The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  Amongst these there was one with a visage more frightfully mutilated than those of his comrades; the nose having been slit, and subsequently sewed together again, but so clumsily that the severed parts had only imperfectly united, communicating a strange, distorted, and forbidding look to the physiognomy. Clement Lanyere, the owner of this gashed and ghastly face, who was also reft of his ears, and branded on the cheek, had suffered infamy and degradation, owing to the licence he had given his tongue in respect to the Star-Chamber. Prosecuted in that court by Sir Giles Mompesson, as a notorious libeller and scandaller of the judges and first personages of the realm, he was found guilty, and sentenced accordingly. The court showed little leniency to such offenders; but it was a matter of grace that his clamorous tongue was not torn out likewise, in addition to the punishment actually inflicted. A heavy fine and imprisonment accompanied the corporal penalties. Thus utterly ruined and degraded, and a mark for the finger of scorn to point at, Clement Lanyere, whose prospects had once been fair enough, as his features had been prepossessing, became soured and malevolent, embittered against the world, and at war with society. He turned promoter, or, in modern parlance, informer; lodging complaints, seeking out causes for prosecutions, and bringing people into trouble in order to obtain part of the forfeits they incurred for his pains. Strange to say, he attached himself to Sir Giles Mompesson, — the cause of all his misfortunes, — and became one of the most active and useful of his followers. It was thought no good could come of this alliance, and that the promoter only bided his time to turn upon his master, against whom it was only natural he should nourish secret vengeance. But, if it were so, Sir Giles seemed to entertain no apprehensions of him, probably thinking he could crush him whenever he pleased. Either way the event was long deferred. Clement Lanyere, to all appearance, continued to serve his master zealously and well; and Sir Giles gave no sign whatever of distrust, but, on the contrary, treated him with increased confidence. The promoter was attired wholly in black — cloak, cap, doublet, and hose were of sable. And as, owing to the emoluments springing from his vile calling, his means were far greater than those of his comrades; so his habiliments were better. When wrapped in his mantle, with his mutilated countenance covered with a mask which he generally wore, the informer might have passed for a cavalier; so tall and well formed was his figure, and so bold his deportment. The dangerous service he was employed upon, which exposed him to insult and injury, required him to be well armed; and he took care to be so.

  Two or three of Sir Giles’s myrmidons, having been selected for particular description, the designations of some others must suffice — such as Staring Hugh, a rascal of unmatched effrontery; the Gib Cat and Cutting Dick, dissolute rogues from the Pickt-hatch in Turnbull Street, near Clerkenwell; old Tom Wootton, once a notorious harbourer of “masterless men,” at his house at Smart’s Quay, but now a sheriffs officer; and, perhaps, it ought to be mentioned, that there were some half-dozen swash-bucklers and sharpers from Alsatia, under the command of Captain Bludder, who was held responsible for their good conduct.

  Such was Sir Giles’s body-guard.

  On his entrance, it may be remarked, the curtain in front of the raised table was more closely drawn, so as completely to conceal the guests. But their importance might be inferred from the serving-men, in rich liveries, standing before the traverse.

  Profound silence reigned throughout the assemblage.

  Having uncovered, as before mentioned, and made a formal reverence to the company, Sir Giles spoke as follows: —

  “I crave your pardon, worthy Sirs,” he said, in a distinct and resolute voice, “for this intrusion, and regret to be the means of marring your festivity. I came hither wholly unprepared to find such an assemblage. Yet, though I would willingly have chosen a more fitting opportunity for my visit, and would postpone, if I could, to another occasion, the unpleasant duty I have to fulfil; the matter is urgent, and will not admit of delay. You will hold me excused, therefore, if I proceed with it, regardless of your presence; and I am well assured no let or interruption will be offered me, seeing I act with the royal licence and authority, of which I am the unworthy representative.”

