Martha, a private interview with Mary, who corroborated all that her
fellow-servant had said, Mr Dean went straight to Pimlico, and
interviewed the butler who had been in the service of the Weston family.
Thereafter he visited Colonel Brentwood, and, in the presence of his
wife and daughter discussed the whole affair from beginning to end. We
will spare the reader that discussion, and turn towards Newgate.
On the evening of that day poor David Laidlaw found himself in durance
vile, with massive masonry around him, and a very Vesuvius of
indignation within him. Fortunately, in the afternoon of the following
day, which chanced to be Sunday, a safety valve--a sort of crater--was
allowed to him in the shape of pen, ink, and paper. Using these
materials, he employed his enforced leisure in writing to that
receptacle of his early and later joys and woes--his mother.
"Whar d'ye think I've gotten t' noo, mither?" the letter began. "I'm in
Newgate! It's an auld gate noo-a-days, an' a bad gate onyway, for it's
a prison. Think o' that! If onybody had said I wad be in jail maist as
soon as I got to Bawbylon I wad have said he was leein'! But here I am,
hard an' fast, high and dry--uncom'on dry!--wi' naething but stane
aroond me--stane wa's, stane ceilin', stane floor; my very hairt seems
turned to stane. Losh, woman, it bates a'!
"It's no maner o' use gaun into the hale story. A buik wad scarce ha'd
it a'. The details'll keep till you an' I meet again on the braes o'
Yarrow--if we iver meet there, which is by no means sure, for thae
Englishers'll be the death o' me afore I git hame, if they gang on as
they've begood. Here's the ootline:--
"I've been thick wi' thieves, burglars, pickpockets, an' the like.
Veesitin' at their dens, an' gaun aboot the streets wi' them, an' I've
stolen a fifty-pun' note, an' it's been fund i' the pouch inside my bag.
That's the warst o't; but it seems that I've also resistet the poliss
in the dischairge o' their duty, which means that I flang ane ower a
sofa an' stappit anither into a coal-scuttle--though I didna mean it,
puir falla, for his breeks suffered in the way that ye've aften seen
mine whan I was a wee laddie. But I was roused to that extent whan they
first gruppit me that I couldna help it!
"I wadna mind it muckle if it wasna that I've no a freend to help me--
"I was interruptit to receive a veesiter--an' a rebuik at the same time,
for he turned oot to be a freend, though a stranger, a Colonel Brentwud,
wha's been cheetit by that blagyird lawyer that's tryin' to play the
mischief wi' _me_. But he'll fin' that I'm teuch! The Colonel says
they'll hae nae diffeeculty in clearin' me, so let that comfort ye,
mither.--Yer ill-doin' son, DAVID.
"P.S.--There's a wee laddie I've faw'n in wi' since I cam' to Bawbylon,
they ca' him Tammy Splint. O woman, but he _is_ a queer bairn. He's
jist been to see me i' my cell, an' the moment he cam' in, though he was
half greetin', he lookit roond an' said, `_Isn't_ this a sell!' Eh, but
he _is_ auld-farrant! wi' mair gumption than mony full-grown men, to say
naething o' women."
But David Laidlaw had more friends in London than he was aware of. At
the very time that he was penning the foregoing epistle to his mother, a
number of disreputable-looking men were bewailing his fate and
discussing his affairs in the thieves' den, and two equally disreputable
women were quarrelling over the same subject in a wretched dwelling in
the presence of a third woman, who presided over a teapot.
One of the women, whose visage exhibited marks of recent violence,
struck her fist on the table and exclaimed, "No, Mrs Rampy, you are
wrong, as usual. The story I 'eard about 'im was quite different an' I
believes it too, for them Scotsmen are a rough lot--no better than they
_should_ be."
"Mrs Blathers," remarked Mrs Rampy, in a soft sarcastic tone which she
was wont to assume when stung to the quick, and which her friend knew
from experience was the prelude to a burst of passion, "I may be wrong
_as usual_, but as you have never seen or conwersed with this Scotsman,
an' don't know nothink about 'im, _perhaps_ you will condescend to give
me an' Liz the kreckt wershion."
"Now, Mrs Rampy," interposed old Liz, grasping her teapot, "don't be
angry, for Mrs Blathers _is_ right. Scotsmen _are_ no better than they
_should_ be. Neither are English nor Irish nor Welshmen. In fact,
there's none of us--men or women--nearly as good as we should be. Now,
I am sure it won't be denied," continued Liz, in an argumentative tone,
"that Mrs Blathers _might_ be better--"
"Ha! _I_ won't deny it," said Mrs Rampy, with emphasis.
