The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 370: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

856 he is Rupert Pringle—who could do him a injury except Squire Ponsford? But the Squire himself can't without the help of them dockiments; and I don’t suppose that Stephen Ashborne, the bailiff, took ’em from me, after all he said, just to give ’em back into the Squire’s hand. No, no! He said that precisely what he wanted was that the chap which employed ws in the matter, should apply to him for the papers. So no doubt he has done so; and them papers have long ago been burnt to tinder.” ‘You're right, Tim,” said Peppercorn: ‘ there’s nothing to be done in that line. I see I'd better listen to what you've got to propose than sit here argufying.” “I’ve deuced little more to say,” rejoined Gaff- ney, “except this much—that Casey is a rich man and a miser—that misers generally keep the best part of their gold under lock and key in their own houses—and that therefore this per- tikler house in Hatton Garden may prove a werry conwenient one for us to wisit. I haven’t been idle, Jack, since the idea first entered my head ” “What did you do, then?’ asked Pepper- corn. “Why, rayther a bold thing,” pursued Gaffney. “T dressed myself up as a policeman You know Ben Bunk, the landlord here, always has two or three disguises of that sort for the use of any pertikler friends of his——And I came into the neighbourhood last evening after dusk; and blowed if I’d been five minutes in Hatton Garden before I was in the midst of a most tender and loving conwersation with the hgusemaid, who had just slipped on her bonnet and shawl to go on an errand to the clear-starcher’s. Well, I played my cards so skilfully, that what betwixt the pretty housemaid and a chimley-sweep that I met coming out of the house this morning, and whom I questioned, I managed to get all the informa- tion wanted. The family consists of father and mother, son and daughter. The father has been ill lately, and so he sleeps in a room by himself ; and Mrs. Casey also sleeps alone at present. The daughter’s chamber is next to the mother’s. The young man—Sylvester’s his name—a deuce of a swell !—occupies a room on the third floor. How- somever, I tell you I know the whole geography of the place; and there’s a good business to be done if you like to do it with me.” “I’m your man, Tim, without another word,” answered the worthy who was thus appealed to. “ When is it to be done?” “To-night,” responded Gaffney. “It’s now about ten o’clock—and midnight shall be our time.” Good,” rejoined Peppercorn: and then the two villains proceeded to discuss the details of their intended expedition, There we will leave them for the present, in the up-stairs parlour of the Hog in Armour in Mary- Jebone Lane,—while we shift the scene to another quarter of London. It was about a quarter before twelve o'clock, that Stephen Ashborne was walking with another individual up Holborn Hill. The latter personage was about forty—with an open, frank, but some- what careworn and even dissipated countenance; and he was dressed in the style which indicates the lover of field sports, while the unmistakable THE YOUNG DUCTESS: OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. gentility of his bearing forbade the belief that this style of costume was any mere vulgar gentish as- sumption on his part. We may as well at once in- form the reader that this was Sir Norton Bridge- man, in whose service Stephen Ashborne had been prior to his application for the situation of bailiff on the estates of Squire Ponsford. ‘“‘ And thus, Stephen,” said Sir Norton, “ you have been doing nothing since you left me in Hampshire ?” “Next to nothing,” responded Ashborne, falter- ing for a moment. “It is true I did enter the service of Squire Ponsford, as I told you just now, sir-——” “Ah, but you said it was only for a few days,” interjected Sir Norton; ‘‘and you did not like the berth ?” “True enough!—and I left it. Then I came up to London, looking out for something to do Indeed to tell you the truth, Sir Norton, I thought of emigrating—and so I was making ihquiries on the subject ” “Well, well,” interrupted Bridgeman, who was evidently a kind-hearted personage, and who spoke with a friendly familiarity to Ashborne, “‘yvou shan’t think of emigrating now. It is lucky I have fallen in with you—and you shall soon re- turn to your old berth in Hampshire. You see, my affairs weren’t quite so desperate as I fancied —and then the sudden death of that distant cousin of mine, with the consequent tumbling-in of a legacy that I had never expected—together with the generous forbearance of my principal creditor, the eminent contractor Mr. Seymour,— all these circumstances have helped to facilitate a settlement; so that in a week or two’s time, my lawyer assures me that I shall be set upon my legs again.” “‘T am rejoiced to hear it, sir,” remarked Ash- borne feelingly. “J know you are, my good fellow. Iam sure of it,” replied Sir Norton. ‘‘But, as you per- ceive, I am living very quietly just now—because if I were to launch out before the business is finally settled, my other creditors might prove more difficult in being brought to terms. That's the reason you found me dining at the compara- tively cheap and humble tavern where you hap- pened so singularly to drop in to take your own dinner.” “ And where,” added Ashborne, speaking with additional fervour, ‘‘I have passed so pleasant an evening, Sir Norton, in your company.” “Well, here we are at the corner of Hatton Garden,” said Sir Norton, now stopping short. “This is where I am lodging for the present, next door to my own lawyer’s—so it is very conve- nient, you perceive. However, there is my card— you must come and see me to-morrow according to the appointment I just now gave you—and then we will settle all our future arrangements. Good night, Ashborne, my dear fellow! I am really quite rejoiced that J should have fallen in with you!” There was a warm shaking of the hands, and then the baronet and the bailiff separated. The former turned into Hatton Garden— which, for the benefit of some of our country readers who are unacquainted with London, we may as well observe is no garden at all, though in former times it was: but it is now a rather wide street Eomicboo Conn