“Everything seems to have gone wrong!” cried Verselyn, in an ecstacy of terror.
“What will become of us?”
“Jacta est alea,” replied Sir Norfolk, composedly. “We must fight for it, father.”
“Heaven and all its saints protect us!” cried the priest, crossing himself.
“Be composed, father,” rejoined Firebras, sternly. “You ought to be equal to the circumstances in which you may be placed. Ha!”
The latter exclamation was occasioned by a joyous shout, announcing that their friends had succeeded in opening the door; and the next moment, the good news was confirmed by Sir Bulkeley Price, who clambered over the roof to acquaint them with it. On hearing this, the party instantly beat a retreat; and their flight was accelerated by the officer and the tall grenadier, who at that moment sprung out of the window. Even Sir Norfolk was urged to a little more expedition than usual; and two or three of his mighty strides brought him to the top of the roof. Cordwell Firebras would not have been much behind him, if Father Verselyn had not caught hold of his coat tails to help him up the ascent, which he felt wholly unable to accomplish without assistance. By this time, the officer was well nigh upon them; and, finding his summons to surrender wholly disregarded, he made a pass at the priest, which took effect in the fleshy part of his leg, restoring him at once to more than his former agility. Uttering a loud yell, and clapping his hand to the wounded limb to staunch the blood, Father Verselyn bounded over the roof and made to the door, through which the landlord and Mr. Travers had already disappeared, and through which Mr. Cripps was now darting. Between the two roofs lay a small flat space, used by its former proprietor as a place to dry clothes on, as was evident from the four tall posts at the corners. On this place Firebras and Sir Norfolk came to a stand, resolved to dispute the passage with their pursuers. Sword in hand, and calling to them to surrender, the foremost officer dashed down the roof. But his precipitation placed him at the mercy of Firebras; for his foot slipping, the latter struck his sword from his grasp. Sir Norfolk, in the interim, had encountered another foeman with equal success. This was the tall grenadier, who as he descended made a thrust at the baronet with his halbert, which the latter very adroitly parried, and lunging in return, disabled his adversary by a wound in the arm. At the same moment, too, the tiles gave way under the weight of the grenadier, and he sunk above the knees in the roof. Other foes were now at hand. The second officer, carrying a lantern in one hand, and a drawn sword in the other, appeared on the roof; while the tall caps and bayonets of the rest of the grenadiers were seen above it. Though Sir Norfolk, whose blood was up, would have willingly awaited the advance of these new opponents, he yielded to the entreaties of Firebras, and followed him through the door, which was instantly secured behind them by a couple of strong bolts.
The house in which the Jacobites had taken refuge was expressly hired by them for an occasion like the present, and kept wholly uninhabited. The mode of communication between it and the Rose and Crown will, it is hoped, be sufficiently understood from the foregoing description. That so many unforeseen accidents should have occurred at a time when, if ever, things ought to have been in readiness, almost drove the poor landlord distracted; but if he could have watched Mr. Cripps’s manoeuvres, he would have speedily found out the cause of the delays. In the first instance, a penknife, dexterously slipped by the valet into the groove of the window, prevented it from moving, and had well-nigh, as has been seen, occasioned the capture of the fugitives. This difficulty having been overcome by the strenuous efforts of Sir Bulkeley and Mr. Travers, Mr. Cripps was the first to scramble through the window.
“Which way?” He cried to the landlord, who was following.
“Over the roof, and to the door opposite,” was the reply.
Nimbly as a cat, the agile valet bounded over the roof, and instantly perceiving the door, made towards it. A key was in the lock; he turned it, took it out, and dropped it into the street below. He then began to shake the door violently, and shouted to the landlord, who at that moment came in sight.
“Unlock it — unlock it!” cried the host.
“I can’t,” cried Mr. Cripps; “there is no key. ‘Pon rep! we shall be all taken.”