"Nor," continued Liz, hastening to equalise her illustration, "nor that
Mrs Rampy might be better--"
"Right you are," said Mrs Blathers, with sarcasm. "And I'm still
surer," said Liz hurriedly--a little put out at the ready reception of
her propositions--"that _I_ might be better--"
"Not at all," interrupted both ladies at once; "you're a trump, Liz,
you're a dear creetur!"
"Come, then," cried old Liz, with a laugh that set the fang wobbling,
"you are at all events agreed upon _that_ point so--have another cup,
Mrs Rampy."
"Thankee, Liz, and _plenty_ of sugar."
"H'm! you need it!" muttered Mrs Blathers; "no sugar at all for _me_,
Liz."
"Well, now," cried Liz, rendered bold by desperation, "I do wonder that
two such strong, warm-hearted women as you should so often fall out.
Each of you loves _some_ one--don't I know!--with powerful affection,
so, why couldn't you love each other?"
This tribute to their feelings so tickled the women that they set down
their tea-cups and laughed prodigiously.
"Now, do,--there's a couple of dears!--shake hands over your tea, an'
let's have a pleasant talk," said old Liz, following up her advantage.
The mollified women did not shake hands, but each raised her tea-cup to
her lips and winked.
"Your 'ealth, Blathers."
"Same to you, Rampy."
"And now, Liz," said the latter, as she pushed in her cup for more,
"let's 'ear all about it."
"Yes," said Mrs Blathers also pushing in her cup, "let's 'ave _your_
wersion, Liz."
While Liz gives her version of Laidlaw's misfortunes we will return to
the garden, where, being Sunday afternoon, Susy Blake was busy with a
small class of the most disreputable little ragged boys that the
neighbourhood produced.
The boys were emphatically bad boys. They feared neither God nor man.
The property of other people was their chief source of livelihood, and
the streets, or the jails, were their homes. Nevertheless, when in the
garden class, those boys were patterns of good behaviour, because each
boy knew that if he did not behave and keep quiet he would infallibly be
dismissed from the class, and this was a punishment which none of them
could endure. Unlike many other teachers, Susy had not to go about
enticing boys to her Sabbath class. Her chief difficulty was to prevent
them coming in such numbers as would have overflowed the garden
altogether.
And the secret of this was that Susy Blake possessed much of an
unconscious influence called loving-kindness. No weapon of the
spiritual armoury is equal to this. In the hands of a man it is
tremendous. In those of a pretty girl it is irresistible. By means of
it she brought the fiercest little arabs of the slums to listen to the
story of Jesus and His love. She afterwards asked God, the Holy Spirit,
to water the good seed sown, and the result was success.
But loving-kindness was not her only weapon. She had in addition quite
a glittering little armoury in which were such weapons as play of fancy,
lively imagination, fervent enthusiasm, resolute purpose, fund of
anecdote, sparkling humour, intense earnestness, and the like, all of
which she kept flashing around the heads of her devoted worshippers
until they were almost beside themselves with astonishment, repentance,
and good resolves. Of course, when away from her influence the
astonishment was apt to diminish, the repentance to cease, and the good
resolves to vanish away; but resolute purpose had kept Susy at them
until in the course of time there was a perceptible improvement in the
environment of Cherub Court, and a percentage of souls rescued from the
ranks of the ragamuffins.
On this particular Sunday Tommy Splint, who was a regular attendant at
the garden class, arrived late.
"Why, Tommy," said the teacher, turning herself from a little boy on
whom she had been trying specially to impress some grand eternal truth,
"this is not like you. Has anything happened to detain you?"
"No, Susy," answered the boy, slipping into his place--with a compound
expression in which the spirit of fun, whom no one doubted, gave the lie
to the spirit of penitence, in whom no one believed--"but I've bin to a
sort o' Sunday class a'ready."
"Indeed, where have you been?"
"At Mrs Rampy's, w'ere I see'd a most hedifyin' spectacle--granny
tryin' to bring Mrs Rampy an' Mrs Blathers to a 'eavenly state of mind
over a cup of tea, an' them both resistin' of 'er like one o'clock!"
"Ah! my boy," said Susy, shaking her head and a finger at the urchin,
"you've been eavesdropping again!"
"No, indeed, Susy, I ha'n't," returned the boy quite earnestly, "not
since the time you nabbed me with my ear to the key-'ole of quarrelsome
Tim's door. I was a-sittin' at Mrs Rampy's open door quite openly
like--though not quite in sight, I dessay--an' they was pitchin' into
each other quite openly too, an' granny a-tryin' to pour ile on the
troubled waters! It was as good as a play. But w'en Mrs Rampy takes
up her cup to drink the 'ealth of Mrs B an' says, with _sitch_ a look,
`Your 'ealth, Blathers,' I could 'old on no longer. I split and bolted!
