Читать книгу The Mysteries of London (Vol. 1-4) - George W. M. Reynolds - Страница 139

Table of Contents

THE Buffer was one of the most unmitigated villains that ever disgraced the name of man. There was no species of crime with which he was not familiar; and he had a suitable helpmate in his wife, who was the sister of Dick Flairer—a character that disappeared from the stage of life in the early part of this history.

In person, the Buffer was slight, short, and rather well-made—extremely active, and endowed with great physical power. His countenance was by no means an index to his mind; for it was inexpressive, stolid, and vacant.

His wife was a woman of about five-and-twenty, being probably ten years younger than her husband. She was not precisely ugly; but her countenance—the very reverse of that of the Buffer—was so indicative of every evil passion that can possibly disgrace womanhood, as to be almost repulsive.

The two new-comers seated themselves near the fire, for their clothes were dripping with the rain, which continued to pour in torrents. The warmth of the apartment and a couple of glasses of smoking grog soon, however, put them into good humour and made them comfortable; and the Resurrection Man then proposed that they should "proceed to business."

"In the first place, Jack," said the Resurrection Man, addressing himself to the Buffer, "what news about Markham?"

"He will attend to the appointment," was the answer.

"He will?" exclaimed the Resurrection Man, as if the news were almost too good to be true: "you are sure?"

"As sure as I am that I've got this here glass in my mawley," said the Buffer.

"To-morrow night?"

"To-morrow night he'll meet his brother at Twig Folly," answered the Buffer, with a laugh.

"Tell me all that took place," cried the Resurrection Man; "and then I shall be able to judge for myself."

"As you told me," began the Buffer, "I made myself particklerly clean and tidy, and went up to Holloway this morning at about eleven o'clock. I knocked at the door of the swell's crib; and an old butler-like looking feller, with a port-wine face, and a white napkin under his arm, come and opened it. He asked me what my business was. I said I wanted to speak to Mr. Markham in private. He asked me to walk in; and he showed me into a library kind of a place, where I see a good-looking young feller sitting reading. He was very pale, and seemed as if he'd been ill."

"Fretting about that business at the theatre, no doubt," observed the Resurrection Man.

"What business?" cried the Buffer.

"No matter—go on."

"Well—so I went into this library and see Mr. Markham. The old servant left us alone together. 'What do you want with me, my good man?' says Markham in a very pleasant tone of voice.—'I have summut exceeding partickler to say to you, sir,' says I.—'Well, what is it?' he asks—'Have you heerd from your brother lately, sir?' says I, throwing out the feeler you put me up to. If so be he had said he had, and I saw that he really knew where he was, and every thing about him, I should have invented some excuse, and walked myself off; but there was no need of that; for the moment I mentioned his brother, he was quite astonished.—'My brother!' he says in a wery excited tone: 'many years has elapsed since I heerd from him. Do you know what has becomed on him?'—'Perhaps I knows a trifle about him, sir,' says I; 'and that is wery trifling indeed. In a word,' I says, 'he wants to see you.'—'He wants to see me!' cries my gentleman: 'then why doesn't he come to me? But where is he? tell me, that I may fly to him.'—So then I says, 'The fact of the matter is this, sir; your brother has got his-self into a bit of a scrape, and don't dare show. He's living down quite in the east of London, close by the Regent's Canal; and he has sent me to say that if so be you'll meet him to-morrow night at ten o'clock in Twig Folly, he'll be there.'—Then Mr. Markham cries out, 'But why can I not go to him now? If he is in distress or difficulty, the sooner he sees me the better.'—'Softly, sir,' says I. 'All I know of the matter is this, that I'm a honest man as airns his livelihood by running on messages and doing odd jobs. A gentleman meets me on the bank of the canal, close by Twig Folly, very early this morning and says, 'Do you want to airn five shillings?' Of course I says 'Yes.'—'Then,' says the gentleman, 'go up to Markham Place without delay, and ask to see Mr. Markham. He lives at Holloway. Tell him that you come from his brother, who is in trouble, and can't go to him; but that his brother will meet him to-morrow night at ten o'clock on the banks of the canal, near Twig Folly. And,' says the gentleman, 'if he should ask you for a token that you're tellin' the truth, say that this appointment must be kept instead of the one on the top of the hill where two ash trees stand planted.'—Well, the moment I tells Mr. Markham all this, he begins to blubber, and then to laugh, and to dance about the room, crying, 'Oh! my dear—dear brother, shall I then embrace you so soon again?' and such-like nonsense. Then he gives me half a sovereign his-self, and sends me into the kitchen, where the cook makes me eat and drink till I was well-nigh ready to bust. The old butler was rung for; and I've no doubt that his master told him the good news, for when he come back into the kitchen, he treated me with the greatest civility, but asked me a lot of questions about Master Eugene, as he called him. I satisfied him in all ways; and at last I rises, takes my leave of the servants, and comes off."

