Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 46

Our itinerant print-seller did not want any rocking that night; he had walked many miles in the course of the day, and was dead beat. He did not wake until morning.

Upon leaving his bedchamber he found his breakfast laid in a large apartment on the first floor, called the club-room.

In this place the members of two or three clubs were accustomed to hold their weekly or monthly meetings. The room was large, with a bay window at one end and a smaller one at the other. The walls were covered with pictures and prints of various descriptions in dingy and faded frames.

Peace was shown into the room by the little maiden who officiated as waitress. She was a rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed girl of about fifteen or sixteen summers.

A substantial breakfast was served; this our hero did full justice to, after which he arose and examined the pictures on the walls. While thus engaged the landlord entered to pay his respects to his guest.

“The top of the morning to thee, friend,” said Brickett, “I hope you had a good night’s rest.”

“Yes, thank you, excellent,” returned Peace. “You’ve got some fairish things here in the way of art,” he added, carelessly.

“Some on ’em are not bad—​so I’ve been told. My poor father took great delight in picking up pictures and such like at sales. He was a better judge nor what I am.”

“Some of them are very good indeed, and some of them, of course, but indifferent. This one must always expect in a miscellaneous collection, but the frames are little the worse for wear.”

“I’ve bin goin’ to have ’em done up ever so many times, but, lord, it ed run into money, I fancy.”

“Not much,” returned his visitor, musingly; “not a great deal, I fancy. If I stop here for a while I’d give you an estimate.”

“And don’t you think of stopping?” enquired the landlord, who was much taken with our hero.

“Well, that depends upon what business I am likely to do in the neighbourhood. I shall be able to tell you more about it to-morrow or next day.”

“Good, I hope un ’ill be successful; we’ve got a goodish many well-to-do folks about here.”

A thin, short man, in a rusty suit of black, with dark rimmed spectacles, now ascended the stairs and entered the “club-room,” as it was termed.

This personage was the parish clerk.

“Your servant, sir,” said the landlord to the newcomer.

“We shall want the room on Monday next, Brickett,” said the clerk.

“It is at your disposal, Mr. Overton.”

Brickett now introduced Peace to the gentleman in rusty black, and made him acquainted with his occupation.

“From London, sir, I presume?”

“Yes, from London,” answered the print-seller. In expeditions of this sort he invariably gave people the idea that he had come direct from the metropolis. As a rule country folk paid greater attention to one hailing from the great city.

“Show Mr. Overton some of your goods. He be a judge of such like commodities,” said the landlord, who at all times displayed a willingness to further the interests of his customers.

Peace’s stock, or rather a considerable portion of it, was at once brought forth.

The parish clerk’s attention was directed more especially to the sacred subjects. He inquired the price of the large photo of the “Light of the World.” It was Peace’s practice to lay it on a bit, as he termed it, when he found the fish bite; and he did not neglect to do so on this occasion.

Mr. Overton had made up his mind to have the photo, but he shrugged his shoulders, and said he was a poor man.

“Well,” said our hero, “I want to do business. “Is there any other you would like?”

After a deal of consultation the clerk chose another.

“Well, I’ll let you have the two for eighteen shillings. That’s the lowest I can say for them,” cried Peace.

“Then I’ll have them,” said Mr. Overton.

“And would you like them framed?”

“Oh, of course I must have frames for them.”

“Of an ecclesiastical character?”

“It would be all the better.”

“I will do you the frames cheaper than anybody—​that is, if I can get enough orders to make it worth my while to stop in the neighbourhood for a few days.”

Mr. Overton paid for the prints, and the framing of the same was a matter to be considered hereafter. He then took his departure.

“Bagged one bird!” exclaimed the landlord, slapping familiarly on the shoulder. “You mark my words—​it’ll bring ’ee luck, an’ ye won’t regret stopping at the ‘Old Carved Lion.’

“I should like to stop as long as possible, seeing that its landlord is such a good sort.”

“You’ll do a decent stroke of business afore you leave.”

“I hope so.”

