The Orange Girl

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER XIV

  AN UNEXPECTED CHARGE

  The joy of the acquittal and the release was certainly dashed by thewild revenge of the mob in the evening. The wreck of the great housewith all its costly fittings and decorations could be nothing short ofruin to poor Jenny. Still it was with heartfelt gratitude that Ireturned to my own roof with character unblemished. Alice had a littlefeast prepared, not so joyful as it might have been, though Jenny made abrave attempt to be cheerful. Tom was with us: the punch-bowl wasfilled: the glasses went round: Tom played and sang--nobody could singmore movingly than he when he was in that vein; that is, when he satwith a cheerful company round the steaming punch-bowl.

  More revenge, however, was to follow. Next morning, about eight or nineof the clock, Jenny came out with me to walk upon the Bank. For the timeof year the weather was fine, the sun, still warm, though it was now lowdown, and had a wintry aspect, shone upon the river: the wind tossed upthe water in little waves; the boats rocked; the swans rolled about andthreatened to capsize.

  Jenny carried the boy, who laughed and played with her hair andimpudently planted his fingers upon her cheek.

  'Will,' she said, 'I must now contrive some other means of existence.The Assembly Rooms of Soho Square are wrecked and destroyed. That iscertain. They are very likely burned down as well. All my furniture, allmy property is destroyed. Of that I am quite certain. The villains wouldmake short work once inside. Well, I can never recover credit enough torefit them. Besides, the mob might break in again, though I do not thinkthey would. I am sorry for my creditors. They will be much more injuredthan I myself,' she laughed.

  'Who are your creditors, Jenny?'

  'Upholsterers, painters, furniture-makers, cooks, wine-merchants,bakers, grocers, drapers--half London, Will. There was never anybody agreater benefactor to trade. They let me go on, because you see, theythought the profits of the winter season would clear them. Poor dearconfiding people!'

  'Well, but Jenny, since they trusted you before, will they not trust youagain?'

  'They cannot, possibly. Consider what it would take to refit that greatplace. By this time all the mirrors and the paintings have beendestroyed. Most likely the house is burned down as well; unless thesoldiers came in time, which I doubt. They generally march up when themischief is done.' So she began to toss and to dandle the boy, singingto it. 'Will,' she said, 'the happiest lot for a woman is to liveretired and bring up her brats. If Matthew had been what he promised andtaken me away from London and into the country!'

  'Do you know how much you owe?'

  'I heard, some time ago, that it was over L30,000. Masquerades, I fear,cannot be made to pay. They say I give them too much wine and too good.As for giving them too much, that is impossible. The men would drink,every night, a three-decker full; their throats are like the vastydeep.'

  'But--is it possible? L30,000? Jenny, you can never pay that enormoussum.'

  'My dear Will, I never thought I should be able to pay it. Unfortunatelywhile it is unpaid the good people are not likely to give me any moremoney. No, Will, that chapter is finished. Exit Madame Vallance. Whocomes next?'

  'But there are the creditors to consider.' I began to have fears of aDebtors' Prison for Jenny.

  'Oh! The creditors? The creditors, my dear Will, will be handed over toMatthew. You are a good musician but an indifferent lawyer.Matthew--Matthew--is responsible for his wife's liabilities. This is theonly point which reconciles me to marriage with such a man. I amprovided with a person who must take over all my debts. Dear Matthew!Kind Matthew! That worthy man, that incomparable husband will now, forthe first time, understand the full felicities of the married state.'

  'But Matthew can never pay this enormous sum of money.'

  'I do not suppose he can. Then he will retreat to the Prison where heput you, and, as long as he lives, will have opportunity of blessingfirst the day when he married a wife, and next the day when he made itimpossible for her to live with him. If I can no longer carry on myAssembly Rooms, what remains?'

  'There is always the stage. Your friends desire nothing so much as yourreturn to Drury Lane.'

