more, without a break, into a yard which bristled with broken wood and
old lumber. Evidently death faced them in that direction. The third
side was the gable-end of the garret. On the fourth side there was a
descent of twelve feet or so on to the roof of the next block, which
happened to be lower--but that block was already in flames.
"There is our chief hope," said the sailor, pointing to it.
"Nay," responded Laidlaw in a low voice, pointing upwards--"oor main
hope is _there_! I thocht they had fire-escapes here," he added,
turning to Tommy, who had joined them.
"So they 'ave, but no escape can be got down the yards 'ere. The
halleys is too narrer."
"Come, I'll git a blankit to lower Susan and auld Liz," said Laidlaw,
hastening back to the garden, where the trembling women awaited the
result of their inspection.
While the Scotsman removed the door and dashed once again into the
smoke-filled garret, the sailor hurriedly explained to the women what
they were going to attempt, and impressed upon them the necessity of
submitting entirely to whatever was required of them, "which will be,"
he said, "chiefly to shut your eyes an' keep quiet."
Laidlaw quickly returned with a couple of sheets and a blanket. Sam
knotted the sheets together in sailor-like fashion, while his friend
made a secure bundle of old Liz with the blanket. Sam was lowered first
to the roof of the tenement which we have said was already on fire, and
stood ready to receive Liz. She was safely let down and the sheet-rope
was detached.
"We'll no mak' a bundle o' _you_," said David, turning to Susy; "jist
putt it roond yer waist."
When she was safely lowered, Tommy was grasped by an arm and let down
till his feet rested on Sam's head, whence he easily leaped to the roof,
and then David let himself drop. To reach a place of temporary safety
they had now to walk on the top of a partition of old brick, about eight
inches wide, a fall from which, on one side, meant death, on the other
side, broken bones at the least. They knew that a loose brick or a
false step might be fatal, but there was no alternative.
Sam turned to his daughter: "Ye could never cross that, Susy?" he said.
Although no coward, the poor girl shrank from the giddy ledge, which was
rendered more dangerous and terrible by being now surrounded by
occasional puffs of smoke and clouds of steam from the water of a dozen
hydrants which by that time were playing into the raging flames. To add
to the horrors of the situation, beams and masses of masonry were heard
occasionally crashing in the interior of the building.
Sam advanced to take Susy in his arms, but Laidlaw stepped between them.
"Leave her t' me," he said; "the auld woman's lichter, an' ye're no sae
strong as me."
Saying which, he lifted the girl in his left arm as if she had been but
a little child, and mounted the parapet keeping his right arm free to
balance himself or cling to anything if need be. Sam, who was quite
equal to the emergency, took old Liz into his arms and followed, but
cast one glance back at Tommy.
"Never mind me, Sam," cried the boy, who, having got over his first
panic, rose heroically to the occasion.
The crowd below saw what they were attempting, and gave them a cheer of
encouragement, yet with bated breath, as if they dreaded the issue.
A few seconds and they were past that danger, but still stood on the
burning house at another part of the roof. Here, being suddenly
drenched by spray from one of the engines, Sam and Tommy made for the
shelter of a chimney-stack. As there was not room behind it for more,
Laidlaw carried his light burden to another stack, and looked hastily
round to see what next could be done. Just at that moment there was a
wild cheer below, in the midst of which a stentorian voice came to them,
as it were, on the wings of fire and smoke--"Stay where you are a
minute--the escape is coming!"
"Thank God!" exclaimed Laidlaw, looking down at the fair head which
rested on his shoulder. The cheeks were deadly white and the eyes
closed, but the pressure of her arms showed that the girl clung to him
for very life. A bright shower of sparks at the moment flew around
them. "Heeven an' pandemonium brought thegither!" he thought as he bent
over to protect her. His face was very near to hers!
"My puir wee doo!" he muttered, and placed a timid kiss upon the pale
cheek, which instantly coloured as if the fires around had suddenly
kindled them.
