So smiling and beautiful did these districts appear, that ha could scarcely fancy they were the chief haunts of the horrible distemper. But he could not blind himself to the fact that in Finsbury-fields, as well as in the open country to the north of Holborn, plague-pits had been digged and pest-houses erected; and this consideration threw such a gloom over the prospect, that, in order to dispel the effect, he changed the scene by looking towards the west. Here his view embraced all the proudest mansions of the capital, and tracing the Strand to Charing Cross, long since robbed of the beautiful structure from which it derived its name, and noticing its numerous noble habitations, his eye finally rested upon Whitehall: and he heaved a sigh as he thought that the palace of the sovereign was infected by as foul a moral taint as the hideous disease that ravaged the dwellings of his subjects.
At the time that Leonard Holt gazed upon the capital, its picturesque beauties were nearly at their close. In a little more than a year and a quarter afterwards, the greater part of the old city was consumed by fire; and though it was rebuilt, and in many respects improved, its original and picturesque character was entirely destroyed.
It seems scarcely possible to conceive a finer view than can be gained from the dome of the modern cathedral at sunrise on a May morning, when the prospect is not dimmed by the smoke of a hundred thousand chimneys — when the river is just beginning to stir with its numerous craft, or when they are sleeping on its glistening bosom — when every individual house, court, church, square, or theatre, can be discerned — when the eye can range over the whole city on each side, and calculate its vast extent. It seems scarcely possible, we say, to suppose at any previous time it could be more striking; and yet, at the period under consideration, it was incomparably more so. Then, every house was picturesque, and every street a collection of picturesque objects. Then, that which was objectionable in itself, and contributed to the insalubrity of the city, namely, the extreme narrowness of the streets, and overhanging stories of the houses, was the main source of their beauty. Then, the huge projecting signs with their fantastical iron-work — the conduits — the crosses (where crosses remained) — the maypoles — all were picturesque; and as superior to what can now be seen, as the attire of Charles the Second’s age is to the ugly and disfiguring costume of our own day.
Satiated with this glorious prospect, Leonard began to recur to his own situation, and carefully scrutinizing every available point on the side of the Tower, he thought it possible to effect his descent by clambering down the gradations of one of the buttresses. Still, as this experiment would be attended with the utmost danger, while, even if he reached the roof, he would yet be far from his object, he resolved to defer it for a short time, in the hope that ere long seine of the bell-ringers, or other persons connected with the cathedral, might come thither and set him free.
While thus communing with himself, he heard a door open below; and hurrying down the stairs at the sound, he beheld, to his great surprise and joy, the piper’s daughter, Nizza Macascree.
“I have searched for you everywhere,” she cried, “and began to think some ill had befallen you. I overheard Judith Malmayns say she had shut you up in a cell in the upper part of the tower. How did you escape thence?”
Leonard hastily explained.
“I told you I should never forget the service you rendered me in preserving the life of poor Bell,” pursued Nizza, “and what I have done will prove I am not unmindful of my promise I saw you search the cathedral last night with Judith, and noticed that she returned from the tower unaccompanied by you. At first I supposed you might have left the cathedral without my observing you, and I was further confirmed in the idea by what I subsequently heard.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Leonard. “What did you hear?”
“I followed Judith to the vaults of Saint Faith’s,” replied Nizza, “and heard her inform your companions that you had found the grocer’s daughter, and had taken her away.”
“And this false statement imposed upon them?” cried Leonard.
“It did,” replied Nizza. “They were by this time more than half intoxicated by the brandy given them by Chowles, the coffin-maker, and they departed in high dudgeon with you.”
“No wonder!” exclaimed Leonard.
