Читать книгу W. H. Ainsworth Collection: 20+ Historical Novels, Gothic Romances & Adventure Classics - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 121

Jolly nose! there are fools who say drink hurts the sight;

Such dullards know nothing about it.

’T is better, with wine, to extinguish the light,

Than live always, in darkness, without it!

“How long may it be since that boy was found in the way Mrs. Wood mentions?” inquired Jackson, as soon as the clatter that succeeded Mr. Smith’s melody had subsided.

“Let me see,” replied Wood; “exactly twelve years ago last November.”

“Why, that must be about the time of the Great Storm,” rejoined Jackson.

“Egad!” exclaimed Wood, “you’ve hit the right nail on the head, anyhow. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him.”

“I should like to hear all particulars of the affair,” said Jackson, “if it wouldn’t be troubling you too much.”

Mr. Wood required little pressing. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. Though meant to produce a totally different effect, the narrative seemed to excite the risible propensities rather than the commiseration of his auditor; and when Mr. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment.

“I beg your pardon,” he cried; “but really — ha! ha! — you must excuse me! — that is so uncommonly diverting — ha! ha! Do let me hear it again? — ha! ha! ha!”

“Upon my word,” rejoined Wood, “you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes.”

“To be sure! Nothing entertains me so much. People always rejoice at the misfortunes of others — never at their own! The droll dogs! how they must have enjoyed it! — ha! ha!”

“I dare say they did. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you. And, though it’s a long time ago, I feel as sore on the subject as ever.”

“Quite natural! Never forgive an injury! —I never do! — ha! ha!”

“Really, Mr. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. Your laugh reminds me of — of ——”

“Whose, Sir?” demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave.

“You’ll not be offended, I hope,” returned Wood, drily, “if I say that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the ‘droll dogs,’ (as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage I’ve just described.”

“Whom do you mean?” demanded Jackson.

“I allude to an individual, who has since acquired an infamous notoriety as a thief-taker; but who, in those days, was himself the associate of thieves.”

“Well, Sir, his name?”

“Jonathan Wild.”

“‘Sblood!” cried Jackson, rising, “I can’t sit still and hear Mr. Wild, whom I believe to be as honest a gentleman as any in the kingdom, calumniated!”

“Fire and fury!” exclaimed Smith, getting up with the brandy-bottle in his grasp; “no man shall abuse Mr. Wild in my presence! He’s the right-hand of the community! We could do nothing without him!”

“We!” repeated Wood, significantly.

“Every honest man, Sir! He helps us to our own again.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the carpenter.

“Surely,” observed Thames, laughing, “to one who entertains so high an opinion of Jonathan Wild, as Mr. Jackson appears to do, it can’t be very offensive to be told, that he’s like him.”

“I don’t object to the likeness, if any such exists, young Sir,” returned Jackson, darting an angry glance at Thames; “indeed I’m rather flattered by being thought to resemble a gentleman of Mr. Wild’s figure. But I can’t submit to hear the well-earned reputation of my friend termed an ‘infamous notoriety.’”

“No, we can’t stand that,” hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his legs.

“Well, gentlemen,” rejoined Wood, mildly; “since Mr. Wild is a friend of yours, I’m sorry for what I said. I’ve no doubt he’s as honest as either of you.”

“Enough,” returned Jackson, extending his hand; “and if I’ve expressed myself warmly, I’m sorry for it likewise. But you must allow me to observe, my good Sir, that you’re wholly in the wrong respecting my friend. Mr. Wild never was the associate of thieves.”

“Never,” echoed Smith, emphatically, “upon my honour.”

“I’m satisfied with your assurance,” replied the carpenter, drily.

“It’s more than I am,” muttered Thames.

“I was not aware that Jonathan Wild was an acquaintance of yours, Mr. Jackson,” said Kneebone, whose assiduity to Mrs. Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene.

“I’ve known him all my life,” replied the other.

“The devil you have! Then, perhaps, you can tell me when he intends to put his threat into execution?”

“What threat?” asked Jackson.

“Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he’s called.”

“You’ve been misinformed, Sir,” interposed Smith. “Mr. Wild is incapable of such baseness.”

“Bah!” returned the woollen-draper. “I see you don’t know him as well as you pretend. Jonathan is capable of anything. He has hanged twelve of his associates already. The moment they cease to be serviceable, or become dangerous he lodges an information, and the matter’s settled. He has always plenty of evidence in reserve. Blueskin is booked. As sure as you’re sitting there, Mr. Smith, he’ll swing after next Old Bailey sessions. I wouldn’t be in his skin for a trifle!”

