 | CHAPTER X.
THE DEACON AND THE BURGLAR. Ellen Norbury, or, The adventures of an orphan |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
THE DEACON AND THE BURGLAR.
It was on the evening of the day following the burglary,
that a dark figure stole out of the gloomy region known as
the Infected District, and, gliding warily along some of
the more respectable thoroughfares, at length entered
Eighth street, and halted before a fine dwelling, which bore
upon a silver mounted plate, on the front door, the
name of Absalom Pinchbeck. After one or two cautious
glances up and down the street, he hastened up the steps,
and rung the bell.
“Is Mr. Pinchbeck in?” he inquired of the domestic
who answered his summons.
“He is, sure. Will ye walk in?” was the answer.
“First tell him a gentleman is here, who'd like to speak
with him.”
The domestic turned away, with a smile of contempt, at
the idea of the stranger, whose dress she had scanned by
the light of the street-lamp, calling himself a gentleman;
and the next minute the Deacon himself appeared.
“Can we have a bit of private chat?” said the stranger
to the Deacon.
“Oh! I see—it's you, Mr. Mulwrack,” replied the Deacon.
“Yes—walk in here!” and he threw open the door
into the front parlor, and called for a light. The moment
the gas was lit, and the doors were closed, he added, in a
low tone: “What news?”
“The best,” answered Mulwrack.
“Ah! indeed! glad to hear it!” and the oily Deacon
rubbed his hands, keeping his eye the while inquiringly
upon his guest. “Yes—take a seat; there—so—well?”
“You know what we've talked of afore?” said Mulwrack.
“Yes, indeed—I've a good memory.”
“You know the gal was wanted to make you all right”
“Yes—if she could be found—and—and—”
“Put out of the way,” chimed in the Burglar, finishing
the sentence in a business-like tone.
“Hush! don't speak so loud! walls have ears, you know.
Yes! I believe that was something like what we talked of.”
“Well, she's found.”
“Ah! indeed! How? where? when?”
“Never you mind all that—that's my business—and I
don't blow my business to everybody. The gal's safe—
I knows where—and that's enough.”
“Yes—exactly—excuse me! So she's found, eh?
“Ay! and she can stay found, or be lost—you understand?”
“Yes, yes,—I see!” returned the Deacon, in a nervous
tone, glancing hastily around. “There! don't speak quite
serious!”
“You needn't be skeered,” said Mulwrack; “you've got
nothing to be afeared of; it's me, and not you, that'll do
the business.”
“Yes, yes—I know; but then, you see—you see—if
it should ever leak out, I would be in law accessory before
the fact; and that wouldn't be at all agreeable, you see.
Ah! law is a great thing; and I intend to make a great
lawyer of my son Nelson.”
“Curse the law!” grumbled Mulwrack; “I've had
enough on't; and if I does this job, I intend to show this
here town a clean pair of heels, and let them as wants
law, have it, and be —! But to business—for I can't
stay all night. Now you needn't be afeard of the thing's
leaking out; for if I does the business, I'll do it alone; and
I'm not the chap to peach on any man as pays me
well.”
“You say you have the girl safe?”
“I said the gal was safe—I didn't say who had her.”
“But how am I to know she is the right one?”
“Can't you believe what I tell you?”
“Doubtless you speak the truth, and it may not seem
right for me to doubt your word; but in a matter like this,
you know, where so much is at stake, I should like the
assurance of my own eyes.”
“Well, would you know the gal, if you'd see her agin?”
“I think I would—yes, I think I would. She stopped
here, begging, one night—at least I suppose she is the same;
and I have a pretty good recollection of her features.
Confound the thing! if I had known then what I do
now—”
“You'd have did the business yourself, I s'pose,” rejoined
Mulwrack, as the other paused.
“Oh! no! no! not I!” hastily replied the Deacon.
“Well, the long and short on't is, if you're in 'arnest,
you shall see the gal afore I pocket the rhino.”
“Of course you don't expect your pay before you do
your work?” said the Deacon, inquiringly.
“Don't I?” sneered Mulwrack, looking the other
straight in the eye. “I hope you don't take me for a—
fool!”
“Oh! no—by no means, Mr. Mulwrack—you must not
take it in that light; but it is not customary, among us
business men, to pay for a job before it's done.”
“Well, I expect it's not customary, among you business
men, to bargain for such jobs, neither,” rejoined the Burglar.
“Now the long and short on't is this here—that when
the job's murder, (at this word he sunk his voice to a
whisper, and the other shuddered,) and that job's to benefit
another man, the chap that don't git his pay for't afore
it's done, is a — sight bigger fool than me—that's all
I've got to say about that.”
