by J. C. Snaith
CHAPTER IX
WE GO UPON OUR WEDDING TOUR
I am sure it is expected of me to improve this occasion with a few sageremarks, for could anything have been more ominous to the prosperity ofour married life? But I hope I have too much chivalry in me to say towhat extent this evil presage has been borne out since, and I dare Mrs.Cynthia to do so. _Revenons a nos moutons_, a phrase I think thatalways looks better in French. We got through all these importantmatters at last, even to the forging of the honoured names of JaneJones and John Smith, or Jane Smith and John Jones, I forget preciselywhich, in the parish register. Then having vailed the clerk with theparson's two-shilling-bit, and having thanked and bid farewell to ourkind benefactors, we moved out of the church amid the acclamation ofthe whole female and juvenile population of the village, and got uswith some speed upon our wedding-tour.
Now we had made about half-a-mile along the highway at a round pace,when Cynthia to her great concern discovered that she had carried awayupon her finger the ring that Mrs. Blodgett had borrowed from aneighbour.
"Oh, this will never do," says she. "We can never rob such kind honestpeople."
"I suppose we cannot," says I, "but the value of that ring will come inwonderfully apt this evening when we desire a lodging for ourweariness."
"Oh, Jack, how can you!" says she. "We must take it back at once."
And willy-nilly with never another word my pretty one, with a fineindignant colour in her face, turned about and set her nose straightback to the parson's door. And taking a material view of the matter,honesty was just as good a policy in this case as any other, for whenwe had come to the parson and Cynthia had got her mission off her lipsand the ring off her finger, all in due time, the kind man was sopleased by our worthy behaviour, that says he to Mrs. Blodgett: "There,there, what did I say? I knew you judged them too harshly," andstraightway invited us to an excellent repast of potherbs and boiledmutton, that even then was smoking on the table.
It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when we set out again on ourtravels. We took the highway, and followed it mile upon mile, throughpretty hamlets, past inviting inns, lush green meadows, and here andthere a shady little copse. Up hill and down dale we went, and alwaysin something of a joyful spirit, for no two people could be more happyin their freedom, or more careless of what might befall. The momentwas enough for us. We were sound in limb and spirit, stout of heart,too, I ween, and my little wife had the sum of twelvepence half pennyin her pocket. An avenging law was doubtless pursuing me, and a sternparent was most probably pursuing her, but we were so taken up with oneanother that we could think only of our present happiness. Avaunt dullcare, it was our wedding journey.
Who could help being happy in the soft airs of the spring afternoon?They were so generous, and the sun was so mild and pleasant, that wediscarded our cloaks, and I bore them both over my arm. But we werenot allowed to remain in this paradise very long without being rudelyreminded of its insecurity. After awhile, growing hot with ourexertions and a little weary also, we began to desire a cool shadyplace in which to rest. A hill more than usually steep lay before us,and having toiled to the top, at considerably less of a pace than theone at which we had started, found there the spot we were in need of.Seating ourselves under a tree covered with snowy blossom we proceededto take our earned repose. And we had been in this occupation perhapsfive minutes or so, when our attention was directed to the sound ofwheels at the foot of the hill we had just overcome. A pair-horsechaise was coming up at a round pace. It was occupied by two persons,and was so striking in colour and design that it was in the distancelikely to be recognized sooner than the people in it. This proved tobe the case. No sooner had it come into view than Cynthia clutched atmy arm in a quick, frightened manner.
"Look, look!" says she. "Oh, what shall we do? 'Tis papa's curriclecoming up the hill, and on my life, it is papa within it."
