FLORA GUY.
"Why, I thought you had done for that fellow, that O'Connor," exclaimed
Blarden, after he had carefully closed the door. "I thought you had
pinked him through and through like a riddle--isn't he dead--didn't you
settle him?"
"So I thought myself, but some troublesome people have the art of
living through what might have killed a hundred," rejoined Ashwoode;
"and I do not at all like this servant of his privately coming here, to
hold conference with my sister's maid--it looks suspicious; if it be,
however, as I suspect, I have effectually countermined them."
"Well, then," replied Blarden, with an oath, "at all events we must set
to work now in earnest."
"The first thing to be done is to find a substitute for the girl whom I
am about to dismiss," said Ashwoode, "we must select carefully, one
whom we can rely upon--do _you_ choose her?"
"Why, I'm no great judge of such cattle," rejoined Blarden. "But here's
Chancey that understands them. I stake this ring to a sixpence he has
one in his eye this very minute that'll fit our purpose to a hair--what
do you say, Gordy, boy--can you hit on the kind of wench we want--eh,
you old sly boots?"
Chancey sat sleepily before the fire, and a languid, lazy smile
expanded his sallow sensual face as he gazed at the bars of the grate.
"Are you tongue-tied, or what?" exclaimed Blarden; "speak out--can you
find us such a one as we want? she must be a regular knowing devil, and
no mistake--as sly as yourself--a dead hand at a scheming game like
this--a deep one."
"Well, maybe I do," drawled Chancey, "I think I know a girl that would
do, but maybe you'd think her too bad."
"She can't be too bad for the work we want her for--what the devil do
you mean by BAD?" exclaimed Blarden.
"Well," continued Chancey, disregarding the last interrogatory, "she's
Flora Guy, she attends in the 'Old Saint Columbkil,' a very arch little
girl--I think she'll do to a nicety."
"Use your own judgment, I leave it all to you," said Blarden, "only get
one at once, do you mind, you know the sort we want."
"I suppose she can't come any sooner than to-morrow, she must have
notice," said Chancey, "but I'll go in there to-day if you like, and
talk to her about it; I'll have her out with you here to-morrow to a
certainty, an' I declare to G---- she's a very smart little girl."
"Do so," said Ashwoode, "and the sooner the better."
Chancey arose, stuffed his hands into his breeches pockets according to
his wont, and with a long yawn lounged out of the room.
"Do you keep out of the way after this evening," continued Sir Henry,
addressing himself to Blarden; "I will tell her that you are to leave
us this night, and that your visit ends; this will keep her quiet until
all is ready, and then she must be tractable."
"Do you run and find her, then," said Blarden, "and tell her that I'm
off for town this evening--tell her at once--and mind, bring me word
what she says--off with you, doctor--ho, ho, ho!--mind, bring me word
what she says--do you hear?"
With this pleasant charge ringing in his ears, Sir Henry Ashwoode
departed upon his honourable mission.
Chancey strolled listlessly into town, and after an easy ramble, at
length found himself safe and sound once more beneath the roof of the
'Old Saint Columbkil.' He walked through the dingy deserted benches and
tables of the old tavern, and seating himself near the hearth, called a
greasy waiter who was dozing in a corner.
"Tim, I'm rayther dry to-day, Timothy," said Mr. Chancey, addressing
the functionary, who shambled up to him more than half asleep; "what
will you recommend, Timothy--what do you think of a pot of light ale?"
"Pint or quart?" inquired Tim shortly.
"Well, we'll say a pint to begin with, Timothy," said Chancey, meekly;
"and do you see, Timothy, if Miss Flora Guy is on the tap; I wish she
would bring it to me herself--do you mind, Timothy?"
Tim nodded and departed, and in a few minutes a brisk step was heard,
and a neat, good-humoured looking wench approached Mr. Chancey, and
planted a pint pot of ale before him.
"Well, my little girl," said Chancey, with the quiet dignity of a
patron, "would you like to get a fine situation in a baronet's family,
my dear; to be own maid to a baronet's sister, where they eat off of
silver every day in the week, and have more money than you or I could
count in a twelve-month?"
"Where's the good of liking it, Mr. Chancey?" replied the girl,
laughing; "it's time enough to be thinking of it when I get the offer."
"Well, you _have_ the offer this minute, my little girl," rejoined
Chancey; "I have an elegant place for you--upon my conscience I
have--up at Morley Court, with Sir Henry Ashwoode; he's a baronet,
dear, and you're to be own maid to Miss Mary Ashwoode."
"It can't be the truth you're telling me," said the girl, in unfeigned
amazement.
"I declare to G--d, and upon my soul, it is the plain truth," drawled
Chancey; "Sir Henry Ashwoode, the baronet, asked me to recommend a
tidy, sprightly little girl, to be own maid to his elegant, fine
sister, and I recommended you--I declare to G--d but I did, and I come
in to-day from the baronet's house to hire you, so I did."
"Well, an' is it in airnest you are?" said the girl.
"What I'm telling you is the rale truth," rejoined Chancey: "I declare
to G--d upon my soul and conscience, and I wouldn't swear that in a
lie, if you like to take the place you can get it."
"Well, well, after _that_--why, my fortune's made," cried the girl, in
ecstasies.
"It is _so_, indeed, my little girl," rejoined Chancey; "your fortune's
made, sure enough."
"An' my dream's out, too; for I was dreaming of nothing but washing,
and that's a sure sign of a change, all the live-long night," cried
she, "washing linen, and such lots of it, all heaped up; well, I'm a
sharp dreamer--ain't I, though?"
"You will take it, then?" inquired Chancey.
"_Will_ I--maybe I won't," rejoined she.
"Well, come out to-morrow," said Chancey.
"I can't to-morrow," replied she; "for all the table-cloth is to be
done, an' I would not like to disappoint the master after being with
him so long."
"Well, can you next day?"
"I can," replied she; "tell me where it is."
"Do you know Tony Bligh's public--the old 'Bleeding Horse?'" inquired
he.
"I do--right well," she rejoined with alacrity.
"They'll direct you there," said Chancey; "ask for the manor of Morley
Court; it's a great old brick house, you can see it a mile away, and
whole acres of wood round it--it's a wonderful fine place, so it is;
remember it's Sir Henry himself you're to see when you go there; an' do
you mind what I'm saying to you, if I hear that you were talking and
prating about the place here to the chaps that's idling about, or to
old Pottles, or the sluts of maids, or, in short, to anyone at all,
good or bad, you'll be sure to lose the situation; so mind my advice,
like a good little girl, and don't be talking to any of them about
where you're going; for it wouldn't look respectable for a baronet to
be hiring his servants out of a tavern--do you mind me, dear."
"Oh, never fear me, Mr. Chancey," she rejoined; "I'll not say a word to
a living soul; but I hope there's no fear the place will be taken
before me, by not going to-morrow."
"Oh! dear me! no fear at all, I'll keep it open for you; now be a good
girl, and remember, don't disappoint."
So saying he drained his pot of ale to the last drop, and took his
departure in the pleasing conviction that he had secured the services
of a fitting instrument to carry out the infernal schemes of his
employers.