CHAPTER VI. THE LAWYER AND THE BODY-SNATCHER.
That same evening Beck, according to appointment, met Percival andshowed him the dreary-looking house which held the fair stranger who hadso attracted his youthful fancy. And Percival looked at the high wallswith the sailor's bold desire for adventure, while confused visionsreflected from plays, operas, and novels, in which scaling walls withrope-ladders and dark-lanterns was represented as the natural vocationof a lover, flitted across his brain; and certainly he gave a deep sighas his common-sense plucked him back from such romance. However, havingnow ascertained the house, it would be easy to learn the name of itsinmates, and to watch or make his opportunity. As slowly and reluctantlyhe walked back to the spot where he had left his cabriolet, he enteredinto some desultory conversation with his strange guide; and the pityhe had before conceived for Beck increased upon him as he talked andlistened. This benighted mind, only illumined by a kind of miserableastuteness and that "cunning of the belly" which is born of want toengender avarice; this joyless temperament; this age in youth; thisliving reproach, rising up from the stones of London against our socialindifference to the souls which wither and rot under the hard eyesof science and the deaf ears of wealth,--had a pathos for his livelysympathies and his fresh heart.
"If ever you want a friend, come to me," said St. John, abruptly.
The sweeper stared, and a gleam of diviner nature, a ray of gratitudeand unselfish devotion, darted through the fog and darkness of his mind.He stood, with his hat off, watching the wheels of the cabriolet as itbore away the happy child of fortune, and then, shaking his head, as atsome puzzle that perplexed and defied his comprehension, strode back tothe town and bent his way homeward.
Between two and three hours after Percival thus parted from the sweeper,a man whose dress was little in accordance with the scene in which wepresent him, threaded his way through a foul labyrinth of alleys in theworst part of St. Giles's,--a neighbourhood, indeed, carefully shunnedat dusk by wealthy passengers; for here dwelt not only Penury in itsgrimmest shape, but the desperate and dangerous guilt which is not tobe lightly encountered in its haunts and domiciles. Here childrenimbibe vice with their mother's milk. Here Prostitution, commencing withchildhood, grows fierce and sanguinary in the teens, and leagues withtheft and murder. Here slinks the pickpocket, here emerges the burglar,here skulks the felon. Yet all about and all around, here, too, maybe found virtue in its rarest and noblest form,--virtue outshiningcircumstance and defying temptation; the virtue of utter poverty, whichgroans, and yet sins not. So interwoven are these webs of penury andfraud that in one court your life is not safe; but turn to the righthand, and in the other, you might sleep safely in that worse than Irishshealing, though your pockets were full of gold. Through these hauntsthe ragged and penniless may walk unfearing, for they have nothing todread from the lawless,--more, perhaps, from the law; but the wealthy,the respectable, the spruce, the dainty, let them beware the spot,unless the policeman is in sight or day is in the skies!
As this passenger, whose appearance, as we have implied, was certainlynot that of a denizen, turned into one of the alleys, a rough handseized him by the arm, and suddenly a group of girls and tatterdemalionsissued from a house, in which the lower shutters unclosed showed a lightburning, and surrounded him with a hoarse whoop.
The passenger whispered a word in the ear of the grim blackguard who hadseized him, and his arm was instantly released.
"Hist! a pal,--he has the catch," said the blackguard, surlily. Thegroup gave way, and by the light of the clear starlit skies, and asingle lamp hung at the entrance of the alley, gazed upon the stranger.But they made no effort to detain him; and as he disappeared in thedistant shadows, hastened back into the wretched hostlery where they hadbeen merry-making. Meanwhile, the stranger gained a narrow court, andstopped before a house in one of its angles,--a house taller than therest, so much taller than the rest that it had the effect of a tower;you would have supposed it (perhaps rightly) to be the last remainsof some ancient building of importance, around which, as populationthickened and fashion changed, the huts below it had insolently sprungup. Quaint and massive pilasters, black with the mire and soot ofcenturies, flanked the deep-set door; the windows were heavy withmullions and transoms, and strongly barred in the lower floor; but fewof the panes were whole, and only here and there had any attempt beenmade to keep out the wind and rain by rags, paper, old shoes, old hats,and other ingenious contrivances. Beside the door was convenientlyplaced a row of some ten or twelve bell-pulls, appertaining no doubtto the various lodgments into which the building was subdivided. Thestranger did not seem very familiar with the appurtenances of the place.He stood in some suspense as to the proper bell to select; but at last,guided by a brass plate annexed to one of the pulls, which, though itwas too dark to decipher the inscription, denoted a claim to superiorgentility to the rest of that nameless class, he hazarded a tug, whichbrought forth a 'larum loud enough to startle the whole court from itsstillness.