Peace now shouldered his pack, whistled to his dog “Gip,” and sallied forth. He paid a visit to some of the shops in the neighbourhood, and disposed of some prints and photos.

The prices he obtained for them were so low that he did not get much profit, but it was better than nothing, and kept trade moving.

He called at several private houses, and at some he was very successful. He returned to the “Old Carved Lion” in the afternoon, deposited his pack, and had a late dinner.

Taken altogether he came to the conclusion that matters were by no means unpromising.

Towards evening he went for a stroll to learn a little more of the neighbourhood.

As he was taking his way through a long lane he met the girl whom the occupants of the parlour had called Nelly.

There was of course a mutual recognition.

“Well,” said our hero, “how did you get on last night? Did you get scolded when you returned home?”

“No,” answered Nelly, tossing her head contemptuously. “It was only my fun. Aunt seldom scolds me; she knows I wont stand it.”

“Oh! you live with your aunt—​do you? Ah! I wish I was your aunt.”

“Why?”

“Then I should have a merry, cheerful companion.”

“Get out, talking such foolishness,” cried the girl.

“I’m not joking—​I am very serious.”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“No, anything but that. But I am glad we’ve met. You’ll be able to tell me all about the people in the neighbourhood, and can be of great service to me if you will.”

“If I will. What do you mean?”

“Why, in the way of business, you know.”

“Oh, I didn’t understand you; but what does that matter? Are you going to stop here—​at the ‘Lion,’ I mean?”

“I’m not going away just yet. I want to see a little more of you.”

“You are such a funny man, and tell such droll stories. Where did you come from?”

“London, my dear, from London. Did you like the print?”

“Oh, yes, ever so much.”

“You’ll like it better when it’s framed. Bring it to the ‘Lion’ and I will frame it for you.”

“What will it cost?”

“Do you want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll tell you if you’ll pay for it now. It will cost just this.”

He put his arms around the damsel’s neck, and imprinted on her lips a kiss. They were ripe and ruddy, and he felt that he was amply paid.

“Oh, you wretch,” exclaimed the girl; “you’ve got the impudence of the old gentleman, you audacious fellow. I don’t like you at all, not a bit! How dare you?”

“Now don’t be angry, my pretty Nell,” said Peace, in a wheedling tone. “For the life of me I could not resist the temptation. Forgive me.”

“You’re a nasty, impudent fellow, that’s what you are.”

While Peace had been indulging in this little innocent flirtation a lusty young fellow had been watching the two from an adjacent meadow. He ground his teeth with rage, and clenched his fists in a threatening manner, but both our hero and the girl were ignorant of his being near the spot.

“Now,” said Peace, “whither are you going?”

“What’s that to you?”

“There’s no harm in the question. It deserves a civil answer.”

“It’s no business of yours where I’m going.”

“Perhaps not; but I say, Nell—​I call you Nell because I don’t know you by any other name—​let me accompany you for a little way.”

“I don’t want your company, and wont have anything to say to you.”

“But tell me where you live.”

“I shan’t.”

“Ah, yes, you will.”

“I tell you I wont.”

“You’re very unkind. I thought we were friends, but unhappy is the man who places trust in a woman.”

The girl looked surprised. Peace spoke in such a mournful tone that she hardly knew what to make of him.

Was he in earnest, or only jesting?

“Well,” he added, “if you won’t have anything to say to me, so be it—​these things are hard to bear.”

“Get along, man,” exclaimed the girl. “What on earth are you talking about? Are you daft? I’ll go my way and you go yours.”

“So be it, then, but you’ll bring me the picture to frame. I have another and a better one for you, remember that. Good evening—​good-bye, Nell.”

“You’ve got my name pat enough. Good night.”

She held out her hand, Peace grasped it with ardour, and again bade her good-bye.

She passed through the lane with rapid steps—​he watched her as she proceeded along.

When she had gone a couple of hundred yards or so, he followed at a respectful distance.

“She’s a charming creature, so impulsive—​so ingenuous, but I wont bother her any more just now. She’s a little nettled, but she’ll come to, I don’t doubt that. She’s not one to bear malice, or to sulk either, if I read her character rightly.”

