“In the devil’s name, is that you, Jack!” ejaculated Kneebone.
“It is,” replied Sheppard. “You have uttered a wilful and deliberate falsehood in asserting that I have murdered Thames, for whom you well know I would lay down my life. Retract your words instantly, or take the consequences.”
“What should I retract, villain?” cried the woollen-draper, who at the sound of Jack’s voice had regained his confidence. “To the best of my belief, Thames Darrell has been murdered by you.”
“A lie!” exclaimed Jack in a terrible tone. And before Kneebone could draw his sword, he felled him to the ground with the iron bar.
“You have killed him,” cried Winifred in alarm.
“No,” answered Jack, approaching her, “though, if I had done so, he would have merited his fate. You do not believe his statement?”
“I do not,” replied Winifred. “I could not believe you capable of so foul a deed. But oh! by what wonderful chance have you come hither so seasonably?”
“I have just escaped from Newgate,” replied Jack; “and am more than repaid for the severe toil I have undergone, in being able to save you. But tell me,” he added with much anxiety, “has nothing been heard of Thames since the night of my former escape?”
“Nothing whatever,” answered Winifred. “He left Dollis Hill at ten o’clock on that night, and has not since returned. My father has made every possible inquiry, and offered large rewards; but has not been able to discover the slightest trace of him. His suspicions at first fell upon you. But he has since acquitted you of any share in it.”
“Oh, Heaven!” exclaimed Jack.
“He has been indefatigable in his search,” continued Winifred, “and has even journeyed to Manchester. But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard’s seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country.”
“Never to return,” remarked Jack, gloomily. “Before to-morrow morning I will ascertain what has become of Thames, or perish in the attempt. And now tell me what has happened to my poor mother?”
“Ever since your last capture, and Thames’s mysterious disappearance, she has been dreadfully ill,” replied Winifred; “so ill, that each day was expected to be her last. She has also been afflicted with occasional returns of her terrible malady. On Tuesday night, she was rather better, and I had left her for a short time, as I thought, asleep on the sofa in the little parlour of which she is so fond—”
“Well,” exclaimed Jack.
“On my return, I found the window open, and the room vacant. She was gone.”
“Did you discover any trace of footsteps?” inquired Jack eagerly.
“There were some marks near the window; but whether recently made or not could not be ascertained,” replied Winifred.
“Oh God!” exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. “My worst fears are realized. She is in Wild’s power.”
“I ought to add,” continued Winifred, “that one of her shoes was picked up in the garden, and that prints of her feet were discovered along the soft mould; whether made in flying from any one, or from rushing forth in distracted terror, it is impossible to say. My father thought the latter. He has had the whole country searched; but hitherto without success.”
“I know where she will be found, and how,” rejoined Jack with a shudder.
“I have something further to tell you,” pursued Winifred. “Shortly after your last visit to Dollis Hill, my father was one evening waylaid by a man, who informed him that he had something to communicate respecting Thames, and had a large sum of money, and some important documents to deliver to him, which would be given up, provided he would undertake to procure your liberation.”
“It was Blueskin,” observed Jack.
“So my father thought,” replied Winifred; “and he therefore instantly fired upon him. But though the shot took effect, as was evident from the stains on the ground, the villain escaped.”
“Your father did right,” replied Jack, with some bitterness. “But if he had not fired that shot, he might have saved Thames, and possessed himself of papers which would have established his birth, and his right to the estates of the Trenchard family.”
“Would you have had him spare my mother’s murderer?” cried Winifred.
“Ho, no,” replied Jack. “And yet — but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. Listen to me, Winifred.”
And he hastily related the occurrences in Jonathan Wild’s house.
The account of the discovery of Sir Rowland’s murder filled Winifred with alarm; but when she learnt what had befallen Thames — how he had been stricken down by the thief-taker’s bludgeon, and left for dead, she uttered a piercing scream, fainted, and would have fallen, if Jack had not caught her in his arms.
Jack had well-nigh fallen too. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. Gazing at her with eyes blinded with tears, he imprinted one brotherly kiss upon her lips. It was the first — and the last!
At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance.
“What’s the matter?” he cried. “I thought I heard a scream. Why is the door fastened? Open it directly!”
“Are you alone?” asked Jack, mimicking the voice of Kneebone.
