Chapter 17

Whate'er thou hast to say, speak boldly out; Confront me like a man--I shall not start. Nor shiver, nor turn pale. My hand is firm, My heart is firmer still; and both are braced To meet the hour of danger--S.M.

About a mile and a half from the village of Ashton, at the head of an obscure cross road, seldom traversed but by wagoners and their teams, or the day laborer going to and fro from the neighboring farms to his work, there stood, a little back in a pathway field, a low public house, whose signboard merely contained the following blunt announcement to mark the owner's calling,

"Table Beer Sold Here."

The master of this obscure house of entertainment (which from its lonely situation might have been termed anything but public,) was a notorious poacher, familiarly known as Old Strawberry; and his cottage, for it deserved no better name, was the nightly resort of all the idle young fellows in the parish.

The in-door accommodations of the house consisted of two rooms below, and two attics above, and a long lean-to, which ran the whole length of the back of the building, forming an easy mode of egress, should need be, from the chamber windows above. The front rooms were divided into a sort of bar, which was separated from the kitchen by a high, old-fashioned stamped-leather screen, behind which a stout red faced middle aged woman held despotic sway, dispensing as many oaths to her customers as she did pots of beer. The other room was of a more private nature. It was fitted up with tables, cards and dice, to which none but the initiated were ever admitted.

The outside of the place had a worn and dilapidated appearance; but the inside was not at all deficient in comfort. The public room contained a good substantial oak dining-table, a dozen well polished elm chairs, an old fashioned varnished clock, and a huge painted cupboard in a corner, the doors of which were left purposely open, in order to display dame Strawberry's store of "real chany" cups and saucers, four long-necked cut-glass decanters, and a dozen long-legged ale-glasses. Then there was a side-table decorated with a monstrous tea-board, in which was portrayed, in all the colors of the rainbow, the queen of Sheba's memorable visit to the immortal wisdomship of Solomon.

Various pictures made gay the white-washed walls, amidst which shone conspicuously the history of the prodigal son, representing in six different stages a panoramic view of his life, in which the hero figured in the character of a fop in the reign of the first George, dressed in a sky blue coat, scarlet waistcoat, knee breeches, silk stockings, and high-heeled shoes, and to crown all, a full bottomed wig. Then there were the four Seasons, quaintly represented by four damsels, who all stared upon you with round eyes, and flushed red faces, dame Winter forming the only exception, whose grey locks and outstretched hands seemed to reproach her jolly companions for their want of sympathy in her sufferings.

Over the mantel-shelf hung a looking-glass in a carved frame, darkened and polished by the rubbing of years, quite a relic of the past, the top of which was ornamented by a large fan of peacock's feathers, and bunches of the pretty scentless flowers called "Love everlasting." A couple of guns slung to the beams that crossed the ceiling; an old cutlass in its iron scabbard, and a very suspicious-looking pair of horse pistols, completed the equipment of the room. The lean-to contained a pantry and wash-house, and places for stowing away game and liquor.

The private room was infinitely better furnished than the one just described. It boasted the luxury of a carpeted floor, and a dozen of painted cane-bottomed chairs, several mahogany card-tables, and a good mirror.

In this room a tall drooping girl was busily employed in wiping the dust from the furniture, and placing the cards and dice upon the tables. Sometimes she stopped and sighed heavily, or looked upwards and pressed her hand upon her head, with a sad and hopeless glance; ever and anon wiping away the tears that trickled down her pale cheeks with the corner of her checked apron.

The door was suddenly flung open with a sound that made the girl start, and the broad person of Mrs. Strawberry filled up the opening.

"Mary Mathews!" she shouted at the top of her voice, "what are you dawdling about? Do you think that I can afford to pay gals a shilling a week to do nothing? Just tramp to the kitchen and wash them potatoes for the men's supper. I don't want no fine ladies here, not I, I'se can tell you! If your brother warn't a good customer it is not another hour that I'd keep you, you useless lazy slut!"

"I was busy putting the room to rights, ma'am," said Mary, her indignation only suffered to escape her in the wild proud flash of her eye. "I can't be in two places at once!"

"You must learn to be in three or four, if I please," again bawled the domestic Hecate. "Your time is mine; I have bought it, and I'll take good care not to be cheated out of what's my due. Light up them candles. Quick! I hear the men whistling to their dogs. They'll be here directly."

Away waddled the human biped, and Mary, with another heavy sigh, lighted the candles, and retreated into the bar-room.

