"THE STOUT HOUSE."
London is a wondrous city for the success with which the most flagrant
quackery is accomplished. Things not only improbable, but absolutely
impossible, are puffed off with matchless impudence; and, what is more
extraordinary still, they obtain an infinite number of believers. Thus
we have snuffs which will cure blindness when the most skilful oculists
are at fault,—oils and pomatums that will make the hair grow in spite of
nature's denial,—cosmetics that will render every skin, though tawny as
a gipsey's, white as a Circassian's,—pills so happily compounded as to
be an universal panacea, annihilating diseases of even the most opposite
characters, and effecting for thirteen-pence halfpenny what all the
College of Physicians could not accomplish for millions,—lozenges by
which a voice cracked like a tin-trumpet, may become melodious as a
silver bell,—ointments that will cure in a week ulcers and sores which
have baffled all the experience of famous hospital-surgeons for a
quarter of a century,—decoctions prepared on purpose to prolong life,
although the _elixir vitæ_ of the alchemists has long been regarded as
an absurd fable,—boluses competent to restore to all their pristine
vigour constitutions shattered by years and years of dissipation and
dissolute habits,—pulmonic wafers efficient to wrestle against the very
last stage of consumption, and restore lungs entirely eaten away,—tonics
so wonderful that they will even give new coats to the stomach, though
the old ones have been destroyed by ardent spirits,—and heaven only
knows how many more blessings of the same kind!
Seriously speaking, it is deplorable to perceive how tremendously the
millions are gulled by all these details of an impudent and most
dishonest quackery. The coiner who passes off a base shilling,
representing it to be a good one, is punished as a felon and stigmatised
as a villain. But the quack who sells articles which he announces to be
capable of performing physical impossibilities, is not tangible by the
law, nor does he become branded in the opinion of the world. Such are
the conventional differences existing in civilised society!
Of all the demoralising species of quackery practised now-a-days,
certain medical works are decidedly the worst. We allude to
those beastly things which are constantly announced in the
advertisement-department of newspapers, but which, with a scintillation
of good taste on the side of the printers, are invariably
huddled together in the most obscure nook. It is evident that
newspaper-proprietors are ashamed of the filthy advertisements, although
they cannot very well refuse to insert them. But we warn all our readers
against suffering themselves to put the least confidence in the
representations set forth in the announcements alluded to. The works
thus puffed off are contemptible as regards medical information,
demoralising in their very nature, and delusive in all their promises.
An amusing species of quackery exists with repect to many public-houses.
Passing along a thoroughfare, or visiting some fresh neighbourhood
springing up in the outskirts of the metropolis, you will probably see a
new building, destined for the "public" line, and with the words—"NOTED
STOUT HOUSE"—painted on a board, or cut in the masonry. The cool
impudence of proclaiming an establishment to be famous for a particular
article, before it is even finished, is too ludicrous to provoke serious
vituperation. The merit of the place is agreed upon beforehand between
the architect and the proprietor. Never mind how worthless the beer to
be retailed there may eventually prove, it is a Noted Stout House all
the same! But so accustomed are the inhabitants of London to behold such
things, that the springing up of such a structure causes no sensation in
its neighbourhood: good, easy people that we are now-a-days—we take
every thing for granted and as a matter of course!
The _Noted Stout House_ in Helmet Row, St. Luke's—called by its patrons,
for abbreviation's sake, the _Stout House_—was one of those flash
boozing-kens which are to be found in low neighbourhoods. And noted it
indeed was—not on account of its beer, unless the fame thereof consisted
in its execrable nature—but by reason of the characters frequenting it.
The parlour was large, low, and dark; and in the evening it was
invariably filled with a miscellaneous company of both sexes.
Prostitutes and thieves—old procuresses and housebreakers—dissolute
married women, and notorious coiners,—these were the principal
supporters of the _Stout House_.
