IN WHICH THE HISTORY STILL HOVERS ABOUT FLEET-STREET
[Illustration]
Captain Shandon, urged on by his wife, who seldom meddled in business
matters, had stipulated that John Finucane, Esquire, of the Upper
Temple, should be appointed sub-editor of the forthcoming "Pall-Mall
Gazette," and this post was accordingly conferred upon Mr. Finucane by
the spirited proprietor of the Journal. Indeed he deserved any kindness
at the hands of Shandon, so fondly attached was he, as we have said,
to the captain and his family, and so eager to do him a service. It was
in Finucane's chambers that Shandon used in former days to hide when
danger was near and bailiffs abroad: until at length his hiding-place
was known, and the sheriff's officers came as regularly to wait for
the captain on Finucane's stair-case as at his own door. It was to
Finucane's chambers that poor Mrs. Shandon came often and often to
explain her troubles and griefs, and devise means of rescue for her
adored captain. Many a meal did Finucane furnish for her and the child
there. It was an honor to his little rooms to be visited by such a lady;
and as she went down the stair-case with her vail over her face, Fin
would lean over the balustrade looking after her, to see that no Temple
Lovelace assailed her upon the road, perhaps hoping that some rogue
might be induced to waylay her, so that he, Fin, might have the pleasure
of rushing to her rescue, and breaking the rascal's bones. It was a
sincere pleasure to Mrs. Shandon when the arrangements were made by
which her kind, honest champion was appointed her husband's aid-de-camp
in the newspaper.
He would have sate with Mrs. Shandon as late as the prison hours
permitted, and had indeed many a time witnessed the putting to bed
of little Mary, who occupied a crib in the room; and to whose evening
prayers that God might bless papa, Finucane, although of the Romish
faith himself, had said Amen with a great deal of sympathy--but he had
an appointment with Mr. Bungay regarding the affairs of the paper which
they were to discuss over a quiet dinner. So he went away at six o'clock
from Mrs. Shandon, but made his accustomed appearance at the Fleet
Prison next morning, having arrayed himself in his best clothes and
ornaments, which, though cheap as to cost were very brilliant as to
color and appearance, and having in his pocket four pounds two shillings,
being the amount of his week's salary at the Daily Journal, minus two
shillings expended by him in the purchase of a pair of gloves on his way
to the prison.
He had cut his mutton with Mr. Bungay, as the latter gentleman phrased
it, and Mr. Trotter, Bungay's reader and literary man of business, at
Dick's Coffee-House on the previous day, and entered at large into his
views respecting the conduct of the "Pall-Mall Gazette." In a masterly
manner he had pointed out what should be the sub-editorial arrangements
of the paper: what should be the type for the various articles: who
should report the markets; who the turf and ring; who the Church
intelligence; and who the fashionable chit-chat. He was acquainted with
gentlemen engaged in cultivating these various departments of knowledge,
and in communicating them afterward to the public--in fine, Jack
Finucane was, as Shandon had said of him, and, as he proudly owned
himself to be, one of the best sub-editors of a paper in London. He knew
the weekly earnings of every man connected with the Press, and was up
to a thousand dodges, or ingenious economic contrivances, by which
money could be saved to spirited capitalists, who were going to set up
a paper. He at once dazzled and mystified Mr. Bungay, who was slow of
comprehension, by the rapidity of the calculations which he exhibited
on paper, as they sate in the box. And Bungay afterward owned to his
subordinate Mr. Trotter, that that Irishman seemed a clever fellow.
And now having succeeded in making this impression upon Mr. Bungay, the
faithful fellow worked round to the point which he had very near at
heart, viz., the liberation from prison of his admired friend and chief,
Captain Shandon. He knew to a shilling the amount of the detainers
which were against the captain at the porter's lodge of the Fleet; and,
indeed, professed to know all his debts, though this was impossible, for
no man in England, certainly not the captain, himself, was acquainted
with them. He pointed out what Shandon's engagements already were; and
how much better he would work if removed from confinement; (though this
Mr. Bungay denied, for, "when the captain's locked up," he said, "we
are sure to find him at home; whereas, when he's free, you can never
catch hold of him;") finally, he so worked on Mr. Bungay's feelings,
by describing Mrs. Shandon pining away in the prison, and the child
sickening there, that the publisher was induced to promise that, if Mrs.