“But he may peach,” said Smith casting an oblique glance at Jackson.

“It would avail him little if he did,” replied Kneebone. “Jonathan does what he pleases in the courts.”

“Very true,” chuckled Jackson; “very true.”

“Blueskin’s only chance would be to carry his threat into effect,” pursued the woollen-draper.

“Aha!” exclaimed Jackson. “He threatens, does he?”

“More than that,” replied Kneebone; “I understand he drew a knife upon Jonathan, in a quarrel between them lately. And since then, he has openly avowed his determination of cutting his master’s throat on the slightest inkling of treachery. But, perhaps Mr. Smith will tell you I’m misinformed, also, on that point.”

“On the contrary,” rejoined Smith, looking askance at his companion, “I happen to know you’re in the right.”

“Well, Sir, I’m obliged to you,” said Jackson; “I shall take care to put Mr. Wild on his guard against an assassin.”

“And I shall put Blueskin on the alert against the designs of a traitor,” rejoined Smith, in a tone that sounded like a menace.

“In my opinion,” remarked Kneebone, “it doesn’t matter how soon society is rid of two such scoundrels; and if Blueskin dies by the rope, and Jonathan by the hand of violence, they’ll meet the fate they merit. Wild was formerly an agent to the Jacobite party, but, on the offer of a bribe from the opposite faction, he unhesitatingly deserted and betrayed his old employers. Of late, he has become the instrument of Walpole, and does all the dirty work for the Secret Committee. Several arrests of importance have been intrusted to him; but, forewarned, forearmed, we have constantly baffled his schemes; — ha! ha! Jonathan’s a devilish clever fellow. But he can’t have his eyes always about him, or he’d have been with us this morning at the Mint, eh, Mr. Jackson!”

“So he would,” replied the latter: “so he would.”

“With all his cunning, he may meet with his match,” continued Kneebone, laughing. “I’ve set a trap for him.”

“Take care you don’t fall into it yourself,” returned Jackson, with a slight sneer.

“Were I in your place,” said Smith, “I should be apprehensive of Wild, because he’s a declared enemy.”

“And were I in yours,” rejoined the woollen-draper, “I should be doubly apprehensive, because he’s a professed friend. But we’re neglecting the punch all this time. A bumper round, gentlemen. Success to our enterprise!”

“Success to our enterprise!” echoed the others, significantly.

“May I ask whether you made any further inquiries into the mysterious affair about which we were speaking just now?” observed Jackson, turning to the carpenter.

“I can’t say I did,” replied Wood, somewhat reluctantly; “what with the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of business, I put it off till it was too late. I’ve often regretted that I didn’t investigate the matter. However, it doesn’t much signify. All concerned in the dark transaction must have perished.”

“Are you sure of that,” inquired Jackson.

“As sure as one reasonably can be. I saw their boat swept away, and heard the roar of the fall beneath the bridge; and no one, who was present, could doubt the result. If the principal instigator of the crime, whom I afterwards encountered on the platform, and who was dashed into the raging flood by the shower of bricks, escaped, his preservation must have been indeed miraculous.”

“Your own was equally so,” said Jackson ironically. “What if he did escape?”

“My utmost efforts should be used to bring him to justice.”

“Hum!”

“Have you any reason to suppose he survived the accident?” inquired Thames eagerly.

Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell.

“I merely asked the question,” he said, after he had enjoyed the boy’s suspense for a moment.

The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth’s bosom was as suddenly extinguished.

“If I thought he lived ——” observed Wood.

“If,” interrupted Jackson, changing his tone: “he does live. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned.”

“Who is he?” asked Thames impatiently.

“You’re inquisitive, young gentleman,” replied Jackson, coldly. “When you’re older, you’ll know that secrets of importance are not disclosed gratuitously. Your adoptive father understands mankind better.”

“I’d give half I’m worth to hang the villain, and restore this boy to his rights,” said Mr. Wood.

“How do you know he has any rights to be restored to?” returned Jackson, with a grin. “Judging from what you tell me, I’ve no doubt he’s the illegitimate offspring of some handsome, but lowborn profligate; in which case, he’ll neither have name, nor wealth for his inheritance. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away. But, if you have any particular fancy for hanging the gentleman, who chose to take the law into his own hands — and I think your motive extremely disinterested and praiseworthy — why, it’s just possible, if you make it worth my while, that your desires may be gratified.”

