The Orange Girl

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE FALLEN ALDERMAN

  Let me return to the wretched man who had caused this trouble. I learnedthat, although his two fellow-prisoners declared openly that Mr.Merridew's power was gone and that he would never again have the powerto hang anybody, some of his credit was still maintained: he pretendedthat the books--of which he spoke often and with pride, were still keptup, and that every man's life and liberty were in his hands: and manypoor rogues, thinking to curry favour, waited upon him daily, bringinghim presents of wine, tobacco and (secretly) rum, so that he was able tobe drunk and to forget his anxieties for the greater part of the day.The two rebels against his authority, the Bishop and the Captain,carried themselves bravely: there is, indeed, in the profession of therogue something of the soldier, in that they both brave dangers withoutfear. The battle field is covered with the dead and wounded: but thereare plenty left standing unhurt: every soldier thinks he will escape:the rogue's field of honour is covered with whipping-posts, stocks,pillory, and gallows. It is far more dangerous than the field of battle.Yet every rogue hopes to escape, and carries himself accordingly.Perhaps it is better so. One would not wish such a crew to be whiningand snivelling and pretending repentance and imploring pity.

  One day I met, coming out of the prison, one whose face and appearance Iknew. He was old and bent, and in rags: his woollen stockings were inholes: the elbows of his coat were gone: his hat was too limp topreserve its shape: his buttons were off his coat--he wore the old jaseywith a broken pigtail. I touched him on the shoulder.

  'You are Mr. Probus's clerk?' I said.

  'If I am, Sir,' he replied, 'is that a crime?'

  'No--no--no. But you remember me? You bade me once go throw myself intothe river with a stone about my neck.'

  'Ay--ay,' he replied. 'Yes, I remember you now. I did, I did. Was itgood advice, young man?'

  'It was, doubtless, very good advice. But I did not take it. What areyou doing here?'

  'I come to look after my master,' he replied simply.

  'Your master? He has kept you in rags and wretchedness. He has given youa starvation wage.'

  'Yet he is my master. I have eaten his bread, though it was bitter. Icome every day to look after him.'

  'Has he no friends? No wife or children to do this for him?'

  'His friends were his money bags till he lost them. They were his wifeand children as well.'

  'Has he no relations--cousins--nephews?'

  'Perhaps--he has driven them all away long ago.'

  'You are his friend at least.'

  'I am his clerk,' he repeated. 'Sir, since my master found that all hismoney had been thrown away and lost, he has not been himself. He hasbeen mad with rage and grief. That is why he hatched that unfortunateplot. I was in Court and heard it. Ah! he was not himself, Sir, I assureyou. Common tricks he practised daily, because he knew how far he couldgo. But not such a big job as this conspiracy. In his sober senses hewould not have been so mad. Have you seen him, Sir? Have you observedthe change in him? 'Twould bring tears to a flint. He moans and lamentsall day long.'

  'Yes, I have seen him.'

  'Sir, he thinks about nothing else. Sir, I verily believe that he doesnot know even that he is in Newgate. All the money he had in the worldis gone--lent to Mr. Matthew and lost by Mr. Matthew. Terrible!Terrible!'

  'Was there not some lent to the man Merridew?'

  'A trifle, Sir: a few hundreds only. No: it is all gone. My master and Imust become beggars and go together into the workhouse.' He shook hispoor old head and went his way.

  Now this man had received the treatment of a dog. How long he had beenwith Probus: what was his previous history I never knew: it matters not:he had received the treatment of a dog and the wages of a galley slave:yet he was faithful and stood by his master--the only living thing whodid--in his adversity as in his prosperity.

  I next heard from Mr. Ramage that the Counting House was closed and thegates of the Quay locked: that Matthew had run away. Then that theunfortunate Alderman, partner in the House, had been arrested for debtand was taken to the Fleet Prison. After this, that Matthew had beenarrested: that he was bankrupt: that he had been taken to the sameprison: and that the whole amount of the liabilities was now so greatthat this meant certain imprisonment for life. By the custom of London,too, a creditor may, before the day of payment, arrest his debtor andoblige him to find sureties to pay the money on the day it shall becomedue. By this custom the whole of Jenny's liabilities became the cause ofnew detainers, so that I believe the total amount for which Matthew wasimprisoned was not far short of L150,000. I conveyed this intelligenceto my mistress.

  'Misfortune,' she said, gravely, 'is falling upon all of us. Thou alonewilt survive--the triumph of virtue. Go, however, take the mansomething, or he will starve. Give it him from me, Will. Tell him--tellhim'--She considered for a little. 'Tell him--as soon as I canforget, I will forgive. Not that he cares whether he is forgivenor not. A man, Will, I very truly believe, may be anything hepleases--drunkard--murderer--highwayman: yet something may still survivein him of human kindness. There will still be a place, perhaps, forcompassion or for love. But for a gambler there is no compassion left.He is more hardened than the worst villain in this wretched place: hehas neither sense, nor pity, nor affection, nor anything. He is allgambler.'

  'I will give him your money, Jenny. But not your message.'

  She smiled sadly. 'Go, Will. The money will solace him as long as itlasts. Perhaps a quarter of an hour.'

