“True friendship, when fwok throw aseyde,
What then are riches, preyde, or power?—
Vain gewgaws! Mekin sec their gueyde,
May sair repent lang ere deeth’s hour.
“True friendship that can ne’er cause streyfe,
But e’en keep frae distress and pain,
An’ show what bliss it gie’s thro’ leyfe,
In every bwosom still sud reign.?
_Friendship. Ballad, by Robert Anderson._
We must leave Miss Chutney for awhile imprisoned in the linen room, and
return to Mr. Sandboys, imprisoned in the police cell; for it was during
the absence of himself and wife from Parthenon House, that the incidents
detailed in the previous chapter had taken place.
Mrs. Sandboys soon began to perceive that feelings were quite foreign to
a police-office; and after her first outburst of indignation, she set
herself to work, like a shrewd woman of the world, to discover some
means of procuring bail for her poor incarcerated Cursty.
The question was, whom could she send to? Strangers in London, to whom
could they apply for assistance under the distressing circumstances? She
was half-ashamed to send to Mrs. Wewitz, and acquaint her that Mr.
Sandboys was locked up on suspicion of being a common thief; but there
was no one else that she knew who could vouch for their respectability.
This was all that was required, and, appearing so little to ask, she
summoned up all her courage, and scribbled a hasty and pathetic appeal
to the lady.
Jobby, who had accompanied Elcy to view the outside of the Crystal
Palace, while the father and mother were inspecting the interior, and
who had seen his father carried off by the police, and followed him,
with his affrighted sister, to the police-office, was ready at his
mother’s call to hurry with the note she had written to Wimbledon
Common. Elcy was but of little use; for though Mrs. Sandboys was too
much occupied with the thoughts of releasing her husband to display at
present much concern for his painful position, the girl could think of
nothing else, and sat in the waiting-room of the police court, sobbing
aloud, and trembling with fear, lest her father should be injured in any
way.
The dutiful lad started off at a rapid pace; and though hailed by many
an omnibus that was wending his way, they were by far too slow for him;
for on he ran, as youths only can run, with his handkerchief tied round
his waist, and racing with every cab that came up with him. At length,
however, when he had reached Brompton, he was fairly beaten, and was
glad to avail himself, spent and out of breath as he was, of the first
omnibus that passed him.
Scarcely half-an-hour after this, he was pulling violently at the
gate-bell of their temporary lodgings.
The impatience of the summons brought Miss Wewitz rapidly down from the
linen-room, wherein she had safely locked Miss Chutney, having this time
assured herself, by carefully examining every cupboard and hole and
corner in the place, that she was “all alone.”
Mrs. Wewitz had no sooner made herself acquainted with the purport of
the letter, than she informed her daughter of the shocking news it
contained.
“Here! Mr. Sandboys is in prison, on suspicion of robbery, and wants us
to come and speak to his respectability! Well, really,” exclaimed the
old lady, “I can’t think what’s come to all the people of late! What do
you think, my dear Di?—would it be prudent, now, for us, situated as we
are, to mix ourselves up in the matter?”
“Pr-r-rudent!” echoed Miss Diana Wewitz, who was certainly not in the
humour to grant favours—“in the first place, pray let me ask you what we
know of the Sandboys? They say they have come from Cumberland; but what
proof have we of the fact? How, then, could you, dear mother, lay your
hand on your heart, and swear before a magistrate that you believe Mr.
Sandboys to be a perfect gentleman? And very respectable it would be,
indeed, to have it published in all the morning papers, that the lady of
Parthenon House Establishment for Young Ladies had appeared at a
police-office to speak to the character of a person detained on
suspicion of robbery, and of whom it turned out, on cross-examination
(for the counsel would be sure to cross-examine you severely) she knew
nothing whatever, and very probably, under the excitement of the moment,
you would get so confused, that you’d swear to almost anything that was
asked you, and so lay yourself open to be indicted for wilful and
corrupt perjury.”
“Oh, my dear child! don’t say another word,” cried Mrs. Wewitz,
horrified at the picture which her talented daughter had given her of
the probable consequences attendant upon her assenting to Mrs. Sandboys’
simple request. “Well, my love. I’m sure I should have done it, if you
had not been by me to advise me; and it would have been with the best of
motives, too.”
“Yes, mother; and, as usual with you, with the worst possible results,”
replied Miss Wewitz, with a triumphant smile. “Besides, dear mother, do
just reflect for one minute! Here have we a gang of French swindlers
already located in the house—of that we are certain, for we have it on
the very best authority—that nice civil young man, the inspector, told
me as much only this very day, you know, mother; and isn’t it very
likely that you may have been imprudent enough to admit into this
establishment some similar characters belonging to this country. I
shouldn’t wonder at all now but they’re only part and parcel of the same
gang.”
“Well, my dear Di,” said the old lady, with a most reverential shake of
the head, “I’m sure, with the education I’ve given you, you ought to
know much better than I do about such things. But Mrs. Sandboys was such
a nice homely body, and the gentleman himself appeared the last person
on earth to be guilty of anything mean or bad.”
“Ah, my dear mother! you don’t know the wickedness of the world, and if
you did, you wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that the nice
homely body, as you call her, was only part of a deep-laid scheme, and
it’s only a wonder that the place was not stripped. But how I go through
it all is far more than I can tell—if I was an ordinary-minded woman it
would kill me. Here, this morning, I return to my home, on the eve of
receiving my pupils—the daughters of some of the first families—and I am
informed that I have a gang of swindlers under my roof; and this
afternoon I learn that another party, who has been residing in my house,
is now detained on suspicion of robbery. However it is that my mind
doesn’t give way under it, is to me incomprehensible.” And then,
fetching a deep-drawn sigh, she added, “but a single straw extra will
break the over-burthened camel’s back. However, go you and write a note
to the woman, saying, that you regret you cannot _conscientiously_
comply with her request, and adding, at the same time, that you would
thank her to send for her luggage at the earliest opportunity, as, after
what has transpired, you cannot think of allowing the family to continue
their apartments at PARTHENON HOUSE.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------