“No key!” exclaimed the landlord. “Impossible! I saw it there this morning myself. It must have dropped down. Look about for it.”
Mr. Cripps feigned compliance, and the landlord coming up, poured forth a torrent of imprecations on finding his statement correct. Father Verselyn, as has been related, crept back to Firebras, while the others used their efforts to open the door. Nor were they long in effecting their purpose. Finding all other attempts fail, the landlord stepped back on the leads, and running to give an additional impetus to the blow, dashed his foot against the door. The lock yielded with a loud crash.
Baulked in his schemes, the plotting valet would fain have practised some new trick upon them, but the presence of Cordwell Firebras, whose suspicions he was fearful of arousing, restrained him. Indeed, he had little opportunity for further display of his art. Ordering the others to go down stairs, Firebras only tarried to lock an inner door, and then followed them.
The house, as already stated, was perfectly empty, and opened at the back into a court, which branched off into several of those intricate alleys with which Petty France abounds. Two minutes had not elapsed before the fugitives found shelter in this court, and were rapidly threading it; and though they were noticed by some of the neighbours, who had been alarmed by the shouts of the soldiery, and who took them for a gang of housebreakers, they effected their retreat without further molestation. The officer and his followers succeeded in breaking into the garret; but before they could burst open the inner door, the party had quitted the house.
Guided by the landlord, the priest and Mr. Travers scudded through a labyrinth of passages leading in the direction of the Chapel, which building they skirted on the left, and crossing Stretton’s Ground, found a secure asylum at a small public-house in Duck-lane, where the landlord was known, and where the unfortunate priest who had become very faint from loss of blood, was enabled to get his wound dressed.
Sir Bulkeley Price, Sir Norfolk, and Firebras, took the opposite direction; and after traversing several narrow passages, reached James-street, here, finding they were not pursued, they slackened their pace, and entering the Park at the gate near the lower end of Rosamond’s Pond, proceeded to Firebras’s lodgings. A slight tap against the window speedily procured them admittance. The shutters were then closed, and Firebras threw himself into a chair, and for some minutes maintained a profound silence, which neither of his companions seemed disposed to break.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said at length, “our meetings at the Rose and Crown are over. We must find some other place of rendezvous. This is a most unlucky chance.”
“There was never plot nor conjuration but experienced some contrarious accident, Mr. Firebras,” replied Sir Norfolk, calmly. “I am in nowise astonied at it.”
“In my opinion, treachery has been practised upon us,” remarked Sir Bulkeley; “and I suspect the landlord is the author of it.”
“My suspicions attach to Mr. Villiers’s gaudily ornate serving-man,” rejoined Sir Norfolk. “I own I disliked him ab incepto.”
Firebras said nothing; but rose, and opening a cupboard, took out a bottle of rosa solis and glasses, and set them before his guests. Sir Bulkeley quickly tossed off a couple of glasses; but Sir Norfolk, who was a pattern of sobriety, as he was a model of punctilio, declined to drink. They then fell into debate, and it was broad daylight before they separated, — Sir Bulkeley taking his way across the Park to his residence in St. James’s Square, and Sir Norfolk proceeding to his lodgings in Abingdon-street.
It now only remains to inquire after Mr. Cripps. He followed the landlord and his party for a short distance, and then coming to a halt, held a brief communion with himself.
“I have failed this time,” he thought; “but it is all owing to t
he bad management of that brainless little barber. However, I’ll take care he has the full blame of it with the Jacobites; and the next time I attempt their capture, I’ll make sure work of it. It will be no use lodging information against any of them, for no proof can now be obtained of their being present at the meeting. No, no; I must keep upon terms with them, and abide my time. They must all be taken in the fact; and then my reward will be proportionate. I wonder whether Pokerich is in safety. I saw the little rascal among the guard on the house top, and he looked almost as much frightened as Father Verselyn. By-the-bye, something may be made of that priest. He is a double dealer I’ll be sworn. ‘Pon rep! I like these nocturnal adventures vastly. They remind me of the romances I’ve read, and make me fancy myself a hero. A hero! Egad! the heroes of romance don’t generally betray their friends. But that only shows that those authors don’t draw from real life. But I must go home, and get a little rest, or I sha’n’t be in the cue for Marylebone Gardens, and my dear Mrs. Nettleship tomorrow.”