  “Truly, your conduct requires explanation,” Jocelyn Mounchensey cried, in a mocking tone. “If I had not been here in London, I should have judged, from your appearance, and that of your attendants, that a band of desperate marauders had broken in upon us, and that we must draw our swords to defend our lives, and save the house from pillage. But after what you have said, I conclude you to be the sheriff, come with your followers to execute some writ of attachment; and therefore, however annoying the presence of such a functionary may be, — however ill-timed may be your visit, and unmannerly your deportment, — we are bound not to molest you.”

  Provocation like this was rarely addressed to Sir Giles; and the choler occasioned by it was increased by the laughter and cheers of the company. Nevertheless he constrained his anger, replying in a stern, scornful tone —

  “I would not counsel you to molest me, young man. The mistake you have committed in regard to myself may be pardoned in one of your evident inexperience; who, fresh from the boorish society of the country, finds himself, for the first time, amongst well-bred gentlemen. Of all here present you are probably the sole person ignorant that I am Sir Giles Mompesson. But it is scarcely likely that they should be aware, as I chance to be, that the clownish insolent who has dared to wag his tongue against me, is the son of a Star-Chamber delinquent.”

  CHAPTER IX.

  The Letters-Patent.

  A slight reaction in Sir Giles’s favour was produced by his speech, but Jocelyn quite regained his position with the company when he exclaimed —

  “My father was misjudged. His prosecutor was a villain, and his sentence iniquitous.”

  “You have uttered your own condemnation, Jocelyn Mounchensey,” Sir Giles cried, with a savage laugh. “Know, to your confusion, that the High Court of Star-Chamber is so tender of upholding the honour of its sentences, that it ever punishes such as speak against them with the greatest severity. You have uttered your scandals openly.”

  “Imprudent young man, you have, indeed, placed yourself in fearful jeopardy,” a gentleman near him observed to Jocelyn. “Escape, if you can. You are lost, if you remain here.”

  But instead of following the friendly advice, Jocelyn would have assaulted Sir Giles, if he had not been forcibly withheld by the gentleman.

  The knight was not slow to follow up the advantage he had gained.

  “Stand forward, Clement Lanyere,” he exclaimed, authoritatively.

  The promoter instantly advanced.

  “Look at this man,” Sir Giles continued, addressing Jocelyn; “and you will perceive how those who malign the Star-Chamber are treated. This disfigured countenance was once as free from seam or scar as your own; and yet, for an offence lighter than yours, it hath been stamped, as you see, with indelible infamy. Answer, Clement Lanyere, — and answer according to your conscience, — Was the sentence just of the high and honourable court by which you were tried?”

  “It was just,” the promoter replied, a deep flush dyeing his ghastly visage.

  “And lenient?”

  “Most lenient. For it left my foul tongue the power of speech it now enjoys.”

  “By whom were you prosecuted in the Star-Chamber?”

  “By him I now serve.”

  “That is, by myself. Do you bear me malice for what I did?”

  “I have never said so. On the contrary, Sir Giles, I have always declared I owe you a deep debt.”

  “Which you strive to pay?”

  “Which I will pay.”

  “You hear what this man says, Mounchensey?” Sir Giles cried. “You have been guilty of the same offence as he. Why should you not be similarly punished?”

  “If I were so punished, I would stab my prosecutor to the heart,” Jocelyn replied.

  At this rejoinder, Lanyere, who had hitherto kept his eyes on th
e ground, suddenly raised them, with a look of singular expression at the speaker.