In a minute or less, the casement in one of the upper stories opened, ahead peered forth, and one of those voices peculiar to low debauch--raw,cracked, and hoarse--called out: "Who waits?"
"Is it you, Grabman?" asked the stranger, dubiously.
"Yes,--Nicholas Grabman, attorney-at-law, sir, at your service; and yourname?"
"Jason," answered the stranger.
"Ho, there! ho, Beck!" cried the cracked voice to some one within; "godown and open the door."
In a few moments the heavy portal swung and creaked and yawned sullenly,and a gaunt form, half-undressed, with an inch of a farthing rushlightglimmering through a battered lantern in its hand, presented itself toJason. The last eyed the ragged porter sharply.
"Do you live here?"
"Yes," answered Beck, with the cringe habitual to him. "H-up the ladder,vith the rats, drat 'em."
"Well, lead on; hold up the lantern. A devil of a dark place this!"grumbled Jason, as he nearly stumbled over sundry broken chattels, andgained a flight of rude, black, broken stairs, that creaked under histread.
"'St! 'st!" said Beck between his teeth, as the stranger, halting at thesecond floor, demanded, in no gentle tones, whether Mr. Grabman lived inthe chimney-pots.
"'St! 'st! Don't make such a rumpus, or No. 7 will be at you."
"What do I care for No. 7? And who the devil is No. 7?"
"A body-snatcher!" whispered Beck, with a shudder. "He's a dillicutsleeper,--can't abide having his night's rest sp'ilt. And he's thehoutrageoustest great cretur when he's h-up in his tantrums; it makesyour 'air stand on ind to 'ear him!"
"I should like very much to hear him, then," said the stranger,curiously. And while he spoke, the door of No. 7 opened abruptly. Ahuge head, covered with matted hair, was thrust for a moment through theaperture, and two dull eyes, that seemed covered with a film like thatof the birds which feed on the dead, met the stranger's bold, sparklingorbs.
"Hell and fury!" bawled out the voice of this ogre, like a clap of nearthunder, "if you two keep tramp, tramp, there close at my door, I'llmake you meat for the surgeons, b---- you!"
"Stop a moment, my civil friend," said the stranger, advancing; "juststand where you are: I should like to make a sketch of your head."
That head protruded farther from the door, and with it an enormousbulk of chest and shoulder. But the adventurous visitor was not to bedaunted. He took out, very coolly, a pencil and the back of a letter,and began his sketch.
The body-snatcher stared at him an instant in mute astonishment; butthat operation and the composure of the artist were so new to him thatthey actually inspired him with terror. He slunk back, banged tothe door; and the stranger, putting up his implements, said, with adisdainful laugh, to Beck, who had slunk away into a corner,--
"No. 7 knows well how to take care of No. 1. Lead on, and be quick,then!"
As they continued to mount, they heard the body-snatcher growling andblaspheming in his den, and the sound made Beck clamber the quicker,till at the n
ext landing-place he took breath, threw open a door, andJason, pushing him aside, entered first.
The interior of the room bespoke better circumstances than might havebeen supposed from the approach; the floor was covered with sundryscraps of carpet, formerly of different hues and patterns, but mellowedby time into one threadbare mass of grease and canvas. There was a goodfire on the hearth, though the night was warm; there were sundry volumespiled round the walls, in the binding peculiar to law books; in a cornerstood a tall desk, of the fashion used by clerks, perched on tall, slimlegs, and companioned by a tall, slim stool. On a table before the firewere scattered the remains of the nightly meal,--broiled bones, theskeleton of a herring; and the steam rose from a tumbler containing aliquid colourless as water, but poisonous as gin.
