FURTHER MISFORTUNES.
Greenwood had been insulted by those wealthy citizens who once
considered themselves honoured by his notice; and _this_ he might have
borne, because he was man of the world enough to know that poverty is a
crime in the eyes of plodding, money-making persons.
But to be made the jest of a couple of despicable adventurers—to be
jeered at by two knaves for whom he entertained the most sovereign
contempt, because their rascalities had been conducted on a scale of
mean swindling rather than in the colourable guise of financial
enterprise,—to be laughed at and mocked by such men as those, because
they happened to have good clothes upon their backs,—Oh! this was a
crushing—an intolerable insult!
The unhappy Greenwood felt it most keenly: he writhed beneath the sharp
lash of that bitter sarcasm which had been hurled against his shabby
appearance;—he groaned under the scourge of those contemptuous scoffs!
Sanguine as his disposition naturally was,—confident as he ever felt in
his own talents for intrigue and scheming,—he was now suddenly cast
down; and hope fled from his soul.
Not for worlds would he have risked the chance of receiving farther
insult that day, by calling at the counting-house of another capitalist!
And now he fled from the City with a species of loathing,—as much
depressed by disappointment as he had been elated by hope when he
entered it a few hours previously.
He crossed Blackfriars' Bridge, turned into Holland Street, and thence
entered John Street, where he knocked timidly at the door of a house of
very mean appearance.
A stout, vulgar-looking woman, with carrotty hair, tangled as a mat,
overshadowing a red and bloated face, thrust her head out of the window
on the first floor.
"Well?" she cried, in an impertinent tone.
"Will you have the kindness to let me in, Mrs. Brown?" said Greenwood,
calling to his aid all that blandness of manner which had once served
him us a powerful auxiliary in his days of extensive intrigue.
"That depends," was the abrupt reply. "Have you brought any money with
you?"
"Mrs. Brown, I cannot explain myself in the street," said the unhappy
man, who saw that a storm was impending. "Please to let me in—and——"
"Come—none of that gammon!" shouted the landlady of the house, for the
behoof of all her neighbours who were lounging at their doors. "Have you
brought me one pound seventeen and sixpence—yes or no? 'Cos, if you
haven't, I shall just put up a bill to let my lodgings—and you may go
about your business."
"But, Mrs. Brown——"
"Don't Mrs. Brown _me_!" interrupted the woman, hanging half way out of
the window, and gesticulating violently. "It's my opinion as you wants
to do me brown—and that's all about it."
"What is it, dear Mrs. Brown?" inquired a woman, with a child in her
arms, stepping from the door of the adjoining dwelling to the
kerb-stone, and looking up at the window.
"What is it?" vociferated Greenwood's landlady, who only required such a
question as the one just put to her in order to work herself into a
towering passion: "what is it? Why, would you believe it, Mrs. Sugden,
that this here swindling feller as tries to look so much like the
gentleman, but isn't nothink more than a Swell-Mob's-man—and _that_ was
my rale opinion of him all along—comes here, as you know, Mrs. Sugden,
and hires my one-pair back for seven and sixpence a-week——"
"Shameful!" cried Mrs. Sugden, darting a look of fierce indignation upon
the miserable Greenwood.
"So it were, ma'am," continued Mrs. Brown, now literally foaming at the
mouth: "and though he had his clean pair of calico sheets every
fortnight and a linen piller-case which my husband took out o' pawn on
purpose to make him comfortable——".
"_Dis_-graceful!" ejaculated Mrs. Sugden, casting up her eyes to heaven,
as if she could not have thought the world capable of such an atrocity.
"And then arter all, that feller there runs up one pound seventeen and
six in no time—going tick even for the blacking of his boots and his
lucifers——"
Greenwood stayed to hear no more: he perceived that all hope of
obtaining admission to his lodging was useless; and he accordingly stole
off, followed by the abuse of Mrs. Brown, the opprobrious epithets of
Mrs. Sugden, and the scoffs of half-a-dozen of the neighbours.
It was now four o'clock in the afternoon; and Greenwood found himself
retracing his way over Blackfriars' Bridge, without knowing whither he
was going—or without even having any place to go to.
He was literally houseless—homeless!