The night was cold and damp, although it was but the first week in October. The men were gathered about the fire, to dry their clothes and warm themselves. The foremost of these was Godfrey Hurdlestone. "Polly!" he shouted. "Polly Mathews, bring me a glass of brandy, and mind you don't take toll by the way."

The men laughed. "A little would do the girl good, and raise her spirits," said old Strawberry. "Never mind him, my dear. He's a stingy one. Take a good sup. Brandy's good for every thing. It's good for the head-ache, and the tooth-ache, and the heart-ache. That's right, take it kindly. It has put a little blood into your pale face already."

"I wish it would put a little into her heart," said Godfrey: "she's grown confoundedly dull of late."

"Why, Master Godfrey, who's fault is that, I should like to know?" said the old poacher. "You drink all the wine out of the cask, and then kick and abuse it, because 'tis empty. Now, before that girl came across you, she was as high-spirited a tom-boy as ever I seed. She'd come here at the dead o' night to fetch home her old dad, when she thought he'd been here long enough, and she'd a song and a jest for us all. She could take her own part then, and not one of my fellows dared to say a crooked word to her. I thought that she was the last girl in the world to be brought to sich a pass."

"Hush," said Godfrey; "what's the use of ripping up old grievances? Here comes Mathews with the game!"

"A poor night's work," said that ruffian, flinging down a sack upon the floor. "Five hares, three brace of pheasants, and one partridge. It was not worth venturing a trip across the herring pond for such a paltry prize. Here, Poll! stow them away in the old place. In two hours they'll be upon their journey to Lunnon without the aid of wings. Mind, girl, and keep a good look-out for the mail."

"Tim will take them to the four cross ways," said Mrs. Strawberry. "I want Mary at home. Why, boys, you have hardly earned your supper."

"If it's ready, let us have it upon trust, mother," said Godfrey: "this cold work in the plantations makes a fellow hungry."

In a moment all was bustle and confusion: the clatter of plates, and the clashing of knives and forks, mingled with blasphemous oaths and horrid jests, as the _worthy_ crew sat down to partake of their evening meal. Over all might be heard the shrill harsh voice of Mistress Strawberry, scolding, screaming, and ordering about in all directions.

The noisy banquet was soon ended; and some of the principals, like Godfrey and his associate Mathews, retired to the inner room, to spend the rest of the night in gambling and drinking. Mary was, as usual, in attendance to supply their empty glasses, and to procure fresh cards, if required.

"I don't think I shall play to-night, Mathews," said Godfrey, drawing his companion aside. "I lost all I was worth yesterday; and Skinner is not here. He's the only one worth plucking; the rest are all minus of cash just now."

"By the way, Godfrey," said Mathews, "what do you mean to do about that three hundred pounds you owe to Drew? You would buy the cattle. They were not worth half the money you paid for them; but you were drunk, and would have your own way. You must return the horses at a great loss."

"That's out of my power. They are gone--lost in a bet last night to that lucky fool, Skinner."

"Whew! you are a precious fellow. I am glad that I was not born under the same star. Why, Drew insists upon being paid, and threatens to take legal steps against you."

"I have provided for that," said Godfrey. "Look here." They stepped to the table at the far end of the room, and young Hurdlestone drew from his pocket-book a paper which he gave to Mathews. "Will that pass?"

"What is this? An order for three hundred pounds upon the bank of ----, drawn by the Jew, Haman Levi. What eloquence did you employ to obtain such a prize?"

"It's forged," said Godfrey, drawing close up to him, and whispering the words in his ear. "Did ever counterfeit come so close to reality?"

"Why, 'tis his own hand."

"Do you think it will escape detection?"

"Old Stratch himself could hardly find it out. You may get the blunt as soon as you like; and, if this succeeds, my boy, you will soon be able to replenish our empty purses." And Mathews rubbed his hands together, and chuckled with delight.

"Have you heard anything of Anthony?" said Godfrey. "Is he still with young Wildegrave?"

"I saw him this morning in the lane, by the old yew grove, near the park. He was walking very lovingly with a pretty little girl. I wonder what there is in him to make the girls so fond of him. I raised my hat as he passed, and gave him the time of day, and hang me, if he did not start, as if he had seen his father."

"Are they reconciled?"

"Not a bit of it. Wildegrave's man told me that he never goes near the Hall. Between ourselves, Mr. Godfrey, this proves your cousin to be a shrewd clever fellow. The only way to get those stingy old chaps to leave their money to their lawful heirs is by taking no notice of them."

"Oh that this Anthony were out of my path!" said Godfrey, lowering his voice to a whisper. "We could soon settle the old man's business."

