We must go back to an early hour of that same Sunday morning, and to
the cottage of Stephen Gimlet, near the little church. Both Stephen
himself and his mother-in-law had risen betimes; and the boy was still
sleeping in his bed. The old lady spent three-quarters of an hour in
writing an epistle, with her spectacles on her nose; while her
son-in-law ate his breakfast; and when the act of composition was
over, she folded up in the letter an old piece of paper, partly
printed, partly written, the very same in fact, which had flown out of
her family Bible one morning, when poor Billy Lamb, coming in, had
found the book in the hands of Stephen Gimlet's little boy. She then
added thereto an old, somewhat crumpled, and well-worn letter, first
reading over the address attentively, got a light and a small piece of
red sealing-wax, sealed the letter, and stamped it with the end of her
thimble.
"There, Stephen," she said, giving the letter to her son-in-law, "he
is back now, that's certain; take that up to him, and tell him, that
if he wants to hear any more about it, I can give him information of
the whole. I know all the names, and I believe the minister is alive
still.--I would not go out of the house, if I were you, till I saw
him; and, if by any chance he should not be come down yet, I would
hang about and catch him, when he arrives; for it is only just right
he should know how the whole matter stands, before he goes any
further."
"I won't miss him this time, goody," said Ste Gimlet; "so you and the
boy get your dinner, if I should not come back in time. I am very
uneasy at its not having been done before; for we poor people cannot
tell what may become of such things with great folks, and after all
you tell me, I am very sure, that blackguard fellow Moreton is not
hanging about here for any good."
Thus saying, Stephen Gimlet put the letter carefully up, and went
away, as usual, with his gun in his hand, and his dog following. It
was not yet more than half-past five o'clock; and, recollecting that
the servants of Sir John Slingsby were not very matutinal in their
habits, the gamekeeper thought he might as well go upon one of his
rounds, which led him near to Chandleigh Heath, and see if he could
get any inkling of Captain Moreton's proceedings. He walked slowly
along up the lane from his own house, crossed the high-road from
Tarningham to London, and then taking a path across the fields, soon
came to another lane, which led him to a sandy way, having a high
hedge with elm-trees on the left, and Chandleigh Heath on the right.
It was sunk down some way beneath the rest of the country, so as to
give no prospect over the common; but, a couple of hundred yards
further on, a footpath went up over the bank and divided into two,
something after the fashion of a bird's merrythought, one branch
leading to an old tumulus, topped with firs, and the other, which was
much shorter, running down to the cottage inhabited by Captain
Moreton. About twenty yards before he reached this turning, the dog,
which followed at Stephen Gimlet's heels, began to growl in a somewhat
angry manner; and the gamekeeper turned round to look in what
direction the beast's eyes were bent. Before he could ascertain,
however, a man suddenly sprang over the hedge, and cast himself upon
him, seizing the barrel of his gun with both hands. A fierce struggle
ensued; for Stephen Gimlet at once perceived who his adversary was;
and the gamekeeper, though taken unawares, was decidedly getting the
better, when he suddenly found his arms seized from behind, and a cord
passed quickly round them. The next instant the cord was drawn tight
in spite of all his efforts; but at the same moment he had the
satisfaction of hearing the voice of Harry Wittingham exclaim: "Damn
the dog, he has bit me to the bone;" and, as his legs were free, he
made so strenuous an application of his thick-nailed shoes to the
shins of Captain Moreton, that the respectable gentleman let go his
hold; and, darting away, Stephen Gimlet ran forward, as fast as he
could, in the hope of meeting some one, who would render him
assistance. I have said, that his assailants sprang upon him from
behind; and, consequently, the only paths open for the fugitive were
those which led towards the cottage or to the tumulus on the heath. In
the latter direction he was not likely to find any one to help him;
but down the lane, which passed close by the cottage, were a number of
poor men's houses, the inhabitants of which usually went out to work
about that hour. It is a pity that Stephen Gimlet did not recollect
that it was Sunday; but so it was; and the good labourers were taking
an additional nap to refresh them after the toils of the week. No one
knows how much one limb aids another, even in the peculiar functions
