OR^NG 
 
 HHB 
 

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"OVER THIS RURAL PLACE WE STRAYED AT OUR WILL." 
 
The 
 
 ORANGE 
 GIRL 
 
 SIR WALTE-R* BBS ANT 
 // 
 
 Illustrated by 
 WARREN B. DAVIS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 
 
 1899 
 
Copyright, 1898, 
 By WALTER BKSANT. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PJLG* 
 PROLOGUE I 
 
 PART I 
 
 HOW I GOT INTO THE KING S BENCH 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I I AM TURNED OUT INTO THE WORLD 15 
 
 II A CITY OF REFUGE - 23 
 
 III A WAY TO LIVE 29 
 
 IV LOVE AND MUSIC 33 
 
 V WEDDING BELLS AND THE BOOK OF THE PLAY - - - 40 
 
 VI A CITY FUNERAL 51 
 
 VII THE READING OF THE WILL 58 
 
 VIII THE TEMPTATION 65 
 
 IX THE CLAIM AND THE ARREST --- 72 
 
 X THE ARREST .79 
 
 lii 
 
 952440 
 
iv Contents 
 
 PART II 
 
 OUT OF THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I BELEASE 01 
 
 II HOW I GOT A NEW PLACE - 97 
 
 III THE MASQUERADE 103 
 
 IV WHO BHE WAS 116 
 
 V THE BLACK JACK --.---... 130 
 
 VI A WARNING AND ANOTHER OFFER 143 
 
 vii JENNY'S ADVICE 156 
 
 VIII A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY -162 
 
 IX NEWGATE 170 
 
 X THE SAME OFFER ......... 184 
 
 XI THE IMPENDING TRIAL ....... 191 
 
 XII THE TRIAL 197 
 
 XIII THE COMPANY OF REVENGE ...... 213 
 
 XIV AN UNEXPECTED CHARGE 225 
 
 XV THE FILIAL MARTYR 238 
 
 XVI THE SNARE WHICH THEY DIGGED FOR OTHERS - - 248 
 
 XVII THE CASE OF CLARINDA 253 
 
 XVIII THE FALLEN ALDERMAN 261 
 
 XIX THE END OF THE CONSPIRACY 267 
 
 XX THE HONOURS OF THE MOB 273 
 
 XXI GUILTY, MY LORD 280 
 
 XXII FROM THE CONDEMNED CELL 295 
 
 XXIII AN UNEXPECTED EVENT 808 
 
 XXIV COMMUTATION 316 
 
 XXV TRANSPORTATION - 822 
 
 XXVI THE LAST TEMPTATIONJ ....... 836 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 ON a certain afternoon in May, about four or five of the 
 clock, I was standing at the open window of my room in 
 that Palace to which Fortune leads her choicest favourites 
 the College, or Prison, as some call it, of the King's 
 Bench. I was at the time a prisoner for debt, with very 
 little chance of ever getting out. More fortunate than 
 most of the tenants, I was able to carry on my business. 
 For instance, all that morning I had been engaged in com- 
 posing a song it was afterwards sung with great applause 
 at the Dog and Duck; and on the bed reposed the instru- 
 ment with which I earned the greater part of my daily 
 bread my faithful violin. 
 
 My window was on the ground-floor in the great build- 
 ing which was then new, for the Prison had been trans- 
 ferred from the other side two or three years before. This 
 building contains more than two hundred rooms, and twice 
 that number of prisoners. Many of the ground-floor rooms 
 have been converted into shops chandlers', grocers', mer- 
 cers', hosiers'. You may buy anything in these shops, ex- 
 cept a good book. I believe that there is no demand in the 
 prison for such an article of commerce. Song-books and 
 jest-books and cards on the other hand, are constantly called 
 for. It was a day of bright sunshine. Outside, on the 
 Grand Parade otherwise called King Street which is a 
 broad footway flagged, strolled up and down in the sunshine 
 an endless procession. They paced the pavement from East 
 to West ; they turned and paced it again from West to East. 
 Among them were a few neatly attired, but by far the 
 greater number, men and women, were slatternly, untidy, 
 and slipshod. Their walk nobody was ever seen to walk 
 briskly in the PrLon was the characteristic scuffle easily 
 acquired in this place; the men were mostly in slippers: 
 
The Orange Girl 
 
 some were 'in .morning gowns: very few had their heads 
 drfesged : ; some .wore old-fashioned wigs, rusty and un* 
 cOmbed' sohie, the poorer set, were barefooted, and in such 
 rags and tatters as would not be tolerated in the open streets. 
 The faces of the people as they passed were various. There 
 was the humorous face of the prisoner who takes fortune 
 philosophically: there was the face always resentful: the 
 face resigned: the face vacuous: the face of suffering: the 
 face sodden with drink: the face vicious: the face soured: 
 the face saddened: the face, like the clothes, ragged and 
 ruined : everything but the face happy that cannot be found 
 in the King's Bench Prison. Children ran about playing 
 and shouting: there were at this time many hundreds of 
 children in the prison. Against the wall 'tis surely 
 twenty-five feet higher than is needed the racquet and fives 
 players carried on their games : at the lower end of the Pa- 
 rade some played the game called Bumble Puppy: here and 
 there tables were set where men drank and smoked pipes of 
 tobacco and played cards, though as yet it was only after- 
 noon. The people talked as they went along, but not with 
 animation: now and then one laughed; but the merriment 
 of the College is very near the fount of tears; it hath a 
 sound hysterical. Some conversed eagerly with visitors: 
 by their eagerness you knew that they were new-comers. 
 What did they talk about? The means of release? Yet so 
 few do get out. For the first three or four years of impris- 
 onment, when visitors call, prisoners talk of nothing else. 
 After that time visitors cease to call: and there is no more 
 talk of release. A man in the King's Bench is speedily for- 
 gotten. He becomes dead to the world: dead and forgot- 
 ten. Surely there is no more pitiless and relentless enemy 
 than a creditor. Yet in church every Sunday he asks, and 
 expects, that mercy from his God which he himself refuses 
 to his debtor. 
 
 On no other day in the year could the Prison look more 
 cheerful. Yet as I stood at the window there fell upon me 
 such sadness as belongs only to the Prison ; it is a longing to 
 be free: a yearning inconceivable for the green fields and 
 the trees. Such moods are common in the Prison. I have 
 seen men turn aside from their friends in the midst of a 
 song, in the height of the revelry, and slink away from the 
 company with drooping head and bowed shoulders. It is 
 indeed difficult not to feel this sadness from time to time. 
 
Prologue 3 
 
 I was young : I had few friends, for a reason that I shall tell 
 you presently. For aught that I could see there was nothing 
 before me but a life-long imprisonment. Nobody, I say, can 
 understand the strength and the misery of this yearning for 
 liberty for air that sometimes seizes the prisoner and 
 rends him and will not let him go. Yet I was better off than 
 many, because, though I could in no way pay the money for 
 which I was imprisoned, I was not without the means of a 
 livelihood. I had, as I have said, my fiddle. So long as a 
 man has a fiddle and can play it he need never want. To 
 play the fiddle is the safest of all trades, because the fiddler is 
 always wanted. If a company is drinking they will call for 
 the fiddler to lift up their hearts : if there are girls with them 
 they will call for the fiddler to make them dance: if they 
 would sing they want the fiddler to lead them off : if they are 
 sitting in the coffee-room they call for the fiddler to enliven 
 them. Grave discourse or gay; young people or old: they 
 are always ready to call for the fiddler and to pay him for 
 his trouble. So that by dint of playing every evening, I did 
 very well, and could afford to dine at the two shilling ordi- 
 nary and to drink every day a glass or two of ale, and to pay 
 my brother-in-law for the maintenance of Alice and the boy. 
 Among the prisoners were two who always walked to- 
 gether: talked together: and drank together. The others 
 looked askance upon them. One, who was called the Cap- 
 tain, wore a scarlet coat which might have been newer, and 
 a gold-laced hat which had once been finer. He was a tall, 
 burly fellow, with the kind of comeliness one may see in a 
 horse-rider at a fair, or a fellow who performs on a tight- 
 rope ; a man who carries by storm the hearts of village girls 
 and leaves them all forlorn. He swaggered as he walked, 
 and looked about him with an insolence which made me, 
 among others, desirous of tweaking him by the nose, if only 
 to see whether his courage was equal to his swagger. I have 
 always, since, regretted that I lost the opportunity. Duels 
 are not allowed in the College, and perhaps in an encounter 
 with the simpler weapons provided by Nature I might have 
 been equal to the Captain. His manners at the Ordinary 
 were noisy and, if he had ever really carried His Majesty's 
 Commission, as to which there were whispers, it must have 
 beeen in some branch of the service where the urbanities of 
 life were not required. Further : it was known that he was 
 always ready to play with anyone: and at any time of the 
 
4 The Orange Girl 
 
 day: it was reported that he always won: this reputation, 
 coupled with his insolent carriage, caused him to be shunned 
 and suspected. 
 
 His companion, commonly known as the Bishop, was 
 dressed in the habit of a clergyman. He wore a frayed silk 
 cassock and a gown with dirty bands. His wig, which 
 wanted dressing, was canonical. His age might have been 
 forty or more: his cheeks were red with strong drink: his 
 neck was puffed : his figure was square and corpulent : his 
 voice was thick : he looked in a word what he was, not a ser- 
 vant of the Lord at all, but of the Devil. 
 
 At this period I had little experience or knowledge of the 
 people who live by rogueries and cheats : nor had I any sus- 
 picion when a stranger appeared that he was not always 
 what he pretended to be. At the same time one could not 
 believe that the hulking fellow in a scarlet coat had ever 
 received a commission from the King: nor could anyone 
 believe that the hoglike creature who wore a cassock and a 
 gown and a clergyman's wig was really in Holy Orders. 
 
 Among the collegians there was one who pleased me, 
 though his raiment was shabby to the last degree, by his 
 manners, which were singularly gentle; and his language, 
 which was that of a scholar. He scorned the vulgar idiom 
 and turned with disgust from the universal verb (or par- 
 ticiple) with which annoyance or dislike or disappointment 
 was commonly expressed. And he spoke in measured 
 terms as one who pronounces a judgment. I heard after- 
 ward that he wrote critical papers on new books in the Gen- 
 tlemen's Magazine. But I never read new books unless 
 they are books of music. When he could afford to dine at 
 the Ordinary, which was about twice a week, he sat beside 
 me and instructed me by his discourse. He was a scholar 
 of some college at Cambridge and a poet. I sometimes 
 think that it may be a loss to the world not to know its 
 poets. There are without doubt some who regard poetry 
 as musicians regard music. Now if the work of a Purcell 
 or a Handel were to fall dead and unnoticed it would be a 
 most dreadful loss to music and a discouragement for com- 
 posers. So that there may be poets, of whom the world 
 hears nothing, whose verse is neglected and lost, though it 
 might be of great service to other poets or to mankind, if 
 verse can in any way help the world. 
 
 However, one day, when these two prisoners, the Cap- 
 
Prologue 5 
 
 tain and the Bishop, had left the Ordinary and were brawl- 
 ing in the tavern hard by for a bottle of Port, my friend 
 the scholar turned to me. 
 
 'Sir/ he said, 'the Prison ought to be purged of such 
 residents. They should be sent to the Borough Compter 
 or the Clink. Here we have gentlemen: here we have 
 tradesmen: here we have craftsmen: we are a little World. 
 Here are the temptations of the world': he looked across 
 the table where some of the ladies of the Prison were din- 
 ing. 'The tavern invites us: the gaming table offers us a 
 seat : we have our virtues and our vices. But we have not 
 our crimes. And as a rule we cannot boast among our com- 
 pany the presence of the Robber, the Forger, or the Com- 
 mon Rogue. We have, in a word, no representative, as a 
 rule of the Gallows, the Pillory, the Stocks, the Cart-tail, 
 and the Whipping Post/ 
 
 I waited, for he did not like to be interrupted. 
 
 'Sir/ he went on, 'I am a Poet. As a child of the Muses' 
 I thought they were unmarried but did not venture on 
 that objection 'it is my business to observe the crooked 
 ways of men and the artful ways of women, even though 
 one may at times be misunderstood as has once or twice 
 happened. One may be the temporary companion of a Rogue 
 without having to pick a pocket. I remember the faces of 
 those two men I saw them in a Thieves' Kitchen whither 
 I was taken in disguise by one who knows them. The Cap- 
 tain, Sir, is a Highwayman, common and notorious. He is 
 now five-and-twenty, and his rope is certainly long out, so 
 that he is kept from Tyburn Tree by some special favour by 
 Mr. Merridew the Thief-Taker. The other, whom they call 
 the Bishop, is a Rogue of some education. He may last 
 longer because he is useful and it would be hard to replace 
 him. He was once usher in a suburban school at Marybone, 
 and now writes lying, threatening or begging letters for the 
 crew. He also concocts villainies. He threatens to set the 
 house on fire, or to bring the householder into bankruptcy : 
 or in some way to injure him fatally unless he sends a cer- 
 tain sum of money. He tells gentlemen who have been 
 robbed that they can have their papers back, but not their 
 money, by sending a reward. His villainy is without any 
 pity or mercy or consideration. The Captain is a mere rob- 
 ber a Barabbas. The Bishop is worse: he has the soul of 
 a Fiend in the body of a man/ 
 
6 The Orange Girl 
 
 'But why/ I said 'are they here?' 
 
 'They are in hiding. A sham debt has been sworn against 
 them. From their dejected faces and from what I have 
 overheard them saying, I learn that a true debt has been 
 added for another detainer. But indeed I know not their 
 affairs, except that they came here in order to be out of the 
 way, and that something has happened to disconcert their 
 plans. As honest men we must agree in hoping that their 
 plans, which are certainly dishonest, may succeed, in order 
 that their presence among us may cease and so we may 
 breathe again. The air of the Prison is sometimes close and 
 even musty, but we do not desire it to be mistaken for the 
 reek of St. Giles's or the stench of Turnmill Street ' 
 
 However, I troubled myself but little as to these two 
 men. And I know not how long they were in the prison. 
 Had I known what they would do for me in the future I 
 think I should Lave brained them there and then. 
 
 This afternoon the pair were talking together with none 
 of the listlessness that belongs to the King's Bench. 'Might 
 as well get out at once' I heard fragments 'quite certain 
 that he won't appear no more danger if she will consent/ 
 and so on phrases to which I paid no attention. 
 
 Suddenly, however, they stopped short, and both cried 
 out together: 
 
 'She's come herself !' 
 
 I looked out of my window and beheld a Vision. 
 
 The lady was alone. She stood at the end of the Parade 
 and looked about her for a moment with hesitation, because 
 the scene was new to her. She saw the ragged rout playing 
 racquets : drinking at their tables : leaning against the pumps 
 at each of which there is always a little gathering : or stroll- 
 ing by in couples on the Parade. Then she advanced 
 slowly, looking to the right and to the left. She smiled 
 upon the people as they made way for her : no Queen could 
 have smiled more graciously: yet not a Queen, for there 
 was no majesty in her face, which was inspired by, and 
 rilled with, Venus herself, the Goddess of charm and grace 
 and loveliness. Never was a face more lovely and more full 
 of love. As for her dress, all that I can tell you is that I 
 have never known at any time how this lady was dressed: 
 she carried, I remember, an ivory-handled fan in her hand: 
 she seemed to beholders to be dressed in nothing but lace, 
 ribbons and embroidery. Her figure was neither tall nor 
 
Prologue 7 
 
 short. Reasonably tall, for a woman ought not to be six 
 feet high : so tall as not to be insignificant : not so tall as to 
 dwarf the men : slender in shape and quick and active in her 
 movements. Her eyes, which I observed later, changed 
 every moment with her change of mood: one would say 
 that they even changed their colour, which was a dark blue : 
 they could be limpid, or melting, or fiery, or pitiful; in a 
 word, they could express every fleeting emotion. Her feat- 
 ures changed as much as her eyes : one never knew how 
 she would look, until one had watched and known her in all 
 her moods and passions: her lips were always ready to 
 smile: her face was continually lit up by the sunshine of 
 joy and happiness. But this woman wanted joy as some 
 women want love. Her voice was gentle and musical. 
 
 I speak of her as I knew her afterwards, not as she ap- 
 peared on this, the first day of meeting. I make no excuse 
 for thus speaking of her, because, in truth, the very thought 
 of Jenny I have too soon revealed her name makes me 
 long to speak of what she was. Out of the fulness of my 
 heart I write about her. And as you will understand pres- 
 ently, I could love without wronging my wife, and as much 
 as a woman can be loved, and yet in innocence and with the 
 full approval of the other woman whom also I loved. 
 
 At the sight of this apparition the whole Prison stared 
 with open mouth. Who was this angel, and for what for- 
 tunate prisoner did she come? At the very outset, when I 
 could not dream that she would ever condescend to speak to 
 me, she seemed the most lovely woman I had ever beheld. 
 Some women might possess more regular features : no one, 
 sure, was ever so lovely, so bewitching, so attractive. It 
 is as if I could go on forever repeating my words. The wo- 
 men of the Prison poor tattered drabs, for the most part 
 looked after her with sighs oh ! to dress like that ! Some 
 of them murmured impudently to each other, 'Who gave 
 her all that finery?' Most of them only looked and longed 
 and sighed. Oh! to be dressed like her! To look like 
 her ! To smile like her ! To put on that embroidered petti- 
 coat that frock those gloves to carry that fan to pos- 
 sess that figure that manner! Well: to gaze upon the 
 inaccessible may sometimes do us good. The sight of this 
 Wonder made those poor women appear a little less slat- 
 ternly. They straightened themselves : they tidied their 
 hair: the more ragged crept away. 
 
8 The Orange Girl 
 
 As for the men, they followed her with looks of wonder 
 and of worship. For my own part I understood for the 
 first time that power of beauty which compels admiration, 
 worship and service: when I am greatly moved by music 
 that memory comes back to me. In looking upon such a 
 woman, one asks not what has been her history: what she 
 is: what she has done: one accepts the heavenly cheerful- 
 ness of her smile : the heavenly wisdom seated on her brow : 
 the heavenly innocence in her eyes: the purity which can- 
 not be smirched or soiled by contact with things of the 
 world. 
 
 I continued to gaze upon her while she walked up the 
 Parade. To my surprise this angelic creature stopped be- 
 fore the pair of worthies the bully in scarlet and the 
 drunken divine. What could she want with them? They 
 received her with profound salutations, the Bishop sweep- 
 ing the ground with his greasy hat. 
 
 'Madam,' he said, 'we did not expect that you would your- 
 self condescend to such a place.' 
 
 'I wished to see you,' she replied, curtly. I seemed to 
 remember her voice. 
 
 'May we conduct you, Madam,' said the Captain, 'to 
 the Coffee-room for more private conversation. Perhaps a 
 glass ' 
 
 'Or/ said the Bishop, for she refused the proffered glass 
 with an impatient gesture could such a woman drink with 
 such men? she refused, I say, with a shake of her head, 'for 
 greater privacy to our own room. It is on the third floor. 
 No one will venture to intrude upon us and there is a chair. 
 I fear that, in the neglect, which is too common in this place, 
 the beds are not yet made.' He looked as if the morning 
 wash had not been performed either. 
 
 'What do I care, sir/ she asked, interrupting again, 
 'whether your beds are made or not? I shall stay here/ 
 She withdrew a little nearer to the wall beside my window, 
 so as to be outside the throng of people. 'We can talk, I 
 suppose, undisturbed, and unheard, though, so far as I care, 
 all the world may hear. Bless me! The people look as if 
 a woman was a rare object here/ She looked round at the 
 crowd. 'Yet there are women among your prisoners. 
 Well, then, what have you got to say? Speak up, and 
 quickly, because I like not the place or the company. YQU 
 wrote to me. Now go on/ 
 
Prologue 9 
 
 'I wrote to you,' said the Bishop, 'asking a great favour. 
 I know that we have no reason to expect that or any other 
 favour from you.' 
 
 'You have no reason. But go on/ 
 
 'We came here, you know' his voice dropped to a whis- 
 per, but I heard what he said 'in order to escape a great 
 danger.' 
 
 'I heard. You told me. The danger was in connection 
 with a gentleman and a post-chaise.' 
 
 'A villainous charge,' said the Captain. 
 
 'Villainous indeed,' repeated the Bishop. 'I could prove 
 to you in five minutes and quite to your satisfaction that 
 the Captain was engaged at Newmarket on the day in ques- 
 tion, while I myself was conducting a funeral in place of the 
 Vicar in a country village thirty miles on the other side of 
 London.' 
 
 'An excellent defence, truly. But I will leave that to the 
 lawyers. Well, the debt was sworn against you by Mr. 
 Merridew.' I pricked up my ears at this because this was 
 the name of the man, as you shall hear, who swore a debt 
 which never existed against me. Could there be two Mer- 
 ridews ? 
 
 'That was mere form. Unfortunately other detainers are 
 out against both of us. I know not how they found out that 
 we were here. Mr. Merridew refuses to take us out. He 
 says that he thinks our time is up, and so he knows that we 
 are safe.' He shuddered. Afterwards I understood why. 
 'There is the danger that we may have to remain here till he 
 
 takes us out. As for our present necessities ' He 
 
 drew out his purse and dangled it a long purse with a very 
 few guineas in it. 'You see, Madam, to stay here, where 
 there is no opportunity of honest work, is ruin and starva- 
 tion/ 
 
 'Honest work! Why, if you go out, you will only con- 
 tinue in your old courses/ 
 
 'They are at least honest and even pious courses/ said the 
 Bishop with a snuffle. 
 
 'As you please. But there is still the former danger/ 
 
 'No. The gentleman understands now that he only mis- 
 laid his pocket-book. Mr. Merridew found it for him. The 
 drafts and notes were still in it, fortunately. The gentle- 
 man has redeemed the papers from Mr, Merridew, He will 
 not take any further steps/ 
 
io The Orange Girl 
 
 'If I take you out/ she spoke to the Captain, 'you know 
 what will happen. Better stay here in safety/ 
 
 'What else can a man do?' asked the Captain. 
 
 'You might go abroad ; go to America anything is bet- 
 ter than the Road and the certain end.' She made a ges- 
 ture with her hand, easy to be understood. 
 
 'If a man has a long rope, what else can he expect?' 
 
 'And you?' she turned to the Bishop, 'what will become 
 of you? Will you stay in London where you are known in 
 every street?' 
 
 'I have had thoughts of trying Ireland. A good many 
 things can be done in Ireland. The Irish are a confiding 
 people.' 
 
 'Do what you please. It is nothing to me what becomes 
 of both of you. I interfere because oh! you know why. 
 And as for your future that, I suppose, will be arranged 
 for you by your friend Mr. Merridew. 
 
 Putting together what my friend the starveling poet told 
 me and what they themselves confessed, they were clearly a 
 pair of rogues, and she knew it, and she was going to help 
 them. Charity covereth a multitude of sins. Yet, surely, 
 it was remarkable that a gentlewoman should come to the 
 King's Bench Prison in order to send two abominable crim- 
 inals back to their old haunts. 
 
 'Any place is better than this/ said the Captain. 
 
 'Much better than this/ echoed the Bishop. 'Give me 
 freedom while I live. A short life ' but he was certainly 
 past forty 'and a free life, for me/ 
 
 'How much is it, then, altogether, for the pair of you?' 
 
 'The detainers, not counting Mr. Merridew's, amount to 
 close upon seventy pounds. Then there are the costs and 
 the fees/ 
 
 'Oh !' she cried impatiently, 'what is the good of setting 
 you loose again? Why should I let loose upon the world 
 such a pair of rogues? Why not keep you here so that 
 you may at least die in your beds?' 
 
 The Bishop looked astonished at this outburst. 'Why/ 
 he said, slowly, 'we are what we are. That is true. What 
 else can we be? Nobody knows better than you what we 
 are. Come, now, nobody, I say, knows better than you 
 what \ve are/ 
 
 'Yes/ she replied with a sigh. 'I do know very well I 
 wish I did not/ 
 
Prologue 1 1 
 
 And nobody knows better than you/ he went on, roughly, 
 'that what we are we must continue to be. What else can 
 we do?' 
 
 'Say no more/ she replied, sighing again. 'There is no 
 help, I suppose. When I made up my mind to come here 
 at all, I made up my mind that I would take you out both 
 of you. Yet it is like walking over a grave, I shiver' 
 she did actually shiver as she spoke. 'I feel as if I were 
 contriving a mischief for myself. These signs always 
 come true a mischief/ she repeated, 'to myself indeed 
 she was, as you shall afterwards learn. 'As for the world 
 you will certainly do as much mischief to that as you can.' 
 
 'As we can, Madam/ said the Bishop with a smile he 
 was easy now that he knew her mind. Before, he was in- 
 clined to be rough. 'The world, on the other hand, is al- 
 ways trying to do a mischief to me/ 
 
 ''But mischief to you, Madam?' cried the captain, that 
 mirror of gallantry. ' A soldier is all gratitude and honour. 
 Mischief to you ? Impossible !' 
 
 'And a Divine/ added the other with a grin, 'is all 
 truth, fidelity, and honesty. His profession compels these 
 qualities.' 
 
 'Quite so. Well, gentlemen of honour and truth, you 
 shall once more return to the scenes and the pursuits and 
 the companions that you love. Moll and Doll and Poll im- 
 patiently await you at the Black Jack. And I see, only a 
 short mile from that hospitable place, another refuge call 
 it the Black Jug where before long you will pass a few 
 pleasant days of rest and repose before going forth in a 
 glorious procession/ 
 
 'If we go forth in that procession, murmured the Bishop 
 with lowering face, 'there are other people quite as deserv- 
 ing, who will sit there beside us/ 
 
 'Go/ she said. 'I have talked enough and more than 
 enough with such as you. Go/ 
 
 They bowed again and walked away. 
 
 Now I heard this interview, half of which I did not un- 
 derstand, with amazement unspeakable. The lady was go- 
 ing to release this pair of villains Why? Out of the 
 boundless charity of her benevolent heart? 
 
 She looked after the precious pair, standing for a mo- 
 ment with her hand shading her eyes. The light went out 
 of her face : a cloud fell upon it : she sighed again : her lips 
 
1 2 The Orange Girl 
 
 parted : she caught her breath. Ah ! Poor lady ! Thy face 
 was made for joy and not for sorrow. What thought, what 
 memory, was it that compelled the cloud and chased away 
 the sunshine? 
 
 She turned her head she moved away. I was still stand- 
 ing at my window looking on : as she passed she started and 
 stopped short, her face expressing the greatest possible be- 
 wilderment and amazement. 
 
 'It is not . ..' she cried 'Surely No Yet the resem- 
 blance is so great. Sir, I thought at first you were a 
 gentleman of my acquaintance. You are so much like him 
 that I venture to ask you who you are?' 
 
 'A prison bird, Madam. Nothing more/ 
 
 'Yes, but you are so like that gentleman. May I ask 
 your name?' 
 
 'My name, at your service, Madam, is Halliday. My 
 friends call me Will Halliday. 
 
 'Will Halliday. Are you a brother but that cannot be 
 of Mr. Matthew Halliday?' 
 
 'I am his first cousin/ 
 
 'Matthew Halliday's first cousin? But he is rich. Does 
 he allow you to remain in this place?' 
 
 'It is not only by the sufferance of my cousin Matthew 
 but by his desire that I am here/ 
 
 'By his desire ! Yes I know something of your cousin, 
 sir. It is by his desire. I discover new virtues in your 
 cousin the more I learn of him. I suppose, then, that you 
 are not on friendly terms with your cousin?' 
 
 'I am not indeed. Quite the contrary/ 
 
 'Can you tell me the reason why ?' 
 
 'Because he desires my death. Therefore he has caused 
 my arrest he and an attorney of the devil named Probus/ 
 
 'Oh ! Probus ! I have heard of that Probus. Sir, I would 
 willingly hear more concerning this matter and your cousin 
 and Mr. Probus, if you will kindly tell me. I must now 
 go, but with your permission I will come again. It is not 
 I assure you, out of idle curiosity that I ask these questions/ 
 
 The next day, or the day after, the Captain and the Bishop 
 walked out of the Prison. When they were gone open talk 
 went round the Prison, perhaps started by the Poet, that 
 one was a highwayman and the other a sharper perhaps a 
 forger a contriver of plots and plans to deceive the un- 
 wary. I marvelled that they should have received the 
 
Prologue 1 3 
 
 bounty of so fine a lady, for indeed, whether highwayman or 
 sharper or honest men, they were as foul-mouthed a pair of 
 reprobates drunken withal as we had in the prison. 
 
 And then I remembered, suddenly, the reason why I rec- 
 ognised the lady's voice and why there was something in 
 the face also that I seemed to know. I had been but once 
 in my life to the Theatre. On that occasion there was an 
 actress whose beauty and vivacity gave me the greatest 
 possible delight. One may perhaps forget the face of an 
 actress playing a part, because she alters her face with every 
 part: but her voice, when it is a sweet voice, one remem- 
 bers. The lady was that actress. I remembered her 
 and her name. She was Miss Jenny Wilmot of Drury 
 Lane. 
 
PART I 
 HOW I GOT INTO THE KING'S BENCH 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 I AM TURNED OUT INTO THE WORLD 
 
 IN the year 1760 or thereabouts, everybody knew the name 
 of Sir Peter Halliday, Merchant. The House in which Sir 
 Peter was the Senior Partner possessed a fleet of West In- 
 diamen which traded between the Port of London and Ja- 
 maica, Barbadoes, and the other English Islands, taking 
 out all kinds of stuffs, weapons, implements, clothing, wine, 
 silks, gloves, and everything else that the planters could 
 want, and returning laden with sugar in bags, mahogany, 
 arrack, and whatever else the islands produce. Our wharf 
 was that which stands next to the Tower stairs : the count- 
 ing-house was on the wharf: there the clerks worked daily 
 from seven in the morning till eight at night. As a boy it 
 was my delight to go on board the ships when they arrived. 
 There I ran up and down the companion: into the dark 
 lower deck where the midshipmen messed and slept among 
 the flying cockroaches, which buzzed into their faces and the 
 rats which ran over them and the creatures which infest a 
 ship in hot latitudes and come on board with the gunny- 
 bags, such as centipedes, scorpions, and great spiders. And 
 I would stand and watch the barges when they came along- 
 side to receive the cargo. Then with a yeo-heave-oh ! and 
 a chantey of the sailors, mostly meaningless, yet pleasant to 
 hear, they tossed the bags of sugar into the barge as if they 
 were loaves of bread, and the casks of rum as if they had 
 been pint pots. Or I would talk to the sailors and hear sto- 
 
1 6 The Orange Girl 
 
 ries of maroon niggers and how the planters engaged the 
 sailors to go ashore in search of these fierce runaways and 
 shoot them down in the mountains : and stories of shark and 
 barra coota : of hurricanos and islands where men had been 
 put ashore to starve and die miserably : of pirates, of whom 
 there have always been plenty in the Caribbean Sea since 
 that ocean was first discovered. Strange things these sailors 
 brought home with them: coral, pink and white: preserved 
 flying-fish : creatures put in spirits : carved cocoanuts : every- 
 body knows the treasures of the sailor arrived in port. 
 
 This, I say, was my delight as a boy: thus I learned to 
 think of things outside the narrow bounds of the counting- 
 house and the City walls. Marvellous it is to mark how 
 while the Pool is crammed with ships from all parts of the 
 world, the Londoner will go on in ignorance of any world 
 beyond the walls of the City or the boundaries of his par- 
 ish. Therefore, I say, it was better for me than the study 
 of Moll's Geography to converse with these sailors and to 
 listen to their adventures. 
 
 Another thing they taught me. It is well known that 
 on board every ship there is one, at least, who can play the 
 fiddle. A ship without a fiddler is robbed of the sailors' 
 chief joy. Now, ever since I remember anything I was 
 always making music: out of the whistle pipe: the twang- 
 ing Jews' harp : the comb and paper : but above all out of the 
 fiddle. I had a fiddle : I found it in ,a garret of our house 
 in Great College Street. I made a sailor tell me how to 
 practise upon it : whenever one of our ships put into port I 
 made friends with the fiddler on board and got more les- 
 sons; so that I was under instruction, in this rude manner 
 for the greater part of the year, and before I was twelve I 
 could play anything readily and after the fashion, rough and 
 vigorous, of the sailors with whom strength of arm reckons 
 before style. 
 
 I belong to a family which for nearly two hundred years 
 have been Puritans. Some of them were preachers and 
 divines under Crcmwell. Their descendants retained the 
 strict observance of opinions which forbid mirth and merri- 
 ment, even among young people. Although they conformed 
 to the Church of 'England, they held that music of all kinds : 
 the theatre: dancing at the Assembly: reading poetry and 
 tales: and wearing of fine dress must be sinful, because they 
 call attention from the salvation of the soul, the only thing 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 17 
 
 about which the sinner ought to think. Why it was worse 
 to let the mind dwell upon music than upon money-getting 
 I know not, nor have I ever been able to discover. It will be 
 understood, however, that ours was a strict household. It 
 consisted of my father, myself, a housekeeper and five ser- 
 vants, all godly. We had long prayers, morning and even- 
 ing; we attended the Church o: St. Stephen Walbrook, in- 
 stead of our own parish church of St. Michael Paternoster, 
 because there was no organ in it : we went to church on Sun- 
 days twice: and twice in the week to the Gift Lectures, of 
 which there were two. My father was a stern man, of great 
 dignity. When he was Lord Mayor he was greatly feared 
 by malefactors. He was of a full habit of body, with a 
 large red face, his neck swollen into rolls. Like all mer- 
 chants in his position he drank a great deal of port, of which 
 he possessed a noble cellar. 
 
 I have often wondered why it was never discovered that I 
 practised the fiddle in the garret. To be sure, it was only 
 at those hours when my father was on the wharf. When 
 I had the door shut and the windows open the maids be- 
 low thought, I suppose, that the sounds came from the next 
 house. However that may be, I was never found out. 
 
 Now this fondness for music produced an unfortunate re- 
 sult. The sight of a book of arithmetic always filled me with 
 a disgust unspeakable. The sight of a book of accounts in- 
 spired me with loathing. The daily aspect of my father's 
 clerks all sitting in a row on high stools, and all driving the 
 quill with heads bending over the paper, made me, even as a 
 child, believe theirs to be the most miserable lot that Fortune 
 has to offer her most unhappy victims. I still think so. 
 .Give me any other kind of life: make me a bargee: a coal- 
 heaver: a sailor before the mast: an apothecary: a school- 
 master's usher: in all these occupations there will be some- 
 thing to redeem the position : but for the accountant there is 
 nothing. All day long he sits within four walls : his pay is 
 miserable : his food is insufficient : when in the evening he 
 crawls away, there is only time left for him to take a little 
 supper and go to his miserable bed. 
 
 Imagine, therefore, my loathing when I understood that 
 at the age of sixteen I was to take my place among these 
 unfortunates, and to work my way towards the succession 
 which awaited me the partnership held by my father by 
 becoming a clerk like unto these others whom I had always 
 
1 8 The Orange Girl 
 
 pitied and generally despised. From that lot, however, 
 there was no escape. All the partners, from father to son, 
 had so worked their way. The reason of this rule was that 
 the young men in this way acquired a knowledge of the busi- 
 ness in all its branches before they were called upon to direct 
 its enterprise, and to enter upon new ventures. I daresay 
 that it was a good practical rule. But in my own case I 
 found it almost intolerable. 
 
 I was unlike the clerks in one or two respects : I had good 
 food and plenty of it. And I received no salary. 
 
 I had a cousin, named Matthew, son of my father's 
 younger brother and partner, Alderman Paul Halliday, Cit- 
 izen and Lorimer, who had not yet passed the chair. Mat- 
 thew, though his father was the younger son, was three or 
 four years older than myself. He, therefore, mounted the 
 clerks' stool so many years before me. He was a young 
 man with a face and carriage serious and thoughtful (to all 
 appearance) beyond his years. He had a trick of dropping 
 his eyes while he talked: his face was always pale and his 
 hands were always clammy. Other young men who had 
 been at school with him spoke of him with disrespect and 
 even hatred, but I know not why. In a word, Matthew had 
 no friends among those of his own age. On the other hand, 
 the older people thought highly of him. My father spoke 
 with praise of his capacity for business and of his industry, 
 and of the grasp of detail which he had already begun to 
 show. As for me, I could never like my cousin, and what 
 happened when I was about eighteen years of age gave me 
 no reason to like him any better. 
 
 I had been in the counting-house for two years, each 
 day feeling like a week for duration. But the question of 
 rebellion had so far never occurred to me. I could no 
 longer practise in the garret while my father was in the 
 counting-house. But I could get away, on pretence of busi- 
 ness to the ships, and snatch an hour below with the fiddler. 
 And in the evening sometimes, when my father was feast- 
 ing with a City Company or engaged in other business out 
 of the house, I could take boat across the river and run over 
 to St. George's Fields, there to have half an hour of play 
 with a musician, of whom you shall learn more, called 
 Tom Shirley. After the manner of youths I never asked 
 myself how long this would go on without discovery: or 
 what would be the result when it was discovered. Yet I 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 19 
 
 knew very well that no Quaker could be more decided as to 
 the sinfulness of music than my father and my uncle. Had 
 not the great and Reverend Samuel Halliday, D. D., 
 preached before the Protector on the subject of the snares 
 spread by the devil to catch souls by means of music? 
 
 Now, one afternoon in the month of June, when the count- 
 ing-house is more than commonly terrible, a message came 
 to me that my father wished to speak with me. 
 
 I found him in his own room, his brother Paul sitting 
 with him. His face showed astonishment and anger; that 
 of his brother presented some appearance of sorrow real 
 or not, I cannot say. My uncle Paul was, as often happens 
 in a family, a reduced copy of his elder brother. He was 
 not so tall: not so portly: not so red in the face: not so 
 swollen in the neck: yet he was tall and portly and red and 
 swollen. He was shaking his head as I entered saying, 
 'Dear ! dear ! dear ! And in our family too in our family !' 
 
 'Son William/ said my father, 'I have heard a serious 
 thing/ 
 
 'What is that, Sir, if I may ask?' 
 
 'I learn from my brother, who had it from Matthew ' 
 
 'From Matthew/ my uncle interposed solemnly. 
 
 'That you lose no opportunity of getting away from your 
 'desk to go on board our ships in the Pool, there to play 
 the fiddle with the common sailors to play the riddle the 
 common fiddle like a fellow with a bear with the common 
 sailors. I hear that our Captains and officers are all ac- 
 quainted with this unworthy pastime of yours ! I hear, 
 further, that you have formed an acquaintance with a cer- 
 tain fellow named Shirley, now a prisoner in the Rules of 
 the King's Bench, one who makes a sinful living by playing 
 wanton music for lewd and wicked persons at what are 
 called Pleasure Gardens, whither resort such company as no 
 godly youth should meet. And I hear that you spend such 
 time as you can spare under the tuition of this person/ 
 
 He stopped. My uncle took up the word. 
 
 'All these things I am assured by my son Matthew to 
 be the case. I have informed Matthew that in my opinion 
 it was right and even necessary that they should be brought 
 before the notice of my brother/ 
 
 'I wait thy reply, Will/ said my father. 
 
 'It is all quite true, Sir/ 
 
 'Quite true/ I felt a little sinking of the heart because 
 
2O The Orange Girl 
 
 of the disappointment and sadness in his voice. 'But/ he 
 went on, 'what is the meaning of it? For my own part 
 I see no good purpose to be gained by music. On the other 
 hand my grandfather, the Rev. Dr. Samuel Halliday, hath 
 clearly shown in his book of godly discourses, that music, 
 especially music with dancing, is the surest bait by which 
 the devil draws souls to destruction. People, I am aware, 
 will have music. At our Company's feasts music attends: 
 at the Lord Mayor's banquets there is music: at the Lord 
 Mayor's Show there is music: at many churches there is 
 an organ: but what hast thou to do with music, Will? It 
 is thy part to become a merchant, bent on serious work: 
 and outside the counting-house to become a magistrate. 
 What hast thou to do with music?' 
 
 He spoke, being much moved, kindly because alas! 
 he loved his son. 
 
 'Sir/ I said, 'it is all most true. There is nothing that 
 I love so much as music/ 
 
 'Consider/ he went on. 'There is no place for music in 
 the life before thee. All day long learning thy work in 
 the counting-house: some time to succeed me in this room. 
 How is it possible for a young man who stoops to make 
 music on catgut with a bow to become a serious merchant, 
 respected in the City?' 
 
 'Indeed, Sir, I do not know/ 
 
 'How will it be possible for you to advance the interests 
 of the House nay, to maintain the interests of the House, 
 when it is known that you are a common scraper in a crowd 
 like a one-legged man with a Jack in the Green ?' 
 
 Now I might even then have submitted and promised 
 and given up my fiddle and so pleased my father and re- 
 mained in his favour. But thic was one of those moments 
 which are turning-points in a man's life. Besides I was 
 young; I was inexperienced. And an overwhelming dis- 
 gust fell upon my soul as I thought of the counting-house 
 and the ledgers and the long hours in the dingy place driv- 
 ing the quill all day long. So without understanding what 
 the words meant, I broke out impatiently: 
 
 'Sir/ I said, 'with submission, I would ask your leave 
 to give up my place in this office/ 
 
 'Give up? Give up?' he cried, growing purple in the 
 face. 'Does the boy know what he means ?' 
 
 'Give up?' cried my uncle. 'Is the boy mad? Give up 
 
GIVE UI'!' UK CRIED, GROWING PURPLE IN THE FACE." 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 21 
 
 his prospects in this House this the soundest House in 
 the whole City? Nephew Will, wouldst starve?' 
 
 'I will make a living by music/ 
 
 'Make a living a living make a living by music? 
 What ? To play the fiddle in a tavern ? To play in the gal- 
 lery while your father is feasting below?' 
 
 'Nay, sir; but there are other ways.' 
 
 'Hark ye, Will; let this stop. Back to thy desk lest 
 something happen.' My father spoke with sudden stern- 
 ness. 
 
 'Nay, sirj but I am serious/ 
 
 'Ay ay? Serious? Then I am serious, too. Under- 
 stand, then, that I own no son who disgraces the City fam- 
 ily to which he belongs by becoming a common musician. 
 Choose. Take thy fiddle and give up me this office thine 
 inheritance thine inheritance, mind, or lay down the fiddle 
 and go back to thy desk. There, sir, I am, I hope, serious 
 enough/ 
 
 He was. My father was a masterful man at all times; 
 he was perfectly serious. Now the sons of masterful men 
 are themselves often masterful. I walked out of the count- 
 ing-house without a word. 
 
 I am conscious that then is no excuse for a disobedient 
 son. I ought to have accepted any orders that my father 
 might choose to lay upon me. But to part with my fiddle, 
 to give up music: to abandon that sweet refreshment of 
 the soul: oh! it was too much. 
 
 Moreover, no one knew better than myself the inveterate 
 hatred with which my father and the whole of my family 
 regarded what they called the tinkling cymbal which they 
 thought leads souls to destruction. Had I seen any gleam 
 of hope that there would be a relenting, I would have 
 waited. But there was none. Therefore I cast obedience 
 to the winds, and left the room without a word. 
 
 Had I known what awaited me : the misfortunes which 
 were to drag me down almost unto a shameful death, in 
 consequence of this act of disobedience, I might have given 
 way. 
 
 But perhaps not: for in all my troubles there were two 
 things which cheered and sustained me, I enjoyed at all 
 times, so you shall learn, the support of love and the re- 
 freshment of music. 
 
 Had my father known of these misfortunes would he 
 
22 The Orange Girl 
 
 have given way? I doubt it. Misfortune does not destroy 
 the soul, but music does. So he would say and so think, 
 and conduct his relations with his own accordingly. 
 
 I walked out of the counting-house. At the door I met, 
 face to face, the informer, my cousin Matthew, who had 
 caused all this trouble. 
 
 He was attired as becomes a responsible merchant, though 
 as yet only a clerk or factor with the other clerks. He wore 
 a brown coat with silver buttons : white silk stockings : sil- 
 ver buckles in his shoes : silver braid upon his hat : a silver 
 chain with seals hanging from his fob : with white lace ruf- 
 fles and neckerchief as fine as those of his father, or of any 
 merchant on Change. 
 
 He met me, I say, face to face, and for the first time within 
 my knowledge, he grinned when he met me. For he knew 
 what had been said to me. He grinned with a look of such 
 devilish glee that I understood for the first time how much 
 he hated me. Why? I had never crossed him. Because 
 I was the son of the senior partner whose place I was to 
 take and of the richer man of the two Partners. His 
 would be the subordinate position with a third only of the 
 profits. Therefore my cousin hated me. He, I say, noted 
 my discomfiture. Now, at that moment, I was in no mood 
 for mockery. 
 
 Something in my face stopped his grinning. He became 
 suddenly grave : he dropped his eyes : he made as if he would 
 pass by me and so into the house. 
 
 'Villain and maker of mischief !' I cried. Then I fell upon 
 him. I had but fists: he had a stick: I was eighteen: he 
 was five-and-twenty : he was heavier and taller : well ; there 
 is lettle credit, because he was a poor fighter : in two minutes 
 I had his stick from him, and in three more I had broken it 
 over his head and his shoulders. However, had his wind and 
 his strength equalled his hatred and desire that the stick 
 should be broken over my shoulders instead of his, the re- 
 sult would have been different. 
 
 'You shall pay you shall pay you shall pay for this/ he 
 gasped, lying prostrate. 
 
 I kicked him out of my way as if he had been a dog and 
 strode off, my cheek aflame, my hand trembling and my 
 limbs stiffened with the joy of the fight and the victory. 
 Come what might, I had whipped my cousin, like the cur 
 he was. A thing to remember. 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 23 
 
 I have never repented that act of justice. The memory of 
 it brought many woes upon me, but I have never repented 
 or regretted it. And certain I am that to the day of his 
 miserable death Matthew never forgot it. Nor did I. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A CITY OF REFUGE 
 
 MY last recollection of the counting-house is that of Mat- 
 thew lying in a heap and shaking his fist, at me, while, be- 
 hind, my uncle's face looks out amazed upon the spectacle 
 from one door, and the clerks in a crowd contemplate the 
 discomfiture of Mr. Matthew from another door. Then 
 I strode off, I say, like a gamecock after a victory, head 
 erect, cheek flushed, legs straight. Ha ! I am always glad 
 that I drubbed my cousin, just once. A righteous drub- 
 bing it was, too, if ever there was one. It hanselled the 
 new life. After it, there was no return possible. 
 
 And so home though the house in College Street could 
 no longer be called a home I now had no home I was 
 turned into the street. However, I went upstairs to my 
 own room mine no longer. I looked about. In the cup- 
 board I found a black box in which I placed everything I 
 could call my own: my music; my linen and my clothes. 
 On the wall hung the miniature of my mother. Happily she 
 had not lived to see the banishment of her son : this I put in 
 my pocket. The fiddle I laid in its case. Then with my 
 cudgel under my arm and carrying the fiddle in one hand 
 and the box on my shoulder I descended the stairs now, I 
 must confess, with a sinking heart and found myself in 
 the street. 
 
 I had in my purse five guineas the son of a most solid 
 and substantial merchant, and I had no more than five 
 guineas in the world. What could I do to earn a living? 
 Since I had been for two years in my father's counting house 
 I might be supposed to know something of affairs. Alas! 
 I knew nothing. One art or accomplishment I possessed: 
 and one alone. I could play the fiddle. Now that I had to 
 depend upon my playing for a livelihood, 1 began to ask 
 
24 The Orange Girl 
 
 whether I could play well enough. At all events, I could 
 play vigorously. But the die was cast. I had made my 
 choice, and must make the best of it. Besides, had I not 
 drubbed my cousin Matthew and that, as they say, with 
 authority ? 
 
 You have heard how my father accused me of intimacy 
 with a person named Shirley, a resident in the Rules of 
 the King's Bench. That charge I could not deny. Indeed, 
 the person named Shirley, by all his friends called Tom, 
 had been of late my master. Every spare hour that I had 
 was spent with him, practising with him and learning from 
 him. He taught a finer style than I could learn from the 
 sailors. When I went into the counting-house I had no 
 longer any spare hours, except in the evening, and then my 
 master was engaged earning his bread in an orchestra. Still 
 I could manage to visit him sometimes on Sunday even- 
 ings when my father was generally occupied with friends 
 who loved likewise to limit and make as narrow as they 
 could the mercies of the Almighty. 
 
 At this moment I could think of no one except Tom Shir- 
 ley who could help me or advise me. 
 
 I therefore lugged my box and my violin to the Three 
 Cranes, and took boat across to Moldstrand Stairs, from 
 which it is an easy half mile by pleasant lanes, Love Lane 
 and Gravel Lane, past Looman's Pond to St. George's 
 Fields where Tom Shirley lived. 
 
 It was a little after noon when I arrived at the house. It 
 was one of three or four cottages standing in a row, every 
 cottage consisting of four or five rooms. They are pleas- 
 ing retreats, each having a small front garden where lilacs, 
 laburnums, hollyhock, sunflowers, tulips, and other flowers 
 and bushes grow. In front of the garden flows languidly 
 one of the many little streams which cross the fields and 
 meadows of Southwark : a rustic bridge with a single hand- 
 rail crosses the stream. 
 
 The region of St. George's Fields, as is very well known, 
 has a reputation which, in fact, is well deserved. The 
 fact that it is covered with shallow ponds, some of which 
 are little better than mere laystalls, causes it to be fre- 
 quented on Sundays and on summer evenings by the rude 
 and barbarous people who come here to hunt ducks with 
 dogs a horrid sport: some of them even throw cats into 
 the water and set their dogs at them. The same people 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 25 
 
 come here for prize fights, but they say that the combatants 
 have an understanding beforehand how long the fight is 
 to last : some come for quarter-staff practice : some come for 
 hockey or for football. Outside the Fields there are many 
 taverns and places of entertainment: on the Fields there 
 is at least one, the notorious Dog and Duck. Every even- 
 ing except in winter these places are full of people who come 
 to dance and drink and sing. Every kind of wickedness is 
 openly practised here : if a man would gamble, here are the 
 companions for him and here are rooms where he can play : 
 if he would meet women as deboshed as himself here they 
 may be found. 
 
 It is unfortunate for Southwark and its environs that 
 everything seems to have conspired to give it a bad name. 
 First of all, it was formerly outside the jurisdiction of the 
 City, so that all the villains and criminals of the City got 
 across the water and found, refuge here. Next, the govern- 
 ment of the place was not single, but divided by the manors, 
 so that a rogue might pass from one manor into another 
 and so escape : thirdly, the Sanctuary of Southwark tolerated 
 after the Reformation at St. Mary Overies, grew to accom- 
 modate as great a number as that in Westminster where 
 they only lately pulled down the gray old Tower which 
 looked like a donjon keep rather than the walls enclosing 
 two chapels. I know not whether there was such a tower 
 at Montagu Close, but within my recollection no officer 
 of the law dared to arrest any sanctuary man in Mint Street 
 their latest refuge: nor did any person with property to 
 lose venture into that street. For first his hat would be 
 snatched off: then his wig: then his silk handkerchief: then 
 he would be hustled, thrown, and kicked: when he was 
 permitted to get up it was without watch, chain, buckles, 
 shoes, lace cravat, ruffles. Fortunate if he was allowed to 
 escape with no more injury. The presence of these villains 
 was alone enough to give the place a bad name. But there 
 was more. Prisons there must be, but in Southwark there 
 .were too many. The King's Bench Prison: the Marshal- 
 sea: the Borough Compter: the Clink: the White Lyon. 
 So many prisons in a place so thinly populated produced 
 a saddening effect. And, besides, there are those who 
 Jive in the Rules, which are themselves a kind of prison but 
 without walls. In another part, along the Embankment, 
 the Show Folk used to live : those who act : those who write 
 
26 The Orange Girl 
 
 plays and songs: those who dance and tumble: mimes, 
 musicians, buffoons : and those who live by the bear-baiting, 
 badger-baiting, bull-baiting, and cock-throwing, which are 
 the favourite sports of Southwark. 
 
 These considerations are quite sufficient to account for the 
 evil reputation which clings to the Borough. They do not, 
 however, prevent it from being a place of great resort 
 for those who come up from Kent and Surrey on business, 
 and they do not for obvious reasons prevent the place from 
 being inhabited by the prisoners of the Rules. 
 
 When I arrived, Tom Shirley was playing on the harp- 
 sichord, his head in a white nightcap, his wig hanging on 
 a nail. As he played, not looking at notes or keys, his 
 face was turned upwards and his eyes were rapt. As one 
 watched him his face changed in expression with the various 
 emotions of the music: no man, certainly, was more moved 
 by music than Tom Shirley. No man, also, could more 
 certainly bring out the very soul of the music, the inner 
 thought of the composer. He played as if he loved play- 
 ing, which indeed he did whether it was a country dance, 
 or a minuet or an oratorio or a Roman Catholic Mass. It 
 was a fine face, delicate in outline; full of expression: the 
 face of a musician: it lacked the firmness which belongs to 
 one who fights: he was no gladiator in the arena: a face 
 full of sweetness. Everyone loved Tom Shirley. As for 
 age, he was then about five-and-twenty. 
 
 I stood at the open door and looked in, listening, for at 
 such moments he heard nothing. There was another door 
 opposite leading to the kitchen, where his wife was engaged 
 in some domestic work. Presently, she lifted her head and 
 saw me. 'Father/ she cried. 'Here is Will!' 
 
 He heard that : brought his fingers down with a splendid 
 chord and sprang to his feet. 'Will? In the morning? 
 What is the meaning why this box ?' 
 
 'I have come away, Tom. I have left the counting-house 
 for good/ 
 
 'What? You have deserted the money bags? You have 
 run away for the sake of music ?' 
 
 'My father has turned me out/ 
 
 'And you have chosen music. Good good what could 
 you have done better? Wife, hear this. Will has run 
 away. He will play the fiddle in the orchestra rather than 
 become an Alderman and Lord Mayor/ , , 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 27 
 
 'I want to live as you live, Tom.' 
 
 'If you can, boy, you shall/ Now it was the humour of 
 Tom to speak of his own cottage and his manner of life as 
 if both were stately and sumptuous. 'Very few/ he added 
 proudly, 'can live as we live/ He looked proudly round. 
 The room was about ten feet square: low, painted drab, 
 without ornament, without curtains : there were a few 
 shelves : a cupboard : a small table : two brass candlesticks, 
 a brass pair of snuffers: four rush-bottomed chairs, and 
 nothing more. 
 
 Tom was dressed in an old brown coat with patches on 
 the elbows, the wrists frayed and the buttons gone. To 
 be sure he had a finer coat for the orchestra. His stockings 
 were of worsted, darned in many places : a woollen wrapper 
 was round his neck. Everything proclaimed poverty : of 
 course people who are not poor do not live in the Rules. 
 'Few/ he repeated, 'are privileged to live as I live/ I have 
 never known whether this was a craze or his humour to 
 pretend that he fared sumptuously : was lodged like a prince : 
 and received the wages of an ambassador. Perhaps it 
 was mere habit ; a way of presenting his own life to himself 
 by exaggeration and pretence which he had somehow 
 grown to believe. 
 
 'You ask, Will, a thing difficult of achievement/ 
 
 'But gradually little by little. One would never expect 
 it all at once/ 
 
 'Ay, there we talk sense. But first, why hath Sir Peter 
 behaved with this (apparent) harshness? I would not 
 judge him hastily. Therefore I say, apparent/ 
 
 'Because he found out at last my cousin Matthew told 
 him that I came here to play the fiddle. So he gave me 
 the choice either to give up the counting-house or to 
 give up the music. And I gave up the counting-house, 
 Tom. I don't care what happens so that I get out of the 
 counting-house/ 
 
 'Good lad good/ 
 
 'And I drubbed my cousin I paid him with his own 
 stick. And here I am/ 
 
 He took my hand, his honest face beaming with satis- 
 faction. At that moment, his sister Alice came back from 
 making some purchases in the Borough High Street. 'Alice 
 my dear/ he said, 'Will has been turned out of house and 
 
28 The Orange Girl 
 
 home by his father sent out into the streets without a 
 penny.' 
 
 Alice burst into tears. 
 
 When I think of Alice at that moment, my heart swells, 
 my eyes grow humid. She was then fifteen, an age when 
 the child and the woman meet, and one knows not whether 
 to expect the one or the other. When Alice burst into tears 
 it was the child who wept : she had always loved me with a 
 childish unconsciousness : she was only beginning to under- 
 stand that I was not her brother. 
 
 You know how sweet a flower will sometimes spring up 
 in the most unlovely spot. Well: in this place, close to 
 the Dog and Duck, with prodigals and rakes and painted 
 Jezebels always before her eyes, this child grew up sweet 
 and tender and white as the snow. I have never known 
 any girl upon whom the continual sight not to be con- 
 cealed of gross vice produced so little effect: it was as if 
 the eyes of her soul involuntarily closed to the meaning of 
 such things. Such sweetness, such purity, was stamped 
 upon her face then as afterwards. Never, surely, was there 
 a face that showed so plain and clear to read that the 
 thoughts behind it were not earthly or common. 
 
 'It is the soul of music that possesses her,' said her brother 
 once. 'She has imbibed that soul day by day. Will, 'tis a 
 saintly child. Sometimes I fear that she may be carried 
 away like Elijah/ 
 
 Well, when I saw those tears, I was seized with a kind 
 of joyful compassion and, so to speak, happy shame, to 
 think that those tears were for me. I drew her gently 
 and kissed her. 
 
 'Why, nothing better could have happened to him. Thou 
 little simpleton,' said her brother. Warming up with his 
 subject, he became eloquent. 'He shall do much better 
 far better than if he had stayed in the counting-house. He 
 shall not be weighed down with a load of riches: he shall 
 have to work in order to live believe me, Will, Art must be 
 forced by necessity : where there is no necessity there is no 
 Art: when riches creep in, Art becomes a toy. Because he 
 must work, therefore he will be stimulated to do great 
 things. He shall never set his mind upon growing rich: he 
 shall remain poor/ 
 
 'Not too poor/ said his wife gently. Indeed her poor 
 shabby dress showed what she meant. 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 29 
 
 'Peace, woman. He shall be poor, I say. Happy lad! 
 He shall be poor. He shall never have money in a stocking, 
 and he shall never want any. He shall live like the spar- 
 rows, from day to day, fed by the bounty of the Lord.' 
 
 'Who loveth the Dog and Duck/ said his wife. 
 
 The husband frowned. 'To sum up, Will, thy lot shall 
 be the happiest that the world can give. What ?' He lifted 
 his hand and his eyes grew brighter. 'For the musician the 
 curse of labour is remitted: for him there is no longing 
 after riches: for him there is no flattery of great men: for 
 him there is no meanness ; for him there are no base arts : 
 for him there is no wriggling: for him there are no back 
 stairs : for him there is no patron. In a word, Will, .the 
 musician is the only free man in the world/ 
 
 'In the Rules, you mean, my dear/ This was his wife's 
 correction. 
 
 'Will/ said Alice, 'shall you really become like Tom ?' 
 
 'Truly, Alice, if I can/ * 
 
 * 'Wife/ said Tom. 'Will shall stay with us. He can 
 sleep in the garret. We must find a mattress somewhere/ 
 
 'Nay, but I must pay my footing. See, Tom. I have 
 five guineas/ I showed this mine of wealth. He took one 
 and gave it to his wife. 
 
 'Aha!' he laughed. 'Buy him a mattress and a blanket, 
 wife. And this evening we will have a bowl of punch. 
 Will, we shall fare like Kings and like the Great ones of 
 the Earth/ 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A WAY TO LIVE 
 
 I THINK that Tom Shirley was the most good-natured man 
 in the whole world: the most ready to do anything he 
 could for anybody : always cheerful : always happy : partly, 
 I suppose, because he looked at everything through spec- 
 tacles of imagination. He joined, however, to his passion 
 for music another which belonged to a lower world : namely, 
 for punch. Yet he was not an intemperate man : he showed 
 neither purple cheeks, nor a double chin, nor a swollen 
 neck, nor a rubicund nose all of which were common sights 
 on Change and in the streets of London. The reason why 
 
30 The Orange Girl 
 
 he displayed no signs of drink was that he could seldom 
 gratify his passion for punch by reason of his poverty, and 
 that in eating, which, I believe, also contributes its share 
 to the puffing out of the neck and the painting of the nose, 
 such as may be seen on Change, he was always as moderate, 
 although he thought every meal a feast, as became his 
 slender means. 
 
 I do not know how he got into the King's Bench, but the 
 thing is so easy that one marvels that so many are able to 
 keep out. They put him in and kept him there for a time, 
 when he was enabled to obtain the privilege of the Rules. 
 He was, as he boasted, always rich, because he thought he 
 was rich. His wife took from him, every week, the whole 
 of his wages, otherwise he would have given them away. 
 
 At one o'clock Alice laid the cloth and we had dinner. 
 Tom lifted the knife and fork and held it over the cold boiled 
 beef as if fearing to mar that delicate dish by a false or 
 clumsy cut. 'Is there anything,' he said, 'more delicious 
 to the palate than cold boiled beef ? It must be cut delicately 
 and with judgment with judgment, Will.' He proceeded 
 to exercise judgment. There was a cabbage on the table. 
 'This delicacy,' he said, 'is actually grown for us for us 
 in the gnrdens of Lambeth Marsh. Remark the crispness 
 of it: there is a solid heart for you: there is colour: there 
 is flavour.' All this was, I remember, the grossest flattery. 
 'Oat cake,' he said, breaking a piece. 'Some, I believe, 
 prefer wheaten bread. They do wrong. Viands must not 
 be judged by their cost but by their fitness to others on the 
 table, and by the season. Remember, Will, that with cold 
 boiled beef, oat cake is your only eating.' He poured out 
 some beer into a glass and held it up to the light. 'Watch 
 the sparkles: hear the humming: strong October this' it 
 was the most common small beer 'have a care, Will, have 
 a care.' And so on, turning the simple meal into a ban- 
 quet. 
 
 His wife and sister received these extravagances without 
 a smile. They were used to them. The latter, at least, 
 believed that they were the simple truth. The poor girl 
 was innocently proud of her humble home, this cottage on 
 St. George's Fields, within the Rules. 
 
 After dinner, we talked. As the subject was Music Tom 
 was somewhat carried away; yet there was method in his 
 madness. 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 31 
 
 'I said, lad, that there would be no Art if there were 
 no necessity. 'Tis Poverty alone makes men become musi- 
 cians and painters and poets. Where can you find a rich 
 man who was ever a great artist? I am no scholar, but I 
 have asked scholars this question, and they agree with me 
 that riches destroy Art. Hardly may Dives become even 
 a Connoisseur. He may become a general or a statesman: 
 we do not take all from him: we leave him something 
 but not the best that we keep for ourselves we keep Art 
 for ourselves. As for a rich merchant becoming a musician 
 or a painter it is impossible: one laughs at the very 
 thought.' 
 
 'Well, that danger is gone, Tom, so far as I am con- 
 cerned/ 
 
 'Ay. The reason I take it, is that Art demands the whole 
 man not a bit of him the whole man all his soul, all his 
 mind, all his thoughts, all his strength. You must give all 
 that to music, Will.' 
 
 'I ask nothing better/ 
 
 'Another reason is that Art raises a man's thoughts to 
 a higher level than is wanted for Trade. It is impossible 
 for a man's mind to soar or to sink according as he thinks 
 of art or trade. You will remember, Will, for your com- 
 fort, that your mind is raised above the City/ 
 
 'I will remember/ 
 
 'Well, then, let us think about what is best to be done/ 
 
 He pondered a little. Then he smiled. 
 
 Tut pride in pocket, Will. Now what would you like ?' 
 
 'To write great music/ 
 
 'A worthy ambition. It has been my own. It is not for 
 me to say whether my songs, which are nightly sung at the 
 Dog and Duck, are great music or not. Posterity may 
 judge. Lad, it is one thing to love music and another 
 thing to compose it. The latter is given to few : the former 
 to many. It may be that it is thy gift. But I know not. 
 Meantime, we must live/ 
 
 'I will do anything/ 
 
 'Again put pride in pocket. Now there is a river-side 
 tavern at Bermondsey. It is a place for sailors and their 
 Dolls. A rough and coarse place it is, at best. They want 
 a fiddler from six o'clock till ten every night, and later on 
 Saturdays/ 
 
32 The Orange Girl 
 
 I heard with a shiver. To play in a sailors' tavern! It 
 was my father's prophecy. 
 
 'Everybody must begin, Will. What? A sailors' tavern 
 is no place for the son of a City merchant, is it ? But that is 
 gone. Thou art now nobody's son a child of the gutter 
 the world is thine oyster free of all ties with neither 
 brother nor cousin to say thee nay. Lucky dog! What? 
 We must make a beginning I say in the gutter.' 
 
 His eyes twinkled and smiled, and I perceived without 
 being told that he meant to try my courage. So, with a 
 rueful countenance and a foolish sense of shame, I consented 
 to sit in the corner of a sanded room in a common river-side 
 tavern and to make music for common sailors and their 
 sweethearts. 
 
 'Why,' said Tom, 'that is well. And now, my lad, remem- 
 ber. There are no better judges of a riddle than sailors. 
 They love their music as they love their lobscouse, hot and 
 strong and plenty. Give it elbow, Will. They are not for 
 fine fingering or for cunning strokes and effects they like 
 the tune to come out full and sweet. They will be thy 
 masters. As for dancing, they like the time to be marked as 
 well as the tune. Find out how they like to take it. There 
 is one time for a hornpipe and another for a jig. As for 
 pay ' 
 
 I will not complete the sentence. For such as myself 
 there must be a Day of Small Things. But one need not 
 confess how very small these things have been. 
 
 Thus it was that I found an Asylum a City of Refuge 
 in the Rules of the King's Bench, when I was turned out by 
 my own people. And in this way I became that despised 
 and contemptible object, a Common Fiddler. I played, not 
 without glory, every night, to a company as low as could be 
 found. At least, I thought so at the time. Later on, it is 
 true, I found a lower company still. And I dare say there 
 are assemblies of men and women even lower. My fellows, 
 at least, were honest, and their companions were, at least, 
 what the men had made them. 
 
 We settled the business that very afternoon, walking over 
 to Bermondsey. The landlord said I was very young, but if 
 I could fiddle he did not mind that, only it must be remem- 
 bered in the pay. So I was engaged to begin the next 
 day. In the evening I went with Tom to the Dog and Duck 
 where he played first fiddle in the Orchestra, and sat in the 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 33 
 
 musicians' gallery. About this place more anon. At twelve 
 o'clock the music ceased and I walked home with Tom. 
 I remember, it was then a fine clear night in September : the 
 wind blew chill across the marshes : it had come up with the 
 flow of the river: the moon was riding high: a strange 
 elation possessed my soul : for my independence was begin- 
 ning : four guineas in my pocket : and a place with so many 
 shillings a week to live upon: nothing to do but to work at 
 music: and to live with the best-hearted man in the whole 
 world. 
 
 We got home. Alice had gone to bed. Tom's wife was 
 sitting up for us, the bowl of punch was ready for us, not 
 too big a bowl, because Tom's weakness where punch was 
 concerned was well known. He drank my success in one 
 glass : my future operas and oratorios in the second : my 
 joyful independence in the third: and my happy release in 
 the fourth. That finished the bowl and we went to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 LOVE AND MUSIC 
 
 You need not be told how I lived for the next three or 
 four years. I took what came. Pride remained in pocket. I 
 fiddled a wedding-party to church and home again. I fid- 
 dled the Company of Fellowship Porters through the streets 
 when they held their yearly feast. I fiddled for sailors ; I 
 fiddled at beanfeasts; I fiddled for Free Masons; I fiddled 
 in taverns; I fiddled here and there and everywhere, quite 
 unconcerned, even though I was playing in the gallery of a 
 City company's hall, and actually saw my cousin sitting in 
 state among the guests at the feast below, and knew that he 
 saw me and rejoiced at the sight, in his ignorance of the 
 consolations of music. 
 
 Nothing in those days came amiss to me. One who 
 makes music for his livelihood has no cause to be ashamed 
 of playing for anyone. It does not seem an occupation 
 such as one would choose, to spend the evening in a chair, 
 stuck in a corner out of the way, in a stinking room, for 
 
34 The Orange Girl 
 
 rough fellows to dance hornpipes : the work does not lift 
 up the soul to the level which Tom Shirley claimed for the 
 musician. But this was only the pot-boiling work. I had 
 the mornings to myself, when I could practise and attempt 
 composition. Besides, at eighteen, the present, if one be- 
 longs to a calling which has a career, is of very little import- 
 ance: the real life lies before: the boy lives for the future. 
 I was going, in those days, to be a great composer like 
 Handel. I was going to write oratorios such as his: majes- 
 tic, where majesty was wanted: tender, where love and 
 pity must be depicted : devout, where piety was called for. I 
 would write, besides, in my ambition, such things as were 
 written by Purcell and Arne : anthems for the church : songs 
 and madrigals and rounds and catches such as those with 
 which my patron Tom Shirley delighted his world. 
 
 The profession of music is one which can only be followed 
 by those who have the gift of music. That is the definition 
 of any Art: it can only be followed by those who have the 
 gift of that Art. In any other calling a man may serve 
 after a fashion, who hath not been called thereto. Many 
 men, for example, are divines who have neither learning nor 
 eloquence nor the Lord help them ! religion. Many law- 
 yers have no love for the law. Many merchants hate the 
 counting-house. But in music no one can serve at all unless 
 he is a musician born. He who, without the gift, would try 
 to enter the profession breaks down at the outset, seeing 
 that he cannot even learn to play an instrument with feeling, 
 ease, or judgment. Nay, there are distinct ranks of music, 
 to each of which one is raised by Nature, as much as by 
 study. Thus, you have at the bottom, the rank and file, 
 namely, those who can play a single instrument : next, those 
 who can compose and make simple music for songs, in 
 which all that is wanted is a tuneful and spirited air with an 
 ordinary accompaniment: next those who understand har- 
 mony and can make music of a higher character, such as 
 anthems, part-songs, and so forth. Lastly, you have the 
 composer in whose brains lies the knowledge of every 
 instrument in the orchestra. He is the King of musicians : 
 from him come the noble oratorios which delight our age 
 and lift our souls to Heaven: from him come the masses 
 which are sung I have the scores of several in Cathedrals 
 of Roman Catholic countries. It is not for an Englishman 
 to admire aught that belongs to Rome: but we must at 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 35 
 
 least concede to the Roman Catholic the possession of noble 
 music. 
 
 This, then, was my ambition. For four years I con- 
 tinued to live with my friend Tom Shirley. I held no com- 
 munication with my father or any of my own people. None 
 of them made any attempt at reconciliation. I believe they 
 were honestly ashamed of me. The new friends I made 
 were good and faithful : musical people have ever kindly 
 hearts, and are loyal to each other: they do not backbite: 
 there is no room for envy where one man plays the fiddle and 
 another the cornet : we are all a company of brothers. 
 
 The time came when it was no longer necessary for me 
 to play at taverns for the sailors: when I was no longer 
 compelled to attend weddings. I obtained, one after the 
 other, two posts, neither of which was a very great thing, 
 but both together made it possible for me to live in some 
 comfort. The first was that of organist at St. George's in 
 the Borough. I had to attend the service and to play the 
 organ twice on Sunday: the week day services and the 
 Gift Lectures were conducted without any singing. The 
 Church contains, I believe, the most fashionable congrega- 
 tion of South London, and therefore the most critical. I 
 do not think, however, that, while I sat in the organ-loft, 
 they had any reason to complain either of music or of 
 choir. There sat with me in the organ-loft, Alice, who 
 possessed a sweet, clear, and strong voice : her brother Tom, 
 who brought into the choir an excellent tenor : Mr. Ramage, 
 one of my father's clerks, who lodged behind the Marshal- 
 sea, gave us a bass of indifferent quality, though he was 
 now past fifty. Half a dozen boys and girls from the 
 Charity School, of no great account for voices, made up our 
 choir. I believe it was better than the average, and I think 
 that people came on Sunday morning on purpose to hear 
 the organ and the singing. 
 
 Mr. "Ramage, or Ramage, as he was called in the Count- 
 ing-house, where no title is allowed to any below the rank 
 of partner or partner's son, kept me acquainted with events 
 in College Street and on the wharf. My father, it was un- 
 derstood, never mentioned my name: the business of the 
 Firm was never more flourishing: Mr. Matthew was con- 
 stantly called in for consultations. 'And oh ! Master Will,' 
 my old friend always concluded, 'be reconciled. What is it 
 ~-to give up playing the organ at Church? Why it is 
 
36 The Orange Girl 
 
 nothing. Someone else will play while you sit in state in 
 your red velvet pew below. Give way to your father. He 
 is a hard man, but he is just.' 
 
 It also appeared from Mr. Ramage's information that it 
 was perfectly well known by the clerks and by Mr. Matthew, 
 who doubtless told my father, the ways by which I had been 
 making a living: I had been seen by one marching ahead of 
 a sailor's wedding-party: by another riddling in the Ber- 
 mondsey Tavern: by a third in the Gallery of a City Com- 
 pany Hall. The Counting-house down to the messengers 
 was humiliated : there was but one feeling among the clerks : 
 I had brought disgrace upon the House. 
 
 'They are sorry, Master Will, for your father's sake. It 
 is hard for him : so proud a man with so much to be proud 
 of a quarter of a million, some say. Think how hard 
 it is for him/ 
 
 'It is harder for me Ramage,' I replied, 'to be driven to 
 fiddle for sailors, when all I ask is to be allowed to follow 
 music in peace. However, tell the clerks that I am sorry to 
 have disgraced them.' 
 
 Disgraced the clerks! What did I say? Why, theirs is 
 the lowest kind of work that the world can find for men. 
 They were disgraced because their Master's son played the 
 fiddle for a living. But I could not afford to consider their 
 opinions. 
 
 Ramage knew nothing about my other place, or his 
 entreaties would have been more fervent. I had but one 
 answer, however. I could not give up the only work that 
 I cared for, even to be reconciled to my father. Why, I was 
 born for music. Shall a man fly in the face of Providence, 
 and scorn the gifts with which he is endowed ? 
 
 My other place was none other than second fiddle, Tom 
 Shirley being the first fiddle, of the Dog and Duck. 
 
 I have mentioned the Pleasure Gardens south of the River. 
 There are, as Londoners know very well, a great many such 
 gardens, all alike in most respects. That is to say, there 
 is in every one of them an avenue or walk, lined by trees 
 which at night are festooned by thousands of lights in 
 coloured glass lamps hanging from tree to tree. There is 
 also in most a piece of water with swans or ducks upon it, 
 and all round it arbours where the company take tea or 
 punch or wine. There is a tavern where drink may be had : 
 suppers are served in the evening : there is a floor for danc- 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 37 
 
 ing in the open air with a place for the band; and there is 
 a Long Room with an organ at one end where the company 
 promenade and listen, and where on hot nights the band and 
 the singers perform. In many gardens there is also a bowl- 
 ing-green : there is sometimes a swimming bath, and in most 
 there is a chalybeate spring the water of which is warranted 
 to cure anything, but especially rheumatism, gout, and the 
 King's evil. 
 
 Every one of these gardens employs an orchestra, and 
 engages the services of singers. The number of musicians 
 employed is therefore considerable. There are certainly in 
 the south of London alone more than a dozen Gardens large 
 enough to have a band. Beside the Dog and Duck, there 
 are the Temple of Flora: the Lambeth Wells: the Cumber- 
 land Gardens : Vauxhall Gardens : Bermondsey Spa : St. 
 Helena Gardens : Finch's Grotto : Cupid's Gardens : Restora- 
 tion Spring Gardens is not that twelve? And there are 
 more. So that it is not difficult for a young man who can 
 play any instrument tolerably to get a place in the orchestra 
 of some Garden. 
 
 One would not choose such a position if Fortune gave one 
 a choice. At the Dog and Duck there are visitors to whose 
 pleasure we should be ashamed of ministering : people whose 
 proper place is the House of Correction or Bridewell: they 
 are allowed to attend these gardens with friends who should 
 also be denied entrance: they make the company noisy and 
 disorderly. We gave them music that was a great deal bet- 
 ter than they deserved : it was thrown away upon the ma- 
 jority : we gave them songs that were innocent and tender 
 Tom Shirley wrote and composed them himself : we also had 
 to give them other songs more suited to their gross and 
 grovelling tastes. 
 
 It was part of Tom's humour to speak of the audience at 
 the Dog and Duck as the most polite, fashionable, and aristo- 
 cratic assembly in the world. He declared that their taste 
 in music was excellent : their attention that of a connoisseur : 
 and their appreciation of his own songs all that he could 
 desire. I asked him once how he reconciled these things 
 with their delight in the comic songs which were also pro- 
 vided for them. 'The aristocracy/ he said, 'must from time 
 to time, unbend: they must from time to time, laugh: they 
 laugh and they unbend when we give them a song to which 
 in their more polite moments they would refuse to listen,' 
 
38 The Orange Girl 
 
 I knew very well that the company was chiefly composed of 
 deboshed profligates : prentices who daily robbed their mas- 
 ters in order to come to the gardens : young gentlemen from 
 the country; prodigal sons from the Temple and Lincoln's 
 Inn; and tradesmen who were dissipating their capital. If 
 good music was played they talked and laughed : at the sing- 
 ing of good songs they walked about or left the open plat- 
 form for the dark lanes of the garden. 'You are lucky, 
 Will/ said Tom. To play for such an audience brings good 
 luck, with name and fame and riches.' 
 
 It brought me fifteen shillings a week. And as for name 
 and fame I never heard of either. 
 
 I did not propose to write my own history, but that of 
 a woman to whom you have already seen me conversing. 
 Yet my own history must be understood before hers can be 
 related. You have been told how for my obstinate adher- 
 ence to music I was turned cut of my father's house: how 
 I found a refuge : how I earned my livelihood by playing 
 the fiddle. Now, before I come to the events which con- 
 nected my fortunes with those of the lady whom I call my 
 mistress and that with my wife's consent I must tell one 
 or two events which befell me. The first of them was my 
 courtship and .my marriage. In the courtship there was 
 no obstacle: the course of true love ran smoothly: in my 
 marriage there were no regrets : no discords : always a full 
 deep current of affection on both sides. A simple, plain 
 story, in which nothing happened, so far : would to Heaven 
 that nothing had happened, afterwards. 
 
 When a young man and girl live under the same roof: 
 when they share the same interests: when they have the 
 same affections Alice herself could not love her brother 
 more than I did : when the home is happy in spite of poverty 
 and its restrictions: when the hearts of the two go out to 
 each other spontaneously, then the time must come when 
 they will resolve upon becoming brother and sister or de- 
 clared and open lovers. 
 
 When I think of this time, this truly happy time, I some- 
 times feel as if we were too hurried over it. I sat beside 
 Alice every morning at breakfast and at dinner : I played to 
 her : I composed songs for her : I even wrote verses for the 
 music I have some of them still, and really, though I do 
 not pretend to be a poet, there are things in them which 
 I admire. Poets always speak of the warblers in the grove : 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 39- 
 
 so did I. Love, which rhymes to grove, always burns and 
 flames did so in my verses. As to the rhymes, I abolished 
 the first and third, which was a great relief. Without the 
 necessity of rhyming one could easily become a poet. 
 
 I say that the situation being so pleasant and so happy, 
 I might have prolonged it: but there comes a time when a 
 man must take the last step. The uncertainty is sweet. 
 Can she love me? Will she perhaps say nay? Yet the 
 pleasing pain, the charming smart, the raptured flames I 
 quote from my own verses which were really like many that 
 I have seen used in songs become in time too much: one 
 must gerforce go on to secure the happiness beyond. 
 
 In the morning, when the weather was fine, we would 
 walk abroad among the fields and gardens that lie stretched 
 out behind the river bank : some of them are pretty gardens, 
 each with its hedge and bushes filled with flowers in the 
 summer: garden houses stand about here and there: wind- 
 mills vary the landskip : the lanes are shaded by trees : at the 
 end of one is a great stone barn, formerly part of King 
 Richard's Palace, of which not another stone is left. Beside 
 the river are Lambeth Palace and Lambeth Church with a 
 few fishermen's cottages. Over this rural place we strayed 
 at our will, now among the lanes ; picking wild flowers ; re- 
 calling scraps of songs ; listening to the skylark, while the 
 fresh breeze coming up the river with the tide fanned 
 Alice's cheek and heightened the soft colour which was one 
 of her charms. Sometimes we left the fields and walked 
 along the high Embankment watching the laden barges 
 slowly going up or down and the sailing tilt-boats bound for 
 Richmond: or the fishermen in mid-stream with their nets: 
 or the wherries plying with their fares and the swans: 
 admiring, in a word, the life and animation of the river at 
 Westminster and above it. Chiefly, however, Alice loved 
 the fields, where in the morning we were always alone save 
 for a gardener here and there at work. Since the life that 
 she saw around her was such as she saw made up of debt- 
 ors' prisons, noisy duck-hunters, prize-fighters and drunken 
 profligates, what wonder if she loved to linger where she 
 was apart from the vileness of men and women ? To medi- 
 tate : to muse : to sing all alone, for my companionship 
 counted nothing: was her greatest joy. So it has continued: 
 even now she loves to wander alone beneath the trees they 
 are other trees under another sky and lift up her voice to 
 
40 The Orange Girl 
 
 Heaven, which answers by giving her thoughts, always new, 
 and always holy. 
 
 It was in the middle of May, the poet's month, when we 
 were thus roaming in the fields. Alice carried a handful of 
 hawthorn. She sang as she went. Dear Heart! how she 
 sang ! Yet I know not what. It was Prayer : it was Praise : 
 it was Adoration: it was Worship: I know not what she 
 sang. The larks were dumb because they could not sing with 
 her. 
 
 It was the time of which I have spoken the time of 
 uncertainty. Never had Alice looked so heavenly sweet: 
 she carried her hat by the strings: her hair fell about her 
 shoulders fair, soft hair, like silk, with a touch of gold in 
 it: her eyes gazed upwards when the light clouds flew 
 across the blue, as if they were things of this world trying 
 to turn her eyes and thoughts away from the things of 
 Heaven. I could endure the doubt no longer. I laid my 
 arm about her waist: the song was troubled: her eyes 
 dropped. 'Oh !' she said. 'What wilt thou ?' I drew her 
 closer. The song broke off. I kissed her head, her brow, 
 her lips. We said nothing. She sang no more. But the 
 larks began their hymns of joy : the clouds passed : the sun 
 came out in splendour: the hedges seemed all to burst to- 
 gether into blossom. 
 
 Thus it was so easily so sweetly did we pass into the 
 condition of lovers. Yet we had been lovers all the time. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WEDDING BELLS AND THE BOOK OF THE PLAY 
 
 WE were married without delay. Why should we wait? 
 I should be no richer for waiting and time would be pass- 
 ing. We were married, therefore. It was impossible 
 from time to time we should not be reminded of the lowly 
 station in which we lived. When one of my cousins was 
 married, what preparations! what feasts arranged and pro- 
 vided ! What troops of guests ! What a noble company in 
 the Church! What crowds afterwards the street filled 
 with beggars come for the broken victuals : the butchers with 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 41 
 
 their din unmusical of marrow-bones and cleavers : the band 
 of music playing outside : the acclamation of the crowd when 
 the bride was brought back from church : the rooms full of 
 guests all with wedding favours: the loving-cup passing 
 from hand to hand: the kissing of the bridesmaids: the 
 merriment and coquetry over the bride-cake and the wed- 
 ding-ring! All this I remembered and it made me sad for 
 a moment. Not for long, for beside me stood a bride 
 sweeter far than was any cousin of mine : and I was a musi- 
 cian; and I was independent. 
 
 We walked over the Fields to St. George's Church and 
 were there married at ten o'clock in the morning. Tom 
 gave away his sister: Alice had no bridesmaids: I had no 
 groomsmen : there was no crowd of witnesses : there was no 
 loving-cup. We were married in an empty church, and 
 after marriage we walked home again to Tom's cottage. 
 
 He sat down and played a wedding march, of his own 
 composition, made for the occasion. 'There!' he said, 'that 
 is better than a wedding feast yet there shall be a wedding 
 feast and of the best.' 
 
 It was served at noon: there was a duck pie: a pair of 
 soles : a cowslip tart a very dainty dish : and fried sweet- 
 breads. After dinner there was a bottle of port. 
 
 'Will,' said my brother-in-law, taking the last glass in 
 the bottle, 'who would be one of those unhappy creatures 
 who cannot be married without crowds and noise and a 
 great company? Here are we, contented with ourselves: 
 we have been married: we have had a royal banquet your 
 sweetbreads, wife, were a morsel for a king. You are con- 
 tented, Will?' 
 
 'Quite.' For I was holding Alice by the hand. 
 
 'You never regret the flesh-pots?' 
 
 'Never I have forgotten them.' This was not quite true, 
 but it passed. 
 
 'I have sometimes thought' he looked from me to Alice 
 and from Alice to me again 'that there might have been 
 regrets.' 
 
 'There can be none, now/ 
 
 'Good. Hands upon it, brother. We shall miss Alice, 
 shall we not, wife? But she will not be far off. So/ A 
 tear stood in his eye while he kissed his sister. 'Now/ he 
 said, 'enough of sentiment. The day is before us. I have 
 got a man to take my place to-night and another to take 
 
42 The Orange Girl 
 
 yours. On such an occasion, Will, we must not spare and 
 grudge. We will see the sights of London and then then 
 none of your Pleasure Gardens we will but I have a 
 surprise for you/ 
 
 We sallied forth. Never was a wedding-day kept in so 
 strange a fashion. We took oars at the Falcon Stairs to 
 the Tower. Now Alice had spent all her life in or about 
 the Rules of the King's Bench, but she had never seen Lon- 
 don City or the Sights of London. To her everything was 
 new. We showed her the Tower and the wild beasts and 
 the arms and armour and the Royal Crown and Sceptre. 
 After the Tower, we walked along Thames Street where 
 are the Custom House and Billingsgate Market and the 
 Steelyard and the Monument. We climbed up the Monu- 
 ment for the sake of the view: it was a clear day, and we 
 could discern in the distance Lambeth Palace and the Church 
 and perhaps even, one was not sure, the cottage which we 
 had taken on the Bank. After this we went to see the 
 Guildhall and the famous Giants: then the Bank of Eng- 
 land and the Royal Exchange: we looked at the shops in 
 Cheapside: they are the richest shops in the world, but the 
 mercers and haberdashers do not put out in the window 
 their costly stuffs to tempt the shoplifter. 'You must 
 imagine, Alice/ I told her, 'the treasures that lie within: 
 some time if we ever become rich you shall come here and 
 buy to your heart's content/ Then we entered St. Paul's, 
 that solemn and magnificent pile : here we heard part of the 
 afternoon service, the boys in their white surplices singing 
 like angels, so that the tears rolled down my girl's face 
 they were tears of praise and prayer, not of repentance. 
 From St. Paul's we walked up the narrow street called the 
 Old Bailey and saw the outside of Newgate. Now had we 
 known what things we were to do and to suffer in that awful 
 place, I think we should have prayed for death. But 
 Heaven mercifully withholds the future. 
 
 It was then about five o'clock. We went to a coffee-house 
 and took some coffee and ratafia. The animation of the 
 place ; the brisk conversation ; the running about of the boys : 
 the fragrant odour of the coffee: pleased us. There were 
 coffee-houses in the High Street, but they lacked the viva- 
 city of this on Ludgate Hill, where Templars, Doctors of 
 Divinity, and the mercers and goldsmiths of Ludgate Hill 
 and Fleet Street were assembled together to talk and drink 
 
WE TOOK OARS AT THE FALCON STAIRS TO THE TOWER. 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 43 
 
 the fragrant beverage which has done so much to soften the 
 manners of the better sort. 
 
 'And now/ said Tom, 'for my surprise.' 
 
 He called a coach and we drove not knowing whither; 
 he was taking us to Drury Lane. 
 
 We were to celebrate our wedding-day by going to the 
 Play. 
 
 For my own part I had never for reasons which you will 
 understand been allowed to go to the Play. To sober- 
 mi ndecl merchants the Play was a thing abhorrent : a hot-bed 
 of temptation : the amusements of Prodigals and Profligates. 
 Therefore I had never seen the Play. Nor had Alice or her 
 sister-in-law, while Tom, who had once played in the orches- 
 tra, had never seen the Play since his debts carried him off 
 to the King's Bench. 
 
 We found good places in the Boxes: the House was not 
 yet half full and the candles were not all lighted: many of 
 the seats were occupied by footmen waiting for ther mis- 
 tresses to take them: in the Pit the gentlemen, who seemed 
 to know each other, were standing about in little knots con- 
 versing with the utmost gravity. One would have thought 
 that affairs of state were being discussed: on the contrary, 
 we were assured, they were arguing as to the merits or the 
 blemishes of the piece, now in its third night. 
 
 Presently the musicians came in and the cheerful sound 
 of tuning up began : then the House began to fill up rapidly : 
 and the orange girls made their way about the Pit with 
 their baskets, and walked about the back of the boxes calling 
 out their 'fine Chaney orange fine Chaney orange.' Why 
 do I note these familiar things? Because they were not 
 familiar to me: because they are always connected in my 
 mind with what followed. 
 
 The play was 'The Country Girl/ The story is about 
 an innocent Country Girl, an heiress, who knows nothing of 
 London, or of the world. Her guardian wants to marry her 
 himself for the sake of her money, though he is fifty and 
 she is twenty: as he cannot do so without certain papers 
 being drawn up, he makes her believe that they are married 
 by breaking a sixpence, and brings her to London with him. 
 How she deceives him, pretends this and that, makes appoint- 
 ments and writes love-letters under his very nose, wrings his 
 consent to a subterfuge and marries the man she loves 
 these things compose the whole play. 
 
44 The Orange Girl 
 
 The first Act, I confess, touched me little. The young 
 fellow, the lover, talks about the girl he loves : her guardian 
 is introduced : there is no action : and there were no women. 
 I felt no interest in the talk of the men: there was an old 
 rake and a young rake; the soured and gloomy guardian, 
 and the lover. They did not belong to my world, either of 
 the City or of St. George's Fields. 
 
 But in the second Act the Country Girl herself appeared 
 and with her as a foil and for companion the town woman. 
 Now the Country Girl, Peggy by name, instantly, on her 
 very first appearance, ravished all hearts. For she was so 
 lovely, with her light hair hardly dressed at all, hanging in 
 curls over her neck and shoulders, her bright eyes, her quick 
 movements, that no one could resist her. She brought with 
 her on the stage the air of the country; one seemed to 
 breathe the perfumes of roses and jessamine. And she was 
 so curious and so ignorant and so innocent. She had been 
 taken, the evening before, to the Play : she found the actors 
 'the goodliest, properest men': she liked them 'hugeously': 
 she wants to go out and see the streets and the people. Her 
 curmudgeon of a guardian comes in and treats her with the 
 barbarity of a natural bad temper irritated by jealousy. 
 There was a charming scene in which the Country Girl is 
 dressed as a boy so that she may walk in the Park without 
 being recognised by her lover but she is recognised and is 
 kissed by the very man whom her guardian dreads. There 
 is another in which she is made to write a letter forbidding 
 her lover ever to see her again : this is dictated by the guar- 
 dian : when he goes to fetch sealing-wax she writes another 
 exactly the opposite and substitutes it. Now all this was 
 done with so much apparent artlessness and so much real 
 feminine cunning that the play was charming whenever the 
 Country Girl was on the stage. 
 
