Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 ..

by Taylor, Winchcombe

  "Ye knew me well enough to buy my goods to the value of a hundred and thirty guineas odd and give a draft for 'em your bankers have dishonored."

  "Impossible."

  "Ye won't deny this draft of yours?" The man thrust a paper under Ram's nose. Though the writing danced before his burning eyes, he saw it was in his own hand and signed by him, ordering Hoare & Co.

  to pay to the order of Henry Colton, tailor, the sum of £136.15.0. Across it another hand had written: Refer to Drawer.

  Damme, this was some ramp! Drunk or sober, he'd never patronize so seedy a tailor as this fellow. "I've no memory of this," he frowned. "But if I owe you for goods, I've ample funds to pay for them."

  "Do ye disown the draft then?"

  "But it's a mistake."

  "Then I demand full payment now."

  Ram drew out a handful of guineas—bringing an avaricious gleam from the bulky man—but they were well short of the amount. "Return witli me to my house, sirs, and I'll pay you. Or if I haven't enough there, I'll send to my bankers."

  Colton looked bleak. "I presented the draft to Mr. Hoare himself. He said several more of vours was being protested. Pav up now— in full!"

  "I've not enough on me!" Ram flared. A crowd was gathering and three hard-faced men got out of a halted coach.

  "Then, Cap'n, you must come with me." The cloaked man forced a document on him. "There, I've served ye legal. You're me prisoner, sir."

  "Wliat?" Ram sprang back, hand on sword.

  Equally swift, the other drew and cocked a pistol, while the trio from the coach closed in. "Now, now, me fine cocksparrer, I warn ye not to resist a bailiff in the execution of 'is bounden duty. Name's Jonathan Squilp, Cap'n, at yer service, and no 'ard feelings if ye come peaceable."

  "Very well." Vliat sense to spill blood over some stupid mistake? It wasn't possible a draft of his could be protested. "Must I go to prison?"

  "Oh, no, Cap'n," Squilp grinned. "I'll lodge ye in me own 'ouse in the Liberty of the Fleet, as comf'table as yer own fine mansion. When ye pay up, out ye goes again, free as air." He raised a finger and the coach door was opened. "Mr. Colton, servant, sir. . . . Jump in, Cap'n."

  Ram did and the vehicle started. "I'll 'ave to 'ave your sword, Cap'n," Squilp said. "Not as 'ow I don't trust ye, mind. But rules, sir, rules. Pay the bill and I return yer sword wivout a blemish."

  Disdainfully Ram unbuckled the weapon and handed it over. This

  was too fantastic! What had that tailoring rogue said about other drafts being dishonored? If—incredibly—he had run short of funds, he'd but to send to Uncle Will for more. Meanwhile, Kelton would attend to the matter.

  The coach rattled under Temple Bar and into Fleet Street. It crossed the bridge and turned north toward Fleet Prison. Briefly he thought he'd been duped and was really being taken to the jail, but then it halted outside a house with barred windows and an iron-studded door.

  "Step down, Cap'n, and honor me 'umble 'ome. Liberty 'All—for them wot's the right sort, sir. This way." Squilp rapped, and the door was opened by a misshapen dwarf with a straggly beard. They entered and the grotesque one closed and locked the door behind them.

  Ushering his "visitor" into a large room, Squilp flung off his cloak, put his cudgel and Ram's sword by the fireplace, tossed his hat and wig on a chair and scratched his bald, scarred head. "Now, Cap'n, ye'll be wantin' a room of yer own. And 'tis custom for clients to pay their way. Terrible thirsty me faithful bandogs are—never seen 'em filled up, I ain't."

  "Here." Familiar now with garnish. Ram flung five guineas on the table. "Now show me a clean room, and I want paper and quill. I must write to my man of law and others. I'll pay for the messengers."

  "Knowed the minit I clapped eyes on you ye was the right sort, sir," Squilp beamed. "I 'opes ye'll be w-erry comf'table 'ere, werry." He led him up to a passable room and left him. Soon the dwarf shuffled in with writing materials, said he was Nat Knype, and waited while Ram wrote; first to Joseph— Ecod, my guests must be arriving and I not there to greet 'em! Next to Kelton, demanding he come at once, then to Hoare & Co., asking why they had refused his draft— or was it drafts?