"O lassie, forgi'e me! I didna mean to do _tha_--I railly--did--not,--
but I couldna help it! I wad hae waited till ye gie'd me leave. But
after a'--what for no? I thought t' ask ye t' gie me the right this
very day. And O lassie! if I might only hope that--"
He stopped, and _something_ induced him to do _that_ again. At the same
moment another mighty roar ascended from the crowd, and the head of the
great fire-escape rose like a solemn spectre through smoke, fire, and
steam, not ten yards from where he stood.
"Hooray!" shouted Tommy, for he felt that they were saved. Laidlaw said
nothing, but sprang to the head of the ladder, got carefully upon it,
and began steadily to descend with Susy. Sam was about to follow with
old Liz, but glanced at Tommy.
"Go first, lad."
"Arter you, mate," said the boy, stepping politely back; "you see,
tigers, like captings, are always last to leave a sinkin' ship."
It was neither the time nor place for ceremony. With something
approaching almost to a laugh, the seaman got on the ladder as smartly
as he would have taken to the shrouds of a ship, and Tommy followed.
Half-way down they met a swirl of smoke, with an occasional tongue of
flame shooting through it from a shattered window. At the same moment
they encountered a brass-helmeted fellow springing boldly up through the
same to the rescue.
"Gang doon again, freen'," shouted Laidlaw, when his heel came in
contact with the helmet. "We're a' safe here."
He paused just a moment to draw the shawl completely over Susy's head
and arms, and to pull her dress well round her feet. Then, burying his
face in the same shawl and shutting his eyes, he descended steadily but
swiftly. For a moment or two the rounds of the ladder felt like heated
iron bars, and there was a slight frizzling of his brown curly locks at
the back. Then a fresh draught of air and a tremendous stream of water
that nigh washed him off the ladder.
Next moment they were safe on the ground, in the midst of the
wildly-cheering crowd, through which burst Mrs Rampy in a flood of
joyful tears, and seized old Liz in her arms. Mrs Blathers followed
close at her heels.
"My!" she exclaimed in sudden amazement, staring at old Liz's, "it's
gone!"
"So it is," cried Mrs Rampy, for once agreeing.
And so it was! The last fang belonging to chimney-pot Liz had perished
in that great conflagration!
Many were the offers that old Liz received of house accommodation that
night, from the lowest of washerwomen to the highest of tradesmen, but
Sam Blake, in her behalf, declined them all, and proceeded to the main
street to hail a cab.
"She ain't 'urt, is she? You're not takin' 'er to a hospital?" cried
one of the crowd. "You'll come back agin to stay with us, Liz--won't
you?"
"No, we won't," cried a boy's voice. "We've come into our fortins, an'
are a-goin' to live in the vest end for ever an' ever."
"Who's that blue spider?" asked a boy; "w'y--no--surely it ain't--yes--I
do b'lieve it's Tommy Splint!"
"Don't believe Tommy, friends," said old Liz, as she was about to get
into the cab. "I'll soon be back again to see you. Trust me!"
This was received with a tremendous cheer, as they all got inside except
Laidlaw, who mounted the box.
"Stop!" said the latter, as the coachman was about to drive off. He
pointed to the burning house, where the raging fire had reached the
roof-tree. The crowd seemed awed into silence as they gazed.
One swirl more of the flaming tongues and the Garret was consumed--
another swirl, and the Garden was licked from the scene as effectually
as though it had never been.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
THE LAST.
How that wonderful man Detective Dean managed it all is best known to
himself and those myrmidons of the law who aided and abetted him in his
investigations, but certain it is that he prepared as pretty a little
thunderbolt for John Lockhart, Esquire, as any man could wish to see.