“They had scarcely been gone many minutes,” pursued Nizza, “when, having stationed myself behind one of the massive pillars in the north aisle of Saint Faith’s — for I suspected something was wrong — I observed Judith and Chowles steal across the nave, and proceed towards the vestry. The former tapped at the door, and they were instantly admitted by Mr. Quatremain, the minor canon. Hastening to the door, which was left slightly ajar, I perceived two young gallants, whom I heard addressed as the Earl of Rochester and Sir George Etherege, and a young female, who I could not doubt was Amabel. The earl and his companion laughed heartily at the trick Judith had played you, and which the latter detailed to them; but Amabel took no part in their merriment, but, on the contrary, looked very grave, and even wept.”
“Wept, did she?” cried Leonard, in a voice of much emotion. “Then, there is hope for her yet.”
“You appear greatly interested in her,” observed Nizza, pausing, in her narration. “Do you love her?”
“Can you ask it?” cried Leonard, passionately.
“I would advise you to think no more of her, and to fix your heart elsewhere,” returned Nizza.
“You know not what it is to love,” replied the apprentice, “or you would not offer such a counsel.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Nizza; “but I am sorry you have bestowed your heart upon one who so little appreciates the boon.”
And, feeling she had said too much, she blushed deeply, and cast down her eyes.
Unconscious of her confusion, and entirely engrossed by the thought of his mistress, Leonard urged her to proceed.
“Tell me what has become of Amabel — where I shall find her?” he cried.
“You will find her soon enough,” replied Nizza. “She has not left the cathedral. But hear me to an end. On learning you were made a prisoner, I ran to the door leading to the tower, but found that Judith had locked it, and removed the key. Not daring to give the alarm — for I had gathered from what was said that the three vergers were in the earl’s pay — I determined to await a favourable opportunity to release you. Accordingly I returned to the vestry door, and again played the eaves-dropper. By this time, another person, who was addressed as Major Pillichody, and who, it appeared, had been employed in the abduction, had joined the party. He informed the earl that Mr. Bloundel was in the greatest distress at his daughter’s disappearance, and advised him to lose no time in conveying her to some secure retreat. These tidings troubled Amabel exceedingly, and the earl endeavoured to pacify her by promising to espouse her at daybreak, and, as soon as the ceremony was over, to introduce her in the character of his countess to her parents.”
“Villain!” cried Leonard; “but go on.”
“I have little more to tell,” replied Nizza, “except that she consented to the proposal, provided she was allowed to remain till six o’clock, the hour appointed for the marriage, with Judith.”
“Bad as that alternative is, it is better than the other,” observed
Leonard. “But how did you procure the key of the winding staircase?”
“I fortunately observed where Judith had placed it,” replied Nizza, “and when she departed to the crypt near the charnel, with Amabel, I possessed myself of it. For some time I was unable to use it, because the Earl of Rochester and Sir George Etherege kept pacing to and fro in front of the door, and their discourse convinced me that the marriage was meant to be a feigned one, for Sir George strove to dissuade his friend from the step he was about to take; but the other only laughed at his scruples. As soon as they retired, which is not more than half an hour ago, I unlocked the door, and hurried up the winding stairs. I searched every chamber, and began to think you were gone, or that Judith’s statement was false. But I
resolved to continue my search until I was fully satisfied on this point, and accordingly ascended to the belfry. You are aware of the result.”
“You have rendered me a most important service,” replied Leonard; “and I hope hereafter to prove my gratitude. But let us now descend to the choir, where I will conceal myself till Amabel appears. This marriage must be prevented.”
Before quitting the belfry, Leonard chanced to cast his eyes on a stout staff left there, either by one of the bell-ringers or some chance visitant, and seizing it as an unlooked-for prize, he ran down the steps, followed by the piper’s daughter.
On opening the lowest door, he glanced towards the choir, and there before the high altar stood Quatremain in his surplice, with the earl and Amabel, attended by Etherege and Pillichody. The ceremony had just commenced. Not a moment was to be lost. Grasping his staff, the apprentice darted along the nave, and, rushing up to the pair, exclaimed in a loud voice, “Hold! I forbid this marriage. It must not take place!”
