Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 13

Leaving the guilty man to his reflections, we will now return to the hero of our story.

Charles Peace, after he left the groom’s little bedroom, succeeded in getting clear out of the neighbourhood, without attracting any observation.

As he trudged along he reflected that it would be advisable not to return to Hull. The hue and cry raised in consequence of the events already described would reach Hull, and search would be made by the police in that town.

What had gone of Cooney Peace had not the remotest idea. Whether he had escaped or been captured it was not possible for him to say; neither did he concern himself much about the fate of the tinker. In cases of this sort he felt that self-preservation was the first law of nature.

As he was proceeding along he was overtaken by a covered cart. He persuaded the driver thereof to give him a lift on the road. By this means he managed to get many miles on his journey. Having made up his mind to take up his quarters at Bradford, he, on the first opportunity, took the train to that town. He was acquainted with a girl at Bradford, who was, to a certain extent, attached to him. She was a mill-hand. She was possessed of a considerable share of personal attractions.

It was evening when Peace arrived at Bradford, and in the streets were throngs of persons. The factory hands had knocked off work; some were hastening homewards, others were making for some favourite house of entertainment, and groups of inveterate gossips were to be seen in various parts of the town.

Peace walked jauntily along one of the main streets. Having threaded this, he turned round and retraced his steps. He seemed to be wandering about in a desultory way.

A group of girls emerged from a turning out of the street. Three peals of laughter proved that they were in a merry mood.

One of the girls came suddenly forward, and struck Peace in a familiar manner on the shoulder.

“What! Charlie?” she ejaculated, in a tone of surprise and delight. “Who would have thought of seeing you at Bradford?”

“Bessie dear,” said Peace, “don’t talk so loud; I’ve not been in the town half an hour, and——”

“What brought you here?”

“I came to see you, my charmer.”

The girl made a grimace—​she didn’t quite believe what he said, but, nevertheless, felt flattered.

Although one of the working class, she was very beautiful—​her features being delicately chiselled, and her form being cast in one of nature’s choicest moulds; for the rest she was giddy, thoughtless, and her morals were not of the highest order. Her name was Bessie Dalton.

“And your mother?” inquired the girl.

“I left her at Hull,” returned her companion.

The two walked on in close converse for some time. They passed through several streets, and eventually arrived at an unpretending-looking house, where Bessie lived.

They both entered, and Peace was introduced to the landlord, and took one of the furnished rooms, which were let out to work people. He had a tolerably fair share of money, which would suffice for his immediate wants; and in the course of a few days he succeeded in getting some odd jobs in picture framing. In the evening he contrived to pick up a few shillings by playing the violin at some of the houses of public entertainment.

He was a man who could make himself agreeable enough when it answered his purpose to do so. He was in no way deficient in conversational powers; was tolerably well informed upon most subjects, and generally ingratiated himself in the good graces of most persons with whom he came in contact.

To a certain extent the girl, Bessie Dalton, was proud of him. He was far ahead in many ways of the working population of Bradford, who, one and all, voted him a right good fellow.

For a short time he led a tolerably quiet life.

But it was not in his nature to earn a respectable living for long without having recourse to his evil courses.

He became straitened in circumstances, and once more he essayed to replenish his exchequer by his midnight excursions.

Since the disastrous affair at Oakfield House he had made up his mind to carry on business on his own account.

He would have no accomplices. None should know of his depredations save the girl Bessie, in whom he had implicit confidence.

And it is but justice to her to note that whatever may have been her faults she never betrayed Charles Peace.

He was for the first time made up as a one-arm man. He had for a long time contemplated disguising himself in this way, and the better to carry out his purpose had moulded a piece of gutta-percha, to which a hook was attached, his hand, when drawn up, fitting into the socket of the gutta-percha.

When this instrument—​if it can be so termed—​was on no person in the world would have guessed that he was anything else but a one-armed man.

Disguising himself after this fashion, and staining his face so as to represent a mulatto, he one night started upon one of his lawless expeditions.

He passed quickly out of the town of Bradford, and made direct for a small but handsomely-built house, just on the outskirts of Dudley-hill.

