The Mysteries of London Volume 1

by Reynolds, George W. M.

  “Perhaps you prefer a return to the horrors of transportation,—the miseries of Norfolk Island?” said Greenwood satirically.

  “No—death, sooner!” cried Stephens, striking the palm of his right hand against his forehead.

  Greenwood approached him, and whispered for some time in his ear. Stephens listened in silence and when the libertine had done, he signified a reluctant assent by means of a slight nod.

  “You understand how you are to act?” said Greenwood aloud.

  “Perfectly,” answered Stephens.

  He then took his departure.

  Scarcely had he left the house when Sir Rupert Harborough returned.

  The baronet was deadly pale, and trembled violently. Greenwood affected not to observe his emotions, but received the bill of exchange which the baronet handed to him, with as much coolness as if he were concluding a perfectly legitimate transaction.

  Having read the document, he handed a pen to the baronet to endorse it.

  Sir Rupert affixed his name at the back of the forged instrument with a species of desperate resolution.

  Mr. Greenwood consigned the bill to his desk, and then wrote a cheque for a thousand pounds, which he handed to the baronet.

  Thus terminated this transaction.

  When the baronet had taken his departure, Mr. Greenwood summoned Lafleur, and said, “You need not institute any inquiries relative to Miss Sydney, at Upper Clapton. My orders relative to Mr. Markham remain unchanged; and mind that the fellow known as Tom the Cracksman is here to-morrow evening at nine o’clock.”

  Mr. Greenwood having thus concluded his morning’s business, partook of an elegant luncheon, and then proceeded to dress for his afternoon’s ride in the Park.

  CHAPTER XLIX.

  THE DOCUMENT.

  THE more civilization progresses, and the more refined becomes the human intellect, so does human iniquity increase.

  It is true that heinous and appalling crimes are less frequent;—but every kind of social, domestic, political, and commercial intrigue grows more into vogue: human ingenuity is more continually on the rack to discover the means of defrauding a neighbour or cheating the world;—the sacred name of religion is called in to aid and further the nefarious devices of the schemer;—hypocrisy is the cloak which conceals modern acts of turpitude, as dark nights were trusted to for the concealment of the bloody deeds of old: mere brute force is now less frequently resorted to; but the refinements of education or the exercise of duplicity are the engines chiefly used for purposes of plunder. The steel engraver’s art, and the skill of the calligrapher, are mighty implements of modern misdeed:—years and years are expended in calculating the chances of cards and dice;—education, manners, and good looks are essential to the formation of the adventurers of the present day;—the Bankruptcy Court itself is a frequent avenue to the temple of fortune;—and, in order to suit this new and refined system of things, the degrees of vices themselves are qualified by different names, so that he who gambles at a gaming-table is a scamp, and he who propagates a lie upon the Exchange and gambles accordingly, and with success, is a respectable financier. Chicanery, upon a small scale, and in a miserable dark office, is a degradation;—but the delicate and elaborate chicanery of politics, by which a statesman is enabled to outwit parties, or deceive whole nations, is a masterpiece of human talent! To utter a falsehood in private life, to suit a private end, is to cut one’s-self off from all honourable society:—but to lie day and night in a public journal—to lie habitually and boldly in print—to lie in a manner the most shameless and barefaced in the editorial columns of a newspaper, is not only admissible, but conventional, and a proof of skill, tact, and talent.

  Thus is modern society constituted:—let him deny the truth of the picture who can!

  London is filled with Mr. Greenwoods: they are to be found in numbers at the West End. Do not for one moment believe, reader, that our portrait of this character is exaggerated.

  In pursuing the thread of a narrative like this, there will naturally be found much to alarm, to astonish, and to shock: but however appalling the picture, it teaches lessons which none can regret to learn. The chart that would describe the course to virtue must point out and lay bare the shoals, the quicksands, and the rocks of vice which render the passage perilous and full of terrors.