That's wot brought me 'ere a little sooner than I might 'ave bin."
There was a tendency to laugh at this explanation, which Susy did not
check, but after a few moments she held up a finger, which produced
instant silence, while she drew a letter from her pocket.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you to-day, Tommy," she said, handing him the
letter, "but I must send you with this to my father. Mr Brentwood
called with it not half an hour since, saying it was of importance to
have it delivered soon, as it was connected with the case of Mr
Laidlaw. So be off with it as fast as you can. You know where to find
father--on board the _Seacow_."
Tommy Splint was indeed disappointed at having to leave the garden class
thus abruptly. He consoled himself, however, with the reflection that
he was perhaps doing important service to his friend Da-a-a-vid Laidlaw.
He further consoled himself, on reaching the court below, by uttering a
shriek which sent a cat that chanced to be reposing there in rampant
alarm into the depths of a convenient cellar. Thereafter he went into a
contemplative frame of mind to the docks, and found Sam Blake as usual
in his bunk.
"I say, Sam, d'ee spend all yer time--night and day--in yer bunk?"
"Not exactly, lad," answered the seaman, with a smile, but without
showing any intention to rise. "You see we sea-dogs have a hard time of
it. What with bein' liable to be routed out at all hours, an' expected
to work at any hour, we git into a way of making a grab at sleep when an
where we gits the chance. I'm makin' up lee-way just now. Bin to
church in the forenoon though. I ain't a heathen, Tommy."
"You looks uncommon like one, anyhow--with your 'air an' 'ead an' beard
an' blankits mixed up together all of a mush. There's a letter for 'ee,
old man."
Without a word the sailor took the epistle, read it slowly, while the
boy watched him keenly, then thrust it under his pillow.
"You ain't agoin' to clear for action at once, then?" said the boy.
"No, not just yet."
"Any message for me?" asked Tommy.
"None wotsomedever."
Seeing that his friend did not intend to be communicative the boy wisely
changed the subject.
"Now, Sam, about them pirits. W'ere was it they fust got 'old of you?"
"Down somewheres among the Philippine Islands," replied Sam, drawing the
blankets more comfortably round him, "but to tell you the truth, lad,
after they'd taken our ship an' made every man o' the crew walk the
plank except me an' the skipper, they putt us in the hold, tied up hand
an' futt so as we could scarce move. Why they spared us was a puzzle to
me at the time, but I afterwards found out it was because somehow they'd
got it into their heads that the skipper an' mate of our ship knew
somethin' about where some treasure that they were after had been
buried. Hand me that there pipe, Tommy--not the noo one; the short
black fellow wi' the Turk's head on the bowl. Thankee."
"An' _did_ you know about the treasure?" asked Tommy, handing the pipe
in question.
"Bless you, no," returned the seaman, proceeding to render the confined
air of the bunk still more unbearable; "we know'd of no treasure. If we
had we'd have bin arter it ourselves, double quick. As it was, they
burnt us wi' hot irons an' tortered us in various ways to make us
confess, but we had nothin' to confess, so had to grin an' bear it--
sometimes to yell an' bear it! You see, lad, they mistook me for the
mate, so that's how I came to escape. He was a fine man was that mate,"
continued the seaman in a lower tone, "a strong, handsome, kind young
officer, an' a great favourite. I've often wondered why he was taken
an' me spared."
"P'raps it was for Susy's sake!" suggested Tommy.
Sam looked at the boy--a quick half-surprised glance. "Not a bad notion
that, my lad. I shouldn't wonder if it _was_ for Susy's sake. I never
thought o' that before. Anyhow I comfort myself sometimes when I think
o' the poor mate that he was saved a deal o' torterin'; which, let me
tell you, ain't easy to bear."
"But go a'ead, Sam, with more about the pirits," said Tommy.
"No, lad, no--not just now. I wants to snooze. So--you clap on all
sail an' you'll be in time yet for the tail end o' Susy's lesson."
CHAPTER TWELVE.
THROUGH FIRE AND SMOKE TO FELICITY.
Free once more, David Laidlaw naturally directed his steps towards
Cherub Court.
His freedom was the result of Mr Dean's labours, for with the
information which he had ferreted out that sedate individual found no
difficulty in proving the innocence of our Scotsman, and the guilt, in
more matters than one, of Mr John Lockhart. The latter was, however,
too wide-awake for our detective, for when a warrant was obtained for
his apprehension, and Mr Dean went to effect the capture, it was found
that the bird had flown with a considerable amount of clients' property
under his wing!
