Paul Clifford

by Edward Bulwer-Lytton

  ‘Master says as how he must have it to send to Clapham, and can’t spare it for more than a ’our!’ said the boy, as he withdrew.

  ‘I ’members the day,’ said Dummie, with the zeal of a clansman, ‘when the Mug took a paper all to itsel instead o’ ’iring it by the job like!’

  Thereon he opened the paper with a fillip, and gave himself up to the lecture. But the tall stranger, half rising with a start, exclaimed, ‘Can’t you have the manners to be communicative? – Do you think nobody cares about Captain Lovett but yourself?’

  On this, Dummie turned round on his chair, and, with a ‘Blow me tight, you’re velcome, I’m sure,’ began as follows (we copy the paper, not the diction of the reader): –

  The trial of the notorious Lovett commences this day. Great exertions have been made by people of all classes to procure seats in the Town Hall, which will be full to a degree never before known in this peaceful province. No less than seven indictments are said to await the prisoner; it has been agreed that the robbery of Lord Mauleverer should be the first to come on. The principal witness in this case against the prisoner is understood to be the king’s evidence, Mac Grawler. No news, as yet, have been circulated concerning the suspected accomplices, Augustus Tomlinson and Edward Pepper. It is believed that the former has left the country, and that the latter is lurking among the low refuges of guilt with which the heart of the metropolis abounds. Report speaks highly of the person and manners of Lovett. He is also supposed to be a man of some talent, and was formerly engaged in an obscure periodical edited by Mac Grawler, and termed the Altenæum, or Asinæum. Nevertheless, we apprehend that his origin is remarkably low, and suitable to the nature of his pursuits. The prisoner will be most fortunate in a judge. Never did anyone holding the same high office as Sir William Brandon earn an equal reputation in so short a time. The Whigs are accustomed to sneer at us, when we insist on the private virtues of our public men. Let them look to Sir William Brandon, and confess that the austerest morals may be linked with the soundest knowledge and the most brilliant genius. The opening address of the learned judge to the jury at — is perhaps the most impressive and solemn piece of eloquence in the English language!

  A cause for this eulogium might haply be found in another part of the paper, in which it was said, –

  Among the higher circles, we understand, the rumour has gone forth, that Sir William Brandon is to be recalled to his old parliamentary career in a more elevated scene. So highly are this gentleman’s talents respected by his Majesty and the ministers, that they are, it is reported, anxious to secure his assistance in the House of Lords!

  When Dummie had spent his ‘toilsome march’ through the first of the above extracts, he turned round to the tall stranger, and eyeing him with a sort of winking significance, said,–

  ‘So Mac Grawler peaches! Blows the gaff on his pals, eh! Vel now, I always suspected that ’ere son of a gun! Do you know, he used to be at the Mug many’s a day, a teaching our little Paul, and says I to Piggy Lobb, says I, “Blow me tight, but that cove is a queer one! And if he does not come to be scragged,” says I, “it vill only be because he’ll turn a rusty, and scrag one of his pals!” So you sees’ – here Dummie looked round, and his voice sank into a whisper – ‘so you sees, Meester Pepper, I vas no fool there!’

  Long Ned dropped his pipe, and said sourly, with a suspicious frown, ‘What! you know me?’

  ‘To be sure and sartain I does,’ answered little Dummie, walking to the table where the robber sat. ‘Does not you know I?’

  Ned regarded the interrogator with a sullen glance, which gradually brightened into knowledge. ‘Ah!’ said he, with the air of a Brummel, ‘Mr Bummie, or Dummie, I think, eh! Shake a paw – I’m glad to see you. – Recollect the last time I saw you, you rather affronted me. Never mind. I dare say you did not mean it.’

  Encouraged by this affable reception from the highwayman, though a little embarrassed by Ned’s allusion to former conduct on his part, which he felt was just, Dummie grinned, pushed a stool near Ned, sat himself down, and carefully avoiding any immediate answer to Ned’s complaint, he rejoined: –

  ‘Do you know, Meester Pepper, you struck I all of a heep. I could not have sposed as how you’d condescend nowadays to come to the Mug, vhere I never seed you but once afore. Lord love ye, they says as ’ow you go to all the fine places in ruffles with a pair of silver pops in your vaistcoat pocket! Vy, the boys hereabouts say that you and Meester Tomlinson, and this ’ere poor devil in quod, vere the finest gemmen in town; and, Lord, for to think of your ciwility to a pitiful rag-merchant, like I!’

