The thieves have bound the true men--
Now, could thou and I rob the thieves, and go
merrily to London.
_Henry IV., Part I._
The sun was high upon the glades of Enfield Chase, and the deer, with
which it then abounded, were seen sporting in picturesque groups among
the ancient oaks of the forest, when a cavalier and a lady, on foot,
although in riding apparel, sauntered slowly up one of the long alleys
which were cut through the park for the convenience of the hunters.
Their only attendant was a page, who, riding a Spanish jennet, which
seemed to bear a heavy cloak-bag, followed them at a respectful
distance. The female, attired in all the fantastic finery of the period,
with more than the usual quantity of bugles, flounces, and trimmings,
and holding her fan of ostrich feathers in one hand, and her riding-mask
of black velvet in the other, seemed anxious, by all the little coquetry
practised on such occasions, to secure the notice of her companion,
who sometimes heard her prattle without seeming to attend to it, and
at other times interrupted his train of graver reflections, to reply to
her.
"Nay, but, my lord--my lord, you walk so fast, you will leave me behind
you.--Nay, I will have hold of your arm, but how to manage with my mask
and my fan? Why would you not let me bring my waiting-gentlewoman to
follow us, and hold my things? But see, I will put my fan in my girdle,
soh!--and now that I have a hand to hold you with, you shall not run
away from me."
"Come on, then," answered the gallant, "and let us walk apace, since you
would not be persuaded to stay with your gentlewoman, as you call her,
and with the rest of the baggage.--You may perhaps see _that_, though,
you will not like to see."
She took hold of his arm accordingly; but as he continued to walk at the
same pace, she shortly let go her hold, exclaiming that he had hurt her
hand. The cavalier stopped, and looked at the pretty hand and arm which
she showed him, with exclamations against his cruelty. "I dare say," she
said, baring her wrist and a part of her arm, "it is all black and blue
to the very elbow."
"I dare say you are a silly little fool," said the cavalier, carelessly
kissing the aggrieved arm; "it is only a pretty incarnate which sets off
the blue veins."
"Nay, my lord, now it is you are silly," answered the dame; "but I am
glad I can make you speak and laugh on any terms this morning. I am
sure, if I did insist on following you into the forest, it was all
for the sake of diverting you. I am better company than your page, I
trow.--And now, tell me, these pretty things with horns, be they not
deer?"
"Even such they be, Nelly," answered her neglectful attendant.
"And what can the great folk do with so many of them, forsooth?"
"They send them to the city, Nell, where wise men make venison pasties
of their flesh, and wear their horns for trophies," answered Lord
Dalgarno, whom our reader has already recognised.
"Nay, now you laugh at me, my lord," answered his companion; "but I know
all about venison, whatever you may think. I always tasted it once a
year when we dined with Mr. Deputy," she continued, sadly, as a sense
of her degradation stole across a mind bewildered with vanity and
folly, "though he would not speak to me now, if we met together in the
narrowest lane in the Ward!"
"I warrant he would not," said Lord Dalgarno, "because thou, Nell,
wouldst dash him with a single look; for I trust thou hast more spirit
than to throw away words on such a fellow as he?"
"Who, I!" said Dame Nelly. "Nay, I scorn the proud princox too much for
that. Do you know, he made all the folk in the Ward stand cap in hand to
him, my poor old John Christie and all?" Here her recollection began to
overflow at her eyes.
"A plague on your whimpering," said Dalgarno, somewhat harshly,--"Nay,
never look pale for the matter, Nell. I am not angry with you, you
simple fool. But what would you have me think, when you are eternally
looking back upon your dungeon yonder by the river, which smelt of pitch
and old cheese worse than a Welshman does of onions, and all this when I
am taking you down to a castle as fine as is in Fairy Land!"
"Shall we be there to-night, my lord?" said Nelly, drying her tears.
"To-night, Nelly?--no, nor this night fortnight."
"Now, the Lord be with us, and keep us!--But shall we not go by sea,
my lord?--I thought everybody came from Scotland by sea. I am sure Lord
Glenvarloch and Richie Moniplies came up by sea."
