AN UNPLEASANT NIGHT.
But justice though her dome she doe prolong,
Yet at the last she will her own cause right.
SPENSER.
When the landlord of the Cock Tavern thoughtlessly gave his prisoner
into the custody of the ostler he put Edmund Wynne in the way of the
only piece of good fortune which fell to his share on that unlucky
day.
No sooner did the two conspirators find themselves alone than Edmund
began to implore his companion to set him at liberty, offering large
prospective bribes for freedom; but quickly perceiving that his keeper
was inexorable, he turned his attention to the best possible provision
for the safety of those who had embarked on the expedition along with
him.
It was patent to both that for the meeting of Edmund's associates
to take place, as had been arranged just previously, would now only
involve them all in one common ruin; and arrangements were accordingly
made for them to be warned of the danger their presence would incur.
The conference, however, was prematurely ended by the advent of
the minions of the law, who, for once in a way, were prompt in the
execution of their duty, and in a very short space of time Edmund
found himself securely lodged within the precincts of Fleet Market
Gaol.
Little ceremony was shown him at his new resting-place, for no sooner
had the outer doors of the prison closed upon him than he was rapidly
dragged forward across the courtyard and thrust into a dimly-lighted,
evil-smelling room, the very appearance of which, with its
strongly-barred windows high up in the wall, and the massive studded
door which was closed and double locked upon him almost before he had
entered the room, struck a feeling of shrinking terror deeply into
the prisoner's heart. He sank disconsolately down upon the cold stone
bench just beside the door, and placing his elbows upon his knees, he
propped his head up between his hands, and peering into the dimness
bitterly bewailed his fate.
He was startled from the train of thought into which he had
unconsciously fallen by hearing a sound not far from him. He raised
his head and rubbed his eyes, half expecting to be confronted by a
spectral visitor; but not being able to distinguish anything in the
deep gloom to which his eyes were not yet accustomed, he dismissed
that theory, and ascribed the noise to the rats.
"Rats, ugh!" he exclaimed, and he lowered his head down again, feeling
a trifle less dejected because of the trivial interruption which had
for the moment excited him, and changed his dismal channel into which
his thoughts had flown.
"Who says rats?" exclaimed a voice in tremulous tones, evidently from
the corner of the room.
Edmund's head was upraised in a moment. His hair stood on end, for, as
he hastily glanced around, his eye lighted upon a form enshrouded in
white. He was convinced that he was at last confronted by one of the
ghostly fraternity, of whose existence he was a firm believer; and
hastily springing from his seat, he retreated as far as he could in
the opposite direction.
To his terror the figure rose up at the same time, and advancing
towards him, frantically waving its arms, and repeating the words
Edmund had just uttered. He was in a frenzy of despair, and rushing
to the door, as the spectre had come up to him, he had made an
ineffectual effort to open it, and was busily engaged in kicking its
stout timbers to attract the attention of the gaolers.
All this took but a moment, but it was a terrible time to Edmund, and
he found himself, in spite of his efforts, completely nonplussed by
the unearthly foe beside him.
"Rats, who says rats?" piped the figure again in its shrill, thin
voice. "Where are they?"
For answer Edmund turned round, and in his desperation lunged out with
his foot towards his persecutor. It struck something solid, and to
Edmund's intense relief the spectre limped away with a howl of pain
just as the key turned in the lock outside.
A moment later the door swung slowly back upon its creaking hinges,
admitting the gaoler, and, at the same time a flood of light, which
disclosed to view the form of a haggard man writhing in pain upon the
wooden bed, sparsely covered with straw, in the very corner of the
room.
"Here's a pretty pickle," quoth the new comer, as he stood upon the
threshold of the door. "Which of you made all the din? Halloa, why
Peter," he added, as he stepped up to the side of the bed and gazed
upon the emaciated form of an old and well-known inmate of the Hut,
"what does all this portend?"
No sooner had he stepped into the room than Edmund, seeing the doorway
clear, bolted out on an ill-timed venture of escape. He rushed
along the passage, hotly pursued by his custodian, and ran without
interruption into the yard; but here, alas, he was at bay. It was not
the same yard through which he had entered so shortly before, and he
could find no way of exit. It was futile to attempt anything further,
and, discovering this unwelcome fact, he passively yielded himself up,
and was rewarded for so doing by receiving sundry cuffs and jerks from
his captors, who carried him straightway before the governor.
There are some people in the world who seem to have been born under a
lucky star. Everything upon which their hands are laid at once turns
into gold; all their ventures are successful, or if they have a slight
mishap it is more than compensated for directly afterwards by a grand
success. Fortune is never weary of smiling upon them; they are her
prime favourites, and she marks her approval by heaping favours upon
them in a most indiscriminate and prodigal manner. Upon others she
continually frowns. All their efforts uniformly bring back a plentiful
harvest of disappointment. Their labour is ever in vain, they are left
to languish in misery and to repine over the illusion which tempted
them with a feigned promise of success ever nearer and nearer to ruin.
Edmund was one of these last, and this was the more inexplicable both
to himself and a certain number of his friends, inasmuch as he, being
an astrologer, had discovered that he was born under a lucky star.
His interview with the governor was short, but decisive. The gaoler
stated the case against him, adding to the facts here and there
to embellish his story; and in a very short space of time he found
himself manacled with heavy chains, which fastened him down to the
floor of the damp cell into which he had been thrust.
