Forester--for so to the end we must call him--but exemplified the
old adage in his haste. The debility of long illness was successfully
combated for some hours by the fever of excitement; but as that wore
off, symptoms of severe malady again exhibited themselves, and when
on the second evening of his journey he arrived at Bangor, he was
dangerously ill. With a head throbbing, and a brain almost mad, he threw
himself upon a bed, perhaps the thought of his abortive effort to reach
Ireland the most agonizing feeling of his tortured mind. His first care
was to inquire after the sailing of the packet; and learning that the
vessel would leave within an hour, he avowed his resolve to go at every
hazard. As the time drew nigh, however, more decided evidences of fever
set in, and the medical man who had been called to his aid pronounced
that his life would pay the penalty were he to persist in his rash
resolve. His was not a temper to yield to persuasion on selfish grounds,
and nothing short of his actual inability to endure moving from where he
lay at last compelled him to cede; even then he ordered his only servant
to take the despatches which Lord Castlereagh had given him, and proceed
with them to Dublin, where he should seek out Mr. Bicknell, and place
them in his hands, with strict injunctions to have them forwarded to
Lady Eleanor Darcy at once. The burning anxiety of a mind weakened by
a tedious and severe malady, the fever of travelling, and the impatient
struggles be made to be clear and explicit in his directions, repeated
as they were full twenty times over, all conspired to exaggerate the
worst features of his case; and ere the packet sailed, his head was
wandering in wild delirium.
Linwood knew his master too well to venture on a contradiction; and
although with very grave doubts that he should ever see him again alive,
he set out, resolving to spare no exertions to be back soon again in
Bangor. The transit of the Channel forty-five years ago was, however,
very different from that at present, and it was already the evening of
the following day when he reached Dublin.
There was no difficulty in finding out Mr. Bicknell's residence; a very
showy brass-plate on a door in a fashionable street proclaimed the house
of the well-known man of law. He was not at home, however, nor would be
for some hours; he had gone out on a matter of urgent business, and left
orders that except for some most pressing reason, he was not to be sent
for. Linwood did not hesitate to pronounce his business such, and at
length obtained the guidance of a servant to the haunt in question.
It was in a street of a third or fourth-rate rank, called Stafford
Street, that Bicknell's servant now stopped, and having made more than
one inquiry as to name and number, at last knocked at the door of a
sombre-looking, ruinous old house, whose windows, broken or patched with
paper, bespoke an air of poverty and destitution. A child in a ragged
and neglected dress opened the door, and answering to the question “If
Mr. Bicknell were there,” in the affirmative, led Linwood up stairs
creaking as they went with rottenness and decay.
“You 're to rap there, and he 'll come to you,” said the child, as
they reached the landing, where two doors presented themselves; and so
saying, she slipped noiselessly and stealthily down the stairs, leaving
him alone in the gloomy lobby. Linwood was not without astonishment
at the place in which he found himself; but there was no time for the
indulgence of such a feeling, and he knocked, at first gently, and
then, as no answer came, more loudly, and at last when several minutes
elapsed, without any summons to enter, he tapped sharply at the panel
with his cane. Still there was no reply; the deep silence of the old
house seemed like that of a church at midnight; not a sound was heard
to break it. There was a sense of dreariness and gloom over the ruinous
spot and the fast-closing twilight that struck Linwood deeply; and it is
probable, had the mission with which he was intrusted been one of less
moment than his master seemed to think it, that Linwood would quietly
have descended the stairs, and deferred his interview with Mr. Bicknell
to a more suitable time and place. He had come, however, bent on
fulfilling his charge; and so, after waiting what he believed to be
half an hour, and which might possibly have been five or ten minutes, he
applied his hand to the lock, and entered the room.
It was a large, low-ceilinged apartment, whose moth-eaten furniture
seemed to rival with the building itself, and which, though once not
without some pretension to respectability, was now crumbling to decay,
or coarsely mended by some rude hand. A door, not quite shut, led into
an inner apartment; and from this room the sound of voices proceeded,
whose conversation in all probability had prevented Linwood's summons
from being heard.
Whether the secret instincts of his calling were the prompter,--for
Linwood was a valet,--or that the strange circumstances in which
he found himself had suggested a spirit of curiosity, but Linwood
approached the door and peeped in. The sin of eaves-dropping, like most
other sins, would seem only difficult at the first step; the subsequent
ones came easily, for, as the listener established himself in a position
to hear what went forward, he speedily became interested in what he
heard.
By the gray half-light three figures were seen. One was a lady; so at
least her position and attitude bespoke her, although her shawl was of
a coarse and humble stuff, and her straw bonnet showed signs of time and
season. She sat back in a deep leather chair, with hands folded, and her
head slightly thrown forward, as if intently listening to the person
who at a distance of half the room addressed lier. He was a thick-set,
powerful man, in a jockey-cut coat and top-boots; a white hat, somewhat
crushed and travel-stained, was at his feet, and across it a heavy
horsewhip; his collar was confined by a single fold of a spotted
handkerchief that thus displayed a brawny throat and a deep beard of
curly black hair that made the head appear unnaturally large. The third
figure was of a little, dapper, smart-looking personage, with a neatly
powdered head and a scrupulously white cravat, who, standing partly
behind the lady's chair, bestowed an equal attention on the speaker.
