Читать книгу Waif of the River - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 10

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Hard beside the river, on ground that was a dusty waste in dry weather and muddy swamp in wet, stood that conglomerate structure of wharf, barn, warehouse, stable and ancient gabled cottage, which Robin, with the aid of his sturdy and faithful Black John, had made a haven for human wreckage.

On this particular early summer morning, fresh and aglow from their usual swim, they stood side by side, Robin and John, shaving by means of a somewhat inadequate mirror in a smallish upper chamber that had once been a hayloft. They were stripped to the waist, Robin all supple power above and below, Black John six foot six of massive strength, which, together with ferocious joy of personal combat, had in his unregenerate days made him notorious as "The Thames-side Terror".^[2]

But now, as they stood thus peacefully occupied, he paused to wipe his razor carefully and say:

"Mr. Robin, I never see you in the buff, them shoulders and arms o' yours, but I'm minded how Jessamy Todd says as how if ever you hit a man with all your might and in the proper place that man'll go down and never come up again because he'll be stone dead."

"Which," answered Robin, razor arrested, "is a dev'lish disturbing thought, John, and cannot be right, because I hit you once and with all my strength, old fellow."

"But not in the right place, Master Robin; yet down I went fast asleep till they soused me wi' a bucket o' water."

"Yes, that was a grand fight, John, and it turned you into a grander friend; no man ever had a better! And this reminds me of another good friend, John; you've seen him here pretty often lately—old Rags and Bones."

"If you mean young Viscount Ragworth, sir——"

"That's the cove; and he's not so young, six months or so my senior. However, he's so taken with this farm, this club of ours, that he wants to join and has sent me a hundred as subscription."

"Eh, a hundred pound, Master Robin?"

"Which will be no end useful, John, of course, though the question is: can we accept him, considering he is not exactly homeless and destitute. To be sure we might enrol him as a broken-down rag-and-bone merchant, eh, John?"

"Well, sir, I——"

"Hold hard, old fellow! Since we are friends and partners, why the devil do you still persist in sir-ing and mister-ing me?"

"Because, sir, you are one o' the Quality, a gentleman born, and I am only——"

"You," said Robin, wiping his razor in turn and not at all carefully, "are far better born than I, because, as a matter of fact, I—oh, damme, I'm only a sort of sham, an imitation of what a true gentleman should be! For I was a London gutter-snipe, John, a nameless brat born most probably in some thieves' den or vile rookery, of unknown parentage, a ragged little half-starved misery steeped in filth and vice, a small savage and too-eager fighter even then! I might have become a thief or worse and ended my evil days in prison, or more likely on the gallows, but for Sir Oliver Dale,^[3] old Noll, though he was Mr. Dale then; but he rescued me, John, took me to his care, had me educated—treated me as his son, God bless him! And now the question is, what am I, John, and what am I going to be?"

And with his dark, pensive gaze down-bent towards the river below their open casement, John replied:

"Sir, you are and ever will be the man you seem, and the gentleman Sir Oliver hoped for; and so if I 'sir' you now and then, Master Robin, 'tis because I so believe you and always shall, sir——"

At this moment came a sharp rap on the door, which, at Robin's bidding, opened to admit a smart-looking man remarkably stiff in the back and square of shoulder, who, saluting smartly like the guardsman he had been, said in a voice of military officialdom:

"Sir, beg to report James Darcey for re-fusing to wash and William Sawkins for ab-usive language, very ob-scene, sir."

"Ha!" exclaimed Robin, struggling into his shirt. "I'll attend to 'em presently, Sergeant Bob. How many for breakfast this morning?"

"Thirty-seven, sir."

"But damme, Bob, you know we can seat a hundred and two at a pinch!"

"Yessir! But this being Toosday, only thirty-seven could pay their tuppence. Tom Wilks and me was compelled to turn t'others away, rules being rules, sir."

"Then we must alter the rule—poor devils—and make our charge a penny or nothing; and yet I don't want to pauperise them. Oh well, go and call 'em to 'attention', Sergeant; I'll be down in a minute or so. Ah hell!" he exclaimed as the sergeant departed. "I hate to turn any poor damn wretch away without bite or sup."

"But," said John, "you—we can't feed all the hungry in London, sir."