Had Machiavelli once passed an evening there, he would not have declared
as a rule that "language was given to man for the purpose of disguising
his thoughts;" inasmuch as no attempt at any such disguise at all was
made in that place. Every one spoke his mind in the most free and open
manner possible,—calling things by their right names—and expressing the
filthiest ideas in the plainest phraseology. If foul words were capable
of impregnating the air, the atmosphere of the _Stout House_ parlour
would have engendered a pestilence.
At about half-past nine in the evening, John Jeffreys sauntered into the
establishment, took a seat at the table, and gave his orders to the
waiter for the beverage which he fancied at the moment.
Whenever a new-comer appears in a public room of this kind, the company
invariably leave off talking for a minute or so, to enjoy a good stare
at him; and they measure him from head to foot—turn him inside out, as
it were—and form their rapid and silent conjectures regarding him, just
as a broker "takes stock" in his mind, with a hasty survey around, on
putting an execution for taxes or rates into a defaulter's house.
We cannot exactly say what opinion the company present on this occasion
at the _Stout House_ formed of John Jeffreys; but we are able to assure
our readers that, much as he had seen of London, and well as he was
acquainted with its vile dens and low places of resort, he thought to
himself, as he glanced about him, that he had never before set eyes on
such a dissipated-looking set of women or such a repulsive assemblage of
men.
"Well, and so Mother Oliver's place is broke up at last," observed one
of the females, addressing herself to another woman, and evidently
taking up the thread of a conversation which the entrance of Jeffreys
had for a few moments interrupted.
"Yes—and the poor old creature has been sent to quod by the beaks at
Hicks's Hall, till she finds sureties for her good behaviour in future,"
was the reply.
"What—is that the Mother Oliver you mean, as kept the brothel in Little
Sutton Street, t'other side of the Goswell Road there?" demanded a man,
desisting from his occupation of smoking, for a few moments, while he
asked the question.
"To be sure it is," returned the female, who had previously spoken; "and
a bad thing it is for me, I can tell you. I was servant there—and a good
living it were. But I'll tell you how it all come about. It was a matter
of six or seven weeks ago that a young feller came to the house, quite
on his own accord, as you may suppose; and he stayed there three whole
days, for he was quite struck, as one may say, with a fair-haired gal
which had been lodging with us for some time. Well, he orders every
thing of the best, promising to pay all in a lump; and so Mother Oliver
gives him tick, like a fool as she was. But at last she wanted to see
the colour of his money; and then he bullied, and swore, and kicked up a
row, and went away without paying a mag. Well, the debt was given up as
a bad job, and we thought no more about it, till we heard a few days
afterwards that the house was to be indicted. So off Mother Oliver goes
to the Clerk of the Peace: but, lo and behold ye! the young gentleman
was a clerk in his office; and not content with reglarly robbing the
poor old o'oman, he must try and ruin her into the bargain. Mother
Oliver got to see the Clerk of the Peace, and began to tell him all
about the trick his young man had played her; but he said he knowed
every thing already, that she had enticed the young feller into her
house, and that was the reason she was to be indicted. So the thing come
on yesterday before the Middlesex magistrates at Hicks's Hall, and
Mother Oliver was sent to gaol."
"There's been a reglar rooting out of them kind of cribs all over the
parish," observed one of the company; "and it's the same in a many other
parishes."
"Yes: but I'll tell you what it is," exclaimed the woman who had related
the above particulars; "it's only against the poor sort of houses that
these prosecutions is ever got up. Lord bless you! before I went to
Mother Oliver's, I was servant in a flash brothel at the West-End—a
reglar slap-up place—beautifully furnished, and frequented by all the
first folks. It was kept—and still is kept—by a Frenchwoman. I was there
as under-housemaid for a matter of seven year; and should have been
there till now, only I was too fond of taking a drop the first thing in
the morning, to keep the dust out in summer and the cold out in winter."
