The opportunity arrived sooner than I expected; for one morning—about a fortnight after he had arrived at the establishment—I was accosted in the street, when going on an errand, by an ill-looking fellow who was loitering about, and who said he wanted to speak to me particularly. I asked him his business; but he would not exactly explain it. He however said he was very anxious to learn some tidings of a certain gentleman, and that he had received a hint of the person alluded to being at a boarding-house in Great Russell Street, under a feigned name. It instantly struck me that the gentleman thus enquired about was Jameson; and I was moreover convinced, by the appearance of the enquirer, that he had no good intentions towards the individual whom he was seeking. I therefore readily gave such information as convinced the man that Mr. Jameson was the person he was looking for; and I then learnt, to my astonishment, that this Mr. Jameson's real name was Frederick Shawe! I now showed myself so much interested in the affair, and expressed myself in so hostile a way relative to Mr. Frederick Shawe, that the man at last admitted to me that he was a sheriffs'-officer's follower, and had a writ against the man who, I was convinced by all I now heard, was the same that had treated my deceased parents in so scandalous a manner. We did not part before we came to an understanding together; and I returned to the boarding-house, overjoyed to think that the moment of vengeance was not very far distant.

"The dinner-hour was five o'clock; and on the day of which I am speaking, there was company present besides the boarders. Mr. Jameson, as usual, sate next to Mrs. Percy; and his attentions were of the most amiable description. Had Mr. Hulse returned at the moment, he would not have been very well pleased at the way in which she received them. But a storm was brewing over the head of the successful rival; and I was longing for it to burst. Towards the close of the meal Jameson asked me for a glass of porter. I pretended not to hear him, and waited on some one else. He called me again; and when I at length drew near his chair to serve him, he said in a harsh voice, 'You're very neglectful, John; and I wonder how Mrs. Turner can keep such a stupid boy in the house.'—'Then why don't you ask her to discharge me, Mr. Shawe?' I said.—You should have seen how he turned—first as white as a sheet, and then as red as scarlet.—'Mr. Jameson you mean, John,' exclaimed Mr. Turner. 'Call gentlemen by their proper names, and don't be rude, sir, or you shall leave the house directly.'—'I did call this gentleman by his proper name, sir,' I answered: 'and that name is Shawe.'—'The poor boy is labouring under a mistake,' said Shawe, dreadfully confused and stammering as he spoke; 'but don't be harsh with him: he did not intend any harm.'—'I do not want you to speak in favour of me, sir,' I exclaimed; 'and perhaps you'll guess why, when you know that my name is Jeffreys.'—The villain's countenance now showed the most awful dismay; and the scene produced great excitement amongst all present. But at that moment, a knock at the front-door was heard; and I ran to answer it, well knowing who were there. How my heart beat with joy when I admitted the officer and his follower (the man I had seen in the morning) into the house; and, without caring how my master and mistress might take it on my part, I threw open the dining-room door, led the officers in, and, pointing to the person they wanted, said, 'This is Mr Frederick Shawe!' The officers instantly arrested him; and a scene of extraordinary confusion followed. Mrs. Turner fainted in right earnest, and while several of the ladies flocked round her, others began tittering and whispering, and Mr. Turner requested Mr. Shawe to pay his bill before he went to prison. But the conduct of Mrs. Percy was the most extraordinary part of the whole performance. It is, however, most probable that she acted in the way she did to conceal her vexation and annoyance. For, bursting out into a loud laugh, and casting a look of contempt at the man with whom she was on such good terms a few minutes before, she expressed her surprise that 'fellows of his stamp should dare to force their way into genteel society!'—To be brief, Mr. Turner could not get the amount of his claim on Shawe, whose trunks he accordingly detained; and the scoundrel was conveyed away by the officers. I followed the party to the street-door, and took good care to let Shawe know that it was I who had betrayed him. The exposure of this person caused such a sensation in the house, that my share in it created a feeling of curiosity; and, when questioned by Mr. Turner before all the company, I explained how he had treated my parents, so that I was rather praised than blamed for what I had done. But Mrs. Percy applauded me the most, and spoke warmly in my favour—at which I was very much pleased.

"Two or three days after this occurrence, Mr. Hulse returned—but only for a few hours; and during that time he was alone with Mrs. Percy in the parlour. The nature of their interview was soon known throughout the house; for it appeared that the news he had brought from his uncle were favourable, and their engagement was now no longer kept secret. It was fortunate for the widow that he did not remain in the boarding-house until their marriage; for, if he had, some kind friend would have been sure to tell him of the flirtation that had gone on between herself and the scoundrel Shawe. As it was, every thing turned out well: Mr. Hulse took and furnished a nice house in Bloomsbury-square, and in a few weeks he and Mrs. Percy were married. My former services were not forgotten by either; but, on the contrary, were rewarded on the wedding-day by a guinea from the gentleman and half that sum from the lady. I had thus seen the end of this very extraordinary courtship, and being thoroughly tired of my place, began to look out for another. I accordingly made the usual enquiries, and heard of several vacancies. My very first application was successful, and I was engaged by the Honourable Mr. Ilverton, Mr. Turner giving me a good character and expressing no dissatisfaction at my desire 'to better myself.'

"The Honourable Mr. Ilverton resided in St. James's Square. He was a gentleman of about forty years of age, and was on the point of marriage with a lady much younger than himself, and who was one of the numerous daughters of the Marquis of Mountcharlton. But as Mr. Ilverton was very rich, and the Marquis was but a poor peer, the match was considered a very desirable one by the friends of Lady Hortensia Stanhope. I heard my fellow-servants in my new place say that she was a very beautiful creature; and I longed to see her; but six weeks were yet to elapse before the celebration of the marriage. The place was a very nice one; and the establishment was on a large scale. There were six female servants, and four men, besides the butler and coachman. Two of the footmen were constantly on duty in the hall, that is, they had nothing to do for the four hours that their turn lasted, but to look out of the hall-windows, and attend the front-door. When their four hours expired, the other two took their place for a like interval. There was a great deal of aristocratic feeling amongst these servants. The butler had his room, and the housekeeper had her room; and they took their meals apart from the rest. The other servants were obliged to say 'Sir' to the butler, and 'Ma'am' to the housekeeper. The cook and the two housemaids were likewise above the kitchen-maids, who said 'Miss' when addressing either one of them. The footmen also considered themselves above the coachman; but they allowed the latter to take his meals at their table. As for myself, I was looked upon as a mere child by the men; and probably by the women too—for they were very much addicted to fondling me when I happened to be alone with either one of them.

"Well, the six weeks passed away; and the day came on which Mr. Ilverton was to be married. The ceremony was performed at St. George's, Hanover Square; and the 'happy couple,' as the newspapers always call new-married people, started off for Mr. Ilverton's country-seat. A fortnight elapsed; and then came the day when the town-mansion was to receive its new mistress, whom I had not yet seen. I remember the profound curiosity which I felt on that occasion, my fellow-servants, who had frequently beheld her, having spoken so high of her beauty. It was about six o'clock in the evening when they were expected to arrive, dinner having been provided for seven. I stationed myself in the hall to obtain as early a view as possible of Lady Hortensia Ilverton; and shortly after six the carriage drove up to the door. From the hall-window I saw her ladyship alight; but she had a veil over her face. I was, however, enabled to admire the beauty of her figure, which was very finely proportioned; and I thought, as she stepped from the vehicle, that I had never before seen such a charming foot and ankle. The loveliness of her form rendered me the more anxious to behold her face; and this curiosity on my part was soon gratified. For, on entering the hall, the lady threw back her veil;—but no words can explain the full extent of my astonishment, when I beheld the very same charming creature of whom I had once before caught a hasty glimpse at the doctor's house in Brook Street! A faint exclamation of surprise escaped my lips; no one however heard it—and I instantly mastered my feelings. Lady Hortensia passed through the hall, leaning on her husband's arm, without looking either to the right or to the left;—and as she did not therefore observe me, I had no opportunity of knowing whether she would remember me or not.

"It was a part of my duty to help to wait at table; and I longed for the dinner-hour to arrive, to clear up that point. At length my doubts were set at rest;—dinner was served up—the lady saw me; and I felt convinced that she had completely forgotten my face. I was not however quite a year older than when I saw her at the doctor's, and therefore not much changed: nevertheless, she evidently did not know me again. I really felt relieved on her account; for she was such a beautiful creature, and seemed so amiable, that I should have been sorry for her to have experienced any annoyance or vexation on my account. During the whole of dinner, I took my station near her chair, and watched her attentively; and though she conversed pleasantly enough with her husband when he started a subject, or addressed himself to her, yet it struck me that she was not altogether happy—for she seldom commenced a topic of her own accord, but seemed rather to love silence; and I now and then fancied that she sighed in a subdued manner. I don't know when I ever felt a deeper interest in any one than I did in this lady; and it seemed to me as if I could do any thing to serve her. But I am afraid that I am tiring you with this long story;"—and Jeffreys abruptly broke off.

"Not at all, old fellow," exclaimed Tim the Snammer. "It's only just struck twelve by St. George's; and we don't mean to separate yet awhile."

"No—not quite yet, I should hope," observed Josh Pedler. "Besides I'm getting deucedly interested in that Lady Hortensia of your's. I all along expected that the beautiful young creature at the doctor's would turn up again somehow or another."

"To be sure," said Old Death: "it wouldn't be a regular romance if she didn't."

"It's all as true as gospel!" cried Jeffreys. "Do you think I could invent such a pack of curious adventures? If you don't believe what I've told you already, I'm sure you won't believe what there is to come; and so I'd better hold my tongue."

"Now don't be angry, my dear boy," said Old Death: "I was but joking. I like your story amazingly: so pray finish it. We're in no hurry, and there's plenty of drink."

Jeffreys accordingly complied with the solicitations of his comrades, and proceeded uninterruptedly to the end of his narrative.

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LXXXVI. CONCLUSION OF THE HISTORY OF A LIVERY-SERVANT

"I am now going to take a leap of about six months in my story; because, during that time, nothing of any importance occurred in the establishment of the Honourable Mr. Ilverton. I may, however, observe that my suspicion relative to the unhappiness of his wife was confirmed the more I saw of her; for she was often dull and melancholy—and once or twice I saw that she had been shedding tears. Her husband was very kind and attentive to her; but he was a great deal from home, as he had large estates in the country which he was frequently obliged to visit, and he was also canvassing a borough for the approaching elections. Her ladyship preferred remaining in town, because she could then enjoy the society of her mother and sisters, who were almost constantly with her. Well, as I just now said, six months had passed away without any adventure of importance, and I was already wearied of the sameness of the life I was leading, when something occurred which tended to excite my curiosity and interest. It was about four o'clock, one summer afternoon that the little incident took place; and this was it. A letter came, addressed to her ladyship; and the hall-porter gave it to me to take up into the drawing-room. I went up stairs, and my hand was on the drawing-room door, when sounds of sobbing and low whispering, coming from inside, met my ears. I stopped and listened. 'My God! you know that I love you, Herbert,' said the voice of Lady Hortensia, who no longer spoke in a whisper.—Then another voice made some reply which I could not catch; and several minutes passed in a whispered conversation, not one single word of which did I overhear. At last I could judge that the visitor was about to take his leave; and I entered the room, first making as much noise as I could with the handle of the door so as to warn those inside that some one was coming in. But a single glance was enough to show me that Lady Hortensia was in great confusion, while a tall, handsome, young gentleman who was with her turned aside and walked towards the window. They were both standing when I went in; but her ladyship seated herself the moment after I entered and passed her handkerchief rapidly over her charming face. I endeavoured to appear as if I saw nothing to excite my curiosity, handed my mistress the letter, and retired. I waited in the hall to catch another glimpse of the gentleman when he went out; and in a few minutes he took his departure. I asked the hall-porter who he was. 'I never saw him before,' was the answer; 'but I heard him desire the footman to announce him by the name of Mr. Herbert Remington.'—'Well,' thought I to myself, 'Mr. Herbert Remington is a very fortunate man to be loved by such a beautiful lady.' But I did not breathe to a soul what I had overheard, nor any thing that I knew concerning my mistress.

"Mr. Ilverton was in the country at this time; and I now observed that Mr. Remington called regularly every day at about four o'clock. The other servants did not appear to notice it as at all extraordinary; but I had my own reasons for thinking a good deal on the subject. Several times, on the occasion of these visits, did I creep to the drawing-room door, and listen; and much of their conversation did I thus overhear. From that I gleaned that Mr. Remington and Lady Hortensia had been attached to each other for a long time; but that their marriage had been rendered impossible by his poverty. I also learnt enough to convince me that he was the father of a child of which she had been delivered at the doctor's house, but which had died a few hours after its birth. I felt no small degree of importance in knowing myself to be acquainted with all their secrets; and I considered myself not only bound to keep those secrets to myself, but also to assist them in any way I could, if an opportunity served to render my humble aid available. And the time to put me to that test soon came. Mr. Ilverton returned home from the country much sooner than was expected; and the servants, when talking together in the kitchen, said that he had come back in a very queer humour. He was, however, more amiable than ever with her ladyship at dinner on the day of his return; and I saw nothing to prove the truth of what I had heard down stairs. Lady Hortensia retired early that evening, saying she was unwell; and her maid observed on returning to the servants' hall, after attending on her mistress in her bed-chamber, that her ladyship appeared very unhappy. Then for the first time did the servants speak of the constant visits of Mr. Remington; and as they talked on the subject, suspicions seemed to spring up in their minds. But the entrance of the housekeeper put an end to the gossip; and soon afterwards the drawing-room bell rang. I hastened up to answer the summons, and found Mr. Ilverton walking up and down the apartment in so excited a manner that he did not even notice my entrance. At length he perceived me; and, throwing himself in a chair, beckoned me towards him. 'John,' said he, laying his hand on my shoulder, and speaking in a strange tone of voice, 'I think you will tell me the truth, if I ask you a few questions,'—I said that I would.—'And will you keep to yourself whatever I am going to say to you?' he asked.—'I will, sir, certainly,' was my answer.—'I thought you were a good and discreet lad,' he continued, putting a couple of sovereigns into my hand: 'act as you ought towards me, and you shall never want a friend. Now, tell me, my boy, whether a gentleman named Remington has called here every day during my absence this last time?'—'Not every day, sir, I should think,' was my reply; for I saw that a storm was brewing, and felt determined to screen my mistress as much as possible.—'Yes, but he has though,' returned Mr. Ilverton sharply; 'you may not, however, have observed it,' he added immediately afterwards, in a milder tone: 'now answer me truly my next question; and don't be afraid that I shall be angry, or shall say any thing about it if you reply in the affirmative. Do the servants talk amongst themselves of Mr. Remington's visits?'—'I have never heard a word said on the subject, sir,' was my answer.—'Then I am not laughed at in that quarter!' he muttered to himself; but I heard his words plain enough, although he seemed to forget that he had spoken them a minute after they had left his lips. 'John,' he continued, his fingers actually griping my shoulder, 'you can do me a great service if you will; and I will reward you handsomely.'—'It is my duty to do all I can for you, sir,' I replied.—'Yes,' he said; 'but what I now require is something out of the way of your ordinary duties, and is rather the part of a friend, than a servant towards a master.'—'I will do any thing I can, sir, to oblige you,' I exclaimed.—'And you will swear solemnly not to breathe to a soul a word of all that now takes place between us, or that you may have to do for me, unless I call upon you to proclaim any thing in a court of justice.'—'I will obey you in all things, sir,' I replied.—'You are a good lad,' he said; 'and I am not mistaken in you. To tell you the truth,' he continued, 'I have received an anonymous letter, creating the most painful suspicions in my mind. This letter assures me that a gentleman whom I do not know, and whose name is Remington, is a too frequent visitor at this house. But before I act, I must be satisfied that his visits are injurious to my honour. Do you understand me, my boy? You see, I am obliged to be open and candid with you, as I require an important service at your hands.'—'I understand you perfectly, sir.'—'What, then, do I mean?'—'Why, sir, that my lady should not receive that gentleman's visits so often, and while you are away,' I answered, pretending first to reflect for a few moments.—'Exactly so!' he cried. 'And now I will explain what I require of you. To-morrow at about half-past three o'clock,' he continued, 'I will give you a letter addressed to some friend of mine at a little distance; and you must tell the butler you are going to take it, and that you shall be upwards of an hour away. By these means you will not be missed by the servants. But, instead of leaving the house, you must steal up to the drawing-room, and conceal yourself under the sofa. There must you lie as quiet as possible, and listen to all that may take place between Lady Hortensia and Mr. Remington, who, not knowing of my return, will be sure to call at his wonted hour.'—'But suppose, sir,' I said, 'that I should be discovered?'—'Then leave it to me to extricate you from the difficulty, which is not likely to arise,' answered Mr. Ilverton.—'But,' I again argued, 'if her ladyship should happen to come down earlier to the drawing-room than usual, how shall I be able to conceal myself beneath the sofa?'—'Should this occur, I will devise some means to induce Lady Hortensia to quit the room for at least a few minutes, at about half-past three. Be you on the watch.'—'I will sir,' was my answer.—'And if you serve me faithfully, John,' he added, 'you will find a friend in me; but if you disobey me in one single point, I will find means to punish you somehow or another.'—I, of course, made all the necessary promises; and he dismissed me, apparently well satisfied with my assurances of fidelity.