“I don’t see how this is to be effected, unless you yourself were present at the time,” said Wood, glancing suspiciously at the speaker.

“I had no hand in the affair,” replied Jackson, bluntly; “but I know those who had; and could bring forward evidence, if you require it.”

“The best evidence would be afforded by an accomplice of the assassin,” rejoined Thames, who was greatly offended by the insinuation as to his parentage.

“Perhaps you could point out such a party, Mr. Jackson?” said Wood, significantly.

“I could,” replied Thames.

“Then you need no further information from me,” rejoined Jackson, sternly.

“Stay!” cried Wood, “this is a most perplexing business — if you really are privy to the affair ——”

“We’ll talk of it to-morrow, Sir,” returned Jackson, cutting him short. “In the mean time, with your permission, I’ll just make a few minutes of our conversation.”

“As many as you please,” replied Wood, walking towards the chimney-piece, and taking down a constable’s, staff, which hung upon a nail.

Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. While he was thus occupied, Thames, prompted by an unaccountable feeling of curiosity, took up the penknife which the other had just used, and examined the haft. What he there noticed occasioned a marked change in his demeanour. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened.

“There,” cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, “that’ll do. To-morrow at twelve I’ll be with you, Mr. Wood. Make up your mind as to the terms, and I’ll engage to find the man.”

“Hold!” exclaimed the carpenter, in an authoritative voice: “we can’t part thus. Thames, look the door.” (An order which was promptly obeyed.) “Now, Sir, I must insist upon a full explanation of your mysterious hints, or, as I am headborough of the district, I shall at once take you into custody.”

Jackson treated this menace with a loud laugh of derision.

“What ho!” he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandy-bottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. “It is time!”

“For what?” grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes.

“For the caption!” replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets.

“Ready!” answered Smith, shaking himself, and producing a similar pair of weapons.

“In Heaven’s name! what’s all this?” cried Wood.

“Be still, and you’ll receive no injury,” returned Jackson. “We’re merely about to discharge our duty by apprehending a rebel. Captain Kneebone! we must trouble you to accompany us.”

“I’ve no intention of stirring,” replied the woollen-draper, who was thus unceremoniously disturbed: “and I beg you’ll sit down, Mr. Jackson.”

“Come, Sir!” thundered the latter, “no trifling! Perhaps,” he added, opening a warrant, “you’ll obey this mandate?”

“A warrant!” ejaculated Kneebone, starting to his feet.

“Ay, Sir, from the Secretary of State, for your arrest! You’re charged with high-treason.”

“By those who’ve conspired with me?”

“No! by those who’ve entrapped you! You’ve long eluded our vigilance; but we’ve caught you at last!”

“Damnation!” exclaimed the woollen-draper; “that I should be the dupe of such a miserable artifice!”

“It’s no use lamenting now, Captain! You ought rather to be obliged to us for allowing you to pay this visit. We could have secured you when you left the Mint. But we wished to ascertain whether Mrs. Wood’s charms equalled your description.”

“Wretches!” screamed the lady; “don’t dare to breathe your vile insinuations against me! Oh! Mr. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?”

“Don’t upbraid me!” rejoined the woollen-draper.

“Bring him along, Joe!” said Jackson, in a whisper to his comrade.

Smith obeyed. But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson’s head.

“Begone! or I fire!” he cried.

“Mr. Wood,” returned Jackson, with the utmost composure; “you’re a headborough, and a loyal subject of King George. I call upon you to assist me in the apprehension of this person. You’ll be answerable for his escape.”

“Mr. Wood, I command you not to stir,” vociferated the carpenter’s better-half; “recollect you’ll be answerable to me.”

“I declare I don’t know what to do,” said Wood, burned by conflicting emotions. “Mr. Kneebone! you would greatly oblige me by surrendering yourself.”

“Never!” replied the woollen-draper; “and if that treacherous rascal, by your side, doesn’t make himself scarce quickly, I’ll send a bullet through his brain.”

“My death will lie at your door,” remarked Jackson to the carpenter.

“Show me your warrant!” said Wood, almost driven to his wit’s-end; “perhaps it isn’t regular?”

“Ask him who he is?” suggested Thames.

“A good idea!” exclaimed the carpenter. “May I beg to know whom I’ve the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name.”

“What does it signify?” returned the latter, angrily.

