The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Agreeable enough,” groaned Trussell. “Oh, my poor head!”

  “What would my dear young missis, or your good mother think of us, if they could see us now in this place, and with this company?” said Jacob. “I’d rather have got a cracked crown myself than Mrs. Conway should call on Miss Hilda.”

  “So would I,” rejoined Randulph.

  “Come, come, no grumbling,” cried Trussell, rousing himself. “I’m the greatest sufferer, after all. Everything will be set right in the morning, and in the meantime, let’s pass the night as comfortably as we can. It’s not the first time I’ve been in a watch-house. Depend upon it we shan’t be liberated; but, I’ll engage to say, we can get a better room than this.”

  And so it turned out. In about ten minutes, Sam made his appearance, with Mr. Foggo, who said he could not discharge the prisoners till they had been before a magistrate.

  “Can’t you give us a little better accommodation, Mr. Foggo?” asked Trussell, slipping a guinea into his hand.

  The constable said nothing, but took them into a back room, furnished with a small deal table, and three or four rush-bottomed chairs.

  “This is a room after my poor master’s own heart,” said Jacob, looking at the bare walls and grated windows.

  “Anything I can get you, gen’l’men?” asked the constable, as he set a light on the table.

  “I suppose we must stay here all night, Mr. Foggo?” said Trussell. “We’re family men — and our ladies will be excessively annoyed at our absence.”

  “Sorry for it, sir, but you must stay,” replied the constable. “If you desire it, I dare say I can so manage it that you shan’t come before his worship. And in the meantime, though it’s against rules, — but I don’t mind obliging a gentleman, — if, I say, a bowl of punch would be agreeable—”

  “A bowl of punch, by all means!” cried Trussell, “here’s money for it,” he added, giving him another guinea.

  “I see you understand our ways, sir,” said the constable, bowing. And he left the room.

  “Come, don’t be downcast, my boy!” cried Trussell, clapping his nephew on the shoulder. “We shall have a jolly night of it after all. My head is getting better every minute. If Hilda and your mother do hear of your adventure, they’ll only laugh at it. I’ve been locked up a dozen times or more in my younger days, and hope I shall be again. So cheer up, my boy. Your initiation into life would have been incomplete without this occurrence.”

  Randulph could not help responding to his uncle’s laugh, and Mr. Foggo shortly after appearing with a bowl of excellent punch, he began to think that the best way was to make himself comfortable. Jacob, too, yielded to the genial influence of the liquor; and, ere long, they were all laughing as merrily as if they were at large. The bowl of punch discussed, Trussell disposed himself to slumber in his chair; Jacob stretched himself at full length on the floor; and Randulph, having paced the chamber for some time, dropped asleep likewise.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VII.

  Kitty Conway and the Little Barber Play a Trick upon the Fair Thomasine — Sir Singleton Spinke Is Deluded into Marriage with the Pretty Actress at the Fleet.

  Kitty Conway was as good as her word. Scarcely had the watchmen departed with their prisoners, than she set out for the Little Sanctuary. With a beating heart and trembling hand she knocked at the miser’s door; but her summons remained unanswered, and she was about to repeat it, when a man crossed the street and addressed her.

  “Mr. Scarve is very ill, ma’am,” he said— “dangerously ill.”

  “So I’ve heard,” replied Kitty: “I wish I could make them hear,” she added, knocking again, and waiting vainly for an answer.

  “I fear you’ve come on a fruitless errand,” said the person, who still remained standing near her, “the porter is from home.”

  “I know it — I know it,” replied Kitty, hastily: “he has been taken to the watch-house: I want to see Miss Scarve, to tell her so.”

  “What!” exclaimed the other, starting: “Jacob Post taken to the watch-house! This is an extraordinary event. Would—” he added, with a groan— “that another person I could mention were taken there, too!”

  “And pray who may be the person implied by your amiable wish?” asked Kitty.

  “Sir Singleton Spinke,” replied the other. “Do you know him, ma’am?”

  “Perfectly well,” replied Kitty.

  “Then you don’t require to be told what a dreadful old rake he is,” replied the other; “nor will you wonder at my resentment against him, when I tell you he has attempted to run away with my betrothed.”

  “Your betrothed!” exclaimed Kitty: “pray what is her name?”