"I slept but little all that night. I saw that a dreadful storm hung over the head of my mistress; and I lay awake, planning a thousand schemes to avert it. It was very easy for me to hide myself under the sofa; and, whatever I might overhear, afterwards assure my master that not a word had been said which he could possibly be angry at. But I was experienced and cunning enough to fear that Mr. Ilverton wanted a witness; and that though I might be listening under the sofa, he would also be listening at the door, and would burst into the room in case his suspicions respecting his wife should receive confirmation. Even if he should not adopt this plan, but merely use me as a means of ascertaining whether his wife was faithful or not, and take my word respecting the particulars of the anticipated interview between herself and Mr. Remington,—nevertheless, I saw the necessity of warning my mistress that such suspicions did exist concerning her, and put her fully upon her guard. This I resolved to do; and at last I made up my mind to speak frankly to her next day. But when that day came, I saw no chance of having an opportunity of carrying my intention into effect;—for her ladyship did not come down stairs to breakfast nor to luncheon, she being still indisposed, as I heard from her own maid. I loitered upon the landing near the drawing-room as much as I dared; and once or twice, when my master went up or down stairs, he nodded approvingly of my conduct, thinking that I was there only to serve his interests. At last, just as the clock had struck three, to my joy I saw Lady Hortensia descend from her own chamber, and enter the drawing-room. Not a moment was to be lost. I rushed in after her, closed the door, and said, 'My lady, listen to me for one instant, I implore of you.' She looked at me with mingled surprise and anger; for my manner must have appeared not only strange, but also boisterously rude. I am sure I do not recollect now—for I did not remember ten minutes after this scene occurred—what words I used, or how I introduced the subject; but it is very certain that I told her how I was the very lad who had seen her at the doctor's; how her husband had bribed me to watch her; how I was determined to warn her of the plot in progress against her; and how I would do any thing in the world I could to serve her. She seemed perfectly astounded at all I told her: she sank on the sofa, turned red and white a dozen times in a minute, and then burst into tears. I dared not say a word: the idea of a poor servant like me venturing to console a great lady like her was ridiculous. But I was in a dreadful state of alarm lest Mr. Ilverton should come in.—'John,' she said at last, wiping away her tears, 'if all you have told me is true, you are one of the best lads that ever lived. But how am I to know that this is as you represent it?'—I understood what she meant: she feared lest it was only a trap to ensnare her into something amounting to a confession.—'My lady,' I answered, 'if I wished to injure you, could I not have at once revealed to Mr. Ilverton all that took place at the doctor's house in Brook Street?'—'True!' she said, blushing scarlet. 'Yes—you are faithful!' and she put her purse into my hand. I returned it to her, declining to take any reward; but she forced it upon me, and I was compelled to accept it. 'Now retire,' she said hastily; 'and follow your master's bidding in respect to concealing yourself. I shall afford you an opportunity,' she added: then, turning away, she again burst into tears.

"I hastened from the room, well pleased with the success of my interview with her ladyship, and feeling myself so important a person that I scarcely knew whether I stood on my head or my heels. The secrets of the family were in my keeping,—in the keeping of a boy not sixteen years old; and it was enough to make me proud. Besides, I felt so satisfied with my conduct in respect to her ladyship, that it seemed to me as if I had done a great and a glorious deed. Well, on quitting the drawing-room, I went up to my own chamber, to compose my feelings; for I was really so much elated as to be quite unfit to meet my master for a few minutes. But at the expiration of that time I hastened down stairs, received the letter which he had in readiness for me, and, after looking in at the servants' hall for a moment, just to say I was going out on an errand, stole up to the drawing-room, where I found no one. I therefore thrust myself under the sofa, and awaited anxiously the termination of the adventure. Just as the time-piece on the mantel struck four, her ladyship returned to the room; and almost immediately afterwards Mr. Remington was announced. Hasty whispers were exchanged between them in a language—most likely French—which I did not understand; and then they seated themselves on chairs at some distance from each other, Lady Hortensia having previously rung the bell. I was surprised at this proceeding: what could she possibly mean? But I was more astonished still, when, on the entrance of one of the footmen, she said, 'Ask your master if he will have the kindness to favour me with his company for a few minutes.' The servant retired to execute this command; and I was now frightened lest her ladyship intended to accuse her husband of his stratagem, and thereby expose my want of faith towards him. But second thoughts convinced me that this was not the case; because her ladyship must remember that it was in my power to ruin her effectually if she meditated any treachery towards me. A few minutes elapsed, during which Mr. Remington and my mistress conversed on the most common-place subjects—such as the weather, the new opera, and so on; and at length Mr. Ilverton entered the room. 'I am sorry to disturb you, my dear,' said Lady Hortensia, speaking in her most amiable manner, 'since I know that you are so fully engaged with election matters and other important business; but I have a favour to ask of you. This gentleman is Mr. Remington. Mr. Remington,' she added, 'Mr. Ilverton:' thus calmly and quietly introducing them.—I do not know how my master looked, but I could fancy that he felt very queer: at all events, he said nothing.—'Mr. Remington, my dear,' continued Lady Hortensia, speaking with a tranquil affability that quite astonished me, 'is a gentleman to whom our family are under the greatest obligations; for it was he who saved my brother Edward's life at Oxford a few years ago.'—'I remember to have heard that your brother Edward had a narrow escape from being drowned in the river on a boating excursion,' said Mr. Ilverton; 'but I was not until now acquainted with even the name of the gentleman who so generously risked his life to save him.'—'It was a deed which scarcely deserves such warm praise, sir,' observed Mr. Remington.—'On the contrary, Mr. Remington,' exclaimed Lady Hortensia, 'Mr. Ilverton must, as my husband, experience the same gratitude which I feel towards you, and ever shall, for your noble conduct.'—'Certainly, most decidedly,' exclaimed my master, who, I could very well suppose, was now feeling particularly sheepish.—'And I am convinced, my dear,' continued her ladyship, addressing herself altogether to her husband now, 'that you will approve of certain steps which I have taken in order to convince Mr. Remington of the gratitude of the near relatives of him whom he saved from a premature death. Mr. Remington has a sister who has been left a widow, and who is anxious to turn her accomplishments to a good account. She is desirous of entering some family as a governess; and I have supplied Mr. Remington with letters of introduction on behalf of his sister to several of our friends and acquaintances. He has this day called to inform me of his sister's success in obtaining the situation she requires, by means of one of those letters.'—Mr. Ilverton expressed his entire approval of this proceeding on the part of her ladyship; and Mr. Remington rose, and took his leave in that formal manner which seemed to show that he did not even pretend to be considered in any other light than a mere acquaintance.

"When he was gone, Lady Hortensia said, 'I am really glad that I have been able to serve that young man's sister, for they are both very poor, it seems and the service which he rendered our family in saving the life of my brother was not one that should have gone unrewarded.'—'Oh! decidedly not, my love,' said Mr. Ilverton. 'But will you accompany me to the library now, and see the new picture that I bought some weeks ago, and which has been sent home this morning? It was kept to be framed.'—'Certainly,' answered Lady Hortensia; and she quitted the room with her husband. I of course understood that he had purposely enticed her away to allow me an opportunity of leaving my hiding-place; and I was very glad to get from under the sofa, where I was most terribly cramped, not having dared to move, and scarcely able to breathe free through fear of being heard. I was highly delighted at the clever manner in which Lady Hortensia had got herself out of the serious scrape that for a time seemed to threaten her with total ruin; and I was heartily glad to think that her husband must be thoroughly ashamed of having exposed himself so completely to me. At dinner-time Lady Hortensia gave me a glance which seemed to thank me again for the part I had acted towards her; whereas Mr. Ilverton never once looked me in the face—not even when I was close by his side and he ordered me to serve him with any thing. Shortly after dinner her ladyship retired to the drawing-room; and the moment I was alone with my master, he beckoned me to approach him, and said in a low tone, 'John, what took place between your mistress and that gentleman before I came in?'—'Mr. Remington said he came to thank her ladyship for her kindness towards his sister,' I answered, taking my cue from what I had heard before; 'and then her ladyship said that you was at home, sir, and she would introduce Mr. Remington to you.'—'Then I have been altogether misled, John,' he observed: 'and mind that you never breathe a syllable of what has passed to a living soul.'—'Certainly not, sir,' I replied. He put a couple of sovereigns into my hand, telling me I was a good boy, and repeating his injunction of strict secresy.

"I was now a very great favourite with both my master and mistress, though, in each other's presence, they neither showed any particular kindness towards me. Mr. Remington came no more to the house; but her ladyship now and then gave me letters to put privately into the post for her, and which were addressed to him. Thus three months more passed away; and the general election came on. Mr. Ilverton went out of town; and he had not left the house an hour, before Lady Hortensia gave me a note to convey by hand to Mr. Remington's lodgings in Sackville Street, with directions to wait for an answer. Mr. Remington seemed greatly delighted at the contents of the note, and gave me the reply, which, in his hurry and joy, he omitted to seal, although he had lighted a taper on purpose. I hastened away, and went into a public-house to read the letter. To my surprise I found, by its contents, that an appointment had been made for the lover to pass the night with Lady Hortensia, she having already admitted her maid into her confidence, thereby arranging for his admission into the house at twelve o'clock. I was now dreadfully annoyed at being no longer treated as a confidant, I who had done so much to protect them from exposure! My interest in behalf of my mistress suddenly turned to hate; and I thought seriously of revenging what I considered to be a slight. I however ran back to Mr. Remington's lodgings, and said to him, 'Sir, you have not sealed this letter; and I would rather not take it like this to her ladyship, for fear she should think I had read it, which I would not do for all the world.'—He looked very hard at me, and seemed dreadfully confused at his oversight; but, perceiving that I did not change colour, and that I met his gaze steadily, he was more satisfied. Having sealed the letter, he returned it to me, putting half-a-guinea into my hand; and I then hastened away with it to my mistress, from whom I received double that sum. But a wonderful change had come over my mind. I saw that I was made a mere tool of; whereas so long as I thought myself important as a confidant, I was happy. I had moreover hoarded near twenty pounds, by means of the presents I had received; and I thought how foolish I was not to turn my knowledge of certain secrets to account, and extort a good round sum from her ladyship. In a moment I grew avaricious and spiteful. I know how it was: while my vanity was flattered, I was contented; but the instant I saw that I was a tool, and not a confidant, I was mortified, and therefore changed. It did not strike me then that delicacy would of course prevent Lady Hortensia from making use of me to give admittance to her lover; and I looked on myself as a person badly used. I did nothing that day; but I lay awake during the best part of the night settling in my mind how I should proceed. Thus, while the lovers were in each other's arms—as I had no doubt they were—a storm was brewing against them in a quarter from which they little expected it.

"The very next day I went into the drawing-room when I knew that her ladyship was there alone, and, shutting the door, advanced in a resolute manner towards her. She seemed astonished, and asked me what I wanted. 'A hundred pounds,' I answered in a dogged style.—'Do you mean to request that sum as a favour, or to demand it as the price of the secrets you have promised to keep faithfully?' she said in a mild and reproachful way, which made me more than half repent of my conduct; but I had gone too far to retreat.—'Whichever your ladyship likes,' I replied.—'I will give you two hundred if you will leave the house this minute, and let me make what excuse I choose for sending you away,' she said.—The offer was too tempting to be rejected; and I immediately accepted it. Two hundred pounds! it was a fortune, and I fancied that I should never be able to spend it.—'Pack up your boxes, and prepare to depart,' said Lady Hortensia, 'If the servants ask you any questions, steadily refuse to answer them, beyond merely stating that I have ordered you to leave immediately; and if you will call on Mr. Remington this evening at eight o'clock, he will give you two hundred pounds in gold.'—I was overjoyed at this arrangement, and gladly took my departure on such terms, caring little what reason her ladyship might allege for the abruptness with which I left. Two hundred pounds to be received in a few hours! Oh! how happy I was!—and what castles did I build in the air! I removed my trunk to a public-house in St. Martin's Lane; and having had a pint of wine to celebrate the occasion, strolled out to purchase new clothes—for I had of course left my livery at Mr. Ilverton's house, and was not overwell dressed. Having bought all I required, thereby making a considerable hole into the twenty-five pounds which, with my hoardings and wages, I had in my pocket when I came away, I returned to the public-house, and put on my new things. I then went out again to while away an hour till eight o'clock, it being now seven. As I was going along Piccadilly, I saw an elegantly dressed lady step out of a carriage at a shop-door; and to my joy I recognised Miss Stacey. She immediately knew me; and, seeing me so well attired, did not hesitate to stop and speak to me. We conversed together for a few minutes, during which I told her that I was no longer under the necessity of working for my living, as fortune had been kind to me. She expressed her pleasure, gave me her address, and asked me to call upon her; telling me, however, that I must be sure to come between two and seven, and at no other time. I promised to visit her; for she looked sweetly pretty and very amorous;—and we parted.

"Precisely as the clock struck eight, I knocked at Mr. Remington's door,—none of your sneaking single knocks; but a good loud double one—for I felt all the importance of a man who has two hundred pounds to receive. Mr. Remington was at home, and I was shown up into his room. He desired me to be seated; but in a very cold tone and with a haughty manner. I did not however care one fig for that: the idea of the two hundred pounds rendered me as independent as possible. When I sate down, Mr. Remington rose from his chair; and, advancing close up to me, he said in a low, savage tone, 'You are a contemptible villian!'—'I did not come here to be abused,' I exclaimed insolently: 'give me my money, and let me be off.'—'Your money, indeed!' he cried: 'not one farthing will you receive of me, or of Lady Hortensia Ilverton. Now, listen, young man, and be cautions how you act. Had you conducted yourself fairly, you would always have found friends in me and her ladyship; but you have shown yourself a villain, and we are determined to crush you at once. You think you have us in your power; but you are mistaken. Her ladyship has already stated to her entire household that you were discharged suddenly for an atrocious attempt to extort money from her: and say but one word of scandal, utter one syllable against her, and you will be handed over to justice. Begone, sir; and take care how you conduct yourself. One word, by the way, before you leave me—and that is a word of friendly warning. The hall-porter in St. James's Square has instructions to give you over to the care of a constable, if you present yourself again at that mansion.'—'You cannot bully me,' I exclaimed; 'I know too much! Every thing shall now be made known to Mr. Ilverton.'—'And he will not believe a word you utter,' answered Remington. 'This night's post bears to him a letter in which Lady Hortensia declares that you threatened to expose both him and her if she did not give you a sum of money; and that you dared to assert that her husband had bribed you to conceal yourself under a sofa. She of course pretends to think her husband incapable of such mean and cowardly conduct; and he will be sure to deny it; at the same time he will never forgive nor believe you.'—'But there is the affair at the doctor's house in Brook Street,' I cried.—'The doctor will deny that such a lady was ever there,' returned Mr. Remington, with a triumphant smile.—'And the maid who knows that you passed an entire night with her mistress?' I said, my courage sinking rapidly.—'You had better ask her what she knows of the business! Now, mark me, young man; every precaution is taken to put you to confusion. You are forestalled in every possible way. Say what you will, positive contradictions and denials will meet your assertions; and the result will be to you transportation for life, for attempting to extort money! Now, then, reflect well before you plunge yourself headlong into difficulties.'—'But I am thoroughly ruined!' I exclaimed, tears starting into my eyes, as I saw the truth of all he said. 'I have lost my place and my character!'—'It is your own fault,' replied Mr. Remington. 'At the same time,' he added, after a few moments consideration, 'I do not wish you to be crushed completely down to the very mire. I will give you one chance. Sign a paper, stating that all your accusations are so many falsehoods, and that you make this acknowledgment to save yourself from being handed over to justice; and I will then present you with fifty guineas.'—Thus speaking, he took out a handful of notes and gold, to tempt me to conclude the bargain.—'But every thing I can state is true!' I exclaimed.—'Never mind that,' he answered: 'we can prove it to be all false. So, haste and decide: my time is precious.'—What could I do? I wanted money, and I saw that he was determined to resist all attempts at positive extortion. I therefore expressed my readiness to sign the paper, which was already drawn up; and, having done so, I received the fifty guineas promised.—'Now,' said he triumphantly, as he folded up the document and placed it in his pocket-book, 'you know the consequence of a single slanderous whisper!'—I took my departure, terribly nettled, but still somewhat consoled by the possession of the fifty guineas; for I thought that one third of the sum at first expected, was better than none at all.