  I repaired without delay to the Fleet Prison. Those who walk up and downthe Fleet market know of the open window in the wall and the grating,behind which stands a man holding a tin box which he rattles to attractattention while he repeats his parrot cry, 'Pity the Poor Prisoners!Pity the Poor Prisoners!' This humiliation is imposed upon those of theCommon side: they must beg or they must starve. What was my surprise andshame--who could believe that one of my family should fall so low?--torecognise in the prisoner behind these bars, my cousin Matthew! Noneother. His face was pale--it had always been pale: now it was white: hishand shook: he was unshaven and uncombed: I pretended not to notice him.I entered the prison and was told that he was holding the plate, butwould be free in half an hour. So I waited in the yard until he cameout, being relieved of his task. I now saw that he was in rags. How cana man dressed as a substantial merchant fall into rags in a few days?There was but one answer. The gambler can get rid of everything:Matthew had played for his clothes and lost.

  I accosted him. At sight of me he fell into a paroxysm of rage. Hereviled and cursed me. I had been the cause of all his misfortunes: hewept and sobbed, being weak for want of food and cold. So I let him goon until he stopped and sank exhausted upon the bench.

  Then I told him that I had come to him from his wife. He began again tocurse and to swear. It was Jenny now who was the cause of all histroubles: it was Jenny who refused to obey him: her liabilities alonehad prevented him from weathering the storm: he should certainly haveweathered the storm: and so on--foolish recrimination that meantnothing.

  I made no answer until he had again exhausted his strength, but not hisbitterness.

  'Matthew,' I said, 'the woman against whom you have been railing sendsyou money. Here it is. Use it for living and not for gambling,' Themoney I gave him was five guineas.

  The moment he had it in his hand he hurried away as fast as he could go.I thought he ran away in order to conceal his agitation or shame atreceiving these coals of fire. Not so, it was in order to find outsomeone who would sit down to play with him. Oh! It was a madness.

  I watched him. He ran to the kitchen and bought some food. He swallowedit eagerly. Then he bent his steps to the coffee-room. I followed andlooked in. He was already at a table opposite another man, and in hishands was a pack of cards. In a few hours or a few minutes--it matterednot which--Jenny's present of five guineas would be gone, and the manwould be destitute again. Poor wretch! One forgave him all consideringthis madness that h
ad fallen upon him.

  'But,' said Jenny, 'he was bad before he was mad. He was bad when hemarried me: he is only worse: nothing more is the matter with him.'

  But my uncle, the Alderman, also involved in the bankruptcy, had beencarried to the same place, while his great house on Clapham Common, withall his plate and fine furniture, had been sold for the benefit of thecreditors. Matthew had ruined all. I went to see him. He was on theMasters', not the common side. It was a most melancholy spectacle. Formy own part I bore the poor man no kind of malice. He had but believedthings told him concerning me. He gave me his hand.

  'Nephew,' he said, his voice breaking, 'this is but a poor place for anAlderman: yet it is to be my portion for the brief remainder of my days.What would my brother--your father--have said if he had known? But hecould not even suspect: no one could suspect--'

  'Nay, Sir,' I said, 'I hope that your creditors will give you a speedyrelease.'

  'I doubt it, Will. They are incensed--and justly so--at their treatmentby--by--Matthew. They reproach me with not knowing what was doing--why,Will, I trusted my son'--he sobbed--'my son--Absalom, my son--the steadysober son, for whom I have thanked God so often: Will, he made mebelieve evil things of thee: he accused thee of such profligacy as wedare not speak of in the City: profligacy such as young men of Qualitymay practise but not young men of the City. I dared not tell my brotherall that he told me.'

  'Indeed, Sir, I know how he persuaded not only you but my father aswell--to my injury. In the end it was my own act and deed that drove meforth, because I would not give up my music.'

  'If not that, then something else would have served his purpose. Alas!Will. Here come your cousins. Heed them not. They are bitter with me.Heed them not.'

  The girls, whom I had not seen since my father's funeral, marched alongwith disdainful airs pulling their hoops aside, as once before, toprevent the contamination of a touch. They reddened when they saw me,but not with friendliness.

  'Oh!' said one, 'he comes to gloat over our misfortunes.'

  'Ah! No doubt they make him happy.'

  'Cousins,' I said, 'I am in no mood to rejoice over anything except myown escape from grievous peril. The hand of the Lord is heavy upon thisfamily. We are all afflicted. As for your brother Matthew, it is best tocall him mad.'

  'Who hath driven him mad?' asked Amelia, the elder. 'The revengefulspirit of his cousin!'

  This was their burden. Women may be the most unreasonable of allcreatures. These girls could not believe that their brother was guilty:the bankruptcy of the House: the stories of his gambling: his marriagewith an actress: his evidence in the Court: were all set down asinstigated, suggested, encouraged, or invented, by his wicked cousin,Will. It matters not: I have no doubt that the legend had grown in theirminds until it was an article of their creed: if they ever mention theProdigal Son--who is now far away--it is to deplore the wicked wiles bywhich he ruined their martyred Saint: their brother Matthew.

  'It is of no use,' I said to my uncle, 'to protest, to ask what mycousins mean, or how I could have injured Matthew, had I desired. I maytell you, Sir, that I learned only a short time ago that Matthew was agambler: that the affairs of the House were desperate: and that anattempt was to be made upon my life--an attempt of which Matthew wascognizant--even if he did not formally consent. So, Sir, I take myleave.'

  They actually did not know that Matthew was within the samewalls.--Father and son: the father on the Masters' side, dignified atleast with the carriage of fallen authority: the son a ragged, shamblingcreature, with no air at all save that of decay and ruin. Unfortunateindeed was our House: dismal indeed was its fall: shameful was its end.