  ‘Ah!’ said Ned, gravely, ‘there are sad principles afloat now. They want to do away with all distinctions in ranks, – to make a duke no better than his valet, and a gentleman highwayman class with a filcher of fogles.* But, dammee, if I don’t think misfortune levels us all quite enough; and misfortune brings me here, little Dummie.’

  ‘Ah! You vants to keep out of the vay of the bulkies!’

  ‘Right. Since poor Lovett was laid by the heels, which I must say was the fault of his own deuced gentlemanlike behaviour to me and Augustus (you’ve heard of Guz, you say), the knot of us seems quite broken. One’s own friends look inclined to play one false; and really, the queer cuffins hover so sharply upon us, that I thought it safe to duck for a time. So I have taken a lodging in a cellar, and I intend for the next three months to board at the Mug. I have heard that I may be sure of lying snug here; – Dummie, your health! Give us the baccy!’

  ‘I say, Meester Pepper,’ said Dummie, clearing his throat, when he had obeyed the request, ‘can you tell I, if so be you as met in your travels our little Paul? Poor chap! You knows as ow and vy he vas sent to quod by Justice Burnflat. Vel, ven he got out, he vent to the devil, or summut like it, and ve have not eard a vord of him since. You ’members the lad – a ’nation fine cull, tall and straight as a harrow!’

  ‘Why, you fool,’ said Ned, ‘don’t you know’ – then checking himself suddenly – ‘Ah! By-the-by, that rigmarole oath! – I was not to tell; though now it’s past caring for, I fear! It is no use looking after the seal when the letter’s burnt.’

  ‘Blow me,’ cried Dunnaker, with unaffected vehemence ‘I sees as how you know vot’s come of he! Many’s the good turn I’ll do you, if you vill but tell I.’

  ‘Why, does he owe you a dozen bobs;* or what, Dummie?’ said Ned.

  ‘Not he – not he,’ cried Dummie.

  ‘What then, you want to do him some mischief of some sort?’

  ‘Do little Paul a mischief!’ ejaculated Dummie. ‘Vy, I’ve known the cull ever since he was that high! No, but I vants to do him a great sarvice, Meester Pepper, and myself too, – and you to boot, for aught that I know, Meester Pepper.’

  ‘Humph!’ said Ned, ‘humph! What do you mean? I do, it is true, know where Paul is; but you must tell me first why you wish to know, otherwise you may ask your grandfather for me.’

  A long, sharp, wistful survey did Mr Dummie Dunnaker cast around him before he rejoined. All seemed safe and convenient for confidential communication. The supine features of Mrs Lobkins were hushed in a drowsy stupor: even the grey cat that lay by the fire was curled in the embrace of Morpheus. Nevertheless, it was in a close whisper that Dummie spoke.

  ‘I dares be bound, Meester Pepper, that you ’members vell ven Harry Cook, the great highvayman, – poor fellow! he’s gone vhere ve must all go, – brought you, then quite a gossoon, for the first time, to the little back parlour at the Cock and Hen, Dewereux Court?’

  Ned nodded assent.

  ‘And you ’members as how I met Harry and you there, and I vas all afeard at you – cause vy? I had never seen you afore, and ve vas a going to crack a swell’s crib.* And Harry spoke up for you, and said as ow, though you had just gone on the town, you was already prime up to gammon: – you ’members, eh?’

  ‘Ay, I remember all,’ said Ned. ‘It was the first and only house I ever had a hand in breaking in
to. Harry was a fellow of low habits, so I dropped his acquaintance, and took solely to the road, or a chance ingenuity now and then. I have no idea of a gentleman turning cracksman.’†

  ‘Vell, so you vent vith us, and ve slipped you through a pane in the kitchen-vindow. You vas the least of us, big as you be now; and you vent round and opened the door for us; and ven you had opened the door, you saw a voman had joined us, and you were a funked then, and stayed vithout the crib, to keep vatch vhile ve vent in.’

  ‘Well, well,’ cried Ned, ‘what the devil has all this rigmarole got to do with Paul?’