  “She is generally denominated the fair Thomasine,” replied the other; “but perhaps I ought to call her Miss Deacle.”

  “Ah! then I know who you are,” rejoined Kitty: “you are Peter Pokerich, the little barber.”

  “Right, madam,” he replied: “I am that unfortunate individual.”

  “And how does Sir Singleton mean to rob you of your mistress, — let me hear?” asked Kitty.

  “He has made her an offer of marriage,” replied Peter, “and she has accepted him — perfidious that she is! I asked her to sup with me to-night, for the last time, that I may have an opportunity of upbraiding her, and she has accepted the invitation. I’m waiting for her now, for she can’t get out till the old people go to bed.”

  As he spoke, the mercer’s door opened, and a female figure issued from it.

  “There she is, I declare!” cried the little barber. “I’m so angry with her for her treachery, that I could almost kill her.”

  “Don’t think of such nonsense,” replied Kitty: “if you want to revenge yourself, I’ll tell you how to do it — pretend to make love to me.”

  “That’s easily done,” replied the barber— “permit me to take your hand — I’ll affect not to see the deceitful little hussey — let me entreat you, madam,” he added, putting on an impassioned air, “to come in with me; we can converse so much more pleasantly than in the street: somebody may overhear us.”

  “Somebody does overhear you, you little wretch!” cried the fair Thomasine, stopping. “Good gracious! if he isn’t making love to the woman — I wonder who she can be.”

  “She sees us,” whispered Kitty; “the plan will do. I’ll feign reluctance. Oh no, I can’t go in with you,” she added, irresolutely.

  “I beseech you, do,” replied Peter: “I expected a visit from a neighbour — Miss Thomasine Deacle, and I’ve prepared a little supper for her; but I won’t wait.”

  “And so you want me to take her place?” cried Kitty. “Very flattering, indeed! I dare say you’ll try to persuade me next that you prefer me to her.”

  “So I do!” cried Peter: “I prefer you greatly — you’re a thousand times prettier than she is.”

  “I shall burst with rage!” cried the fair Thomasine: “I could tear his disagreeable little eyes out.”

  “Well, since you’re so pressing, I’ll just go in for a moment,” said Kitty: “but I won’t sit down — and as to supper—”

  “You’ll just eat a mouthful?” replied Peter.

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt she’ll enjoy herself nicely,” said the fair Thomasine: “but I’ll spoil their pastime — that I will!”

  “This way, madam!” cried Peter, handing the pretty actress towards his dwelling.

  “She’s close behind us,” whispered Kitty: “contrive to let her get in without observation.”

  Peter signified his assent in a whisper, and pretending to offer the most gallant attention to the actress left the door purposely open. Unconscious of the trick practised upon her, the fair Thomasine slipped in after them, and hid herself behind a large wooden case, on which several wig-blocks were set.

  Having caught a glimpse of what had occurred, Kitty squeezed Peter’s hand to let him know how matters stood, and he immediately took the hint.

  “I declar
e I’ve left the door open,” he said, locking it; “how excessively careless in me! The fair Thomasine might get in, and surprise us.”

  “She has got beforehand with you, sir,” muttered the young lady alluded to, looking up for an instant from behind the case.

  “And now, ma’am,” said Peter, lighting a couple of candles, and placing them upon the table, on which cold chickens and other viands were laid, “you’ll take a little supper with me?”

  “Well, it looks so nice that it almost tempts me,” said Kitty, seating herself. “I think I could manage the wing of a chicken.”

  Having helped her as she required, Peter ran to a cupboard, and brought out a bottle of wine.

  “This is some delicious Constantia which I got for the fair Thomasine,” he said, pouring out a glass; “but I’m glad you’ll drink it instead of her.”

  “Hear’s to our absent friends,” said Kitty, taking the glass.

  “I pledge you,” rejoined the little barber; “though, I should be sorry to change my present friend for any absent one.”

  “Oh, the horrid, deceitful little monster!” cried the fair Thomasine. “He was never half so gallant to me.”

  “By-the-bye, ma’am,” said Peter, “your beauty has so fascinated me that I’ve omitted to ask your name?”

  “It is Kitty Conway,” replied the actress. “And so, old Sir Singleton Spinke is about to take Miss Deacle off your hands, eh?”