  With these few remarks, we pursue our history.

  At seven o’clock in the evening of the day following the one on which we have seen Mr. Greenwood conducting his multifarious schemes and transactions with the precision of a minister of state, Count Alteroni arrived at that gentleman’s house in Spring Gardens. He was shown into the elegantly furnished drawing-room, where Mr. Greenwood received him. The count was, however, the only one of all the financier’s visitors who did not seem dazzled by the proofs of wealth and luxury that prevailed around. The Italian nobleman remarked these indications of great riches, and considered them the guarantees of Mr. Greenwood’s prosperous position in the world: but, apart from this view of the splendour and sumptuousness of the mansion, he neither appeared astonished nor struck with admiration. The truth was, that Mr. Greenwood’s abode, with all its magnificent decorations and ornaments, its costly furniture, and its brilliant display of plate, was a mere hovel compared to the count’s own palace at Montoni, the capital city of Castelcicala.

  Mr. Greenwood and the count had not exchanged many words, ere dinner was announced. The banquet, although only provided for the founder of the feast and his one guest, was of a most magnificent description, every luxury which London could produce appearing upon the table.

  At half-past eight o’clock, the clerk of Mr. Greenwood’s solicitor arrived, and was introduced into the dining-room. He had brought with him a deed by which Greenwood bound himself to be answerable to Count Alteroni for the sum of fifteen thousand pounds, which the latter had placed in the hands of the former for the purpose of speculation in a certain Steam-packet Company, Greenwood recognising his responsibility towards the count to the above extent whether the Company should succeed or not, it having been originally agreed that he (Greenwood) should incur all risks, as he had undertaken the sole direction of the enterprise. This deed was signed by George M. Greenwood, witnessed by the attorney’s clerk, and handed to Count Alteroni.

  The clerk then withdrew.

  Mr. Greenwood ordered a bottle of the very best Burgundy to be opened, and drank a bumper to the health of the Signora Isabella.

  Scarcely was this toast disposed of, when Lafleur entered the room, and said, “A courier with despatches from your correspondents in Paris, sir, has just arrived, and requests to see you instantly. I have shown him into the study.”

  “Very good,” exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, suddenly assuming a business air. “Will you excuse me, count, for a few minutes?”

  “I shall take my leave, since you are likely to be much occupied,” said the nobleman.

  “On the contrary—pray remain—I insist upon it! I shall not be long with this messenger,” cried Mr. Greenwood: “and we must empty another bottle before I allow you to take your departure.”

  The count suffered himself to be over-ruled; and Mr. Greenwood repaired to his study, well-knowing that, instead of a courier from Paris, he should there find Tom the Cracksman.

  Nor was he mistaken. That individual was sitting very comfortably in an arm-chair near the fire, gazing around him, and wondering, amongst other things, where the master of the house kept his strong-box.

  “You are known, I believe,” said Greenwood, carefully closing the door, “as the Cracksman?”

  “That’s my title, sir—for want of a better,” answered the villain.

  “You are, perhaps, astonished that I have sent for you here,” continued Greenwood: “but I wish a certain service performed this very night, and for which I will
pay you liberally.”

  “What’s the natur’ of the sarvice?” demanded the Cracksman, darting a keen and penetrating glance at Greenwood.

  “A highway robbery,” coolly answered this individual.

  “Well, that’s plain enow,” said the Cracksman. “But first tell me how you come to know of me, and where I was to be seen: because how can I tell but what this is all a plant of yours to get me into trouble?”

  “I will answer you candidly and fairly. A few years ago, when I first entered on a London life, I determined to make myself acquainted with all the ways of the metropolis, high or low, virtuous or vicious. I disguised myself on several occasions, in very mean clothes, and visited all the flash houses and patter-cribs—amongst others, the boozing-ken in Great Saffron-hill. There you were pointed out to me; and your skill, your audacity, and your extraordinary luck in eluding the police, were vaunted by the landlord of that place in no measured terms.”