"We could in time, by degrees, old fellow, turn about, by rotation—maybe. At least we could have a dev-lish good try."

"Well, so we do. And, Master Robin, I'm all against lowering our charges, because a man likes to pay his way; a rogue don't. And 'tis men we want."

"True enough, John, though 'tis want that often makes rogues! Ay, starvation is a great breeder of crime." So saying, Robin donned snowy neckerchief and somewhat hard-used coat, then descended narrow, precipitous stair to a spacious chamber (once the lofty storehouse for ocean-born goods), where now the thirty-seven derelicts stood marshalled for his inspection, men these of every sort and condition, but all of them more or less brutalised by suffering and hardship.

Now as Robin surveyed these lost ones, these his black sheep, looking for some spark of good beneath the too-apparent evil, there stole to them a most delectable aroma, growing ever stronger, the delicious fragrance of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon, whereto noses were lifted, nostrils quivered and mouths watered.

Then Robin spoke:

"James Darcey, step out here!"

A heavy-shouldered ruffian lurched forward, growling:

"Wot's up, Gov'nor?"

"Did you refuse to wash?"

"Ay, Gov'nor, I did! And for why? says you. Becos, says I, for sake o' me perishin' precious 'ealth, I says, seein' as 'ow too much washin' don't soot me consti-tootion! And, wot's more, I washed yesterday, me face and me 'ands, I did, Bible oath, Gov!"

"James Darcey, are you hungry?"

"Starvin', Gov'nor! Me pore innards is all empty as so many perishin' drums——"

"Get washed, or not a bite do you have. Sausages, James, with bacon and——"

"Bacon, Gov; soss—cor strike a light. I'll wash me all over—or pretty nigh."

"Then go and do it."

"Ay ay, sir—wi' all me beatin' 'eart!"

"And plenty of soap, James!"

"Soap it is, Gov'nor!" And away shambled the grimy one forthwith.

"William Sawkins, step forward!"

A lean, scowling ferocity obeyed.

"You, Sawkins, are accused of using foul language."

"Well, wot of it?"

"You don't eat a morsel until you've sponged out that vile mouth of yours!"

"No bleed'n fear, you blood——"

"Ducking squad, fall in!" said Robin, whereat rose joyous cries of: "Ay ay, sir! Righto, Gov'nor! Come on—you!" And even then, the rebellious one was writhing in the ungentle grip of four grinning fellows.

"Off with him!" Robin commanded. "Scrub his mouth out thoroughly, and if he resists douse him in water-butt number three."

But now it was, and even as Robin spoke, that the great outer door behind him opened softly and upon the threshold stood one at mere sight of whom all other men were suddenly hushed and still. A shortish, powerfully built person this, very neatly dressed from crown of wide-eaved hat to well-polished top-boots, a man before whose bright, roving glance lean bodies seemed to cower and shrink, faces were averted, shaggy heads bowed or were back-thrown defiantly while nervous feet shuffled. Robin, looking round to know the cause of all this, exclaimed, glad-voiced:

"Shrig! Jasper, old fellow, you're heartily welcome. Come in, man, come in. Though—ha—what the deuce? Which of my lambs are you after this time?"

Crossing both sinewy hands on that formidable knobbed stick of his which was so very like a bludgeon, Mr. Shrig of Bow Street answered:

"Nary a vun, Master Robin, no! I have took the pleasure of paying you a sociable wisit, sir."

"Good man!" said Robin as they shook hands. "Breakfast is nearly ready. Tom Piper's hard at it in the kitchen yonder. Can't you smell it?"

"Ar!" sighed Mr. Shrig, tilting his short, pugnacious nose to this appetising fragrance. "Nosegays can't compare nor yet the spices of Arry Beer."

"Sausages, Jasper, with bacon and possibly an egg or so! You know Sergeant Flint, of course—now Sergeant Bob, the tables!"

At the sergeant's bellowed command rose a joyful clamour where thirty-seven hungry fellows forthwith placed long planks upon trestles, and at the sergeant's second bellow fell into rank again. Then Robin led their visitor into a smallish, cosy chamber (once a stable), where breakfast things were being set forth upon snowy cloth by Black John, whom Mr. Shrig greeted like the old friends they were. And presently, seated at this hospitable board, they ate and drank with appetites hearty as their long-time friendship.

