“Yes, sir—decidedly, sir,” observed the valet.
“What would become of us without the Church?” continued Mr. Greenwood. “It is the source from which flow all the blessings of Christian love, hope, benevolence, and charity. Hark! Lafleur, I do really believe there is a woman singing a ballad in the street! Run out and give her into custody this minute.”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” said the valet: “it’s only the muffin-boy.”
“Oh! that’s different,” observed Mr. Greenwood, rising from his seat. “The chaise will be here at seven, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You and Filippo will accompany me. Tell Filippo to see that his fire-arms are in good order; and do you attend to mine as well as your own. Not that I apprehend any danger on such a road as that on which we are about to travel: still it is better to be prepared.”
“Decidedly, sir,” answered Lafleur, not a muscle of his countenance betraying any extraordinary emotion.
“Take a lamp to my study,” said Greenwood; “and then go and see about the fire-arms. Let my case of pistols be put inside the chaise.”
“Yes, sir;”—and Lafleur was about to leave the room, when he suddenly recollected himself, and said, “If you please, sir, your boot-maker sent your new slippers this morning, wrapped up in a piece of the Weekly Dispatch. I thought I had better mention it, sir.”
“By God, you have done well to acquaint me with this infamy, Lafleur!” cried Mr. Greenwood, desperately excited. “The scoundrel! he reads the Dispatch, does he?—the journal that possesses more influence over the masses than even pulpits, governments, sovereigns, or religious tracts! The villain! I always thought that man was a democrat at heart; because one day when I told him if he didn’t vote for the Tory Churchwarden he would lose my custom, he smiled—yes, smiled! And so he reads the Dispatch—the people’s journal—the vehicle of all argument against our blessed constitution—the champion to which all who fancy themselves oppressed, fly as naturally as bees to flowers! Lafleur,” added Mr. Greenwood, solemnly, “you will send to that boot-maker, and tell him to show his face no more at the house of the Member for Rottenborough.”
“Yes, sir.”
And Lafleur left the room.
A few minutes afterwards Mr. Greenwood repaired to his study, where the lamp had already been placed upon the table.
He then opened his iron safe, and drew forth a large canvass bag full of sovereigns. This he consigned to a tin box, resembling those in which lawyers keep their clients’ papers. Three more bags, of the same size as the first, were taken from the safe and stowed away in this japanned case.
“Four thousand pounds!” murmured Greenwood to himself. “How many a family would be made happy with only the hundredth part of that sum! But those who want the glittering metal should toil for it as I have done.”
Mr. Greenwood, having thus complimented himself upon those “toils” whereby he had gained his wealth, proceeded to take a large portfolio from the iron safe.
Partially opening its various compartments, so as to obtain a glance at the contents, he smiled still more complacently than when his eyes lingered on the canvass bags.
“Sixteen thousand pounds in Bank of England notes,” he exclaimed aloud, as he consigned the portfolio to the tin case. “And these twenty thousand pounds, judiciously applied in Paris, will produce me twenty-five thousand clear gain—twenty-five thousand at the least!”
His really handsome countenance wore an expression of triumph, as he carefully locked the tin case, and placed the key in his pocket.
“My combinations are admirable! Thirty thousand pounds, already embarked in these Parisian speculations, have prepared the way for enormous gains: and now,” continued Greenwood,—“now this sum,”—and he glanced towards the tin box—“will strike the decisive blow! It is a glorious science—that of the financier! And who is more subtle than I! True—I have experienced some losses during the past week—a few thousands: but they are nothing! I was wrong to job as I did in the English funds. The fluctuations in the French securities are the means by which brilliant fortunes can be made! The timid talk of the great risks—Pshaw! Let them combine their projects as I have done!”
He ceased, and surveyed himself complacently in the mirror above the mantel.
He then rang the bell.