He not only ferreted out all the details of the matter involving the
Washab and Roria railway and chimney-pot Liz, but he obtained proof,
through a clerk in the solicitor's office, and a stain in a sheet of
paper, and a half-finished signature, that the will by which Mr
Lockhart intended to despoil Colonel Brentwood was a curiously-contrived
forgery. As men in search of the true and beautiful frequently stumble
by accident on truths for which they did not search, and beauties of
which they had formed no conception, so our detective unearthed a
considerable number of smaller crimes of which the lawyer had been
guilty--to the satisfaction of all concerned and the establishment of
Mrs Brentwood's character as a prophetess, so that "didn't I tell you
so, Jack?" became a familiar arrangement of household words in the ears
of the poor Colonel for some time afterwards.
But the man of law did not await the discharge of the thunderbolt. As
Mr Dean expressed it, he was too 'cute for that. By some occult means,
known only to legal men, he discovered what was in the air, took time by
the forelock, and retired into privacy--perhaps to the back settlements
of Peru--with all the available cash that he could righteously, or
otherwise, scrape together. By so doing, however, he delivered Colonel
Brentwood from all hindrance to the enjoyment of his rightful property,
and opened the eyes of chimney-pot Liz to the true value of shares in
the Washab and Roria railway.
A few days after the culminating of these events--for things came
rapidly to a head--Mrs Rampy of Cherub Court issued invitations for a
small tea-party. This was the more surprising that Mrs Rampy was
extremely poor, and had hitherto been economical to an extent which
deprived her of a sufficiency of food even for herself. But the
neighbours soon came to know that a line of telegraph had been recently
set up between Cherub Court and the West End, through which flowed
continuously a series of communications that were more or less
astounding and agreeable to the inhabitants. The posts of this
telegraph were invisible, the wires passed high overhead, very high, and
the particular kind of electricity used was--sympathy.
It must be explained here that it was the northern side of the court
which had been burned, so that Mrs Rampy, inhabiting the south side,
still occupied her suite of apartments--a parlour and a coal-hole. The
parlour, having once been a ware-room, was unusually large and well
adapted for a tea-party. The coal-hole, having been a mere recess, was
well adapted for puzzling the curious as to what had been the object of
its architect in contriving it.
The party was not large, but it was select. It included a washerwoman
with very red arms; a care-taker who had obviously failed to take care
of herself; a couple of chimney-sweeps with partially washed faces; a
charwoman with her friend the female greengrocer, who had been burned
out of the opposite side of the court; two or three coster-mongers, a
burglar, several thieves, a footman in resplendent livery, a few noted
drunkards, and chimney-pot Liz with her teapot--not the original teapot
of course--that had perished in the flames--but one indistinguishably
like it, which had been presented to her by Colonel Brentwood. She had
insisted on carrying it with her to Cherub Court on that occasion, on
the ground that they would hardly recognise her without it, especially
now that the fang was gone.
The resplendent footman had been the first guest to arrive, along with
Liz, and was welcomed by the hostess and Mrs Blathers--who aided and
abetted her friend on that occasion--with effusive demonstrations of
goodwill and surprise. Thereafter the footman, who seemed to be
eccentric, sat in a corner with his face buried in his hands, and did
not move while the other guests were assembling. When the room was full
and the tea poured out, Mrs Rampy looked at Liz with a sly awkward air
which was quite foreign to her nature.
"Ah, Mrs Rampy," said Liz, "don't be ashamed."
"Lord, bless us--an' our wittles," said Mrs Rampy, suddenly shutting
her eyes as she opened her mouth, to the intense surprise of her guests.
"Now then," she added, in a tone of great relief, "go a-'ead w'en
you've got the chance. There's more w'ere that come from. 'And about
the cake, Mrs Blathers, like a good creetur. An' it ain't much o' this
blow-hout you owes to me. I on'y supplied the sugar, 'cause that was in
the 'ouse anyways."
"It is a good deed, Mrs Rampy," said old Liz, with a smile, "if you've
supplied all the sweetness to the feast."
