MR. BANKS'S HOUSE IN GLOBE LANE.
The evening appointed by Katherine, in her note to Mr. Banks, for the
purchase of the papers relating to her birth, had now arrived.
It was nearly eight o'clock.
The undertaker was at work in his shop, the door of which stood open;
and several idle vagabonds were standing near the entrance, watching the
progress that was made in bringing a new coffin to completion. Somehow
or another, people always do stop at the doors of undertakers'
workshops—doubtless actuated by feelings of the same morbid nature as
those which call crowds of faces to the windows in a street along which
a funeral is passing.
Mr. Banks had laid aside his coat, and appeared in his dingy shirt
sleeves: he wore a paper cap upon his head; and a long apron was tied
very high up above his waist—reaching, indeed, almost to the waistcoat
pockets. As the gas was not laid on in his establishment, he was working
by the light of a couple of tallow candles, that flickered in a most
tantalising manner with the draught from the open door—leaving Mr. Banks
every other minute in a state of exciting suspense as to whether they
were about to be extinguished or to revive again. Still he did not
choose to adopt the very natural precaution of closing the shop-door,
because he considered it business-like to have a group of idlers
collected at the entrance.
And there _was_ an air of business about Mr. Banks's establishment.
There were shining white coffin-plates hanging along one row of panes in
the window; and black japanned ones suspended along another row. At a
central pane hung a miniature coffin-lid, covered with black cloth, and
studded with nails in the usual manner. The shop itself was crowded with
coffins, in different stages towards completion: the floor was ankle
deep in shavings and sawdust; and carpenters' tools of all kinds lay
scattered about. But, pre-eminently conspicuous amongst all those
objects, was a glass-case standing upon a little shelf, and enclosing
that very miniature model of the patent coffin which he had displayed at
the farm-house near Hounslow.
Mr. Banks was busily employed in fitting a lid to a coffin which stood
upon trestles in the middle of the shop; and his two eldest boys, one
fifteen and the other thirteen, were occupied, the first in planing a
board, and the second in sawing a plank.
"Well," mused Mr. Banks to himself, as he proceeded with his work, "I
hope Miss Kate won't fail to keep her appintment—partickler as Tidkins
seems so sure of the job. That other feller which came yesterday to look
at my first floor front as is to let, never returned. And yet he
appeared to like the blessed place well enow. Goodness knows he asked
questions by the dozen, and looked in every cranny about the house. What
did he want to bother his-self like that as to whether there was a good
yard for his missus to hang her clothes in on washing days? He should
have sent her to see all about that. Then he would see where the
yard-wall looked—and whether there was a yard or a street t' other
side—and all about it. I raly thought he would have taken the rooms. But
p'rhaps he didn't like the coffins: p'rhaps his missus don't fancy that
there constant hammering. Ah! it's a sinful world!"
And, as if deeply impressed by this conviction, the undertaker shook his
head solemnly.
He then continued his employment for some time without musing upon any
one topic in particular.
At length he broke silence altogether.
"Now, Ned," said he to his eldest-born (he had five or six smaller
specimens of the Banks' breed indoors), as he raised his head from his
work, and looked severely round towards the lad; "that's quite planing
enow: the board'll be veared as thin as a egg-case before it's used.
Make it on economic principles, boy—economic principles, I say, mind!"
added Mr. Banks, sternly.
"It ain't economic principles to turn out coffins as rough as if they
didn't know what planing is," returned the youth; "'cause the friends of
the defuncks'll only send them back again."
"The friends of the defuncts will do no such a thing to a 'spectable
furnisher of funerals like me, as has lived, man and boy, in the same
house for fifty year, and paid his way reglar," responded Mr. Banks. "If
we adopts economic principles, we can't waste wood or time either."
"And do you mean to say, father," cried the boy, "that this here plank
is planed enow? Pass your hand along it, and it'll get kivered with
splinters—stuck all over like a porkipine."
