“Remove her,” interrupted Zingary, firmly; but at the same time a tear trickled down his countenance.
The two gipsies, who had before led the Rattlesnake from the room, now dragged her forcibly away; while her piercing screams struck to the hearts of those who heard them.
“When is the sentence to be executed?” inquired Skilligalee, in a subdued and mournful tone.
“Within the hour,” answered the king. “You may converse with her up to the fatal moment.”
Skilligalee bowed, and left the room.
“Let the Traveller be now introduced,” said Zingary.
Crankey Jem, against whom, the reader may remember, the Resurrection Man had turned Crown evidence at the same sessions of the Central Criminal Court at which Richard Markham and Eliza Sydney were tried and condemned,—was now brought into the room.
“You have conducted yourself in a manner calculated to involve us all in a most serious difficulty,” said the king, addressing this individual; “and we are compelled to rid ourselves of your presence without delay. You have been treated with hospitality by us: reward us by maintaining the most profound secresy relative to all you have seen or heard since you have been our companion and guest. Depart—and may you always be ready and willing to serve a Zingaree.”
“I will—I will,” answered Jem: “night and day—in any case—I will risk my life for one of you. I do not blame you for expelling me; in fact, I should have left you in the morning of my own accord. London is no place for an escaped convict; and I shall not be sorry to leave it. But, answer me one question before I go: is that man dead?”
“We shall give you no information on that head,” answered Zingary. “Depart, my friend—and trouble us with your presence no longer. You have gold—and may you prosper.”
Crankey Jem bowed to the gipsies; and, having thanked them for their hospitality and kindness towards him, took his departure from the palace.
The gipsies retained their seats; but not a word was spoken by any one present.
At length the great bell on the staircase was struck three times. At this signal the king rose and walked slowly out of the room, followed by the other gipsies.
The procession moved with solemn pace, and in dead silence, to the back part of the house, where it descended a flight of stone steps into a place used as a scullery. There Skilligalee, Margaret Flathers, and the two gipsy-gaolers who had charge of the criminal, were waiting.
A single candle burned in the place, and its dim fitful light rather augmented than diminished the gloom.
Margaret was absorbed in the most profound grief and terror; and her mental sufferings were revealed in heart-rending sobs.
The nature of her doom had already been communicated to her!
Skilligalee’s countenance was ashy pale; but, much as he felt, he knew the Zingarees too well to undertake the vain task of imploring their mercy on behalf of the culprit.
“Is every thing ready?” demanded the king.
“Every thing,” answered one of the gipsy-gaolers.
With these words the man opened a massive door leading into a cellar, at the end of which there was another door, affording admittance into a second and smaller vault.
“Margaret,” cried the king, in a loud tone, “your doom is prepared. Brethren, take warning against treachery and ingratitude from this last act of justice!”
The two gipsies who had been entrusted with the custody of the criminal, raised her between them, and bore her through the first cellar into the interior vault.
But she uttered not a scream—nor a sob: she had fallen into a state of apathy bordering upon insensibility, the moment the rough hands of those men had touched her.
Skilligalee’s lips were compressed; and he evidently experienced immense difficulty in restraining his feelings.
Margaret was deposited on a mattress in the inner cell: a loaf of bread and pitcher of water had already been placed upon a shelf in one corner of the dungeon.
The door was then closed and carefully bolted.
The door of the outer cellar was also shut; and thus was the wretched woman entombed alive.
But as the procession of Zingarees turned to leave the vicinity of that fearful scene of punishment, a faint shriek—though not the less expressive of bitter agony in consequence of its indistinctness—fell upon the ears of those who had witnessed the sepulture of a living being.
EPILOGUE TO VOLUME I.
THUS far have we pursued our adventurous theme; and though we have already told so much, how much more does there remain yet to tell!
Said we not, at the outset, that we would introduce our readers to a city of strange contrasts? and who shall say that we have not fulfilled our promise?
But as yet we have only drawn the veil partially aside from the mighty panorama of grandeur and misery which it is our task to display:—the reader has still to be initiated more deeply into the MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
We have a grand moral to work out—a great lesson to teach every class of society;—a moral and a lesson whose themes are:
WEALTH. | POVERTY.
For we have constituted ourselves the scourge of the oppressor, and the champion of the oppressed: we have taken virtue by the hand to raise it, and we have seized upon vice to expose it; we have no fear of those who sit in high places; but we dwell as emphatically upon the failings of the educated and rich, as on the immorality of the ignorant and poor.
We invite all those who have been deceived to come around us, and we will unmask the deceiver;—we seek the company of them that drag the chains of tyranny along the rough thoroughfares of the world, that we may put the tyrant to shame;—we gather around us all those who suffer from vicious institutions, that we may expose the rottenness of the social heart.
Crime, oppression, and injustice prosper for a time; but, with nations as with individuals, the day of retribution must come. Such is the lesson which we have yet to teach.
