At the bottom of the staircase was a small door, which gave
way before Nigel, as he precipitated himself upon the scene
of action, a cocked pistol in one hand, etc.--Fortunes of
Nigel.
The night, though not utterly dark, was rendered capricious and dim by
alternate wind and rain; and Clarence was delayed in his return homeward
by seeking occasional shelter from the rapid and heavy showers which
hurried by. It was during one of the temporary cessations of the rain
that he reached Copperas Bower; and, while he was searching in his
pockets for the key which was to admit him, he observed two men
loitering about his neighbour’s house. The light was not sufficient
to give him more than a scattered and imperfect view of their motions.
Somewhat alarmed, he stood for several moments at the door, watching
them as well as he was able; nor did he enter the house till the
loiterers had left their suspicious position, and, walking onwards, were
hid entirely from him by the distance and darkness.
“It really is a dangerous thing for Talbot,” thought Clarence, as he
ascended to his apartment, “to keep so many valuables, and only one
servant, and that one as old as himself too. However, as I am by no
means sleepy, and my room is by no means cool, I may as well open my
window, and see if those idle fellows make their re-appearance.” Suiting
the action to the thought, Clarence opened his little casement, and
leaned wistfully out.
He had no light in his room, for none was ever left for him. This
circumstance, however, of course enabled him the better to penetrate the
dimness and haze of the night; and, by the help of the fluttering lamps,
he was enabled to take a general though not minute survey of the scene
below.
I think I have before said that there was a garden between Talbot’s
house and Copperas Bower; this was bounded by a wall, which confined
Talbot’s peculiar territory of garden, and this wall, describing a
parallelogram, faced also the road. It contained two entrances,--one the
principal adytus, in the shape of a comely iron gate, the other a wooden
door, which, being a private pass, fronted the intermediate garden
before mentioned and was exactly opposite to Clarence’s window.
Linden had been more than ten minutes at his post, and had just begun to
think his suspicions without foundation and his vigil in vain, when he
observed the same figures he had seen before advance slowly from the
distance and pause by the front gate of Talbot’s mansion.
Alarmed and anxious, he redoubled his attention; he stretched himself,
as far as his safety would permit, out of the window; the lamps,
agitated by the wind, which swept by in occasional gusts, refused to
grant to his straining sight more than an inaccurate and unsatisfying
survey. Presently, a blast, more violent than ordinary, suspended as
it were the falling columns of rain and left Clarence in almost total
darkness; it rolled away, and the momentary calm which ensued enabled
him to see that one of the men was stooping by the gate, and the other
standing apparently on the watch at a little distance. Another gust
shook the lamps and again obscured his view; and when it had passed
onward in its rapid course, the men had left the gate, and were in the
garden beneath his window. They crept cautiously, but swiftly, along
the opposite wall, till they came to the small door we have before
mentioned; here they halted, and one of them appeared to occupy himself
in opening the door. Now, then, fear was changed into certainty, and
it seemed without doubt that the men, having found some difficulty or
danger in forcing the stronger or more public entrance, had changed
their quarter of attack. No more time was to be lost; Clarence shouted
aloud, but the high wind probably prevented the sound reaching the ears
of the burglars, or at least rendered it dubious and confused. The next
moment, and before Clarence could repeat his alarm, they had opened the
door, and were within the neighbouring garden, beyond his view. Very
young men, unless their experience has outstripped their youth, seldom
have much presence of mind; that quality, which is the opposite to
surprise, comes to us in those years when nothing seems to us strange or
unexpected. But a much older man than Clarence might have well been at
a loss to know what conduct to adopt in the situation in which our
hero was placed. The visits of the watchman to that (then) obscure and
ill-inhabited neighborhood were more regulated by his indolence than his
duty; and Clarence knew that it would be in vain to listen for his cry
or tarry for his assistance. He himself was utterly unarmed, but the
stock-jobber had a pair of horse-pistols, and as this recollection
flashed upon him, the pause of deliberation ceased.
With a swift step he descended the first flight of stairs, and pausing
at the chamber door of the faithful couple, knocked upon its panels with
a loud and hasty summons. The second repetition of the noise produced
the sentence, uttered in a very trembling voice, of “Who’s there?”
“It is I, Clarence Linden,” replied our hero; “lose no time in opening
the door.”
This answer seemed to reassure the valorous stock-jobber. He slowly
undid the bolt, and turned the key.
