There’s not in all London a tavern so gay,
As that where the knowing ones meet of a day:
So long as a farthing remains to my share,
I’ll drink at that tavern, and never elsewhere.
Yet it is not that comforts there only combine,
Nor because it dispenses good brandy and wine;
’Tis not the sweet odour of pipe nor cigar—
Oh! no—’tis a something more coxie by far!
’Tis that friends of the light-fingered craft are all nigh,
Who’d drink till the cellar itself should be dry,
And teach you to feel how existence may please,
When pass’d in the presence of cronies like these.
Sweet Sign of the Fiddle! how long could I dwell
In thy tap full of smoke, with the friends I love well;
When bailiffs no longer the alleys infest,
And duns, like their bills, have relapsed into rest.
“Bravo!” “Brayvo!” “Bra-ah-vo!” echoed on all sides, when this elegant effusion was brought to a close.
The Bully Grand then rose, and spoke in the following manner:—
“Gentlemen, in proposing the health of our excellent brother Leary Lipkins, I might spare eulogy, his merits being so well known to us all. But I feel that there are times when it is necessary to expatiate somewhat on the excellent qualities of the leading members of our honourable Society—in order to encourage an emulative feeling in the breasts of our younger brethren. Such an occasion is the present one, when we are all thus sociably assembled. Gentlemen, you all know Leary Lipkins! (Cheers, and cries of “We do! we do!”) You all know that he is indeed leary in every sense of the word. (Hear! hear!) He can see through the best bit of broad cloth that ever covered a swell’s pocket. There seems to be a sort of magnetic attraction between his fingers and a gold watch in the fob of a Bond Street lounger. (Cheers.) Talk of mesmerism! why—Leary Lipkins can send a gentleman into a complete state of coma as he walks along the streets, so that he never can possibly feel Leary’s hands in his pockets. Gentlemen, I hold Leary Lipkins up to you as an excellent example; and beg to propose his very good health.”
The toast was drunk with “three times three.”
Mr. Lipkins returned thanks in what a newspaper-reporter would term “a neat speech;” and he then exercised the usual privilege of calling upon a particular individual for a song.
A certain Master Tripes Todkinson accordingly indulged his companions in the following manner:—
THE COMPASSIONATE LADY AND THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP.
“Pray, who’s the little boy that is dancing so nimbly?
Come, Mary, bring a halfpenny down.—”
“Please, ma’am, I’m the feller as swept your chimbley,
And I’m very much obleeged for the brown.—”
“Alas! how his schooling has been neglected!
But perhaps his kind father’s dead?—”
“No, ma’am; he’s a tinker as is wery much respected
And this mornin’ he’s drunk in bed.—”
“Perchance ’tis a motherless child that they’ve fixed on
To dance. Does your mamma live still?—”
“Yes, ma’am; at this moment she’s stayin’ at Brixton,
Vith a gen’leman as keeps a mill.—”[1]
[1] The treadmill.
“Poor child, he is miserably clad! How shocking!
Not to give him some clothes were a sin!—”
“Thank’ee, ma’am; but I doesn’t want no shoe nor stocking,
I’d rayther have a quartern o’gin!”
The Bully Grand proposed the health of Master Tripes Todkinson, in a speech which was mightily applauded; and Master Tripes Todkinson, having duly returned thanks, called on Master Bandylegged Diggs to continue the vocal harmony.
This invitation was responded to with as much readiness as Master Diggs would have displayed in easing an elderly gentleman in a crowd of his purse; and the air with which he favoured his audience ran thus:—
THE LAST OATH.
Upon the drop he turned
To swear a parting oath;
He cursed the parson and Jack Ketch,
And he coolly damned them both.
He listened to the hum
Of the crowds that gathered nigh;
And he carelessly remarked,
“What a famous man am I!”
Beside the scaffold’s foot
His mistress wiped her eye:
She waved to him her dirty rag,
And whimpering said, “Good bye!”
She mourned the good old times
That ne’er could come again,
When he brought her home a well-lined purse;—
But all her tears were vain!
Poor Jack was soon turned off;
And gallantly was hung:
There was a sigh in every breast,
A groan on every tongue.
Go—gaze upon his corse,
And remember then you see
The bravest robber that has been,
Or ever more shall be!
We need scarcely observe that this chant was received with as much favour as the preceding ones. The Resurrection Man was, however, growing impatient; for the reader doubtless comprehends enough of his character to be well aware that Tidkins was not one who loved pleasure better than business. He looked at his watch, and cast a significant glance towards the Bully Grand.
“What o’clock is it, Mr. Tidkins?” inquired that great functionary.
“Half-past ten,” was the answer.
“Well, I will devote my attention to you in a few minutes,” said Tunks. “You may rest perfectly easy—I have obtained information on every point in which you are interested. But—hark! Shuffling Simon is going to speak!”