  'Yes, the stage. I might return to Drury Lane. But, Will, those goodpeople who sacked the Black Jack and wrecked the house in the Squareyesterday, they were my friends of old; some of them, I believe, are mycousins: they formerly came to applaud. Do you think they would come toapplaud after what has happened? Not so. They would come with basketsfull of rotten apples and addled eggs: they would salute me with thosemissiles; there would be frantic cursings and hissings; they would driveme off the stage with every brutal insult that their filthy minds couldinvent. Oh! I know my own people--my cousins. I know them.'

  'They will forget you, Jenny.'

  'Yes, if I keep quiet. If I put myself forward the old rancour will berevived. Who betrayed her old friends? Who sent the Bishop and theCaptain to Newgate? Who got them put in pillory--where they will mostcertainly have to stand? Who caused all the addled eggs in London to flyin their innocent faces? I tell you, Will, I know my people. Are theynot my people? And have I not betrayed them? You lovely boy--tell yourDada that Jenny will never repent or regret what she did for his sake:she would do it again, she would--she would--she would.'

  'Oh! Jenny, you cut me to the heart. What can I do for you?'

  'You can look happy again: and you can get the Newgate paleness out ofyour cheeks--that is what you can do, Will.'

  At this point of our discourse I observed, without paying any attentionto them, a little company of two men and a woman, walking across theMarsh in the direction of the Palace or the Church or perhaps thecottages. I looked at them without suspicion. Otherwise it would havebeen easy for Jenny to have jumped into a boat and to have escaped--fora time at least. But at this juncture we were singularly unfortunate.The house in Soho Square had not been burned; otherwise there would havebeen no further trouble. But you shall hear. I went back to the questionof the liabilities. How could anyone be easy who owed L30,000?

  'Since there is no help, Jenny, for the creditors, and since you are notresponsible, why then, Jenny, you shall live with us, and it will be ourpride and happiness to work for you.'

  She laughed. No: that would not do either.

  Meantime the people I had seen crossing the Marsh were drawing nearer. Inow observed that the woman with the two men was none other than thegirl I had seen at the Black Jack, sitting on the Captain's knee.

  'Jenny,' I said, 'Quick! Here comes a woman who owes you no goodwill.Are you afraid of her? If so, let us take boat and escape across theriver.'

  'Is it one of the St. Giles's company? No, Will, I am not afraid of thewoman, and you, I am sure, are not afraid of the men.'

  They were within fifty feet of us. The woman broke away from the men andran towards us. 'Here she is!' she cried. 'This is the woman. Make herprisoner. Quick! She will run away. I told you she would be here. Oh!Make her prisoner. Quick! Put on the handcuffs. Tie her hand andfoot--she's a devil--bring out the chains. She is desperate. She willclaw some of you with her nails. Once she bit off a man's ear. That waswhen she was an orange girl. Make her prisoner, good gentlemen, as quickas you can. Take care of her. She'll tear your eyes out for you.'

  Jenny flushed scarlet and stood still. But she caught my hand. 'Don'tleave me, Will,' she murmured. Leave her? But a terrible sinking of theheart warned me that something horrible and dreadful was falling uponus. What was it? 'I have felt it coming,' said Jenny. 'Come with mewhatever they do.'

  The woman was within six feet of us, standing on the Bank. A wild figureshe was, bare-headed save for her hair which streamed out in the freshbreeze: she wore a black leather corset and a frock of some thick stuffwith a woollen shawl or kerchief round her neck. Her red arms were bareto the elbow; she had a black eye and a disfiguring scratch across hercheek. Her bosom heaved; her lips trembled; her eyes were bright; hercheeks were flaming. I knew her now! She was the girl I had seen sittingon the Captain's knee. And I understood. This was
more revenge.

  The two men then approached. I knew them, too, alas! I had good reasonto know them. They were officers of Bow Street Court.

  'By your leave, Madame,' said one, 'I have an order to arrest the bodyof Madame Vallance, otherwise called Jenny Wilmot, otherwise Mrs.Matthew Halliday.' He produced his emblem of office, the short wand witha brass crown upon it.

  'I am the person Sir. I suppose you have some reason--somecharge--against me?'

  'Receiving stolen goods, knowing the same to have been stolen.'