"Ah—I des say you was always a lushing jade, Sally," observed an
individual in his shirt-sleeves, and who seemed to know the woman well.
"Well, old feller—and what then?" cried she, for a moment manifesting a
strong inclination to draw her finger-nails down the cheeks of her
acquaintance: but, calming her anger, she said, "It don't matter what
comes from your lips—so I shan't be perwoked by you. Howsomever, as I
was telling you, I was servant in the flash house at the West-End for
upward of seven years; and such scenes as I saw! The old Frenchwoman
used to entice the most respectable gals there by means of
advertisements for governesses, ladies-maids, and so on; and they was
kept prisoners till they either agreed to what she proposed, or was
forced into it by the noblemen and gentlemen frequenting the place. And
all this occurred, I can assure you, in one of the fashion-ablest
streets in London. But there was never no notice taken by the
parish-authorities; and as for the Society—what's its name again?—that
prosecutes bad houses, it didn't seem to know there was such a brothel
in existence. And I'll tell you how _that_ was, too. The Frenchwoman
gave such general satisfaction to her customers, and was always treating
them to such novelties in the shape of gals, that she was protected by
all the gay noblemen and gentlemen at the West-End. Lord bless you! some
of her best customers was the Middlesex magistrates themselves; and two
or three of the noblemen and gentlemen that I spoke of, was members of
the Committee of that very Society which prosecutes brothels. So it
wasn't likely that the house would ever be interfered with. I recollect
the old Frenchwoman used to laugh and joke with the great Lords and the
Members of the Commons that patronised her, about the way they talked in
the Parliament Houses, and the bother they made about the better
observance of the Sabbath, and so on. It used to be rare fun to hear the
old lady, in her broken English, repeating to them some of their fine
speeches, which she'd read in the newspapers; and how the gals used to
laugh with them, to be sure!"
"You don't mean to say that them Lords and Members, which is always
a-going on about the Sabbath, used to frequent the brothel you speak
of?" exclaimed a man.
"Don't I, though?" cried the woman, in a tone of indignation at the bare
suspicion against her veracity implied by the question: "I do indeed, my
man; and I should think you ought to know the world better than to be
astonished at it. It was through having the patronage of all them great
people, that the old Frenchwoman never got into trouble. But none of the
fine brothels at the West-End are ever prosecuted: no one would think of
such a thing! It's only the low ones in the poor neighbourhoods."
"Well, I always heard say that poverty is the greatest possible crime in
this country," observed the man who had recently spoken; "and now I'm
convinced on it."
"I never had any doubt about it," said another. "A rich man or a rich
woman may do anythink; but the poor—deuce a bit! That's quite another
thing. Why, look at all these Bishops, and great Lords, and Members of
the Commons, which are constantly raving about Sunday travelling: don't
they go about in their carriages? and ain't Hyde Park always more filled
with splendid vehicles on a Sunday than on any other day? The very
Bishops which would put down coaches on a Sabbath, goes in their
carriages to the Cathedrals where they preach."
"By all I can hear or learn," observed another individual present,
"there's a precious sight more religious gammon in the Parliament Houses
than anywheres else."
"I should think there is too," exclaimed the woman who had told the tale
relative to the brothel-keepers. "Some of them noblemen and gentlemen
that I spoke of was the most terrible fellows after the young women that
I ever see in all my life; and they was always a bothering the
Frenchwoman to send over to France, or down into the country, to entice
more gals to the house. The Frenchwoman used to send out agents to
entrap innocent creatures wherever she could—farmers' and clergymen's
daughters, and such like. I remember what a spree we had with one of the
religious Members of the Commons one night. He had been bringing in a
bill, or whatever you call it, to protect young females from seduction,
and had drawed such a frightful picture of the whole business, that he
made all the other Members shed tears. Well, as soon as he'd done, he
came straight off to our place, and asked the old Frenchwoman if she had
got any thing new in the house. That very day a sweet young gal—a poor
marine officer's daughter, who wanted to be a governess—had been enticed
to the brothel, and the Member that I'm speaking of gave the old
Frenchwoman fifty guineas for the purchase of that poor creatur'."