At the Cock Tavern Sir George was ill at ease when he retired to rest
that night. His slumber was broken, and when he slept it was only to
dream of his trial on the morrow. Hobgoblins were judges, and legions
of little imps bore witness against him. Old Dame Durden rose up from
her grave on purpose to bear witness against him in person, and as, in
his vision, he saw her stretch out her long, bony arms towards him, he
felt her cold, clammy hand upon his head, and awoke to find himself in
a cold perspiration.
He attempted to quieten his fears, and tried to reassure himself, and,
having succeeded in some degree in doing this, he fell asleep again.
It was a vain search for rest. This time a myriad of hostile pygmies
were dragging him down into a bottomless pit. They tugged, and pushed,
and danced upon his helpless body, and laughed in spiteful glee as he
descended further and further into the dread abyss.
He rose at cock-crow, unrefreshed both in body and mind, and,
descending into the lower regions, he paced abstractedly through each
tenantless room in turn.
He found it, however, a forlorn and cheerless way of killing the time.
Everything seemed dead; not a sign of life was visible. The rooms were
desolate, and looked the worst, while the fire grate, empty save for a
few dead ashes, seemed but a picture of his own misery, and instead of
yielding him even a grain of comfort, its bars, appeared to grin upon
him with solid defiance. Everything seemed comfortless in the extreme,
and as the melancholy train of thought into which he had fallen was
in no wise cheered by this manner of proceeding, he passed into the
library, which seemed least cheerless of all, and sat himself down.
Still he could not enliven himself nor shake off the gloomy feeling
which had settled upon him; all around was perfectly still, and the
very silence palled upon his fancy. It was, he imagined, the calm
before the storm; the tempest would be raging round him soon in all
its fury; and moving the empty horn cups aside--the relics of the
night's carousal--he reached down a volume from the thinly-populated
bookshelf, hoping to calm his excited feelings by arousing an interest
which might for a time distract his attention from the forthcoming
trial. It was a book of poems, and with a contemptuous "tush!" he
impatiently replaced it upon its shelf, and sank down into his seat
and fell into a fitful doze, only to be tormented afresh by hosts of
enemies, each of whom was eager to destroy him, while he could only
look on in dismay and witness his own fall.
Sir George was no light weight, and under the pressure of his body
the table was gradually pushed further and further away from the bench
upon the smoothly polished boards, until at length it failed to offer
him any support and he was suddenly awakened by falling heavily upon
the floor.
Half dazed by the fall, and still uncertain whether he were awake or
asleep, the good knight rubbed his eyes and looked around. He heaved
a sigh of relief to find that he was yet alive, for he had at first
imagined that the furies had succeeded in encompassing his ruin. He
ran his fingers through his iron-grey locks of dishevelled hair, and
comprehending that he was seated upon the floor, he made an effort to
rise.
As he placed his hand upon the floor it touched something which
yielded to the pressure. Involuntarily he drew it back and placed
himself instinctively in an attitude of defence. He hated vermin
of every kind, and this he instantly resolved was a rodent of some
description.
His first hurried glance showed him that he was mistaken. It was but
an innocent roll of paper, and laughing at his fears, he picked it up,
and placing it upon the table, regained his seat.
He turned it over, but there was no superscription on its exterior to
offer any clue as to its owner, and taking it with him to the window,
he pushed the lattice open and removed the shutter. The dial pointed
to six, and the sun had risen. He peered closely into the roll he
held in his hand, and pressing the packet slightly open, he slowly
deciphered the writing. It was that of a lawyer. The first word he
encountered was his own name, and brushing all scruples hastily aside,
the baron burst the package open, and with little compunction sat down
to peruse its contents.
It took the knight, who was no fluent scholar, some considerable time
to read it through, and when, after the exercise of much patience,
he had reached the end, the legal terms, which were so profusely
employed, so baffled his simple understanding that he had decidedly
failed to grasp its true intent. Of one thing, however, and only one,
was he perfectly sure, and that was that he had come across the name
of Mary Burden and Nathan Grene several times in close connection
with his own; but what heightened his surprise and added to his
discomfiture was that the name of Sir Ronald Bury also appeared.
In this predicament he bethought himself of seeking aid to unravel the
mystery, and he hastened up to arouse his companion.
Sir Thomas was dressed, and he met the baron at the top of the
stairs--much to their mutual surprise.
"Good morrow, Thomas," exclaimed the baron, "I had come to awaken
thee; see here!" and holding up the document he had discovered, he
dragged the heir to the Derby estates downstairs without uttering
another word or allowing any time for explanations.
"Read that," he said, as soon as they were seated.
Sir Thomas took the roll from the other's hand, and after a
superficial scrutiny he was soon deeply engrossed in carrying out
the command, while Sir George leaned his elbows upon the table and
carefully studied the changing emotions which followed each other in
rapid succession upon the young man's face.
Sir Thomas Stanley read it through twice, and then carefully folding
it up, he gave the baron a prolonged inquiring look.
"Well," exclaimed Sir George, "you have read it?"
"I have."
"Is it important?"
"Assuredly it is. What have you done in the matter?"
"Naught, save that I have shown it thee."
"Is that all, Sir George?"
"All! yes. Why?"
"It is valuable; where did you get it?"
"I found it upon the floor under the table. What is it, though?"
"Show me your summons first. You have discovered information, I
believe, which will tide you safely over the trial."
"Eh!" ejaculated the old knight, dropping the bulky summons upon the
table; "found what?"
Sir Thomas returned no answer to the query, for, leaving his companion
to grasp the importance of the words he had just uttered, he spread
out the two documents side by side upon the table and busied himself
in comparing them together.