"There is a wide difference between coming up and going down, Nelly,"
answered Lord Dalgarno.
"And so there is, for certain," said his simple companion. "But yet I
think I heard people speaking of going down to Scotland by sea, as well
as coming up. Are you well avised of the way?--Do you think it possible
we can go by land, my sweet lord?"
"It is but trying, my sweet lady," said Lord Dalgarno. "Men say England
and Scotland are in the same island, so one would hope there may be some
road betwixt them by land."
"I shall never be able to ride so far," said the lady.
"We will have your saddle stuffed softer," said the lord. "I tell you
that you shall mew your city slough, and change from the caterpillar of
a paltry lane into the butterfly of a prince's garden. You shall have as
many tires as there are hours in the day--as many handmaidens as
there are days in the week--as many menials as there are weeks in the
year--and you shall ride a hunting and hawking with a lord, instead of
waiting upon an old ship-chandler, who could do nothing but hawk and
spit."
"Ay, but will you make me your lady?" said Dame Nelly.
"Ay, surely--what else?" replied the lord--"My lady-love."
"Ay, but I mean your lady-wife," said Nelly.
"Truly, Nell, in that I cannot promise to oblige you. A lady-wife,"
continued Dalgarno, "is a very different thing from a lady-love."
"I heard from Mrs. Suddlechop, whom you lodged me with since I left poor
old John Christie, that Lord Glenvarloch is to marry David Ramsay the
clockmaker's daughter?"
"There is much betwixt the cup and the lip, Nelly. I wear something
about me may break the bans of that hopeful alliance, before the day is
much older," answered Lord Dalgarno.
"Well, but my father was as good a man as old Davy Ramsay, and as well
to pass in the world, my lord; and, therefore, why should you not marry
me? You have done me harm enough, I trow--wherefore should you not do me
this justice?"
"For two good reasons, Nelly. Fate put a husband on you, and the king
passed a wife upon me," answered Lord Dalgarno.
"Ay, my lord," said Nelly, "but they remain in England, and we go to
Scotland."
"Thy argument is better than thou art aware of," said Lord Dalgarno. "I
have heard Scottish lawyers say the matrimonial tie may be unclasped
in our happy country by the gentle hand of the ordinary course of law,
whereas in England it can only be burst by an act of Parliament. Well,
Nelly, we will look into that matter; and whether we get married again
or no, we will at least do our best to get unmarried."
"Shall we indeed, my honey-sweet lord? and then I will think less about
John Christie, for he will marry again, I warrant you, for he is well to
pass; and I would be glad to think he had somebody to take care of him,
as I used to do, poor loving old man! He was a kind man, though he was
a score of years older than I; and I hope and pray he will never let a
young lord cross his honest threshold again!"
Here the dame was once more much inclined to give way to a passion of
tears; but Lord Dalgarno conjured down the emotion, by saying with some
asperity--"I am weary of these April passions, my pretty mistress, and
I think you will do well to preserve your tears for some more pressing
occasion. Who knows what turn of fortune may in a few minutes call for
more of them than you can render?"
"Goodness, my lord! what mean you by such expressions? John Christie
(the kind heart!) used to keep no secrets from me, and I hope your
lordship will not hide your counsel from me?"
"Sit down beside me on this bank," said the nobleman; "I am bound to
remain here for a short space, and if you can be but silent, I should
like to spend a part of it in considering how far I can, on the present
occasion, follow the respectable example which you recommend to me."
The place at which he stopped was at that time little more than a mound,
partly surrounded by a ditch, from which it derived the name of Camlet
Moat. A few hewn stones there were, which had escaped the fate of many
others that had been used in building different lodges in the forest for
the royal keepers. These vestiges, just sufficient to show that "herein
former times the hand of man had been," marked the ruins of the abode of
a once illustrious but long-forgotten family, the Mandevilles, Earls
of Essex, to whom Enfield Chase and the extensive domains adjacent had
belonged in elder days. A wild woodland prospect led the eye at various
points through broad and seemingly interminable alleys, which, meeting
at this point as at a common centre, diverged from each other as they
receded, and had, therefore, been selected by Lord Dalgarno as
the rendezvous for the combat, which, through the medium of Richie
Moniplies, he had offered to his injured friend, Lord Glenvarloch.