Lafleur appeared in about a minute; but so calm, composed, and unruffled was his countenance, that no living soul would have suspected that he had been attentively listening at the door of the study all the while his master was transferring the treasure from the iron safe to the tin box.
“Bring me my upper coat and travelling cap, Lafleur,” said Mr. Greenwood, not choosing to lose sight of his tin box.
Lafleur once more disappeared, and speedily returned with his master’s travelling attire.
He announced at the same time that the chaise was at the door.
In a few minutes, Mr. Greenwood was ensconced in the vehicle. The tin box was stowed away under the seat: and his case of pistols lay by his side, within convenient reach.
Filippo and Lafleur mounted the dickey: the postillions cracked their whips; and the equipage rolled rapidly away from Spring Gardens.
At half-past eight o’clock precisely the vehicle drove up to the door of the principal inn of which the town of Rottenborough could boast.
The ostlers seemed to bungle in a very unusual manner, as they changed the horses; and full five minutes elapsed ere they could loosen the traces. In a word, they punctually obeyed the directions of Mr. Greenwood’s agent in that famous town.
Suddenly the door of the tap-room burst open and vomited forth about eighty of such queer and suspicious-looking fellows, that no prudent man would have walked down a dark lane where he knew any one of them to be lurking.
Out they came—in most admirable disorder—pell-mell—jostling, hustling, pushing, larking with each other.
“Hooray, Greenwood! brayvo, Greenwood!” they shouted, at the tops of voices somewhat disguised in liquor. “Greenwood for ever! Down with the Tories!”
“No—no!” shouted a little man, dressed in deep black, and who suddenly appeared at the head of the mob: “down with the Liberals, you mean!”
“Oh—ah! so it is!” cried the mob; and then they shouted louder than ever, “Hooray for Greenwood! Down with the Liberals! The Tories for ever!”
Then the little man in black, who was none other than the honourable member’s agent, rushed up to the carriage window, exclaiming, “Ah! Mr. Greenwood!—you are discovered, you see! Very pretty, indeed, to think of passing through Rottenborough incog.,—you who are the hope and the glory of the town! Luckily a party of gentlemen—all independent electors,” added the lawyer, glancing round at the ragged and half-drunken mob, “were partaking of some little wholesome refreshment together—quite accidentally—in the tavern; and thus they are blessed with an opportunity of paying their respects to their representative in our glorious Parliament!”
“Brayvo, Greenwood!” ejaculated the crowd of “gentlemen,” when the little lawyer had concluded his speech.
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Greenwood, thrusting his head out of the chaise-window, “you cannot conceive the delight which I experience at this most unexpected—most unlooked-for, and entirely spontaneous expression of your good feeling towards me. Gentlemen, when I behold an enlightened—an independent—a respectable—and an intelligent assembly thus coming forward to signify an approval of my parliamentary career, I meet with an ample recompense for all my exertions and toils to maintain the interests of the great constituency of Rottenborough. Gentlemen, the eyes of the world are upon you at this moment——”
“Then the vorld can see in the dark without spectacles,” cried one of the free and independent inhabitants of Rottenborough.
“Yes, gentlemen,” c
ontinued Greenwood, unabashed by this interruption, which raised a general titter; “the eyes of the world are upon you; for when Rottenborough thus emphatically expresses itself in favour of its member, it is avowing its stanch adherence to the true principles of Conservatism. This is a great fact, gentlemen; and so long as Rottenborough remains faithful to those principles, the democratic disturbers of the public peace must look on and tremble!”
With this splendid finale, Mr. Greenwood sank back in the chaise, which immediately drove rapidly away, amidst the uproarious shouts of the ragamuffins and tatterdemallions whom the lawyer had convoked, according to Lafleur’s written instructions, for the occasion.
The ragamuffins and tatterdemallions were, however, well recompensed for their trouble; for they were copiously regaled with beer and tobacco before the arrival of the honourable member; and as soon as the member had departed a supper of boiled tripe and onion-sauce was served up to them. The entertainment concluded with a quarrel and battle amongst the convivialists, several of whom took home with them broken heads and black eyes as trophies of their prowess.