“A great deal!” replied Thames. “If you won’t disclose your name, I will for you! You are Jonathan Wild!”

“Further concealment is needless,” answered the other, pulling off his wig and black patch, and resuming his natural tone of voice; “I am Jonathan Wild!”

“Say you so!” rejoined Kneebone; “then be this your passport to eternity.”

Upon which he drew the trigger of the pistol, which, luckily for the individual against whom it was aimed, flashed in the pan.

“I might now send you on a similar journey!” replied Jonathan, with a bitter smile, and preserving the unmoved demeanour he had maintained throughout; “but I prefer conveying you, in the first instance, to Newgate. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow.”

So saying, he sprang, with a bound like that of a tiger-cat, against the throat of the woollen-draper. And so sudden and well-directed was the assault, that he completely overthrew his gigantic antagonist.

“Lend a hand with the ruffles, Blueskin!” he shouted, as that personage, who had just recovered from the stunning effects of the blow, contrived to pick himself up. “Look quick, d——n you, or we shall never master him!”

“Murder!” shrieked Mrs. Wood, at the top of her voice.

“Here’s a pistol!” cried Thames, darting towards the undischarged weapon dropped by Blueskin in the scuffle, and pointing it at Jonathan. “Shall I shoot him?”

“Yes! yes! put it to his ear!” cried Mrs. Wood; “that’s the surest way!”

“No! no! give it me!” vociferated Wood, snatching the pistol, and rushing to the door, against which he placed his back.

“I’ll soon settle this business. Jonathan Wild!” he added, in a loud voice, “I command you to release your prisoner.”

“So I will,” replied Jonathan, who, with Blueskin’s aid, had succeeded in slipping a pair of handcuffs over the woollen-draper’s wrists, “when I’ve Mr. Walpole’s order to that effect — but not before.”

“You’ll take the consequences, then?”

“Willingly.”

“In that case I arrest you, and your confederate, Joseph Blake, alias Blueskin, on a charge of felony,” returned Wood, brandishing his staff; “resist my authority, if you dare.”

“A clever device,” replied Jonathan; “but it won’t serve your turn. Let us pass, Sir. Strike the gag, Blueskin.”

“You shall not stir a footstep. Open the window, Thames, and call for assistance.”

“Stop!” cried Jonathan, who did not care to push matters too far, “let me have a word with you, Mr. Wood.”

“I’ll have no explanations whatever,” replied the carpenter, disdainfully, “except before a magistrate.”

“At least state your charge. It is a serious accusation.”

“It is,” answered Wood. “Do you recollect this key? Do you recollect to whom you gave it, and for what purpose? or shall I refresh your memory?”

Wild appeared confounded.

“Release your prisoner,” continued Wood, “or the window is opened.”

“Mr. Wood,” said Jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a low tone, “the secret of your adopted son’s birth is known to me. The name of his father’s murderer is also known to me. I can help you to both — nay, I will help you to both, if you do not interfere with my plans. The arrest of this person is of consequence to me. Do not oppose it, and I will serve you. Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy. I have but to give a hint of that boy’s existence in the proper quarter, and his life will not be worth a day’s purchase.”

“Don’t listen to him, father,” cried Thames, unconscious of what was passing; “there are plenty of people outside.”

“Make your choice,” said Jonathan.

“If you don’t decide quickly, I’ll scream,” cried Mrs. Wood, popping her head through the window.

“Set your prisoner free!” returned Wood.

“Take off the ruffles, Blueskin,” rejoined Wild. “You know my fixed determination,” he added in a low tone, as he passed the carpenter. “Before to-morrow night that boy shall join his father.”

So saying, he unlocked the door and strode out of the room.

“Here are some letters, which will let you see what a snake you’ve cherished in your bosom, you uxorious old dotard,” said Blueskin, tossing a packet of papers to Wood, as he followed his leader.

“‘Odd’s-my-life! what’s this?” exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. “Why, this is your writing Dolly, and addressed to Mr. Kneebone.”

“My writing! no such thing!” ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper.

“Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters,” whispered Kneebone, “What’s to be done?”

“What’s to be done! Why, I’m undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. But men are so careless, there’s no trusting anything to them! However, I must try to brazen it out. — Give me the letters, my love,” she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; “they’re some wicked forgeries.”

“Excuse me, Madam,” replied the carpenter, turning his back upon her, and sinking into a chair: “Thames, my love, bring me my spectacles. My heart misgives me. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way.”