The green-coated man, it was clear to see, was of an order in life far
inferior to the others, and in the manner of his address, his attitude
as he sat, and his whole bearing, exhibited a species of rude deference
to the listeners.
“Well, Jack,” cried the little man, in a sharp lively voice, “we knew
all these facts before; what we were desirous of was something like
proof,--something that might be brought out into open court and before a
jury.”
“I'm afraid then, sir,” replied the other, “I can't help you there. I
told Mr. Daly all I knew and all I suspected, when I was up in Newgate;
and if he had n't been in such a hurry that night to leave Dublin for
the north, I could have brought him to the very house this fellow Garret
was living in.”
“Who is Garret?” broke in the lady, in a deep, full voice.
“The late Mr. Gleeson's butler, ma'am,” said the little man; “a person
we have never been able to come at. To summon him as a witness would
avail us nothing; it is his private testimony that might be of such use
to us.”
“Well, you see, sir,” continued the green coat, or, as he was familiarly
named by the other, Jack, whom, perhaps, our reader has already
recognized as Freney, the others being Miss Daly and Bicknell,-“well,
you see, sir, Mr. Daly was angry at the way things was done that
night,--and sure enough he had good cause,-and sorra bit of a word he 'd
speak to me when I was standing with the tears in my eyes to thank him;
no, nor he wouldn't take the mare that was ready saddled and bridled in
Healey's stables waiting for him, but he turned on his heel with 'D----n
you for a common highwayman; it's what a man of blood and birth ever
gets by stretching a hand to save you.'”
“He should have thought of that before,” remarked Miss Daly, solemnly.
“Faith, and if he did, ma'am, your humble servant would have had to
dance upon nothing!” rejoined Freney, with a laugh that was very far
from mirthful.
“And what was the circumstance which gave Mr. Daly so much displeasure,
Jack?” asked Bicknell. “I thought that everything went on exactly as he
had planned it.”
“Quite the contrary, sir; nothing was the way it ought to be. The fire
was never thought of--”
“Never thought of! Do you mean to say it was an accident?”
“No, I don't, sir; I mean that all we wanted was to make believe that
the jail was on fire, which was easy enough with burning straw; the rest
was all planned safe and sure. And when we saw the real flames shooting
up, sorra one was more frightened than some of ourselves; each accusing
the other, cursing and shouting, and crying like mad! Ay, indeed! there
was an ould fellow in for sheep-stealing, and nothing would convince him
but that it was 'the devil took us at our word,' and sent his own fire
for us. Not one of them was more puzzled than myself. I turned it every
way in my mind, and could make nothing of it; for although I knew well
that Mr. Daly would burn down Dublin from Barrack Street to the North
Wall if he had a good reason for it, I knew also he 'd not do it out of
mere devilment. Besides, ma'am, the way matters was going, it was
likely none of us would escape. There was I--saving your presence--with
eight-pound fetters on my legs. Ay, faix! I went down the ladder with
them afterwards.”
“But the fire.”
“I 'm coming to it, sir. I was sitting this way, with my chin on my
hands, at the window of my cell, trying to get a taste of fresh air, for
the place was thick of smoke, when I seen the flames darting out of
the windows of a public-house at the corner, the sign of the 'Cracked
Padlock,' and at the same minute out came the fire through the roof, a
great red spike of flame higher than the chimney. 'That's no accident,'
says I to myself, 'whatever them that's doing it means;' and sure
enough, the blaze broke out in the other corner of the street just as
I said the words. Well, ma'am, of all the terrible yells and cries that
was ever heard, the prisoners set up then; for though there was eight
lying for execution on Saturday, and twice as many more very sure of the
same end after the sessions, none of us liked to face such a dreadful
thing as fire. Just then, ma'am, at that very minute, there came, as
it might be, under my window, a screech so loud and so piercing that
it went above all the other cries, just the way the yellow fire darted
through the middle of the thick lazy smoke. Sorra one could give such a
screech but a throat I knew well, and so I called out at the top of my
voice, 'Ah, ye limb of the devil, this is your work!' and as sure as
I 'm here, there came a laugh in my ears; and whether it was the devil
himself gave it or Jemmy, I often doubted since.”
“And who is Jemmy?” asked Bicknell.
“A bit of a 'gossoon' I had to mind the horses, and meet me with a beast
here and there, as I wanted. The greatest villain for wickedness that
was ever pinioned!”
“And so he was really the cause of the fire?”
