Kitabı oku: «Jack Sheppard. Vol. 2», sayfa 6
Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr. Wood turned to look at him. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger.
“I need not ask whether this is Mr. Wood’s,” said the latter, “since I find him at his own gate.”
“You are right, Sir,” said the worthy carpenter, rising. “I am Owen Wood, at your service.”
“You do not remember me, I dare say,” observed the stranger.
“I can’t say I do,” replied Wood. “Your voice seems familiar to me—and—but I’m getting a little deaf—and my eyes don’t serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially by this light.”
“Never mind,” returned the stranger, dismounting; “you’ll recollect me by and by, I’ve no doubt. I bring you tidings of an old friend.”
“Then you’re heartily welcome, Sir, whoever you are. Pray, walk in. Here, Jem, take the gentleman’s horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly. Now, Sir, will you please to follow me?”
Mr. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. There was no light in the room; but, notwithstanding this, the young man did not fail to detect the buxom figure of Mrs. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,—as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter’s daughter.
Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. On the stranger’s appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle.
“My wife and daughter, Sir,” said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest.
Mrs. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. Winifred’s reception was kind, but more distant, and after the slight ceremonial she resumed her occupation.
“This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear,” said the carpenter.
“Ay, indeed! And who may that be?” inquired his wife.
“One whom you may perhaps have forgotten,” replied the stranger, “but who can never forget the kindness he experienced at your hands, or at those of your excellent husband.”
At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred’s cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand.
“I have a token to deliver to you,” continued the stranger, addressing her.
“To me?” gasped Winifred.
“This locket,” he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—“do you remember it?”
“I do—I do!” cried Winifred.
“What’s all this?” exclaimed Wood in amazement.
“Do you not know me, father?” said the young man, advancing towards him, and warmly grasping his hand. “Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?”
“God bless me!” ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, “can—can it be?”
“Surely,” screamed Mrs. Wood, joining the group, “it isn’t Thames Darrell come to life again?”
“It is—it is!” cried Winifred, rushing towards him, and flinging her arms round his neck,—“it is my dear—dear brother!”
“Well, this is what I never expected to see,” said the carpenter, wiping his eyes; “I hope I’m not dreaming! Thames, my dear boy, as soon as Winny has done with you, let me embrace you.”
“My turn comes before yours, Sir,” interposed his better half. “Come to my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!”
To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction—to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one’s imagination. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full.
Thames sat with Winifred’s hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. Carried out to sea by Van Galgebrok, and thrown overboard, while struggling with the waves, he had been picked up by a French fishing-boat, and carried to Ostend. After encountering various hardships and privations for a long time, during which he had no means of communicating with England, he, at length, found his way to Paris, where he was taken notice of by Cardinal Dubois, who employed him as one of his secretaries, and subsequently advanced to the service of Philip of Orleans, from whom he received a commission. On the death of his royal patron, he resolved to return to his own country; and, after various delays, which had postponed it to the present time, he had succeeded in accomplishing his object.
Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested.
The discourse, then, turned to Darrell’s old playmate, Jack Sheppard; and Mr. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother.
“For my part, it’s only what I expected of him,” observed Mrs. Wood, “and I’m sorry and surprised he hasn’t swung for his crimes before this. The gallows has groaned for him for years. As to his mother, I’ve no pity for her. She deserves what has befallen her.”
“Dear mother, don’t say so,” returned Winifred. “One of the consequences of criminal conduct, is the shame and disgrace which—worse than any punishment the evil-doer can suffer—is brought by it upon the innocent relatives; and, if Jack had considered this, perhaps he would not have acted as he has done, and have entailed so much misery on his unhappy parent.”
“I always detested Mrs. Sheppard,” cried the carpenter’s wife bitterly; “and, I repeat, Bedlam’s too good for her.”
“My dear,” observed Wood, “you should be more charitable—”
“Charitable!” repeated his wife, “that’s your constant cry. Marry, come up! I’ve been a great deal too charitable. Here’s Winny always urging you to go and visit Mrs. Sheppard in the asylum, and take her this, and send her that;—and I’ve never prevented you, though such mistaken liberality’s enough to provoke a saint. And, then, forsooth, she must needs prevent your hanging Jack Sheppard after the robbery in Wych Street, when you might have done so. Perhaps you’ll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. See what a horrible rascal you’ve let loose upon the world!”
“I’m sure, mother,” rejoined Winifred, “if any one was likely to feel resentment, I was; for no one could be more frightened. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend.”