"It will do exceeding well for the blessed carkiss that'll rejice in
such a lid as that board will help to make him," said Banks, sweeping
his horny palm over the plank. "That's good enow—that's economic
principles."
"Then economic principles is a fool and a humbug," returned the lad,
sulkily: "that's all I can say about the matter."
"Oh! that's it—is it?" cried Banks, assuming a threatening attitude.
"Yes—with a wengeance," added his son.
"No—that's the wengeance," said Mr. Banks, coolly, as he dealt his heir
a tremendous box on the ear, which forced the young man nearly over the
plank that had caused the dispute; but as the lad was not quite floored,
his father bestowed on him a kick which, speedily succeeding the slap,
levelled the youthful coffin-maker altogether.
"Brayvo!" shouted the idlers at the door.
The discomfited son of Mr. Banks got up, retreated to the farther end of
the shop, and was about to discharge a volley of insolence at his father
when a gentleman and lady suddenly appeared on the threshold of the
shop.
[Illustration]
"Ah! Miss Wilmot," exclaimed Mr. Banks: "punctual to the time! Your most
obedient, sir," he added, turning towards Kate's companion, whom he did
not know personally, but who was really Richard Markham. "Walk in,
Miss—walk in, sir."
Then, without farther ceremony, the undertaker banged the door violently
in the faces of the loungers at the shop-entrance.
"Please to come this way," he said, again turning to his visitors. "Take
care of that lid, Miss; it'll soon cover a blessed defunct as a widder
and seven small childern is now a-weeping for. I'm doing it cheap for
'em, poor things—eighteen-pence under the reg'lar charge, 'cause they
had to sell their bed to pay for it—in adwance. This way, sir: mind them
trestles. Ah! a many coffins has stood on 'em—all made on the newest and
most economic principles; for my maxim is that a cheap and good
undertaker is a real blessin' to society—a perfect god-send in this
world of wanity and wexation. What would the poor sinful wessels in this
neighbourhood do without me?—what indeed?"
Thus talking, and shaking his head in a most solemn manner, Mr. Banks
led the way to a parlour behind the shop: and when his two visitors had
entered it, he closed the door to prevent the intrusion of his sons.
"Pray, sit down, Miss—sit down, sir," said the undertaker, doing the
honours of his abode with all the politeness of which he was master. "I
am truly glad to behold your blessed countenance again, Miss;—for it's a
sinful world, and blessed countenances is scarce—wery scarce. And this
gentleman is Mr.—Mr.—ahem!—I haven't the pleasure of knowing him."
"It's no matter who I am," said Richard. "The agreement between Miss
Wilmot and yourself was that she should visit you, accompanied by a
friend:—I am that friend. Let us now proceed to business."
And as he spoke, our hero coolly produced a brace of pistols, which he
laid upon the table.
"Sir—Miss Kate—I—I hope——" stammered the undertaker, turning pale, and
recoiling in alarm.
"Fear nothing," said Markham: "it is merely a necessary precaution. This
young lady and myself are in a strange neighbourhood:—I have about me a
considerable sum of money, for the purpose of buying certain papers
which you profess to have; and you will pardon me if I have thought fit
to adopt every precaution—yes, _every precaution_," he added
emphatically, "to guard against treachery."
"But surely that dear creetur, Miss Katherine, with her angelic
countenance," said Banks, "must have told you, sir, that I'm a
'spectable man as was well known to Mr. Smithers, and that I should
scorn to act dishonourable to any blessed living wessel."
"We will not dispute upon the point, sir," returned our hero, in an
authoritative tone. "I have my reasons for acting with caution. If you
intend us no harm—none can befall you. Where are these papers?"
"The papers, sir? Oh! the papers is safe enow," said Banks, still
hesitating; "but them pistols——"
"Will remain there until the bargain is concluded," added Markham.
"Again I say that I mean fairly if you do."