He let her go her way, and turned out of the lane into a bridle road which ran at right angles with it.

At this time he had not the remotest idea as to who and what she was, but he knew there would not be much difficulty in ascertaining all about her, either from Bricket himself, or one of the frequenters of his house.

Peace walked about the locality for half an hour or more after the girl’s departure, and noted all the leading residences in the neighbourhood. Although but a village he had passed through, it was a long straggling one, and was more densely populated than he had first supposed.

He now returned and bent his steps in the direction of the “Carved Lion.”

When within a couple of hundred yards or so of that well-known “house of entertainment for man and beast” he was suddenly confronted by a powerful-looking rustic who sprang out of an adjacent copse.

The fellow was an ugly-looking customer, and the expression of his ill-favoured countenance denoted that he meant mischief.

“Well,” said our hero, “what might be your pleasure?”

“You be’s the man I ha’ bin a waitin’ and watchin’ for, and now I’ve got ’ee.”

“Much obliged, I’m sure; and pray, now that you have got me, as you are pleased to term it, what may be the nature of your business?”

“I’ll dall soon let’un know that,” returned the rustic, turning up his cuffs. “I intend to ha’ it out wi’ ’ee.”

Peace was puzzled to understand the man’s meaning or his intent. He was at first under the impression that he meant robbery.

“If you are a footpad I must tell you that you are much mistaken in your man. I’m as poor as a church mouse—​so let me pass without more ado.”

“Noa I wun’t let ’ee pass, not afore I give ’ee somethin’ for yerself. Ye be a pretty varmint to be a takin’ liberties wi’ my gell.”

“Now, look here, my man,” said our hero, in a much more serious tone of voice. “I’ll tell you frankly I’m not going to submit to impudence from an ignorant yokel like you, and if you don’t get out of the way I’ll mark you, big as you are. Your girl, indeed, and who is she I pray?”

“Ye know well enough. Don’t ’ee think ye can gammon me? I tell ’ee yer’re a dirty blackguard—​that’s what ’ee be.”

“You’re an impertinent fellow. Are you drunk, mad, or what?” said Peace.

“I’m neither, but ’ee doen’t come betwixt me and her, not if I know it.”

“If you give me any more of your impudence I’ll chastise you on the spot.”

“Oh, oh,” exclaimed the other, mockingly, “you chastise—​well dang it, that be a good un; we’ll soon see who’s the best man of the two.”

And with these words the speaker up with his fist and delivered a straightforward blow. It was as strong as a horse’s kick, and had it taken effect as the countryman intended, it would certainly have gone hard with our hero.

The blow was well meant, but like many other well-meant things it missed its mark. Peace, who had been expecting the attack, warded it off, and sprang back some three or four yards; he then ducked his head and ran with all his force full butt at the chest of his powerful antagonist.

The effect was magical; the man was sent reeling, and fell on his back full length on the hard road.

He was never more astonished in the whole course of his life.

Peace, who was wonderfully agile at this time, had given him no time for reflection, and to say the truth the rustic had never counted on this novel mode of attack.

He was partially stunned by the fall, but recovering himself a little he rose to his feet. Peace did not give him time to pull himself together, but again ducking his head and running forward with all his might he again laid his foe prostrate.

“Now then, my fine fellow, that will teach you to be a little more cautious. You are too great a coward to hit one of your own size.”

Once more the man regained his feet, but it was evident enough from his staggering that he had been seriously injured.

Wild with fury at being mastered by so insignificant-looking man as Peace, he rushed forward to annihilate if possible his active and cunning adversary.

He let fly with his right and left, but Peace was far too artful to allow him to get within reach; he again sprang back and, whirling round the stick he carried, he delivered a terrific blow therewith on the countryman’s right temple.

Peace’s dog “Gip” now sprang at the man and laid hold of one of his legs.

The countryman cried out “Murder!” several times.

“Call yer dog off—​call him off! It bean’t fair.”