  'Oh!' she caught at my arm. 'I had forgotten that danger--Will, do notleave me--not yet--not yet.' Then she recovered her self-possession.'Well, gentlemen, I am your prisoner. This gentleman, my friend andcousin, may, I suppose, come with me?' Alice came to the door and lookedout astonished to see two officers. 'Take your child, Alice,' saidJenny, 'I must go with these gentlemen. Not content with destroying myproperty, they are now trying to destroy my character. Will goes with meto see what it means. He will report to you later on!'

  'Oh! your character!' said the woman. 'A pretty character you've got!How long since you had a character at all, I should like to know?Destroy your character? I will destroy your life--your life--yourlife--vile impudent drab--I shall take your life. You shall learn whatit means to turn against your friends.'

  'Come,' said one of the men, 'you've shown us where she was. No morejaw. Now leave us. Go. You have had your revenge.'

  'Not yet--not till I see her in the cart. That is the only revenge thatwill satisfy me.'

  Jenny looked at her with a kind of pity. 'Poor soul!' she said, gently.'Do you think the man is worth all this revenge? Do you think he caresfor you? Do you think you will care about him after a day or two? Whatdo you think you will get by all the revenge possible? More of his loveand fidelity? Who gave you that black eye? Will you make him any happierin his prison--will you make him any fonder?'

  'Oh!' the woman gasped and caught her breath. 'Revenge? If I can findyour mother and your sister I will kill them both with a pair ofscissors.' She improved this prophecy by a few decorative adjectives.'As for you, this will teach you to turn against your own folk--the poorrogues--you belong to us: and you turn against us. To save a man thatbelongs to other folk. Ha! The rope is round your neck already! Ha! Isee you swinging. Ho!' She stopped and gasped again, being overcome withthe emotion of satisfied revenge.

  'Perhaps,' I said weakly, 'this good woman would take a guinea and goaway quietly?'

  'No! No!' she replied, 'not if you stuffed my pockets full of guineas.You've put my man in prison. They say he'll stand in pillory and p'r'apsbe killed--the properest man in St. Giles's. They kill them sometimes inthe pillory,' she shuddered, 'but p'r'aps they'll let him off easy. Asfor you, my fine Madame--you that look so haughty--you, the orangegirl--you'll be hanged--you'll be hanged!' She screamed these wordsdancing about and cracking her fingers like a mad woman. Never beforehad I seen a woman so entirely possessed by the fury of love'sbereavement. Do not imagine that I have set down her actual words--thatI could not do--nor the half of what she said. And all for such a lover!for a footpad and highway robber; for a brute who beat her, kicked her,and knocked her down; a low, dirty villain, who made her fetch and carryand work for him; who had no tenderness, or any good thing in him atall. Yet he was her man; and she loved him; and she would be revengedfor him. This woman, I say, was like a tigress bereft of her cubs. Hadit not been for the constable who stood between and for myself who stoodbeside, she would have flown at poor Jenny with nail and claw and,indeed, any other weapon which Nature had given to woman. I saw twowomen fighting once for a man: 'twas in the King's Bench Prison; theywere pulled apart after one had been disfigured for life by the other'steeth. This woman wanted only permission to rush in and do likewise. Butthe constable kept her back with his strong arm.

  'Come,' he said, 'enough said. What's the use of crying and shrieking?You'll all be hanged in good time--all be hanged. What else are you fitfor? And a blessed thing it is for you that you will be hanged. That'swhat I say. If you only knew it. Madame,' he said very respectfully, 'Imust ask leave to take you before his worship.' He held out his hand:the hand of Law in all her branches from Counsel to thief taker isalways held out. I gave him half a guinea.

  The woman was still standing beside us, shaking and trembling under theagitation of the late storm. 'Here you,' said the officer, 'we've hadenough of your filthy tongue. Get off with you. Go, I say.' He steppedforward with a menacing gesture. Among these women a blow generallyfollows a word. She turned and walked away. I followed her with my eyes.Her shoulders still heaved; her fingers worked: from time to time sheturned and shook her fist: and though I could not hear I am certain shewas talking to herself.

  'Where are we going?' Jenny asked, humbly.

  'To Sir John Fielding's, Bow Street, Madame. Lord! what signifies what amadwoman like that says? She's lost her man and she's off her head.'