  ‘Now don’t be glimflashey, but let me go on smack right about. Vell, ven ve came out, you minds as ow the voman had a bundle in her arms, and you spake to her; and she answered you roughly, and left us all, and vent straight home; and ve vent and fenced the swag‡ that wery night, and afterwards napped the regulars.§ And sure you made us laugh artily, Meester Pepper, when you said, says you, “That ’ere voman is a rum blowen?” So she vas, Meester Pepper!’

  ‘O spare me,’ said Ned, affectedly, ‘and make haste; you keep me all in the dark. By the way, I remember that you joked me about the bundle; and when I asked what the woman had wrapped in it, you swore it was a child. Rather more likely that the girl, whoever she was, would have left a child behind her than carried one off!’ The face of Dummie waxed big with conscious importance.

  ‘Vell, now, you would not believe us; but it vas all true; that ’ere bundle vas the voman’s child, I spose an unnatural von by the gemman: she let us into the ouse on condition we helped her off vith it. And, blow me tight, but ve paid ourselves vel for our trouble. That ’ere voman vas a strange cretur; they say she had been a lord’s blowen; but howsomever, she was as ot-eaded and hodd as if she had been. There vas hold Nick’s hown row made on the matter, and the revard for our ’tection vas so great, that as you vas not much tried yet, Harry thought it best for to take you vith im down to the country, and told you as ow it vas all a flam about the child in the bundle!’

  ‘Faith,’ said Ned, ‘I believed him readily enough; and poor Harry was twisted shortly after, and I went into Ireland for safety, where I stayed two years, – and deuced good claret I got there!’

  ‘So, vhiles you vas there,’ continued Dummie, ‘poor Judy, the voman, died, – she died in this wery ouse, and left the horphan to the ’fection of Piggy Lob, who was ’nation fond of it, surely! Oh! but I ’members vot a night it vas ven poor Judy died; the vind vistled like mad, and the rain tumbled about as if it had got a holyday; and there the poor creature lay raving just over ed of this room we sits in! Laus-a-me, vot a sight it vas!’

  Here Dummie paused, and seemed to recall in imagination the scene he had witnessed; but over the mind of Long Ned a ray of light broke slowly.

  ‘Whew!’ said he, lifting up his fore-finger, ‘whew! I smell a rat; this stolen child, then, was no other than Paul. But, pray, to whom did the house belong? For that fact Harry never communicated to me. I only heard the owner was a lawyer, or parson, or some such thing.’

  ‘Vy now, I’ll tell you, but don’t be glimflashey. So, you see, ven Judy died, and Harry was scragged, I vas the only von living who vas up to the secret; and vhen Mother Lob vas a taking a drop to comfort her vhen Judy vent off, I hopens a great box in which poor Judy kept her duds and rattle-traps, and surely I finds at the bottom of the box hever so many letters and sich like, – for I knew as ow they vas there; so I vhips these off and carries ’em ome with me, and soon arter, Mother Lob sold me the box o’ duds for two quids – ’cause vy? I vas a rag merchant? So now, I ’solved, since the secret vas all in my hown keeping, to keep it as tight as vinkey: for first, you sees as ow I vas afeard I should be hanged if I vent for to tell, – ’cause vy? I stole a vatch, and lots more, as vell as the hurchin; and next I vas afeard as ow the mother might come back and haunt me the same as Sall haunted Villy, for it vas a orrid night ven her soul took ving. And hover and above this, Meester Pepper, I thought summut might turn hup by-and-by, in vhich it vould be best for I to keep my hown counsel and nab the revard, if I hever durst make myself known.’

  Here Dummie proceeded to narrate how frightened he had been lest Ned should discover all; when (as it may be remembered, Pepper informed Paul at the beginning of this history) he encountered that worthy at Dame Lobkins’s house, – how this fear had induced him to testify to Pepper that coldness and rudeness which had so enraged the haughty highwayman, and how great had been his relief and delight at finding that Ned returned to the Mug no more. He next proceeded to inform his new confidant of his meeting with the father (the sagacious reader knows where and when), and of what took place at that event. He said how, in his first negotiation with the father, prudently resolving to communicate drop by drop such information as he possessed, he merely, besides confessing to a share in the robbery, stated that he thought he knew the house, &c. to which the infant had been consigned, – and that, if so, it was still alive; but that he would inquire. He then related how the sanguine father, who saw that hanging Dummie for the robbery of his house might not be half so likely a method to recover his son as bribery and conciliation, not only forgave him his former outrage, but whetted his appetite to the search by rewarding him for his disclosure. He then proceeded to state how, unable anywhere to find Paul, or any trace of him, he amused the sire from time to time with forged excuses; – how, at first, the sums he received made him by no means desirous to expedite a discovery that would terminate such satisfactory receipts; – how at length the magnitude of the proffered reward, joined to the threats of the sire, had made him become seriously anxious to learn the real fate and present ‘whereabout’ of Paul: – how, the last time he had seen the father, he had, by way of propitiation and first fruit, taken to him all the papers left by the unhappy mother and secreted by himself; and how he was now delighted to find that Ned was acquainted with Paul’s address. Since he despaired of finding Paul by his own exertions alone, he became less tenacious of his secret, and he now proffered Ned, on discovery of Paul, a third of that reward the whole of which he had once hoped to engross.