Shandon would come to him in the morning, he would see what could be
done. And the colloquy ending at this time with the second round of
brandy-and-water, although Finucane, who had four guineas in his pocket,
would have discharged the tavern reckoning with delight, Bungay said,
"No, sir,--this is my affair, sir, if you please. James, take the bill,
and eighteen-pence for yourself," and he handed over the necessary funds
to the waiter. Thus it Was that Finucane who went to bed at the Temple
after the dinner at Dick's, found himself actually with his week's
salary intact upon Saturday morning.
He gave Mrs. Shandon a wink so knowing and joyful, that that kind
creature knew some good news was in store for her, and hastened to
get her bonnet and shawl, when Fin asked if he might have the honor of
taking her a walk, and giving her a little fresh air. And little Mary
jumped for joy at the idea of this holiday, for Finucane never neglected
to give her a toy, or to take her to a show, and brought newspaper
orders in his pocket for all sorts of London diversions to amuse the
child. Indeed, he loved them with all his heart, and would cheerfully
have dashed out his rambling brains to do them, or his adored captain,
a service.
"May I go, Charley? or shall I stay with you, for you're poorly, dear,
this morning? He's got a headache, Mr. Finucane. He suffers from
headaches, and I persuaded him to stay in bed," Mrs. Shandon said.
"Go along with you, and Polly. Jack, take care of 'em. Hand me over the
Burton's Anatomy, and leave me to my abominable devices," Shandon said,
with perfect good humor. He was writing, and not uncommonly took his
Greek and Latin quotations (of which he knew the use as a public writer)
from that wonderful repertory of learning.
So Fin gave his arm to Mrs. Shandon, and Mary went skipping down the
passages of the prison, and through the gate into the free air. From
Fleet-street to Paternoster Row is not very far. As the three reached
Mr. Bungay's shop, Mrs. Bungay was also entering at the private door,
holding in her hand a paper parcel and a manuscript volume bound in red,
and, indeed, containing an account of her transactions with the butcher
in the neighboring market. Mrs. Bungay was in a gorgeous shot silk
dress, which flamed with red and purple; she wore a yellow shawl, and
had red flowers inside her bonnet, and a brilliant light blue parasol.
Mrs. Shandon was in an old black watered silk; her bonnet had never seen
very brilliant days of prosperity any more than its owner, but she could
not help looking like a lady, whatever her attire was. The two women
courtesied to each other, each according to her fashion.
"I hope you're pretty well, mum?" said Mrs. Bungay.
"It's a very fine day," said Mrs. Shandon.
"Won't you step in, mum?" said Mrs. Bungay, looking so hard at the child
as almost to frighten her.
"I--I came about business with Mr. Bungay--I--I hope he's pretty well?"
said timid Mrs. Shandon.
"If you go to see him in the counting-house, couldn't you--couldn't you
leave your little _gurl_ with me?" said Mrs. Bungay, in a deep voice,
and with a tragic look, as she held out one finger toward the child.
"I want to stay with mamma," cried little Mary, burying her face in her
mother's dress.
"Go with this lady, Mary, my dear," said the mother.
"I'll show you some pretty pictures," said Mrs. Bungay, with the voice
of an ogress, "and some nice things besides; look here"--and opening her
brown paper parcel, Mrs. Bungay displayed some choice sweet biscuits,
such as her Bungay loved after his wine. Little Mary followed after this
attraction, the whole party entering at the private entrance, from which
a side door led into Mr. Bungay's commercial apartments. Here, however,
as the child was about to part from her mother, her courage again
failed her, and again she ran to the maternal petticoat; upon which the
kind and gentle Mrs. Shandon, seeing the look of disappointment in Mrs.
Bungay's face, good-naturedly said, "If you will let me, I will come
up too, and sit for a few minutes," and so the three females ascended
the stairs together. A second biscuit charmed little Mary into perfect
confidence, and in a minute or two she prattled away without the least
restraint.
[Illustration]
Faithful Finucane meanwhile found Mr. Bungay in a severer mood than he
had been on the night previous, when two-thirds of a bottle of port,
and two large glasses of brandy-and-water, had warmed his soul into
enthusiasm, and made him generous in his promises toward Captain
Shandon. His impetuous wife had rebuked him on his return home. She
had ordered that he should give no relief to the captain; he was a
good-for-nothing fellow, whom no money would help; she disapproved of
the plan of the "Pall-Mall Gazette," and expected that Bungay would only
lose his money in it as they were losing over the way (she always called
her brother's establishment "over the way"), by the "Whitehall Journal."