“Well, well—we'll talk of that by-and-by,” said the
Deacon, uneasily. “For the present, it may be as well to
consider how much I should be benefited by her—her—
being—ah—lost.”
The cowardly scoundrel could not bring himself to utter
the word murdered.
“Why, you know a'ready how much you'll git,” said
Mulwrack, impatiently; “we've talked this here all over
afore.”
“Yes! but I've kind of forgotten, you see. Business is
business, Mr. Mulwrack; yes, business is business; and one
ought never to transact it hastily. After all, the thing
seems to rest with that paper you found; and that really
may be nothing but—but—a—(he was going to say forgery,
some idle man.”
“Well, I don't know—you'll have to be your own judge
about that there,” returned the Burglar, indifferently. “All
I know is, how and where I got it; and that when I showed
it to you, you thought it was genewine.”
“True—true—so I did; yes, so I did; and I think so
still; but thinking and knowing are two things, you see—
my—my—ah! Mr. Mulwrack,” rejoined the Deacon, turning
and twisting himself about in a manner indicative of
considerable uneasiness of mind.
“Well, what's up?” gruffly demanded the Burglar, who
began to feel not a little contempt for his hypocritical and
cowardly companion.
“Eh! what did you say?”
“I say what's up?”
“Up?”
“I mean what are you going to do? what do you decide
on?”
“Oh! ah! yes—ahem—I see! Well, first, I think I
would like to look at that paper again. Have you got it
about you?”
“Yes!” answered Mulwrack, looking the Deacon steadily
in the face for some time, as if to read his very
thoughts. “Now I expect there'll be no trick about this
matter!” he continued; “but if you do try to come any
game over me, I'll let daylight through you, if it costs me
a knot under the ear! D'ye understand?”
“Oh! no—Heaven forbid! I had no such idea—upon
my honor, as a gentleman, I hadn't!” stammered the worthy
church-officer. “And besides, how could I trick you?
what could I do? If that paper is correct, the information
is worthless to me while the girl lives; and, of course,
you!”
“Well, here's the paper then,” said Mulwrack, taking it
from his pocket and handing it to the other. “Just read
it out loud—I'd like to hear it agin myself.”
The Deacon drew near the light, opened the soiled and
crumpled document—which was written in a bold, free,
business-like hand—and read as follows:
“THE WELDEN ESTATE.
“Archibald Welden, the younger son of the original
Baronet of the same name, by the death of a rich kinsman
on his mother's side, fell heir by will to a large estate and
great wealth. He married, and had for issue a son and a
daughter. The daughter died without issue. Charles,
the son of Archibald, wedded early in life. Issue, two sons
and a daughter. The brothers, Henry and John, sons of
Charles, died unmarried. Mary, the daughter of Charles,
inherited the estate of her father Charles, and grandfather
Archibald, which she brought as dowry to her wedded husband,
Edward Montague, youngest son of Richard Marquis
of Landfelt. This union was productive of three sons
and two daughters—but the estate was now entailed upon
the eldest son, Henry Montague, and the eldest son of his
body direct, legal issue, and so to continue in male descent
forever. But failing male heir direct, within five generations,
the estate was to revert to Willard, second son of
Edward Montague, and his first-born male, as before provided;
and failing heir in this line, to revert to Frederick,
third son of Edward Montague, and his heir male, as before
provided; and failing heir in this line, to revert to
Alice, eldest daughter of Edward Montague, and her heir
male, as before provided; and failing heir in this line, to
revert to Jane, second daughter of Edward Montague, and
altogether, to take descent in the female line, reverting to
the eldest daughter of Henry, first-born of Edward Montague,
and her eldest male issue, provided the heir should
take the name of Montague; or failing heir in this line, to
revert in the order of birth to the eldest daughter of the
second son of Edward Montague; or failing heir in this
line, to revert to the next in the same order; and so continue
until an heir should be found.
“Now in the third generation, as before mentioned,
John de Carp, third son of Jane, second daughter of Edward
Montague, fell heir to the Welden Estate, and took
upon him the surname of his grandfather. John de Carp
Montague still lives, an old man, in feeble health. The
issue of his body was two daughters and one son—all deceased.
The daughters died without issue. The son,
James, married twice. By his first wife he had two
daughters. His second wife was a Montague, a distant relation,
and next heir to the estate, after James her husband,
failing mail issue. She died, leaving two daughters.
The younger died without issue. The elder married William
Norbury, Artist, and for some years resided in Dublin.