  “Humph!” Sir Giles ejaculated. “I must proceed to extremities with him, I find. Keep strict watch upon him, Lanyere; and follow him if he goes forth. Trace him to his lair. Now to business. Give me the letters-patent, Lupo,” he added, turning to the scrivener, as Lanyere retired. “These Letters-Patent,” continued Sir Giles, taking two parchment scrolls with large seals pendent from them from Lupo Vulp, and displaying them to the assemblage, “these Royal Letters,” he repeated in his steady, stern tones, and glancing round with a look of half-defiance, “passed under the great seal, and bearing the king’s sign-manual, as ye see, gentlemen, constitute the authority on which I act. They accord to me and my co-patentee, Sir Francis Mitchell, absolute and uncontrolled power and discretion in granting and refusing licenses to all tavern-keepers and hostel-keepers throughout London. They give us full power to enter and inspect all taverns and hostels, at any time that may seem fit to us; to prevent any unlawful games being used therein; and to see that good order and rule be maintained. They also render it compulsory upon all ale-house-keepers, tavern-keepers, and inn-keepers throughout London, to enter into their own recognizances with us against the non-observance of our rules and regulations for their governance and maintenance, and to find two sureties: and in case of the forfeiture of such recognizances by any act of the parties, coming within the scope of our authority, it is provided that one moiety of the sum forfeited be paid to the Crown, and the other moiety to us. Lend me your ears yet further, I pray ye, gentlemen. These Royal Letters empower us to inflict certain fines and penalties upon all such as offend against our authority, or resist our claims; and they enable us to apprehend and commit to prison such offenders without further warrant than the letters themselves contain. In brief, gentlemen,” he continued in a peremptory tone, as if insisting upon attention, “you will observe, that the absolute control of all houses of entertainment, where exciseable liquors are vended, is delegated to us by his most gracious Majesty, King James. To which end ample powers have been given us by his Majesty, who has armed us with the strong arm of the law. Will it please ye to inspect the letters, gentlemen?” holding them forth. “You will find that his Majesty hath thus written;— ‘In cujus rei testimonium has Literas nostras fieri fecimus patentes. Teste Meipso, apud Westm. 10 die Maij, Anno Regni nostri,’ &c. Then follows the royal signature. None of ye, I presume, will question its authenticity?”

  A deep silence succeeded, in the midst of which Jocelyn Mounchensey broke forth: —

  “I, for one, question it,” he cried. “I will never believe that a king, who, like our gracious sovereign, has the welfare of his subjects at heart, would sanction the oppression and injustice which those warrants, if entrusted to unscrupulous hands, must inevitably accomplish. I therefore mistrust the genuineness of the signature. If not forged, it has been obtained by fraud or misrepresentation.”

  Some murmurs of applause followed this bold speech; but the gentleman who had previously counselled the young man again interposed, and whispered these words in his ear: —

  “Your rash vehemence will undo you, if you take not heed. Beyond question, Sir Giles hath the king’s sanction for what he does, and to censure him as you have done is to censure the Crown, which is next to treason. Be ruled by me, my good young Sir, and meddle no more in the matter.”

  Sir Giles, who had some difficulty in controlling his choler, now spoke: —

  “You have cast an imputation upon me, Jocelyn Mounchensey,” he cried with concentrated fury, “which you shall be compelled to retract as publicly as you have made it. To insult an officer of the Crown, in the discharge of his duty, is to insult the Crown itself, as you will find. In the King’s name, I command you to hold your peace, or, in the King’s name, I will instantly arrest you; and I forbid any one to give you aid. I will not be troubled thus. Appointed by his Majesty to a certain office, I exercise it as much for the benefit of the Royal Exchequer, as for my own personal advantage. I have his Majesty’s full approval of what I do, and I need nothing more. I am accountable to no man — save the King,” addressing this menace as much to the rest of the company as to Jocelyn. “But I came not here to render explanation, but to act. What, ho! Madame Bonaventure! Where are ye, Madame? Oh! you are here!”

  “Bon jour, sweet Sir Giles,” the landlady said, making him a profound obeisance. “What is your pleasure with me, Sir? And to what am I to attribute the honour of this visit?”

  “Tut! Madame. You know well enough what brings me hither, and thus attended,” he replied. “I come in pursuance of a notice, served upon you a month ago. You will not deny having received it, since the officer who placed it in your hands is here present.” And he indicated Clement Lanyere.