"I longed to be revenged on Lady Hortensia and Mr. Remington; but I knew not how. I smarted dreadfully under the treatment I had received;—I uttered bitter words against my folly in consenting to leave the house before I had the money paid down; and I pondered on a thousand different ways of venting my spite on my enemies. For several days I rambled about by myself, racking my brain with devices. At last I resolved to abandon the idea, at least for the present; and then I set to work to enjoy myself—or rather to see how soon I could make away with my money. A few weeks beheld the bottom of my purse—and I was astonished to think that so many guineas should have disappeared in so short a time. I was now seriously troubled what to do for a living; because I had no character. Suddenly I bethought myself of Miss Stacey's invitation, and hastened to call on her, it being then about three o'clock in the day. I found her living in elegant lodgings in Maddox Street: and she received me most kindly. I told her, word for word, all that had occurred to me since I last saw her; and she was equally candid with me. In fact, she was then in keeping by one of the Cabinet Ministers, who allowed her ten guineas a week, paid her rent, her milliner's and her wine-merchant's bills, and also the hire of her carriage. We soon came to an understanding together; she wanted a page, or tiger, just at that moment, and I accepted the post. The very next day I entered my new place—the most comfortable I had ever yet been in, because I shared my mistress's bed nearly every night. But I soon discovered that the Cabinet Minister and myself were not the only persons who enjoyed the favours of Miss Stacey. Several gentlemen called during those hours when she knew there was no chance of her 'friend' making his appearance: in fact, the lady had become a regular wanton. It was not however for me to make any observations on her conduct: I was well satisfied with my place—and that was enough. I learnt from her that Mrs. Beaumont had died a few months previously, having just before married her butler, who came into possession of all her fortune and had set up as a gentleman, driving his cab and finding plenty of people to honour his champagne parties with their presence. Miss Stacey also gave me a little sketch of herself. She had been seduced, when only fifteen, by the husband of a lady with whom she was placed as companion; and she unhesitatingly admitted that in all the families where she had lived, she had maintained an intrigue with some one, either master, man-servant, or page. Since she had left Mrs. Beaumont she had been in keeping with the Cabinet Minister;—'but,' she added with a smile, 'you see that I am not particular where I take a fancy.' She was indeed a licentious woman, but very good-natured, and possessing a temper that nothing could ruffle.

"I had been with her about three months, when I saw in the newspaper an account of the sudden death of the Honourable Mr. Ilverton, M.P., who was found a corpse in his bed one night by the side of his wife. There was a Coroner's Inquest; and the verdict was 'Died of apoplexy.' I however had my suspicions that some foul play had been practised. In a little less than a year afterwards, I learnt, by the same channel of intelligence, that Lady Hortensia Ilverton had become the wife of Herbert Remington, Esq. About the same time I met Mrs. Hulse—the pretty lady, you remember, who played such pranks with her two lovers at the boarding-house. She stopped and spoke to me. I inquired after Mr. Hulse; and she said that he was quite well, and that they lived very happy together. I then asked her slyly if she had seen Mr. Frederick Shawe lately.—'What!' she exclaimed, 'do you not know all that happened to him?'—I assured her I did not.—'He committed a forgery some months ago,' she replied, 'and was hanged for it. It was down in the country; but I forget where. The whole account was, however, in the papers at the time.'—I was delighted to hear that the enemy of my parents had come to such a miserable end. Mrs. Hulse gave me half-a-sovereign, and bade me good bye.

"A short time after these little incidents, and when I had been in Miss Stacey's service nearly eighteen months, the Cabinet Minister suddenly withdrew his protection from her—I never heard why. It is however more than probable that her numerous intrigues reached his ears. The immediate result of the stoppage of funds in that quarter was a bolt from the lodgings, my mistress being over head and ears in debt. She removed to Norfolk Street, Strand: and I accompanied her. It was at this time that I was attacked by the small-pox, and obliged to leave. I went to the hospital, where I remained dangerously ill for several weeks; and, when I did recover, I was marked as you now see me. I may therefore say without vanity, that before this unfortunate occurrence I was a very good-looking lad; and it was no wonder that the women used to take a fancy to me. Well, I left the hospital with only a few shillings in my pocket, which I had about me when I went in; and my first step was to enquire after my late mistress in Norfolk Street. But there I learnt a sad tale. She had been greatly reduced in circumstances, and had made away with the things in her ready-furnished lodgings. The landlady gave her into custody; she was committed for trial, and sentenced at the Old Bailey to transportation for seven years. But this sentence was commuted to imprisonment for two years, by an order from the Home Office, although the judge who presided at the trial declared it to be a most aggravated offence. I thought I could understand the secret of this leniency; nor was I mistaken; for, on calling upon my poor mistress in Newgate, where she was imprisoned, she told me that she had written to her late 'friend,' the Cabinet Minister, who had procured the alteration in her sentence. She was very happy, and made me promise to call and see her again. But I never had the opportunity; for some Member took up the case in the House of Commons, and asked the Home Secretary the reason why the original sentence was not carried out, seeing that the jury had given no recommendation to mercy, and that the judge had pronounced a strong opinion on the matter. The affair made such a noise, and the Weekly Dispatch took it up in such strong terms, that the Government was obliged to order the sentence of transportation to be put into immediate effect.[38] The consequence was that the poor lady was sent out of the country as soon as possible; and I never saw her any more. I felt for her deeply: she had been kind to me—and, with all her faults, there were many excellent points in her character. But, somehow or another, I never did meet a woman who, let her be ever so bad, had not some redeeming qualities. I have met hundreds of men so thoroughly bad, that they had not a single thing to recommend them: but it has not been so in my experience with the other sex. I don't believe that any woman can become so utterly depraved, as not to retain a little amount of good feeling about her. I wish I could say as much for men.

"But let me make haste and bring this story to an end. I was now a miserable, friendless wretch in the world, and knew not what to do for a living. I had no character, and could not get a place. At last, when driven to desperation, I resolved to call on the person whom Mrs. Beaumont married, and who was for many years her butler. I accordingly went up to Russell Square, and knocked at the well-known door. A servant in splendid livery answered the summons; and I was shown into the hall, where I was kept waiting for nearly two hours. At last I was shown up into the drawing-room, where the ex-butler lay lounging on the sofa, reading the Morning Post. 'Just sit down, young man, for a moment,' said he, with an affected drawl, although he was an old fellow of sixty, 'while I finish the Fashionable Intelligence; because, you see, I'm interested in it.'—So I took a seat, and was kept waiting for another half-hour. At last the gentleman laid aside the paper, and enquired my business. I told him who I was, and how distressed was my position. He stared at me for a long time, as if to make sure that I was really the John Jeffreys whom he had once known—for I was cruelly disfigured; and when he was convinced that I was no impostor, he gave me half-a-guinea, saying that he had been a looser by the late Derby, and had lent his friend Lord Mushroom so much money lately, that he could do no more. I thanked him very sincerely and went away. I walked on to Great Russell Street, being in the neighbourhood, and called at the Turners' boarding-house. But I learnt from the servant that Mr. Turner was dead, and Mrs. Turner had declined business in consequence, and would see nobody. I went away with a heavy heart; for I knew that the half-guinea would not last for ever. At length I was so tired with walking about, that I entered a public-house to get some refreshment. Two men were sitting in the parlour, drinking ale; and their conversation, singularly enough, happened to turn on a friend of theirs who, as I heard them say, had just got a situation as footman in a good family.—'But how the devil did he manage, though?' asked one; 'since he only came out of quod for stealing that plate, you know, ten days ago.'—'Why, he got a character of that chap who lives at the house with the balcony, up in Castle Street, Portland Place, to be sure,' was the answer.—'You don't mean old Griffiths, do you?' said the other.—'Of course I do,' replied his friend: 'he's been in that line now for the last six months, and makes an excellent thing by it. I've recommended several poor devils of men-servants to him.'—'The deuce you have!' I exclaimed: 'I wish to God you would recommend me!'—'Are you out of place and got no character?' demanded the man.—'Just so,' I answered; 'and if I don't get a situation soon, I shall starve.'—'Have you got any tin about you?' asked the man.—'Ten shillings, when I've paid for what I've had,' I replied.—'That'll just do the trick!' cried the man: 'you must stand a pot to me and my friend here; and you'll have to pay seven-and-sixpence entrance fee to old Griffiths. Then you'll have a trifle left to take you on till to-morrow.' I readily paid for a pot of the best ale; and when we had disposed of it, I received a note of recommendation to the Mr. Griffiths spoken of. He was an old, respectable-looking man, with a bold crown, and grey hair at the back and sides of his head; and he was sitting in a neat office, with a large book before him. He read the note, which explained my business, and then demanded the entrance fee. This I paid; and he put down my name in the book. 'I will give you the addresses of several families who require a young livery-servant,' he said; 'and you may refer them to Captain Elphinstone, No.—, Mortimer Street, Cavendish Square. You may say that you lived with that gentleman for three years, and only left him on account of ill health. And now I must tell you the nature of the bargain which exists between you and me. You are sure to obtain a situation; and when your first quarter's wages are paid, you must bring me a sovereign; and a sovereign from second quarter. You will then always have me as your friend, and need never be afraid of remaining long out of place. But if you do not keep faith with me, I shall find means to make you repent it.'—I assured the old gentleman I would do the thing that was right; and took my leave of him, rejoiced at the prospect of obtaining a situation.

"Next morning I made myself as tidy as I could, and called at the places pointed out by Mr. Griffiths. I was soon successful, and gave Captain Elphinstone as my reference. The gentleman of the house said he would call on the captain in the course of the day, and I was to return in the evening for the answer. This I did, and found that an unexceptionable character had been given of me. I was therefore admitted into the gentleman's service at once. It was a quiet place, and a small establishment, only consisting of myself and two female servants—a cook and housemaid; for Mr. Farmer, our master, was an elderly bachelor. There I stayed for several years, and was very happy and comfortable indeed. But one day Mr. Farmer took it into his head to marry the cook; and as she could not bear to have in her house the same people who had known her as a fellow-servant, the housemaid and myself both got our discharge. We, however, had good characters, but we did not avail ourselves of them—for, having each scraped up a little money, we agreed to club our savings, and open a shop in the chandlery line. We had long been intimate enough to render the parson's services quite unnecessary in enabling us to live together; and so we commenced business, passing ourselves off as man and wife. The thing did not, however, succeed; and care drove me to the public-house. It was then that I met you, Mr. Bones; and you suggested how much good might be done if I would go back into service, and give you notice of any little things worth your knowing. This I resolved to do; and, leaving my female companion to do what she liked with the shop, I took leave of her. We parted very good friends; and by the aid of old Griffiths I very soon obtained a place. I need not say any more,—unless it is that since then I've been in situations at many houses, and have generally managed to do a pretty decent amount of business with Mr. Bones."

Jeffreys ceased speaking; and his three companions expressed the amusement they had derived from his narrative.

A few more glasses of grog were drunk, as well as a few more pipes smoked; and it was not until past three in the morning that Old Death's visitors left him.

* * * * *

We cannot close this chapter without a few observations relative to that large and important class—domestic servants.

And first of female servants. It is said that great numbers of them are immodest, and that from their ranks the class of unfortunate women, or prostitutes, is largely recruited. We believe that the immorality of female servants is considerably exaggerated by these representations, and that the cases of frailty are the exceptions and not the rule. There are thousands and thousands of females amongst this class as respectable and well conducted as women ought to be, and who take a pride not only in maintaining a spotless character, but in so behaving themselves that there shall be no chance of its becoming tainted. And this is the more creditable to them—the more to their honour, inasmuch as the temptations to which they are exposed are very great. Sent out on errands at all hours—compelled to go to the public-houses to fetch the beer and spirits for the use of the family—constantly placed in contact with the serving-men belonging to the family's tradesmen—exposed to the chance of sustaining insulting liberties at the hands of the visitors to the house—and often persecuted by the lustful addresses of some male inmate of the establishment, such as a brother or son of the master, and perhaps the master himself,—what strength of mind—what moral courage must the servant-maid possess to resist these temptations and escape from so many perils! We mean to say, then, that if she do fall, there is far more scope for pity and a far greater amount of extenuation on her behalf, than on that of the lady who surrenders herself, unmarried, to the embraces of her lover!

And in many—too many instances—what a life of slavery is that of the female servant!—and how little enviable is the lot of the poor maid-of-all-work! Talk of the hard fate of the negress—think of the hard fate of the maid-of-all-work! Excellent saint of Exeter Hall! you need not send your sympathies travelling some thousands of miles across the sea: there is plenty of scope for their exercise at home, if you be really sincere—which we know you are not! Look to the maid-of-all-work—up at five in the winter, and heaven only knows when in the summer,—compelled to keep an entire house neat and decent—to black all the boots and shoes—to run on all the errands—to put herself in awful peril by standing or sitting outside the windows which she is compelled to clean—and very frequently half-starved by those whom she serves so assiduously and so faithfully,—what a life is hers![39]

Female servants are treated with much greater kindness in France than in England. In the former country they are considered rather in the light of humble friends of the family than as mere slaves, which is the estimation in which they are usually held, we are sorry to say, in the British Islands. Let them be treated with kindness and forbearance: they have much to try their patience and sour their tempers by the very nature of their condition and the miscellaneous character of their avocations. A man or a woman who is unkind to a servant, is a wretch deserving obloquy and execration. But a master or a mistress who, through petty spite or sheer malignity, refuses to give to a discharged servant the good character which such servant may in reality deserve, is a very fiend, unfit to remain in civilised society.