I needed no second exhortation. There was an instant of time in whichwe both looked wildly about us, backwards and forwards, only todiscover that it was impossible to get away from our present placewithout being caught in the act of doing so. A hedge was at our back,another was on the opposite side of the way, and in front stretched thelong level surface of the road. Yet there was just one chance of ourpassing unnoticed, though heaven knows a precarious and remote one!There was a slight declivity running under the hedge at our backs. Itwas a kind of dry ditch, but the bed of it was so shallow that it couldhardly be dignified by the name of ditch at all. I commanded Cynthiato lie perfectly flat in this, face downwards, and to squeeze herselfas far into the earth as she could get, whilst I did the same, thoughin regard to the last particular I fear my precept was higher than myresolution. Meantime the chaise came grinding and grunting up thehill, at the same smart pace, while we lay in our ridiculouslyinadequate hiding-place, perfectly convinced in our own minds that wemust be discovered. What an agony of suspense we lay in, stretchedfull length, Cynthia's head pressed firmly against my heel, and ournoses nestling in the dry earth! We durst hardly breathe as thecarriage came nearer and nearer.
How it was its occupants failed to see us I cannot understand, for wecould have been scarcely shielded at all from their observation. Butsure enough the curricle went past us, and as it did so we could evendetect the familiar voices issuing out of it, above the noise of thehorses and the vehicle. One belonged to my lord the Duke, Mrs.Cynthia's papa, a terribly irascible loud-toned voice to be sure;whilst the other, smooth, polished and elegant, was that of Mr.Humphrey Waring.
When at last they had fairly passed us by at a deuce of a rattle, wewere able to sit up from our tight positions and show our noses again.We gazed at one another solemnly, and then broke into a peal oflaughter apiece.
"Phew!" says I, "it was as bad a two minutes as ever I've had. Ithought papa sounded very angry too."
"Poor papa!" says Cynthia, with a very odd mingling of sorrow and mirthin her face. "I wouldn't have given much for you, sir, had he spiedus; and for that matter I would have given even less for myself."
"I suppose he is in full pursuit of us?" says I.
"There cannot be a doubt of it," says his daughter. "And if I knowanything of his Grace, he'll hardly sleep in his bed again until hehath tracked us down. He's a terrible implacable man when he'saroused. He'll be hunting us night and day, and he'll spend his lastpenny sooner than he'll be baulked by us, now that he hath seen fit tostart on this business."
"Humph!" says I, "a nice energetic old gentleman to have for afather-in-law, to be sure. And that smooth villain Waring too. Didyou not catch his voice also?"
"Yes," says Cynthia, flaming, "the wicked, wretched, contrivingvillain. What can he hope to get by it all?"
"A wife," says I.
"He's like to go empty-handed there at least," says Cynthia. "What amercy it was we were married this morning!"
"I doubt whether we were," says I. "I do not know that the ceremonywill hold in the sight of the law."
"Then," says Cynthia, "we will be married over again in our real namesand with a proper licence at the first church we can."
"Nor will that avail you," says I, "when he hath got me hanged."
Mrs. Cynthia grew thoughtful, but says she after a moment's reflection:
"When he does that I will put an ounce of lead into his heart, then Ican be hanged beside you."
At this perforce I had to capitulate before her ingenuity.
We resumed our way somewhat chastened in spirit. We looked keenlyahead of us along the road as we went, for any sign of the vehicle thathad lately overtaken us. Any inn or alehouse that happened to lie atthe roadside we passed with particular caution, lest our papa and hiscompanion should have broken their journey there. As time went by, andwe had begun to forget the excellent repast of boiled mutton andpotherbs with which we had been regaled by parson Scriven, we cast oureyes on these wayside places of entertainment with another end in view.We were growing honestly tired and hungry.
Coming to one that wore anair of unobtrusive respectability and general cleanliness, wedetermined to part with half of our fortune in exchange for some breadand cheese and ale.
Having first been at the precaution to convince ourselves that hisGrace's curricle lingered nowhere about the house, we went in andcalled for our modest refreshment. And we were engaged in doingjustice to it with a good deal of zest, when to our great fear we heardthe sound of wheels on the road, and by the time we could turn roundand look out of the inn-window a chaise had come to a stand in front ofthe door. It needed but a glance to tell us that we might have beenspared our alarm, since it was not the one belonging to Mrs. Cynthia'spapa. This was a much less imposing carriage, of a prim colour andcast that was designed not to attract any attention. It contained twopersons. The first who alighted from it was a middling drab-coatedkind of a fellow, smug of countenance, and not to be looked at twice.He was doubtless the unliveried servant of a well-to-do tradesman; anestimate that was borne out by the deferential, not to say obsequiousair with which he stood at the side of the vehicle, and assisted thesecond occupant to get out. This was a vastly more imposing person.He was a great fat, heavy-featured man, with an almost overpoweringconsequentialness about him. He moved with a slow but dignified strut,spoke in a very loud voice, and yet there was a tone of affablecondescension about him too that was very baffling. He might be themayor or an alderman of some provincial town, some local big-wig, oreven a pursy magnate of commerce.