  'How are we to get there?'

  'Well, Madam, there is no coach to be got this side the High Street. IfI may make so bold there's the boats at the Horseferry. We can drop downthe river more quickly than over London Bridge.'

  Jenny made no remark. She sat in the boat with bent head, her cheeksstill flaming.

  'I am thinking, Will. Don't speak to me just at present.'

  The boat carried us swiftly down the river.

  'I am thinking,' she repeated, 'what is best to do. Will, I had quiteforgotten the things.' I could not understand a word of what she said.'I know now what I have to do. It's a hard thing to do, but it's thebest.'

  She explained no more, and we presently arrived at the Savoy Stairs andtook a coach to Bow Street Police Court. It was only six weeks since Iwas there last, but on what a different errand!

  The blind magistrate took our case and called for the evidence.

  First, the woman who had delivered Jenny into the hands of the lawdeposed that she was a respectable milliner by trade; that she wasaccidentally in the neighbourhood of the Black Jack about midnight threenights before, when she became aware of something which excited hercuriosity and interest. The landlady of the tavern and her daughter Dollwere carrying between them a box full of something or other. Shefollowed them, herself unseen. They walked down Denmark Street intoHog's Lane, and carried their box into a garden, the door of which wasopen: for greater certainty of knowing the place again she marked thedoor in the corner with a cross. Then the two women came out andreturned to the Black Jack. All night long they were carrying thingsfrom the tavern to the garden gate; sometimes in boxes, sometimes intheir arms; there were silk mantles and satin frocks and embroideredpetticoats, very fine. That work kept them all night. Now, knowing theold woman to be a notorious fence, she was certain that these werestolen goods, and that they were removing them for safety to this houseprobably unknown to the master and the mistress; that in the morningwhen it was light she went back to the place and found that thegarden-door was the back-door of the premises known as the Soho SquareAssembly Rooms kept by a Madame Vallance.'

  'Well? what then?' asked Sir John.

  'Your worship, the next day was the trial of that gentleman there forrobbing the Bishop and the Captain. I was in the Old Bailey, sir, andthe gentleman would have been brought in guilty and hanged, as many abetter man than he has suffered it without a whisper or a snivel--butthis woman here--this Madame Vallance who is nothing in the world butJenny Wilmot the actress--who was an Orange Girl at Drury Lane once--andis the daughter of the old woman that keeps the Black Jack.'

  'The Black Jack!' said Sir John. 'The mob wrecked that house lastnight.'

  'And the other house too. They would have set it on fire, your Honour,'said the girl, 'but the soldiers came up and stopped them. More's thepity.'

  'Have a care, woman,' said the magistrate, 'or I shall commit you fortaking part in the riot. Go on with your evidence if you have any more.'

  She gave her evidence in a quick impetuous manner. It was like acataract of angry burning words. />
  'It was in the garret that I found the things; I knew them at once. I'dbeen down in Mother Wilmot's cellars. Oh! I knew them at once. Jenny'sgot the stolen goods, I said. And so she had. So she had, your Honour,and oh! let her deny it--let her deny it--if she can.'

  'You found property in the garret which you identified as stolen. Prayhow did you know that fact?'

  'Because it came from Mother Wilmot's cellars.'

  'That does not prove it to be stolen.'

  'Well, Sir, I happened to know some respectable people who had beenrobbed of late, and I made bold to tell them of it; and they found theirown things, and here the worthy respectable gentlemen are to testify.'

  'I will hear them presently.' Then Sir John began to ask the woman a fewquestions which mightily disconcerted her. If, he asked, she was arespectable milliner, where did she work? If she was a respectablewoman, what was she doing in front of St. Giles's Church at midnight? Ifshe were a respectable woman, how did she come to know the landlady ofthe Black Jack and her daughter? How was it she found herself in thegarrets at all? At what time was she in the garrets? How did she come toknow the people who had lost property of late? In a word he made thewoman confess who she was and what she was. And he then, to herconfusion and amazement, committed her for trial for taking part in theriots. So she was put aside, and presently consigned to Newgate withother rioters taken in the fact. In the end she was imprisoned andwhipped. Still her evidence proved the deposit of goods in the garrets.The worthy gentlemen to whom she referred were three or fourrespectable tradesmen of Holborn. They deposed, one after the other, howthey had suffered of late much from depredations which prevented themfrom exposing their goods at their doors; that this woman had called towarn them of certain things found by the rioters in the garrets of theSoho Square Assembly Rooms; that they went to see the things bypermission of the guard of soldiers: that they found certain things oftheir own, which they identified by private marks upon them.

