CHAPTER FOUR.
DANGERS THREATEN.
The man who had been thus captured by David was one of those wretchedforlorn creatures who seem to reach a lower depth of wretchedness anddegradation in London than in any other city in the world. Althoughyoung and strongly made he was pale, gaunt and haggard, with a lookabout the eyes and mouth which denoted the habitual drunkard. Themeanness of his attire is indescribable.
He trembled--whether from the effects of dissipation or fear we cannotsay--as his captor led him under the lamp, with a grip on the collarthat almost choked him, but when the light fell full on his haggard facea feeling of intense pity induced the Scot to relax his hold.
"Oh, ye puir meeserable crater!" he said, but stopped abruptly, for theman made a sudden and desperate effort to escape. He might as well havestruggled in the grasp of a gorilla!
"Na, na, my man, ye'll no twust yersel' oot o' my grup sae easy! keepquiet noo, an' I'll no hurt 'ee. What gars ye gang aboot tryin' tosteal like that?"
"Steal!" explained the man fiercely, "what else can I do? I _must_live! I've just come out of prison, and am flung on the world to bekicked about like a dog and starve. Let me go, or I'll kill you!"
"Na, 'ee'll no kill me. I'm no sae easy killed as 'ee think," returnedDavid, again tightening the grasp of his right hand while he thrust hisleft into his trousers-pocket.
At that moment the bull's-eye light of an advancing constable becamevisible, and the defiant air of the thief gave place to a look ofanxious fear. It was evident that the dread of another period of prisonlife was strong upon the trembling wretch. Drawing out a handful ofcoppers, David thrust them quickly into the man's hand, and said--
"Hae, tak' them, an' aff ye go! an' ask the Lord to help 'ee to daebetter."
The strong hand relaxed, another moment and the man, slipping round thecorner like an unwholesome spirit, was gone.
"Can ye direck me, polisman," said the Scot to the constable, as he wasabout to pass, "t' Toor Street?"
"Never heard of it," said the constable brusquely, but civilly enough.
"That's queer noo. I was telt it was hereaboots--Toor Street."
"Oh, perhaps you mean _Tower_ Street" said the constable, with apatronising smile.
"Perhaps I div," returned the Scot, with that touch of cynicism which isoccasionally seen in his race. "Can 'ee direck me tilt?"
"Yes, but it is on the other side of the river."
"Na--it's on _this_ side o' the river," said David quietly yetconfidently.
The conversation was here cut short by the bursting on their ears of asudden noise at some distance. The policeman turned quickly away, andwhen David advanced into the main street he observed that there was someexcitement among its numerous and riotous occupants. The noisecontinued to increase, and it became evident that the cause of it wasrapidly approaching, for the sound changed from a distant rumble into asteady roar, in the midst of which stentorian shouts were heard.Gradually the roar culminated, for in another moment there swept roundthe end of the street a pair of apparently runaway horses, with twopowerful lamps gleaming, or rather glaring, above them. On each side ofthe driver of the galloping steeds stood a man, shouting like a maniacof the boatswain type. All three were brass-helmeted, like antiquecharioteers. Other helmets gleamed behind them. Little save thehelmets and the glowing lamps could be seen through the dark and smokyatmosphere as the steam fire-engine went thundering by.
Now, if there was one thing more than another that David Laidlaw desiredto see, it was a London fire. Often had he read about these fires, forhe was a great reader of books, as well as newspapers, and deeply hadhis enthusiasm been stirred (though not expressed) by accounts ofthrilling escapes and heroic deeds among the firemen. His eyestherefore flashed back the flame of the lamps as the engine went pasthim like a red thunderbolt, and he started off in pursuit of it.
But, as many people know, and all may believe, running in a crowdedLondon street is difficult--even to an expert London thief. Our Scotfound that out after a sixty-yards' run; then he had the wisdom to stop,just as a little boy leaped out of his way exclaiming--
"'Ullo, Goliah! mind w'ere you're a-goin' to. I wonder yer mother letyou hout all alone!"
"Whar's the fire, laddie?" demanded David, with some impatience.
"'Ow should _I_ know, Scotty! I ain't a pleeceman, ham I? that I shouldbe expected to know heverythink!"
As the engine had by that time vanished, no one could tell where thefire was, and as the street had reverted to its normal condition ofnoise and bustle, David Laidlaw gave up the search for it. He also gaveup as hopeless further search for his friend that night, and resolved toavail himself of one of those numerous establishments in the windows ofwhich it was announced that "good beds" were to be had within.
Entering one, the landlord of which had a round jovial countenance, heordered tea, toast, and sausages, with pen, ink, and paper. Havingheartily consumed the former, he devoted himself to the latter andproceeded to write a letter. Here is the epistle:--
"BAWBYLON, I dinna ken where.
"_5th July_ 18--.