"The lad's a good lad," said the other. "I don't much relish the idea of having his blood to answer for. If we could but get the father and son into an open quarrel, which would place him in suspicious circumstances--do you understand me?--and then do the old man's business--the blame might fall upon him instead of upon you."

"I would certainly rather transfer the hemp collar to his neck, if it could be safely accomplished. But how can it be brought about?"

"The devil will help us at a pinch. I have scarcely turned it over in my mind. But I'm sure your heart would fail you, Godfrey, if it came to murder."

"Do you take _me_ for a coward?"

"Not exactly. I was making some allowance for natural affection."

"Pshaw!" muttered his companion. "Only give me the chance. Affection! What affection do I owe to father or son? Anthony robbed me of my father's heart, and now stands between me and my uncle's fortune."

"I owe Anthony something on my own account, if it were only for the contempt with which he treated me in the presence of Miss Whitmore. By-the-by, Mr. Godfrey, are all your hopes in that quarter at an end?"

"Oh, hang her! Don't name her, Mathews. I would rather have Mary without a farthing than be domineered over by that pretty prude, and her hideous old aunt. I believe I might have the old maid for the asking--ha! ha! ha!"

"Mr. Godfrey," said Mathews, taking no notice of his mistimed mirth, "I would advise you, as a friend, not to mention our designs on the old miser to Mary."

"She won't peach."

"I'd not trust her. Women are strange creatures. They will often do the most wicked things when their own interests and passions are concerned; and, at other times, will sacrifice their best friends, from a foolish qualm of conscience, or out of a mistaken feeling of benevolence. If you wish our scheme to be successful, don't let Mary into the secret."

A wild laugh sounded in his ears: both started; and, on turning round, beheld Mary standing quietly beside them. Mathews surveyed his sister with a stern searching glance. She smiled contemptuously; but drew back, as if she feared him.

"Did you overhear our conversation, Mary?"

"I can keep my own secrets," said the girl, sullenly. "I don't want to be burthened with yours. They are not worth the trouble of keeping. My sleep is bad enough already. A knowledge of your deeds, William, would not make it sounder."

"It would make you sleep so soundly that evil thoughts would not be likely to keep you awake," said her brother, clenching his fist in her face. "Betray but one syllable of what you have overheard, and your bed is prepared for you."

"I do not care how soon," said Mary; "if you hold out such a temptation, I don't know what I might be tempted to do. They say that the sins of the murdered are all visited upon the murderer. What a comfort it would be to transfer mine to you." This was said in a tone of bitter irony; and, however unwilling to betray himself, it seemed to produce a strange effect upon the mind of the ruffian.

"Who talks of murder?" he said. "You are dreaming. Go to your bed, Mary. It is late; and don't forget to say your prayers."

"Prayers!" said the girl with a mocking laugh. "The prayers of the wicked never come up before the throne of God. My prayers would sound in my own ears like blasphemy. How would they sound in the ears of God?"

"Don't talk in that way, Mary; you make my flesh creep," said Mathews. "I have never said a prayer since I was a boy at my mother's knee, and that was before Mary was born. Had mother lived I should not have been what I now am; and poor Mary--." He paused; there was a touch of tenderness in the ruffian's tone and manner. The remembrance of that mother's love seemed the only holy thing that had ever been impressed upon his mind; and sunk even as he was in guilt, and hardened in crime, had he followed its suggestions it would have led him back to God, and made him the protector, instead of the base vendor of his sister's honor.

"What is the use of dwelling upon the past?" said Godfrey, pettishly. "We were all very good little boys once. At least my father always told me so; and by the strange contradictions which abound in human nature, I suppose that that was the very reason which made me grow up a bad man. And bad men we both are, Mathews, in the world's acceptation, and we may as well make the most we can of our acquired reputation."

"Now I would like to know," said Mathews, gloomily, "if you have ever felt a qualm of conscience in your life?"

"I do not believe in a future state. Let that answer you."

"Do you never fear the dark?" returned Mathews, glancing stealthily around. "Never feel that eyes are looking upon you--cold, glassy eyes, that peer into your very soul--eyes which are not of this world, and which no other eyes can see? Snuff the candles, Mary. The room looks as dismal as a vault."

Godfrey burst into a loud laugh. "If I were troubled with such ocular demonstrations I would wear spectacles. By Jove! Bill Mathews, waking or sleeping, I never was haunted by an evil spirit worse than yourself. But here's Skinner at last! Fetch a bottle of brandy and some glasses to yon empty table, Mary. I must try to win back from him what I lost last night."