of the latter, till some deprivation has taken place. Now, at the
first consideration, we should say, that a man did not run with his
arms; but yet the arms help a man very much in running; and Stephen
Gimlet soon found to his cost, that he could not run as he was
accustomed to do, without them. He was much swifter of foot than
either of those who followed; but yet, by the time that he had got
three hundred yards down the lane, they had recovered their hold of
him and thrown him down. In fact, it was a great convenience to them,
that he had run; for every step that he had taken was in the direction
which they had intended to carry him; and when they overtook him, he
was not thirty yards from the garden-gate of the cottage. He was
easily dragged along for that distance, brought into the house, and
put into a room, which had been constructed by the retired hosier for
what he called the butler's-pantry, though it is by no means to be
understood that he ever had, or expected to have, such a thing as a
butler, or any thing the least like it. Nevertheless, as the room was
destined to contain a certain amount of silver spoons, tea-pots, and
other little pieces of the precious metal, strong bars had been put up
to the windows; and the butler's-pantry now formed a very convenient
little cage for the bird, which the two gentlemen had caught out upon
the common.
Before they shut the door upon him, Mr. Henry Wittingham made some
proposal to Captain Moreton in a low voice, to which the other
replied:
"No, no; he'll make an outcry and wake the women; and then we shall
have it all over the place. You can lick him well before we let him
out, if you like. Let us attend to the main business first, and,
having got him in, keep him in; nobody knowing any thing about
it.--Good morning, Master Wolf; you shall have some bread-and-water,
if you like, but nothing else for the next four-and-twenty hours."
Stephen Gimlet answered not; and it is to be remarked, that--whether,
because he thought that shouting would be of no use, or that he chose
to imitate the beast, whose name he had acquired, in its taciturn
habits under adversity--not a word had he uttered from the beginning
of the fray until the end. He suffered the door to be shut upon him in
silence; and while he remained revolving what was to be done, or
whether any thing could be done, his two captors retired to the little
drawing-room, where they sat down and laughed for a moment at the
success of their scheme. Their first merriment, however, soon gave way
to some uneasy sensations. Captain Moreton rubbed his shins, which had
suffered considerably from the contact with Stephen Gimlet's shoes.
Harry Wittingham unceremoniously pulled off his boot, and found his
whole stocking stained with blood, and the marks of four large fangs
very apparent in the heel and tendon.
"Come along with me," said Captain Moreton, when he saw his
companion's state; "we'll get a little salt and water; you shall wash
your heel with it, and I will wash my shins, for that d--d fellow has
kicked all the skin off--salt and water is the best thing in the
world."
While they go to perform the part of surgeons upon themselves, I will,
with the reader's leave, return to speak of one of the actors in the
scene of Stephen Gimlet's capture, who has not had as much notice as
he deserves. The dog, who had followed him from his own cottage, after
having paid due attention to the heel of Mr. Wittingham, and received
a severe kick for his pains, gave chase to the pursuers of his master
down the lane, tore Captain Moreton's coat with a spring and a snap;
but then suddenly, as if he saw that his own unassisted efforts could
do little, and judged, that it might be right to seek assistance, he
darted off at a right angle across the common, with his head hanging
down, his tongue out, and some angry foam dropping from his mouth. He
ran straight through a farm-yard on the opposite side of the heath,
bit at a woman who was going to milk the cows, but only tore her
apron, wounded the farmer's dog with a sharp snap, went clear over the
wall and straight on toward Tarningham, biting at every living thing
that came in his way, but never stopping to ascertain whether he had
inflicted much or little evil. This misanthropical spirit soon called
the attention of the people, and excited their indignation. They gave
the poor dog a bad name; and, though no one could be found to
undertake the exact task of hanging him, they followed with
pitchforks, sticks, shovels, stones, and a very miscellaneous
assortment of other weapons, such as pokers, tongs, &c.; and, driving
him into the court-yard of the mayor's house at Tarningham, succeeded
in killing him without doing any other further mischief.