The house, which was built of stone, with bay windows and a handsome portico in front, was in the occupation of a wealthy gentleman, who was a retired mill-owner.

Shrewdly guessing that a pretty considerable amount of moveable property would be found within this habitation, Peace had determined to pay it a visit.

Upon his arrival in front of the house he opened the garden-gate with a skeleton key, closed it again, and began to mature his plan of operations.

There was a garden in the front and rear of the villa, which stood by itself on the brow of the hill. No other habitation was near it—​certainly none within a quarter of a mile.

Peace deftly climbed up to the balcony which stood in front of the first floor window. This balcony was half filled with evergreens, and these completely concealed him from any chance passenger—​not, indeed, that there was a single living person to be seen abroad save himself.

The windows were what is termed French ones; they opened in the centre, and swung back on hinges, like folding doors. He had not much difficulty in lifting the bottom bolt of these, the top one had not been pushed into its socket.

He now had to operate upon the shutters; these were fastened by an iron bar, which ran across them.

Stooping down so as to conceal himself behind the evergreens, he began to bore holes in the shutters with a small centre-bit. After working industriously, but at the same time as noiselessly as possible, for some little time, he succeeded in making an aperture in one of the shutters, sufficiently large for his hand to pass through. He then lifted up the bar, and pushed open the shutters.

In another moment he was in the first floor front room. He wore at this time women’s cloth boots, over which were goloshes, also women’s, so that his footsteps were as noiseless as a cat’s.

He carefully closed the shutters after he had effected an entrance. Then he began, by the aid of his dark lantern, to make an inspection of the apartment, which was sumptuously furnished. It contained plate and valuables, which must be worth a considerable amount.

Peace opened cupboards and drawers. In one of the last named he found a bag of gold and a roll of bank notes. An elegantly-wrought silver cup, presented to the mill-owner by his workpeople, shared the same fate as the other articles; and, taken altogether, the valuables abstracted from this one room was a rich booty for the most rapacious mercenary burglar.

Peace was, however, hungering for more. He passed out of the front room and gently opened the door of the back. All was still. He entered; when, to his infinite astonishment, he found it tenanted.

He stood transfixed with wonderment. On a couch, the head of which was near the window, was stretched a young female of such surpassing loveliness that even the callous heart of the burglar was touched.

The pale moonlight streamed through the lace curtains, and revealed a picture upon which the burglar gazed with fascinated eyes.

The young maiden was in a deep slumber, her head was thrown back, resting on one exquisitely-formed arm, a long tress of glossy brown hair fell over her partially-revealed bosom, and the moist, ruddy lips were parted, disclosing the pearly teeth.

The pose of the figure was perfect, and if there ever was a living personification of the “Sleeping Beauty” most assuredly the lovely maiden, who moved the senses of the burglar to wonder and delight, was that one.

Peace was spell-bound—​he had never beheld in his life anything so matchless, so surpassingly beautiful.

He stood speechless and immovable with admiration.

The power of volition seemed to have entirely forsaken him.

“How matchlessly beautiful she is!” murmured the burglar. “What a paragon of perfection; indeed—​indeed, I have never seen aught so fair!”

His eyes were rivetted on the couch upon which the young creature reclined.

The room was furnished with all the appliances which wealth could supply, or taste could suggest. Every piece of furniture in that elegant apartment was of the choicest and rarest manufacture. It seemed to the enhanced eyes of the robber to be the personification of a Paphian bower—​at once bewitching, poetic, and almost fabulous.

On the mantel-piece was a small clock of rare workmanship. This elegant timepiece was set with jewels, which sparkled and scintillated beneath the rays of his lantern.

Each picture that hung upon the walls was a perfect gem. The chairs were covered with brocaded silk, and the articles of virtu observable in almost every part of the bedchamber were too numerous to particularise. It will suffice to note that they served to make up an ensemble perfectly unique.

But all these things paled before the lustre and beauty of the sleeper.

Much has been said about the might and majesty of beauty, and no one will deny that a lovely woman is nature’s crown of triumph.

She is, beyond all else, the fairest thing in the creation.