  “Au contraire, Sir Giles,” Madame Bonaventure replied. “I readily admit the receipt of a written message from you, which, though scarcely intelligible to my poor comprehension, did not seem as agreeably worded as a billet-doux. Mais, ma foi! I attached little importance to it. I did not suppose it possible — nor do I suppose it possible now” — with a captivating smile, which was totally lost upon Sir Giles— “that you could adopt such rigorous measures against me.”

  “My measures may appear rigorous, Madame,” Sir Giles coldly replied; “but I am warranted in taking them. Nay, I am compelled to take them. Not having made the satisfaction required by the notice, you have deprived yourself of the protection I was willing to afford you. I am now merely your judge. The penalties incurred by your neglect are these: Your licence was suspended a month ago; the notice expressly stating that it would be withdrawn, unless certain conditions were fulfilled. Consequently, as ever since that time you have been vending exciseable liquors without lawful permission, you have incurred a fine of one hundred marks a day, making a total of three thousand marks now due and owing from you, partly to his Majesty, and partly to his Majesty’s representatives. This sum I now demand.”

  “Ah! Dieu! three thousand marks!” Madame Bonaventure screamed. “What robbery is this! — what barbarity! ‘T is ruin — utter ruin! I may as well close my house altogether, and return to my own fair country. As I am an honest woman, Sir Giles, I cannot pay it. So it is quite useless on your part to make any such demand.”

  “You profess inability to pay, Madame,” Sir Giles rejoined. “I cannot believe you; having some knowledge of your means. Nevertheless, I will acquaint you with a rule of law applicable to the contingency you put. ‘Quod non habet in cere, luet in corpore’ is a decree of the Star-Chamber; meaning, for I do not expect you to understand Latin, that he who cannot pay in purse shall pay in person. Aware of the alternative, you will make your choice. And you may thank me that I have not adjudged you at once — as I have the power — to three months within the Wood Street Compter.”

  “Ah, Sir Giles! what an atrocious idea. You are worse than a savage to talk of such a loathsome prison to me. Ah! mon Dieu! what is to happen to me! would I were back again in my lovely Bordeaux!”

  “You will have an opportunity of revisiting that fine city, Madame; for you will no longer be able to carry on your calling here.”

  “Ciel! Sir Giles! what mean you?”

  “I mean, Madame, that you are disabled from keeping any tavern for the space of three years.”

  Madame Bonaventure clasped her hands together, and screamed aloud.

  “In pity, Sir Giles! — In pity!” she cried.

  The inexorable knight shook his head. The low murmurs of indignation among the company which had been gradually gathering force during the foregoing dialogue, now became clamorous. “A most scandalous proceeding!” exclaimed one. “Deprive us of our best French ordinary!” cried another. “Infamous extortioner!” shouted a third. “We’ll not permit such injustice. Let us take the law into our own hands, and settle the question!” shouted a fourth. “Ay, down with the knight!” added a fifth.

  But Sir Giles continued perfectly unmoved by the tempest raging
around, and laughed to scorn these menaces, contenting himself with signing to Captain Bludder to be in readiness.

  “A truce to this, gentlemen;” he at length thundered forth; “the King’s warrant must be respected.”

  Again Madame Bonaventure besought his pity, but in vain. She took hold of his arm, and feigned to kneel to him; but he shook her coldly off.

  “You are a very charming woman, no doubt, Madame,” he said sarcastically; “and some men might find you irresistible; but I am not made of such yielding stuff, and you may spare yourself further trouble, for all your powers of persuasion will fail with me. I renew my demand — and for the last time. Do not compel me to resort to extremities with you. It would grieve me,” he added with a bitter smile, “to drag so pretty a woman through the public streets, like a common debtor, to the Compter.”

  “Grace! grace! Sir Giles,” cried Madame Bonaventure. Then seeing him remain inflexible, she added, in an altered tone, “I will never submit with life to such an indignity — never!”

  “We’ll all protect you, Madame,” cried the assemblage with one voice— “Let him lay hands upon you, and he shall see.”