CHARLEY WARBECK IN PRISON—TRUE AND FALSE FRIENDS.
While Phillip Redgill was congratulating himself upon the gradual
completion and success of all his villanous schemes, Charley Warbeck
was pining in prison, and totally deserted by all his “fast,” and
“gallant” friends of olden times.
None of them would ever visit him.
“It was not respectable” to be seen within the shadows of a jail,
they said.
Yet, if the truth were known, many of these fine “sparks,” and
“gallants,” deserved to be _in_, rather than _out_ of such an
institution.
More than one, had justice been cognizant of their “little
speculations,” would have consigned them to worse apartments than
that assigned to the brave-hearted, but foolish, Charley Warbeck.
Of all who knew him in his days of prosperity, gaiety, and
unimpeachable character, there was not one who visited him, or made
the slightest inquiry regarding his wants or necessities.
He was consigned to oblivion in general estimation, and many of his
former acquaintance stoutly denied that they had _ever_ known or
spoken to him in all their lives.
Old Sir Richard called at the gaol several times, and proffered
all the aid in his power; but as Charles had already publicly
acknowledged his guilt, and persisted in avowing it, legal assistance
was considered to be of little avail.
Dame Worthington was an almost daily visitor, and brought every kind
of refreshment for the prisoner, and her tears ever flowed copiously
as she embraced “her dear son,” as she endearingly called him.
In truth, she frequently transgressed the rules of the prison, and
remained much longer in her visits than the regulations allowed.
But her sorrow was so sincere and apparent to all, that the turnkeys,
individuals apparently constituted partly of iron, and partly of
stone, looked on with much compassion, and always remarked as she
departed—
“If that there old lady was his own mother, she couldn’t hang around
that young man more tenderly and lovingly than she does.”
Mistress Haylark and daughter were also frequent visitors to the
unhappy youth, and brought him many little trifles which might
comfort and console him in his solitude.
Miss Clara, in truth, was rather romantic in her behaviour, for she
often passed herself off to the prison authorities as “his sister,”
and gained ingress thus very frequently.
Charles had already explained to her the true nature of his offence,
and the unsophisticated young lady firmly believed every word he
uttered.
She forgot all about her curls and curl-papers, and was ever intent
upon devising some scheme for his relief or comfort.
In her increasing love for the young man, she even suggested various
methods for his “escape,” and proposed the exchange of garments for
that purpose.
“Speak the word, Charles dear,” she would say; “and _I_ will stay in
your stead, if there is any prospect of escape.”
She related to him all manner of devices for getting out of the
dismal walls, and in her enthusiasm spoke of Claude Duval, &c., but
Charley listened to her interesting prattle with a smile, and kissed
her tenderly for the affection which had prompted her to suggest so
many and such romantic schemes.
Clara was “in love,” but could not realize it!
Charles was no better, yet smiled philosophically at the gradual, but
positive growth of his attachment for the whimsical, romantic girl,
with her luxuriant growth of curls, and mentally ejaculated—
“‘A friend in need is a friend indeed.’ I can’t help but _like_ her!
There’s something about her which _makes_ me love her! I _do_ love
her, but, alas, I am not worthy of her!”
Several weeks passed away, and trials at the Criminal Court had not
yet commenced.
Old Sir Richard was sick from over anxiety for his protegé, and his
consultation-visits with good old Dame Worthington were long and
frequent.
“If all the money I possess in the world could rescue the boy, I
would freely give it,” was his constant expression.
And, as he sat on the sofa, beside good Dame Worthington, frequently
without more light than that of the fire, he would press her hand
affectionately, and the old lady would shed tears—yes, tears of
bitterness.
“My poor, poor Charles!” the old lady would say.
“The poor lad!” was always the rejoinder.
And thus they sat before the fire, hour after hour, communing with
their own thoughts, and recalling again from the vista of the past
sunny hours of youth, when love had warmed their hearts, and made
them oblivious of consequences.
Clara Haylark was Dame Worthington’s chief comforter, for she was
always consulting with the old lady regarding everything that might
alleviate the sufferings of “poor Charles,” and that would add to his
comfort.
On several occasions Clara became so enthusiastic in regard to
Charley that, with her head all shaking with curls, and tears in her
eyes, she openly avowed her love for the young man, and averred that
“she never would marry in her whole life without it was with him.”
This so much pleased the old lady that she caressed the young woman,
and sat with Clara’s head in her lap for more than an hour without
uttering a word.
As the Criminal Court trials approached the visits of Sir Richard
Warbeck, Dame Worthington and Miss Clara (unknown to her mother)
became more frequent.
Yet, despite all their endeavours, Charles persisted in refusing the
aid of all legal talent, saying—
“I have avowed my guilt. No one is responsible but myself, and I am
willing to suffer the utmost penalty of the law.”
When his day of trial came on there was a considerable muster
of India House clerks and others in court, who, because he was
unfortunate, were loud in their denunciation of the prisoner.
Dame Worthington, Mistress Haylark and Clara were present also, and
as Charley, good looking and gallant in bearing, stood in the dock
and pleaded “guilty” to the charge preferred, Clara and the old dame
gave vent to their tears copiously, and fainted.
As the India House had been reimbursed “by some unknown individual”
for the sum lost, the directors refused to prosecute, out of respect
to old Sir Richard, who, it was well known, entertained great love
for the accused.
Charley’s penalty was not so great as many expected.
Previous to his present fault, he had borne an irreproachable
character, which tended much to lighten his sentence.
He was condemned to two years’ imprisonment with hard labour.
Had it not been through much influence at Court, and the blazing
report of Wildfire Ned’s glorious deeds, he would have suffered death.
When returned to his cell, he was visited by a few friends, who
congratulated him on his escape from a heavier penalty, and among the
visitors was Phillip Redgill, Esq.
“I don’t like to see you in gaol, my boy,” was Phillip’s first
remark. “I’m supposed to know nothing of your transgression; but I
must acknowledge you _were_ a fool, a _big_ fool, for confessing it.
If you’d only kept your tongue still you would never have been found
out. Good-bye, old fellow; I hope to see you out again one of these
days. We must _all_ pay for our experience, you know. I jeopardise my
position in society by visiting you here, you know, but for old old
acquaintance sake I thought I’d call.”
“Thank you,” was Charley’s laconic reply, as Phillip left the prison.
“If the truth were only known we might exchange places, perhaps.”