Charles Peace was touched. He longed to clasp in his arms the fair maiden who was slumbering so tranquilly.

He had, whilst gazing on her, almost forgotten the purport of his visit to the mill-owner’s villa; but was in a measure reminded of the same when he looked at the various articles in the room.

Creeping forward he sought to gain possession of the gold watch on its stand by the toilette-table. He moved forward a step or two, but suddenly became motionless again, as the sleeper heaved a soft sigh and shifted slightly her position. She did not, however, awaken, but the motion revealed something more of her charms.

The heart of the burglar beat audibly.

He hesitated how to act. Grasping with his right hand the revolver he invariably carried with him, he watched the maiden with the eyes of a lynx.

Not that he meant doing her any harm. He hardly knew what he meant. For a time he was subdued, but the greed of gain returned to him, and he placed his hand upon the watch.

“No,” he murmured, after a pause, “I will take nothing of her’s—​nothing.”

“I am well repaid by looking at one so lovely.”

He withdrew his hand from the watch and retreated some two or three steps backwards towards the door of the room.

Then he became immovable again.

“This will never do,” he muttered. “If I go on like this I shall run the chance of being discovered; and how then? No, I must away at once, and yet, hang it, she is so very beautiful!”

He again rivetted his eyes on the form of the sleeper, upon which he once or twice cast the rays of his lantern.

“I’m a weak, silly fool to be overcome thus—​an idiot. Bah! there must be an end to it.”

He turned round and crept through the half-opened door. Down the stairs, with faltering steps, he then proceeded. He entered the front parlour, and then the back. He stripped them of as many valuables as he could conveniently carry, and then passed out of the house by the back door.

All this had been done without his disturbing any one.

Taking his way along the garden he passed out into the high road. Not a soul was to be seen. The night was clear and bright; and he walked on for a good half mile. Upon arriving at the end of a lane which ran out of the road he halted, looking the while to the right and left.

He saw the back of a policeman going down the lane, and prudence dictated that he should go in the opposite direction.

He walked on with rapid strides, and succeeded in reaching his lodgings at Bradford. Having let himself in with a latch-key, he made direct for his own little room without disturbing any one.

Peace had several orders on hand for picture-framing, and for the next two or three days after the burglary near Dudley-hill he worked industriously at his trade—​if we can bring ourselves to consider that to be his legitimate occupation.

He could turn his hand to a number of things—​picture-framing being one. This was supplemented by carpentry, wood-carving of every description, and, last not least, he was a violinist of no inconsiderable ability.

Had he chosen to conduct himself in a discreet and proper manner he might have made, if not a shining light, certainly a respectable member of society.

The booty he had obtained from the mill-owner he, of course, carefully concealed. He had already changed one of the notes in a quarter where there was not much fear of detection.

While working at his trade, in a shed at the bottom of the yard of the house in which he had taken up his quarters, he was surprised at seeing a stranger enter the yard in company of Bessie Dalton.

“A friend of mine,” said the latter, introducing her companion to Peace. “He is on a charitable expedition. A poor fellow was severely injured at Ludlow’s mill, and he has since died. His wife and two children are in the greatest distress. My friend is getting up a subscription for his widow.”

“Very creditable of you, I’m sure,” remarked Peace, turning towards the stranger. “I am but a working man myself, as you see, but I will willingly give my mite.”

“Thank you. It is hardly fair, perhaps, to ask you, as you are a comparative stranger to us. Still, at the same time, it has been well said that many can help one.”

Peace put his hand in his pocket, and gave the man five shillings.

“I can’t afford much, but what I can spare you are welcome to,” remarked the burglar. “Totally unprovided for—​are they?”

“Yes; I am sorry to say he was not in any benefit society, although he had put his name down in one, and would no doubt, have been elected at the next meeting.”

“All these things are sad, very sad. What does the widow purpose doing?”

“Well, I must tell you that the little sum subscribed, whatever it may be, will be applied to meet her immediate wants. After then we shall endeavour to raise a sum sufficient to set her up in business—​some little shop, perhaps. Her husband’s employers have promised their assistance, and Mr. Knight, the organist at the church, has promised his services at a benefit concert we thought of giving.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“The rector will also give us his patronage, besides several other influential gentlemen in the town.”