 It was over too soon. 
 
 'Oh !' cried Alice. 'She is an angel, sure. How fortunate 
 was the exchange of letters! And how lucky that he was 
 made, without knowing it, to grant his consent. I hope that 
 her lover will treat her well. She will be a fond wife, Will, 
 do you not think?' 
 
 And so she went on as if the play was real and the 
 Country Girl came really from the country and the thing 
 really happened. The name of the actress, I saw on the 
 Play Bill, was Miss Jenny Wilmot. I am not surprised 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 45 
 
 looking back on that evening. The wit and sparkle of her 
 words seemed, by the way she spoke them, invented by her- 
 self on the spot. She held the House in a spell : when she 
 left the stage the place became instantly dull and stupid : 
 when she returned the stage became once more bright. 
 
 We went back by water : it was a fine evening : a thousand 
 stars were gleaming in the sky and in the water: we were 
 all silent, as happens when people have passed a day of 
 emotions. At my brother-in-law's cottage we made a sup- 
 per out of the remains of the dinner, and after supper Alice 
 and I went away to the house we had taken at Lambeth, be- 
 side the church. And so our wedded life began. 
 
 There was another incident connected with my wedding 
 which turned out to be the innocent cause of a great deal that 
 happened afterwards. 
 
 Among my former friends in the City was a certain Mr. 
 David Camlet who had a shop in Bucklersbury for the sale 
 of musical instruments. He allowed me the run of the place 
 arid to try different instruments ; it was he who first taught 
 me to play the harpsicord and suffered me to practise in his 
 back parlour overlooking the little churchyard of St. Pancras. 
 The good old man would also converse with me say, rather, 
 instruct me in the history of composers and their works. Of 
 the latter he had a fine collection. In brief he was a musi- 
 cian born and, as we say, to the finger tips ; a bachelor who 
 wanted no wife or mistress ; one who lived a simple happy 
 life among his instruments and with his music. Whether 
 he was rich or not, I do not know. 
 
 He knew the difficulties which surrounded me : I used to 
 tell him all: my father's prejudice against music: my own 
 dislike of figures and accounts : my refuge in the highest 
 garret when I wished to practice only at such times when 
 my father was out of the house: my beloved teacher in the 
 King's Bench Rules : he encouraged me and warned me : he 
 took the most kindly interest in my position, counselling al- 
 ways obedience and submission even if by so doing I was 
 forbidden to practise at all for a time : offering his own par- 
 lour as a place of retreat where I could without fear of dis- 
 covery practise as much as I pleased. 
 
 When I was turned out of the house, I made haste to 
 inform him what had happened. He lifted up his hands in 
 consternation. 'What?' he cried. 'You, the only son of 
 Sir Peter Halliday, Knight, Alderman, ex-Lord Mayor, the 
 
46 The Orange Girl 
 
 greatest merchant in the City : the heir to a plum what do I 
 say ? Three or four plums at the least : the future partner 
 of so great a business : the future owner of a fleet, and the 
 finest and best appointed fleet on the seas and you throw 
 all this away ' 
 
 'But/ I said, 'I will be nothing but a musician/ 
 
 'Thou shalt be a musician, lad. Wait thou shalt have 
 music for a hobby. It is good and useful to be a patron of 
 music: to encourage musicians/ 
 
 'But I would be a musician by profession/ 
 
 'It is a poor profession, Will. Believe me, it is a beggarly 
 profession. If you think of making money by it give up 
 that hope/ 
 
 That day I had ringing in my ears 'certain glowing words 
 of Tom Shirley upon the profession and I laughed. 
 
 'What do I care about poverty, if I can only be a musician ? 
 Mr. Camlet, you have been so kind to me always, do not 
 dissuade me. I have chosen my path/ I added with the 
 grandeur that belongs to ignorance, 'and I abide by my 
 lot/ 
 
 He sighed. 'Nay, lad, I will not dissuade thee. Poverty 
 is easy to face, when one is young: it is hard to bear when 
 one is old/ 
 
 'Then we shall be friends still, and I may come to see you 
 sometimes when I am a great composer/ 
 
 He took my hand. 'Will/ he said, with humid eyes, 
 'Music is a capricious goddes's. It is not her most pious 
 votary whom she most often rewards. Be a musician if she 
 permits. If not, be a player only. Many are called but 
 few are chosen. Of great composers, there are but one or 
 two in a generation. 'Tis an eager heart, and an eager face. 
 The Lord be good to thee, Will Halliday !' 
 
 From time to time I visited this kind old man, telling him 
 all that I did and hiding nothing. At the thought of my 
 playing at the riverside tavern for the sailors to dance he 
 laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. 'Why/ he said, 
 'it was but yesterday that I looked in at Change, because it 
 does one good sometimes to gaze upon those who, like the 
 pillars of St. Paul's bear up and sustain this great edifice of 
 London. Among the merchants, Will, I saw thy respected 
 father. Truly there was so much dignity upon his brow : so 
 much authority in his walk: so much mastery in his voice: 
 so much consideration in his reception : that I marvelled how 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 47 
 
 a stripling like thyself should dare to rebel. And to think 
 that his son plays the fiddle in a sanded tavern for ragged 
 Jack tars to dance with their Polls and Molls. I cannot 
 choose but laugh. Pray Heaven, he never learn !' 
 
 But he did learn. My good cousin kept himself informed 
 of my doings somehow, and was careful to let my father 
 know. 
 
 'Sir Peter looks well/ Mr. Camlet went on. 'He is per- 
 haps stouter than is good for him: his cheeks are red, but 
 that is common: and his neck is swollen more than I 
 should like my own to be. Yet he walks sturdily and will 
 wear yet, no doubt many a long year. London is a healthy 
 place/ 
 
 Presently I was able to tell him that I was about to be 
 married, being in a position which seemed to promise a 
 sufficiency. He wished me hearty congratulations^ and 
 begged to know the happy day and the place of our abode. 
 
 On the morning after our wedding, before we had had 
 time to look around us in our three-roomed cottage it was 
 designed for one of the Thames fisherman: hardly had I 
 found time to talk over the disposition of the furniture, I 
 perceived, from the casement window, marching valiantly 
 down the lane from St. George's Fields, my old friend Mr. 
 David Camlet. The day was warm and he carried his wig 
 and hat in one hand, mopping his head with a handkerchief. 
 
 'He comes to visit us, my dear,' I said. 'It is Mr. Camlet. 
 What is he bringing with him?' 
 
 For beside him a man dragged a hand-cart in which lay 
 something large and square, covered with matting. 
 
 'He is the maker of musical instruments/ I explained. 
 'Alice, what if in the cart ' 
 
 'Oh, Will if it were ' 
 
 Know that my great desire was to possess a harpsichord, 
 which for purposes of composition is almost a necessity. 
 But such an instrument was altogether beyond my hopes. 
 I might as well have yearned for an organ. 
 
 He stopped where the houses began and looked about him. 
 He made straight for our door which was open and knocked 
 gently with his knuckles. 
 
 Alice went out to meet him. By this time he had put 
 on his wig and stood with his hat under his arm. 
 
 'The newly married lady of my young friend, Master Will 
 Hallidav?' he asked. 'I knew it. In such a matter I am 
 
48 The Orange Girl 
 
 never wrong. Virtue, Madam, sits on thy brow, Love upon 
 thy lips. Permit an old man yet a friend of thy worthy 
 husband' so saying he kissed her with great ceremony. 
 Then at length, the room being rather dark after the bright 
 sunshine, he perceived me, and shaking hands wished me 
 every kind of happiness. 
 
 'I am old,' he said, 'and it is too late for me to become 
 acquainted with Love. Yet I am assured that if two people 
 truly love one another, to the bearing of each other's bur- 
 dens: to working for each other: then may life be stripped 
 of half its terrors. I say nothing of the blessing of children, 
 the support and prop of old age. My children, love each 
 other always/ Alice took my hand. 'For better for worse ; 
 in poverty and in riches : love each other always/ 
 
 I drew my girl closer and kissed her. The old man 
 coughed huskily. 'Twas a tender heart, even at seventy. 
 
 Alice gave him a chair : she also brought out the wedding 
 cake (which she made herself a better cake was never 
 made) and she opened the bottle of cherry brandy we had 
 laid in fov occasions. He took a glass of the cordial to the 
 health of the bride, and ate a piece of bride cake to our good 
 luck. 
 
 'This fellow ought to be fortunate,' he said, nodding at 
 me. 'He has given up all for the sake of music. He ought 
 to be rewarded. He might have been the richest merchant 
 on Change. But he preferred to be a musician, and to begin 
 at the lowest part of the ladder. It is wonderful devotion/ 
 
 'Sir, I have never regretted my decision/ 
 
 'That is still more wonderful. No no I am wrong' 
 he laughed 'quite wrong. If you were to regret it, now, 
 you would be the most thankless dog in the world. Aha! 
 The recompense begins in full measure overflowing 
 with such a bride/ 
 
 'Oh! Sir,' murmured Alice blushing. 
 
 He took a second glass of cherry brandy and began a 
 speech of some length of which I only remember the con- 
 clusion. 
 
 'Wherefore, my friends, since life is short, resolve to en- 
 joy all that it has to give together: and to suffer all that 
 it has to inflict together. There is much to enjoy that 
 is lawful and innocent. The Lord is mindful of His 
 own Love is lawful, and innocent: there is abiding com- 
 fort in love : trust in each other raises the soul of him who 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 49 
 
 trusts and of him who is trusted : sweet music is lawful and 
 innocent : if there is ever any doubt : if there is any trouble : 
 if any fail in love: if the world becomes like a threatening 
 sea : you shall find in music new strength and comfort. But 
 why do I speak of the solace of music to Will Halliday and 
 the sister of Tom Shirley? Therefore, I say no more/ 
 
 He stopped and rose. Alice poured out another glass 
 of cherry brandy for him. 
 
 'I nearly forgot what I came for. Such is the effect of 
 contemplating happiness. Will, I have thought for a long 
 time that you wanted a harpsichord/ 
 
 'Sir, it has been ever beyond my dreams/ 
 
 'Then I am glad because I can now supply that want. 
 I have brought with me, dear lad and dear blooming bride, 
 as good an instrument as I have in my shop: no better in 
 all the world/ He went out and called his man. We lifted 
 the instrument it was most beautiful not only in touch 
 but also with its rosewood case. We set it up and I tried it. 
 
 'Oh!' Alice caught his hand and kissed it. 'Now Will 
 is happy indeed. How can we thank you sufficiently ?' 
 
 'Play upon it/ he said. 'Play daily upon it: play the 
 finest music only upon it. So shall your souls be raised 
 even to the gates of Heaven/ 
 
 Once more he drew my wife towards him and kissed her 
 on the forehead. Then he seized my hand and shook it and 
 before I had time or could find words to speak or to thank 
 him, he was gone, marching down the hot lane with the firm 
 step of thirty, instead of seventy. 
 
 A noble gift, dictated by the most friendly feeling. Yet 
 it led to the first misfortune of my life one that might well 
 have proved a misfortune impossible to be overcome. 
 
 Then began our wedded life. For two years we con- 
 tinued to live in that little cottage. There our first child 
 was born, a lovely boy. Every evening I repaired to the 
 Dog and Duck, and took my place in the orchestra. Famil- 
 iarity makes one callous : I had long since ceased to regard 
 the character of the company. They might be, as Tom pre- 
 tended, the most aristocratic assembly in the world: they 
 might be the reverse. The coloured lamps in the garden 
 pleased me no more : nor did the sight of those who danced 
 or the pulling of corks and the singing of songs after supper 
 in the bowers: the ladies were no longer beautiful in my 
 eyes : I enquired not about the entertainment except for my 
 
50 The Orange Girl 
 
 own part: I never looked at the fireworks. All these 
 things to one who has to attend night after night becomes 
 part of the work and not of the entertainment and amuse- 
 ment of life. 
 
 The musician is a being apart. He takes no part in the 
 conduct of State or City : he is not a philosopher : or a 
 theologian : he is not a preacher or teacher : he writes noth- 
 ing either for instruction or for amusement: in the pleas- 
 ures of mankind he assists but having no share or part in 
 them. His place is in the gallery: they cannot do without 
 him : he cannot live without them : but he is a creature apart. 
 
 My mornings were my own. Sometimes I walked with 
 Alice on the terrace of Lambeth Palace: or went down 
 into the Marsh and walked about the meadows: we made 
 no friends except among the humble fishermen to whose 
 wives Alice taught cleanliness. Sometimes, after the child 
 came, I would leave Alice for the morning and walk into 
 the City. Perhaps I had a hope that I might meet my 
 father. I never did, however. I looked for him on 
 Change : I walked in Great College Street : but I never 
 met him. I knew beforehand that my reception would be 
 of the coldest but I wanted to see him and to speak with 
 him. I went down to Billingsgate Stairs and took boat and 
 was rowed about the ships in the Pool. There I recognised 
 our own ships: they might have been my own, but would 
 never be mine, now. All these things I had thrown away 
 ships, wharf, trade, fortune. It made me proud to think so. 
 Yet I would have spoken to my father had I met him. 
 
 Once I met Matthew in the street and passed him touch- 
 ing shoulders. He looked me full in the face with the pre- 
 tence of not knowing me. I commanded my temper and let 
 him go without expostulation which would have led to a 
 second fight, for which I had no desire. 
 
 On two other occasions I saw him though he did not see 
 me. The first was on a certain afternoon in October when 
 it grows dark about five. I was strolling down Garlick- 
 hithe near Queenhithe. As I passed the Church of St. 
 James's which stands a little back with steps I saw two 
 figures conversing: one was a man whom I knew at once 
 for my cousin by his shoulders and by the shape of his head. 
 The other was a woman with a veil over her face. I knew 
 the man next by his voice. Our Matthew had such a voice 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 51 
 
 oily and yet harsh. 'If you loved me/ he said, 'you would 
 do this simple thing/ 
 
 'I will never do it/ she declared, passionately. 'You have 
 deceived me/ 
 
 I would not be an eavesdropper, and I passed on. Mat- 
 thew, therefore, had 'deceived' the word may mean many 
 things a woman. Matthew, of all men ! However, it was 
 no concern of mine. 
 
 A third time I saw him or heard him, because I did not 
 see him. It was in one of those taverns where small square 
 pews are provided with high walls so that one cannot be 
 heard. I sat in one with Tom Shirley, taking a pint of 
 wine. All round were the voices of people carrying on 
 business in whispers and in murmurs. Suddenly I distin- 
 guished the voice of Matthew. 
 
 'The security is good/ he said. 'There is no finer security 
 in the City. I want the money/ 
 
 'You can have some to-morrow night/ I was destined to 
 hear a great deal more of that grating voice. 'And the 
 rest next week, if I can get the papers signed. It is a con- 
 fidential business, I suppose. 
 
 'Nothing is to be said. Our House does not like to bor- 
 row money, but the occasion is pressing/ 
 
 'Let us go/ I said to Tom. 'We shall learn presently 
 all Matthew's secrets/ 
 
 'Matthew? Your cousin Matthew?' 
 
 'He is in one of the boxes. I have heard his voice. 
 Come, Tom/ 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A CITY FUNERAL 
 
 THUS we lived humble folk if you please far from the 
 world of wealth or of fashion. 
 
 This happiness was too great to last. We were to be 
 stricken down, yet not unto death. 
 
 The troubles began with the death of my father. 
 
 One morning, when he ought to have been at his desk, 
 my old friend Ramage came to see me. 
 
 'Master Will/ he said, the tears running down his cheeks, 
 
52 The Orange Girl 
 
 'Master Will 'tis now too late. You will never be recon- 
 ciled now.' 
 
 'What has happened?' I asked.' But his troubled face 
 told me. 
 
 'My master fell down in a fit last night, coming home from 
 the Company's feast. They carried him home and put him 
 to bed. But in the night he died/ 
 
 In such a case as mine one always hopes vaguely for rec- 
 onciliation, so long as there is life: without taking any 
 steps, one thinks that a reconciliation will come of its own 
 accord. I now believe that if I had gone to my father and 
 put the case plainly: my manifest vocation: my incapacity 
 for business; if I had asked his permission to continue in 
 the musical profession: if I had, further, humbled myself 
 so far as to admit that I deserved at his hands nothing less 
 than to be cut off without a shilling: he might have given 
 way. It is a terrible thing to know that your father has 
 died with bitterness in his heart against his only son. Or, 
 I might have sent Alice, with the child. Surely the sight 
 of that sweet girl, the sight of the helpless child, would have 
 moved him. I reproached myself, in a word, when it was 
 too late. 
 
 'Sir,' said the .clerk, 'I do not believe that Mr. Matthew, 
 or his father, will send you word of this event, or of the 
 funeral.' 
 
 'They do*not know where I live/ 
 
 'Excuse me, Sir, Mr. Matthew knows where you live and 
 everything that you have done since you left your home. 
 Believe me, Mr. Will, you have no greater enemy than your 
 cousin. He has constantly inflamed your father's mind 
 against you. It was he who told my master that you were 
 playing for sailors at a common tavern with a red blind and 
 a sanded floor. He told him that you were playing in the 
 orchestra at the Dog and Duck for all the 'prentices and 
 the demireps of town: he told him that you had married 
 a ' 
 
 'Stop, Ramage, lest I do my cousin a mischief. How do 
 you know all this?' 
 
 *I listen/ he replied. 'From my desk, I can hear plainly 
 what is said in the counting-house. I listen. I can do no 
 good. But sometimes it is well to know what goes on/ 
 
 'It may be useful but to listen well Ramage, is there 
 more to tell?' 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 53 
 
 'This. They do not intend to invite you to the funeral. 
 Mr. Matthew will assume the place of the heir, and his 
 father will be chief mourner.' 
 
 'Oh ! Do you tell me, old friend, when it is to take place, 
 and I will be there/ 
 
 So he promised, though it was worth his situation if he 
 were found out to have held any intercourse with me. In 
 the end it proved useful to have a friend in the enemy's 
 camp. At the time, I laughed at danger. What had I 
 to fear from Matthew's enmity? 
 
 The manner of my father's death is common among Mer- 
 chants of the City of London. Their very success makes 
 them liable to it: the City customs favour feasting and the 
 drinking of wine : the richer sort ride in a coach when they 
 should be walking for health : it is seldom, indeed, that one 
 may meet a citizen of Quality walking in the fields of which 
 there are so many and of such a wholesome air round Lon- 
 don, whether we go East to the fields of Mile End and Bow : 
 or North where, not to speak of Moorfields, there are the 
 fields this side of Islington: or on the West where are the 
 fields of Westminster and Chelsea : or South wherethe whole 
 country is a verdant meadow with orchards. I say that 
 among the crowds who flock out on a summer evening to 
 take the air (and other refreshments) in these fields, one 
 may look in vain for the substantial merchant. He takes 
 the air lolling in his coach : he feasts every day, drinking 
 quantities of rich and strong wine such as Port or Lisbon: 
 'he stays too much indoors: the counting-house is too often 
 but a step from the parlour. 
 
 The consequence is natural: at thirty-five the successful 
 merchant begins to swell and to expand : his figure becomes 
 arched or rounded : perhaps his nose grows red : at forty- 
 five his circumference is great: his neck is swollen; his 
 cheek is red: perhaps his nose has become what is called a 
 Bottle. Soon after fifty, he is seized with an apoplexy. It 
 is whispered on Change that such an one fell down step- 
 ping out of his Company's Hall, after a Feast, into the road : 
 that he never recovered consciousness: and that he is dead. 
 The age of fifty, I take it, is the grand Climacteric of the 
 London Merchant. 
 
 On the day of the funeral, then, I presented myself, with 
 'Alice, properly habited, to take my place as chief Mourner. 
 The house, within, was all hung with black cloth. The hall 
 
54 The Orange Girl 
 
 and the stairs were thus covered: it was evening at eight 
 o'clock: candles placed in sconces feebly lit up the place: 
 at the door and on the stairs stood the undertaker's men, 
 mutes, bearing black staves with black plumes: within, the 
 undertaker himself was busy serving out black cloaks, tying 
 the weepers on the hats, distributing the gloves and the rose- 
 mary, and getting ready the torches. 
 
 Upstairs, the room in which my father's body lay had 
 been prepared for the ceremony. All the furniture bed, 
 chairs, everything had been taken out: there was nothing 
 at all in the room but the coffin on trestles : the wainscotted 
 walls had been hung with black velvet, which looked indeed 
 funereal as it absorbed the light of fifty or sixty wax tapers 
 and reflected none. The tapers stood in silver sconces on 
 the walls: they showed up the coffin, the lid of which, not 
 yet screwed down, was laid so as to expose the white face 
 of the deceased, grave, set, serious and full of dignity. I 
 remembered how it looked, fiery and passionate, when my 
 father drove me from his presence. The candles also lit 
 up the faces of the mourners: in the midst of so much 
 blackness their faces were white and deathlike. On the 
 breast of the dead man lay branches of rosemary: on the 
 lid of the coffin were branches of rosemary, of which every 
 person present carried a sprig. On the lid of the coffin 
 was also a large and capacious silver cup with two handles. 
 
 Only one thing relieved the blackness of the walls. It 
 was a hatchment with the family shield. Everyone would 
 believe, so splendid is this coat of arms, that our family 
 must rank among the noblest in the land. But the time 
 has passed when the City Fathers were closely connected 
 by blood with the gentry and the aristocracy of the country : 
 of our family one could only point to the shield : where we 
 came from, I know not: nor how we obtained so fine a 
 shield: nor to what station of life my ancestors originally 
 belonged. Family pride, however, is a harmless supersti- 
 tion: not one of us, I am sure, would surrender that coat 
 of arms, or acknowledge that we were anything but a very 
 ancient and honourable House. 
 
 When I entered the house, accompanied by Alice, I found 
 the hall and the steps, and even the street itself, which is 
 but narrow, crowded with the humbler class of mourners. 
 There was a whisper of surprise, and more than one honest 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 55 
 
 hand furtively grasped mine. Well: there would be few 
 such hands to welcome Matthew. 
 
 I did not need to be told where the coffin lay. I led my 
 wife up the stairs and so into my father's room, which was 
 the best bedroom, on the first floor. I found the various 
 members of the family already assembled, my Uncle Paul 
 as I expected, with Matthew, usurping my place at the head 
 of the coffin. My cousins, of whom there were five-and- 
 twenty at least, including my Uncle Paul's wife and two 
 daughters, showed signs of profound astonishment at the 
 sight of the banished son. The Alderman, for his part, 
 held up his hands in amazement, and looked up to Heaven 
 as if to protest against this assertion of filial rights. The 
 girls, who were as amiable as their brother Matthew, stared 
 with more rudeness than one would expect even from a 
 Wappineer, at Alice. They knew not, perhaps, that I had 
 taken a wife: to a natural curiosity on such a subject they 
 affected a contempt which they took no pains to disguise. 
 
 There was a man standing behind my cousin whom I 
 knew not: nor did I understand by what right he stood 
 among us at all: a tall thin figure somewhat bowed with 
 years: a lean and wrinkled face: his appearance filled me 
 with distrust at the outset let no one deny that first 
 thoughts are best thoughts. He stooped and whispered 
 something to my cousin whose face seemed to show 
 trouble of some kind, but not grief. Matthew started, and 
 looked at me with astonishment. 
 
 I stepped forward, drawing Alice with me. 'Uncle Paul/ 
 I said, 'I take my place as my father's chief mourner. 
 
 My cousin glared at me, as if threatening to dispute the 
 point, but he gave way and retired to my left hand. Thus, 
 Alice beside me, my Uncle Paul at my right, and Matthew 
 at my left, I waited the arrival of the funeral guests. 
 
 Meantime, the ladies moaned and wailed. Outside, the 
 women-servants on the stairs lifted up their lamentation. 
 The crying of the women at a funeral hath in it little real- 
 ity of grief: yet it penetrates to the soul of those who hear 
 it. As each new guest arrived, the wail was raised anew: 
 the louder in proportion to the rank of the arrival, in so 
 much that when the Lord Mayor himself walked up the 
 stairs the lament became a shriek. 
 
 The undertaker whispered in my ear that all were present. 
 
 I looked about me. 'Twas not in human nature to avoid 
 
56 The Orange Girl 
 
 a sense of honour and glory in looking upon so honourable 
 a company. They proclaimed by their presence the respect 
 with which they regarded my father. Here, beside our 
 cousins, were the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, the Sheriffs, 
 the Town Clerk, the Recorder, the Common Sergeant, the 
 Remembrancer, the Dean of St. Paul's, the Master and War- 
 dens of his Company and many of the greatest merchants 
 on Change. They were there to do honour to my father's 
 memory, and I was there to receive them, as my father's 
 son, despite the respect in which I had failed. 
 
 It was not a time, however, for regrets. 
 
 I lifted the great cup, I say, and looked around. The 
 wailing ceased. All eyes were turned to me as I drank 
 from the cup it was hypocras, a drink much loved at City 
 feasts. Then I handed it to Alice, who drank and gave it 
 back to me. Then to my uncle the Alderman, after whom 
 it went round. Down below, in the hall, there was the sol- 
 emn drinking of wine. We drank thus to the memory of 
 the dead : in old times, I am assured, the mourners drank to 
 the repose of the soul just gone out of the body. For mem- 
 ory or for repose, it is an old custom which one would not 
 willingly neglect. 
 
 After the ceremony the ladies began once more their wail- 
 ing and groaning. They make too much of this custom. 
 It is not in reason that girls like my cousins Amelia and 
 Sophia should be so torn and lacerated by grief as their 
 wails betokened. Indeed, I saw them after the funeral talk- 
 ing and laughing as they went away. 
 
 We then descended the stairs and waited below while the 
 men went up to finish their work and to shut out the face 
 of the dead man for ever from the world. 
 
 They brought out the coffin. The housekeeper with one 
 last wail of grief one hopes there was some sincerity in it 
 locked the door of the death chamber : she locked it nois- 
 ily, so that all might hear: she turned the handle loudly so 
 that all might be sure that the door was shut: she had 
 before put out the wax candles : out of respect for the late 
 occupant the room would not be opened or used again for 
 years : it would remain as it was with the black velvet hang- 
 ings and the silver sconces. This is one of the privileges 
 accorded to wealth an empty honour, but one that is en- 
 vied by those who cannot afford to spare a room. What 
 can the dead man know or feel or care while the black velvet 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 57 
 
 grows brown and shabby, and the silver sconces become yel- 
 low, and the sunbeams through the shutters slowly steal 
 round the room, and except for the dancing of the motes in 
 the sunlight there is no motion or sound or touch of life 
 or light in the solitude and silence of the chamber? It is 
 giving Death to Death not the Life for which we pray, for 
 which we hope and trust. 
 
 The pall was of velvet with a gold fringe and gold em- 
 broidery. I knew it for the parish pall bequeathed by some 
 pious person for the use of parishioners. When all was 
 ready the undertaker marshalled the procession. First 
 marched two conductors with staves and plumes: then fol- 
 lowed six men in long black coats, two and two ; then one 
 bearing the Standard, with black plumes: then, eighteen 
 men in long black cloaks as before, all being servants to the 
 Deceased: then the Minister of the Parish: after him an 
 officer of Arms carrying a knight's sword and target, helm 
 and crest: with him another officer of Arms carrying the 
 shield, both in their tabards or embroidered coats : then the 
 Body, the pall being borne by six Merchants between men 
 carrying the Shields of the City: of the Company: and of 
 Bridewell, Christ's Hospital, St. Bartholomew's and St. 
 Thomas's, of which the Deceased was a Governor. Then 
 I followed as chief mourner with my wife: after me the 
 Alderman my uncle and his lady. Then came Matthew. 
 With him should have walked one of his sisters : but there 
 stepped out of the crowd a woman in black holding a hand- 
 kerchief to her face. Who she was I knew not. After 
 them came the rest of the cousins. Then followed the Lord 
 Mayor and the City Fathers ; and, lastly, the clerks, porters, 
 stevedores, bargemen, and others in the service of the 
 House. In our hands we carried, as we went, lighted 
 torches : a considerable number of people came out to 'see the 
 funeral: they lined the street which by the flames of the 
 torches was lit up as if by daylight. The faces at the win- 
 dows : the crowds in the street : the length of the procession 
 filled my soul with pride, though well I knew that I was 
 but a castaway from the affections of the dead man whom 
 these people honoured. 
 
 The procession had not far to go : the parish church, that 
 of St. Michael Paternoster Royal, is but a short distance 
 down the street: it is the church in which Whittington was 
 buried, his tomb and his ashes being destroyed in the Great 
 
58 The Orange Girl 
 
 Fire a hundred years ago. The Church, like the house, was 
 hung with black and lit by wax candles and our torches. 
 The Rector read the service with a solemnity which, I be- 
 lieve, affected all hearts. After the reading of that part 
 which belongs to the Church we carried the body to the 
 churchyard at the back a very small churchyard : there we 
 lowered the coffin into the grave I observed that the mould 
 seemed to consist entirely of skulls and bones and when 
 dust was given to dust and ashes to ashes, we dashed our 
 torches upon the ground and extinguished the flames. Then 
 in darkness we separated and went each his own way. I 
 observed that the lady who walked with Matthew left him 
 when the ceremony was over. The weeping of the women 
 ceased and the whispers of the men : everybody talked aloud 
 and cheerfully. No more mourning for my father: pity 
 and regret were buried in the grave with him: they became 
 the dust and ashes which were strewed upon the coffin. He 
 had gone hence to be no more seen : to be no more wept over. 
 But, as you shall shortly hear, the dead man still retained 
 in his hands the power of doing good or evil. 
 
 Matthew spoke to me as we left the Churchyard. 
 
 'Cousin,' he said, with more civility than I expected, 'if 
 you can come to the counting-house to-morrow morning 
 you will learn your father's testamentary dispositions. The 
 will is to be opened and read at ten o'clock/ 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE READING OF THE WILL. 
 
 will make him sell his Reversionary interest' the voice 
 was curiously harsh and grating 'and you will then be able 
 to take the whole/ 
 
 You know how, sometimes, one hears things in a mys- 
 terious way which one could not hear under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances. I was standing in the outer counting-house 
 in the room assigned to the accountants. In the inner 
 counting-house, I knew, my cousin was sitting. Without 
 being told any thing more, I guessed that the voice belonged 
 to the tall lean man who was present at the funeral, and that 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 59 
 
 he was addressing Matthew, and that he was talking about 
 me. And, without any reason, I assumed a mental attitude 
 of caution. They were going to make me sell something, 
 were they? 
 
 When I was called into the room I found that I was so far 
 right, inasmuch as the only two persons in the room were 
 my cousin and the lean man who by his black dress I per- 
 ceived to be an attorney. 
 
 Now, I daresay that there are attorneys in the City of 
 London whose lives are as holy as that of any Bishop or 
 Divine. At the same time it is a matter of common noto- 
 riety that the City contains a swarm of vermin if I may 
 speak plainly who are versed in every kind of chicanery: 
 who know how to catch 'hold of every possible objection: 
 and who spend the whole of their creeping lives in wresting, 
 twisting, and turning the letter of the law to their own ad- 
 vantage, under the pretense of advantage to their clients. 
 These are the attorneys who suggest and encourage disputes 
 and lawsuits between persons who would otherwise remain 
 friends: there are those who keep cases running on for 
 years, eating up the estates : when they fasten upon a man, 
 it is the spider fastening on a big fat fly: they never leave 
 him until they land him in a debtor's prison, naked and des- 
 titute. I have observed that a course of life, such as that 
 indicated above, presently stamps the face with a look which 
 cannot be mistaken: the eyes draw together: the mouth 
 grows straight and hard : the lips become thin : the nose in- 
 sensibly, even if it be originally a snub, becomes like 
 the beak of a crow the creature which devours the offal in 
 the street: the cheeks are no longer flesh and skin, but 
 wrinkled parchment: the aspect of the man becomes, in a 
 word, such as that of the man who sat at the table, a bundle 
 of papers before him. 
 
 I knew, I say, that Mr. Probus which was his name 
 was an attorney at the outset. His black coat: his wig: his 
 general aspect: left no doubt upon my mind. And from 
 the outset I disliked and distrusted the man. 
 
 The last time I had entered this room was to make my 
 choice between my father and my music. The memory of 
 the dignified figure in the great chair behind the table: his 
 voice of austerity: his expectation of immediate obedience 
 made my eyes dim for a moment. Not for long, because 
 one would not show any tenderness before Matthew. 
 
60 The Orange Girl 
 
 With some merchants the counting-house is furnished 
 with no more than what is wanted: in this wharf it was a 
 substantial house of brick in which certain persons slept 
 every night for the better security of the strong-room in the 
 cellars below. The principal room, that which had been my 
 father's, had two windows looking out upon the river: the 
 room was carpeted: family portraits hung upon the walls: 
 the furniture was solid mahogany: no one who worked in 
 such a room could be anything but a substantial merchant. 
 
 My cousin looked up and sulkily pointed to a chair. 
 
 At this time Matthew Halliday presented the appearance 
 of a responsible City Merchant. His dress was sober yet 
 of the best : nobody had whiter ruffles at his wrist or at his 
 shirt-front : nobody wore a neck-cloth of more costly lace : 
 his gold buttons, gold buckles, and gold laced hat pro- 
 claimed him an independent person: he carried a large gold 
 watch and a gold snuff-box : he wore a large signet-ring on 
 his right thumb, his face was grave beyond his years: this 
 morning it presented an appearance which in lesser men is 
 called sulky. I knew the look well, from old experience. 
 It meant that something had gone wrong. All my life long 
 I had experienced at the hands of this cousin an animosity 
 which I can only explain by supposing a resentment against 
 one who stood between himself and a rich man's estate. As a 
 boy I was four or five years younger than himself he 
 would take from me, and destroy, things I cherished: he 
 invented lies and brought false accusations against me; he 
 teased, pinched, bullied me when no one was looking. When 
 I grew big enough I fought him. At first I got beaten : but 
 I went on growing and presently I beat him. Then, if he at- 
 tempted any more false accusations he knew that he would 
 have to fight me again; a consideration which made him 
 virtuous. 
 
 "Cousin/ he said coldly, 'this gentleman is Mr. Probus, 
 the new attorney of the House. Mr. Littleton, his late at- 
 torney, is dead. Mr. Probus will henceforth conduct our 
 affairs/ 
 
 'Unworthily/ said Mr. Probus. 
 
 'That is my concern/Matthew replied with great dignity. 
 'I hope I know how to choose and to appoint my agents.' 
 
 'Sir' Mr. Probus turned to me 'it has ever been the 
 business of my life to study the good of my fellow man. 
 My motto is one taken from an ancient source you will 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 61 
 
 allow one of the learned profession to have some tincture of 
 Latin. The words are ahem! Integer vitae scelerisque 
 Probus. That is to say: Probus Probus, Attorney-at- 
 Law; vitae, lived; integer, respected; scelerisque, and 
 trusted. Such, Sir, should your affairs ever require the 
 nice conduct of one who is both guide and friend to his 
 clients, you will ever find me. Now, Mr. Matthew, Sir, 
 my honoured patron, I await your commands/ 
 
 'We are waiting, cousin/ said Matthew, 'for my father. 
 As soon as he arrives Mr. Probus will read the Will. The 
 contents are known to me in general terms such was the 
 confidence reposed in me by my honoured uncle in general 
 terms. I believe you will find that any expectations you 
 may have formed ' 
 
 'Pardon me, Sir/ interrupted the attorney. 'Not before 
 the reading of the Will ' 
 
 'Will be frustrated. That is all I intended to say. Of 
 course there may be a trifle. Indeed I hope there may prove 
 to be some trifling legacy. 
 
 'Perhaps a shilling. Ha, ha !' The attorney looked more 
 forbidding when he became mirthful than when he was 
 serious. 
 
 Then some of my cousins arrived and sat down. We 
 waited a few minutes in silence, until the arrival of my uncle 
 the Alderman with his wife and daughters. 
 
 The ladies stared at me without any kind of salutation. 
 The Alderman shook his head. 
 
 'Nephew/ he said, 'I am sorry to see you here. I fear 
 you will go away with a sorrowful heart ' 
 
 'I am sorrowful already, because my father was not rec- 
 onciled to me. I shall not be any the more sorrowful to find 
 that I have nothing. It is what I expect. Now, sir, you 
 may read my father's will as soon as you please.' 
 
 In spite of my brave words I confess that, for Alice's sake, 
 I did hope that something would be left me. 
 
 Then all took chairs and sat down with a cough of expec- 
 tation. There was no more wailing from the ladies. 
 
 Mr. Probus took up from the table a parchment tied with 
 red tape and sealed. He solemnly opened it. 
 
 'This/ he said, 'is the last will and testament of Peter 
 Halliday, Knight, and Alderman, late Lord Mayor, Citizen 
 and Lorimer/ 
 
 My uncle interposed. 'One moment, sir/ Then he 
 
62 The Orange Girl 
 
 turned to me. ' Repentance, nephew, though too late to 
 change a parent's testamentary dispositions, may be quick- 
 ened by the consequences of a parent's resentment. It may 
 therefore be the means of leading to the forgiveness ahem 
 and the remission ahem of more painful consequences 
 ahem at the hands of Providence/ 
 
 I inclined my head. 'Now, sir, once more/ 
 
 This will was made four years ago when the late Mr. 
 Littleton was the deceased gentleman's attorney. It was 
 opened three months ago in order to add a trifling codicil, 
 which was entrusted to my care. I will now read the 
 will/ 
 
 There is no such cumbrous and verbose document in the 
 world as the will of a wealthy man. It was read by Mr. 
 Probus in a 'harsh voice without stops in a sing-song, 
 monotonous delivery, which composed the senses and made 
 one feel as if all the words in the Dictionary were being 
 read aloud. 
 
 At last he finished. 
 
 'Perhaps/ I said, 'someone will tell me in plain English 
 what it means?' 
 
 Tlain English, Sir? Let me tell you/ Mr. Probus replied, 
 'that there is no plainer English in the world than that 
 employed by lawyers/ 
 
 I turned to my uncle. 'Will you, Sir, have the good- 
 ness to explain to me ?' 
 
 'I cannot recite the whole. As for the main points Mr. 
 Probus will correct me if I am wrong my lamented brother 
 leaves bequests to found an almshotise for eight poor men 
 and eight poor widows, to bear his name ; he also founds at 
 his Parish Church an annual Lecture, to bear his name : he 
 establishes a New Year's dole, to bear his name, of coals 
 and bread, for twenty widows of the Parish. He has 
 founded a school, for twelve poor boys, to bear his name. 
 He has ordered his executors to effect the release of thirty 
 poor prisoners for debt, in his name. Is there more, Mr. 
 Probus?' 
 
 'He also founds a scholarship for a poor and deserving 
 lad, to assist him at Cambridge. The same scholarship to 
 bear his name and to be in the gift of his Company/ 
 
 'What does he say about me ?' 
 
 'I am coming to that/ Mr. Probus replied. 'He devises 
 many bequests to his nephews and nieces, his cousins and 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 63 
 
 his personal friends, with mourning rings to all : there are, 
 I believe, two hundred thus honoured: two hundred I 
 think, Mr. Paul, that it is a long time since the City lost one 
 so rich and so richly provided with friends.' 
 
 'But what does he say about me ?' I insisted. 
 
 'Patience. He then devises the whole of his remaining 
 estate: all his houses, investments, shares, stocks: all his 
 furniture and plate : to his nephew Matthew/ 
 
 'I expected it. And nothing said about me at all.' 
 
 'It is estimated that the remainder, after deducting the 
 monies already disposed of, will not amount to more than 
 ,100,000, because there is a reservation ' 
 
 'Oh!' 
 
 'It is provided that the sum of 100,000 be set aside: that 
 it be placed in the hands of trustees whom he names the 
 Master of his Company and the Clerk of the Company. 
 This money is to accumulate at compound interest until one 
 of two events shall happen either the death of his son, 
 in which case Mr. Matthew will have it all : or the death of 
 Mr. Matthew, in which case the son is to have it all. In 
 other words, this vast sum of money with accumulations will 
 go to the survivor of the two/ 
 
 I received this intelligence in silence. At first I could 
 not understand what it meant. 
 
 'I think, Sir/ Mr. Probus addressed the Alderman, 'we 
 have now set forth the terms of this most important docu- 
 ment in plain language. We ought perhaps to warn Mr. 
 William against building any hopes upon the very slender 
 chance of succeeding to this money. We have here' he 
 indicated Matthew 'health, strength, an abstemious life: 
 on the other hand we have' he indicated me 'what we 
 see/ 
 
 I laughed. At all events I was a more healthy subject, to 
 look at, than my cousin, who this morning looked yellow in- 
 stead of pale. 
 
 'The span of life/ the attorney went on, 'accorded to my 
 justly esteemed client, will probably be that usually assigned 
 to those who honour their parents say eighty, or even 
 ninety. You, sir, will probably be cut off at forty. I be- 
 lieve that it is the common lot in your class. Above all 
 things, do not build upon the chances of this reversion/ 
 
 Suddenly the words I had heard came back to me. What 
 
64 The Orange Girl 
 
 were they? We will make him sell his reversion/ 'Sell 
 his reversion.' Then the reversion must not be sold. 
 
 Mr. Probus went on too long. You may destroy the 
 effect of your words by too much repetition. 
 
 'A shadowy chance/ he said, 'a shadowy chance/ 
 
 'I don't know. Why should not my cousin die before me ? 
 Besides, it means that my father in cutting me off would 
 leave a door for restitution/ 
 
 'Only an imaginary door, sir not a real door/ 
 
 'A very real door. I shall live as long as I can. My 
 cousin will do as he pleases. Mr. Probus, the "shadowy 
 chance," as you call it, is a chance that is worth a large 
 sum of money if I would sell my reversion/ Mr. Probus 
 started and looked suspicious. 'But I shall not sell it. I 
 shall wait. Matthew might die to-morrow to-day, even ' 
 
 'Fie, Sir oh, fie! to desire the death of your cousin! 
 This indeed betokens a bad heart a bad heart. How 
 dreadful is the passion of envy! How soul-destroying is 
 the thirst for gold !' 
 
 I rose. I knew the worst. 
 
 'Do not/ Mr. Probus went on, 'give, I entreat you, one 
 thought to the thing. Before your cousin's life lies stretched 
 what I may call a charming landskip with daisies in the 
 grass, and and the pretty warblers of the grove. It is a 
 life, I see very plainly, full of goodness, which is Heavenly 
 Wealth, stored up for future use ; and of success on Change, 
 which is worldly wealth. Happy is the City which owns the 
 possessor of both !' 
 
 * The moralist ceased and began to tie up his papers. 
 When his strident voice dropped, the air became musical 
 again, so to speak. However, the harsh voice suited the 
 sham piety. 
 
 'Cousin Matthew/ I rose, since there was nothing to keep 
 me longer. 'Could I remember, in your seven-and-twenty 
 years of life, one single generous act or one single worthy 
 sentiment, then I could believe this fustian about the length 
 of days and the Heavenly Wealth. Live as long as you 
 can. I desire never to see you again, and never to hear from 
 you again. Go your own way, and leave me to go mine/ 
 
 The whole company rose: they parted right and left to 
 let me pass: as the saying is, they gave me the cold shoul- 
 der with a wonderful unanimity. There was a common con- 
 sent among them that the man who had become a fiddler had 
 
I PASSED THROUGH THEM ALL. 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 65 
 
 disgraced the family. As for Matthew, he made no reply 
 even with looks. He did not, however, present the appear- 
 ance of joy at this great accession to wealth. Something 
 was on his mind that troubled him. 
 
 My uncle the Alderman spoke for the family. 
 
 'Nephew/ he said, 'believe me, it is with great sorrow 
 that we see thee thus cast out: yet we cannot but believe 
 the acts of my brother to be righteous. I rejoice not that 
 my son has taken thine inheritance. I lament that thou 
 hast justly been deprived. The will cuts thee off from 
 the family/ He looked round. A murmur of approval 
 greeted him. A disinherited son who is also a fiddler by 
 profession cannot be said to belong to a respectable City 
 family. 'We wish thee well in thy lower sphere among 
 thy humble companions. Farewell/ I passed through 
 them all with as much dignity as I could assume. 'Alas !' I 
 heard him saying as I stepped out. 'Alas! that cousins 
 should so differ from each other in grain in grain !' 
 
 His daughters, my dear cousins, turned up their noses, 
 coughed and flattened themselves against the wall so that 
 I should not touch so much as a hoop and I saw these 
 affectionate creatures no more, until many things had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE TEMPTATION 
 
 ONE morning, about six weeks after the funeral, I was 
 sitting at the harpsichord, picking out an anthem of my own 
 composition. The theme was one of thanksgiving and praise, 
 and my heart was lifted to the level of the words. All 
 around was peace and tranquillity: on the river bank out- 
 side Alice walked up and down carrying our child, now 
 nearly a year and a half old : the boy crowed and laughed : 
 the mother would have been singing, but she would not 
 disturb me at work. Can mortal man desire greater happi- 
 ness than to 'have the work of his own choice; the wife 
 who is to him the only woman in the world : a strong and 
 lovely child : and a sufficiency earned by his own work? As; 
 for my chance of ever getting that huge fortune by my cou- 
 
66 The Orange Girl 
 
 sin's death, I can safely aver that I never so much as thought 
 of it. We never spoke of it: we put it out of our minds 
 altogether. 
 
 I heard steps outside : steps which disturbed me : I turned 
 my head. It was Mr. Probus the attorney. He stood hat 
 in hand before Alice. 
 
 'Mr. William's wife I believe/ he was saying. 'And his 
 child? A lovely boy indeed, Madam. I bring you news 
 nothing less in short than a fortune a fortune for this 
 lovely boy.' 
 
 'Indeed, Sir ? Are you a friend of my husband ?' 
 
 'A better friend, I warrant, Madam, than many who call 
 him friend/ 
 
 'He is within, Sir. Will you honour our poor cottage ?' 
 
 He stood in the open door. 
 
 'Mr. Will,' he said, 'I have your permission to. enter?' 
 
 At sight of him the whole of the anthem vanished: har- 
 mony, melody, solo, chorus. It was as if someone was sing- 
 ing false : as if all were singing false. I put down my pen. 
 'Sir/ I said, 'I know not if there is any business of mine 
 which can concern you.' 
 
 'Dear Sir/ he tried to make his grating voice mellifluous : 
 he tried to smile pleasantly. 'Do not, pray, treat me as if I 
 was an adviser of the will by which your father deprived 
 you of your inheritance.' 
 
 'I do not say that you were. Nevertheless, I cannot un- 
 derstand what business you have with me.' 
 
 'I come from your cousin. You have never, I fear, re- 
 garded your cousin with kindly feelings' this was indeed 
 reversing the position 'but of that we will not speak. I 
 come at the present moment as a messenger of peace a mes- 
 senger of peace. There is Scripture in praise of the messen- 
 ger of peace. I forget it at the moment : but you will know 
 it. Your good lady will certainly know it.' Alice, who had 
 followed him, placed a chair for him and stood beside him. 
 'I bear the olive-branch like the turtle-dove/ he continued, 
 smiling. 'I bring you good tidings of peace and wealth. 
 They should go together, wealth and peace.' 
 
 'Pray, Sir, proceed with your good tidings.' 
 
 Alice laid her hand on my shoulder. 'Husband/ she said, 
 'it would be no good tidings which would deprive us of the 
 happiness which we now enjoy. Think well before you agree 
 to anything that this gentleman, or your cousin, may offer/ 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 67 
 
 So she left us, and carried the boy out again into the fresh 
 air. 
 
 'Now, Sir, we are alone/ 
 
 He looked about him curiously. 'A pretty room,' he said, 
 'but small. One would take it for the cottage of a fisher- 
 man. I believe there are some of these people in the neigh- 
 bourhood. The prospect either over the river or over the 
 marsh is agreeable: the trees are pleasant in the summer. 
 The Dog and Duck, which is, I believe, easily accessible, is 
 a cheerful place, and the company is polite and refined, espe- 
 cially that of the ladies. No one, however, would think that 
 a son of the great Sir Peter Halliday, ex-Lord Mayor and 
 Alderman, West India Merchant, was living in this humble 
 place/ 
 
 'Your good tidings, Sir?' 
 
 'At the same time the position has its drawbacks. You 
 are almost within the Rules. And though not yourself a 
 prisoner, you are in the company of prisoners/ 
 
 'Again, Sir, your good tidings ?' 
 
 'I come to them. Scelerisque Probus is my motto. 
 Probus, attorney at law, trusted by all. Now, Sir, you shall 
 hear what your cousin proposes. Listen to me for a mo- 
 ment. You can hardly get on, I imagine, even in so small 
 a way as this appears to be, under fifty pounds a year/ 
 
 'It would be difficult/ 
 
 'And in your profession, improperly hard and unjustly 
 despised, it is difficult, I believe, to make much more/ 
 
 'It is difficult to make much more/ 
 
 'Ha! As your cousin said: "They must be pinched 
 this unfortunate couple pinched at times." ' 
 
 'Did my cousin say that?' 
 
 'Assuredly. He was thinking especially of your good 
 lady, whom he remarked at the funeral. Well, your cousin 
 will change all tot. A heart of gold, Mr. William, all 
 pure gold' I coughed, doubtfully 'concealed, I admit, by 
 a reserved nature which often goes with our best and most 
 truly pious men, especially in the City of London. I do as- 
 sure you, a heart of gold/ 
 
 He played his part badly. His cunning eyes, his harsh 
 voice, the words of praise so out of keeping with his 
 appearance and manner as if such a man with such a face 
 could be in sympathy with hearts of gold struck a note of 
 warning. Besides, Matthew with a heart of gold ? 
 
68 The Orange Girl 
 
 'Well, Sir/ I interrupted him, 'what have you come to 
 say?' 
 
 'In plain words, then, this. Mr. Matthew has discovered 
 a way of serving you. Now, my dear Sir, I pray your at- 
 tention/ He leaned back and crossed his legs. 'Your 
 father showed a certain relenting a disposition to consider 
 you as still a member of the family by that provision as 
 to survival which you doubtless remember/ 
 
 'So I interpret that clause in the will/ 
 
 'And with this view has put you in as the possible heir 
 to the money which is now accumulating in the hands of 
 trustees. Mr. Matthew, now a partner in the business, will, 
 it is assumed, provide for his heirs out of the business. On 
 his death your father's fortune will come to you if you are 
 living. If you die first it will go to your cousin. In the 
 latter event there will be no question of your son getting 
 aught/ 
 
 'So I understand/ 
 
 'Your cousin, therefore, argues in this way. First, he 
 is only a year or two older than yourself : next, he is in full 
 possession of his health and strength. There is nothing to 
 prevent his living to eighty: I believe a great-grandmother 
 of his, not yours, lived to ninety-six. It is very likely 
 that he may reach as great an age. You will allow that/ 
 
 'Perhaps/ 
 
 'Why then, we are agreed. As for you, musicians, I am 
 told, seldom get past forty: they gradually waste away 
 and and wither like the blasted sprig in July. Oh! you 
 will certainly leave this world at forty enviable person! 
 would that I could have done so ! you will exchange your 
 fiddle for a harp the superior instrument and your three- 
 cornered hat for a crown the external sign of promotion 
 long before your cousin has been passed the Chair/ 
 
 'All this is very likely, Mr. Probus. Yet ' 
 
 'I am coming to my proposal. What Mr. Matthew says 
 is this. "My cousin is cut out of the will. It is not for me 
 to dispute my uncle's decision. Still, what he wants just 
 now is ready money a supplement a supplement to what 
 he earns/' 
 
 'Well?' For he stopped here and looked about the room 
 with an air of contempt. 
 
 'A pleasant room/ he said, going back, 'but is it the room 
 which your father's son should have for a lodging? Rush- 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 69 
 
 bottomed chairs: no carpet . . . dear me, Mr. William, 
 it is well to be a philosopher. However, we shall change all 
 that/ 
 
 I waited for him to go on without further interruption. 
 
 'In a word, Sir, I am the happy ambassador privileged 
 if ever there was one charged to bring about reconciliation 
 and cousinly friendship/ Again he overdid it. 'Your cousin 
 sent me, in a word, to propose that you should sell him your 
 chances of inheritance. That is why I am here. I say, Mr. 
 William, that you may if you please -sell 'him your chance of 
 the inheritance. He proposes to offer you 3,000 down 
 3,000, I say the enormous sum of three thousand 
 pounds for your bare chance of succeeding. Well, Sir? 
 What do you say to this amazing, this astounding piece of 
 generosity ?' 
 
 I said nothing. Only suddenly there returned to my mind 
 the words I had overheard in the outer counting-house. 
 
 'We will make him sell his reversion/ 
 
 What connection had these words with me? There was 
 no proof of any connection : no proof except that jumping of 
 the wits which wants no proof. 
 
 'With 3,000,' Mr. Probus continued, 'you can take a 
 more convenient residence of your own here, or elsewhere : 
 near the Dog and Duck, or further removed: you can live 
 where you please : with the interest, which would amount to 
 150 a year at least, and what you make by your honest 
 labour, you will be, for one of your profession, rich. It will 
 be a noble inheritance for your children. Why, Sir, you are 
 a made man !' 
 
 He threw himself back in his chair and puffed his cheeks 
 with the satisfaction that naturally follows on the making of 
 a man. 
 
 I was tempted : I saw before me a life of comparative ease : 
 with 150 a year there would be little or no anxiety for the 
 future. 
 
 Mr. Probus perceived that I was wavering. He pulled 
 a paper out of his pocket he slapped it on the table and 
 unrolled it : he looked about for ink and pen. 
 
 'You agree?' he asked with an unholy joy lighting up 
 his eyes. 'Why there I knew you would ! I told Mr. 
 Matthew that you would. Happy man ! Three thousand 
 pounds ! And all your own ! And all for nothing ! Where 
 is the ink? Because, Sir I can be your witness that 
 
70 The Orange Girl 
 
 cousin of yours, I may now tell you, is stronger than any 
 bull sign here, then, Sir here he will live for ever.' 
 
 His eagerness, which he could not conceal, to obtain my 
 signature startled me. Again I remembered the words: 
 
 'We will make him sell his reversion.' 
 
 'Stop, Mr. Probus,' I said. 'Not so quick, if you please.' 
 
 'Not so quick ! Why, dear Sir, you have acceded. You 
 have acceded. Where is the ink?' 
 
 'Not at all.' 
 
 'If you would like better terms I might raise it another 
 fifty pounds.' 
 
 'Not even another fifty will persuade me.' 
 
 At that moment I heard Alice singing, 
 
 ' The Lord my pasture shall prepare, 
 And lead me with a shepherd's care.' 
 
 The Lord not Mr. Probus. I took the worcls for a 
 warning. 
 
 'We shall not want any ink,' I said, 'nor any witness. 
 Because I shall not sign.' 
 
 'Not sign? Not sign? But Mr. William Sir surely 
 have a care such an offer is not made every day. You 
 will never again receive such an offer.' 
 
 'Hark ye, Mr. Probus. By that clause in his will my 
 father signified his desire, although he would punish me 
 for giving up the City to show that he was not impla- 
 cable and that if it be Heaven's will that I should survive 
 my cousin I should then receive his forgiveness and once 
 more be considered as one of the family. Sir, I will not, 
 for any offer that you may make, act against my father's 
 wish. I am to wait,. God knows I desire not the death of 
 my cousin I wait: it is my father's sentence upon me. I 
 shall obey my father. He forgives me after a term of 
 years long or short I know not. He forgives me by that 
 clause. I am not cursed with my father's resentment.' 
 
 'Oh ! He talks like a madman. With 3,000 waiting for 
 him to pick up !' 
 
 'I repeat, Sir. In this matter I shall leave the event to 
 Providence, in obedience to my father's wishes. Inform 
 my cousin, if you please, of my resolution.' 
 
 More he said, because he was one of those tenacious and 
 obstinate persons who will not take 'No,' for an answer. 
 Besides, as I learned afterwards, he was most deeply con- 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 71 
 
 cerned in the success of his mission. He passed from the 
 stage of entreaty to that of remonstrance and finally to that 
 of wrath. 
 
 'Sir/ he said, 'I perceive that you are one of those crack- 
 brained and conceited persons who will not allow anyone to 
 do them good : you throw away every chance that offers, you 
 stand in your own light, you bring ruin upon your family/ 
 
 'Very well/ I said, 'very well indeed/ 
 
 'I waste my words upon you/ 
 
 'Why then waste more ?' 
 
 'You are unworthy of the name you bear. You are only 
 fit for the beggarly trade you follow. Well, Sir, when 
 misery and starvation fall upon you and yours, remember 
 what you have thrown away/ 
 
 I laughed. His cunning face became twisted with pas- 
 sion. 
 
 'Sir/ he said, 'all this talk is beside the mark. There are 
 ways. Do not think that we are without ways and means/ 
 Then he swore a great round oath. 'We shall find a way, 
 somehow, to bring you to reason/ 
 
 'Well Mr. Integer Vitae scelcrisque Probus,' I said. 'If 
 you contemplate rascality you will have to change your 
 motto/ 
 
 He smoothed out his face instantly, an'd repressed the 
 outward signs of wrath. 'Mr. Will/ he said, 'forgive this 
 burst of honest indignation. You will do, of course, what 
 you think fit. Sir, I wish you a return to better sense. I 
 think I may promise you' he paused and clapped his fore- 
 finger to his nose, 'I am sure that I can so far trespass on the 
 forbearance of your cousin as to promise that this offer shall 
 be kept open for three weeks. Any day within the next 
 three weeks you shall find at my office the paper ready for 
 your signature. After that time the chance will be gone 
 gone gone for ever/ he threw the chance across the river 
 with a theatrical gesture and walked away. 
 
 What did it mean? Why did Matthew want to buy my 
 share? We mfght both live for forty years or even more. 
 Neither could touch that money till the other's death. He 
 might desire my early death in which case all would be his. 
 But to buy my share it meant that if I died first he would 
 have paid a needless sum of money for it : and that if he died 
 first it would not be in his power to enjoy that wealth. I 
 asked Ramage on the Sunday why Matthew wanted it. He 
 
72 The Orange Girl 
 
 said that merchants sometimes desire credit and that perhaps 
 it would strengthen Matthew if it were known that this 
 great sum of money would be added to his estate whenever 
 either his cousin or he himself should die. And with this 
 explanation I must be content. There was another possi- 
 bility but that I learned afterwards. 
 
 'We will make him sell his reversion.' What was the 
 meaning of those words? Perhaps they did not apply to 
 me. But I was sure that they did. Like a woman I was 
 certain that they did: and for a woman's reason which is 
 none. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE CLAIM AND THE ARREST 
 
 You have heard how my old friend David Camlet, musical 
 instrument maker, of Dowgate Street, presented me or 
 my wife on our marriage, with a handsome harpsichord. 
 Shortly after my father's death, this good old gentleman 
 also went the way of all flesh : a melancholy event which I 
 only learned by receiving a letter from Mr. Probus. 
 Imagine, if you can, my amazement when I read the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 'SiR, 
 
 'I have to call your immediate attention to your debt of 
 fifty-five pounds for a harpsichord supplied to you by David 
 Camlet of Dowgate Street, deceased. I shall be obliged if 
 you will without delay discharge this liability to me as attor- 
 ney for the executors 
 
 'And Remain Sir, 
 
 'Your obedient humble Servant, 
 
 'EZEKIEL PROBUS/ 
 
 'Why/ said Alice. 'Mr. Camlet gave us the instrument. 
 It was a free gift/ 
 
 'It was. If Mr. Probus will acknowledge the fact/ 
 
 'Mr. Probus? Is it that man with the harsh voice who 
 talked lies to you?' 
 
 'The same. And much I fear, wife, that he means no 
 good by this letter/ 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 73 
 
 'But Mr. Camlet gave us the harpsichord/ 
 
 Had the letter been received from any other person I 
 should have considered it as of no importance; but the 
 thought that it came from Mr. Probus rilled me with un- 
 easiness. What had that worthy attorney said ? 'There are 
 ways we shall find a way to bring you to reason/ 
 
 'My dear/ said Alice, 'since we have had the instrument 
 for two years without any demand for payment, we ought 
 to be safe. Better go and see the man/ 
 
 It was with very little hope that I sallied forth. Not only 
 was this man a personal enemy but he was an attorney. 
 What must be the true nature of that profession which so 
 fills the world \vith shuddering and loathing? Is it, one 
 asks, impossible to be an honest attorney ? This one, at all 
 events, was as great a villain as ever walked. They are a 
 race without pity, without scruple, without turning either 
 to the right or to the left when they are in pursuit of their 
 prey. They are like the weasel who singles out his rabbit 
 and runs it down, being turned neither to one side nor the 
 other. Their prey is always money : they run down the man 
 who has money: when they have stripped him naked they 
 leave him, Whether it is in a debtor's prison or in the street : 
 when he is once stripped they regard him no longer. Other 
 men take revenge for human motives, for wrongs done and 
 endured: these men know neither revenge nor wrath: they 
 do not complain of wrongs: you may kick them: you may 
 cuff them: it is nothing: they want your money: and that 
 they will have by one way or another. 
 
 I took boat from St. Mary Overies stairs. As I crossed 
 the river a dreadful foreboding of evil seized me. For I 
 perceived suddenly that, somehow or other, Mr. Probus was 
 personally interested in getting me to sell my reversion. 
 How could he be interested? I could not understand. But 
 he was. I remembered the persuasion of his manner: his 
 anxiety to get my signature: his sudden manifestation of 
 disappointment w r hen I refused. Why ? Matthew was now 
 a partner with a large income and the fortune which my 
 father left him. Matthew had no expensive tastes. Why 
 should Mr. Probus be interested in his affairs ? 
 
 Next, asked the silent reasoner in my brain, what will 
 happen when you declare that you cannot pay this debt? 
 This man will show no mercy. You will be arrested you 
 will be taken to Prison. At this thought I shivered, and a 
 
74 The Orange Girl 
 
 cold trembling seized all my limbs. 'And you will stay 
 in the Prison till you consent to sell your reversion.' At 
 which I resumed my firmness. Never never would I 
 yield whatever an accursed attorney might say or do to me. 
 
 Mr. Probus wrote from a house in White Hart Street. 
 It is a small street, mostly inhabited by poulterers, which 
 leads from Warwick Lane to Newgate market: a confined 
 place at best : with the rows of birds dangling on the hooks, 
 not always of the sweetest, and the smell of the meat market 
 close by and the proximity of the shambles, it is a dark and 
 noisome place. The house, which had a silver Pen for its 
 sign, was narrow, and of three stories : none of the windows 
 had been cleaned for a long time, and the door and door- 
 posts wanted paint. 
 
 As I stood on the doorstep the words again came back 
 to me, 'We will make him sell his reversionary interest/ 
 
 The door was opened by an old man much bent and 
 bowed with years: his thin legs, his thin arms, his body 
 all were bent : on his head he wore a small scratch wig : he 
 covered his eyes with his hand on account of the blinding 
 light, yet the court was darkened by the height of the houses 
 above and the dangling birds below. 
 
 He received my name and opened the door of the front 
 room. I observed that he opened it a very little way and 
 entered sliding, as if afraid that I should see something. 
 He returned immediately and beckoned me to follow him. 
 He led the way into a small room at the back, not much 
 bigger than a cupboard, which had for furniture a high 
 desk and a high stool placed at a window so begrimed with 
 dirt that nothing could be seen through it. 
 
 There was no other furniture. The old man climbed 
 upon his stool with some difficulty and took up his pen. He 
 looked very old and shrivelled : his brown coat was frayed : 
 his worsted stockings were in holes : his shoes were tied with 
 leather instead of buckles : there was no show of shirt either 
 at the wrist or the throat. He looked, in fact, what he was, 
 a decayed clerk of the kind with which, as a boy, I had been 
 quite familiar. It is a miserable calling, only redeemed 
 from despair because the wages are never mucfy above star- 
 vation-point by the chance and the hope of winning a prize 
 in the lottery. No clerk is ever so poor that he cannot 
 afford at least a sixteenth share in this annual bid for for- 
 tune. I never heard that any clerk within my knowledge 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 75 
 
 had ever won a prize: but the chance was theirs: once a 
 year the chance returns a chance of fortune without work 
 or desert. 
 
 Presently the old man turned round and whispered, 'I 
 know your face. I have seen you before but I forget 
 where. Are you in trade ? Have you got a shop ?' 
 
 'No. I have no shop/ 
 
 'You come from the country? No? A bankrupt, per- 
 haps? No? Going to make him your attorney?' He 
 shook his head with some vehemence and pointed to the door 
 with his pen. 'Fly/ he said. 'There is still time/ 
 
 'I am not going to make him or anyone else my attorney/ 
 
 'You come to borrow money ? If so' again he pointed to 
 the door with the feathery end of the quill. 'Fly ! There is 
 still time/ 
 
 'Then you owe him money. Young man there is still 
 time. Buy a stone at the pavior's spend your last penny 
 upon it ; then tie it round your neck and drop into the river. 
 Ah! It is too late too late ' For just then Mr. Probus 
 rang a bell. 'Follow me, Sir. Follow me. Ah! That 
 paving stone !' 
 
 Mr. Probus sat at a table covered with papers. He did 
 not rise when I appeared, but pointed to a chair. 
 
 'You wish to see me, Mr. William/ he began. 'May 
 I ask with what object?' 
 
 'I come in reply to your letter, Mr. Probus/ 
 
 'My letter? My letter?' He pretended to have forgotten 
 the letter. 'I write so many, and sometimes ay ay 
 surely. The letter about the trifling debt due to the estate 
 of David Camlet Deceased. Yes yes, I am administering 
 the worthy man's estate. One of many very many who 
 have honoured me with their confidence/ 
 
 'That letter, Mr. Probus, is the reason why I have 
 called/ 
 
 'You are come to discharge your obligation. It is what 
 I expected. You are not looking well, Mr. William. I am 
 sorry to observe marks are they of privation? on your 
 face. Our worthy cousin, on the other hand, has a frame of 
 iron. He will live, I verily believe, to ninety/ 
 
 'Never mind my cousin, Mr. Probus. He will live as long 
 as the Lord permits/ 
 
 'When last I saw you Sir, you foolishly rejected a most 
 liberal offer. Well: youth is ignorant. We live and learn. 
 
76 The Orange Girl 
 
 Some day, too late, you will be sorry. Now, Sir, for this 
 debt. Fifty-five pounds. Ay. Fifty-five pounds. And 
 my costs, which are trifling.' 
 
 'I have come to tell you, Mr. Probus, that your letter was 
 written under a misapprehension.' 
 
 'Truly? Under a misapprehension? Of what kind, 
 pray ?' 
 
 'The harpsichord was a gift made by Mr. David Camlet. 
 I did not buy it.' 
 
 Mr. Probus lifted his eyebrows. 'A gift? Really? 
 You have proof, no doubt, of this assertion?' 
 
 'Certainly.' 
 
 'Well, produce your proofs. If you have proofs, as you 
 say, I shall be the first to withdraw my client's claim. But 
 makers of musical instruments do not usually give away their 
 wares. What are your proofs, Sir?' 
 
 'My word, first.' 
 
 'Ta ta ta. Your word. By such proof every debtor 
 would clear himself. What next?' 
 
 'The word of my wife who with me received the instru- 
 ment from Mr. Camlet/ 
 
 'Receiving the instrument does not clear you of liability 
 what else ?' 
 
 'The fact that Mr. Camlet never asked me for the 
 money.' 
 
 'An oversight. Had he, in a word, intended the instru- 
 ment for a gift, he would have said so. Now, Sir, what 
 other proofs have you ?' 
 
 I was silent. I had no other proof. 
 
 He turned again to the book he had before consulted. It 
 was the ledger, and there, in Mr. Camlet's own handwriting, 
 firm and square, was an entry : 
 
 'To Will Halliday a Harpsichord, 55. 
 
 In another book was an entry to the office that the instru- 
 ment had been delivered. 
 
 Of course, I understand now what the old man meant by 
 the entry. He wanted to note the gift and the value: and 
 unfortunately he entered it as if it was a business transac- 
 tion. 
 
 'Well, Sir?' asked Mr. Probus. 
 
 I said nothing. My heart felt as heavy as lead. I was 
 indeed in the power of this man. 
 
 'There are such things as conspiracy/ he went on, 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 77 
 
 severely. 'You have told me, for instance, that you and your 
 wife are prepared to swear that the instrument was a gift. 
 I might have indicted you both for a conspiracy, in which 
 case Tyburn would have been your lot. For the sake of 
 your excellent cousin and the worthy Mr. Peter, your uncle, 
 Sir, I refrain from the indictment, though I fear I might be 
 charged with compounding a felony. But mercy before all 
 things : charity, mercy, and long suffering. These are the 
 things that chiefly nourish the human soul, not guineas/ 
 
 I remained still silent, not knowing what to do or to say, 
 and seeing this abyss yawning before me. 
 
 'Come Sir/ he said with changed voice, "you owe fifty 
 pounds and costs. If it were to myself I would give you 
 time : I would treat you tenderly : but an Attorney must pro- 
 tect his clients. Therefore I must have that money at once/ 
 
 'Give me time to consult my friends/ Alas! All my 
 friends could not raise fifty pounds between them. 
 
 'You have none. You have lost your friends. Pay me 
 fifty pounds and costs/ 
 
 'Let me see the executors. Perhaps they will hear rea- 
 son/ 
 
 'For what purpose? They must have their own. The 
 long and the short of it, Mr. William Halliday, is that you 
 must pay me this money/ 
 
 'Man ! I have not got so much money in the world/ 
 
 He smiled he could not disguise his satisfaction. 
 
 'Then, Mr. William Halliday' he shut the ledger with a 
 slam 'I fear that my clients must adopt most unwillingly, 
 I am sure the measures sanctioned by the law/ His eyes 
 gleamed with a malicious satisfaction. 'I only trust that 
 the steps we shall have to take will not disturb the mind 
 of my much-respected client, your cousin. You will have to 
 choose your prison, and you will remain in the the Paradise 
 of your choice until this money, with costs, is paid. As for 
 your choice, the situation of the Fleet is more central : that 
 of the Bench is more rural: beyond the new Prison there 
 are green fields. The smell of the hay perhaps comes over 
 the wall. Should you find a lengthened residence necessary, 
 I believe that the rooms, though small, are comfortable. 
 Ah ! how useful would have been that three thousand pounds 
 which you refused at such a juncture as this/ 
 
 'If there is nothing more to be said ' I got up, not 
 
78 The Orange Girl 
 
 knowing what I said, and bewildered with the prospect be- 
 fore me. 
 
 'Heaven forbid, Sir/ he continued sweetly, 'that I should 
 press you unduly. I will even, considering the tender heart 
 of your cousin, extend to you the term. I will grant you 
 twenty-four hours in which to find the money/ 
 
 'You may as well give me five minutes. I have no 
 means of raising the sum/ 
 
 'I am sorry to hear that for the sake of my clients. How- 
 ever, I can only hope' he pushed back the papers and rose 
 with a horrible grin of malice on his face 'that you will find 
 the air of the Prison salubrious. There have been cases of 
 infectious fever gaol fever, lately: perhaps the King's 
 Bench and the Fleet are equal in this respect. Small-pox, 
 also, is prevalent in one : but I forget which. Many 
 persons live for years in a Prison. I hope, I am sure, that 
 you will pass many many happy years in that seclu- 
 sion/ 
 
 I listened to none of this ill-omened croaking, but hastened 
 to leave him. At the door I passed the old clerk. 
 
 'Go to the King's Bench/ he whispered. 'Not to the Fleet 
 where he'll call every day to learn whether you are dead. 
 There is still time/ he pointed to his throat while he noisily 
 opened the door. 'Round the neck. At the bottom of the 
 River: the lying is more comfortable than in the King's 
 Bench/ 
 
 I had entered the house with very little hope. I left it 
 with despair. I walked home as one in a dream, running 
 against people, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. When I 
 reached home I sat down in a kind of stupor. 
 
 'My dear/ I said, presently recovering, 'we are lost we 
 are ruined. I shall starve in a Prison. Thou wilt beg thy 
 bread. The boy will be a gutter brat/ 
 
 Tell me/ Alice took my hand. 'Oh! tell me all my 
 dear. Can we be lost if we are together ?' 
 
 'We shall not be together. To-morrow I shall be in the 
 Prison. For how long God only knows/ 
 
 'Since He knows, my dear, keep up your heart. When 
 was the righteous man forsaken ? Come, let us talk. There 
 may be some means found. If we were to pay though we 
 owe nothing so much a week/ 
 
 'Alice, it is not the debt. There is no debt. It is revenge, 
 and the hope ' 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 79 
 
 I did not finish what I would have added was, 'The hope 
 that I may die of gaol fever or something.' 'My dear, be 
 brave and let us arrange. First, I lose my situation in the 
 Church and at the Gardens. Next, we must provide for the 
 child and for thyself outside the prison. No, my dear, if 
 the Lord permits us to live any other way the child shall not 
 be brought up a prison bird/ 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE ARREST 
 
 IN this distress I again consulted Tom, who knew already 
 the whole case. 
 
 'In my opinion, Will/ he said, 'the best thing for you is 
 to run away. Let Alice and the boy come here. Run 
 away/ 
 
 'Whither could I run?' 
 
 'Go for a few days into hiding. They will come here 
 in search of you. Cross the river seek a lodging some- 
 where about Aldgate, which is on the other side of the river. 
 They will not look for you there. Meantime I shall inquire 
 Oh ! I shall hear of something to carry on with for a time. 
 You might travel with a snow. Probus does not go to 
 country fairs. Or you might go to Dublin or to York, or to 
 Bath, and play in the orchestra of the theatre. We will set- 
 tle for you afterwards what to do. Meantime pack thy 
 things and take boat down the river/ 
 
 This seemed good advice. I promised I would think of 
 it and perhaps act upon it. Some might think it cowardly 
 to run away: but if an enemy plays dishonest tricks and 
 underhand practices, there is no better way, perhaps, than to 
 run away. 
 
 Now had I been acquainted with these tricks I should 
 have remained where I was, in Tom's house, where no 
 sheriff's officer could serve me with a writ. I should have 
 remained there, I say, until midnight, when I could safely 
 attempt the flight. Unfortunately I thought there was plenty 
 of time : I would go home and discuss the matter with Alice. 
 I left the house, therefore, and proceeded across the fields 
 
8o The Orange Girl 
 
 without any fear or suspicion. As I approached the Bank, 
 I saw two fellows waiting about. Still I had no suspicion, 
 and without the least attempt to escape or to avoid them 
 I fell into the clutches of my enemy. 
 
 'Mr. William Halliday?' said one stepping forward and 
 tapping my shoulder. 'You are my prisoner, Sir, at the 
 suit of Mr. Ezekiel Probus, for the debt of fifty-five pounds 
 and costs/ 
 
 As I made no resistance, the fellows were fairly civil. I 
 was to be taken, it appeared, first to the Borough Compter. 
 They advised me to leave all my necessaries behind and to 
 have them sent on to the King's Bench as soon as I should 
 be removed there. 
 
 And so I took leave of my poor Alice and was marched 
 off to the prison where they take debtors first before they 
 are removed to the larger prison. 
 
 The Borough Compter is surely the most loathsome, fetid, 
 narrow place that was ever used for a prison. Criminals 
 and Debtors are confined together: rogues and innocent 
 girls: the most depraved and the most virtuous: there is a 
 yard for exercise which is only about twenty feet square for 
 fifty prisoners: at night the men are turned into a room 
 where they have to lie edgeways for want of space : there is 
 no ventilation, and the air in the morning is more horrible 
 than I can describe. My heart aches when I think of the 
 cruelty of that place: it is a cruel place, because no one 
 ever visits it, no righteous Justice of the Peace, no godly 
 clergyman: there is no one to restrain the warder: and he 
 goes on in the same way, not because he is cruel by nature, 
 but because he is hardened by daily use and custom. 
 
 I stayed in that terrible place for two nights, paying dues 
 and garnish most exorbitant. At the end of that time I was 
 informed that I could be removed to King's Bench at once. 
 So I was taken to the Court and my business was quickly 
 despatched. As a fine for being poor, I had to pay dues 
 which ought not to be demanded of any prisoner for debt 
 at least we ought to assume that a debtor wants all the 
 money he has for his maintenance. Thus, the Marshal de- 
 manded four shillings and sixpence on admission : the turn- 
 key ei gh teen-pence : the Deputy Marshal a shilling: the 
 Clerk of the Papers, a shilling: four tipstaffs ten shillings 
 between them: and the tipstaff for bringing the prisoner 
 from the Court, six shillings. 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 8 1 
 
 These dues paid, I was assigned a room, on the ground- 
 floor of the Great Building (it was shared with another), 
 and my imprisonment began. It was Matthew's revenge 
 and Mr. Probus's first plan of reduction to submission. But 
 I did not submit. 
 
 Thus I was trapped by the cunning of a man whom I 
 believe to have been veritably possessed of a Devil. That 
 there are such men we know very well from Holy Writ: 
 their signs are a wickedness which shrinks from nothing: 
 a pitiless nature : a constant desire for things of this world : 
 and lastly, as happens always to such men, the transforma- 
 tion of what they desire, when they do get it, into dust and 
 ashes ; or its vanishing quite away never to be seen, touched, 
 or enjoyed any more. These signs were all visible in the 
 history of Mr. Probus, as you shall hear. Possessed, be- 
 yond a doubt, by a foul fiend, was this man whom then I had 
 every reason to hate and fear. Now, I cannot but feel a 
 mingled terror and pity when exemplary punishment over- 
 takes and overwhelms one who commits crimes which make 
 even the convicts in the condemned cell to shake and shud- 
 der. His end was horrible and terrible, but it was a fitting 
 end to such a life. 
 
 Tom Shirley came, with Alice, to visit me in my new 
 lodging. 
 
 He looked about him cheerfully. 'The new place/ he 
 said, 'is more airy and spacious than the old prison on the 
 other side of the road, where I spent a year or two. This is 
 quite a handsome court: the Building is a Palace: the Rec- 
 reation ground is a Park, but without trees or grass: the 
 three passages painted green remind me somehow of Spring 
 Gardens : the numbers of people make me think of Cheapside 
 or Ludgate Hill : the shops, no doubt contain every luxury : 
 the society, if mixed, is harmonious. . . / 
 
 'In a word, Tom, I am very lucky to get here/ 
 
 'There might be worse places. And hark ye, lad, if there 
 is not another fiddler in the Bench, you will make in a week 
 twice as much in the Prison as you can make out of it. 
 Nothing cheers a prisoner more than the strains of a fiddle. 
 
 This gave me hope. I began to see that I might live, even 
 in this place. 
 
 'There are one or two objections to the place/ this optimist 
 philosopher went on. 'I have observed, for instance, a cer- 
 .tain languor which steals over mind and body in a Prison. 
 
82 The Orange Girl 
 
 Some have compared it with the growth they call mildew. 
 Have a care, Will. Practise daily. I have known a musi- 
 cian leave this place fit for nothing but to play for Jack in 
 the Green. Look at the people as they pass. Yonder pretty 
 fellow is too lazy to get his stockings darned: that fellow 
 slouching after him cannot stoop to pull up his stockings: 
 that other thrusts his feet into his slippers without pulling 
 up the heels : there goes one who has worn, I warrant you, 
 his morning gown all day for years : he cannot even get the 
 elbows darned : keep up thy heart, lad. Before long we will 
 get thee into the Rules.' 
 
 He visited my room. 'Ha!' he said, 'neat, clean, com- 
 modious. With a fine view of the Parade; with life and 
 activity before one's eyes.' He forgot that he had just re- 
 marked on the languor and the mildew of the Prison. 'Ob- 
 serve the racquet players: there are finer players here than 
 anywhere else, I believe. And those who do not play at 
 racquets may find recreation at fives: and those who are 
 not active enough for fives may choose to play at Bumble 
 puppy. Well, Will, Alice will come back to me, with the 
 boy. She can come here every morning if you wish. Pa- 
 tience, lad, patience. We will get thee, before long, within 
 the Rules.' 
 
 It is possible, by the Warder's permission, to go into the 
 Rules. But the prisoner must pay down 10 for the first 
 100 of his debts, and 5 for every subsequent 100. Now 
 I had not ten shillings in the world. When I look back upon 
 the memory of that time : when I think of the treatment of 
 prisoners: and of the conduct of the prison: and when I 
 reflect that nothing is altered at the present day I am amazed 
 at the wonderful apathy of people as regards the sufferings 
 of others it may become at any time their own case : at their 
 carelessness as concerns injustice and oppression yet sub- 
 ject every one to the same oppression and cruelty. 
 
 What, for instance, is more monstrous than the fact that 
 a man who has been arrested by writ, has to pay fees to the 
 prison for every separate writ? If he has no money he is 
 still held liable, so that even if his friends are willing to 
 pay his debts with the exorbitant costs of the attorney, there 
 are still the fees to be paid. And even if the prisoner's 
 friends are_ willing to release him there is still the warden 
 who must be satisfied before he suffers his prisoner to go. 
 
 Again what can be more iniquitous than the license al- 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 83 
 
 lowed to attorneys in the matter of their costs? Many a 
 prisoner, originally arrested for a debt of four or five pounds 
 or even less, finds after a while that the attorney's costs 
 amount to twenty or thirty pounds more. He might be able 
 to discharge the debt alone : the costs make it impossible : the 
 creditor might let him go: the attorney will never let him 
 go: the friends might club together to pay the debt: they 
 cannot pay the costs: the attorney abates nothing, hoping 
 that compassion will induce the man's friends to release him. 
 In some cases they do : in others, the attorney finds that he 
 has overreached himself and that the prisoner dies of that 
 incurable disease which we call captivity. 
 t At first sight the Parade and the open court of the Prison 
 present an appearance of animation. The men playing 
 racquets have a little crowd gathered round them, there are 
 others playing skittles: children run about shouting: there 
 are the shrill voices of women quarrelling or arguing: the 
 crowd is always moving about: there are men at tables 
 .smoking and drinking: the tapsters run about with bottles 
 !of wine and jugs of beer. There are women admitted to 
 see their friends, husbands and brothers, and to bring them 
 gifts. Alas! when I remember the sight conies back to 
 me in dreams the sadness and the earnestness in their faces 
 and the compassion and the love the woman's love which 
 endures all and survives all and conquers all I wish that I 
 had the purse of Croesus to set these captives free, even 
 though it would enrich the attorney, whose wiles have 
 brought them to this place. 
 
 One has not to look long before the misery of it is too 
 plainly apparent above the show of cheerful carelessness. 
 One sees the wives of the prisoners: their husbands play 
 racquets and drink about and of an evening sit in the tavern 
 bawling songs ; the poor women, ragged and draggled, come 
 forth carrying their babes to get a little air: their faces are 
 stamped with the traces of clays and weeks and years of 
 privation. The Prison has destroyed the husband's sense 
 of duty to his wife: he will not, if he can, work for his 
 family ; he lives upon such doles as he can extract from his 
 family or hers. Worse still, men lose their sense of shame : 
 they say what they please and care not who hears: they 
 introduce companions and care not what is said or thought 
 about them : things are said openly that no Christian should 
 hear: things are done openly that no Christian should wit- 
 
84 The Orange Girl 
 
 ness or should know. There are many hundreds of children 
 within these accursed walls. God help them, if they under- 
 stand what they hear and what they see ! 
 
 In the prison there are many kinds of debtors : there is the 
 debtor who is always angry at the undeserved misery of his 
 lot: sometimes his wrongs drive him mad in earnest: then 
 the poor wretch is removed to Bedlam where he remains 
 until his death. There is, next, the despairing debtor who 
 sits as one in a dream and will never be comforted. There 
 is the philosophical debtor who accepts his fate and makes 
 the best of it : there is the meek and miserable debtor gen- 
 erally some small tradesman who has been taught that the 
 greatest disgrace possible is that which has actually fallen 
 upon him ; there is the debtor who affects the Beau and car- 
 ries his snuff-box with an air. There is the debtor who was 
 a gentleman and can tell of balls at St. James's ; there is the 
 ruffler who swaggers on the Parade, looking out for new- 
 comers and inviting those who have money to play with him. 
 As for the women they are like the men : there are the wives 
 of the prisoners who fall, for the most part, into a draggled 
 condition like their husbands; there are ladies who put on 
 sumptuous array and flaunt it daily on the Parade: stories 
 are whispered about them ; there are others about whom it is 
 unnecessary to tell stories ; in a word it is a place where the 
 same wickedness goes on as one may find outside. 
 
 There is a chapel in the middle of the great Building. 
 Service is held once a week but the attendance is thin ; there 
 is a taproom which is crowded all day long: here men sit 
 over their cups from morning till evening ; there is a coffee- 
 room where tea and coffee can be procured and where the 
 newspapers are read ; this is a great place for the politicians 
 of whom there are many in the Prison. Indeed, I know 
 not where politics are so eagerly debated as in the King's 
 Bench. 
 
 The King's Bench Prison is a wonderful place for the 
 observation of Fortune and her caprices. There was a so- 
 ciety call it not a club consisting entirely of gentlemen 
 who had been born to good estates and had suffered ruin 
 through no fault of their own. These gentlemen admitted 
 me to their company. We dined together at the Ordinary 
 and conversed after dinner. One of them, born to an easy 
 fortune, was ruined by the discovery of a parchment entit- 
 ling him to another estate. There was a lawsuit lasting for 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 85 
 
 twenty years. He then lost it and found that the whole of 
 his own estate had gone too. Another, a gentleman of large 
 estate, married an heiress. Her extravagancies ran through 
 both her own fortune and her husband's. She lived with 
 him in the Prison and daily, being now a shrew as well as 
 a slattern, reproached him with the ruin she herself had 
 caused. There was a young fellow who had fallen among 
 lawyers and been ruined by them. He now studied law in- 
 tending as soon as he got out to commence attorney and to 
 practise the tricks and rogueries he had learned from his 
 former friends. Another had bought a seat in the House of 
 Commons and a place with it. But at the next election he 
 lost his seat and his place, too. And another was a great 
 scholar in Arabic. His captivity affected him not one whit 
 because he had his books and could work in the Prison as 
 well as out. 
 
 With such companions, I endeavoured to keep aloof from 
 the drinking and roystering crew which made the Prison dis- 
 orderly and noisy. Yet, as I will show you directly, I was 
 the nightly servant of the roysterers. 
 
 You have heard of Tom Shirley's judgment that in every 
 debtors' prison the collegians, if they do not, as many do, go 
 about in filthy rags and tatters, are all slatterns : some can af- 
 ford to dress with decency and cleanliness, not to speak of 
 fashion, which would be, indeed, out of place in the King's 
 Bench; even those care not to observe the customs of the 
 outside world; the ruffles are no longer white or no longer 
 visible ; the waist-coat is unbuttoned ; the coat is powdered ; 
 the wig is uncurled ; those who wear their own hair leave it 
 hanging over the ears instead of tying it neatly with a black 
 ribbon behind. This general neglect of dress corresponds 
 with the universal neglect of morals which prevails through- 
 out the Prison. Everything conspires to drag down and to 
 degrade the unfortunate prisoner: the hopelessness of his 
 lot ; the persecution of his enemies ; the uncertainty about the 
 daily bread ; the freedom with which drink is offered about 
 by those who 'coll it/ i.e., in the language of the place who 
 have money ; the temptation to do as others do and forget 
 his sorrows over a bowl of punch ; speedily contaminate the 
 prisoner and make him in all respects like unto those around 
 him. I have said already that if it is bad for men it is worse 
 for women. Let me draw a veil over this side of the King's 
 Bench. Suffice it to say that one who has written on the 
 
86 The Orange Girl 
 
 Prisons has declared that if Diana herself and her nymphs 
 were to be imprisoned for twelve months in the King's 
 Bench, at the end of that time they would all be fit compan- 
 ions for Messalina. 
 
 It is not only from their rags that the poverty of the 
 prisoners is betrayed; one may learn from their hollow 
 cheeks, their eager eyes, their feeble gait, that many too 
 many are suffering from want of food. It is true that the 
 law of the land gives to every prisoner a groat four-pence 
 a day to be paid by the detaining creditor: yet the groat 
 is not always paid, and can only be obtained if the creditor 
 refuses it by legal steps, which a man destitute of money 
 cannot take. What attorney will take up the case of a man 
 without a farthing? If the debtor wins his case how is he 
 to pay the attorney and costs out of four-pence a day ? If he 
 wishes to plead in forma pauperis, the law allows the warder 
 to charge six shillings and eight-pence for leave to go to the 
 Court and half a crown for the turnkey to take him there 
 what prisoner on the poor side can pay these fees ? So that 
 when a prisoner is really poor he cannot get his groats at all, 
 for the creditor will not pay them unless he is obliged. 
 Again there are other ways of evading the law. If a debtor 
 surrenders in June there is no Court till November and the 
 creditor need not pay anything till the order of the Court is 
 issued. There are a few doles and charities; but these 
 amount to no more than about 100 a year, say, two pounds 
 a week or six shillings a day. Now there are 600 prisoners 
 as a rule. How many of these are on the poor side? And 
 how far will six shillings a day go among these starving 
 wretches? There are also the boxes into which a few shill- 
 ings a day are dropped. But how far will these go among 
 so many? It is within my certain knowledge that many 
 would die of sheer starvation every week were it not for the 
 kindness of those but one step above them. 
 
 If, for instance, one would understand what poverty may 
 mean he must visit the Common side of the King's Bench 
 Prison. Those who have visited the courts and narrow 
 lanes of Wapping report terrible stories of rags and filth, 
 but the people, by hook or by crook, get food. In the Prison 
 there is neither hook nor crook : the prisoner unless he knows 
 a trade which may be useful in that place: unless he can 
 repair shoes and clothes : unless he can shave and dress the 
 hair, cannot earn a penny. Look at these poor wretches,. 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 87 
 
 slinking about the courts, hoping to attract the compassion 
 of some visitor ; see them uncombed, unwashed, unshaven ; 
 their long hair hanging over their ears; a horrid bristling 
 beard upon their chin ; their faces wan with insufficient food, 
 their eyes eagerly glancing here and there to catch a look of 
 pity, a dole or a loan. If you follow them to the misery of 
 the Common side where they are thrust at night you will see 
 creatures more wretched still. These can go abroad even 
 though skewers take the place of buttons ; these have shoes 
 which once had toes ; these have beds, of a kind ; there are 
 others who have no beds, but lie on the floor ; who have no 
 blankets and never take off their rags; who go barefooted 
 and bare-headed. Remember that their life-long imprison- 
 ment was imposed upon them because they could not pay 
 a debt of a pound or two. Their pound or two, by reason 
 of the attorney's costs and the warden's fees, has grown and 
 swelled till it has reached the amount of 20 or 40 or any- 
 thing you will. No one can release them; the only thing 
 to be hoped is that cold and starvation may speedily bring 
 them to the end the long sleep in the graveyard of St. 
 George's Church. 
 