His few shirts and other necessaries were left behind at the lodging
which had just been closed against him; and a few halfpence in his
pocket, besides the garments upon his back, were all his worldly
possessions.
"And has it come to this?" he thought within himself, as he hurried over
the bridge, not noticing the curiosity excited on the part of the crowd
by his strange looks and wildness of manner: "has it come to this at
length? Homeless—and a beggar!—a wretched wanderer in this great city
where I once rode in my carriage! Oh! my God—I deserve it all!"
And he hurried franticly along—hell raging in his bosom.
At length it suddenly struck him that he was gesticulating violently in
the open street and in the broad day-light; and he was overwhelmed with
a sense of deep shame and profound humiliation.
He rushed across Bridge Street, with the intention of plunging into one
of those lanes leading towards Whitefriars; when a cry of alarm
resounded in his ears—and in another moment he was knocked down by a
cabriolet that was driving furiously along.
The wheel passed over his right leg; and a groan of agony escaped him.
The vehicle instantly stopped: the livery servant behind sprang to the
ground; and, with the aid of a policeman who came up to the spot the
instant the accident occurred, the domestic raised Greenwood from the
pavement.
But an agonising cry, wrung from him by the excruciating pain which he
felt in his right leg, showed that he was seriously injured; and the
policeman said, "We must take him to the hospital."
There were two gentlemen in the cabriolet; and one of them, leaning out,
said, "What's the matter with the fellow—smite him!"
"Yeth—what ith it all about, poleethman?" demanded the other gentleman,
also thrusting forward his head.
Greenwood recognised their voices, and turned his face towards them in
an imploring manner: but he suffered too acutely to speak.
"My gwathiouth! Thmilackth," cried Sir Cherry Bounce, who was one of the
inmates of the cab: "may I die if it ithn't Gweenwood!"
"So it is, Cherry—strike me!" ejaculated the Honourable Major Dapper.
"Here, policeman! see that he's taken proper care of—in the hospital——"
"Yeth—in the hothpital," echoed Sir Cherry.
"Hold your tongue, Cherry—you're a fool," cried the Major. "And,
policeman, if you want to communicate with me upon the subject—I mean,
if any thing should happen to the poor devil, you know—you can call or
write. Here's my card—and here's a guinea for yourself."
"Thanke'e, sir," returned the officer: "but won't you be so kind as to
give him a lift in your cab as far as Saint Bartholomew's?"
"Quite out of the quethtion!" exclaimed Sir Cherry.
"Oh! quite," said the Honourable Major Smilax Dapper. "We are engaged to
dine at the house of some friends with whom Lady Bounce—that's this
gentleman's wife—is staying; and we are late as it is. You must get a
stretcher, policeman—strike me! Now then, John!"
"All right, sir!" cried the servant, springing up behind the vehicle.
And away went the cabriolet with the rapidity of lightning.
In the meantime a crowd had collected; and amongst the spectators thus
assembled were two individuals who seemed to take a more than common
interest in the painful scene.
One was Filippo, who happened to be passing at the moment: but he kept
behind the crowd, so that Greenwood might not perceive him.
The other was the hump-back Gibbet, whom accident likewise made a
witness of the event, and who, observing the cruel indifference with
which the gentlemen in the cab had treated a misfortune caused by
themselves, felt suddenly interested in behalf of the victim of their
carelessness.
The policeman procured a stretcher; and, with the aid of two or three of
the idlers whom the accident had collected to the spot, he conveyed
Greenwood to Saint Bartholomew's Hospital.
Filippo hurried rapidly away the moment he saw his late master removed
in the manner described; but Gibbet, who, we should observe, was clad in
deep mourning, walked by the side of the procession.
Greenwood fainted, through excessive pain, while he was being conveyed
to the hospital; and when he came to himself again, he was lying in a
narrow bed, upon a hard mattress stretched on an iron framework, while
the house-surgeon was setting his leg, which had been broken.
[Illustration]
The room was long and crowded with beds, in each of which there was a
patient; for this was the Casualty Ward of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital.
"And how did this occur, then?" said the house-surgeon to the
police-officer, who was standing by.