"That's a lie!" cried the hostess sharply. "It was _you_ that supplied
it. If it 'adn't bin for you, Liz, I'd never 'ave--"
Mrs Rampy broke down at this point and threw her apron over her head to
conceal her feelings. At the same moment the eccentric footman raised
his head, and something like a pistol-shot was heard as the burglar
brought his palm down on his thigh, exclaiming--
"I know'd it! Trumps--or his ghost!"
"'E's too fat for a ghost," remarked a humorous thief.
"No, mate, I _ain't_ Trumps," said the resplendent man, rising before
the admiring gaze of the party. "My name is Rodgers, footman to Colonel
Brentwood of Weston 'All. I'm a noo man, houtside an' in; an' I've come
ere a-purpuse to surprise you, not only wi' the change in my costoom,
but wi' the noos that my master's comin' down 'ere to see arter you a
bit, an' try if 'e can't 'elp us hout of our difficulties; an' e's
agoin' to keep a missionary, hout of 'is own pocket, to wisit in this
district an' they're both comin' 'ere this wery night to take tea with
us. An' 'e's bringin' a lord with 'im--a live lord--"
"Wot better is a live lord than any other man?" growled a thief with
radical proclivities.
"Right you are, Jim Scroodger," said Trumps, turning sharply on the
speaker; "a live lord is no better than any other man unless 'e _is_
better! Indeed, considerin' 'is circumstances, 'e's a good deal wuss if
'e's no better; but a live lord is better than a dead thief, w'ich
you'll be soon, Jim, if you don't mend yer ways."
"Hear! hear!" and a laugh from the company.
"Moreover," continued Trumps, "the lord that's a-comin' _is_ better than
most other men. He's a trump--"
"Not a brother o' yourn--eh?" murmured the burglar. "W'y, Trumps, I
thought you was a detective!"
"Not in _plain_ clo'es, surely," remarked the humorous thief.
"'Ave another cup o' tea, man, and shut up," cried Mrs Blathers,
growing restive.
"Well, ladies and gen'lemen all," resumed Trumps, with a benignant
smile, "_you_ know this lord that's a-comin'. Some o' you made 'im a
present of a barrow an' a hass once--"
"_I_ know 'im! Bless 'is 'eart," cried a coster-monger through a
mouthful of cake.
At that moment the expected guests arrived.
But reader, we must not dwell upon what followed. There is no need. It
is matter of history.
While the inhabitants of the slums were thus enjoying a social evening
together, David Laidlaw was busy with one of his numerous epistles to
that repository of all confidences--his mother.
"The deed is done, mither," he wrote, "an' the waux doll is mine, for
better or waur, till death us do pairt. Of course I dinna mean that
we're mairried yet. Na, na! That event must be celebrated on the Braes
o' Yarrow, wi' _your_ help an' blessin'. But we're engaged, an' that's
happiness enough the now. If I was to describe my state o' mind in ae
word, I wud say--thankfu'. But losh, woman, that gies ye but a faint
notion o' the whirligigs that hae been gaun on i' my heed an' hairt
since I came to Bawbylon. Truly, it's a wonderfu' place--wi' its
palaces and dens; its rich an' its puir; its miles upon miles o' hooses
an' shops; its thoosands on thoosands o' respectable folk, an' its
hundred o' thoosands o' thieves an' pickpockets an' burglars--to say
naething o' its prisons an' lawyers an' waux dolls!
"But I'm haverin'. Ye'll be gled t' hear that Colonel Brentwood--him
that befreended me--is a' richt. His lawyer turned oot to be a leear
an' a swindler. The will that was to turn the Colonel oot o' a' his
possessions is a forgery. His bonny bairn Rosa, is, like mysel', gaun'
to be mairried; an' as the Colonel has nae mair bairns, he's gaun' to
devote himsel'--so his wife says--to `considerin' the poor.' Frae my
personal observation o' Lunnon, he'll hae mair than enough to consider,
honest man!
