The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

EN eee eee THE MYSTERIES OF TiLK COURT. singular contrivance—namely, a little trap-door of a foot square, made of a piece of wood not much thicker than a good stout cardboard. It was retained by two little hinges on one side; and as it opened downward, it had a very slight and flexible stecl spring fixed underneath to keep it shut. Asa matter of course, if this spring were taken away the little trap-door would drop downward; and it must likewise be understood that the spring was so slight that while it was but just strong enough to sustain the door, the slight- est weight touching the door on the uppermost side would make it sink down. Butthis was not quite all; for a little bell was suspended to the rafters close by the trap-door; and by another simple contrivance it was so arranged that if the trap-door opened by being pressed downward it caused this bell to ring. Every night, before re- tiring to rest, Rebecca Patch opened the little tiap-door; and thrusting her arm through to the roof, drew in three small saucers. One she filled with water—the second with tares or parched peas—and the third with salt; then having done this, she put the saucers out upon the roof again in a little sort of wooden recess or hutch, the object of which was merely to prevent the salt from being saturated with wet in case of rain. This was Rebecca’s nightly duty, and which she fulfilled with the utmost regularity. We may now continue our tale. It was two o'clock in the morning, when Becky Patch was suddenly startled from her sleep by the tinkling of the little bell; and though its sound could scarcely have awakened any person under ordi- nary circumstances, yet by dint of habit the least note thereof would arouse up Israel Patch’s daughter as effectually as if a cannon were fired close by her ears. Springing from her couch, Becky instantaneously lighted a candle, and coaxingly extended her arm towards a pigeon which now appeared perched on the upper rail of a chair immediately under the little trap-door.: The bird, with instinctive tameness, seemed to recognise a known friend, and immediately flew on the woman’s wrist. She caressed and ad- dressed it in fondling terms: then she refreshed it with water—and having done this, looked be- neatn its wing. Thence she unfastened the little scrap of paper which was tied there; and calcu- lating for a moment the day of the month, mut- tered to herself, ‘‘ The letter L is the key.” Then she hastily glaced over the contents of the billet, upon which she made a cross with a pen ; and having forthwith folded it up ‘again, she re- placed it under the bird’s wing. This being done, she gave the feathered messenger some peculiar kind of food which she always had in readiness in the room; and the little carrier being thus re- freshed, was put forth through the trap-door again. It immediately took wing and sped away on its important errand. “Twenty minutes to two when the bird was sent off,” muttered Rebecca to herself: then as she took an old silver watch from under her pillow and saw thatit was now about ten minutes past two, she observed, ‘‘ There’s plenty of time.” She then put on some clothing, and descending the stairs, proceeded to the little room where her father slept. “ Well, what is it ?” exclaimed Israel Patch, as he started up iv his couch. ’ ———— ee Femme = + eee ra) “ A message,” responded his daughter. “ Lady Bess has sentit. You must have a horse in readi- ness. The despatch is dated twenty minutes to two—and it is now nearly a quarter past.” ‘“ What a time the bird has been in coming !" ejaculated Patch. “No such thing,” rejoined his daughter. ‘“‘ The dove was here in twenty minutes after it was sent on the wing; and that is doing more than a mile a minute, taking the distance from Lady Bess’s to this place. It is me that have delayed somewhat in coming down, as I saw that there was no hurry. Besides, I had to feed the bird— hadn’t I ?” ‘Well, you can go up to bed again. I will dress myself, get the horse in readiness, and wait.” Rebecca Patch left her father the candle which she had brought with her ; and then remounting the stairs, gained her attic and lay down to rest once more. Rapid as the fiight of that pigeon which bore the mysterious billet beneath its wing, must we transport the reader to another public-house much farther along the same road. Indeed, this latter was about four miles on the London side of Canterbury. It was situated on the summit of Boughton Hill, at no great distance from a vil- lage, but completely isolated therefrom. The sign raised upon the top of a tall post, was daubed with such an effigy of a Red Dragon as the painter’s imagination had suggested. The house was of sombre and dilapidated appearance, with so suspicious a look that no solitary traveller with a well-filled purse in his pocket would choose such a hostel as a resting-place for the night. It was kept by a man and his wife named Dean; and they, as the reader may suspect, were not a whit more particular how they made money than either Solomon Patch in London or his brother Israe!, near Gravesend. ‘T'hey had a son—a lad of about eighteen, whose Christian name was Joseph. He was an intelligent, shrewd, keen fellow, having well profited by his parents’ example in such wrong-sided experiences of the world as he was likely to glean therefrom. This lad slept by himself up in a garret—or rather a sort of loft on the top of the house; and here might be observed precisely the same curious apparatus fixed in the roof as we have described in reference to the attic at the Dancing Bear. There was the little trap-door lightly sustained by the steel spring—the small bell—and the hutch with the three saucers on the tiles outside. With the same regularity as Rebecca Patch observed in replenishing those saucers, did Joe Dean perform the same duty; and with equal sensitiveness was he ready to start up from his slumbers at the slightest summons of the metallic tongue of the monitor-bell. Ahove the head of his truckle-bed a common pinchbeck watch was suspended by a dirty riband to a nail fastened in the wall. The hands of that watch indicated that it was exactly half-past two o’clock, on that same night —or rather morning—of which we are speaking, when Joe Dean was suddenly awakened from his sleep by the tinkling chime of the bell. He started up lighted bis candle, and took the messenger- bird which having alighted on the trap-door, bad sunk down with it into the room. Then ensued | precisely the same process as we have already de- ——— JOO €=) (CO)