  The evidence was concluded. 'Madame,' the magistrate said, 'you haveheard the evidence. What have you to say? If you desire to call evidencefor the defence I will remand the case. You can produce, perhaps, yourmother and sister, though I confess, they are not likely to appear.'

  'They got away yesterday, to avoid the fury of the mob, Sir. This womanis angry because I have proved her lover to be guilty of perjury.'

  'That is evident. On the other hand, your house contained the stolengoods; your mother was seen taking them into the house. Thecircumstances are such as to make it evident that your mother desired aplace of safety. It is proper to show that you were not an accomplice ofthe removal and the reception in your house.'

  'I submit, Sir, that I can only prove this by calling my mother aswitness, and, Sir, you have yourself acknowledged that she is not likelyto appear.'

  'Then, Madame, I can only ask you for anything you may say in defence.'

  'Sir, I shall say nothing.'

  This reply amazed me beyond anything. I expected her to deny indignantlyany knowledge of the matter, and to declare that the things had beenbrought into the house without her knowledge. She would say nothing.Then Sir John committed her for trial. I placed her in a coach with suchheaviness of heart as you may imagine and we drove to Newgate. Jenny waswell remembered by the turnkeys, to whom she had been generous and evenprofuse, in my case. Turnkeys are never astonished, but the appearanceof Madame was perhaps an exception to this general rule. However, onpayment of certain guineas she was placed, alone, in the best cell thatthe woman's side could boast.

  'Jenny!' I cried when we were alone. 'For God's sake what does it mean?Why did you not deny knowledge of the whole business? What have you todo with stolen goods? Even supposing that your mother took them there,what has that got to do with you?'

  'I shall tell the whole truth to you, Will, and only to you. But you maytell Alice. From you I will keep no secrets.'

  'Oh! Jenny, it is for me--for me--that you have fallen into all thistrouble. What shall I do? What shall I do?' I looked round the mean,bare, and ugly walls of the cell. 'Twas a poor exchange from the privateroom in the Square. And all for me!

  'What did your boy tell you this morning, Will? That Jenny neverregrets--never repents--what she has done for you. She would do it allover again--over again--a hundred thousand times over again.' She buriedher face in her hands for a moment. 'Twas not in woman's nature torestrain the tears. Then she sprang to her feet. 'What? you think I amgoing to cry because the woman has done this? At least she is coming toNewgate as well. Now, Will. I must tell you the truth. It was mostimportant to get the evidence of my mother and of Doll. They connectedProbus with the conspiracy. They helped to identify the two principalwitnesses. Well, I had to buy their evidence. They made me pay a prettyprice for it. As for Doll, you wouldn't believe what a grasping creatureshe is. That comes of keeping the slate. I had to compensate them forthe loss of their daily takings at the Black Jack. I paid them for theirstock of liquors--we saw the mob drinking it up last night: I paid themfor their furniture and their clothes. I gave them money to get out ofLondon with, and to keep them until they can get another tavern; theygot money from me on one pretence or the other till I thought they wereresolved on taking all I had. And when I had paid for everything andthought they were settled and done with there arose the question of thestolen goods. And I really thought the whole business was ruined andundone.'

  'What question?'

