The Orange Girl

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER XV

  THE FILIAL MARTYR

  I hastened on my errand, taking a boat to Westminster, whence it is ashort walk across the Parks to Curzon Street, where my Lord Brockenhursthad his town house. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon: I foundcarriages and chaises waiting outside the open door, and the hall withinfilled with servants in livery lolling about and exchanging insolentremarks upon the people who crowded up the stairs. I am little versed inthe customs of the Great, but I confess that the continual presence ofthese insolent and hulking varlets in the house and in all the roomswould be to me a burden intolerable. What says Doctor Johnson?

  'The pride of awful state, The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate, The regal palace, the luxurious board, The liveried army and the menial lord

  I believe he meant the lords who were obsequious to the Cardinal: we mayread it, to suit those times, the impudent menials who lord it overtheir Master's house.

  I thought of those lines as I waited, neglected, in the Hall among thelacqueys. Fortunately I was reminded of other lines by the same greatauthor.

  'Where won by bribes, by flatteries implored, The groom retails the favours of his Lord.'

  I turned to one of them whose shoulder knots and his rod of officeproclaimed him one in authority.

  'Sir,' I said, 'I am the bearer of a letter for his Lordship.'

  'Wait, friend, wait. His Lordship will receive presently.'

  'Sir. It is an important letter. It is from a lady. I assure you thathis Lordship would be much vexed not to receive it.'

  'Give it to me, then.'

  'Sir. By your leave. It is very important. Can you contrive to put itinto his Lordship's hand immediately?'

  He looked at me with an air of surprise, and made no reply.

  'Pardon me, Sir,' I said, taking out my purse, in which were twoguineas--all I had in the world--'I forgot to add that I rely on yourgood offices,' with that I slipped a guinea into his hand.

  'Ay--' he said. 'Now you talk sense. Well, Sir, you may trust me. HisLordship shall have the letter within an hour, as soon as his companybegins to go.'

  With this assurance I was fain to be content. So I came away hoping thatthe fellow would keep his word. This, happily, he did.

  It was too late at that hour to seek out Matthew in his counting-house.Besides, I confess that I felt pity for the poor wretch thus hasteningto destruction. His haggard look at the trial showed the miseries he wassuffering. He gave his evidence, as you have heard on the threat thatotherwise he would be charged with the other four with conspiracy: andnow a misfortune almost as bad was to fall upon him. To go to him wouldhave the appearance of exulting over these misfortunes. Yet it wasnecessary to tell him.

  I went home sadly. That Jenny should suffer the wreck and destruction ofher house in Soho Square, was hard: that she should, also, which wasmuch worse, be arrested on a capital charge and committed to Newgate:that she should have nothing to say or to plead in defence: in revengefor the part she had played in proving my innocence: these things, Isay, were difficult to understand. Why should she not plead 'NotGuilty,' and leave it to the prosecution to prove that she was the ownerof the property or that she knew it was in her house? Who would believethe word of the revengeful fury who swore to seeing the things taken tothe house by the old woman and her daughter? Would not a clever counselmake her contradict herself? and confess, somehow, that she herself hadlaid the things there by way of a trap?

  So I argued, blind, in my anxiety.

  'Will,' said Alice, 'you would meet misfortune by falsehood. Fie! Youwould lay a trap set by a clever talker to catch this miserable ignorantwoman. Fie!'

  'What then?' I cried. 'Ignorant or not she is a mischievous and arevengeful woman. My dear, I would save Jenny at any cost.'

  'I think Jenny is right, Will. She will meet the charge by simplypleading "Guilty" to whatever they can prove against her: namely, havingthe things in her house, knowing that they were stolen. I think it isher wisest course. No questions will be asked: no one will believe thata woman in her position could actually be guilty of receiving stolengoods so worthless: it will be understood by everybody that she isscreening someone--some close relation--even at the risk of her ownlife.'

  I replied by a groan of dissent.

  'Jenny is not an actress for nothing. She ought not to have bought thethings at all: or she ought to have destroyed them: this I suppose shewould have done, but she forgot: she was wholly occupied in saving you.We must remember that with gratitude unspeakable, Will.'

  'Yes, wife, God knows I do.'

  'The world has been told over and over again that poor Jenny was once anOrange Girl: do people ever expect Orange Girls to come of respectableparents? To take guilt upon yourself--in order to screen yourmother--will appear to the world as a noble and generous act. It wouldhave taken you and me, Will, a month to discover the best way out of thetrouble. But Jenny saw her way at once.'