Thus speaking, he drew forth a pocket-book, and, opening it, displayed
to the undertaker's eager eyes a number of Bank notes.
"Business—it looks like business," murmured Banks; "in spite of them
bles——cussed pistols. You see, dear pretty Miss—and you, good sir,—that
a man moving in such a important speer as myself sees so much of the
pomps and wanities——"
"A truce to these unnecessary observations, Mr. Banks," said Markham,
somewhat sternly; "or you will compel me to think that you are only
talking to gain time—which could not be for any proper motive. In one
word, then—have you the papers which relate to this young lady's
parentage?"
"I have, sir—I have indeed," returned the undertaker.
With these words, he slowly unlocked an old walnut-wood desk, which
stood in a recess; and thence he took a brown-paper parcel, tied round
with coarse string and sealed in several places.
"This is just as I received the blessed dokiments from my friend," he
said, leisurely advancing towards the table: then, taking a seat, he
handed the parcel to Markham, observing, "You may break it open, and
satisfy yourself that its contents is geniwine. Two minutes will be enow
for that—and two minutes is all my friend told me to give for the
purpose. I haven't read a line of them myself; and I know nothink of
what they say;—but my friend is as sharp a feller as here and there one;
and he assures me they're going dirt cheap—like workus coffins."
While Banks was thus indulging his garrulity, Markham had opened the
parcel by the aid of a pair of scissors which lay upon the table; and
the first thing which struck him was a letter addressed to "_Mr.
Markham, Markham Place_."
Katherine, who watched him attentively, without, however, looking at the
papers herself, observed him start as if with sudden surprise: then he
tore open the letter with almost a wild precipitation, and glanced
rapidly over the contents. As he read, his countenance became flushed,
and his features expressed mingled joy and astonishment—joy the most
fervent, astonishment the most profound.
"My God!" he exclaimed, throwing down the letter, ere he had fully
perused it: "how wondrous are thy ways! Katherine, dearest girl—come to
my arms—for you are my sister—my own sister!"
"Your sister, Richard!" murmured the young maiden, as she sank almost
fainting upon her brother's breast.
"Yes—my sister, Kate—my own sister!"—and he embraced her tenderly.
"Compose yourself, dear girl—compose yourself: this is no place for
explanations! But you are not the less my sister—and I thank God for it!
I have now a natural right to be your protector—and a protector as well
as an affectionate brother will you ever find me!"
"Oh! Richard—this sudden—this unexpected happiness is too much!"
exclaimed Katherine, weeping through varied but ineffable emotions. "Is
it possible that he whom I have known as a benefactor is indeed a
brother!"
"I cannot doubt it—I do not wish to doubt it," returned Markham. "No—I
am happy that I have found a sister in her whom I already loved as one!"
And again he embraced her tenderly.
"And I to find a brother in the noblest and best of men!" murmured
Katherine: "it appears to be a dream—a delicious dream!"
"It is a reality," said Richard; "and we shall now all be happier than
ever. Oh! what a surprise for those at home!"
"Then you perceive, my lord, that the dokiments is of some wally,"
observed Mr. Banks, wiping his eyes with the limp ends of his cravat, as
if deeply affected by the scene. "I knowed they was; and I now begin to
think that I have found out your name. I'm sure it's a unspeakable
honour that a great lord and prince like you has done my poor house by
setting foot in it—and all amongst the coffins too!"
"Let us now conclude this business, sir," exclaimed Richard, with whom
the undertaker's remarks passed unheeded, so absorbed were his thoughts
in the signal discovery which he had just made. "These papers are mine;
and this pocket-book is yours. You may examine its contents."
"Oh! I've no doubt they're all right, my lord," said Banks, grasping the
treasure now handed to him; "but I'll just look over 'em—merely for
form's sake. It's more business-like. And nice new flimsies they are,
too," continued the undertaker, as he scrutinised the notes one by one.