And let those who have perused what we have already written, pause ere they deduce therefrom a general moral;—for as yet they cannot anticipate our design, nor read our end.
No:—for we have yet more to write, and they have more to learn, of the MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
Strange as many of the incidents already recorded may be deemed,—wild and fanciful as much of our narrative up to this point may appear,—we have yet events more strange, and episodes more seemingly wild and fanciful, to narrate in the ensuing volume.
For the word “LONDON” constitutes a theme whose details, whether of good or evil, are inexhaustible: nor knew we, when we took up our pen to enter upon the subject, how vast—how mighty—how comprehensive it might be!
Ye, then, who have borne with us thus far, condescend to follow us on to the end:—we can promise that the spirit which has animated us up to this point will not flag as we prosecute our undertaking;—and, at the close, we feel convinced that more than one will be enabled to retrospect over some good and useful sentiment which will have been awakened in the soul by the perusal of “THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON.”
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
[1] See Anne Humpherys and Louis James, eds., G. W. M. Reynolds: Nineteenth Century Fiction, Politics, and the Press (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008).
[2] E. Weston to Grey, H.O. 45, OS 2410, p. 334.
[3] Pierce Egan, Sr., Life in London (1820-21) (London: Sherwood, Neely, and Jones), pp. 17, 22-24.
[4] Q. D. Leavis, Fiction and the Reading Public (1932, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1979), p. 145.
[5] The main meat-market supplying London, where slaughtering also took place. It was notorious for its filth and stench. Much of the industry of the East End was bound to Smithfield and the meat-trade, from butchery through the making of leather goods to making straw hats, using
the straw salvaged from the cattle-yards.
[6] The Fleet River rose near Kentish Town, now in North London, and ran down into the Thames. On its way it passed Coldbath Prison, Saffron Hill, and Chick Street/West Street. By this time it was an open sewer, in which, infamously, the bodies of those who had fallen in drunk—or murdered—were often found. Many houses had a trap-door opening above it, for use as a latrine or rubbish chute. The Fleet became a symbol of the ‘undercurrent of crime’ threatening the City. Curiously, this fear grew after it was bricked over: the new London sewerage system was widely distrusted, not only because it was thought everyone’s sewage would now flow through your home, but because it was believed thieves, murderers and worse would have a direct access to your bathroom. Absurd as this seems to us, serials like The Wild Boys of London played to this fear, and even into the 1960s the ‘trap-door over the river’ motif was common in films: especially those which played to the fear of immigrants, like Sax Rohmer’s Fu Manchu series.
[7] tiger: footman, junior servant.
[8] Jonathan Wild: born Wolverhampton, c. 1682, executed at Tyburn 24 May 1725. One of the worst villains England ever produced, Wild was a thief, murderer and receiver of stolen goods, who also held the post of Thief-Taker General under Sir Robert Walpole. For many years he ran a ‘retrieval’ service, whereby he would sell stolen goods back to the owners for a high price. He ran a huge stable of criminals, and if any got out of hand, or disobeyed orders, he would hand them over to be hanged. The famous Jack Sheppard was one such. Wild had several houses in London where he stored goods and hid criminals: one was right next to the Old Bailey. Another was no. 3, West Street, otherwise known as Chick Lane, which is where the present action was set. The house was demolished in the 1840s, and the many discoveries made in it fascinated writers like Reynolds and Thomas Prest, who wrote a serial, The Old House of West Street.
[9] Peter Street and Saffron Hill: both streets still exist, but their character has changed enormously. Now a rather dull, respectable thoroughfare near Farringdon tube-station, Saffron Hill in 1844 was one of the ‘worst streets in London:’ Peter Street in Soho had much the same reputation.
[10] Scragged: hanged. Tyburn was the main place of execution for criminals until the 1780s, and stood roughly where Marble Arch stands today. Newgate was the main prison of London, and stands roughly where the Old Bailey does today.
[11] Hyde Park: a large open space in Westminster, just to the west of Mayfair, and in the 1840s very much ‘the place to be seen.’ As well as Rotten Row, a fashionable place to ride horses, the Park has a circle of roads inside its perimeter, known as the Carriage Drives: referred to below as ‘the drive.’
[12] Members of titled families, not themselves bearing a specific title, affix ‘the Honourable’ (the Hon.) to their names.
[13] Tattersall’s: Richard Tattersall’s Highflyer Club, ‘the established head-quarters of the patrons of “the Turf,”’ in Grosvenor Place. It was also known as ‘The Corner,’and was reached via a low arch. Markham and his new friends are in Hyde Park; Oxford Street joins Marble Arch at the north-east corner of the Park. Grosvenor Place comes off Hyde Park Corner, at the south-east corner, and runs parallel with the grounds of Buckingham Palace; so that Harborough is going in exactly the wrong direction for his story about the duke.
[14] Baronet: the lowest order of knighthood. Established by James VI and I (1603-1625), the title was often sold to the highest bidder.
