The Collected Novels. William Harrison Ainsworth

Mrs. Spurling? Why, if Captain Sheppard should get off, it ‘ud be fifty guineas out of my way. There’s the grand laced coat he wore at his trial, which I intend for my wedding-dress.”

      “Don’t mention such a thing, Sir,” interrupted the tapstress. “I couldn’t bear to see you in it. Your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind. Ah! I shall never forget the figure Jack cut on that occasion. What a buzz of admiration ran round the court as he appeared! And, how handsome and composed he looked! Everybody wondered that such a stripling could commit such desperate robberies. His firmness never deserted him till his old master, Mr. Wood, was examined. Then he did give way a bit. And when Mr. Wood’s daughter — to whom, I’ve heard tell, he was attached years ago — was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. Poor young lady! She trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence. When sentence was passed there wasn’t a dry eye in the court.”

      “Yes, there was one,” observed Ireton.

      “I guess who you mean,” rejoined Shotbolt. “Mr. Wild’s.”

      “Right,” answered Ireton. “It’s strange the antipathy he bears to Sheppard. I was standing near Jack at that awful moment, and beheld the look Wild fixed on him. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard. He stopped us, and, addressing Jack in a taunting tone, said, ‘Well, I’ve been as good as my word!’—‘True,’ replied Sheppard; ‘and I’ll be as good as mine!’ And so they parted.”

      “And I hope he will, if it’s anything to Jonathan’s disadvantage,” muttered Mrs. Spurling, half aside.

      “I’m surprised Mr. Wild hasn’t been to inquire after him to-day,” observed Langley; “it’s the first time he’s missed doing so since the trial.”

      “He’s gone to Enfield after Blueskin, who has so long eluded his vigilance,” rejoined Austin. “Quilt Arnold called this morning to say so. Certain information, it seems, has been received from a female, that Blueskin would be at a flash-ken near the Chase at five o’clock to-day, and they’re all set out in the expectation of nabbing him.”

      “Mr. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of Captain Darrell,” observed Shotbolt.

      “I don’t exactly know the rights of that affair,” rejoined Griffin, with some curiosity.

      “Nor any one else, I suspect,” answered Ireton, winking significantly. “It’s a mysterious transaction altogether. But, as much as is known is this: Captain Darrell, who resides with Mr. Wood at Dollis Hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a party of ruffians, headed, he swore, by Mr. Wild, and his uncle, Sir Rowland Trenchard. Mr. Wild, however, proved, on the evidence of his own servants, that he was at the Old Bailey at the time; and Sir Rowland proved that he was in Manchester. So the charge was dismissed. Another charge was then brought against them by the Captain, who accused them of kidnapping him when a boy, and placing him in the hands of a Dutch skipper, named Van Galgebrok, with instructions to throw him overboard, which was done, though he afterwards escaped. But this accusation, for want of sufficient evidence, met with the same fate as the first, and Jonathan came off victorious. It was thought, however, if the skipper could have been found, that the result of the case would have been materially different. This was rather too much to expect; for we all know, if Mr. Wild wishes to keep a man out of the way, he’ll speedily find the means to do so.”

      “Ay, ay,” cried the jailers, laughing.

      “I could have given awkward evidence in that case, if I’d been so inclined,” said Mrs. Spurling, “ay and found Van Galgebrok too. But I never betray an old customer.”

      “Mr. Wild is a great man,” said the hangman, replenishing his pipe, “and we owe him much, and ought to support him. Were any thing to happen to him, Newgate wouldn’t be what it is, nor Tyburn either.”

      “Mr. Wild has given you some employment, Mr. Marvel,” remarked Shotbolt.

      “A little, Sir,” replied the executioner, with a grim smile.

      “Out of the twelve hundred subjects I’ve tucked up, I may safely place half to his account. If ever he requires my services, he shall find I’m not ungrateful. And though I say it that shouldn’t say it, no man can tie a better knot. Mr. Wild, gentlemen, and the nubbin’ cheat.”

      “Fill your glasses, gentlemen,” observed Ireton, “and I’ll tell you a droll thing Jack said this morning. Amongst others who came to see him, was a Mr. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. As this gentleman was going away, he said to Jack in a jesting manner, ‘that he should be glad to see him to-night at supper.’ Upon which the other answered, ‘that he accepted his invitation with pleasure, and would make a point of waiting upon him,’ Ha! ha! ha!”

      “Did he say so?” cried Shotbolt. “Then I advise you to look sharply after him, Mr. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don’t believe he’ll be as good as his word.”

      At this juncture, two women, very smartly attired in silk hoods and cloaks, appeared at the door of the Lodge.

      “Ah! who have we here?” exclaimed Griffin.

      “Only Jack’s two wives — Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot,” replied Austin, laughing.

      “They can’t go into the Condemned Hold,” said Ireton, consequentially; “it’s against Mr. Wild’s orders. They must see the prisoner at the hatch.”

      “Very well, Sir,” replied Austin, rising and walking towards them. “Well, my pretty dears,” he added, “— to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time. You won’t have him long. You’ve heard the news, I suppose?”

      “That the death warrant’s arrived,” returned Edgeworth Bess, bursting into a flood of tears; “oh, yes! we’ve heard it.”

      “How does Jack bear it?” inquired Mrs. Maggot.

      “Like a hero,” answered Austin.

      “I knew he would,” replied the Amazon. “Come Bess — no whimpering. Don’t unman him. Are we to see him here?”

      “Yes, my love.”

      “Well, then, lose no time in bringing him to us,” said Mrs. Maggot. “There’s a guinea to drink our health,” she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand.

      “Here, Caliban,” shouted the under-turnkey, “unlock Captain Sheppard’s padlock, and tell him his wives are in the Lodge waiting to see him.”

      “Iss, Massa Austin,” replied the black. And taking the keys, he departed on the errand.

      As soon as he was gone, the two women divested themselves of their hoods and cloaks, and threw them, as if inadvertently, into the farthest part of the angle in the wall. Their beautifully proportioned figures and rather over-displayed shoulders attracted the notice of Austin, who inquired of the chief turnkey “whether he should stand by them during the interview?”

      “Oh! never mind them,” said Mrs. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. “Sit down, and enjoy yourself. I’ll keep a look out that nothing happens.”

      By this time Caliban had returned, and Jack appeared at the hatch. He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown of light material, and stood near the corner where the women’s dresses had just been thrown down, quite out of sight of all the party, except Mrs. Spurling, who sat on the right of the table.

      Jack Sheppard escaping from the condemned hold in Newgate

      “Have you got Jonathan out of the way?” he asked, in an eager whisper.

      “Yes, yes,” replied