* * *
CHAPTER XIX.
Mr. Jukes’s Notions of Domestic Happiness — Trussell a Little the Worse For Wine — Randulph Receives a Note from Firebras — Jacob Post Brings Information to Abel.
Shortly after Hilda’s departure, Abel Beechcroft summoned his butler, and informed him he was going out. “I shall be back in time for dinner,” he said. “If Miss Scarve should call again during my absence which is not impossible, though I think it unlikely, shew her into the library; and take care that Randulph does not see her.”
“I was in hopes, sir, that your interview with that dear young lady might have altered your views in regard to your nephew,” replied Mr. Jukes. “I’ve been pleasing myself with the idea of the nice wife she’d make Mr. Randulph. They seem cut out for each other — just of an age — and it’s difficult to say which is the handsomest. Bless my heart! if the marriage should take place, what a feast we should have, and how busy I should be! And then, of course you’d have the young folks to live with you; and you’d get so fond of your new niece, that you wouldn’t bear her out of sight for an instant, but would be happier than you have been before. And then, in due time, you’d have to turn one of the upper rooms into a nursery, and I should see you sitting in your easy chair, not with a book before you, blinding your eyes, but with young Master Crew on a rockinghorse on one side, and young Miss Crew on t’other, while the nurse would be bringing you a third crowing little bantling in long petticoats, encouraging the growth of its teeth, and cultivating a taste for music at the same time with a silver rattle.”
“Heaven forbid!” ejaculated Abel, who had allowed the butler to ramble on in his own way. “Your notions and mine of domestic happiness differ materially. I’ve always treated you with great confidence, Jukes,” he added, gravely; “and I confess I should be glad to see Randulph well and happily married. But I am in no hurry about it. It is desirable he should see something of the world — something more of female society, in order that he may understand his own tastes better before he takes a step on which the whole happiness or misery of his life will hang. It’s a sad thing to discover, when too late, that he hasn’t chosen well.”
“It must be rather disagreeable, no doubt,” rejoined Mr. Jukes; “but I don’t consider an old bachelor like you a competent judge in the matter. However, if Mr. Randulph chooses Miss Hilda, he’ll choose well, that I’m prepared to maintain.”
“Jukes,” said Abel, sternly, “it is time to check your loquacity. Much as I am pleased with Hilda Scarve — and I assure you she has won upon my affections in an extraordinary manner — I do not desire, for reasons which it is needless to explain, that she should become the bride of my nephew.”
“I confess I can’t fathom your motive, sir,” said Mr. Jukes; “unless — but I should have thought you too old.”
“Too old for what, Jukes?” said Abel.
“At all events, I should have thought her too young,” pursued the butler. “But stranger things have happened.”
“What the duce do you mean to insinuate, sirrah?” cried Abel.
“Why, I fancy you want to marry Miss Hilda yourself, sir,” replied the butler. “And I’m sure I’ve no objection, — none on earth, if you can get the lady’s consent. Only I think there’s a little too much disparity, that’s all.”
Abel flushed to his very temples, and then became pale as death. He made no reply, however, but walked quickly towards the window, returning the next moment with his wonted composure.
“I scarcely know whether to laugh at you, or reprove you for your strange supposition, Jukes,” he said. “In any other case than this, I certainly should have been angry, but here,” he continued, in a slightly-tremulous tone, “my feelings are too deeply interested. No, Jukes, I shall never marry, least of all, the daughter of—” here his utterance failed him.