“Back, sirrah!” cried Etherege, drawing his sword, and opposing the approach of the apprentice. “You have no authority to interrupt it. Proceed, Mr. Quatremain.”
“Forbear!” cried a voice of thunder near them — and all turning at the cry, they beheld Solomon Eagle, with his brazier on his head, issue from behind the stalls. “Forbear!” cried the enthusiast, placing himself between the earl and Amabel, both of whom recoiled at his approach. “Heaven’s altar must not be profaned with these mockeries! And you, Thomas Quatremain, who have taken part in this unrighteous transaction, make clean your breast, and purge yourself quickly of your sins, for your hours are numbered. I read in your livid looks and red and burning eyeballs that you are smitten by the pestilence.”
VII.
PAUL’S WALK.
It will now be necessary to ascertain what took place at the grocer’s habitation subsequently to Amabel’s abduction. Leonard Holt having departed, Pillichody was preparing to make good his retreat, when he was prevented by Blaize, who, hearing a noise in the yard, peeped cautiously out at the back-door, and inquired who was there?
“Are you Mr. Bloundel?” rejoined Pillichody, bethinking him of a plan to turn the tables upon the apprentice.
“No, I am his porter,” replied the other.
“What, Blaize!” replied Pillichody. “Thunder and lightning! don’t you remember Bernard Boutefeu, the watchman?”
“I don’t remember any watchman of that name, and I cannot discern your features,” rejoined Blaize. “But your voice sounds familiar to me. What are you doing there?”
“I have been trying to prevent Leonard Holt from carrying off your master’s daughter, the fair Mistress Amabel,” answered Pillichody. “But he has accomplished his villanous purpose in spite of me.”
“The devil he has!” cried Blaize. “Here is a pretty piece of news for my master. But how did you discover him?”
“Chancing to pass along the entry on the other side of that wall about a quarter of an hour ago,” returned Pillichody, “I perceived a rope-ladder fastened to it, and wishing to ascertain what was the matter, I mounted it, and had scarcely got over into the yard, when I saw two persons advancing. I concealed myself beneath the shadow of the wall, and they did not notice me; but I gathered from their discourse who they were and what was their design. I allowed Amabel to ascend, but just as the apprentice was following, I laid hold of the skirt of his doublet, and, pulling him back, desired him to come with me to his master. He answered by drawing his sword, and would have stabbed me, but I closed with him, and should have secured him if my foot had not slipped. While I was on the ground, he dealt me a severe blow, and ran after his mistress.”
“Just like him,” replied Blaize. “He took the same cowardly advantage of me last night.”
“No punishment will be too severe for him,” rejoined Pillichody, “and I hope your master will make a terrible example of him.”
“How fortunate I was not gone to bed!” exclaimed Blaize, “I had just taken a couple of rufuses, and was about to put on my nightcap, when, hearing a noise without, and being ever on the alert to defend my master’s property, even at the hazard of my life, I stepped forth and found you.”
“I will bear testimony to your vigilance and courage,” returned Pillichody; “but you had better go and alarm your master, I will wait here.”
“Instantly I-instantly!” cried Blaize, rushing upstairs.
On the way to Mr. Bloundel’s chamber, he met Patience, and told her what he had heard. She was inclined to put a very different construction on the story; but as she bore the apprentice no particular good-will, she determined to keep her opinion to herself, and let affairs take their course. The grocer was soon aroused, and scarcely able to credit the porter’s intelligence, and yet fearing something must be wrong, he hastily attired himself, and proceeded to Amabel’s room. It was empty, and it was evident from the state in which everything was left, that she had never retired to rest. Confounded by the sight, Bloundel then hurried downstairs in search of the apprentice, but he was nowhere to be found. By this time, Mrs. Bloundel had joined him, and on hearing Blaize’s story, utterly scouted it.
“It cannot be,” she cried. “Leonard could have no motive for acting thus. He had our consent to the union, and the sole obstacle to it was Amabel herself. Is it likely he would run away with her?”