“In Heaven’s name, what do you want, Mr. Linden?” said he.
“Ay,” cried a sharp voice from the more internal recesses of the
chamber, “what do you want, sir, disturbing us in the bosom of our
family and at the dead of night?”
With a rapid voice, Clarence repeated what he had seen, and requested
the broker to accompany him to Talbot’s house, or at least to lend him
his pistols.
“He shall do no such thing,” cried Mrs. Copperas. “Come here, Mr. C.,
and shut the door directly.”
“Stop, my love,” said the stock-jobber, “stop a moment.”
“For God’s sake,” cried Clarence, “make no delay; the poor old man may
be murdered by this time.”
“It’s no business of mine,” said the stock-jobber. “If Adolphus had not
broken the rattle I would not have minded the trouble of springing it;
but you are very much mistaken if you think I am going to leave my warm
bed in order to have my throat cut.”
“Then give me your pistols,” cried Clarence; “I will go alone.”
“I shall commit no such folly,” said the stock-jobber; “if you are
murdered, I may have to answer it to your friends and pay for your
burial. Besides, you owe us for your lodgings: go to your bed, young
man, as I shall to mine.” And, so saying, Mr. Copperas proceeded to
close the door.
But enraged at the brutality of the man and excited by the urgency of
the case, Clarence did not allow him so peaceable a retreat. With
a strong and fierce grasp, he seized the astonished Copperas by the
throat, and shaking him violently, forced his own entrance into the
sacred nuptial chamber.
“By Heaven,” cried Linden, in a savage and stern tone, for his blood
was up. “I will twist your coward’s throat, and save the murderer his
labour, if you do not instantly give me up your pistols.”
The stock-jobber was panic-stricken. “Take them,” he cried, in the
extremest terror; “there they are on the chimney-piece close by.”
“Are they primed and loaded?” said Linden, not relaxing his gripe.
“Yes, yes!” said the stock-jobber, “loose my throat, or you will choke
me!” and at that instant, Clarence felt himself clasped by the invading
hands of Mrs. Copperas.
“Call off your wife,” said he, “or I will choke you!” and he tightened
his hold, “and tell her to give me the pistols.”
The next moment Mrs. Copperas extended the debated weapons towards
Clarence. He seized them, flung the poor stock-jobber against the
bedpost, hurried down stairs, opened the back door, which led into the
garden, flew across the intervening space, arrived at the door, and
entering Talbot’s garden, paused to consider what was the next step to
be taken.
A person equally brave as Clarence, but more cautious, would not have
left the house without alarming Mr. de Warens, even in spite of the
failure with his master; but Linden only thought of the pressure of time
and the necessity of expedition, and he would have been a very unworthy
hero of romance had he felt fear for two antagonists, with a brace of
pistols at his command and a high and good action in view.
After a brief but decisive halt, he proceeded rapidly round the
house, in order to ascertain at which part the ruffians had admitted
themselves, should they (as indeed there was little doubt) have already
effected their entrance.
He found the shutters of one of the principal rooms on the ground-floor
had been opened, and through the aperture he caught the glimpse of a
moving light, which was suddenly obscured. As he was about to enter, the
light again flashed out: he drew back just in time, carefully screened
himself behind the shutter, and, through one of the chinks, observed
what passed within. Opposite to the window was a door which conducted to
the hall and principal staircase; this door was open, and in the hall at
the foot of the stairs Clarence saw two men; one carried a dark lantern,
from which the light proceeded, and some tools, of the nature of which
Clarence was naturally ignorant: this was a middle-sized muscular man,
dressed in the rudest garb of an ordinary labourer; the other was much
taller and younger, and his dress was of a rather less ignoble fashion.
“Hist! hist!” said the taller one, in a low tone, “did you not hear a
noise, Ben?”
“Not a pin fall; but stow your whids, man!”
This was all that Clarence heard in a connected form; but as the
wretches paused, in evident doubt how to proceed, he caught two or three
detached words, which his ingenuity readily formed into sentences. “No,
no! sleeps to the left--old man above--plate chest; we must have the
blunt too. Come, track up the dancers, and douse the glim.” And at
the last words the light was extinguished, and Clarence’s quick and
thirsting ear just caught their first steps on the stairs; they died
away, and all was hushed.