Meantime the travelling-chaise rolled along the road.
The night was beautiful, clear, and frosty; and the moon rode high in the heavens.
Newington was passed; and Mr. Greenwood was just falling into a delicious sleep, when four men, wearing masks, and enveloped in thick pilot-coats, rushed from a hedge.
The horses were stopped suddenly; and two of the ruffians presented pistols at the heads of the postillions, menacing them with instant death if they offered any resistance.
Greenwood lowered the windows of the chaise, and holding a pistol in each hand, exclaimed, “I’ll shoot the first who dares approach me!”
Filippo leapt to the ground on one side, and Lafleur followed him so closely, that he fell over the Italian, one of whose pistols went off by the shock, but without doing any mischief. Before he could make an effort to rise, Lafleur struck him on the head with the butt-end of one of his weapons, and laid him senseless on his back.
Meantime, while the Lully Prig and Long Bob took charge of the postillions, as above stated, the Resurrection Man and the Buffer rushed up to the door of the chaise.
Greenwood fired point-blank at Tidkins’s head but without the slightest effect.
The door was opened; and the Resurrection Man sprang into the vehicle.
Greenwood fired his second pistol; but it merely singed his assailant’s hair.
Then the Member of Parliament was dragged into the road, and bound hand and foot almost in the twinkling of an eye.
This being done, the Resurrection Man hastened to search the chaise, and speedily secured the tin-box.
He gave a long shrill whistle: this was a signal to announce his success; for it had been previously agreed amongst the ruffians that they should not utter a word more than might be absolutely necessary, so that their voices might not be afterwards recognised, in case suspicion fell upon them. Moreover, the Resurrection Man’s voice was well known to Greenwood; and thus this precaution was not an useless one.
The four robbers and Lafleur now beat a rapid retreat towards an adjacent chalk-pit, the Buffer leading the way, and the Resurrection Man carrying the box.
CHAPTER CLXXXIII.
kind friends.
We left Richard Markham at the moment when, awaking in a strange bed, he perceived that Thomas Armstrong’s letter was gone!
It would be impossible to describe his grief at this discovery.
The mysterious document, which he had treasured with so much care, and concerning which such particular instructions had been left by his departed friend,—a document which seemed so intimately to regard his future welfare,—had been wrested from him!
For a few moments he remained a prey to the deepest dejection; and tears stole into his eyes.
But he was not allowed to remain long in that unpleasant reverie.
The door opened slowly; and a light step approached his couch.
He drew aside the curtain, and beheld a middle-aged lady, elegantly dressed, and with a countenance on which the Almighty had written the word “Benevolence” in characters so legible, that a savage might have read and learnt to revere them.
Advancing close up to the bed, the lady said, in a soft tone, and in the Italian language:—“Be not alarmed, Signor Markham; you are with those who will treat you as your dauntless valour and noble mind deserve.”
“Where am I, madam?” asked our hero, reassured by the lady’s words and manner.
“In the house of my brother, Signor Viviani, the most eminent banker in Pinalla,” answered the lady.
“And how did you discover my name, Signora?” inquired Richard.
“By means of a letter which was secured in a morocco-case about your person, and is now safe in my brother’s possession,” returned Signora Viviani.
“A thousand thanks, lady, for that assurance—a thousand sincere and grateful thanks!” exclaimed Markham, new life as it were animating his soul.
“Hush!” cried the banker’s sister, placing her finger upon her lip: “you must not give way to excitement of feelings. You have been ill—very ill.”
“How long, Signora, has this illness lasted?”
“Ten days,” was the reply. “You have been delirious.”
“Ten days!” ejaculated Richard. “Alas! poor Morcar—what will he think? where can he be?”