“What for?” demanded Wood. “Open the door, I say, or I’ll burst it open.”
Carefully depositing Winifred on a sofa, Jack then extinguished the light, and, as he unfastened the door, crept behind it. In rushed Mr. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. He upset some one — probably Mr. Bird, — who was rushing up stairs, alarmed by Mr. Wood’s cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street.
And thus he was once more free, having effected one of the most wonderful escapes ever planned or accomplished.
* * *
CHAPTER XXII. FAST AND LOOSE.
About seven o’clock on the same night, Jonathan Wild’s two janizaries, who had been for some time in attendance in the hall of his dwelling at the Old Bailey, were summoned to the audience-chamber. A long and secret conference then took place between the thief-taker and his myrmidons, after which they were severally dismissed.
Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. Taking the opposite course from that which he had hitherto pursued when it has been necessary to attend him in his visits to the lower part of his premises, he struck into a narrow passage on the right, which he tracked till he came to a small door, like the approach to a vault. Unlocking it, he entered the chamber, which by no means belied its external appearance.
On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. Holding the lamp over her rigid but beautiful features, Jonathan, with some anxiety, placed his hand upon her breast to ascertain whether the heart still beat. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze.
“Drink this,” cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. “You’ll feel better after it.”
Mechanically raising the potion to her lips, the poor creature swallowed it without hesitation.
“Is it poison?” she asked.
“No,” replied Jonathan, with a brutal laugh. “I’m not going to get rid of you just yet. It’s gin — a liquor you used to like. You’ll find the benefit of it by and by. You’ve a good deal to go through to-night.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, “are you come to renew your terrible proposals?”
“I’m com
e to execute my threats,” replied Wild. “To-night you shall be my wedded wife.”
“I will die first,” replied Mrs. Sheppard.
“You may die afterwards as soon as you please,” retorted Jonathan; “but live till then you shall. I’ve sent for the priest.”
“Mercy!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, vainly trying to discover a gleam of compassion in the thief-taker’s inexorable countenance,— “Mercy! mercy!”
“Pshaw!” rejoined Jonathan. “You should be glad to be made an honest woman.”
“Oh! let me die,” groaned the widow. “I have not many days, — perhaps, not many hours to live. But kill me rather than commit this outrage.”
“That wouldn’t answer my purpose,” replied Jonathan, savagely. “I didn’t carry you off from old Wood to kill you, but to wed you.”
“What motive can you have for so vile a deed?” asked Mrs. Sheppard.
“You know my motive well enough,” answered Jonathan. “However, I’ll refresh your memory. I once might have married you for your beauty, — now I marry you for your wealth.”
“My wealth,” replied Mrs. Sheppard. “I have nothing.”
“You are heiress to the Trenchard property,” rejoined Jonathan, “one of the largest estates in Lancashire.”
“Not while Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland live.”
“Sir Rowland is dead,” replied Jonathan, gloomily. “Thames Darrell only waits my mandate to follow him. Before our marriage there will be no life between you and the estates.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard.
“Look here,” cried Jonathan, stooping down and taking hold of a ring in the floor, with which by a great effort he raised up a flag. “In this pit,” he added, pointing to the chasm below, “your brother is buried. Here your nephew will speedily be thrown.”
“Horrible!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, shuddering violently. “But your dreadful projects will recoil on your own head. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise.”
“I’ll take my chance,” replied Jonathan, with a sinister smile. “My schemes have succeeded tolerably well hitherto.”
“A day of retribution will assuredly arrive,” rejoined Mrs. Sheppard.
“Till then, I shall remain content,” returned Wild. “And now, Mrs. Sheppard, attend to what I’m about to say to you. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you.”
“Loved me! You!”
“I loved you,” continued Jonathan, “and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. This discovery made, I hastened back to London to offer you my hand, but found you had married in the mean time a smock-faced, smooth-tongued carpenter named Sheppard. The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows, — would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery, — and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father.”
“And terribly you have kept your vow,” replied Mrs. Sheppard.
“I have,” replied Jonathan. “But I am now coming to the point which most concerns you. Consent to become my wife, and do not compel me to have recourse to violence to effect my purpose, and I will spare your son.”
Mrs. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul.
“Swear that you will do this,” she cried.