"By the way," said Robin as he performed with the coffee-pot, "I believe I have—yes, finally settled on a name for our club at last. What do you both think of 'The Gamecock's Roost'?"

"Prime!" quoth John with emphatic nod.

"Couldn't be better," answered Mr. Shrig, "seeing as how these here gamecocks is up to all manner o' games lawful and t'otherwise."

"Soho!" chuckled Robin. "However, I'll paint it for our sign in good, bold capitals, Jasper, which will indeed be 'a deed', a 'capital act', eh, old fellow? And this reminds me to ask how goes crime nowadays?"

"Vich," sighed Mr. Shrig above half-emptied coffee-cup, "I can't complain seeing as highway robbery is fairly bobbish, petty larceny going strong, robbery vith wiolence ditto, but murder has fell away to nothing, or werry nearly. Though a few days ago summat occurred as suggested Windictiveness vith a werry large Wee and my hopes is rose according."

"Not your hopes of murder, surely, Jasper?"

"My hopes, Master Robin, of windicating the possible murderee by clapping my daddles on the murder-er and bringing same to judgment and justice, as in dooty bound."

"Meaning the gallows, eh, Jasper?"

"And talking of your lady Aunt Rosamond——"

"Good, great heavens! What on earth——"

"She give me a letter for you, Master Robin, con-sarning the young fee-male party, name unknown, as you saved from a mud and vatery grave eight nights ago."

"Well, what of her, Jasper?"

"Said young party has flew the coop, hopped the perch and wanished com-plete! And talking of your lady aunt's letter, same I here and now dooly deliver." And reaching his hat from beneath the table, Mr. Shrig drew thence the missive in question. Uttering a word of thanks, Robin unfolded it and read:

"My Dear Nephew,

"The still unknown and very beautiful creature whom

our Old Father Thames bore to your arms has vanished,

leaving the note I enclose which could have been written

only by a young and sensitive lady, in fine a gentlewoman.

Jemima informs me how this unfortunate lady overheard

you describe her as 'an armful of filth', and later I, and

perhaps she, heard your too-loudly expressed detestation

of black hair. I am loath to think this has anything to

do with her very sudden departure and yet ... However,

I hope and pray she is now safe in the loving care

of friends. Please, my dear boy, return her note by

Mr. Shrig and know me always your devoted loving aunt,

"Rosamond."

He now read the enclosure, these words written in bold, flowing characters:

"Dearest and Gentlest of Ladies,

"Because in these few days you have taught me to love

you, I rid you of my troublous presence lest I bring

sorrow and peril upon you, but I am and shall ever remain

your loving, truly grateful,

"Waif of the River."

"Because I have no money, please accept the jewelled

trifle I leave for the benefit of your many poor ones."

"Not bad news of Lady Rosamond, I hope?" enquired John in sudden anxiety, struck by Robin's grave expression.

"No, old fellow. Oh no. Aunt is very well, but, as Jasper says, the young woman I dragged from the mud t'other night has bolted, and I'm wondering why."

"For a werry good reason, Master Robin."

"Oh? What, pray?"

"Sorrer and peril as by her wrote down."

"Then you've seen this letter, Jasper?"

"Your lady aunt give me same to pee-roose."

"Well, what do you think is meant by 'sorrow and peril'?"

"Master Robin, ekker alone responds—so fur——"

"Confound your echo, Jasper. I'm asking what you think——"

"Boats, sir; I'm thinking o' boats."

"Now what the devil——"

"Two on 'em, sir, Bill Bartrum's and another as Bill found adrift upstream not long ago, a werry nice boat vith nobody and nothing in same except a lady's silver-buckled shoe, a splash or so o' blood and summat else as Bill had missed, vich was bad luck for Bill but fort'nate for the law—this here!" And from the right-hand pocket of his red waistcoat Mr. Shrig extracted a screw of paper. Very deliberately he opened this and laid upon the table the half of a gold clasp ablaze with splendour of diamonds.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Robin, gazing down at this precious thing. "Jasper, I've seen this before—yes, by jove, Aunt Rosamond found it on that young woman's muddy clothes."