  In the end Alice proved to be right. Jenny chose the very best thingpossible, as you shall see.

  In the morning I began by making my way to the old familiar place, theCounting House and Wharf close to All-hallows the Great. The Wharf wasquite empty and desolate: the cranes were there, but there were nolighters: the casks and bales that formerly encumbered the place weregone: in the outer counting-house there were no clerks except Ramage.But the place was filled with lawyers' clerks attornies, creditors andtheir representatives. The talk was loud and angry: all were talkingtogether: all were threatening terrible things unless their claims werepaid in full.

  Ramage held up his hands when he saw me and shook his head.

  'Will my cousin see me, Ramage?' I asked. 'Tell him I have something ofthe greatest importance to say to him.'

  'It is all over, Mr. William,' he whispered. 'The blow has fallen. Afterthe things which came out in the Old Bailey there was no hope. It wasall over the City at once and on Change in the afternoon. You will findhim within. I fear you will find that he has been drinking. Go in, Sir,you must not pay any heed to what he says. He has been strange andunlike himself for a long time. No wonder with all these troubles.' Thusdid the faithful servant stand up for the credit of an unworthy master.'Go in, Sir. He will insult you. But don't mind what he says.'

  I went in. Matthew was evidently half drunk. He had a bottle of brandybefore him, and he was drinking fast and furiously.

  'Gaol-bird!' he cried, banging his fist on the table and talkingthickly. 'Newgate-bird--what do you want? Money? You all want money. Youmay go away then. I haven't got any money. All the money's gone. All themoney's lost.' So he went on repeating his words, and maundering andforgetting one moment what he had said just before.

  'Matthew,' I said, 'I have not come to ask for money or for anything. Ihave brought you news.'

  'What news? There is no news but bad news. Perhaps somebody has murderedProbus. Why don't you murder Probus--murder--murder Probus?' I sufferedhim to go on in his foolish way without reply. 'Do you know, Will,' helay back in his chair and plunged his hands in his pockets, 'there isnobody I should like to see murdered so much as Probus--Ezekiel Probus,excepting yourself. If I could see both of you hanging side by side, Ishould be happy; but if I could see you both murdered with abludgeon I could go--I could go--I could go to the King's Benchcheerfully--cheerfully.'

  It was no use prolonging the interview. I told him, briefly, why I hadcome.

  'Your wife,' I said, 'has had her house sacked and the whole of herproperty destroyed by the mob.'

  'I am glad of that--very glad to hear that. All of it destroyed you say?This is good news indeed.'

  'She can no longer carry on her business at the Soho Square AssemblyRooms. The property destroyed consists largely of furniture supplied forthe use of the Rooms. It is not yet paid for. Therefore, she will becompelled to refer her creditors to you.'

  'Her creditors? Does this abandoned woman owe any money, then?'

  'I believe about L30,000 is the sum of her
liabilities.'

  He laughed. He laughed cheerfully, as if it was one of the merriest andheartiest jokes he had ever heard. 'Is that all? Why, man, it's nothing.Put it on my back; and as much more as you please: as much as the Bankof England contains. Why, I can bear it all. Nothing makes anydifference now. Tell her she is quite welcome to double it, if she canget the credit. It's all one to me.'

  'That is what I came to tell you.'

  'Very good, gaol-bird. Probus very nearly succeeded, did he not? Youfelt a kind of a tightening about the neck, I suppose. Never mind. Don'tbe disappointed. I dare say you will go to Tyburn after all. You areyoung yet, and then the fortune will come to me--and we shall see--weshall see'--he drank another glass of Nantes--'we shall see----What wasI going to say?'

  So I left him and went on my way to Newgate.

  Jenny was in conference with her attorney.

  'Come in, Will. I have no secrets from my cousin, Mr. Dewberry. Now, ifyou please, give me your opinion.'

  'First, then, if you plead Not Guilty--what can they prove against you?That certain things were found in your garrets? How did they get there?A wretched, revengeful drab says that your mother and sister put themthere. Is her word to be believed? She is the sweetheart of aconspirator and presumably a highwayman, whom you have been instrumentalin consigning to a prison, with probably a severe punishment to follow.Where are your mother and sister? They are gone away? Where? You cannotbe asked. But you do not know. Why? To escape the revenge of the mob whohave wrecked their house. Very well. There the case ends--and breaksdown.'