“If you’ve had enough I’ll call him off,” said Peace.

“Call him off then. Drat it, he’s got hold of my leg. Do’ee call him off.”

Peace did as he was bid.

Then, panting, bleeding, and fairly cowed, the village athlete stood for awhile humiliated and crestfallen.

“You’ve brought this on yourself, my fine fellow,” said our hero. “You’re a big strapping chap, but you see size and strength aint everything. Take my advice, and think twice before you commit an assault upon those who have never done you any harm, and with whom you have no just and reasonable excuse for quarrelling.”

“Didn’t you meet Nell in the lane? Answer me that.”

“I am not bound to answer every fool’s question,” returned Peace. “What if I did meet a young woman in the lane, or anywhere else for the matter of that, am I to be called to account by a fellow like you? You must be little better than a born idiot to suppose such a thing for a moment.”

“I’ll ha’ it oot wi’ ’ee some other time.”

“Will you?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Look here, my friend,” said Peace, “you may think yourself lucky in being let off so easily this time. The next time you attempt to lay hands on me I’ll put a bullet in your brain. I’m in earnest, and mean what I say. I will shoot you if you endeavour to again assault me. So now beware.”

The man rubbed his eyes and looked hard at the speaker.

“Do you comprehend?” inquired the latter.

“I hear what you say.”

Strongly built and muscular as he was, the countryman was by this time as weak as a rat; his knees seemed to give way under his weight, he felt giddy, and was fain to cling to the gate by the side of the road for support.

He was fairly mastered.

“Why, Giles, what be the matter wi’ ’ee?” inquired two young fellows, who had seen the affray three fields off, and who now arrived on the scene of action.

“Has the little’un bin too much for ’ee?”

“He’s a devil, that what he be—​a devil!” exclaimed Giles, nodding towards Peace.

“You will understand,” said the latter, addressing himself to the newcomers, “that he attacked me in a violent manner without any reasonable excuse. I never saw the fellow before in my life—​have had no quarrel with him until he chose to abuse and assault me, and I desire you to distinctly understand that what I have done has been only in the way of self-defence.”

“Why, he’s big enough to eat ’ee,” observed one of the men, “and ought to be ashamed on himself.”

“Go on,” exclaimed Giles, “hit a man when he be down, it’s the way wi’ ’ee all.”

“You’re simply a blundering fool, and ought to have a month or two on the mill to tame ye,” cried Peace. “I’m not at all certain that you didn’t intend to rob me.”

“Ah, no, he aint one of that sort. Don’t ’ee think that, sir,” returned the other rustic.

“Well, I hope I’m mistaken. Let it pass. I am mistaken, put it in that way, and so good night.”

With these last words, Peace proceeded on his way, and in a few minutes afterwards was safely ensconced in the snug parlour of Bricket’s hostelry.

When the time came for the regular frequenters of the establishment to arrive, the topic of conversation was the encounter we have briefly described.

The man Giles was an ill-tempered, overbearing fellow, who was not liked by the village folk, and his discomfiture at the hands of Peace was deemed a good joke by most of them.

The only wonder was with them all, that such a slight-built little fellow could have secured so easy a conquest, and, as a natural consequence, Peace was the hero of the hour.

It was not the first time he had made use of his head as a weapon of defence.

It was a trick he had learnt in early youth—​a trick he never forgot. He had, as we have already seen, great coolness and self-possession when in any situation of danger. He was always remarkably active and quick in his movements.

His victory over the village athlete was more attributable to the swiftness and suddenness of his attacks than aught else.

The countryman was as strong as an ox, but he was slow and awkward, and was knocked out of time by his agile and cunning adversary before he had time to recover from his first surprise.

Peace was received by the company in the parlour in a way which was most friendly and flattering—​indeed he seemed to be a special favourite with the frequenters of the “Carved Lion,” and of course he took good care to make himself as agreeable as possible.

He told a number of amusing stories, played his violin, and was a sort of oracle in the old hostelry. Bricket was greatly pleased with him since he drew customers to his house, being, indeed, a sort of “lion” for a time.