She had a son and a daughter—the son is deceased.
The mother, if living, is the heir presumptive—the
daughter, Ellen, next in succession. They set out for
America, and nothing more is known of them. Supposing
both mother and daughter dead, the next heir presumptive
is the granddaughter of James Montague by his first
daughter. She married a Ferguson, and came to America,
where he died. She next married a Williams, who is also
dead; and she is now the wife of Absalom Pinchbeck, and
resides in Philadelphia. Failing the daughter who married
a Norbury, and her issue—and the granddaughter, the present
wife of Absalom Pinchbeck—the Weldon Estate, now
to Lucy Stanhope, the wife of Casmir Stanhope, and
only daughter of Flora, second daughter of James Montague,
and great granddaughter of John de Carp Montague.”
Such was this singular document—to which was added,
in a different hand:
“It is possible! I have made strict inquiries concerning
the Norburys, and think all are dead. There only stands,
then, between my wife and the possession of this estate,
the wife of Pinchbeck. The estate is worth £10,000 per
annum.”
There was no signature to this paper; but the inference
was, that it had been taken from the possession of Casmir
Stanhope. Such indeed was the fact. Mulwrack, in one
of his burglarious expeditions during the winter, in rummaging
a secret drawer, had chanced upon this paper, and
secured it about his person. Margaret, who could read,
had afterwards informed him of the contents; and Pinchbeck
being known to him as the owner of some property in
the Infected District, he had ventured to call upon him
and let him peruse it. After sounding him a little, to see how
much further he might venture, Mulwrack had then informed
him that he knew a little girl named Ellen Norbury, whom
he doubted not was the one referred to; and that if she
were out of the way, he, Pinchbeck, might come into possession
of this property. The Deacon had also recognized
the name as the same the little beggar-girl had given him;
and remembering her statement, that her father was an
artist, and that both her parents were dead, it had readily
occurred to him, that one so friendless and unknown could
be silenced for ever, without eliciting any inquiry concerning
her. On perceiving that the Deacon was ripe for his
horrible scheme, Mulwrack had informed him that the
and run away—but that he doubted not he should
soon be able to find her, when he would again confer with
him on the subject. Ellen had been unexpectedly found,
in the manner detailed, and the Burglar was now present
with the Deacon, to close the compact which should consign
her to a violent death.
“Well,” said Mulwrack, when the Deacon had finished
reading, “now that you're through with the paper agin, and
I tell you that the gal's where I can put my hand on her,
what d'ye say now?”
“I hardly know what to say,” returned the other, not a
little agitated. “This seems to be all right; but one ought
to be sure before venturing upon—upon—a—ah—such a
thing—as—we have talked about.”
“Well, now,” growled Mulwrack, with a look half-savage,
half-contemptuous, snatching the paper from the
Deacon's hand, and folding it hastily—“I've got something
better to do than to loaf here all night; and so as
you don't care to be independent rich, for a mere trifle, I'll
go and see what I can make from the gal herself.”
“Stop, Mr. Mulwrack—don't be too hasty!” said the
Deacon; “you should always give one time to consider a
proposition before withdrawing it.”
“It don't take me long to make a bargain, when t'other
side's willing, and the gains is all in my favor,” rejoined
the Burglar; “and the long and short on't is, I don't like
to wait a year for any body else to do the same thing.”
“Well, let me see!” said the Deacon, nervously; “let
me see! You are certain you could put her out of the
way, without leaving any clue by which I might be suspected
of having a hand in the matter?”
“Yes, I told you so afore.”
“And what am I to pay you for this?”
“Well, considering that you'll git ten thousand pounds
a year, when the gal's dead, I reckon ten thousand dollars
down 'ud be the fair thing.”
“Ten thousand dollars!” cried the Deacon, in astonishment.
“Why, you are not serious?”
“Would you do it for less?”
“Oh! no! no! I would not do it for any sum; but
you would; and that price is outrageous—especially when
you consider that the old gentleman—the old Montague—
is not yet dead, and that he may outlive us all.”
“Well, then, what'll you give? Come! make an offer—
and then I'll know you're in arnest.”
“You must give me a little time to think over the matter—it
is so very serious,” said the Deacon.
“How much time do you want?”
“Say till to-morrow night.”
“Enough said then. I'll be here at nine o'clock; and
if we can agree, you shall go with me and see the gal yourself.
Will that do?”
The Deacon responded in the affirmative, and Mulwrack
took his leave.
| CHAPTER X.
THE DEACON AND THE BURGLAR. Ellen Norbury, or, The adventures of an orphan | |