Before we take leave of this subject, we cannot resist the opportunity of expressing our opinion relative to a practice adopted at Court: we mean the fact of the Queen being waited upon in her private apartments by ladies of high rank and good family, instead of by female servants. Who is Queen Victoria, that a Duchess must select her gown, and a Marchioness hook it? Is she a goddess that a Countess must help her to put on her shoes, and a Baroness tie them? Must not royalty be touched by the hands of a female servant? Alas! we strongly suspect that Queen Victoria is a woman made of the same flesh and blood as the most ordinary mortals: and we feel confident that the practice of attaching ladies of rank and title to her august person is as pernicious to her, as it is degrading to the ladies themselves, and as flagrantly insulting to the entire class of well-conducted ladies'-maids. But royalty in this country must be idolized—deified: no means must be left untried to convince the credulous public that royalty is something very different from commonalty. This delusion shall, however, be dispelled;—the people must be taught to look on Victoria as nothing more than the chief magistrate of the country, deriving her power from the nation at large, and holding it only so long as the majority of the inhabitants of these realms may consider her worthy to retain it. The contemptible farce of firing cannon to announce her movements—of illuminating dwelling-houses on her birth-day—of cheering her whenever she appears in public, just as if she cared two figs for the bawling idlers who gaze on Majesty with awe and astonishment,—all this miserable humbug should be abolished. The more a Sovereign is deified, the more the people are abased. Instead of the nation being obliged to Queen Victoria for ruling over it, Queen Victoria ought to be very much obliged to the nation for allowing her to occupy her high post. For the only real sovereign power is that of the people; and the individual who looks on royalty as something infallible—divine—supernally grand and awe-inspiring, is a drivelling, narrow-minded idiot, unworthy of the enjoyment of political freedom, and fit only to take his place amidst the herds of Russian serfdom.

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Footnote 38:

This incident is founded on fact. Many of our readers will doubtless recollect the case of J——N——and her mother, who were convicted of robbing ready-furnished lodgings about ten years ago. Miss J——N——had been the mistress of a noble lord who was a Cabinet Minister at the time of the condemnation of her mother and herself, and who is a Cabinet Minister at the present moment. The affair created a great sensation at the time; but the Dispatch and other independent newspapers took it up; not in order to persecute the unhappy women, but on public grounds. The result was that the original sentence passed upon them, and which Ministerial favouritism sought to commute to a much milder penalty, was carried into force. The entire business, so far as the noble lord was concerned, was vile and scandalous in the extreme.

Footnote 39:

We avail ourselves of the opportunity afforded us by the glance which we are taking at this subject, to recommend to perusal an admirable little work, written by our esteemed and talented friend, Mr. John Taylor Sinnett, and entitled "The Servant Girl in London." It is published by Hastings, Carey Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields; and is a little book which should be found in all families, as it contains sentiments and precepts useful alike to the employer and the employed.

In a work from which we have frequently quoted in the Notes belonging to the present Series of "THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON,"—we allude to "Poverty, Mendicity, and Crime,"—we find an important passage bearing strongly upon the subject of the text. It runs as follows:—"We must now direct attention to the class of female servants, and they form no insignificant number: from these the higher ranks of our prostitutes are recruited. Thirst for dress and finery, which has crept on to such a degree that it is not a very rare sight to behold them waiting on their mistress in the morning, bedecked in silks and ornaments equal to the young ladies themselves, even where the ladies are of the highest class of the community. Great censure is due to ladies, especially those who are mothers, for not restraining their servants from squandering away the whole of their money, loss of place ought to be the consequence of not laying by a small portion of wages to sustain themselves in the event of illness or other unforeseen calamity; the dress of a female servant ought to be good, but perfectly void of ridiculous ornament and frippery. The ladies' maids of our aristocracy are a race the most highly culpable of their sex, aping all the pride and airs of their lady, and desiring to appear abroad with equal éclat, to effect which, the wardrobe of the mistress is not unfrequently resorted to, and the purse not always held sacred, or she becomes a prostitute whilst under the roof of her employer, till descending from one false step to another she at length links her fate to some favourite of the swell mob, to whom she at first listened as a suitor, and ends in her being accessary to robbing the family which had fostered her. It is ascertained, beyond doubt, that most of the houses that are robbed, arises from the connexion and intimacy which the servant has contracted with some of the petty workmen who have been employed about the premises, many of whom are thieves themselves, or connected with some gang of villains who resort to that expedient to learn what property is kept on the premises, and how it is disposed of at night. 'A great deal of crime,' says Mr. Nairn, in his evidence, 'is generated in consequence of the tradesmen who employ journeymen to work for them, in gentlemen's houses, not taking care to inquire into their character: by getting acquainted with servants, they get a knowledge of those parts of the house where anything valuable is kept. A number of men that were in the prison were painters, plasterers, and bricklayers, they were in the practice of communicating with thieves, and it is in that secret manner that they get information where property is kept.'—Vide J. H. Nairn, p. 370, 2nd Report, Lords, on State of Gaols, 1835.

"There is a most infamous conspiracy existing between the purveyors or housekeepers of the aristocracy and their tradespeople, the latter paying the former a large per centage on the bills for the sake of 'gaining their custom.' Twenty per cent. is often given, and it has been known to rise as high as fifty; unfortunately, the nobleman considers it as derogatory to his high rank to look into his pecuniary domestic affairs; but taking it in a moral point of view, it is his duty to do so for the sake of preventing this species of peculation, which is an absolute theft and one of the stepping-stones to crime generally, as the money so attained is mostly as lightly spent, and the servants out of place for a length of time, the difficulty to procure the wherewithal to keep alive their former extravagance makes them not hesitate to become regular thieves, the fine sense of honesty having been destroyed by the transaction with the tradesman, who had not failed, in his turn, to make out a bill more than sufficiently long to cover merely his generosity in bestowing Christmas boxes upon the domestics of his patron. These tradesmen are a rank disgrace to their more honest fellow shopkeeper; they are worse than fences, and it is greatly to be regretted that a complete expose cannot take place, and all such tradesmen dealt with according to their merit.

"Another evil in society that is pregnant with mischief is giving a false character to servants, which ladies are constantly in the practice of doing, to avoid being plagued, or 'perhaps,' as they say, 'insulted by the discarded servant,' whose character, if correctly stated, would not be such as easily to procure a new situation; thus a pilferer having once had the luck to start off in a private family with a good name, is from this shameful habit let loose upon the public to commit his depredations at leisure and convenience, with the chance of blame falling upon an honest individual, through the crafty machination of the wicked. By making servants conscious that they would only procure such a character as they really deserve, great good would accrue to the public generally, and the servants themselves would be taught to curb their temper and other bad propensities, by which they would become infinitely more contented and happy beings, and valuable members of society.

"It is too often the case that servants are looked upon as little better than slaves, and so to treat them. To say the least of such conduct it is unwise, for in proportion to the kindness with which they are treated, so will they study in return to make us enjoy numberless little comforts so delightful to experience, and which it is in their power to give life to or destroy. Humanity ought to suggest that the situation in which these persons are placed, witnessing nightly those scenes of pleasure, without being permitted to join in them, is sufficiently grating, for they all have their feelings, in common with the best of us, and it ought to be one of the first cares of the heads of families to lighten, as far as consistent with the rules and shades of society, the state and labours of their dependants. In France the servants are in an enviable condition compared with those of England, and if the plan were followed in this country, giving them their little pleasures, many a one, whose propensities were wavering, would be confirmed in virtue, and become a useful member, instead of a disgrace to society."

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LXXXVII. THE BLACKAMOOR

Upon quitting Old Death's abode, Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler proceeded together in the direction of Blackfriar's Bridge; while John Jeffreys, having wished those worthies "good night," pursued his way up Horsemonger Lane, and plunged into the maze of narrow, obscure streets lying at the back of the prison.

Although he had said "good night" to his companions, it was in reality morning; for the clock of the gaol chimed a quarter-past three as Jeffreys passed by that dismal-looking establishment.

Having reached the door of the house in which he lodged, and which was in one of the streets above alluded to, he drew a pass-key from his pocket, and was about to apply it to the lock, when the sounds of footsteps close by fell upon his ears, and almost at the same moment a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder.

The conscience of Mr. John Jeffreys was not quite so free from sources of alarm as to prevent him from being painfully startled by this occurrence; and turning suddenly round towards the individual who had thus accosted him, he found himself face to face with a blackamoor.

"Fear not—no harm is intended you," said the negro, in a deep, solemn, and sonorous voice, but without the least peculiarity of accent; "that is," he added, "if you follow my directions."

"And who are you?" demanded Jeffreys, reassured by the certainty that he was addressing no myrmidon of the law.

"It is not for you to question, but to answer," said the Black in a cool and authoritative manner which seemed to indicate the consciousness of possessing the power to enforce his will, even against any resistance that might be offered. "But I have no time to waste in unnecessary discourse. You must accompany me whither I shall lead you."

"And if I refuse?" asked Jeffreys, trembling he scarcely knew why.

"Then I shall summon to my aid those who are ready at hand, and who will carry you off by force," calmly replied the Black.

"But if I raise an alarm," said Jeffreys, gradually yielding to a sensation of awe in the presence of the mysterious stranger who spoke with the confidence of power and authority, "the neighbours will come to my rescue, and——"

"A truce to this argument," interrupted the Black, sternly. "If you accompany me of your own free will, it will be to your advantage, and no harm shall befall you: but if you venture to resist me, I shall unhesitatingly make you my prisoner by force; and we shall then see what account John Jeffreys can give of his long and intimate connexion with Old Death."

"I will go with you—I will do any thing you command," said the villain, trembling from head to foot. "Only——"

"Again I tell you that you have nothing to fear and much to gain," observed the Black; and taking Jeffreys' arm, he led him hastily back towards Horsemonger Lane, neither of them uttering a word as they thus hurried along.

The night—or rather morning, was dark and sombre, and there were no lamps in the streets which they were threading. Thus, although arm-in-arm together, Jeffreys could obtain but a very imperfect view of his companion's features: nevertheless, it struck him that though the stranger's countenance was black as that of an African negro, the facial outline was not characterised by the protuberant thickness of lips and hideous flatness of nose which usually belong to that race. But Jeffreys was too much alarmed—too much bewildered by the sudden and mysterious adventures which had befallen him, to be able to make any very steady reflections; and whenever he threw a furtive glance towards his companion's countenance, he was instantly met by eyes the pupils of which seemed to glare upon him from their brilliant whites like those of a basilisk.

It was, indeed, an awe-inspiring and most uncomfortable situation in which Jeffreys found himself placed. Having numerous misdeeds upon his conscience, he shuddered at the idea of coming in contact with the law; and if he offered any resistance to his strange companion, such contact was the alternative with which he was menaced. But who was this strange companion? who was this Black that spoke with a tone of authority, and acted in a manner denoting a consciousness of power? For what purpose was he now hurrying Jeffreys along through the darkness of the silent night? and whither were they going? Even had the man been armed with conscious innocence, his position was one calculated to engender acute suspense, painful doubt, and wild apprehension;—but, knowing that he had been guilty of many deeds any one of which would be sufficient to involve him in serious trouble with regard to the law, the miserable wretch had every thing to fear, and scarcely any thing to hope.

It was true he had received assurances that no harm should befall him; and that the incident would, on the other hand, prove advantageous to him. But the influence of those assurances was completely absorbed in the vague and terrible alarms which the dread mystery of the adventure was so well calculated to excite. Conscious guilt made him a complete coward; and his ideas became so confused—his nervousness so great—his excitement so wild, that he began to fancy he was in the power of some unearthly being of evil nature and design. As this impression grew stronger in his attenuated mind, he cast in his terror more frequent glances at his companion;—and now it seemed as if the black countenance were rapidly changing—becoming hideous to behold, and lighted up with eyes that burnt in their sockets like red hot coals!

John Jeffreys felt his legs failing beneath him—his brain whirling—his reason going;—and he was on the point of falling to the ground, overcome by the terror that oppressed him, when his companion's voice suddenly broke upon his ear, dispelling all the superstitious portion of his alarms, and recalling him to his senses.

"Step in!" said the Black;—and Jeffreys found himself by the side of a hackney-coach which was waiting beneath the wall of Horsemonger Lane gaol.

He obeyed the command issued in that authoritative tone which he dared not resist; and the Black followed him into the vehicle, which immediately drove away.

"I must now blindfold you," observed the mysterious stranger; "and I warn you not to attempt to discover the road which we are about to pursue. Even in the darkness which prevails in this coach, I shall be able to distinguish all your movements."

"Where are we going?—what are you about to do with me?" asked Jeffreys, in an imploring voice.

"If you are such a coward as you now seem to be, you will prove of little service to me, I am afraid," said the Black, as he fastened a handkerchief over his prisoner's eyes. "Cheer up, man," he added, in a tone not altogether free from contemptuous disgust: "if I meant to deliver you into the hands of justice, for your numerous misdeeds, I should not take this round about manner of accomplishing the task. Once more I tell you that the result of this adventure depends wholly and solely on yourself. It may prove a fortunate occurrence for you, if your conduct be such as to beget confidence and merit forbearance and protection."

"Then you wish me to do something for you?" said Jeffreys, considerably reassured by the words just addressed to him.

"A great deal," was the laconic answer. "But we will not continue the discourse at present, if you please."

This intimation was followed by profound silence; and the vehicle rolled along at a rapid rate. Jeffreys was now so far relieved of the oppressive fears which had recently paralysed his intellectual energies, that he could even smile at the superstitious alarm which had seized upon him; and he endeavoured to follow in imagination the route pursued by the coach. But he soon became aware that it was taking such a circuitous and tortuous way as fully to destroy all possibility on his part of instituting any clue to its course; and he at last threw himself back in the vehicle, to give way to reflections on another subject—thus abandoning the idea of studying the direction in which he was being hurried along.

For an hour did the coach proceed, making numerous turnings into fresh streets, and often appearing to retrace the way it had previously pursued. At length it stopped; and, one of the doors being immediately opened, the Black took Jeffreys' hand and assisted him to alight. The mysterious guide then hurried his prisoner into a house, up a flight of stairs and into a room, where he conducted him to a seat.

"Remove the bandage from your eyes," said the Black.

This command was instantly and cheerfully obeyed; and Jeffreys, casting a rapid glance around, found himself to be in a well-furnished apartment, of which he and his mysterious guide were the only occupants. The curtains were drawn completely over the windows; and Jeffreys had not the least idea of the locality to which he had been brought.

Opposite to him, but in such a manner that the light of the candles did not fall upon his countenance, sate the Black, whose person Jeffreys was now enabled to examine more narrowly than when they were walking arm-in-arm in the neighbourhood of Horsemonger Lane Gaol; and that survey showed him a man of middle height, well-built, and dressed in good but plain attire. His features were too delicate to be of the negro cast: he had no whiskers, and his hair was of the glossiest jet and seemed to curl naturally. On the table near him lay a pair of pistols; and over the mantelpiece two swords hung cross-wise, beneath a formidable blunderbuss.

The Black allowed Jeffreys leisure to examine the apartment, probably with the view of convincing him, by the appearance of the weapons distributed about, that he was in a place where treachery could be punished in a moment, and that it would be prudent for him to resolve beforehand to accept any conditions that might be proposed to him.

After a short pause, the Black assumed an attitude significant of his intention to open the business of the morning's adventure.

"John Jeffreys," he said, in his calm but imposing manner, "I am well acquainted with all that concerns you; and I know your readiness to serve those who pay you well. Now, however well Old Death may have already paid, or may promise to pay you, for any thing you may have done or may have to do for him, I will pay you better. Do you choose to enter my service—my service exclusively, remember; because, in serving me, you can really serve none other?"

"You seem to know me well, indeed, master," said Jeffreys, assuming a familiar tone, now that he began to fancy the Black to be no better than he should be.

"Dispense with jocularity, sir," exclaimed the other sternly; and Jeffreys shrank from the severe look fixed upon him and the haughty manner which accompanied the words just uttered. "Look you," continued the Black,—"I may as well inform you at once that the companionship which you may expect to enjoy with me, will not be of the kind to which you are accustomed with such men as those from whom you parted an hour ago. If you serve me, you must become my slave: you must execute my bidding without even pausing to reflect on the motives which may instigate the commands I shall give you. You must consent to become a mere automaton in my hands—a machine that is to move only as I choose to direct. There will be no familiarity between us—no friendship. All will be enveloped in the strictest mystery; and you will often have to act without comprehending what you are doing, or the objects you are destined to accomplish. You will moreover be watched by invisible spies—at least by persons whose supervision you will not suspect; so that the least attempt at treachery on your part will be sure to meet with instantaneous punishment—and that punishment is death."

"I see nothing to object to, sir, in all that," said Jeffreys, now speaking in a respectful tone, "providing the advantages are as great as they ought to be."