"Two gentlemen in a cab, coming along Bridge Street, capsized the poor
feller," was the answer. "They told me who they was—one a _Sir_, so I
suppose a Barrow-Knight—and t'other, whose card I've got, is a
Honourable and a Major. If they hadn't had handles to their names I
shouldn't have let 'em go off so quiet as I did, after knocking down a
feller-creatur' through sheer carelessness."
"Well, well," said the surgeon, impatiently: "I suppose you know your
duty. The leg is set—it's a simple fracture—and there's no danger. Mrs.
Jubkins."
"Yes, sir," said a nurse, stepping forward.
"The new patient must be kept very quiet, Mrs. Jubkins," continued the
house-surgeon, behind whom stood two assistants, termed dressers, and
smelling awfully of rum and tobacco: "and if any casualty that's likely
to be noisy should come in to-night, don't put it into this ward, Mrs.
Jubkins. I shall visit this Leg the first thing in the morning, before I
see the Collar-Bone that came in just now. By the by, Mrs. Jubkins,
how's the Eye this evening?"
"The Eye, sir, has been calling out for somethink to eat this last three
hours, sir," replied the head nurse of the Casualty Ward.
"And the Ribs, Mrs. Jubkins, that came in this morning—how do you get on
there?"
"The Ribs, sir," answered the nurse, somewhat indignantly, "has done
nothing but curse and swear ever since you left at noon. It's quite
horrible, sir."
"A bad habit, Mrs. Jubkins—a very bad habit," said the surgeon:
"swearing neither mends nor helps matters. But damn the fellow—he can't
be so very bad, either."
"In course not, sir," observed the nurse. "But what am I to do with the
Nose, sir?"
"Let the Nose put his feet into hot water as usual."
The surgeon then felt Greenwood's pulse, gave Mrs. Jubkins a few
necessary directions, and was about to proceed to the next ward to visit
a Brain, which also had a compound fracture of the arm, when he suddenly
espied Gibbet near the head of the new patient's bed.
"Well, my good fellow," said the surgeon; "and what do _you_ want?"
"Please, sir," answered Gibbet, "I merely came in—I scarce know why—but
I saw the accident—and I thought that if this poor gentleman would like
to send a message to any friend——"
"Oh! yes, I should indeed!" murmured Greenwood, in a faint and yet
earnest tone.
"Well—you can settle that matter between you," said the surgeon: "only,
my good fellow," he added, speaking to Gibbet, "you must not hold the
patient too long in conversation."
"No, sir—I will not," was the answer.
The surgeon, the nurse, and the dressers moved away: the policeman had
already taken his departure; and Greenwood was therefore enabled to
speak without reserve to the kind-hearted hump-back who had manifested
so generous an interest in his behalf.
And now behold Gibbet—the late hangman's son—leaning over the pallet of
the once fashionable, courted, and influential George Montague
Greenwood.
"I am so weak—so ill in mind and body," said the latter, in a very faint
and low tone, "that I cannot devote words to tell you how much I feel
your kindness."
"Don't mention _that_, sir," interrupted Gibbet. "Inform me as briefly
as possible how I can serve you."
"I will," continued Greenwood. "If you would proceed to a mansion near
Lower Holloway, called Markham Place——"
"Markham Place!" said Gibbet, with a start.
"Yes—do you know it?"
"It was my intention to call there this very evening. The Prince of
Montoni has been my greatest benefactor——"
"Oh! how fortunate!" murmured Greenwood. "Then you know that there is a
young lady named Miss Monroe——"
"Yes, sir: she lives at the Place, with her father."
"And it is to her that I wish a message conveyed," said Greenwood. "Seek
an opportunity to deliver that message to her alone;—and on no account,
I implore you, let the Prince—nor any inmate of that house save Miss
Monroe—learn what has occurred to me."
"Your wishes shall be faithfully complied with. But the message——"
"Oh! it is brief," interrupted Greenwood, with a sad smile, which was
not, however, altogether devoid of bitterness: "tell her—whisper in her
ear—that an accident has brought me hither, and that I am desirous to
see her to-morrow. And—assure her, my good friend," he added, after a
short pause, "that I am in no danger—for she might be uneasy."
"Your instructions shall be fulfilled to the letter," replied Gibbet.
Greenwood expressed his thanks; and the hump-back took his departure.