  'Not so. It does not break down. My mother has long been known as thegreatest receiver in the trade. She bought more and sold more thananybody else. The Court dressmakers came to her to buy her lace and herembroidery for the great Court Ladies. Why, she is the most notoriouswoman in London. If I am acquitted, they will get up a Hue and Cry forher, and they will certainly find her. And then there isn't a thief inprison or out who will not give evidence against her, after the evidenceshe has given against the thieves. And as for Doll--my sister's name isDoll--in order to save her own skin, she will most certainly be ready togive evidence to the effect that I bought the things of my mother andpaid for them. Which I did. As I told you.'

  'You never told me so. I don't know that it matters much. I am onlytrying to see my way to an acquittal. And considering there is nobodybut that woman to testify to the conveyance of the goods, really, Ithink there ought to be no doubt as to the result.'

  'Mr. Dewberry,' Jenny laid her hand upon his arm. 'Understand me. I havebeen kept down, all my life, by my origin. As soon as this business isover I shall try in some way or other to get clear away from themall--Oh! what an origin it is! Oh, how I have always envied the childrenof honest parents. Why--my father----'

  'Dear lady, do not speak of these things.'

  'Well, then, my cousins--I mean those of them who are not yethanged--live in the courts and blind alleys of St. Giles's. I have nolonger any patience with them--it makes me wretched to think of them,and it humiliates me to go among them because I have to become again oneof them and I do it so easily. Well, Sir, I am what I am: yet strangeas it may seem to you--I will not lend my help to getting my mother andsister hanged.'

  Mr. Dewberry took her hand and kissed it. 'Proceed, Madame,' he saidgravely.

  'If, then, I plead Guilty, the woman's evidence will be received withoutany dispute or discussion, and when sentence is passed, the case will beclosed. No one, afterwards, will venture to charge my mother with thatcrime.'

  'I suppose not. But the sentence, Madame, the sentence!'

  She shuddered. 'I know what the sentence will be. But I am not afraid. Ihave friends who will come to my assistance.'

  In fact one of them appeared at that very moment. He was a gentleman ofa singularly sweet and pleasant countenance, on which kindness, honour,and loyalty were stamped without the least uncertainty. He was dressedvery finely in a satin coat and waistcoat, and he wore a sash and astar.

  'Divine Jenny!' he said, taking her hand and kissing it. 'Is it possiblethat I find thee in such a place and in such a situation as this?'

  Jenny suffered her hand to remain in his. When I think of her and of herbehaviour at this juncture I am amazed at her power of acting. Sherepresented, not her own feelings, which were those of the greatestdisgust towards her nearest relations (to whom one is taught to payrespect), but the feelings which she wished Lord Brockenhurst, and,through him, the world at large, should believe of her.

  In her left hand she held a white lace handkerchief, scented with somedelicate perfume: the woman was one of those who are never without somesubtle fragrance which seemed to belong to her, naturally. Thishandkerchief she applied to her eyes--from time to time: they were dry,to my certain knowledge but the act was the outward semblance ofweeping.

  'My Lord,' said Jenny, 'this gentleman is my cousin--not of St.Giles's--my husband's cousin--My husband, however, I cannot suffer toapproach me. This other gentleman is Mr. Dewberry, of Great St. ThomasApostle in the City of London, attorney at Law. They are considering mycase with me. By your Lordship's permission we will renew ourconference in your presence. If, on the other hand, you would prefer tohear, alone, what I have to state, they will leave us.'

  'I am in your hands, Jenny,' he kissed her hand again and let it go. 'Mysole desire is to be of service. Pray remember, Jenny, that whatever Ipromise I try to perform. All the service that I can render you in thistime of trouble is at your command.'

  I placed a chair for him and looked to Jenny to begin.

  She sat down and buried her face in her hands while we all waited.

  'My Lord,' she rose at last and continued standing, 'I once told you--ata time when it was impossible to conceal anything from you, that I wasoriginally an Orange Girl at the Theatre where you honoured mefrequently by witnessing my humble performances.'

  'Say, rather, Jenny, inspired performances.'

  She bowed her head, like some queen. 'If your Lordship pleases. I alsotold you that my parents were of the very lowest--so low that one canget no lower.'

  'You did.'

  'Now, my Lord, I am accused of receiving stolen property in my house,knowing the property to be stolen.'

  'Oh! Monstrous! Most monstrous!'