  'Why, my parent, Will, had got under the old house a spacious stonevault quite dry, built up with arches and paved with stone; there isn'ta finer store-room in all London: it belonged once to some people--Idon't know--religious people who liked shutting themselves up in thedark. I suppose that mother couldn't bear waste or the throwing away ofgood opportunities for she turned the vault into a cellar for stolengoods; she bought the goods; she stored them down below; she sold themto people who carried them about the country. Everybody knew it; and shewas pretty safe because she had a good name for the prices she gave, andeven Merridew had to let her alone. Well, what was to be done with thethings in the vault? There was enough to hang them both a hundred times.They took me down to see them. I never suspected there was anything likethe quantity of things. Plain silver melted down; gold melted down;precious stones picked out of rings; and snuff-boxes; patch boxes; rollsof silk; boxes of gloves; handkerchiefs; frocks and gowns andembroidered petticoats and mantles; ribbons of all kinds; the place waslike a wonderful shop. Time was pressing. It was impossible for motherto sell everything at once; things have to be taken into the country andsold cautiously to the Squire's' lady, who knows very well what she isbuying, just as her husband knows that he is buying smuggled brandy.'

  'So you bought the things?'

  'There was nothing else to do. Mother tied up the jewels in herhandkerchief; Doll took the melted gold and silver; and they undertookto carry all the rest of the things across to the garden door in HogLane; the door by which we escaped yesterday; and to store them in mycellars and garrets. This, I suppose, they did. I paid for the things.They are mine, Will.'

  'Oh!' I groaned.

  'Yes, they are mine. This comes of being born in St. Giles's andbelonging to the Black Jack. Well, I clean forgot all about the things.Well now; this is the point. If I deny knowledge of them they will sendout a hue and cry for mother. She will certainly be found and brought upon the charge. And she is not the sort to suffer in silence. I know mypeople, Will: she and Doll will let it be known that I bought thethings, so that we may all thus stand in the Dock together. And I assureyou, Will, I would much rather stand in the Dock alone. I shall have abetter chance.'

  'Yes--but----'

  'If I take the whole business on myself they won't drag in mother. Theywill let her alone and she will keep quiet for her own sake. Besides,seeing what this woman has got by her evidence I don't think the otherswill be eager to give their evidence. Now, Will, you know the exacttruth. And--and--this is what one expects if you belong to the BlackJack.'

  'But--Je
nny--think--think.'

  'I know what you would say, dear lad. They will hang me. It is a mostungraceful way of going out of the world. One would prefer a feather bedwith dignity. But indeed; have no fears, Will. They will do nothing ofthe kind. If Jenny Wilmot made any friends at Drury Lane now is the timeto prove them. But I must think what to do.'

  She sat down to the table. There were writing materials upon it. Shetook quill in hand. Then she turned to me with her pretty smile. 'Oh!Will--what a disaster it was that the soldiers came up before the mobhad set fire to the house! What a disaster! If the house was burned thethings in the garrets would have been burned as well and all the stolengoods would have been destroyed and no trace left. What a disaster!' Shelaughed. 'What might have been called my good fortune has turned out thegreatest misfortune that could have happened to me.'

  'I must think,' she said. 'I must be alone and think out the wholesituation. It all depends on what should be told and what should beconcealed. That, I take it, is the history of everything. Some parts wehide and some we tell. I must think.'

  I did not disturb her. She leaned her head upon her hand and was silentfor awhile.

  'Will,' she said, 'of all my friends there are but two on whom I canrely with any hope of help--only two. Yet they told me I had troops offriends. You have heard me speak of a certain noble lord who made loveto me. He made love so seriously that he was ready to marry me. Irefused him, as a reward. Besides his sister came and wept--I told youthe story. I cannot bear to see even a woman weep. Well, Will, this manis, I am quite sure, a loyal and faithful gentleman, the only one of allmy lovers whom I could respect. I am going to write to him. He promisedme, upon his honour, to come to my assistance if ever I wanted any helpof any kind. I am going to remind him of that promise. The next friendis the Manager of Drury. He will help me if he can, though he did notpropose to marry me. I will write to him as well. And I must write to myattorney, who is also a friend of yours. Now, Will I want you to take byyour own hand a letter to his lordship. Go to his town house in CurzonStreet and ask the people to deliver the letter instantly. The other twoletters you can send by messenger. And, Will, one more thing. I believeyou ought to warn Matthew what to expect. Since he is going to bebankrupt on his own account it will not hurt him very much to bebankrupt on mine as well. Now wait a little, while I write the letters.'