[15] one-and-nine: one shilling and nine pence, or twenty-one pence, old style.
[16] A Chartist newspaper, to which Reynolds was a contributor.
[17] Frail: a common euphemism for a prostitute or fallen woman.
[18] execution: in this sense, the execution of a writ for distraint of goods; or, in short, having the bailiffs in. This sense is still current in Ireland.
[19]Abbreviation of capias ad satisfaciendum, a writ issued upon a judgment in a personal action for the recovery of money.
[20] Whitecross Street Prison: an old prison for debtors, pulled down in 1877. Whitecross Street ran between Fore Street and Old Street, in Moorfields; the prison stood on the corner of Fore Street.
[21] The Quadrant: now the southern end of Regent Street, between Piccadilly Circus and the junction of Glasshouse Street and Vigo Street.
[22] Booty, plunder. [Reynolds’s note.]
[23] Secured. [Reynolds’s note.]
[24] White Upper Coat: synonymous with “White Poodle.” [Reynolds’s note.]
[25] Handkerchief. [Reynolds’s note.]
[26] Pocket. [Reynolds’s note.]
[27] Strip. [Reynolds’s note.]
[28] Pawn the coat. [Reynolds’s note.]
[29] Gin. [Reynolds’s note.]
[30] Stomach. [Reynolds’s note.]
[31] Head. [Reynolds’s note.]
[32] Judges. [Reynolds’s note.]
[33] Transported. [Reynolds’s note.]
[34] Barrister. [Reynolds’s note.]
[35] Teeth. [Reynolds’s note.]
[36] Field Lane: no longer there, Field Lane previously connected Saffron Hill with Holborn Hill. It is now the southern portion of Saffron Hill between Greville Street and Charterhouse Street.
[37] A thief who sneaks down areas to see what he can steal in kitchens. [Reynolds’s note.]
[38] Prison. [Reynolds’s note.] Coldbath Prison, Clerkenwell, stood where Mount Pleasant Sorting Office stands today.
[39] Burglary. [Reynolds’s note.]
[40] The Mint: not the Royal Mint, at the Tower of London, but the notorious Liberty, or no-go area for the Law, in Southwark.
[41] West-street, Smithfield. [Reynolds’s note.]
[42] Gave him a share. [Reynolds’s note.]
[43] Informed. [Reynolds’s note.]
[44] When Reynolds was writing, the science of policing barely existed. The best hope for convicting a felon was for one of his companions to ‘turn King’s Evidence’—that is, to inform on him in court, in return for immunity from prosecution. The system was naturally hated by the criminal fraternity, but it was open to many abuses, and cases were known of criminals informing against the wrong man, or against the choice of the police, in return for their freedom.
[45] Turnkey. [Reynolds’s note.]
[46] The Hulks. [Reynolds’s note.]
[47] Waistcoat-pocket. [Reynolds’s note.]
[48] Hands. [Reynolds’s note.]
[49] Stealing a lady’s reticule from her pretty arm. [Reynolds’s note.]
[50] The Burglar. [Reynolds’s note.]
[51] Public-house. [Reynolds’s note.]
[52] Gunpowder. [Reynolds’s note.]
[53] A companion. [Reynolds’s note.]
[54] Chaplain. [Reynolds’s note.]
[55] The Gallows. [Reynolds’s note.]
[56] Passing forged notes. [Reynolds’s note.]
[57] Friends. [Reynolds’s note.]
[58] Informed. [Reynolds’s note.]
[59] The reference to white mice recalls the case of Bishop, Williams, and May, three resurrection-men convicted of the murder of the so-called ‘Italian Boy’ in 1831. Witnesses identified the victim as a beggar who exhibited white mice in a cage. The three men lived in Bethnal Green, a half-mile or so from 11, Suffolk Place, where Reynolds lived in the 1840s. Suffolk Place was on the corner of Hackney Road and Cambridge Heath Road, where much of this action is set.
[60]Cocculus indicus is the dried fruit of the anamirta cocculus, a climbing plant native to India. In small quantities it acts as a narcotic; in larger, it is fatal.
[61]
Sixpence. [Reynolds’s note.]
[62] Bad Meat. [Reynolds’s note.]
[63] Dark lanthorn. [Reynolds’s note.]
[64] Implements used by burglars. [Reynolds’s note.]
[65] Receiver of Stolen Goods. [Reynolds’s note.]
[66] That is, she declares herself insolvent to avoid legal process.
[67] Twig: catch on, understand. From Irish tuig (pronounced twig).
[68] Swell-mobites. [Reynolds’s note.]
[69] Swell-mobites who affect to be dissenting ministers, and preach in the open air in order to collect crowds, upon whose pockets their confederates work. [Reynolds’s note.]
[70] Common thieves. [Reynolds’s note.]
[71] Thieves who steal pocket-handkerchiefs. [Reynolds’s note.]
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