The room was squalid and dirty, and bespoke mean and slovenly habits;but it did not bespeak penury and want, it had even an air of filthycomfort of its own,--the comfort of the swine in its warm sty. Theoccupant of the chamber was in keeping with the localities. Figure toyourself a man of middle height, not thin, but void of all muscularflesh,--bloated, puffed, unwholesome. He was dressed in a gray-flannelgown and short breeches, the stockings wrinkled and distained, the feetin slippers. The stomach was that of a portly man, the legs were thoseof a skeleton; the cheeks full and swollen, like a ploughboy's, butlivid, bespeckled, of a dull lead-colour, like a patient in the dropsy.The head, covered in patches with thin, yellowish hair, gave somepromise of intellect, for the forehead was high, and appeared still moreso from partial baldness; the eyes, embedded in fat and wrinkled skin,were small and lustreless, but they still had that acute look whicheducation and ability communicate to the human orb; the mouth mostshowed the animal,--full-lipped, coarse, and sensual; while behind oneof two great ears stuck a pen.
You see before you, then, this slatternly figure,--slipshod,half-clothed, with a sort of shabby demi-gentility about it, halfragamuffin, half clerk; while in strong contrast appeared the new-comer,scrupulously neat, new, with bright black-satin stock, coat cut jauntilyto the waist, varnished boots, kid gloves, and trim mustache.
Behind this sleek and comely personage, on knock-knees, in torn shirtopen at the throat, with apathetic, listless, unlighted face, stood thelean and gawky Beck.
"Set a chair for the gentleman," said the inmate of the chamber to Beck,with a dignified wave of the hand.
"How do you do, Mr.--Mr.--humph--Jason? How do you do? Always smart andblooming; the world thrives with you."
"The world is a farm that thrives with all who till it properly,Grabman," answered Jason, dryly; and with his handkerchief he carefullydusted the chair, on which he then daintily deposited his person.
"But who is your Ganymede, your valet, your gentleman-usher?"
"Oh, a lad about town who lodges above and does odd jobs forme,--brushes my coat, cleans my shoes, and after his day's work goes anerrand now and then. Make yourself scarce, Beck! Anatomy, vanish!"
Beck grinned, nodded, pulled hard at a flake of his hair, and closed thedoor.
"One of your brotherhood, that?" asked Jason, carelessly.
"He, oaf? No," said Grabman, with profound contempt in his sicklyvisage. "He works for his bread,--instinct! Turnspits and truffle-dogsand some silly men have it! What an age since we met! Shall I mix you atumbler?"
"You know I never drink your vile spirits; though in Champagne andBordeaux I am any man's match."
"And how the devil do you keep old black thoughts out of your mind bythose washy potations?"
"Old black thoughts--of what?"
"Of black actions, Jason. We have not met since you paid me forrecommending the nurse who attended your uncle in his last illness."
"Well, poor coward?"
Grabman knit his thin eyebrows and gnawed his blubber lips.
"I am no coward, as you know."
"Not when a thing is to be done, but after it is done. You brave thesubstance, and tremble at the shadow. I dare say you see ugly goblins inthe dark, Grabman?"
"Ay, ay; but it is no use talking to you. You call yourself Jasonbecause of your yellow hair, or your love for the golden fleece; butyour old comrades call you 'Rattlesnake,' and you have its blood, as itsvenom."
"And its charm, man," added Jason, with a strange smile, that, thoughhypocritical and constrained, had yet a certain softness, and addedgreatly to the comeliness of features which many might call beautiful,and all would allow to be regular and symmetrical. "I shall find atleast ten love-letters on my table when I go home. But enough of thesefopperies, I am here on business."
"Law, of course; I am your man. Who's the victim?" and a hideous grinon Grabman's face contrasted the sleek smile that yet lingered upon hisvisitor's.
"No; something less hazardous, but not less lucrative than our oldpractices. This is a business that may bring you hundreds, thousands;that may take you from this hovel to speculate at the West End; that maychange your gin into Lafitte, and your herring into venison; that maylift the broken attorney again upon the wheel,--again to roll down, itmay be; but that is your affair."