 I speedily found that I could manage to live pretty well 
 by means of my 'fiddle. Almost every evening there was 
 some drinking party which engaged my services. I played 
 for them the old tunes to which they sang their songs about 
 wine and women bawling them at the top of their voices ; 
 they paid me as much as I could expect. By good luck 
 there was no other fiddler in the place ; a harpist there was ; 
 and a flute-player; we sometimes agreed together to give a 
 concert in the coffee-room. 
 
 I continued this life for about six months, making enough 
 money every week to pay my way at the Ordinary. Per- 
 haps I know not the prison was already beginning to 
 work its way with me and to reduce me, as Tom Shirley said, 
 to the condition of a fiddler to Jack in the Green. 
 
 I 'had a visit, after some three months, from Mr. Probus. 
 He came one day into the prison. I saw him standing on 
 the pavement looking round him. Some of the collegians 
 knew him : they whispered and looked at him with the face 
 that means death if that were possible. One man stepped 
 forward and cursed him. 'Dog!' he said, 'if I had you out- 
 side this accursed place, I would make an end of you/ 
 
 'Sir/ said Mr. Probus, at whose heels marched a turnkey, 
 
88 The Orange Girl 
 
 'you do me an injustice for which you will one day be 
 sorry. Am I your detaining creditor?' 
 
 The man cursed him again, I know not why, and turned 
 on his heel. 
 
 Then I stepped forward. 'Did you come here to gloat 
 over your work, Mr. Probus?' 
 
 'Mr. William? I hope you are well, Sir. The prison 
 air, I find, is fresh from the fields. You look better than 
 I expected. To be sure it is early days. You are only just 
 beginning/ 
 
 'You will be sorry to hear that I am very well.' 
 
 'I would have speech in a retired place, Mr. William/ 
 
 'You want once more to dangle your bribe before me. I 
 understand, sir, very well, what you would say/ 
 
 'Then let me say it here. Your cousin, I may say, deplores 
 deeply this new disgrace to the family. He eanrestly desires 
 to remove it. I am again empowered to purchase an ima- 
 ginary reversion. Mr. William, he will now make it 
 4,000. Will that content you?' 
 
 'Nothing will content me. There is some secret reason 
 for this persecution. You want you not my cousin to 
 get access to this great sum of money. Well, Mr. Probus, 
 my opinion is that my cousin will die before me. And since 
 I am firmly persuaded upon that point, and since I believe 
 that you think so too, my answer is the same as before/ 
 
 'Then/ he said, 'stay here and rot/ He looked round the 
 prison. 'It is a pleasant place for a young man to spend his 
 days, is it not ? All his days till an attack of gaol fever or 
 small-pox visits the place. Eh? Eh? Eh? Then you 
 will be sorry/ 
 
 'I shall never be sorry, Mr. Probus, to have frustrated 
 any plots and designs of yours. Be assured of that and 
 for the rest, do your worst/ 
 
 He slowly walked away without a word. But all the 
 devil in his soul flared in his eyes as he turned. 
 
 'You do wrong/ said the turnkey who had accompanied 
 him. ' 'Tis the keenest of his kind. Not another attorney 
 in all London has brought us, not to speak of the Fleet and 
 Newgate, more prisoners than Mr. Probus. For hunting 
 up detainers and running up the costs he has no equal/ 
 
 'He is my detaining creditor/ I said. 
 
 The turnkey shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 'Young gentleman/ he said, 'I see that you are a gentle- 
 
How I Got Into the King's Bench 89 
 
 man, although you are a fiddler take advice. Agree with 
 his terms quickly, whatever they are. He made you an 
 offer take it, before he lands you in another court with new 
 writs and more costs.' 
 
 In fact, the very next day, I heard that there was another 
 writ in the name of one John Merridew, Sheriff's officer, for 
 fifty pounds alleged to have been lent to me by him. As for 
 Mr. John Merridew, I knew not even the name of the man, 
 and I had never borrowed sixpence of anyone. 
 
 I showed the writ to my friend the turnkey. He read 
 it with admiration. 
 
 'I told you so,' he said, 'what a man he is! And Merri- 
 dew, too Merridew ! And you never borrowed the money, 
 and never saw the man! What a man! What a man! 
 Merridew, too, under his thumb! There's ability for you! 
 There's resource!' 
 
 I murmured something not complimentary. Indeed, I 
 knew nothing, at that time, of Merridew. 
 
 'Ah! He means to keep you here until you accept his 
 offer. Better take it now, then he'll let you go for his costs. 
 He won't give up the costs. What a man it is ! And you've 
 never set eyes on John Merridew, have you ? What a man ! 
 He knows John Merridew, you see. Why, between them 
 
 ' He looked at me meaningly, and laid his hand upon 
 
 my shoulder. 'Take my advice, Sir. Take my advice, and 
 accept that offer of his. Else I don't say, mind, but Mer- 
 ridew Merridew ' He placed his thumb upon the left 
 
 side of my neck, and pressed it. 'Many many have gone 
 that way through Merridew. And Probus rules Merri- 
 dew/ 
 
 END OF BOOK Z 
 
PART II 
 
 OUT OF THE FRYING PAN INTO THE 
 
 FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 RELEASE 
 
 You have read how a certain lady came to the Prison : how 
 she spoke with two prisoners of the baser sort in a manner 
 familiar and yet scornful: and how she addressed me and 
 appeared moved and astonished on hearing my name. I 
 thought little more about her, save as an agreeable vision 
 in the midst of the rags and sordidness of the Prison, now 
 growing daily alas! more familiar and less repulsive. 
 For this is the way in the King's Bench. 
 
 She came, however, a second time, and this time she came 
 to visit me. It was in the morning. Alice was in my room ; 
 with her the boy, now in his second year, so strong that he 
 could not be kept from pulling himself up by the help of a 
 chair. She was showing me his ways and his tricks, rejoicing 
 in the wilfulness and strength of the child. I was watch- 
 ing and listening, my pride and happiness in the boy dashed 
 by the thought that he must grow up to be ashamed of his 
 father as a prison bird. Prison has no greater sting than 
 the thought of your children's shame. For the time went 
 on and day after day only made release appear more im- 
 possible. How could I get out who had no friends and 
 could save no money ? I had now been in prison for nearly 
 a year: I began to look for nothing more than to remain 
 there for all my life. 
 
92 The Orange Girl 
 
 While I was looking at the boy and sadly thinking of 
 these things, I heard a quick, light step outside, followed by 
 a gentle tap at the door. And lo! there entered the lady 
 who had spoken with those two sons of Belial and with me. 
 
 'I said I would come again/ She smiled, and it was as 
 if the sunshine poured into the room. She gave me her 
 hand and it was like a hand dragging me out of the Slough 
 of Despond. 'Your room,' she said, 'is not so bad, consid- 
 ering the place. This lady is your wife? Madam, your 
 most respectful/ 
 
 So she curtseyed low and Alice did the like. Then she 
 saw the child. 
 
 'Oh !' she cried. 'The pretty boy ! The lovely boy !' She 
 snatched him and tossed him crowing and laughing, and 
 covered him with kisses. 'Oh ! The light, soft, silky hair !' 
 she cried. 'Oh ! the sweet blue eyes ! Oh ! the pretty face. 
 Master Will Halliday, you are to be envied even in this 
 place. Your cousin Matthew hath no such blessing as this/ 
 
 'Matthew is not even married/ 
 
 'Indeed? Perhaps, if he is, this, as well as other bless- 
 ings, has been denied him/ she replied, with a little change 
 in her face as if a cloud had suddenly fallen. But it quickly 
 passed. 
 
 I could observe that Alice regarded her visitor with ad- 
 miration and curiosity. This was a kind of woman unknown 
 to my girl, who knew nothing of the world or of fine ladies : 
 they were outside her own experience. The two women 
 wore a strange contrast to each other. Alice with her seri- 
 ous air of meditation, and her grave eyes, might have sat 
 to a painter for the Spirit of Music, or for St. Cecilia her- 
 self : or indeed for any saint, or muse, or heathen goddess 
 who must show in her face a heavenly sweetness of thought, 
 with holy meditation. All the purity and tenderness of re- 
 ligion lay always in the face of Alice. Our visitor, on the 
 other hand, would have sat more fitly for the Queen of Love, 
 or the Spirit of Earthly Love. Truly she was more beauti- 
 ful than any other woman whom I had ever seen, or imag- 
 ined. I thought her beautiful on the stage, but then her face 
 was covered with the crimson paint by which actresses have 
 to spoil their cheeks. Off the stage, it was the beauty of 
 Venus herself: a beauty which invited love: a beauty alto- 
 gether soft: in every point soft and sweet and caressing: 
 eyes that were limpid and soft: a blooming cheek which 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 93 
 
 needed no paint, which was as soft as velvet and as delicately 
 coloured as a peach : lips smiling, rosy red and soft : her 
 hands : her voice : her laugh : everything about this heavenly 
 creature, I say, invited and compelled and created love. 
 
 You think that as one already sworn to love and comfort 
 another woman, I speak with reprehensible praise. Well, 
 I have already confessed it is not a confession of shame 
 that I loved her from the very first : from the time when she 
 spoke to me first. I am not ashamed of loving her : Alice 
 knows that I have always loved her: you shall hear, pres- 
 ently, why I need not be ashamed and why I loved her, if I 
 may say so, as a sister. It is possible to love a woman with- 
 out thoughts of earthly love : to admire her loveliness : to re- 
 spect her : to worship her : yet not as an earthly lover. Such 
 love as Petrarch felt for Laura I felt for this sweet and lovely 
 woman. 
 
 She gave back the child to his mother. 'Mr. Will Halli- 
 day/ she said. 'It is not only for the child that thou art 
 blessed above other men' looking so intently upon Alice 
 that the poor girl blushed and was confused. 'Sure/ she 
 said, 'it is a face which I have seen in a picture/ 
 
 She was a witch : she drew all hearts to her : yet not, like 
 Circe, to their ruin and undoing. And if she was soft and 
 kind of speech, she was also generous of heart. She was 
 always, as I was afterwards to find out, helping others, 
 How she helped me you shall hear. Meantime I must not 
 forget that her face showed a most remarkable virginal in- 
 nocence. It seemed natural to her face : a part of it, that it 
 should proclaim a perfect maidenly innocence of soul. I 
 know that many things have been said about her; for my 
 own part I care to know nothing more about her than she 
 herself has been pleased to tell me. I choose to believe that 
 the innocence in her face proclaimed the innocence of her 
 life. And, with this innocence, a face which was always 
 changing with every mood that crossed her mind: moved 
 by every touch of passion : sensitive as an Aeolian harp to 
 every breath of wind. 
 
 She sat down on the bed. 'I told you that I would come 
 again/ she said. 'Do not take me for a curious and meddle- 
 some person. Madam/ she turned to Alice, 'I come because 
 I know something about your husband's cousin, Matthew. 
 If you will favour me, I should like to know the meaning of 
 this imprisonment, and what Matthew has to do with it/ 
 
94 The Orange Girl 
 
 So I told the whole story : the clause in my father's will : 
 the attempt made to persuade me to sell my chance of the 
 succession: the threats used by Mr. Probus: the alleged 
 debt for his harpsichord: and the alleged debt to one John 
 Merridew. 
 
 She heard the whole patiently. Then she nodded her 
 head. 
 
 Trobus I know, though he does not, happily, know me. 
 Of the man Merridew also I know something. He is a 
 sheriff's officer by trade ; but he has more trades than one. 
 Probus is an attorney ; but he, too, has more trades than one. 
 My friends, this is the work of Probus. I see Probus in it 
 from the beginning. I conjecture that Merridew, for some 
 consideration, has borrowed money from Probus more than 
 he can repay. Therefore, he has to do whatever Probus 
 orders/ 
 
 'Mr. Probus is Matthew's attorney.' 
 
 'Yes. An attorney does not commit crimes for his client, 
 unless he is well paid for it. I do not know what it means 
 except that Matthew wants money, which does not surprise 
 
 'Matthew is a partner in the House of Halliday Brothers. 
 He has beside a large fortune which should have been mine.' 
 
 'Yet Matthew may want money. I am not a lawyer, but 
 I suppose that if you sell your chance to him, he can raise 
 money on the succession.' 
 
 'I suppose so.' 
 
 'Probus must want money too. Else he would not have 
 committed the crime of imprisoning you on a false charge 
 of debt. Well, we need not waste time in asking why. The 
 question is, first of all, how to get you out.' 
 
 Alice clutched her little one to her heart and her colour 
 vanished, by which I understood the longing that was in 
 her. 
 
 To get me out ? Madam ; I have no friends in the world 
 who could raise ten pounds/ 
 
 'Nevertheless, Mr. Will, a body may ask how much is 
 wanted to get you out/ 
 
 'There is the alleged debt for the harpsichord of fifty-five 
 pounds : there is also the alleged debt due to Mr. John Mer- 
 ridew of fifty pounds: there are the costs: and there are the 
 fines or garnish without which one cannot leave the place/ 
 
 'Say, perhaps in all, a hundred and fifty pounds. It is 
 
ALICE FELL ON HER KNEES AND CLASPED HER HAND. 
 

Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 95 
 
 not much. I think I can find a man' she laughed 'who, 
 out of his singular love to you, will give the money to take 
 you out/ 
 
 'You know a man? Madame, I protest there is no one, 
 in the whole world who would do such a thing/ 
 
 'Yet if I assure you ' 
 
 'Oh! Madame! Will!' Alice fell on her knees and 
 clasped her hand. 'See! It is herself! herself!' 
 
 'But why? why?' I asked incredulous. 
 
 'Because she is all goodness,' Alice cried, the tears rolling 
 down her face. 
 
 'All goodness !' Madame laughed. 'Yes, I am indeed all 
 goodness. Get up dear woman. And go on thinking that, 
 if you can. All goodness!' And she laughed scornfully. 
 'A hundred and fifty pounds/ she repeated. 'Yes, I think 
 I know where to get this money/ 
 
 'Are we dreaming?' I asked. 
 
 'But, Will,' she became very serious, 'I must be plain with 
 you. It is certain to me that the man Probus has got some 
 hold over your cousin. Otherwise he would not be so im- 
 patient for you to sell your reversion. Some day I will 
 show you why I think this. Learn, moreover, that the man 
 Probus is a man of one passion only. He wants money: 
 he wants nothing else : it is his only desire to get money. If 
 anybody interferes with his money getting, he will grind 
 that man to powder. You have interfered with him: he 
 has thrust you into prison. Do not believe that when you 
 are out he will cease to persecute you/ 
 
 'What am I to do, then?' 
 
 'If you come to terms with him he will at once cease his 
 persecution/ 
 
 'Come to terms with him?' 
 
 'His terms must mean a great sum of money for himself, 
 not for you or for your cousin. Else he would not be so 
 eager/ 
 
 'I can never accept his terms/ I said. 
 
 'He will go on, then. If it is a very large sum of money 
 he will stick at nothing/ 
 
 'Then what am I to do?' 
 
 'Keep out of his way. For, believe me, there is nothing 
 that he will not attempt to get you once more in his power. 
 Consider : he put you in here, knowing that you are penni- 
 less. He calculates that the time will come when you will 
 
96 The Orange Girl 
 
 be so broken by imprisonment that you will be ready to 
 make any terms. Nay he thinks that the prison air will 
 kill you/ 
 
 'The Lord will protect us/ said Alice. 
 
 Madame looked up with surprise. 'They say that on the 
 stage,' she said. 'What does it mean?' 
 
 'It means that we are all in the hands of the Lord. With- 
 out His will not even a sparrow falleth to the ground/ 
 
 Madame shook her head. 'At least/ she said, 'we must 
 do what we can to protect ourselves/ She rose. 'I am 
 going now to get that money. You shall hear from me in a 
 day or two. Perhaps it may take a week before you are 
 finally released. But keep up your hearts/ 
 
 She took the child again and kissed him. Then she gave 
 him back to his mother. 
 
 'You are a good woman/ she said. 'Your face is good : 
 your voice is good : what you say is good. But, remember. 
 Add to what you call the protection of the Lord a few pre- 
 cautions. To stand between such an one as Probus and the 
 money that he is hunting is like standing between a tigress 
 and her prey. He will have no mercy : there is no wicked- 
 ness that 'he will hesitate to devise : what he will do next, I 
 know not, but it will be something that belongs to his mas- 
 ter, the Devil/ 
 
 'The Lord will protect us/ Alice repeated, laying her hand 
 on the flaxen hair of her child. 
 
 We stared at each other, when she was gone. 'Will/ 
 aske'd Alice, with suffused eyes and dropping voice. 'Is she 
 an angel from Heaven?' 
 
 'An angel, doubtless but not from Heaven yet. My 
 dear, it is the actress who charmed us when we went to the 
 Play on our wedding-day. It is Miss Jenny Wilmot her- 
 self/ 
 
 'Oh! If all actresses are like her! Yet they say 
 
 Will, she shall have, at least, our prayers ' 
 
 Three or four days later the time seemed many years 
 an attorney came to see me. Not such an attorney as Mr. 
 Probus : a gentleman of open countenance and pleasant man- 
 ners. He came to tell me that my business was done, and 
 that after certain dues were paid which were provided for 
 I could walk out of the prison. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 97 
 
 'Sir/ I said, 'I beg you to convey to Miss Jenny Wilmot, 
 my benefactress, my heartfelt gratitude/ 
 
 'I will, Mr. Halliday. I perceive that you know her 
 name. Let me beg you not to wait upon her in person. To 
 be sure, she has left Drury Lane and you do not know her 
 present address. 'It is enough that she has been able to 
 benefit you, and that you have sent her a becoming message 
 of gratitude. But, Sir, one word of caution. She bids you 
 remember that you have an implacable enemy. Take care, 
 therefore, take care.' 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 HOW I GOT A NEW PLACE 
 
 So I was free. For twenty-four hours I was like a boy on 
 the first day of his holidays. I exulted in my liberty: I 
 ran about the meadows and along the Embankment: I 
 got into a boat and rowed up and down the river. But when 
 the first rapture of freedom was spent I remembered that 
 free or within stone walls, I had still to earn a living. I 
 had but one way : I must find a place in an Orchestra. At 
 the Dog and Duck, where my brother-in-law still led, there 
 was no place for me. 
 
 There are, however, a great many taverns with gardens 
 and dancing and singing places and bands of music. I set 
 off to find one where they wanted a fiddle. I went, I be- 
 lieve, the whole round of them from the Temple of Flora 
 to the White Conduit House, and from Bermondsey Spa to 
 the Assembly Rooms at Hampstead. Had all the world 
 turned fiddler? Everywhere the same reply 'No vacancy/ 
 Meantime we were living on the bounty of my brother-in- 
 law Whose earnings were scanty for his own modest house. 
 
 Then I thought of the organ. Of course my place at St. 
 George's Borough was filled up. There are about a hun- 
 dred churches in London, however: most of them have or- 
 gans. I tried every one: and always with the same result: 
 the place was filled. I thought of my old trade of fiddling 
 to the sailors. Would you believe it ? There was not even 
 a tavern parlour where they wanted a fiddle to make the 
 
98 The Orange Girl 
 
 sailors dance and drink. Had Mr. Probus been able to keep 
 me out of everything? 
 
 Alice did her best to sustain my courage. She preserved 
 a cheerful countenance : she brushed my coat and hat in the 
 morning with a word of encouragement: she welcomed me 
 home when I returned footsore and with an aching heart. 
 Why, even in the far darker time that presently followed 
 she preserved the outward form of cheerfulness and the 
 inner heart of faith. 
 
 The weeks passed on : my bad luck remained : I could hear 
 of no work, not even temporary work : I began to think 
 that even the Prison where I could at least earn my two or 
 three shillings a day was better than freedom: I began also 
 to think that Mr. Probus must have all the orchestras and 
 music-galleries in his own power, together with all the 
 churches that had organs. My shoes wore out and could 
 not be replaced: my appearance was such as might be ex- 
 pected when for most of the time I had nothing between 
 bread and cheese and beer for breakfast, and bread and 
 cheese and beer for supper. And I think that the miserable 
 figure I presented was often the cause of rejection. 
 
 Chance say Providence helped me. I was walking, 
 sadly enough, by Charing Cross, one afternoon, being weary, 
 hungry, and dejected, when I heard a voice cry out, 'Will 
 Halfiday! Will Halliday! Are you deaf?' 
 
 I turned round. It was Madame, my benefactress, my 
 patroness. She was in a hackney coach. 
 
 'Come in/ she cried, stopping her driver. 'Come in with 
 me.' 
 
 I obeyed, nothing loth. 
 
 'Why/ she said looking at me. 'What is the matter? 
 Your cheeks are hollow : your face is pale : your limbs are 
 shaking: worse still you are shabby. What has hap- 
 pened?' 
 
 I could make no reply. 
 
 'Your sweet wife and the lovely boy. They are well?' 
 
 When a man has been living for many weeks on insuffi- 
 cient food: when he has been turned away at every appli- 
 cation, he may be forgiven if he loses, on small provocation, 
 his self-control. I am not ashamed to say that her kind 
 words and her kind looks were too much for me in my weak 
 condition. I burst into tears. 
 
 She laid her hand on my arm, 'Will/ she said, as if 
 
I TURNED AROUND ; IT WAS MADAM. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 99 
 
 she were a sister, 'yottf shall tell me all-^-but you shall go 
 home with me and we will talk/ 
 
 I observed that the coachman drove up St. Martin's Lane 
 and through a collection of streets which I had never seen 
 before. It was the part called St. Giles's ; a place which is a 
 kind of laystall into which are shot every day quantities of 
 the scum, dirt, and refuse of this huge and overgrown city. 
 I looked out of the window upon a crowd of faces more vil- 
 lainous than one could conceive possible, stamped with the 
 brand of Cain. They were lying about in the doorways, 
 at the open windows, for it was the month of September and 
 a warm day and on the doorsteps and in the unpaved, unlit, 
 squalid streets. Never did I see so many ragged and naked 
 brats ; never did I see so many cripples, so many hunchbacks, 
 so many deformed people: they were of all kinds bandy- 
 legged, knock-kneed, those whose shins curve outward like 
 a bow, round-backed, one-eyed, blind, lame. 
 
 'They are the beggars,' said my companion. 'Their de- 
 formities mean drink : they mean the mothers who drink 
 and drop the babies about. Beggars and thieves they are 
 the people of St. Giles's/ 
 
 'I wonder you come this way. Are you not afraid ?' 
 
 'They will not hurt me. I wish they would,' she added 
 with a sigh. 
 
 A strange wish. I was soon, however, to understand 
 what she meant. 
 
 Certainly, no one molested us, or stopped the coach: we 
 passed through these streets into High Street, Holburn, and 
 to St. Giles's Church where the criminal on his way to Ty- 
 burn receives his last drink. Then, by another turn, into a 
 noble square with a garden surrounded by great houses, of 
 which the greatest was built for the unfortunate Duke of 
 Monmouth. The coachman stopped before one of these 
 houses on the East side of the Square. It was a very fine 
 and noble mansion indeed. 
 
 I threw open the door of the coach and handed Madame 
 down the steps. 
 
 'This is my house/ she said. 'Will you come in with me?' 
 
 I followed marvelling how an actress could be so great a 
 lady: but still I remembered how she spoke familiarly to 
 those two villains in the King's Benc'h Prison. The doors 
 flew open. Within, a row of a dozen tall hulking fellows in 
 livery stood up to receive Madame. She walked through 
 
ioo The Orange Girl 
 
 them with an air that belonged to a Duchess. Then she 
 turned into a small room on the left hand and threw herself 
 into a chair. 'So/ she said, 'with these varlets I am a great 
 lady. Here, and in your company, Will, I am nothing but 
 ...' She paused and sighed. 'I will tell you another time.' 
 
 I think I was more surprised at the familiarity with which 
 she addressed me than with the splendour of the place. 
 This room, for instance, though but little, was lofty and its 
 walls were painted with flowers and birds: silver candle- 
 sticks each with two branches, stood on the mantelshelf 
 which was a marvel of fine carving: a rich carpet covered 
 the floor : there were two or three chairs and a table in white 
 and gold. A portrait of Madame hung over the fireplace. 
 
 'Forgive me, my friend/ She sprang from the chair and 
 pulled the bell rope. 'Before we talk you must take some 
 dinner/ 
 
 She gave her orders in a quick peremptory tone as one 
 accustomed to be obeyed. In a few minutes the table was 
 spread with a white cloth and laid out with a cold chicken, 
 a noble ham, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of Madeira. You 
 may imagine that I made very little delay in sitting down to 
 these good things. Heavens! How good they were after 
 the prolonged diet of bread and cheese ! 
 
 Madame looked on and waited, her chin in her hand. 
 When I desisted at length, she poured out another glass of 
 Madeira. 'Tell me/ she said. 'Your sweet wife and the 
 lovely boy are they as hungry as you?' 
 
 I shook my head sadly. 
 
 'We shall see, presently, what we can do. Meantime, tell 
 me the whole story/ 
 
 I told her, briefly, that my story was nothing at all but 
 the story of a man out of employment who could not find 
 any and was slowly dropping into shabbiness of appearance 
 and weakness of body. 
 
 'No work? Why, I supposed you would go back to to 
 to something in the City/ 
 
 'Though my father was a Knight and a Lord Mayor, I 
 am a simple musician by trade. I am not a gentleman/ 
 
 'I like you all the better/ she replied, smiling. 'I am 
 not a gentlewoman either. The actress is a rogue and a 
 vagabond. So is the musician I suppose/ 
 
 I stared. Was she, then, still an actress and living in 
 this stately Palace? 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 101 
 
 'You are a musician. Do you, then, '\vaht to> fitid'- ,wi)lk 
 as a fiddler?' 
 
 'That is what I am looking for.' 
 
 'Let us consider. Do you play like a a gentleman or 
 like one of the calling?' 
 
 'I am one of the calling. When I tell you that I used to 
 live by fiddling for sailors to dance ' 
 
 'Say no more say no more. They are the finest critics 
 in the world. If you please them it is enough. Why 
 should I not engage you, myself?' 
 
 'You engage me ? You Madame ?' 
 
 'Friend Will,' she laid her hand on mine, 'there are rea- 
 sons why I wish you well and would stand by you if I could. 
 I will tell you, another day, what those reasons are. Let 
 me treat you as a friend. When we are alone, I am not 
 Madame: I am Jenny/ 
 
 There are some women who if they said such a thing as 
 this, would be taken as declaring the passion of love. No 
 one could look at Jenny's face which was all simplicity and 
 candour and entertain the least suspicion of such a thing. 
 
 'Nay, I can only marvel,' I said. For I still thought that 
 I was talking to some great lady. 'I think that I must be 
 dreaming/ 
 
 'Since you know not where you are, this is the Soho As- 
 sembly and I am Madame Vallance.' 
 
 I seemed to have heard of Madame Vallance. 
 
 'You know nothing. That is because you have been in 
 the King's Bench. I will now tell you, what nobody else 
 knows, that Madame Vallance is Jenny Wilmot. I have 
 left the stage, for a time, to avoid a certain person. Here, 
 if I go among the company, I can wear a domino and re- 
 main unknown. Do you know nothing about us? We 
 have masquerades, galas, routs everything. Come with 
 me. I will show you my Ball Room.' 
 
 She led me up the grand staircase from the Hall into a 
 most noble room. On the walls were hung many mirrors : 
 between the mirrors were painted Cupids and flowers: rout 
 seats were placed all round the room : the hanging candela- 
 bra contained hundreds of candles : at one end stood a 
 music gallery. 
 
 'Will,' she said, 'go upstairs and play me something/ 
 
 I obeyed. 
 
102 ' The Orange Girl 
 
 ' I found an instrument, which I tuned. Then I stood up 
 in the gallery and played. 
 
 She stood below listening. 'Well played!' she cried. 
 'Now play me a dance tune. See if you can make me dance/ 
 
 I played a tune which I had often played to the jolly sail- 
 ors. I know not what it is called. It is one of those tunes 
 which run in at the ears and down to the heels which it 
 makes as light as a feather and as quick silver for nimble- 
 ness. In a minute she was dancing with such grace, such 
 spirit, such quickness of motion, as if every limb was with- 
 out weight. And her fair face smiling and her blue eyes 
 dancing ! never was there such a figure of grace : as for the 
 step, it was as if invented on the spot, but I believe that she 
 had learned it. Afraid of tiring her, I laid down the violin 
 and descended into the hall. 
 
 She gave me both her hands. 'Will/ she said. 'You 
 will make my fortune if you consent to join my orchestra. 
 There never was such playing. Those sailors ! How could 
 they let you go? Now listen. I can pay you thirty shil- 
 lings. Will you come ? The Treasury pays every Saturday 
 morning. You shall have, besides, four weeks in advance. 
 Spend it in generous food after your long Lent. Say- 
 Will you accept?' 
 
 'It is too much, Jenny/ I took her hand and kissed it. 
 'First you take me out of prison: then you give me the 
 means of living. How can I thank you sufficiently? How 
 repay ' 
 
 'There is nothing to repay. I will tell you another time 
 why I take an interest in you.' 
 
 'When the most beautiful woman in the world ' 
 
 'Stop, Will. I warn you. There must be no love-mak- 
 ing/ I suppose she saw the irresistible admiration in my 
 eyes. 'Oh ! I am not angry. But compliments of that kind 
 generally lead to love-making. They all try it, but it is 
 quite useless now/ she added with a sigh. 'And you, of 
 all men, must not/ 
 
 I made no reply, not knowing what to say. 
 
 'There is another face in your home, Will, that is far 
 more beautiful than mine. Think of that face. Enough 
 said/ 
 
 'I protest ' I began. 
 
 She laid her hand upon my lips. 'There must be no 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 103 
 
 compliments/ she said. Her voice was severe but her smil- 
 ing eyes forgave. 
 
 I left her and hastened home with dancing feet. 
 
 I was returning with an engagement of thirty shillings 
 a week : I had four weeks' pay in my pocket : Fortune 
 once more smiled upon me: I ran in and kissed my wife 
 with an alacrity and a cheerfulness which rejoiced her as 
 much as it astonished her. I threw down the money. 'Take 
 it, my dear/ I said. 'There is more to come. We are saved 
 again. Oh! Alice we are saved and by the same hand 
 as before/ 
 
 'I have heard of Madame Vallance/ said Tom, presently. 
 'She comes from no one knows where: she keeps herself 
 secluded: at the Assemblies she always wears a mask: the 
 people say she is generous: some think she is rich: others 
 that the expense of the place must break her/ 
 
 'I hope she is another Croesus/ I said. 'I hope that the 
 River of Pactolus will flow into her lap. I hope she will 
 inherit the mines of Golgonda. I hope she will live a 
 thousand years and marry a Prince. And we will drink 
 her health in a bowl of punch this very night/ 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE MASQUERADE 
 
 I COMMENCED my duties in the music gallery on one of the 
 nights devoted to the amusement called the Masquerade. 
 It was an amusement new to me and to all except those 
 who can afford to spend five guineas, besides the purchase 
 of a dress, on the pleasure of a single night. I understand 
 the Masquerade has taken a great hold upon the fashionable 
 world and upon those who have money to spend and are 
 eager for the excitement of a new pleasure. 'Give give* 
 is the cry of those who live, day by day, for the pleasure of 
 the moment. 
 
 Truly in a Masquerade there is everything; the novelty 
 or the beauty of the disguise: the music: the dancing: the 
 revelry after supper : the gambling : the pursuit of beauty in 
 disguise it is wonderful to reflect, in the quiet corner of 
 
104 The Orange Girl 
 
 the earth in which I write, that, across the Atlantic, in Lon- 
 don City, there are thousands who are never happy save 
 when they are crowded together, seeking such excitement as 
 is afforded by the masquerade, the assembly, the promenade 
 and the pleasure garden. Here we have no such excite- 
 ments and we want none: life for us flows in a tranquil 
 stream : for them it flows away in waterfalls and cataracts, 
 leaping to the sea. 
 
 Madame managed her masquerades as she did every- 
 thing, with the greatest care: she arranged everything: the 
 selection of the music: the decorations: the supper: even 
 the chalking of the floor. The doors were thrown open at 
 eleven. Long before that hour the Square was filled with 
 people, some were come to see the fashionable throng arrive 
 the fine dresses of the ladies and the masquerading of the 
 men. Some were come to pick the pockets of the others. 
 There was no confusion : the hackney coaches and the chairs 
 were directed by Madame's servants, who stood outside, to 
 arrive by one road and to depart by another. Thus, one 
 after the other, without quarrelling or fighting, drove to the 
 doors, deposited their company and departed. The same 
 order was observed in the departure. 
 
 For my own part, as there was nothing to do before 
 eleven, I amused myself by going round and seeing the 
 rooms all lit up with candles in sconces or by candelabra and 
 painted with flowers and fruit and Cupids even to the ceil- 
 ing, and hung with costly curtains. It is a large and spa- 
 cious house, of commanding appearance, built by an Earl of 
 Carlisle. There is a grand staircase, broad and stately: 
 when a well-dressed Company are going up and down it 
 looks like the staircase of a Palace : on the landing I found 
 flowers in pots and bushes in tubs which gave the place a 
 rural appearance and so might lead the thoughts of the vis- 
 itor insensibly into the country. There are a great many 
 rooms in the original House which has been very hand- 
 somely increased by the addition of two large chambers, one 
 above the other, built out at the back, over part of the gar- 
 den. One of these new rooms was the Ball Room 
 which I have already mentioned. The other room below it, 
 equally large but not so high, was used as the supper-room. 
 It had its walls painted with dancing Satyrs and Fauns: 
 gilded pilasters, raised an inch or so, relieved the flatness 
 pf the wall. This was the supper-room : for the moment 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 105 
 
 it had nothing in it but long narrow tables arranged down 
 the room in rows: the servants were already beginning to 
 spread upon them the napery and lay the knives and forks 
 for supper. 
 
 On the ground-floor on the right hand of the entrance 
 hall was a large room used as a card room. Here stood a 
 long table covered with a green cloth for the players of those 
 games which require a Bank or a large company. They are 
 Hazard, Lansquenet, Loo, Faro, and I know not how many 
 more. But, whatever their names, they all mean the same 
 thing and only one thing, viz., gambling. Along the wall 
 on either side were small tables for parties of two or four, 
 who came to play Quadrille, Whist, Piquet, Ecarte, and the 
 like games more dangerous to the young and the beginner 
 than the more noisy gambling of the crowd. Candles stood 
 on all the small tables and down the middle of the great 
 table: there were also candles in sconces on the wall. As 
 yet none of them were lit. 
 
 While I was looking round the empty room, Madame her- 
 self came in dressed in white satin, and carrying her domino 
 in her hand. 
 
 'I look into every room/ she said, 'before the doors are 
 open: but into this room I look two or three times every 
 evening/ 
 
 'You come to look at the players?' 
 
 'I have a particular reason for coming here. I will tell 
 you some time or other perhaps to-night, Will. If so, it 
 will be the greatest surprise of your life the very greatest 
 surprise. Yes I watch the players. Their faces amuse 
 me. When I see a man losing time after time, and remaining 
 calm and unmoved, I say to myself, "There is a gentleman." 
 Play is the finest test of good breeding. When a man curses 
 his luck; curses his neighbour for bringing him bad luck; 
 bangs the table with his fist ; and calls upon all the Gods to 
 smite him dead, I say to myself, "That is a city spark." 
 
 'I fear I am a city spark/ 
 
 'When I see two sitting together at a table quiet and alone 
 I ask myself which is the sharper and which is the flat. By 
 watching them for a few minutes I can always find out 
 one of them always is the sharper, you see, and the other 
 always the flat. And if you watch them for a few minutes 
 you can always find out. Beware of this room, Will. Be 
 neither sharper nor flat/ 
 
io6 The Orange Girl 
 
 She turned and went off to see some other room. 
 
 Looking out at the back I saw that the garden had been 
 hung with coloured lamps, and looked gay and bright. It 
 was a warm fine evening : there would be many who would 
 choose the garden for a promenade. Other rooms there 
 were: the Blue Room: the Star Room: the Red Room: the 
 Chinese Room: I know not what, nor for what they were 
 all used. 
 
 But the time approached. I climbed up the steep stairs 
 and took my place in the music gallery, where already most 
 of the orchestra were assembled : like them I tuned my vio- 
 lin, and then waited the arrival of the Company. 
 
 They came by tickets which included supper. Each ticket 
 cost five guineas, and admitted one gentleman or two ladies 
 including supper. It seems a monstrous price for a single 
 evening; but the cost of the entertainment was enormous. 
 The ticket itself was a beautiful thing representing Venus 
 with Cupids. They were gazing with interest upon a 
 Nymph lying beside a fountain. She had, as yet, nothing 
 upon her, and she was apparently engaged in thinking what 
 she would wear for the evening. A pretty thing, prettily 
 drawn. But five guineas for a single evening! 
 
 As soon as the doors were thrown open, a line of footmen 
 received the company, took their tickets and showed them 
 into the tea-room where that refreshment was offered before 
 the ball commenced. When this room was full, the doors 
 leading to the ball-rooms and the other rooms were also 
 thrown open, and the company streamed along the great 
 gallery which was lined with flowering shrubs. Here was 
 stationed a small string band playing soft and pleasing 
 music. Then they crowded up the Grand stair-case. When 
 most of the masqueraders were within the Ball-room, and 
 before they had done looking about them and crying out for 
 astonishment at the mirrors and the candelabra and the 
 lights, we struck up the music in the gallery, and as soon 
 as order was a little restored, the minuets began. 
 
 For my own part I love to look upon dancing. The coun- 
 try-dance expresses the happiness of youth and the gladness 
 of life. The hey and jig are rustic joys which cannot keep 
 still, but must needs jump about to show their pleasure. 
 But the minuet expresses the refinement, the courtesies, the 
 politeness of life. It is artificial, but the politeness of Fash- 
 ion in the Civilized world must be acknowledged to be an 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 07 
 
 improvement on mere Nature, which is too often barbarous 
 in its expression and coarse in its treatment. I know not 
 any of our music which could be played to such a dance of 
 savages as the Guinea Traders report from the West Coast 
 and the Bight of Benin. 
 
 The company flowed in fast. All, except a few who kept 
 about the doors and did not venture in the crowd, were in 
 masquerade dress, and even those who were not carried 
 dominoes in their hands. One would have thought the 
 whole world had sent representatives to the ball. There 
 were pig-tailed Chinese; Dervishes in turbans; American 
 Indians with tomahawks; Arabs in long silken robes; ne- 
 groes and negresses ; proud Castilians ; Scots in plaid ; 
 Monks and Romish Priests; Nuns and Sisters; milkmaids 
 in dowlass; ploughboys in smocks; lawyers; soldiers and 
 sailors : there were gods and goddesses ; Venus came clad 
 much like her figure in the books ; Diana carried her bow ; 
 the Graces endeavoured to appear as they are commonlv 
 represented : Apollo came with his lyre ; Mars with his 
 shield and spear: Vulcan with his lame leg: Hercules with 
 his club. There were dozens of Cupids : there were dozens 
 of Queens ; Cleopatra ; Dido ; Mary, Queen of Scots : and 
 Queen Elizabeth. There were famous kings as Henry the 
 Fifth; Henry the Eighth: Charles the First; and Charles 
 the Second. There were potentates, as the Pope, the Sul- 
 tan, the Grand Cham, Prester John, and the Emperor of 
 China: there were famous women, mostly kings' favourites, 
 as the Fair-Haired Editha: Fair Rosamund: Jane Shore, 
 the most beautiful of London maidens: and merry Nell 
 Gwynne, once an Orange Girl: there were half a dozen la- 
 dies representing Joan of Arc in armour : there was a bear- 
 ward leading a man dressed as a bear who made as if he 
 would hug the women (at which they screamed in pre- 
 tended affright) and danced to the music of a crowd: there 
 were gipsies and fortune-tellers: there were two girls no- 
 body knew who they were one of whom danced on a tight- 
 rope, while the other turned somersaults. There were Har- 
 lequin, Columbine, Pantaloon and clown, as if straight from 
 Drury Lane: there was the showman who put his show in 
 a corner and loudly proclaimed the wonders that were 
 within: there was the Cheap Jack in another corner, who 
 pretended to sell everything: there was the itinerant Quack 
 who bawled his nostrums for prolonging life and restoring 
 
io8 The Orange Girl 
 
 youth and arresting beauty: there was the orange girl, of 
 Drury Lane, impudent and ready with an answer and a 
 joke to anything: there were dancing-girls who- ran in and 
 out, cleared a space ; danced : then ran to another place and 
 danced again. I learned, afterwards, that the dancers and 
 tumblers, with many of the masks, were actors, actresses, 
 and dancing-girls, hired from the Theatre by Madame her- 
 self, in order to ensure vivacity and activity and movement 
 in the evening. If these things were neglected or left to 
 the masquers themselves, the assembly would fall quite flat, 
 very few persons having the least power to play any part or 
 keep up any character. Punchinello, for instance, trod the 
 floor with a face like a physician for solemnity: the clown 
 could not dance or laugh or make other people laugh : and so 
 with the women : they thought their part was played as soon 
 as they were dressed. 
 
 Meantime, the music played on without stopping. After 
 the minuets, we proceeded to the country dance. But you 
 must not think that at the Masquerade we conducted our 
 dancing with the same order and form as an ordinary as- 
 sembly. I looked down upon a scene which was quite un- 
 like the ordinary assembly, and yet was the most beautiful, 
 the most animated, the most entrancing that I had ever wit- 
 nessed. The room was like a flower-bed in July filled with 
 flowers of every colour. It was enough, at first, to look at 
 the whole company, as one might look upon a garden filled 
 with flowers. Presently I began to detach couples or small 
 groups. First, I observed the fair domino who lured on 
 the amorous youth dressed, perhaps, as a monk by run- 
 ning aw r ay and yet looking back a Parthian Amazon of 
 Love. She must be young, he thought, with such a 
 sprightly air and so easy a step : she must be beautiful, with 
 such a figure, to match her face : she must be rich, with such 
 a habit with those gold chains and bracelets and pearls. 
 Presently the young fellow caught his goddess: he spoke 
 to her and he led her to a seat among the plants where they 
 could sit a little retired and apart. But from the gal- 
 lery I could see them. He took her hand: he pressed 
 her, saying I know not what: presently she took off 
 her domino: arid disclosed loveliness: the youth fell into 
 raptures: she held him off: she put on her domino again: 
 she rose: he begged for a little more discourse it was a 
 pretty pantomime she refused: she went back to the gen- 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 109 
 
 eral company: they remained together all the night: when 
 they went away in the morning he led her out whispering, 
 and one hopes that this was the beginning of a happy match. 
 The removal of the domino to let the gentleman see the 
 masked face was, I observed, very common, yet it was not 
 always that the little comedy ended, as they say, happily. 
 Sometimes the lady, after showing her face, would run away 
 and exchange a kerchief, or a mantle, with a friend so as 
 to mystify and bewilder her pursuer who could not tell what 
 had become of his lovely partner. 
 
 Such were the little comedies performed before the eyes 
 of the spectators from the music gallery. As for the rest, 
 the mountebanks pranced, and the dancing-girls and the 
 tumbling-girls capered, and they all laughed and sang and 
 gave themselves wholly to the mirth and merriment of the 
 moment. 
 
 Some of the men I observed were drunk when they ar- 
 rived : others pretended to be drunk in order that they might 
 roll about and catch hold of the girls. It has always been 
 to me a marvel that women do not mark their displeasure, 
 at the intrusion upon their pleasures, of men who are drunk. 
 They mar all the enjoyment of society whether at the the- 
 atre, or at such assemblies as this, or in the drawing-room. 
 Ladies of fashion have it in their power to put an end to 
 the habit at a stroke of the pen, so to speak : namely, by for- 
 bidding the presence at their assemblies of gentlemen in 
 liquor: they should be refused admission however great 
 their position, even if their breast is ablaze with stars. 
 
 There were many stars present, and with them ladies 
 whose head-dresses were covered with diamonds. It was 
 rumoured that Madame retained in her service for these 
 occasions, a body of stout fellows on the watch for any at- 
 tempt upon the jewels. It was also rumoured that there 
 were R 1 P s present at the Masquerade : the young D 
 of Y k, for instance, it was said positively, was among 
 the company, but so disguised that none could recognise 
 him. Some of the ladies wore no dominoes ; but these per- 
 sons, I observed, did not leave their partners and took no 
 share in the merriment. Indeed, they seemed, for the most 
 part, not to laugh at the fun : I suppose they found it some- 
 what low and vulgar. In our gallery they were well known. 
 'That is the Duchess of Q with the rubies : the lady with 
 the diamond spray in her hair is Lady H : the lady with 
 
no The Orange Girl 
 
 the strings of pearls round her neck and arms is the Lady 
 Florence D / and so forth with scandalous stories and 
 gossip which belonged, I thought, more to the footmen in the 
 "hall than to the music gallery. We had no such talk at the 
 Dog and Duck. l D erhaps, however, the reason for our reti- 
 cence in that favourite retreat and rendezvous of the aris- 
 tocracy was that there were no women at the Dog and Duck 
 whose lives were not scandalous. The stories, therefore, 
 would become monotonous. 
 
 At one, a procession was formed for supper. There was 
 no order or rank observed because there were plenty of 
 persons who masqueraded as noblemen, and it would take 
 too long to examine into their claims. The small band of 
 stringed instruments, of which I have spoken, headed the 
 procession, played the company into the supper-room, and 
 played while they were taking supper. There was not 
 room for more than half in the supper-room : the rest waited 
 their turn. 
 
 'It is a rest for us,' said the First violin, 'we shall get 
 some supper downstairs. Eat and drink plenty, for what 
 we have done already is a flea-bite compared with what we 
 have to do/ 
 
 It was, indeed. They came back, their cheeks flushed, 
 their eyes bright with wine. Some of them too tipsy to stand, 
 rolled upon the rout seats, and so fell fast asleep. 
 
 I observed that the great ladies and the gentlemen with 
 them did not return after supper: their absence removed 
 some restraint : and the gentlemen who had arrived without 
 a masquerade dress did not come back after supper. The 
 company was thinner, but it was much louder: there was 
 no longer any pretence of keeping up a character: the 
 Quack left off bawling his wares: the showman deserted 
 his show: the fortune-tellers left their tents: the Hermit 
 left his cell: the dancing and tumbling girls joined in the 
 general throng: there were many sets formed but little reg- 
 ular dancing: all were broken up by rushes of young men 
 more than half drunk : they caught the girls and kissed them 
 nothing loth, though they shrieked: it was a proof that 
 the gentlewomen had all gone, that no one resented this 
 rudeness either a partner or the girl herself : the scene be- 
 came an orgy: all together were romping, touzling, laugh- 
 ing, shrieking, and quarrelling. 
 
 Still the music kept up: still we played with unflinching 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 1 1 
 
 arm and all the spirit which can be put into them, the most 
 stirring dance tunes. At last they left off trying to dance: 
 some of the women lay back on the rout seats partly with 
 liquor overcome and partly with fatigue : men were sprawl- 
 ing unable to get up : bottles of wine were brought up from 
 the supper-room and handed round. The men grew every 
 minute noisier : the women shrieked louder and more shrilly 
 perhaps with cause. And every minute some slipped 
 away and the crowd grew thinner, till there were left little 
 more than a heap of drunken men and weary women. 
 
 At last word came up that it was five .o'clock, the time 
 for closing. 
 
 The conductor laid down his violin : the night's work was 
 over : we would go. 
 
 The people below clamoured for more music, but in vain. 
 Then they, too, began to stream out noisily. 
 
 As I passed the supper-room I saw that half a dozen 
 young fellows had got in and were noisily clamouring for 
 champagne. The waiters who were clearing the supper 
 took no notice. Then one of them with a bludgeon set to 
 work and began to smash plates, glasses, dishes, bottles, 
 windows, in a kind of a frenzy of madness or mischief. 
 Half a dozen stout fellows rushed at him: carried him out 
 of the supper-room and so into the Square outside. It was 
 a fitting end for the Masquerade. 
 
 While I was looking on, I was touched on the arm by a 
 mask. I knew her by her white satin dress for Madame. 
 
 I had seen her from time to time flitting about the room, 
 sometimes with a partner, sometimes alone. She was con- 
 versing one moment with a gentleman whose star betokened 
 his rank, and the next with one of her paid actors or ac- 
 tresses, directing the sports. I had seen her dancing two 
 minuets in succession each with a grace and dignity which 
 no other woman in the room could equal. 
 
 'A noisy end, Will, is it not? We always finish this 
 way. The young fellow who smashed the glass is Lord St. 
 Osyth. To-morrow morning he will have to pay the bill. 
 'Tis a good-natured fool. See: they are carrying out the 
 last of the drunken hogs. Faugh ! How drunk they are !' 
 
 'I have watched you all the evening, Madame. Believe 
 me, there were none of the ladies who approached you in 
 the minuet.' 
 
 'Naturally, Will. For I have danced it on the stage, where 
 
1 1 2 The Orange Girl 
 
 we can at least surpass the minuet of the Assembly. What 
 do they understand of action and carriage, and how to 
 bear the body and how to use the arms and how to handle 
 the fan ? But it was not to talk about my dancing Will 
 I said that perhaps I should be able to show you something 
 or to tell you something that might astonish you. Come 
 with me : but first I would not have you recognised, put on 
 this domino' there were a good many lying about 'So 
 Now follow me and prepare for the greatest surprise of your 
 whole life.' 
 
 In the hall there were still many waiting for their car- 
 riages and chairs. Outside, there was a crowd now closing 
 in upon the carriages, and now beaten back by Madame's 
 men who were armed with clubs and kept the pickpockets 
 and thieves at bay. And there was a good deal of bawling, 
 cursing, and noise. 
 
 Madame led the way into the card-room. Play had ap- 
 parently been going on all night: the candles on the table 
 were burning low: the players had nearly all gone: the 
 servants were taking the shillings from under the candle- 
 sticks: at the long table, two or three were still left: they 
 were not playing : they were settling up their accounts. 
 
 A young fellow got up as we came in. 'What's the good 
 of crying, Harry ?' he said, to his companion. Tve dropped 
 five hundred. Well better luck to-morrow/ 
 
 'Poor lad !' said Madame. 'That morrow will never come. 
 'Tis a pretty lad: I am sorry for him. He will end in a 
 Debtors' Prison or he will carry a musket in the ranks/ 
 
 They were settling, one by one, with the player who had 
 held the Bank for the evening. There were no disputes: 
 they had some system by means of which their loses or 
 gains were represented by counters. The business of the 
 conclusion was the paying or receiving of money as shown 
 by their counters which were accepted as money. For in- 
 stance, if a person took so many counters he incurred so 
 much liability. But, I do not understand what were the 
 rules. The man who held the Bank was, I heard after- 
 wards, one of those who live by keeping the Bank against all 
 comers. He was an elderly man of fine manners, extremely 
 courtly in his behaviour and his dress. One by one he re- 
 ceived the players, of whom there were a dozen or so, and 
 examined their liabilities or their claims. There was left 
 but one of the players, a man whose back was turned to me. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 1 3 
 
 'Sir/ he said politely, 'I am grieved indeed to keep a gen- 
 tleman waiting so long. Let me now release you. I hope, 
 Sir, that the balance will prove in your favour. It pleases 
 me, believe me, that a gentleman should leave my table the 
 winner. So, Sir, thank you. I perceive, Sir, that your 
 good fortune has deserted you for this evening. I trust it is 
 but a temporary cloud. After all it is a trifle a bagatelle 
 a mere matter of one hundred and fifty-five guineas one 
 hundred and fifty-five. Your Honour is not, perhaps, good 
 at figures, but, should you choose to verify ' 
 
 The other man whose back and shoulders were still the 
 only part of him presented to my view, snatched the paper 
 and looked at it and threw it on the table. 
 
 'It is right, Sir?' 
 
 'I suppose it is right. The luck was against me, as usual ; 
 the luck never is for me/ 
 
 I knew the voice and started. 
 
 Madame whispered in my ear softly. 'The greatest sur- 
 prise of your life/ 
 
 'One hundred and fifty-five guineas/ said the gentleman 
 who kept the Bank. 'If you are not able to discharge the 
 liability to-night, Sir, I shall be pleased to wait upon you to- 
 morrow/ 
 
 'No! No! I can pay my way still pay my way/ He 
 pulled out a long purse filled with guineas. 
 
 'Your luck will certainly turn, Sir, before long. Why 
 I have seen instances ' 
 
 'Damn it, Sir, leave me and my affairs alone. My luck 
 never will turn. Don't I know my own affairs ?' 
 
 The voice could be none other than my cousin Matthew's. 
 I was startled. My head which had been filled with the 
 noise of the music and the excitement of the revelry be- 
 came clear at once and attentive and serious. My cousin 
 Matthew. Impossible not to know that voice! 
 
 He poured out the guineas on the table and began to 
 count them, dividing them into heaps of ten. Then he 
 counted them over again, very slowly, and, at last, with 
 greatest reluctance passed them over to the other player, who 
 in his turn counted them over, taking up the pieces and bit- 
 ing them in order to see if they were good. 
 
 'I thank you, Sir/ he said, gravely. 'I trust that on a fu- 
 ture occasion ' 
 
 Matthew waved his hand impatiently. The other turned 
 
114 The Orange Girl 
 
 and walked down the room. The candles were mostly out 
 by this time; only two or three were left on the point of 
 expiring: the room was in a kind of twilight. Matthew 
 turned his head it zvas my cousin: he seemed not to see 
 us: he sank into a chair and laid his head in his hands 
 groaning. 
 
 No one was left in the room except Madame, Matthew 
 and myself. 
 
 Madame stepped forward : the table was between her and 
 my cousin. As for me I kept in the background watching 
 and listening. What might this thing mean? Matthew, 
 the sober, upright, religious London citizen! Matthew the 
 worthy descendant of the great Puritan preacher! Mat- 
 thew the denouncer of wicked musicians! Matthew the 
 scourge of frivolity and vice! Matthew, my supplanter! 
 Matthew in a gaming room! Matthew playing all night 
 long and losing a hundred and fifty-five guineas in a single 
 night ! What was one to believe next ? 
 
 Jenny bent over the table : she still kept on her domino. 
 
 'Mr. Matthew Halliday,' she said. 
 
 He lifted his head, stupidly. 
 
 'I congratulate you, Mr. Matthew Halliday/ she went on. 
 'You have passed a most pleasant and profitable evening. 
 A hundred and fifty-five guineas ! It is nothing, of course, 
 to a rich merchant 'like yourself/ 
 
 'Who are you?' he asked. 'What concern is it of yours?' 
 
 'I am one who knows you. One who knows you already, 
 and too well/ 
 
 He stood up. 'I am going, Mistress/ he said 'unless 
 you have something else to say/ 
 
 'Mr. Halliday you lost two hundred guineas last night, 
 and on Sunday you lost four hundred/ 
 
 'Zounds, Miss or Mistress/ how do you know ?' 
 
 'I know because I am told. You are a very rich man, Mr. 
 Halliday, are you not? You must be to lose so much every 
 night. You must be very rich indeed. You have whole 
 fleets of your own, and Quays and Warehouses filled with 
 goods and you inherited a great fortune only two years 
 ago/ 
 
 He sank back in a chair and gazed stupidly upon her. 
 
 'How speeds your noble trade? How fares it with your 
 fleets ? How much is left of your great fortune ?' 
 
 He growled, but made no reply. Curiosity and wonder 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 115 
 
 seized him and held him. Besides, what reply could he 
 make? 
 
 'Who are you ?' he asked. 
 
 'I will tell you, perhaps. How do you stand with Mr. 
 Probus?' 
 
 He sprang to his feet again. 'This is too much. How 
 dare you speak of my private affairs? What do you know 
 about Mr. Probus?' 
 
 'How long is it, Mr. Halliday, since you agreed with 
 Mr. Probus that your cousin should be locked up in a 
 Debtors' Prison there to remain till he died, or sold his 
 birthright ?' 
 
 He answered with a kind of roar, as if he had no words 
 left. He stood before her the table between half in ter- 
 ror half in rage. Who was this woman ? Besides, he was 
 already very nearly beside himself over the long continu- 
 ance of his bad luck. 
 
 'Who are you?' he asked again. 'What do you know 
 about my cousin?' 
 
 'I will tell you, directly, who I am. About your cousin, 
 Matthew, I warn you solemnly. The next attempt you 
 make upon his life and liberty will bring upon your head 
 yours not to speak of the others the greatest disaster that 
 you can imagine, or can dread. The greatest disaster,' she 
 repeated solemnly, 'that you can imagine or can dread.' She 
 looked like a Prophetess, standing before him with hand 
 raised and with solemn voice. 
 
 'This is fooling. What do you know? Who are you?' 
 
 'I cannot tell what kind of disaster it will be the greatest 
 the worst possible it will be. Be warned. Keep Mr. 
 Probus at arm's length or he will ruin you he will ruin you, 
 unless he has ruined you already.' 
 
 'You cannot frighten me with bugaboo stories. If you will 
 not tell me who you are. I shall go.' 
 
 She tore off her glove. 'Does this hand,' she said, 'remind 
 you of nothing?' 
 
 On the third finger of the white hand was a wedding-ring 
 which I had never seen there before. 
 
 He stared at the hand. Perhaps he suspected. I think 
 he did. No one who had once seen that hand could possibly 
 forget it. 
 
 She tore off her domino. 'You have doubtless forgotten, 
 Matthew, by this time, the face of your wife.' 
 
Ii6 The Orange Girl 
 
 He cursed her. He stood up and cursed her in round 
 terms. I don't know why. He accused her of nothing. 
 But he cursed her. She was the origin and cause of his 
 bad luck. 
 
 I would have interfered. 'Let be let be/ she said. 'The 
 time will surely come when the ruin which I have foretold 
 will fall upon him. Let us wait till then. That will be 
 sufficient punishment for him. I see it coming I know not 
 when. I see it coming. Let him curse/ 
 
 He desisted. He ran out of the room without an'other 
 word. 
 
 She looked after him with a deep sigh. 
 
 'I told you, Will, that I had a surprise for you the 
 greatest surprise of your life. I will tell you more to-mor- 
 row if you will come in the afternoon. You shall hear more 
 about Matthew, my husband Matthew. Get you gone now 
 and home to bed with all the speed you may. Good-night, 
 cousin Will cousin Will.' 
 
 I left her as I was bidden. I walked home through the 
 deserted streets of early morning. My brain was burning 
 Matthew the gambler! Matthew the husband of Jenny! 
 Matthew the gambler. Why everything shouted the word 
 as I passed: the narrow streets of Soho: the water lapping 
 the arches of Westminster Bridge: the keen air blowing 
 over the Bank; all shouted the words 'Matthew the gam- 
 bler! Matthew the husband of Jenny! Matthew the gam- 
 bler!' And when I lay down to sleep the words that rang 
 in my ear were 'Matthew my husband Cousin Will! 
 Cousin Will!' 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WHO SHE WAS 
 
 'You now know, Will,' said Jenny, when I called next day, 
 'why I have been interested in you, since I first saw you. 
 Not on account of your good looks, Sir, though I confess 
 you are a very pretty fellow : nor on account of your play- 
 ing, which is spirited and true ; but because you are my first 
 cousin by marriage.' 
 
 She received me, sitting in the small room on the left of 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 117 
 
 the Hall. The great house was quite empty, save for the 
 servants, who were always clearing away the remains of 
 one fete and arranging for another. Their footsteps re- 
 sounded in the vacant corridors and their voices echoed in 
 the vacant chambers. 
 
 'Jenny, I have been able to think of nothing else. I 
 could not sleep for thinking of it. I am more and more 
 amazed/ 
 
 'I knew you would be. Well, Will, I wanted to have a 
 long talk with you. I have a great deal to say. First, I 
 shall give you some tea believe me, it is far better for clear- 
 ing the head after a night such as last night, than Madeira. 
 I have a great deal to tell you I fear you will despise me 
 but I will hide nothing. I am resolved to hide nothing from 
 you/ 
 
 Meantime the words kept ringing in my ears. 'Matthew 
 a gambler ! The religious Matthew ! To whom music was 
 a snare of the Devil and the musician a servant of the 
 Devil! The steady Matthew! The irreproachable Mat- 
 thew !' 
 
 Yet, since I had always known him to be a violator of 
 truth ; a slanderer and a backbiter, why not, also, a gambler ? 
 Why not also a murderer a forger anything? I was to 
 find out before long that he was quite ready to become the 
 former of these also, upon temptation. Yet the thing was 
 wonderful, even after I had actually seen it and proved it. 
 And again, Matthew married! Not to a sober and godly 
 citizen's daughter, but to an actress of Drury Lane Theatre ! 
 Matthew, to whom the theatre was as the mouth of the Bot- 
 tomless Pit! Who could believe such a thing? 
 
 As for what follows, Jenny did not tell me the whole in 
 this one afternoon. I have put together, as if it was all one 
 conversation, what took several days or perhaps several 
 weeks. 
 
 'You think it so wonderful, Will/ Jenny said, reading 
 my thoughts in my face. 'For my own part it is never 
 wonderful that a man should gamble, or drink, or throw 
 himself away upon an unworthy mistress. Every man may 
 go mad : it is part of man's nature : women, never, save for 
 love and jealousy and the like. Men are so made: madness 
 seizes them: down they go to ruin and the grave. It is 
 Strong drink with some : and avarice with some : and gaming 
 
n8 The Orange Girl 
 
 with some. Your cousin Matthew is as mad as an Abram 
 man.' 
 
 She was silent for a while. Then she went on again. I 
 have written it down much as if all that follows was a single 
 speech. It was broken up by my interruptions and by her 
 pauses and movements. For she was too quick and restless 
 to sit down while she was speaking. She would spring from 
 her chair and walk about the room ; 'she would stand at the 
 window, and drum at the panes of glass: she would stand 
 over the fireplace ; she would look in the round mirror hang- 
 ing on the wall. She had a thousand restless ways. Some- 
 times she stood behind me and laid a hand on my shoulder 
 as if she was ashamed for me to look upon her. 
 
 It was a wonderful tale she told me : more wonderful that 
 a woman who had gone through that companionship should 
 come out of it, filled through and through, like a sponge, 
 with the knowledge of wickedness and found in childhood 
 with those who practise wickedness, yet should be herself 
 so free from all apparent stain or taint of it. Surely, unless 
 the face, the eyes, the voice, the language, the thoughts, can 
 all lie together, this woman was one of the purest and most 
 innocent of Heaven's creatures. 
 
 It is not always the knowledge of evil that makes a woman 
 wicked. Else, if you think of it, there would be no good 
 woman at all among us. Consider : it is only a question of 
 degree. A child born in the Mint ; or in Fullwood's Rents ; 
 or in St. Giles's: or in Turnmill Street learns, one would 
 think, everything that is vile. But children do not always 
 inquire into the meaning of what they hear : most things that 
 they see or hear may pass off them like water from a duck's 
 back. Their best safe-guard is their want of curiosity. Be- 
 sides, it is not only in St. Giles's that children hear things 
 that are kept from them : in the respectable part of the city, 
 in Cheapside itself, they can hear the low language and the 
 vile sayings and the blasphemous oaths of the common sort. 
 Children are absorbed by their own pursuits and thoughts. 
 The grown-up world : the working world, does not belong to 
 them; they see and see not; they hear and hear not; they 
 cannot choose, but see and hear: yet they inquire not into 
 the meaning. 
 
 'Will/ she said, 'I would I had never heard your name. 
 It has been an unlucky name to me and perhaps it will be 
 more unlucky still.' I know not if she was here foretelling 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 1 9 
 
 what certainly happened, afterwards. 'Your cousin, Mat- 
 thew, is no common player, who carries a few guineas in his 
 pocket and watches them depart with a certain interest and 
 even anxiety and then goes away. This man is a fierce, 
 thirsty, insatiable gambler. There is a play called The 
 Gamester' in which the hero is such an one. He plays like 
 this hero with a thirst that cannot be assuaged. He plays 
 every night: he has, I believe, already ruined himself: yet 
 he cannot stop: he would play away the whole world and 
 then would stake his soul, unless he had first sold his soul 
 for money to play with. Soul ? If he has any soul but I 
 know not/ 
 
 'You amaze me, Jenny. Indeed, I am overwhelmed with 
 amazement. I cannot get the words out of my head, "Mat- 
 thew a gambler ! Matthew a gambler !" ; 
 
 'Yes Matthew a gambler. He has been a gambler in a 
 small way for many years. When he got possession of your 
 father's money and the management of that House, he be- 
 came a gambler in a large way. I say that I believe he is 
 already well-nigh ruined. You have seen him on one night, 
 Will ; he is at the same game every night. I have had him 
 watched I know. His luck is such as the luck of men like 
 that always is against him continually. He never wins : or 
 if ever, then only small sums as will serve to encourage him. 
 There is no evening in the week, not even Sunday, when he 
 does not play. I have reason to know I will tell you why, 
 presently that he has already lost a great fortune.' 
 
 The fortune that my father left to him. It should have 
 been mine.' 
 
 Then, my poor Will, it never will be yours. For it is 
 gone. I learned, six months ago, that his business is im- 
 paired: the credit of the House is shaken. Worse than 
 this, Will' she laid her hand on my arm 'he had then, 
 already, borrowed large sums of Mr. Probus, and as he 
 could not pay he was borrowing more. There is the danger 
 for you!' 
 
 'What danger?' 
 
 'You musicians live in the clouds. Why does Matthew 
 continue to borrow money? He pretends that he wants to 
 put it into the business. Really, he gambles with it. Why 
 does Probus continue to lend him money ? Probus does not 
 suspect the truth. In the hope that he will presently have 
 such a hold over Matthew that he will get possession of the 
 
1 20 The Orange Girl 
 
 business, become a partner and turn out Matthew and your 
 uncle. It looks splendid. All these ships: the wharf cov- 
 ered with goods: but the ships are mortgaged and their 
 cargoes are mortgaged: and the interest on Probus's loans 
 can only be paid by borrowing more. In a very short time, 
 Will, the bubble will burst. The situation is already dan- 
 gerous ; it will then become full of peril.' 
 
 'Why dangerous to me? I have borrowed no money/ 
 
 'You are a very simple person, Will. They put you into 
 the King's Bench. Yet you don't understand. I do. Mat- 
 thew wanted to borrow money on the security of that suc- 
 cession. Probus would 'have lent him money on that 
 security. Probus would have had another finger in the pie. 
 He did not know, then, what he will very soon find out, that 
 all the money he has already advanced to his rich client is 
 lost. Then it was a mere temptation to Matthew to put you 
 under pressure : now it will become a necessity to make you 
 submit: a necessity for both, and they are a pair of equal 
 villains/ 
 
 'Last night you warned Matthew. Jenny, your words 
 seemed to be no common warning. You know something 
 or you would not have pronounced that solemn warning/ 
 
 'Every woman is a prophetess,' she replied, gravely. 'Oh! 
 I can sometimes foretell things. Not always: not when I 
 wish : not as I wish. The prophecy comes to me. I know 
 not how it comes : and I cannot expect it or wait for it. Last 
 night, suddenly, I saw a vision of villainy, I know not what. 
 It was directed against you and Alice and the villains 
 among them was Matthew were driven back with whips. 
 They fled howling. Will, this Vision makes me speak/ 
 
 This kin'd of talk was new to me : I confess it made me 
 uneasy. 
 
 'Well, you now know the truth. Your cousin has de- 
 famed and slandered you: without relenting and Without 
 ceasing. So long as it was possible to do you a mischief with 
 your father he did it : he has robbed you of your inheritance : 
 well : you can now, if you please, revenge yourself/ 
 
 'Revenge myself? How?' 
 
 'You will not only revenge yourself : you may make it im- 
 possible for your cousin to do you any further injury/ 
 
 'Does he wish to do me any further injury?' 
 
 'Will, I suppose that you are a fool because you are a 
 musician. Wish? A man like that who has injured you 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 121 
 
 as much as he could and as often as he could will go on : it 
 is the nature of such a man to injure others : his delight and 
 his nature: he craves for mischief almost as he craves for 
 gambling/ 
 
 'You are bitter against your husband, Jenny.' 
 
 'I am very bitter against him. I have reason/ 
 
 'But about the revenge. Of what kind is it ?' 
 
 'You may do this. His father, the Alderman, has with- 
 drawn from any active partnership in the business, which is 
 conducted entirely by Matthew. He passes now an idle life 
 beside Clapham Common, with his gardens and his green- 
 houses. Go to this poor gentleman : tell him the truth. Let 
 him learn that his son is a gambler: that he is wasting all 
 that is left to waste: that his losses have been very heavy 
 already: and that the end is certain bankruptcy. You can 
 tell your uncle that you saw yourself with your own eyes 
 Matthew losing a hundred and fifty-five guineas in the card- 
 room of a Masquerade : this will terrify him, though at first 
 he will ndt believe it: then he will cause the affairs of the 
 House to be examined, and he will find out, if accountants 
 are any use, how much has been already wasted. Mind, 
 Will, I invent nothing. All this I know. The House is 
 well-nigh ruined/ 
 
 'How do you know all this, Jenny?' 
 
 'Not by visions, certainly. I know it from information. 
 It is, I assure you, the bare truth. The House is already 
 well-nigh ruined/ 
 
 'I fear I cannot tell my uncle these things/ 
 
 'It would be a kindness to him in the end, Will. Let him 
 learn the truth before the worst happens/ 
 
 I shook my head. Revenge is not a pleasing task. To 
 go to my uncle with such a tale seemed a mean way of re- 
 turning Matthew's injuries. 
 
 'I do not counsel revenge, then/ she went on, again divin- 
 ing my thoughts. 'Call it your safety. When you have 
 alarmed your uncle into calling for an explanation, go and 
 see the man Probus/ 
 
 'See Probus? Why?' 
 
 'I would separate Probus from his client. Go and tell the 
 man go and tell him without reference to his past villainies 
 that his client Matthew is an incurable gambler, and that all 
 the money Probus has lent to him has been lost over the 
 gaming table/ 
 
122 The Orange Girl 
 
 Tell Probus?' The thought of speaking to Probus ex- 
 cept as to a viper was not pleasant. 
 
 'I have made inquiries about Probus.' She knew every- 
 thing, this woman ! 'He is of the tribe they call blood- 
 suckers : they fasten upon their victim, and they never let go 
 till such time as there is no more blood to suck. There is 
 some blood left. Probus will never think of you while he 
 is saving what he can of his own. Tell the money-lender 
 this, I say, and what with Probus on the one hand, maddened 
 by his loss, and his own father on the other, well-nigh terri- 
 fied to death, Matthew will have enough to do/ 
 
 'Would you like me to do this, Jenny?' 
 
 'I should like it done,' she replied, turning away her face. 
 
 'Would you like to do it yourself, Jenny ?' 
 
 'I am a woman. Women must not do violent things.' 
 
 'Jenny, there is more revenge than precaution in this.' 
 
 'There may be some revenge, but there is also a good 
 deal of prudence/ 
 
 'I cannot do it, Jenny/ 
 
 'Are you afraid, Will? To be sure, a musician is not a 
 sold so no Will, forgive me. You are not afraid. For- 
 give me/ 
 
 'I shall leave them to work out their destruction in their 
 own way, whatever way that may be/ 
 
 'But that way may be hurtful to you, my poor Will even 
 fatal to you/ 
 
 'I shall leave them alone: their punishment will surely 
 fall upon them, they will dig a trap to their own un- 
 doing/ 
 
 'Will, I have heard that kind of talk before. I have used 
 those words myself upon the stage/ She threw herself into 
 an attitude and declaimed with fire. 
 
 'Think not, Allora, that I dread their hate : 
 Nor hate, nor vile conspiracy shall turn me 
 Still on their own presumptuous heads shall fall 
 The lightning they invoke for mine ; for lower 
 Hangs yon black thunder cloud ; and even louder 
 I hear the rumbling of the angry earth. 
 Wait but a moment: then the flash shall shoot; 
 Then shall the thunder roar ; the earth shall gape ; 
 And where they stood there shall be nothingness/ 
 
 'That is your position, Will. For my own part, if I were 
 you, I should prefer safety, and I should not object to 
 revenge/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 123 
 
 'It is true, Jenny/ 
 
 'Perhaps. For my own part, I have known a monstrous 
 number of wicked people on whom no lightnings fell, and 
 for whom the earth did never gape. Nothing has happened 
 to them so long as they were gentlemen. With the baser 
 sort, of course, there is Tyburn, and I dare say that feels at 
 the end like the gaping of the earth and the flash of lightning 
 and the roar of the thunder, all together. Even with them 
 some escape/ 
 
 I would have quoted the Psalmist, but refrained, because 
 by this time I had made the singular discovery that Jenny 
 seemed to have no knowledge of religion at all. If one 
 spoke in the common way of man's dependence she looked 
 as if she understood nothing: or she said she had heard 
 words to that effect on the stage : if one spoke indirectly of 
 the Christian scheme she showed no response : had I men- 
 tioned the Psalmist she would have asked perhaps who the 
 Psalmist was, or where his pieces were played. She never 
 went to church: she never read any books except her 
 own parts. She was sharp and clever in the conduct of 
 affairs: she was not to be taken in by rogues: how could 
 such a woman, considering our mode of education and the 
 general acknowledgment of Christianity, even in an atheis- 
 tical age, that prevails in our books, escape some knowledge, 
 or tincture, of religion? 
 
 'Do not call it revenge,' she insisted. 'In your own safety 
 you should strike : and 'without delay. I repeat it : I can- 
 not put it too strongly before you. There is a great danger 
 threatening. When Probus finds that the money is really 
 gone, he will become desperate : he will stick at nothing.' 
 
 'Since he knows, now, that nothing will persuade me to 
 sell that chance of succession, he will perhaps desist.' 
 
 'He will never desist. If you were dead! The thought 
 lies in both their minds. If you were dead! Then that 
 money would be Matthew's.' 
 
 'Do you think Mr. Probus will murder me ?' 
 
 'Not with his own hands. Still do you think, Will, 
 that when two villains are continually brooding over the 
 same thought, villainy will not follow? If I were you I 
 would take this tale to the Alderman first, and to Probus 
 next, and I should then keep out of the way for six months 
 at least/ 
 
 'No/ I said. 'They shall be left to themselves/ 
 
124 The Orange Girl 
 
 Perhaps I was wrong. Had I told my uncle all, the 
 bankruptcy would have been precipitated and Probus's claim 
 would have been treated with all the others, and even if that 
 large sum had fallen it would have been added to the general 
 estate and divided accordingly. 
 
 It was in the afternoon : the sun was sinking westward : it 
 shone through the window upon Jenny as she restlessly 
 moved about the room disquieted by all she had to tell me. 
 I remember how she was dressed: in a frock of light blue 
 silk, with a petticoat to match : her hair hung in its natural 
 curls, covered with a kerchief the soft evening sunlight 
 wrapped her in a blaze of light and colour. And oh! the 
 pity of it! To think that this divine creature was thrown 
 away upon my wretched cousin ! The pity of it ! 
 
 'Tell me, Jenny/ I said, 'how you became his wife?' 
 
 'Yes, Will, I will tell you/ she replied humbly. 'Don't 
 think that I ever loved him nor could I endure his caresses 
 but he never offered any the only man who never wanted 
 to caress me was my husband to be sure he did not love 
 me or anyone else he is incapable of love. He is a 
 worm. His hand is slimy and cold: his face is slimy: his 
 voice is slimy. But I thought I could live with him, per- 
 haps. If not, I could always leave him.' 
 
 She paused a little as if to collect herself. 
 
 'Every actress/ she went on, 'has troops of lovers. There 
 are the gentlemen first who would fain make her their mis- 
 tress for a month : those who would make her their mistress 
 for a year : and those who desire only the honour and glory 
 of pretending that she is their mistress : and then there are 
 the men 'who would like nothing better than to marry the 
 actress and to live upon her salary believe me, of all these 
 there are plenty. Lastly, there is the gentleman Who would 
 really marry the actress, all for love of her, and for no other 
 consideration. I thought, at first, that your cousin Matthew- 
 was one of these/ 
 
 'How did you know him?' 
 
 'He was brought into the Green Room one night 'by some 
 gambling acquaintance. I remarked his long serious face, I 
 thought he was a man who might be trusted. He asked per- 
 mission to wait upon me ' 
 
 'Well ?' For she stopped. 
 
 'I thought, I say, that he was a man to be trusted. He 
 did not look like one who drank: he did not follow other 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 125 
 
 actresses about with his eyes: I say, Will, that I thought 
 I could trust him. He came to my lodging. He told me 
 that he was a rich City merchant : he asked me what I should 
 like if I would marry him and he promised to give it to me 
 that and anything else ' 
 
 'If you did not love him Jenny ' 
 
 'I did not love him. I will tell you. I wanted to get 
 away from the man I did love; and so I wanted, above all, 
 to be taken away from London and the Theatre into the 
 country, never to hear anything more about the stage. Had 
 he done what he promised, Will, I would have made a good 
 wife to him, although he is a slimy worm. But he did not. 
 He broke his word on the very morning when we came out 
 of church ' 
 
 'How?' 
 
 'He began by saying that he had a little explanation to 
 offer. He said that When he told me he was a rich mer- 
 chant that, indeed, was his reputation : but his position was 
 embarrassed: he wanted money: he wished not to borrow 
 any: he therefore thought that if he married an actress 
 that class of persons being notorious for having no honour > 
 his very words to me, actually, his very words an hour after 
 leaving the church he intended to open a gaming-house at 
 which I was to be the decoy. Now you understand why I 
 call him a villain, and a wretch, and a slimy worm.' 
 
 'Jenny!' 
 
 'I left him on the spot after telling him what he was 
 I left 'him I left the Theatre as well. I had a friend who 
 found me the money to take this place under another name. 
 I have seen the man many times here last night and once 
 I called upon him and I made him give me the money to get 
 you out of the Prison, Will.' 
 
 'Matthew found that money?' 
 
 'Of course, he did. I had none I went to him and re- 
 minded him that he had contributed nothing to the mainten- 
 ance of his wife, and that he must give me whatever the sum 
 was. He was obliged to give it, otherwise I should have 
 informed the clerks of the Counting-house who I was.' 
 
 I laughed. 'Well, but Jenny, there was another man ' 
 
 'You are persistent, Sir. Why should I tell you? Well, 
 I will confess. This man protested a great deal less than 
 the others. He was a noble Lord, if that matters. He was 
 quite different from all the rest : he never came to the Green 
 
1 26 The Orange Girl 
 
 Room drunk: he never cursed and swore: he never shook 
 his cane in the face of footman or chairman : he was a gentle 
 creature and he loved me and would have married me : well 
 I told him who and what I was I will tell you presently 
 that mattered nothing. He would carry me away from 
 them all. I would have married him, Will : and we should 
 have been happy : but his sister came to see me and she went 
 on her knees crying and imploring me to refuse him because 
 in the history of their family there 'had never been any such 
 alliance as that with an actress of no family. Would I bring 
 disgrace into a noble family ? If I refused, he would forget 
 me, and she would do all in her power for me, if ever I 
 wanted a friend. It was for his sake if I loved him I 
 would not injure him. And so she went on: and she per- 
 suaded me, Will because, you see, when people pride them- 
 selves about their families it is a pity to bring the gutter into 
 it with Newgate and Tyburn, isn't it ?' 
 
 'Jenny, what has Newgate got to do with it?' 
 
 'Wait and I will tell you. I gave way. It cost me a 
 great deal, Will more than you would believe because 
 I had never loved anyone before and when a woman does 
 
 love a man ' The tears rose in her eyes, 'and then it 
 
 was that your cousin came to the Theatre/ 
 
 Poor Jenny! And she always seemed so cheerful, so 
 lively, so happy ! Her face might have been drawn to illus- 
 trate Milton's 'L'Allegra/ How could she look so happy 
 when she had this unhappy love story and this unhappy mar- 
 riage to think upon ?' 
 
 'Will/ she cried passionately, 'I am the most unhappy wo- 
 man in the world/ 
 
 I made no reply. Indeed I knew not what there was to 
 say. Matthew was a villain: there can be few worse vil- 
 lains : Jenny was in truth a most injured and a most un- 
 happy woman. 
 
 It was growing twilight. What followed was told, or 
 most of it, because I have set down the result of two or 
 three conversations in one, by the light of the fire, in a low 
 voice, a low musical voice that seemed to rob the naked 
 truth of much of its horrors. 
 
 'I told my Lord, Will/ she said, 'what I am going to tell 
 you because I would not have him ignorant of anything, or 
 find out anything afterwards but there was no aftenvards 
 'which he might think I should have told him before. He 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 27 
 
 has a pretty gift of drawing: he makes pictures of things 
 and people 'with a pencil and a box of water-colours. I 
 made him take certain sketches for me. He did so, wonder- 
 ing what they might mean.' Here she rose, opened a drawer 
 in a cabinet and took out a little packet tied up with a ribbon. 
 'First I begged him to sketch me one of the little girls who 
 run about the streets in Soho. There are hundreds of them : 
 they are bare-footed: bare-headed: dressed in a sack, in a 
 flannel petticoat : in anything : they have no schooling : they 
 are not taught anything at all: their parents and their 
 brothers and sisters and their cousins and their grandparents 
 are all thieves and rogues together : what can they become ? 
 What hope is there for them? See/ she took one of the 
 pictures out and gave it to me. By the firelight I made out 
 a little girl standing in the street. In her carriage there was 
 something of the freedom of a gipsy in the woods : her hair 
 blew loose in the wind, her scanty petticoat clung to her 
 little figure : she was bare-legged, bare-footed, bare-headed. 
 'Can you see it, Will? Well when I had got all the pic- 
 tures together, I asked the artist to sit down, as I have asked 
 you to-day. And when 'he was sat down, I had the bundle 
 of pictures in my hand, and I said to him, "My Lord, this is 
 a very pretty sketch I like it all the better because it shows 
 what I was like at that age." "You, Jenny?" "Yes, my 
 Lord, I myself. That little girl is myself." "Well!" he 
 cried out on the impossibility of the thing. But I assured 
 him of the truth of what I said. Then I took up the next 
 picture. It represented the entrance of a court in Soho. 
 Round this entrance were gathered a collection of men and 
 women with the most evil faces possible. "These, my 
 Lord," I said, "are the people who were once my companions 
 when they and I were young together." "But not now ?" he 
 asked. "Not now," I told him, "save that they all remem- 
 ber ( me and consider me as one of themselves and come to 
 the Theatre in order to applaud me : the highwaymen going 
 to the pit; the petty thieves and pickpockets and footpads to 
 the gallery." Well, at first he looked serious. Then he 
 cleared up and kissed my hand : he loved me for myself, he 
 said, and as regards the highwaymen and such fellows, he 
 would very soon take me out of their way/ 
 
 'But, Jenny ' 
 
 'Will, I am telling you what I told his Lordship. Believe 
 trie, it 'does not cost me to tell you half as much as it did to 
 
128 The Orange Girl 
 
 tell that noble heart. For he loved me, Will, and I loved 
 him/ Again her eyes glistened by the red light of the fire. 
 
 She took up a third picture. It represented a public- 
 house. Over the door swung the sign of a Black Jack : the 
 first story projected over the ground-floor, and the second 
 story over the first: beside the public-house stood a tall 
 church. 
 
 This/ I told my Lord, 'is the Black Jack tavern. It is 
 the House of Call for most of the rogues and thieves of 
 Soho. The church is St. Giles's Church. As for my own 
 interest in the house, I was born there : my mother and 
 sister still keep the place between them : it is in good repute 
 among the gentry who frequent it for its kitchen, where 
 there is always a fire for those who cook their own suppers, 
 and for the drinks, which are excellent, if not dieap. What 
 is the use of keeping cheap things for thieves ? Lightly got, 
 lightly spent. There is nothing cheap at that House. My 
 mother enjoys a reputation for being a Receiver of Stolen 
 Goods a reputation well deserved, as I have reason to be- 
 lieve. The Goods are all stowed away in a stone vault or 
 cellar once belonging to some kind of house I know not 
 what/ 
 . I groaned. 
 
 "That is how my Lord behaved. Then he kissed my hand 
 again. "Jenny," he said, "it is not the landlady of the Black 
 Jack that I am marrying, but Jenny Wilmot." He asked me 
 to tell him more. Will you hear more ?' 
 
 'T will hear all you desire to tell me, Jenny/ 
 
 'Once I had a father. He was a gipsy, but since he had 
 fair hair and blue eyes, he was not a proper gipsy. I do 
 not know how he got into the caravan with the gipsies. 
 Perhaps he was stolen in infancy: or picked up on a door- 
 step. However, I do not remember him. My mother 
 speaks of him with pride, but I do not know why. By pro- 
 fession he was a footpad and and' she faltered for a mo- 
 ment f he met the fate that belongs to that calling. See!' 
 She showed me a drawing representing the Triumphal 
 March to Tyburn. 'My mother speaks of it as if it was the 
 fitting end of a noble career. I have never been quite able 
 to think so too, and Will, if I must confess, I would rather 
 that my father had not been ' 
 
 'Not formed the leading figure in that procession/ I inter- 
 posed. 'But go on, Jenny/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 129 
 
 She took up another picture and handed it to me. It was 
 a spirited sketch representing a small crowd ; a pump ; and a 
 boy held under the pump. 
 
 'I had two brothers. This was one. He was a pick- 
 pocket. What could be expected? He was caught in the 
 act and held under a pump. But they kept him so long that 
 it brought on a chill and he died. The other brother is now 
 in the Plantations of Jamaica/ 
 
 She produced another picture. It represented an Orange 
 Girl at Drury Lane. She carried her basket of oranges on 
 her arm : she had a white kerchief over her neck and shoul- 
 ders and another over her head : her face was full of im- 
 pudence, cleverness and wit. 
 
 'That, Will, is the first step upwards of your cousin's wife. 
 From the gutter to the pit of Drury Lane as an Orange girl. 
 There was a step for me ! Yes. I looked like that : I be- 
 haved like that : I was as shameless as that : I used to talk to 
 the men in the Pit as they talk you know the kind of talk. 
 And now, Will, confess : you are heartily ashamed of me/ 
 
 'Jenny !' Like the noble Lord, I kissed her fingers. 'Be- 
 lieve me, I am not in the least ashamed of you/ 
 
 'The next step was to the stage. That, Will, was pure 
 luck. The Manager heard me imitating the actors and 
 actresses and himself. He saw me dancing to please the 
 other girls I used to dance to please the people in the 
 Black Jack. He took a fancy in his head that I was clever. 
 He took me from among the other girls : he gave me instruc- 
 tion : and presently a speaking part. That is the whole his- 
 tory. I have told you all I never told these things to Mat- 
 thew why should I ? But to my Lord, I told all ' 
 
 'Yes and he was not ashamed/ 
 
 'No but he did not like the applause of the rogues, and 
 the orange girls. While the highwaymen applauded in the 
 pit and the pickpockets in the Gallery, the Orange Girls were 
 telling all the people that once I was one of them with my 
 basket of oranges like the rest and so it was agreed that 
 I was to leave the stage and go away into the country out of 
 the way of all the old set/ 
 
 'And then/ 
 
 'Then I could no longer oblige my Lord. I left it to 
 oblige myself and to marry Matthew/ 
 
 'She sat down and buried her face in her hands. 'But I 
 loved mv Lord/ she said. 'I loved my Lord/ 
 
130 The Orange Girl 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE BLACK JACK 
 
 JENNY finished her story, much as you have heard it, 
 though some has been forgotten. 
 
 'And now,' sfae said, 'I will take you to the very place 
 where I was born. You shall see for yourself the house, 
 and my mother and my sister and the company among whom 
 I was brought up. Wait for a moment while I change my 
 dress. I cannot go like this. And I do not want all of them 
 to learn where I now live/ 
 
 She returned in a few minutes dressed in the garb of an 
 orange girl of Drury. Everybody knows how these girls 
 are attired; a frock of the commonest linsey-woolsey; a 
 kerchief over her head tied under her chin : another kerchief 
 round her neck and bosom ; her sleeves coming down to her 
 elbows ; on her arm a round deep basket filled with oranges. 
 But no orange girl ever had so sweet a face ; so fine a car- 
 riage; hands and arms so -white. Nor could any disguise 
 deprive this lovely creature of her beauty or rob her face of 
 its pure and virginal expression. That such a being should 
 come out of the Black Jack! But then we find the white 
 lily growing beside a haystack or a pigsty and none the less 
 white and delicate and fragrant. 
 
 The tavern called the Black Jack stands over against the 
 west front of St. Giles's Church, at the corner of Denmark 
 Street, with a double entrance which has proved useful, I 
 believe, on the appearance of constables or Bow Street run- 
 ners. The Church which is large and handsome, worthy of 
 better parishioners, stands in the midst of a quarter famous 
 for harbouring, producing and encouraging the most auda- 
 cious rogues and the most impudent drabs that can be found 
 in the whole of London. As for the Church, of course they 
 never enter it : as for religion, they have never learned any : 
 as for morals, they know of none ; as for the laws, they defy 
 them; as for hanging, whipping and imprisonment, they 
 heed them no more than other folk heed the necessity of 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 131 
 
 death or the chances of pain and suffering, before death re- 
 leases them. 
 
 Every man must die, they say. Few people among them 
 live naturally more than forty years or so. Fever, small- 
 pox, ague, carry off most of their class before forty. If, 
 therefore, one takes part in the march to Tyburn at five-and- 
 thirty one does but lose two or three years of life. Then, 
 again, there is the punishment of the lash that seems very! 
 terrible. But every man, rich or poor, has to endure pain; 
 very often pain worse than that of the lash. Certainly, the 
 agony of the whip is not worse than that of rheumatism or 
 gout: it is sooner over: it makes no man any the older: it 
 does not unfit him for his work: after a day or two, he is 
 none the worse for it. As for imprisonment; a prison, if 
 your friends look after you, may be made, with the help of 
 a few companions, as cheerful a place as the kitchen of the 
 Black Jack with drinking and singing and tobacco. This 
 kind of talk is the religion of Roguedom, and since it is so, 
 we may cease to wonder why these people are not deterred 
 by the severity of their punishments. For no punishment 
 can deter when it is not feared : that is beyond question : and 
 since after punishment, the rogue is still regarded as a rogue, 
 whom no one will employ, punishment does not convert. 
 Nor does the prison chaplain effect any miracles in conver- 
 sion, because no one listen's to his exhortations. 
 
 Over against the church of St. Giles, the tavern of the 
 Black Jack lifts its shameless head: the projecting upper 
 windows bend threatening brows against the west end of the 
 Church with its pillars of white stone : the house has villainy 
 written large over all the front: it is covered with yellow 
 places breaking away in lumps and showing the black tim- 
 bers behind : the roof, of red tiles, is sunken in parts : many 
 of the windows are broken and stuffed with rags. 
 