"Well done!" cried the Resurrection Man, whose cadaverous countenance wore an expression of superlative satisfaction. "And you do not think he entertained the least suspicion?"

"Not a atom," returned the Buffer.

"Nor the old butler?" asked the Resurrection Man.

"Not a bit. But do jest satisfy me on one point, Tony; how come you to know that anythink about this young feller's brother would produce such a powerful excitement?"

"Have I not before told you that this Richard Markham was a fellow-prisoner with me in Newgate some four years and more ago? Well, I often overheard him talking about his affairs to another man that was also there, and whose name was Armstrong. Markham and this Armstrong were very thick together; and Markham spoke quite openly to him about his family matters, his brother, and one thing or another. That's the way I came to hear of the strange appointment made between the two brothers."

"Well, there's no doubt that the fish has bit and can be hooked to-morrow night," said the Buffer.

"Yes—he is within my reach—and now I shall be revenged," exclaimed the Resurrection Man, grinding his teeth together. "I will tell you my plans in this respect presently," he added. "Let us now talk about the old man that your wife nurses."

"Or did nurse, rather," cried Moll, with a coarse laugh.

Both the Resurrection Man and Margaret Flathers turned a glance of inquiry and surprise upon the Buffer's wife.

"The old fellow's dead," she added, after a moment's pause.

"Dead already!" exclaimed Tidkins.

"Just as I tell you," answered Moll. "He seemed very sinking and low this morning; and so I was more attentive to him than ever."

"But the money?" said the Resurrection Man.

"All a dream on her part," cried the Buffer, sulkily, pointing towards his wife.

"Now don't you go for to throw all the blame on me, Jack," retorted the woman; "for you know as well as I do that you was as sanguine as me. And who wouldn't have taken him for an old miser? Here you and me," she continued, addressing herself to her husband, "go to hire a lodging in a home in Smart Street, about three months ago, and we find out that there's an old chap living overhead, on the first floor, who had been there three months before that time, and had always lived in the same regular, quiet way—never going out except after dusk, doing nothing to earn his bread, paying his way, and owing nobody a penny. Then he was dressed in clothes that wasn't worth sixpence, and yet he had gold to buy others if he chose, because he used to change a sovereign every week, when he paid his rent. Well, all these things put together, made me think he was a miser, and had a store somewhere or another; and when I said to you——"

"I know what you said, fast enough," interrupted the Buffer, sulkily: "what's the use of telling us all this over again?

"Just to show that if I was deceived, you was too. But it's always the way with you: when any thing turns out wrong, you throw the blame on me. Didn't you say to me, when the old fellow was took ill a month ago: 'Moll,' says you, 'go and offer your services to nurse the old gentleman; and may be if he dies he'll leave you something; or at all events you may worm out of him the secret of where he keeps his money, and we can get hold of it all the same.' That's what you said—and so I did go and nurse the old man; and he seemed very grateful, for at last he began to like me almost as much as he did his snuff-box—and that's saying a great deal, considering the quantity of snuff he used to take, and the good it seemed to do him when he was low and melancholy."

"Well—what's the use of you and the Buffer wrangling?" cried the Resurrection Man. "Tell us all about the old fellow's death."