A lad of about seventeen, who had a weakness in the joints of his knees, and walked in a fashion which had led to the nickname mentioned by the Bully Grand, rose from his seat, and proposed the health of Mr. Tunks, the chief of the society of the Forty Thieves.
Then followed a tremendous clattering of bottles and glasses as the company filled up bumpers in order to pay due honour to the toast; and every one, save the Grand himself, rose. The health was drunk with rounds of applause: a pause of a few moments ensued; and then Shuffling Simon commenced the following complimentary song, in the repetition of which all the other adherents of the Chief vociferously joined:—
PROSPER THE GRAND.
Prosper our Bully Grand,
Great Tunks, our noble Grand;
Prosper the Grand.
Send him good swag enough,
Heart made of sterling stuff,
Long to be up to snuff;—
Prosper the Grand.
Save him from all mishaps,
Scatter blue-bottle traps
Throughout the land.
Confound the busy beak,
Flourish the area-sneak;
In Tunks a chief we seek;—
Prosper the Grand!
The best lush on the board
To Tunks’s health be poured
By all the band!
May he continue free,
Nor ever tread-mill see;
And all shall shout with glee.
Prosper the Grand!
It was really extremely refreshing for the Resurrection Man to contemplate the deep manifestation of loyalty with which the thirty-nine thieves sang the preceding air.
Nor less was it an imposing spectacle when the object of that adoration rose from his seat, waved his right hand, and poured forth his grat
itude in a most gracious speech.
This ceremony being accomplished, the Grand (what a pity it was that so elegant and elevated a personage had retained his unworthy patronymic of Tunks!) took a candle from the table, and conducted the Resurrection Man down stairs into a back room, which the Chief denominated his “private parlour.”
“Now for your information,” said the Resurrection Man, somewhat impatiently. “In the first place, have you discovered any thing concerning Cranky Jem Cuffin?”
“My emissaries have been successful in every instance,” answered Tunks, with a complacent smile. “A man exactly corresponding with your description of Crankey Jem dwells in an obscure court in Drury Lane. Here is the address.”
“Any tidings of Margaret Flathers?” inquired Tidkins.
“She has married a young man who answers to your description of Skilligalee; and they keep a small chandlery-shop in Pitfield Street, Hoxton Old Town. The name of Mitchell is over the door.”
“Your lads are devilish sharp fellows, Bully Grand,” said the Resurrection Man, approvingly.
“With thirty-six emissaries all over London every day, it is not so very difficult to obtain such information as you required,” returned Tunks. “Moreover, you paid liberally in advance; and the boys will always be glad to serve you.”
“Now for the next question,” said Tidkins. “Any news of the old man that Tomlinson goes to see sometimes?”
“Yes—he lives in a small lodging in Thomas Street, Bethnal Green,” was the answer. “There is his address also. His name is Nelson:—you best know whether it is his right one or not. That is no business of mine. Mr. Tomlinson regularly calls on him every Sunday afternoon, and passes some hours with him. The old man never stirs out, and is very unwell.”
“Once more I must compliment your boys,” exclaimed Tidkins, overjoyed with this intelligence. “Have you been able to learn any thing concerning Katherine Wilmot?”
“There I have also succeeded,” replied Mr. Tunks. “My boys discovered that, after the trial of Katherine, she lunched with some friends at an inn in the Old Bailey, and shortly afterwards left in a post-chaise. She was accompanied by an old lady; and the chaise took them to Hounslow.”
“And there, I suppose, all traces of them disappear?” said the Resurrection Man, inquiringly.
“Not at all. I sent Leary Lipkins down to Hounslow yesterday; and he discovered that Miss Wilmot is staying at a farm-house belonging to a Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.”
“Precisely!” exclaimed the Resurrection Man. “That Mrs. Bennet was a witness on the trial. I remember reading all about it. She was the sister of the woman whom Reginald Tracy murdered.”
“The farm is only a short distance from Hounslow,” observed the Bully Grand: “any one in the town can direct you to it. Most probably it was with this Mrs. Bennet that Miss Wilmot travelled in the post-chaise.”
“Evidently so,” said the Resurrection Man. “But of that no matter. All I required was Katherine Wilmot’s address; and you have discovered it. Now for my last question. Have you ascertained whether it will be possible to bribe the clerk of the church where Lord Ravensworth and the Honourable Miss Adeline Enfield were married, to tear out the leaf of the register which contains the entry of that union?”
“I have learnt that the clerk is open to bribery: but he is a cautious man, and will not allow himself to be sounded too deeply in the matter,” was the answer.
“Then that business must regard me,” observed the Resurrection Man. “You have served me well in all these matters. Twenty pounds I gave you the other day: here are twenty pounds more. Are you satisfied?”
“I have every reason to be pleased with your liberality,” returned the Bully Grand, folding up the bank-notes with his delicate fingers. “Have you any further commands at present?”
“Yes,” replied the Resurrection Man, after a few moments’ consideration: “let one of your lads take a couple of notes for me.”