"Ah! what miserable wessels we should be without money, my lord—in this
wicked world;—and what would become of us if our friends had no cash to
buy us nice coffins when we are blessed defunct carkisses? It's awful to
think of! Four fifties—two hundreds—and ten tens: that's five
hundred—sure enow."
And Mr. Banks proceeded to lock up the pocket-book, with its valuable
contents, in his desk.
Richard and Katherine rose, as if to depart.
"May be, your lordship and this pretty young lady will just wash your
mouths out," said Mr. Banks, attempting a pleasant smile. "A leetle drop
of wine—one glass; and I'll step myself to the public-house to fetch
it."
"Do so," returned Markham, throwing a sovereign upon the table.
Katherine looked at her brother in astonishment; but he affected not to
perceive the impression which his strange conduct had thus created.
Banks seemed overjoyed at the affability of the nobleman; and gathering
up the piece of gold, the change out of which he already considered as
his own perquisite, he hastened to execute the commission;—but not
without trying the lid of the desk ere he left the room, to convince
himself that it was securely locked.
He passed through the shop, which was empty; and, muttering to himself
something about "his unnat'ral boys who had gone off to the public
without finishing the economic coffins," opened the street door and went
out.
The moment he was gone, Richard seized his pistols, and saying in a
hurried tone to Katharine, "Remain here, dear sister, for a few
moments," hastened from the room by a door leading to the inner part of
the dwelling.
He rushed down a passage, and entered the yard—as if well acquainted
with the undertaker's premises.
The moment he set foot in the yard, he whistled in a peculiar manner.
"Damnation!—treachery!" cried a man, darting forward from the corner
near the window.
"Stand—or I fire!" exclaimed Markham, advancing towards him, and
presenting a pistol.
"Fool!" said the man; and he threw himself with desperate fury upon our
hero.
But Richard, maintaining his footing gallantly, closed with his
assailant, and threw him to the ground, his pistol going off with the
shock—without, however, inflicting any injury.
And at the same moment three police-officers leapt over the wall, in
time to put an end to the struggle between Markham and his opponent, the
latter of whom they made their prisoner and immediately bound with
strong cords.
"Is your Highness hurt?" asked one of the officers.
"No, Benstead," was the reply: "a little bruised, perhaps—but it is
nothing. Bring the prisoner this way."
The whole transaction,—from the moment when Richard left the
undertaker's parlour to that when he re-entered it, followed by the
policemen with the captive,—had not occupied two minutes.
He found Katherine reclining back in her chair—half fainting and
paralysed by terror, so deeply had the report of the pistol and the
concomitant scuffle in the yard alarmed her.
But the moment she heard her brother's voice, she started up, gazed
wildly around, and threw herself into his arms.
"You are not hurt, Richard? Oh! tell me—that pistol!" she exclaimed,
terror still depicted on her countenance.
"No, dear sister—I am not hurt," exclaimed Richard. "Calm yourself.
Every thing has resulted according to my expectations. Look, Kate—that
terrible man is at length in the hands of the officers of justice."
Katherine turned a rapid glance towards the group on the other side of
the room, and beheld the sinister and ferocious countenance of the
individual whom she had seen in the company of the old hag near Bennet's
farm.
At this moment the door communicating with the shop opened, and Mr.
Banks made his appearance, carrying a bottle in his hand.
He started back in astonishment and alarm when his eyes encountered the
police-officers, with his friend Anthony Tidkins securely bound in the
midst of them.
But as his glances wandered from one to another, he suddenly appeared to
recollect something; and, fixing his eyes on Benstead, he exclaimed,
"Ah! now I twig it all. What a cussed fool I was not to know a trap even
in plain clothes! But I was blind, 'cause I thought I'd got a 'spectable
man coming as a fust floor lodger. No wonder you poked your nose in
every hole and corner—'specially the yard. I was a idiot—a ass—a
addle-pated old wessel! But p'rhaps the gen'lemen will take a glass of
wine, since they're here?" added Mr. Banks, with a smirking countenance.