By the time he had moved in his heavy dignity into the room in whichCynthia and I were seated at our bread and cheese, the landlord hadtaken note of his visitor, and had come forward to greet him with allthe respectful familiarity of one who was happy to meet again an oldand cherished and highly-valued client.
"No other than Mr. John Jeremy, by all that's wonderful," says thelandlord, bowing and smiling. "_The_ Mr. John Jeremy, as I'm alicensed victualler."
No sooner had the landlord uttered the name than I looked hastily atCynthia, and she looked hastily at me. Where had we heard that name sorecently, and in what connexion? Suddenly the same flash ofrecollection illuminated the minds of us both. It was the name of thecelebrated Bow Street runner, as given in the _London Gazette_. Ithink we both went hot and then cold. But when the first emotion ofsurprise was overpast, a dogged resolution succeeded to it and with ita determination to put, if need be, as bold a face upon the matter aswe could. After all there was nothing about us by which we could beidentified. Appearances were certainly in our favour; and the blackeye I had that morning received from the farmer was not the leastlikely thing of all to stand me in good stead.
"Sit tight," I whispered to her, "and we'll keep asipping out of thesame pot as unconcerned as possible."
Mr. Jeremy having seated himself with majestic negligence at a tableimmediately opposite us, turned to his companion and says:
"Wattle you 'ave, Willum?"
"Make it porter," says Willum, in a voice of extreme melancholy.
"Wattle you 'ave, Mr. Johnson?" says Mr. Jeremy, addressing the host, areel-faced worthy of simple ways, who seemed pleased with himself andall the world.
"Make it porter, Mr. Jeremy, as you're so haffable," says he; "and whatmight be your own?"
"If you 'ave any of that there sloe-gin, mine's sloe-gin," says Mr.Jeremy.
These preliminaries being arranged to the satisfaction of allconcerned, and the host having retired to fetch the refreshment, Mr.Jeremy remarked to his companion with a wonderful air of reflection:"Honest, unassooming feller."
"Very," says the other, more gloomily than ever.
Mr. Jeremy then observed us for the first time. We returned his gazewith one of the most simple unconcern.
"Nice day," says he.
"Very," says I heartily.
Here the host returned with the refreshment, and having pledged eachother, they drank solemnly and copiously.
"Well, Mr. Jeremy," says the host, "what are you after this time? It'sa murder, I know, for you to be taking it on. You never do nothingunder a murder, you don't, as I've heard you say."
"You don't mean to say as you 'aven't 'eard?" says Mr. Jeremy. "Thewhole case was printed in this morning's _Gazette_. It's no smallthing, this isn't, I can tell you. The quality's in it, to start with."
"Ha!" says the landlord, with breathless interest. "Is it a hangingmatter?"
"Of course," says Mr. Jeremy. "And a hearl, and a thorough bad lottoo. A thorough wicked feller with a record as black as your hat. Ialways say when one of that sort goes wrong he's much worse thanord'nary."
"If it's you that says it, Mr. Jeremy, there can be no manner of doubtabout it," says the landlord.
He appeared to hang on every word that the man from Bow Street uttered.That worthy gentleman who was by no means unaware of the impression hecreated, was at pains in a dozen little ways to heighten it. Now andthen he would halt in a mysterious manner, wink and nod, and thencontinue in a truly oracular way. It was plain that he felt himself tobe a man of a great reputation, and it would certainly be no fault ofhis if he failed to sustain it. Nor was he content to work on the mindof the landlord, but continually looked across at us to see what effecthe was having on our susceptibilities. Observing this, I began at onceto betray an interest in all he thought fit to say and do; an interestmore exaggerated than the landlord's even, and certainly less sincere.