  After bidding Knype see they were delivered quickly, he stared at the single, thick-barred window and the stout door which Nat had locked from the outside. Dusk had come and he felt an eerie sense of familiarity; of Newgate and, before that, Ahmedpur. But in those his life had been in jeopardy, here he was merely being inconvenienced. He'd be out as soon as Joseph brought money. He dozed on the bed, wishing his head would stop aching.

  He was roused by Peg-Leg bending over him with a hghted candle.

  "Well, where's Joseph?" he demanded, blinking.

  "Still seeking that young scamp of his, Captain. Mrs. Bland's fair distraught, she is, sir."

  "Damn his eyes! And what of my guests? Who's caring for them?"

  "Now, sir, ye know we wouldn't let ye down," Peg-Leg protested. "Me and the maids served the gentlemen all proper. Tliey're gaming and swigging your best Oporto this very minute." He showed a handful of gold. "All I have, your honor—fifty guineas—but it's at your service."

  Deeply touched, Ram counted his own money. With Parker's contribution he had enough. "Summon the bailiff," he ordered. When Squilp arrived, he proffered him the money. "Now, sir, give me receipt and let me be gone."

  But the other produced two more papers. "Right ye are, Cap'n, soon as ye pay these too. Came not an hour since."

  One was for £70, payable to a mercer; the other, for less, was to a stay-maker. Both were in Ram's hand, but with Refer to Drawer written across them. "Curse me, I didn't buy these. What would I want from a stay-maker?"

  "Why, Cap'n, you wouldn't be the first wot's bin assistin' some delectable female," Squilp grinned. " 'Arf me clients 'as been ruined by wimmin."

  "But damme, I know naught about these! They must be forgeries!"

  "Can you prove that, Cap'n?"

  Ram re-examined the drafts. They seemed to be his, but he was sure he'd never issued them. "I'll not pay," he said curtly.

  " 'Appy to 'ave ye remain, sir," Squilp nodded equably. "And I 'ope we'll go on bein' most cordial-like."

  "What of my letters to my lawyer and bankers? Why no answers?"

  "Becos they'd both shut up shop and gone 'ome. Don't stay open all night, Cap'n, even to accommodate elegant fine bucks like you." Ram turned to Peg-Leg. "Bring Attorney Kelton at the earliest hour and request Mr. Hoare to call upon me"—he looked around wryly—"at my splendid new residence. Have Joseph report to me on his return. Young Joe must be in dire straits to absent himself so."

  After the veteran had stumped out, Squilp advised, not unkindly: "Me bein' an officer of the law, I get many clients 'ere, Cap'n. Them

  wot gits 'emselves discharged soonest is them wot makes least trouble. Servant, sir."

  The next day was catastrophic: Kelton had just arrived when Squilp appeared with more protested drafts. Word has spread that "Nabob" Anstruther was in difficulties, and Peg-Leg reported that he'd been turning away dunning tradesmen since daylight. Some of the drafts were those Joseph had drawn over Ram's signature for household expenses; others Young Joe had prepared likewise; but many were in Ram's own hand, for goods and even women's gowns.

  As the total mounted, Kelton's manner cooled. Representing a wealthy client accused of murder was one thing; but there'd be slim pickings from a debtor. These bills exceeded £2,cxx), and a clerk from Hoare & Co. arrived to say that, as previously notified. Captain Anstruther had no funds left with them.

  In three years Ram had run through almost £65,000.

  When Kelton suggested bail, Squilp showed a court order setting it at £1,000. So Ram must stay in the sponging house until it could be posted or his debts discharged. When he appealed to his friends, Deane "regretted" and Holton "deplored." Others sent like replies.

  After Kelton, purse-mouthed and frigid, had gone, Peg-Leg told how he and Williams had smuggled the silverware and other valuables away
to Joseph's own house. "The rats will sell you up, Captain, so no sense letting 'em get all."

  They decided to save Alan o' Bowes by having Williams ride him posthaste to Dalesview, with a demand for Will to take out a mortgage.

  Joseph came at last, strangely bent and old. "I've searched my son's closet, your honor. He had more suits than a lad of his station should —and they're not all what you've given him. I also found these," he reported hoarsely, and handed over some papers.

  The topmost sheet had Ramillies Anstruther copied a score of times on it, and Ram could have sworn he himself had written them. Other sheets were partly written drafts, also imitating his hand. "The whelp's ruined me!" he stormed. "I'll have his hide for this!"

  " 'Tis my responsibility. Captain," Joseph groaned. "But I've a trifle saved, and there's my house I'll sell."