“Ay, was he! He not only hid the tinder and chips--”
Just as Freney had got thus far, he drew his legs up close beneath him,
sunk down his head as if into his neck, and with a spring, such as a
tiger might have given, cleared the space between himself and the door,
and rolled over on the floor, with the trembling figure of Linwood
under him. So terribly sudden was the leap, that Miss Daly and Bicknell
scarcely saw the bound ere they beheld him with one hand upon the
victim's throat, while with the other he drew forth a clasp-knife, and
opened the blade with his teeth.
“Keep back, keep back!” said Freney, as Bicknell drew nigh; and the
words came thick and guttural, like the deep growl of a mastiff.
“Who are you, and what brings you here?” said Freney, as, setting his
knee on the other's chest, he relinquished the grasp by which he had
almost choked him.
[Illustration: 382]
“I came to see Mr. Bicknell,” muttered the nearly lifeless valet.
“What did you want with me?”
“Wait a bit,” interposed Freney. “Who brought you here? How came you to
be standing by that door?”
“Mr. Bicknell's servant showed me the house, and a child brought me to
this room.”
“There, sir,” said Freney, turning his head towards
Bicknell, without releasing the strong pressure by which he pinned the
other down,--“there, sir, so much for your caution. You told me if I
came to this lady's lodgings here, that I was safe, and now here 's this
fellow has heard us and everything we 've said, maybe these two hours.”
“I only heard about Newgate,” muttered the miserable Linwood; “I was but
a few minutes at the door, and was going to knock. I came from Lord Wall
incourt with papers of great importance for Mr. Bicknell. I have them,
if you'll let me--”
“Let him get up,” said Miss Daly, calmly.
Freney stood back, and retired between his victim and the door, where he
stood, with folded arms and bent brows, watching him.
“He has almost broke in my ribs,” said Linwood, as he pressed his hands
to his side, with a grimace of true suffering.
“So much for eaves-dropping. You need expect no pity from me,” said Miss
Daly, sternly. “Where are these papers?”
“My Lord told me,” said the man, as he took them from his breast,
“that I was to give them into Mr. Bicknell's own hands, with strictest
directions to have them forwarded at the instant But for that,” added
he, whining, “I had never come to this.”
“Let it be a lesson to you about listening, sir,” said Miss Daly. “Had
my brother been here--”
“Oh, by the powers!” broke in Freney, “he 'd have pitched you neck
and crop into the water-hogshead below, if your master was the
Lord-Lieutenant.”
By this time Bicknell was busy reading the several addresses on the
packets, and the names inscribed in the corners of each.
“If I 'm not mistaken, madam,” said he to Miss Daly, “this Lord
Wallincourt is the new peer, whose brother died at Lisbon. The name is
Forester.”
“Yes, sir, you are right,” muttered Linwood.
“The same Mr. Richard Forester my brother knew, the cousin of Lord
Castlereagh?”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Linwood.
“Where is he? Is he here?”
“No, ma'am, he's lying dangerously ill, if he be yet alive, at Bangor.
He wanted to bring these papers over himself, but was only able to get
so far when the fever came on him again.”
“Is he alone?”
“Quite alone, ma'am, no one knows even his name. He would not let me
say who he was.”
Miss Daly turned towards Bicknell, and spoke for several minutes in a
quick and eager voice. Meanwhile Freney, now convinced that he had not
to deal with a spy or a thief-catcher, came near and addressed Linwood.
“I did n't mean to hurt ye till I was sure ye deserved it, but never
play that game any more.”
Linwood appeared to receive both apology and precept with equal
discontent.
“Another thing,” resumed Freney: “I 'm sure you are an agreeable young
man in the housekeeper's room and the butler's parlor, very pleasant
and conversable, with a great deal of anecdote and amusing stories;
but, mind me, let nothing tempt ye to talk about what ye heard me
say tonight. It's not that I care about myself,--it's worse than
jail-breaking they can tell of me,--but I won't have another name
mentioned. D 'ye mind me?”
As if to enforce the caution, he seized the listener between his finger
and thumb; and whether there was something magnetic in the touch, or
that it somehow conveyed a foretaste of what disobedience might cost,
but Linwood winced till the tears came, and stammered out,--
“You may depend on it, sir, I 'll never mention it.”
“I believe you,” said the robber, with a grin, and fell back to his
place.
“I will not lose a post, rely upon it, madam,” said Bick-nell; “and am I
to suppose you have determined on this journey?”
“Yes,” said Miss Daly, “the case admits of little hesitation; the young
man is alone, friendless, and unknown. I 'll hasten over at once,--I am
too old for slander, Mr. Bicknell. Besides, let me see who will dare to
utter it.”
There was a sternness in her features as she spoke that made her
seem the actual image of her brother. Then, turning to Linwood, she
continued,--
“I 'll go over this evening to Bangor in the packet, let me find you
there.”
“I 'll see him safe on board, ma'am,” said Freney, with a leer, while,
slipping his arm within the valet's, he half led, half drew him from the
room.