  Ned’s eyes and mouth opened at this proposition. ‘But the name, – the name of the father? You have not told me that yet!’ cried he impatiently.

  ‘Noa, noa!’ said Dummie, archly, ‘I doesn’t tell you all, till you tells I summut. Vhere’s little Paul, I say; and vhere be us to get at him?’

  Ned heaved a sigh.

  ‘As for the oath,’ said he, musingly, ‘it would be a sin to keep it, now that to break it can do him no harm, and may do him good; especially as, in case of imprisonment or death, the oath is not held to be binding: yet I fear it is too late for the reward. The father will scarcely thank you for finding his son! – Know, Dummie, that Paul is in — gaol, and that he is one and the same person as Captain Lovett!’

  Astonishment never wrote in more legible characters than she now displayed on the rough features of Dummie Dunnaker. So strong are the sympathies of a profession compared with all others, that Dummie’s first confused thought was that of pride. ‘The great Captain Lovett!’ he faltered. ‘Little Paul at the top of the profession! Lord, Lord! – I always said as how he’d the hambition to rise!’

  ‘Well, well, but the father’s name?’

  At this question, the expression of Dummie’s face fell, – a sudden horror struggled to his eyes…

  Chapter XXXV

  Why is it that, at moments, there creeps over us an awe, a terror, overpowering but undefined? Why is it that we shudder without a cause, and feel the warm life-blood stand still in its courses? Are the dead too near?

  Falkland

  Ha! Sayest thou? Hideous thought, I feel it twine

  O’er my iced heart, as curls around his prey

  The sure and deadly serpent!

  What! In the hush and in the solitude

  Pass’d that dread soul away?

  Love and Hatred

  The evening prior to that morning in which the above co
nversation occurred, Brandon passed alone in his lodging at —. He had felt himself too unwell to attend the customary wassail, and he sat indolently musing in the solitude of the old-fashioned chamber to which he was consigned. There, two wax-candles on the smooth, quaint table, dimly struggled against the gloom of heavy panels, which were relieved at unfrequent intervals by portraits in oaken frames, dingy, harsh, and important with the pomp of laced garments and flowing wigs. The predilection of the landlady for modern tastes had, indeed, on each side of the huge fireplace, suspended more novel masterpieces of the fine arts. In emblematic gorgeousness hung the pictures of the four Seasons, buxom wenches all, save Winter, who was deformedly bodied forth in the likeness of an aged carle. These were interspersed by an engraving of Lord Mauleverer, the lieutenant of the neighbouring county, looking extremely majestical in his peer’s robes; and by three typifications of Faith, Hope, and Charity – ladies with whom it may be doubted if the gay earl ever before cultivated so close an intimacy. Curtains, of that antique chintz in which fasces of stripes are alternated by rows of flowers, filled the interstices of three windows; a heavy sideboard occupied the greater portion of one side of the room; and on the opposite side, in the rear of Brandon, a vast screen stretched its slow length along, and relieved the unpopulated and, as it were, desolate comfort of the apartment.

  Pale and imperfectly streamed the light upon Brandon’s face, as he sat in his large chair, leaning his cheek on one hand, and gazing with the unconscious earnestness of abstraction on the clear fire. At that moment a whole phalanx of gloomy thought was sweeping in successive array across his mind. His early ambition, his ill-omened marriage, the causes of his after-rise in the wrong-judging world, the first dawn of his reputation, his rapid and flattering successes, his present elevation, his aspiring hope of far higher office, and more patrician honours – all these phantoms passed before him in chequered shadow and light: but ever with each stalked one disquieting and dark remembrance – the loss of his only son.