"'Fore Gad, open the case," cried Grabman, eagerly, and shoving asidethe ignoble relics of his supper, he leaned his elbows on the table andhis chin on his damp palms, while eyes that positively brightened intoan expression of greedy and relentless intelligence were fixed upon hisvisitor.
"The case runs thus," said Jason. "Once upon a time there lived, atan old house in Hampshire called Laughton, a wealthy baronet named St.John. He was a bachelor, his estates at his own disposal. He had twonieces and a more distant kinsman. His eldest niece lived with him,--shewas supposed to be destined for his heiress; circumstances needlessto relate brought upon this girl her uncle's displeasure,--she wasdismissed his house. Shortly afterwards he died, leaving to hiskinsman--a Mr. Vernon--his estates, with remainder to Vernon's issue,and in default thereof, first to the issue of the younger niece, next tothat of the elder and disinherited one. The elder married, and was lefta widow without children. She married again, and had a son. Her secondhusband, for some reason or other, conceived ill opinions of his wife.In his last illness (he did not live long) he resolved to punish thewife by robbing the mother. He sent away the son, nor have we been ableto discover him since. It is that son whom you are to find."
"I see, I see; go on," said Grabman. "This son is now the remainderman.How lost? When? What year? What trace?"
"Patience. You will find in this paper the date of the loss and the ageof the child, then a mere infant. Now for the trace. This husband--didI tell you his name? No? Alfred Braddell--had one friend more intimatethan the rest,--John Walter Ardworth, a cashiered officer, a ruined man,pursued by bill-brokers, Jews, and bailiffs. To this man we have latelyhad reason to believe that the child was given. Ardworth, however, wasshortly afterwards obliged to fly his creditors. We know that he went toIndia; but if residing there, it must have been under some new name, andwe fear he is now dead. All our inquiries, at least after this man,have been fruitless. Before he went abroad, he left with his old tutor achild corresponding in age to that of Mrs. Braddell's. In this child shethinks she recognizes her son. All that you have to do is to trace hisidentity by good legal evidence. Don't smile in that foolishway,--I mean sound, bona fide evidence that will stand the fire ofcross-examination; you know what that is! You will therefore findout,--first, whether Braddell did consign his child to Ardworth, and,if so, you must then follow Ardworth, with that child in his keeping,to Matthew Fielden's house, whose address you find noted in the paper Igave you, together with many other memoranda as to Ardworth's creditorsand those whom he is likely to have come across."
"John Ardworth, I see!"
"John Walter Ardworth,--commonly called Walter; he, like me, preferredto be known only by his second baptismal name. He, because of afavourite Radical godfather; I, because Honore is an inconvenientGallicism. And perhaps when Honore Mirabeau (my godfather) went outof fashion with the sans-culottes, my father thought Gabriel a saferdesignation. Now I have told you
all."
"What is the mother's maiden name?"
"Her maiden name was Clavering; she was married under that of Dalibard,her first husband."
"And," said Grabman, looking over the notes in the paper given to him,"it is at Liverpool that the husband died, and whence the child was sentaway?"
"It is so; to Liverpool you will go first. I tell you fairly, the taskis difficult, for hitherto it has foiled me. I knew but one man who,without flattery, could succeed, and therefore I spared no pains to findout Nicholas Grabman. You have the true ferret's faculty; you, too, area lawyer, and snuff evidence in every breath. Find us a son,--a legalson,--a son to be shown in a court of law, and the moment he steps intothe lands and the Hall of Laughton, you have five thousand pounds."
"Can I have a bond to that effect?"
"My bond, I fear, is worth no more than my word. Trust to the last; if Ibreak it, you know enough of my secrets to hang me!"
"Don't talk of hanging; I hate that subject. But stop. If found, doesthis son succeed? Did this Mr. Vernon leave no heir; this other sistercontinue single, or prove barren?"
