Plot on thy little hour, and skein on skein
Weave the vain mesh, in which thy subtle soul
Broods on its venom! Lo! behind, before,
Around thee, like an armament of cloud,
The black Fate labours onward--ANONYMOUS.
The dusk of a winter's evening gathered over a room in Crauford's
house in town, only relieved from the closing darkness by an expiring
and sullen fire, beside which Mr. Bradley sat, with his feet upon the
fender, apparently striving to coax some warmth into the icy palms of
his spread hands. Crauford himself was walking up and down the room
with a changeful step, and ever and anon glancing his bright, shrewd
eye at the partner of his fraud, who, seemingly unconscious of the
observation he underwent, appeared to occupy his attention solely with
the difficulty of warming his meagre and withered frame.
"Ar'n't you very cold there, sir?" said Bradley, after a long pause,
and pushing himself farther into the verge of the dying embers, "may I
not ring for some more coals?"
"Hell and the--: I beg your pardon, my good Bradley, but you vex me
beyond patience; how can you think of such trifles when our very lives
are in so imminent a danger?"
"I beg your pardon, my honoured benefactor, they are indeed in
danger!"
"Bradley, we have but one hope,--fidelity to each other. If we
persist in the same story, not a tittle can be brought home to us,--
not a tittle, my good Bradley; and though our characters may be a
little touched, why, what is a character? Shall we eat less, drink
less, enjoy less, when we have lost it? Not a whit. No, my friend,
we will go abroad: leave it to me to save from the wreck of our
fortunes enough to live upon like princes."
"If not like peers, my honoured benefactor."
"'Sdeath!--yes, yes, very good,--he! he! he! if not peers. Well, all
happiness is in the senses, and Richard Crauford has as many senses as
Viscount Innisdale; but had we been able to protract inquiry another
week, Bradley, why, I would have been my Lord, and you Sir John."
"You bear your losses like a hero, sir," said Mr. Bradley. To be
sure: there is no loss, man, but life,--none; let us preserve that--
and it will be our own fault if we don't--and the devil take all the
rest. But, bless me, it grows late, and, at all events, we are safe
for some hours; the inquiry won't take place till twelve to-morrow,
why should we not feast till twelve to-night? Ring, my good fellow:
dinner must be nearly ready."
"Why, honoured sir," said Bradley, "I want to go home to see my wife
and arrange my house. Who knows but I may sleep in Newgate to-
morrow?"
Crauford, who had been still walking to and fro, stopped abruptly at
this speech; and his eye, even through the gloom, shot out a livid and
fierce light, before which the timid and humble glance of Mr. Bradley
quailed in an instant.
"Go home!--no, my friend, no: I can't part with you tonight, no, not
for an instant. I have many lessons to give you. How are we to learn
our parts for to-morrow, if we don't rehearse them beforehand? Do you
not know that a single blunder may turn what I hope will be a farce
into a tragedy? Go home!--pooh! pooh! why, man, I have not seen my
wife, nor put my house to rights, and if you do but listen to me I
tell you again and again that not a hair of our heads can be touched."
"You know best, honoured sir; I bow to your decision."
"Bravo, honest Brad! and now for dinner. I have the most glorious
champagne that ever danced in foam to your lip. No counsellor like
the bottle, believe me!"
And the servant entering to announce dinner, Crauford took Bradley's
arm, and leaning affectionately upon it, passed through an obsequious
and liveried row of domestics to a room blazing with light and plate.
A noble fire was the first thing which revived Bradley's spirit; and,
as he spread his hands over it before he sat down to the table, he
surveyed, with a gleam of gladness upon his thin cheeks, two vases of
glittering metal formerly the boast of a king, in which were immersed
the sparkling genii of the grape.
Crauford, always a gourmand, ate with unusual appetite, and pressed
the wine upon Bradley with an eager hospitality, which soon somewhat
clouded the senses of the worthy man. The dinner was removed, the
servants retired, and the friends were left alone.
"A pleasant trip to France!" cried Crauford, filling a bumper.
"That's the land for hearts like ours. I tell you what, little Brad,
we will leave our wives behind us, and take, with a new country and
new names, a new lease of life. What will it signify to men making
love at Paris what fools say of them in London? Another bumper,
honest Brad,--a bumper to the girls! What say you to that, eh?"
"Lord, sir, you are so facetious, so witty! It must be owned that a
black eye is a great temptation,--Lira-lira, la-la!" and Mr. Bradley's
own eyes rolled joyously.
"Bravo, Brad!--a song, a song! but treason to King Burgundy! Your
glass is--"
"Empty, honoured sir, I know it!--Lira-lira la!--but it is easily
filled! We who have all our lives been pouring from one vessel into
another know how to keep it up to the last!
'Courage then, cries the knight, we may yet be forgiven,
Or at worst buy the bishop's reversion in heaven;
Our frequent escapes in this world show how true 't is
That gold is the only Elixir Salutis.
Derry down, Derry down.'
'All you who to swindling conveniently creep,
Ne'er piddle; by thousands the treasury sweep
Your safety depends on the weight of the sum,
For no rope was yet made that could tie up a plum.
Derry down, etc.'"
[From a ballad called "The Knight and the Prelate."]
"Bravissimo, little Brad!--you are quite a wit! See what it is to
have one's faculties called out. Come, a toast to old England, the
land in which no man ever wants a farthing who has wit to steal it,--
'Old England forever!' your rogue is your only true patriot!" and
Crauford poured the remainder of the bottle, nearly three parts full,
into a beaker, which he pushed to Bradley. That convivial gentleman
emptied it at a draught, and, faltering out, "Honest Sir John!--room
for my Lady Bradley's carriage," dropped down on the floor insensible.