  “I believe so,” replied Peter; “and I wish her joy of her bargain — ha! ha! and Sir Singleton of his, too! She won’t know a day’s happiness after she becomes Lady Spinke. Now, I should have made her a good husband — a really good husband — for I was devotedly attached to her. But some people don’t know what’s good for them. However, I’m delighted that things have turned out in this way — I’ve made a capital change. Here’s to our better acquaintance,” he added, filling the glasses again.

  “The amorous little wretch will get tipsy, and propose to her, I expect,” said the fair Thomasine.

  “Sir Singleton Spinke, as I told you, is an old friend of mine,” said Kitty Conway; “he paid me great attention, and, if I had chosen, I might have been Lady Spinke; but I knew better — ha! ha!”

  “I hope your objection was to Sir Singleton, and not to the married state?” said Peter. “You are not sworn to single blessedness, I trust?”

  “What a very odd question,” replied the actress. “I have never given the matter serious consideration.”

  “Then do so now,” replied Peter, stepping forward, and throwing himself at her feet; “oh be mine! be mine, sweet Kitty! I’ve no gilt coach to offer you, like Sir Singleton — no beautiful dresses — no magnificent diamonds. I can’t take you to court in the morning, and to Ranelagh, Vauxhall, or some fine lady’s drum in the evening, I’ve no temptations to hold out. But I can offer you sincere affection — a comfortable home — and a young husband. Yes, a young husband! I’m not a battered old beau, but a smart, dapper, little fellow, of two-and-twenty, well worthy any woman’s notice. If that don’t sting her, I’ve done,” he added, in a lower tone.

  “You certainly appear very amiable,” said Kitty, with difficulty keeping her countenance, “and are reasonably good looking.”

  “Answer me,” cried the little barber, passionately— “or let me snatch a reply from your honeyed lips.”

  “I can stand this no longer,” cried the fair Thomasine. And bursting from her concealment, she ran up to Peter, and boxed his ears soundly.

  “There! take that — and that!” she cried “that’ll teach you to make love to other ladies before my eyes.”

  “Halloa, madam! what do you mean by this?” cried Peter, rubbing his cheek. “How the deuce did you get into the room? — through the keyhole?”

  “No matter how I got in,” replied the fair Thomasine. “I’ve seen all that has passed, and heard all that you’ve said. I’m astonished at you, Peter. How can you look me in the face after the shocking things you’ve said of me behind my back? But don’t think I mind them, any more than the loss of your affection. I shan’t bestow another thought upon you. As to you, madam—”

  “Well, madam!” exclaimed Kitty, calmly.

  “May you be happy with him — that’s all I have to say,” continued the fair Thomasine, hysterically. “May you love him as much as I could have loved him; and may you never repent interfering with the happiness of another!”

  “Come, I like this, Miss Thomasine,” said Peter. “It’s very well for you to talk of interfering with the happiness of another; but didn’t I see you listening to the addresses of that odious old beau — didn’t I see him kiss your hand — didn’t I hear you promise to run away with him — didn’t I hear and see all this? Answer me that?”

  “I will not deny that I was foolish enough to listen to Sir Singleton’s addresses,” replied the fair Thomasine, with dignity; “for the strongest of our sex is not proof against vanity. But I never assented to his proposal; or if I did so, it was only pretence.”

  “Oh, say that again, dearest Tommy — say it again!” cried Peter, delightedly.

  “It was all a pretence — I never meant to marry him!” repeated the fair Thomasine.

  “You make me the happiest of barbers,” cried Peter, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his bosom.

  “Mercy on us! what’s this?” exclaimed the fair Thomasine, extricating herself from his embrace, and assuming a cold demeanour. “I thought you preferred this lady to me?”

  “That was all a pretence, too,” replied Peter; “the trick has succeeded to a miracle — we both of us knew you were behind that case.”

  “Ah! if I had only been aware of that!” cried the fair Thomasine.

  “It’s very well you were not, in my opinion, Miss Deacle,” said Kitty Conway. “I here restore you your lover, and assure you I never had a wish to rob you of him: and now, won’t you sit down to supper with us?”