  Ram softened. "No, I'm to blame for trusting him too freely. We should have 'listed him in the Guards and made a man of him first."

  "But that's not all, sir. He's taken a female into keeping. A most extravagant wench who's bled him white. And as 'Captain An-struther/ he's been gaming high in the houses."

  "Damme, that ensign—he said he'd won from my brother!" Ram swore. "Where is our rascal—has he run, d'ye think?"

  "I've tried the Savoy, lest he'd 'listed. I've tried Wapping, in case he's signed aboard a ship. I've scoured the stews." Joseph's control broke. "Oh, sir, I know he deserves no mercy, but if ye charge him he'll hang!"

  "It won't come to that. 'Tis not his fault alone I'm here, for I've spent my fortune rashly. But he must be given a lesson."

  "Bless ye, Captain!" TTic other's e^es filled. "We'll not forget this, me and Mrs. B. I'll find him and bring him to ye for punishment."

  He left with the letter Williams must take to Dalesview, and Ram mulled over his plight. Devil! How could he have squandered so much? What to show for it? No possibility now of a regiment should war come, not even of buying a company. His only prospect seemed to settle down in Yorkshire and vegetate like a bumpkin squire.

  And his enemy? Suppose he should return, now of all times! As for the girl, Young Joe had reported only five days since that she still went to the chapel with the senora, but looked pale and ill. Ram wished devoutly that he could undo what he'd done. Why hadn't he thought of some other way to goad the Irishman?

  Next day Joseph returned, this time with Peg-Leg. His face was gray and his eyes staring, but he saluted with military stiffness.

  "Captain, I—I've to report the deserter's found." He broke down.

  Ram looked inquiringly at Parker, who was also shaken. "I found him, your honor—in the attic," the doorman explained. "He'd been hanging there three days." He handed over a scrap of paper. "Honrd Sir. I have cheated ye much. I did not neither give ye the bankers letter there's no more money I am a low rogue. God help me Y'rs faithfully. Young Joseph Bland."

  Slowly Ram dropped the pitiful confession on the table. What use recriminations now? "My friend, this is a grievous blow," he said quietly and held out his hand. "Go, comfort your wife. If I can do aught, call on me."

  Joseph stared as if bewildered, then grabbed the hand in both of his, pivoted and, head up and shoulders squared, marched from the

  room, Parker's wooden stump keeping step with his measured tread.

  Glumly Ram wrote to Kelton, asking that Hilary be sent to him. He would have Brown watch del Lago's house.

  Erinne! He wondered if his ill luck was a punishment for having seduced her. Until then he'd been rich, sought after. And since? He'd lost thousands gaming these past months. Fool, fool!

  No Hilary' arrived. Instead, Kelton replied briefly that Brown was no longer available; since, having been taken with goods above forty shillings in value, he now lay in Newgate awaiting trial. The attornev regretted that his other cases precluded his giving further time to Mr. Anstruther's affairs.

  "The whoreson!" Ram raged, remembering how his gold had swelled the man's pocket and person. So, Hilary had been taken in a theft, eh? More likely he'd displeased Kelton.

  Peg-Leg reported that all Ram's effects had now been distrained, including the coach and horses, and that the house's owner had terminated the lease, "But we got a deal of stuff away first, and likely Williams is halfway to York by now," he grinned. "So, Captain, ye'll have to dismiss all us ser'ants—officially, that is. But me and the Sergeant's talked it over and we want to keep on serving ye."

  "Why should ye serve a broken man?" Such loyalty was astounding.

  "Ain't we both Howe's Foot men, your honor? I knowcd vour father, the captain. Aye, and I knowed }'0u as a babe, before them Frenchies blew my pin off. So why shouldn't I serve ye? Besides, you ain't a broke man. You'll be up again, high as ever."

  "Ecod, then when I am you'll not lose by it!" Ram vowed. "Now, about Joseph and Mrs. Bland, how do they fare?"

  "Hard, sir, mortal hard. The lad was buried this morning. We gave out he'd died of a fever so's to keep down scandal, but the Sergeant's rare cut up. Now, Captain, what's orders?"

  "Listen." Ram made a decision. Though Parker's disability made him conspicuous, he was shrewd. He could spy on del Lago's household. When the veteran understood his task, he left, proud of the trust.

  For some while Ram had been aware of violent sobbing from the next room. Irritated, he now pounded on the floor until Nat Knype appeared. "A wench," the dwarf explained. "Jonathan's keeping her

  here till he can take her to the Fleet. No bail money, and the jade owes thirty-odd guineas."