“And I’m sure, Charlie, you will have no objection to give your services,” added Bessie.

“In what way?”

“Well, of course, I mean in the way of music. You can play the violin, you know.”

“Would you have any objection?” said the stranger.

No. 3.

PEACE, THE BURGLAR, RANSACKING THE DRAWERS.

“Not the slightest. If my services are of any use you may command me; but there must be the arrangement as to programme and the style of music. Also whether you desire me to play a solo or otherwise.”

“I am not able to say at present; but this can be arranged by those who understand these matters better than I do. I aint much of a musician myself, although I am very fond of hearing music either vocal or instrumental.”

“Have you any vocalists?”

“We shall have some volunteers—​some of the choir will, of course, do some part-singing; besides there are several amateurs as well as one or two professionals, have agreed to come forward on this occasion. Oh, I dare say we shall have a tolerably good muster. Mr. Knight presides at the piano, and he has consented to play the accompaniments to the vocalists.”

“No easy task,” remarked Peace, “especially if he is not acquainted with the performers.”

“No—​so he says. Would you like to see him?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Knight.”

“It will be necessary for me to do so before the night of the concert. Otherwise we shall be all at sea.”

“I will mention the subject. You will find him, I’m sure, in every respect a gentleman, who, I dare say, will be happy to make the acquaintance of a brother artist.”

“I’m obliged to you for your good opinion,” said Peace, with a sort of bow, which was half obsequious and half satirical.

“In the cause of charity we are all of us brothers; and on what evening do you purpose giving this concert?”

“As soon as possible. It would be as well, I think, to strike the iron while it’s hot. It must certainly be within a fortnight—​or a week, if it can be arranged. Do you play sacred music—”

“I do not care to play anything else. If I consulted my own inclination I should confine myself to sacred music—​not, mind you, that I have done so at present.”

“Oh, he can play anything and everything,” chimed in Bessie Dalton. “Nigger melodies, dance music, comic songs, serious and sentimental.”

“There, that will do, Bess,” cried Peace.

“Well, you know you can. What’s the use of being bashful when you’ve got—​ahem, talent?”

“Be quiet, girl; leave people to judge for themselves.”

“Oh, I’ve done; sorry I spoke,” answered the girl, pouting.

“I will not detain you, Mr. Peace. Allow me to return you my most sincere thanks. I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again in a day or two.”

The speaker offered his hand to the burglar; there was the usual interchange of courtesies, and the stranger took his departure.

“You ought to make something out of this, Charlie,” said Bessie Dalton.

“How so?” returned Peace; “I am to give my services gratuitously.”

“True; but it will be the means of introducing you to a lot of swells and rich people, whom you can afterwards call upon and leave your card. You see I’ve an eye to business, old man.”

“Oh, yes, certainly, there’s some use in that. Some of them may want pictures framed.”

“Who are these for?” said the girl, pointing to some frames which had been just finished.

“For old Dawson, up the hill. There’s not much hanging to them, he’s as mean as Lucifer. Indeed, they are all pretty much alike as far as that goes. It’s a hard job to get a living by working for the trade.”

“You should have a shop of your own.”

“May be I shall after a bit—​that is, if I settle in Bradford.”

“You are not going to leave us again?” said the girl, putting her arms around his neck, and embracing him fondly; “what should I do without you, Charlie?”

“Do as others do,” returned Peace, with a smile.

“And what might that be?”

“Get hold of another chap—​that’s all.”

“Men never give girls credit for any feeling,” said Bessie, pouting.

“Yes, they are all of them selfish by nature.”

“Who?”

“Why, the men, of course.”

“You don’t mean what you say.”

“Don’t I?”

“No.”

“Only saying so to please you—​is that it?”

“I’ve no doubt it is.”

“Well, here’s something better than words, lass. Here’s a couple of quid for you, to buy a new dress, or anything else you may want.”

“Oh you dear, good fellow; and is this for me?”

“Certainly, seeing that I gave it of my own free will.”

The girl clapped her hands with delight, gave her companion a kiss, and pocketed the money.