"He will surely come?" he said to himself; "cowardice was not wont to
be his fault--at least he was bold enough in the Park.--Perhaps yonder
churl may not have carried my message? But no--he is a sturdy knave--one
of those would prize their master's honour above their life.--Look to
the palfrey, Lutin, and see thou let him not loose, and cast thy falcon
glance down every avenue to mark if any one comes.--Buckingham has
undergone my challenge, but the proud minion pleads the king's paltry
commands for refusing to answer me. If I can baffle this Glenvarloch, or
slay him--If I can spoil him of his honour or his life, I shall go down
to Scotland with credit sufficient to gild over past mischances. I know
my dear countrymen--they never quarrel with any one who brings them
home either gold or martial glory, much more if he has both gold and
laurels."
As he thus reflected, and called to mind the disgrace which he had
suffered, as well as the causes he imagined for hating Lord Glenvarloch,
his countenance altered under the influence of his contending emotions,
to the terror of Nelly, who, sitting unnoticed at his feet, and looking
anxiously in his face, beheld the cheek kindle, the mouth become
compressed, the eye dilated, and the whole countenance express the
desperate and deadly resolution of one who awaits an instant and
decisive encounter with a mortal enemy. The loneliness of the place, the
scenery so different from that to which alone she had been accustomed,
the dark and sombre air which crept so suddenly over the countenance
of her seducer, his command imposing silence upon her, and the apparent
strangeness of his conduct in idling away so much time without any
obvious cause, when a journey of such length lay before them, brought
strange thoughts into her weak brain. She had read of women, seduced
from their matrimonial duties by sorcerers allied to the hellish powers,
nay, by the Father of Evil himself, who, after conveying his victim
into some desert remote from human kind, exchanged the pleasing shape in
which he gained her affections, for all his natural horrors. She chased
this wild idea away as it crowded itself upon her weak and bewildered
imagination; yet she might have lived to see it realised allegorically,
if not literally, but for the accident which presently followed.
The page, whose eyes were remarkably acute, at length called out to
his master, pointing with his finger at the same time down one of the
alleys, that horsemen were advancing in that direction. Lord Dalgarno
started up, and shading his eyes with his hand, gazed eagerly down the
alley; when, at the same instant, he received a shot, which, grazing his
hand, passed right through his brain, and laid him a lifeless corpse
at the feet, or rather across the lap, of the unfortunate victim of
his profligacy. The countenance, whose varied expression she had been
watching for the last five minutes, was convulsed for an instant, and
then stiffened into rigidity for ever. Three ruffians rushed from the
brake from which the shot had been fired, ere the smoke was dispersed.
One, with many imprecations seized on the page; another on the female,
upon whose cries he strove by the most violent threats to impose
silence; whilst the third began to undo the burden from the page's
horse. But an instant rescue prevented their availing themselves of the
advantage they had obtained.
It may easily be supposed that Richie Moniplies, having secured the
assistance of the two Templars, ready enough to join in any thing
which promised a fray, with Jin Vin to act as their guide, had set off,
gallantly mounted and well armed, under the belief that they would reach
Camlet Moat before the robbers, and apprehend them in the fact. They
had not calculated that, according to the custom of robbers in other
countries, but contrary to that of the English highwayman of those
days, they meant to ensure robbery by previous murder. An accident also
happened to delay them a little while on the road. In riding through
one of the glades of the forest, they found a man dismounted and sitting
under a tree, groaning with such bitterness of spirit, that Lowestoffe
could not forbear asking if he was hurt. In answer, he said he was
an unhappy man in pursuit of his wife, who had been carried off by a
villain; and as he raised his countenance, the eyes of Richie, to his
great astonishment, encountered the visage of John Christie.
"For the Almighty's sake, help me, Master Moniplies!" he said; "I have
learned my wife is but a short mile before, with that black villain Lord
Dalgarno."