  “Well—this is singular—blow me if it ain’t!” cried the Cracksman. “Another person found me out jist in the same way this wery morning, only, and he wants a little private job done for him. But that’s for to-morrow night. Howsomever, I never blab to one, of what I have done or am going to do for another. You to-night—him to-morrow night! Arter all, the landlord’s a fool to talk so free: how did he know you wasn’t a trap in disguise?”

  “Because I told him that my object was merely to see life in all its shapes: and I was then so very young I could scarcely have been considered dangerous. However, I have occasionally indulged in such rambles, even very lately; and only a few weeks ago I looked in at the boozing-ken dressed as a poor countryman. There I saw you again; and I overheard you say to a friend of yours whom you called the Buffer, that you were generally there every evening to see what was going on.”

  “All right!” cried the Cracksman. “Now what’s the robbery, and what’s the reward?”

  “Are you man enough to do it alone?”

  “I’m man enow to try it on; but if so be the chap is stronger than me——”

  “He is a tall, powerful person, and by no means likely to surrender without a desperate resistance.”

  “Well, all that can be arranged,” said the Cracksman, coolly. “Not knowing what you wanted with me, I brought two of my pals along with me, and they’re out in the street, or in the alley leading into the park. If there’d been anythink wrong on your part, they would either have rescued me, or marked you and your house for future punishment.”

  “I am glad that you have your companions so near. Of course they will assist you?”

  “In anythink. The Resurrection Man and the Buffer will stick to me like bricks.”

  “Very good. I will now explain to you what I want done. Between eleven and twelve o’clock a gentleman will leave London for Richmond. He will be in his own cabriolet, with a tiger, only twelve years old, behind. The cab is light blue—the wheels streaked with white. This is peculiar, and cannot be mistaken. The horse is a tall bay, with silver-mounted harness. This gentleman must be stopped; and every thing his pockets contain—every thing, mind—must be brought to me. Whatever money there may be about him shall be yours; and I will add fifty guineas to the amount:—but all that you find about his person, save the money, must be handed over to me.”

  “I understand,” said the Cracksman. “Does he carry pistols?”

  “I should imagine not.”

  “Never mind: the Resurrection Man has got a couple of barkers. But supposing he shouldn’t come at all—what then?”

  “You shall have twenty guineas for your loss of time. Here are ten as an earnest.”

  “That’s business,” said the Cracksman. “Any more instructions?”

  “No. I need scarcely say that no unnecessary violence is to be used?”

  “Leave all that to me. You will sit up and wait for me?”

  “Yes. Give a low single knock at the door, and the same servant who sought you out last night, and let you in just now, will admit you again.”

  The Cracksman gave a significant nod and took his departure.

  Mr. Greenwood returned to the dining-room, where he had left the count.

  “My news from Paris is of the most satisfactory nature,” he observed. “My correspondents in that city, moreover, promise me their best support in our new enterprise.”

  “I am delighted to hear that your letters have pleased you,” said the count.

  The two gentlemen then broached another bottle of Burgundy; and Mr. Greenwood conversed with even more sprightliness than usual. Indeed, the count fancied that he had never found his host so agreeable and entertaining.

  At eleven o’clock precisely, the count’s cabriolet was announced; and the nobleman took his departure, with the conviction, that, under his present circumstances, Mr. Greenwood was the most eligible suitor for the hand of Isabella that was likely to present himself.

  As soon as the count had taken his departure, Mr. Greenwood rang for his slippers and dressing-gown, drew close to the cheerful fire that burnt in the grate, and ordered Lafleur to make him a tumbler of the best pine-apple rum-punch. This exhilarating beverage and a fragrant Havannah cigar enabled Mr. Greenwood to pass the time away in a most comfortable and soul-soothing manner.