"The advantages to you will be immense," resumed the Black; "and I will explain them. In the first place, there is nothing criminal in my service—nothing that can make you tremble when a stranger taps you on the shoulder. On the contrary, I will protect you even from the effects of the crimes which you have already committed, should they transpire by accident or by the treachery of any of your former accomplices. Your salary shall be liberal and regularly paid; and thus you will be freed from those vicissitudes which make such men as you rich to-day and poor to-morrow. When the time shall come—which it must—that I no longer need your services, I will settle on you an income for the remainder of your days. These are the advantages which I offer you."

"If you only fulfil one tenth part, sir——" began Jeffreys, delighted at the prospects opening before him.

"I am not in the habit of promising more than I can perform," interrupted the Black haughtily. "If my service suits you, you enter it from this moment."

"I accept the terms with joy and gratitude," said Jeffreys.

"Good!" exclaimed the Black; and tossing a well-filled purse towards his new servant, he said, "There are a hundred pounds to confirm the bargain. One piece of advice I must give you:—indeed, it involves a condition on which I must insist; and this is, that you do not, through idle vanity, display your gold to those persons who may be likely to suspect that you have not come honestly by it. For you will not be able to give any satisfactory explanation; and I do not choose you to get into any difficulty just that I may have the trouble of getting you out of it again. Why I say that you will be able to give no satisfactory explanation relative to the source of your prosperity, is because you will not know who your master is—nor where he lives—nor any thing concerning him. You will have no one to refer to, in case you fall into difficulty: at the same time, I should hear of it, and would hasten to assist you, if you be worthy of my regard—if you deserve that I should care for your welfare."

"But how am I to receive your orders, sir, if I do not know where you live nor who you are?" inquired Jeffreys, his astonishment and awe increasing with every word that came from the lips of his new master.

"Shall not I know where you live?" said the Black, smiling for the first time since they had met: "and can I not come to you when I require your services? Will not the post convey my letters? and have I not messengers to dispatch to you? Leave all those matters to me; trouble not yourself relative to the means of communication between us: and ask no questions which do not bear upon the mechanical and even blind service which you are to devote to me. You will find me a good and liberal master, if you prove faithful, diligent, and sincere; but should you attempt to practise perfidy against me—should you deceive me in any one single thing, however trifling, I shall become a terrible and implacable enemy."

"I can have no interest in deceiving you, sir, considering all the advantages your service holds out," said Jeffreys: "and yet I should like to know a little more of the nature of what you will require at my hands—what I shall have to do, indeed."

"No—I will explain nothing," returned the Black. "I have already assured you that my service is safe, so far as the laws of the country are concerned, and that you will never be called upon to do a deed of which you need be ashamed—supposing that you have any shame in you. I say this, because I know that you have hitherto pursued evil courses—that you have maintained a desperate connexion with Benjamin Bones—and that many robberies have taken place through your instrumentality, if not actually perpetrated by your hands. But if you remain in my service, I hope to render you a better man—I hope to see the day come when you will know what proper shame is, and will blush at many of the actions of your earlier years. Of this enough, however, for the present. I did not bring you hither to listen to moral lectures or sermons from my lips. Neither do I believe that precepts are of much benefit to a man who has pursued a long career of vice and error. Example does much more—but experience most of all. When you shall have learnt the value of good conduct and the advantage of fidelity to him whom you serve, you will see how far preferable it is to dwell without the fear of incurring the resentment of outraged laws than to lead an existence of harassing excitement produced by the perpetual dread of falling into the grasp of justice. But, again I say, of this enough. Do you still adhere to your desire to enter my service?"

"I do, sir," was the answer, delivered in a firm tone.

"I must then warn you," resumed the Black, "that though I exact the most complete fidelity from you—and though I should punish, in a terrible manner, the least perfidy on your part,—yet, in respect to others, you will often be compelled to exercise stratagem and practise plots which at first sight may appear treacherous. You will have to wage war, perhaps, against some of your old companions—to defeat their projects—even to betray their schemes. Are you prepared to agree to all this?"

"I am prepared to obey your orders in all things," was the reply.

"Without even questioning my motives?"

"That was a condition already imposed by you, and agreed to by me."

"And you will undertake never to breathe to a single soul a word relative to the secret service in which you are engaged? Remember," added the Black, hastily, "I merely mention this as a warning; because I should immediately detect any treachery on your part, and should not hesitate to punish it terribly."

"I wish you would at once put me to the test in some way or another, sir," said Jeffreys. "You seem to know all about me—but in what way you got your information, is of course a mystery to me. However, you do know me well—and, having that knowledge of me, I can perfectly understand that you do not feel disposed to trust to my bare word in any thing. Now give me something to do—put me on trial in some way or another—and then judge whether I am the man to serve a good paymaster, or not."

"You speak to the point—and I will at once put you to the test you solicit," returned the Black; "and mind how you reply to my questions—because, even were you to amuse me with deceptive answers now, in a few hours I should discover the real truth, and my vengeance would overtake you—aye, even in the midst of those companions whom I am about to ask you to betray. In a word, then, what was the nature of the business which took you and two other men to Old Death's lodgings last evening, and detained you there a great portion of the night?"

"One word, sir, before I answer the question!" exclaimed Jeffreys. "If I reveal to you every thing which took place between myself, those two men and Old Death last night, will you not think that in the same manner I shall betray to them what is now taking place between you and me?"

"I have already told you that the greatest proof of faithful service towards me is to betray others," returned the Black; "and I have given you ample assurance that if you attempt to betray me to others, certain vengeance will overtake you."

"Then if you consider my treachery towards others as a proof of fidelity to you, sir," continued Jeffreys, "I am content to be put to such a test. You ask me what took place between Old Death, Tim the Snammer, Josh Pedler, and myself last night; and I will tell you word for word. A few weeks ago one Thomas Rainford was hanged at Horsemonger Lane gaol, and was buried in St. Luke's churchyard. To-night Old Death means to have the coffin dug up, and conveyed to the house of certain people named Bunce, in Earl Street, Seven Dials; to which house he himself will move to-day. It seems that this Rainford was the eldest brother of the Earl of Ellingham, against whom Old Death has a dreadful spite; and so he intends to have the body of Tom Rain taken out of the coffin, a rope put round its neck, and a placard on its breast, stating that the famous highwayman was the Earl's brother. The body is then to be conveyed to Pall Mall, and placed on the steps of the nobleman's house. This is one part of the scheme concocted last night, and which me and the two other men were engaged to execute."

"Go on," said the Black, in a low tone.

"The part that's to come is worse than what I've already told you, sir," observed Jeffreys; "and I am afraid that if you know I consented to serve in the matter——"

"Go on—go on," exclaimed the Black, impatiently.

"Well, sir—since I must, I will tell you all," continued Jeffreys. "Old Death has found out that a lady, named Esther—Esther—I forget——"

"Never mind! Go on, I say," cried the Black, more impatiently than before.

"I was saying that Old Death had found out that this lady was the mistress of Tom Rain, the famous highwayman, and that the Earl has a great esteem for her. He has also heard that the Earl is going—or was going—to marry another lady, named Hatfield; and he has made up his mind to have these two ladies carried off and conveyed to Bunce's house in Seven Dials. When he has got them there, sir, he intends——But I really——"

"Go on, man!" exclaimed the Black. "What does he mean to do?"

"To put their eyes out," replied Jeffreys, in a low tone, and speaking with considerable hesitation.

"The fiend!—the monster!" ejaculated the Black, starting from his chair; but instantly composing himself, he resumed his seat, saying, "Was that the full extent of the atrocity planned and agreed upon last night?"

"That was the whole scheme, sir," answered Jeffreys. "Benjamin Bones agreed to give us each a hundred pounds for serving him in those matters, and he paid us each thirty on account."

"Show me your share," said the Black, abruptly.

Jeffreys hesitated, and turned pale.

"Beware how you deceive me—take care how you trifle with me!" exclaimed his master. "If you received those thirty pounds from Old Death, you must have them about you now; for I know," he added emphatically and significantly, "that between the time you left his lodgings and stopped at your own door, whither I followed you expressly to ascertain where you lived, you entered no place at which you could have deposited the money."

Jeffreys no longer dared to hesitate; but taking a large roll of Bank-notes and a quantity of gold from his pocket, he spread them upon the table, saying, "The thirty pounds I received from Old Death last night are amongst this lot."

"And whence did you obtain such a large sum?" demanded the Black, hastily glancing over the amount, "there are several hundreds of pounds here!"

"Well, sir," said Jeffreys, completely over-awed by the tone and manner of his new master, as well as by the mystery which surrounded him; "I will tell you all about it—and then you will be convinced that I am ready and anxious to secure your good opinion. I was until very lately in the service of a Mr. Torrens——"

"Ah!" exclaimed the Black, starting as if with sudden surprise at the information he had just received: then, again composing himself, he said in his usual calm, but authoritative manner, "Proceed."

"This Mr. Torrens was paid a sum of money a few days ago—about fifteen hundred pounds," continued Jeffreys; "and I put Old Death up to it."

"Benjamin Bones again—Benjamin Bones at the bottom of every villainy!" cried the Black, in an excited manner.

"Well, sir—and so Old Death sent two men—the very same men who was with me at his lodgings last night—to rob Mr. Torrens of the money. They succeeded, and Old Death changed the large notes into small ones and gold; because large notes are useless to such men as Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler. If they attempted to change a fifty pound note, they would get taken up in a moment; whereas they can manage to smash small notes at the public-houses where they deal. So Old Death had his share of the plunder; and mine is part of that heap. I have now told you every thing, sir——"

"No—not every thing!" said the Black, in a more serious and solemn tone than he had yet adopted during his interview with Jeffreys. "Mr. Torrens is in Newgate—charged with a fearful crime," he continued; "and his daughter Rosamond is in a state bordering on despair at the house of kind and generous people with whom I am acquainted."

"Good God! who are you?" exclaimed Jeffreys, surveying his master in terror and amazement. "You know every thing—every body! The least word that is uttered leads to a subject with which you are sure to be acquainted! Oh! sir—if you have had me brought here to do me a mischief—to get me into trouble—to make me confess things—"

"Fear not, Jeffreys!" interrupted the Black, in a reassuring tone. "I am acquainted with Mr. Torrens' version of the history of that murder—and I know that suspicion rests not upon you. But I now perceive clearly that the tale which Mr. Torrens has told to his daughter, and which his daughter has repeated to those friends of mine who have granted her an asylum,—I perceive that this tale is, alas! too true, strange and incredible as it at first appeared. Yes: Mr. Torrens did not deceive his daughter! The house was entered by two men and robbed, as he described the occurrence—and those two men were the real murderers of Sir Henry Courtenay! Jeffreys," continued the Black, in a lower and more measured tone, "you are now completely in my power. Nay—start not—fear not: it is far from my intention to harm you. But it is as well for you to know that you are now bound to me in two ways: first, because I pay you for your services—secondly, because I will denounce you as an accomplice and an accessory before the fact, in respect to that murder, if you hesitate to fulfil my orders! On the other hand, if you remain faithful—if you serve me with that blind obedience and implicit zeal which I exact from you, you have nothing to fear, but every thing to hope."

"Before I was in your power I had made up my mind to serve you in the manner you state," said Jeffreys; "and now of course I am compelled to do so. Give me your orders—what is there for me to undertake? Shall I inform against Josh Pedler and Tim Splint? or shall I go and set the constables upon Old Death, who was an accomplice in the robbery, since he sent those two men to commit it."

"Silence, Jeffreys!" exclaimed the Black imperiously: "it is not for you to suggest any thing—but to perform what is suggested by myself! And remember—I will not allow you to take a single step in these matters, unauthorised by me. Stir not of your own accord—or you will only involve yourself in ruin. See the position in which you are placed! If the two men who murdered Sir Henry Courtenay, be surrendered up to justice, they may confess all—and their confession would implicate you and Benjamin Bones. Nevertheless, an innocent victim shall not be sacrificed to the blood-thirsty law which authorises the punishment of death: Mr. Torrens must be saved! This is an affair which demands the greatest caution; and if you utter a word more than I direct you to speak, or take a single step unknown to me, you will be undone! But time has passed rapidly—more rapidly than I had expected, while we have been thus conversing together," added the Black, looking at his watch. "It is now day-light—and you cannot depart hence until the evening."

He knew by the hour that morning had dawned some time; but the window-shutters were closed, and the curtains were thick and ample, so that not a gleam of sunshine penetrated into that apartment, where the candles were still burning.

"Yes—you must remain here until the evening," repeated the Black. "At what time was it arranged that you should meet the other agents of Old Death in order to visit St. Luke's churchyard?"

"To-night at eleven," answered Jeffreys; "and the place of appointment is at the back of the burial-ground. But do you intend, sir, that I should fulfil my agreement with Benjamin Bones?"

"Ask me no questions!" cried his master, evidently much excited—if not absolutely perplexed by the various ideas that were agitating in his brain. "I have not yet resolved how to act: I must be alone for some hours to meditate! In the meantime you no doubt stand in need of rest? Follow me."

With these words the Black took up a candle and led the way into an adjoining room, which was fitted up as a bed-chamber. There also the shutters were closed, and the curtains drawn over the windows.

"This will be your apartment until the evening," said the Black: "but as I am accustomed to adopt all proper precautions to ensure the complete carrying out of my views, I shall be compelled to place some one with you, and I most moreover request that those shutters remain closed throughout the day."

Jeffreys' new master rang a bell; and in a few minutes a tall, thin, genteel-looking lad, but of a complexion as dark as his own, answered the summons.

"Cæsar," said the elder Black, addressing the lad, "you will stay in this room until I give you permission to leave it; and you will see that Jeffreys, whom I have taken into my service," he added significantly, "is supplied with every thing which he requires in the shape of refreshments."

"Yes, sir," replied the youth, in a respectful manner.

The Black then quitted the room; and Jeffreys remained with the lad who had been addressed by the name of Cæsar.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

LXXXVIII. SCENES AT THE BLACKAMOOR'S HOUSE

When the Black returned to the parlour where he had received from the lips of Jeffreys revelations which had produced a strange effect upon his mind, he threw himself upon the sofa, and gave way to his reflections.

Although he had been up all night, yet he experienced no sensation of weariness: he possessed a soul of such indomitable energy that by a natural kind of sympathy between mind and matter, it sustained even the physical powers to a wondrous degree.

We must follow him in the train of meditations into which he was plunged; for the affairs in which he suddenly found himself interested, through the confessions of John Jeffreys, were of so complicated and so difficult a nature,—involving, too, so many delicate points,—that to a mind endowed with one whit less of courage, or with one gleam less of clearness, those affairs would have appeared to be entangled beyond all possibility of a safe and prudent unravelling.

Let the reader bear in mind that there were two distinct affairs in question; although they might at a first glance be confounded, because certain persons who were connected with one were also involved in the other.

The first of these affairs was the scheme of Old Death to avenge himself on the Earl of Ellingham,—a scheme involving many frightful details, such as the exhumation of a coffin, the capture of Esther de Medina and Lady Hatfield, and the atrocity of blinding those fair and interesting creatures.

The other affair was the accusation of Mr. Torrens of a crime which he had not committed, and the necessity of proving his innocence.

"If those miscreants Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler be informed against," reasoned the Black within himself, "they will be certain that either Benjamin Bones or John Jeffreys has betrayed them, and they will accordingly give a full and complete explanation, the result of which would be that the whole four would swing together. But I am bound to save Jeffreys from that terrible fate; and God forbid that that I should be the means, direct or indirect, of sending Benjamin Bones to the scaffold! And yet, on the other hand, knowing all that I have elicited from Jeffreys, and acting in the true spirit of that mission which I have voluntarily undertaken, I dare not allow this innocent man Torrens to be condemned by a frightful combination of circumstantial evidence, when the utterance of a single word will prove him guiltless and fix the crime on those who really perpetrated it. How stands the matter, then? Torrens must be saved on the one hand; but the real murderers must be allowed to escape on the other! Oh! this is a fatal necessity—a dreadful alternative; and yet it is imperious!"