 The ground floor consists of a long low room : at one end 
 is a bar with a counter, behind it casks of beer and rum and 
 shelves with bottles containing cordials : there is a door be- 
 hind the bar opening to a cellar staircase: and is said to 
 communicate with a subterranean passage leading one knows 
 not whither. It is also rumoured that the cellar, into which 
 no one but the landlady of the Black Jack and her daughter 
 has ever penetrated, is a large stone vault with pillars and 
 arches, the remains of some Roman Catholic building. The 
 kitchen, or public room, is on the ground floor about twelve 
 
132 The Orange Girl 
 
 inches below the level of the street : it is entered by two steps: 
 the window is garnished with red curtains, which on wintry 
 evenings give the place a warm and cheerful look : the bright 
 colour promises a roaring fire and lights and drink. Both 
 in the summer and winter the place is always cheerful be- 
 cause it rs always filled with company. 
 
 Three or four candles in sconces light up the room, and, 
 in addition, a generous fire always burning every night, adds 
 to the light of the place. The fire is kept up partly for 
 warmth : partly for the convenience of those who bring 
 their suppers with them and cook them on the fire. Also, 
 for their convenience, frying-pans and gridirons are lying 
 ready beside the fireplace: and for the convenience of the 
 punch-drinkers a huge kettle bubbles on the hob. Two tables 
 stand for those who take their supper here. As the food 
 principally in favour consists of bloaters, red herrings, 
 sprats, mackerel, pig's fry, pork, fat bacon, beefsteak and 
 onions, liver and lights and other coarse but savoury dishes, 
 the mingled fragrance makes the air delightful and refresh- 
 ing. As the windows are never open the air is never free 
 from this fragrance, added to which is the reek, or stench 
 of old beer, rum, gin, and rank tobacco taken in the horrid 
 manner of the lower classes, by means of a clay pipe, not in 
 the more courtly fashion of snuff. Nor must one forget 
 the pah! the company the people themselves, the men 
 and women, the boys and girls who frequent this tavern 
 nightly. Taking all into account, I think it would be diffi- 
 cult, outside Newgate, to find a more noisome den than the 
 kitchen or bar-room of the Black Jack. 
 
 All round the room ran a bench : the company sat on the 
 bench, every man with a pipe of tobacco and a mug of drink : 
 the walls were streaming : one felt inclined to run away out 
 into the fresh air for breath. The space in the middle was 
 mostly kept open for a fight, perhaps : for a dance, perhaps, 
 if a fiddler could be found. Every evening, I believe, there 
 was a fight either between two men, or between two women : 
 or between two boys. What would an Englishman of the 
 baser sort become if he were forbidden to fight? 
 
 I describe What I saw after we entered. When Jenny 
 pushed open the door and the breath of that tavern ascended 
 to my nostrils I trembled and hesitated. 
 
 'Strong, at first, isn't it?' said Jenny. 'Cousin Will, to 
 stand here and breathe the air that comes up carries me back 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 133 
 
 to my childhood. You are ready to face it? After a little 
 one grows accustomed. They like it, the people inside."' 
 She stood with the handle of the half opened door in her 
 hand. 'Now/ she said. 'You shall visit the Rogues' De- 
 light: the Thieves' Kitchen: the Black Jack: the favourite 
 House of Call for the gallows bird. You shall see what 
 manner of woman is the old lady my mother : and what sort 
 of woman is the young lady my sister/ 
 
 'I am ready, Jenny/ I replied, with an effort. One would 
 join a forlorn hope almost as readily. 
 
 'Don't mind me. Take no notice whatever I say or do/ 
 she whispered. 'I must -humour the wretches. It is more 
 than twelve months since I have been among them. They 
 may resent my absence. However, you keep quiet, and say 
 nothing. Call for drink if you like, and pretend to be an old 
 hand in the place.' 
 
 Jenny threw up her head : opened her lips : laughed loudly 
 and impuclently : looked round her with an impudent stare : 
 became, in a word, once more, one of the brazen young 
 queans who sell oranges and exchange rude jokes with the 
 gentlemen in the Pit of Drury Lane Theatre. It was a 
 wonderful change. I saw a girl who would perhaps be 
 beautiful if she had preserved any rags or the least appear- 
 ance of feminine modesty : as for Jenny's sweet and attrac- 
 tive look of innocence, that had vanished. She had, in fact, 
 resumed her former self, and more than her former self. I 
 saw her as she had been. Was there ever before known 
 such a thing that a girl who had never been taught what was 
 meant by feminine modesty should be able to assume, at will, 
 the look of one brought up in a convent all innocence and 
 ignorance and, at will, be able to put it off and go back to 
 her former self? No it is impossible: the innocence of 
 Jenny's face proclaimed the innocence of Jenny's soul. 
 
 'Follow me/ she said. 'Keep close, or expect a pewter 
 plate or a pot hurled at your head. They love not strangers.' 
 
 She pushed open the door: she descended the steps: I 
 followed. The room was quite full, and the reek of it 
 made me sick and faint for a moment. But to the worst of 
 stinks one quickly grows hardened. 
 
 'By !' cried a voice from out of the smoke. 'It's 
 
 Madame/ 
 
 , Mother' this was a girl's voice "tis Jenny. 
 
1 34 The Orange Girl 
 
 Why, Jenny, we all thought you was grown too proud for 
 the Black Jack.' 
 
 'Good-evening all,' she cried with a loud coarse laugh ; she 
 added, as a finishing stroke of art, a certain click or choking 
 in the middle at the laugh such as one may hear among the 
 lowest sort of women as they walk along the street. 'How 
 are you, mother? You did not expect me to come in to- 
 night, did you? How's business? How are you, Doll? 
 Adding up the figures on the slate as usual ? How are you, 
 boys ? I 'haven't seen any of you at the Theatre for a spell. 
 That's because I've been resting. Actresses must rest some- 
 times. Where have I been? That's my business. Who 
 with ? That's my business, too. Now' she brandished her 
 basket, and walked about among them shaking her petticoats 
 in the way of the impudent orange girls 'choose a fine 
 Chaney orange! Choose a fine Chancy orange! One for 
 your sweetheart, my curly boy ? Here is a fine one : pay me 
 w'hen I come again. Doll, chalk up to the gentleman an 
 orange for his girl. One for this pretty country girl? 
 Take it, my beauty. I will tell your fortune presently a 
 lover and a pile of gold and babies as sweet as this orange.' 
 So she got rid of her oranges, offering and presenting them 
 here and there with the impudence of the craft she assumed, 
 yet with something of her own inimitable grace which she 
 could not quite put off. Then she turned to me. 'Sit down 
 here,' she ordered. 'Lads,' she said, 'I've brought you a 
 friend of mine. He's a fiddler by trade. If you like he will 
 fiddle for you till he puts fire into your toes and springs into 
 your heels/ 
 
 'Who is he?' cried a voice. Through the smoke I now 
 recognised the Bishop, formerly of the King's Bench Prison. 
 The revererid gentleman's face was redder and his cheek 
 fuller than when last I saw him. He seemed, however, in 
 better case : he had gotten a new cassock : his bands and his 
 cuffs were of whiter 'hue: his wig was better shaped and 
 better dressed: it came, I make no doubt, from some place 
 where are deposited the wigs snatched from the passengers 
 in hackney coaches or even in the streets. His looks, how- 
 ever, were certainly more prosperous than when I had seen 
 him last. He did not recognise me, which was as well. Be- 
 side him sat the Captain, also more prosperous to all appear- 
 ance. He wore a purple coat and a fawn-coloured waistcoat : 
 he had rings on his fingers, and his hat was laced with gold : 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 135 
 
 he wore gold buckles: buttons silver gilt and white silk 
 stockings. He looked what he was a ruffian, a robber, and 
 a swashbuckler. He had a girl on his knee, and one arm 
 round her waist: she was a handsome, red- faced wenc'h 
 dressed up in all kinds of finery, somewhat decayed and 
 second hand. A pipe was between the gallant Captain's lips 
 and a glass of punch was in his right hand. 'Twas a picture 
 of Rogues' Paradise: warmth, light, fire, clothes, drink, 
 tobacco, good company, and a fine girt. What more can a 
 man want ? 
 
 'Who's your man?' repeated the Bishop. 'We are not 
 going to have strangers here spying on us for what we do. 
 Who is he?' 
 
 'Who is 'he ? What's that to you ? I shall bring anybody 
 I like to the Black Jack. If you don't like your Company, 
 Bishop, get up and go.' He growled, but made no attempt 
 to rise. 'If she appealed to the Company generally 'I 
 choose to bring my fancy man here, am I to ask the Bishop's 
 leave?' Then before there was time for a reply: 'Mother, 
 bustle about. Let every man call for what he wants. Score 
 'it to me. This evening I pay for all.' 
 
 Her mother, a fat old woman of fifty, red faced, with the 
 look of callous indifference that belongs to such a woman, 
 sat behind the Bar, a piece of knitting in her hand. She got 
 up grumbling. 
 
 'Oh ! ay,' she said. 'When Jenny comes you must all get 
 drunk at her expense. She'd better give me the money to 
 keep for her. Well 'what shall it be? Doll, stir about: 
 stir about you leave it all to me. Ask the gentlemen what 
 they will take. And the ladies too. Whatever they like. 
 Jenny pays to-night. Whatever they like that's Jenny's 
 way whatever they like so that it ruins my poor girl.' 
 
 Doll, the other daughter, made no response. She was 
 continually occupied with the slate, and I suppose she was 
 slow at calculation for she kept adding up over and over 
 again, wiping out with her wet finger and adding up again. 
 The Black Jack refused credit as a rule: most of the com- 
 pany had to pay for what they called for on the spot; but 
 there were a few to whom limited credit was granted, as a 
 privilege. 
 
 The girl called Doll, I remarked, was n'dt in the least like 
 her sister. She had black 'hair and a somewhat swarthy 
 complexion and appeared to belong, as indeed she did, to the 
 
136 The Orange Girl 
 
 people called gipsies. The mother had also the same black 
 hair and dark skin. Strange, that a girl of Jenny's com- 
 plexion with her fair hair, blue eyes, and peach-like skin, 
 should come of the same stock. I sought in vain for any 
 likeness between Jenny and this girl. I thought that she 
 might present the same features with a difference : debased : 
 but I could find none. She wore a red kerchief tied round 
 her head, a red ribbon tied round her neck : a red scarf tied 
 round her waist. In her way she was a handsome girl: in 
 her maners she showed no inclination to oblige the company 
 or to be civil to them. She paid no heed when her mother 
 bade her stir about. On the contrary, she went on with her 
 sums on the slate. 
 
 It was Jenny who ran round laughing and joking with 
 the men, ordering punch for one and gin for another. Most 
 of the company regarded her with bewilderment. It was 
 long since she had been among them : they knew something 
 about her : she was the daughter of the house : she had been 
 an orange girl at Drury: she had been an actress at the 
 same theatre: some of them had seen her there: then she 
 disappeared, and no one knew where she was. 
 
 One young fellow there was who sat on the bench with 
 hanging head. .He had apparently no friends among the 
 company. 'Here/ cried Jenny, 'is a lad half awake. What 
 art doing here, friend?' The lad shook his head mourn- 
 fully. 'Hast any money?' He shook his head again. 
 Jenny pulled out a piece of silver. 'Go/ she said. 'Get 
 food, and' she whispered 'come back here no more. Go 
 get thee home again/ And so, let me believe, she saved 
 one lad that night from the gallows. For he got up slowly 
 and walked out. 
 
 There was another lad also from the country whose fresh 
 cheek and country dress betokened the fact. He sat sheep- 
 ishly, as a new comer. 
 
 Jenny stopped before him. 'And pray what do they call 
 thee, Sirrah? Jack? Twill serve. What lay is it, Jack? 
 Oh! Shoplifting?' He nodded. 'For Mr. Merridew?' she 
 Whispered. He nodded again. 'Drink punch, Jack, and 
 forget thyself awhile/ 
 
 Some of the men were dressed like the Captain, but not so 
 fine : the buttons had been cut off their coats and their shoes 
 had lost the buckles. There were boys among them : boys 
 who had none of the innocence of childhood ; their faces be- 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 137 
 
 trayed a life of hunting and being hunted : they were always 
 on the prowl for prey or were running away and hiding. 
 They had all been whipped, held under the pump, thrown 
 into ponds, clapped in prison. They were all doomed to be 
 hanged. In their habits of drink as in their crimes, they 
 were grown up. In truth there were no faces in the whole 
 room which looked more hopeless than those of the boys. 
 
 The women, of whom there were nearly as many as there 
 were men, were either bedizened in tawdry finery or they 
 were in rags : some wearing no more than a frock stiffened 
 by the accumulation of years, black leather stays, and a ker- 
 chief for the neck with another for the head : their hair hung 
 about their shoulders loose ; and undressed : it was not un- 
 becoming in the young, but in the older women it became 
 what is called rats' tails. With most of the men, their dress 
 was simple and scanty. Shirts were scarce : stockings with- 
 out holes in them were rare : buttons had mostly vanished. 
 
 Most of them, I observed further, had an anxious, hungry 
 look: not the look of a creature of prey which has always 
 in it something that is noble : but the look of one insufficiently 
 fed. I believe that the ordinary lot of the rogue is, even on 
 this earth, miserable beyond expression: uncertain as to 
 food : cruelly hard in cold weather in the matter of raiment. 
 
 In -a little while they were all happy : happier, I am sure, 
 than they had been for a long time. While they drank and 
 while they talked, I observed among them a veritable 
 brotherhood. The most successful rogue he in gold lace 
 was hail fellow with the most ragged. And although the 
 successful rogue stood the nearest to the gallows, and he 
 knew it and the other rogue knew it, yet the beginner envied 
 the success of his brother as a soldier envies the successful 
 general. They drank and laughed: they drank more and 
 they laughed more. Then the Captain called silence for a 
 song. 
 
 'Now, you fiddler !' he cried with a curse. 'Sit up, man, 
 and show us how you can play/ 
 
 The tune, the Captain told me, was 'The Warbling of the 
 Lark/ I struck up that air which every frequenter of 
 Vauxhal'l, or even the Dog and Duck, knows very well, and 
 the Captain began his 'song. 
 
 Now in such a company I expected a song in praise of 
 Roguery and Robbery ; or at least something of the kind in- 
 troduced in Gay's Opera. On the contrary, the song which 
 
138 The Orange Girl 
 
 the Captain gave us was a sentimental ditty which you may 
 hear at any Pleasure Garden on a summer evening: it was 
 all about the flames of love which could only be extinguished 
 by Chloe : and a broken heart : and darts and groves, and, in 
 fact, a song such as would be sung in a concert before a 
 party of ladies. The fellow had a good voice, and rolled out 
 his lovesick strains to the admiration of the women, some 
 of whom even shed tears. This is the kind of song they 
 like: not the song in praise of a Highwayman's life, because 
 in matters of imagination these women are but poorly pro- 
 vided, and they always see the reality beyond the words, and 
 if they love the man his certain end makes them unhappy. 
 But hearts, and flames and love ! That, if you please, whidi 
 is unreal, seems real. 
 
 When he finished, Jenny sprang to her feet. 'I will dance 
 for you, lads/ She turned to me. Tlay up the Hey/ 
 
 She ran into the middle of the room, bowed to the people 
 as if she had been on the stage, and danced with such grace 
 and freedom and simplicity that it ravished my heart. Her 
 sister, I observed, went on adding up figures on the slate 
 without paying the least attention to the performance. 
 
 'Ah !' sard her mdther growing confidential. Thus would 
 she dance when she was quite a little thing on the stones in 
 front of the dhurch, when the fiddler played in the house. A 
 clever girl, she was, even then, a clever girl ! You are her 
 friend. I hope, Sir, that you are going to behave handsome 
 by my girl. You look like one of the right sort. Make 
 over, while there is time. I will keep the swag for you 
 you may trust the poor girl's mother. Many a brave fellow 
 she might have had: many a brave fellow: they come and 
 
 go I wish you a long rope young man, if so be you're 
 
 kind to my girl. Life is short what odds, so long as 'tis 
 merry? Where do you work, if I may ask?' 
 
 'Jenny will tell you, perhaps/ I replied. 
 
 'I don't know, I don't know. Since she left off the orange 
 line, Jenny hasn't been the same to her old mother: not to 
 tell her things, I mean, and to take her advice. I should 
 have made her rich 'by this time if she had taken my advice/ 
 
 'Many people like to have their own way, don't they?' 
 
 "They do, Sir they do to their loss/ She took another 
 pull at the punch and began to get maudlin and to shed tears 
 while she enlarged upon what she would have done had 
 Jenny only listened to her. I gathered from her discourse 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 139 
 
 that the old gipsy woman, like the whole of her tribe, was 
 without a gleam or a spark of virtue or goodness. Her 
 nature was sordid and depraved through and through. With 
 such a mother poor Jenny ! 
 
 Suddenly the old woman stopped short and sat upright 
 with a look of terror. 
 
 'Good Lord!' sne murmured. 'It's Mr. Merridew! 7 
 At sight of the new-comer standing on the steps a dead 
 silence fell upon the whole Company. All knew him by 
 name : those who knew his face whispered to each other : all 
 quailed before him; down to the meanest little pickpocket, 
 they knew him and feared him. Every face became white; 
 even the faces of the women who shook with terror on ac- 
 count of the men. I observed the girl on the Captain's knee 
 catch him by the hand and place herself in front of him, as 
 if to save him. Then his arm left her waist and she slipped 
 down and sat humbly on the bench beside her man. Thus 
 there was some human affection among these poor things. 
 But the Captain's face blanched with terror and the glass 
 that he was lifting to his lips remained halfway on its jour- 
 ney. The Bishop's face could not turn white, in any ex- 
 tremity of fear, but it became yellow while his eyes rolled 
 about and he grasped the table beside him in his agitation. 
 Doll, I observed, after a glance to learn the cause of the sud- 
 den silence went on sucking her fingers, rubbing out the 
 figures on the slate and adding them up again. 
 'Who is it?' I whispered to Jenny. 
 
 'Hush ! It's the thief-taker : they are all afraid that their 
 time 'has come. If he wants one of them he will have to 
 get up and go.' 
 
 'Won't they fight, then? Do they sit still to be taken?' 
 'Fight Mr. Merridew ? As well walk straight to Tyburn.' 
 The man was a 'large and heavy creature, having some- 
 thing of the look of a prosperous farmer. His face, how- 
 ever, was coarse and brutal. And he looked round the terri- 
 fied room as if he was selecting a pig from a herd, with as 
 much pity and no more ! This was the man whose perjuries 
 had added a new detainer to my imprisonment. I could 
 have fallen upon (him with the first weapon handy, but re- 
 frained. 
 
 He came into the room. 'Your place stinks, Mother/ 
 he said, 'and it's so thick with tobacco and the steam of 
 the punch that a body can't see across/ 
 
140 The Orange Girl 
 
 'To be sure, Mr. Merridew/ the old woman apologised. 
 'If we'd known you were coming ' 
 
 'There would have been a large company, would there 
 not?' 
 
 'Well, Sir, you see us here, as we are, as orderly and 
 peaceful a house as your Worship would desire.' 
 
 The fellow grinned. 'Orderly, truly, mother. It is a 
 quiet and a well-conducted company, isn't it? These are 
 quiet and well-conducted girls are they not?' He chucked 
 one of the girls under the chin. 
 
 'As much as you like there/ said the girl, impudently, 
 'so long as you keep your ringers off my neck/ 
 
 At this playful allusion to his profession, that of sending 
 people to the gallows, Mr. Merridew laughed and patted the 
 girl on the cheek. 'My dear/ he said, 'if you were on my 
 list you should get rich and you should 'have the longest rope 
 of any one/ 
 
 'The man/ Jenny told me afterwards, 'is the greatest vil- 
 lain in the whole world. He is a thief-taker by profes- 
 sion/ 
 
 'You mean, 'he informs and takes the reward.' 
 
 'Yes: but he makes the thing -which he sells. He lays 
 traps for pickpockets and such small fry and while he has 
 them in his power he encourages 'them to become bigger 
 rogues who will be worth more to him. Do you under- 
 stand? A highwayman is worth about eighty pounds' 
 reward to him : a man returned from transportation before 
 his time is worth no more than forty. He does not there- 
 fore give up the returned convict until he has returned to 
 his 'highway robberies. All those fellows you saw last night 
 are in his power. The Captain is a returned convict whose 
 time must before long be up, for Merridew only allows a 
 certain amount of rope. He says he cannot afford more. 
 As for the 'Bishop, he will go on longer : he is useful in many 
 other ways : he can write letters and forge things and invent 
 villainies: he persuades the young fellows to take to the 
 road. I think he will be suffered to go on as long as his 
 powers last/ 
 
 'Why was your mother so terrified ?' 
 
 Jenny hesitated. 'Because I told you, but you do not 
 understand because she, too, is in his power for receiving 
 stolen goods. My mother is what they call a fence. Oh I* 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 141 
 
 she shook herself impatiently : 'they are all rogues together. 
 I wonder I can ever hold up my head. To think of the 
 Black Jack and the Company there !' 
 
 The Captain sprang to his feet with an effort at ease and 
 politeness. 'What will your Honour think of us ?' he cried. 
 'Gentlemen, Mr. Merridew is thirsty and no one offers him 
 a drink. Call for it, sir call for the best this house affords/ 
 
 'Punch, mother/ the great man replied. 'Thank you, 
 Captain/ 
 
 Then the Bishop, not to be outdone, got up too. 'Gentle- 
 men/ he said, 'let us all drink to the health of Mr. Merridew. 
 He is our truest friend. Now, gentlemen. Together. 
 After me/ He held up his hand. They watched the sign 
 and all together drank and shouted hollow shouts they 
 were to the health of the man who was going to sell them 
 all to the hangman. I wondered that they had not run upon 
 him with their knives and despatched him as he stood before 
 them, unarmed. But this they dared not do. 
 
 Mr. Merridew acknowledged the compliment. 'Boys 
 and gallant riders/ he said, 'I thank you. There was a 
 friend of ours whom I expected to find here, but I do not 
 see him/ He looked round the room curiously. I think he 
 enjoyed the general terror. 'No matter, I shall find him at 
 the Spotted Dog/ 
 
 Every one breathed relief. No one, then, of that company 
 was wanted. The Captain sat down and drank off a whole 
 glass of punch : the rest of the men looked at each other as 
 sailors might look whose ship "has just scraped the rock. 
 
 'I like to look in, friendly, as it might be,' Mr. Merridew 
 went on, 'especially when I don't want anybody just to see 
 you enjoying yourselves, happy and comfortable together, 
 as you should be. There's no profession more happy and 
 comfortable, is there? That's what I always say, even to 
 the ungrateful. Plenty to eat: no work to do: no masters 
 over you: girls, and drink, and music, and dancing, every 
 night. Find me another trade half so prosperous. Mother, 
 I'll take a second glass of punch. I drink your healths all 
 of you Bless you!' The fellow looked so brutal, and so 
 cunning that I longed to kill him as one would kill a noxious 
 beast. 
 
 'A long rope and a merry life,' he went on. 'It is not my 
 fault, gentlemen, that the rope is not longer. The expenses 
 
142 The Orange Girl 
 
 are great and the profits are small. Meantime, go on and 
 prosper. You are all safe under my care. Without me, who 
 knows what would happen to all this goodly company? A 
 long rope, I say, and a merry life.' 
 
 He tossed off his glass and went out. 
 
 When he was gone, the talk began again, but it was flat. 
 The mirth had gone out of the party. It was as if the Angel 
 of Death himself had passed through the room. 
 
 I played to them, "but only the boys would dance : Jenny 
 asked them to sing, but only the girls would sing, and, truth 
 to say, the poor creatures' efforts were not musical. They 
 drank, but moodily. The Captain took glass after glass, but 
 his arm had left the girl's waist: she now sat neglected on 
 the bench beside him. The Bishop, sobered by the fright, 
 said nothing, but sat with his eyes fixed upon the sanded 
 floor, shuddering. He thought his time had come, and the 
 shock made him for the moment reflect. Yet what was the 
 good of reflecting? They were in the hands of a relentless 
 monster: he would sell them when it was worth his while 
 to put younger men in their place. They tried to forget this, 
 but from time to time, his presence, or the absence of one of 
 their Company, reminded them and then they were subdued 
 for a time. It filled me with pity : it made me think a little 
 better of them that they should be capable of being thus 
 affected. 
 
 Jenny touched my arm. 'Come,' she said. 'Let us be 
 gone.' So without any farewells she led the way out. The 
 old woman, by this time, was sound asleep beside her half 
 finished glass: and Doll was still adding up the figures on 
 her slate, puting her finger in 'her mouth, rubbing out and 
 adding up again. 
 
 Outside, the tall white spire of St. Giles looked down upon 
 us. In the churchyard the white tombs stood in peace, and 
 overhead the moon sailed in splendour. 
 
 Jenny drew a long breath : she caught one of the rails of 
 the churchyard and looked in curiously. 
 
 'Will,' she said shuddering, 'I am ashamed of myself be- 
 cause the manners and the talk come back to me so easily. 
 Once I am witfh them, I become one of them again. I 
 tremble when the man Merridew appears. It is as if he will 
 do me, too, a mischief some day. I cannot forget the old 
 times and the old talk. Yet I know how dreadful it^ is. 
 Look at the graves, Will. Under them they sleep so quiet; 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 143 
 
 they never move : they don't hear anything : and beside them 
 every night collects this company of gaol-birds and Tyburn 
 birds. Why, they don't shiver and shake when Mr. Merri- 
 dew looks in.' 
 
 'Let us get back, Jenny.' I shuddered, like all the rest. 
 
 'Will, I have seen that man that monster that wretch 
 for whom no punishment is enough three times. Each 
 time I have felt that, like the rest of those poor rogues, my 
 own life was in his hands. Do you think he can do me a 
 mischief? Why do I ask? I know that 'he will. I am 
 never wrong/ 
 
 'What mischief, Jenny, could he do?' 
 
 'I don't know. It is a prophetic feeling. But who knows 
 what such a villain may be concocting? Good-night, you 
 happy people in the graves. Good-night.' 
 
 I drew her away, and walked with 'her to her own do'or in 
 the Square. 
 
 'Will ?' she asked, 'what do you think of me now ?' 
 
 'Whatever I think, Jenny, I am all wonder and admira- 
 tion that you are what you are when I see what you 
 might have been/ 
 
 She burst into tears. She flung her empty basket out into 
 the road. 'Oh/ <s*he cri'ed, 'if I could escape from them ! If 
 I could only escape from them for ever! I should think 
 nothing too terrible if only I could escape from them !' 
 
 A month 'or two later I remembered those words. Noth- 
 ing too terrible if only she could escape from them ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A WARNING AND ANOTHER OFFER 
 
 As SOON as we had once more found the means of keeping 
 ourselves we went back to our former abode under the 
 shadow of Lambeth Church on the Bank looking over the 
 river on one side and over the meadows c and orchards of 
 Lambeth Marsh on the other. The air which sweeps up 
 the river with every tide is fresh an'd Strong and pure ; good 
 for the child, not to speak of the child's mother, while the 
 
144 The Orange Girl 
 
 people, few in number, are generally 'honest though humble : 
 for the most part they are fishermen. 
 
 Here I should have been happy but for the thought, sug- 
 gested by Jenny, that my cousin and his attorney Probus 
 were perhaps devising some new means of persecution, and 
 that the man Merridew, who had perjured himself concern- 
 ing me already, whose sinister face I had gazed upon with 
 terror, so visibly was the mark of Cain stamped upon it, 
 was but a tool of the attorney. 
 
 Yet -what could they devise? If they swore between them 
 another debt, my patron Jenny promised to provide me with 
 the help of a lawyer. What else could they do? It is a 
 most miserable feeling that someone in the world is plotting 
 your destruction, you know not how. 
 
 However, on Sunday afternoon it was in November, 
 when the days are already short, we had a visit from my 
 father's old clerk, Ramage. 
 
 He was restless in his manner : he was evidently in some 
 anxiety of mind. After a few words he began : 
 
 'Mr. Will/ he said, 'I have much to say. I have come, I 
 fear, to tell you something that will make you uneasy/ 
 
 'I will leave you alone/ said Alice, taking up the child. 
 
 'No, Madam, no, I would rather that you heard. You 
 may advise. Oh! Madam, I never thought the day would 
 come that I should reveal my master's secrets. I eat his 
 bread ; I take his wages : and I am come here to betray his 
 most private affairs.' 
 
 Then do not betray them, Mr. Ramage/ said Alice. 'Fol- 
 low your own conscience/ 
 
 'It ought to be your bread and your wages, Mr. Will, and 
 would have been but for tales and inventions. Sir, in a 
 word, there is villainy afloat ' 
 
 'What kind of villainy?' 
 
 'I know all they do. Sir, there is that sum of one hun- 
 dred thousand pounds in the hands of trustees, payable to 
 the survivor of you two. That is the bottom of the whole 
 villainy. Well, they are mad to make you sell your chance/ 
 
 'I know that/ 
 
 'Mr. Matthew, more than a year ago, offered Mr. Probus 
 a thousand pounds if he could persuade you to sell it for 
 three thousand/ 
 
 'That is why he was so eager/ This was exactly how 
 Jenny read the business. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 145 
 
 'Yes, he reported that you would not sell, he said that 
 ii it was made worth his while, he would find a way to make 
 you.' 
 
 That is why he put me in the King's Bench, I suppose ?' 
 
 'That was agreed upon between them. Sir, if ever there 
 was an infamous conspiracy, this was one. Probus invented 
 it. He said that he would keep you there till you rotted; 
 he said that when you had been there four or five months 
 you would be glad to get out on any terms. You were 
 there for -a year or more. Probus sent people to report how 
 you were looking. He told Mr. Matthew with sorrow that 
 you were looking strong and hearty. Then you were taken 
 out. They were furious. They knew not who was the 
 friend. An attorney named Dewberry had done it. That 
 was all they could find out. I know not what this Mr. Dew- 
 berry said to Mr. Probus, but certain I am that they will not 
 try that plan any more.' 
 
 'I am glad to hear so much/ 
 
 'Mr. Will, there is more behind. I know very well what 
 goes on, I say. A little while after the death of your father, 
 when the Alderman retired and Mr. Matthew was left sole 
 active partner, he began to borrow money of Mr. Probus, 
 who came often to see him. I could hear all they said from 
 my desk in the corner of the outer counting-house/ 
 
 'Ay ! Ay ! I remember your desk/ 
 
 'Sitting there I heard every word. And I am glad, Mr. 
 Will I ought to be ashamed, but I am glad that I listened. 
 Well. He began to borrow money of Mr. Probus at 15 
 per cent., on the security of the business. Anyone would 
 lend money to such a house at 10 per cent. He said he 
 wanted to put the money into the business ; to buy new ships 
 and to develop it. This made me suspicious. Why? Be- 
 cause our House, in your father's time, Sir, wanted no fresh 
 capital; it developed and grew on its own capital. This I 
 knew. The business wanted no new capital. What did he 
 borrow the money for then?' 
 
 'I know not, indeed/ 
 
 'He bought no new ships: he never meant to buy any. 
 Mr. Will, to my certain knowledge' here his voice deep- 
 ened to a whisper, 'he wanted for some reason or other more 
 ready money. I am certain that he has got through all the 
 money that your father left him: I know that he has sold 
 some of the ships : he has mortgaged the rest ; the business 
 
146 The Orange Girl 
 
 of the House decays and sinks daily; he has got rid of all 
 the money that Mr. Probus advanced him. It was 25,000, 
 for which he is to pay 15 per cent, on 40,000. Tis a harpy 
 a shark a common rogue !' 
 
 'How has he lost this money ?' I pretended not to know : 
 but, as you have heard, I knew, perfectly well. 
 
 'That, Sir, I cannot tell you. I have no knowledge how 
 a man can, in three years, get through such an amazing 
 amount of money and do so much mischief to an old es- 
 tablished business. But the case is as I tell you.' 
 
 'This is very serious, Ramage. Does my uncle know ?' 
 
 'He does not, Sir. That poor man will be a bankrupt in 
 his old age. It will kill him. It will kill him. And I must 
 not tell him. Remember that most of what I tell you is what 
 I overheard/ 
 
 'I think that my uncle ought to know.' I remembered 
 Jenny's advice. Here was another opportunity. I should 
 have told him. But I neglected this chance as well. 
 
 'I cannot tell him, Sir. There is, however, more. This 
 concerns you, Mr. Will. Yesterday in the afternoon Mr. 
 Probus came to the counting-house. He came for the in- 
 terest on his money. Mr. Matthew told him, shortly, that 
 it was not convenient to pay him. Mr. Probus humbly ex- 
 plained that he had need of the money for his own occa- 
 sions. Now Mr. Matthew had been drinking; he often goes 
 to the tavern of a forenoon and returns with a red face and 
 heavy shoulders. Perhaps yesterday he had been drinking 
 more than was usual with him. Otherwise, he might not 
 have been so plain-spoken with his creditor. "Mr. Pro- 
 bus," he said, "it is time to speak the truth with you. I can- 
 not pay you the interest of your money either to-day or at 
 any other time." 
 
 ' "Cannot. . .cannot. . .pay? Mr. Halliday, what do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 : "I say, Sir, that I cannot pay your interest. . .and that 
 your principal, the money you lent me yes your 25,000 
 is gone. You'll never get a penny of it," and then he laughed 
 scornfully. I heard Mr. Probus's step as he sprang to his 
 feet, I heard him strike the table with his open hand. His 
 face I could not see. 
 
 "Sir," he cried, "explain. Where is my money?" 
 "Gone, I say. Everything is gone. Your money; my 
 money; all that I could raise my ships are sold; the busi- 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 147 
 
 ness is gone: the creditors are gathering. Probus, I shall 
 be a bankrupt in less than three months. I have worked it 
 out; I can play one against the other, but only for three 
 months. Then the House must be bankrupt." 
 
 ' 'The House bankrupt? this House Halliday Broth- 
 ers ? You had a hundred thousand of your own when you 
 succeeded. You had credit: you had a noble fleet: and a 
 great business. And there's your father's money in the 
 business as well. It can't be gone." 
 
 ' "It is g;one I tell you all gone my money, Probus 
 integer vitae that's gone : and your money, old Sceler- 
 isque Probus. That's gone too. All gone all gone." 
 To be sure he was three parts drunk. I heard Mr. Probus 
 groan and sink back into his chair. Then he got up again. 
 "Tell me," he said again, "tell me, you poor drivelling 
 drunken devil I'll kill you if you laugh. Tell me, where 
 is the money gone?" 
 
 * "I don't know," his voice was thick with drink, "I don't 
 know. It's all gone. Everything's gone." 
 
 ' "I lent you the money to put into the business it must 
 be in the business still." 
 
 ' "It never was in the business. I tell you, Probus it's 
 all gone." 
 
 'There was silence for a few minutes. Then Mr. Probus 
 said softly, "Mr. Halliday, we are old friends tell me that 
 you have only been playing off a joke upon me. You are a 
 little disguised in liquor. I can pass over this accident. 
 The money is in the 'business, you know ; in this fine old busi- 
 ness, where you put it when you borrowed it." 
 
 1 "It's all gone all gone," he repeated. "Man, why 
 won't you believe? I tell you that everything is gone. 
 Make me a bankrupt at once, and you will share with the 
 creditors : oh ! yes, you will be very lucky : you will divide 
 between you the furniture of the counting-house and the 
 empty casks on the Quay." 
 
 'Then Mr. Probus began to curse and to swear, and to 
 threaten. He would throw Mr. Matthew into prison and 
 keep him there all his life: 'he would prosecute him at the 
 Old Bailey : he called him thief, scoundrel, villain : Mr. Mat- 
 thew laughed in his drunken mood. He would not explain 
 how the money was lost : he only repeated that it was gone 
 all gone. 
 
 'Mr. Will I know that he was speaking the truth. I 
 
148 The Orange Girl 
 
 had seen tnTngs done you cannot hide things from an old 
 accountant who keeps the books : cargoes sold at a sacrifice 
 for ready money: ships sold: our splendid fleet thrown 
 away: there were six tall vessels in the West India trade: 
 one was cast away: the underwriters paid for her. Where 
 is that money? Where are the other five ships? Sold. 
 Where is that money? Our coffers are empty: there is 
 no running cash at the Bank : the wharf is deserted : clerks 
 are dismissed : creditors are put off. I know that what Mr. 
 Matthew said was true : but for the life of me I cannot tell 
 what he has done with the money unless he has thrown it 
 into the river. 
 
 'Then I think that Mr. Matthew took more drink, for 
 he made no more reply, and Mr. Probus, after calling him 
 hog and beast and other names of like significance, left him. 
 
 'When he 'came out of the counting-house he was like 
 one possessed of a devil : 'his face distorted : his eyes blood- 
 shot: his lips moving: his hands trembling. Sir, although 
 he is a villain I felt sorry for him. He has lost all that he 
 cared for : all that he valued : and since he is now old, and 
 can make no more money, he has lost perhaps his means of 
 livelihood/ 
 
 Ramage paused. Alice brought him a glass of beer, her 
 own home-brewed. Thus refreshed, he presently went on 
 again. 
 
 'After two days Probus came again to the counting-house. 
 Mr. Matthew was sober. 
 
 ' "Probus," he said, "I told you the other day when I was 
 drunk what I should have kept from you if I was sober. 
 However, now you know what I told you was the truth." 
 
 '"Is it all true?" 
 
 ' "It is all true. Everything is gone." 
 
 "But how how how?" I heard his lamentable cry 
 and I could imagine his arm waving about. 
 
 ' "This way and that way. Enough that it is all gone." 
 "Mr. Matthew," I think he sat down because he groaned 
 which a man cannot do properly that is to say movingly, 
 unless he is sitting "I have been thinking Good God ! of 
 what else could I think? You can keep yourself afloat for 
 three months more, you say Heavens ! Halliday Brothers 
 to go in three months ! And my money ! Where where 
 where has it gone?" 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 149 
 
 ' "In about three months or may be sooner, the end must 
 come." 
 
 ' "Mr. Matthew," he lowered his voice, "there is one 
 chance left one chance I may get back my money by 
 that one chance." 
 
 ' "What chance ? The money is all gone." 
 
 ' "If we can make your cousin part with his chance of 
 the succession, we can raise money on it before the bank- 
 ruptcy we can divide it between us." 
 
 ' "Put it out of your thoughts. My cousin is the most 
 obstinate self-willed brute that ever lived. You couldn't 
 bend him with the King's Bench Prison. You cannot bend 
 him now." 
 
 ' "I will try again. He is still poor. He plays the fiddle 
 at some wretched gardens I believe. He lives where he 
 did before I know where to find him. I will try again. 
 If I succeed we could raise say 50,000 upon the succession, 
 it should be more but you are both young. Let me see, that 
 will be 40,000 for me; 6,000 interest due to me: that 
 makes 46,000 for me and 4,000 for you." 
 
 "No, friend Probus. You have lent me 25,000. That 
 you shall take and no more. If you are not content with 
 that you shall have none. Remember that the money must be 
 raised by me for my own use, not by you. Get him to sign 
 if you can and you shall have back all your money, but 
 without any interest. If you think you are going to get all 
 this money for yourself, let me tell you that you are mis- 
 taken." 
 
 'Mr. Matthew can be as hard as as your father, some- 
 times. He was hard now. Well, the pair wrangled over 
 these terms for a long time. At last it was arranged that if 
 Mr. Probus can persuade you to sign the paper which he 
 is to bring you he is to take 25,000 and interest on that and 
 not on the alleged 40,000, at 15 per cent. And Mr. Mat- 
 thew is to pay you the sum required to buy out. When they 
 had completed this arrangement Mr. Probus started another 
 line of discourse. Now listen to this, Mr. Will, because it 
 concerns you very closely. 
 
 ' "If," he said, "your cousin were to die actually to die 
 
 ' "He won't die. I wish he would." 
 ' "I said If he were to die you would then immediately 
 take over 100,000 together with the interest at 5 per cent. 
 
150 The Orange Girl 
 
 already accumulated for three years, namely, about 115,000. 
 That would put all square again. You could get back some 
 of your ships and your credit." 
 
 ' "What's the use ? Man, I have told you my cousin is 
 a selfish, unfeeling, obstinate Brute. He won't die." 
 
 ' "I said. If he -were to 'die. That is what I said. If 
 he were to die." 
 
 'Then there was silence for a space. 
 
 ' "Probus," said Mr. Matthew, "I believe you are a devil. 
 Tell me what you mean. We can't make him die by wish- 
 ing." 
 
 "I was only supposing: If he were to die strange things 
 have happened would you be disposed to let me take the 
 half of that money say 55,000?" 
 
 ' "If he were to die," Mr. Matthew repeated. "Have you 
 heard, by accident, that he is ill? Has he taken small-pox, 
 or gaol fever? I did hear that was gaol fever in Newgate 
 some time ago." 
 
 ' "No : on the contrary, I believe that he is in perfect 
 health at present. Still, he might die. Anybody may die, 
 you know." 
 
 "Why do you say that he may die? 
 
 * "I only put the case. Anybody may die. What do you 
 say about my proposal?" 
 
 ' "You call it a proposal Man you look like a murderer 
 are you going to murder him ?" 
 
 ' "Certainly not. Well what do you say ?" 
 
 ' "Well if you are not going to murder him, what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 ' "Men die of many complaints, besides murder. Some 
 men get themselves into the clutches of the law " ' 
 
 When Ramage said this, I became suddenly aware of a 
 great gulf opening at my feet with a prospect of danger 
 such as I had never before contemplated. I thought that 
 the man might swear upon me some crime of which I was 
 innocent and so bring it home to me by a diabolical artifice 
 that I should be accused, found guilty, and executed. I 
 reeled and turned pale. 
 
 Alice caught my hand. 'Have faith, my dear/ she said. 
 
 Yet the thought was like a knife piercing me through 
 and through. I could not afterwards shake it off. And 
 I made up my mind I know not why that the charge 
 .would take the form of an accusation of forgery. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 151 
 
 ' "Probus," said Mr. Matthew, "I will have nothing to 
 do with this " 
 
 : "Sir, you need not. Give me your word only, your sim- 
 ple word that if your cousin refuses to sign the paper I shall 
 lay before him, so that you cannot raise money on that suc- 
 cession and if within two months of this day your cousin 
 dies, so that you will succeed before you are bankrupt, I 
 am to take half that money in full discharge of all my claims. 
 That is all. I will leave you now, to think the matter over." 
 
 'He went away. The next day he returned, bringing with 
 him a man whom I had never seen before. 
 
 ' "Mr. Matthew," he said, "I have brought you a gentle- 
 man whose acquaintance with our criminal law is vast 
 probably unequaled. His name, Sir, is Merridew." 
 
 1 "His honour says no more than what is true/' said Mr. 
 Merridew. "I know more than most. I understand you 
 want me to advise you on a little matter of prosecution, 
 Well, Sir, I can only say that if you want a friend put out 
 of the way, so to speak, nothing is easier, for them that 
 knows how to work the job and can command the instru- 
 ments. It is only a question of pay." Then they talked 
 in whispers and I heard no more. When they were gone 
 Mr. Matthew began to drink again. 
 
 That is all, Mr. Will. But have a care. You now know 
 what to expect, sir ; there will be no pity from any of them. 
 Have a care. Go away. Go to some place where they can- 
 not find you. Sir, the man Probus is mad. He is mad 
 with the misery of losing his money. There is nothing that 
 he will not do. He is a money-lender: his money is all in 
 all to him: his profession and his pride and everything. 
 And he has lost his money. Go out of his way/ 
 
 Is that all, Ramage?' 
 
 'Yes, Sir. That is all I had to say/ 
 
 'Then, my old friend, you have come just in time, for if 
 I mistake not there is Mr. Probus himself walking across 
 the meadow with the intention of calling here. You could 
 not have chosen a better time.' Indeed, that was the case. 
 The man was actually walking quickly across the Marsh. 
 'Now, Ramage/ I said, 'it would be well for you to hear 
 what he has to say. Go into the kitchen and wait with the 
 door ajar go. Alice, my dear, stay here with me/ 
 
 'Remember, Will/ she said, 'it was your father's last com- 
 
152 The Orange Girl 
 
 marid. To sell it would be to sell your father's forgiveness 
 a dreadful thing/ 
 
 The man stood at the open door. Ramage was right. 
 He looked truly dreadful. Anxiety was proclaimed in his 
 face, with eagerness and courage: he reminded me of a 
 weasel, which for murderous resolution is said to surpass 
 the whole of the animal creation. He came in blinking 
 after the light and offered me his hand, but I refused it. 
 
 Tie!' he said. Tie, Mr. Will! This is ill done. You 
 confuse the attorney's zeal for his clients with an act of 
 hostility to yourself. Put that out of your thoughts, I pray.' 
 
 'Why do you come here, Mr. Probus ?' 
 
 'I said to myself: It is not easy to catch a man of Mr. 
 William's reputation at home, his society being eagerly 
 sought after. I will therefore visit him on Sunday. Not. 
 in the morning, when he will be lifting the hymn in Church : 
 but in the afternoon. I came here straight from St. 
 George's, Borough, where I sometimes repair for morning 
 service. A holy discourse, Mr. William, moving and con- 
 vincing.' His eyes kept shifting to and fro as he spoke. 
 
 'Very likely. But we will not talk about sermons. Look 
 ye, Mr. Probus, your presence here is not desirect. Say 
 what you have to say, and begone.' 
 
 'Hot youth! Ah! I envy that fine heat of the blood. 
 Once I was just the same myself.' 
 
 He must have been a good deal changed, then, since that 
 time. 
 
 He went on. 'I will not stay long. I am once more a 
 peacemaker. It is a happy office. It is an office that can be 
 discharged on the Sabbath. Sweetly the river flows beneath 
 your feet. Ah! A peacemaker. I come from your cousin 
 again/ 
 
 To make another offer?' 
 
 'Yes, that is my object. I am again prepared to offer 
 you terms which, I believe, no one else in the world would 
 propose to you. MT. William, I will give you the sum of 
 four thousand pounds down equivalent to an annual income 
 of two hundred pounds a year if you will sell your rever- 
 sion/ 
 
 'No/ 
 
 'Mr. Matthew can use the money to advantage: while it 
 lies locked up it is of no use to anyone/ 
 
 'No/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 153 
 
 'Such obstinacy was never known before, I believe. 
 Why, Sir, I offer you an annual income of two hundred 
 pounds a year two hundred pounds a year. You can 
 leave this wretched little cottage overhanging a marsh : you 
 can move into a fashionable quarter, and live like a person 
 of Quality: you can abandon your present mode of life, 
 which I take to be repellent to every person of virtue that 
 of musician to the Dog and Duck or some other resort of 
 the profligate. Oh, we know where you are and what you 
 do! Instead of servant you will be master. You, Madam, 
 will no longer be a household drudge : you will have your 
 cook, your maids, your page to carry your Prayer-Book to 
 church.' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 He hesitated a little, the sham benevolence dying out of 
 his face, and the angry look of baffled cunning taking its 
 place. Mr. Probus was a bad actor. 
 
 He took out a parchment. 'Sign it, Mr. William here/ 
 He unrolled it and indicated the place. 'Let us have no 
 more shilly shally, willy nilly talk. It is for your good and 
 for my client's.' 
 
 'And yours, too, Mr. Probus.' 
 
 'My dear,' said Alice, 'do not exchange words any longer. 
 You have said No already. It is my husband's last word, 
 Sir.' 
 
 There I should have stopped. It is always foolish to 
 reveal to 1 an enemy what one has discovered. I think that 
 up to that moment Mr. Probus was only anxious: that is 
 to say, he was crazy with anxiety, but he could not believe 
 that his money was all gone, because he had no knowledge 
 or suspicion in what way it had gone. Things that appear 
 impossible cannot be believed. I think that he would have 
 assured himself of the fact in some other way before pro- 
 ceeding to the wickedness which he actually had in his 
 mind. He would have waited : and I could have eluded him 
 some way or other. As it was, the mere statement of Mat- 
 thew drunk drove 'him half mad with fear: but there was 
 still the chance that Matthew sober would have spoken dif- 
 ferently. 
 
 'No,' according to Alice, was my last word. 
 
 'Not quite the last word,' I said. 'Hark ye, Mr. Probus. 
 The sum waiting for me when Matthew dies, is one hundred 
 thousand pounds with accumulations of interest, is it not 2 
 
154 The Orange Girl 
 
 If he were to die to-morrow to be sure it is not likely but 
 he may be murdered, or he may put himself within the 
 
 power of the Law and so be executed ' Mr. Probus 
 
 turned ghastly white and shook all over. 'Then I should 
 come in for the whole of that money, which is much better 
 than four thousand pounds, whereas if I were to die to- 
 morrow either by the operation of the law or by some 
 other manner, Matthew would have the whole and you 
 would get back the twenty-five thousand pounds you have 
 lent my cousin with a noble addition. If you do get it, that 
 is Mr. Probus, I think that you will not get it. I think 
 you will never get any more of your money back at all.' 
 
 'I don't know, Sir, what you mean: or what you know, 
 he stammered. 
 
 'I know more than you think. I know where your money 
 has gone.' 
 
 'He jumped up. 'Where? Where? Where? Tell me/ 
 
 'It has gone into the bottomless gulf that they call the 
 gaming table, Mr. Probus. It has been gambled away : the 
 ships of my father's fleet: the cargoes: the accumulated 
 treasures: the credit of the business: the private fortune 
 of my cousin: your own money lent to Matthew: it has all 
 gone: irrecoverably gone ' 
 
 'The gaming table !' he groaned. 'The gaming table ! I 
 never thought of that. Sir, do you know what you mean 
 the gaming table ?' 
 
 No one but a money-lender knows all that may be meant 
 by the gaming table. 
 
 'I know what I say. Matthew told you the truth. Every- 
 thing has gone: ruin stares him in the face Your 
 
 money is gone with the rest/ 
 
 'The gaming table. And I never suspected it The 
 
 gaming table!' He fell into a kind of trance or fit, with 
 open mouth, white cheeks, and fixed eyes. This lasted only 
 for a few moments. 
 
 'Mr. Probus/ I went on, 'I cannot say that I am sorry for 
 your misfortunes ; but I hope we shall never meet again/ 
 
 He got up, slowly. His face was full of despair. I con- 
 fess that I pitied him. For 'he gave way altogether to a 
 madness oT grief. 
 
 'Gone?' he cried. 'No no no not gone it can't 
 be gone/ He threw 'himself into a chair and buried his 
 face in his hands. He sobbed : he moaned : .when he lifted 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 155 
 
 his head again his features were distorted. 'It is my all/ 
 he cried. 'Oh! you don't know what it is to lose your all. 
 I can never get any more I am old: I have few clients 
 left I get no new ones: the old cannot get new clients: 
 my character is not what it was: they cry out after me in 
 the street: they say I lend money at cent, per cent. why 
 not? They call me old cent, per cent. If I lose this money 
 I am indeed lost/ 
 
 'We cannot help you, Mr. Probus/ 
 
 'Oh! yes, do what I ask you. Sell your chance. You 
 will never outlive your cousin. You will save my life. 
 Think of saving a man's life. As for your cousin, let him 
 go his own way. I hate him. It is you, you, Mr. William, 
 I have always loved/ 
 
 'No/ 
 
 He turned to Alice and fell on his knees. 
 
 'Persuade him, Madam. You are all goodness. Oh! 
 persuade him think of your child. You can make him 
 rich with a stroke of a pen think of that. Oh! think of 
 that!' The tears ran down his cheeks. 
 
 'Sir, I think only of my husband's father. And of his 
 wishes, which are commands/ 
 
 'Enough said' there was too much said already 'your 
 money is gone, Mr. Probus/ 
 
 'Gone?' he repeated, but no longer in terms of entreaty. 
 He was now fallen into the other extreme; he was blind 
 and mad with rage and despair. 'No no it's not gone. 
 I will get it out of you. Those who threw you into prison 
 can do worse worse. You have brought it on yourself. 
 
 It is your ruin or mine. Once more ' With trembling 
 
 fingers he held out the paper for me to sign. 
 
 'No/ 
 
 He stayed no longer: he threw out his arms again: it 
 was as if his breath refused to come : and he turned away. 
 He looked like a broken-down man, crawling, bent, with 
 hanging head, along the road. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Ramage opened the door and 
 came out cautiously. 
 
 'Mr. Will/ he cried. 'For Heaven's sake, sir. For your 
 dear lady's sake: for the child's sake: get out of the way. 
 Nothing else will serve. He is desperate ; and he is as cun- 
 ning as the Devil himself. To get back his money he will 
 shrink from nothing/ 
 
156 The Orange Girl 
 
 'Indeed, Ramage,' I said, 'I think you are right. I will 
 take a holiday for awhile/ 
 
 'When the bankruptcy comes/ he said, 'there will be no 
 more danger, because all the money would be divided among 
 the creditors. Better to run away than to be ruined.' 
 
 I promised to think of flight. Indeed, my mind was 
 shaken. I was not afraid of open villainy, but of that 
 which might be concealed and 'designed in secret. It would 
 perhaps be best to go where the man could not find me. 
 
 So Ramage departed. When he saw me again, it was in 
 a very different place. 
 
 The bell of Lambeth Church began to toll. It seemed 
 to me like a funeral knell, though it was the bell for the 
 afternoon service. The wind came up from the river chilled 
 with the November air. My heart sank. 
 
 'My dear,' said Alice, 'let us go to Church. Oh! the 
 mark of the Evil Spirit is stamped upon the unhappy man's 
 forehead. Let us pray not for ourselves, but for God's 
 mercy upon a wandering soul.' 
 
 I followed her as she led the way, carrying the child. 
 Alas ! How long before I could sit with her again to hear 
 the prayers of the church among godly folk ! 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 JENNY'S ADVICE 
 
 AFTER this plain warning: after knowing the nature of the 
 design against me : after the savage threats of the man Pro- 
 bus: I ought to have hesitated no longer: I should have 
 taken Alice and the child to her brother Tom, and should 
 then have retired somewhere until the inevitable bankruptcy 
 relieved me from fear of conspiracy. Once before, I had 
 suffered from delay : yet had I not learned the perils of pro- 
 crastination. T had formed in my mind an idea that they 
 would try in some way to fix upon me the crime of forgery, 
 and I thought that this would take time: so that I was not 
 hurried: I confess that I was disquieted: but I was not 
 hurried. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 157 
 
 On Monday morning I repaired to Soho Square and laid 
 the whole business before Jenny. 
 
 'Will,' she said, after hearing all and asking a few ques- 
 tions, 'this seems a very serious affair. You have to deal 
 with a man driven frantic by the loss of all his money : the 
 money that he has spent his life in scraping together. He 
 throws out hints about your possible death in the counting- 
 house, and makes a bargain in case you die : he threatens 
 you with some mysterious revenge.' 
 
 'I believe he will trump up some charge of forgery.' 
 
 'He is quite unscrupulous. Now, I will tell you some- 
 thing. The man Merri dew's perjury about your alleged 
 debt put me on the scent. Probus works through Merridew. 
 First of all Merridew owes him money more than he can 
 pay. This 'debt goes on rolling up. This puts Merridew 
 in his power. What Probus orders Merridew must do/ 
 
 'Is there always behind every villain a greater villain ?' 
 
 'I suppose so. The greater the rogue the safer he is. 
 Merridew goes to the shopkeepers and offers to return them 
 stolen goods at a price. It is one of his ways of making 
 money. Then he finds out their necessities. Most shop- 
 keepers are always in want of money. Then Merridew 
 takes them to Probus who lends them money. Oh ! at first 
 there was never such a kin'd friend on the easiest terms: 
 they can pay when they please : then they want a little more : 
 and so they go on. When their debt has risen to half the 
 value of their stock, Probus wants to be paid. Then he sells 
 them up. The father of the family becomes bankrupt and 
 goes into a prison for the rest of his days : what becomes of 
 the children I know not no one knows. I dare say some of 
 them go to St. Giles's/ 
 
 This is what Jenny told me. I know not if it is true, but 
 I think it must be. 
 
 'Well, you see, that Probus pulls the strings and sets 
 Merridew's arms and legs at work, and Merridew has all 
 the rogues under his thumb. Now you understand why 
 the position is serious/ 
 
 She considered for a few minutes. 'Will/ she said, 'for 
 sure they will talk it over at the Black Jack. When any- 
 thing is arranged it is generally done in the kitchen and in 
 the morning/ She looked at the clock. 'It is now nearly 
 one. If I were to go round !' She considered again, 'Doll 
 
158 The Orange Girl 
 
 will be there. They may be there too. But this time they 
 must not recognise me. Wait a bit, Will/ 
 
 She left me and presently came back dressed, not as an 
 Orange Girl, but as a common person, such as one may see 
 anywhere in St. Gile's. She had on a linsey woolsey 
 frock: a dirty white apron all in holes: a kerchief round 
 her neck: another over her head tied under her chin: a 
 straw hat also tied under her chin : and woollen mittens on 
 her hands. One cheek was smudged as by a coal, and her 
 left eye was blackened: no one would have recognised her. 
 On her arm she carried a basket carefully covered up. 
 
 'Now/ she said, Tm a woman with a basket full of stolen 
 goods for Mother Wilmot/ 
 
 I let her out by the garden-door which opened on to Hog's 
 Lane. Presently she returned : from what she told me, this 
 was what passed. 
 
 She found her mother nodding over knitting, and her sis- 
 ter Doll busy with the slate. The kitchen was well-nigfa 
 empty because most of the frequenters were abroad picking 
 up their living. Like the sparrows they pick it up as they 
 can from pockets and doorways and from shop bulks. 
 
 'Doll/ she whispered. 'Pretend not to know me. Turn 
 over the things in the basket/ 
 
 'What is it, Jenny?' 
 
 She looked round the room. There were only two or 
 three sitting by the fire. 'No one who knows me/ she said. 
 'Tell me, Doll. Has Mr. Merridew 'been here and when ?' 
 
 'Why, he's only just gone. Him and the Bishop and 
 the Captain and another one a gentleman he looked like. 
 All in black/ 
 
 'All in black? Was he tall an'd thin and stooping? So?* 
 
 'Yes. They've been talking over it all the morning/ 
 
 'What is it, Doll? You've got ears like gimlets. I 
 sometimes think it must be pleasant to be able to hear so 
 much that goes on/ 
 
 'I can hear a thing if I like. The Bishop don't like it, 
 Jenny/ She dropped her voice. 'It's business for getting 
 a man out of the way. They'll 'have to give evidence at 
 the Old Bailey, and he's afraid/ 
 
 'How is the man to be put out of the way? 1 
 
 'I don't know. There's money on it. But they're afraid/ 
 
 'Why are they afraid?' 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 159 
 
 'Because they're going to make a man swing. If he 
 doesn't swing, they will.' 
 
 'I suppose it's an innocent man, Doll/ 
 
 'How should I know? It isn't one of themselves. If 
 the case breaks down they'll have to swing. Mr. Merridew 
 promised them so much, for I heard him. He means it, 
 too and they know it. I heard him. "If you J do break 
 down," he says, "after all, you will be no worse off than 
 you are at present. For your time's up and you know it, 
 both of you. So, if you break down, you will be arrested 
 for conspiracy and detained on my information on a capital 
 
 charge." After which he made so ' with her finger on 
 
 her neck. 
 
 'Well, what did they say, Doll?' 
 
 'The Bishop said it would be easier and quicker to knock 
 him on the head at once. Mr. Merridew wouldn't hear of 
 it. He said if they obeyed him they should have two years' 
 more rope. If not, they knew what to expect. So they 
 went away with him, looking mighty uneasy/ 
 
 'When is it to be, Doll?' 
 
 'Lord, sister, you are mighty curious. 'Tis no affair of 
 yours. Best know nothing, I say. Only a body must hear 
 things. And it makes the time pass knowing what to ex- 
 pect/ 
 
 'Can you find out when it is to be?' 
 
 'If I learn, I will tell you. It's all settled, I know that. 
 We shall have the pair of them giving evidence in the Old 
 Bailey/ Doll laughed at the thought. 'All St. Giles will 
 go to the Court to hear all them that dare/ 
 
 'So they went away with Mr. Merridew/ Jenny repeated, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 'Yes, after a mug of purl, but the Bishop went away shak- 
 ing/ Not on account of the crime, I suppose, but with the 
 thought of being cross-examined in the Old Bailey, and the 
 terror that he might be recognised. But the only London 
 Prison that knew him was the King's Bench/ 
 
 Jenny took up her basket and went away. Just outside 
 the door she met a young country fellow: he had come up 
 from some village in consequence of trouble concerned with 
 a girl : Jenny had had speech with him already, as you have 
 heard, at the Black Jack. 
 
 'Jack/ she said, 'you don't remember me: I was at the 
 
160 The Orange Girl 
 
 Black Jack some time ago in the evening. They called me 
 Madam. Now you remember/ 
 
 'Ay ' he said, looking at her curiously. 'But I 
 
 shouldn't know you again. Yon are dressed different/ 
 
 'Jack, why don't you go home?' 
 
 'A man must live,' he replied. 
 
 'You'll be hanged. For sure and certain, one of these 
 days, you'll be hanged. Now, Jack, I'll give you a chance. 
 Let us sit here by the rails, and talk then people won't 
 suspect. You've seen Mr. Merridew to-day. I thought 
 so. He told you that he might want you on some serious 
 job. I thought so. Your looks are still innocent, Jack. 
 Now tell me all about it and I'll give you money to take you 
 home again out of the way and safe.' 
 
 Jack had very little to tell. He had been in the kitchen 
 that morning. Mr. Merridew called him bade him not 
 to go away: said that he should want him perhaps for a 
 good job: so he waited. Then a gentleman came in: he 
 was in black a long, and lean figure. Jack would know 
 him again; and they all four but not Jack talked very 
 earnestly together. Then the gentleman went away and 
 presently Mr. Merridew also went away, with the Bishop 
 and the Captain. 
 
 'Very good, Jack. I will see you to-morrow morning 
 again just in the same place. Don't forget. If anything 
 else occurs you will tell me. Poor Jack ! I should be sorry 
 to see so proper a fellow hanged,' so she nodded and laughed 
 and pressed his hand and left him. 
 
 She came home: she joined me again. There was some- 
 thing hatching; that was certain. 
 
 'Perhaps,' she said, 'the plot is not directed against you. 
 Merridew is always finding out where a house can be broken 
 or a bale of stuff stolen.' 
 
 Then what did Probus want there?' 
 
 'The long, lean man in black was not Probus, perhaps/ 
 
 She considered again. 
 
 'After all, Will, I think the best thing is for you to dis- 
 appear. They are desperate villains. Get out of their way. 
 Your friend Ramage gave you the best advice possible. If 
 all he says is true, Matthew cannot hold out much longer. 
 Once he is bankrupt, your death will no longer help Pro- 
 bus. Where could you go?' 
 
 I told her that I thought of Dublin, where I might get 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 161 
 
 into the orchestra of the theatre. So after a little discus- 
 sion, it was settled. Jenny, always generous* undertook to 
 provide for Alice in my absence, and gave me a sum of 
 money for present necessities. 
 
 I stayed there all day. In the evening I played at a con- 
 cert in the Assembly Room. After the concert I took sup- 
 per with Jenny. 
 
 During supper Jenny entertained me with a fuller de- 
 scription of the wretches from whose hands she was trying 
 to rescue me. There was no turn or trick of villainy that 
 Jenny did not know. She made no excuses for knowing 
 so much it was part of her education to hear continually 
 talk of these things. They make up disguises in which it 
 is impossible to recognise them: they arrange that respect- 
 able people shall swear to their having been miles away at 
 the time of the crime: they practise on the ignorance of 
 some : on the cunning of others. They prey upon mankind. 
 And all the time, behind every villain stands a greater vil- 
 lain. Behind the humble footpad stands the Captain: be- 
 hind the Captain stands the thief-taker: behind the thief- 
 , taker stands the money-lender himself unseen. It would 
 surely be to the advantage of the Law could it tackle the 
 greater villains first. A cart-load of gentlemen like Mr. 
 Probus on its way to Tyburn would perhaps be more useful 
 than many cartloads of poor pickpockets and hedge-lifters. 
 Sometimes, however, as this history will relate, Justice with 
 tardy step overtakes a Probus, and that with punishment 
 so dreadful that he is left incapable of any further wicked- 
 ness. 
 
 'Now/ she said, 'when Probus wants money, he squeezes 
 Merridew. Then he lays information against some poor 
 wretch who expected a longer rope. In order to get at these 
 wretches he has to encourage them to break the law. So 
 you see, if he has to make a payment to Probus, he must 
 manufacture criminals. As I said, there cannot be many 
 things worse than the making of criminals for the satis- 
 faction of the money-lender/ 
 
 I hardly understood, at the time, the full villainy of this 
 system. In fact, I was wholly absorbed in my own particu- 
 lar case. What was going to be done ? 
 
 About midnight I bade this kindest of women farewell. 
 
 'Remember, Will/ she said, 'trust nothing to chance. 
 Take boat down the river before daybreak. There is sure 
 
1 62 The Orange Girl 
 
 to be a Holyhead coach somewhere in the morning. In a 
 month or two you can come 'back again in safety/ 
 
 Yes I was to come back in safety in that time, but not 
 as Jenny meant. I shouldered my trusty club and marched 
 off. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY 
 
 MY WAY home lay through Dean Street as far as St. Ann's 
 Church : then I passed across Leicester Fields : and through 
 Green Street at the south-east angle of the Fields into St. 
 Martin's Lane. All this part of the way is greatly infested 
 at nigfat by lurking footpads from the choice purlieus of 
 Seven Dials and Soho. Of footpads, however, I had very 
 little fear: they are at best a cowardly crew, even two or 
 three together, and a man with a stout cudgel and some skill 
 at a quarter-staff or single-stick need not be afraid of them : 
 generally, two or three passengers will join together in order 
 to get across the Fields which are especially the dangerous 
 part: on many nights it was so late when I left the Square 
 that even footpads, highwaymen, pickpockets and all were 
 fairly home and in bed before I walked through the streets. 
 
 This evening by bad luck, I was alone. I found no other 
 passengers going my way. But I had no fear. I poised 
 my cudgel and set out, expecting perhaps an encounter with 
 a footpad, but nothing worse. And it was not yet late, as 
 hours go, in London : there were still people in the streets. 
 
 What had happened was this. As soon as Probus learned 
 the truth about the gaming-table a fatal thing it was to 
 disclose my knowledge 'he understood two things: first, 
 that his money was irrevocably gone: and second, that if I 
 revealed the truth to the Alderman in 'his suburban retreat, 
 he must needs investigate the position of things in which 
 case Bankruptcy would be precipitated. After that, whether 
 I died or signed the agreement, or refused to sign it would 
 matter nothing to him. Whereas, on the other hand, if my 
 signature could be obtained before the bankruptcy, then 
 money could be raised upon the succession: and if I were 
 to die, then the whole of the money would be paid on the 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 163 
 
 day of my death to Matthew. Whatever was done must 
 therefore be done as soon as possible. 
 
 Therefore, he resolved that the plot should be carried into 
 execution on the very Monday evening. He caused the 
 cottage to be watched by one of the girls w/ho frequented 
 the Black Jack : she followed me all the way from Lambeth 
 to Soho Square: and she carried intelligence where to find 
 me to the tavern, where Probus himself with Merridew, the 
 Bishop, and the Captain, was now waiting. 
 
 They understood that I was playing at a concert: they 
 therefore sallied out about the time when the concert would 
 be finishing and waited for me in the Square: at eleven 
 o'clock I sallied forth: I walked down Dean Street: they 
 ran down Greek Street to meet me at the other end, where 
 there are fewer people: but (I heard this afterwards) 
 changed their minds and got over the Fields into Green 
 Street behind the Mews, where they resolved to wait for 
 me. The Bishop posted himself on one side: the Captain 
 on the other: Mr. Probus and Mr. Merridew waited a little 
 further down the street. It was a dangerous plot that 
 they were going to attempt : I am not surprised that neither 
 the Bis'hop nor the Captain had much stomach for the play. 
 At this place, which has as bad a reputation as any part of 
 London, there are seldom any passengers after night- fall; 
 after midnight, "none. It is dark : the houses are inhabited 
 by criminal and disorderly people but all this is well known 
 to everybody. 
 
 I walked briskly along, anticipating no danger of this 
 kind. Suddenly, I heard footsteps in front of me and be- 
 hind me : there was a movement in the quiet street ; by such 
 light as the stars gave, I saw before me the rascally face of 
 the Bishop : I lifted my cudgel : I half turned : crash ! I 
 remember nothing more. 
 
 When I came to my senses, or to some part of my senses, 
 I found myself lying on a sanded floor : my head was filled 
 with a dull and heavy pain: my eyes were dazed: to open 
 them brought on an agony of pain. For awhile the voices 
 I heard were like the buzzing of bees. 
 
 I grew better: I was able to distinguish a little: but I 
 could not yet open my eyes. 
 
 The first voice that I recognized was that of Mr. Probus. 
 the rasping, 'harsh, terrifying voice who could mistake 
 it? 
 
164 The Orange Girl 
 
 'A bad case, gentlemen/ he was saying, 'a very bad case: 
 it was fortunate that I was passing on my way, if only to 
 identify the prisoner. Dear me! I knew his honoured 
 father, gentlemen; I was his father's unworthy attorney. 
 His father was none other than Sir Peter Halliday. The 
 young man was turned out of the house for misconduct. A 
 bad case Who would have thought that Sir Peter's son 
 would die at Tyburn?' 
 
 Then there was another voice: rich and rolling, like a 
 low stop of the organ I knew that too. It was the voice 
 of the Bishop. 
 
 'My name, Mr. Constable, is Carstairs ; Samuel Carstairs ; 
 the Rev. Samuel Carstairs, Doctor of Divinity, Sanctse Theo- 
 logise Professor, sometime of Trinity College, Dublin. I 
 am an Irish clergyman, at present without cure of souls. I 
 was walking home after certain godly exercises' in the 
 Black Jack I suppose 'when this fellow ran out in front 
 of me, crying "Your money or your life." I am not a fight- 
 ing man, Sir, but a servant of the Lord. I gave him my 
 purse, entreating him to spare my life. As he took it, some 
 other gentleman, unknown to me, ran to my assistance, and 
 knocked the villain down. Perhaps, Mr. Constable, you 
 would direct his pockets to be searched. The purse con- 
 tained seventeen guineas.' 
 
 I felt hands in my pocket. Something was taken out. 
 
 'Ha!' cried the Doctor. 'Let the money be counted/ 
 
 I heard the click of coin and another voice cried 'Seven- 
 teen guineas.' 
 
 'Well/ said Mr. Probus, 'there cannot be much doubt after 
 that/ 
 
 'I rejoice/ said the Doctor, 'not so much that the money 
 is found though I assure you, worthy Sir, I could ill afford 
 the loss as because it clearly proves 'the truth of my evi- 
 dence if, that is to say, there could be any question as to 
 its truth, or anyone with the hardihood to doubt it/ 
 
 At this point, I was able to open my eyes. The place I 
 knew for a Round House. The Constable in charge sat at a 
 table, a book before 'him, entering the case: Mr. Probus 
 stood beside him, shaking 'his virtuous head with sorrow. 
 The Doctor was holding up his hands to express a good 
 clergyman's horror of the crime : Mr. Merridew was stand- 
 ing on the other side of the Constable, and beside him the' 
 Captain, who now stepped forward briskly. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 165 
 
 ; 'My name/ he said, 'is Ferdinando Fenwick. I am a 
 country man from Cumberland. I was walking with this 
 gentleman' he indicated Mr. Merridew. 'We were walk- 
 ing together for purposes of mutual protection, for I have 
 been warned against this part of London, when I saw the 
 action described by this pious clergyman. The man ran 
 forward raising his cudgel. I have brought it with me 
 You can see, Sir, that it is a murderous weapon. I saw the 
 gentleman here, whose name I did not catch ' 
 
 'Carstairs By your leave, Sir Samuel Carstairs The 
 Rev. Samuel Carstairs Doctor of Divinity Sanctse Theo- 
 logize Professor/ 
 
 'Thank you, Sir. I saw him hand over his purse. The 
 villain raised his cudgel again. I verily believe he intended 
 to murder as well as to rob his victim. I therefore ran to 
 the rescue and with a blow of my stick felled the ruffian/ 
 
 The Constable looked doubtfully at Mr. Merridew, whom 
 he knew by sight, as everybody connected with the criminal 
 part of the law certainly did : he knew him as Sheriff's offi- 
 cer, nominally : thief-taker by secret profession : thief-maker, 
 as matter of notoriety at the Courts. From him he looked 
 at Mr. Probus, but more doubtfully, because 'he knew noth- 
 ing about him except that he was an attorney, which means 
 to such people as the Constable, devil incarnate. He also 
 looked doubtfully at the Captain, whose face, perhaps, he 
 knew. Considering that the Captain had been living for 
 eight years at least in and about St. Giles's, and robbing 
 about all the roads that run out of London, perhaps the Con- 
 stable did know him by sight. 
 
 'Well,' he said, 'I suppose Sir John will look into it to- 
 morrow. As for this gentleman who says 'he is I re- 
 member ' 
 
 Here Mr. Probus slipped something into his hand. 
 
 'It is not for me/ the worthy Constable added, 'to remem- 
 ber anything. Besides, I may be wrong. Well, gentlemen, 
 you will all attend to-morrow morning at Bow Street and 
 give your evidence before Sir John Fielding/ 
 
 So they went away and I lay on the floor still wondering 
 stupidly what would happen next. 
 
 Just then two watchmen came in. One was leading, or 
 dragging, or carrying a young gentleman richly dressed 
 but so drunk that he could neither stand nor speak: the 
 other brought with him a poor creature a woman young 
 
1 66 The Orange Girl 
 
 only a girl still dressed in rags and tatters; shivering: 
 unwashed; uncombed; weak and emaciated: a deplorable 
 object. 
 
 The Constable turned to the first case. 
 
 'Give the gentleman a chair/ <he said. Tut him before 
 the fire. Reach me his watch and his purse. Search his 
 pockets, watchman/ 
 
 'Please your honour/ said the watchman, 'I have searched 
 his pockets. We came too late, Sir. Nothing in them/ 
 
 'The town is full of villains full of villains/ said the offi- 
 cer, with honest indignation. 'Well, put him in the chair. 
 A gentleman can send for guineas if he hasn't got any 
 guineas. Did he assault you, watchman? I thought so 
 Well Let him sleep it off. Who's this woman ?' 
 
 The watchman deposed to finding her walking about the 
 deserted streets because she had nowhere to go. 
 
 'Has she got any money? Then just put her in the 
 strong room and carry this poor devil in after her. If 
 that story holds well lay him on the bench and take care 
 of his head/ 
 
 They pushed the girl into the strong-room: carried me 
 after her : laid me down on a wide stone bench without any 
 kind of pillow or covering. Then they went out locking 
 the door behind them. 
 
 I suppose that I should have suffered more than I did 
 had it not been for the stupefying effect of the blow upon 
 my head. I have only a dim recollection of the night. The 
 place was filled with poor wretches, men and women, who 
 could not afford to bribe the Constable. In this land of 
 freedom to be a poor rogue is hanging matter : to be a rogue 
 with money in pocket and purse is quite another thing: 
 that rogue goes free. The rogue runs the gauntlet: first, 
 he may get off by bribing the watchman : if he fails to do 
 that, he may bribe the constable: or if the worst 
 happens, he may then bribe the magistrate. I un- 
 derstand, however, that this has been changed, and 
 that there are now no Justices who take bribes. 
 Now, if the watchman brings few cases to the con- 
 stable, and those all poor rogues, he may lose his place : and 
 if the constable pockets all the bribes and brings the magis- 
 trate none, he may lose his place. So that it is mutually 
 agreed between the three that each is to have his share. All 
 mankind are for ever seeking and praying for Justice, and 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 167 
 
 behold, this is all we have got in the boasted eighteenth cen-' 
 tury. I suppose, however, that in such a case as mine, a 
 charge of highway robbery, in which the prisoner was taken 
 red-handed, no constable would dare to take a bribe. 
 
 From time to time in the night we were disturbed by 
 the grating of the key in the lock as the door was opened 
 for the admission of another poor wretch. Then these in- 
 terruptions ceased, and we were left in quiet. 
 
 When the day broke through the bars of the only win- 
 dow, I could look round upon the people, my companions in 
 misfortune. There were three or four women in tawdry 
 finery very poor and miserable creatures who would be 
 happier in the worst prison than in the way they lived : two 
 or three pickpockets and footpads: one or two prentices, 
 who would be sent to Bridewell and flogged for being found 
 drunk. There was very little talk. Mostly, the wretches 
 sat in gloomy silence. They had not even the curiosity to 
 ask each other as to the offenses with which they were 
 charged. 
 
 As the light increased the women began to whisper. They 
 exhorted each other to courage. Before them all, in imagi- 
 nation, stood the dreadful whipping-post of Bridewell. Some 
 of them have had an experience of that punishment. 
 
 'It takes but two or three minutes/ they said. 'Then it 
 soon passes off. Mind you screech as if they were murder- 
 ing you. That frightens the Alderman, and brings down the 
 knocker. Don't begin to fret about it.' They were talking 
 about their whippings in Bridewell. 'Perhaps Sir John will 
 let you go. Sometimes he does/ My head pained, and I 
 closed my eyes again. 
 
 At about eight o'clock the doors were flung wide open. 
 Everyone started, shuddered, and stood up. 'Now, then,' 
 cried a harsh voice, 'out with you ! Out, I say.' 
 
 I was still giddy with last night's blow: my hair was 
 stiff with blood : my head ached, but I was able to walk out 
 with the others. The constables arranged us in a kind of 
 procession, and put the handcuffs on every one. Then we 
 were marched through the streets two by two, guarded by 
 constables, to Bow Street Office, the Magistrate of which was 
 then Sir John Fielding. 
 
 'There was some slight comfort in the thought that he 
 was 'blind: 'he could not be prejudiced against me by my ap- 
 pearance, for my face was smeared with blood : my hair was 
 
1 68 The Orange Girl 
 
 stiff with blood. There was blood on -my coat, and where 
 there was not blood there was the mud of the street in 
 which I had lain senseless. 
 
 The business of the Court was proceeding. The Magis- 
 trate sat at a table: his eyes were bandaged. The eyes of 
 Justice should be always bandaged. Over his head on the 
 wall hung the Lion and the Unicorn : the prisoners were 
 placed in a railed space: the witnesses in another, those in 
 my case, I observed, were in readiness and waiting : three or 
 four Bow Street runners were standing in the Court: there 
 was a dock for the prisoner facing the magistrate. 
 
 The cases took little time. There is a dreadful sameness 
 about the charges. The women were despatched summarily 
 and sent off to Bridewell : they received their sentences 
 with cries and lamentations, which stopped quickly enough 
 when they found that they could not move the magistrate : 
 the pickpockets were ordered to be whipped: the other 
 rogues were committed to prison. They were destined, for 
 the most part, to transportation beyond the seas. It is use- 
 ful for the country to get rid of its rogues: it seems also 
 humane to send them to a country where they may lead an 
 honest life. Alas ! the humanity of the law is marred by the 
 execution of the sentence, for though the voyage does not 
 last more than six or eight weeks, the gaol fever taken on 
 board the ship; the sea sickness; the stench; the dirt; the 
 foul air of the ship, commonly kill at least a third of the 
 poor creatures thus sent out. As for those who are left, 
 many of them run away from their masters : make their way 
 to a port, get on board a ship, and are carried back to Lon- 
 don, where they are fain to go back to their old companions 
 and resume their old habits, and get known to Mr. Merridew 
 and his friends, and so at last find themselves in the con- 
 demned cells. 
 
 My case came on, at last. I was placed in the dock facing 
 the magistrate. The clerk read to hi<m the notes of the case 
 provided by the chief constable. 
 
 'Your name, prisoner ?' he asked. 
 
 'I am William Halliday,' I said, 'only son of the late Sir 
 Peter Halliday, formerly Lord Mayor of London. I am 
 a musician now in the employment of Madam Vallance, 
 Proprietor of the Assembly Rooms in Soho Square/ 
 
 The Magistrate whispered to his clerk. 
 
 Then the evidence was given. One after the other they 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 169 
 
 manfully stood up : kissed the book : and committed perjury. 
 Sir John Fielding asked the Doctor several questions. He 
 was evidently doubtful: his clerk whispered again: he 
 pressed the doctor as to alleged profession and position. 
 However, the man stuck to his tale. The fact that the purse 
 was found in my pocket was very strong. Then the Cap- 
 tain told his story. 
 
 Mr. Merridew did not attempt any disguise : he was too 
 well known in Court : he stated that he was a Sheriff's officer 
 named Merridew everybody in the court gazed upon him 
 with the greatest curiosity, the women whispering and look- 
 ing from him to me. 'Who is he?' they asked each other. 
 'What has he done? Do you know him do you?' The 
 surprise at the appearance of a stranger in the dock charged 
 on the evidence of the worthy sheriff's officer caused general 
 surprise. However, Mr. Merridew took no notice of the 
 whispering. He was apparently callous : he took it perhaps 
 as proof of popularity and admiration : he gave his evidence 
 in the manner of one accustomed to bear witness, as indeed 
 he was, having perhaps given evidence oftener than any 
 other living man. He stated that he had joined a stranger 
 to walk from the Tottenham Court Road to Charing Cross, 
 each carrying a cudgel for self-defence: that he observed 
 the action described by the worthy and learned Doctor of 
 Divinity from Ireland: that his companion, this gallant 
 young gentleman, rushed out to the rescue of the clergyman, 
 and so forth. So he retired with a front of iron. 
 
 Mr. Probus added to the evidence which you have already 
 heard the statement that he came accidentally upon the party 
 and after the business was over: that he happened to have 
 been attorney to the late Sir Peter Halliday : that he recog- 
 nized the robber as the unnatural son of that good man, 
 turned out of his father's -home for his many crimes and 
 vices: and that in the interest of justice ancl respect for the 
 laws of his country he went out of his way, and was at great 
 personal loss and inconvenience in order to give this evi- 
 dence. 
 
 The Magistrate put no questions to him. He turned to 
 me and asked if I had anything to say or any evidence to 
 offer. 
 
 I had none, except that I was no highwayman, but a 
 respectable musician, and that this was a conspiracy. 
 
 'You will have the opportunity/ said Sir John, 'of proving 
 
170 The Orange Girl 
 
 the fact. Meantime, in the face of this evidence, conspiracy 
 or not, I have no choice but to commit you to Newgate, there 
 to remain until your trial/ 
 
 They set me aside and the next case was called. 
 
 So you understand, there are other ways of compassing a 
 man's death besides simple murder. It is sufficient to enter 
 into a conspiracy and to charge him with an offence which, 
 by the laws of the country, is punishable by death. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 NEWGATE 
 
 A MAN must be made of brass or wrought-iron who can 
 enter the gloomy portals of Newgate as a prisoner without 
 a trembling of the limbs and a sinking of the heart. Not 
 even consciousness of innocence is sufficient to sustain a 
 prisoner, for alas! even the innocent are sometimes found 
 guilty. Once within the first doors I was fain to lay hold 
 upon the nearest turnkey or I should have fallen into a 
 swoon; a thing which, they tell me, happens with many, 
 for the first entrance into prison is worse to the imagination 
 even than the standing up in the dock to take one's trial in 
 open court. There is, in the external aspect of the prison : 
 in the gloom which hangs over the prison : in the mixture of 
 despair and misery and drunkenness and madness and re- 
 morse which fills the prison, an air which strikes terror to the 
 very soul. They took me into a large vaulted ante-room, lit 
 by windows high up, with the turnkey's private room open- 
 ing out of it, and doors leading into the interior parts of the 
 Prison. The room was filled with people waiting their turn 
 to visit the prisoners ; they carried baskets and packages and 
 bottles; their provisions, in a word, for the Prison allows 
 the prisoners no more than one small loaf of bread every day. 
 Some of the visitors were quiet, sober people: some were 
 women on whose cheeks lay tears : some were noisy, reckless 
 young men, who laughed over the coming- fate of their 
 friends ; spoke of Tyburn Fair ; of kicking off the shoes at 
 the gallows; of dying game; of Newgate music meaning 
 the clatter of the irons; of whining and snivelling; and so 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 171 
 
 forth. They took in wine, or perhaps rum under the name 
 of wine. There were also girls whose appearance and man- 
 ner certainly did not seem as if sorrow and sympathy with 
 the unfortunate had alone brought them to this place. Some 
 of the girls also carried bottles of wine with them in baskets. 
 
 I was then brought before the Governor who, I thought, 
 would perhaps hear me if I declared the truth. But I was 
 wrong. He barely looked at me ; he entered my name and 
 occupation, and the nature of the crime with which I was 
 charged. Then he coldly ordered me to be taken in and 
 ironed. 
 
 The turnkey led me into a room hung with irons. 'What 
 side ?' he asked. 
 
 I told him I knew nothing about any sides. 
 
 'Why/ he said, 'I thought all the world knew so much. 
 There's the State side. If you go there you will pay for 
 admission three guineas; for garnish and a pair of light 
 irons, one guinea ; for rent of a bed half a guinea a week ; 
 and for another guinea you can have coals and candles, plates 
 and a knife. Will that suit you?' He looked disdainfully 
 at the dirt and blood with which I was covered, as if he 
 thought the State side was not for the likes of me. 
 
 'Alas !' I replied/I cannot go to the State side.' 
 
 'I thought not, by the look of you. Well, there's the mas- 
 ter's side next; the fee for admission is only thirteen and 
 sixpence : irons, half a guinea : the rent of a bed or part of 
 a bed half a crown, and as for your food, what you like to 
 order and pay for. No credit at this tavern, which is the 
 sign of the Clinking Iron. Will that suit you ?' 
 
 'No, I can pay nothing.' 
 
 'Then why waste time asking questions? There's the 
 common side ; you've g^t to go into that, and very grateful 
 you ought to be that there is a common side at all for such a 
 filthy Beast as you/ 
 
 My choice must needs be the last because I had no money 
 at all: not a single solitary shilling my obliging friends 
 when they put their purse into my pocket as a proof of the 
 alleged robbery, abstracted my own which no doubt the 
 worthy Professor of Sacred Theology had in his pocket 
 while he was explaining the nature of the attack to the Con- 
 stable. 
 
 The turnkey while he grumbled about waste of time a 
 prisoner ought to say at once if he had no money: officers 
 
172 The Orange Girl 
 
 of the Prison were not paid to tell stories to every ragged, 
 filthy footpad; the common side was as good as any other 
 on the way to Tyburn: what could a ragamuffin covered 
 with blood and filth expect ? picked out a pair of irons : they 
 were the rustiest and the heaviest that he could find : as he 
 hammered them on he said that for half a crown he would 
 drive the rivet into my heel only that he would rob his friend 
 Jack Ketch of the pleasure of turning off a poor whining 
 devil who came into Newgate without a copper. 'Damme !' 
 he cried, as he finished his work, 'if I believe you ever tried 
 to rob anyone !' 
 
 'I did not/ I replied. At which he laughed, recovering 
 his good temper, and opening a door shoved me through and 
 shut it behind me. 
 
 The common side of Newgate is a place which, though I 
 was in it no more than two hours or so, remains fixed in my 
 memory and will stay there as long as life remains. The 
 yard was filled to overflowing with a company of the vilest, 
 the filthiest, and the most shameless that it is possible to 
 imagine. They were pickpockets, footpads, shoplifters, rob- 
 bers of every kind ; they were in rags ; they were unwashed 
 and unshaven; some of them were drunk; some of them 
 were emaciated by insufficient food a penny loaf a day was 
 doled out to those who had no money and no friends : that 
 was actually all that the poor wretches had to keep body and 
 soul together : the place was crowded not only with the pris- 
 oners, but with their friends and relations of both sexes; 
 the noise, the cursings, the ribald laugh ; the drunken song ; 
 the fighting and quarrelling can never be imagined. And, in 
 the narrow space of the yard which is like the bottom of a 
 deep well, there is no air moving, so that the stench is 
 enough, at first, to make a horse sick. 
 
 I can liken it to nothing but a sty too narrow for the swine 
 that crowded it ; so full of unclean beasts was it, so full of 
 noise and pushing and quarrelling: so full of passions, jeal- 
 ousies, and suspicions ungoverned, was it. Or I would liken 
 it to a chamber in hell when the sharp agony of physical suf- 
 fering is for a while changed for the equal pains of such 
 companionship and such discourse as those of the common 
 side. I stood near the door as the turnkey had pushed me 
 in, staring stupidly about. Some sat on the stone bench with 
 tobacco-pipes and pots of beer: some played cards on the 
 bench : some walked about : there were women visitors, but 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 173 
 
 not one whose face showed shame or sorrow. To such 
 people as these Newgate is like an occasional attack of sick- 
 ness; a whipping is but one symptom of the disease: im- 
 prisonment is the natural cure of the disease; hanging is 
 only the natural common and inevitable end when the disease 
 is incurable, just as death in his bed happens to a man with 
 fever. 
 
 While I looked about me, a man stepped out of the crowd. 
 'Garnish !' he cried, holding out his hand. Then they all 
 crowded round, crying 'Garnish! garnish!' I held up my 
 hands : I assured them that I was penniless. The man who 
 had first spoken waved back the others with his hand. 
 'Friend/ he said, 'if you have no money, oft with your coat.' 
 
 'Then, I know not what happened, because I think I must 
 have fallen into a kind of fit. When I recovered I was lying 
 along the stone bench: my coat was gone: my waistcoat 
 was gone ; my shirt was in rags ; my shoes on which were 
 silver buckles, were gone ; and my stockings, which were of 
 black silk. My head was in a woman's lap. 
 
 'Well done,' she said, 'I thought you'd come round. 'Twas 
 the touching of the wound on your head. Brutes and beasts 
 you are, all of you ! all of you ! One comfort is you'll all be 
 hanged, and that very soon. It'll be a happy world without 
 you/ 
 
 'Come, Nan/ one of the men said, 'you know it's the rule. 
 If a gentleman won't pay his garnish he must give up his 
 coat/ 
 
 'Give up his coat ! You've stripped him to the skin. And 
 him with an open wound in his head bleeding again like a 
 
 The people melted away : they offered no further apology ; 
 but the coat and the rest of the things were not returned. 
 
 My good Samaritan, to judge by her dress and appearance, 
 was one of the commonest of common women the wife or 
 the mistress of a Gaol-bird; the companion of thieves; the 
 accomplice of villains. Yet there was left on her still, what- 
 ever the habit of her life, this touch of human kindness that 
 made her come to the assistance of a helpless stranger. No 
 Christian could have done more. 'Forasmuch/ said Christ, 
 'as you did it unto one of these you did it unto Me/ When I 
 read these words I think of this poor woman, and I pray for 
 her. 
 