"Are you the great Mr. John Jeremy from Bow Street, sir?" says I at thefirst opportunity. I asked it in a voice of as much timidity as Icould summon, as one astonished at his boldness.
Instead of replying, the gentleman from Bow Street closed his eyes inexquisite self-satisfaction, threw his head back against the wall andfolded his arms across his chest.
"How can you ask?" says the landlord, replying for him. "Who else canhe be? I should ha' thought your eyes would ha' told you that with onelook at him."
"I am very proud to meet you, sir," says I, and added, turning toCynthia: "Who would have thought it, Betsy, that you and I of allpeople would ever have met the great Mr. Jeremy from Bow Street inLondon."
"Don't mention it," says Mr. Jeremy, opening his eyes with vastcondescension.
"Oh, Mr. Jeremy," says my little Cynthia, playing up to her part in thecomedy with admirable instinct, "would you--could you let me have apeep at the--at the handcuffs?"
Mr. Jeremy needed no second invitation to exhibit the badges of hisoffice. He took them from his pocket and laid them on the table withan air. And nothing would content Cynthia but she must rise from herseat, go over to the gentleman from Bow Street, and have the manaclesclapped upon her wrists to see how they felt. Her curiosity was veryprettily and justly simulated. It was done to the life, and no onecould have been more pleased by it than Mr. Jeremy.
Not content with thrilling Cynthia with the handcuffs, the gentlemanfrom Bow Street was anxious to impress everybody else. He presentlyproduced the warrant for the wicked earl's arrest; also a handbilloffering one hundred pounds reward for any information that should leadto the apprehension of the person whose full description was containedtherein.
"But that's only a matter of form, you know," says Mr. Jeremy. "I'vealready got all the information that I want in this 'ere," Mr. Jeremysolemnly tapped his forehead. "It's only a work of time. We knowseverything about him: his age, his height, his complexion, his generalappearance, how he was drest, and his religious views. All there is toknow of him we knows. I wouldn't give a snap of the fingers for thatman, no that I wouldn't, not if you paid me to do it."
"Wonderful!" says the landlord, his eyes dilated with admiration."Wonderful smart! What a mind you must have, sir."
"_I_ didn't say so," says Mr. Jeremy, "Though I wouldn't contradict youthere. A feller's got to have a mind for our perfession. A numscullcan't make head or tail of it, can't a numscull. It's observation thatdoes it, d'ye see? You've got to put two and two together, and to knowhow many beans make five. Now in the case of this 'ere hearl, I'vemade suc
h a liberal use o' my faculties that the noose is as good asround his neck. Pore feller, I'm sorry for him."
Mr. Jeremy's sorrow was reproduced in the face of each one of hishearers. In that of his man and the innkeeper it was sincere enough,and at least in mine and Cynthia's it was very well simulated. One andall professed the greatest admiration for the gentleman's genius. Tobe sure, in what way it had been manifested was not very clear; but ashis speech, his behaviour, and the airs he gave himself furnishedincontestable proofs of its possession, how could we help doing homageto it? He sat like a potentate, and received the court we paid to himas by no means more than his due. But he was generous as well asgreat, for having ordered his own glass to be replenished, he asked usall to name our tipple, wherein we had the privilege of drinking hishealth.
As soon as we felt that we could slip off without attracting anyparticular attention to our going, we took the road again. Yet in theprecautions we were at to get away as little observed as might be, wewere more ill-served than by an ostentatious departure. For our oneobject being to retire quickly and privily, we discovered when we hadgone a few yards on the road that we had not paid our reckoning. Thuswhen the landlord awoke to this fact, we should be much more freelydiscussed and commented on than by paying our score and effecting ourretirement at our leisure. Cynthia, who had a wonderful itch ofhonesty, was mightily put out, and was all for going back and forrequiting the landlord at any cost. But I demurred to this strongly.The sooner we put a few country miles between ourselves and Mr. Jeremythe better, said I. Yet Cynthia argued more subtly, and more justly,as I was fain to allow. Mr. Jeremy and the innkeeper had taken nosuspicion of us to the time of our leaving the inn, said she, and if wewere at the trouble to go back again, frankly admit our lapse ofmemory, and even go out of our way to behave honestly, we should be farmore likely to continue in their good graces, than if we left them inthe lurch as I proposed. In that event we should infallibly getourselves and our concerns talked about.