"As I was saying just now," continued Moll, "the old gentleman was took wery bad this morning soon after Jack left to go up to Holloway; and the landlady, Mrs. Smith, insisted on sending for a doctor. The old gentleman shook his head, when he heard Mrs. Smith say so, and seemed wery, much annoyed at the idea of having a medical visit. But Mrs. Smith was positive, for she said that she had lost her husband and been left a lone widder through not having a doctor in time to him when he was ill. Well, a doctor was sent for, and he said that the old gentleman was very bad indeed. He asked me and Mrs. Smith what his name was, and whether he'd any relations, as they ought to be sent for; but Mrs. Smith said that she never knowed his name at all, and as for relations no one never come to see him and he never went to see no one his-self. The doctors orders him to have mustard poultices put to his feet; but it wasn't of no use, for the old fellow gives a last gasp and dies at twenty minutes past two this blessed afternoon."

"Well," said the Resurrection Man; "and then, I suppose, you had a rummage in his boxes?"

"Boxes, indeed!" cried Moll, with an indignant toss of her head. "Why, when he first come to the house, Mrs. Smith says that all he had was a bundle tied up in a blue cotton pocket handkercher—a couple of shirts, and a few pair of stockings, or so. She didn't like to take him in, she says; but he offered to pay a month's rent in advance; and so she was satisfied."

"Then you found nothing at all?" exclaimed the Rattlesnake.

"Not much," returned Moll. "The moment we saw he was dead, we began to search all over the room, to see what he had left behind him. For a long time we could find nothing but a dirty shirt, two pair of stockings, and a jar of snuff; and yet Mrs. Smith said she knew there must be money, for she had heard him counting his gold one day before he was took ill. Besides, during his illness, whenever money was wanted to get any thing for him, he never gave it at first, but sent me or Mrs. Smith out of the room with some excuse; and when we went back, he always had the money in his hand. Well, me and Mrs. Smith searched and searched away; and at last Mrs. Smith bethinks herself of looking behind the bed. We moved the bed away from the wall as well as we could, for the dead body lying upon it made it precious heavy; and then we saw that a hole had been made down in the comer of the room. Mrs. Smith puts in her finger, and draws out an old greasy silk purse. I heard the gold chink; but I saw that the purse was not over heavy. 'Well,' says Mrs. Smith, 'I'm glad I've got a witness of what the poor gentleman left behind him, or else I might get into trouble some day or another, if any inquiries should be made.' So she pours out the gold into her hand, and counts thirty-nine sovereigns."

"And that was all?" cried the Resurrection Man.

"Every farthing," replied the Buffer's wife. "Well, I asked Mrs. Smith what she intended to do with it; and she says, 'I shall bury the poor old gentleman decently: that will be five pounds. Then there is a pound for the doctor, as I must get him to follow the funeral; and here is two pounds for you for your attention to the old gentleman in his illness.' So she gives me the two pounds; and I asks her what she is going to do with the rest, because there was still thirty-one pounds left."

"And what did she say to that?" demanded the Rattlesnake.

"She began a long ditty about her being an honest woman, though a poor one, and that dead man's gold would only bring ill-luck into her house."

"The old fool!" cried the Resurrection Man.

"And then she said she should ask the parson, when she had buried the old man, what she ought to do with the thirty-one pounds."

"Why didn't you propose to split it between you, and hold your tongues?" asked the Resurrection Man.

"So I did," answered Moll; "and what do you think the old fool said? She up and told me that she always thought that me and my husband was not the most respectablest of characters, and she now felt convinced of it."

"Well, we must have those thirty-one yellow boys, old fellow," said the Resurrection Man to the Buffer.

"Yea—if we can get them," answered the latter; "and I know of no way to do it but to cut the old woman's throat."

"No—that won't do," ejaculated the Resurrection Man. "If the old woman disappeared suddenly, suspicion would be sure to fall on you; and the whole Happy Valley would be up in arms. Then the blue-bottles might find a trace to this crib here; and we should all get into trouble."

"But if you mean to put the kyebosh upon young Markham to-morrow night," said the Buffer, "won't that raise a devil of a dust in the neighbourhood?"