  Peter instantly set a chair for her, placed the wing of a chicken on her plate, poured out a glass of Constantia, and the party were soon as merry as possible. During a pause in the conversation, they heard a watchman go past, and cry the hour.

  “Three quarters past eleven,” said the fair Thomasine; “the old beau promised to come for me at twelve.”

  “I thought it was at six o’clock to-morrow morning?” said Peter.

  “No, twelve to-night,” replied the fair Thomasine. “Finding you had overheard him, he altered the time. We were to be married at the Fleet.”

  “It’s a pity to disappoint him,” observed Kitty, laughingly.

  “How!” exclaimed Peter and the fair Thomasine, simultaneously.

  “He ought to have a wife, since he has made up his mind to commit the rash act of matrimony,” rejoined Kitty. “A plan just occurs to me. I’ll take your place, Miss Deacle — that is, I’ll disguise myself like you, — conceal my features in a mask, and he’ll never know the difference.”

  “Capital!” exclaimed Peter; “that will be turning the tables upon him with a vengeance.”

  “I’ll lend you my columbine’s dress,” said the fair Thomasine; “it will just fit you — and my mask. Come with me. You haven’t a moment to spare.”

  “The quicker the better,” said Kitty; “for if I give myself time for reflection, I shan’t do it.”

  They then hurried away, and Peter having helped himself to another glass of Constantia, and put out the candles, followed them, and concealed himself in an alley near the mercer’s dwelling, where he could see, unobserved, all that passed. Punctually as the abbey clock struck twelve, the sound of wheels was heard — a carriage drew up at the corner, and the next moment, the old beau was seen cautiously advancing on the opposite side of the street. Finding the coast clear, he advanced towards the mercer’s door, and tapped against it. It was partially opened, and a low voice inquired from within— “Is it you?”

  “Yes, it’s me, my angel,” replied the old beau; “Sir Singleton Spinke — your
devoted admirer!”

  “I’m quite ready,” replied the speaker, stepping forth, and looking exactly like the fair Thomasine dressed for the masquerade at Ranelagh.

  “Why, you’ve got on your columbine’s dress,” said Sir Singleton, approvingly.

  “It’s the prettiest I have,” replied the lady; “and I thought you would like me better in it than in any other.”

  “You couldn’t have made a better choice,” replied the old beau; “in fact, you couldn’t choose wrong. But why that envious mask?”

  “I put it on to hide my blushes,” replied the other; “nor shall I remove it till we are united. But you must drive to the Fleet at once — I’ll go nowhere else.”

  “I don’t desire you to do so, my angel,” replied the old beau; “the parson is in attendance, and in less than half an hour we shall be man and wife.”

  “Have you no scruple in taking me from poor Peter Pokerich?” said the lady.

  “None whatever,” replied the old beau; “I wish the little perruquier could be present at our marriage — it would complete his mortification.”

  “Well, there’s no saying what may happen,” replied the other, significantly; “but we’ve stood chattering here long enough, and may be observed.”

  With this, she gave her hand to her admirer, who led her to the carriage, which was instantly afterwards heard to drive off. At the same moment, the mercer’s door opened, and the fair Thomasine came forth.

  “Are they gone?” she asked.

  “Yes, they’re off to the Fleet,” replied Peter. “Kitty Conway gave me a hint to follow them, and see the marriage performed. Will you go?”

  “Willingly,” replied the fair Thomasine.

  And hurrying off to the stairs near Westminster-bridge, they took a boat, and ordered the waterman to row as quickly as he could to Blackfriars’-stairs. Luckily the tide was in their favour, and the transit was quickly accomplished.

  Meanwhile, the carriage containing the old beau, and the actress rolled rapidly along the Strand and Fleet-street, and drew up before a mean-looking house near the prison. A lamp threw a faint glimmer upon a sign over the door, displaying two hands joined together, with the words— ‘MARRIAGES PERFORMED HERE,’ inscribed beneath it. Some chairmen and linkboys were standing at the door, but they were pushed aside by the old beau’s footman. As Sir Singleton alighted, a short, stout, red-faced man, in a clerical garb, issued forth. This was Doctor Gaynam, the most noted of the Fleet parsons. He wore a rusty cassock and full-bottomed wig, filled with powder, instead of flour, which contrasted strongly with his purple blotchy face, and nose studded with carbuncles.