 'Lie still a minute/ she said, 'I will stanch the bleeding 
 
1/4 The Orange Girl 
 
 with a little gin/ she pulled out a flat bottle. 'It is good 
 gin. I will pour a little on the wound. That can't hurt 
 so.' But it did hurt. 'Now, my pretty gentleman, for you 
 are a gentleman, though maybe only a gentleman rider and 
 woundily in want of a wash. Take a sip for yourself, don't 
 be afraid. Take a long sip. I brought it here for my man, 
 but he's dead. He died in the night after a fight in the yard 
 here. He got a knife between his ribs,' she spoke of this 
 occurrence as if such a conclusion to a fight was quite in the 
 common way. 'Look here, sir, you've no business in this 
 place. Haven't you got any friends to pay for the Master's 
 side ? Now you're easier, and the bleeding has stopped. Can 
 you stand, do you think ?' 
 
 I made a shift to get to my feet, shivering in the cold damp 
 November air. She had a bundle laying on the bench. "Tis 
 my man's clothes,' she said. 'Take his coat and shoes. You 
 must. Else with nothing but the boards to sleep upon you'll 
 be starved to death. Now I must go and tell his friends that 
 my man is dead. Well he won't be hanged. I never did 
 like to think that I should be the widow of a Tyburn bird/ 
 
 She put on me the warm thick coat that had been her hus- 
 band's ; she put on his shoes. I was still stupid and dull of 
 understanding. But I tried to thank her. 
 
 Some weeks afterwards, when I was at length released, I 
 ventured back into the prison in hopes of finding the name 
 and the residence of the woman Samaritan, if ever there 
 was one. The turnkeys could tell me nothing. The gaol was 
 full of women, they said. My friend was named Nan. 
 They were all Nans. She was the wife of a prisoner who 
 died in the place. They were always dying on the common 
 side. That was nothing. They all know each other by 
 name; but it was six weeks ago; prisoners change every 
 day ; they are brought in ; they are sent out to be hanged, 
 pilloried, whipped or transported. In a word they knew 
 nothing and would not take the trouble to inquire. What 
 did it matter to these men made callous by intimacy with suf- 
 fering, that a woman of the lower kind had done a kind and 
 charitable action? Nevertheless, we have Christ's own as- 
 surance His words His promise. The woman's action 
 will be remembered on the day when her sins shall be passed 
 before a merciful Judge. Her sins! Alas! she was what 
 she was brought up to be ; her sins lie upon the head of those 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 75 
 
 who suffer her, and those like to her, to grow up without re- 
 ligion, or virtue, or example, or admonition. 
 
 By this time I was growing faint with hunger as well as 
 with loss of blood and fatigue. I had taken nothing for 
 fourteen hours ; namely, since supper the evening before the 
 attack. The first effect of hunger is to stop the power of 
 thought. There fell upon me a feeling of carelessness as if 
 nothing mattered: the night in the watch-house: the ap- 
 pearance before the magistrate: my reception on the com- 
 mon side: all passed across my brain as if they belonged to 
 someone else. I rose with difficulty, but staggered and fell 
 back upon the bench. My head was light : I seemed strangely 
 happy. This lightness of head was quickly followed by a 
 drowsiness which became stupor. How long I lay there I 
 know not. I remember nothing until a heavy hand was laid 
 on my shoulder. 'Come/ it was the voice of a turnkey. 
 'This is not the kind of place for an afternoon nap in No- 
 vember. Come this way. A lady wants to see you/ 
 
 He led me to the door of the common side: and threw 
 it open: in the waiting-room was none other than Jenny 
 herself. How had she learned what had happened? 
 
 'Oh! my poor Will!' she cried, the tears running down 
 her cheeks. 'This is even worse than I expected. But first 
 you must be made comfortable. Here, you fellow/ she called 
 the turnkey. 'Take him away. I will pay for everything. 
 Let him be washed and get his wound dressed ; give him a 
 clean shirt and get him at once new clothes/ 
 
 'If your ladyship pleases ' 
 
 'Change these rusty irons for the lightest you have. Put 
 him into the best cell that you have on the State side. Get a 
 dinner for him : anything that is quickest cold beef ham 
 bread a bottle of Madeira. Go quick/ She stamped her 
 foot with authority; she put into the man's hand enough 
 money to pay for half a dozen prisoners on the State side. 
 'Now, fly don't crawl fly! one would think you were 
 all asleep. A pretty place this is to sleep in !' 
 
 The man knocked off my heavy irons and substituted a 
 pair of lighter ones, highly polished and even ornamental. 
 He took me away and washed me ; it was in the turnkeys' 
 room on the right hand of the entrance ; he also with some 
 dexterity dressed my wound, dressed and cleaned my hair , 
 it was rilled with clotted blood; he fitted me with new' 
 clothes, and in less time than one would think possible, I 
 
176 The Orange Girl 
 
 was taken back looking once more like a respectable person, 
 even a gentleman if I chose to consider myself entitled to 
 claim that empty rank. I found Jenny waiting for me in 
 the best cell that Newgate could offer on the State side : a 
 meal was spread for me, with a bottle of wine. 
 
 'Before we say a word, Will, sit down and eat. Heavens ! 
 You have had nothing since our supper last night/ 
 
 I checked an impulse to thank her: I drove back the 
 swelling in my heart. Reader I was too hungry for thes'j 
 emotions : I had first to satisfy starving nature. While I ate 
 and drank Jenny talked. 
 
 'You shall tell me the whole story presently, Will. Mean- 
 time, go on with your dinner. You must want it, my poor 
 friend. Now let me tell you why I am here. You know I 
 was uneasy about the conspiracy that was hatching. I feared 
 it might be meant for you. So great was my uneasiness that 
 I bade my sister to keep watching and listening : this morn- 
 ing about one o'clock I went to the Black Jack myself to 
 learn if she had discovered anything. 
 
 'Well, she had discovered everything. She said that at 
 eleven o'clock this morning the two fellows called the Bishop 
 and the Captain, whom I had taken out of the King's Bench, 
 came to the Black Jack, laughing and very merry : they called 
 for a mug of purl and a pack of cards: that while they 
 played they talked out loud because there was no one in the 
 house except themselves. Doll they disregarded as they al- 
 ways do, because Doll is generally occupied with her slate 
 and her scores, which she adds up as wrong as she can. They 
 said that it was as good as a play to see the Attorney playing 
 the indignant friend of the family, and how their own evi- 
 dence could not possibly be set aside, and the case was as 
 good as finished and done with ; that the fellow went off to 
 Newgate as dumb as an ox to the shambles; and the poor 
 devil had no money and no friends, and must needs swing, 
 and the whole job was as clean and creditable piece of work 
 as had ever been turned out. It must be hanging: nobody 
 could get him off. Then they fell to wondering as well, 
 what Mr. Probus had done it for; and what he would get 
 by it ; and whether (a speculation which pleased them most) 
 he had not put himself into Mr. Merridew's power, in which 
 case they might have the holy joy of seeing the attorney him- 
 self, when his rope was out, sitting in the cart. And they 
 congratulated each other on their own share in the job ; ten 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 77 
 
 guineas apiece, down, and a promise of more when the man 
 was out of the way : with a long extension of time.' I con- 
 dense Jenny's narrative which was long, and I alter the lan- 
 guage which was wandering. 
 
 'When Doll told me all this/ she concluded, 'I had no 
 longer any doubt that the man whom they had succeeded in 
 placing in Newgate was none other than yourself, my poor 
 Will so I took a coach and drove here.' 
 
 I then told her exactly how everything had happened. 
 
 'I hope/ she said, 'that Matthew, if he is in the conspiracy, 
 does not know what has been done. Besides, the chief gainer 
 will be Probus, not Matthew. Remember, Will, it is just a 
 race ; if he can compass your death before Matthew becomes 
 bankrupt, then he will get back all his money all his money. 
 Think of that : if not, he will lose the whole. Well, Will, he 
 thinks nobody knows except himself. He is mistaken. We 
 shall see we shall see/ So she fell to considering again. 
 
 'If there is a loophole of escape/ she went on, 'he will 
 wriggle out. Let us think. What do we know?' 
 
 'We only know through Ramage/ I replied. 'Is that 
 enough to prove the conspiracy? I know what those two 
 men are who are the leading witnesses how can I prove it ? 
 I know that they were suborned by Probus and that they are 
 in the power of Merridew. How can I prove it? I know 
 that Probus has talked to my cousin about my possible death, 
 but what does that prove? I know that he will benefit by 
 my death to the amount of many thousands, but how can I 
 prove it? My mouth will be closed. Where are my wit- 
 nesses ?' 
 
 'You can't prove anything, Will. And therefore you had 
 better not try/ 
 
 'Jenny/ The tears came to my unmanly eyes. 'Leave 
 me. Go, break the news to Alice, and prepare her mind to 
 see me die/ 
 
 'I will break the news to Alice, but I will not prepare her 
 mind to see you die. For, my dear cousin, you shall not die/ 
 She spoke with assurance. She was standing up and she 
 brought her hand down upon the table with a slap which with 
 her flashing eyes and coloured cheek inspired confidence for 
 the moment. 'You shall not die by the conspiracy of these 
 yillains.' 
 
 'How to prevent them ?' 
 ' 'It would be easy if their friends would bear evidence 
 
178 The Orange Girl 
 
 against them. But they will not. They will sit in the Court 
 and admire the tragic perjuries of the witnesses. There is 
 one rule among my people which is never broken ; no .one 
 must peach on his brother. Shall dog bite dog? If that 
 rule is broken it is never forgiven never so long as the 
 offender lives.' 
 
 'Then, what can we do ?' 
 
 'The short way would be to buy them. But in this respect 
 they cannot be bought. They will rob or murder or perjure 
 themselves with cheerfulness, but they will not peach on their 
 brother. Money will not tempt them. Jealousy might, but 
 there are no women in this case. Revenge might, but there 
 is here no private quarrel. Besides, they are all in the hands 
 of the man Merridew. To thwart him would bring certain 
 destruction on their heads. And if there was any other rea- 
 son, they are naturally anxious to avoid a Court of Justice. 
 They would rather see their own children hanged than go 
 into a court to give evidence, true or false/ 
 
 'Then I must suffer, Jenny/ 
 
 'Nay, Will, I said not so much -I was only putting the 
 case before myself. I see many difficulties but there is al- 
 ways a way out always an end/ 
 
 'Always an end/ I repeated. 'Oh! Jenny. What an 
 end!' 
 
 A Newgate fit was on me; that is, a fit of despondency 
 which is almost despair. All the inmates of Newgate know 
 what it means ; the rattling of the irons ; the recollection of 
 the trial to come; a word that jars; and the Newgate shud- 
 dering seizes a man and shakes him up and down till it is 
 spent. Jenny made me drink a glass of wine. The fit passed 
 away. 
 
 'I feel/ I said at last, 'as if the rope was already round my 
 neck. My poor Alice ! My poor child ! Thou wilt be the 
 son of a highwayman and a Tyburn bird. To the third and 
 fourth generation . . . ' 
 
 'I know nothing about generations/ Jenny interrupted. 
 'All I know is that you are going to be saved. Why, man, 
 consider. Probus knows nothing about me ; these conspira- 
 tors know nothing about Madame Vallance; none of them 
 have the least suspicion ; and must not have : that you know 
 Jenny of the Black Jack. Now I shall try to get a case as to 
 the conspiracy clear without attacking the loyalty of the gang 
 to each other. I have thought of such a plan. And I know 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 79 
 
 an attorney. You have seen him. He is tolerably honest. 
 He shall advise us I will send him here. Be of good cheer, 
 iWill. I go to fetch Alice. Put on a smiling countenance to 
 greet her. Come, you are a man. Lift the drooping spirit 
 of the woman who loves you. Keep up her heart if not your 
 own.' 
 
 She came back at about five: the day was already over; 
 the yards and courts of the Prison were already dark. My 
 cell was lit with a pair of candles when Jenny brought Alice 
 and her brother Tom to see me. 
 
 Alice, poor child ! fell into my arms and so lay for a long 
 time, unable to speak for the sobs that tore her almost in 
 pieces, yet unwilling to let me see her weakness. 
 
 Tom the good fellow assumed the same air of cheerful- 
 ness which he had learned to show in the King's Bench. He 
 sniffed the air approvingly. He looked round with pre- 
 tended satisfaction. 'Ha !' he said, 'this place hath been mis- 
 represented. The room is convenient, if small ; the furni- 
 ture solid : the air is not so close as one might expect. For 
 a brief residence a temporary residence a man might . . . 
 might I say ' He cleared his throat; the tears came into 
 his eyes: he sank into a chair. 'Oh! Will . . . Will,' he 
 cried, breaking down, and unable to pretend any longer. 
 
 Then no one spoke. Indeed all our hearts were full. 
 
 'It is not so much on your account, Will/ said Jenny 
 I observed that she wore a domino, and indeed, she never 
 came to the prison after the first visit without a domino, a 
 precaution by no means unusual, because ladies might not 
 like to be seen in Newgate, and in any case it might arouse 
 suspicions if Jenny were recognised. 'I say it is not on your 
 account, so much as for the sake of this dear creature. 
 Madam Alice I implore you take courage; we have the 
 proofs of the conspiracy in our hands. It is a black and hell- 
 ish plot. The only difficulty is as to the best means of using 
 our knowledge, and here, I confess, for the moment, I am 
 not certain ' 
 
 Alice recovered herself and stood up, holding my hand. 
 'I cannot believe/ she said, 'that such wickedness as this 
 will be permitted to succeed. It would bring shame and 
 sorrow on children and grandchildren to the third and fourth 
 generations/ 
 
 'You all talk about generations/ said Jenny. 'For my part 
 I think of you that are alive, not those who are to come. 
 
180 The Orange Girl 
 
 Well, so far it has not succeeded. For the conspirators are 
 known to me and I am Will's cousin and this they know 
 not/ 
 
 They stayed talking till nine o'clock when visitors had to 
 leave the Prison. Jenny cheered all our hearts. She would 
 hear of no difficulties : all was clear : all was easy : she had 
 the conspirators in her power. To-morrow she would re- 
 turn with her honest and clever attorney. So Alice went 
 away with a lighter heart, and I was left for the night alone 
 in my cell with a gleam of hope. In the morning that gleam 
 left me, and the day broke upon the place of gloom and 
 brought with it only misery and despair. 
 
 In the forenoon Jenny returned with her attorney. He 
 was the man who had already acted for me. His name was 
 Dewberry ; he was possessed of a manner easy and assured, 
 which inspired confidence: in face and figure he was at- 
 tractive, and he betrayed no eagerness to possess himself of 
 his client's money. I observed also, at the outset, that, like 
 all the rest he was the servant (who would, if he could, be- 
 come the lover) of Jenny. 
 
 'Now, Mr. Halliday,' he said, 'I have heard some part of 
 your story from Madame Vallance. I want, next, to hear 
 your own version/ So I told it, while he listened gravely, 
 making notes. 
 
 'It is certainly,' he said, 'a very strong point that your 
 death would give Probus the chance of recovering his 
 money. Your cousin could then pay him off, if he wished, 
 in full. Whether he would do so is another question. If 
 bankruptcy arrives and finds you still living, all the creditors 
 would be considered together. Madame,' he turned to Jenny, 
 'you who have so fine a head for management, let us hear 
 your opinion/ 
 
 'I think of nothing else/ she said. 'Yet I cannot satisfy 
 myself. I have thought that my sister Doll might warn the 
 Captain that both he and the Bishop would be exposed in 
 Court. But what would happen ? They would instantly go 
 off with the news to Merridew. And then? An informa- 
 tion against Doll and my mother for receiving stolen goods. 
 And what would happen then? You know very well, Mr. 
 Dewberry. They would have to buy their release by for- 
 bidding the exposure ! Why, they are the most notorious re- 
 ceivers living. Or, suppose Doll plainly told them that her 
 sister Jenny knew the whole case they don't know at pres- 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 8 1 
 
 en t at least, I think not where I am but they can easily 
 find out that I knew the whole case and meant to expose 
 them. What would happen next ? Murder, my masters. I 
 should be found on my bed with my throat cut, and a letter to 
 show that it was done by one of my maids/ 
 
 'Jenny, for Heaven's sake, do not run these risks/ 
 
 'Not if I can help it, Will. Do you know what I think of 
 besides? It is a doubt whether Matthew would be more 
 rejoiced to see the conspiracy succeed and you put out of the 
 way, or to witness the conviction of Probus for conspiracy/ 
 
 'Softly softly, Madam/ said the attorney ; 'we are a long 
 way yet from the trial, even, of Mr. Probus/ 
 
 'Jenny/ I said, 'your words bring me confidence/ 
 
 'If you feel all the confidence that there is in Newgate it 
 will not be enough, Will, for the confidence that you ought to 
 have. But we must work in silence. If our friends only 
 knew what we are talking here, why then the Lord help 
 the landlady of the Black Jack and her two daughters, Jenny 
 and Doll !' 
 
 'You must be aware, Sir/ said Mr. Dewberry, 'that it is 
 absolutely necessary for us to preserve silence upon every- 
 thing connected with your defence. You must not com- 
 municate any details upon the subject to your most intimate 
 friends and relations/ 
 
 'He means Alice/ said Jenny. 
 
 'We must have secrecy/ 
 
 'You may trust a man whose life is at stake/ 
 
 'Yes. Now the principal witnesses are the pretended 
 Divine and the pretended country gentleman. They rest in 
 the assurance that none of their friends will betray them. 
 We must see what can be done. If we prove that your 
 Irish Divine is a common rogue we make his evidence sus- 
 pected, but we do not prove the conspiracy. The fellow 
 might brave it out, and still swear to the attempted robbery. 
 Then as to the other worthy, we may prove that he is a 
 notorious rogue. Still he may swear stoutly to his evidence. 
 We must prove, in addition, that these two rogues are known 
 to each other ' 
 
 'That can be proved by any who were in the King's Bench 
 Prison with them ' 
 . 'And we must connect them with Probus and Merridew/ 
 
 'I can prove that as well/ said Jenny. 'That is, if ' 
 
 She paused. 
 
1 82 The Orange Girl 
 
 'If your witnesses will give evidence. Madam, I would 
 not pour cold water on your confidence but will your wit- 
 nesses go into the box ?' 
 
 Jenny smiled. 'I believe/ she said, 'that I can fill the 
 Court with witnesses.' 
 
 'I want more than belief I want certainty/ 
 
 'There is another way/ said Jenny. 'If we could let Mr. 
 Probus understand that the sudden and unexpected appear- 
 ance of a new set of creditors would force on Bankruptcy 
 immediately ' 
 
 Mr. Dewberry interposed hastily. 'Madam, I implore you. 
 There is no necessity at all. Sir, this lady would actually 
 sacrifice her own fortune and her future prospects in your 
 cause/ 
 
 'For his safety and for his life everything/ 
 
 'I assure you, dear Madam, there is no need. Your affairs 
 want only patience, and they will adjust themselves. To 
 throw them also upon your husband's other liabilities would 
 not help this gentleman. For this reason. There are a 
 thousand tricks and subtleties which a man of Mr. Probus's 
 knowledge may employ for the postponement of bankruptcy 
 until after the trial of our friend here. You know not the 
 resources of the law in a trained hand. I mean that, suppos- 
 ing Mr. Probus to reckon on the success of this conspiracy 
 in which I grieve to find a brother in the profession in- 
 volved ; he may cause these delays to extend until his end is 
 accomplished or defeated. A man of the Law, Madam, has 
 great powers/ 
 
 I groaned. 
 
 'Another point is that, unless I am much mistaken, this 
 conspiracy is intended to intimidate and not to be carried 
 out. Mr. Probus will offer you, I take it, your! liberty on 
 condition of your yielding in the matter of that money/ 
 
 'Never!' I declared. 'I will die first!' 
 
 'Then it remains to be seen if he will carry the thing 
 through/ 
 
 So they went on arguing on this side and on that side: 
 which line of action was best : which was dangerous : in the 
 end, as you shall see, Jenny took the management of the case 
 into her own hands with results which astonished Mr. Dew- 
 berry as well as the Court, myself, and the four heroes of the 
 conspiracy. 
 
 Five weeks, I learned, would elapse before my case would 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 183 
 
 l>e tried in Court. It was a long and a tedious time to con- 
 template in advance. Meantime, I was kept in ignorance, 
 for the most part, of what was being done. Afterwards I 
 learned that Jenny carried on the work in secrecy, so that not 
 only the conspirators might not have the least suspicion but 
 that even Mr. Dewberry did not know what was doing 
 until she placed the case complete, in his hands a few days 
 before the trial. Jenny contrived all: Jenny paid for all: 
 what the case cost her in money I never learned. She spared 
 nothing, neither labour, nor travel, nor money. Meantime 
 I lived on now in hope, now in despondency : to go outside 
 among my fellow prisoners was to increase the wretchedness 
 of prison. Every morning Alice brought provisions for the 
 day. Tom brought me my violin and music so that I was 
 not without some consolations. 
 
 'As I remember this gloomy period, I remember with 
 thankfulness how I was stayed and comforted by two 
 women, of whom one was a Saint : and the other was well, 
 Heaven forbid that I should call her a Sinner, in whom I 
 never found the least blemish : but not, at least, a Christian. 
 The first offered up prayers for me day and night, wrestling 
 in prayer like Jacob, for the open manifestation of my inno- 
 cence. Alice was filled with a sublime faith. The Lord 
 whom she worshipped was very near to her. He would de- 
 stroy His enemies; He would preserve the innocent; the 
 wicked would be cast down and put to perpetual shame. 
 Never have I witnessed a faith so simple and so strong. Yet 
 to all seeming ; to the conspirators themselves ; I had not a 
 single witness whom I could call in my defence : that a man 
 was poor favoured the chance of his becoming a robber ; that 
 a brother-in-law, also a prisoner in the Rules, should be 
 ready to say that I was incapable of such an action could not 
 help. What could we allege against the clear and strong 
 evidence that the four perjured villains would offer when 
 they should stand up, and swear away my life ? 'Have cour- 
 age/ said Alice, 'Help cometh from the Lord. He will have 
 rnercy upon the child and oh! Will Will He will have 
 mercy upon the father of the child/ 
 
 Mr. Dewberry came often. He had little to tell me. Jenny 
 had gone away. Jenny had not told him what she was 
 doing. 'Sir/ he said, 'but for the confidence I have in that 
 incomparable woman and in her assurances I should feel 
 anxious. For as yet, and we are within a fortnight of the 
 
1 84 The Orange Girl 
 
 trial, I have not a single witness who can prove the real char- 
 acter of the pretended Divine and the pretended country gen- 
 tleman. But since Madam assures us ' He produced his 
 snuff-box and offered it 'Why then, Sir in that case I 
 believe in the success of your defence/ 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE SAME OFFER 
 
 THUS I passed that weary and anxious imprisonment. The 
 way of getting through the day was always the same. Soon 
 after daylight, I went out and walked in the yards for half 
 an hour. The early morning, indeed, was the only time of 
 the day when a man of decent manners could venture 
 abroad even on the State side. At that time the visitors had 
 not yet begun to arrive ; the men were still sleeping off their 
 carouse of the evening before ; only a few wretches to whom 
 a dismal foreboding of the future, a guilty conscience, an 
 aching heart, would not allow sleep, crept dolefully about the 
 empty yards; restlessly sitting or standing: if they spoke 
 to each other, it was with distracted words showing that they 
 knew not what they said. Alas! The drunken orgies of 
 the others caused them at least some relief from the terrible 
 sufferings of remorse and looking forward. It is not often 
 that one can find an excuse for drunkenness. 
 
 After this melancholy walk I returned to my cell where I 
 played for an hour or two, afterwards reading or meditating. 
 But always my thoughts turned to the impending trial. I 
 represented myself called upon to make my own defence : I 
 read it aloud: I failed to impress the Jury: the Judge 
 summed up: the Jury retired: cold beads stood upon my 
 forehead : I trembled : I shook : the verdict was Guilty : the 
 Judge assumed the black cap Verily I suffered, every 
 day, despite the assurance of Jenny and Mr. Dewberry, all 
 the tortures of one convicted and condemned to death. If 
 my heart were examined after my death sure I am that a 
 black cap would be found engraven upon it, to show the 
 .agonies which I endured/ 
 
 About pne o'clock Alice arrived, sometimes with Tom/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 185 
 
 sometimes alone. As for Tom he had quickly rallied and 
 had now completely accepted the assurance that an acquittal 
 was certain: his confidence would have been wonderful but 
 for the consideration that it was not Lis own neck that was 
 in danger but that of his brother-in-law. The child was not 
 allowed to be brought into the prison for fear of the fever 
 which always lurks about the wards and cells and corridors. 
 In the afternoon, while we were talking, Jenny herself, when 
 she was not on her mysterious journeys, came wearing a 
 domino. About four o'clock, Tom departed and, a little after, 
 Alice. Then I was left alone to sleep and reflection for 
 twelve hours. 
 
 This was the daily routine. On Sunday there was service, 
 in the chapel, made horrid by the condemned prisoners in 
 their pew sitting round the empty coffin : and by the ribaldry 
 and blasphemous jests of the prisoners themselves. Not 
 even in the chapel could they refrain. 
 
 One afternoon there was a surprise. We were sitting in 
 conversation together, Alice and Jenny with my brother-in- 
 law Tom, and myself, when we received a visit from no less a 
 person than Mr. Probus himself. That Prince of villains 
 had the audacity to call in person upon me. He stood in the 
 doorway, his long, lean body bent, wearing a smile that had 
 evidently been borrowed for the occasion. I sprang to my 
 feet with indignation. My arm was gently touched. Jenny 
 sat beside me, but a little behind. 
 
 'Hush !' she whispered. 'Let him say what he has to say. 
 Sit down. Do not answer by a single word.' 
 
 Mr. Probus looked disconcerted to see me resume my 
 chair and make as if I neither saw nor heard. I 
 
 'You did not expect, Mr. Halliday, to see me here ?' 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 'I am astonished, I confess, to find myself here, after all 
 that has passed. Respect for the memory of my late 'em- 
 ployer and client, Sir Peter Halliday, must be my excuse 
 my only excuse. Respect, and, if I may be permitted to add, 
 compassion compassion, Madam' he bowed to Alice. 
 
 'Compassion, Sir, is a Christian virtue,' she said, with such 
 emphasis on the adjective as to imply astonishment at finding 
 that quality in Mr. Probus. 
 
 'Assuredly, Madam assuredly, which is the reason why 
 I cultivate it sometimes to my own loss my own loss/ 
 
 'Sir/ Alice went on, 'you cannot but be aware that youc 
 
1 86 The Orange Girl 
 
 presence here is distasteful. Will you be so good as to tell 
 us what you have to say ?' 
 
 'Certainly, Madam. I think I have seen you before. You 
 are Mr. William Halliday's wife. This gentleman I have 
 not seen before/ 
 
 'He is my brother/ 
 
 'Your brother And the lady who prefers to wear a 
 domino?' For Jenny had made haste to replace that dis- 
 guise. 'No doubt it is proper in Newgate but is it necess- 
 ary among friends?' 
 
 'This lady is my cousin,' said Alice. 'She will please her- 
 self as to what she wears/ 
 
 'Your cousin. We are therefore, as one may say, a family 
 party. The defendant ; his wife : his brother-in-law : his 
 cousin. This is very good. This is what I should have 
 desired above all things had I prayed upon my way hither. 
 A family party/ 
 
 'Mr. Probus/ said Alice, 'if this discourse is to continue 
 beware how you speak of prayers/ Never had I seen her 
 face so set, so full of righteous wrath, with so much repres- 
 sion. The man quaked under her eyes. 
 
 'I come to business,' he said. 'I fear there is a spirit of 
 suspicion, even of hostility, abroad. Let that pass. I hope, 
 indeed, to remove it. Now, if you please, give me your 
 attention/ 
 
 He was now. the lawyer alert and watchful. 'Your trial, 
 Mr. Halliday, takes place in a short time a few days. I do 
 not know what defence you will attempt I hope you may be 
 successful I have thought upon the subject, and, I confess 
 well I can only say that I do net know what kind of de- 
 fence will be possible in a case so clear and so well attested/ 
 
 'Hush!' Jenny laid her hand again on my arm. 'Hush!' 
 she whispered. 
 
 I restrained myself and still sat in silence. 
 
 'Let me point out to you in a moment you will under- 
 stand why how you stand. You know, of course, yet it 
 is always well to be clear in one's mind the principal evi- 
 dence is that given by those two gentlemen from the country, 
 the young squire of Cumberland or is it Westmoreland? 
 and the clergyman of the Sister Kingdom. I have naturally 
 been in frequent communication with those two gentlemen. 
 I find that they are both kept in London to the detriment of 
 their, own affairs : that they would willingly get the business 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 187 
 
 despatched quickly so that they would be free to go home 
 again: that they bear no malice none whatever: one 
 because he is a clergyman, and therefore practises 
 forgiveness as a Christian duty: the other because he 
 is a gentleman who scorns revenge, and, besides, was not the 
 attacked, but the attacking party. "So far," says the noble- 
 hearted gentleman, "from desiring to hang the poor wretch, 
 I would willingly suffer him to go at large." This is a dis- 
 position of mind which promises a great deal. I have never 
 found a more happy disposition in any witness before. No 
 resentment: no revenge: no desire for a fatal termination 
 to the trial. It is wonderful and rare. So I came over to 
 tell you what they say and to entreat you to make use of this 
 friendly temper while it lasts. They might I do not say 
 they will but they might be induced to withdraw altogether 
 from the trial, in which case the prosecution would fall to 
 the ground. For the case depends wholly upon their evi- 
 dence. For myself, as you know, I arrived by accident upon 
 the scene, and was too late to see anything. Mr. Merridew 
 tells me that what he saw might have been a fight rather than 
 a robbery; I ought not to have revealed this weak point in 
 the evidence, but I am all for mercy all for mercy. So I 
 say, that if their evidence is not forthcoming, the prosecution 
 must fall through, and then, dear Sir, liberty would be once 
 more your happy lot.' He stopped and folded his arms. 
 
 I had not offered him a chair partly because he was Mr. 
 Probus and I would not suffer him to sit in my presence: 
 partly because there was no chair to offer him. 
 
 These gentlemen, Sir/ said Tom, 'are willing, we under- 
 stand, to retire from the case/ 
 
 'I would not say willing. I would rather say, not unwill- 
 ing/ 
 
 'Do they/ Tom asked, 'demand money as a bribe as a price 
 for retiring?' 
 
 'No, Sir. These gentlemen are far above any such con- 
 sideration. I believe they would be simply contented with 
 such a sum of money as would meet their personal expenses 
 and their losses by this prolonged stay/ 
 
 'And to how much may these losses and expenses, taken 
 together, amount?' 
 
 'I hear that his Reverence has lost a valuable Lectureship 
 which has been given to another in his absence: and that 
 
1 88 The Orange Girl 
 
 the Squire has sustained losses among his cattle and his 
 horses also owing to his absence.' 
 
 'And the combined figures, Sir, which would cover these 
 losses ?' 
 
 'I cannot say positively. Probably the clergyman's losses 
 would be represented by 400 and the Squire's by 600. 
 There would be my own costs in the case as well but they 
 are as usual a trifle.' 
 
 'And suppose we were to pay this money,' Tom con- 
 tinued, 'what should we have to prove that they would not 
 give their evidence?' 
 
 'Sir There you touch me on the tenderest point the 
 "pundonor," as the Spaniards say. You should lodge the 
 money with any person in whom we could agree as a person 
 of honour and after the case for the prosecution had broken 
 down not before he should give me that money. Observe 
 that on the part of these two simple gentlemen there is trust, 
 even in an attorney in myself.' 
 
 I said nothing, for as the man knew that I could not find 
 a tenth part of the sum, I knew there was something behind. 
 What it was I guessed very well. And, in fact, Mr. Pro- 
 bus immediately showed what it was. 
 
 'Mr. Halliday,' he said, 'I believe that I know your cir- 
 cumstances. I have on one or two occasions had to make 
 myself acquainted with them. I shall not give offence if I 
 suppose that you cannot immediately raise the sum of 1,000 
 even to save your life. 
 
 He spoke to me, but he looked at Alice. 
 
 'He cannot, certainly,' said Alice, 'either immediately or 
 in any time proposed.' 
 
 'Quite so. Now, this is a case of life or death life or 
 death, Sir : life or death, Madam : an honourable life a long 
 life for your husband: or a shameful death a shameful 
 death : shameful to him : shameful to you : shameful to your 
 child or children/ 
 
 'Hush !' whispered Jenny, laying a repressive hand again 
 upon my shoulder, for again I was boiling over with indig- 
 nation. What ! The author and contriver of this shameful 
 death was to come and call attention to the disgrace of 
 which he was the sole cause ! Had I been left to myself 
 without Alice or Jenny, I would have brained the old vil- 
 lain. But I obeyed and sat in silence, answering nothing. 
 
 'Consider, Madam' he continued to address Alice 'this 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 189 
 
 is not a time for false pride or for obstinacy, or even for 
 standing out for better terms. Once more I make the same 
 offer which I made before. Let him sell his chance of a 
 certain succession of which he knows. Let him do that, 
 and all his difficulties and troubles will vanish like the smoke 
 of a bonfire. I tell you plainly, Madam, that I can control 
 the appearance of this evidence without which the prose- 
 cution can do nothing. I will control it. If he agrees to 
 sell, your husband shall walk out, on the day of the trial, a 
 free man/ He drew out of his pocket a pocket-book and 
 from that a document which I remembered well the deed of 
 sale or transfer. 
 
 Nobody replied. Alice looked at me anxiously. I re- 
 mained silent and dogged. 
 
 'Two years ago or somewhere about that time I made 
 the same proposal to him. I offered him 3,000 down for his 
 share of an estate which might never be his or only after 
 long years I offered him 3,000 down. It was a large sum 
 of money. He refused. A day or two afterwards he found 
 himself in the King's Bench Prison. I would recall that 
 coincidence to you. Four or five weeks ago I made a similar 
 offer. This time I proposed 4,000 down. He refused 
 again, blind to his own interest. A few days afterwards 
 he found himself within these walls on a capital 
 charge. A third time, and the last time, I make him an- 
 other offer. This time I raise the sum to 5,000 
 in order to cover the losses of those two witnesses, and 
 in addition to the money, which is a large sum, enough to 
 carry you on in comfort and in credit, I offer your husband 
 the crowning gift of life. Life do you hear, woman ! Life : 
 and honour : and credit life life life I say/ 
 
 His face was troubled : his accents were eager : he was not 
 acting: he felt that he was offering me far more than any- 
 thing he had ever offered me before. 
 
 'Hush/ whispered Jenny, keeping me quiet again for all 
 the time I was longing to spring to my feet and to let loose 
 a tongue of fiery eloquence. But to sit quite quiet and to 
 say nothing was galling. 
 
 Take it, Will, take it/ said Tom. 'If the gentleman can 
 do what he promises, take it. Life and liberty I say be- 
 fore all/ 
 
 'Sir/ said Alice her voice was gentle, but it was strong: 
 her face was sweet, but it was firm. The man saw and lis- 
 
190 The Orange Girl 
 
 tened and misunderstood. 'I know the mind of my hus- 
 band in this matter. For reasons which you understand, he 
 will not speak to you. The money that was devised by his 
 father to the survivor of the two his cousin or himself 
 has always been accepted by him as a proof that at the end 
 his father desired him to understand that he was not wholly 
 unforgiven: that there was a loophole of forgiveness, but 
 he did not explain what that was : that should my husband, 
 who has no desire to see the death of his cousin, survive Mr. 
 Matthew, he will receive the fortune as a proof that a life 
 of hard and honest work has been accepted by his father in 
 full forgiveness. Sir, my husband considers his father's 
 wishes as sacred. Nothing no pressure of poverty no 
 danger such as the present will ever make him consent to 
 sign the document you have so often submitted to him/ 
 
 'Then' Mr. Probus put back his paper 'if this is your 
 last word remember you have but a few days left. Noth- 
 ing can save you nothing nothing nothing. You have 
 but a few days before you are condemned a week or two 
 more of life. Is this your last word ?' 
 
 'It is our last word, Sir,' said Alice. 
 
 'She is right Will is right,' cried Tom. 'Hark ye Mr. 
 Attorney. There is foul play here. We may find it out 
 yet, with the help of God. Shall I put him out of the door, 
 Alice?' 
 
 'He will go of his own accord, Tom. Will you leave us, 
 Sir?' 
 
 'Yes, I will leave you/ He shook his long forefinger in 
 my face. 'Ha! I leave you to be hanged: you shall have 
 your miserable neck twisted like a chicken, and your last 
 thought shall be that you threw your life away no that by 
 dying you give your cousin all/ 
 
 So he flung out of the room and left us looking blankly 
 at each other. 
 
 Then Jenny spoke. 
 
 'You did well, Will, to preserve silence in the presence of 
 the wretch. We all do well to preserve silence about your 
 defence. You dear people. I have counted up the cost. 
 It will be more than at first I thought, because the case must 
 be made complete, so complete that there can be no doubt I 
 promise you/ She took off her domino : her face was very 
 pale : I remember now that there was on it an unaccustomed 
 look of nobility such as belongs to one who takes a resolution 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 1 9 1 
 
 certain to involve her in great trouble and at the expense of 
 self-sacrifice or martyrdom. 'I promise you/ she said, 'that, 
 cost what it may, the CASE SHALL BE COMPLETE/ 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE IMPENDING TRIAL 
 
 THE time the awful time the day of Fate drew nearer. 
 Despite the assurances both of Jenny and of her attorney 
 there were moments when anticipation and doubt caused 
 agonies unspeakable. Sometimes I have thought that these 
 agonies were cowardly : I should be ashamed of them : but 
 no one knows, who has not suffered in the same wa"y, the 
 torture of feeling one's self in the absolute power of a crafty 
 conspiracy directed by a man as relentless as a weasel after 
 a rabbit, or an eagle after a heron, not out of hatred or re- 
 venge, but after money, the only object of his life, the real 
 spring of his wickedness. After my experience, I can briefly 
 say, as David in his old age said, 'Let me fall into the hands 
 of the Lord, for His mercies are great : but let me not fall 
 into the hands of man/ 
 
 Presently it wanted but a week: then six days, then five. 
 
 'You should now/ said Mr. Dewberry, 'prepare and write 
 out your defence: that is to say, your own speech after the 
 trial is over. Take no thought about the evidence; your 
 counsel will cross-examine the witnesses against you ; he will 
 also examine those for you. Trust your counsel for doing 
 the best with both. Heaven help two or three of them when 
 Mr. Caterham has done with them/ Mr. Caterham, K. C, 
 our senior counsel, was reported to be the best man at the 
 Old Bailey Bar; with him was Mr. Stanton, a young man 
 still, quite young, but with a brain of fire and a front of 
 brass. 'You must not leave your defence to the eloquence 
 of the moment, which may fail you. Write it down ; write it 
 plainly, fully and without passion. State who you are ; what 
 your occupation; what your salary; what your rent; what 
 your daily habits; we shall have called witnesses to estab- 
 lish all these points. Then tell the Court exactly what you 
 have told me. Do not try to be eloquent or rhetorical. The 
 plain facts, plainly told, will impress the Jury and will affect 
 
192 The Orange Girl 
 
 the Judge's charge, far more than any flights of eloquence 
 on your part. What the Judge wants is to get at the truth. 
 Remember that. Behind his habitual severity of manner 
 Mr. Justice Parker, who will try your case, is bent always 
 upon discovering, if possible, the truth. Sit down, therefore, 
 and relate the facts, exactly as they were. Take care to 
 marshal them in their best and most convincing manner. 
 Many a good cause has been wasted by a careless and igno- 
 rant manner of presenting them. In your case first relate 
 the facts as to the alleged assault. Next inform the Court 
 who and what you are. Thirdly relate the circumstances 
 of your relations with Mr. Probus. Fourthly state the rea- 
 sons why he would profit by your death. Next, call atten- 
 tion to the conversation overheard by Mr. Ramage. Then 
 show that he has on more than one occasion threatened you, 
 and that he has actually imprisoned you in the King's Bench 
 in the hope of moving you. I think that you will have a 
 very moving story to tell, supported, as it will be, by the evi- 
 dence which has gone before. But you have no time to lose. 
 Such a statement must not be put together in a hurry. When 
 it is finished I will read it over and advise you.' 
 
 What was important to me in this advice was the neces- 
 sity of ordering, or marshalling the facts. To one not ac- 
 customed to English Composition such a necessity never oc- 
 curred, and without such advice I might have presented a 
 confused jumble, a muddled array, of facts not dependent 
 one upon the other, the importance of which would have been 
 lost. However, armed with this advice, I sat down, and 
 after drawing up a schedule or list of divisions, or headings, 
 or chapters, I set to work, trying to keep out everything but 
 the facts. No one will believe how difficult a thing it is to 
 stick to the mere facts and to put in nothing more. Indig- 
 nation carried me beyond control from time to time. I went 
 out of my way to point to the villainy of Probus : I called 
 the vengeance of Heaven upon him and his colleagues: I 
 appealed to the unmerited sufferings of my innocent wife ; 
 to the shameful future of my innocent offspring and to 
 other matters of a personal kind all of which were ruthlessly 
 struck out by the attorney ; with the result that I had with 
 me when I went into court as plain and clear a statement of a 
 case as ever was presented by any prisoner. This statement 
 I read and re-read until I knew it by heart: yet I was ad- 
 yised not to trust to memory but to take the papers into court 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 193 
 
 and to seem to read. All this shows the care which was 
 taken by our ever-watchful attorney, lest anything should 
 happen to hinder the development of the case, as he intended 
 and hoped. 
 
 Among other things he called upon Mr. Probus, nomi- 
 nally on account of another matter. 
 
 'I believe/ he said, 'that you are the attorney of Mr. Mat- 
 thew Halliday?' 
 
 'I have that honour/ 
 
 'Yes. I observed the fact in reading an affidavit of yours 
 in connection with a case in which I am engaged for the 
 defence, the case of Mr. William Halliday, now in Newgate 
 on a charge of highway robbery/ 
 
 'Defence? He has, then, a defence?' 
 
 'A defence? Certainly he has a defence. And Counsel. 
 We have engaged Mr. Caterham, K. C., and Mr. Stanton, 
 both of whom you probably know, as counsel for the defence. 
 My dear Sir, we have a very good defence indeed. Let me 
 see. You arrived on the spot, I observe, after the alleged 
 attack was committed/ 
 
 'Certainly. My affidavit and my evidence before Sir John, 
 were only as to the identity of the robber/ 
 
 'Quite so. But we need not concern ourselves, here, with 
 the defence of Mr. William Halliday. I come to speak about 
 the affairs of Mr. Matthew/ 
 
 'Well, sir? What about his affairs?' 
 
 'I hear that they are in a very bad way. Oh ! Sir, indeed 
 I do not wish to ask any questions. I only repeat what I 
 hear in the City. It is there freely stated that the Firm is 
 ruined : that their ships are sold : and that their business is 
 gone/ 
 
 'They are injurious and false reports/ 
 
 'It is possible. I hope so. Meantime, however, I have 
 come to communicate to you a matter which perhaps you 
 do not know; but which it is important that you should 
 know. The person chiefly concerned gives me permission 
 to speak of it. Perhaps you do know it already. Perhaps 
 your client has not concealed it from you. Do you, for in- 
 stance, know that Mr. Matthew Halliday is a married man?' 
 
 Mr. Probus started. 'Married?' he cried. 'Married? No, 
 certainly not/ 
 
 'It is evident that you do not know your client's private 
 history. He has been married two years and more. He 
 
194 The Orange Girl 
 
 does not, however, cohabit with his wife. They are sepa- 
 rated by consent.' 
 
 'Matthew married ?' 
 
 'They are separated, I say. Such separation, however, 
 does not release the husband from the liability of his wife's 
 debts.' 
 
 'Has his wife has Mrs. Matthew contracted debts?' 
 He looked very uneasy. 
 
 'His wife she is a client of mine has contracted very 
 large debts. She may possibly make an arrangement with 
 her creditors. But she may not. In the latter case, she will 
 send them to your client who will hand them over to you. 
 They will demand payment without delay. Failing pay- 
 ment they will take all the steps that the law permits also 
 without delay. That is why I thought it best to communicate 
 the facts to you. My client authorized me to do so.' 
 
 Mr. Probus made no answer. He could not understand 
 what this meant. 
 
 'If it is your interest to postpone bankruptcy, Mr. Probus, 
 it may be wiser, for some reason or other, to force it on. I 
 only came to tell you of this danger which threatens your 
 client not you, of course. But your client whose wife is 
 mine.' 
 
 Mr. Probus made at first no reply. He was thinking 
 what this might mean. He was, of course, too wary not 
 to perceive that the threat of forcing on bankruptcy was 
 part of the defence, though in an indirect manner. 
 
 'Have you,' he asked presently, 'any knowledge of the 
 amount of these debts?' 
 
 'I believe they amount to over 40,000.' 
 
 Mr. Probus groaned aloud. 
 
 'I thought I would prepare your mind for the blow which 
 may happen any day. Let me see. The trial takes place 
 next Wednesday next Wednesday. I dare say the credi- 
 tors will wait till after that event. Good-morning, Mr. 
 Probus/ 
 
 He was going away when Mr. Probus called him back. 
 
 'You are aware, sir, that I made the prisoner a handsome 
 offer?' 
 
 'I have been told that you made a certain offer.' 
 
 'I offered him the very large sum of 5,000 if he would 
 sell his succession. If he consents the principal witnesses 
 in the case shall not appear/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 195 
 
 'Mr. Probus, as the case stands now I would not take 
 50,000 for the price of his chance.' 
 
 Again he was going away, and again Mr. Probus called 
 him back. 
 
 'We were speaking/ he said, 'of the defence of that un- 
 happy young man, Mr. William Halliday. Of course I am 
 concerned in the matter only as an accidental bystander 
 and, of course, an old friend of the family. There is to be 
 a defence, you say/ 
 
 'Assuredly/ 
 
 'I have always understood that the young man was quite 
 poor, and that his wife's friends were also quite poor/ 
 
 'That is true. But a man may be quite poor, yet may have 
 friends who will fight every point rather than see the man 
 condemned to death and on a false charge/ 
 
 'False?' 
 
 'Quite false, I assure you/ 
 
 'Sir, you surprise me. To be sure I did not see the as- 
 sault. Yet the evidence was most clear. Two gentlemen, 
 unknown to each other another unknown to both who wit- 
 nessed the affair how can such evidence as that be got 
 over ?' 
 
 'Well, Mr. Probus, it is not for me to say how it will be 
 got over. You are, I believe, giving evidence on what may be 
 called a minor point ; you will therefore be in the Court on 
 the occasion of the Trial. I can say nothing, of course ; but 
 I should advise all persons engaged in the case to abstain 
 from appearing if possible. I am assured that things quite 
 unexpected will take place. Meantime, to return to the 
 point for which I came here advise your client to prepare 
 himself to meet claims rising out of his wife's debts to the 
 sum of many thousands/ 
 
 'How many thousands, did you say?' 
 
 'Forty thousand, I believe/ 
 
 'Good Heavens, sir, what can a woman be doing to get 
 through such an enormous sum?' 
 
 'Indeed, I cannot inform you. It is an age in which 
 women call themselves the equals of men. Your client, Mr. 
 Probus, has got through a great deal more than that in the 
 same time, including, I believe, the 25,000 which you lent 
 him and which he cannot repay * 
 
 'What do you know about these affairs, Sir?' 
 
196 The Orange Girl 
 
 'Nothing nothing. I shall see you in Court on the day 
 of the Trial, Mr. Probus/ 
 
 He went away leaving, as he intended, his brother in the 
 law in an anxious condition, and having said nothing that 
 would lead him to suspect that the conspiracy was entirely 
 discovered, and would be laid open in court. 
 
 Then came the last day before the Trial. 
 
 In the afternoon all my friends were gathered together 
 in my cell. The attorney had read for the last time my 
 statement of defence. 
 
 . He looked through it once more. 'I do not believe/ he 
 said, 'that the case will get so far. Whatever happens, Mr. 
 Halliday, you will do well to remember that you have to 
 thank Madame here, and I do not believe it will be possible 
 for you to thank her enough, until you find out for yourself 
 the sacrifices she has made for you and the risks she is run- 
 ning on your behalf. I can but hope, Madame, that the sac- 
 rifices may be made up to you, and that the risks may prove 
 illusory/ 
 
 She smiled, but it was a wan smile. 'Whatever the re- 
 sult/ she said, 'believe me, Sir, I shall never regret either the 
 sacrifices, if you call them such, or the risks, if by either we 
 can defeat this most abominable conspiracy/ 
 
 'I was in hopes/ said the attorney, 'that Mr. Probus might 
 be terrified, and so might withdraw at the last moment. It 
 is easy to withdraw. He has only to order the two princi- 
 pal witnesses not to attend, when the case falls to the ground. 
 As we are now free from all anxiety/ I sighed, 'well, from 
 all but the very natural anxiety that belongs to a prison and 
 to the uncertainty of the law, it is better for us that he should 
 put in all the witnesses when we can establish our charge of 
 conspiracy. I marvel, indeed, greatly that a man so astute 
 should not perceive that defence, where a King's Counsel 
 and a Junior of great repute are engaged must mean a seri- 
 ous case, and that a serious case only means denial of the 
 main charge. Else there would be no defence at all. Well/ 
 he rose 'I drink your health, Mr. Halliday, in this excellent 
 Madeira, and a speedy release to you/ 
 
 'And I, Will/ said Tom, pouring out another glass, 'I, too, 
 drink a speedy release to you/ 
 
 So they went away. 
 
 Then Jenny got up. 'Cousin Will/ she said sadly, 'I have 
 done all I could for you. If the Black Jack knew to-night 
 
Out of the Frying Fan Into the Fire 197 
 
 what would be said in Court to-morrow, there would be mur- 
 der. They will all be in Court every one to hear the 
 splendid perjuries of the Bishop and the Captain. Those 
 two worthies expect a brave day: indeed, it will be a great 
 day for them, yet not quite in the manner they anticipate. 
 Well 'tis the last night in prison, Will. To-morrow thou 
 wilt be back again in the Cottage beside the river. Happy 
 WU1! Happy Alice! As for me ' she sighed wearily. 
 
 'Why, Jenny, as for you what can happen to you ?' 
 
 'Nothing can happen to me/ she replied, dolorously. 
 
 'Then, why so sad ?' 
 
 'Because, from the outset I have foreseen something dark 
 and dreadful, but I knew not what. I see myself in a strange 
 place but I know not where. I look around at the places 
 which I know and I cannot see myself. I am neither at 
 Drury Lane nor the Garden : nor am I at Soho Square. I 
 look in the grave, but I am not there. I am to live but 
 I know not where or how. All is to be changed ' 
 
 'Jenny,' Alice caught her hand. 'This reading of the fu- 
 ture. It is wicked since the Lord hath not thought fit to 
 reveal what is to happen/ 
 
 She repeated stupidly, as one who understands not, 'Since 
 the Lord what Lord? what do you mean? Alice, how 
 can I help it? I can read the future. Sometimes it is like 
 a printed book to me. Well no matter. Farewell, Will. 
 Sleep sound to-night. To-morrow we shall meet in the 
 Court. Good-night, dear woman/ She threw her arms 
 round Alice, kissed her and went away. 
 
 And as for what passed between husband and wife 
 what tender things were said what prayers for faith on 
 the eve of the day of Life or Death : of Honour or of Shame ; 
 shall they, too, be written on a page which is open to every 
 curious eye and to every mocking eye? 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 IT is a most terrible thing for a man of sensibility to stand 
 in the dock of the Old Bailey before the awful array of 
 Judges, Lord Mayor, Sheriffs and Aldermen. I know very 
 
198 The Orange Girl 
 
 well that most of the hardened wretches that stand there 
 have no sense of terror and little of anxiety. For them the 
 Judge is like that fabled Sister who cuts the thread of life: 
 they have come to the end of their rope: their time is up: 
 they are fatalists in a stupid way: the sentence is passed: 
 they bear no malice against the informer : the game has been 
 played according to the rules what more can a man desire ? 
 Tyburn awaits them. And afterwards? They neither 
 know nor do they care. 
 
 Early on the morning of the trial, Mr. Dewberry came to 
 see me. He was cheerful, and rubbed his hands with great 
 satisfaction. 'The case/ he said, 'is complete. Never was a 
 case more complete or more astonishing as you shall see/ 
 He would not explain further: he said that walls, even in 
 Newgate, have e'ars : that I must rely upon his word. 'Sir/ 
 he said, 'so much I will explain because it may give you ease. 
 Never has a man gone forth to be tried for his life, with a 
 greater confidence in the result than you ought to have. 
 And, with that assurance enter the Court with a light heart/ 
 
 They knocked off my irons before going into Court. 
 Thus relieved, I was marched along a dismal passage, lead- 
 ing from the prison to the Old Bailey. The Court was 
 crowded, not so much out of compliment to me, but because 
 it was bruited abroad among the rogues of St. Giles's that 
 two of their body were that day about to achieve greatness. 
 They were, truly: but not in the way that was expected. 
 The crowd, in fact, consisted chiefly of pickpockets and 
 thieves, with their ladies. And the heroes of the day were 
 the Bishop and the Captain. 
 
 At first, a prisoner entering the court, sees nothing. When 
 the mist before his eyes clears away he observes the jury be- 
 ing sworn in one after the other, they lift the great chained 
 Bible and kiss its leathern cover, black with ten thousand 
 kisses, and take their seats : he observes the counsel arrang- 
 ing their papers : the officers of the court standing about and 
 the crowd in the gallery and about the doors : the box for the 
 witnesses my heart sank when I saw sitting together my 
 four enemies, looking calm and assured, as if there was no 
 doubt possible as to the results. Nay, the Captain seemed 
 unable to repress or to conceal the pride he felt in imagina- 
 tion, at thinking of the figure he should cut. Mr. Ramage, 
 my own witness, I saw modestly sitting in a corner. Tom 
 Shirley, another witness for me, if he would prove of any 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 199 
 
 use, was also there. As I entered the dock Mr. Probus 
 turned and his lips moved as if he was speaking to Tom. I 
 could not hear what he said, but I knew it, without the neces- 
 sity of ears. He said, 'Sir, I saw you in Newgate three 
 weeks ago. Your friend might have saved his life, had he 
 accepted my offer. It is now too late/ Then he turned 
 his hatchet face to me and grinned. Well he grins no 
 longer. Under the Dock stood Alice, and with her, closely 
 veiled, Jenny herself. They took my hands : Alice held the 
 right and Jenny the left. 'Courage, my dear/ said Alice. 
 'It will soon be over now/ 'It is all over already/ whis- 
 pered Jenny. 'There is such evidence as will astonish you 
 and the whole world/ She kissed my hand and dropped 
 a tear upon it. I was to learn afterwards what she meant, 
 and what were her own sacrifices and perils in bringing for- 
 ward this evidence. 
 
 Then Mr. Dewberry came bustling up. 'That is your law- 
 yer, Mr. Caterham, King's Counsel, now arranging his pa- 
 pers. I was with him yesterday. He will make a great case 
 a very great case out of this. The attorney arranges 
 it all and the higher branch gets the credit of it all. Never 
 mind. That is your Junior, behind, Mr. Stanton. There's 
 a head for you : there's an eye. I can always tell what they 
 think of the case by the way they arrange their papers. The 
 Counsel in front of him is Serjeant Cosins, King's Counsel, 
 an able man oh, yes an able man: he conducts the prose- 
 cution. We shall open his eyes presently. He thinks he has 
 got an ordinary case to conduct. He will see. He will see/ 
 
 Then the Judges came in : the Lord Mayor, Mr. Justice 
 Parker, the Aldermen, the Recorder, and the Sheriffs. The 
 Lord Mayor sat in the middle under the great sword of Jus- 
 tice : but the case was conducted by Mr. Justice Parker, who 
 sat on his right hand. I looked along the row of faces on 
 the Bench. They all seemed white, cold, stern, hard and un- 
 forgiving. Despite assurances, my heart sank low. 
 
 I pass over the reading of the indictment, my pleading 
 and the opening of the case. The Prosecutor said that al- 
 though it was a most simple case, which would not occupy 
 the attention of the court very long, it was at the same time 
 one of the most flagrant and audacious robberies that had 
 ever been brought before the court of the Old Bailey: that 
 the facts were few: that he was not aware of any possible 
 line of defence; 'Oh yes/ observed my Counsel, smiling, 
 
200 The Orange Girl 
 
 'a very possible line of defence' : that he, for one, should be 
 prepared to receive any line of defence that could be set up. 
 But he thought his learned brother would not waste the time 
 of the Court. 
 
 He then rehearsed the history of the facts and proceeded 
 to call the witnesses. First he called Samuel Carstairs, Doc- 
 tor of Divinity (I do not intend to set down the whole of the 
 evidence given by him or by the others because you already 
 know it). 
 
 The Doctor, with alacrity, stepped into the witness-box: 
 he was clean shaven, in a new wig, a silken cassock; snow 
 white bands; and a flowing gown. But that his face was 
 red and his neck swollen and his appearance fleshy and sen- 
 sual things which may sometimes be observed even among 
 the City Llergy he presented the appearance of a prosper- 
 ous ecclesiastic. For my own part I can never satisfy myself 
 whether he was in Holy Orders at all. One hopes, for the 
 sake of the Church that he was not. After kissing the Tes- 
 tament with fervour, he turned an unblushing front to the 
 Prosecutor. He said that he was a Clergyman, a Doctor of 
 Divinity, formerly of Trinity College, Dublin, and some time 
 the holder of certain benefices in the neighbourhood of that 
 city. He deposed that on the night in question he was 
 making his way through Leicester Fields to Charing Cross 
 at the time of nine in the evening or thereabouts : that sud- 
 denly a young man rushed out of some dark recess and flour- 
 ished a cudgel over him, crying, 'Your money or your life !' 
 That being a man of peace, as becomes his profession, he 
 instantly complied with the demand and handed over his 
 purse: that he also cried out either on account of the ex- 
 tremity of his fear, or for help : that help came in the shape 
 of a stranger, who felled the ruffian: that they called the 
 watch : carried the senseless robber to the guard-house, and 
 that the witness's purse was found in his pocket. 
 
 My counsel deferred cross-examining this witness for the 
 present. 
 
 Next came the Captain. He, too, stood unabashed while 
 he poured out his tale of perjury. He assumed the style and 
 title of a Gentleman from the North, Mr. Ferdinando Fen- 
 wick: and he entirely bore out the previous witness's evi- 
 dence. My counsel also deferred his cross-examination of 
 this witness. 
 
 Mr. Merridew was the third witness. He followed suit. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 201 
 
 He deposed that he was a Sheriff's officer. He had seen 
 the assault and the rescue: he had also helped to carry the 
 robber to the round house. This witness's cross-examina- 
 tion was also deferred. 
 
 Mr. Probus, attired in black velvet with fine lace ruffles 
 and neckerchief, so that his respectable appearance could 
 not but impress the jury, said that he was passing the watch- 
 house, by accident, about midnight, having been summoned 
 by a client, when he saw an unconscious figure carried in: 
 that he followed from motives of -humanity hoping to be of 
 use to some fellow Christian : that he then perceived, to his 
 amazement, that the robber was none other than the son of 
 his old friend and employer the late Sir Peter Halliday, Al- 
 derman and ex-Lord Mayor : that he saw the worthy clergy- 
 man's purse taken from his pocket so that there could be no 
 doubt of his guilt. He also added that it was four years 
 -and more since Sir Peter had turned his son out of doors, 
 since when he believed that the young man had earned a 
 precarious living by playing the fiddle to sailors and such 
 low company. 
 
 Then the cross-examination began. 
 
 My counsel asked him first, whether he knew any of the 
 three preceding witnesses. He did not : they were strangers 
 to him. Had he never seen the man Merridew ? He never 
 had. Did not Merridew owe him money? He did not. 
 He was now attorney to Mr. Matthew Halliday? Had he 
 ever taken the man Merridew to Mr. Halliday's counting- 
 house? He had not. In fact, Mr. Probus, you know noth- 
 ing at all about Mr. Merridew?' 'Nothing.' 'And noth- 
 ing about the other two men?' 'Nothing.' 
 
 'I come now, Mr. Probus, to a question which will aston- 
 ish the Court. Will you tell me in what way the prisoner's 
 death will benefit you?' 
 
 'In no way.' 
 
 'Oh ! In no way. Come, Sir, think a little. Collect your- 
 self, I pray you. You are attorney to Mr. Matthew Halli- 
 day. You have lent him money?' No answer. 'Please an- 
 swer my question.' No answer. 'Never mind, I shall find 
 an answer from you before long. Meantime I inform the Jury 
 that you have lent him 25,000 on the condition that he pays 
 15 per cent, interest on .40,000, the sum to be repaid. That 
 is the exact description of the transaction, I believe ?' 
 
 He replied unwillingly, 'If you please to say so.' 
 
202 The Orange Girl 
 
 'Very well. Now your client has spent, or lost, the whole 
 of his money and yours do not deny the fact because I am 
 going to prove it presently. He cannot pay you one far- 
 thing. In fact, before long the firm of Halliday Brothers 
 will become bankrupt/ (There was a movement and a wis- 
 per among the Aldermen and Sheriffs on the Bench.) Is 
 this true or not?' No answer. 
 
 'My Lud, I press for an answer. This is a most important 
 question. I can find an answer from another witness, but I 
 must have an answer from the witness now in the box.' 
 
 'Answer the question immediately, Sir,' said the Judge. 
 
 'I do not know.' 
 
 'You do not know? Come, Sir, have you been informed, 
 or have you not, by Mr. Matthew Halliday himself, of his 
 position?' 
 
 'I have not.' 
 
 'You have not. Mark his answer, gentlemen of the Jury. 
 Do not forget his statement. He says that he knows nothing 
 and has been told nothing of his client's present unfortunate 
 condition. Let us go on. The late Sir Peter Halliday left 
 a large sum of money 100,000, I believe to the survi- 
 vor of two either his son or his nephew ?' 
 
 'That is true.' 
 
 'If Halliday Brothers becomes bankrupt, your claim would 
 rank with those of the other creditors ?' 
 
 'I suppose so/ 
 
 'In which case you would get little or nothing of the 40,- 
 ooo. But if the prisoner could be persuaded to sell his chance 
 of succession before the declaration of bankruptcy, your 
 client could raise money on that succession out of which 
 you could be paid in full, if he consented?' 
 
 'Yes, if he consented/ 
 
 'You have already made three several attempts to make 
 him sell, have you not?' 
 
 'Acting by my client's instructions/ 
 
 'The first time, when he refused, you threatened revenge, 
 did you not?' 
 
 'I did not/ 
 
 'You then clapped him in a debtors' prison on a trumped- 
 up charge of debt?' 
 
 'It was a debt due to an estate placed in my hands/ 
 
 'The prisoner denied the debt: said that the instrument 
 was given to him by the owner, did he not?' 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 203 
 
 'Perhaps.' 
 
 'But you put him in prison and kept him there?' 
 
 'I did, acting for my clients, the executors.' 
 
 'The next time you called upon him and offered to buy 
 his share was about six weeks ago?' 
 
 'It was, acting on instructions from my client.' 
 
 'He refused. You then threatened him again?' 
 
 'I did not.' 
 
 'Two days afterwards the alleged robbery took place at 
 .which you were an accidental observer?' 
 
 'Accidental.' 
 
 'I said so accidental. Now, if this case should prove 
 fatal to the prisoner, on his death your client, not a bankrupt, 
 .would take the whole of the 100,000?' 
 
 'He would.' 
 
 'You would then expect to be paid?' No answer. 'I say, 
 you would then expect to be paid ?' 
 
 'I should hope to be.' 
 
 'In full?' 
 
 'I should hope so.' 
 
 'Then you would be the better by 40,000 by the execu- 
 tion of the prisoner?' 
 
 'If you put it so, I should/ 
 
 'You made a third and last attempt, a few days ago, to 
 obtain his consent?' 
 
 'I did, acting on my client's instructions.' 
 
 'When he was in Newgate. There were present two other 
 friends of the prisoner. You then offered, if he would sign 
 the document, to withdraw the principal witnesses ?' 
 
 'I did not.' 
 
 'I put it in another way. You promised, if he would sign, 
 that the principal witnesses should not appear ?' 
 
 'I did not.' 
 
 'You swear that you did not?' 
 
 'I swear that I did not.' 
 
 'You say that you have no power to withdraw witnesses?' 
 
 'I have no power to withdraw witnesses.' 
 
 'You have no power over the case at all?' 
 
 'None.' 
 
 Mr. Caterham sat down. Serjeant Cosins stood up. 
 
 'You might be the better by the prisoner's death. You are 
 not however in any way concerned with the case except as 
 an accidental observer?' 
 
204 The Orange Girl 
 
 'Not in any way/ 
 
 'And you are not in any way acquainted with the wit- 
 nesses who are chiefly concerned?' 
 
 'Not at all.' 
 
 Mr. Probus sat down. 
 
 Mr. Caterham called again, the Rev. Dr. Samuel Car- 
 stairs. 
 
 'My Lud/ he began, 'I must ask that none of the wit- 
 nesses in this case be allowed to leave the court without your 
 Ludship's permission/ 
 
 The Bishop entered the box, but with much less assur- 
 ance than he had previously assumed. And the cross-ex- 
 amination began. 
 
 I then understood what Jenny meant when she talked of 
 making the case complete. He swore again that his name 
 was Carstairs : that he had held preferment in the county of 
 Dublin : he named, in fact, three places : he had never used 
 any other name : he was not once called Onslow, at another 
 time Osborne: at another Oxborough: he knew nothing 
 about these names : he had never been tried at York for 
 fraud: or at Winchester for embezzlement: he had never 
 been whipped at the cart-tail at Portsmouth. As these lies 
 ran out glibly I began to take heart. I looked at Probus: 
 he was sitting on the bench, his fingers interlaced, cold drops 
 of dew rising upon his forehead and nose. But the Bishop 
 held out bravely, that is, with a brazen impudence. 
 
 'You know, Doctor, I believe, the Black Jack?' 
 
 'A tavern, is it? No, sir, I do not. One of my profession 
 should not be seen in taverns/ 
 
 'Yet surely you know the Black Jack, close to St. Giles's 
 Church ?' 
 
 'No, sir, I am a stranger in London/ 
 
 'Do you know the nickname of the "Bishop" ?' 
 
 'No/ 
 
 'Oh! you never were called the "Bishop"?' 
 
 'No/ 
 
 'Do you know the gallant gentleman who rescued you?' 
 
 'No, I do not/ 
 
 'You do not know him? Never met him, I suppose, at 
 the Black Jack?' 
 
 'Never/ 
 
 'Never? Do you know the other witness, Mr. Merri- 
 flew?' 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 205 
 
 'No, I do not/ 
 
 'Where were you staying for the night when this romantic 
 incident happened?' 
 
 For the first time the Bishop hesitated. 'I I forget/ 
 he said. 
 
 'Come, come, you cannot forget so simple a thing, you 
 know. Where were you staying?' 
 
 'It was in a street off the Strand I forget its name I 
 am a stranger to this city/ 
 
 'Well where did you stay last night?' 
 
 'In the same street I forget its name.' 
 
 'Not at the Black Jack, St. Giles's?' 
 
 He was pressed upon this point, but nothing could be got 
 out of him. He stuck to the point he had forgotten the 
 name of the street, and he knew nothing of the Black Jack. 
 
 So he stood down. The Captain was called by the name 
 he gave himself Ferdinando Fenwick. He said he had 
 never been known by any other name, that he had no 
 knowledge of the name of Tom Kestever. He had never 
 heard that name. Nor did he know of any occasion on 
 which the said Tom Kestever had been ducked for a pick- 
 pocket : flogged for a rogue : imprisoned and tried on a cap- 
 ital charge for cattle lifting. Oh ! Jenny, the case was well 
 got up, truly. He, too, had never heard of the Black Jack, 
 and stoutly stood it out that he was a gentleman of Cumber- 
 land. Asked what village or town of Cumberland, he named 
 Whitehaven as the place in which he was born and had his 
 property to wit, five farms contiguous to the town and two 
 or three messuages in the town. 
 
 When this evidence was concluded a juryman rose and 
 asked permission of the Court to put a question to the wit- 
 ness, which was granted him. 
 
 'Those farms,' he said, 'are contiguous to Whitehaven? 
 Yes, and you were born in that town? What was your 
 father by occupation ?' 
 
 'He was a draper/ 
 
 'My lord/ said the Juryman, 'I am myself a native of 
 Whitehaven. I am the son of the only draper in the town. 
 I aim apparently about the same age as the witness. I have 
 never seen him in the town. There is no reputable trades- 
 man of that name in the town, or anywhere near it. There 
 are gentlefolk of the name, but in Northumberland/ 
 
 *I wish, Sir/ said the Counsel, 'that I had you in the box/ 
 
206 The Orange Girl 
 
 'The statement of a Juryman is not evidence/ the Prose- 
 cuting Counsel interposed. 
 
 'I fear, my learned brother/ said the Judge, 'that when the 
 Jury retire, it will become a strong piece of evidence, what- 
 ever direction I may give them.' 
 
 The Serjeant declined to re-examine this evidence. 
 
 Then my counsel called Mr. Merridew, who very reluc- 
 tantly got into the box again. 
 
 He denied solemnly that he knew either of the preceding 
 witnesses. He denied that he knew the Black Jack. He 
 owned, with a pretence at pride, that he had frequently 
 served his country by informing against rogues and had 
 taken the reward to which he was entitled. He denied that 
 he encouraged young fellows to become highwaymen in 
 hopes of securing the higher reward. He denied that he 
 knew Mr. Probus. He swore that he should not benefit by 
 the conviction of the prisoner. 
 
 You observe that the object of the Counsel was to make 
 everyone plunge deeper into the mire of perjury. His case 
 was strong indeed, or he would not have followed this 
 method. 
 
 The Counsel then called half a dozen witnesses in suc- 
 cession. They were turnkeys from York, Winchester, Read- 
 ing and Portsmouth and other places. They identified the 
 Rev. Dr. Samuel Carstairs, D.D., as a person notoriously 
 engaged in frauds for which an educated person was neces- 
 sary. He had been imprisoned for two years at Winchester 
 for embezzlement: for a twelvemonth with a flogging at 
 York for fraud : he was whipped through the High Street of 
 Portsmouth and down to Point and back again for similar 
 practices. They also identified the Captain as a rogue from 
 tender years : hardly a whipping-post anywhere but knew the 
 sound of his voice: hardly a prison in which he had not 
 passed some of his time. 
 
 And now the case looked brighter. Everyone was inter- 
 ested, from the Aldermen to the Jury : it was a case of sur- 
 prises: only Serjeant Cosins stood with his papers in his hand 
 looking perplexed and annoyed. So far there was no doubt 
 about the two fellows, the authors of the charge, being no- 
 torious and arrant rogues. A very pitiful figure they cut, 
 as they sat side by side on the witnesses' bench. Even their 
 own friends in the gallery were laughing at them, for the 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 207 
 
 admiration of the rogue is for successful roguery, while 
 for detected roguery he has nothing but contempt. 
 
 Then the Counsel called John Ramage. He said that he 
 was an accountant in the counting-house of Messrs. Halli- 
 day Brothers: that in that capacity he knew the position of 
 the House : that in two years the managing partner, Mr. Mat- 
 thew Halliday, had reduced the business to a state of insol- 
 vency : that they might become bankrupts at any moment : 
 that creditors were pressing, and the end could not be far 
 off. He went on to state that he revealed the secrets of his 
 office because he was informed that the knowledge was nec- 
 essary for the defence of Mr. William Halliday, and that 
 the safety and innocence of his late master's only son were 
 of far more importance to him than the credit of the House. 
 And here the tears came into his eyes. This, however, was 
 the least important part of the case. For he went on to de- 
 pose that the position of his desk near the door of Mr. Mat- 
 thew's office enabled him to hear all that went on : that Mr. 
 Probus was constantly engaged with Mr. Matthew: that 
 every day there were complaints and quarrels between them : 
 that Mr. Probus wanted his money back, and that Mr. Mat- 
 thew could not pay him: that every day they ended with 
 the regret that they could not touch this sum of money wait- 
 ing for the survivor: that every day they sighed to think 
 what a happy event it would be for them both if Mr. William 
 Halliday were dead. That, one day, Mr. Probus said that 
 there were many ways for even a young man to die: he 
 might, for instance, fall into the hands of the law: to this 
 Mr. Matthew gave no reply, but when he was alone began 
 to drink. That Mr. Probus returned the next day with Mr. 
 Merridew, who said that the job was easy and should be 
 done, but he should expect to stand in : he said that the thing 
 would cost a good deal, but that, for a thousand pounds, he 
 thought that Mr. Will Halliday's case might be considered 
 certain. 'When I heard this,' the witness said, 'I hastened 
 to Lambeth, where Mr. Will was living with his wife. I 
 could not see him because he was playing for Madame Val- 
 lance's Assembly. I therefore went again to Lambeth the 
 next day, which was Sunday, and I told him all. While I 
 was telling him, Mr. Probus himself came. So they put me 
 in the kitchen where I could hear what was said. Mr. Pro- 
 bus made another effort to persuade Mr. Will to sell his 
 chance of succession. Then he went away in a rage, threat- 
 
208 The Orange Girl 
 
 ening things. So I implored Mr. Will to get out of the way 
 of the villains. He promised: but it was too late. The 
 next thing I hear is that he has been charged with highway 
 robbery. Mr. Will the best of men!' 
 
 I now thought my case was going pretty well. 
 
 There were, however, other witnesses. 
 
 To my amazement Jenny's mother appeared. She was 
 dressed up as a most respectable widow with a white cap, 
 a black dress, and a white apron. She curtseyed to the 
 Court and kissed the book with a smack, as if she enjoyed 
 it. 
 
 She said that she was a widow, and respectable: that she 
 kept the Black Jack, which was much frequented by the 
 residents of St. Giles's. The Counsel did not press this 
 point but asked her if she knew the Rev. Dr. Carstairs. She 
 replied that she knew him, under other names, as a fre- 
 quenter of her house off and on for many years : that he was 
 familiarly known as the 'Bishop': that she did not inquire 
 into the trades of her customers, but that it was understood 
 that the Bishop was one of those who use their skill in 
 writing for various purposes: for threatening persons who 
 have been robbed : for offering stolen property for sale : for 
 demanding money: for forging documents: and other 
 branches of roguery demanding a knowledge of writing. 
 She showed her own knowledge of the business by her enu- 
 meration of the branches. She said, further, that the gentle- 
 man had slept at the Black Jack every night for the last 
 two months: that he had a bed there, took his meals there, 
 and carried on his business there. As regards Mr. Ferdi- 
 nando Fenwick, she knew him as the 'Captain,' or as Tom 
 Kestever, and she identified him in the same way and beyond 
 any power of doubt. As for Merridew, she knew him very 
 well: he was a thief-taker by profession: he gave his man 
 a good run and then laid information against him: he en- 
 couraged young rogues and showed them how to advance 
 in their profession: and she deposed that on a certain day 
 Merridew came to the house where the Bishop and the Cap- 
 tain were drinking together and sat with them : that all their 
 talk was about getting a man out of the way : that the Bishop 
 did not like it, but was told by Mr. Merridew very plainly 
 that he must, and that he then assented. 
 
 Jenny's sister, Doll, next appeared. She was transformed 
 into a young and pleasing woman with a silver ring for 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 209 
 
 greater respectability. Her evidence corroborated that of 
 her mother. But she added an important particular, that 
 one morning when there was no one in the place but the 
 Bishop and the Captain, Mr. Probus came with Mr. Mer- 
 ridew and sat conversing with those two gentlemen for a 
 long time. 
 
 Then the young fellow called Jack went into the box. By 
 this time the interest of everyone in the court was intense, 
 because here was the unrolling of a plot which for audacity 
 and wickedness was perhaps unequalled. And the wretched 
 man Probus, still writhing in his seat, cast his eyes to the 
 door in hopes of a chance at flight : in his agony his wig was 
 pushed back, and the whole of his head exposed to view. I 
 confess that horror rather than revenge possessed me. 
 
 The young fellow called Jack gave his evidence in a 
 straightforward way. He confessed that he had run away 
 from his native village in consequence of an unfortunate 
 love affair ; that he had come up to town, hoping to get em- 
 ployment: that he had been taken to the Black Jack by 
 someone who met him in the street : that he had there been 
 introduced to Mr. Merridew, who promised to find him 
 work : that in fact he had been employed by him in shop- 
 lifting and in small street robberies: his employer, he ex- 
 plained, would go along the street first and make a sign 
 where he could carry off something: that he was promised 
 promotion to be a highwayman by Mr. Merridew if he should 
 deserve it : that he had been told to keep himself in readiness 
 to help in knocking a gentleman on the head : that the thing 
 was talked over with him by the Bishop and the Captain : that 
 at the last moment they told him they should want none of 
 his help. Asked what he should do after giving this evi- 
 dence, replied that if Mr. Merridew got off, he should have 
 to enlist in order to save his neck, which would be as good 
 as gone. More he said, but this was the most important. 
 
 Then Mr. Caterham called Mr. Halliday. 
 
 My unfortunate cousin entered the witness-box pale and 
 trembling. In answer to questions he acknowledged that 
 he had lost the whole of his fortune and juined a once 
 noble business in the space of three or four years. He con- 
 fessed that his bankruptcy was inevitable: that Probus had 
 been urgent with him to get his cousin to sell his chance 
 of succession in order to raise money by which he himself 
 might recover his money: that he was willing to do so if 
 
210 The Orange Girl 
 
 his cousin would sell: but his cousin would not. He said 
 that Mr. Probus had come to him stating that a man's life 
 might be lost in many ways : that, for instance, he might fall 
 into the hands of the law : that he had brought Mr. Merri- 
 dew, who offered to arrange so that his cousin might lose 
 his life in some such way if he were paid a thousand pounds 
 down ; that he would not listen to such detestable overtures ; 
 that he heard of his cousin's arrest: that he had informed 
 his cousin's attorney of the offer made him by Probus and 
 Merridew : but he had neither paid nor promised a thousand 
 pounds, or anything at all : and that he had never been a con- 
 senting party to the plot. 
 
 He was allowed to stand down : he remained in the court, 
 trembling and shivering, as pitiable an object as the wretched 
 conspirators themselves. 
 
 If there had been interest in the case before, judge what 
 it was now in the appearance of the next witness, for there 
 entered the box none other than Jenny herself, the bewitch- 
 ing Jenny. She was all lace and ribbons, as beautiful a 
 creature as one could expect to see anywhere. She smiled 
 upon the Judge and upon the Lord Mayor : she smiled upon 
 the Jury : she smiled upon me, the prisoner in the Dock. In 
 answer to the questions put to her, she answered, in sub- 
 stance: 'My name is Jenny Halliday. I am the wife of the 
 last witness, Matthew Halliday. I am an actress. I am 
 known by my maiden name, Jenny Wilmot. As an enter- 
 tainer, I am known as Madame Vallance/ There was now 
 the most breathless attention in Court. 'By birth, I am the 
 daughter of the landlady of the Black Jack. It is a place 
 of resort of the residents of St. Giles's. Most of them, to 
 my certain knowledge, probably all, are thieves. I some- 
 times go there to see my mother and sister, not to see the 
 frequenters of the place. Whenever I do go there, I always 
 find the two witnesses who just now called themselves Car- 
 stairs and Fenwick: at the Black Jack they were always 
 called the Bishop and the Captain. I have always heard, 
 and I understand, that they are rogues of the deepest dye. 
 The Bishop is not a clergyman at all : he is so called because 
 he dresses like a clergyman and can write well : the Captain 
 is a highwayman : most of his fraternity call themselves Cap- 
 tains : he is the son of a butcher in Clare market. His name 
 is Tom Kestever. Both are Mr. Merridew's men: that is, 
 they have to carry out whatever he orders, and they live in 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 211 
 
 . perpetual terror that their time is up. The last time I was 
 in the Black Jack, Merridew came in, drank a glass or two 
 of punch in a friendly way, and so left them. When he said 
 that he did not know the men, it was flat perjury. He was 
 continually in the Black Jack looking up his people; ad- 
 monishing the young and threatening the elders. Not a 
 rogue in London but knows Mr. Merridew, and trembles 
 at the thought of him/ 
 
 Asked about Mr. Probus, she said she did not know him 
 at all, save by repute. That he constantly threatened the 
 prisoner with consequences if he did not consent to sell his 
 chance of succession: and that she had been present on a 
 certain occasion in Newgate when Mr. Probus visited the 
 prisoner and offered him there and then, if he would sign 
 the document offered, that the principal witnesses should not 
 appear at the Trial, which would thus fall through. 
 
 Asked as to her knowledge of the prisoner, she deposed 
 that she found him in the King's Bench Prison, sent there 
 through the arts of Mr. Probus : that she took him out, pay- 
 ing the detainers : that she then gave him employment in her 
 orchestra: that he was a young gentleman of the highest 
 principle, married to a wife of saintly conduct and character : 
 that he was incapable of crime that he lived quietly, was not 
 in debt, and received for his work in the orchestra the sum 
 of thirty shillings a week, which was enough for their mod- 
 est household. 
 
 Asked again about her husband, she said that she could 
 not live with him, partly because he was an inveterate gam- 
 bler: and that to gratify this passion there was nothing he 
 would not sell. That he had gamed away a noble fortune 
 and ruined a noble business: that steps had already been 
 taken to make him bankrupt: and that it was to save his 
 own money that the man Probus had designed this villainy. 
 
 'Call Thomas Shirley/ It was the Junior Counsel who 
 rose. 
 
 Tom went into the box and answered the preliminary 
 questions. 'Do you remember meeting Mr. Probus in New- 
 gate about a month ago?' 
 
 'I do/ 
 
 'What offer did he make?' 
 
 'He offered my brother-in-law 5,000 down if he would 
 sell his chance of the succession, and further promised that 
 the principal witnesses should not appear/ 
 
2 1 2 The Orange Girl 
 
 'You swear that this was his offer ?' 
 
 'I swear it.' 
 
 The counsel looked at Serjeant Cosins who shook his 
 head. 
 
 'You may sit down, Sir/ 
 
 'My Lud/ said Mr. Caterham, 'my case is completed. I 
 have no other evidence unless you direct me to sweep the 
 streets of St. Giles's and compel them to come in/ 
 
 When all the evidence was completed there was a dead 
 silence in the Court. Everybody was silent for a space : the 
 faces of the rogues in the gallery were white with conster- 
 nation : here were the very secrets of their citadel, their home, 
 the Black Jack, disclosed, and by the very people of the 
 Black Jack, the landlady and her daughters. The Jury 
 looked at each other in amazement. Here was the complete 
 revelation of a plot which for wickedness and audacity 
 went beyond everything ever invented or imagined. What 
 would happen next ? 
 
 'Brother Cosins/ said the Judge. 
 
 He threw his papers on the desk. 'My Lud/ he said, 
 'I throw down my brief/ 
 
 Then the Judge charged the Jury. 'Gentlemen/ he said, 
 'it has been clearly established more clearly than lever be- 
 fore experienced, that a wicked nay a most horrible 
 crime, designed by one man, carried out by three others, 
 has been perpetrated against the prisoner, William Halliday. 
 It is a case in which everything has been most carefully 
 prepared : the perjury of the witnesses has been established 
 beyond a doubt even though the witnesses have been in 
 part taken from the regions of St. Giles's, and from actual 
 criminals. Gentlemen, there is but one verdict possible/ 
 
 They did not leave the box : they conferred for a moment : 
 rose and through their foreman pronounced their verdict 
 'Not Guilty/ They added a hope that the conspirators would 
 not escape. 
 
 'They shall not/ said the Judge. 'William Halliday, the 
 verdict of the jury sets you free. I am happy to say that you 
 leave this court with an unblemished character: and that 
 you have the most heartfelt commiseration of the court for 
 your wholly undeserved sufferings and anxiety/ Then the 
 Judge turned to the four. 'I commit Eliezer Probus : Sam- 
 uel Carstairs alias what he pleases : the man who calls him- 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 213 
 
 self Ferdinando Fenwick: and John Merridew for trial on 
 the charge of conspiracy and perjury/ 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE COMPANY OF REVENGE 
 
 THE case was over I stepped out of the Dock : I was free : 
 everybody, including Mr. Caterham, K.C., was shaking my 
 hand: the Lord Mayor sent for me to the Bench and shook 
 my hand warmly: he said that he had known my worthy 
 father, Sir Peter, and that he rejoiced that my innocence had 
 been made as clear as the noonday : all the Jury shook hands 
 with me : my cousin Tom paid my dues to the prison, with- 
 out payment of which even a free man, proved innocent, 
 must go back to the prison again and there stay till he dis- 
 charges them because a gaoler everywhere has a heart made 
 of flint. At last, surrounded by my friends I went out of 
 Court. Outside in the street there was a crowd who shouted 
 and cried my name with 'Death to the Conspirators!' But 
 I saw many who did not shout. Who are they who had no 
 sympathy with innocence? They stood apart, with lowering 
 faces. They came down from the public gallery where 
 I was afterwards told the appearance in that witness-box 
 first of the well-known landlady of the Black Jack their 
 ancient friend : next, of her daughter also their friend i 
 thirdly, of the young fellow called Jack, one of themselves, 
 a rogue and the companion of rogues: and lastly, of the 
 woman of whom they had been so proud, Jenny the actress, 
 Jenny the Orange Girl: Jenny of Drury Lane: filled them 
 with dismay and rage. What? Their own people turn 
 against their own friends ? The landlady of the Black Jack, 
 even the landlady of the Black Jack, that most notorious re- 
 ceiver of stolen goods, and harbourer of rogues, to give evi- 
 dence against her own customers ? Thief betray thief ? Dog 
 bite dog? Heard ever man the like? Now you understand 
 the lowering and gloomy faces. These people whispered to 
 each other in the Gallery of the Court House: they mur- 
 mured to each other outside on the pavement: when we 
 climbed into a hackney coach Jenny her mother and sis- 
 ter the young fellow called Jack and myself they followed 
 
214 The Orange Girl 
 
 us in pairs ; by fours, talking low and cursing below their 
 breath. After a while they desisted : but one or two of them 
 still kept up with the coach. 
 
 I sent Alice home under charge of Tom. I would get 
 home, I said, as quickly as I could, after seeing Jenny safely 
 at her own house. 
 
 We arrived at the house in Soho Square. It was empty 
 save for some women-servants, for there was no enter- 
 tainment that evening. We went into the small room on 
 the left and lit the candles. 
 
 It was then about seven o'clock in the evening and quite 
 dark, as the time of year was November. Jenny was rest- 
 less and excited. She went to the window and looked out. 
 'The Square is quiet/ she said. 'How long will it remain 
 quiet ?' ' 
 
 The servants brought in some supper. Jenny took a 
 little glass of wine. She then went away and returned in 
 a plain dress with a cloak and hood. 
 
 'I must be ready/ she said, 'to set off on my travels 
 whither? Mother' she turned to the old lady 'you are 
 a witch. Look into the fire and tell me what you see/ 
 
 The old woman filled and drained a glass of Madeira 
 and turned her chair round. She gazed intently into the 
 red coals. 
 
 'I see/ she said, 'a crowd of people. I see a Court. I 
 see the condemned cell. . . .' She turned away. 'No, Jenny, 
 I will look no more. 'Twas thus I looked in the fire before 
 thy father was taken. Thus and thus did I see. I will look 
 no longer/ 
 
 'Well/ said Doll, 'what will they do next? They know 
 now where you live, Madame Vallance/ 
 
 The old woman sat down and sighed heavily. 'The Black 
 Jack!' she murmured. 'We shall never see it again/ 
 
 Jenny was quiet and grave. 'We have beaten them/ she 
 said. 'They never suspected that so complete a beating was 
 in store for them. Now comes our turn my turn rather/ 
 
 'Your turn, Jenny ?' 
 
 'Yes, Will, my turn. Do you suppose they will forgive 
 us? Why, we have given evidence against our own people. 
 All St. Giles's trusted my mother and sister Could one 
 suspect the Black Jack? Why, because I was a daughter 
 of the house, all St. Giles's trusted me and we have be- 
 trayed them ! There will be revenge and that quickly/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 2 1 5 
 
 Doll nodded expressively. Her mother groaned. 
 
 'What kind of revenge?' 
 
 Doll nodded her head again and drew a long breath. Her 
 mother groaned again. 
 
 'I do not know, yet. Listen, Will. The people know very 
 well that this case has been got up by myself. I found out, 
 by my mother's assistance, those facts about the trials and 
 floggings and imprisonments: I went into the country and 
 secured the evidence. I brought up the gaolers to testify 
 to the men's identity. I even went to my husband and 
 promised yes, I swore that I would put him into the 
 conspiracy as well as the other four if he did not give evi- 
 dence without saying a word to Probus. And then I bought 
 my mother out.' 
 
 'You bought out your mother?' 
 
 ' 'Twas as sweet a business, Sir,' the old woman inter- 
 rupted, 'as you ever saw. A matter of three pounds a day 
 takings and two pounds a day profit/ 
 
 'I bought her out/ said Jenny. 'I also compensated her 
 for the contents of her vaults/ 
 
 'Ah !' sighed the old woman. 'There were treasures !' 
 
 'The Black Jack is shut up. When the people go there 
 this evening ' again Doll nodded ' they will find it closed 
 and they will wreck the place/ 
 
 ' And drink up all that's left/ said Doll. 
 
 ' Let us prevent murder. Jack, you will find it best for 
 your health to get at far as possible out of London. Take 
 my mother and sister to one of the taverns in the Borough. 
 There's a waggon or a caravan starts every morning for 
 some country place or other; never mind where. Go with 
 them, Jack: stay with them for a while till they are settled. 
 Mother, you won't be happy unless you can have a tavern 
 somewhere. If you can find one, Jack will do for you. 
 There you will be safe, I think. St. Giles's doesn't contain 
 any of our people. But in London you will be murdered 
 you and Doll, too for sure and certain/ 
 
 * For sure and certain/ said Doll, grimly. 
 
 Jenny gave her mother more money. 'That will carry 
 you into the country/ she said. 'You can let me know, 
 somehow, where you are. But take care not to let anyone 
 know who would tell the people here. The gipsies are 
 your best friends, not the thieves/ 
 
2i 6 The Orange Girl 
 
 I asked her if it was really necessary to make all these 
 preparations. 
 
 'You don't know these people, Will. I do. The one 
 thing to which they cling is their safety from the law so 
 long as. they are among themselves. There will be wild 
 work this evening. As for me I have under my dress all 
 my money and all my jewels. I am ready for flight.' 
 
 ' Why, Jenny, you don't think they will attack you 
 here?'' 
 
 ' I do, indeed. There is nothing more likely. Did you 
 observe a woman running along Holborn beside the coach? 
 I know that woman. She is the Captain's girl. Revenge 
 was written on her face easy to read revenge revenge. 
 She stood beside the doorstep when we came in. She 
 marked the house. She has gone back to St. Giles's to 
 tell them where we can be found this evening. But they 
 learned that fact in Court. Oh ! They will come presently/ 
 
 ' Well, Jenny, let us escape while we can.' 
 