Let Shandon stop in prison and do his work; it was the best place for
him. In vain Finucane pleaded and promised and implored, for his friend
Bungay had had an hour's lecture in the morning and was inexorable.
But what honest Jack failed to do below stairs in the counting-house,
the pretty faces and manners of the mother and child were effecting in
the drawing-room, where they were melting the fierce but really soft
Mrs. Bungay. There was an artless sweetness in Mrs. Shandon's voice,
and a winning frankness of manner, which made most people fond of her,
and pity her: and taking courage by the rugged kindness with which her
hostess received her, the captain's lady told her story, and described
her husband's goodness and virtues, and her child's failing health (she
was obliged to part with two of them, she said, and send them to school,
for she could not have them in that horrid place)--that Mrs. Bungay,
though as grim as Lady Macbeth, melted under the influence of the
simple tale, and said she would go down and speak to Bungay. Now in this
household to speak was to command, with Mrs. Bungay; and with Bungay, to
hear was to obey.
It was just when poor Finucane was in despair about his negotiation,
that the majestic Mrs. Bungay descended upon her spouse, politely
requested Mr. Finucane to step up to his friends in her drawing-room,
while she held a few minutes' conversation with Mr. B., and when the
pair were alone the publisher's better half informed him of her
intentions toward the captain's lady.
"What's in the wind now, my dear?" Maecenas asked, surprised at his
wife's altered tone. "You wouldn't hear of my doing any thing for the
captain this morning: I wonder what has been a-changing of you."
"The captain is an Irishman," Mrs. Bungay replied; "and those Irish
I have always said I couldn't abide. But his wife is a lady, as any
one can see; and a good woman, and a clergyman's daughter, and a west
of England woman, B., which I am myself, by my mother's side--and, O
Marmaduke! didn't you remark her little gurl?"
"Yes, Mrs. B., I saw the little girl."
"And didn't you see how like she was to our angel, Bessy, Mr. B.?"--and
Mrs. Bungay's thoughts flew back to a period eighteen years back, when
Bacon and Bungay had just set up in business as small booksellers in a
country town, and when she had had a child, named Bessy, something like
the little Mary who had just moved her compassion.
"Well, well, my dear," Mr. Bungay said, seeing the little eyes of his
wife begin to twinkle and grow red; "the captain ain't in for much.
There's only a hundred and thirty pound against him. Half the money
will take him out of the Fleet, Finucane says, and we'll pay him half
salaries till he has made the account square. When the little 'un said,
'Why, don't you take Par out of pizn?' I did feel it, Elizabeth, upon my
honor I did, now." And the upshot of this conversation was, that Mr. and
Mrs. Bungay both ascended to the drawing-room, and Mr. Bungay made a
heavy and clumsy speech, in which he announced to Mrs. Shandon, that,
hearing sixty-five pounds would set her husband free, he was ready to
advance that sum of money, deducting it from the captain's salary, and
that he would give it to her on condition that she would personally
settle with the creditors regarding her husband's liberation.
I think this was the happiest day that Mrs. Shandon and Mr. Finucane had
had for a long time. "Bedad, Bungay, you're a trump!" roared out Fin,
in an overpowering brogue and emotion. "Give us your fist, old boy: and
won't we send the 'Pall-Mall Gazette' up to ten thousand a week, that's
all!" and he jumped about the room, and tossed up little Mary, with a
hundred frantic antics.
"If I could drive you any where in my carriage, Mrs. Shandon--I'm
sure it's quite at your service," Mrs. Bungay said, looking out at a
one-horsed vehicle which had just driven up, and in which this lady took
the air considerably--and the two ladies, with little Mary between them
(whose tiny hand Maecenas's wife kept fixed in her great grasp), with the
delighted Mr. Finucane on the back seat, drove away from Paternoster
Row, as the owner of the vehicle threw triumphant glances at the
opposite windows at Bacon's.
"It won't do the captain any good," thought Bungay, going back to his
desk and accounts, "but Mrs. B. becomes reglar upset when she thinks
about her misfortune. The child would have been of age yesterday, if
she'd lived. Bessy told me so:" and he wondered how women did remember
things.
We are happy to say that Mrs. Shandon sped with very good success upon
her errand. She who had had to mollify creditors when she had no money
at all, and only tears and entreaties wherewith to soothe them, found no
difficulty in making them relent by means of a bribe of ten shillings
in the pound; and the next Sunday was the last, for some time at least,
which the captain spent in prison.