"DEAR MITHER--Here I am, in Lun'on, an' wow! but it _is_ an awfu' place!'Ee'll no believe me, but I've been lost twa or three times a'ready,an' I've had a kine o' fecht an' a rescue, an' been taen to the polisoffice, an' made some freens, an' catched a thief (an' latten 'im affwi' a caution an' a wheen bawbees), an' seen a fire-engine that lookitas if it was gawn full gallop to destruction. Ay, wumin, an' I've fawnin a'ready wi' a waux doll! But dinna ye fear, mither, I'm ower teughto be gotten the better o' by the likes o' them. An' noo I'm gawn to mybed, sae as to be ready for mair adventurs the mornin'. Ye'll admitthat I've done gey 'n' weel for the first day. At this rate I'll beable to write a story-buik when I git hame. Respecks to faither. Yeraffectionate son, DAVID.
"_P.S._--The lan'lord's just been in, an' I've had a lang crack wi' himaboot the puir folk an' the thieves o' this Great Bawbylon. Wow, but I_am_ wae for them. Seems to me they have na got a chance i' the battleo' life. He says he'll tak' me to see ane o' their low lodgin'-hoosesthe morn. Guid-nicht."
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We turn now to a very different scene--to a West End drawing-room, inwhich is to be found every appliance, in the way of comfort andluxurious ease, that ingenuity can devise or labour produce. Anexceedingly dignified, large, self-possessed yet respectful footman,with magnificent calves in white stockings, has placed a silver tray,with three tiny cups and a tiny teapot thereon, near to the hand of abeautiful middle-aged lady--the mistress of the mansion. She is readinga letter with evident interest. A girl of seventeen, whose style ofbeauty tells of the closest relationship, sits beside her, eagerlyawaiting the news which is evidently contained in the letter.
"Oh, I am _so_ glad, Rosa! they have found traces of her at last."
"Of who, mother--old nurse?" asked Rosa.
"Yes, your father's old nurse; indeed I may say mine also, for when Iwas a little girl I used to pay long visits to your grandfather's house.And it seems that she is in great poverty--almost destitute. Dear,_dear_ old nurse! you won't be long in poverty if I can help it!"
As she spoke, a handsome man of middle age and erect carriage enteredthe room. There was an expression of care and anxiety on hiscountenance, which, however, partly disappeared when the lady turnedtowards him with a triumphant look and held up the letter.
"Didn't I tell you, Jack, that your lawyer would find our old nurse ifany one could? He writes me that she has been heard of, living in somevery poor district on the south side of the Thames, and hopes to be ableto send me her exact address very soon. I felt quite sure that MrLockhart would find her, he is such an obliging and amiable man, as wellas clever. I declare that I can't bear to look at all the uselessluxury in which we live when I think of the good and true creatures likeold nurse who are perishing in absolute destitution."
"But being disguste
d with our luxury and giving it all up would not mendmatters, little wife," returned Jack with a faint smile. "Rich peopleare not called upon to give up their riches, but to _use_ them--to spendwell within their means, so as to have plenty to spare in the way ofhelping those who are willing to help themselves, and sustaining thosewho cannot help themselves. The law of supply and demand has manyphases, and the profits resulting therefrom are overruled by a HigherPower than the laws of Political Economy. There are righteous rich aswell as poor; there are wicked poor as well as rich. What you and Ihave got to do in this perplexing world is to cut our particular coataccording to our cloth."
"Just so," said the lady with energy. "Your last remark is to thepoint, whatever may be the worth of your previous statements, and Iintend to cut off the whole of my superfluous skirts in order to clotheold nurse and such as she with them."
Rosa laughingly approved of this decision, for she was like-minded withher mother, but her father did not respond. The look of care hadreturned to his brow, and there was cause for it for Colonel Brentwoodhad just learned from his solicitor that he was a ruined man.
"It is hard to have to bring you such news, darling," he said, takinghis wife's hand, "especially when you were so happily engaged indevising liberal things for the poor, but God knows what is best for us.He gave us this fortune, when He inclined uncle Richard to leave it tous, and now He has seen fit to take it away."
"But how--what do you mean by taking it away?" asked poor MrsBrentwood, perceiving that her husband really had some bad news to tell.
"Listen; I will explain. When uncle Richard Weston died, unexpectedly,leaving to us his estate, we regarded it you know, as a gift from God,and came to England resolving to spend our wealth in His service. Well,yesterday Mr Lockhart informed me that another will has been found, oflater date than that which made me uncle Richard's heir, in which thewhole estate is left to a distant connection of whose very existence Ihad become oblivious."
"Well, Jack," returned the lady, with a valiant effort to appearreconciled, "but that is not _ruin_, you know. Your pay still remainsto us."
"I--I fear not. That is to say, believing the estate to be mine, I havecome under obligations which must be met and, besides, I have spentconsiderable sums which must be refunded--all of which, if I understandthe law of the land rightly, means ruin."
For some moments Mrs Brentwood sat in silent meditation. "Well," shesaid at length, with the air of one who has made up her mind, "I don'tunderstand much about the law of the land. All I know is that my purseis full of gold just now, so I will snap my fingers at the law of theland and go right off to visit and succour our dear old Liz."