Admitting the justness of this reasoning, I consented after a briefargument to our going back. Mrs. Cynthia was pleased indeed, partlybecause this course was such a tribute to her wisdom, and again becauseshe would not have to carry on her nice conscience an act that frettedit. When we re-entered the inn it seemed that the landlord had alreadydiscovered his loss, and was in the very act of calling us harsh names.Indeed he was so occupied with this and was expressing himself sofervently, whilst Mr. Jeremy laughed at him in a humorous key, that hewas not conscious of the fact that we stood behind him, until I said:
"I quite agree with you, host, in all you have said, if such was ourintention. But as it happens, nothing could be farther from it. Themoment we discovered our omission, we returned to rectify it."
The landlord was in a great taking when he heard my voice at his back.Having listened to his apologies that were no less fervent than hisprevious abuse, and having taken them in very good part, I demanded toknow the amount of the score, and smiled at Mr. Jeremy while I did so,in an intimate way, for I judged a display of some little familiaritytowards him was the most calculated to propitiate that gentleman.
Eightpence was the score, a sum fortunately well within our trulymodest means. But judge of our desperate chagrin an instant later whenCynthia, the custodian of our poor fortune, having felt in all herpockets, declared that the purse which contained it was not to befound. Search as she might, there was never a trace of it. We staredat one another blankly, and then at the landlord, and then at Mr.Jeremy. It was this last good gentleman who saved the situation forus, since he burst out a-laughing. Thereon I broke into a roar; andpresently Cynthia, Willum, and the landlord were roaring too. Andcould anything have been more ludicrous than two persons leaving an innwithout paying the reckoning, and wending all the way back again forthe purpose of rectifying the error with devil a penny between themwith which to do so!
Under cover of the commotion that this discovery provoked, I racked mywits to find an excuse for our behaviour.
"You may laugh, gentlemen," says I, with a sudden gravity, "but it isno laughing matter for us, let me tell you. My wife's pocket hath beenpicked, and how we are to get back home with not so much as a pennybetween us, strike me dead if I can say!"
"Why, 'tis a case for Mr. Jeremy's genius," says Cynthia, smiling atthat flattered person in a most bewitching manner. "He must devise usa means out of his infinite wit."
"Peace, woman," says I, angrily. "Is it not enough then that youshould lose all our travelling money and bring us into disgrace withour honest host, whom we are unable to requite for his hospitality, butyou must lose the control of that unlucky tongue too, and let it growso familiar with the name and attainments of one of the foremostpersons of his age that it brings us into disrepute with him also?"
I spoke with my tongue in my cheek to be sure, and Cynthia more thanonce had to bite her lips to restrain her merriment. But Mr. Jeremynodded his head delightedly all the time, and purred with satisfaction.
"No offence, no offence," says that gentleman. "Don't mind me, mypretty one. But since you ask my opinion as to 'ow you shall get backhome again, I think after carefully considering all the circumstances,the only means I can discover is 'Shanks's mare.'"
"Ha ha! he he!" we all laughed at this desperate piece of wit.
The upshot was that we were allowed to depart indebted to the innkeeperin the sum of eightpence. The loss of our money was a blow. Why itshould have been I cannot tell, for after all it was very little theright side of destitution. Cynthia was quite unable to say in whatmanner she had lost it, and when I came to put a few shrewd questionsto her on the subject, she was so vague in her ideas and so uncertainin her answers, that it became a moot point at last whether her fortuneof twelvepence halfpenny had not existed from the first in herimagination only.