"In my last letter I gied ye a full accoont o' the fire, but I didna
tell 'e that it was amang the chimley-pots and bleezes that I was moved
to what they ca' `pop the question' to my Susy. It was a daft-like
thing to do, I confess, especially for a sedate kin' o' man like me;
but, woman, a man's no jist himsel' at sik a time! After a', it was a
graund climax to my somewhat queer sort o' coortin'. The only thing I'm
feart o' in Bawbylon is that the wee crater Tammy Splint should come to
ken aboot it, for I wad niver hear the end o't if he did. Ye see,
though he was there a' the time, he didna ken what I was about.
Speakin' o' that, the bairn has been made a flunkey by the Colonel--a
teeger they ca' him. What's mair surprisin' yet is, that he has ta'en
the puir thief Trumps--alias Rodgers--into his hoosehold likewise, and
made _him_ a flunkey. Mrs Brentwood--Dory, as he ca's her--didna quite
like the notion at first; but the Colonel's got a wonderfu' wheedlin'
wey wi' him, an' whan he said, `If you an' I have been redeemed an'
reinstated, why should not Rodgers?' Dory, like a wise woman, gied in.
The argement, ye ken, was unanswerable. Onywie, he's in plush now, an
white stockin's.
"An' that minds me that they've putt the wee laddie Splint into blue
tights wi' brass buttons. He just looks like an uncanny sort o'
speeder! It's a daft-like dress for onything but a puggy, but the
bairn's as prood o't as if it was quite reasonable. It maitters little
what he putts on, hooiver, for he wad joke an' cut capers, baith
pheesical an' intellectual, I verily believe, if he was gaun to be
hanged!
"My faither-in-law to be, Sam Blake, says he'll come to Scotland for the
wadd'n, but he'll no' stop. He's that fond o' the sea that he canna
leave 't. It's my opeenion that he'll no' rest till he gits a pirit's
knife in his breed-baskit. Mair's the peety, for he's a fine man. But
the best news I've got to tell 'e, mither, is, that Colonel Brentwood
an' his wife an' daughter an' her guidman--a sensible sort o' chiel,
though he _is_ English--are a' comin' doon to spend the autumn on the
Braes o' Yarrow.
"Noo, I'll stop. Susy's waitin' for me, an' sends her love.--Yer
affectionate son, DAVID LAIDLAW."
We must take the liberty now, good reader, of directing your attention
to another time and place.
And, first, as regards time. One day, three weeks after the events
which have just been narrated, Mrs Brentwood took Susan Blake through a
stained glass door out upon a leaded roof and bade her look about her.
The roof was not high up, however. It only covered the kitchen, which
was a projection at the back of the Colonel's mansion.
Susan, somewhat surprised, looked inquiringly in the lady's face.
"A fine view, is it not?" asked Mrs Brentwood.
"Very fine indeed," said Susy, and she was strictly correct, for the
back of the house commanded an extensive view of one of the most
beautiful parts of Hampstead Heath.
"Does it not remind you, Susan, a little, a very little, of the views
from the garret-garden?" asked the lady, with a curious expression in
her handsome eyes.
"Well, hardly!" replied Susan, scarce able to repress a smile. "You
see, there is no river or shipping, and one misses the chimney-pots!"
"Chimney-pots!" exclaimed Mrs Brentwood, "why, what do you call these?"
pointing to a row of one-storey stables not far off, the roofs of which
were variously ornamented with red pots and iron zigzag pipes. "As to
the river, don't you see the glimmer of that sheet of water through the
trees in the distance, a pond or canal it is, I'm not sure which, but
I'm quite sure that the flag-staff of our eccentric naval neighbour is
sufficiently suggestive of shipping, is it not?"