"Have him forward by all means," said Lowestoffe; "a second Orpheus
seeking his Eurydice!--Have him forward--we will save Lord Dalgarno's
purse, and ease him of his mistress--Have him with us, were it but for
the variety of the adventure. I owe his lordship a grudge for rooking
me. We have ten minutes good."
But it is dangerous to calculate closely in matters of life and death.
In all probability the minute or two which was lost in mounting John
Christie behind one of their party, might have saved Lord Dalgarno
from his fate. Thus his criminal amour became the indirect cause of
his losing his life; and thus "our pleasant vices are made the whips to
scourge us."
The riders arrived on the field at full gallop the moment after the shot
was fired; and Richie, who had his own reasons for attaching himself to
Colepepper, who was bustling to untie the portmanteau from the page's
saddle, pushed against him with such violence as to overthrow him, his
own horse at the same time stumbling and dismounting his rider, who was
none of the first equestrians. The undaunted Richie immediately arose,
however, and grappled with the ruffian with such good-will, that, though
a strong fellow, and though a coward now rendered desperate, Moniplies
got him under, wrenched a long knife from his hand, dealt him a
desperate stab with his own weapon, and leaped on his feet; and, as the
wounded man struggled to follow his example, he struck him upon the head
with the butt-end of a musketoon, which last blow proved fatal.
"Bravo, Richie!" cried Lowestoffe, who had himself engaged
at sword-point with one of the ruffians, and soon put him to
flight,--"Bravo! why, man, there lies Sin, struck down like an ox, and
Iniquity's throat cut like a calf."
"I know not why you should upbraid me with my upbringing, Master
Lowestoffe," answered Richie, with great composure; "but I can tell you,
the shambles is not a bad place for training one to this work."
The other Templar now shouted loudly to them,--"If ye be men, come
hither--here lies Lord Dalgarno, murdered!"
Lowestoffe and Richie ran to the spot, and the page took the
opportunity, finding himself now neglected on all hands, to ride off
in a different direction; and neither he, nor the considerable sum with
which his horse was burdened, were ever heard of from that moment.
The third ruffian had not waited the attack of the Templar and Jin Vin,
the latter of whom had put down old Christie from behind him that he
might ride the lighter; and the whole five now stood gazing with horror
on the bloody corpse of the young nobleman, and the wild sorrow of the
female, who tore her hair and shrieked in the most disconsolate manner,
until her agony was at once checked, or rather received a new direction,
by the sudden and unexpected appearance of her husband, who, fixing on
her a cold and severe look, said, in a tone suited to his manner--"Ay,
woman! thou takest on sadly for the loss of thy paramour."--Then,
looking on the bloody corpse of him from whom he had received so deep an
injury, he repeated the solemn words of Scripture,--"'Vengeance is mine,
saith the Lord, and I will repay it.'--I, whom thou hast injured, will
be first to render thee the decent offices due to the dead."
So saying, he covered the dead body with his cloak, and then looking on
it for a moment, seemed to reflect on what he had next to perform. As
the eye of the injured man slowly passed from the body of the seducer
to the partner and victim of his crime, who had sunk down to his feet,
which she clasped without venturing to look up, his features, naturally
coarse and saturnine, assumed a dignity of expression which overawed
the young Templars, and repulsed the officious forwardness of Richie
Moniplies, who was at first eager to have thrust in his advice and
opinion. "Kneel not to me, woman," he said, "but kneel to the God
thou hast offended, more than thou couldst offend such another worm as
thyself. How often have I told thee, when thou wert at the gayest and
the lightest, that pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit
before a fall? Vanity brought folly, and folly brought sin, and sin hath
brought death, his original companion. Thou must needs leave duty, and
decency, and domestic love, to revel it gaily with the wild and with the
wicked; and there thou liest like a crushed worm, writhing beside the
lifeless body of thy paramour. Thou hast done me much wrong--dishonoured
me among friends--driven credit from my house, and peace from my
fireside--But thou wert my first and only love, and I will not see
thee an utter castaway, if it lies with me to prevent it.--Gentlemen,
I render ye such thanks as a broken-hearted man can give.--Richard,
commend me to your honourable master. I added gall to the bitterness of
his affliction, but I was deluded.--Rise up, woman, and follow me."