The Black rose and paced the room with slow and measured steps. He reflected profoundly. He separated all the details of the two complicated matters which occupied his thoughts, and examined them one by one.

"In respect to the vengeance of Benjamin Bones,"—it was thus that his musings were continued after a time,—"that scheme must be completely strangled at once—annihilated at its very commencement. Not for worlds must aught scandalous or degrading occur to Arthur, Earl of Ellingham!—not for worlds must the relationship subsisting between him and Thomas Rainford be published and proclaimed! Yes—Benjamin Bones must be rendered powerless for the future;—and yet how can this be accomplished without permitting a legal tribunal to seize upon him?"

The Black continued to pace the room, his sable countenance denoting by its workings the searching keenness with which his mind seized upon and examined each successive project that suggested itself as a means to accomplish all his objects and carry out all his aims in a manner certain to produce the results which he was anxious and resolved to bring about.

At length one particular scheme flashed to his mind; and the smile which appeared on his countenance, as his imagination seized on that project, was an augury of its subsequent adoption. He weighed it well in all its details—he calculated its consequences—he minutely examined all its certain results,—and he arrived at the conviction that, though a large and even a dangerous measure, it was the only one whereby all his designs could be effected.

Having resolved to carry it into execution, the Black felt his mind relieved of a considerable load;—and, seating himself at the table, he wrote the following letter:—

"The account which Rosamond Torrens received from her father relative to the assassination of Sir Henry Courtenay, and which that unfortunate girl recited to you, is strictly and substantially correct. Accident has enabled me to discover the real perpetrators of the crime; and Mr. Torrens shall be saved! You will know in what terms to convey this assurance to that poor, suffering creature whom you have taken under your protection."

The Black sealed this note, and addressed it to "Miss Esther de Medina, Manor House, Finchley." He then repaired to the room where he had left Jeffreys and Cæsar together, and found that the former, having partaken of some refreshments, had thrown himself on the bed and fallen into a profound sleep.

"Cæsar," said the Black, "you must hasten to Finchley with this letter. Take your horse and delay not. On your return, come back by way of Grafton Street, and tell Dr. Lascelles that I desire to see him as soon as he can possibly visit me."

Cæsar immediately departed to execute these commissions; and the Black seated himself by the side of the bed on which Jeffreys was sleeping.

Nearly an hour passed, and the man did not awake. The Black rang the bell, and a domestic in plain clothes answered the summons.

"Wilton," said his master, "remain here, and keep watch upon this person,"—pointing to the sleeper. "When he awakes, ring the bell."

The servant bowed obedience to these instructions; and the Black left the room.

* * * * *

Several hours had passed away, and it was three o'clock in the afternoon.

Cæsar had returned with letters for his master, who had scarcely made an end of their perusal when Dr. Lascelles was announced.

"Well, my dear friend," said the physician, "what new scheme have you now in view? in what new project do you require my assistance?"

"Sit down, Doctor, and listen to me attentively," observed the Black; "for many and strange incidents have occurred since I saw you last. But perhaps you have been to Finchley; and in that case, one of those circumstances to which I allude will have been made known to you."

"No, my dear friend," replied Dr. Lascelles, depositing his hat and gloves on one chair and himself in another: "I have not had time to call upon the Medinas since they removed to their country residence. I have been experimentalising on a most splendid brain which the surgeon of St. Bartholomew's Hospital was kind enough to send me as a present. But of what nature is the circumstance of which I should have heard at Finchley, had I called? Nothing disagreeable, I hope?"

"I will explain it to you in as few words as possible," answered the Black, seating himself opposite to the physician. "The day before yesterday—at about five o'clock in the evening—Mr. de Medina and Esther were walking along the high road in the immediate vicinity of the Manor, to which they had removed, as you are well aware, in the morning, when they saw a beautiful young creature sitting on the step of a stile, and evidently a prey to the most heart-rending anguish. They accosted her—spoke kindly to her—and at length induced her to tell just so much of her sorrowful tale as to enlist their warmest sympathies in her behalf. They took her to the Manor; but on their arrival, the poor girl was so overcome by illness, fatigue, and distress of mind, that Esther insisted on her retiring to rest. Yesterday morning she was so far recovered as to render it unnecessary to send for you in your medical capacity; and Esther assured her that she might not only look upon the Manor as her home, but that she should be treated with all the kindness, attention, and respect, due to her misfortunes. It then appears that the poor creature made a confidant of Esther, and revealed her entire story, which shows how deeply she is to be pitied, and how cruel were the circumstances that had driven her from her home, and made her resolve to fly from London as from a city of pestilence. The entire details of that story I will give you presently. Yesterday afternoon I repaired to the Manor, and the particulars connected with the young lady were confidentially narrated to me by Mr. de Medina. Last night the metropolis rang with the rumours of a dreadful murder having been discovered——"

"The assassination of Sir Henry Courtenay," remarked the physician; "and the murderer, a gentleman named Torrens, is in Newgate."

"The alleged murderer, you mean, doctor," said the Black, emphatically. "And now prepare yourself to hear an amazing revelation—for the young creature who found an asylum at Finchley Manor, is the daughter of that alleged murderer, and her name is Rosamond."

"But surely she could not have been in any way implicated——"

"Patience, doctor—patience," said the Black. "On hearing last night of the arrest of Mr. Torrens, I immediately dispatched Cæsar to Finchley with a note to Mr. de Medina, containing the sad intelligence; and I find by letters which I have just received," he added, glancing towards the documents which lay open on the table, "that the news were broken as delicately as possible to the unhappy girl: nevertheless, she is, as you may suppose, a prey to the most lively grief; and it has been with the greatest difficulty that Mr. de Medina and Esther have restrained her from flying to Newgate to console her father. Let me now relate her history to you."

The Black then detailed those incidents in connexion with Rosamond, which are already known to the reader—save and except the dreadful fact that Mr. Torrens had sold his daughter's virtue to Sir Henry Courtenay; for though the unhappy girl had confessed the outrage which had been perpetrated on her, she knew not—as the reader will remember—that her own father had been an accomplice in the fearful deed.

"I have now some further explanations to give you, doctor," continued the Black; "and then I shall have completed my long, long preface to the business which induced me to request your presence here now. In pursuance of that grand and difficult project, the nature of which is so well known to you, I resolved to enlist one of Old Death's confederates, or rather instruments, in my own service. Accordingly, last night, as soon as I had dispatched Cæsar to Finchley with the note containing the intelligence of Mr. Torrens' arrest, I went into the Borough, and watched in the neighbourhood of Old Death's lodgings: for I informed you a few days ago, if you recollect, that Cæsar had succeeded in discovering the abode of that terrible man. Well, I kept not my watch uselessly; for I soon beheld three men enter the house in Horsemonger Lane, individually and at short intervals. Two of them were unknown to me—although I have since found that their names were by no means unfamiliar; but the third was a fellow of whom I knew something. This was John Jeffreys—once a servant in the employ of Sir Christopher Blunt. Now it immediately struck me that this was the very man who would suit my purposes; for he is crafty—intelligent—and always ready to serve the best paymaster. I accordingly resolved to enlist him in my employ; and to this determination I was the more readily brought, because I felt convinced that mischief was brewing under the auspices of Old Death. The fact of the three men arriving so mysteriously—singly and at short intervals, on the same evening, evidently by appointment—and the length of time they remained in the place, were sufficient arguments to prove to a far less experienced person than myself, that a council of desperate men was being held for no good purposes. It was not until past three this morning, that the villains separated. I had already made up my mind how to act, and a hackney-coach was ordered by me to wait beneath the wall of Horsemonger Lane. I fancied that Old Death's visitors would depart singly as they had arrived; and my expectations were so far realised that Jeffreys went off by himself. I resolved to follow him home first—for I suspected that he lived at no great distance; because, I thought that if I could not succeed in inducing him to accompany me, I should at least know where to find him on another occasion. At his own door I accosted him; and, by working on his fears by means of my mysterious behaviour, as well as by holding out to him vague threats that I was prepared to carry him off by force, if he should resist me, I succeeded in bringing him blindfold to this house."

"Well done!" exclaimed the physician. "And so I presume you have regularly enlisted the respectable Mr. Jeffreys into your service—thereby securing the aid of a spy in the enemy's camp."

"The very object aimed at—the very point gained!," cried the Black, "Jeffreys, under the joint influence of bribery and menaces, is completely mine: and he gave me proofs of his fidelity by revealing to me many interesting matters. Indeed, it was providentially fortunate that I got him into my power and service just at this particular time; as you shall judge for yourself."

He then related the details of the damnable conspiracy planned by Old Death, and to be executed by his myrmidons, against the peace of the Earl of Ellingham and the happiness of Lady Hatfield and Esther de Medina.

"This man is a perfect monster!" ejaculated Dr. Lascelles indignantly. "How is it possible that you can have any forbearance, my dear friend? Set your retainers to watch for him—have him captured—and lock him up for life in one of the dungeons which he himself doubtless rendered serviceable to his own purposes on more than one occasion."

"Patience, doctor," said the Black: "nothing must be done rashly nor without due consideration. Besides, you are well aware that my object is to endeavour to reform that bad man——"

"Reform the devil!" cried the physician impatiently. "You know very well that I ridiculed the idea when you first started it."

"And I intend to try the experiment, doctor," observed the Black, calmly but firmly. "In the meantime, pray listen to me. In the course of the conversation which I had with Jeffreys this morning, he mentioned the name of Torrens; and to my surprise I found that he had lately been in that gentleman's service. When Rosamond told her story to Esther, the poor girl alluded several times to her father's man-servant, as I stated to you just now; but as she did not happen to mention his name—or if she did, it was not mentioned to me—I was unaware of the identity of that domestic and Jeffreys till the latter himself suffered the fact to transpire. Then was it that I also received a corroboration of the truth of the version which Mr. Torrens had given his daughter of those circumstances that led to the death of Sir Henry Courtenay; for Jeffreys instigated the robbery at Torrens Cottage—Benjamin Bones appointed two men to execute it—and those men assassinated the baronet."

"You have thus become the depositor of a very agreeable secret, my dear friend," said the doctor, somewhat ironically. "How do you intend to act? For my part, I consider the position to be embarrassing; for if those two men are arrested, they will perhaps inform against Jeffreys and Old Death,—and, in this case, you lose not only your new dependant, but also the opportunity of trying your great moral theory—which I call great moral nonsense—upon the respectable Mr. Benjamin Bones."

"Doctor—doctor," exclaimed the Black, in a reproachful tone: "is this your friendship for me? is this the way in which you fulfil your promise of assistance?"

"Pardon me, my dear fellow," cried the good-hearted physician, wringing his companion's hand violently. "If I talk to you in that fashion, it is simply because I am deeply anxious for your welfare, and that—in consequence of certain circumstances which we need not specify—I look upon you just as if you were my own son. You know that I am ready to serve you by day and by night—that you may command me at all times, and my purse to its fullest extent——"

"A thousand thanks, doctor, for these proofs of generous friendship," interrupted the Black. "Your assistance I indeed require: on your purse, thanks to the liberality of Mr. de Medina and the Earl of Ellingham, I shall not be compelled to make any inroad."

"Then in what way can I assist you?" demanded the physician.

"I will explain myself," continued the Black. "But first I must tell you that the very two men who murdered Sir Henry Courtenay, are of the gang employed by Old Death to persecute the Earl and the two ladies in whom we all feel an interest—I mean Georgiana Hatfield and Esther de Medina."

"This makes the business more complicated," said the doctor: "because if those two men are arrested on the charge of murder, they may perhaps confess not only that Old Death urged them to the robbery and that Jeffreys was an accomplice in it; but they may also state the services which Benjamin Bones hired them to perform respecting the Earl and the two ladies,—thereby at once publishing to the world that Thomas Rainford was indeed the elder brother of the Earl, and propagating the infamous scandal relative to Esther de Medina having been the said Thomas Rainford's mistress."

"You embrace the whole difficulty—or rather the greater portion of it at once, my dear doctor," exclaimed the Black, delighted to find that his friend entered so minutely and with such keen perception into the affair. "The business presses in every way. In the first place, it is necessary that an innocent man should be relieved as speedily as possible from the dreadful charge hanging over his head; and secondly, the exhumation of the coffin in Saint Luke's churchyard must be prevented this night."

"Certainly it must;" observed Dr. Lascelles. "For if once Old Death knew that the coffin contained not the remains of Thomas Rainford, the discovery might engender certain suspicions in the mind of such an astute old scoundrel as he."

"In a word, doctor, Torrens must be saved; and yet the two men, who rejoice in the names of Joshua Pedler and Timothy Splint, must not be handed over to justice," observed the Black.

"Such ought to be the policy adopted," said the physician: "and, remember, that though these two men are not to be rendered up to justice, they must be taken such care of for the future as to commit no more murders and accept no more employ in the service of such miscreants as Old Death."

"Of that I shall indeed take good care," said the Black.

"But how will it be possible to save Torrens without handing Splint and Pedler over to justice in his place?" demanded the physician. "You will be a clever fellow if you accomplish that difficulty."

"I am prepared to encounter it, doctor," returned the Black; "and you must aid me in the business. Are you so intimately acquainted with any magistrate or justice of the peace, that you could invite him to dinner?"

"What an extraordinary question!" cried Dr. Lascelles, laughing. "How will my asking a magistrate to dinner serve your purposes?"

"Only thus far," responded the Black: "that you would have the kindness to walk a little way with him on his return home in the evening, and that I should have you both very quietly kidnapped, blindfolded, and carried off to some place where you would both have to receive and witness the statements made by two men named Joshua Pedler and Timothy Splint, whom I shall have safe in my own custody within a few hours."

"I understand," said the physician, laughing heartily. "Capital! capital! But, by the bye,—when I think of it—your old friend Sir Christopher Blunt was gazetted two days ago to be one of his Majesty's Justices of the Peace for the County of Middlesex. Would he not serve your purpose? or do you think——"

The physician paused and looked the Black steadfastly and significantly in the face.

"He will answer admirably!" exclaimed the latter, after a few moments' reflection. "Yes—better than any other, all things considered! I will undertake to get him into my power without giving you the trouble to ask him to dinner. But I must request, doctor, that to-morrow night at eleven o'clock you will take a lonely walk in some very retired spot, and at a good distance off too, so that you may lose all trace of the path pursued by your kidnappers."

"You do not require two persons, surely?" said Lascelles.

"Yes—it will be better," responded the Black; "a Justice of the Peace, and a competent and credible witness. Do you happen to have any patient in the neighbourhood of Bethlem, for instance?"

"Let me see," said the doctor, in a musing manner. "Yes," he cried: "an old lady whom I have not visited for some time."

"Very good," observed the Black. "Then you can call on her to-morrow evening; and between ten and eleven, as you are returning on foot—on foot, remember—you will be set upon by half a dozen ruffians," he continued, laughing, "who will blindfold you, shove you into a chaise, and carry you off—you never will be able to say whither."

"I understand you, my dear friend," said the physician, laughing heartily also. "Your scheme is admirable and certain of success."

"Thus far, then, the business is settled," observed the Black.

At that moment Cæsar entered the room, and informed his master that the man Jeffreys had just awoke, having slept uninterruptedly for many hours.

"But you have not left him alone, Cæsar?" exclaimed the Black.

"No, sir—Wilton is with him," was the answer given by the youth.

"Good!" observed his master: then, turning towards the doctor, he added, "If that fellow were to open the shutters and look out into the street, he might recognise the locality; and I intend to allow him no opportunity of playing me false."

"You act wisely," said the physician, who then took his departure, while the Black repaired to the chamber where Jeffreys was remaining.

