The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

ee ted | THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. ean say is I can’t believe mine—bgrause it seemed to me that he was asleep as sound as a rock.” “Weil, then,” rejomed Madge doggedly, “1 can tell you that he did. I was closest to him and 1 saw him epen his eyes.” And suppose he did,” exclaimed Chiffin, “ what then? why did that prevent us from domg his business ?” ‘‘T don’t know how it was, but a sudden weak- ness came upon me,” answered Madge. “I could not find it in my heart——” “Oh! that be hanged!” growled Ohiffin, “I don’t believe it for a minute—it’s all nonsense. A sudden weakness over you, Madge? Why, you zaust take me for a downright fool——” “‘ Never mind what I take you for, Chiffin,” in- terrupted the woman, with a look and manner which showed that she was not to be frightened by him: “I tell you that some strange feeling of re- merse, or pity, or fear—I dont know which it was —but perhaps all three united—came over me at the time, and I could not possibly do the deed or yet let it be done. I¢ seemed as if an invisible hand was stretched out to save him=-——” “Weill, I don’t know what to think of it,” ob- served Chiffin sullenly : “ it’s a strange story, Madge, to come from your lips.” “And Iam a strange woman too—am I not?’ she demanded abruptly. “You yourself said so just now.” “ And so you are—and it’s perhaps on that aoc- count you suddenly took it into your queer head to let the young fellow go. Well,” he continued, re- filling his glass with brandy-and-water, “ I suppose what you say must be the case; and if you only keep your word and come down with the blunt to- morrow night, I shan’t bother myself any longer about your strange conduot of just now.” “You may rely upon my punctuality,” sad - At nie o'clock I will be in Agar Town. But while we were crossing the field, you said something about having done business for one of the Saxondale family several years ago.” “And so I did,” answered Chiffin; “and now I recollect, it was just about this time nineteen years back. But it wasn’t exactly for any one bearing the name of Saxondale—the old lord was alive then and this covey who was here to-night was only just born.” “TI recollect you mentioned the name of a person called Farefield,” said Madge. “Yes—Ralph Farefield,” rejoined Chiffin: “it was him that employed me. Ah! it isa rum affair altogether, and I never could make out how that Ralph Farefield came by his death.” “A strange affair, was it?’ said Madge Somers. “Come, Chiffin, your giass is empty; and although it’s late you are accustomed to sit up, and we may as well have a friendly chat while we are about it. Besides, I mean to have a glass myself. So come, refill your own.” “I don’t mind if I do,” said Ohiffin, suiting the action to the word. “ Let’s seo—what were we talking about?” said Madge, who had likewise brewed a glass for her- self. “Oh! I remember—that strange story of the Saxondale family nineteen years ago. Come, I am gust in a humour for a good gossip to-night.” “Then it's a very strange humour of yours, | Madge,” said Chiffin: “for generally speaking you ain’t accustomed to talk more than is necessary.” “Oh! but people are not always in the saymg humour,” said the woman. Well, that’s true,” remarked Chiffin. “I my- self don’t generally chatter and talk about my ex- ploits, except when I am preciously in the wmd— and then I let out everything. Did I ever tell you,” asked the ruffian, on whom the frequent potations of brandy-and-water were producing an effect, “ how it was I come to be called the Cannibal ?” ‘“‘Yes—-you have told me that story,’ returned Madge; “and i ws precisely because you told it so well, that I want to know about this other business of which you are speaking—I mean the Saxondale affair.” “Well, come, I will tell you all about it,” said the Cannibal. “You must know that Ralph Fare- field wae the old lord’s nephew, and was a sad wild fellow, who ran through a lot of mongy and spoke ill of his uncle. So the old lord was resolved to cut him out, and went and married a young girl all in a great hurry. By her he had three children—two and a son. Now this didn’t suit Mr. Ralph’s book at all, because the little Edmund would sucesed to the and estates. So Ralph determinad to have hirn made away with; and some- how or other he found me out. Well, I wasn’t over particular, and Ralph had gold enough to tempt me: besides which I looked to the future, and thought that if through me Ralph got to be Lord Saxondale it would be as good as a pension as long as I lived. Bo I soon fell into Ralph’s plans, and to act. I and some of my pals were to go down into Lin- colnshire, carry off the brat, poison it, and then leave the body in some public place where it was sure to be seen: because, don’t you understand, Mr. Ralph could scarcely claimn to be the heir unless the death of little Edmund was proved? Well, me and the pals went down into Lincolnshire ; but for some days we didn’t sueceed—and as I began to fear that so many suspicious-looking fellows lurking about might cause an alarm and spoil the whole game, I told them to pack off to Gainsborough, which was only a few miles away, and there wait for me.” Here Chiffin to imbibe some more alooho- lic fluid, which having done, he pursued his narra- tive in the following manner :— “The moment I began to act alone, I had good nek: for I succeeded in carrying off the child from its nurse. I had a black mask on my face and frightenec the poor girl terribly—so that she fell down in a fit, while I ran away as hard as I could with the baby in my arms. I soon slipped the mask off my face, and made straight for a grove that I saw at a distanoe. Having reached it, I sat down to rest, and also to do the remainder of my work—which was to kill the child and strip it of its outer clothes so as to give Ralph Farefield a proof that I had fulfilled his mission. But when I felt in my pocket for the little phial of poison, I found it broke; and so I thought to myself there was nothing left to do but to tie a string round the little creature’s neck and eit. However, I began stripping the olothes off first, stuffing them into my pockets as I did so; and than I noticed that the | child had the mark of a strawberry on its neck. A very singular mark it was—so singular that I couldn’t help looking at it, though it was but a thy CONE DOOkKS COUN —_.