This semi-pleasantry on his part was only assumed; for his own life had
not been so immaculate as to preclude the existence of certain fears
when he found himself in the dangerous vicinity of the police.
He was, however, speedily reassured on this head.
"Keep your wine, sir," exclaimed Markham, "for those who can enjoy it in
your company; and consider yourself fortunate that, in becoming the
agent of that man,"—pointing with deep disgust towards Tidkins,—"you
have not committed yourself in any way which at present endangers your
safety. I see that you glance uneasily at your desk:—you need not fear
that I shall attempt to deprive you of the sum which you have extorted
as the purchase-money for the papers now in my possession. No:—although
I do not envy you the feelings which could prompt you thus to lend
yourself to make a market of secrets so sacred as those which the
documents contain, I cannot question your right thus to act, seeing that
the papers were in your possession. And were I compelled to pay a
thousand times the sum given to obtain them, I should consider they were
cheaply bought, inasmuch——But _you_ cannot understand such feelings!" he
added, addressing these words to the undertaker, but glancing
affectionately towards Katherine.
"I hope there's no offence, my lord," said Banks, shaking in every limb
with vague fears and suspicions. "I'm a poor man, which tries to live
honestly by _undertaking_ on the most economic principles; and there
isn't a carkiss as goes through my hands that wouldn't sign a certifikit
in my favour if it could."
Richard turned his back contemptuously upon Mr. Banks, and, addressing
himself to Benstead, asked where he intended to lodge the prisoner for
the night.
"There isn't a station-house in London that would be safe to put such a
desperate feller in," was the reply. "He'd get out as sure as my name is
Morris Benstead. I shall take him direct to Coldbath Fields, where the
keeper will be sure to give him accommodation. To-morrow your Highness
will be so kind as to appear against him at Lambeth Street."
Markham promised compliance with this request. A cab was sent for; and
the Resurrection Man, who had maintained a moody silence, although he
never ceased from looking vindictively upon our hero, from the moment he
was arrested, was now removed in safe custody.
The Prince then conducted Katherine to the carriage that was waiting for
them in another street; and shortly after ten o'clock they reached
Markham Place.
We shall pass over all elaborate details of the surprise and joy with
which Isabella, Ellen, and Mr. Monroe received the intelligence that
Katherine was our hero's sister,—his sister without what the world calls
the _stigma_ of illegitimacy! Suffice it to say, that the discovery
produced the most unfeigned pleasure in the breasts of all, and that
Kate became the object of the sincerest congratulations.
Richard then related as succinctly as possible,—for he longed to peruse
the precious documents in his possession,—the capture of the
Resurrection Man and the scheme by which he had placed that villain in
the hands of the officers of justice.
"I felt persuaded," he said, "that Tidkins did not put implicit
confidence in Banks, and that he intended to watch the negotiation. His
avarice engendered suspicions and got the better of his prudence. I
communicated my views yesterday morning to a faithful officer whom I
know; and Morris Benstead—the person to whom I allude—visited the
undertaker's house on a pretence of hiring apartments which were to let.
By those means he was enabled to _reconnoitre_ the premises, and adopt
measures accordingly. The result has answered my anticipations; and that
consummate villain, who twice attempted my life, and whose atrocities
are numerous as the hairs on his head, is at length in custody."
"Ah! dearest Richard," said Isabella, "wherefore should you have thus
perilled your precious life?"
"Do not chide me, Isabel," exclaimed the Prince, kissing her tenderly.
"I only performed a duty that I owed alike to society and to myself. Let
us now examine these documents which have already made so strange, and
yet so welcome a revelation."
The members of that happy party drew round the table; and Richard began
by reading the various letters that accompanied the old woman's
narrative. But as those epistles merely corroborated the main points of
her tale, we shall not quote them.
The narrative itself will explain all; and that important document may
be found in the ensuing chapter.