Although Laidlaw's period of incarceration had been unusually brief, it
had afforded ample time for meditation. David's powers of meditation
were strong--his powers of action even stronger. While in his cell he
had opened his little Bible--the only book allowed him--and turned to
the passage which states that, "it is not good that man should be
alone." Then he turned to that which asserts that, "a good wife is from
the Lord," after which he sat on his bench a long time with his eyes
closed--it might be in meditation, perhaps in prayer. The only words
that escaped him, however, were in a murmur.
"Ay, mither, ye're right. Ye've been right iver since _I_ kent ye. But
ye'll be sair putt aboot, woman, whan ye hear that she's a waux doll!
Doll, indeed! angel wad be mair like the truth. But haud ye there,
David, ye've no gotten her yet."
With some such thoughts in his brain, and a fixed resolve in his heart,
he presented himself in the garden on the roof, where he found old Liz,
Susy, and Sam Blake assembled. They all seemed as if oppressed by some
disappointment, but their looks changed instantly on the entrance of the
visitor. Susy, especially, sprang up with a bright smile, but observing
the readiness and the look with which Laidlaw advanced to meet her, she
checked herself, blushed, and looked as well as felt confused.
"My poor little girl is greatly put about" said Sam Blake in
explanation, "because she's just heard from Samson and Son that they've
too many hands already, an' don't want her."
"Don't _want_ her?" exclaimed the Scot; "they're born eediots!"
The emphasis with which this was said caused Susy to laugh, and to
discover that her skirt had been caught by a nail in one of the
flower-boxes. At the same time a vague suspicion for the first time
entered the head of old Liz, causing her to wobble the fang with vigour
and look at Laidlaw with some anxiety.
At this critical moment feet were heard clattering and stumbling up the
stair as if in tremendous haste. Next moment Tommy burst upon their
vision in a full suit of superfine blue with brass buttons!
"Tommy!" exclaimed Susy in amazement.
"No, madam--no. Tummas, if _you_ please," said the boy with dignity,
though almost bursting with suppressed excitement. "I'm man-servant to
Colonel John Brentwood, Esquire, M.P., F.R.Z.Q.T., Feller of the Royal
Society--an' good society, an' every other society. Salary not yet
fixed; lodgin', washin', an' wittles found. Parkisites warious."
"But why didn't you tell us of this before?" asked Liz, patting the
urchin's head and smiling benignantly.
"'Cause I wanted to screw you up vith surprise, an' I've done it too!
But I've on'y jest entered on my dooties, and 'ave bin sent immedingtly
with a message that you an Susy are expected to pay us a wisit, which is
now doo, an' Mr Da-a-a-vid Laidlaw is to go there right away--vithout
delay--as we say in the poetical vest end."
"And when are Susy and I expected?" asked Liz.
"To-morrer."
"But what _are_ you, Tommy? What are you engaged to do?" asked Susy.
"Play wi' the knives, amoose myself wi' the boots and shoes of a
mornin', entertain wisitors at the door with brief conversations, take
occasional strolls with messages, be a sorter companion to Miss Rosa,
wots to be married in a veek or two, and, ginerally, to enjoy myself.
I'm a tiger, I is, but I don't growl--oh no! I only purr. My name is
Tummas, an' my 'ome is marble 'alls!"
Our Scotsman went off without delay in response to the message, and was
thus prevented from carrying out his "fixed resolve" just then.
However, he wouldn't give in, not he! he would soon find a more
convenient opportunity.
Meanwhile Tommy Splint having particularly requested and obtained leave
to spend the night--his last night before going to service--with his
"granny," he and Sam set to work in the garden to rig up temporary
sleeping arrangements _a la_ Robinson Crusoe, for it was arranged that
they should have a grand supper in the garret in honour of the rescue of
Laidlaw--the returned convict, _alias_ ticket-of-leave man, as Tommy
called him--and that the males of the party should thereafter sleep in
the garden.
Need we say that the supper-party was jovial? We think not. The
"ticket-of-leave man" and the "tiger" were inimitable in their own
lines, and Sam came out so strong on the "pirits" of the Philippine
Islands that the tiger even declared himself to be satiated with blood!
As for Susy--she would have been an amply sufficient audience for each
of the party, had all the others been away, and the fang of old Liz
became riotously demonstrative, though she herself remained silent
gazing from one face to another with her glittering black eyes.
Finally the ladies retired to rest in the garret, and the gentlemen went
to sleep in the garden.
Ah! how very old, yet ever new, is the word that man "knows not what an
hour may bring forth!" Forces unseen, unthought of, are ever at work
around us, from the effects of which, it may be, human strength is
powerless to deliver.