  "Bid her cease—'tis unnerving," Ram growled. "Stay, take this wine to her. It might ease her."

  "I ain't no lackey, to fetch and carry," Knype grunted, but then: "I could leave your door unbolted and hers too."

  Ram had no wish to see the new "client," but this terrible sobbing wasn't to be borne. So, tipping the creature and taking wine and glasses, he followed him out into the passage and into the adjoining room. Tliere, a woman lay face down on a bare pallet, her shoulders heaving, her unbound silver-blonde hair cascading almost to her slim waist. Knype shuffled out, leaving the door open.

  "Madam, may a fellow captive intrude upon your grief?" Ram had to repeat the query before she raised her head and regarded him fearfully.

  "Who are you?" she faltered, her cornflower blue eyes brimming.

  Introducing himself, he offered the wine, which she spurned with horror. But when he had convinced her he had no designs upon her, she sat up, dabbing her reddened lids.

  She was, she said, Lucinda Gray. Motherless since a baby, a year ago she had also lost her father, a clerg)'man in Sussex. She had come to London, hoping to be a great actress. Mr. Rich had given her parts, but for so small a pittance there was no living on it. Various gentlemen had, she said indignantly, offered to take her into keeping, but she was far above such criminal connections. Now, however, she owed for the hats, gowns and laces an actress must have and must go to the Fleet, having no one to go her bail.

  Prett', he decided, devilish pretty. And if the Fleet's like Newgate, Lud help her! Would she return to her home, he asked, if she could settle her debts?

  " 'Tis but a village, and poor," she sighed. "What could I do there? Ah, sir, had I to do over, I'd apprentice to some milliner here and live an honest and frugal hfe, toiling for my bread."

  "Perhaps you still can." He watched her speculatively. Was her tale true or was she a smooth-tongued trull? Yet surely those large blue eyes were honest. Suppose, after they were discharged, he could set her up as a milliner—with the right to visit her? But how pale she was, how thin! "Madam," he said, inspired, "I was about to dine. Would ye honor me by sharing the meal?"

  "Oh, sir, should I? I fear 'twould not be modest," she protested, but so faintly that he guessed she was half starved and had been for some while.

  More floor thumping, and soon Knype had set quite a passable meal in Ram's room. Lucinda ate avidly, but still refused wine. As color came back into her cheeks, her host realized how much she resembled Su
e, Younger, fairer and taller, but with the same cream-and-rose complexion of the country-bred. Here's no faded town jade, he decided. Her tale must be true.

  The meal over, she insisted upon returning to her own room. But now she was calmer, for he'd assured her that certainly Squilp would not take her straight to jail. Then he thumped for Knype again and demanded to see Squilp.

  He counted his guineas; more than enough to pay her debt. But suppose she had lied, suppose she had some pimpish lover, to whom she'd return and laugh with because she'd so easily gulled a fellow captive into freeing her? No, better wait and learn about her first.

  Squilp was accommodating: so long as she paid her debt soon, she need not go to the Fleet. But, he pointed out, he was a poor man and must make her a fair charge—say a guinea a day, and extra for meals. This was almost as exorbitant a rate as Ram was paying, but, since it would keep the girl near him, he paid a week's charges in advance, with the understanding that she could take her meals with him whenever she wished.

  What he didn't know was that Squilp had purposely put her into the next room and bullied her into hysteria, confident that, upon seeing her beauty. Ram would pay well to keep her from prison.

  So the pair supped together that night and, her mind eased, she talked about herself. If only talent were rewarded, she sighed, she'd be the town's toast! She needed but the opportunity to prove that her Desdemona, her Mrs. Sullen and her Lady Betty Modish far surpassed the pallid portrayals by the ladies who presently played such roles. Knowing nothing of players, he was impressed. If I can overcome her scruples and I've money again, he thought, I could help her win fame. Others have actresses in keeping, but none so beautiful as she. He fell asleep well pleased with such prospects.

  Next day Peg-Leg reported there'd been a funeral from the baron's house, though whose none knew. Erinne? Ram chilled. Finding herself with child and fearing to face her father, had she killed herself?

  But, no, more likely it was the dropsical mother. He sent Parker back to ferret out the truth. After several days the latter could report that only old Pepe, going shopping, ever left the house. Ram became sick with anxiety.