  'My accuser is a girl whose sweetheart is now by my evidence and theevidence of others lying in this prison beside me, on a charge ofconspiracy. With the girl it is an act of revenge. She would tell you asmuch. The mob, also in revenge for exposing a most diabolical plot, haswrecked and sacked my mother's house in St. Giles's and my own in SohoSquare. They have destroyed all that I possessed. I am therefore ruined.But that is nothing. On the stage we care very little about losing orgaining money. This woman has now brought a charge against me which Iblush even to name.'

  'You have only to deny the charge, Jenny. There is not a man in Londonwho would doubt the word of the incomparable Jenny Wilmot.'

  She bowed her head again. 'I would I could think so.'

  She made as if she would go on; then stopped and hesitated, looking downas if in doubt and shame.

  'My Lord, I will put the case to you quite plainly. Mr. Dewberry is ofopinion that the result, if the matter is brought before the court willcertainly be decided in my favour.'

  'I am certain on the point,' said the Attorney. 'I beg your Lordship'spardon for my interruption.'

  'Oh! Sir, who has a better right to interrupt?' He turned again toJenny, whom he devoured with his eyes. Truly if ever any man was in loveit was Lord Brockenhurst.

  'If I were acquitted,' she went on. 'Indeed, I believe I should beacquitted--but the case would not be ended by that acquittal. Suppose,my Lord--I put a case--it need not be mine'--she plucked at the lace ofher handkerchief as if deeply agitated--'I say, it need not be my owncase--I suppose a case. Such a charge is brought against aperson--perhaps innocent. She is acquitted--But the charge remains. Itwill then be brought against the real criminal. Out of revenge everythief in St. Giles's
would crowd in to give evidence. That person's fatewould be certain. She would be--she would be--your Lordship will spareme the word.' Again she covered her eyes. Then she lifted her head againand went on. 'I know that the--person--is guilty--She deserves nothingshort of what the law provides. Yet reflect, my Lord. Born among rogues:brought up among rogues: without education and moral principles, orhonour, or religion, can one wonder if such a person turns to crime? Andcan you wonder, my Lord'--again she sank into a chair and covered herface with her hands--'can you wonder if the daughter should resolve tosave the mother's life, by taking--upon herself--the guilt--theconfession--the consequences of the crime?'

  She was silent save for a sob that convulsed her frame. His Lordshipheard with humid eyes. When she had finished he rose with tears thatstreamed down his face. For a while he could not speak. Then he turnedto Mr. Dewberry.

  'Sir,' he said, 'tell me--tell me--what she means.'

  'She means, my Lord, to plead Guilty and to take the consequences. By sodoing she will save her mother--yes, my Lord, her mother--even at thesacrifice of her own life.'

  'Oh!' he cried, 'it must not be! Great Heavens! It must not be.Jenny--Jenny--thou art, I swear, an angel.'

  'No, my Lord, no angel.'

  'Yes, an angel! Hear me, Jenny. I will stand by thee. The world shallknow--the world that loves thee--By ---- the world shall know what atreasure it possesses in the incomparable Jenny Wilmot. As an actressthou art without an equal. As a child--as a daughter--history records nogreater heroism. Thou shalt be written down in history beside the womanwho saved her father from starvation and the woman who saved her husbandfrom the traitor's block. I can endure it no longer, Jenny. To-morrowwhen my spirits are less agitated, I will come again.' He stooped andkissed her bowed head and so left us.

  A common or vulgar actress when the man for whom she had been playinghad gone, would have laughed or in some way betrayed herself. Not soJenny. She waited a reasonable time after his Lordship's departure andthen lifted her head, placed her handkerchief--still dry--to her eyesand stood up.

  'Mr. Dewberry,' she said, 'do you agree with me in the line I haveresolved to take?'

  'Madame, I do,' he replied emphatically.

  'And you, Will?'

  I hesitated, because I perceived that she had been playing a part. Yetan innocent part. She did not, certainly, desire to bring her mother andsister to a shameful end: but, at the same time, she did not wish it tobe known that she had really paid for the property and ordered itsremoval to her own house: she did not regard the landlady of the BlackJack with all the filial affection (not to speak of respect) which heremotion undoubtedly conveyed to his Lordship: on the other hand, itwould serve her own case--as well as her estimable mother--better thatshe should be regarded as a voluntary victim to save a parent than thatshe should be acquitted in order to give place to her mother who wouldcertainly be convicted.

  'I agree, Jenny--I agree,' I answered.

  'Sir,' said Mr. Dewberry as we walked away, 'I have often heard MissJenny Wilmot described as an incomparable actress. I am now convinced ofthe fact.'