The woman was entering into farther details, when Wilton and another of
the retainers of Jeffreys' mysterious master entered the parlour of the
_Stout House_, both disguised as servants out of place. The place was
too much crowded to enable them to converse at their ease: they
accordingly all three repaired to a private room, Jeffreys having left
at the bar a suitable message to be delivered to Old Death who was well
known at that establishment.
Wilton ordered up glasses of spirits-and-water; and when the waiter had
retired, after supplying the liquor, Jeffreys proceeded to acquaint his
colleagues with the promised tidings relative to Tidmarsh.
"I called at the Bunces' house in Earl Street, Seven Dials, this
morning," he said, "and saw Old Death, who was quite delighted when I
assured him that I had already found the two friends of whom I had
spoken to him, and that that they would be here punctual this evening at
half-past ten. I then told him that as the resurrection affair in St.
Luke's churchyard would most likely come off to-morrow night, and as I
should be engaged the best part of to-morrow on my own business, he had
better let Tidmarsh go with me at once and show me the exact spot where
Tom Rain was buried. The old man bit directly, and said, '_Well,
Jeffreys, you're a faithful and good fellow, and can be trusted.
Tidmarsh lives here now, and is up stairs at this moment._'—So Tidmarsh
was sent for; and away him and me went together to St. Luke's. In the
course of conversation I found out that Tidmarsh, Bunce, and Mrs. Bunce
were to go out with Old Death on some business this evening; and that
while Old Death came here to meet me, the other three were to wait for
him at another flash house in Mitchell Street close by."
"This is admirable!" said Wilton. "We have now the whole gang completely
in our power. Fortunately, I have several of our master's people in the
neighbourhood; and I will go at once and give them the necessary
instructions. Wait here, Jeffreys, with Harding," he added, indicating
his colleague with a look; "until I return. My absence will not be
long."
Wilton left the room, Jeffreys and Harding remaining alone together.
In a quarter of an hour the Black's trusty dependant returned.
"All my arrangements are now complete," he said, resuming his seat; "and
the entire gang must inevitably fall into our hands."
Jeffreys then acquainted Wilton and Harding with the exact nature of the
proposal which would be made to them by Old Death; and scarcely were
these preliminaries accomplished when the ancient miscreant made his
appearance.
"This is business-like indeed—very business-like, my good fellow," said
Old Death, taking a chair, and addressing himself to Jeffreys while he
spoke. "And these, I suppose," he continued, fixing a scrutinizing
glance upon the others, "are the friends you spoke of."
"Just so," replied Jeffreys. "This is Bill Jones," he added, laying his
hands on Wilton's shoulder; "and there's no mistake about him. T'other
is named Ned Thompson, and knows a thing or two, I rather suspect."
"All right—all right!" chuckled Old Death, rubbing his hands joyfully
together. "I'm glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Jones—and your's too,
Mr. Thompson."
"And we're not sorry to form yours, Mr. Bones," said Wilton, affecting a
manner and tone suitable to the part he was playing. "Our pal Jeffreys
here has told us quite enough to make us anxious to know more of you."
"And so you shall, my dear friends," exclaimed Old Death. "I can always
find business for faithful agents—and I can pay them well likewise."
"Jeffreys has told us _that_," observed Wilton.
"And I've also explained to them what you want done to-morrow night, Mr.
Bones," said Jeffreys.
"Good!" ejaculated Old Death. "Well—is it to be done?"
"There's no manner of difficulty that I can see," said Harding; "and as
for any risk—why if the reward's at all decent——"
"The reward shall be liberal—very liberal," interrupted Old Death
hastily. "What—what should you say to a ten-pound note a-piece?"