The man rose and bowed respectfully on the entrance of his master, who, having dismissed Wilton, seated himself and proceeded to address his new dependant in the following manner:—

"I have resolved how to act in the emergencies which have arisen, and to which I have devoted my best consideration. You will not only be saved from the consequences of your connivance with the robbery which took place at Torrens Cottage, and which ended in so tragic a manner; but you will likewise be rendered secure from the possibility of being in any way implicated hereafter. My promises will be faithfully kept, if you prove faithful. But if, on the other hand, you deceive me, I will find you out wheresoever you may hide yourself; and you shall assuredly perish on the scaffold! For you cannot conceive the extent of my power to reward, nor of my ability to punish."

"I have seen enough, sir, to be convinced that you are some great person," said Jeffreys, "and I assure you that you will find me faithful and devoted."

"Act according to your words, and you will bless the day when you first encountered me," observed the Black. "And now listen to my instructions. Soon after it is dark you will be conveyed away from this house; and, at the proper hour, you will keep your appointment to-night with Pedler and Splint. You say that you are to meet them behind St. Luke's church. Do you mean in the road which separates the two burying-grounds from each other?"

"That is the place of meeting, sir," was the answer.

"Very well," continued the Black. "Is there any chance of Old Death forming one of the party?"

"Not the slightest, sir. He loves to plan and plot; but he usually pays agents to execute."

"I could have wished it had been otherwise. However, you will meet your two friends according to agreement; and you will endeavour to keep them in conversation for a few minutes in the road between the two burial-grounds. This will give my people time to surround them, as it were: for it is my intention to arrest those two men this very night."

Jeffreys looked alarmed and said, "They will be sure to think that I have betrayed them, sir."

"Leave all that to me," returned the Black. "I will take care that they shall never have the opportunity of injuring you. Wilton—the servant who has just left this chamber—will conduct the expedition to night; and he will allow you to escape. You will then proceed as quickly as possible to Seven Dials, where Old Death, according to what you told me this morning, must have already taken up his abode;—and you will tell him that when it came to the last moment, Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler were afraid to undertake the business of digging up the coffin, and resolved to have nothing more to do with him or his affairs. But you will assure him that you remain faithful to him, and that you can recommend two friends of your own who will be delighted to do all he requires for a quarter of the sum he agreed to pay Pedler and Splint. If he accepts the service of your pretended friends, you will make an appointment to meet him in some, low neighbourhood the day after to-morrow, in the evening. Let the time named be a late hour; and should he wish you and your friends to call on him in Earl Street, raise objections, as it does not suit my purpose that the appointment should be there. It must be a place of meeting from which he has to walk home afterwards."

"I understand all your commands, sir," said Jeffreys; "and you may depend upon them being faithfully executed."

"I rely upon you," observed the Black; and, after a few moments' consideration, he added, "To-morrow evening at nine o'clock, punctually, you must be in Wilderness Row, beneath the wall of the Charter House gardens; and I shall send some one to receive an account of your proceedings with Old Death, and give you further instructions. But once more I say, be faithful—be prudent—and avoid any vain or foolish display of your money."

"I wish you would have more confidence in me, sir," exclaimed Jeffreys: then, after a brief pause, he said, as an idea struck him, "I have a great deal of money about me, sir—and I wish you would take care of it for me."

"Now I am convinced of your honest intentions, my good fellow," said his master, in a kinder tone than he had yet adopted towards the man. "If you propose to leave your money with me as a guarantee of your good faith, I do not now require any such security: but if your object be to place it in safety, I will accept the trust."

"Well, sir—let it be in the way you have just mentioned," returned Jeffreys.

"Here is a drawer—lock up any thing you choose therein, and take the key with you," said the Black.

Jeffreys did as he was desired: Wilton was again summoned—an excellent dinner was supplied the new dependant and the servant who was appointed to remain with him;—and the Black retired to his own apartment.

Soon after it was dark, Jeffreys was blindfolded and conducted to a private carriage, which was waiting. Wilton accompanied him in the vehicle, which, after driving about for nearly an hour, stopped at last; and Jeffreys, on removing the bandage from his eyes, and alighting, found himself in an obscure street in the immediate vicinity of Shoreditch Church.

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LXXXIX. THE SURPRISE.—JEFFREYS AND OLD DEATH

The deep tones of St. Luke's bell, proclaiming the hour of eleven, oscillated though the gusty air, as Tim the Snammer entered the narrow road dividing the two burial-grounds belonging to the church. John Jeffreys was already at the place of appointment; and not many moments had elapsed after those two met, ere Josh Pedler joined them, bringing with him the necessary implements for the work of resurrectionists, and which he instantly threw over the wall.

"What a windy night it is," said Tim the Snammer; "and how precious dark."

"All the better for our business," observed Josh Pedler. "I should have been here a little earlier; but I had such a cursed deal of trouble to get rid of that bothering wench 'Tilda. She wouldn't let me come out at first; and swore that if I did, she'd foller me."

"And did she follow you?" demanded Jeffreys.

"Deuce a bit," answered Josh. "I was obliged to give her a good drubbing because she whimpered, and then another to make her hold her tongue; and afterwards we kissed and made it up—and so she went quietly to bed. What strange things women are, to be sure! If you beat 'em, they're sure to love you all the more."

"Well, are we going to stand here talking all night?" cried Tim the Snammer. "Who knows but what there's a watchman about here?"

"I know there isn't," said Jeffreys: "because I made the enquiry in a careless kind of way at a public-house close by, where I bought some brandy in a pint bottle."

"That's capital!" cried Tim. "Give us a dram, old feller."

"I got it on purpose to keep the cold out and our spirits up," said Jeffreys, playing his part admirably so as to gain time, in obedience to the orders he had received from his master. "Who was it that came with Tidmarsh this morning to see the place where Tom Rain is buried?"

"I did," answered Tim the Snammer, smacking his lips in approval of the brandy, and handing the bottle to Josh Pedler.

"Ah! Tom Rain was a fine fellow!" said Jeffreys. "I knew him well. In fact, I was with old Sir Christopher and Frank Curtis the night he robbed them. What a bold, dashing, and yet cool-headed chap Rainford was!"

"The finest highwayman that England ever had," observed Josh Pedler, returning the bottle to Jeffreys.

"Beat your Dick Turpins and your Jack Sheppards all to nothink!" added Tim the Snammer. "I say, Josh, let you and me take to the road when we've done Old Death's business for him, and sacked the blunt he's still got to pay us."

"Well—well, we'll see about it, Tim," answered Pedler. "But—hush! here's some one coming. Let's pretend to be walking on: we haven't time to jump over after the tools."

The three accordingly put themselves in motion; but Jeffreys knew pretty well that the critical moment was now at hand. Tim the Snammer affected to whistle a tune in a careless way; and Josh Pedler began talking loud on some indifferent subject.

Meantime, the footsteps advanced; and it was evident that more than one person was approaching. In fact, there seemed to be three or four; but Josh Pedler and Tim Splint had not the least suspicion of impending danger: they thought that a party of jovial fellows were returning from the public-house—an idea that was excited by the merry song which one of the persons now approaching was singing.

A few minutes brought the two parties within ten paces of each other; when a sudden and suspicious noise was heard, as of a rustling of clothes against the walls which bounded the road. Both Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler stopped short, alarmed and irresolute: the next instant they, as well as Jeffreys, were seized by two persons who leaped upon them from the walls, and by those who had advanced along the road.

Jeffreys was liberated the moment he mentioned his name; and he hurried away as quickly as possible from the scene of the surprise and capture;—but not before he had witnessed enough, even in the obscurity of the night, to convince him that Josh Pedler and Tim the Snammer were gagged and rendered powerless in the grasp of the agents of the mysterious Blackamoor.

And such was indeed the fact. Before they were able to offer the slightest resistance, or even utter a cry, they were reduced to the condition just described. Their captors immediately divided into two parties, each bearing off a prisoner, so that the villains had not even the consolation of remaining together.

So well were all the arrangements made to ensure the complete success of the affair, that a vehicle was waiting in the vicinity of each end of the road separating the burial-grounds; and the moment the prisoners were thrust inside, bandages were tied over their eyes.

Tim the Snammer was the first who arrived at the place of the villains' destination. At the expiration of an hour from the time of his capture, the vehicle, which had purposely driven about in a circuitous manner, stopped at a house, into which the prisoner was hurried. Up a flight of stairs he was then led—through several rooms—and at length down a long spiral descent of stone steps, a trap shutting with a crashing sound above, and a huge door opening and closing with the din of massiveness below,—then along a place in which the rapid tread of the numerous feet echoed with a gloomy and hollow sound, as if in a paved and vaulted passage,—and lastly into a dungeon, where the wretched man was deposited, unbound, and left to himself, the huge door closing upon him,—such was the hurried progress and ultimate destination of Tim the Snammer in the strange and unknown place to which his captors had borne him!

The treatment experienced by Josh Pedler was precisely the same, save that he did not enter his prison-house until a good half hour after the arrival of his companion in iniquity.

* * * * *

In the meantime, John Jeffreys proceeded to Seven Dials, and found Old Death seated with Mrs. Bunce, Toby having been dismissed—as was usual when Mr. Bones had business to transact in Earl Street—to the public-house to amuse himself with his pipe and his pint.

Old Death was surprised and alarmed when he beheld Jeffreys make his appearance so early, and unaccompanied by Tim Splint and Josh Pedler.

"Is any thing the matter?" enquired the ancient miscreant, as Mrs. Bunce carefully closed the room door.

"No great harm—only something to delay your business," replied Jeffreys.

"Well—if it's no worse, there isn't much harm done," said Old Death. "But where are the others?"

"It's just on account of them that nothing has been done to-night," answered Jeffreys. "In two words, they funked over the affair and have given it up."

"What!" cried Old Death, his countenance becoming grim and ghastly with rage and disappointment: "those scoundrels have received my money—my good money—thirty pounds each, in advance—and have given up the business! You are joking, Jeffreys,—you are bantering me! Why, Tim the Snammer would go through fire and water for such a sum of money as I promised him; and Josh Pedler would sell his skin for half the amount."

"All I can say is this, Mr. Bones," continued Jeffreys, "that I was punctual at the place of meeting at five minutes to eleven; and when Tim Splint and Josh Pedler made their appearance, they said they had changed their minds and should not proceed farther in the business, and that I might come and tell you so if I liked."

"The villains!—the rascals!" growled Old Death, clenching his fists, and working his toothless jaws about horribly as he spoke.

"I asked them what had made them come to such a resolution," proceeded Jeffreys; "and they said that on account of Torrens's affair they had plenty of money, and it was useless to risk transportation by turning resurrectionists, at least before it was all spent. I argued with them—but it was all in vain: they went away to some public-house; and as I couldn't do the job myself, I started off here to tell you what had occurred."

"Those men don't know me, or they would not attempt to play their tricks in this fashion," murmured Old Death: then, turning towards Jeffreys, he said in a louder tone, and in a conciliating manner, "But you are a good fellow—you are faithful and true, as I always found you; and I am pleased with you. The day will come when Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler shall bitterly repent of their conduct! But in the meantime I am not to be disappointed in my vengeance—I will not be foiled: I have set my mind on a particular course—and I will follow it."

"There are other men in the world who can do all you require, Mr. Bones, besides Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler," said Jeffreys. "I wish you had spoken to me first of all——"

"Why so?" demanded Old Death, hastily.

"Because I could have got a couple of chaps to help me to do all the business, and who would have been contented with a quarter of the money you promised those sneaking scoundrels Splint and Pedler," answered Jeffreys.

"Indeed!" cried Old Death eagerly. "You are a good fellow, Jeffreys—an excellent fellow; and you may always calculate upon having me as your friend. But where are these people that you speak of?—who are they?"

"You don't know any thing of them, I fancy," was the reply. "They are like myself—servants out of place; but they are a precious sight worse off than me in respect to money-matters, and would be glad to do any odd job for a ten-pound note or so."

"And when can you see them?" demanded Old Death.

"When can I see them?" repeated Jeffreys in a musing tone, as if he were giving the matter his most serious consideration: "why—I might hunt them up to-morrow night—in fact, I'm sure I could——"

"And you can make an appointment for me to see them the night after?" said Old-Death, with fiendish eagerness to consummate the atrocious vengeance which he had planned.

"I will undertake to do that, Mr. Bones," returned Jeffreys. "Shall I explain to them the nature of the business before they see you, or not?"

"No—let me see them first!" said Old Death. "Or stay—you may sound 'em about the resurrection business—but mention no names at all. Don't tell them who has employed you to treat with them——"

"Mr. Bones is a good judge of people's faces," observed Mrs. Bunce; "and knows by their looks whether they're to be trusted or not."

"Generally speaking, I do—generally speaking," said Old Death. "Now, for instance," he added, staring from beneath his shaggy, overhanging brows, full upon the countenance of Jeffreys, "I know that you're faithful—and I can trust you."

The man to whom these words were addressed, met the searching look fixed upon him with an unchanging cheek and eyes that quailed not; although for a moment he feared lest Old Death had suddenly entertained some suspicion concerning him. But it seemed that the ancient miscreant, with all his boasted skill in reading the human physiognomy, was on this occasion completely at fault.

"To tell you the truth, Jeffreys," he continued, "I never liked the looks of the Snammer: but I thought that good pay would make him faithful. However, he will yet repent his conduct towards me—and so shall Josh Pedler. If it wasn't for their infernal treachery, my vengeance would be by this time in a fair way towards prompt and speedy gratification. For if that Earl was allowed to go scot-free—if I didn't punish him—aye, and fearfully too—for all the injuries he has done to me, I should go mad! My property all destroyed—my riches taken from me—the very house that was so useful to me——"

"Don't take on so, Mr. Bones!" interrupted Mrs. Bunce, in a coaxing manner. "Come—shall I put a leetle brandy on the table?"

"No—gin!" ejaculated Old Death savagely: then, turning towards Jeffreys, he said, "You won't bring those friends of yours here, mind, the night after to-morrow: it will be quite time to let them know where I live and where business will afterwards lead them to meet me, when I have satisfied myself that they are of the right sort."

"You don't think I would ask you to employ any one that I wasn't sure of?" exclaimed Jeffreys, affecting an angry tone.

"No—no, my good fellow," hastily responded Old Death: "but experience—experience teaches us much; and my experience is greater than yours. Come—take a glass of gin-and-water, and don't be annoyed. I didn't mean to vex you."

"Say no more about it, then," observed Jeffreys. "Where shall we meet the night after to-morrow?"

"Let me see," mused Benjamin Bones aloud: "I have an appointment for that evening in the actual neighbourhood of St. Luke's Church; and there's a flash ken in Helmet Row, called the Stout House. We will meet there between ten and eleven."

"Agreed," said Jeffreys. "Have you any farther instructions?"

"None—none, my good fellow," answered Old Death: "only don't promise your two friends too much for the services required of them. You see how I have lost already by those scoundrels Pedler and Splint: but I will be even with them—I will!"

"The two persons I shall introduce to you will do your work well and cheap, Mr. Bones," replied Jeffreys; "and I am sure you will be satisfied. I shall now be off—because I may perhaps find them to-night. At all events we meet at the Stout House, Helmet Row, the night after next."

"Exactly," said Old Death. "By the way, if you run against Tim the Snammer or Josh Pedler, just try and find out where they are to be met with, and let me know."

"I'll bear it in mind," answered Jeffreys.

He then took his departure, well pleased at the success which had hitherto attended his proceedings in working out the designs and fulfilling the instructions of his master.

But who was that master?—and where dwelt the mysterious personage? Ah! these were points which defied all conjecture.

* * * * *

On the following evening, shortly before nine o'clock, Jeffreys was pacing Wilderness Row, in obedience to the appointment arranged by his employer.

He was not kept waiting many minutes, ere the youth Cæsar accosted him.

"Our master," said the lad, "has sent me to inquire of you the result of your interview with Old Death; and he desires me to assure you that he is well satisfied with your conduct of last night, inasmuch as you effectually amused your companions until their captors came up. But what of Old Death?"

"He has completely fallen into the snare laid for him," answered Jeffreys; "and will meet me and my two friends," he added significantly, "at the Stout House, Helmet Row, to-morrow night between ten and eleven."

