The Mysteries of London (Vol. 1-4). George W. M. Reynolds
ears. He knew not whether to burst out into a fit of laughter, or to utter a volley of imprecations against his former companion in Newgate; and so, not to be wrong by doing one and omitting the other, he did both. His ironical and ferocious laugh fell horribly upon the ears of Markham, who was at the same time assailed by such a string of oaths and blasphemies, that he trembled.
"You want to know by what law and right I demand money of you," cried the wretch, when he had indulged in this out-pouring of laughter and imprecations to his heart's content: "well—I will tell you. My law is that practised by all the world—the oppression of the weak by the strong; and my right is also that of universal practice—the right of him who takes what will not dare to be refused. Now, then, you understand me; and if not, hear my resolution."
"Speak," said Richard, now thoroughly cooled and disarmed; "and let me know the worst at once."
"You have confirmed my suspicion that you are courting the young girl I saw you walking with: you have confirmed that suspicion by your manner and your words. Now, I require five hundred pounds; and if you are anxious that your fair one should remain in ignorance of your Old Bailey adventures, you had better comply with my terms."
"I positively declare that I have not the money," said Richard.
"Make it."
"But how?"
"Borrow it of the young lady's father or mother, or uncle, or aunt."
"Never—impossible!"
"You say that you have a few acres of land left. I believe you have more; but let's take your own statement. Upon those few acres you can easily borrow the money I require."
"And diminish my miserable income still more?"
"Yes—or no, without further wrangling? You must be well aware that this sacrifice is necessary if the girl is worth having."
"In the name of heaven, allude not to—to—to Miss—— to the young lady with whom you saw me ere now;—allude not to her in this disgraceful manner!" cried Markham; for when the lips of that horrible man framed a sentiment which bore reference to Isabella, it seemed to Richard as if a loathsome serpent was pouring its slimy venom upon a sweet and blooming flower.
"Will you give me the money?" demanded the Resurrection Man.
"I will give you two hundred pounds—I have no more—I can get no more—I will not raise any more upon my property."
"Can't be done," returned the ruffian. "I will have the five hundred, or nothing."
"It will take some days to procure the money," said Markham, yielding gradually.
"Never mind. Give me what you have about you for my present purposes, and name the day and place for me to receive the rest."
Markham took his purse from his pocket, and examined its contents. There were seventeen sovereigns at that moment at his command. He retained two, and handed fifteen to the Resurrection Man, who pocketed them with savage glee.
"Now this looks like business," said he, "and is an earnest that you will do the thing that's right. Where and when for the remainder?"
"In a fortnight I will meet you at any place you may name in London," answered Markham.
"Well, make it a fortnight. Do you know the Dark House, in Brick Lane, Bethnal Green?"
"What is it?" asked Richard, shuddering at the name.
"A public-house. Any one will tell you where it is. This day fortnight I shall expect to find you there at eight o'clock in the evening. If I don't happen to be punctual, you can wait for me; and if I don't come that night, I shall the next. Remember how much depends upon your fulfilment of the contract."
"I shall not fail," answered Richard, with a sinking of the heart which none can understand who have not been placed in a similar position. "And you, on your part, will adhere to your side of the agreement?"
"Mute as a mouse," said the Resurrection Man; "and should I afterwards meet you by accident, I shall not know you. Farewell."
With these words the Resurrection Man turned away, and pursued his course towards London.
Markham followed him with his eyes until he turned an angle of the road and was no longer to be seen.
Then only did Richard breathe freely.
CHAPTER XLI.
MR. GREENWOOD.
ABOUT six o'clock in the evening—ten days after the incident which concluded the preceding chapter—a handsome cabriolet drove up to the door of a house in Spring Gardens.
Down jumped the tiger—an urchin not much bigger than a walking stick—and away went the knocker, rat-tat-tat, for upwards of fifteen seconds. A servant in livery opened the door, and an elegantly-dressed gentleman, about six or seven and twenty years of age, alighted from the vehicle.
This gentleman rushed up stairs to his study, drew forth his cheque-book, wrote an order upon his banker for a thousand pounds, enclosed it in an envelope, and immediately despatched the letter to Lord Tremordyn by one of his numerous domestics. He had that afternoon lost the money to his lordship in some sporting-bet; and, "as it was a debt of honour," he could not possibly think of sitting down to dinner, or even pulling off his boots (which, being fashionable, pinched him excessively) without settling it.
As soon as he had done this, another servant entered the room, and said, "If you please, sir, Mrs. Mangles has called, and is waiting below to see you. She has been here these three hours, and wishes very much to say a few words to you, sir."
"What! that bothering upholsterer's wife!" ejaculated the gentleman, in a tone of indignation which would have induced a stranger to believe that he was the most persecuted man in the world. "Why—her husband's account hasn't been owing quite a year yet; and here she is boring from morning to night."
"Please, sir, she says that her husband is locked up in a spunging-house."
"Serve him right!"
"But he is a hard-working sober man——"
"He shouldn't run into debt."
"And he has five children."
"It is really disgusting! these lower orders literally swarm with children!"
"And if you would only pay a quarter of the money, he would get out to-night."
"I won't pay a sixpence till January."
"Then he will be totally ruined, sir, his wife says."
"Well—he must be ruined, then. Go and turn her out, and send up Lafleur."
And the fashionable gentleman, who would not owe a debt of honour for half an hour, thought no more of the sum which was due to a tradesman, which had been already owing for nearly a year, and which he could have immediately settled without the slightest inconvenience to himself.
For this man was rich; and, having got his money in the City (God knows how), had now come to the West End to make the most of it.
"Lafleur," said the fashionable gentleman to the French valet, "you must dismiss that fellow John to-morrow morning."
"Yes, sir."
"He actually had the impertinence to bring me a message from a dun, while I was in a hurry to get dressed for dinner."
"Indeed, sir—you don't say so sir!" ejaculated the valet, who had as much horror of a dun as an overseer has of a pauper. "Yes, sir—I will dismiss him to-morrow, sir—and without a character too."
"Do, Lafleur. And now to dress. Are the company come?"
"Mr.