“Morcar is safe and knows that you are here, Signor,” said the lady. “But do not excite yourself. Providence has allowed you to suffer, for its own wise and inscrutable purposes; but it never deserts the good and great.”
“Ah! lady, how can I ever thank you sufficiently for the goodness of yourself and your brother towards one who is a perfect stranger to you?” said Markham, pressing the lady’s hand respectfully to his lips.
“You are not altogether so much a stranger to us as you imagine,” observed the banker’s sister, with a mysterious but good-natured smile. “But I will not tantalize, nor excite you by keeping you in suspense. Your deceased countryman Thomas Armstrong was my brother’s intimate friend.”
“Is this possible?” cried Markham, overjoyed at such welcome intelligence. “Then Providence has not indeed deserted me!”
“I will now hasten and fetch my brother to see you,” said the lady. “He is burning with impatience for the moment when he can converse with you.”
Signora Viviani left the room, and shortly returned, accompanied by a gentleman of about sixty, and whose countenance was as expressive of excellent qualities as her own.
“Here is our patient, brother,” said the lady, with a smile: “a patient, however, only in one sense, for he has been very impatient in his queries; and now we must satisfy his curiosity in all respects.”
“I am delighted to find that you are able to devote a thought to such matters, my dear young friend,” exclaimed the banker, pressing both Markham’s hands cordially in his own; “for as a friend do I indeed regard you,” added the excellent man.
“How can I possibly have deserved such kind sympathy at your hands?” asked Richard, overpowered by so much goodness.
“Your deceased and much lamented friend Thomas Armstrong was as a brother to me, during his residence at different times in Castelcicala,” answered the banker; “and he constantly corresponded with me when he was in his native country. In the letters which he wrote during the last two years of his life, he mentioned you in terms which, did I know nothing else meritorious on your part, would have induced me to welcome you as a friend—as a son. But your noble conduct in the late attempt to release Castelcicala from the sway of a tyrant, and place that excellent Prince Alberto on the ducal throne, has confirmed my good opinion of you—if any such confirmation were necessary. I learnt from Armstrong that you were generous, intelligent, and
virtuous: recent events have shown that you are brave and liberal-minded.”
“How rejoiced I am that my conduct in that unhappy affair merits your approval,” said Richard. “I have often trembled, since the fatal day when so many brave spirits came to these coasts to meet death or imprisonment, lest the more sensible portion of the Castelcicalan community should look upon the expedition as one concocted only by selfish or insane adventurers.”
“Selfish or insane!” ejaculated Viviani. “Was Grachia selfish or insane? was Morosino a mere adventurer? Oh! no—Castelcicala weeps over the bloody graves of her patriots; and thousands of tongues are familiar with the name of Richard Markham.”
The countenance of our hero became animated with a glow of generous enthusiasm as these words met his ears.
“How handsome he is!” exclaimed the banker’s sister. “An old woman like me may say so without impropriety,” she added smiling; “and even the Princess Isabella would not be offended, did she overhear me.”
“The Princess!” ejaculated Richard, surprised at this allusion to that beautiful lady.
“You must not be angry with your faithful Morcar,” said the banker’s sister, smiling, “if he betrayed your secret. But it was with a good motive. When he found that you were with those who were anxious to be considered in the light of your friends, he communicated to us your secret respecting the Princess, in order that we might write to her and relieve her mind of all anxiety by assuring her that you were safe and well. So I took upon myself the duty of addressing a letter to her Highness the Princess Isabella, and I thought that a little falsehood relative to your real condition would be pardonable. I assured her that you were in security and in good health, save a sprain of the right hand which had compelled you to employ a secretary; and in order that the letter might be sure to reach her, my brother enclosed it in one to his agent in London, with special directions that it might be delivered as speedily as possible. Morcar also wrote a note to his father and his wife, and addressed it to the care of some person in a part of the English capital called Saint Giles’s. In a word, you need be under no anxiety relative to your friends in England.”
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 48