 ' There are many ways of escape,' she said. ' There is 
 no hurry. We can pass over the roof of the next house 
 and so into the garrets of the house beyond. I have proved 
 
 this way of escape Oh! Will, I counted the cost 
 
 beforehand. Or there is the back door which opens on 
 Hog Lane. We can get out that way. I am sure they 
 will not think of the back door. Or it is easy to climb 
 over the garden wall into the next house: there are plenty 
 of ways. I am not afraid about our escape if we can 
 keep them out for a few minutes. But, Jack, you had 
 better take my mother and sister away at once.' 
 
 ' No,' said Jack, stoutly. ' Where you are, Madame, 
 there I am.' 
 
 ' You are a fool, Jack,' she replied with her sweet smile, 
 which made him more foolish still. ' They will murder you 
 if they can.' 
 
 ' They shan't murder you, then,' the lad replied, clutching 
 his cudgel. 
 
 By the time we finished supper and held this discourse 
 it was close upon eight. 
 
 ' Will,' said Jenny, ' you and Jack had better barricade 
 the door. It is a strong door but even oak will give way. 
 Take the card-tables and pile them up.' 
 
 The card-tables were thin slight things with curved legs 
 all gilt and lacquer. But the long table was a heavy mahog- 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 2 1 7 
 
 any thing. We took out some of the pieces by which it 
 was lengthened and closed it up. Then we carried it out 
 to the hall and placed it against the door: the length of 
 the door filled the breadth of the hall and jammed in the 
 boards until it seemed as if it would bear any amount of 
 pressure from without. We piled the smaller tables one 
 above the other behind the large table: if the mob did get 
 in, they would be encumbered for awhile among the legs 
 of so many tables. This was the only attempt we could make 
 at fortifying the house: the lower windows were protected 
 by the iron railings outside. 
 
 'Will,' said Jenny, 'we have made the door safe. But 
 Lord! what is to prevent their breaking down the railings 
 and entering by the area? Or why should they not bring 
 a ladder and force their way at the first floor?' 
 
 'Would they be so determined?' 
 
 ' They scent blood. They are like the carrion crow. They 
 mean blood and pillage. The latter they will have. Not the 
 former.' 
 
 At this point we heard a low grumbling noise in the 
 distance, which became the roar of many voices. 
 
 'They are already at the Black Jack,' said Jenny. 'I 
 should like to see what they are doing. Come with me, 
 Will. It is too dark for anyone to recognise me, and there 
 will be a great crowd. All St. Giles's will be out to see the 
 wreck of the Black Jack.' 
 
 She drew her hood over her head which in a measure hid 
 her face, and taking my hand, she led me through the garden 
 and so out by the back door into Hog Lane. The place, 
 always quiet, was deserted and, besides, was nearly pitch 
 dark, having no lamps in it. 
 
 Jenny's house the Assembly Rooms of Soho Square 
 stood at the corner of Sutton Street, and with its gardens 
 extended back into Hog Lane. Nearly opposite Sutton 
 Street, a little lower down, the short street called Denmark 
 Street ran from Hog Lane into St. Giles's High Street 
 opposite the Church. The Black Jack stood opposite to 
 the Church. 
 
 When we got to Denmark Street we took the north 
 side, because there were fewer people there. Yet the 
 crowd was gathering fast. We stood at the corner of the 
 street at the East and where we could see what was going 
 
21 8 The Orange Girl 
 
 on and be ready to escape as quickly as possible in case of 
 necessity. 
 
 A company of men with whom were a good many women 
 and a few boys, were besieging the dark and deserted Black 
 Jack. They were a company apart acting by themselves 
 without any assistance from the crowd, which looked on 
 approvingly and applauded. They neither asked for, nor 
 would they accept, assistance. If any man from the outside 
 offered to join them, he was roughly ordered back. ' It is 
 their revenge, Will/ said Jenny. "They will have no one 
 with them to join in their own business.' Their resolution 
 and the quiet way with which they acted for the roars 
 and shouting we heard did not proceed from the company 
 of revenge but from the crowd that followed them struck 
 one with terror as if we were contemplating the irresistible 
 decrees of Fate. They battered at the doors: as no one 
 answered, they broke in the doors; but first with a volley 
 of stones they broke every window in the house. 
 
 'Poor mother!' said Jenny. ' 'Twould break her heart, 
 But she will lose nothing. I bought her out. It is the 
 landlord who will suffer. Now they have found candles: 
 they light up; see, they are going all over the house in 
 search of the landlady.' We saw lights in the rooms one 
 after the other. 'They will not find her: nor her money: 
 nor anything that is valuable. It is all gone, gentlemen: 
 all provided for and stowed away in a safer place. This 
 is not a house where a woman who values her throat should 
 be found, after to-day's work. See now, they have made 
 up their minds that no one is left in the house. What 
 next? Will they set fire to it?' 
 
 No: they did not set fire to the house. They proceeded 
 to break up everything: all the furniture: the beds, chairs 
 and tables and to throw fragments out of windows into the 
 open space below where some of them collected everything 
 and made a bonfire. When the house was emptied they 
 began to bring out the bottles and to haul up the casks out 
 of the cellars : upon this there was a rush of the crowd from 
 the outside: strange as it may appear the company of 
 revenge were going to break the bottles and to set the casks 
 running. But the mob rushed in: there was fighting for a 
 few minutes: someone blew a whistle and the rioters drew 
 apart, and stood together before the house. Then one of 
 ^ their leader^ spoke. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 219 
 
 ' This is the revenge of St. Giles's on the landlady of the 
 Black Jack. Drink up all her casks and all her bottles, and 
 be damned to ye ! ' 
 
 The people that rushed upon the casks were like ravenous 
 beasts of prey : you would have thought that they had never 
 had their fill of strong drink before: indeed for such people 
 it is impossible to have their fill of strong drink unless insen- 
 sibility means satiety. They set the casks running: they 
 made cups of their hands: they drank with their mouths 
 from the taps : they filled empty bottles : they fought for the 
 full bottles: the place was covered with broken glass: their 
 faces were bleeding with cuts from broken bottles : the bon- 
 fire lifted its fierce flame hissing and roaring: at the open 
 windows of houses hard-by women looked on, shrieking 
 and applauding: some, within the railings of the Church, 
 looked on as from a place of safety : as the flames lit up their 
 pale faces, they might have been the ghosts of the dead, 
 called out of their quiet graves to see what was going on. 
 
 'It is not their intention to burn down the Black Jack/ 
 said Jenny. ' Then there will be a new landlady, and the 
 Thieves' Kitchen will go on again.' 
 
 The leader of the Company blew his whistle, and the men 
 fell into some kind of line. 
 
 ' My turn now,' said Jenny. ' Let us fly, Will. Let us 
 fly back again/ 
 
 We ran down Denmark Street into the quiet, dark Hog's 
 Lane before the Company reached the place. We ran 
 through the garden door and locked it. Then we went back 
 to the house. The old woman was half drunk by this time 
 and half asleep. Doll was sitting upright, waiting. Jack 
 stood by the door. 
 
 'They are coming,' said Jenny. 'They have sacked the 
 Black Jack, Doll. They would have murdered you had 
 you been in the house: they have broken all the furniture 
 and made a bonfire of it: and they have brought out all 
 the liquor. The people are drinking it up now beer and 
 rum and gin and wine. Well, you have lost nothing, 
 Doll nothing at all. Now they are coming here.' She 
 rang the bell, and called the servants. There were six of 
 them. 'There is a mob on their way to this house,' she 
 told them. 'They are going to wreck the place and to 
 murder me, if they can. You had better get out of the 
 house as soon as you can. Put together all that you can 
 
220 The Orange Girl 
 
 carry, and go out of the back way. You can go to one of 
 the inns in Holborn for the night: if any of you have the 
 courage to venture through the streets of Soho, you might 
 go to the Horse Guards and call the soldiers to save the 
 house. Now be quick. To-morrow I will pay you your 
 wages/ 
 
 The women looked astonished, as well they might. What 
 sort of company was Madame keeping? There was the old 
 woman bemused with drink: there was the young country 
 man: who were they? What did it mean? 
 
 'The mob are coming to-night, Madame ?' 
 
 ' They are coming now. They will be here in a few min- 
 utes. If you would escape, go put your things together and 
 fly by the garden door.' 
 
 They looked at each other: without a word they retired: 
 and I suppose they got away immediately, because we saw 
 no more of them. 
 
 And then we heard a steady tramp of feet along Sutton 
 Street. 
 
 'They are here/ said Jenny. 
 
 We heard the feet, but there was no shouting. They 
 marched in a silence which was more threatening than any 
 noise. I closed the wooden shutters of the room. It was 
 as well not to show any lights. 
 
 ' I suppose/ said Doll, ' that you will give us time to 
 escape. Otherwise we shall all four have our throats cut, 
 and perhaps this gentleman too, for whom you've taken 
 all this trouble and him with a wife of his own. He'd 
 better go back to her/ 
 
 ' Yes, Doll/ Jenny replied meekly, without replying to the 
 suggestion. ' You shall have time to escape/ 
 
 They drew up, apparently in very good order before the 
 house, without any shouting, because most of the crowd 
 that had followed them to the Black Jack were still on the 
 spot drinking what they could get in the general scramble. 
 There were some, however, who came with them and hung 
 outside and behind the company of revenge who began to 
 assemble and to shout ' Huzzah ' after the way of the Lon- 
 doners. But I believe they knew not what was intended 
 save that it was revenge of some kind: there would most 
 certainly be the breaking of windows and the smashing of 
 doors: there would be the pleasant spectacle of revenge 
 with more bonfires of broken furniture: perhaps more casks 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 221 
 
 and bottles of strong drink : in all probability women would 
 be turned out into the street with every kind of insult and 
 ill-usage, as had happened, indeed, only a week before in the 
 Strand when a company of sailors wrecked a house and 
 turned the women out of doors with blows and curses. 
 
 First they knocked loudly at the door, shouting for the 
 door to be opened or it would be the worse for everybody 
 inside. Then they pushed the door which yielded not. 
 
 ' They will not force the door easily/ said Jenny. ' Who 
 will run downstairs and see that the area door is secure?' 
 
 I volunteered for this duty. The kitchen windows were 
 provided with strong iron bars which would keep the people 
 off for a time: the area door was strong and was barred 
 within: for further precaution I locked and barred the kit- 
 chen door and a strong door at the head of the staircase : we 
 should thus gain time. 
 
 Crash smash crash ! Were you ever in a house while 
 the mob outside were breaking the windows? Perhaps 
 not. 'Tis like a field of battle with the rattle of musquetry. 
 At one moment half the windows in the house were broken: 
 at the next moment the other half went : and still crash 
 crash the stones flew into the windows tearing out what 
 little glass remained. 
 
 Then there was silence again. 
 
 ' Our time is nearly up,' said Jenny. ' Doll, wake up 
 mother. Tie her hat under her chin, wrap her handker- 
 chief round her neck so. What will they do next? Jack, 
 are you afraid to reconnoitre? Go up to the first floor, and 
 look out of window/ 
 
 I went with him. The stones were still flying thickly 
 through the windows. We made our way along the wall 
 till we came to the window. Then we went on hands and 
 knees and crept to the window. I wrapped one hand in a 
 curtain and held it before my face while I looked out. 
 
 They were lighting torches and conferring together. By 
 the torchlight I could make out their faces. They were of 
 the. type which I had had a recent opportunity of studying 
 in Newgate: the type which means both the hunter and the 
 hunted. It is a cruel and hard type: a relentless type: the 
 faces all had the same expression it meant ' Revenge/ 
 ' We have been betrayed/ said the faces, ' by our friends, by 
 the very people we trusted: we will have revenge. As we 
 have sacked the Black Jack, so we will sack the Assembly 
 
222 The Orange Girl 
 
 Rooms. As we would have killed the landlady of the Black 
 Jack: so we will kill her daughter, the Orange Girl, if we 
 find her.' That is what the faces seemed to say. 
 
 They were conferring what to do next. One of them I 
 could see, advocated breaking down the iron railings: but 
 they had no instruments: another wanted to use a batter- 
 ing ram against the front door* but they had no battering- 
 ram : a third proposed a ladder and entering by the first floor 
 windows. But they had no ladder. 
 
 While they were thus debating a man came into the 
 Square who brought a ladder for them. There was no fur- 
 ther hesitation. ' Come, Jack/ I said. ' There is no time 
 to be lost: we must get away as quickly as possible.' 
 
 ' You go on/ said Jack, ' I will follow.' 
 
 He waited. The ladder was raised to the window at 
 which he watched. A fellow ran up quickly. Jack sprang 
 to his feet, threw up the sash and hurled him headlong off 
 the ladder. The poor wretch fell on the spikes. He 
 groaned but only once. He was killed. There was silence 
 for a moment. Then there arose a mighty scream I say 
 it was like the screaming of a woman. The mob had tasted 
 blood. It was their own but it was blood. They yelled 
 and roared. Some of them ran to hold the ladder while a 
 dozen men ran up. Jack prudently retired, but locked the 
 door behind him. 
 
 ' I believe I have killed him/ he said quickly. ' The one 
 who ran up the ladder. I think he fell on the spikes/ 
 
 ' Come/ said Jenny. ' We must go at once if we mean 
 to go at all. Wake up mother again, Doll. Farewell to 
 my greatness. Will, I grudge not any cost remember 
 whatever it is. Take me with you, to your own home for 
 awhile, till I am able to look round again. These devils! 
 they are overhead, I hear them falling over the furniture. 
 Pray that they break their shins. Come, everybody/ 
 
 She blew out the candles and led the way. The old 
 woman half awake was led out by Jack and Doll. I fol- 
 lowed last. As we passed out into the garden, we could 
 hear the cursing of the fellows overhead and the smashing 
 of the door which Jack had locked. 
 
 In Sutton Street, over the garden wall, everything seemed 
 quiet: that is, there were no footsteps as of a crowd. Yet 
 in the Square the crowd roared and yelled, and from 
 St. Giles's was still heard the clamour of the- people fight- 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 223 
 
 ing over the drink. We looked out of the garden door 
 cautiously. No one was in Hog Lane, which was as 
 deserted as a city in the Desert. We closed the door and 
 turned to the right, and so making our way by streets 
 which I knew well, either by day or by night, we got to 
 St. Martin's Lane and then to Charing Cross where we 
 found a hackney coach. 
 
 ' Jenny/ I said in the coach, taking her hand. ' The even- 
 ing spoils the day. All this you have suffered for my sake. 
 What can I say? What can I feel? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! Will, what are a few sticks of furniture and curtains 
 compared to your safety and to Alice's happiness? I care 
 not a straw. I am ruined, it is true; but for the first 
 time in my life, I am thankful for it I am a married 
 woman. My debts will all be transferred to Matthew. 
 Will! Think of it! The first effect of the victory will be 
 to make Matthew a bankrupt at once. After what he owned 
 in Court, after he receives the news of my debts: there can 
 be no delay. Henceforth, my dear Will, you will be safe 
 from Mr. Probus/ 
 
 I was, indeed, to be safe from him, but in a way which 
 she could not expect. 
 
 ' Meantime,' she added, with a sigh, ' they have not done 
 with me, yet/ 
 
 ' Why, what further harm can they do you? ' 
 
 ' I know not. You asked the same question before. 
 There is no end to the ways of a revengeful spirit. They will 
 murder me, perhaps : or they will contrive some other way/ 
 
 ' Then go out of their reach/ 
 
 ' The only place of safety for me is with my own folks. 
 I should be safe in a gipsy camp. They have their camps 
 everywhere, but I do not want to live with them. No, 
 Will. I shall remain. After all, the revenge of people like 
 these soon passes away. They will wreck my house to-night. 
 That very likely will seem to them enough. I should have 
 thought so, but for the things that mother saw in the coals. 
 She is a witch, indeed. I say, mother, you are a proper 
 witch/ But the good lady was fast asleep. 
 
 We left her with her daughter Doll and the young fellow 
 they called Jack, at the White Hart Inn. It appeared that 
 a waggon was going on in the morning to Horsham in Sus- 
 sex. They might as well stay at Horsham for a time as 
 anywhere else. There was very little fear that the St, Giles's 
 
224 The Orange Girl 
 
 company of revenge would make any further inquiries about 
 them. So they left us and I saw the pair no more and 
 cannot tell you what became of them in the end. As for 
 the young fellow, you will hear more about him. The hack- 
 ney coach took us to our cottage on the Bank where, after 
 so many emotions and surprises, I, for one, slept well. 
 
 Let us return to the house in the Square. The rioters 
 finding no one within, quickly pulled away the barricade 
 of the front door and threw it open. Then the work of 
 wrecking the place began. When you remember that sup- 
 per was sometimes provided for two thousand people, you 
 will understand the prodigious quantity of plates, dishes, 
 knives, forks, tables, benches, and things that were stored 
 in the pantries and kitchens. You have heard of the hang- 
 ings, the curtains, the candelabra, the sconces, the musical 
 instruments, the plants, the vases, the paintings, the coloured 
 lamps, the card-tables, the candlesticks, the stores of candles 
 in a word the immense collection of all kinds necessary 
 for carrying on the entertainments. It is true that the sup- 
 pers were cooked at a tavern and sent in, cold; but they 
 had to be served in dishes and provided with plates. There 
 was no wine to speak of in the house, because the wine was 
 sent in for the night from the tavern which supplied it. 
 Everything in the house was broken. The company of 
 revenge did its work thoroughly. Everything was broken: 
 everything was thrown out of the windows : the centre of the 
 Square was made the site of a huge bonfire which, I believe, 
 must be remembered yet: all the furniture was piled up on 
 this bonfire: the flames ascended to the skies: that of the 
 Black Jack was a mere boy's bonfire compared to this, while 
 the piles of broken glass and china rendered walking in the 
 Square dangerous for many a day to come. 
 
 You have heard that Jenny recommended her women- 
 servants to call out the soldiers. One of them dared to run 
 through the dark streets to the Horse Guards. Half an 
 hour, however, elapsed before the soldiers could be turned 
 out. At last they started with muskets loaded and bayonets 
 fixed: when they arrived, the work was nearly finished: it 
 would have been better for poor Jenny had it been com- 
 pletely finished, as you will presently discover: the furniture 
 was all broken and, with the hangings, curtains and carpets, 
 was burning on the bonfire. The soldiers drew up before 
 the door: the mob began throwing stones: the soldiers fired 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 22$ 
 
 into them. Four or five fell of whom two were killed on 
 the spot: the rest were wounded. The mob soon ran away. 
 Some of the soldiers proceeded to search the house: they 
 found a dozen or twenty fellows engaged in smashing the 
 mirrors and the candelabra in the dancing-hall : they secured 
 them: and then, the mob all gone, and the bonfire dying 
 away they left a guard of four or five and marched back with 
 their prisoners and the wounded men. In the morning the 
 soldiers fastened up the broken door somehow and left the 
 empty house. Alas ! If only the mob had been able to fire 
 the house and to burn down and gut the place from cellar 
 to garret. 
 
 This was the first act of revenge on the part of St. Giles. 
 There was to be another and a more deadly act 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHARGE 
 
 THE joy of the acquittal and the release was certainly 
 dashed by the wild revenge of the mob in the evening. The 
 wreck of the great house with all its costly fittings and deco- 
 rations could be nothing short of ruin to poor Jenny. Still 
 it was with heartfelt gratitude that I returned to my own 
 roof with character unblemished. Alice had a little feast 
 prepared, not so joyful as it might have been, though Jenny 
 made a brave attempt to be cheerful. Tom was with us: 
 the punch-bowl was filled: the glasses went round: Tom 
 played and sang nobody could sing more movingly than 
 he when he was in that vein; that is, when he sat with a 
 cheerful company round the steaming punch-bowl. 
 
 More revenge, however, was to follow. Next morning, 
 about eight or nine of the clock, Jenny came out with me 
 to walk upon the Bank. For the time of year the weather 
 was fine, the sun, still warm, though it was now low down, 
 and had a wintry aspect, shone upon the river: the wind 
 tossed up the water in little waves; the boats rocked; the 
 swans rolled about and threatened to capsize. 
 
 Jenny carried the boy, who laughed and played with her 
 hair and impudently planted his fingers upon her cheek. 
 
226 The Orange Girl 
 
 ' Will/ she said, ' I must now contrive some other means 
 of existence. The Assembly Rooms of Soho Square are 
 wrecked and destroyed. That is certain. They are very 
 likely burned down as well. All my furniture, all my prop- 
 erty is destroyed. Of that I am quite certain. The villains 
 would make short work once inside. Well, I can never 
 recover credit enough to refit them. Besides, the mob 
 might break in again, though I do not think they would. 
 I am sorry for my creditors. They will be much more 
 injured than I myself,' she laughed. 
 
 ' Who are your creditors, Jenny? ' 
 
 'Upholsterers, painters, furniture-makers, cooks, wine- 
 merchants, bakers, grocers, drapers half London, Will. 
 There was never anybody a greater benefactor to trade. 
 They let me go on, because you see, they thought the profits 
 of the winter season would clear them. Poor dear confiding 
 people! 7 
 
 ' Well, but Jenny, since they trusted you before, will they 
 not trust you again ?' 
 
 ' They cannot, possibly. Consider what it would take to 
 refit that great place. By this time all the mirrors and the 
 paintings have been destroyed. Most likely the house is 
 burned down as well; unless the soldiers came in time, 
 which I doubt. They generally march up when the mis- 
 chief is done.' So she began to toss and to dandle the boy, 
 singing to it. ' Will,' she said, ' the happiest lot for a woman 
 is to live retired and bring up her brats. If Matthew had 
 been what he promised and taken me away from London 
 and into the country ! ' 
 
 ' Do you know how much you owe? ' 
 
 ' I heard, some time ago, that it was over 30,000. Mas- 
 querades, I fear, cannot be made to pay. They say I give 
 them too much wine and too good. As for giving them too 
 much, that is impossible. The men would drink, every 
 night, a three-decker full; their throats are like the vasty 
 deep.' 
 
 'But is it possible? 30,000? Jenny, you can never 
 pay that enormous sum.' 
 
 ' My dear Will, I never thought I should be able to pay 
 it. Unfortunately while it is unpaid the good people are 
 not likely to give me any more money. No, Will, that 
 chapter is finished. Exit Madame Vallance. Who comes 
 next?' 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 227 
 
 ' But there are the creditors to consider.' I began to have 
 fears of a Debtors' Prison for Jenny. 
 
 'Oh! The creditors? The creditors, my dear Will, will 
 be handed over to Matthew. You are a good musician but 
 an indifferent lawyer. Matthew Matthew is responsi- 
 ble for his wife's liabilities. This is the only point which 
 reconciles me to marriage with such a man. I am provided 
 with a person who must take over all my debts. Dear 
 Matthew! Kind Matthew! That worthy man, that incom- 
 parable husband will now, for the first time, understand the 
 full felicities of the married state.' 
 
 ' But Matthew can never pay this enormous sum of 
 money.' 
 
 ' I do not suppose he can. Then he will retreat to the 
 Prison where he put you, and, as long as he lives, will have 
 opportunity of blessing first the day when he married a wife, 
 and next the day when he made it impossible for her to live 
 with him. If I can no longer carry on my Assembly Rooms, 
 what remains ? ' 
 
 ' There is always the stage. Your friends desire nothing 
 so much as your return to Drury Lane.' 
 
 'Yes, the stage. I might return to Drury Lane. But, 
 Will, those good people who sacked the Black Jack and 
 wrecked the house in the Square yesterday, they were my 
 friends of old; some of them, I believe, are my cousins: 
 they formerly came to applaud. Do you think they would 
 come to applaud after what has happened? Not so. 
 They would come with baskets full of rotten apples and 
 addled eggs: they would salute me with those missiles; there 
 would be frantic cursings and hissings; they would drive 
 me off the stage with every brutal insult that their filthy 
 minds could invent. Oh! I know my own people my 
 cousins. I know them.' 
 
 ' They will forget you, Jenny.' 
 
 'Yes, if I keep quiet. If I put myself forward the old 
 rancour will be revived. Who betrayed her old friends? 
 Who sent the Bishop and the Captain to Newgate? Who 
 got them put in pillory where they will most certainly 
 have to stand? Who caused all the addled eggs in London 
 to fly in their innocent faces? I tell you, Will, I know my 
 people. Are they not my people? And have I not betrayed 
 them? You lovely boy tell your Dada that Jenny will 
 
228 The Orange Girl 
 
 never repent or regret what she did for his sake: she would 
 do it again, she would she would she would.' 
 
 ' Oh! Jenny, you cut me to the heart. What can I do for 
 you?' 
 
 'You can look happy again: and you can get the New- 
 gate paleness out of your cheeks that is what you can do, 
 Will.' 
 
 At this point of our discourse I observed, without paying 
 any attention to them, a little company of two men and a 
 woman, walking across the Marsh in the direction of the 
 Palace or the Church or perhaps the cottages. I looked at 
 them without suspicion. Otherwise it would have been easy 
 for Jenny to have jumped into a boat and to have escaped 
 for a time at least. But at this juncture we were singularly 
 unfortunate. The house in Soho Square had not been 
 burned; otherwise there would have been no further trouble. 
 But you shall hear. I went back to the question of the lia- 
 bilities. How could anyone be easy who owed 30,000? 
 
 ' Since there is no help, Jenny, for the creditors, and since 
 you are not responsible, why then, Jenny, you shall live with 
 us, and it will be our pride and happiness to work for you.' 
 
 She laughed. No : that would not do either. 
 
 Meantime the people I had seen crossing the Marsh were 
 drawing nearer. I now observed that the woman with the 
 two men was none other than the girl I had seen at the 
 Black Jack, sitting on the Captain's knee. 
 
 ' Jenny,' I said, ' Quick! Here comes a woman who owes 
 you no goodwill. Are you afraid of her? If so, let us take 
 boat and escape across the river.' 
 
 ' Is it one of the St. Giles's company? No, Will, I am not 
 afraid of the woman, and you, I am sure, are not afraid of the 
 men.' 
 
 They were within fifty feet of us. The woman broke 
 away from the men and ran towards us. ' Here she is ! ' she 
 cried. 'This is the woman. Make her prisoner. Quick 1 
 She will run away. I told you she would be here. Oh! 
 Make her prisoner. Quick! Put on the handcuffs. Tie 
 her hand and foot she's a devil bring out the chains. 
 She is desperate. She will claw some of you with her nails. 
 Once she bit off a man's ear. That was when she was an 
 orange girl. Make her prisoner, good gentlemen, as quick 
 as you can. Take care of her. She'll tear your eyes out for 
 you.' 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 229 
 
 Jenny flushed scarlet and stood still. But she caught my 
 hand. 'Don't leave me, Will/ she murmured. Leave her? 
 But a terrible sinking of the heart warned me that something 
 horrible and dreadful was falling upon us. What was it? 
 ' I have felt it coming/ said Jenny. ' Come with me what- 
 ever they do.' 
 
 The woman was within six feet of us, standing on the^ 
 Bank. A wild figure she was, bareheaded save for her hair' 
 which streamed out in the fresh breeze: she wore a black 
 leather corset and a frock of some thick stuff with a woollen 
 shawl or kerchief round her neck. Her red arms were bare 
 to the elbow; she had a black eye and a disfiguring scratch 
 across her cheek. Her bosom heaved; her lips trembled; 
 her eyes were bright ; her cheeks were flaming. I knew her 
 now! She was the girl I had seen sitting on the Captain's 
 knee. And I understood. This was more revenge. 
 
 The two men then approached. I knew them, too, alas! 
 I had good reason to know them. They were officers of 
 Bow Street Court. 
 
 ' By your leave, Madame/ said one, ' I have an order to 
 arrest the body of Madame Vallance, otherwise called Jenny 
 Wilmot, otherwise Mrs. Matthew Halliday.' He produced 
 his emblem of office, the short wand with a brass crown 
 upon it. 
 
 . ' I am the person Sir. I suppose you have some reason 
 some charge against me?' 
 
 ' Receiving stolen goods, knowing the same to have been 
 stolen.' 
 
 * Oh ! ' she caught at my arm. ' I had forgotten that dan- 
 ger Will, do not leave me not yet not yet.' Then 
 she recovered her self-possession. ' Well, gentlemen, I am 
 your prisoner. This gentleman, my friend and cousin, may, 
 I suppose, come with me?' Alice came to the door and 
 looked out astonished to see two officers. ' Take your child, 
 Alice/ said Jenny, ' I must go with these gentlemen. Not 
 content with destroying my property, they are now trying 
 to destroy my character. Will goes with me to see what it 
 means. He will report to you later on ! ' 
 
 * Oh ! your character ! ' said the woman. ' A pretty char- 
 acter you've got! How long since you had a character at 
 all, I should like to know? Destroy your character? I will 
 destroy your life your life your life vile impudent 
 
230 The Orange Girl 
 
 drab I shall take your life. You shall learn what it means 
 to turn against your friends/ 
 
 ' Come/ said one of the men, ' you've shown us where she 
 was. No more jaw. Now leave us. Go. You have had 
 your revenge/ 
 
 ' Not yet not till I see her in the cart. That is the only 
 revenge that will satisfy me/ 
 
 Jenny looked at her with a kind of pity. ' Poor soul ! ' 
 she said, gently. ' Do you think the man is worth all this 
 revenge? Do you think he cares for you? Do you think 
 you will care about him after a day or two? What do you 
 think you will get by all the revenge possible? More of his 
 love and fidelity? Who gave you that black eye? Will 
 you make him any happier in his prison will you make 
 him any fonder?' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' the woman gasped and caught her breath. 
 ' Revenge? If I can find your mother and your sister I will 
 kill them both with a pair of scissors/ She improved this 
 prophecy by a few decorative adjectives. ' As for you, this 
 will teach you to turn against your own folk the poor 
 rogues you belong to us: and you turn against us. To 
 save a man that belongs to other folk. Ha! The rope is 
 round your neck already ! Ha ! I see you swinging. Ho ! ' 
 She stopped and gasped again, being overcome with the 
 emotion of satisfied revenge. 
 
 ' Perhaps/ I said weakly, ' this good woman would take 
 a guinea and go away quietly?' 
 
 'No! No!' she replied, 'not if you stuffed my pockets 
 full of guineas. You've put my man in prison. They say 
 he'll stand in pillory and p'r'aps be killed the properest 
 man in St. Giles's. They kill them sometimes in the pil- 
 lory/ she shuddered, 'but p'r'aps they'll let him off easy. 
 As for you, my fine Madame you that look so haughty 
 you, the orange girl you'll be hanged you'll be 
 hanged!' She screamed these words dancing about and 
 cracking her fingers like a mad woman. Never before had 
 I seen a woman so entirely possessed by the fury of love's 
 bereavement. Do not imagine that I have set down her 
 actual words that I could not do nor the half of what 
 she said. And all for such a lover ! for a footpad and high- 
 way robber; for a brute who beat her, kicked her, and 
 knocked her down ; a low, dirty villain, who made her fetch 
 and carry and work for him; who had no tenderness, or any; 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 231 
 
 good thing in him at all. Yet he was her man; and she 
 loved him; and she would be revenged for him. This 
 woman, I say, was like a tigress bereft of her cubs. Had 
 it not been for the constable who stood between and for 
 myself who stood beside, she would have flown at poor 
 Jenny with nail and claw and, indeed, any other weapon 
 which Nature had given to woman. I saw two women 
 fighting once for a man: 'twas in the King's Bench Prison; 
 they were pulled apart after one had been disfigured for 
 life by the other's teeth. This woman wanted only per- 
 mission to rush in and do likewise. But the constable kept 
 her back with his strong arm. 
 
 ' Come,' he said, ' enough said. What's the use of crying 
 and shrieking? You'll all be hanged in good time all 
 be hanged. What else are you fit for? And a blessed 
 thing it is for you that you will be hanged. That's what 
 I say. If you only knew it. Madame,' he said very respect- 
 fully, ' I must ask leave to take you before his worship.' He 
 held out his hand: the hand of Law in all her branches from 
 Counsel to thief taker is always held out. I gave him half 
 a guinea. 
 
 The woman was still standing beside us, shaking and 
 trembling under the agitation of the late storm. ' Here 
 you,' said the officer, 'we've had enough of your filthy 
 tongue. Get off with you. Go, I say.' He stepped for- 
 ward with a menacing gesture. Among these women a 
 blow generally follows a word. She turned and walked 
 away. I followed her with my eyes. Her shoulders still 
 heaved; her fingers worked: from time to time she turned 
 and shook her fist: and though I could not hear I am certain 
 she was talking to herself. 
 
 ' Where are we going?' Jenny asked, humbly. 
 
 ' To Sir John Fielding's, Bow Street, Madame. Lord! 
 what signifies what a madwoman like that says? She's lost 
 her man and she's off her head.' 
 
 ' How are we to get there? ' 
 
 ' Well, Madam, there is no coach to be got this side the 
 High Street. If I may make so bold there's the boats at 
 the Horseferry. We can drop down the river more quickly 
 than over London Bridge.' 
 
 Jenny made no remark. She sat in the boat with bent 
 head, her cheeks still flaming. 
 
232 The Orange Girl 
 
 ' I am thinking, Will. Don't speak to me just at 
 present/ 
 
 The boat carried us swiftly down the river. 
 
 ' I am thinking/ she repeated, ' what is best to do. Will, 
 I had quite forgotten the things.' I could not understand 
 a word of what she said. ' I know now what I have to do. 
 It's a hard thing to do, but it's the best.' 
 
 She explained no more, and we presently arrived at the 
 Savoy Stairs and took a coach to Bow Street Police Court. 
 It was only six weeks since I was there last, but on what 
 a different errand! 
 
 The blind magistrate took our case and called for the 
 evidence. 
 
 First, the woman who had delivered Jenny into the hands 
 of the law deposed that she was a respectable milliner by 
 trade ; that she was accidentally in the neighbourhood of 
 the Black Jack about midnight three nights before, when 
 she became aware of something which excited her curiosity 
 and interest. The landlady of the tavern and her daughter 
 Doll were carrying between them a box full of something or 
 other. She followed them, herself unseen. They walked 
 down Denmark Street into Hog's Lane, and carried their 
 box into a garden, the door of which was open: for greater 
 certainty of knowing the place again she marked the door 
 in the corner with a cross. Then the two women came out 
 and returned to the Black Jack. All night long they were 
 carrying things from the tavern to the garden gate; some- 
 times in boxes, sometimes in their arms; there were silk 
 mantles and satin frocks and embroidered petticoats, very 
 fine. That work kept them all night. Now, knowing the 
 old woman to be a notorious fence, she was certain that 
 these were stolen goods, and that they were removing them 
 for safety to this house probably unknown to the master and 
 the mistress; that in the morning when it was light she went 
 back to the place and found that the garden-door was the 
 back-door of the premises known as the Soho Square Assem- 
 bly Rooms kept by a Madame Vallance.' 
 
 ' Well? what then?' asked Sir John. 
 
 ' Your worship, the next day was the trial of that gentle- 
 man there for robbing the Bishop and the Captain. I was 
 in the Old Bailey, sir, and the gentleman would have been 
 brought in guilty and hanged, as many a better man than 
 he has suffered it without a whisper or a snivel but this 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 233 
 
 woman here this Madame Vallance who is nothing in the 
 world but Jenny Wilmot the actress who was an Orange 
 Girl at Drury Lane once and is the daughter of the old 
 woman that keeps the Black Jack/ 
 
 'The Black Jack!' said Sir John. 'The mob wrecked 
 that house last night.' 
 
 'And the other house too. They would have set it on 
 fire, your Honour/ said the girl, ' but the soldiers came up 
 and stopped them. More's the pity.' 
 
 'Have a care, woman,' said the magistrate, 'or I shall 
 commit you for taking part in the riot. Go on with your 
 evidence if you have any more.' 
 
 She gave her evidence in a quick impetuous manner. It 
 was like a cataract of angry burning words. 
 
 ' It was in the garret that I found the things ; I knew them 
 at once. I'd been down in Mother Wilmot's cellars. Oh! 
 I knew them at once. Jenny's got the stolen goods, I said. 
 And so she had. So she had, your Honour, and oh! let 
 her deny it let her deny it if she can.' 
 
 ' You found property in the garret which you identified as 
 stolen. Pray how did you know that fact?' 
 
 ' Because it came from Mother Wilmot's cellars.' 
 
 ' That does not prove it to be stolen.' 
 
 ' Well, Sir, I happened to know some respectable people 
 who had been robbed of late, and I made bold to tell them 
 of it; and they found their own things, and here the worthy 
 respectable gentlemen are to testify.' 
 
 ' I will hear them presently.' Then Sir John began to 
 ask the woman a few questions which mightily disconcerted 
 her. If, he asked, she was a respectable milliner, where 
 did she work? If she was a respectable woman, what was 
 she doing in front of St. Giles's Church at midnight? If 
 she were a respectable woman, how did she come to know 
 the landlady of the Black Jack and her daughter? How was 
 it she found herself in the garrets at all? At what time was 
 she in the garrets? How did she come to know the people 
 who had lost property of late? In a word he made the 
 woman confess who she was and what she was. And he 
 then, to her confusion and amazement, committed her for 
 trial for taking part in the riots. So she was put aside, and 
 presently consigned to Newgate with other rioters taken in 
 the fact. In the end she was imprisoned and whipped. Still 
 her evidence proved the deposit of goods in the garrets. The 
 
234 The Orange Girl 
 
 worthy gentlemen to whom she referred were three or four 
 respectable tradesmen of Holborn. They deposed, one after 
 the other, how they had suffered of late much from depre- 
 dations which prevented them from exposing their goods 
 at their doors; that this woman had called to warn them of 
 certain things found by the rioters in the garrets of the Soho 
 Square Assembly Rooms; that they went to see the things 
 by permission of the guard of soldiers: that they found 
 certain things of their own, which they identified by private 
 marks upon them. 
 
 The evidence was concluded. ' Madame,' the magistrate 
 said, ' you have heard the evidence. What have you to say? 
 If you desire to call evidence for the defence I will remand 
 the case. You can produce, perhaps, your mother and sis- 
 ter, though I confess, they are not likely to appear.' 
 
 ' They got away yesterday, to avoid the fury of the mob, 
 Sir. This woman is angry because I have proved her lover 
 to be guilty of perjury.' 
 
 'That is evident. On the other hand, your house con- 
 tained the stolen goods; your mother was seen taking them 
 into the house. The circumstances are such as to make it 
 evident that your mother desired a place of safety. It is 
 proper to show that you were not an accomplice of the 
 removal and the reception in your house. 7 
 
 ' I submit. Sir, that I can only prove this by calling my 
 mother as witness, and, Sir, you have yourself acknowledged 
 that she is not likely to appear.' 
 
 'Then, Madame, I can only ask you for anything you 
 may say in defence/ 
 
 ' Sir, I shall say nothing/ 
 
 This reply amazed me beyond anything. I expected her 
 to deny indignantly any knowledge of the matter, and to 
 declare that the things had been brought into the house 
 without her knowledge. She would say nothing. Then 
 Sir John committed her for trial. I placed her in a coach 
 with such heaviness of heart as you may imagine and we 
 drove to Newgate. Jenny was well remembered by the 
 turnkeys, to whom she had been generous and even profuse, 
 in my case. Turnkeys are never astonished, but the appear- 
 ance of Madame was perhaps an exception to this general 
 rule. However, on payment of certain guineas she was 
 placed, alone, in the best cell that the woman's side could 
 boast, 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 235 
 
 'Jenny! ' I cried when we were alone. 'For God's sake 
 what does it mean? Why did you not deny knowledge of 
 the whole business? What have you to do with stolen 
 goods? Even supposing that your mother took them 
 there, what has that got to do with you?' 
 
 ' I shall tell the whole truth to you, Will, and only to 
 you. But you may tell Alice. From you I will keep no 
 secrets/ 
 
 ' Oh! Jenny, it is for me for me that you have fallen 
 into all this trouble. What shall I do? What shall I do? ' 
 I looked round the mean, bare, and ugly walls of the cell. 
 Twas a poor exchange from the private room in the Square. 
 And all for me! 
 
 ' What did your boy tell you this morning, Will? That 
 Jenny never regrets never repents what she has done 
 for you. She would do it all over again over again a 
 hundred thousand times over again.' She buried her face 
 in her hands for a moment. 'Twas not in woman's nature 
 to restrain the tears. Then she sprang to her feet. ' What? 
 you think I am going to cry because the woman has done 
 this? At least she is coming to Newgate as well. Now, 
 Will. I must tell you the truth. It was most important to 
 get the evidence of my mother and of Doll. They con- 
 nected Probus with the conspiracy. They helped to iden- 
 tify the two principal witnesses. Well, I had to buy their 
 evidence. They made me pay a pretty price for it. As for 
 Doll, you wouldn't believe what a grasping creature she is. 
 That comes of keeping the slate. I had to compensate 
 them for the loss of their daily takings at the Black Jack. 
 I paid them for their stock of liquors we saw the mob 
 drinking it up last night: I paid them for their furniture and 
 their clothes. I gave them money to get out of London 
 with, and to keep them until they can get another tavern; 
 they got money from me on one pretence or the other till 
 I thought they were resolved on taking all I had. And 
 when I had paid for everything and thought they were 
 settled and done with there arose the question of the stolen 
 goods. And I really thought the whole business was ruined 
 and undone/ 
 
 ' What question?' 
 
 'Why, my parent, Will, had got under the old house a 
 spacious stone vault quite dry, built up with arches and 
 paved with stone; there isn't a finer store-room in all Lon- 
 
236 The Orange Girl 
 
 don: it belonged once to some people I don't know 
 religious people who liked shutting themselves up in the 
 dark. I suppose that mother couldn't bear waste or the 
 throwing away of good opportunities for she turned the 
 vault into a cellar for stolen goods; she bought the goods; 
 she stored them down below; she sold them to people who 
 carried them about the country. Everybody knew it; and 
 she was pretty safe because she had a good name for the 
 prices she gave, and even Merridew had to let her alone. 
 Well, what was to be done with the things in the vault? 
 There was enough to hang them both a hundred times. 
 They took me down to see them. I never suspected there 
 was anything like the quantity of things. Plain silver 
 melted down; gold melted down; precious stones picked 
 out of rings | and snuff-boxes; patch boxes; rolls of silk; 
 boxes of gloves; handkerchiefs; frocks and gowns and 
 embroidered petticoats and mantles; ribbons of all kinds; 
 the place was like a wonderful shop. Time was pressing. 
 It was impossible for mother to sell everything at once; 
 things have to be taken into the country and sold cau- 
 tiously to the Squire's' lady, who knows very well what she 
 is buying, just as her husband knows that he is buying 
 smuggled brandy/ 
 
 'So you bought the things?' 
 
 1 There was nothing else to do. Mother tied up the 
 jewels in her handkerchief; Doll took the melted gold and 
 silver; and they undertook to carry all the rest of the 
 things across to the garden door in Hog Lane; the door 
 by which we escaped yesterday; and to store them in my 
 cellars and garrets. This, I suppose, they did. I paid for 
 the things. They are mine, Will.' 
 
 'Oh!' I groaned. 
 
 'Yes, they are mine. This comes of being born in St. 
 Giles's and belonging to the Black Jack. Well, I clean 
 forgot all about the things. Well now; this is the point. 
 If I deny knowledge of them they will send out a hue and 
 cry for mother. She will certainly be found and brought 
 up on the charge. And she is not the sort to suffer in 
 silence. I know my people, Will: she and Doll will let it 
 be known that I bought the things, so that we may all 
 thus stand in the Dock together. And I assure you, Will, 
 I would much rather stand in the Dock alone. I shall have 
 a better chance/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 237 
 
 'Yes but 
 
 ' If I take the whole business on myself they won't drag 
 in mother. They will let her alone and she will keep quiet 
 for her own sake. Besides, seeing what this woman has 
 got by her evidence I don't think the others will be eager 
 to give their evidence. Now, Will, you know the exact 
 truth. And and this is what one expects if you belong 
 to the Black Jack/ 
 
 ' But Jenny think think/ 
 
 ' I know what you would say, dear lad. They will hang 
 me. It is a most ungraceful way of going out of the world. 
 One would prefer a feather bed with dignity. But indeed; 
 have no fears, Will. They will do nothing of the kind. If 
 Jenny Wilmot made any friends at Drury Lane now is the 
 time to prove them. But I must think what to do/ 
 
 She sat down to the table. There were writing materials 
 upon it. She took quill in hand. Then she turned to me 
 with her pretty smile. 'Oh! Will what a disaster it was 
 that the soldiers came up before the mob had set fire to 
 the house! What a disaster! If the house was burned the 
 things in the garrets would have been burned as well and 
 all the stolen goods would have been destroyed and no 
 trace left. What a disaster! ' She laughed. ' What might 
 have been called my good fortune has turned out the great- 
 est misfortune that could have happened to me/ 
 
 ' I must think/ she said. ' I must be alone and think 
 out the whole situation. It all depends on what should 
 be told and what should be concealed. That, I take it, is 
 the history of everything. Some parts we hide and some 
 we tell. I must think/ 
 
 I did not disturb her. She leaned her head upon her 
 hand and was silent for awhile. 
 
 ' Will/ she said, ' of all my friends there are but two on 
 whom I can rely with any hope of help only two. Yet 
 they told me I had troops of friends. You have heard me 
 speak of a certain noble lord who made love to me. He 
 made love so seriously that he was ready to marry me. I 
 refused him, as a reward. Besides his sister came and 
 wept I told you the story. I cannot bear to see even a 
 woman weep. Well, Will, this man is, I am quite sure, a 
 loyal and faithful gentleman, the only one of all my lovers 
 whom I could respect. I am going to write to him. He 
 promised me, upon his honour, to come to my assistance if 
 
238 The Orange Girl 
 
 ever I wanted any help of any kind. I am going to 
 remind him of that promise. The next friend is the Man- 
 ager of Drury. He will help me if he can, though he did 
 not propose to marry me. I will write to him as well. 
 And I must write to my attorney, who is also a friend 
 of yours. ' Now, Will I want you to take by your own 
 hand a letter to his lordship. Go to his town house in 
 Curzon Street and ask the people to deliver the letter 
 instantly. The other two letters you can send by messen- 
 ger. And, Will, one more thing. I believe you ought to 
 warn Matthew what to expect. Since he is going to be 
 bankrupt on his own account it will not hurt him very 
 much to be bankrupt on mine as well. Now wait a little, 
 while I write the letters/ 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE FILIAL MARTYR 
 
 I HASTENED on my errand, taking a boat to Westminster, 
 whence it is a short walk across the Parks to Curzon 
 Street, where my Lord Brockenhurst had his town house. 
 It was about three o'clock in the afternoon: I found car- 
 riages and chaises waiting outside the open door, and the 
 hall within filled with servants in livery lolling about and 
 exchanging insolent remarks upon the people who crowded 
 up the stairs. I am little versed in the customs of the 
 Great, but I confess that the continual presence of these 
 insolent and hulking varlets in the house and in all the 
 rooms would be to me a burden intolerable. What says 
 Doctor Johnson? 
 
 4 The pride of awful state. 
 The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate, 
 The regal palace, the luxurious board, 
 The liveried army and the menial lord 
 
 I believe he meant the lords who were obsequious to the 
 Cardinal: we may read it, to suit those times, the impudent 
 menials who lord it over their Master's house. 
 
 I thought of those lines as I waited, neglected, in the 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 239 
 
 Hall among the lacqueys. Fortunately I was reminded of 
 other lines by the same great author. 
 
 ' Where won by bribes, by flatteries implored, 
 The groom retails the favours of his Lord/ 
 
 I turned to one of them whose shoulder knots and his 
 rod of office proclaimed him one in authority. 
 
 ' Sir/ I said, ' I am the bearer of a letter for his Lord- 
 ship/ 
 
 ' Wait, friend, wait. His Lordship will receive presently/ 
 
 ' Sir. It is an important letter. It is from a lady. I 
 assure you that his Lordship would be much vexed not to 
 receive it/ 
 
 ' Give it to me, then/ 
 
 ' Sir. By your leave. It is very important. Can you 
 contrive to put it into his Lordship's hand immediately?' 
 
 He looked at me with an air of surprise, and made no 
 reply. 
 
 ' Pardon me, Sir/ I said, taking out my purse, in which 
 were two guineas all I had in the world ' I forgot to 
 add that I rely on your good offices/ with that I slipped a 
 guinea into his hand. 
 
 ' Ay ' he said. ' Now you talk sense. Well, Sir, you 
 may trust me. His Lordship shall have the letter within 
 an hour, as soon as his company begins to go/ 
 
 With this assurance I was fain to be content. So I came 
 away hoping that the fellow would keep his word. This, 
 happily, he did. 
 
 It was too late at that hour to seek out Matthew in his 
 counting-house. Besides, I confess that I felt pity for the 
 poor wretch thus hastening to destruction. His haggard 
 look at the trial showed the miseries he was suffering. He 
 gave his evidence, as you have heard on the threat that 
 otherwise he would be charged with the other four with 
 conspiracy: and now a misfortune almost as bad was to fall 
 upon him. To go to him would have the appearance of 
 exulting over these misfortunes. Yet it was necessary to 
 tell him. 
 
 I went home sadly. That Jenny should suffer the wreck 
 and destruction of her house in Soho Square, was hard: 
 that she should, also, which was much worse, be arrested 
 on a capital charge and committed to Newgate: that she 
 
240 The Orange Girl 
 
 should have nothing to say or to plead in defence: in 
 revenge for the part she had played in proving my inno- 
 cence: these things, I say, were difficult to Understand. 
 Why should she not plead ' Not Guilty/ and leave it to the 
 prosecution to prove that she was the owner of the prop- 
 erty or that she knew it was in her house? Who would 
 believe the word of the revengeful fury who swore to seeing 
 the things taken to the house by the old woman and her 
 daughter? Would not a clever counsel make her contra- 
 dict herself? and confess, somehow, that she herself had 
 laid the things there by way of a trap? 
 
 So I argued, blind, in my anxiety. 
 
 1 Will/ said Alice, ' you would meet misfortune by false- 
 hood. Fie! You would lay a trap set by a clever talker 
 to catch this miserable ignorant woman. Fie! ' 
 
 'What then?' I cried. 'Ignorant or not she is a mis- 
 chievous and a revengeful woman. My dear, I would save 
 Jenny at any cost/ 
 
 ' I think Jenny is right, Will. She will meet the charge 
 by simply pleading " Guilty " to whatever they can prove 
 against her: namely, having the things in her house, know- 
 ing that they were stolen. I think it is her wisest course. 
 No questions will be asked: no one will believe that a 
 woman in her position could actually be guilty of receiving 
 stolen goods so worthless: it will be understood by every- 
 body that she is screening someone some close relation 
 even at the risk of her own life/ 
 
 I replied by a groan of dissent. 
 
 'Jenny is not an actress for nothing. She ought not 
 to have bought the things at all: or she ought to have 
 destroyed them: this I supppose she would have done, but 
 she forgot: she was wholly occupied in saving you. We 
 must remember that with gratitude unspeakable, Will/ 
 
 ' Yes, wife, God knows I do/ 
 
 ' The world has been told over and over again that poor 
 Jenny was once an Orange Girl: do people ever expect 
 Orange Girls to come of respectable parents? To take 
 guilt upon yourself in order to screen your mother 
 will appear to the world as a noble and generous act. It 
 would have taken you and me, Will, a month to discover 
 the best way out of the trouble. But Jenny saw her way 
 at once/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 241 
 
 In the end Alice proved to be right. Jenny chose the 
 very best thing possible, as you shall see. 
 
 In the morning I began by making my way to the old 
 familiar place, the Counting House and Wharf close to 
 All-hallows the Great. The Wharf was quite empty and 
 desolate: the cranes were there, but there were no lighters: 
 the casks and bales that formerly encumbered the place 
 were gone: in the outer counting-house there were no clerks 
 except Ramage. But the place was filled with lawyers' 
 clerks attornies, creditors and their representatives. The 
 talk was loud and angry: all were talking together: all were 
 threatening terrible things unless their claims were paid 
 in full. 
 
 Ramage held up his hands when he saw me and shook 
 his head. 
 
 'Will my cousin see me, Ramage?' I asked. 'Tell him 
 I have something of the greatest importance to say to him/ 
 
 It is all over, Mr. William/ he whispered. The blow 
 has fallen. After the things which came out in the Old 
 Bailey there was no hope. It was all over the City at 
 once and on Change in the afternoon. You will find him 
 within. I fear you will find that he has been drinking. 
 Go in, Sir, you must not pay any heed to what he says. 
 He has been strange and unlike himself for a long time. 
 No wonder with all these troubles/ Thus did the faithful 
 servant stand up for the credit of an unworthy master. 
 ' Go in, Sir. He will insult you. But don't mind what 
 he says/ 
 
 I went in. Matthew was evidently half drunk. He had 
 a bottle of brandy before him, and he was drinking fast 
 and furiously. 
 
 ' Gaol-bird ! ' he cried, banging his fist on the table and 
 talking thickly. 'Newgate-bird what do you want? 
 Money? You all want money. You may go away then. 
 I haven't got any money. All the money's gone. All the 
 money's lost/ So he went on repeating his words, and 
 maundering and forgetting one moment what he had said 
 just before. 
 
 ' Matthew,' I said, ' I have not come to ask for money 
 or for anything. I have brought you news/ 
 
 ' What news? There is no news but bad news. Perhaps 
 somebody has murdered Probus. Why don't you murder 
 Probus murder murder Probus?' I suffered him to 
 
242 The Orange Girl 
 
 go on in his foolish way without reply. ' Do you know, 
 Will/ he lay back in his chair and plunged his hands in his 
 pockets, ' there is nobody I should like to see murdered so 
 much as Probus Ezekiel Probus, excepting yourself. If 
 I could see both of you hanging side by side, I should be 
 happy; but if I could see you both murdered with a blud- 
 geon I could go I could go I could go to the King's 
 Bench cheerfully cheerfully/ 
 
 It was no use prolonging the interview. I told him, 
 briefly, why I had come. 
 
 ' Your wife/ I said, ' has had her house sacked and the 
 whole of her property destroyed by the mob/ 
 
 ' I am glad of that very glad to hear that. All of it 
 destroyed you say? This is good news indeed/ 
 
 ' She can no longer carry on her business at the Soho 
 Square Assembly Rooms. The property destroyed con- 
 sists largely of furniture supplied for the use of the Rooms. 
 It is not yet paid for. Therefore, she will be compelled to 
 refer her creditors to you/ 
 
 'Her creditors? Does this abandoned woman owe any 
 money, then?' 
 
 'I believe about ^30,000 is the sum of her liabilities/ 
 
 He laughed. He laughed cheerfully, as if it was one of 
 the merriest and heartiest jokes he had ever heard. 'Is 
 that all? Why, man, it's nothing. Put it on my back; 
 and as much more as you please: as much as the Bank of 
 England contains. Why, I can bear it all. Nothing 
 makes any difference now. Tell her she is quite welcome 
 to double it, if she can get the credit. It's all one to me/ 
 
 ' That is what I came to tell you/ 
 
 ' Very good, gaol-bird. Probus very nearly succeeded, 
 did he not? You felt a kind of a tightening about the neck, 
 I suppose. Never mind. Don't be disappointed. I dare 
 say you will go to Tyburn after all. You are young yet, 
 and then the fortune will come to me and we shall see - 
 we shall see ' he drank another glass of Nantes 'we 
 shall see What was I going to say?' 
 
 So I left him and went on my way to Newgate. 
 
 Jenny was in conference with her attorney. 
 
 ' Come in, Will. I have no secrets from my cousin, Mr. 
 Dewberry. Now, if you please, give me your opinion/ 
 
 'First, then, if you plead Not Guilty what can they 
 prove against you? That certain things were found in 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 243 
 
 your garrets? How did they get there? A wretched, 
 revengeful drab says that your mother and sister put them 
 there. Is her word to be believed? She is the sweetheart 
 of a conspirator and presumably a highwayman, whom 
 you have been instrumental in consigning to a prison, with 
 probably a severe punishment to follow. Where are your 
 mother and sister? They are gone away? Where? You 
 cannot be asked. But you do not know. Why? To 
 escape the revenge of the mob who have wrecked their 
 house. Very well. There the case ends and breaks 
 down/ 
 
 ' Not so. It does not break down. My mother has 
 long been known as the greatest receiver in the trade. She 
 bought more and sold more than anybody else. The Court 
 dressmakers came to her to buy her lace and her embroid- 
 ery for the great Court Ladies. Why, she is the most 
 notorious woman in London. If I am acquitted, they will 
 get up a Hue and Cry for her, and they will certainly find her. 
 And then there isn't a thief in prison or out who will not 
 give evidence against her, after the evidence she has given 
 against the thieves. And as for Doll my sister's name is 
 Doll in order to save her own skin, she will most cer- 
 tainly be ready to give evidence to the effect that I bought 
 the things of my mother and paid for them. Which I did. 
 As I told you/ " 
 
 'You never told me so. I don't know that it matters 
 much. I am only trying to see my way to an acquittal. 
 And considering there is nobody but that woman to testify 
 to the conveyance of the goods, really, I think there ought 
 to be no doubt as to the result/ 
 
 ' Mr. Dewberry/ Jenny laid her hand upon his arm. 
 '.Understand me. I have been kept down, all my life, by 
 my origin. As soon as this business is over I shall try in 
 some way or other to get clear away from them all Oh ! 
 what an origin it is! Oh, how I have always envied the 
 children of honest parents. Why my father ' 
 
 ' Dear lady, do not speak of these things/ 
 
 'Well, then, my cousins I mean those of them who 
 are not yet hanged live in the courts and blind alleys of 
 St. Giles. I have no longer any patience with them it 
 makes me wretched to think of them, and it humiliates me 
 to go among them because I have to become again one of 
 them and I do it so easily. Well, Sir, I am what I am: 
 
244 The Orange Girl 
 
 yet strange as it may seem to you I will not lend my help 
 to getting my mother and sister hanged/ 
 
 Mr. Dewberry took her hand and kissed it ' Proceed, 
 Madame,' he said gravely. 
 
 'If, then, I plead Guilty, the woman's evidence will be 
 received without any dispute or discussion, and when sen- 
 tence is passed, the case will be closed. No one, afterwards, 
 will venture to charge my mother with that crime/ 
 
 'I suppose not. But the sentence, Madame, the sen- 
 tence!' 
 
 She shuddered. * I know what the sentence will be. 
 But I am not afraid. I have friends who will come to my 
 assistance/ 
 
 In fact one of them appeared at that very moment. He 
 was a gentleman of a singularly sweet and pleasant coun- 
 tenance, on which kindness, honour, and loyalty were 
 stamped without the least uncertainty. He was dressed 
 very finely in a satin coat and waistcoat, and he wore a 
 sash and a star. 
 
 ' Divine Jenny ! ' he said, taking her hand and kissing it. 
 ' Is it possible that I find thee in such a place and in such 
 a situation as this?' 
 
 Jenny suffered her hand to remain in his. When I 
 think of her and of her behaviour at this juncture I am 
 amazed at her power of acting. She represented, not her 
 own feelings, which were those of the greatest disgust 
 towards her nearest relations (to whom one is taught to 
 pay respect), but the feelings which she wished Lord Brock- 
 enhurst, and, through him, the world at large, should 
 believe of her. 
 
 In her left hand she held a white lace handkerchief, 
 scented with some delicate perfume: the woman was one 
 of those who are never without some subtle fragrance which 
 seemed to belong to her, naturally. This handkerchief she 
 applied to her eyes from time to time : they were dry, to 
 my certain knowledge but the act was the outward sem- 
 blance of weeping. 
 
 ' My Lord,' said Jenny, ' this gentleman is my cousin 
 not of St. Giles my husband's cousin My husband, 
 however, I cannot suffer to approach me. This other gen- 
 tleman is Mr. Dewberry, of Great St. Thomas Apostle in 
 the City of London, attorney at Law. They are consider- 
 ing my case with me. By your Lordship's permission we 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 245 
 
 will renew our conference in your presence. If, on the 
 other hand, you would prefer to hear, alone, what I have to 
 state, they will leave us.' 
 
 ' I am in your hands, Jenny/ he kissed her hand again 
 and let it go. ' My sole desire is to be of service. Pray 
 remember, Jenny, that whatever I promise I try to per- 
 form. All the service that I can render you in this time 
 of trouble is at your command/ 
 
 I placed a chair for him and looked to Jenny to begin. 
 
 She sat down and buried her face in her hands while we 
 all waited. 
 
 ' My Lord/ she rose at last and continued standing, ' I 
 once told you at a time when it was impossible to con- 
 ceal anything from you, that I was originally an Orange 
 Girl at the Theatre where you honoured me frequently 
 by witnessing my humble performances/ 
 
 ' Say, rather, Jenny, inspired performances/ 
 
 She bowed her head, like some queen. ' If your Lord- 
 ship pleases. I also told you that my parents were of the 
 very lowest so low that one can get no lower/ 
 
 ' You did/ 
 
 ' Now, my Lord, I am accused of receiving stolen prop- 
 erty in my house, knowing the property to be stolen/ 
 
 'Oh! Monstrous! Most monstrous! ' 
 
 ' My accuser is a girl whose sweetheart is now by my 
 evidence and the evidence of others lying in this prison 
 beside me, on a charge of conspiracy. With the girl it is 
 an act of revenge. She would tell you as much. The 
 mob, also in revenge for exposing a most diabolical plot, 
 has wrecked and sacked my mother's house in St. Giles's 
 and my own in Soho Square. They have destroyed all that 
 I possessed. I am therefore ruined. But that is nothing. 
 On the stage we care very little about losing or gaining 
 money. This woman has now brought a charge against 
 me which I blush even to name/ 
 
 ' .You have only to deny the charge, Jenny. There is 
 not a man in London who would doubt the word of the 
 incomparable Jenny Wilmot/ 
 
 She bowed her head again. ' I would I could think so/ 
 
 She made as if she would go on; then stopped and 
 hesitated, looking down as if in doubt and shame. 
 
 ' My Lord, I will put the case to you quite plainly. Mr. 
 Dewberry is of opinion that the result, if the matter is 
 
246 The Orange Girl 
 
 brought before the court will certainly be decided in my 
 favour/ 
 
 ' I am certain on the point/ said the Attorney. ' I beg 
 your Lordship's pardon for my interruption.' 
 
 'Oh! Sir, who has a better right to interrupt?' He 
 turned again to Jenny, whom he devoured with his eyes. 
 Truly if ever any man was in love it was Lord Brocken- 
 hurst. 
 
 ' If I were acquitted/ she went on. ' Indeed, I believe 
 I should be acquitted but the case would not be ended 
 by that acquittal. Suppose, my Lord I put a case it 
 need not be mine ' she plucked at the lace of her hand- 
 kerchief as if deeply agitated ' I say, it need not be my 
 own case I suppose a case. Such a charge is brought 
 against a person perhaps innocent. She is acquitted 
 But the charge remains. It will then be brought against 
 the real criminal. Out of revenge every thief in St. Giles's 
 would crowd in to give evidence. That person's fate would 
 be certain. She would be she would be your Lord- 
 ship will spare me the word.' Again she covered her eyes. 
 Then she lifted her head again and went on. ' I know that 
 the person is guilty She deserves nothing short of 
 what the law provides. Yet reflect, my Lord. Born 
 among rogues: brought up among rogues: without educa- 
 tion and moral principles, or honour, or religion, can one 
 wonder if such a person turns to crime? And can you 
 wonder, my Lord ' again she sank into a chair and cov- 
 ered her face with her hands ' can you wonder if the 
 daughter should resolve to save the mother's life, by taking 
 upon herself the guilt the confession the conse- 
 quences of the crime?' 
 
 She was silent save for a sob that convulsed her frame. 
 His Lordship heard with humid eyes. When she had fin- 
 ished he rose with tears that streamed down his face. For 
 a while he could not speak. Then he turned to Mr. Dew- 
 berry. 
 
 1 Sir/ he said, ' tell me tell me what she means/ 
 
 ' She means, my Lord, to plead Guilty and to take the 
 consequences. By so doing she will save her mother 
 yes, my Lord, her mother even at the sacrifice of her 
 own life/ 
 
 'Oh!' he cried, 'it must not be! Great Heavens! It 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 247 
 
 must not be. Jenny Jenny thou art, I swear, an 
 angel/ 
 
 ' No, my Lord, no angel/ 
 
 ' Yes, an angel ! Hear me, Jenny. I will stand by thee. 
 The world shall know the world that loves thee By 
 
 the world shall know what a treasure it possesses in 
 
 the incomparable Jenny Wilmot. As an actress thou art 
 without an equal. As a child as a daughter history 
 records no greater heroism. Thou shalt be written down 
 in history beside the woman who saved her father from 
 starvation and the woman who saved her husband from 
 the traitor's block. I can endure it no longer, Jenny. 
 To-morrow when my spirits are less agitated, I will come 
 again/ He stooped and kissed her bowed head and so 
 left us. 
 
 A common or vulgar actress when the man for whom 
 she had been playing had gone, would have laughed or in 
 some way betrayed herself. Not so Jenny. She waited 
 a reasonable time after his Lordship's departure and then 
 lifted her head, placed her handkerchief still dry to her 
 eyes and stood up. 
 
 ' Mr. Dewberry/ she said, ' do you agree with me in the 
 line I have resolved to take? ' 
 
 ' Madame, I do,' he replied emphatically. 
 
 'And you, Will?' 
 
 I hesitated, because I perceived that she had been playing 
 a part. Yet an innocent part. She did not, certainly, 
 desire to bring her mother and sister to a shameful end: 
 but, at the same time, she did not wish it to be known 
 that she had really paid for the property and ordered its 
 removal to her own house: she did not regard the landlady 
 of the Black Jack with all the filial affection (not to speak 
 of respect) which her emotion undoubtedly conveyed to his 
 Lordship: on the other hand, it would serve her own case 
 as well as her estimable mother better that she should 
 be regarded as a voluntary victim to save a parent than 
 that she should be acquitted in order to give place to her 
 mother who would certainly be convicted. 
 
 ' I agree, Jenny I agree/ I answered. 
 
 ' Sir/ said Mr. Dewberry as we walked away, ' I have often 
 heard Miss Jenny Wilmot described as an incomparable 
 actress. I am now convinced of the fact/ 
 
248 The Orange Girl 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE SNARE WHICH THEY DIGGED FOR OTHERS 
 
 THE same day on leaving Jenny, the Turnkey who con- 
 ducted me to the gate, offered me congratulations rather 
 gruff and even forced on the turn things had taken. 
 
 ' I assure you, Sir,' he said with feeling, ' that we know 
 
 generally beforehand what will happen, and we'd quite 
 
 made up our minds as to your case, spite of Madame's 
 
 interest. There didn't seem any doubt. Some of us are 
 
 'a bit disappointed: we don't like, you see, for anyone to 
 
 slip out. Well : there's always disappointments. Would 
 
 you like to cast an eye on your friends them that hatched 
 
 that pretty plot? Come this way, then. I wouldn't like 
 
 ( to be in their shoes if it comes to Pillory and it will.' 
 
 So he led me out of the passage into one of the yards. 
 At the sight of the place my heart sank to think how I 
 had myself trodden those flagstones and stepped from side 
 to side of those dismal walls. The place was the Master's 
 side: there were twenty prisoners or more in it. One or 
 two were sitting on the stone bench drinking beer and 
 smoking tobacco: one was playing a game of fives by 
 himself. My two principal witnesses, the Bishop and his 
 friend the Captain, were walking side by side, both in 
 irons. Mr. Probus sat in a corner his head hanging down: 
 taking no notice of anything. Mr. Merridew walked by 
 himself with an assumption of being in the wrong place 
 by accident and with an air of importance, the prisoners 
 making way for him right and left, for the terror of his 
 name accompanied him even into Newgate. 
 
 The turnkey called him. 'Merridew/ he said, with 
 familiarity. ' Come and see the young gentleman you tried 
 to hang. Now he'll hang you. That's curious, isn't it? 
 Here we go up,' he turned to me with a philosophic smile, 
 ' and here we go down.' 
 
 ' Sir,' Mr. Merridew obeyed the call and approached me, 
 bowing with great humility. His cringing salute was 
 Almost as nauseous as the impudent brutality which he 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 249 
 
 had shown in the Thieves' Kitchen. ' Sir, I am pleased 
 to make your honoured acquaintance. I hardly expected, 
 in this place where I am confined by accident ' 
 
 ' Oh ! Sir, I did not come here to make your acquaintance, 
 believe me/ 
 
 ' Sir, I am pleased to have speech with you, even in this 
 place, and if only to remove a misunderstanding which 
 seems to have arisen regarding my part in the late unhappy 
 business. If you will kindly remember, Sir, I merely testi- 
 fied to what I saw, being an accidental eye-witness. The 
 night was dark: there was a scuffle. You will bear me out, 
 Sir so far a scuffle whether you were attacking that 
 fellow ' he pointed to the Bishop who with his friend the 
 Captain was now looking on 'or that other fellow ' he 
 indicated the Captain ' villains both, Sir, both who, 
 but for my mistaken kindness, would have been hanged 
 long ago I cannot exactly say. I may have been per- 
 haps we all make mistakes too ready to believe the 
 other side, and what they said. How r ever, that is all over 
 and, of course, I shall be set free in an hour or two. With 
 expressions of sorrow, for an undeserved imprisonment 
 ' He looked in my face for some expression of sym- 
 pathy but, I believe, found none. ' No malice, Sir, I hope.' 
 He held out the abominable hand which was steeped in the 
 blood of his victims and rank with the stink of his wicked- 
 ness. ' I hope, Sir, that if the case comes to trial, I may 
 not see you among the prosecutors.' I maintained silence 
 and took no notice of his proffered hand. ' But indeed, I 
 shall certainly be out in an hour or two: or perhaps a day 
 or two. My case has not yet, perhaps, been laid before 
 the authorities. I am here as a mere matter of form. Ha! 
 form in fact I have no business here no business 
 at all no business.' His voice sank to a whisper, showing 
 the real agitation of his mind. 
 
 ' Mr. Merridew, I have not come here with any desire 
 to converse with you.' 
 
 ' You are not going to bear malice, Mr. Halliday? Be 
 content with exposing two villains. Two will be enough 
 If you want more there is Probus. He's an extra- 
 ordinary villain. As for you, Sir, consider: you are a for- 
 tunate man, Sir. You ought to be in the condemned cell. 
 You have got off against all expectation, and when every- 
 body, to a man, thought it was a certainty. Had I been 
 
250 The Orange Girl 
 
 consulted by your sweetheart I should have advised her, 
 Sir, I should, indeed, so strong a case was it to my 
 experienced mind, Sir, I should have advised her, Sir, to 
 buy the cap and the ribbons and the nosegay and the 
 Orange Oh! a fortunate man, indeed! ' 
 
 As if he had had nothing whatever to do with the case! 
 As if there had been no Conspiracy! 
 
 I was turning away in disgust, when the other pair of 
 villains drew near. I prepared for some volley of abuse 
 and foul language, but was disappointed. They addressed 
 me, it seemed in no spirit of hostility, but quite the con- 
 trary. They were lamb like. 
 
 'Sir/ said the Bishop, 'what was done by my friend 
 the Captain and myself was done by orders of Mr. Merridew 
 here. He said, " Do it, or swing." So we had no choice. 
 Merridew gave us the orders and Probus invented the plot. 
 " Do it or swing," was the word.' 
 
 'You shall swing, too/ the Thief taker turned upon him 
 savagely, ' as soon as I get out. A pair of villains, not fit 
 to live/ 
 
 'You won't hang anybody any more/ said the Captain, 
 with defiance. ' Your own time's up at last, Merridew. 
 Your own rope has come to an end.' 
 
 ' Wait till I get out. Wait till I get out/ he roared. 
 
 'That won't be just yet, brother/ said the turnkey. 
 ' Conspiracy's an ugly word, friend Merridew. There's 
 imprisonment in it and flogging, sometimes and pil- 
 lory. But make up your mind for a long stay and be 
 comfortable.' 
 
 ' Dick/ said Mr. Merridew. He knew every turnkey as 
 well as most of the prisoners. It was said that he often had 
 to go shares with the turnkeys. ' Dick, you know me, of 
 old.' 
 
 'Ay ay We all know you/ 
 
 ' We've worked together ' 
 
 'That is as may be. But go on/ 
 
 'Well, Dick, I am a sheriff's officer. I know all the 
 rogues in London, don't I? ' 
 
 ' Why, certainly/ 
 
 ' I know where to lay my hands upon every one. I 
 know where they practise and what they do/ 
 
 ' Correct/ said the turnkey. 
 
 'They don't dare to lock me up. Do they? Lock me 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 251 
 
 up?' he snorted. ' Why, if I am kept here long, all the 
 villains will go free. London will no longer be safe. 
 There won't be fifty hangings in a year. Who fills your 
 gaols? John Merridew. Who fills your carts? John 
 Merridew. You know that, Dick. Nobody knows better 
 than you/ 
 
 ' Correct/ said Dick. 
 
 'The judges can't send me to prison. They can't do it, 
 
 I say. Why of course of course ' Again his 
 
 voice sank to a whisper. 
 
 I looked at the man with amazement. He was evidently 
 seeking consolation by delusive assurances. At heart he 
 was filled with terror. For beside the prison, there was 
 the dread of pillory. They might be set in pillory. He 
 knew, none better, that the thief-taker who is also the 
 thief-maker, has not a single friend in the whole world. 
 What would be done to him if he should stand in pillory? 
 
 ' Let me get out as soon as possible/ he went on, appeal- 
 ing to me. ' Why, Sir, unless I go out the whole criminal 
 procedure of this country will be thrown out of gear. I 
 am the only man the only man, Sir ask Dick, here/ 
 The turnkey shook his keys and nodded. 
 
 ' But they'll give you a heavy sentence, my friend/ he 
 said. 
 
 ' The only man that can't be spared the only man 
 
 the only man ' Again his voice dropped to a whisper. 
 
 He turned away babbling and shaking his head, all the 
 insolence gone out of him. 
 
 ' His power is gone/ said the Bishop. ' He won't get 
 any more rewards/ 
 
 ' Yes/ said the turnkey. ' But he has had a long innings. 
 Why, he must be nearly fifty. There's a many would envy 
 Merridew/ 
 
 The Bishop once more addressed himself to me. ' Sir/ 
 he said, ' I grieve to hear that our friends wrecked the 
 Black Jack and Madame's house. I fear these acts of 
 violence may make you vindictive/ 
 
 ' Madame herself was brought in yesterday for receiv- 
 ing stolen goods/ 
 
 ' Madame? Madame brought here? On a charge ? ? 
 
 The Bishop's face expressed the liveliest concern. 
 
 'Why/ said the Captain. 'It's ' A motion of his 
 
 fingers to his throat showed what he meant. 
 
252 The Orange Girl 
 
 ' Nothing could have been more disastrous/ said the 
 Bishop. ' Believe me, Sir, we have nothing to do with the 
 wreck of the houses, and we were ignorant of this charge, 
 I assure you, Sir. Oh! This is a great misfortune!' 
 
 The misfortune, it appeared, lay in the danger nay, the 
 certainty, that this persecution would make both Madame 
 and myself more vindictive. Now the events of the Trial, 
 when at a word, as it seemed, from Madame witnesses 
 sprang up in a cloud to confront them with their villainy, 
 made them believe that she had friends everywhere. 
 
 ' It cannot be/ said the Bishop, ' but she will get off. 
 Who is the principal evidence?' 
 
 'Ask the Captain. And that is enough/ 
 
 I stepped across the yard and laid my ringer on Probus's 
 shoulder as he sat with bowed form and hanging head. 
 He looked up with lack-lustre eyes. I believe that the loss 
 of his money and the result of his conspiracy had affected 
 his brain, for he seemed to pay no heed to anything. 
 
 ' Mr. Probus/ I said. ' I must tell you that my cousin 
 is now bankrupt.' 
 
 He stared without any look of recognition. 
 
 ' Mr. Probus/ I repeated, ' my cousin Matthew is a bank- 
 rupt. I tell you, in order that you may send in your claim 
 with those of the other creditors.' 
 
 ' Ay ay ' he replied. ' Very like.' 
 
 ' Bankrupt ! ' I said again. ' Even had you succeeded in 
 your plot you would have been too late/ 
 
 He nodded without attention. 
 
 ' And another mass of debts has been added. His wife's 
 house has been wrecked by the mob and all her property 
 destroyed. Therefore her liabilities have been presented 
 to her husband/ 
 
 ' All gone ! ' he moaned. ' All gone ! The work of an 
 honest lifetime wasted and thrown away. Nothing will 
 ever be recovered/ 
 
 ' Mr. Probus/ I said, * the money is gone. That is most 
 true. But more than that is gone. Your character your 
 honour it is all gone wasted and thrown away none 
 of it will be recovered/ 
 
 ' All gone all gone/ he repeated. 
 
 The turnkey stood beside me. ' Queer, isnt' it?' he 
 said. 'He's lost his money and his wits have gone after 
 it. A money lender, he was. He's put more poor folk 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 253 
 
 into the Fleet and the King's Bench than his friend Merri- 
 dew has put prisoners here. And he ought to be thinking 
 of something else his trial and his sentence/ 
 
 ' His sentence?' 
 
 ' Well you see, Merridew, he knows. This one doesn't. 
 The Bishop, he knows and the Captain and they don't 
 like it. This man doesn't care. For you see they will 
 certainly have to stand in Pillory and if the mob don't 
 love money lenders they love thief takers less, and Merri- 
 dew's the most notorious thief taker in town. Well it's 
 a wonderful country for Law and Justice. Now, I suppose 
 they poor French would be content to hang up a man at 
 once. We don't. We give 'em an hour's ride in a cart 
 where they sometimes gets roses but more often gets addled 
 eggs. Or we put 'em in pillory where they may get dead 
 cats or they may get flints and broken bottles.' 
 
 I came away. The heavy gate closed: the key turned 
 in the lock ; the four wretches were shut in once more, there, 
 at least, the prey to the keenest terrors, dying a thousand 
 deaths before they should be taken out for the dead cats 
 and the addled eggs and perhaps the flints and broken 
 bottles. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE CASE OF CLARINDA 
 
 THE town has notoriously a short memory, yet I doubt if 
 there be any still living who remember the year 1760 and 
 have forgotten the case of Jenny Wilmot. For, indeed, no 
 one for some time talked of anything else. There were 
 armies in the field: these were forgotten; there were fleets 
 and naval battles and expeditions: these were forgotten; 
 there was the strife of party: that was forgotten; there 
 were the anxieties of trade: they were forgotten; there 
 were scandals among the aristocracy: they were forgotten; 
 there was the new play; the new poem: all were clean 
 forgotten and neglected while the town talked at my Lady's 
 breakfast or Moll King's tavern of Jenny Wilmot; Jenny 
 Wilmot; Jenny Wilmot. The world at first could find 
 nothing too bad to say or think of her. At the clubs they 
 
254 The Orange Girl 
 
 suspended their play while they listened to the latest rumour 
 about Jenny. At the coffee-houses every quidnunc and 
 gobemouche brought a new story which he had heard and 
 transmitted with embroideries; or else a trifling variation in 
 the old story to communicate. 
 
 People remembered how she disappeared mysteriously 
 from the stage a year or two before this catastrophe! Ha! 
 what a proof of wickedness was that! Why, it was now 
 known that she was none other than Madame Vallance 
 who provided the masquerades and the Assemblies in Soho 
 Square and was never seen by the company except in a 
 domino. There was another illustration of her wicked 
 disposition! It was also recalled, for the benefit of those 
 who did not remember the fact, that she had been an 
 Orange Girl at Drury before she was promoted to the 
 stage. What could be expected of an Orange Girl? And 
 now it was actually brought to light could one believe 
 it! it was actually discovered had she not herself con- 
 fessed it? that her mother and sister kept a tavern in 
 St. Giles's, a place of resort for the lowest; a mere thieves' 
 kitchen; the rendezvous of highwaymen, foot-pads, pick- 
 pockets and rogues of every description. 
 
 It was certain that Jenny had been born and brought up 
 in this vile receptacle or Temple of Vice. Many people 
 were found who had recollections of Jenny as a child play- 
 ing in the gutter, or on the steps of St. Giles's Church. 
 These recollections were of an edifying nature. One gen- 
 tleman, of an aspect which we call smug somewhat 
 resembling, in fact, my cousin Matthew at his earliest and 
 best related in my hearing that he had addressed the 
 child, and on hearing that her ambition was to become an 
 Orange Girl at Drury Lane Theatre, had warned her 
 against the perils of that path; unhappily without effect, 
 except that while he was exhorting her to a godly life, his 
 tears were checked by the theft of his pocket-handkerchief. 
 And so on: and so on; because the occasion gave an oppor- 
 tunity for securing a momentary distinction, and when the 
 imagination is fired the tongue is loosed. 
 
 Again, there is in the English mind something particu- 
 larly repellant in the life and the acts of the informer. Now 
 it cannot be denied that in my Trial, Jenny figured as one 
 who had turned against her old friends and associates; had 
 used her knowledge to secure their arrest; and had induced 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 255 
 
 her mother and sister and at least one of the rogues of the 
 Black Jack, to join her in giving evidence against the 
 conspirators. So that when the news was spread abroad 
 that her house, as well as the Black Jack, had been wrecked 
 and the contents destroyed there was at first a strong feeling 
 among many that this was a kind of wild justice which 
 she deserved, because she ought not to have turned against 
 her friends. As for the man for whose sake she did it, you 
 may be sure that the motive commonly attributed to her 
 was such as would naturally commend itself to the majority. 
 That any woman should be so deeply moved by generosity 
 of heart, by love of justice, by honest indignation against 
 so foul a conspiracy as to resolve, at all risks and hazards, to 
 defeat the object of the villains, and to prevent the destruc- 
 tion of an innocent man, required too high a flight to make 
 it possible to be considered by the common sort I mean, 
 not the poor, but the common sort of ' respectable ' bur- 
 gesses; the folk of the coffee-house and the club. The 
 world always accepts the worst where it ought to believe 
 the best. And the wickedness of the natural man is never 
 so strongly demonstrated as when he is searching for 
 motives. In a word, it was pretended and believed, that in 
 order to rescue her lover a broken-down gentleman and 
 a highwayman from the charge of robbery, which could 
 only be proved by the witnesses taking false names, in order 
 to protect themselves, being unfortunately rogues them- 
 selves, she brought a charge against them of conspiracy and 
 exposed their true names and their history, which she could 
 only effect by the knowledge she got from the Black Jack 
 and the assistance of her mother: that her lover, it was 
 true, was cast loose upon the world again ; but that the inno- 
 cence of those four persons, including one most respectable 
 attorney would be established as the noonday clear at the 
 ensuing Criminal Court at the Old Bailey. 
 
 Further, it was spread abroad that Jenny had been 
 arrested, at her lover's house in the Rules of the King's 
 Bench, that she had been brought before Sir John Fielding 
 and had been by him committed to Newgate on a charge of 
 receiving stolen goods. Receiving stolen goods! What, 
 however, could one expect from St. Giles's and the daughter 
 of the Black Jack? She who must needs expose the crimes 
 of her friends was now in prison on a charge far more 
 serious than theirs. Receiving stolen goods! Monstrous! 
 
256 The Orange Girl 
 
 And one who entertained eren R 1 P s at her Assemblies! 
 And she was all the time acting with her mother in receiving 
 stolen goods! After this, what pity could one feel even for 
 a woman so beautiful and so engaging as Jenny Wilmot? 
 But was she so beautiful? Some of the men raised this 
 question. Painted for the stage: all artificial. Was she 
 engaging? She played as she was taught: she smiled and 
 laughed as she was told to smile and laugh. That is not 
 true acting. Alas ! Poor Jenny ! Poor favourite of the 
 town, how wert 'thou fallen! And certainly for a day or 
 two the reputation of Jenny was very low indeed. 
 
 Suddenly, however, there came a change to me most 
 welcome, because without doubt the mind of the town was 
 poisoned and prejudiced against Jenny, in whose favour no 
 one ventured to speak. 
 
 The first cause of the change was due to a paper I 
 think, if my memory serves me right, in the Connoisseur. 
 In this paper the ' Case of Clarinda ' put forth with great 
 skill and power thinly disguised the history of Jenny. I 
 venture to quote a portion of that paper. As soon as people 
 understood that it was her history that was told the paper 
 flew from hand to hand: everybody in the coffee-houses 
 and the taverns cried out for it when they entered the house. 
 And when it was read a silence fell upon the room and 
 shame upon all hearts. The author, I have always under- 
 stood, I know not why, was my Lord Brockenhurst, though 
 he never confessed it. 
 
 The mottoes there were two were as follows : 
 
 ' Non tali auxilio, non defensoribus istis 
 Tempus eget ; ' 
 and 
 
 4 Tandem desine matrem .... sequi.' 
 
 'The Case of Clarinda, whose future yet remains to be 
 determined, is one which ought to reduce to humility those 
 who boast of our civilization and the justice of our institu- 
 tions. For, certainly, it will be allowed that the first requi- 
 site of justice is that the officers of the State shall be 
 sufficiently provided with intelligence, with resources and 
 with encouragement, to search into all cases of alleged 
 crime, and to take care by ascertaining especially the 
 private character and previous history of the witnesses how 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 257 
 
 far they are to be credited. In a word, and speaking of 
 those cases in which human intelligence can be of avail, it 
 should be impossible for an innocent man to be convicted 
 of any crime charged to him. Yet the case of Clarinda 
 shows that such is the condition of the times, such the weak- 
 ness of our criminal procedure that a conspiracy as vile, as 
 villainous, as was ever concocted out of Hell would have 
 succeeded to the judicial murder of an innocent man, had 
 it not been for the activity, the courage, the lavish expendi- 
 ture of a woman unaided and single-handed. Her efforts 
 have resulted in the escape of the innocent man and the 
 imprisonment of the conspirators. But at what a price for 
 herself ? 
 
 ' Clarinda is the daughter of a widow who for a long time 
 has kept a tavern in that part of the town known as St. 
 Giles's. It is not pretended that the place is the resort of 
 the Quality. There has been nothing, however, alleged 
 against the conduct of the house or the character of the 
 landlady. Some of the frequenters certainly belonged to 
 the ranks of those who live by their wits. It is not the case, 
 as alleged in some quarters, that Clarinda was ever the 
 companion or the friend of these people. When she was 
 still quite young she was placed in the pit of Drury Lane 
 Theatre as an Orange Girl. Accident drew towards her 
 the attention of the manager, who found her clever and 
 attractive with a lovely face and figure, a charming manner, 
 and a beautiful voice. In a word, the Orange Girl was 
 transferred to the stage, and there became the delight of 
 the town; the greatest favourite of living actresses. 
 
 1 After a time Clarinda, as often happens to actresses, 
 grew weary of the stage, and longed for a quiet life in the 
 country far from the lights and music and applause of the 
 Theatre. 
 
 'Among the many who sighed for her was a young 
 merchant from the city; he said he was rich; he swore he 
 loved her; he promised to take her out of town to a coun- 
 try house where she would have a carriage, a garden, and 
 all that she could desire. 
 
 ' Clarinda listened. He was grave in demeanour; he was 
 even austere; but this proved that he was free from the 
 vices of the men she more frequently met. Clarinda 
 accepted him, and they were married. 
 
 'She discovered, on the very day of her marriage, that 
 
258 The Orange Girl 
 
 he had lied to her. He was not rich, though once he had 
 been possessed of a large fortune; he was a gambler; he had 
 gambled away all his money; he had married her because 
 she was lovely; he proposed to use her charms for the pur- 
 pose of attracting rich gentlemen to his rooms where he 
 intended to carry on a gaming table. 
 
 ' Clarinda on this discovery instantly left the man in 
 disgust; but for the moment she would not go back to the 
 stage. She then took a large house in one of the western 
 squares. She decorated and furnished this house, and she 
 opened it for Masquerades and Assemblies. One day she 
 received a letter from two of the frequenters of her mother's 
 house. They were in a Debtors' Prison : they were afraid of 
 becoming known, in which case not only would other 
 detainers be put in, but they might themselves be arrested 
 on some criminal charge. 
 
 ' Clarinda, always generous, went to the Prison, saw the 
 two men, and promised them relief. It was an unfortunate 
 act of generosity, which in the end worked toward her ruin. 
 
 ' In the Prison she espied a young man so closely resem- 
 bling her own unworthy husband that she accosted him 
 r.nd learned that he was imprisoned, probably for life, by 
 her husband aided by Mr. Vulpes, an Attorney, on a 
 vamped-up charge of debt with the hope of making him 
 obtain his liberty by selling his chance of succession to a 
 large fortune. 
 
 ' She obtained the release of this gentleman, who, with 
 his wife, can never cease to be sufficiently grateful to her. 
 She gave him, for he was a fine musician, a place in her 
 orchestra. 
 
 ' She then learned that Vulpes, the attorney, together 
 with one Traditor, a Thief taker, was organizing another 
 plot against this already injured gentleman. But she was 
 unable to learn the nature of the plot, except that the two 
 Villains whom she had released from Prison were involved 
 in it. The next step was that the gentleman was accused 
 by the whole party of four as a highway robber, and as 
 such was cast into prison. 
 
 'Then it was that our Magistrates should have taken up 
 the case. Clarinda repaired to Rhadamanthus, the Magis- 
 trate, and pointed out to him the truth. He told her that 
 he had neither men nor money to follow up the case. 
 Therefore Clarinda, at her own expense, fetched up from 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 259 
 
 various country prisons turnkeys and governors who should 
 expose the character of the witnesses; she persuaded her 
 mother and sister to give evidence to the same effect; in 
 order to do this, she was obliged to buy her mother out 
 of the tavern. She herself gave evidence; and she made 
 her unwilling husband give evidence. The result was the 
 acquittal of the prisoner and the committal of the conspira- 
 tors. Not the magistrates of the country ; but Dux 
 femina facti a woman, without assistance, single-handed, 
 at her own private charges, has done this. 
 
 4 " Non tali auxilio non defensoribus istis 
 Tempus eget." 
 
 'That the mob should, in revenge, wreck her house and 
 destroy her property was to be expected at a time when we 
 cannot protect our streets in the very day time. But there 
 was more. 
 
 ' Clarinda's mother at the time of the trial had in her 
 keeping a certain quantity of stolen property. Whether 
 she knew it to be stolen or not cannot be said. When, 
 however, the old woman accepted Clarinda's proposal that 
 she should give evidence against the conspiracy she seems 
 to have thought that the garrets of her daughter's house 
 would be a safe place for storing these goods. She was 
 observed to be conveying them by a woman, the mistress 
 of one of the conspirators. While the house was in the 
 hands of the mob, this woman looked for, and found the 
 property a miserable paltry collection of rags in the 
 garrets. For the sake of revenge she brought information 
 against Clarinda, who now therefore lies in Newgate wait- 
 ing her trial at the Old Bailey. 
 