"Not this, sir, no. The part as your lady aunt found is this." And from the left-hand pocket of his waistcoat Mr. Shrig drew another screw of paper, saying: "Lo behold half o' this here as is a gold buckle, the property, I pre-soom, o' the lady as lost her shoe, her gore and p'raps now her life, vich lady, Master Robin, is that same young fee-male party you described as a 'armful o' filth'."

"Well, so she was, all loathsome with slime, though somehow you make my words sound worse than I thought, damme!"

"And where," enquired John, "did you find the part as Bill Bartrum missed?"

"It had fell and hid itself werry artfully, John, abaft the sternmost stringer."

"It must be worth a rare lot o' money, Jasper."

"Ar, a fortun', John! From vich I de-dooce as how Master Robin's armful o' filth must be a lady o' the Quality and young person o' terry-mendous po-sessions."

"Jasper, why harp upon that careless too-hasty remark of mine which I——"

"Talking o' harps, Mr. Robin, said young lady may be per-forming on one in Kingdom Come at this i-dentical minute werry soulfully as her body, reposing in the buzzim of Old Pa Thames, floats peacefully downstream——"

"Now damn it all, Jasper, what evidence have you for such curst suggestion?"

"Not a scrinch, sir, neether tittle nor jot! But—if a person cuts and runs, it argufies per-soot and fear o' bodily harm, Master Robin; death sir, the capital act. And this young party has fled! So there y' are, though here she ain't, being now, alive or dead, in parts unknown."

"Which sounds dev'lish dismal, Jasper!"

"Howsever, Master Robin, your sassingers and bacon, not to mention coffee and eggs, has gone to the spot and been dooly appreciated by your old friend J. S., who begs to ex-press gratitood for same."

"And who is heartily welcome at any time, eh, John?"

"Ever and always is our united sentiments, Jasper."

And presently, having repocketed the glittering halves of that resplendent clasp, and tucked the brief note subscribed "Waif of the River" into his famous hat, Mr. Shrig crowned himself therewith, shook hands, and departed. City-wards he went, and at leisured pace beside the ever-busy river, this crystal road, this watery highway athrong with craft and ships of every sort, size and rig, past busy wharves where other ships lay moored wherein and whereby men of every sort and kind wrought and laboured; on past gloomy warehouses and grimy buildings, until in dingy corner remote from this tumultuous bustle and fury of traffic he beheld a man seated pensive upon a rusty bollard, a man entirely unremarkable except for a pair of hay-like drooping whiskers of the kind familiarly known as "weepers". As Mr. Shrig approached, this man arose with a certain lithe nimbleness, whereupon ensured the following murmurous conversation:

Mr. Shrig: Anything to report, Dan'l?

Dan'l: Only one man, a infant and a woman; nothing

in our line, so fur, Jarsper.

Mr. Shrig: But—an ooman, Dan'l. Have you dooly

inspected same?

Dan'l: I have so, and therefore pro-nounce as she

ain't our con-sern, being a sight too old.

Mr. Shrig: Is my young Midget out along o' Bill

Bartrum?

Dan'l: Ay, below bridge, but coming up along on the

flood. But, Jarsper, where about d'you expect our

young party to come ashore?

Mr. Shrig: I dunno as I do, Dan'l. I b'lieve and hope

as our labour is all in wain.

Dan'l: Then why search the river for her?

Mr. Shrig: Because I promised our lady Rosamond

so to do for three days, to soothe said lady's anxious

mind.

Dan'l: And this'll be the third day, Jarsper.

Mr. Shrig: Ar! And you knowing the places where

Old Thames gen'rally rolls his wictims ashore, you'll

wisit them places turn about till the ebb and thereafter

report to me at the 'Vaterman'.

Dan'l: Very good, Jarsper.

Mr. Shrig: And if any wictim favours you by showing

up, let's hope as 'twon't be our perticklar young femmy-nine.

Though, from information lately received, I

know as there's a gen'leman—a reg'lar bang-up nob—making

enquiries along-shore for a expected young

lady-like corpse, vich fine gen'leman I am now agoing

to meet.

Having said which, Mr. Shrig nodded, turned and went ambling back, slow of foot; but never had his roving glance been quicker or more keenly alert.

[2]	See The Happy Harvest.

[3]	See The Crooked Furrow.