"Good!" observed Cæsar. "Wilton and another of our master's retainers, both dressed in a suitable manner, will meet you at that place to-morrow night shortly before ten, so that you may have time to arrange the plan of proceeding together, before Old Death makes his appearance."

"I shall not fail to be there at a quarter to ten," answered Jeffreys. "Have you any further orders for me?"

"Yes," replied Cæsar: "listen! To-morrow you must endeavour to find out the abode of one Tidmarsh, a friend of Old Death's."

"That will be easily accomplished to-morrow night when I meet Benjamin Bones," said Jeffreys. "You are aware that the object of my appointment with him, is to introduce to him two friends of mine who will undertake to dig up the remains of Tom Rainford, the famous highwayman."

"Yes—yes," said Cæsar hastily.

"Well," continued Jeffreys, "I am supposed to be the leader of the party by whom that task is to be performed; and I shall tell Old Death that he must send Tidmarsh with me in the morning to point out the place where Rainford is buried. He will then let me know where Tidmarsh lives; or else will at once make him write a note to that person to arrange an appointment."

"I understand," said Cæsar. "But suppose that Old Death will do neither, alleging that he will call himself on Tidmarsh and send him to meet you on the following morning at some place named? In this case all will be wrong, because Old Death is to be captured to-morrow night on his way home. Had you not better call in Seven Dials to-morrow morning, tell Old Death that you have found your friends and made the appointment with them for the evening, and then ask him to let Tidmarsh at once afford you the clue you will require to—to—the grave of Rainford?" asked the lad, his voice trembling and hesitating slightly as he uttered the concluding words of his question.

"I understand you perfectly, Cæsar," replied Jeffreys. "Leave it to me to manage as our master desires: I will undertake to be able to give Wilton good news of Tidmarsh to-morrow night."

"Our master will rely upon you," said the youth. "Meantime farewell;"—and he hurried rapidly away, Jeffreys not offering to follow him.

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XC. THE NEW JUSTICE OF THE PEACE

Sir Christopher Blunt was seated in his library, on the same evening which saw the interview between Cæsar and Jeffreys; and his countenance was animated with a glow of indescribable delight as he glanced his eyes over several letters which he opened one after another.

He was dressed in a very elegant manner; though he had somewhat punished his corns by persisting to wear tight boots in order to make his feet look small, and he might have felt a trifle or so easier at the waist if he had not tied his waistcoat strings so tight. But if Sir Christopher Blunt chose to enhance the fascinations of his appearance by converting himself into a voluntary victim of that all-powerful Inquisition called "Fashion,"—if Sir Christopher Blunt, like a great many other silly, old gentlemen of this age, smiled at his self-martyrdom with the equanimity of a saint broiling on a gridiron,—it is no business of any body save the Sir Christopher Blunt aforesaid.

In spite of the pinching boots end the excruciating tightness of the figured silk waistcoat, the worthy knight was in a most glorious humour. It was not because fortune had favoured him with great wealth: he was so accustomed to riches by this time that a little poverty might have proved an agreeable variation, if only for the excitement of the thing. Neither was it the pleasing fact that his dear spouse had been in such a hurry to present him with a son and heir, that she could not wait longer than three months after their marriage;—for Sir Christopher was already accustomed to the cries of the child, and somehow or another was growing less and less proud of his paternal honours every day, the reasoning of Dr. Wagtail relative to the premature birth appearing more and more illogical each time he sate himself down to reflect upon it. "Then, what was the cause of the worthy knight's joyousness and good humour on the evening in question?" demands the impatient reader: to which query we hasten to reply—"Sir Christopher Blunt had just been placed in the commission of the peace, and congratulatory letters from his friends were pouring in on all sides!"

"Well, upon my word, this is very pleasant," said Sir Christopher to himself: "I should not have thought that I was so beloved! Not a man in England has such a host of dear, disinterested friends as I seem to possess. Scarcely does my name appear in the Gazette, when—whisk! in come the letters, by twopenny post and general—by hand and by conveyance! And some too are from people that really had no particular cause to be so devoted to me—people that I never spoke to six times in my life! But let's see—what have we here? A sheet of foolscap completely covered—and crossed in some parts. God bless me! what a letter. Why, it must have taken the man an hour to write it; and I am sure it will take me two to read it. But who does it come from? Henry Atkins! Henry Atkins—who the deuce is he? Oh! I remember—the gentleman who allowed me a seat in his pew at Hackney, when I went to lodge there four years ago for the benefit of my health. Well, it's very kind of him to write me this long letter of congratulation—for I never exchanged ten words with him in my life. But let's see what he says. 'My dear Blunt.' Very friendly indeed! 'It was with indescribable delight and supreme satisfaction that I heard of your appointment to a position which no man in Europe can fill with more suitable dignity than yourself.' Well, come—that's a good beginning. 'Your business habits, your high standing in society, your great name, your unblemished character, your brilliant talents, and your immense benevolence, render you most eligible to fill that office, and most competent to discharge its functions.' Upon my honour, it's very prettily worded—quite sonorous! It reads admirably. And this sincere and heart-felt congratulation is from a man whom I scarcely know. But he seems to know me well enough, however. 'In these times of agricultural distress and commercial embarrassment—in this age when England's heaven is overcast with lowering clouds, and the storms of anarchy and discontent menace us imminently—it is delightful to reflect that authority is so judiciously entrusted as in your case.' That's the best rounded period I ever met with in my life. What a clever, far-seeing, shrewd man this Atkins must be: and what an idiot I have been not to cultivate the acquaintance of such a sincere friend! 'But it is chiefly your benevolence—it is principally your boundless charity, which is the theme of all praise, which is chanted by all tongues, and which is hymned beneath every roof throughout the length and breadth of the land.' Well, I could not have believed that I was so famous—particularly on that score. However, it must be so, since Atkins says it is. 'Yes, my dear Blunt,'—very friendly indeed!—'it is your boundless charity, your anxiety to do good to deserving persons, that will hand your name down to posterity, and send it floating like an eternal bark, over the waves of Time.' Egad! that's splendid. Milton never wrote any thing finer. I have never read Milton, it is true; but I am sure Atkins can beat him. Let us see how it goes on. 'It is under these impressions, and acting in obedience to these convictions, that I have ventured to address you.' And I am very glad he has: I'll write to him presently and tell him I shall always be delighted to hear from him. Let's see—where was I? Oh!—'ventured to address you for the purpose of soliciting your aid under very peculiar circumstances.' Hem! I don't like that sentence so much as the others. 'I am a man possessing a large family and very limited means; and business having been lately indifferent, I have fallen into sad arrears with my landlord.' The style gets worse—that's clear! 'At this present moment I have an execution in my house for forty pounds; and when I look around me, I behold a distracted wife on one side, and a grim bailiff in possession on the other.' This is the least interesting part of his letter: that period was not at all well turned. Milton beats him hollow there.—'If, then, my dear Blunt,'——damned familiar, though, with his 'dear Blunt,' upon my honour!——'If, then, my dear Blunt, you would favour me with the loan of fifty pounds for three months,'——Confound his impudence!" ejaculated the knight, throwing the letter into the waste-paper basket. "A man I know nothing of—who knows nothing of me—who never saw me ten times in his life—to ask me for fifty pounds! It is absurd—preposterous!"

And the knight's countenance underwent a complete change, which lasted for several minutes, until its joyous expression was gradually recalled by the perusal of letters which contained congratulations only, without soliciting favours.

Presently a servant entered the room, and stated that a gentleman named Lykspittal requested an interview with Sir Christopher Blunt.

"Show him up—show him up immediately!" exclaimed the knight. "I have been expecting the gentleman this last half-hour," he added, looking at his watch. "It is now nine—and he was to have been here soon after eight."

The domestic withdrew, and speedily returned, ushering in a thin, pale, elderly, sneaking-looking man, dressed in a suit of black which would not bear too close an inspection in the day-time, but passed off well enough by candle-light.

"Sit down, Mr. Lykspittal—pray sit down," said the knight, looking, in contrast with the visitor, just like a wax figure recently added to Madame Tussaud's exhibition, so bright was the red of his animated cheeks, so glossy his coat and trowsers, and so stiff and starch his attitude. "You have been well recommended to me, Mr. Lykspittal, by a friend to whom your literary labours have given complete satisfaction, and who speaks highly of you as a man in whom implicit confidence may be placed."

"I am very much obliged to you, Sir Christopher, for the kind opinion you have formed of me," answered the visitor in a tone of the deepest veneration and respect, and appearing by his manner as if he did not dare to say that his soul was his own. "Allow me to congratulate you, Sir Christopher, on your appointment as one of his Majesty's Justices of the Peace. I am convinced a worthier selection could not have been made."

"Well, you're very kind, Mr. Lykspittal," returned the knight. "All my friends seem to agree that the Lord Chancellor acted in a wise and prudent manner in placing my name before his most gracious Majesty for the purpose: and it will be my endeavour, Mr. Lykspittal," added Sir Christopher, pompously, "to discharge the duties of my office with credit to myself and benefit to my country."

"It is not every one who possesses your advantages, Sir Christopher," observed his visitor, in a cringing tone and with a sycophantic manner which would have disgusted any person endowed with good sense and proper feeling; but which were particularly pleasing to the shallow-pated, self-sufficient old beau.

"At the same time," said Sir Christopher, "whatever advantages I may possess—whatever be those merits which have placed me in this—this——"

"Enviable and responsible," suggested Mr. Lykspittal, meekly.

"Enviable and responsible position," continued the knight, adopting the epithets as coolly and quietly as if they were prompted by his own imagination;—"at the same time," he said, "it will not be amiss if certain measures be adopted to—to——"

"Enhance the popularity of your name," observed Mr. Lykspittal, in the same low, cringing, and meek tone as before.

"Just so," exclaimed the knight. "In fact, I mean to take a high stand in the county—to put myself more forward than I have hitherto done—to attend public meetings and——"

"Public dinners," suggested Mr. Lykspittal.

"Exactly," said Sir Christopher: "in a word, I want to—to——"

"Become a public man," added the ready-witted gentleman, whose business it was to furnish ideas to those who furnished him with cash in return.

"You understand me as well as I understand myself, Mr. Lykspittal," observed the knight.

"It's my business, sir," was the answer. "Besides, you are so enlightened and enlightening a man, Sir Christopher, that you may be regarded as a lamp constantly diffusing its lustre even upon the darkest and most chaotic ideas. Pardon me, Sir Christopher, for being so bold as to express my opinion: but it is the truth—and I never flatter."

"I am convinced you speak with sincerity, my dear sir," said the new Justice of the Peace, playing with his eye-glass. "Well, then, Mr. Lykspittal—to go back to our original subject—the subject of this interview—I think you fully comprehend me: indeed, I know that you do. It is my object and my determination to take a high position in the county—so that I may in a short time reckon upon the honour of being one of its representatives in Parliament."

"Very easily managed, Sir Christopher," said Mr. Lykspittal. "The electors would be proud of such a man as yourself:—pardon me for making the observation—but I never flatter. In the first instance, however, it is necessary that they should know you well."

"Now we are coming to the point, my dear sir," exclaimed the knight.

"Will you permit me to offer my suggestions?" asked Mr. Lykspittal, in a tone of insinuating meekness.

"Certainly—by all means. Proceed."

"Well, Sir Christopher, in the first place I should propose that a pamphlet be written on some taking subject, and addressed to your worship," continued Mr. Lykspittal. "Suppose we say the Corn Laws—or Prison Discipline—or Catholic Emancipation—or Church Extension—or Parliamentary Reform—or Labour in Factories——"

"All good subjects, Mr. Lykspittal—all good subjects," observed the knight. "But I do not mind telling you in private, that I know nothing about any one of them."

"Of course not, Sir Christopher," exclaimed Mr. Lykspittal. "It is not to be expected that a man of your standing will trouble himself about the details of such trivial matters. But which side will you take—the Liberal or the Tory?"

"Oh! the Tory, by all means!" cried Sir Christopher.

"Very good, my dear sir," said Mr. Lykspittal. "It is all the same to me—I can write on one side as well as on the other. Suppose, then, we take up the subject of Catholic Emancipation, which begins to make a great noise.[40] A pamphlet must be got up, supposed to be written by 'A Friend to the Established Church,' and it must be in the shape of a letter addressed to yourself. I should begin by saying,—'SIR,—The interest which you are known to take in this great and important question—the perseverance you have manifested in making yourself acquainted with all the bearings of the case, its certain results and its inevitable influences—the stanch and long-tried ardour which you have evinced in maintaining and upholding the institutions of the Established Church—the numerous proofs which you have given of your attachment to the Protestant Faith—and the fact that the eyes of the whole country are upon you as a man resolved, at any personal sacrifice, and at all individual risks, to oppose all dangerous innovations and resist all perilous changes,—these motives, sir, have induced me to address the following pages to you.'"

"Nothing can be better, Mr. Lykspittal!" exclaimed the knight. "I should, however, be glad if you will, in the course of the pamphlet, allude especially—and more than once, too—to the fact that I have been the artificer of my own fortune—that I raised myself from nothing—and that the greatest mistake the livery-men of Portsoken ever made was to reject me as a candidate for the aldermanic gown of that ward."

"I shall not forget, Sir Christopher," observed Mr. Lykspittal.

"And you may add, my dear sir," continued the knight, pompously, "that you are well aware that circumstances have since occurred to make me rejoice at that rejection."

"I will declare it to be a well known fact amongst all your friends," said the accommodating literary gentleman.

"And you may touch upon the zeal—the ability—and the efficiency with which I performed the duties of the shrievalty—the very arduous duties of that office," observed the new Justice of the Peace.

"I shall certainly do so, Sir Christopher," replied Mr. Lykspittal; "and it will only be telling the exact truth."

"You may likewise touch upon the reward which it graciously pleased the illustrious Prince to confer upon me," continued the magistrate: "I mean—the honour of knighthood."

"As a matter of course, my dear sir; and never was that title bestowed upon a gentleman better calculated to wear it worthily."

"I thank you, Mr. Lykspittal," returned Sir Christopher, "for your very flattering opinion of me. When can the pamphlet be got ready?"

"I shall set about it immediately, sir," was the answer. "The moment it is published, you must seize upon some point, which I shall purposely leave open for discussion, and write a letter to a morning newspaper, declaring that you agree with the general tenour of the work, but that you totally dissent from that particular doctrine."

"Decidedly," said Sir Christopher. "You will then write a reply, through the same channel, and signed 'A Friend of the Established Church.'"

"That is my intention. We shall thus excite an interest relative to the pamphlet, and your name, Sir Christopher, will be kept before the public. The discussion may lead to a second pamphlet——"

"Stay!" exclaimed the knight, smiling with the brightness of the idea which had just struck him: "we will manage better than all that! You shall write a pamphlet which you must address to me in the terms just now specified by you; but the work must contain throughout opinions totally opposed to mine, and the object of the pamphlet must seem to be my conversion to your particular way of thinking. Then I must write another pamphlet in answer—or rather, you must write it for me; and you must cut up, hip and thigh, and completely refute all the doctrines set forth in the first pamphlet. In fact, you must start a theory in that first pamphlet, and knock it down altogether in the second, which must be supposed to come from me."

"A very ingenious idea, my dear sir," said Mr. Lykspittal, "and just such an one as I should have expected from a man of your enlightened mind. I admire the plan amazingly; and will set to work at once."

"Very good," exclaimed Sir Christopher. "I will write you a cheque for thirty guineas on account. You will of course make all the necessary arrangements with the printer and stationer, and you may apply to me for money as you require it. I shall do the thing handsomely, and spend fifty pounds at least in advertising each pamphlet."

Mr. Lykspittal coincided altogether in the propriety of these intentions—indeed, he never was known to differ from a patron in the whole course of his life; and, having received the cheque, he took his leave, walking backwards to the door in homage to the great man who had just been placed in the commission of the peace.

Almost immediately after the departure of Mr. Lykspitttal, a servant entered, announcing Captain O'Blunderbuss.

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Footnote 40:

The reader will observe that this was said in the year 1827, before the emancipation of the Catholics took place.

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