Such is the tragic history of Stephen Gimlet's poor dog; but of none
of the particulars were Captain Moreton and Harry Wittingham made
acquainted at the time; for both those gentlemen thought fit to keep
themselves strictly to the house during the whole morning. Of much and
many things did they talk; they comforted the outward man, as had been
proposed, with salt and water; they comforted the inner man with
toast, coffee, eggs, and broiled ham. The broiled ham left them
thirsty; and at twelve o'clock they tried to assuage such unpleasant
sensations by a glass of cold brandy-and-water; and, finding that not
succeed according to their expectation, they tried another glass hot.
After that, Harry Wittingham declared he felt tired and sleepy with
getting up so early, and retired to lie down for a time; but he
continued sleeping in a broken sort of confused slumber for between
three and four hours, when he was roused by hearing some very high
tones, and apparently sharp words proceeding from the neighbouring
room. Without difficulty he recognised the voices of Captain Moreton
and his fair companion, who had seemed in no very good humour when he
supped with him the night before; but he could not distinguish the
subject of dispute on the present occasion; and, looking at his watch,
he found that it was past four o'clock. Knowing that the dinner-hour
at the cottage was five, he washed his face and hands, arranged his
hair, as best he might, and went down to the drawing-room, still
hearing the strife of tongues raging in the adjoining room.
It was some quarter of an hour before Captain Moreton joined him; and
he was then informed by his worthy friend, that dinner would be half
an hour later that day, as the maid had been sent to Buxton's Inn, for
the purpose of ordering a chaise to be at the door at nightfall.
This announcement startled Harry Wittingham a good deal.
"But where the devil are you going to, Moreton?" he inquired; "you are
not going to leave me alone with this fellow, are you?"
"Only for a short time, Mr. Wittingham," answered Captain Moreton, in
his easy, nonchalant way, "not long enough for him to eat you, or for
you to eat him. You know what obstinate devils these women are; and I
have got to do with the most pigheaded of the whole race. The fact is,
Wittingham, we have got in our hands, if we do but use it properly,
the means of having full revenge upon one or two good friends of ours;
amongst the rest, that fellow, who, as you ought to remember, was
second to Captain Hayward in his duel with you, Mr. Beauchamp, he
calls himself."
"Why, I hear he has turned out a Lord Lenham, and is going to marry
old Sir John's pretty daughter."
"Exactly so," answered Captain Moreton, drily; "but if he doesn't
mind, his wedding tour will be a different one to what he expects;
however, I have the greatest difficulty in preventing my fair friend
Charlotte from spoiling the whole business; for she is in one of her
violent fits, and then she gets as mad as a March hare. She and I must
act together; but I must not appear in the business; for you see there
are two or three little things that the people might bring against me.
I have resolved, therefore, to get over to Winterton, till to-morrow's
work is blown over; for she will be present to witness the marriage,
do what I can to stop her. As the mischief would have it, however, I
threatened to blow the whole matter up, if she would not submit to
management; and so she will not let me out of her sight, threatening
at the same time to cut my throat, or some pretty little thing of that
kind by way of making herself a pleasant companion. However, she must
go with me, that's clear, and come over in a chaise tomorrow to the
wedding. If she does not spoil all, and this man here can be kept in,
we have got them completely in our power."
"Why, what in fortune's name can he have to do with Lord Lenham's
marriage?" asked Harry Wittingham.
"I don't know, exactly," answered Captain Moreton, musing gravely;
"but I have a good many suspicions about him, which it won't do to
mention just yet. All I ask, is to have him kept in here, till after
the marriage is over; and you will have nothing further to do with it,
than to keep the key of the room and prevent any of the girls from
going in. By so doing you will punish him ten times more than if you
licked him for an hour. I know you are not given to be afraid of any
thing; but, if people should make a fuss about it, it is very easy to
say you did it, to punish him for knocking you down the way he did."