“Mend!” echoed Mrs. Wood, contemptuously, “he’ll never mend till he comes to Tyburn.”
“At least, I will hope so,” returned Winifred. “But, as I was saying, I was most dreadfully frightened on the night of the robbery! Though so young at the time, I remember every circumstance distinctly. I was sitting up, lamenting your departure, dear Thames, when, hearing an odd noise, I went to the landing, and, by the light of a dark lantern, saw Jack Sheppard, stealing up stairs, followed by two men with crape on their faces. I’m ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself.”
“Hold your tongue!” cried Mrs. Wood. “I declare you throw me into an ague. Do you think I forget it? Didn’t they help themselves to all the plate and the money—to several of my best dresses, and amongst others, to my favourite kincob gown; and I’ve never been able to get another like it! Marry, come up! I’d hang ‘em all, if I could. Were such a thing to happen again, I’d never let Mr. Wood rest till he brought the villains to justice.”
“I hope such a thing never will happen again, my dear,” observed Wood, mildly, “but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we ought to pursue.”
“Let them attempt it, if they dare!” cried Mrs. Wood, who had worked herself into a passion; “and, I’ll warrant ‘em, the boldest robber among ‘em shall repent it, if he comes across me.”
“No doubt, my dear,” acquiesced the carpenter, “no doubt.”
Thames, who had been more than once on the point of mentioning his accidental rencounter with Jack Sheppard, not being altogether without apprehension, from the fact of his being in the neighbourhood,—now judged it more prudent to say nothing on the subject, from a fear of increasing Mrs. Wood’s displeasure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs. Mr. Wood could give him no further information respecting Sir Rowland Trenchard than what he had obtained from Kneebone; but begged him to defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before him, of which he would approve.
The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating. As Mrs. Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would “defer all she had to propose to him until to-morrow.”
To-morrow! She never beheld it.
After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections.
When about to retire to rest, the rencounter with Jack Sheppard again recurred to him, and he half blamed himself for not acquainting Mr. Wood with the circumstances, and putting him upon his guard against the possibility of an attack. On weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy that he resolved to descend, and inform him of his misgivings. But, when he got to the door with this intention, he became ashamed of his fears; and feeling convinced that Jack—bad as he might be—was not capable of such atrocious conduct as to plunder his benefactor twice, he contented himself with looking to the priming of his pistols, and placing them near him, to be ready in case of need, he threw himself on the bed and speedily fell asleep.
CHAPTER II. THE BURGLARY AT DOLLIS HILL
Thames Darrell’s fears were not, however, groundless. Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose. On receiving the warning note from the ostler, Jack Sheppard and his companion left Willesden, and taking—as a blind—the direction of Harrow, returned at night-fall by a by-lane to Neasdon, and put up at a little public-house called the Spotted Dog. Here they remained till midnight when, calling for their reckoning and their steeds, they left the house.
It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. The robbers proceeded singly, and kept on the grass skirting the road, so that no noise was made by their horses’ feet.
As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:—
“I don’t half like this job, Blueskin,” he said; “it always went against the grain. But, since I’ve seen the friend and companion of my childhood, Thames Darrell, I’ve no heart for it. Shall we turn back?”
“And disappoint Mr. Wild, Captain?” remonstrated the other, in a deferential tone. “You know this is a pet project. It might be dangerous to thwart him.”
“Pish!” cried Jack: “I don’t value his anger a straw. All our fraternity are afraid of him; but I laugh at his threats. He daren’t quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. I’ve my own reasons for disliking this job.”
“Well, you know I always act under your orders, Captain,” returned Blueskin; “and if you give the word to retreat, I shall obey, of course: but I know what Edgeworth Bess will say when we go home empty-handed.”
“Why what will she say?” inquired Sheppard.
“That we were afraid,” replied the other; “but never mind her.”
“Ay; but I do mind her,” cried Jack upon whom his comrade’s observation had produced the desired effect. “We’ll do it.”
“That’s right, Captain,” rejoined Blueskin. “You pledged yourself to Mr. Wild—”
“I did,” interrupted Jack; “and I never yet broke an engagement. Though a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his word.”
“To be sure he is,” acquiesced Blueskin. “I should like to meet the man who would dare to gainsay it.”
“One word before we begin, Blueskin,” said Jack, authoritatively; “in case the family should be alarmed—mind, no violence. There’s one person in the house whom I wouldn’t frighten for the world.”
“Wood’s daughter, I suppose?” observed the other.
“You’ve hit it,” answered Sheppard.