"Oh, true! He, Mr. Vernon, who by will took the name of St. John, heleft issue; but only one son still survives, a minor and unmarried. Thesister, too, left a daughter; both are poor, sickly creatures,--theirlives not worth a straw. Never mind them. You find Vincent Braddell,and he will not be long out of his property, nor you out of your 5,000pounds! You see, under these circumstances a bond might become dangerousevidence!"
Grabman emitted a fearful and tremulous chuckle,--a laugh like the laughof a superstitious man when you talk to him of ghosts and churchyards.He chuckled, and his hair bristled. But after a pause, in which heseemed to wrestle with his own conscience, he said: "Well, well, you area strange man, Jason; you love your joke. I have nothing to do except tofind out this ultimate remainderman; mind that!"
"Perfectly; nothing like subdivision of labour."
"The search will be expensive."
"There is oil for your wheels," answered Jason, putting a note-book intohis confidant's hands. "But mind you waste it not. No tricks, no falseplay, with me; you know Jason, or, if you like the name better, you knowthe Rattlesnake!"
"I will account for every penny," said Grabman, eagerly, and claspinghis hands, while his pale face grew livid.
"I do not doubt it, my quill-driver. Look sharp, start to-morrow. Getthyself decent clothes, be sober, cleanly, and respectable. Act as a manwho sees before him 5,000 pounds. And now, light me downstairs."
With the candle in his hand, Grabman stole down the rugged steps evenmore timorously than Beck had ascended them, and put his finger to hismouth as they came in the dread vicinity of No. 7. But Jason, or ratherGabriel Varney, with that fearless, reckless bravado of temper which,while causing half his guilt, threw at times a false glitter over itsbaseness, piqued by the cowardice of his comrade, gave a lusty kick atthe closed door, and shouted out: "Old grave-stealer, come out, and letme finish your picture. Out, out! I say, out!" Grabman left the candleon the steps, and made but three bounds to his own room.
At the third shout of his disturber the resurrection-man threw open hisdoor violently and appeared at the gap, the upward flare of the candleshowing the deep lines ploughed in his hideous face, and the immensestrength of his gigantic trunk and limbs. Slight, fair, and delicate ashe was, Varney eyed him deliberately, and trembled not.
"What do you want with me?" said the terrible voice, tremulous withrage.
"Only to finish your portrait as Pluto. He was the god of Hell, youknow."
The next moment the vast hand of the ogre hung like a great cloud overGabriel Varney. This last, ever on his guard, sprang aside, and thelight gleamed on the steel of a pistol. "Hands off! Or--"
The click of the pistol-cock finished the sentence. The ruffian halted.A glare of disappointed fury gave a momentary lustre to his dull eyes."P'r'aps I shall meet you again one o' these days, or nights, and Ishall know ye in ten thousand."
"Nothing like a bird in the hand, Master Grave-stealer. Where can weever meet again?"
"P'r'aps in the fields, p'r'aps on the road, p'r'aps at the Old Bailey,p'r'aps at the gallows, p'r'aps in the convict-ship. I knows what thatis! I was chained night and day once to a chap jist like you. Didn't Ibreak his spurit; didn't I spile his sleep! Ho, ho! you looks a bit lessvarmently howdacious now, my flash cove!"
Varney hitherto had not known one pang of fear, one quicker beat of theheart before. But the image presented to his irritable fancy (alwaysprone to brood over terrors),--the image of that companion chained tohim night and day,--suddenly quelled his courage; the image stood beforehim palpably like the Oulos Oneiros,--the Evil Dream of the Greeks.
He breathed loud. The body-stealer's stupid sense saw that he hadproduced the usual effect of terror, which gratified his brutalself-esteem; he retreated slowly, inch by inch, to the door, followed byVarney's appalled and staring eye, and closed it with such violence thatthe candle was extinguished.
Varney, not daring,--yes, literally not daring,--to call aloud toGrabman for another light, crept down the dark stairs with hurried,ghostlike steps; and after groping at the door-handle with one hand,while the other grasped his pistol with a strain of horror, he succeededat last in winning access to the street, and stood a moment to collecthimself in the open air,--the damps upon his forehead, and his limbstrembling like one who has escaped by a hairbreadth the crash of afalling house.