 ' What should Clarinda do? If she pleads " Not Guilty," 
 which under ordinary circumstances she should do; the 
 more so as there is no evidence whatever to connect her 
 with any knowledge of these rags ; she will be acquitted ; but 
 then her mother will be arrested and tried on this capital 
 charge. If, on the other hand, she takes upon herself the 
 full responsibility, the mother escapes scot free while the 
 daughter may pay the full penalty for the crime. 
 
 ' The reader will not think it necessary to ask what course 
 will be pursued by Clarinda. The generous heart which 
 would risk all, sacrifice all, 'lavish all, in the cause of justice 
 and for the rescue of a man not her lover, but a worthless 
 husband's cousin from an ignominious and undeserved 
 
260 The Orange Girl 
 
 death, will assuredly not hesitate to save her erring mother 
 even at the risk of her own life. That generous heart; that 
 noble heart; will be sustained and followed unto the end, 
 even though justice demands the uttermost penalty, by the 
 tears of all who can admire heroic sacrifice and filial 
 martyrdom/ 
 
 There was more, but this is enough. 
 
 In a single day the voice of the people veered round to 
 the opposite pole. It was wonderful how quickly opinion 
 was changed. Jenny, who yesterday had been a traitress; 
 a spy; a receiver of stolen goods; a hussy with no character; 
 suddenly became a heroine ; a martyr. 
 
 Then the men remembered once more that she was a 
 wonderful actress; a most charming woman; a most beau- 
 tiful, graceful, vivacious creature. Then, as of old, men 
 recalled the evenings when as they sat in the pit, Jenny 
 seemed to have singled out one by one each for a separate 
 and individual smile, so that they went home, their heads 
 in the clouds, to dream of things impossible and unspeak- 
 able, and all the old love for the Favourite returned to them, 
 and they panted for Jenny to be set free. 
 
 During this time I was with Jenny all day long ready 
 to be of service to her. The more I observed her, the more 
 I marvelled at the strange power which brought all men 
 to their knees before her. She had but to smile upon them 
 and they were conquered. The Governor of the Prison 
 was her servant; the turnkeys were her slaves; her visitors 
 crowded her narrow cell every afternoon, while Jenny 
 received them dressed like a Countess with the manner 
 of a Countess. Sometimes I was honoured by her com- 
 mands to play to them; tea and chocolate were served 
 daily. Great ladies came with the rest to gaze upon her; 
 actresses, once her rivals, now came, all rivalry apart, to 
 weep over her; gentlemen wrote her letters of passionate 
 love; portrait painters begged on their knees permission 
 to limn her lovely features. In a word, for a while the 
 centre of fashion was Jenny's cell in Newgate. 
 
 And every day, among the visitors stood my Lord of 
 Brockenhurst, foremost in sympathy and truest in friend- 
 ship. He was, indeed, as Jenny had assured me, the most 
 loyal of the gentlemen and the most sincere of friends. 
 
 It must be added that Jenny's time in prison was not 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 261 
 
 wholly spent in converting a cell into a drawing-room of 
 fashion. The unfortunate women, her fellow-prisoners, 
 were much worse off than the men ; they had fewer friends ; 
 they were suffered to starve on the penny loaf a day, the 
 allowance of the prison. They lay for the most part in cold 
 and starvation; in rags and dirt and misery overwhelming. 
 Jenny went into their yard and among them. There was 
 the poor creature who had caused her arrest. She was 
 half starved now. Jenny gave her food and spoke to her 
 friendly without reproach she sent food to others who were 
 starving. She not only fed them; she talked to them, not 
 about their sins, because poor Jenny knew nothing about 
 sins except so far as that certain deeds are punished by the 
 law; but she talked to them, about being clean and neat: 
 she revived the womanly instinct in them : made them wash 
 themselves, dress their hair, and take pleasure again in 
 making themselves attractive. Never had a woman a 
 keener sense of the duty of women to be beautiful. She 
 made them in a week or two so civilized that they left off 
 fighting: there was not a black eye in the place; and while 
 Jenny was in the ward there was hardly so much as a foul 
 word. It was pretty to see how they loved her and wel- 
 comed her and would have worked themselves to death for 
 her. Poor lost souls if indeed they are lost! They must 
 all be dead now. The horrible gallows has killed some; 
 the gaol fever, others; the fever of bad food and bad drink 
 and bad air, others, yet until the day of death I am sure that 
 all remembered Jenny. Notably, there was her accuser. 
 She was sullen at first; she was revengeful: next she was 
 ashamed and turned aside; then she wept; and then she 
 became like a tame kitten following her through the ward, 
 hungering and thirsting for one more word one more 
 word of friendship from the very woman whom she had 
 brought to this place. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE FALLEN ALDERMAN 
 
 LET me return to the wretched man who had caused this 
 trouble, I learned that, although his two fellow-prisoners 
 
262 The Orange Girl 
 
 declared openly that Mr. Merridew's power was gone and 
 that he would never again have the power to hang any- 
 body, some of his credit was still maintained: he pretended 
 that the books of which he spoke often and with pride, 
 were still kept up, and that every man's life and liberty 
 were in his hands : and many poor rogues, thinking to curry 
 favour, waited upon him daily, bringing him presents of 
 wine, tobacco and (secretly) rum, so that he was able to be 
 drunk and to forget his anxieties for the greater part of the 
 day. The two rebels against his authority, the Bishop and 
 the Captain, carried themselves bravely: there is, indeed, in 
 the profession of the rogue something of the soldier, in 
 that they both brave dangers without fear. The battle 
 field is covered with the dead and wounded: but there are 
 plenty left standing unhurt: every soldier thinks he will 
 escape: the rogue's field of honour is covered with whip- 
 ping-posts, stocks, pillory, and gallows. It is far more 
 dangerous than the field of battle. Yet every rogue hopes 
 to escape, and carries himself accordingly. Perhaps it is 
 better so. One would not wish such a crew to be whining 
 and snivelling and pretending repentance and imploring 
 pity. 
 
 One day I met, coming out of the prison, one whose 
 face and appearance I knew. He was old and bent, and 
 in rags: his woollen stockings were in holes: the elbows of 
 his coat were gone: his hat was too limp to preserve its 
 shape: his buttons were off his coat he wore the old jasey 
 with a broken pigtail. I touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 'You are Mr. Probus's clerk?' I said. 
 
 ' If I am, Sir,' he replied, ' is that a crime?' 
 
 ' No no no. But you remember me? You bade me 
 once go throw myself into the river with a stone about my 
 neck.' 
 
 ' Ay ay,' he replied. ' Yes, I remember you now. I 
 did, I did. Was it good advice, young man?' 
 
 'It was, doubtless, very good advice. But I did not take 
 it. What are you doing here?' 
 
 ' I come to look after my master,' he replied simply. 
 
 'Your master? He has kept you in rags and wretched- 
 ness. He has given you a starvation wage.' 
 
 ' Yet he is my master. I have eaten his bread, though it 
 was bitter. I come every day to look after him/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 263 
 
 'Has he no friends? No wife or children to do this for 
 him?' 
 
 ' His friends were his money bags till he lost them. They 
 were his wife and children as well.' 
 
 ' Has he no relations cousins nephews? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps he has driven them all away long ago.' 
 
 ' You are his friend at least.' 
 
 ' I am his clerk,' he repeated. ' Sir, since my master 
 found that all his money had been thrown away and lost, 
 he has not been himself. He has been mad with rage and 
 grief. That is why he hatched that unfortunate plot. I 
 was in Court and heard it. Ah! he was not himself, Sir, I 
 assure you. Common tricks he practised daily, because he 
 knew how far he could go. But not such a big job as this 
 conspiracy. In his sober senses he would not have been 
 so mad. Have you seen him, Sir? Have you observed 
 the change in him? 'Twould bring tears to a flint. He 
 moans and laments all day long.' 
 
 ' Yes, I have seen him.' 
 
 * Sir, he thinks about nothing else. Sir, I verily believe 
 that he does not know even that he is in Newgate. All 
 the money he had in the world is gone lent to Mr. Mat- 
 thew and lost by Mr. Matthew. Terrible ! Terrible ! ' 
 
 ' Was there not some lent to the man Merridew? ' 
 
 'A trifle, Sir: a few hundreds only. No: it is all gone. 
 My master and I must become beggars and go together into 
 the workhouse.' He shook his poor old head and went his 
 way. 
 
 Now this man had received the treatment of a dog. How 
 long he had been with Probus: what was his previous his- 
 tory I never knew : it matters not : he had received the treat- 
 ment of a dog and the wages of a galley slave: yet he was 
 faithful and stood by his master the only living thing who 
 did in his adversity as in his prosperity. 
 
 I next heard from Mr. Ramage that the Counting House 
 was closed and the gates of the Quay locked: that Matthew 
 had run away. Then that the unfortunate Alderman, part- 
 ner in the House, had been arrested for debt and was taken 
 to the Fleet Prison. After this, that Matthew had been 
 arrested : that he was bankrupt : that he had been taken to the 
 same prison : and that the whole amount of the liabilities was 
 now so great that this meant certain imprisonment for life. 
 By the custom of London, too, a creditor may, before the 
 
264 The Orange Girl 
 
 day of payment, arrest his debtor and oblige him to find 
 sureties to pay the money on the day it shall become due. 
 By this custom the whole of Jenny's liabilities became the 
 cause of new detainers, so that I believe the total amount 
 for which Matthew was imprisoned was not far short of 
 150,000. I conveyed this intelligence to my mistress. 
 
 ' Misfortune/ she said, gravely, ' is falling upon all of 
 us. Thou alone wilt survive the triumph of virtue. Go, 
 however, take the man something, or he will starve. Give 
 it him from me, Will. Tell him tell him ' She con- 
 sidered for a little. ' Tell him as soon as I can forget, I 
 will forgive. Not that he cares whether he is forgiven or 
 not. A man, Will, I very truly believe, may be anything he 
 pleases drunkard murderer highwayman : yet some- 
 thing may still survive in him of human kindness. There 
 will still be a place, perhaps, for compassion or for love. 
 But for a gambler there is no compassion left. He is more 
 hardened than the worst villain in this wretched place: he 
 has neither sense, nor pity, nor affection, nor anything. He 
 is all gambler/ 
 
 ' I will give him your money, Jenny. But not your 
 message/ 
 
 She smiled sadly. * Go, Will. The money will solace him 
 as long as it lasts. Perhaps a quarter of an hour.' 
 
 I repaired without delay to the Fleet Prison. Those who 
 walk up and down the Fleet market know of the open 
 window in the wall and the grating, behind which stands a 
 man holding a tin box which he rattles to attract attention 
 while he repeats his parrot cry, ' Pity the Poor Prisoners ! 
 Pity the Poor Prisoners ! ' This humiliation is imposed upon 
 those of the Common side: they must beg or they must 
 starve. What was my surprise and shame who could 
 believe that one of my family should fall so low? to recog- 
 nise in the prisoner behind these bars, my cousin Matthew! 
 None other. His face was pale it had always been pale: 
 now it was white: his hand shook: he was unshaven and 
 uncombed: I pretended not to notice him. I entered the 
 prison and was told that he was holding the plate, but would 
 be free in half an hour. So I waited in the yard until he 
 came out, being relieved of his task. I now saw that he was 
 in rags. How can a man dressed as a substantial merchant 
 fall into rags in a few days? There was but one answer. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 265 
 
 The gambler can get rid of everything: Matthew had played 
 for his clothes and lost. 
 
 I accosted him. At sight of me he fell into a paroxysm 
 of rage. He reviled and cursed me. I had been the cause 
 of all his misfortunes: he wept and sobbed, being weak for 
 want of food and cold. So I let him go on until he stopped 
 and sank exhausted upon the bench. 
 
 Then I told him that I had come to him from his wife. 
 He began again to curse and to swear. It was Jenny now 
 who was the cause of all his troubles: it was Jenny who 
 refused to obey him: her liabilities alone had prevented him 
 from weathering the storm: he should certainly have 
 weathered the storm : and so on foolish recrimination that 
 meant nothing. 
 
 I made no answer until he had again exhausted his 
 strength, but not his bitterness. 
 
 ' Matthew,' I said, ' the woman against whom you have 
 been railing sends you money. Here it is. Use it for living 
 and not for gambling.' The money I gave him was five 
 guineas. 
 
 The moment he had it in his hand he hurried away as 
 fast as he could go. I thought he ran away in order to 
 conceal his agitation or shame at receiving these coals of 
 fire. Not so, it was in order to find out someone who would 
 sit down to play with him. Oh ! It was a madness. 
 
 I watched him. He ran to the kitchen and bought some 
 food. He swallowed it eagerly. Then he bent his steps 
 to the coffee-room. I followed and looked in. He was 
 already at a table opposite another man, and in his hands 
 was a pack of cards. In a few hours or a few minutes it 
 mattered not which Jenny's present of five guineas would 
 be gone, and the man would be destitute again. Poor 
 wretch ! One forgave him all considering this madness that 
 had fallen upon him. 
 
 ' But/ said Jenny, ' he was bad before he was mad. He 
 was bad when he married me: he is only worse: nothing 
 more is the matter with him.' 
 
 But my uncle, the Alderman, also involved in the bank- 
 ruptcy, had been carried to the same place, while his great 
 house on Clapham Common, with all his plate and fine furni- 
 ture, had been sold for the benefit of the creditors. Matthew 
 had ruined all. I went to see him. He was on' the Masters', 
 not the common side. It was a most melancholy spectacle. 
 
266 The Orange Girl 
 
 For my own part I bore the poor man no kind of malice. 
 He had but believed things told him concerning me. He 
 gave me his hand. 
 
 ' Nephew/ he said, his voice breaking, ' this is but a poor 
 place for an Alderman: yet it is to be my portion for the 
 brief remainder of my days. What would my brother 
 your father have said if he had known? But he could not 
 even suspect: no one could suspect 
 
 ' Nay, Sir/ I said, ' I hope that your creditors will give 
 you a speedy release/ 
 
 'I doubt it, Will. They are incensed and justly so 
 at their treatment by by Matthew. They reproach me 
 with not knowing what was doing why, Will, I trusted 
 my son ' he sobbed ' my son Absalom, my son the 
 steady sober son, for whom I have thanked God so often: 
 Will, he made me believe evil things of thee: he accused 
 thee of such profligacy as we dare not speak of in the City: 
 profligacy such as young men of Quality may practise but 
 not young men of the City. I dared not tell my brother all 
 that he told me/ 
 
 ' Indeed, Sir, I know how he persuaded not only you but 
 my father as well to my injury. In the end it was my own 
 act and deed that drove me forth, because I would not give 
 up my music.' 
 
 1 If not that, then something else would have served his 
 purpose. Alas! Will. Here come your cousins. Heed 
 them not. They are bitter with me. Heed them not/ 
 
 The girls, whom I had not seen since my father's funeral, 
 marched along with disdainful airs pulling their hoops aside, 
 as once before, to prevent the contamination of a touch. 
 They reddened when they saw me, but not with friendliness. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said one, ' he comes to gloat over our misfortunes/ 
 
 ' Ah ! No doubt they make him happy/ 
 
 ' Cousins/ I said, ' I am in no mood to rejoice over any- 
 thing except my own escape from grievous peril. The hand 
 of the Lord is heavy upon this family. We are all afflicted. 
 As for your brother Matthew, it is best to call him mad/ 
 
 'Who hath driven him mad?' asked Amelia, the elder. 
 * The revengeful spirit of his cousin ! ' 
 
 This was their burden. Women may be the most unrea- 
 sonable of all creatures. These girls could not believe that 
 their brother was guilty: the bankruptcy of the House: the 
 stories of his gambling: his marriage with an actress: his 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 267 
 
 evidence in the Court: were all set down as instigated, sug- 
 gested, encouraged, or invented, by his wicked cousin, Will. 
 It matters not: I have no doubt that the legend had grown 
 in their minds until it was an article of their creed: if they 
 ever mention the Prodigal Son who is now far away 
 it is to deplore the wicked wiles by which he ruined their 
 martyred Saint: their brother Matthew. 
 
 ' It is of no use/ I said to my uncle, ' to protest, to ask 
 what my cousins mean, or how I could have injured Mat- 
 thew, had I desired. I may tell you, Sir, that I learned only 
 a short time ago that Matthew was a gambler: that the 
 affairs of the House were desperate: and that an attempt 
 was to be made upon my life an attempt of which Matthew 
 was cognizant even if he did not formally consent. So, 
 Sir, I take my leave.' 
 
 They actually did not know that Matthew was within the 
 same walls. Father and son: the father on the Masters' 
 side, dignified at least with the carriage of fallen authority: 
 the son a ragged, shambling creature, with no air at all save 
 that of decay and ruin. Unfortunate indeed was our House: 
 dismal indeed was its fall : shameful was its end. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE END OF THE CONSPIRACY 
 
 THE trial of our four friends for conspiracy took place in 
 the middle of January. For my own part, I had to relate 
 in open Court the whole history with which you are already 
 acquainted: the clause in my father's will giving me a 
 chance of obtaining a large fortune if I should survive my 
 cousin: the attempts made by Mr. Probus to persuade me 
 to sell the chance of succession: the trumping up of a debt 
 which never existed : my imprisonment in a debtors' Prison : 
 my release by Jenny's assistance: the renewed attempts of 
 Mr. Probus to gain my submission: his threats: and the 
 truth about the alleged robbery. I also stated that two 
 of the defendants had been imprisoned in the King's Bench 
 at the same time as myself and that they were at that time 
 close companions. 
 
268 The Orange Girl 
 
 The Counsel for the defence cross-examined me rigor- 
 ously but with no effect. My story was plain and simple. 
 It was, in a word, so much to the interest of Mr. Probus 
 to get me to renounce my chance that he stuck at nothing 
 in order to effect this purpose or my death. 
 
 I sat down and looked about me. Heavens! with what 
 a different mind from that with which I stood in the dock 
 now occupied by my enemies. I should have been more 
 than human had I not felt a great satisfaction at the sight 
 of these four men standing in a row. Let me call it grati- 
 tude, not satisfaction. The spectacle of the chief offender, 
 the contriver of the villainy, Mr. Probus, was indeed enough 
 to move one's heart to terror, if not to pity. The wretched 
 man had lost, with the whole of his money, the whole of his 
 wits. The money was his God, his Religion, his Heaven: 
 he had lost the harvest of a life: he was old: he would get 
 no more clients : he would save no more money. He would 
 probably have to make a living, as others of his kind have 
 done, by advising and acting as an attorney for the rabble 
 of St. Giles and Clerkenwell. He stood with rounded 
 shoulders and bowed head: he clutched at the iron spikes 
 before him : he pulled the sprigs of rue to pieces : he appeared 
 to pay no attention at all to the evidence. 
 
 Mr. Merridew, on the other hand, showed in his bearing 
 the greatest possible terror and anxiety : he gasped when his 
 Counsel seemed to make a point in his favour: he shivered 
 and shook when his part in the plot was exposed. He who 
 had given evidence in so many hanging cases unconcerned, 
 now stood in the dock himself. He was made to feel 
 what he had never before considered the natural horror 
 of the prisoner and the dreadful terror of the sentence. 
 
 The case might have been strengthened by the evidence 
 of the landlady of the Black Jack. She, worthy soul, was 
 out of the way, and no one inquired after her. Nor was 
 her daughter Doll present on the occasion. But there was 
 evidence enough. The gaolers and masters of the country 
 prisons proved the real character of the two witnesses who 
 called themselves respectively a clergyman and a country 
 gentleman. Ramage, the clerk, proved, as before, that 
 Probus brought Merridew to the Counting House. Jack, 
 the country lad, proved the consultations at the Black Jack 
 between Probus, Merridew, and the two others. These two, 
 indeed, behaved with some manliness. They had given up 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 269 
 
 all hope of an acquittal and could only hope that the sentence 
 would be comparatively light. They therefore made a cred- 
 itable appearance of undaunted courage, a thing which is 
 as popular in their profession as in any other. 
 
 I do not suppose their crime was capital. Otherwise the 
 Judge would most certainly have sent them all to the 
 gallows. 
 
 ' Many,' he said at the end, ' are justly executed for offences 
 mild indeed, in comparison with the detestable crime of 
 which you stand convicted/ 
 
 When the case was completed and all the evidence heard, 
 the Judge asked the prisoners, one after the other, what they 
 had to say in their own defence. 
 
 ' Ezekiel Probus, you have now to lay before the Court 
 whatever you have to urge in your own defence/ 
 
 Mr. Probus, still with hanging head, appeared not to 
 hear. The warder touched him on the shoulder and whis- 
 pered. He held up his head for a moment: looked round 
 the court, and murmured: 
 i ' No no it is all gone/ 
 
 Nothing more could be got from him. 
 
 * John Merridew, you have now the opportunity of stating 
 your own case/ 
 
 He began in a trembling voice. He said that he had been 
 long a sheriff's officer: that he had incurred great odium 
 by his zeal in the arrest of criminals: that it was not true 
 that he had concocted any plot either with Mr. Probus or 
 with the other prisoners : that he was a man of consideration 
 whose evidence had frequently been received with respect 
 in that very court: that it was not true, further, as had been 
 stated by the Prosecution, that he had ever encouraged 
 thieves or advised them to become highwaymen: that, if he 
 went to such places as the Black Jack, it was to arrest vil- 
 lains in the cause of Justice : that he deposed at the last trial, 
 what he saw or thought he saw namely a scuffle : he might 
 have been in too great a hurry to conclude that the late pris- 
 oner Halliday was the assaulting party: the night was dark: 
 he only knew the two witnesses as two rogues whom he 
 intended to bring to justice on a dozen capital charges for 
 each, as soon as he was out of Newgate: and that he was a 
 person this he earnestly begged the Court to consider 
 without whom the criminal Courts would be empty and 
 Justice would be rendered impossible. With more to the 
 
270 The Orange Girl 
 
 same effect, and all with such servile cringings and entreaties 
 for special consideration as did him, I am convinced, more 
 harm than good. 
 
 When it came to the Doctor's turn, he boldly declared 
 that if the verdict of the Jury went against him 'And 
 gentlemen/ he said, ' I must own that the evidence has cer- 
 tainly placed me in a strange, and unexpected and most pain- 
 ful position ' he would bring over the Archbishop of 
 Dublin : the Dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral : and the Provost 
 of Trinity College: besides noblemen of the Irish Peerage 
 and many of his old parishioners in order to prove that he 
 was what he pretended to be. 'The assurance, gentlemen, 
 that I shall be thus supported, enables me to bear up even 
 against your possible view of the case and his Lordship's 
 possible opinion. To a Divine of unblemished life it is, I 
 confess, inexpressibly painful to be confused with forgers 
 and highwaymen/ 
 
 Lastly, the gallant Captain spoke of himself. 'This/ he 
 said with a front of brass, ' is a case of most unfortunate 
 resemblance. It appears that I bear some likeness to a 
 certain notorious robber and highwayman called, it is said, 
 the Captain/ Here the whole Court burst into laughter, 
 so unabashed was the villain when he pronounced these 
 words. He looked round him with affected wonder. ' The 
 event of this trial, however/ he went on, ' matters but little 
 because in two or three weeks I can bring to town the Mayor 
 and Alderman, the Town Clerk, the Rector of the Church 
 and the Master of the Grammar School of my native town 
 to testify that I am what I have declared myself to be. This 
 being so, gentlemen, you may proceed, if you please, to do 
 your duty/ 
 
 The Judge then summed up. He went through the whole 
 case, adopting the views of the Counsel for the Prosecution. 
 He said that the evidence before him was practically 
 unshaken. It showed that these men, who had pretended 
 to know nothing of each other were in fact banded and 
 allied together in short he gave the whole weight of his 
 opinion against the prisoners. Indeed, I cannot think what 
 else he would do seeing the nature of the evidence. So he 
 left the jury to find their verdict. 
 
 They found it, without leaving the box. It was a verdict 
 .of ' Guilty ' against all four prisoners. I looked to see the 
 Judge assume the black cap. To my surprise, he did not. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 271 
 
 He began by commenting in the strongest terms on the dia- 
 bolical wickedness of the conspiracy. He said that he could 
 find no difference as to the respective guilt of one or the 
 other. The prisoner Probus, a merhber of a learned pro- 
 fession, was the contriver or designer of the deed: perhaps 
 he might be thought the worst. Indeed, his was a depth of 
 infamy to which it was difficult to find a rival or an equal. He 
 would be punished worse than the rest because he would 
 infallibly lose by his disgrace his profession and his prac- 
 tice. The infamy of the prisoner Merridew, when one con- 
 sidered the hold that he had over a large number of 
 criminals and rogues, was very close to that of the prisoner 
 Probus. He had apparently forced the other two into carry- 
 ing out the plot, on threat of informing against them. In 
 short, he pronounced the sentence of the court; namely, that 
 the prisoners should stand in pillory for an hour and then 
 be imprisoned for the space of four years. 
 
 On hearing the sentence Mr. Merridew shrieked aloud. 
 * My Lord!' he cried. 'My Lord! Have mercy! They 
 will murder me! 7 
 
 They led him off crying that he was a murdered man. 
 The Doctor swelled out his cassock. ' The Archbishop/ he 
 said, ' will arrive, I believe, next week. There will still be 
 time for his Grace to procure my release/ So rolling his 
 head and squaring his sleeves, he followed along the passage 
 which leads to the Prison. 
 
 I left the Court and made my way through the crowd to 
 the gates of Newgate in order to tell Jenny. 
 
 * Four years,' she said, ' will more than suffice to ruin the 
 man Merridew. His companies of thieves will be broken 
 up; he will no longer have any hold over them. He will 
 have to turn rogue himself. When all has been said, this 
 is the greatest villain of them all. I hope they will not 
 maltreat the prisoners in pillory; because there they are 
 defenceless. But a thief-taker a thief-taker, they cannot 
 abide. If I were Mr. Merridew I should wish the job well 
 over.' 
 
 While we were discoursing there came a message from 
 the Captain. Would Madame grant him the favour of 
 speech with her? 
 
 He came in, walking with his heavy clanking irons. He 
 had lost the braggart swagger which he assumed at the 
 
272 The Orange Girl 
 
 trial, and now looked as humble as any pickpocket about 
 to undergo the discipline of the pump. 
 
 ' Madame/ he said, ' I thank you for this favour/ 
 
 ' Your trial is over, Captain, I hear.' 
 
 ' It is over/ he sighed. * Mr. Halliday, Sir, I hope you 
 are satisfied/ 
 
 ' I desire no revenge/ I said. ' I want safety and peace 
 nothing more. These blessings you and your friends 
 denied me/ 
 
 'It is quite true, Sir. It was a most damnable plot. The 
 only excuse for me is that I had no choice but to comply 
 and obey, or be hanged/ 
 
 1 Captain, I do not desire more of your company than is 
 necessary. Will you tell me what you want of me?' 
 
 ' The sentence is ' he made a wry face ' Pillory, Pil- 
 lory, Madame. And four years' imprisonment. But the 
 four years will pass what I fear is Pillory/ 
 
 ' I have heard of a man's friends protecting him/ 
 
 ' Mine will do what they can. But, Madame, my fear is 
 not so much on my own account as that I may be put up 
 on the same scaffold with Mr. Merridew or Mr. Probus. 
 There isn't a rogue in London who will not come out with 
 something for the thief-taker. Madame, no one knows the 
 terror in which we poor robbers live. The world envies us 
 our lot; they think it is glorious to ride out of a moonlight 
 night and stop the coach all alone. They don't know that 
 the thief-taker is always behind the highwayman. He lays 
 his hand on the largest share of the swag; he encourages 
 lads to take the roads, and whenever he wants money he 
 says that the time is up and then he takes the reward. My 
 time was up/ 
 
 ' I know all this unhappily as well as you. What 
 do you want me to do?' 
 
 ' Mr. Probus he will prove quite as unpopular as 
 Merridew. They thirst for his blood. There will be mur- 
 der done in the pillory. Madame, for the love of God, do 
 something for me/ 
 
 'What?' 
 
 ' You have great influence. Everybody knows what pow- 
 erful friends you have. Make them put the two unpopular 
 prisoners on the same scaffold. They will share the flints 
 between them. Let me stand up beside the Bishop. 
 Nobody will give us much more than a dead cat or two 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 273 
 
 and a basket of rotten eggs. But the other two* he 
 shivered with cold terror ' I know not what will happen 
 to them/ 
 
 ' Well, Captain, perhaps if Merridew gives up the pro- 
 fession, you may possibly turn honest man again when 
 you go out of this place/ 
 
 He shook his head. ' No, that is impossible/ 
 'Well, I will do this. The Governor of the Prison is 
 civil to me. I will ask him as a special favour to place you 
 as you desire. I hope that you both the Bishop as well 
 as yourself will enjoy your short hour on that elevated 
 position. Will, give the Captain a bottle of wine to take 
 away with him. You can go, sir/ 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE HONOURS OF THE MOB 
 
 IT WAS far from my intention to witness the reception of 
 my friends in Pillory from the sympathizing mob. I was, 
 however, reminded that the day had arrived by finding in 
 my morning walk from Lambeth to the Old Bailey the 
 Pillory itself actually erected, in St. Martin's Lane, some- 
 what above St. Martin's Church. It was put up in the open 
 space where Long Acre runs into St. Martin's Lane, very 
 nearly in the .actual spot where the assault was delivered 
 and the plot carried out. A just retribution. Even now, 
 after thirty years, only to think of the villainy causes my 
 blood to boil: nothing surely could be bad enough for these 
 creatures, vilest of all the vile creatures of this wicked town. 
 At the same time when I saw the preparations that were 
 making for the reception of the criminals, my heart sank, 
 and I would willingly have spared them all and forgiven 
 them all to save them from what followed. 
 
 The pillory, on a scaffold four feet high, was put up with 
 ' accommodation ' if we may so describe it for two per- 
 sons standing side by side, so that they could not see each 
 other. They were also so close together that favours 
 intended for the face of one might if they missed him be 
 received by some part of the body of the other. A vast 
 
274 The Orange Girl 
 
 crowd was already assembled, although the sentence would 
 not be carried out till eleven, and it was then barely nine. 
 The crowd consisted of the scum and off-scouring of the 
 whole city: there was a company from Southwark. While 
 I was looking on, they arrived marching in good form like 
 soldiers: there were contributions from Turnmill Street and 
 Hockley-by-the-Hole: there were detachments from the 
 Riverside: from St. Katherine's by the Tower: from Clerken- 
 well : but, above all, from St. Giles's. 
 
 ' Who is to stand up there to-day ? ' I asked one of them 
 a more decent-looking man than most. Of course, I knew 
 very well, but I wished to find out what the people intended. 
 
 'Where do you come from, not to know that?' the man 
 replied. "Tis the thief-taker: him that makes the rogue: 
 teaches the rogue and then sells the rogue. Now we've got 
 him wait till we leave him. And there's the lawyer who 
 made the plot to hang a man. We've got him, too. We 
 don't often get a lawyer. Wait a bit wait a bit. You 
 shall see what they'll look like when we leave them.' 
 
 He had his apron full of something or other rotten 
 eggs, perhaps : or rotten apples : or, perhaps, brickbats. The 
 faces of all .around expressed the same deadly look of 
 revenge. I thought of the Captain's terror, and of his peti- 
 tion to Jenny; that he might be put up with the Bishop; it 
 was impossible not to feel awed and terrified at the aspect 
 of so much hatred and such deliberate preparation for 
 revenge. A thief-taker and a lawyer! Oh! noble oppor- 
 tunity! Some carried baskets filled with missiles: some had 
 their aprons full; the women for their part brought rotten 
 eggs and dead cats, stinking rabbits, and all kinds of putrid 
 offal in baskets and in their arms, as if they had been things 
 precious and costly. They conferred together and laughed, 
 grimly telling what they had to throw, and how they would 
 throw it. 
 
 ' I don't waste my basket/ said one, ' on rotten eggs. 
 There's something here sharper than rotten eggs. He took 
 my man before his time was up, because he wanted the 
 money. My man was honest before he met Merridew, who 
 made him a rogue, poor lad! yes, made him told him 
 what to do taught him: made him a highwayman: told 
 him where to go; hired a horse for him and gave him a 
 pistol. Then he sold him got forty pounds and a Tyburn 
 ticket for him and twenty pounds allowance for his own 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 275 
 
 horse. Oh ! If my arm is strong enough ! Let me get near 
 him close to him, good people.' 
 
 ' He took my son/ said another, ' to be sure he was a 
 rogue, but he thieved in a safe way till John Merridew got 
 him. If I had my strength that I used to have it wouldn't 
 be rotten eggs; but never mind there's others besides me. 
 Don't waste your brickbats: throw straight: let the women 
 get to the front. Oh! He shall look very pretty when he is 
 carried home. He shall have a pleasant hour with his 
 friends. We love him, don't we? We love him like a son, 
 we do.' 
 
 This man had for years exercised absolute sway over 
 Rogueland. He instructed the young in the various 
 branches of the criminal's horrid trade : he led them on from 
 pocket-picking to stealing from stalls and bulkheads: to 
 shop-lifting; to burglary; to robbery in the street: to for- 
 gery: to coining and issuing false coin: to highway robbery 
 and, at times, to murder. 'Twas the most accomplished and 
 the most desperate villain that ever lived I cannot believe 
 that his like was ever known. No one dared to cross him or 
 to refuse his orders. If anyone should be so presumptuous, 
 he speedily repented in Newgate under a capital charge fol- 
 lowed by a capital sentence. There are so many ways of 
 getting hanged, and so few outside the law know what 
 offences may be capital and what are not, that there was 
 never any certainty in the mind of the smallest rogue that 
 he was safe from such a charge. Children of fourteen on his 
 information were hung as well as grown men: little girls of 
 fourteen were hung on his information as well as grown 
 women: for shop-lifting, for lifting linen from the hedge 
 why this devil incarnate would instigate a child to commit 
 a capital offence and then give him into custody for the 
 reward, careless whether the child was hanged or not. It 
 was a terrible end that he met with. I read sometimes of 
 dreadful punishments: of tortures and agonies: yet I cannot 
 picture to myself a punishment more awful than to stand up 
 before an infuriated and implacable mob ; to look down upon 
 thousands of faces and to see no gleam of relenting upon 
 one : not one with a tear of pity : to hear their yells of execra- 
 tion: to see their arms springing up with one consent 
 
 Poor wretch! Poor wretch! 
 
 These people knew very well that Mr. Merridew could hang 
 them all: that, in course of time, he would hang them all; 
 
276 The Orange Girl 
 
 and that, if they offended him, he would hang them all at 
 once. It was a terrible weapon for one man to wield: nor 
 can I believe that the laws of the land intended that any 
 one man should be able to wield such a weapon. Why they 
 allowed him to exist I know not seeing their insensibility 
 to crime, one would think that they would have murdered 
 him long before. From wives he had taken their husbands; 
 from mothers their sons ; from girls their sweethearts : he had 
 taken their wives and their mistresses from the men; he had 
 taken the boys one cannot say the innocent boys from 
 their playfellows; and he had hanged them all. It would be 
 interesting to know how many he had hanged, this murder- 
 ous, blood-stained villain, whose heart was like the nether 
 millstone for hardness. 
 
 The punishment of pillory hands a man over to the 
 people, for judgment and execution or for acquittal or for 
 pardon. The law says practically, ' We find him guilty : 
 we assign him a term of imprisonment: it is for the people 
 to increase the punishment or to protest against it.' In the 
 case of a common rogue, whose offence is in no way remark- 
 able, a few rotten eggs, broken on his face and dropping 
 yellow streams over the nose and cheeks, please the mob, 
 who like this harmless demonstration in favour of virtue 
 which does not hurt their friend and brother, the prisoner. 
 In other cases, where the sympathy of the people is entirely 
 with the prisoner, one hour of pillory means an hour of tri- 
 umph. For they bring bands of music and welcome the 
 criminal; they shout applause: they hang the pillory with 
 flowers: they take out the horses and drag the carriage. 
 This happened to Dr. Shebbeare, who came to the pillory 
 in the sheriff's carriage and stood in front of the pillory, not 
 in it, a man holding an umbrella over his head the whole 
 time to keep off the rain. It is, however, the most terrible 
 punishment that can be devised when the mob are infuriated 
 with the prisoner. In this case the thief-taker, the Man- 
 slayer was about to stand before them: and with him the 
 designer of a plot to take away the life of an innocent man. 
 
 The crowd now became so dense that it was impossible 
 to get forwards or back. Therefore, though it might seem 
 revengeful to look on at the popular reception of these two 
 wretches, I was fain to stay where I was, namely, on the top 
 step of Slaughter's Coffee House. The time passed quickly 
 while I stood looking on and listening, The crowd grew 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 277 
 
 thicker: on the outskirts with me were many respectable 
 persons. Their indignation against the crime was, like mine, 
 tempered by the prospect of the horrible punishment that 
 awaited the evil-doers. I would not tell them that I myself 
 was the object of this plot, for fear of being considered as 
 wishing to enjoy a revenge full and satisfying. 
 
 ' The greatest villain of the four/ said one gentleman, ' is 
 the attorney. He will barely escape, I think : but these peo- 
 ple are assembled to vent their revenge upon the thief-takei . 
 I know not whether, when he is gone, crime will decrease, 
 but it is time that something was done to prevent the encour- 
 agement of crime with one hand, and the arrest of the crim- 
 inal with the other. Such a wretch, Sir, is not fit to live/ 
 
 ' And/ said another, ' unless I mistake, we are here to wit- 
 ness the resolution of the mob that he shall no longer live/ 
 
 At eleven o'clock there was a shout which ran all down 
 St. Martin's Lane. 'Here they come! here they come!' 
 followed by roars which were certainly not meant for 
 applause and approval. 
 
 ' It is an awful moment/ said my next neighbour. ' If I 
 could get out of the throng I would go away. It will be a 
 terrible spectacle/ 
 
 There was a force of constables round the pillory. As 
 it appeared immediately afterwards, it was insufficient. 
 They formed a circle standing shoulder to shoulder, to keep 
 back the crowd and to preserve an open space round the 
 scaffold. It is a merciful plan because the greater the dis- 
 tance, the better is the prisoner's chance. 
 
 The prisoners were brought in a cart. It was recognised 
 by the crowd as a cart used for flogging unfortunates, and 
 there were jokes on the subject, perhaps the hitching of 
 shoulders, as it passed. It was guarded by a force of con- 
 stables armed with clubs ; not that they feared a rescue, but 
 that they feared a rush of the crowd and the tearing of the 
 prisoners to pieces. 
 
 I was standing, I say, on the highest doorstep of 
 Slaughter's Coffee House, the windows of which were full of 
 men looking on. Looking thus over the heads of the peo- 
 ple, I saw that the driver and the prisoner Probus were 
 covered already with filth and with rotten eggs. The former 
 cursed the people. 'Why can't you wait you?' he cried 
 as the eggs flew about his head or broke upon his face. Mr. 
 Probus sat on the bench bowed and doubled up. He showed 
 
278 The Orange Girl 
 
 no fear: he was as one who is utterly broken up, and in 
 despair : he had lost his money all his money : the work 
 of his life. That was all he cared for. He was disgraced 
 and imprisoned he had lost his money. He was going 
 to be pelted in the pillory he had lost his money noth- 
 ing else mattered. 
 
 To a revengeful man this day's work was revenge indeed, 
 ample and satisfying, if revenge ever can satisfy. I do not 
 think it can: one would want to repeat it every day: the 
 man in the Italian Poem who gnaws his enemy's head can 
 never have enough of his cruel and horrid revenge. I hope, 
 however, that no one will think that I rejoiced over suffer- 
 ings, terrors, and pain unspeakable; even though they were 
 deserved. 
 
 If Mr. Probus showed callousness and insensibility extra- 
 ordinary, his companion behaved in exactly an opposite 
 manner. For he had thrown himself down in the bottom of 
 the cart, and there lay writhing while the execrations of the 
 people followed the cart. When the procession arrived at 
 the pillory it took six men to drag him out. He covered his 
 face with his hands: he wept the tears ran down his 
 cheeks: he clung to the constables; it took a quarter of an 
 hour before they had him up the steps and on the platform : 
 it took another ten minutes before he was placed in the 
 machine, his face turned towards the crowd on the north 
 side with his helpless hands struck through the holes. As for 
 the other he stood facing the south. 
 
 When both the miserable men were ready the under- 
 sheriff and the constables ducked their heads and ran for 
 their lives from the stage down the ladder and waited under 
 cover. 
 
 For, with a roar as of a hungry wild beast the mob began. 
 There was no formal or courteous commencement with 
 rotten eggs and dead cats. These things, it is true, were 
 flung, and with effect. But from the very beginning they 
 were accompanied by sharp flints, stones and brickbats. 
 The mob broke through the line of constables and filled up 
 the open space; they pushed the women to the front: I think 
 they were mad : they shrieked and yelled execrations : the air 
 was thick with missiles; where did they come from? There 
 were neither pause nor cessation. For the whole time the 
 storm went on: the under-sheriff wanted, I have heard, to 
 .take down the men;. but no one would venture on the stage 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 279 
 
 to release them. Meanwhile with both of them the yellow 
 streams of broken eggs had given way to blood. Their 
 faces and heads were covered every inch every half inch 
 with open bleeding wounds : their eyes were closed, their 
 heads held down as much as they could: if they groaned; 
 if they shrieked; if they prayed for mercy; if they prayed for 
 the mercy of Heaven since from man there was none; no one 
 could hear in the Babel of voices from the mob. It was the 
 Thief- taker, the Man-slayer, who was the principal object of 
 the crowd's attention : but they could not distinguish between 
 the two and they soon threw at one head or the other impar- 
 tially. It was indeed a most dreadful spectacle of the popu- 
 lar justice. Just so, the Jews took out the man who wor- 
 shipped false idols, and the woman who was a witch and 
 stoned them with stones, so that they died. For my own 
 part I can never forget that sight of the two bowed heads 
 at which a mob of I know not how many hundreds crowded 
 together in a narrow street hurled everything that they 
 could find, round paving stones, sharp flints, broken bricks, 
 wooden logs, with every kind of execration that the worst 
 and lowest of the people can invent. From the south and 
 from the north: there was an equal shower; there was no 
 difference. 
 
 For a whole hour this went on. The pillory should have 
 been turned every quarter of an hour. But no one dared to 
 mount the stage in order to turn it besides it was safer to 
 let one side exhaust their artillery than to tempt the unspent 
 stores of the other side. 
 
 At last the hour of twelve struck. There was a final dis- 
 charge: then all stopped. The heads hung down inanimate, 
 motionless. Had the mob, then, killed them both? 
 
 The under-sheriff mounted the stage : one of the constables 
 cleared it of the miscellaneous stuff lying at the feet of the 
 prisoners; then they took out the men. Both were senseless; 
 they were carried down the steps and placed in the cart. The 
 driver went to the horse's head; the constables closed in: 
 the show was over. 
 
 In five minutes the whole crowd had dispersed; they had 
 enjoyed the very rare chance of expressing their opinion 
 upon a Thief-taker and an Attorney. They went off in 
 great spirits, marching away in companies each in its own 
 direction. Those from Clare Market I observed, were headed 
 
28 o The Orange Girl 
 
 by music peculiar to that district played by eight butchers 
 with marrow-bones and cleavers. 
 
 The horrid business over I thought I would learn how the 
 other two fared in Soho Square. The pillory was still stand- 
 ing when I got there, but the business of the day was over. 
 From a gentleman who had been a spectator I learned that 
 the two men were turned to the four quarters in the pillory, 
 that their friends on the St. Giles's side would not pelt them ; 
 but that on the other three sides they received a liberal allow- 
 ance of eggs and such harmless gifts, together with a more 
 severe expression of opinion in stones and brickbats. They 
 were taken out wounded and bleeding, but they could walk 
 down the ladder and were carried off in their right senses, at 
 least. 
 
 I went on to Newgate. There I learned that the man 
 Merridew was already dead: he was found dead in the cart 
 when he was brought in. It was not wonderful. His skull 
 was battered in; his cheek-bones were broken: his jaw was 
 fractured: for the last half-hour it was thought he had been 
 already senseless if not dead. The case of Mr. Probus was 
 nearly as bad. He was breathing, they told me, and no more. 
 It was doubtful if he would recover. 
 
 The Captain and the Bishop were, as I have said, more 
 fortunate. They escaped with scars which would disfigure 
 them for life. But they did escape, and since their master 
 the Man-slayer was dead, they might begin again, once out 
 of prison, with another rope much longer, perhaps, than 
 the first. 
 
 I suppose they are long since hanged, both of them. No 
 other lot was possible for them. I have not seen them or 
 heard of them, since that day. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 " GUILTY, MY LORD " 
 
 THE days slipped away. Visitors came, gazed, and departed. 
 Our attorney exhorted Jenny every day to consider her 
 decision and to prepare a defence. 
 ' Consider, Madame/ he urged earnestly, ' you will stand 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 281 
 
 before a Court already prepossessed by the knowledge of 
 your history, in your favour. There will be no pressure of 
 points against you. It will be shown, nay, it is already well 
 known, that you have, by your own unaided efforts, defeated 
 a most odious conspiracy and made it possible for the con- 
 spirators to be brought to justice. This fact, further, assigns 
 reasons and motives for the persecution and the malignity 
 of their friends. I am prepared to show that at the time 
 when you are charged with receiving stolen property you 
 were occupying a fine position ; that you were solvent because 
 you were receiving large sums of money : that you were the 
 last person to be tempted even to receive stolen goods 
 especially those of a mean and worthless character. Those 
 who might otherwise be ready to perjure themselves against 
 you will be afraid to speak since this last business. You 
 have this protection brought. about by your own action. It 
 will be impossible to prove that you had any knowledge of 
 the property found on your premises/ 
 
 ' All that is true. Yet, dear Sir, I cannot change my mind/ 
 
 ' It is so true that I cannot believe it possible under the 
 circumstances for a jury to convict: you are also, Madame, 
 which is a very important feature in the case, possessed of a 
 face and form whose loveliness alone proclaims your 
 innocence/ 
 
 ' Oh! Sir, if loveliness had aught to do with justice! But 
 could I, even then, rely upon that claim? ' 
 
 ' Let me instruct Counsel. He will brush aside the evi- 
 dence! Good Heavens! What evidence! A woman 
 swears that she saw the property carried into your 
 house during the whole of a certain night. That is 
 quite possible. Certain shopkeepers have been found to 
 swear to some of the articles found in your rooms as their 
 own. How do they know? One bale of goods is like 
 another. That kind of evidence is worth very little. But if 
 the things are theirs how are you to be connected with them? 
 I shall prove that you lived in a great house with many ser- 
 vants: that it was quite easy to carry things in and out of 
 that house without your knowledge: I shall call your ser- 
 vants, who will swear that they know nothing of any such 
 conveyance of goods. I will prepare a defence for you in 
 which you will state that you had no knowledge of these 
 things: nor do you know when, or by whom, they were 
 brought into the house : you will point to your troop of set- 
 
282 The Orange Girl 
 
 vants, including footmen, waiters, carvers, cooks, butlers and 
 women of all kinds: you will ask if a manager of any place 
 of entertainment is to be held responsible for what was 
 brought under his roof that you were not in want of 
 money and that if you were the rubbish lying in your garrets 
 would be of no use to you. And so on. There could not 
 possibly be found a better defence/ 
 
 ' I know one better still/ said Jenny quietly. 
 
 ' Tell me what it is, then/ 
 
 ' I have already told you. Once more then. My mother 
 has long been notorious as a receiver of stolen goods. The 
 people used to bring their plunder to the Black Jack by a 
 back entrance: under the house there are stone vaults and a 
 great deal of property can be stored there. When I under- 
 stood that we should want the evidence of my mother I was 
 obliged to offer her a large sum of money as a bribe before 
 she would consent. When she found that I would give no 
 more, she accepted my offer but on conditions. ' Remem- 
 ber/ she said. ' None of us will ever be able to show our 
 faces at the Black Jack any more. We should be murdered 
 for sure, for going against our own people.' 
 
 ' Well/ said Mr. Dewberry, ' doubtless she was right. But 
 what were the conditions? ' 
 
 ' They were connected with the stolen goods. The vaults 
 contained a great deal of property which could not be 
 sold at once. If I would suffer her to store that property in 
 my house, she would consent. Sir, at that time, and in 
 order to defeat those villains, I would have consented to 
 anything. It was agreed that my mother and sister should 
 move the things by night after the Black Jack was shut up. 
 I suppose the woman watched. So you see, unfortunately, I 
 did consent without thinking/ 
 
 'You did consent oh!' he groaned. 'But, after all, 
 your mother and sister will not give evidence. Where is 
 the evidence of your consent? Are they out of sight? Good. 
 Let them keep out of sight/ 
 
 ' But there is more. Dear Sir, you will say I am very 
 imprudent. When it was arranged for my mother to go 
 away after the trial and lie snug for awhile, she could not 
 bear to think of losing all her property, and so still with- 
 out thinking of consequences I bought the whole lot/ 
 
 'You bought! Oh! This, indeed, I did not expect. You 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 283 
 
 bought the whole! However, one comfort, no one knows 
 except your mother/ 
 
 ' And my sister. Now, Sir, Doll will not allow my mother 
 to suffer alone. If she is accused of receiving I shall be 
 charged with buying the property.' 
 
 ' I wish the mob had burned the place.' 
 
 ' Nobody can wish that more than myself. Now consider. 
 If I plead " Not Guilty " and am acquitted, my mother will 
 certainly be arrested. There will be a Hue and Cry after 
 her, and I shall then be charged again with buying stolen 
 property, knowing it to be stolen. No, Sir, my mind is 
 quite made up. I shall plead Guilty. If the evidence is only 
 what we know, there will be no further inquiry after the 
 property. So, at least, my mother will be safe.' 
 
 Mr. Dewberry said nothing for a while. ' Would your 
 mother,' he asked, ' do as much for you? ' 
 
 ' I dare say she would. We have our virtues, we poor 
 rogues, sometimes.' 
 
 He remonstrated with her: he repeated over and over 
 again his assurance that her defence was as perfect as a 
 defence could be. She could not be examined or cross- 
 examined. The evidence of the woman would be confined 
 to one point. It was all in vain : she was obstinate. 
 
 ' I shall plead Guilty,' she said. 
 
 Finally he went away and left me alone with her. 
 
 ' Jenny/ I said, ' sometimes I believe you are mad so far 
 as your own interests are concerned/ 
 
 ' No, Will only crafty. Now listen a little. I have one 
 firm, strong, powerful friend I mean Lord Brockenhurst. 
 If a woman wants a man to remain in love with her, she 
 must keep him off. He knows all about me, he says: he has 
 made up the prettiest tale possible. And he actually believes 
 it/ 
 
 ' Made up a tale, Jenny? ' 
 
 ' It was a very pretty story that he wrote called the " Case 
 of Clarinda/' This is a prettier story still. It appears that 
 I am the lost and stolen child of noble parents. My birth 
 is stamped upon my face. Never a gipsy yet was known to 
 have light hair like mine, and blue eyes like mine. 
 I have been brought up in ignorance of my parentage, 
 by a woman of dishonest character who stole me in 
 infancy. She made me, against my wish (for a person 
 of my rank naturally loathes employment so menial) 
 
284 The Orange Girl 
 
 an Orange Girl of Drury Lane Theatre. Then I rose 
 above that station by the possession of parts inherited, 
 and became an actress and the Toast of the Town. The 
 woman clung to her pretended daughter still. Then I left 
 the stage in order to be married: when I found my husband 
 little better than a sordid gambler, I left his house and 
 opened the Assembly-room: the woman, for her own safety, 
 made, unknown to me, a storehouse of my garrets. That 
 is his story. But the end is better still. My true nobility 
 of soul, inherited from my unknown illustrious ancestors, 
 prompts me to plead Guilty in order to save this pretended 
 mother. Now, Will 
 
 'How does the story help?' 
 
 ' Because it has already got abroad. Because it will 
 incline everybody's heart to get me saved/ 
 
 ' Yes but an acquittal is so easy/ 
 
 ' Will, you can never understand what it means to belong 
 to such a family as mine. Suppose I get my acquittal. Then 
 afterwards 
 
 'What will follow afterwards?' 
 
 ' Do you think that they will let me return to the stage? 
 I must face the revenge of the family the family of St. 
 Giles. Through me the Bishop and the Captain have been 
 put in pillory and are now in prison. They belong to the 
 family my family, and I have brought them to ruin I 
 myself. One of themselves. Can they forgive me? Nay, 
 Will, I was brought up among them: it is their only point 
 of honour. Can I expect them to forgive me? Never 
 until unless ' She stopped and trembled. 
 
 'Unless what?' 
 
 ' Unless I pay for it, as I have made those two rogues pay 
 for it. Unless I pass through the fiery furnace of trial and 
 sentence, even if it leads me to the condemned cell. After 
 that, Will, I may perhaps look for forgiveness.' 
 
 A man must be a stock or a stone not to be moved by 
 such words as these. ' Oh, Jenny ! ' I said, ' you have brought 
 all this upon yourself for me.' 
 
 ' Yes, Will, for you and for yours. I have counted the cost. 
 Your life is worth it all and more. Don't think I never 
 flinched. No. I had thoughts of letting everything go. 
 Why should I imperil myself my life to defeat a villain? 
 It was easy to do nothing. Then one night I saw a ghost 
 oh! a real ghost. It was Alice, and in her arms lay your 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 285 
 
 boy.' Jenny rose slowly. The afternoon was turning into 
 early evening: the cell was already in twilight. She rose, 
 and gradually, so great is the power of an actress, that even 
 though my eyes were overcast, I saw the narrow cell no 
 longer. There was no Jenny. In her place stood another 
 woman. It was Alice. In the arms of that spirit lay the 
 semblance of a child. And the spirit spoke. It was the voice 
 of Alice. ' Woman! ' she said, solemnly, ' give me back my 
 husband. Give the boy the honour of his father. Mur- 
 deress! Thou wouldst kill the father and ruin the son. 
 There shall be no peace or rest or quiet for thee to the end. 
 Save him for thou must. Suffer and endure what follows. 
 Thou shalt suffer, but thou shalt not be destroyed.' Alice 
 spoke: it was as if she came there with intent to say those 
 words. Then she vanished. And with a trembling of great 
 fear, even as Saul trembled when he saw the spirit of Samuel, 
 I saw Jenny standing in the place where Alice had been. 
 
 She fell into her chair : she burst into tears the first and 
 the last that ever I saw upon her cheek : she covered her face 
 with her hands. 
 
 I soothed her, I assured her of all that I could say in grat- 
 itude infinite: perhaps I mingled my tears with hers. 
 
 ' Oh, Will,' she cried. ' Do not vex yourself over the fate 
 of an orange-wench. What does it matter for such a creature 
 as myself?' 
 
 The Old Bailey never witnessed a greater crowd than that 
 which filled the court to witness the trial of Mistress Jenny 
 Wilmot, charged with receiving stolen goods knowing them 
 to be stolen. Her assumed name of Madame Vallance was 
 forgotten: her married name of Halliday was forgot- 
 ten: on everybody's tongue she was Jenny Wilmot 
 the actress: Jenny Wilmot the Toast of the Town: Jenny 
 Wilmot of Drury Lane. They spoke of her beauty, her 
 grace, her vivacity: these were still remembered in spite of 
 her absence from the stage of nearly two years. Now two 
 years is a long time for an actress, unless she is very good 
 indeed, to be remembered. But the ' Case of Clarinda ' was 
 by this time known to every club and coffee-house in Lon- 
 don: not a City clerk or shopman but had the story pat, with 
 oaths and sighs and tears. My Lord Brockenhurst had done 
 his share in changing public opinion, and the later story, 
 that of the noble origin of the stolen girl, was also whis- 
 pered from mouth to mouth. 
 
286 The Orange Girl 
 
 The court, I say, was crowded. Behind the chairs of the 
 Lord Mayor and Judge, the Aldermen and the Sheriffs, were 
 other chairs filled with great ladies: the public gallery was 
 also filled with ladies who were admitted by tickets issued by 
 sheriffs: the entrances and doorways and the body of the 
 court were rilled with gentlemen, actors and actresses mixed 
 with an evil-looking and evil-smelling company from St. 
 Giles's. 
 
 The witnesses, among whom I failed to observe the 
 revengeful woman, consisted, I was pleased to see, of no 
 more than the two or three shopkeepers who were waiting to 
 swear to their own property. They stood beside the witness- 
 box, wearing the look of determined and pleased revenge 
 common to those who have been robbed. The Jury were 
 sworn one after the other, and took their seats. I could not 
 fail to observe that the unrelenting faces with which they 
 had received me, the highwayman, were changed into faces 
 of sweet commiseration. If ever Jury betrayed by outward 
 signs a full intention, beforehand, of bringing in a verdict of 
 Not Guilty, with the addition, if the Judge would allow it, 
 that the lady left the dock without a blemish upon her char- 
 acter, it was that jury yet a jury composed entirely of per- 
 sons engaged in trade, who would naturally be severe upon 
 the crime of receiving stolen goods. 
 
 When the Court were ready to take their places the pris- 
 oner was brought in, and all the people murmured with 
 astonishment and admiration and pity, for the prisoner was 
 dressed as for her wedding day. She was all in white with- 
 out a touch of any other colour. Her lovely fair hair was 
 dressed without powder over a high cushion with white silk 
 ribbons hanging to her shoulders: her white silk frock 
 drawn back in front, showed a white satin petticoat: white 
 silk gloves covered her hands and arms: she carried a nose- 
 gay of white jonquils: a necklace of pearls hung round her 
 neck : her belt was of worked silver. She took her place in 
 the dock: she disposed her flowers between the spikes, 
 among the sprigs of rue. Her air was calm and collected: 
 not boastful: sad as was natural: resigned as was becoming: 
 neither bold nor shrinking: there was no affectation of con- 
 fidence nor any agitation of terror. She was like a Queen: 
 she was full of dignity. She seemed to say, * Look at me, 
 all of you. Can you believe that I I I such as I 
 Jenny Wilmot could actually stoop to receive a lot of 
 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 287 
 
 stolen rags and old petticoats and bales of stuff worth no 
 more altogether than two or three guineas?' 
 
 During the whole time of the trial the eyes of everybody 
 in court, I observed, were turned upon the prisoner. Never 
 before, I am sure, did a more lovely prisoner stand in the 
 Dock: never was there one whose position was more com- 
 miserated: they were all, I verily believe, ready to set her 
 free at once: but for the act and deed of the prisoner herself. 
 Her attitude: her face: her dress all proclaimed aloud the 
 words which I have written down above. Everybody had 
 seen her on the stage playing principally the coquette, the 
 woman of fashion and folly, the hoyden, the affected prude 
 but not a part like this. ' Ye gods ! ' I heard a young 
 barrister exclaim. ' She looks like an angel : an angel sent 
 down to Newgate!' The strange, new, unexpected look 
 of virginal innocence stamped on the brow of the once dar- 
 ing and headlong actress startled the people : it went to the 
 heart of everyone: it made everybody present feel that they 
 were assisting at a martyrdom: nay, as if they were them- 
 selves, unwillingly, bringing faggots to pile the fire. Before 
 the trial began many an eye was dim, many a cheek was 
 humid. 
 
 The Court entered: the people rose: the Counsel bowed 
 to the Bench: the Lord Mayor took his seat: beside him 
 the Judge: with him the Aldermen and the Sheriffs: the 
 prisoner also did reverence to the Court like a gentle- 
 woman receiving company. One would not have been 
 surprised had my Lord Mayor stepped down and kissed 
 her on the cheek in City fashion. But neither in her look 
 nor in her actions was there betrayed the least sign of 
 degradation, fear, or shame. 
 
 When a somewhat lengthy indictment had been read, 
 she raised her head. ' My Lord, I would first desire to ask 
 for my name to be amended/ 
 
 ' What amendment do you desire? ' 
 
 ' I am described as Madame Vallance, alias Jenny Wilmot, 
 actress. It is true that Jenny Wilmot was my maiden name, 
 and that I assumed the name of Madame Vallance when I 
 left the stage and opened the Assembly Rooms. My true 
 name is Jenny Halliday, and I am the wife of Mr. Matthew 
 Halliday, son of Sir Peter Halliday, Alderman, and partner 
 in the House of Halliday Brothers, West India Wharf, by 
 the Steel Yard in the Parish of All Hallows the Great 1 
 
288 The Orange Girl 
 
 The Judge, whom nothing could surprise, answered with 
 the awful coldness which becomes a Judge and so terrifies 
 a prisoner. ' There is no dispute concerning identity. Plead 
 in your married name, if you will.' 
 
 ' Then, my Lord, I plead Guilty/ 
 
 She had done it, then. With a case so strong: with an 
 assurance of acquittal, she had pleaded Guilty. My heart 
 sank. Yet I knew what she would do. The Lord Mayor 
 whispered the judge again. 
 
 ' You are ignorant of law and procedure in Courts of 
 Justice/ he said. ' I will allow you to withdraw that plea. 
 Have you no Counsel ?' 
 
 ' I need none, my Lord. I plead Guilty/ 
 
 The people all held their breath. Then the ' Case of 
 Clarinda ' was true after all. 
 
 ' I am anxious/ the Judge went on, ' that you should 
 have a fair trial. Appoint a Counsel. Advise with him/ 
 
 ' I plead Guilty' she repeated. 
 
 The Judge threw himself back in his seat. ' Let the trial 
 proceed/ he said. 
 
 The Counsel for the Prosecution opened the case. It was, 
 he said a remarkable case, because there seemed no sufficient 
 reason or temptation for breaking the law, or for receiving 
 stolen property. The information was laid by a woman 
 living in the purlieus of St. Giles's Parish: she was, very 
 probably, a person of no character at all: but character 
 was not wanted in this case because her information would 
 be supplemented by the evidence of several persons of the 
 highest respectability who would swear to certain articles 
 as their own property. The woman in fact, would depose 
 to the conveyance of stolen goods to the house in question : 
 she gave information the goods were actually found there: 
 and other witnesses would claim as their own many things 
 among the property so found. 
 
 ' Gentlemen of the Jury/ he went on, ' this is a case of a 
 painful nature. The prisoner who pleads guilty who 
 rejects the clemency the kindly benevolence of the 
 Court is a person who, as you know, a year or two ago 
 was delighting the town by the vivacity of her acting and 
 the beauty of her person: she left the stage, the world 
 knew not why, or what had become of her: it now appears 
 that she took a certain house in Soho Square, where she 
 carried on assemblies, masquerades, and other amusements^ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 289 
 
 still delighting the town: there is nothing to make one 
 believe that she was in pecuniary embarrassments: and we 
 now learn that she is actually the wife of a City merchant 
 of great wealth and reputation.' Here his neighbour hur- 
 riedly wrote something on a paper: and handed it to him. 
 'My learned friend/ he said correcting himself, 'informs 
 me that this House, until recently in the highest repute, has 
 fallen into evil times and is now bankrupt. But, gentlemen, 
 whether the prisoner attempted to stave off her husband's 
 bankruptcy or not, the property which she received was of 
 so trifling a character that it would seem as if she was 
 breaking the Law for the sake of a few shillings. The 
 things found in her possession were not those which we are 
 accustomed to regard as the booty of robbers: there are no 
 jewels, gold chains, silver cups, lace, silks or anything at 
 all but things belonging to poor people or to people just 
 raised above poverty. There are women's petticoats, men's 
 nightcaps: watches in tortoise-shell cases: knives and forks: 
 small spoons, handkerchiefs: stockings, even: wigs, and so 
 forth. I expected, I confess when I surveyed this rubbish, 
 to hear a defence on the ground that such a person in a 
 position so responsible with friends so numerous, some 
 of them of high rank, could not condescend to countenance 
 the mean and sordid traffic. I confess that I looked forward 
 to this trial as a means of finding out the real criminal who 
 had taken advantage of access to the house and impudently 
 used the rooms in Madame Valance's premises for their 
 own dishonest purposes. That expectation must be now 
 disappointed: that hope must be abandoned. By her own 
 repeated confession, the prisoner has assured the Court 
 that she is guilty. 
 
 ' The case/ he went on, ' has grown out of one recently 
 heard before this Court. It was one in which the present 
 prisoner exerted herself very actively in the cause of a man 
 named Halliday, presumably a connection of her own by 
 marriage. Halliday was charged with highway robbery. 
 The evidence was clear and direct. The prisoner before 
 us, however, with great activity and courage, brought 
 together an overwhelming mass of evidence which proved 
 that the charge was a conspiracy of the blackest and foul- 
 est kind. The conspirators are now undergoing their sen- 
 tence. By this brave action an innocent life was saved and 
 four villains were sent to prison. I mention the fact because 
 
290 The Orange Girl 
 
 it shows that the prisoner possesses many noble qualities, 
 which make it the more marvellous that she should be guilty 
 of acts so mean, so paltry, so sordid. The woman who will 
 appear before you was the mistress of one of these con- 
 spirators. Her information was doubtless laid as an act of 
 revenge. Yet we cannot weigh motives.' And so on. 
 
 It appeared that the evidence was of a merely formal char- 
 acter and that the witnesses would not be cross-examined. 
 The first witness was the woman of whom you know. She, 
 among other women prisoners in Newgate, had been kept 
 from starvation by Jenny; this fact might have softened her 
 heart: but unfortunately the recent sufferings of her lover 
 in pillory re-awakened her desire for revenge. She was an 
 eager witness: she wanted to begin at once and to tell her 
 tale her own way. The main point now was a statement 
 invented since her evidence before the magistrate. She now 
 declared that she herself was engaged by the prisoner to 
 carry the property to the Assembly Rooms. This abomin- 
 able perjury she stoutly maintained. The Counsel for the 
 Prosecution questioned her apparently in order to elicit the 
 facts: in reality, as I now believe, in order to make her con- 
 tradict herself. She was asked where she put the things: 
 why in the garret: what servants helped her: who received 
 her: who carried candles for her: why the prisoner selected 
 her for the job: what share she had in the riots: whether she 
 was in prison on that account: and so on. She was a poor 
 ignorant creature, thirsting for revenge: therefore she main- 
 tained stoutly that the prisoner had paid her for moving 
 the goods into her house. 
 
 Whether by accident or design, nothing was said about 
 the Black Jack or about the landlady of that establishment. 
 I suppose that the Prosecution was only anxious to establish 
 the bare facts to which the prisoner had pleaded Guilty. 
 
 The manner in which the witness gave her evidence: the 
 fire in her eyes and in her cheeks: the dirty slovenly look of 
 the woman: her uncombed hair: her voice: her gestures: her 
 manifest perjuries and contradictions: disgusted all who 
 looked on: the Judge laid down his pen and leaned back in 
 his chair as if what she said was of no concern: the Alder- 
 men looked at the Judge as much as to ask how long this 
 was to be permitted: the Jury whispered and shook their 
 heads: the ladies present knotted their brows and fanned 
 themselves and whispered each other angrily. At last she 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 291 
 
 sat down flaming and vehement to the end. Her evidence 
 had in fact ruined the case. Why, she had the impudence 
 to allege that the property she had herself carried to the 
 house was received by Madame herself, who ordered her 
 footmen to carry it to the garrets. 
 
 She was followed by the shopkeepers who had been 
 robbed. They swore to certain goods of no great value, 
 which had been stolen from them. Their evidence was 
 quickly given. There was, in fact, no evidence really impli- 
 cating the prisoner except that of the woman. There was 
 clearly something behind: something not explained, which 
 everybody was whispering to each other it had been 
 revealed in the famous paper called ' The Case of Clarinda/ 
 And now I understood what Jenny meant when she said 
 that her defence would bring her mother into the business. 
 For Counsel would have inquired into the Black Jack story 
 and asked what the things were doing there: how they 
 came there : who was the landlord : with many other particu- 
 lars, some of which would have brought out the truth. As 
 for the woman, whether by feminine cunning or by accident, 
 she concealed the relationship between Jenny and the Black 
 Jack: she had really seen the sister and the mother carrying 
 things to the house in Soho Square: she did not then know 
 that Madame Vallance was Jenny: she found out the fact at 
 the trial: she then invented the story of being hired for 
 carrying the property because she knew it was there. All 
 that the Court knew, however, was the fact that such a 
 woman as stood before them, this angel of loveliness this 
 woman of position: had actually confessed to the crime of 
 receiving the miserable odds and ends the rags and taw- 
 dry finery stolen from quite poor people. It was amaz- 
 ing: it was incredible. 
 
 ' That is my case, my Lord,' said the Counsel with a sigh, 
 as if he was ashamed of having conducted it at all. 
 
 ' Prisoner at the Bar/ said the Judge, ( you have heard the 
 verdict of the Jury. You may now say anything you wish in 
 explanation or extenuation/ 
 
 ' What can I have to say, my Lord/ she replied simply 
 but with dignity, ' since I pleaded guilty? Nevertheless, I 
 have to thank the Counsel for the Prosecution, who almost 
 proved my pleading impossible/ 
 
 The Judge summed up in a few words. The verdict of the 
 Jury included a recommendation to mercy. 
 
292 The Orange Girl 
 
 The Judge assumed the black cap: he pronounced sen- 
 tence of Death: the Ordinary appeared in his robes and 
 prayed that the Lord would have mercy on her soul: the 
 warder tied the usual slip of string about the prisoner's 
 thumb to show what hanging meant. The only person 
 unaffected by the sentence was the prisoner herself. Never 
 before had she acted so finely: never before, indeed, had 
 Jenny been called upon to play such a part. She stood 
 with clasped hands gazing into the face of the Judge, not 
 with defiance, not with wonder: not with resentment: but 
 with a meek acceptance. The women in the court, the great 
 ladies behind the Lord Mayor wept and sobbed without 
 restraint: even the younger members of the outer Bar were 
 affected to unmanly humidity of the eyes. 
 
 Now when the verdict of the Jury was pronounced, and 
 before the sentence of the Judge, Jenny did a strange 
 thing, which moved the people almost more than the words 
 of the sentence. She took up a small roll which lay before 
 her. It was a black lace veil. She threw this over her 
 head: it fell down upon her shoulders nearly to her waist. 
 She held it up while the Judge was speaking: when he 
 finished she dropped it over her face. So with the veil of 
 Death falling over her spotless robes of Innocence she 
 stepped down from the dock and followed the men in blue 
 back to the prison. ' Ye Gods ! ' cried one of the barristers, 
 'she is nothing less than the Virgin Martyr!' Indeed she 
 seemed nothing less than one of the Christian martyrs, the 
 confessors faithful to the end whom no tortures and no 
 punishment could turn aside from the path of martyrdom. 
 
 I hurried round to the prison. 'Ah! Sir,' sighed a turn- 
 key, ' she must now go to the condemned cell. Pity! Pity! ' 
 They were all her friends every one of these officers, hard- 
 ened by years of daily contact with the scum of the people. 
 ' But they won't hang her. They can't.' 
 
 ' And all for her mother,' said another. ' I remember old 
 Sal of the Black Jack, also her sister Dolly. All to save that 
 fat old carrion carcass. Well, well. You can go in, sir/ 
 
 Jenny was standing by the table. She greeted me with 
 a sad smile. ' It is all over at last,' she said. * It is harder 
 to play a part on a real stage than in a theatre. Did I play 
 well, Will?' 
 
 'You left a House in tears, Jenny. Oh!' I cried impa- 
 tiently, ' Is this what you wanted ? ' 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 293 
 
 ' Yes, I am quite satisfied. I really was afraid at one time 
 that the Counsel would throw up the case because his lead- 
 ing witness was so gross and impudent a liar. Didst ever 
 hear a woman perjure herself so roundly and so often? 
 What next? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Jenny. What next? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, Will. The Assembly Rooms which are 
 taken in my name are seized, I hear, by my husband's credit- 
 ors. But all the furniture and fittings have been destroyed 
 already. That is done with, then. Am I to begin again 
 in order to have everything seized again? ' She talked as 
 if her immediate enlargement was certain. I could not 
 have the heart to whisper discouragement. 
 
 ' There is still the stage, Jenny. The world will welcome 
 you back again.' 
 
 'Do you think so? The Orange Girl they could stand; 
 it pleased the Pit to remember how they used to buy my 
 oranges. But the woman who has come out of a con- 
 demned cell? The woman who pleaded guilty to receiving 
 stolen goods? I doubt it will.' 
 
 | * What does that matter? Everybody knows why you 
 pleaded Guilty. You are Clarinda.' 
 
 ' An audience at a theatre, Will, sometimes shows neither 
 pity nor consideration for an actress. They say what they 
 like: they shout what they like: they insult her as they 
 please an actress is fair game: to make an actress run 
 off the stage in a flood of tears is what they delight in. They 
 would be pleased to ask what I have done with the stolen 
 goods.' 
 
 ' What will you do then, Jenny? ' 
 
 There came along, at this point, another visitor. It was 
 none other than the Counsel for the Prosecution. He stood 
 at the door of the cell, but seeing me, he hesitated. 
 
 ' Come in, Sir,' said Jenny. ' You wish to speak to me. 
 Speak. This gentleman, my husband's first cousin, can 
 hear all that you have to ask or I to reply.' 
 
 ' Madame,' he bowed as to a Countess. ' This is a 
 wretched place for you. I trust, however that it will not be 
 for long. The recommendation of the Jury will certainly 
 have weight: the Judge is benevolently disposed: you have 
 many friends.' 
 
 ' I hope, Sir, that I have some friends who will not 
 believe that I have bought a parcel of stolen petticoats?' 
 
294 The Orange Girl 
 
 'Your friends will stand by you: of that I am certain. 
 Madame, I venture here to ask you, if I may do so without 
 the charge of impertinent curiosity believe me I am 
 not so actuated ' 
 
 ' Surely, Sir. Ask what you will/ 
 
 ' I would ask you then, why you pleaded Guilty. The 
 case was certain from the outset to break down. I might 
 have pressed the witness as to the property itself, but I 
 refrained because her perjuries were manifest. Why then, 
 Madame if I may ask why?' 
 
 'Perhaps I had learned that certain things had been 
 sent to my garrets, but I paid no thought to any risk or 
 danger ' 
 
 ' That might have been pleaded.' 
 
 'The case being over, that property can bring no other 
 person into trouble, I believe?' 
 
 ' I should think not. The case is ended.' 
 
 ' Then, Sir, I pray you to consider this question. If some 
 person very closely connected with yourself were actually 
 guilty of this crime: if you yourself were charged with it: 
 if your acquittal would lead to that person's conviction, 
 what would you do?' 
 
 ' That is what they whisper/ he replied. ' Madame, I 
 hope that such a choice may never be made to me. Is this 
 true what you suggest what people whisper?' 
 
 ' Many things are whispered concerning me,' said Jenny 
 proudly. ' I do not heed those whispers. Well, Sir, such 
 a choice has been presented to me. It is part of the penalty 
 of my birth that such a choice could be possible.' 
 
 'Then it is true?' he insisted; 'the "Case of Clarinda" 
 is true? ' 
 
 ' Sir, it is true in many points. I was once an Orange 
 Girl of Drury Lane. My people were residents of St. 
 Giles's in the Fields. I was brought up in the courts and 
 lanes of that quarter. You, Sir, are a lawyer. Need I 
 explain further the nature of that choice?' 
 
 ' Madam,' said the lawyer, ' I think you are the best 
 woman in the world as you are the loveliest.' So saying 
 he lifted her hand to his lips, bowing low, and left us. 
 
 ' Well,' said Jenny, ' I think I have done pretty well for 
 my mother and for Doll. Their slate is clean again. They 
 can begin fair. Receiving has been her principal trade 
 50 long that she is not likely to be satisfied with drawing 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 295 
 
 beer. But the past is wiped out. And as for myself 
 She sighed. 'What next? Matthew is where the wicked 
 can no longer trouble. Merridew, poor wretch! has also 
 ceased from troubling. My friends of St. Giles's will be 
 satisfied because I have now done what I told you I should 
 do, and gone through the fiery furnace. Why/ she looked 
 around the bare and narrow walls, ' I believe I am in it still. 
 But the flames do not burn, nor does the hot air scorch 
 believe me, dear Will oh! believe me I would do it 
 all again all again I regret nothing Will, nothing. 
 Assure Alice that I would do it all again exactly as I 
 have done/ 
 With a full heart I left her. What next? What next? 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 FROM THE CONDEMNED CELL 
 
 AND now, indeed, began the time of endurance and sus- 
 pense. To the bravest of women came moments of depres- 
 sion what else could be expected when her days and 
 nights were spent in a condemned cell? In this gloomy 
 apartment Jenny was now compelled to live. The place 
 lies in a corner of the women's yard or Court; it contains 
 two rooms, one of them a small bedroom, the other, when 
 there are only one or two in residence, a living room. One 
 other prisoner was already in this cell, awaiting her time 
 for execution. Alas! she was a mere child, not more than 
 sixteen, and looking younger: a poor, ignorant creature 
 who had never learned the difference between right and 
 wrong: who had been brought up, as was Jenny herself, 
 among children of rogues, themselves rogues from infancy. 
 The law was going to kill this child because the law itself 
 had found no way to protect her. Alas for our humanity! 
 Alas for our statesmen! Alas for our Church! Will there 
 never arise a Prophet in the land to show us how much 
 better it is to teach than to kill? 
 
 Outside, the yard was all day long filled with women 
 either convicted or waiting to be tried: some of them were 
 
296 The Orange Girl 
 
 in prison for short sentences: some were waiting to be 
 whipped: some were waiting for ships to carry them to the 
 plantations: all alike were foul in language; unwashed, 
 uncombed and draggled; rough and coarse and common. 
 Such women, gathered together in one place, make each 
 other worse: they swear like men: they fight like men: they 
 drink like men: their hair hangs loose over their shoulders: 
 the ' loose jumps ' of leather which they use for stays are 
 never changed: the ragged kerchief over their shoulders is 
 never washed: the linsey-woolsey frock is foul with every 
 kind of stain: their loud harsh voices have no feminine 
 softness: their red brawny arms terrify the spectator: in 
 their faces, even of the youngest, is no look of Venus. 
 
 Taken to this place, Jenny had to wait, expectant, for the 
 relief that was promised her by Lord Brockenhurst. Her 
 cheek grew pale and thin: her eyes became unnaturally 
 bright: I feared gaol fever but happily she was spared this 
 dreadful malady. Yet she kept up the appearance of cheer- 
 fulness, and greeted me every day with a smile that was 
 never forced, and a grasp that was never chilled. 
 
 For exercise Jenny had the crowded yard. There, with 
 no one to protect her, she walked a little every morning, 
 the women falling back, right and left, to let her pass. 
 They offered her no molestation. To save' her fancy man 
 so ran the legend she had compassed the ruin of her 
 old friends: with this object ('twas the only one they could 
 understand) she put up her mother to bear witness against 
 her own customers. Well : it was to save her fancy man 
 the same came every day to see her in the prison: that was 
 some excuse for her: would not any woman do as much for 
 her man? And now she was herself condemned all through 
 the other woman whose man she had put in prison and in 
 pillory. So far, then, they were quits, and might all become 
 friends again. And they remembered as a point in Jenny's 
 favour that the noble welcome with which the thief-taker 
 was received a thing at which all Roguery rejoiced 
 was entirely due to her exertions. These things passed 
 from one to the other clothed in the language peculiar to 
 such people. 
 
 Jenny took two or three turns in the yard, every morn- 
 ing when the prison air is freshest, and then went back to 
 her cell, where she remained for the rest of the day. 
 
 In those days she talked to me more freely than before 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 297 
 
 and a great deal about herself. She was forced to talk and 
 to think about herself, for the first time in her life. Her 
 thoughts went back to the past when all she could expect 
 was to become such as the poor creatures with her in the 
 prison. Yet these poor women, whom I found so terrible to 
 look upon and to hear, she regarded with a tenderness 
 which I thought excessive. I now understand that it was 
 more humane than at that time was within my compre- 
 hension. 
 
 ' They are not terrible to me/ she said. * I know them 
 what they are and what has made them so. I can speak 
 their language, but I must not let them know that I under- 
 stand. It is the Thieves' tongue made up of Gipsy and of 
 Tinkers' talk. They talk about me all day even when I 
 am in their midst. Poor wretches! They are not so bad 
 as they look/ 
 
 ' Nay, Jenny, but to see them beside you! ' 
 
 ' If we grow up among people, Will, and are used to 
 them, we do not think much of their manners and their 
 looks. When I was a child I played among them. Many 
 a cuff have I had: many a slap for getting in their way: 
 but many a bit of gingerbread and many an apple. You 
 think them terrible. If they were clean and had their hair 
 dressed they would not be terrible any longer. Oh! Will, 
 they are not very far from the fine ladies no nor so 
 very much below the best of good women, even Alice. 
 They are women, though you flog them at Bridewell and 
 hang them at Tyburn they are still women. And they 
 love in their poor fond faithful way the very hand that 
 knocks them down and the very foot that kicks them. 
 They love Oh! the poor women they love/ 
 
 She broke off, with a sob in her voice. I marvelled at 
 the time because I had always looked upon the creatures 
 as something below humanity: as belonging to a tribe of 
 savages such as Swift called the Yahoos. Afterwards, I 
 understood; and then I marvelled more. 
 
 Another time she talked about her profession as an 
 actress. ' Acting/ she said, ' cannot be otherwise than 
 delightful but it takes an actor away from himself. When 
 one has been two or three years on the stage nothing is left 
 but the stage and the dressing-room: the company behind 
 the scenes and the audience in front. Nothing is real. 
 Everything that happens is but a scene in a play. When 
 
298 The Orange Girl 
 
 the curtain drops upon this Act, that is, when they let me 
 go, I shall rest for five minutes while the next Act is getting 
 ready: the play of Clarinda, or the Orange Girl, has some 
 excellent scenes. You remember that scene when the mob 
 wrecked the house: and the scene when the mob pelted 
 Mr. Merridew well, I should not be in the least surprised 
 to meet Mr. Merridew himself walking along Holborn 
 with one eye on a young thief in training for a shop-lifter: 
 and I might look in at the Black Jack and see my mother 
 taking her morning dram and Doll adding up the scores 
 upon the slate. In five minutes after the curtain has 
 dropped what has happened is little more to me than the 
 last scene in the play at Drury. Why, if I were put into 
 the cart and carried out to Tyburn I should still be the 
 heroine playing my part to a breathless house. And I 
 believe I should enjoy that part of the performance as much 
 as anything. You saw how I played the Virgin Martyr 
 in Court.' 
 
 'Yet this is real enough, God knows/ I said, looking 
 round the place. 
 
 ' I dare say it looks so to you. To me, it is part of the 
 Play. Will, the Play is nearly over. I knew all along that 
 disaster was coming upon me. But the worst is over 
 the w r orst is over. I know that the worst is over. I can now 
 foretell what is coming next/ She looked straight before 
 her, hsr eyes luminous in the dark cell. ' I can see,' she 
 said, ' a time of peace and calm. Well, Will, reality or not, 
 that scene will be pleasant. I shall go out of this place 
 very soon But I know not when, and I cannot see myself 
 at any time again upon the boards of Drury. I am certain 
 that I shall never go back there. I cannot see myself in 
 Soho Square either. I shall never go back there. I see 
 fields and hills and woods ' she shuddered and with a 
 gesture pushed the vision from her. ' Will it is strange, 
 all is strange : it is a beautiful country, but I know it not 
 I cannot understand it/ 
 
 It was not the first time, as . you have seen, that she 
 showed this strange power of peering into the future. 
 Whether this fair-haired and blue-eyed woman was really 
 a child of the gipsies, or, as Lord Brockenhurst conjectured, 
 a stolen child, she had the powers that we commonly find 
 in gipsy women who are fortune-tellers all the world over. 
 That she compelled all men to become her servants you 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 299 
 
 have seen : that she could also compel women to follow and 
 obey her was proved by what she did during that three or 
 four weeks which she spent in the condemned cell: the 
 same magic arts yet she was no witch: and she could 
 read the future a gift which is marvellous in our eyes. 
 
 Her power over others, even the most savage people, was 
 shown by the changed behaviour of the poor girl waiting 
 for execution. I have mentioned her: she was at first a 
 wild creature: she fled to the darkest corner of the cell and 
 there crouched with eyes of suspicion and terror: she 
 snatched her food and ran into her corner to eat it: she 
 was altogether unwashed and altogether in rags: she was 
 bare-footed, bare-legged and bare-armed: her hair which 
 should have been light like Jenny's own hair, was matted 
 with dirt: it looked as if it had never known a comb: yet 
 long and beautiful hair: her eyes were blue, large and 
 limpid. She had never known kindness, or love, or care 
 since the day when her mother was marched away to New- 
 gate wearing handcuffs. She was, I say, a mere savage. 
 The child might have been sixteen, but she looked thirteen. 
 Still, sixteen is young for Tyburn. Jenny found this child 
 in her cell: condemned like herself; and she tamed her. 
 Not in a single day, but in a few days. She tamed her 
 with kindness; with soft words in the language which the 
 child understood best: with soft touches: with gifts of pretty 
 things: I suppose she gave her sweetmeats I know not 
 what she did, but in a few days I found the savage wild 
 creature converted into a shy, timid girl clinging to Jenny 
 and following her about like a favourite spaniel. She was 
 washed and combed and dressed from head to foot: she 
 wore stockings and shoes: her hair, just confined by a rib- 
 bon, hung over her shoulders in lovely tresses: she had 
 become an interesting child who promised to grow into a 
 lovely maiden. And yet she was to be carried out to 
 Tyburn and there hanged. 
 
 Then, when the girl had assumed a civilized look, Jenny 
 began to lament her approaching fate of which the poor 
 creature seemed herself unconscious. Indeed, I think the 
 child understood nothing at her trial or her sentence except 
 that she was horribly frightened and was carried out of 
 court crying. 
 
 ' Is it not terrible/ she asked, ' that we must hang children 
 ignorant children?' 
 
ooo The Orange Girl 
 
 ' It is the law of the land, Jenny. Judges have only to 
 administer the law of the land/ 
 
 ' Then it is a cruel law, and the Judges ought to say so. 
 A man is a murderer who condemns a child to death, even 
 if it is the law, without declaring against it/ 
 
 ' Nay, Jenny ' this she could not understand for the 
 reasons I have already given ' we must remember that the 
 children suffer for the sins of the fathers, unto the third and 
 fourth generation.' 
 
 She stared. 'Why,' she said, 'the poor child has been 
 taught no better/ And, indeed, there seems no answer to 
 this plea. If in the mysteries of Providence we must so 
 suffer, the Law of men should not punish ignorance. 'To 
 hang children ! ' she insisted. ' To destroy their lives before 
 they have well begun! And for what? For taking some- 
 thing not their own Oh! Will, it is monstrous. Just for 
 a bit of cloth only a bit of cloth off a counter. Oh ! the 
 poor child! the poor child! ' 
 
 Then, just as she had spared no trouble to get me out 
 of my danger so she now began to work for the rescue of 
 this child. She spoke to the Governor about it. He looked 
 astonished: children of fifteen, or so, were frequently exe- 
 cuted for one offence or the other: the Law was doubtless 
 severe: but criminals of all kinds were multiplying: after all, 
 they were out of the way when they were hanged : this girl, 
 for instance, would only grow up like the rest, a plague and 
 a curse to the community. Still he gave Jenny advice, and 
 by her instruction I drew up a Petition from the child herself 
 addressed to no less a person than her Gracious Majesty 
 the young Queen, who was said to have a kindly heart. 
 The petition, with certain changes, might almost have been 
 that of Jenny herself for her own case. Here is a piece 
 of it. 
 
 ' Your Petitioner humbly submits that she was born and 
 brought up in a part of London occupied entirely by thieves, 
 rogues, and vagabonds: that she was taught from infancy 
 that the only way by which she could earn her daily bread 
 was by stealing: that the only art or trade she had ever 
 learned was that of stealing without being detected: that 
 she was never at any school or Church or under any kind 
 of instruction whatever: that she was never taught the 
 meaning of right or wrong: that she had learned no religion 
 and no morals and knew not what they meant; and that 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 301 
 
 being caught in the act of stealing a piece of cloth value six 
 shillings from a shop, she is now lying under sentence of 
 death.' 
 
 To make a long story short, Jenny entrusted this Peti- 
 tion to Lord Brockenhurst, who generously interested him- 
 self in the girl and undertook that the Petition should reach 
 the hands of Her Majesty the Queen with the result, 
 as you shall presently hear, that the girl's life was spared. 
 
 This incident has nothing to do with the story, save that 
 it shows Jenny's generous nature and her good heart; thus 
 in the midst of her own anxieties to think of the troubles 
 of others. Nay, she not only saved the life of this girl, but 
 she brought her to a new mind and to new thoughts: and, 
 whereas she had been before what you have seen, she con- 
 verted the child into a decent, well conducted civil girl, 
 worthy of better things even to marry an honest man and 
 to become the mother of stout lads and sturdy wenches. 
 Let us consider how many lives might have been destroyed 
 had they hanged this young girl. I have sometimes calcu- 
 lated that if they hang a hundred women every year, most 
 of them young, they deprive the country of five hundred 
 children whose loss may mean the loss of two thousand 
 five hundred grandchildren, and so on. Can any country 
 afford to lose so many valuable soldiers and sailors every 
 year, the number still mounting up? Why, then, cannot 
 we take the children when they are still young out of 
 Roguery and place them in some house where they will be 
 taught religion and morals and a craft? At present the 
 cry is all 'Hang! Hang! Hang!' or 'Flog! Flog! Flog!' 
 So the soldiers and the sailors and the wretched women are 
 tied up and flogged well nigh to death: and the carts go 
 rumbling along Holborn loaded with the poor creatures 
 on their way to be hanged: but the rogues increase and 
 multiply. Since hanging and flogging do no good cannot 
 we try Jenny's method of kindness? I say this writing 
 many years afterwards because at that time I did not 
 understand the law of kindness which I now perceive to be 
 the Heavenly Law of Charity. Jenny, who had no glim- 
 mer of religion, poor thing, in her quick way divined the 
 Law of Charity. 
 
 Why, she changed even the women in the Prison Yard. 
 There was great suffering among them. Many of them 
 had no friends to bring them food: they had nothing but 
 
jo 2 The Orange Girl 
 
 the daily dole of the penny loaf. Presently, I observed that 
 they looked more contented and better fed: they were less 
 noisy: there was less quarrelling and fighting: they were 
 even cleaner to look at. All this was Jenny's doing. She 
 fed them first: then when their craving for food, which 
 made them quarrelsome, was allayed, she went among them 
 and talked to them one at a time. I have seen her, I have 
 seen how the rough coarse common creatures would 
 respond, little by little, to words of kindness. She advised 
 them about their affairs: she made them confess what they 
 had done: why, was she not one of themselves? 
 