“I swear it,” rejoined Jonathan, readily.
“But what is an oath to you!” cried the widow, distrustfully. “You will not hesitate to break it, if it suits your purpose. I have suffered too much from your treachery. I will not trust you.”
“As you please,” replied Jonathan, sternly. “Recollect you are in my power. Jack’s life hangs on your determination.”
“What shall I do?” cried Mrs. Sheppard, in a voice of agony.
“Save him,” replied Jonathan. “You can do so.”
“Bring him here, — let me see him — let me embrace him — let me be assured that he is safe, and I am yours. I swear it.”
“Hum!” exclaimed Jonathan.
“You hesitate — you are deceiving me.”
“By my soul, no,” replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. “You shall see him to-morrow.”
“Delay the marriage till then. I will never consent till I see him.”
“You ask impossibilities,” replied Jonathan, sullenly. “All is prepared. The marriage cannot — shall not be delayed. You must be mine to-night.”
“Force shall not make me yours till Jack is free,” replied the widow, resolutely.
“An hour hence, I shall return with the priest,” replied Jonathan, striding towards the door.
And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door.
“An hour hence, I shall be beyond your malice,” said Mrs. Sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet.
* * *
CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAST MEETING BETWEEN JACK SHEPPARD AND HIS MOTHER.
After escaping from the turner’s house, Jack Sheppard skirted St. Sepulchre’s church, and hurrying down Snow Hill, darted into the first turning on the left. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court, — celebrated as one of Goldsmith’s retreats, — he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan’s habitation.
A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild’s dwelling into this yard. Before he forced an entrance, Jack tried it, and, to his great surprise and delight, found it unfastened. Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. Hearing a noise below, Quilt called out, supposing it occasioned by the Jew. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps.
Quilt, meanwhile, came down, examined the door, and finding it unfastened, locked it with a bitter imprecation on his brother-janizary’s carelessness. This done, he followed the course which Jack had just taken. As he crossed the cellar, he passed so near to Jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture that he almost touched him. It was Jack’s intention to have knocked him down with the iron bar; but he was so struck with the janizary’s looks, that he determined to spare him till he had ascertained his purpose. With this view, he suffered him to pass on.
Quilt’s manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime. He halted, — looked fearfully around, — stopped again, and exclaimed aloud, “I don’t like the job; and yet it must be done, or Mr. Wild will hang me.” With this, he appeared to pluck up his courage, and stepped forward more boldly.
“Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent,” muttered Jack to himself. “Heaven grant I may not be too late!”
Followed by Jack Sheppard, who kept sufficiently near him to watch his proceedings, and yet not expose himself, Quilt unlocked one or two doors which he left open, and after winding his way along a gloomy passage, arrived at the door of a vault. Here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions.
By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. Darting forward at this sound, Jack threw open the door, and beheld Quilt kneeling over Thames, who’se hands and feet were bound with cords, and about to plunge his sword into his breast. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched
the ruffian on the floor. Jack then proceeded to liberate the captive from his bondage.
“Jack!” exclaimed Thames. “Is it you?”
“It is,” replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. “I might return the question. Were it not for your voice, I don’t think I should know you. You are greatly altered.”
Captivity had, indeed, produced a striking alteration in Thames. He looked like the shadow of himself — thin, feeble, hollow-eyed — his beard unshorn — nothing could be more miserable.
“I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met,” he said; “though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. Night and day have been alike to me.”
“Six weeks have elapsed since that fatal night,” replied Jack. “During the whole of that time I have been a close prisoner in Newgate, whence I have only just escaped.”
“Six weeks!” exclaimed Thames, in a melancholy tone. “It seems like six long months to me.”
“I do not doubt it,” returned Jack; “none but those who have experienced it can understand the miseries of imprisonment.”
“Do not speak of it,” rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. “Let us fly from this frightful place.”
“I will conduct you to the outlet,” replied Jack; “but I cannot leave it till I have ascertained whether my mother also is a prisoner here.”
“I can answer that,” replied Thames. “She is. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me.”
“Arm yourself with that ruffian’s weapons,” replied Jack, “and let us search for her.”
Thames complied. But he was so feeble, that it seemed scarcely possible he could offer any effectual resistance in case of an attack.
“Lean on me,” said Jack.
Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 109