"Deuce take it!" cried Wilton, thinking it would look better to haggle
at the bargain: "remember, there's the chance of transportation—and my
friend and I are not so desperate hard up——"
"No—no—I understand," observed Old Death, fearful that his meanness had
disgusted his new acquaintances and that he should lose their services
unless he immediately manifested a more liberal disposition: "I meant
ten pounds each on account, and ten pounds more for each when the job is
done. Besides," he added, "there's other business to follow on: this is
only the first scene in the play that I'm going to get up, and in which
you must be prominent characters."
And the aged miscreant chuckled at his attempt at humour.
"What you have now said," observed Wilton, "quite alters the case.
Twenty pounds each, and the chance of more work, is a proposal that we
can accept. What say you, Thompson?"
"I say what you say, Jones," replied Harding.
"Now then we understand each other, my friends," continued Old Death;
"and I will at once give you the earnest-money."
Thus speaking, he drew forth a greasy purse, and presented the two men
each with ten sovereigns, which they appeared to snatch up with much
avidity.
"I have now nothing more to say to you," resumed Benjamin Bones, his
fierce eyes sparkling beneath his overhanging brows with the hope of
speedy vengeance on the Earl of Ellingham. "You must place yourselves at
the disposal of your friend Jeffreys here, who will inform you how to
act and show you precisely in what way my wishes are to be executed. I
must now leave you: but to-morrow evening," he added, in a tone of
savage meaning, "I shall see you in Earl Street with the coffin!"
"You may rely upon us, Mr. Bones," replied Wilton.
"But won't you stay and take a glass with us?" demanded Jeffreys.
"Not to night—not to night," was the answer. "I took something short at
the bar as I passed by; but to-morrow night, my friends—to-morrow
night," he exclaimed emphatically, "you shall find a good supper ready
for you in Earl Street when you come, and a drop of the right sort."
"So much the better," said Jeffreys: "I like a good supper. But what's
your hurry at present, Mr. Bones?"
"To tell you the truth, my dear boy," answered the old man, "I have got
three friends waiting for me at a ken in Mitchell Street; and I promised
not to keep them longer than I could help. So you must excuse me on this
occasion; and, therefore, good bye."
Old Death shook hands with the three men, and took his
departure—chuckling to himself at the idea of having secured the
services of Jeffreys' friends at so cheap a rate, inasmuch as he would
cheerfully have given them, griping and avaricious as he was, three or
four times the sum stipulated in order to secure their services in the
scheme of carrying out his atrocious plans of vengeance.
[Illustration]
But for once, Old Death! the laugh was against yourself—as you speedily
discovered to your cost!
We must not however anticipate.
The moment the old man had left the room, Wilton, Harding, and Jeffreys
exchanged glances of satisfaction and triumph.
"Bunce, Tidmarsh, and Bunce's wife are all three at the flash house in
Mitchell Street—that is quite clear," said Jeffreys.
"Yes," observed Wilton: "and the moment for action is now at hand. Let
us depart."
The three men accordingly left the tavern, and hastened in the direction
which they knew Old Death must pursue in order to reach Mitchell Street.
As they passed by another public-house in Helmet Row, Wilton bade them
pause for a moment, while he went in to give the necessary instructions
to the persons who were associated with him in the expedition of this
night, and whom he had ordered to remain there until his return. He
speedily rejoined Jeffreys and Harding; and all three were once more on
the track of Old Death.
At the same time, half-a-dozen men, dressed as labourers, issued from
the public-house at which Wilton had called; and, dispersing themselves,
hurried singly by different ways towards the road separating the two
burial-grounds.