He raised her up by the arm, while, with streaming eyes, and bitter
sobs, she endeavoured to express her penitence. She kept her hands
spread over her face, yet suffered him to lead her away; and it was only
as they turned around a brake which concealed the scene they had left,
that she turned back, and casting one wild and hurried glance towards
the corpse of Dalgarno, uttered a shriek, and clinging to her husband's
arm, exclaimed wildly,--"Save me--save me! They have murdered him!"
Lowestoffe was much moved by what he had witnessed; but he was ashamed,
as a town-gallant, of his own unfashionable emotion, and did a force
to his feelings when he exclaimed,--"Ay, let them go--the kind-hearted,
believing, forgiving husband--the liberal, accommodating spouse. O what
a generous creature is your true London husband!--Horns hath he, but,
tame as a fatted ox, he goreth not. I should like to see her when
she hath exchanged her mask and riding-beaver for her peaked hat
and muffler. We will visit them at Paul's Wharf, coz--it will be a
convenient acquaintance."
"You had better think of catching the gipsy thief, Lutin," said Richie
Moniplies; "for, by my faith, he is off with his master's baggage and
the siller."
A keeper, with his assistants, and several other persons, had now come
to the spot, and made hue and cry after Lutin, but in vain. To their
custody the Templars surrendered the dead bodies, and after going
through some formal investigation, they returned, with Richard and
Vincent, to London, where they received great applause for their
gallantry.--Vincent's errors were easily expiated, in consideration
of his having been the means of breaking up this band of villains;
and there is some reason to think, that what would have diminished
the credit of the action in other instances, rather added to it in
the actual circumstances, namely, that they came too late to save Lord
Dalgarno.
George Heriot, who suspected how matters stood with Vincent, requested
and obtained permission from his master to send the poor young fellow on
an important piece of business to Paris. We are unable to trace his
fate farther, but believe it was prosperous, and that he entered into
an advantageous partnership with his fellow-apprentice, upon old
Davy Ramsay retiring from business, in consequence of his daughter's
marriage. That eminent antiquary, Dr. Dryasdust, is possessed of an
antique watch, with a silver dial-plate, the mainspring being a piece
of catgut instead of a chain, which bears the names of Vincent and
Tunstall, Memory-Monitors.
Master Lowestoffe failed not to vindicate his character as a man of
gaiety, by inquiring after John Christie and Dame Nelly; but greatly to
his surprise, (indeed to his loss, for he had wagered ten pieces that he
would domesticate himself in the family,) he found the good-will, as
it was called, of the shop, was sold, the stock auctioned, and the late
proprietor and his wife gone, no one knew whither. The prevailing belief
was, that they had emigrated to one of the new settlements in America.
Lady Dalgarno received the news of her unworthy husband's death with a
variety of emotions, among which, horror that he should have been cut
off in the middle career of his profligacy, was the most prominent.
The incident greatly deepened her melancholy, and injured her health,
already shaken by previous circumstances. Repossessed of her own
fortune by her husband's death, she was anxious to do justice to Lord
Glenvarloch, by treating for the recovery of the mortgage.
But the scrivener, having taken fright at the late events, had left the
city and absconded, so that it was impossible to discover into whose
hands the papers had now passed. Richard Moniplies was silent, for his
own reasons; the Templars, who had witnessed the transaction, kept
the secret at his request, and it was universally believed that the
scrivener had carried off the writings along with him. We may here
observe, that fears similar to those of Skurliewhitter freed London for
ever from the presence of Dame Suddlechop, who ended her career in the
_Rasp-haus_, (viz. Bridewell,) of Amsterdam.
The stout old Lord Huntinglen, with a haughty carriage and unmoistened
eye, accompanied the funeral procession of his only son to its last
abode; and perhaps the single tear which fell at length upon the coffin,
was given less to the fate of the individual, than to the extinction of
the last male of his ancient race.