“What say you to carrying her off, Captain?” suggested Blueskin. “If you’ve a fancy for the girl, we might do it.”
“No—no,” laughed Jack. “Bess wouldn’t bear a rival. But if you wish to do old Wood a friendly turn, you may bring his wife.”
“I shouldn’t mind ridding him of her,” said Blueskin, gruffly; “and if she comes in my way, may the devil seize me if I don’t make short work with her!”
“You forget,” rejoined Jack, sternly, “I’ve just said I’ll have no violence—mind that.”
With this, they dismounted; and fastening their horses to a tree, proceeded towards the house. It was still so dark, that nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows. Presently they came to a wall, on the other side of which the dog began to bark violently; but Blueskin tossed him a piece of prepared meat, and uttering a low growl, he became silent. They then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. Arrived there, Jack felt about for a particular window; and having discovered the object of his search, and received the necessary implements from his companion, he instantly commenced operations. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment’s obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. The operation was effected with so much rapidity and so little noise, that even if any one had been on the alert, he could scarcely have detected it. They then took off their boots, and crept stealthily up stairs, treading upon the point of their toes so cautiously, that not a board creaked beneath their weight. Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently. Having ascertained by the breathing which room Thames occupied, he speedily contrived to fasten him in. He then tried the door of Mr. Wood’s bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. This occasioned a little delay; but Jack, whose skill as a workman in the particular line he had chosen was unequalled, and who laughed at difficulties, speedily cut out a panel by means of a centre-bit and knife, took the key from the other side, and unlocked the door. Covering his face with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate, Jack entered the room; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the bed, and approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers.
The loud noise proceeding from the couch proved that their slumbers were deep and real; and unconscious of the danger in which she stood, Mrs. Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. During this movement, Jack grasped the barrel of his pistol, held in his breath, and motioned to Blueskin, who bared a long knife, to keep still. The momentary alarm over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crow-bar. While he was filling his pockets with golden coin from this store, Blueskin had pulled the plate-chest from under the bed, and having forced it open, began filling a canvass bag with its contents,—silver coffee-pots, chocolate-dishes, waiters trays, tankards, goblets, and candlesticks. It might be supposed that these articles, when thrust together into the bag, would have jingled; but these skilful practitioners managed matters so well that no noise was made. After rifling the room of everything portable, including some of Mrs. Wood’s ornaments and wearing apparel, they prepared to depart. Jack then intimated his intention of visiting Winifred’s chamber, in which several articles of value were known to be kept; but as, notwithstanding his reckless character, he still retained a feeling of respect for the object of his boyish affections, he would not suffer Blueskin to accompany him, so he commanded him to keep watch over the sleepers—strictly enjoining him, however, to do them no injury. Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred’s door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter’s chamber. The next moment, a struggle was heard, and Blueskin appeared at the door, followed by Mrs. Wood.
Jack instantly extinguished the light, and called to his comrade to come after him.
But Blueskin found it impossible to make off,—at least with the spoil,—Mrs. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag.
“Give back the things!” cried the, lady. “Help!—help, Mr. Wood!”
“Leave go!” thundered Blueskin—“leave go—you’d better!”—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife.
“No, I won’t leave go!” screamed Mrs. Wood. “Fire!—murder—thieves!—I’ve got one of ‘em!”
“Come along,” cried Jack.
“I can’t,” answered Blueskin. “This she-devil has got hold of the sack. Leave go, I tell you!” and he forced open the knife with his teeth.
“Help!—murder!—thieves!” screamed Mrs. Wood;—“Owen—Owen!—Thames, help!”
“Coming!” cried Mr. Wood, leaping from the bed. “Where are you?”
“Here,” replied Mrs. Wood. “Help—I’ll hold him!”
“Leave her,” cried Jack, darting down stairs, amid a furious ringing of bells,—“the house is alarmed,—follow me!”
“Curses light on you!” cried Blueskin, savagely; “since you won’t be advised, take your fate.”
And seizing her by the hair, he pulled back her head, and drew the knife with all his force across her throat. There was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing.
The screams of the unfortunate woman had aroused Thames from his slumbers. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. By this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights. A terrible spectacle was presented to the young man’s gaze:—the floor deluged with blood—the mangled and lifeless body of Mrs. Wood,—Winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,—and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction. Thus, in a few minutes, had this happy family been plunged into the depths of misery. At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. Darting to a window looking in that direction, Thames threw it up, and discharged both his pistols, but without effect. In another minute, the tramp of horses’ feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape.