"Markham disappears from Holloway, which is a long way from the Happy Valley," replied the Resurrection Man.

"And the old butler, who is certain to know that the appointment was made for Twig Folly," persisted the Buffer, "won't he give information that will raise the whole Valley in arms, as you call it?"

"No such thing," said the Resurrection Man. "Markham falls into the canal accidentally, and is drowned. There's no mark of violence on his body, and his watch and money are safe about his person. Now do you understand me?"

"I understand that if you mean me to jump into the canal and help to hold him in it till he's drowned, you're deucedly out in your reckoning, for I ain't going to risk drowning myself, 'cause I can't swim better than a stone."

"You need not set foot in the water," said the Resurrection Man, somewhat impatiently. "But I suppose you could hold him by the heels fast enough upon the bank?"

"Oh! yes—I don't mind that," replied the Buffer: "but how shall we get the thirty-one couters from this old fool of a landlady, unless we use violence?"

The Resurrection Man leant his head upon his hand, his elbow being supported by the table, and reflected profoundly for some moments.

So high an opinion did the other villain and the two women entertain of the ingenuity, craft, and cunning of the Resurrection Man, that they observed a solemn silence while he was thus occupied in meditation—as if they were afraid of interrupting a current of ideas which, they hoped, would lead to some scheme beneficial to them all.

Suddenly the Resurrection Man raised his head, and, turning towards the Buffer's wife, said, "Do you know whether the old woman has spoken to any one yet about the funeral?"

"She said she should let it be till to-morrow morning, because the weather was so awful bad this afternoon."

"Excellent!" ejaculated the Resurrection Man. "Now, Moll, do you put on your bonnet, take the large cotton umbrella there, and go and do what I tell you without delay."

The woman rose to put on her bonnet and cloak, which she had laid aside upon first entering the room; and the Resurrection Man wrote a hurried note. Having folded, wafered, and addressed it, he handed it to the Buffer's wife, saying, "Go down as fast as your legs will carry you to Banks, the undertaker, in Globe Lane, and ask to see him. Give him this; but mind and deliver it into his hand only. If he is not at home, wait till he comes in."

The woman took the note, and departed on the mysterious mission entrusted to her.

"What's in the wind now?" demanded the Buffer, as soon as the door had closed behind his wife.

"You shall see," replied the Resurrection Man. "Now let us fill our glasses, and blow a cloud till Moll comes back."

The Rattlesnake mixed fresh supplies of grog; and the two men lighted their pipes.

"How the rain does beat down," observed the Buffer, after a pause.

"And the wind sweeps along like a hurricane," said the Resurrection Man. "By the by, this is New Year's Day. What different weather it is from what it was last New Year's Day."

"Do you recollect what sort of weather it was last New Year's Day?" demanded the Buffer.

"Perfectly well," answered the Resurrection Man; "because it was on that evening that I and the poor Cracksman helped young Holford over the Palace wall."

"And that venture turned out no go, didn't it?" asked the Buffer.

"It failed because the young scamp either turned funky or played us false, I never could make out which. But I have an account to settle with him too; and the first time I meet him I'll teach him what it is to humbug a man like me."

There was a pause, during which the two men smoked their pipes with all the calmness of individuals engaged in virtuous and innocent meditation; and the Rattlesnake added fresh fuel to the fire, the flames of which roared cheerfully up the chimney.

"Come, sing as a song, Meg," cried the Buffer, breaking a silence which had lasted several minutes.

"I have got a cold, and can't sing," replied the woman.

"Well, then, Tony," said the Buffer, "tell us some of your adventures. They'll amuse us till Moll comes back."

"I am quite tired of telling the same things over and over again," answered the Resurrection Man. "We've never heard you practise in that line yet; so the sooner you begin the better. Come, tell us your history."

"There isn't much to tell," said the Buffer, refilling his pipe; "but such as it is, you're welcome to it."

With this preface, the Buffer commenced his autobiography, in the record of which we have taken the liberty of correcting the grammatical solecisms that invariably characterised this individual's discourse; and we have also improved the language in which the narrative was originally clothed.