Harry Wittingham smiled; and the moment after Captain Moreton
continued: "Here she comes, by Jove; I'll get out of the way for the
present, and cram some meat down that fellow's throat without untying
him. You'll stay, Wittingham, won't you? I shall be back to-morrow
night."
"Why, I must stay, I suppose," said Harry Wittingham; "for good old
Dame Billiter thinks I shall be here till to-morrow night; and I
expect her to send me up some money, if she can get it."
Captain Moreton did not wait for any thing further than this assent,
but disappeared by the right-hand door; and the moment after, the fair
lady, whom I have so often mentioned, entered by the other. Her face
was somewhat redder than usual; but that was the only sign of
agitating passions that could be discovered in her demeanour. Her step
was calm, stealthy, and cat-like; her eyes looked cold and flat, with
a meaningless sort of glassy glare about them, as if purposely covered
by a semi-opaque film to veil what was passing beneath. She looked
slowly round the room, without taking any notice of Mr. Wittingham,
though she had not seen him that day; and, walking round to the
mock-rosewood sofa, she sat down in silence and took some papers out
of the drawer of the table. Harry Wittingham wished her good morning,
and addressed to her some commonplace observation, to which she
replied with a forced smile, and then busied herself with her papers
again. When Captain Moreton re-entered the room about a quarter of an
hour afterwards, a sudden fierce gleam came into her eyes and passed
away again; but she uttered not a word; and, dinner being announced
soon after, she took Mr. Wittingham's arm and walked into the small
dining-room. When the meal was over, and she left the gentlemen to
their wine, she passed by Captain Moreton's chair, and bending down
her head, she said in a low voice, but loud enough for Mr. Wittingham
to hear:
"Remember, Moreton, remember! You know me!"
Captain Moreton only laughed, though the words were said with a
threatening manner; and, as soon as she was gone, he plied Harry
Wittingham with wine, which was followed by brandy-and-water; and in
the pleasant occupation thus provided, the two worthy compeers
continued to exercise themselves, till the sky grew grey, and the roll
of a chaise was heard before the garden.
"There, Wittingham," cried Captain Moreton, starting up, "there's the
key of the little cellar--small enough, but there's sufficient in it
to lay you dead-drunk for a fortnight. There's the key of the cage,
too; keep the bird safe till ten or eleven o'clock to-morrow. I will
try to keep my grey mare in hand; and, if we can manage both,
you will hear some news tomorrow night, that will make you laugh
heartily--Farewell, my good fellow," and going to the door, he shouted
aloud, "Where's the portmanteau?"
"I put it in the shay, Sir," said the girl; and, turning once more to
Harry Wittingham, Captain Moreton told him that he should see him
before ten the following night, and went to seek his fair companion.
In a few minutes more they were gone; but the gentleman they left
behind did not see any reason why he should not finish the bottle of
wine on the table, "just to take the taste of the brandy out of his
mouth." After that he fell asleep in an armchair; and so sound was his
slumber, that the maid came in twice and looked at him; but seeing
that there was no probability of his waking for some hours, she put a
fresh pair of candles on the table, and went to bed.
Harry Wittingham slept and dreamed: He thought he had committed some
horrible act, that the hue and cry was raised, the whole county in
pursuit, and that he could hear the galloping of horses coming close
after him. He struggled to spur his own beast forward, but its legs
would not move; and, looking down with horror and consternation, he
found it was a rocking-horse with little bells at its ears and its
tail. Suddenly a constable seemed to grasp him by the shoulder; and,
starting up in agony, he found the servant-girl shaking him.
"Please, Sir," she said, "Mrs. Billiter has sent up the man to say,
that your father is dying, and you must go down directly."
Without a moment's thought or consideration, Harry Wittingham ran out,
snatched up his hat in the passage; and, telling the man to follow on
foot, mounted the horse and rode away to Tarningham.