While the Bully Grand proceeded to summon Leary Lipkins, the Resurrection Man seated himself at a desk which there was in the room, and wrote the following note:—
“The news I have just received are rather good than bad. The clerk is open to bribery, but is cautious. I will myself call upon him the day after to-morrow; and I will meet you afterwards, at our usual place of appointment, in the evening between six and seven. But you must find money somehow or another: I am incurring expenses in this matter, and cannot work for nothing. Surely Greenwood will assist you?”
This letter was sealed and addressed to “GILBERT VERNON, Esq., No. — Stamford Street.”
The Resurrection Man then penned another note which ran thus:—
“I have discovered Katherine’s address, and shall call upon you the day after to-morrow at nine o’clock in the evening. Remain at home; as you know the importance of the business.”
By the time he had concluded his correspondence, the Bully Grand had returned with Leary Lipkins.
“My good lad,” said the Resurrection Man addressing the latter, “here are two notes, which you must deliver this night—this night, mind. The first is addressed; and the person for whom it is intended never retires to bed until very late. He will be up, when you call at the house where he lodges in Stamford Street. Give the letter into his own hand. You must then proceed to Golden Lane; and in the third court on the right-hand side of the way, and in the fourth house on the left-hand in that court, an old woman lives. You must knock till she answers you; and give her this second letter. I actually do not know her name, although I have dealings with her at present.”
Leary Lipkins promised to fulfil these directions, and immediately departed to execute them.
Shortly afterwards the Resurrection Man took his leave of the Bully Grand, and left the headquarters of the Forty Thieves.
Henry Holford, who had never lost sight of the door of that house since he had seen the Resurrection Man enter it, and who had remained concealed in the shade of an overhanging frontage opposite for more than two hours, resumed his task of dogging that formidable individual.
The Resurrection Man passed down Mint Street, into the Borough, and called a cab from the nearest stand, saying to the driver, “New Church, Bethnal Green.”
The moment Tidkins was ensconsed within, and the driver was seated on his box, Henry Holford crept softly behind the cab. In that manner he rode unmolested until within a short distance of the place of destination, when he descended, and followed the vehicle on foot.
The cab stopped near the railings that surround the church; and the Resurrection Man, having settled the fare, hurried onwards to Globe Town, Holford still dogging him—but with the utmost caution.
Presently Tidkins struck into a bye-street at the eastern extremity of the Happy Valley (as, our readers will remember, Globe Town is denominated in the gazetteer of metropolitan thieves), and stopped at the door of a house of dilapidated appearance—in a word, this was the very den where we have before seen him conducting his infamous plots, and in the subterranean vaults of which Viola Chichester was imprisoned for a period of three weeks.
Holford saw the Resurrection Man enter this house by the front door communicating with the street. He watched the windows for a few moments, and then perceived a light suddenly appear in the room on the upper floor.
“I have succeeded!” exclaimed Holford, aloud, “the villain lives there! I have traced him to his lurking-hole; and Jem may yet be avenged!”
Then, in order to be enabled to give an accurate description of the house to the returned convict, Holford studied its situation and appearance with careful attention. He observed that it was two storeys high, and that by the side was a dark alley.
At length he was convinced that he should be enabled to find that particular dwelling again, or to direct Crankey Jem to it without the possibility of error; a
nd, rejoicing at being thus enabled to oblige his new friend, the young man commenced his long and weary walk back to Drury Lane.
CHAPTER CXCIII.
ANOTHER VISIT TO BUCKINGHAM PALACE.
It was the evening following the one the incidents of which occupied the preceding chapter.
Beneath a sofa in the Ball Room of Buckingham Palace, Henry Holford lay concealed.
It would be a mere repetition of statements made in former portions of this work, were we to describe the means by which the young man obtained access to the most private parts of the royal dwelling. We may, however, observe that he had paid frequent visits to the palace since the occasion when we first saw him enter those sacred precincts at the commencement of January, 1839; and that he was as familiar with the interior of the sovereign’s abode, even to its most retired chambers, as any of its numerous inmates.
He had run many risks of discovery; but a species of good fortune seemed to attend upon him in these strange and romantic ventures; and those frequent alarms had never as yet terminated in his detection. Thus he became emboldened in his intrusions; and he now lay beneath the sofa in the Ball Room, with no more apprehension than he would have entertained if some authority in the palace had actually connived at his presence there.
It was nine o’clock in the evening; and the Ball Room was brilliantly illuminated.
But as yet the low-born pot-boy was its sole occupant.
Not long, however, was he doomed to that solitude. By a strange coincidence, the two noble ladies whose conversation had so much interested him on the occasion of his first visit to the palace, entered the room shortly after nine o’clock. He recognised their voices immediately; and he was delighted at their arrival, for their former dialogues had awakened the most lively sentiments of curiosity in his mind. But since his intrusion in January, 1839, he had never seen nor heard them in his subsequent visits to the royal dwelling, until the present occasion; and now, as they advanced through the room together, he held his breath to catch the words that fell from them.
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 62