Crauford rose instantly, satisfied himself that the intoxication was
genuine, and giving the lifeless body a kick of contemptuous disgust,
left the room, muttering, "The dull ass, did he think it was on his
back that I was going to ride off? He! he! he! But stay, let me feel
my pulse. Too fast by twenty strokes! One's never sure of the mind
if one does not regulate the body to a hair! Drank too much; must
take a powder before I start."
Mounting by a back staircase to his bedroom, Crauford unlocked a
chest, took out a bundle of clerical clothes, a large shovel hat, and
a huge wig. Hastily, but not carelessly, induing himself in these
articles of disguise, he then proceeded to stain his fair cheeks with
a preparation which soon gave them a swarthy hue. Putting his own
clothes in the chest, which he carefully locked (placing the key in
his pocket), he next took from a desk on his dressing-table a purse;
opening this, he extracted a diamond of great size and immense value,
which, years before, in preparation of the event that had now taken
place, he had purchased.
His usual sneer curled his lip as he gazed at it. "Now," said he, "is
it not strange that this little stone should supply the mighty wants
of that grasping thing, man? Who talks of religion, country, wife,
children? This petty mineral can purchase them all! Oh, what a
bright joy speaks out in your white cheek, my beauty! What are all
human charms to yours? Why, by your spell, most magical of talismans,
my years may walk, gloating and revelling, through a lane of beauties,
till they fall into the grave! Pish! that grave is an ugly thought,--
a very, very ugly thought! But come, my sun of hope, I must eclipse
you for a while! Type of myself, while you hide, I hide also; and
when I once more let you forth to the day, then shine out Richard
Crauford,--shine out!" So saying, he sewed the diamond carefully in
the folds of his shirt; and, rearranging his dress, took the cooling
powder, which he weighed out to a grain, with a scrupulous and
untrembling hand; descended the back stairs; opened the door, and
found himself in the open street.
The clock struck ten as he entered a hackney-coach and drove to
another part of London. "What, so late!" thought he; "I must be at
Dover in twelve hours: the vessel sails then. Humph! some danger yet!
What a pity that I could not trust that fool! He! he! he!--what will
he think tomorrow, when he wakes and finds that only one is destined
to swing!"
The hackney-coach stopped, according to his direction, at an inn in
the city. Here Crauford asked if a note had been left for Dr.
Stapylton. One (written by himself) was given to him.
"Merciful Heaven!" cried the false doctor, as he read it, "my daughter
is on a bed of death!"
The landlord's look wore anxiety; the doctor seemed for a moment
paralyzed by silent woe. He recovered, shook his head piteously, and
ordered a post-chaise and four on to Canterbury without delay.
"It is an ill wind that blows nobody good!" thought the landlord, as
he issued the order into the yard.
The chaise was soon out; the doctor entered; off went the post-boys;
and Richard Crauford, feeling his diamond, turned his thoughts to
safety and to France.
A little, unknown man, who had been sitting at the bar for the last
two hours sipping brandy and water, and who from his extreme
taciturnity and quiet had been scarcely observed, now rose.
"Landlord," said he, "do you know who that gentleman is?"
"Why," quoth Boniface, "the letter to him was directed, 'For the Rev.
Dr. Stapylton; will be called for.'"
"Ah," said the little man, yawning, "I shall have a long night's work
of it. Have you another chaise and four in the yard?"
"To be sure, sir, to be sure!" cried the landlord in astonishment.
"Out with it, then! Another glass of brandy and water,--a little
stronger, no sugar!"
The landlord stared; the barmaid stared; even the head-waiter, a very
stately person, stared too.
"Hark ye," said the little man, sipping his brandy and water, "I am a
deuced good-natured fellow, so I'll make you a great man to-night; for
nothing makes a man so great as being let into a great secret. Did
you ever hear of the rich Mr. Crauford?"
"Certainly: who has not?"
"Did you ever see him?"
"No! I can't say I ever did."
"You lie, landlord: you saw him to-night."
"Sir!" cried the landlord, bristling up.
The little man pulled out a brace of pistols, and very quietly began
priming them out of a small powder-flask.
The landlord started back; the head-waiter cried "Rape!" and the
barmaid "Murder!"
"Who the devil are you, sir?" cried the landlord.
"Mr. Tickletrout! the celebrated officer,--thief-taker, as they call
it. Have a care, ma'am, the pistols are loaded. I see the chaise is
out; there's the reckoning, landlord."
"O Lord! I'm sure I don't want any reckoning: too great an honour for
my poor house to be favoured with your company; but [following the
little man to the door] whom did you please to say you were going to
catch?"
"Mr. Crauford, alias Dr. Stapylton."
"Lord! Lord! to think of it,--how shocking! What has he done?"
"Swindled, I believe."
"My eyes! And why, sir, did not you catch him when he was in the
bar?"
"Because then I should not have got paid for my journey to Dover.
Shut the door, boy; first stage on to Canterbury." And, drawing a
woollen nightcap over his ears, Mr. Tickletrout resigned himself to
his nocturnal excursion.
On the very day on which the patent for his peerage was to have been
made out, on the very day on which he had afterwards calculated on
reaching Paris, on that very day was Mr. Richard Crauford lodged in
Newgate, fully committed for a trial of life and death.