  And it was thus that he mused as he watched the pale blue transparent smoke of his cigar wreathing upwards to the ceiling:—

  “I began the world without a shilling, and at an age when I had no experience in the devious ways of society;—and what am I now? The possessor of sixty thousand pounds! A few years ago I slept in coffee-houses, paying eight-pence a night for my bed: I breakfasted for three-pence halfpenny; dined for ten-pence; and supped for two-pence. Now the luxuries of the four quarters of the world tempt my palate at every meal. At the outset of my career, my transactions were petty rogueries: now I play my false cards to produce me thousands at a stake. I once purchased my coat for twelve shillings in Holywell-street; there is not now a tailor at the west-end who will not give credit to George Greenwood. My wealth purchases me every kind of pleasure. I can afford to bestow a thousand guineas upon the woman, who, daughter of a peer, and wife of a baronet, throws herself into my arms. One single scheme produces me ten times that amount. And Isabella—beauteous Isabella shall be my wife. I shall receive no dowry with her, it is true—because I have obtained all her father’s fortune in advance;—but I shall be proud to introduce a lovely wife—the daughter of a Count, and descended from a long line of ancestry, in that fashionable sphere to which I must henceforth belong. I shall be a member of parliament: Lord Tremordyn can easily obtain for me a baronetcy in due time;—and then, the peerage is not a height too difficult to aspire to! Oh! if with a coronet upon my brow, and Isabella by my side, I can drive in my chariot to——”

  Lafleur entered the room at this moment, and handed a letter to his master. Greenwood opened it, and read as follows:—

  “I have done your bidding in every particular up to the present moment. Louisa set off this afternoon for Birmingham, having received a letter stating that her only sister is at the point of death in that town. You will of course understand by whom that letter was written. I have, moreover, invented an excuse, relative to the date of the departure of the New York packets from Liverpool, by which means I am enabled to remain in London without exciting the suspicions of Eliza. I shall pass to-morrow evening with her. You may rely upon being admitted at midnight.”

  Greenwood full well understood the meaning of this note without a signature; and its contents tended to augment that happiness which the success of his schemes infused into his breast.

  Hour after hour passed away;—at length, midnight sounded; and all the servants, save Lafleur, were dismissed to their sleeping apartments.

  The cigars, the rum-punch, and the pleasurable reflecti
ons into which the financier plunged, made the time elapse rapidly. One o’clock struck; and he had not found a single moment tedious. He was not anxious, nor a prey to suspense, as other men would have been; he felt certain that his wishes would be accomplished, and he was therefore as composed as if he had already been assured of their success.

  The clock struck two; and a low knock was heard at the front door. Lafleur answered the summons; and in a few moments introduced the Cracksman to the room where his master was sitting.

  “All right, sir,” said that worthy, the moment Lafleur had withdrawn.

  “And no violence, I hope?” cried Greenwood.

  “Not a bit,” returned the Cracksman. “We was as gentle as lambs. We on’y pitched the small boy into a dry ditch that was by the side of the road; and as for the gentleman, I just tapped him over the head with the butt of a pistol to keep him quiet; but I did it myself to make sure that it wasn’t done too hard.”

  “You surely have not murdered him?” said Greenwood, his whole countenance suddenly convulsed with horror.

  “Don’t be afeard; he was on’y stunned—you may take my word for that,” returned the Cracksman, coolly. “But here’s all the papers we found in his pocket; and as for his purse—it had but a few pounds in it.”

  Mr. Greenwood received the papers from the hands of the Cracksman, and observed with a glance that amongst them was the document which he had given a few hours previously to guarantee the safety of the fifteen thousand pounds placed in his hands by Count Alteroni.

  “You are sure,” he said, with some uneasiness depicted upon his countenance, “that there is no danger to be apprehended from the blow——”

  “Danger be d——d!” cried the Cracksman; “I know from experience exactly what kind o’ blow will stun, or break a limb, or kill outright. I’ll forfeit my reputation if there’s any harm in that there whack which I gave to-night.”