“I am sure I do not know,” replied Patience, “but he was desperately in love, that’s certain; and when people are in love, I am told they do very strange and unaccountable things. Perhaps he may have carried her off against her will.”
“Very likely,” rejoined Blaize. “I thought I heard a scream, and should have called out at the moment, but a rufus stuck in my throat and prevented me.”
“Where is the person who says he intercepted them?” asked Bloundel.
“In the yard,” answered Blaize.
“Bid him come hither,” rejoined his master. “Stay, I will go to him myself.”
With this, the whole party, including old Josyna and Stephen — the two boys and little Christiana not having been disturbed — proceeded to the yard, where they found Pillichody in his watchman’s dress, who related his story more circumstantially than before.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” cried Mrs. Bloundel; “and I will stake my life it is one of the Earl of Rochester’s tricks.”
“Were I assured that such was the case,” said the grocer, in a stern whisper to his wife, “I would stir no further in the matter. My threat to Amabel was not an idle one.”
“I may be mistaken,” returned Mrs. Bloundel, almost at her wit’s end with anxiety. “Don’t mind what I say. Judge for yourself. Oh dear! what will become of her?” she mentally ejaculated.
“Lanterns and links!” cried Pillichody. “Do you mean to impeach my veracity, good mistress? I am an old soldier, and as tenacious of my honour as your husband is of his credit.”
“This blustering will not serve your turn, fellow,” observed the grocer, seizing him by the collar. “I begin to suspect my wife is in the right, and will at all events detain you.”
“Detain me! on what ground?” asked Pillichody.
“As an accomplice in my daughter’s abduction,” replied Bloundel. “Here, Blaize — Stephen, hold him while I call the watch. This is a most mysterious affair, but I will soon get at the bottom of it.”
By the grocer’s directions, Pillichody, who very quietly entered the house, and surrendered his halberd to Blaize, was taken to the kitchen. Bloundel then set forth, leaving Stephen on guard at the yard door, while his wife remained in the shop, awaiting his return.
On reaching the kitchen with the prisoner, Blaize besought his mother, who, as well as Patience, had accompanied him thither, to fetch a bottle of sack. While she went for the wine, and the porter was stalking to and fro before the door with the halberd on his shoulder, Patience whispered to Pillichody, “I know who you are. You came here last night with the Earl of Rochester in the disguise
of a quack doctor.”
“Hush!” cried Pillichody, placing his finger on his lips.
“I am not going to betray you,” returned Patience, in the same tone.
“But you are sure to be found out, and had better beat a retreat before
Mr. Bloundel returns.”
“I won’t lose a moment,” replied Pillichody, starting to his feet.
“What’s the matter?” cried Blaize, suddenly halting.
“I only got up to see whether the wine was coming,” replied Pillichody.
“Yes, here it is,” replied Blaize, as his mother reappeared; “and now you shall have a glass of such sack as you never yet tasted.”
And pouring out a bumper, he offered it to Pillichody. The latter took the glass; but his hand shook so violently that he could not raise it to his lips.
“What ails you, friend?” inquired Blaize, uneasily.
“I don’t know,” replied Pillichody; “but I feel extremely unwell.”
“He looks to me as if he had got the plague,” observed Patience, to
Blaize.
“The plague!” exclaimed the latter, letting fall the glass, which shivered to pieces on the stone floor. “And I have touched him. Where is the vinegar-bottle? I must sprinkle myself directly, and rub myself from head to foot with oil of hartshorn and spirits of sulphur. Mother! dear mother! you have taken away my medicine-chest. If you love me, go and fetch me a little conserve of Roman wormwood and mithridate. You will find them in two small jars.”
“Oh yes, do,” cried Patience; “or he may die with fright.”
Moved by their joint entreaties, old Josyna again departed; and her back was no sooner turned, than Patience said in an undertone to Pillichody,— “Now is your time. You have not a moment to lose.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 242