It had several times occurred to Clarence to rush from his hiding-place,
and fire at the ruffians, and perhaps that measure would have been the
wisest he could have taken; but Clarence had never discharged a pistol
in his life, and he felt, therefore, that his aim must be uncertain
enough to render a favourable position and a short distance essential
requisites. Both these were, at present, denied to him; and although he
saw no weapons about the persons of the villains, yet he imagined they
would not have ventured on so dangerous an expedition without firearms;
and if he failed, as would have been most probable, in his two shots, he
concluded that, though the alarm would be given, his own fate would be
inevitable.
If this was reasoning upon false premises, for housebreakers seldom
or never carry loaded firearms, and never stay for revenge, when their
safety demands escape, Clarence may be forgiven for not knowing the
customs of housebreakers, and for not making the very best of an
extremely novel and dangerous situation.
No sooner did he find himself in total darkness than he bitterly
reproached himself for his late backwardness, and, inwardly resolving
not again to miss any opportunity which presented itself, he entered
the window, groped along the room into the hall, and found his way very
slowly and after much circumlocution to the staircase.
He had just gained the summit, when a loud cry broke upon the stillness:
it came from a distance, and was instantly hushed; but he caught at
brief intervals, the sound of angry and threatening voices. Clarence
bent down anxiously, in the hope that some solitary ray would escape
through the crevice of the door within which the robbers were engaged.
But though the sounds came from the same floor as that on which he now
trod, they seemed far and remote, and not a gleam of light broke the
darkness.
He continued, however, to feel his way in the direction from which the
sounds proceeded, and soon found himself in a narrow gallery; the voices
seemed more loud and near, as he advanced; at last he distinctly heard
the words--
“Will you not confess where it is placed?”
“Indeed, indeed,” replied an eager and earnest voice, which Clarence
recognized as Talbot’s, “this is all the money I have in the house,--the
plate is above,--my servant has the key,--take it,--take all,--but save
his life and mine.”
“None of your gammon,” said another and rougher voice than that of the
first speaker: “we know you have more blunt than this,--a paltry sum of
fifty pounds, indeed!”
“Hold!” cried the other ruffian, “here is a picture set with diamonds,
that will do, Ben. Let go the old man.”
Clarence was now just at hand, and probably from a sudden change in the
position of the dark lantern within, a light abruptly broke from beneath
the door and streamed along the passage.
“No, no, no!” cried the old man, in a loud yet tremulous voice,--“no,
not that, anything else, but I will defend that with my life.”
“Ben, my lad,” said the ruffian, “twist the old fool’s neck we have no
more time to lose.”
At that very moment the door was flung violently open, and Clarence
Linden stood within three paces of the reprobates and their prey. The
taller villain had a miniature in his hand, and the old man clung to his
legs with a convulsive but impotent clasp; the other fellow had
already his gripe upon Talbot’s neck, and his right hand grasped a long
case-knife.
With a fierce and flashing eye, and a cheek deadly pale with internal
and resolute excitement, Clarence confronted the robbers.
“Thank Heaven,” cried he, “I am not too late!” And advancing yet another
step towards the shorter ruffian, who struck mute with the suddenness
of the apparition, still retained his grasp of the old man, he fired his
pistol, with a steady and close aim; the ball penetrated the wretch’s
brain, and without sound or sigh, he fell down dead, at the very feet
of his just destroyer. The remaining robber had already meditated, and
a second more sufficed to accomplish, his escape. He sprang towards the
door: the ball whizzed beside him, but touched him not. With a safe
and swift step, long inured to darkness, he fled along the passage; and
Linden, satisfied with the vengeance he had taken upon his comrade, did
not harass him with an unavailing pursuit.
Clarence turned to assist Talbot. The old man was stretched upon the
floor insensible, but his hand grasped the miniature which the plunderer
had dropped in his flight and terror, and his white and ashen lip was
pressed convulsively upon the recovered treasure.
Linden raised and placed him on his bed, and while employed in
attempting to revive him, the ancient domestic, alarmed by the report of
the pistol, came, poker in hand, to his assistance. By little and little
they recovered the object of their attention. His eyes rolled wildly
round the room, and he muttered,--“Off, off! ye shall not rob me of my
only relic of her,--where is it?--have you got it?--the picture, the
picture!”
“It is here, sir, it is here,” said the old servant; “it is in your own
hand.”
Talbot’s eye fell upon it; he gazed at it for some moments, pressed it
to his lips, and then, sitting erect and looking wildly round, he seemed
to awaken to the sense of his late danger and his present deliverance.