“I understand, sir,” resumed Jukes, hastily. “Don’t say another word. I see my mistake.”
“Then repair it,” rejoined Abel, recovering himself. “Mind, I will have no excuse for neglecting my instructions.”
With this, he proceeded to the hall, and taking up his hat and stick, reiterated his injunctions to the butler, and went forth.
Mr. Jukes returned to his pantry, ruminating on what had occurred, and muttering to himself, “I almost wish our quiet house hadn’t been disturbed by these young people. I perceive plainly that Randulph will fall over head and ears in love with Hilda — if he hasn’t done so already — and then my master’ll quarrel with him, and then — but no, he’s sure to pardon him, just as I always overlook the faults of my graceless nephew, Crackenthorpe. However, it won’t do for me to bring ’em together; and I hope the young lady mayn’t come back.”
His apprehensions were groundless. At the very time he was thinking of her, Hilda was passing the Folly on the Thames.
At a little before four o’clock, Abel Beechcroft returned, and seemed much relieved to find that nothing had occurred during his absence. He sat down to dinner by himself at the appointed time, discussed the meal in silence, and even when the wine was placed before him, evinced so little disposition to talk, that Mr. Jukes took the hint, and left him alone. He continued in the same mood during the whole evening — reading as long as the light permitted, and then repairing to the garden, where he remained till he was summoned to supper. In reply to his inquiries whether his brother and nephew had come back, he was told that the former had returned about an hour ago, alone.
“Alone!” echoed Abel, shrugging his shoulders, and glancing triumphantly at Mr. Jukes. “I told you how it would be. His career of dissipation has begun with a vengeance. Where will it end, eh? — where will it end, Jukes? Tell me that.”
“I wish I could,” responded the latter, with something like a groan.
Abel found his brother in the supper-room, and at once perceived from his uncertain movements and flushed looks, that he had taken too much wine.
“So you have not brought your pupil home with you,” he observed, drily. “Where is he?”
“‘Pon my soul, that’s more than I can tell!” laughed Trussell, “He dined with Sir Singleton Spinke and myself at a French ordinary in Suffolk-street, and left us to keep an appointment — he! he! — soon after five o’clock. I expected to find him here on my return; but I suppose he has been detained. You must make allowances for young men, sir. It is his first indiscretion. Ha! ha!”
“I hope it will be his last,” replied Abel, seating himself. And as the supper proceeded, he elicited from Trussell, whose condition rendered him extremely communicative, a full account of all that had occurred during the morning, including even the glimpse they had obtained of Hilda, at the time of her passing the Folly.
“And did she see Randulph?” asked Abel, quickly.
“To be sure,” replied Trussell, laughing; “she couldn’t help it. The boat was close to us, and egad! I must say, if I’m any judge of such matters — which I flatter myself I am — she looked desperately ann
oyed at seeing him with the pretty actress — he! he! Your health, brother,” he added, raising a bumper of claret, poured out by the butler, to his lips.
“I’m not sorry for the rencounter,” muttered Abel. “A glass of white wine, Jukes? Brother, I drink to you. And how did Randulph behave on the occasion?”
“It embarrassed him devilishly,” rejoined Trussell; “and in fact he didn’t recover himself during the whole day.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Abel, thoughtfully. “And he is gone to visit the pretty actress, Kitty Conway, to-night — eh?”
“I’faith, I can’t say, replied Trussell,” laughing. “I left him to his own devices. But we shall have him back presently; and then you can catechise him yourself. Ha! ha!”
Trussell continued talking, laughing, and quaffing during the whole of the supper. He was in far too jovial a mood to notice, or heed, if he did notice them, the grave looks of his brother, at his boasts of the introductions he should give his nephew, the sights he would shew him, and the perfect gentleman he would make him. Abel’s brow grew dark as the clock struck eleven, and Randulph had not returned. He made no remark, however, but rising, called for a light, and wishing his brother good night, retired to rest.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 302