That night, late--or rather, about the early hours of morning--a spark,
which earlier in the night had fallen from the pipe of a drunkard in the
public-house below, began to work its deadly way through the boarding of
the floor. For a long time there was little smoke and no flame.
Gradually, however, the spark grew to a burning mass, which created the
draught of air that fanned it.
It chanced that night that, under the influence of some irresistible
impulse or antagonistic affinity like a musical discord, Mrs Rampy and
Mrs Blathers were discussing their friends and neighbours in the abode
of the former, without the softening influence of the teapot and old
Liz.
"I smells a smell!" exclaimed Mrs Rampy, sniffing.
"Wery likely," remarked Mrs Blathers; "your 'ouse ain't over-clean."
But the insinuation was lost on Mrs Rampy, who was naturally keen of
scent. She rose, ran to the window, opened it, thrust out her
dishevelled head, and exclaimed "_Fire_!"
"No, it ain't," said her friend; "it's on'y smoke."
Unfortunately the two women wondered for a few precious minutes and ran
out to the court, into which, from a back window of the public-house,
smoke was slowly streaming. Just then a slight glimmer was seen in the
same window.
"Fire! fire!" yelled Mrs Rampy, now thoroughly alarmed.
"Smoke! smo-o-o-oke!" shrieked Mrs Blathers. The two women were gifted
with eminently persuasive lungs. All the surrounding courts and streets
were roused in a few minutes, and poured into the lanes and alleys which
led to Cherub Court.
That extremely vigilant body, the London Fire Brigade, had their nearest
engines out in two minutes. Many of the more distant men were roused by
telegraph. Though in bed, partially clad and asleep, at one moment, the
next moment they were leaping into boots and pantaloons which stood
agape for them. Brass-helmeted, and like comets with a stream of fire
behind them, they were flying to the rescue five minutes after the yell
and shriek of "Fi-i-ire!" and "Smo-o-o-oke!"
Owing to the great elevation of the garden, and its being surrounded by
stacks of chimneys, it was some minutes before the sleepers there were
aroused. Then, like giants refreshed, David and Sam leapt from their
bunks, and, like Jack-in-the-box, Tommy Splint shot from his kennel.
There was no occasion to dress. In the circumstances the three had
turned in, as Sam expressed it, "all standing."
They rushed at the door of the garret, but it was bolted on the inside.
Susy, who had been awake, had heard the alarm and drawn the bolt so as
to give time for hastily throwing on a few garments. The men thundered
violently and tried to force the door, but the door was strong, and an
instinctive feeling of delicacy restrained them for a few seconds from
bursting it open.
"Susy! Susy!" roared the father; "open! Quick! Fire!"
"One moment, father. I'm dressing granny, and--"
A loud shriek terminated the sentence, for the flames, gathering headway
with wild rapidity, had burst-up some part of the liquor den at the
basement and went roaring up the staircase, sending dense clouds of
smoke in advance.
This was enough. Laidlaw threw his heavy bulk against the door, burst
lock and hinge, and sent it flat on the garret floor. Blinding smoke
met and almost choked him as he fell, and Sam, tumbling over him, caught
up the first person his hands touched and bore her out. It was old
Liz--half dressed, and wrapped in a blanket! Susy, also half dressed,
and with a shawl wrapped round her shoulders, was carried out by
Laidlaw. Both were unhurt, though half stifled by smoke, and greatly
alarmed.
"Ye ken the hoose, Tammy; hoo shall we gang?"
"There's _no_ way to escape!" cried the poor boy, with a distracted
look.
One glance at the staircase convinced Laidlaw that escape in that
direction was impossible. Plunging into the garret again he seized the
door and jammed it into its place, thus stopping the gush of black
smoke, and giving them a few minutes breathing space.
"Is there a rope in the garret?" asked Sam eagerly.
"No--nothink o' the kind," gasped Tommy.
"No sheets,--blankets?" asked the Scot.
"Only two or three," replied Susan, who supported Liz in the rustic
chair. "They're much worn, and not enough to reach _near_ the ground."
It was no time for useless talk. The two men said no more, but sprang
on the parapet outside the garden, to find, if possible, a way of escape
by the roofs of the neighbouring houses. The sight they beheld was
sufficiently appalling. The fire which raged below them cast a noonday
glare over the wilderness of chimney-stacks around, revealing the awful
nature of their position, and, in one direction, thousands of upturned
faces. The men were observed as they ran along the parapet, and a deep
hoarse cry from the sympathetic multitude rose for a few moments above
the roaring of the flames.