Precisely at the corner where Mitchell Street joins Helmet Row, and just
as he was in the act of turning into the former thoroughfare, Old Death
was suddenly seized by three men, and gagged before he had time to utter
a single exclamation. The moon shone brightly; and his eyes flashed the
fires of savage rage and wild amazement, as their glances fell upon the
countenances of Wilton, Harding, and Jeffreys. He stamped his feet in a
paroxysm of fury, and then struggled desperately to release himself: but
his efforts were altogether unavailing—though he exerted a strength
which could scarcely have been expected on the part of so old and feeble
a man. He was borne off to the Black's carriage, which was waiting close
by; and, being thrust in, was immediately bound and blindfolded by two
persons who were already seated inside the vehicle, which drove away at
a rapid rate.
This important feat being accomplished, Wilton desired Jeffreys to
proceed to the flash-house in Mitchell Street, and induce Tidmarsh and
the Bunces to accompany him into the ambush prepared for them.
Jeffreys accordingly repaired to the boozing-ken alluded to, where he
found the objects of his search seated at a table, and occupied in the
discussion of bread and cheese and porter.
"Sorry to interrupt you, my friends," said Jeffreys; "but you must come
away with me directly. Mr. Bones has sent me to fetch you——"
"Is anything the matter?" asked Mrs. Bunce, in a low but agitated voice,
as she glanced towards the strangers present in the room.
"I can't say what's the matter," replied Jeffreys, "because I don't
know. But Mr. Bones seems much excited—and he's walking up and down the
road between the burying-grounds. He told me to desire you to come to
him directly."
"Is he alone there?" inquired Toby Bunce, looking particularly
frightened.
"Yes—quite alone. There's no danger of any thing, if that's what you
mean: but I think Mr. Bones has met with some annoyance. Come on!"
Tidmarsh and the Bunces accordingly rose, paid for what they had
ordered, but which they had not time to finish, and repaired with
Jeffreys to the place mentioned by him.
"Where _is_ Mr. Bones?" demanded Mrs. Bunce, in her querulous voice.
But ere Jeffreys had time to give any answer, his three companions were
set upon and made prisoners by the Black's retainers.
It is only necessary to state, in a few words, that they were gagged,
blindfolded, thrust into a second vehicle which was in attendance, and
conveyed to the same place whither Tim the Snammer, Josh Pedler, and Old
Death had preceded them.
Wilton, having superintended this last transaction, remained behind
along with Jeffreys, to whom he addressed himself in the following
manner, as soon as the carriage had departed:—
"I am commissioned by my master, who is also your's, to state to you his
entire approval of your conduct. Measures have been taken to save Mr.
Torrens, in a manner which cannot implicate you. Keep your own counsel:
be prudent and steady—and you may not only atone for past errors, but
become a respected and worthy member of society. For a few days it will
be necessary for you to remain as quiet as possible at your own
lodgings; and whatever extraordinary reports you may hear concerning the
affairs of Mr. Torrens—however wonderful the means adopted to proclaim
his innocence of the crime of murder may be—keep a still tongue in your
head! So much depends upon your implicit secrecy, that you would not be
now left at large, did not our master entertain a high opinion of your
fidelity. But beware how you act! You have had ample proofs not only of
his power, but likewise of his matchless boldness and unflinching
determination in working out his aims."
"For my own sake, Mr. Wilton," said Jeffreys, "I shall follow all your
advice."
"And you will live to bless the hour when you first encountered our
master," was the answer. "It is not probable that your services will be
required again for some days: but should it be otherwise, a letter or a
messenger will be dispatched to your abode. Our master retains in his
hands the money that you left with him; and the next time he has
occasion to see you, he will advise you in what manner to lay it out to
your best advantage. In the meantime he has sent you a moderate sum—not
from your own funds, but from his purse—for your present wants; and so
long as you remain in his service, your wages will be liberal, but paid
in comparatively small and frequent sums, so that the possession of a
large amount may not lead you into follies. By this course he will train
your mind to recognise the true value of money honourably obtained, and
fit you for the position in which the funds he holds of your's may
shortly place you."
Jeffreys and Wilton then separated, the former more astonished than ever
at the bold and yet skilfully executed proceedings set on foot by his
mysterious master.