"Well, madam, if one tries to make believe _very_ much--"
"Ah, Susan, I see you have not a powerful imagination! Perhaps it is as
well! Now, I have brought you here to help me with a plot which is to
be a great secret. You know it is arranged that dear old nurse is to
spend the summer on the Braes of Yarrow with the Laidlaws, and the
winter in London with me. So I want you to fit up this roof of the
kitchen _exactly_ in the way you arranged the garden on the roof at
Cherub Court. I will send a carpenter to measure the place for
flower-boxes, and our gardener will furnish you with whatever seeds you
may require. Now, remember, _exactly_ the same, even to the rustic
chair if you can remember it."
You may be very sure that Susy entered with right goodwill into this
little plot. She had been temporarily engaged by Mrs Brentwood as
lady's-maid, so that she might have present employment and a home before
her marriage, and then travel free of expense with the family to
Scotland, where she should be handed over to her rightful owner. The
office of lady's-maid was, however, a mere sinecure, so the bride had
plenty of time to devote to the garden. Old Liz, meanwhile, was
carefully confined to another part of the house so that she might not
discover the plot, and the tiger, from whom no secrets could by any
possibility be kept, was forbidden to "blab" on pain of instant death
and dismissal.
"Now, Da-a-a-vid," remarked that Blue Spider, when he communicated the
secret to _him_, "mum's the word. If you mentions it, the kernel's
family will bu'st up. I will return to the streets from vich I came.
Trumps, _alias_ Rodgers, to the den hout of vich 'e was 'auled. Susan
will take the wail and retire to a loonatic asylum, an' Da-a-a-vid
Laidlaw will be laid low for the rest of 'is mortial career."
"Ne'er fash yer heed about me, Tammy, my man, I'm as close as an
eyster."
We pass now from the far south to the other side of the Borderland.
Great Bawbylon is far behind us. The breezy uplands around tell that we
have reached the Braes of Yarrow. A huge travelling carriage is slowly
toiling up the side of a hill. Inside are Colonel and Mrs Brentwood,
Rosa and chimney-pot Liz. Beside the driver sits Trumps in travelling
costume. In the rumble are Susan Blake and Tommy Splint. Rosa's
husband and Sam Blake are to follow in a few days.
"Oh, what a lovely scene!" exclaimed Susy, as the carriage gained the
summit of an eminence, and pulled up to breathe the horses.
"Yaas. Not so bad--for Scotland," said the tiger languidly.
"And what a pretty cottage!" added Susan, pointing to an eminence just
beyond that on which they had halted, where a long low whitewashed
dwelling lay bathed in sunshine.
"Yaas. And, I say, Susy, yonder is a native," said Tommy, becoming
suddenly animated, "and--well--I do believe, _without_ a kilt! But he's
got the reg'lar orthodox shepherd's--whew!"
A prolonged whistle ended the boy's sentence, as he glanced quickly in
Susan's face. The flushed cheeks told eloquently that she also had made
a discovery; and the rapid strides of the "native" showed that he was
likewise affected in a similar way.
The Colonel's head,--thrust out at the carriage window, and exclaiming,
"Why, Dora, we've arrived! Here is Mr Laidlaw himself!"--completed, as
it were, the _tableau vivant_.
Another moment and hands were being heartily shaken with the insides.
But David did not linger. Nodding pleasantly to the tiger, he held up
both hands. Being so tall, he just managed to reach those of Susan, as
she stood up in the rumble.
"Jump!" he said; "ye needna fear, my lassie."
Susan jumped, and was made to alight on Scottish soil like a feather of
eider-down. Laidlaw stooped, apparently to whisper something in the
girl's ear, but, to the unspeakable delight of the observant tiger, he
failed to get past the mouth, and whispered it there!
"Go it, Da-a-a-vid!" exclaimed the urchin, with a patronising wink and a
broad smile.
"Look there, Susy," said Laidlaw, pointing to the sun-bathed cottage.
"Home?" asked the maiden, with an inquiring glance.