 ' I knew you/ she said to one, ' long ago in Hog's Lane: 
 you lived in the Old Bell Alley: we were girls together. 
 Come into my cell and I will find you something more to 
 put on; and your hair wants to be combed and put up, 
 doesn't it? And your face would look so much better if it 
 
 were washed. Come with me ' and so on with one after 
 
 the other: not the least case being the girl who had laid 
 information and committed perjury against her. It was 
 what Jenny said though the saying was then too hard 
 for me. They are women: as are all men and women, 
 whether we call some Yahoos or not: they are women: there 
 is not such very great difference between the greatest lady 
 and the lowest woman: both are women: both are ruled by 
 the same irresistible forces of love. Some day, perhaps, 
 some gentlewoman will put the part of the Christian relig- 
 ion I mean the Law of Charity into practice. It is 
 strange that a woman who was not a Christian, and had no 
 religion, should first teach me that Charity means more 
 than the giving of alms. 
 
 ' Let me/ said Jenny, ' do something for these poor 
 creatures while I am among them. That will not be for 
 long. Then they will fall back again into their own ways/ 
 
 ' But, Jenny, you are spending all your money.' 
 
 ' An actress never wants money. When I get out of this 
 place I have made up my mind what to do. I will not 
 return to Drury Lane: I will go over to Dublin. That is 
 the strange country with hills and woods which I see before 
 me always. It is Ireland. I will go on the Dublin stage. 
 As for the money, I brought with me all there was in the 
 house when I left it: and all my jewels but they are not 
 worth much. These women have had some of the money, 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 303 
 
 and the turnkeys have had some, and Mr. Dewberry has 
 had some: and I think there is not much left/ 
 
 The question of money pressed hard because I had none, 
 and as yet no new situation, and when Jenny was released 
 she would certainly want money to carry her on. 
 
 She laughed, seeing my seriousness. 'Oh! Will Will/ 
 she said. 'You are a musician and yet you are anxious 
 about money. But you were born in the City. Now in a 
 theatre nobody thinks about money. When the money is 
 plenty it is freely lent: when there is none it is freely bor- 
 rowed. Believe me, Will, I shall want no money: I never 
 have wanted money. Did I ever tell you, Will, my own for- 
 tune? An old gipsy woman told me. " What others envy she 
 shall have: what she would have she shall lack. She shall 
 pass through dangers without harm: she shall be happy in 
 the end. Yet not in the way she would most desire." That is 
 a strange fortune, is it not? Now I am in the midst of 
 dangers, yet nothing will do me harm. What do I most 
 desire? What do all women most desire? You were born 
 in the City, Will, where they do not study the human heart. 
 Therefore you know not. The old woman was a witch, 
 as they all are all the gipsy women so far I have had 
 what others envy and alas! Will, I still lack what most 
 I desire/ 
 
 ' What is it, Jenny? ' 
 
 ' Ask your violin, Will. Ask your music. Ask the play 
 upon the stage what women most desire. Oh! Foolish 
 youth ! they ask what you have given to Alice they ask 
 the happiness of love/ 
 
 If the time was long to those who watched and waited, 
 it was worse for her who suffered. I believe if I remember 
 aright that our poor Jenny spent five or perhaps six weeks 
 in that noisome cell; her cheek, as I have said, grew thin 
 and pale from the bad air and the confinement; but her 
 courage she never lost for a single day. She asked for no 
 consolations and desired no soothing to alleviate the weari- 
 ness of her prison. Of those fine ladies who called before 
 she was tried not one came now: nor did any of the 
 actresses, her old friends and rivals, visit her. They came 
 before the trial, just as they visit a notorious robber, because 
 it is interesting to gape upon a person who stands in the 
 great danger of a trial for his life, or has done some daring 
 act of villainy, or is about to undergo some terrible ordeal. 
 
304 The Orange Girl 
 
 When her trial was over and it became certain in every- 
 body's mind that, although the woman had pleaded guilty: 
 although she was condemned: she would not suffer the 
 capital sentence, the interest of the public in the case rap- 
 idly declined and in a few days ceased wholly: the great 
 ladies ran after other excitements: they sent letters to the 
 new singer: they sent rings to their favourite actor: they 
 crowded the prison of the fashionable highwaymen: the 
 actresses, for their part, reflected that they would probably 
 have Jenny back among them before long casting them all 
 in the shade: so they left off calling: the portrait painters 
 went elsewhere after studies likely to be popular. Truly 
 it was a lamentable instance of the breath of popular favour 
 fickle and uncertain. ' The Case of Clarinda ' was forgotten 
 as soon an people had made up their minds that Clarinda 
 was not to be hanged, although she had screened her 
 mother and pleaded guilty and received sentence of death. 
 The only persons who now came to the cell were Lord 
 Brockenhurst and Mr. Dewberry the attorney, not to speak 
 of the Governor of the Prison, who came daily to ask after 
 his fair prisoner's health. His Lordship let us know day 
 by day concerning the efforts being made on Jenny's 
 behalf. The reason why they were so slow was partly due 
 to a feeling on the part of the Judge that though the 
 motive of the prisoner might be good she had confessed to 
 a heinous crime, and the Law must not be made ridiculous. 
 Therefore, a few weeks of prison should be allowed, what- 
 ever was done afterwards, in vindication of the Majesty of 
 the Law. ' But,' said Lord Brockenhurst, ' he is at least 
 on your side. So much I know for a fact. It is a great 
 thing to have the Judge on your side.' He also told us 
 that the Counsel for the Prosecution, a gentleman of great 
 eminence in the Law, was also very active on our behalf: 
 that the Jurymen had drawn up a petition and signed it 
 unanimously for Jenny's pardon and release: that the Queen 
 was also reported to be interested in the case and in favour 
 of clemency, the whole circumstances being so unusual and 
 the behaviour of the prisoner so strangely actuated by filial 
 affection even towards an unworthy object: and that the 
 general opinion of the people was that it was impossible to 
 suppose that a woman in Jenny's position, commanding 
 receipts of thousands every night of a masquerade, could 
 condescend to so low and miserable a business as receiving 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 305 
 
 a bundle of stolen goods, not worth a couple of guineas 
 altogether, with the assistance of wretched confederates 
 whose evidence might hang her: and further that the minds 
 of the people being made up they thought no more about 
 the matter. In a word, that all was going well, but we 
 must wait: he could not tell us how long, and possess our 
 souls in patience. 
 
 ' If only we do not die of gaol fever/ Jenny sighed. 
 'Faugh! To die in the reek and the stench of this place. 
 My Lord, I arn always your most obliged servant. Per- 
 haps the Judge would consider his opinion and give me at 
 least the choice of death. Let me die like my own people. 
 They lie down in a little tent which keeps off the cold rain 
 and the hot sun: on their backs they lie looking through 
 the open front at the sky and the clouds and presently they 
 shut their eyes and their limbs grow cold. Then they 
 are buried in the hedge without coffin or winding-sheet.' 
 
 ' And without prayers/ said his Lordship. ' Dear Mad- 
 ame, they are not your people. There was never yet gipsy 
 with fair hair and blue eyes. You shall not die in a tent, 
 but in a bed with those who love you weeping over you. 
 And you shall be borne to a marble tomb in the Church 
 with the singing men and the boys chanting the service 
 for the good of your soul/ 
 
 The doctrine was unsound, but the meaning of his Lord- 
 ship was good. 
 
 ' The good of my soul/ Jenny repeated, doubtfully. 
 ' Well, my Lord, I have at least learned something from 
 the people who stole me if they did steal me. I love the 
 light and the sunshine and the wind. Restore me to these 
 and I will promise never, never, never to have another 
 mother who will tempt me with second-hand petticoats/ 
 
 She laughed, but Lord Brockenhurst, who was a grave 
 gentleman, did not laugh. 
 
 ' Madame/ he said, kissing her fingers of which he 
 never seemed to weary ' I should desire nothing better 
 than to lead you into meadows and beside gentle streams 
 where the Zephyrs would bring back their rosy hue to your 
 pale cheek. We must not speak of death but of life/ 
 
 ' But not of love, my Lord/ she interrupted. ' Remem- 
 ber I have a husband. He is in the King's Bench Prison, 
 a bankrupt, there to remain for life, because he can never 
 hope to pay his debts. But he is my husband/ 
 
306 The Orange Girl 
 
 ' Of everything but love, Madame,' he replied with the 
 dignity which sat upon him as naturally as grace sat upon 
 Jenny. ' Seriously, I have a house some fifty miles from 
 here. It stands among deep woods, beside a flowing 
 stream: behind it is a hill, not terrible with crags but of a 
 gentle ascent: it has gardens and orchards: around is a 
 park with flocks of the timid deer: not far off you may 
 discover the tower of a village Church and hear the music 
 of the bells. Thither, thither, Madame, I will lead you 
 when you are free from the misery of this place, and there 
 you shall stay till your spirits are restored and your mind 
 recreated: nay, you shall stay there, if you will so honour 
 me, all your life. The house and all that belongs to it shall 
 be your own. I will be content if once in a while I may 
 spend a day or two with you, as your honoured guest.' 
 
 ' Oh ! my Lord,' Jenny made reply, through her tears, 
 'you are too good to me. Indeed I deserve none of this 
 kindness.' 
 
 ' You deserve all all divine Jenny that a man can 
 offer. Believe me there is nothing that is too good or too 
 great for such as Jenny Wilmot/ 
 
 This dialogue was only one of many. Truly, as Jenny 
 said, here was a faithful and a loyal friend. 
 
 One more friend was found, as faithful and as loyal, but 
 more humble. You remember the country lad called Jack, 
 who had fallen into Merridew's clutches and had already 
 entered under his guidance upon the career of a rogue. 
 He it was who gave evidence which helped to connect all 
 four plotters with the plot. He it was, also, who carried 
 off the old woman and Doll by the waggon to Horsham in 
 Sussex. We thought no more about him. He had done 
 his service and had received his pay and had gone his own 
 way. The lad had an honest look a wholesome country- 
 bred face, different from the pale cheeks of the boys and 
 the swollen faces of the men with whom he had begun to 
 sit. In a word, he was not yet branded with the mark of 
 Cain. But, I say, we had forgotten him. He was one of 
 the characters in the last scene but one of the play which 
 we were performing with Miss Jenny Wilmot of Drury 
 Lane Theatre as the heroine. 
 
 Now, one morning, while I was playing something to 
 please our prisoner in her cell the turnkey brought us a 
 visitor. It was none other than the country lad. He stood 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 307 
 
 at the open door and pulled his hair, holding his hat in 
 one hand. 
 
 ' Your servant to command, Madame,' he said timidly, 
 pronouncing his words in the broad country manner which 
 is too uncouth to be presented to eyes polite. 
 
 ' Why,' cried Jenny, 'it is Jack! How fares it, honest 
 Jack?' and so took him by the hand as if he was of her 
 station. Jenny had no sense of what is due to rank and 
 station. ' Why,' she said, when I spoke to her about it, 
 *we are all players in the same company: and we all like 
 speaking parts.' 
 
 * And how did you leave Mother and Doll? ' she went on. 
 ' Purely well, Madame. They got out of the waggon 
 about two miles from Horsham at a tavern by the road- 
 side. It was shut up. Doll saw it. " Mother," she said, 
 " it would do for us." They wanted me to stay, and if 
 they could get the House I should be tapster and drawer. 
 But I thought I would go home. So I left them/ 
 ' And then you went home.' 
 
 'Ay I went home. But they didn't want me there. 
 And the parson talked about the whipping-post. So I came 
 away again. And I found out where you were, Madame, 
 and I came to offer my humble services.' 
 
 ' Thank you kindly, Jack. But what can I do with you 
 here?' 
 
 ' I will fetch and carry. I want no wages but just to 
 live. Let me stay with your Ladyship.' 
 
 He looked so earnest and so honest that Jenny turned 
 to me. ' He might be useful. I believe he is honest. 
 What say you, Will?' 
 
 What could I say? Should I turn away a friend when 
 we might want all the friends we could find? How we 
 were to keep our new servant was more than I knew: 
 however, there he was, upon our hands. It was a kindly act 
 of Jenny, when her fortunes were at their worst to take 
 over this poor lad who was thrown upon the world without 
 a trade save that of rustic labourer, which is useless in 
 London : without a character : and without friends. Jenny's 
 consent saved him he could remain honest. 
 
 'Vex not your soul about money, Will. We shall want 
 none. There is always money when it is really wanted. 
 See how cheaply I live: I cannot wear out my fine clothes 
 indeed, the mob has left me mighty few to wear : I have 
 
308 The Orange Girl 
 
 no rent to pay nor any servants. It is true that my money 
 is nearly gone, but there are still things well things of 
 which you know nothing: and the Judge who thinks so 
 much about the Majesty of the Law will surely relent 
 before long. If he would come to see me I think I could 
 soften his heart/ 
 
 ' Indeed you would, Jenny, if it was of the hardness of 
 the nether millstone/ 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED EVENT 
 
 AT this juncture the question of money became pressing. 
 For three months I had been out of a place. Jenny's 
 money, of which she was so prodigal, was coming to an 
 end; and although she hinted at other resources it became 
 obvious to me that the attempt must be made to find 
 employment. I looked forward to another round of walk- 
 ing about the town day after day in fruitless search. At 
 this juncture, however, an event happened wholly unex- 
 pected, which changed the position altogether both for 
 myself and, as it proved, for Jenny. 
 
 You have heard how I visited my cousin in the Prison; 
 how I found him ragged and half starved; and how I gave 
 him five guineas from his wife, which he instantly gambled 
 away. Jenny sent him no more money; nor did she speak 
 of him again; nor did I again visit him; nor did I think 
 upon him. To think of one who had been my life-long 
 enemy served no purpose but to make me angry: even 
 now, after thirty years, when I have long since forgiven 
 this poor deluded wretch, ever running after a Will-o'-the- 
 wisp, I cannot think of what he did for me how he made 
 it impossible for my father to be reconciled without a 
 momentary wrath boiling up in my heart. Still, I say, at 
 thinking of my Cousin Matthew the pulse beats quicker; 
 the blood rises to my cheeks; it is like, a wound whose scar 
 never vanishes, though it may be hidden away: I would 
 not injure Matthew if he were still living in the world, but 
 I cannot forget. The old rule taught to children was that 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 309 
 
 we must forget and forgive; two boys fight and are recon- 
 ciled: the master flogs the boy, who is then forgiven and 
 his offence at once forgotten: we all forget and forgive 
 daily: yet some things may not be forgotten: the long years 
 of continued persecution, animosity, misrepresentation and 
 conspiracy against dear life I cannot forget, though I have 
 long since forgiven. 
 
 One evening Mr. Ramage came to see me. ' Mr. Will,' 
 he said, ' I have called to tell you what you ought to know. 
 The Alderman, Sir, has I fear, lost his wits : his misfortunes 
 have made him distracted: he now dreams that he is living 
 in a palace, and that his riches have no limit. He buys land ; 
 he gives his daughters diamonds; he founds alms- 
 houses ' 
 
 ' If he believes all that, he is surely happy,' I said. ; 
 
 This faithful servant shook his head. ' There is a look 
 in his eyes which belies his words,' he said, ' I would rather 
 see him wretched in his senses than happy without them/ 
 
 ' How does he live? ' 
 
 'He has a room on the Master's side; some of his old 
 friends of the City send him a guinea every week: his 
 daughters pass the day with him. He wants for nothing. 
 But, Mr. Will the change! the change!' and so his eyes 
 filled with tears. 'And he who would have been Lord 
 Mayor Lord Mayor next year! ' 
 
 ' How do my cousins treat you?' 
 
 ' If I was a dog and toothless they could not treat me 
 worse, because I gave that evidence.' 
 
 The unfortunate Alderman! This was, indeed, a wretched 
 ending to an honourable career. I suppose that he knew 
 nothing and suspected nothing of what was threatening' 
 and that the news of his wrecked fortunes fell upon him 
 like a thunderbolt. That some of his friends sent him a 
 guinea a week showed that he was pitied rather than blamed 
 for this wreck and ruin of a noble House. Poor old mer- 
 chant! And this after his Alderman's pride and glory: 
 after being Warden of his Company: after a long partner- 
 ship in one of the oldest Houses in the City! Fortune, 
 which used to put Kings down and put Kings up, just by 
 a turn of her wheel, now makes rich merchants bankrupt 
 and consigns Aldermen to Debtors' Prisons in order to 
 bring home to all of us even the humble musician the 
 uncertainty of human wealth. His wits gone a- wandering! 
 
310 The Orange Girl 
 
 A happiness for him: a thing to be expected, when, at his 
 age, there had fallen upon him the thing which City mer- 
 chants dread worse than death. 
 
 ' How can we help him? ' I asked. 
 
 ' Nay: there is no help, but pity and to bear the scorn of 
 the young ladies as best one may.' 
 
 ' Do they know that Matthew is in the prison with him? ' 
 
 ' No, Sir. They do not know. They do not inquire 
 after Mr. Matthew. But it was of him, Sir, that I came to 
 speak/ 
 
 It then appeared that since in every depth of misery 
 there is a lower depth, so the unfortunate man had sunk 
 still lower since I last saw him. He was absolutely destitute, 
 ragged, starving, even barefooted. 
 
 * Will,' said Alice, ' we must take him to-morrow what 
 we can spare. After all he is your cousin. You must 
 forgive him/ 
 
 ' I would not harm him, certainly/ 
 
 Alas! Silver and gold had we little: out of our slender 
 store we might spare two or three shillings and some pro- 
 visions. Half a loaf; a piece of cheese; a piece of gammon; 
 a bottle of beer; these things I carried over to the Fleet 
 Prison in the morning. I also carried over a warm coat 
 which I could ill spare; a pair of shoes and stockings; a 
 warm wrapper for the neck; and a thick blanket. 
 
 I had no difficulty in finding Matthew. He sat in a 
 bare and wretched room where, on this cold day of January, 
 with a sharp frost outside, there was no fire in the grate, 
 no curtains to the rattling windows, no carpet, no beds, 
 nothing but the hard planks to lie upon when night fell 
 and the poor debtors could huddle together for such warmth 
 as the half-starved human body could afford. There was a 
 small bench I suppose it found its way there by accident. 
 Matthew sat on that, his feet under the bench, his body 
 bent, his hands clasped. I called him by name. ' Matthew ! ' 
 
 He looked up. He knew me. He murmured some- 
 thing, I know not what, but it was unfriendly. To the last, 
 he remained unfriendly. 
 
 I opened my bundle. I took out my provisions and the 
 bottle of beer. He ate and drank enormously, but with- 
 out a word of thanks. Then I took out the stockings and 
 the shoes and put them on: tied the kerchief round his neck; 
 laid the thick blanket on the floor, laid him on it and rolle,d 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 311 
 
 it round him. He was quite unresisting; he was without 
 gratitude; he cursed, but mechanically, and as if he could 
 say nothing else. Instead of getting warmer, his teeth 
 fchattered and he shivered still. 
 
 I spoke to him again. ' Is there anything more I can do 
 for you, Matthew?' 
 
 ' You can go away,' he said, articulate at last. ' You can 
 go away and leave me. The sight of you makes me mad/ 
 I have since thought that this might be a sign of repentance. 
 
 ' I will go away directly. Is there anything more I can 
 do for you? ' 
 
 ' I want/ he said, lifting his head and looking round, ' I 
 want to have my turn. The last time I lost. If you will 
 find the man who won my coat and will send him here, I 
 shall be warm directly, and I can have another turn. I've 
 lost a good deal, somehow. The luck's been against me, 
 always against me.' 
 
 He lay back and shivered again, though now he was 
 wrapped up in the blanket with a warm coat on over his 
 old rags. He should have been quite warm. I felt his 
 forehead; it was hot and dry. 
 
 ( Matthew,' I said, * I think you are in some kind of fever. 
 Shall I bring a doctor for you? ' There are generally about 
 a thousand people in this barrack, men, women, and chil- 
 dren, yet they have not so much as an apothecary in the 
 place. Outside, there is the wise woman who knows the 
 herbs and professes to cure all the diseases that flesh is heir 
 to with a bundle of camomile, feverfew, or vervain. She 
 commonly lives in a court. In Fleet Street there is the 
 apothecary who has a shop full of drugs. He despises the 
 wise woman, yet is not so much wiser than she is, except 
 in his own conceit. There is the tooth-drawer; and there 
 is the bone-setter; but for physicians there are none. 
 
 His face, now that the pains of cold and hunger were 
 appeased, looked gray, and what the old women call drawn. 
 It is a bad sign had I known it, but I did not. I thought 
 he was suffering from cold and hunger first, and from 
 some kind of fever brought on by privation. 
 
 'You think,' he murmured his voice was sunk almost 
 to a whisper ' to bring a man a murderer to make an 
 end that is your revenge. But you shall not. I will 
 send to the Warden for protection. Go away. Leave me 
 
ji2 The Orange Girl 
 
 alone. I can do you no more harm. I will have no 
 doctor sent by you, to poison me.' 
 
 ' Do you know, Matthew, that Probus received such ter- 
 rible injuries in pillory that he will remain blind for the 
 rest of his life?' 
 
 'Blind?' he sat up eagerly repeating. 'Blind for the 
 rest of his life. Ha! Then he will not be able to find me. 
 Will, he wanted to get you hung so as to be out of the 
 way. He was going to try next to get me hung. Then 
 all the money would be his. Blind, is he? Then he can't 
 find me. Will, the man is a devil; now a blind devil; a devil 
 in the dark.' The thought seemed to revive and to comfort 
 him. 
 
 'The other man, Merridew, was killed by the mob in 
 pillory.' 
 
 ' Killed killed by the mob. I was afraid he was 
 going to give me up for the reward. Then I am safe; at 
 last. Both of them out of the way. Now I shall prosper 
 again.' 
 
 'Yes you are quite safe/ 
 
 ' Will,' he held out his hand. ' Don't bear malice. Don't 
 give information against me/ 
 
 ' I am not going to give any information against you.' 
 But I could not take his hand, for which I was afterwards 
 sorry. 
 
 ' The information ought to be worth fifty pounds at least 
 and a Tyburn ticket a Tyburn ticket,' he went on repeat- 
 ing the words over one after the other, which showed the 
 weakness of his condition. 
 
 It is useless setting down all the nonsense he talked. 
 After a while I left him and looked about for someone who 
 would attend to him. Presently I found an old man in rags, 
 almost as bad as Matthew's, who undertook to look after 
 him and give him some food from time to time. So I went 
 away and repaired to my daily post at Newgate again, 
 saying nothing to Jenny about this illness. 
 
 I repeat that I had no thought of anything but what 
 they call a feverish cold, which would be checked by the 
 warmth and the food. You may therefore imagine my 
 surprise when I went to visit the sick man in the morning 
 to learn that he was dead. 
 
 ' He talked a lot of nonsense,' said the old man, his nurse; 
 'all day long he talked nonsense about murdering and; 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 3 1 3 
 
 hanging, and dividing thousands. Now and then I gave 
 him a bit and a sup and he went on talking. There was no 
 candle and I lay down beside him with a corner of his 
 blanket over rne, and in the middle of the night I woke up 
 and found that he had left off talking and was quite still 
 and cold. So I went to sleep again.' The insensate wretch 
 had actually finished his sleep beside the corpse. 
 
 Matthew was dead. 
 
 They showed me his body lying in a small shed against 
 the wall. It was laid in a shell of pinewood roughly 
 painted black, with no name or plate upon it. It was to 
 be taken across to the churchyard of St. George's that after- 
 noon, to be laid in a pauper's grave without mourners or 
 friends, and with a service hurriedly gabbled over his coffin. 
 i The old man who had nursed him was now comfortably 
 wrapped in the blanket and clothed in the coat and stock- 
 ings which Alice had sent for the use of the dead man. I 
 hope the things kept him warm. 
 
 Matthew was dead. At first I did not understand the 
 1 difference it made to me. I asked if he had left anything 
 behind him; any letters or papers or anything at all that 
 his sisters might desire to have. There was nothing; abso- 
 lutely nothing was left of him at all. 
 
 Most of our lives are like the stones thrown in the water; 
 it makes circles widening and growing indistinct; presently 
 these signs vanish altogether. Then the stone is clean 
 forgotten. So the man and his life are clean forgotten, 
 never to be brought to mind again. Matthew left no circles 
 even; his was a stone that fell into the water silently and 
 made no splash and left no mark upon the surface even 
 for a minute. He lived for eight-and-twenty years: he 
 ruined an old and noble House of trade; he lost all the 
 wealth and possessions and money of the House; he lost 
 all the money he could borrow; he plotted against me con- 
 tinually in order to get some of the money which might 
 be mine; he wilfully and deliberately deceived the woman 
 who married him; he died in a debtors' prison without a 
 single friend in the world or a single possession to bequeath 
 to a single friend, if he had one. To die lying on the floor 
 it would have been on the bare planks but for Alice; in 
 the dark room without fire or light; what more wretched 
 end could one desire for his worst enemy? What more 
 .miserable record could one set down against a manj 
 
314 The Orange Girl 
 
 single friend in the world or a single possession to bequeath 
 to a single friend, if he had one. To die lying on the floor 
 it would have been on the bare planks but for Alice; in 
 the dark room without fire or light; what more wretched 
 end could one desire for his worst enemy? What more 
 miserable record could one set down against a man? 
 
 I could do nothing more. I left the poor shell in the 
 shed and passed over to the other side. If my uncle could 
 understand anything I had to communicate the sad news 
 to him. His only son was dead What a son! What a 
 life! What a death! 
 
 The alderman was sitting before the fire. With him sat 
 his two daughters. The guinea a week which was meant 
 for him alone procured food for the two girls as well. They 
 passed the whole day, I believe, sitting thus before the fire 
 in gloom and bitterness; their bitterness was mostly 
 directed against myself as the supposed cause of all their 
 troubles. 
 
 ' Cousin/ said one of them looking up, ' you are not 
 wanted here/ 
 
 ' Perhaps not. I have come, however, to bring you news. 
 It is not good news, I am sorry to say/ 
 
 1 That one can see by the joy expressed in your face/ 
 Yet I did not feel joyful. 
 
 ' Sir,' I addressed my uncle. ' I bring you bad news/ 
 
 He looked up and smiled vacuously. ' You will find my 
 brother, sir, on Change, I believe/ 
 
 ' Yes, Sir. I would speak to you of Matthew/ 
 
 'He is in the counting-house, or perhaps on board one 
 of the ships. Or on the Quay/ 
 
 I turned to the daughters. ' I see that he understands 
 nothing/ 
 
 ' No. He eats and sleeps. He talks nonsense. It is 
 no use speaking to him. You have seen us in our shame 
 and misery. Give us your news and go/ 
 
 ' It is about Matthew/ 
 
 ' Matthew? Where is he? We heard he had escaped/ 
 
 'You do not know? Matthew has been in this prison 
 for some weeks/ 
 
 'Here? In this prison? And we have not see him?' 
 
 'He has been on the Common side; on the Poor side. 
 'Perhaps that is the reason; perhaps he did not know that 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 315 
 
 They looked at each other. Then they burst into tears. 
 I thought they were natural tears such as a sister might 
 shed over the loss of her brother. But they were not. 
 'Oh!' they cried. 'Oh! Oh! Oh! And now you will 
 have the whole of that great fortune. And we thought that 
 you would die and that Matthew would have it. What a 
 misfortune! What a dreadful thing!' They wept and 
 lamented, capping each other in lamentations all to the 
 effect that the fortune had fallen to the undeserving one. 
 'And after all his plots and after his shameful trial before all 
 the world! And after his highway robbery! And after 
 the things that have been done to us! and now that people 
 will say that Matthew died a Pauper on the Common 
 side! On the Poor side! We can never hold up our heads 
 again.' 
 
 So I left these dear creatures. Never could I understand 
 why they attributed any one of their misfortunes to me; 
 nor of what nature were the plots to which they referred; 
 nor why my trial was shameful. 
 
 However, I left these poor ladies. The reduction in their 
 circumstances; their precarious condition; their having 
 nothing but the guinea a week given by the Alderman's old 
 friend; the uncertainty of his life; all should be considered 
 when we think of their bitterness. 
 
 For my own part it was not until my cousins reminded 
 me that I understood the great difference which the event 
 made to me. 
 
 I was the survivor: and my succession came to me in less 
 than three years after my father's death. 
 
 I was the survivor. At a single step I rose from the 
 condition of a simple fiddler, at twenty-five or thirty shil- 
 lings a week, to the possession of a fortune of over a hundred 
 thousand pounds. 
 
 I hastened to our trusty attorney, Mr. Dewberry. I 
 apprised him of what had happened; he undertook to pre- 
 sent my claims and to transfer the money to my name, 
 which he faithfully effected, and without difficulty. 
 
 Then I went on to Newgate. 
 
 'What is the matter, Will?' cried Jenny, 'you look 
 strangely agitated.' 
 
 'Jenny' I took her hand and held it 'you told me 
 the other day that you were in no anxiety about money/ 
 
316 The Orange Girl 
 
 ' I never am, Will. For people of parts there is always 
 plenty of money.' 
 
 ' You are a Prophetess, Jenny. You will never want for 
 money so long as you live. For all that I have is yours, 
 and I am rich/ 
 
 'You are rich?' Over her face, so quick to change, 
 there passed a cloud. 'You are rich? Then Will . . . 
 then ... if you are rich I must be a widow. Is 
 Matthew dead?' 
 
 ' He is dead, Jenny/ 
 
 She sank into a chair. She shed no tears: she expressed 
 no sorrow. 
 
 ' Matthew is dead. I wish I had never met him 
 Matthew is dead/ 
 
 ' He is dead, Jenny. He died in the prison/ 
 
 'And I am a widow. I am free again. I am a widow 
 who never was a wife. Will, I would not speak ill of the 
 dead of the unburied: but . . . alas! I can find no good 
 words to speak of him. He can do no more harm either 
 to you or to me/ 
 
 ' Let us not speak of him, then/ 
 
 ' No we must forget him. As for this money, Will, it 
 is yours your own yours and Alice's and the lovely 
 boy's/ 
 
 ' Jenny all that we have is yours : all that we have and 
 more . . . more . . . gratitude and love and devotion 
 which are more than gold/ 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 COMMUTATION 
 
 AT THAT very moment, while we were trying to find words 
 befitting the occasion which would not admit of grief yet 
 demanded the respect due to Death, arrived the news so 
 long expected. 
 
 The Governor of the Prison, accompanied by our friend 
 the Counsel for the Prosecution, stood at the door, followed 
 by one of the Turnkeys. 
 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 3 1 7 
 
 ' Madame/ said the Governor, ' I come to bring you 
 news.' But he looked so serious that my heart sank. 
 
 ' And I, Madame/ said the lawyer, ' shall be pleased to 
 add a codicil to this intelligence/ 
 
 'Gentlemen, I have already this morning received news 
 enough for one day at least. Am I, gentlemen, ordered to 
 adorn the next procession along the Oxford Road? ' 
 
 ' No, Madame/ the Governor replied. 'But I wish the 
 news were more joyful. I had hoped I had expected 
 considering the whole case ' 
 
 I looked at Jenny. She turned suddenly pale; I thought 
 she was going to faint. Consider: she had persuaded her- 
 self that a full and immediate pardon would be granted. 
 She had no doubt as to that point. She did not faint; she 
 recovered and spoke with white lips and a hard forced 
 voice. 
 
 'Tell me quick!' 
 
 ' Madame, His Majesty has graciously commuted the 
 sentence into transportation to the plantations for the term 
 of five years/ 
 
 Jenny made no reply. I groaned aloud. Transporta- 
 tion? To go out as a servant! To be bought by a planter 
 and made to work in the tobacco fields under the lash? 
 This for Jenny! All the world knew what transportation 
 meant and what were the mercies served out to convicts. 
 
 The Governor sighed and shook his head. The lawyer 
 took up the tale. 'Madame/ he said, 'believe me; every- 
 thing has been done that could be done. Had you pleaded 
 Not Guilty you would most certainly have been acquitted. 
 Madame, I know your reasons, and I respect them. You 
 pleaded Guilty. Your reasons were not such as could be 
 laid before the King, unless privately. The Judge in your 
 case is a lawyer of great eminence; that is to say, he is 
 jealous of the Law; he holds that above all things the 
 Law must be feared. He is called a hanging Judge, being 
 a most merciful man; but the Law must be respected. 
 There must not be one Law for the rich rogue and another 
 for the poor rogue/ 
 
 * Rich or poor/ said Jenny, ' I am a rogue for having 
 stolen nightcaps in my garrets; and I am a rogue and -a 
 vagabond because I am an actress/ 
 
 ' Nay, Madame ; but the Toast of the Town, the most 
 lovely ' 
 
3i 8 The Orange Girl 
 
 1 My loveliness does not stand me in much stead at this 
 juncture. Tell me again. I am to be shipped across seas: 
 I am to stay there five years: I am to herd on board with 
 the wretched women outside: I am to work in the fields 
 with them and with negroes: I am to be whipped by my 
 master: I am to live on sweet potatoes. I am to wear 
 sacking for all my clothes. Gentlemen,' she added with 
 flushed cheek, ' go, tell the King that I will not accept this 
 mercy/ 
 
 ' Nay, Madame,' said the lawyer with persuasive tongue. 
 ' You go too fast. Those who have friends can evade the 
 obligations of service; you, who have so many friends, will 
 find that you have nothing to fear beyond the voyage and 
 a short residence in a pleasant climate. For my own part, 
 dear Madame, I hope to see you before another year begins 
 back upon the boards of Drury Lane, with all the town at 
 your feet. I pine, Madame, I languish for the first evening 
 to arrive.' 
 
 ' Jenny,' I whispered, ' for Heaven's sake be careful. 
 Consider; this gentleman cannot be deceiving you. If 
 there is, as he says, no real obligation to service; and if, as 
 he says, the sentence means only a short residence in a 
 pleasant country then surely you must accept. There is, 
 however, the voyage. Perhaps, Sir,' I addressed the lawyer, 
 ' it will be possible for Madame to take the voyage in a 
 private cabin apart from the rest of the the company.' 
 
 ' It will certainly be possible. She may take state rooms 
 for herself and her maid: she will be treated as a gentle- 
 woman. It is only a question of arrangement with the 
 Captain. Madame, I assure you, upon my honour, that the 
 sentence means no more than what I have stated. It is a 
 brief exile in which you will endure no other indignity than 
 that of sailing on board the ship which carries a few scores 
 of the wretches going out as slaves if one may call an 
 Englishman a slave.' 
 
 Jenny wavered. Her cheek was still red with shame and 
 disappointment. She wavered. 
 
 * Jenny/ I said, taking her hand. 
 
 She sat down. ' Let it be, then, as you will.' 
 
 ' That is bravely resolved,' said the Governor. ' And 
 now I shall have the pleasure of removing you immediately 
 from this close and confined chamber to one more airy and 
 more commodious.' 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 319 
 
 ' Gentlemen/ said Jenny, still crestfallen, ' I thank you 
 both for your good intentions. I should love you better 
 if you would put a sword through me and so end it. Per- 
 haps, however, the ship may go to the bottom. Let us 
 hope so. It must sink, I am sure, so heavy will be the 
 heart of lead on board it.' 
 
 So, with renewed protestations of assistance and good- 
 will the lawyer went away with the Governor. In the yard 
 I observed that he stopped and looked upon the crowd of 
 women, many of whom he would help to the gallows. 
 Does such a lawyer, always occupied in getting up and 
 preparing a case, so as to persuade a jury into a verdict of 
 ' Guilty ' ever feel remorse at having done so, or repug- 
 nance at doing it again? Do the ghosts of those whom 
 he has sent to the other world haunt his bedside at night? 
 One may as well ask if the Judge who pronounces the 
 sentence feels remorse or pity. He is the mouth of the 
 Law; the Counsel feeds the mouth; the Governor of New- 
 gate is the arm of the Law. However, that the Counsel 
 for the Prosecution should take so much interest in the 
 release of a prisoner is, I should think, without example in 
 the history of Newgate, where they have never had before, 
 and can never have again, a prisoner so lovely, so attractive, 
 so interesting, as Jenny. After him came another visitor. 
 It was my Lord Brockenhurst who brought us the news 
 we had already heard but with a difference. 
 
 ' Madame,' he said, after telling us what we had already 
 heard, 'I shall always regret that I was not the first to let 
 you know. Indeed, I have flown. The commutation of 
 the sentence involves a voyage; that cannot be denied; but 
 there is no obligation to service. That will be arranged 
 for you; I can undertake so much, if necessary. The voy- 
 age is no great matter; six weeks if you are fortunate; 
 eight weeks, at most, will set you on shore; the country 
 is said to be beautiful; the climate is healthy, the Virginians 
 are mostly gentlemen of good family/ 
 
 ' I thank you, my Lord, for your kind words/ 
 
 ' There is another thing, Madame. I am empowered to 
 assure you that the Petition which you drew up for your 
 young protegee here has been graciously received by Her 
 Majesty the Queen. She has herself asked for the remis- 
 sion of the capital sentence. The girl's life will be spared/ 
 
 ' This is good news, at least/ 
 
3 20 The Orange Girl 
 
 ' On conditions, which you must expect. She will go 
 with you to Virginia for five years. You can take her as 
 your maid, if you please.' 
 
 ' With me for five years? ' Jenny repeated. ' I know so 
 little of what is ordered ' 
 
 * Briefly, Madame, a prisoner under sentence of transpor- 
 tation is engaged as a servant, generally on a tobacco 
 plantation, where he works with the negroes. If there 
 should happen to be one among them of a superior class 
 he becomes an accountant or even a manager; or if he can 
 command influence or money his engagement is merely 
 nominal. Your engagement will be a form which I shall 
 arrange for you. This girl can remain with you. When 
 you come home you can bring her with you/ 
 
 'In five years?' 
 
 ' No in much less time in a few months. I am per- 
 mitted on the highest authority to assure you that your 
 banishment will be but short. As soon as it can with 
 decency be asked for, a full pardon will be asked for and 
 it will be granted. You will then only have to return in 
 order to delight your friends once more/ 
 
 ' When shall I have to go? ' 
 
 ' A ship is now fitting out. She sails in a week or a fort- 
 night. You will sail as -a cabin passenger, entrusted to 
 the protection of the Captain. The the other passen- 
 gers will be confined between decks, I believe/ 
 
 ' My Lord, I am deeply touched by all your kindness/ 
 
 * Madame, / have done little little indeed. Would it 
 had been more! I shall now, with your permission, make 
 arrangements with the Captain of the ship for your enter- 
 tainment on the voyage and your reception on reaching 
 the port/ 
 
 ' So/ said Jenny, ' in one day I am deprived of my hus- 
 band. I am a widow who never was a wife. I am deprived 
 of my country which is London ; and of all my friends/ 
 
 His lordship's face changed. 'Your husband, Madame? 
 Is he dead?' 
 
 ' He died last night. Let us not speak of him/ 
 
 ' Then you are free ' He glanced at me : I saw his mean- 
 ing and the purpose in his eyes. ' You are free ' 
 
 I stepped out, leaving them together. In a few minutes 
 he came out with the look of one distracted, and not know- 
 ing what he was doing or whither he went. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 321 
 
 Within the cell Jenny was sitting at the table with red 
 and tearful eyes. 
 
 ' That good and noble friend, Will would make me Lady 
 Brockenhurst.' 
 
 ' Jenny why not?' 
 
 'He would go with me: he would marry me here and 
 sail with me. No no I promised his sister. What? 
 Because I love a man the best of men should I give 
 him children who would be ashamed of their mother and 
 her origin? Mine would be a pretty history for them to 
 learn, would it not? No, Will, no. Believe me I love him 
 too well. Even if he were a meaner man, I could never 
 bring my history to smirch the chronicles of a respectable 
 family.' 
 
 She was silent a little. ' Will,' she said presently, looking 
 up, ' all that I foretold has proved true. I want no money. 
 I am going out to a strange country. It is not Ireland as I 
 thought. It is Virginia. I see it again so plain so clear 
 I shall know it when I land. But I can see no farther. 
 There will be no return for me to Drury Lane. My vision 
 stops short now that I see you somewhere with me 
 I see Alice also. But I cannot see England or London 
 or the Black Jack or Drury Lane.' 
 
 Then we moved to the more commodious chamber, where 
 I soothed her spirits with a cup of tea which is better far 
 than wine or cordials for the refreshment of the mind. Pres- 
 ently she began to recover a little from her disappointment. 
 
 ' It will be lonely at first,' she said, 'without a single 
 friend, and I suppose that a transported convict say that 
 for me, Will it hath a strange sound. It is like a slap in 
 the face a transported convict ' 
 
 ' Nay, Jenny, do not say it.' 
 
 'I must. I say that though a transported convict must 
 be despised, yet I shall have my girl here with me, and 
 perhaps my Lord will prove right and I may come home 
 again. Yet I do not think so. Will, there is one conso- 
 lation. At last I shall get clean away from my own 
 people. They used to congregate round the stage-door of the 
 Theatre to congratulate their old friend on her success. The 
 Orange-Girls were never tired of claiming old friendship. 
 I married in order to get away from them, but Matthew 
 never meant to keep his promise I am tired, Will, of my 
 
3 22 The Orange Girl 
 
 own people. They have made me suffer too much. Hence- 
 forth let them go and hang without any help from me.' 
 
 ' It is high time, Jenny.' 
 
 'The Act ends lamely, perhaps. It may be the last Act 
 of the Play. The ship leaves the Quay. On the deck stands 
 the heroine in white satin, waving her handkerchief. The 
 people weep. The bo's'n blows his whistle. The sailors 
 stamp about; the curtain falls. Will, if things are real 
 what am I to do when I get back if I do get back? How 
 am I to live?' 
 
 ' Jenny/ I said seriously, ' I believe that one so good 
 and so fearless, for whom daily prayers are offered, will be 
 led by no will of her own, into some way of peace and 
 happiness.' 
 
 * Think you so, good cousin? There spoke Alice. It 
 is her language. She says that beyond the stars are eyes 
 that can see and hands that can lead. Why, Will, for my 
 people, the only hand that leads is the hand of hunger: the 
 only hand that directs is the hand with the whip in it; as 
 for eyes that see ' she shook her head sadly ' I wish there 
 were,' she said. ' Perhaps there would then be some order 
 in St. Giles's. And there would be some hope for the poor 
 rogues. Oh! Will the poor helpless, ignorant, miserable 
 rogues of whom I am one a transported convict a 
 transported convict how we suffer ! how we die ! And 
 
 rss away and are forgotten! Will . . . Will . . . 
 go with a heavy heart I go to meet my death. For 
 never more shall I return. Where is the eye that sees? Oh! 
 Will where is the hand that leads?' 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 TRANSPORTATION 
 
 IN THE evening when I left the prison, it was with emotions 
 strange and bewildering. Jenny, who was to have received 
 a free pardon, was sent, a self-accused convict, to the planta- 
 tions. To the plantations, where they send the common 
 rogues and villains. She was to go out on board a convict 
 ship, counted happy because although one of that shameful 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 323 
 
 company, she was not kept below all the voyage on convict 
 fare with those wretches vile and unspeakable. 
 
 And I was rich. After all these troubles : after my father's 
 displeasure: after my disinheritance: after my persecution 
 and imprisonment: I was rich 
 
 And Matthew, the cause of all, was dead. 
 
 Truly the hand of the Lord had been heavy upon them 
 all. Matthew dying in starvation and misery. Mr. Probus, 
 lying in prison, a pauper and blind: Merridew stoned to 
 death: the other two escaped with life, but that was all. 
 But the innocent were suffering with the guilty: the old 
 man Alderman languishing in a debtors' prison with no 
 hope of release: and Jenny a convict to be transported across 
 the seas. They did well to call it a voyage: a short exile 
 in a pleasant climate: she was a convict: she was under 
 sentence. 
 
 And I was rich. So I kept saying to myself as I walked 
 home that evening. So Ikept saying to Alice when I told 
 her what had happened while we sat till late at night talking 
 over these acts of Providence. 
 
 We were to see her go far away across the ocean a 
 convict, never perhaps to return: to see her go alone, save 
 for her little maid : in danger of wicked men of whom there 
 are plenty over every part of the world: perhaps, in spite 
 of what was said, a servant even, at her master's beck and 
 call: the woman to whom I owed more than life: far more 
 than life: honour: and the respect of the world: and the 
 happiness of my children and grand-children : yea, even unto 
 the third and fourth generation. What was wealth? Where 
 was its happiness when we had to think of Jenny? It was 
 this woman, I say, who by her ready wit, her generosity, her 
 fearlessness in the presence of risks certain and dangers 
 inevitable, made my innocence as clear as the noonday's 
 sun. For this service shall her name be blessed among 
 those who come after me and bear my name and are stimu- 
 lated to deeds of honour by the thought that they come of 
 an honourable stock. Think of the burden upon their lives 
 had they been doomed to remember that their father or their 
 grandfather before them had suffered a shameful death for 
 highway robbery! 
 
 Jenny saved me but at what a price! She braved the 
 worst that the rogues, her former friends, could do to her. 
 She compelled her own people: their own associates to 
 
324 The Orange Girl 
 
 betray them in order to prove my innocence. She paid for 
 the betrayal by prison, trial and ruin. She poured out her 
 money like water in order that no doubt whatever should 
 exist in the mind of the Court or the Jury as to the real 
 character of the witnesses. In return she endured the foul 
 air and the foul companionship of Newgate and a shameful 
 transportation to Virginia, there to be set up, if her sentence 
 was carried out, and sold as a slave for five years. It was 
 no common gratitude we repeated over and over again 
 that we owed her for this service. We owed her all all 
 all that we possessed or ever could possess. 
 
 But money cannot effect everything: it could not, in this 
 case, give Jenny the full pardon and the immediate release 
 we desired. 
 
 In the dead of night, as I lay sleepless, tortured in my 
 mind because I could think of nothing that we could do 
 for Jenny, who had done so much for us, Alice spoke to me, 
 sitting up in bed. 
 
 ' Husband,' she said, and then she fell to weeping for 
 a while and it seemed as if she could not stop her crying 
 and sobbing but they were tears of prayer and praise. 
 'Let us talk. It is yet night. The world sleeps; but the 
 Lord is awake. Let us talk.' 
 
 So we talked. 
 
 ' I am heavy in my mind about that poor creature/ she 
 began. 
 
 ' And I no less, my dear.' 
 
 ' We must not think that the innocent are punished with 
 the guilty. That old man the Alderman is pulled down 
 by his son: they lie in ruin together: but he is innocent: for 
 this reason he has been permitted to lose his wits and now 
 feels nothing. Jenny suffers because though she is innocent 
 in intention, she is guilty in fact. Will, if I think of that 
 poor creature, -so good and generous and so self-denying: 
 and of the company among whom she has lived: and of the 
 people among whom she was born: and how she has no 
 religion, not the least sense of religion, I think that this new 
 business may be but the leading of the poor trembling 
 soul to knowledge.' 
 
 ' She is assured that before long she will be permitted to 
 return.' 
 
 ' Perhaps she will not be permitted to return. There is 
 One who is higher than kings.' 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 325 
 
 'What would you do, Alice ?' 
 
 * Let us ask ourselves, Will, what we are to do with our 
 new riches. I am but a homely body, I cannot become a 
 fine lady. As for yourself, remember, my dear, that you 
 have been a musician, playing for your livelihood at the 
 Dog and Duck: and you have stood your trial at the Old 
 Bailey: and you have been in a Debtors' Prison: and your 
 father's House is bankrupt: and your name is held in con- 
 tempt where formerly it was in honour. Where will you 
 seek your new friends? In the country? But the Quality 
 despise a musician. In the City? They despise a musician 
 much: prisoner for debt, more: a bankrupt, most. 7 
 
 ' I know not what is in your mind, Alice/ 
 
 ' I am coming to it, my dear. Remember, once more, 
 what you said to-night that we owe her all all all. 
 Your life: your honour: your son's pride in his father: my 
 life, for the agony and the shame would have killed me. Oh! 
 Will, what can we do for her? What can we give her in 
 return for benefits and services such as these? 7 
 
 ' I will give her all I have, my dear, my whole fortune, 
 this new great fortune. I will give her everything but you, 
 my dear, and the boy.' 
 
 ' Money she does not want and it will not help her in this 
 strait.' 
 
 'What then can we do? We have gratitude it is hers. 
 And our fortune, it is hers if she will take it.' 
 
 'Oh! Will, be patient with me, dear. We can give her 
 indeed, all that we have: we can give her' she bent over 
 me and kissed me, and her tears fell upon my forehead 
 'we can give her, Will ourselves.' 
 
 'What?' 
 
 'We can give her ourselves. The whole of our lives. 
 We can become her servants in grateful thanks for all that 
 she has done for us/ 
 
 'But how, Alice, how?' 
 
 'Consider: she is going out to a new country alone. 
 We know not into what company she may fall. It is a 
 rough country not yet fully settled I am told: there are 
 fierce Indians and cruel snakes and wild beasts though I 
 fear the men worse than the beasts. Who will protect her? 
 She is beautiful and men are sometimes driven mad by 
 beauty in women.' 
 
 I began to understand. 
 
326 The Orange Girl 
 
 'Let us go away with her to this new country, where 
 she shall be the mistress and we will be the servants. They 
 say it is a beautiful country, with fine sunshine and fruits 
 in plenty. Let us go with her, Will, and protect her from 
 dangers and teach her to forget the thieves' kitchen and 
 make her happy among the flowers and the woods. We 
 will turn her captivity into a holiday : we will think of noth- 
 ing in the world but to make her happy. I have told you. 
 Will, what is in my mind. And, my dear, I verily believe 
 the Lord Himself has put it there.' 
 
 I reflected for a little. Then I kissed her. ' I am con- 
 tent, my dear/ I said. ' As you desire, so shall it be. We 
 will go with Jenny and become her servants as long as the 
 duty shall be laid upon us/ 
 
 And so we fell asleep. And in the morning this thing 
 seemed a dream. But it was no dream. Then we had to 
 begin our preparations. It would be close on three weeks, 
 we learned, before the ship, the Pride of Ratdiffe, would 
 be ready to drop down the river. I went on board and 
 saw the Captain. He told us that Lord Brockenhurst had 
 already engaged the best cabin for Madame, that although 
 one of the convicts she was to be treated differently: to be 
 separated from the rest: not to mix with them: wherein, he 
 said grimly, ' she is lucky indeed/ With her and in her 
 cabin was to go another convict, a young girl. They were 
 to mess in the Captain's cabin. ' See,' he said, ' what it is 
 to be a friend of a noble Lord.' I told him that the lady 
 was a cousin of my own, which disconcerted him. How- 
 ever, without many more words, we came to an understand- 
 ing. I was to have a cabin for so much. And the Captain 
 undertook to lay in provisions for us. He was kind enough 
 to draw up a list of the things we should require : it appeared 
 necessary for a passenger to America to buy up half the 
 beeves and sheep of Smithfield, together with all the turkey, 
 geese and poultry, of Leadenhall, not to speak of wine and 
 rum, enough for the whole crew. He said that in bad 
 weather so much of the live-stock was destroyed that it was 
 necessary to provide against these accidents. So he pre- 
 vailed, and I think I kept the whole ship's company with 
 my stores. 
 
 The ship was of 350 tons burden, a stout, well-built ship, 
 with three masts, not unlike one of my father's West India- 
 men, but inferior in tonnage: she was slow, it afterwards 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 327 
 
 appeared, generally doing from four knots an hour, or about 
 a hundred knots a day at such times as there was a favour- 
 able wind. If the wind was unfavourable, as generally hap- 
 pened, her speed was much less. As for the length of the 
 voyage, the Captain reckoned that taking one voyage with 
 another, she would get across in six or eight weeks: the 
 uncertainty of the time, as he pointed out, as well as the 
 possibility of storms, called for the apparently vast quantity 
 of provisions which he was laying in for our party. 
 
 And now began a busy time. First I communicated our 
 design to Mr. Dewberry, the attorney, who entirely approved 
 of it. Next I arranged with him for the safe investment 
 of my new fortune as to which there was no difficulty at 
 all as soon as the death of Matthew had been duly proved 
 and attested. The amount which was originally 100,000 
 had now by the accumulation of the interest become over 
 120,000, which, at five per cent., produced the enormous 
 income of 6,000 a year more than a hundred pounds a 
 week. What would we do with a hundred pounds a week? 
 Mr. Dewberry laughed. ' I have never yet/ he said, ' found 
 a rich man complaining of too much wealth. For the most 
 part he complains of poverty. In a word, Mr. Halliday, 
 your wealth will before many months cease to be a burden to 
 you. But remember, great as is this income, even in the 
 wealthy City of London, and enormous as it will be in the 
 distant land of Virginia, there are limits to the power even 
 of such an income. Keep within it: keep within it.' 
 
 It matters not how we made this money safe that is, 
 as safe as money can be made. There are stocks and shares 
 in the National Debt. Some of these were obtained: and 
 there were houses in the City which were bought: in a few 
 days my excellent attorney put my affairs in such order that 
 I was enabled to leave England without fear, and to be pro- 
 vided, moreover, with letters of credit by which I could draw 
 for such money as might be necessary from time to time. 
 By this time our plans, much talked about, were matured. 
 We would purchase an estate, as a plantation: in Virginia 
 every estate is a plantation : it would be probably a tobacco- 
 growing estate with its servants and slaves and buildings 
 complete. Thither we would all go together and take up 
 our abode. Letters were provided which I could present 
 to responsible and honest merchants at Baltimore, by whose 
 assistance I hoped to get what we desired, and we resolved^ 
 
328 The Orange Girl 
 
 further, to tell Jenny nothing of these plans until we were 
 all on board together. 
 
 The next thing was to find out what we should take out 
 from the old country to the new. It was reported that 
 already they made nearly everything that was wanted: such 
 as furniture and things made out of the woods of the country, 
 which are various and excellent. The things most in 
 demand were reported to be knives, tools, and ironmongery 
 of all kinds: guns and weapons: clothes of the better kind, 
 especially dresses for gentlewomen in silk and satin and 
 embroidered work. Books, music, and musical instruments 
 were also scarce. I laid in a great stock of all these things: 
 they were packed in large chests bound in iron and sent on 
 board as they were bought. 
 
 In getting these purchases and in procuring this informa- 
 tion the days passed quickly, because it was necessary as 
 well that I should visit Jenny every day. A happy bustling 
 time. After all the trouble of the past it was pleasant to 
 think of a new world opening before us with new hopes of 
 happiness. These hopes were realized. I do not say that 
 people are better in the New World than in the Old; every- 
 where are men self-seeking and grasping: but there is less 
 suffering, less poverty, and, I believe, none of such infernal 
 wickedness as may be devised at home by men like Probus 
 and Merridew. Such monstrous growths are not found in 
 a new country where the population is thin, and there is 
 no place for villains to hide their heads. The worst trouble 
 in Virginia, in those days, was with the convicts, concerning 
 whom I shall speak immediately. 
 
 While these preparations were going on, Jenny waited 
 in Newgate somewhat sadly. Lord Brockenhurst came to 
 visit her daily: she had the girl whom she had saved for a 
 maid: the lad Jack came every day to fetch and carry and 
 do her bidding. I said nothing to this fellow of our pur- 
 pose. One day, however, while he waited in the corridor 
 outside the cell, I called him in and spoke to him seriously. 
 ' Jack/ I said, ' 'tis known to thee that Madame sails for 
 America in a week or so?' 
 
 ' Ay, Sir/ and his face dropped. 
 
 'What will you do, Jack? There is the old company of 
 the kitchen at the Black Jack : if that is broken up they have 
 gone to the Spotted Dog/ 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 329 
 
 ' No, Sir/ he said stoutly, ' I will be a rogue no more. I 
 have promised Madame/ 
 
 'Then there is the village. You could go home again, 
 Jack/ 
 
 ' They will not have me/ 
 
 'Then, Jack, what will you do ?' 
 
 He held his hat in his hands, and then with tears rolling 
 down his cheeks he fell on his knees to Jenny. ' Take me 
 with you, Madame/ he said. ' I will be your faithful servant 
 to command. Only take me with you.' 
 
 ' Alas, Jack ! who am I that I should have a servant with 
 me who shall be but a servant myself. Poor lad, I cannot 
 take thee/ 
 
 ' By your leave, Jenny/ I said. ' There will be a little 
 maid to wait upon you and you will want Jack to protect 
 both you and her. If you consent to take him, he shall go/ 
 
 ' But, Will, you know the conditions. I shall not be mis- 
 tress even of myself/ 
 
 ' That is provided. Did not Lord Brockenhurst promise? ' 
 
 'Lord Brockenhurst will do what he can. Of that I 
 have no doubt. But as to his power across the Atlantic, of 
 that I have grave doubts/ 
 
 'Jenny/ I took her hand. 'Do you trust my word? 
 Could I deceive you? Could I ever hold out hopes unless 
 I knew that they were well grounded ?' 
 
 'Why, Will, whom should I trust if not you?' 
 
 'Then, Jenny, listen and believe. It is so arranged and 
 provided that on landing in America you will be provided 
 with a house fit for your station and with everything, so 
 long as you may stay in the country, that a gentlewoman 
 can require. And all that you have or enjoy will be yours 
 
 your own and over all you shall be mistress/ 
 ' Dear Will this providing is your providing/ 
 
 'A manservant you must have to begin with. Negroes 
 there are in plenty, but an English manservant an honest ' 
 
 here I looked Jack in the face ; he reddened and was con- 
 fused 'an honest, strong, capable, faithful servant, that 
 you want, Jenny; and that you must have, and here he is/ 
 I clapped the fellow on the shoulder as he still knelt before 
 his mistress. 
 
 ' Get up, Jack/ she said. ' Since it must be so, it must. 
 But you must thank Mr. Halliday and not me/ 
 
 It was not a servant that she took out with her but a 
 
330 The Orange Girl 
 
 slave, one of those willing slaves to whom their slavery is 
 freedom, who have no thoughts or desires of their own; 
 none but the thought how best to please their Lords or 
 Ladies. Such servants are rare, except those who have 
 served in the army, where duty is taught to be the first 
 virtue. 
 
 ' At least/ said Jenny, ' I shall not be put ashore alone 
 or among the gang of poor creatures with whom I ought 
 to stand as a companion/ And indeed the prospect of this 
 strong fellow to protect her at the outset caused her, I was 
 pleased to find, no slight consolation. Yet I dared not tell 
 her till it was too late to be altered, the resolution which 
 we had formed to go with her as well. 
 
 Despite the injurious treatment of my two cousins, I took 
 it greatly to heart that the unfortunate Alderman should, 
 for no fault of his own, be condemned to imprisonment for 
 the short remainder of his days. He was past understanding 
 where he was. In imagination he rolled in his chariot from 
 Clapham Common to the Wharf and Counting House: he 
 received the Captains of the West Indiamen: he appeared 
 on Change: he dined with his Company: he sat on the 
 Bench: he walked in his garden: he cut pine-apples and 
 grapes in his hothouses. He was quite happy. But there 
 was the shame of knowing that he was there and that he 
 was supported by the charity of his old friends. 
 
 Accordingly I sought Mr. Dewberry's advice and help. 
 There was now but little time to be lost, a matter which 
 made things easier, because, Mr. Dewberry said, so long as 
 there was any chance of getting more by putting off the 
 matter it would be put off. In a word, he called together 
 the creditors. They were fortunately a small body: all those 
 who had claims in respect to Jenny's liabilities were cut off 
 by Matthew's death. The debt of Mr. Probus was also 
 removed by his death because it was an account of monies 
 borrowed by Matthew privately. There remained the debts 
 of the House, and these were due to merchants and to banks. 
 The creditors met, therefore, and I attended. Mr. Dewberry 
 pointed out that my desire was the release of my uncle : that 
 the creditors had no claim upon me: that anything I might 
 offer with the view of attaining that object was a free 
 and voluntary gift: that if the creditors refused this gift they 
 would never get anything at all : and finally that they should 
 consider that the poor man now in prison had not been a 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 331 
 
 party to any of the transactions which led to the ruin of the 
 House. 
 
 They asked half an hour to consider. At the end of that 
 time, they offered to accept in full discharge of all claims, 
 two shillings in the pound. I was advised to accept this 
 offer. It took nearly 20,000 out of my fortune; in fact, 
 all the accumulations. But I had the satisfaction before I 
 left of releasing my uncle from his chamber in the loathed 
 King's Bench. 
 
 I knew how I should be received by my cousins: but 
 words break no bones. Besides, I wished to release him, so 
 to speak, with my own hands. 
 
 'You are come again then,' said my elder cousin, who 
 for some reason unknown, was much the more bitter of the 
 two. 'There is your handiwork. Gaze upon it/ she pointed 
 to her father, 'and exult ! Exult !' 
 
 ' On the whole,' I said, ' I can, this day at least, exult in 
 my work.' 
 
 ' It is your doing. None but yours. If you had signed 
 what he wished this misery would have been saved. And 
 you would have had quite as much as one in your beggarly 
 trade could desire.' 
 
 ' Thank you, cousin. You are always kind to me.' 
 
 ' You are my brother's murderer. You have ruined my 
 father,' she added. 
 
 'I am anything you wish. Indeed, I have no reply to 
 make to such charges as these. Meantime I have come 
 here to-day in order to release your father. Down below 
 waits the attorney with his discharge in due form. He is 
 free. You can take him out of the Prison.' 
 
 'Out of prison?' 
 
 They both stared at me. Their eyes flashed: the sudden 
 joy of liberty seized them: they sprang to their feet. 
 
 'Free? He is free? ''cried the younger. 'Father, you 
 are free do you hear?' 
 
 'Free?' he replied. I have been free of the City for six- 
 and-thirty years.' 
 
 Free ! ' echoed the elder. ' What is the good of freedom 
 without the means of getting a living? Free? Let us stay 
 here, where at least we have a guinea a week.' 
 
 ' Your livelihood is provided for. You will receive during 
 your three lives the sum of three guineas paid weekly.' 
 
 'Three guineas?' The younger caught my hand. 
 
332 The Orange Girl 
 
 'Cousin Will! Oh! It is our living. It is everything to 
 us poor paupers. Will, I doubt we have misjudged you.' 
 
 Her sister snatched her hand away. * Don't touch him!' 
 she cried. ' Don't speak to him ! Three guineas a week ! 
 The miserable pittance! and he has thousands thousands 
 thousands a year ' her voice rose to a shriek ' which 
 ought to have been our murdered brother's and our own ! ' 
 
 One must never look for gratitude or even for reason- 
 able recognition: or for the courtesy of thanks: but these 
 words were really more shrewish and more bitter than one 
 can endure. However, I made no reply and left them, 
 pleased at least that one of them could be moved to con- 
 fessing her prejudice. I know not what became of them, nor 
 have I ever heard tidings of them since that day. 
 
 One more addition was made to our party. 
 
 My brother-in-law, Tom Shirley, came to me one morning 
 with a serious face serious at least, for him. 'Will,' he 
 said, ' I have been thinking about my own concerns, that 
 is, -my wife has been thinking about them for me. It is a 
 great advantage for a man to give over that part of his 
 business to his wife.' 
 
 'Well, Tom?' 
 
 ' She says, if I remember right, because she has been 
 saying a good deal, that so long as I am content to play 
 first fiddle at the Dog and Duck for thirty shillings a week 
 it matters not, as we shall never get on, and shall have to 
 live in the Rules all our life. Well, Will, I would as lief live 
 in the Rules as out of them. There is very good company 
 in the Rules, almost as good as in the King's Bench itself.' 
 
 ' She is not content that you should always play the fiddle 
 at that place, and you are. Is that so?' 
 
 ' For the patronage of aristocracy and the esteem of an 
 audience of taste there is no equal to the Dog and Duck,' 
 he replied gravely, as if he meant what he said of the dirty 
 disreputable haunt of "prentices and their kind. 'But I con- 
 fess, Will, that there are times when I consider my musical 
 compositions and when I long for a wider popularity. I 
 think that I should like an opportunity to get my name 
 better known. At the Dog and Duck the noble audience 
 doth not ask the name of the composer.' 
 
 'You would leave the Rules if you could, and go live at 
 Westminster, where there are concerts and rich patrons? 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 333 
 
 Well, Tom, we are now rich. We might manage that for 
 you I believe/ 
 
 He shook his head. ' No. Best not waste good money. 
 I should only get back here again in a month or two. My 
 dear Will, if you only knew how difficult it is to refuse when 
 things are offered on credit. Now, in the Rules no one 
 has any credit, so that we save all our money.' 
 
 I never heard of Tom's saving any money. However, I 
 asked him what he would have. 
 
 He would go with me. But did they want music in 
 Virginia ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps not now. Wait, however, till they have heard 
 and seen me. I believe there is no musical composer, yet, in 
 the Province. I will be the first Virginian musician. I will 
 be the Handel of Virginia.' 
 
 'Well, Tom, why not?' The knowledge of my great 
 income made me yielding. Was there not enough for a 
 dozen Toms? ' I dare say we could pay out your detaining 
 creditors with no great difficulty.' 
 
 ' Not for the world, my dear brother-in-law. Even from 
 you I could not accept such a favour. Pay me out? Why, 
 it would be no favour: it would be a crime. Do you know 
 that my only detaining creditor is an attorney? Pay an 
 attorney? Never. Remember Probus. Surely you have 
 had enough of attorneys.' 
 
 ' Indeed I am not likely to forget Probus as long as I live. 
 But then, if you are not paid out, Tom, how will you get 
 out?' 
 
 'I shall walk out, Mr. William Halliday. If you let us 
 go out with you I shall send the wife on board with Alice 
 and I shall then walk out with my violin in one hand and 
 a bundle of music in the other on the evening before the 
 ship sails. I shall go on board. When my creditor finds 
 out that I have taken my departure, which may take weeks 
 or it may take months that honest attorney will be 
 pained no doubt, for he is of a revengeful spirit. He will 
 then do exactly what he pleases. But I believe he will not 
 venture out to Virginia. If he should dare that attempt I 
 will give him to friendly Indians in order to be carbon- 
 adoed, as I believe you Americans call it. That attorney, 
 Will, shall be carbonadoed over a slow fire.' 
 
 Tom, then, was to come with us. So with Jenny, her 
 maid, and her man: Tom Shirley and his wife: Alice, the 
 
334 The Orange Girl 
 
 boy and myself we should make up as pleasant a family party 
 as ever sailed across the Atlantic. 
 
 The time approached when we were to go on board. The 
 ship was to drop down with the ebb on Saturday morning 
 at nine with the turn of the tide. Everything was on board ; 
 on the forecastle on deck my live stock was gathered : sheep, 
 pigs, turkeys (all of which died in the Channel) geese and 
 poultry: our furniture, books and music were stowed away 
 in the hold: our wine and liquors were laid in bunks around 
 the cabin: the Captain and the mate were to take meals 
 with us: they were also so obliging as to drink up our rum 
 and our wine. We had no leavetakings : on Friday after- 
 noon Alice and her sister-in-law went on board. Tom 
 joined them after sundown. At eight o'clock or thereabouts 
 I was to bring Jenny and her party on board. Lord Brock- 
 enhurst had expressed his desire to say farewell to her on the 
 quarterdeck. 
 
 A little after seven I repaired to the Gaol. At the gates I 
 saw waiting three large waggons which the people were fill- 
 ing with boxes and bundles tied up in sacking and canvas. I 
 thought nothing of these waggons at the moment: they did 
 not concern me, and I entered the Lodge. There was wait- 
 ing for me Jenny herself, dressed in splendour as if for a 
 wedding. Surely no prisoner sentenced to transportation 
 ever went on board ship in such a guise. She was taking 
 an affectionate leave of the Governor, who was moved almost 
 to tears by her departure. 
 
 ' Indeed, Sir/ she said, ' I am grieved to have put you to 
 so much trouble/ So she shook hands, smiling sweetly: 
 then she turned to the turnkeys. ' I am also very much 
 in your debt, my friends/ and walked along the whole line 
 distributing guineas. ' God bless your Ladyship ! ' they 
 uttered fervently. ' We shall never see the likes of your 
 Ladyship here again/ 
 
 Indeed I am sure that they never will. 
 
 She mounted the steps of the coach which waited out- 
 side, she was followed by the girl, by myself, and by the 
 lad called Jack. 
 
 * I am glad/ she said, ' that this child goes out with me 
 to Virginia/ The child she looked little more took 
 Jenny's hand and kissed it. 'She is an affectionate little 
 fool/ said Jenny, * and loves me much. And to think what 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 335 
 
 they were going to do with her! Oh! Fools! Fools!' she 
 cried. ' Oh ! monstrous Fools ! ' 
 
 We were now rolling slowly along Ludgate Hill. There 
 was a rumbling after us which continued. I looked out. 
 They were the three waggons I had observed at the 
 Gate. 
 
 'What are those waggons ?' I asked. 
 
 ' They contain my baggage. Did you think I was going 
 abroad with nothing? 7 
 
 1 But in those waggons you must have the whole ward- 
 robe of Drury Lane/ 
 
 She laughed. 'Will, you understand nothing. Did I 
 not tell you that I would have all those turnkeys at my feet 
 in a day or two? Well, I succeeded/ 
 I 'But what has that got to do with your baggage? ' 
 
 ' W T hy, you see, the officers that went to search my house 
 for stolen property began with the garrets. And there they 
 stopped. Now when my mother agreed to give evidence 
 it was on conditions as I told you. I gave her money for 
 compensation and I bought the whole of her stock of stolen 
 property. It had been stored in the stone vaults under the 
 Black Jack. They carried it over to the cellars of my house, 
 and when there was no room left there, they used the 
 garrets/ 
 
 4 Oh ! They took the garrets first/ 
 
 'Where there was very little to see. Now you under- 
 stand why there was such a paltry show. Could a woman 
 in my position brave such a fate for things so miserable?' 
 
 'Jenny! Jenny! You are wonderful/ 
 
 ' No, Will, only I have my wits about me/ 
 
 ' You have actually converted Newgate Newgate Prison 
 into a Receiving House for stolen property/ 
 
 ' Five guineas apiece for the turnkeys was what it cost. 
 I thought it the safest and the simplest plan, Will/ 
 
 ' Safest and simplest ! ' 
 
 Before I recovered the surprise of this information we 
 reached the stairs. On the Quarter deck was Alice with the 
 boy. 
 
 ' You dear good woman/ Jenny cried. ' You are come 
 to see the last of the transported convict: the end of the 
 Orange Girl ! ' 
 
 Yet beside my wife in her homely dress, Jenny looked like 
 a Countess. Alice kissed her. ' We are not going to 
 
336 The Orange Girl 
 
 you, Jenny. We are going with you, your servants as long 
 as we live/ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE LAST TEMPTATION 
 
 ' WE are waiting/ said the Captain, * for our passengers.' 
 
 While he spoke there came alongside the ship a dozen 
 boats or more laden with the passengers for whose sake 
 the good ship was about to cross the Atlantic. There were, 
 I remember it is not possible for me to forget anything 
 that happened on this voyage one hundred and eight of 
 them who came on board, men and women. They were 
 brought down from Blackfriars Stairs in a closed lighter. 
 
 'Jenny/ I said, 'go into the cabin. Do not look at 
 them/ 
 
 ' Why, Will, I ought to be among them. I am one of 
 them. Suffer me to look at my brothers and sisters in 
 misfortune/ 
 
 Of these poor wretches we had seen the greater part 
 already in Newgate. Within those walls: in the bad air; 
 among those companions; where everything was sordid and 
 wretched; they did not present an appearance so horrible as 
 they did in the open air; on the bright river; in the sunshine; 
 under the flying clouds; among the sailors; where everything 
 spoke of freedom. The pallor of their faces; their wretched 
 rags blowing about in the breeze; their pinched faces; the 
 unnatural brightness of their eyes; their tottering limbs; 
 their meek submissiveness to order; proclaimed their long 
 detention in prison while they were waiting for the ship. As 
 they climbed up the companion painfully; as they stepped 
 down upon the deck; as they stood huddled together like 
 sheep, my heart sank within me for thinking that Jenny, too, 
 was reckoned as one of these. I glanced at her; she was 
 thinking the same thing; her cheek was aflame; her eyes 
 glowed ; her lips trembled. 
 
 'Will/ said she; 'we are a proper company. Virginia 
 will welcome us/ 
 
 They brought with them faugh! the prison reek and 
 stench. But we saw them for a few moments only. Then 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 337 
 
 they were bundled down below to their own quarters and 
 we saw the poor creatures no more. 
 
 It has been said that these poor convicts are cruelly ill-used 
 on board the transport ships. I can speak only of what I 
 saw; I know that our Captain was a humane man. I can 
 testify to the fact that there were seldom more than two or 
 three floggings a day, and of the women not so many; I 
 know that our convicts were a gang of hardened wretches 
 whom nothing but the fear of the lash kept in order; I know 
 that when they came on board they were for the most part 
 in a wretched condition; of low habits from long confine- 
 ment, poor food, and bad drink; that many of them lay 
 down directly the ship got into open water and, what with 
 sea-sickness, fever, and weakness, never got up again. The 
 truth is that the contractors, who receive 5 a head for a 
 voyage which takes about two months, do honestly provide 
 the convicts the rations prescribed by the Government. 
 iThese rations are sufficient but not luxurious; they consist 
 of beef, pork, biscuits and cheese once a week; to keep up 
 their spirits they are served a ration of gin. The beef may 
 have been tough and the pork rusty, but such as it was the 
 Captain served it out among them. Yet, on the voyage 
 of seven weeks we buried forty-seven, or nearly one every 
 day. It seems a large number; those who died were nearly 
 all men; very few of them were women. They were unfit 
 to face the fatigues of the voyage and the rolling of the 
 ship; some of them were even consumptive; some were 
 asthmatic; some were in fevers; some had other diseases; 
 they died; perhaps they would have died at home in prison. 
 At Newgate scarce a day passes that some poor wretch does 
 not succumb to privation and bad air. If so many of them 
 died on board the ship that is no proof of inhumanity. 
 
 Let us forget these poor sinners. It is easy to say that 
 they deserved all they got. No doubt they did. And what 
 do we deserve? And when a man like myself has gone 
 through that gate and mouth of Hell called Newgate, he 
 looks on the poor creatures who go there to be flogged and 
 branded and pilloried and hanged and transported with 
 some compassion because he knows that such as they are, 
 such they have been made. Mr. Merridew is always with 
 them: the landlady of the Black Jack is always ready to buy 
 what they offer her for sale: no respectable person will 
 employ them; they have never been taught anything. The 
 
338 The Orange Girl 
 
 Divine and the schoolmaster dare not venture within their 
 streets, which are the very Sanctuary of Wickedness; our 
 charities are all for the deserving; we have no bowels, no 
 compassion, for those we call the undeserving. Let us for- 
 get them. Better to lie at the bottom of the ocean, where 
 at least it is peaceful, than to face the cruel whip of the 
 overseer, and the burning fields of the American Plantations. 
 
 Our voyage lasted, I say, little more than seven weeks; 
 we were wafted across a smooth sea by favouring breezes. 
 After leaving the Channel we got into a warmer air; we 
 began to sit on the quarterdeck. Tom and I got out our 
 violins and played. We played for our party; we played 
 for the sailors; we sang those part-songs which he made so 
 well. Jenny, for her part, was silent. Now and then she 
 spoke to me about herself. 
 
 ' Will/ she said, ' if I receive that permission to return 
 which my Lord promises, what will you do? Will you 
 come home with me? 7 
 
 ' I do not know/ I told her. ' If the place pleases us, 
 why should we go home again? My memories of home 
 will be full of wrongs for many a year to come. I can never 
 get back to my old friends in the City. Although, thanks 
 to you, I was fully acquitted, I am a Newgate bird and a 
 bird of the King's Bench. People look askance upon such 
 a man. I must think of Alice, too, and of the boy. We 
 must not let these memories haunt the mother and make the 
 boy ashamed/ 
 
 ' To go back/ she answered without heeding me, ' to stand 
 on the stage at Drury Lane once more. Have they for- 
 gotten me already, do you think? The Orange Girls will 
 remember, I am sure, and the natives of St. Giles/ she 
 laughed, ' I don't think they will bear malice.' 
 
 'You must not go back to Drury Lane, Jenny.' 
 
 ' I can do better than Drury Lane, Will/ she said. ' I 
 have but to consent and I shall be a Countess. And oh ! 
 how proud will my children be of their mother, proud indeed 
 of their mother. Oh! Will, to think how one's birth clings 
 round and hampers us all our lives. I might be happy; I 
 might make a good and faithful man happy; but the time 
 would come when the children would grow up and would 
 ask who and what was their mother and where she was 
 born. Could I take them to the ruins of the Black Jack? 
 Could I take them to the Tyburn Tree of Glory and tell 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 339 
 
 them how how their grandfather died?' Then she relapsed 
 into silence and so remained for awhile. 
 
 She had none of the common accomplishments of women ; 
 she could not sew or embroider or make things as women 
 used. She could do nothing; she could not cook or make 
 cordials; she understood no household work of any kind: 
 she could read, but she had read nothing beyond the plays 
 in which she had acted; she knew no history or geography 
 or politics; she knew nothing but what she had learned for 
 her own purposes; the scaffolding, so to speak, on which 
 the actor builds his playing; the art of fine dress; and how 
 to wear it; the art of dancing with an admirable grace of 
 manner and of carriage; the art of courtesy and graciousness, 
 in which she was a Princess; the art of making herself even 
 more beautiful than Nature intended; and the art of bring- 
 ing all men to her feet. Before we had been a day at sea, 
 the Captain was her servant to command ; by the second day, 
 the mate was her slave; by the third day the sailors wor- 
 shipped her. She brought good luck to the ship; every 
 sailor will tell you that passengers may, and often do, resem- 
 ble Jonah, who was pursued by a tempest; Jenny brought 
 fair weather and a balmy breeze always from the right 
 quarter. 
 
 She did not forget our fellow-passengers. When she 
 heard that they were dying fast she would have gone below 
 to visit them but the Captain refused his leave; the noisome 
 quarters where they herded together, day and night, was 
 not a proper place for any decent woman to visit. Let her 
 send down what she pleased, and they should have it. She 
 sent down from our stores daily drams of cordial and of rum ; 
 if she did not save many lives she made death less terrible. 
 
 The voyage came to an end all too quickly. On a certain 
 day at the beginning of April we put into port and presently 
 landed on the shores of the New World. There are certain 
 forms. The bodies of Jenny Halliday and Pamela St. Giles 
 I called the girl Pamela for obvious reasons were duly 
 delivered to the officer representing the Governor and as 
 duly handed over to me as their master for five years. This 
 proceeding was performed without Jenny's presence or 
 knowledge. I then found a lodging not far from the Port 
 and sought the merchants to whom I had letters of intro- 
 duction and credit. 
 
 My tale draws to an end. Let it not grow tedious in its 
 
340 The Orange Girl 
 
 last pages. In one word, in a week or so after our landing 
 we started on a short journey of thirty miles or so over a 
 somewhat rough road. Our journey took us five hours. It 
 was about three o'clock in the afternoon when we arrived. 
 First there was a large wooden house of two storeys painted 
 white; in the front a long and deep veranda meaning a 
 place covered over and protected from the sun by the roof 
 and hangings at the side and in the front. Before the house 
 was a flower-garden ; at the back was a kitchen garden and 
 orchard ; the house was well and solidly furnished ; all round 
 the house lay fields of tobacco on which black people were 
 working; on the steps of the veranda; in the garden; under 
 the trees played in the warm sun the little naked negro 
 children. 
 
 'Where are we?' asked Jenny, looking round her. 
 
 I assisted her to get out of the waggon it was little bet- 
 ter in which we had made our journey. 
 
 I led her into the house. In the principal room there was 
 a long table laid as if for dinner. At the head was an arm- 
 chair carved, I should think, in the sixteenth century, or 
 earlier; it was a kind of throne with a coat of arms carved, 
 gilded, and coloured upon it; the shield of the late occupant 
 of the estate, recently dead. 
 
 I led Jenny to the head of the table. I placed her in the 
 throne. 
 
 'Madame/ I said, 'this house is yours; these gardens are 
 yours; this estate is yours; and we, if you please, are your 
 most humble servants to command.' So I bent one knee 
 and kissed her hand. 
 
 'Your most humble, obedient and grateful servants,' said 
 Alice, following my example. 
 
 So we all did homage, but our Queen and mistress hid 
 her face in her handkerchief and for a while she could not 
 speak. 
 
 Thus began our new life, in which we all vied with each 
 other in making Jenny feel that she was our mistress. We 
 called her Madame; we made way for her; we flew to obey 
 her; the overseers were instructed to report to her, person- 
 ally, as to the condition of the field and the conduct of the 
 slaves there were no white servants on the estate; the 
 slaves themselves looked to Madame as their owner, their 
 mistress, and their friend. 
 
 For a time Jenny's mind remained still with the events of 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 34! 
 
 the past: the thought of Lord Brockenhurst; of the danger 
 and the horrors which she had escaped; indeed she could 
 never forget these things. Little by little, as I hoped, the 
 sense of power and authority returned. She never asked 
 how this lovely property came to her, or if it truly belonged 
 to her; she began quietly, as she had done in the Assembly 
 Rooms at Soho Square, to direct, administrate, and improve. 
 She mitigated the floggings ; she improved the slaves' rations ; 
 she gave them days of rejoicing; she made the poor ignorant 
 blacks who for the most part understand little but the whip 
 and the stick and the cuff, feel that they were in kindly 
 hands; their children rolled about at her feet taking their 
 childish liberties; she learned the business of tobacco-grow- 
 ing in all the stages; she walked about the fields in the morn- 
 ing before the sun was high, and noted how the plants were 
 looking and whether the weeds were kept down. 
 
 Our neighbours we had neighbours in all directions at 
 two or three miles' distance for some time hesitated to call. 
 Things were variously reported; that Madame had come 
 out for the help of her cousin, a convict; that Madame had 
 brought out a large fortune; that the cousin had certainly 
 letters of credit for a very large amount; that Madame was 
 herself a convict; that we were all convicts political pris- 
 oners sent out for some kind of treason Jacobite con- 
 spirators; friends of the Young Pretender; there was no 
 end to the rumours and reports which were spread abroad 
 concerning us. Nor was it until Lord Brockenhurst him- 
 self came all the way from England to visit us and stay with 
 us, as you shall hear, that the neighbours made up their 
 minds that we could be visited. I believe people think that 
 Colonial society is open to all comers without question 
 perhaps they think it is composed of convicts. On the other 
 hand the Colonials are more careful than the English at 
 home whom they admit into their houses on friendly or 
 intimate terms. 
 
 Our method of life was simple and uniform. We assem- 
 bled on the veranda at seven, when I read prayers and a 
 chapter. This done we took breakfast, not the petty meal 
 of thin bread and butter and tea which satisfies the man 
 about town, but a plentiful repast with many dishes contain- 
 ing vegetables and fruits unknown in London. After break- 
 fast came the duties of the day. My own part was the 
 keeping of the accounts. I called myself the steward. Alice 
 
342 The Orange Girl 
 
 directed the household; Jack was butler in command over 
 the negroes of the house ; and Pamela St. Giles was in charge 
 of the stillroom. Outside, the blacks were busy in the fields. 
 At twelve a bell rang which brought them all back to camp 
 where they took their dinner. At half past twelve we dined. 
 For our eating I declare that we had the choicest birds ; the 
 finest mutton; the best beef; the most excellent fish that you 
 can imagine; all things cheap; all plentiful; and for drink 
 our cellars were full of such Canary, Madeira and Port as 
 few gentlemen could show at home. In the evening we had 
 supper at six ; after supper I read prayers and another chap- 
 ter. Then we played cards; or we had in the violins; or 
 Tom played on the harpischord ; or we sang glees and Mad- 
 rigals. And every night all to bed by nine. 
 
 On Sundays we had morning service, which I read. The 
 overseers were present and after the blacks grew to like 
 the music they sat about the door while we chanted the 
 Psalms and sang our Hymns. In the evening I read a ser- 
 mon or a discourse on some godly subject. 
 
 At these religious exercises Madame would always be 
 present; sitting in her carved armchair, her head resting on 
 her hand, expressing in her face neither interest nor weari- 
 ness. Remember that never had anyone taught her a word 
 of religion. She looked on and listened; sometimes she did 
 not listen; her eyes were fixed and far away; she was back 
 on the stage of Drury Lane. 
 
 Who can tell how they all loved and worshipped her? 
 Even the overseers, commonly the most brutal of men, some 
 of whom pride themselves at being able to cut a lump of 
 flesh from a negro's leg at a distance of ten feet and more, 
 were softened by the gracious presence. The worst cruelties 
 were abandoned on our estate; as for floggings; of course 
 there must be flogging so long as there are slaves; and of 
 course there must be slaves so long as there are negroes. 
 The clergy of Virginia are united in this opinion; I wish 
 they were also united in the opinion that even a slave should 
 be protected by the law from inhuman treatment. 
 
 This our quiet mode of life was broken into one day when 
 there appeared unexpectedly Lord Brockenhurst himself. It 
 was about six months after our arrival. He dismounted ; he 
 threw his reins to his servant and mounted the steps of the 
 veranda. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon about six; the autumn sun 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 343 
 
 was getting low; Jenny was sitting with Alice and Tom's 
 wife talking of household affairs. She rose quietly with a 
 pretty blush and stepped forward. 
 
 'Good Heavens, jenny!' his Lordship cried, 'you are 
 more beautiful than ever, I swear.' 
 
 ' Welcome, my Lord, to Virginia. You are come, I trust, 
 to accept the hospitality of this poor house?' 
 
 ' Madame, you honour me. It is a lovely house with a 
 view the most charming in the world. I knew not that Vir- 
 ginia was half so fine a country.' 
 
 ' Indeed, if English people did know they would all 
 come over. I pray your Lordship not to speak too well of 
 us. There are some people in the old country that we would 
 not willingly welcome in the New.' 
 
 So she led him into the inner room and sent for Madeira 
 to refresh him. 
 
 ' Your Lordship has something to tell me/ she said, 
 beginning to shiver and shake. 'You did not come all 
 the way from England only to wish me Good-morning.' 
 
 ' I bring you, Jenny, what I promised, your full pardon 
 and release. It is in the hands of the Governor. You can 
 return, now, whenever you please.' 
 
 ' I was beginning to forget, my Lord, that I am but a 
 prisoner still and a convict. These people with whom I 
 live, the best people, I very believe, in the whole world, 
 have almost made me forget that fact. But I thank your 
 Lordship all the same. I thank you most humbly and most 
 gratefully. Except my Cousin Will my husband's 
 cousin there is no more loyal and faithful gentleman than 
 my Lord Brockenhurst.' 
 
 ' I have done what I can. I could do no more.' 
 
 'My lord, you have ridden thirty miles. You are tired? 
 No? Then let me ask you one more favour. Tell me 
 about this matter to-morrow. Sleep first upon it,' for she 
 saw his purpose in his eyes. ' Think, I pray you, partly 
 of what I am and of what you are; partly of your own dig- 
 nity ; partly of how one such as I am should behave towards 
 one such as you/ 
 
 She rose. 
 
 ' I will now/ she said, ' if you are not tired, show you our 
 gardens and our tobacco-fields/ 
 
 His Lordship took supper with us. I saw that he was 
 pleased at the little state and ceremony with which we 
 
344 The Orange Girl 
 
 surrounded Jenny. I saw, as well, the love in his eyes, 
 which he could not tear away from her face. 
 
 After supper, we had a little concert. Tom took the 
 harpsichord, and I took the violin. First we played a 
 piece, as a duet; then Tom played while Alice sang; then 
 we all, with Jack our Butler, who had an excellent bass, 
 while Tom sang alto and I the tenor, sang four-part songs, 
 and I saw how his Lordship watched the negroes sitting 
 about outside and crowding up the doorway. I am sure 
 he took home the belief that we were a happy household, 
 blacks and all; and that Jenny was the mistress over all. 
 
 After breakfast in the morning Jenny bade Alice and 
 me come with her while she received his Lordship. 
 
 She took her place at the window, sitting in her high 
 chair. Lord Brockenhurst entered, bearing certain papers 
 in his hand. 
 
 ' My lord/ she said, ' you can speak with perfect freedom. 
 I entreat you to use perfect freedom before my cousins. I 
 have no secrets from them; they can tell you perhaps more 
 about myself than I ever will speak for myself.' 
 
 Lord Brockenhurst coloured and was confused, but only 
 for a little. ' Dear Madame/ he said, ' since you will not 
 give an interview alone I must make the best of the presence 
 of others/ 
 
 ' They know everything/ said Madame. 
 
 He bowed. ' I have told you/ he said, ' that I have 
 brought out and delivered over to the Governor your full 
 pardon and release. These papers are a Copy/ 
 
 Jenny pushed them aside. 'I do not want "to see them/ 
 she said, ' let me never be reminded of their existence. 
 Take them, Will, and lock them up/ 
 
 I received them and placed them in my pocket. 
 
 ' That done, Madame/ he went on, ' I have only to invite 
 your remembrance of a certain proposal that I believe 
 you have not forgotten it. Since your worthy cousins 
 know what that proposal was I have only to say that once 
 more, most divine woman, I offer myself my name and 
 rank my fortune and possessions at your feet/ He 
 fell on his knees and took her hand. 
 
 Jenny turned away her face. 'Answer him, Alice tell 
 him what I have so often told you. Rise, my Lord. Do t 
 not pain me by kneeling at my unworthy feet/ t 
 
 1 My Lord/ said Alice solemnly, ' there is no one in the! 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 345 
 
 world believe me whom Jenny regards with greater 
 respect and gratitude than yourself.' 
 
 ' Respect and gratitude are but cold words/ he said. 
 
 'Let me add with greater love. Your Lordship is the 
 only man in the world whom she has ever loved or could 
 love. That also, believe me, is most true/ 
 
 'Why, then ' He held out his hand. 
 
 'Nay, my Lord. Jenny loves you so well that nothing 
 would induce her to accept the honour of your proposal/ 
 
 'How? Loves me so well?' 
 
 ' Jenny bids me tell you that the time would come when 
 your children would ask who was their mother, and who 
 were her mother's friends. They would learn her history, 
 I need not remind you of her history. You know it all. 
 Jenny loves you too well to bring shame and discredit on 
 a noble House. Your children, she says, must have a 
 mother worthy of yourself/ 
 
 ' There is no more worthy woman in the world than 
 Jenny ! ' 
 
 'Their mother must have an unblemished name, my 
 Lord, worthy of your own. She knows you to be so good 
 and loyal that you could never reproach her with the past. 
 But it belongs to her. And, my Lord, it must not belong 
 to you/ 
 
 'It must not; it shall not,' Jenny repeated through her 
 tears. 
 
 'Is this your answer, Jenny? Oh! Jenny, will you cast 
 me off for such a scruple? ' 
 
 ' I must 'I must. Go, my Lord. Think of me no 
 more. Why ' she sprang to her feet ' what could I 
 expect? I the Orange Girl the daughter of the Black 
 Jack the friend of thieves; the Newgate Prisoner; the 
 transported convict? A coronet? For me? the hand of a 
 noble gentleman? the name of a noble house? Forme? Fie 
 upon you, my Lord, for thinking of such a thing! Remem- 
 ber what is due to a gentleman. And I thank you oh ! I 
 thank you you can never know how much for thinking 
 you the only one of nothing less or lower. Go, my 
 Lord. Tempt me no more. I know what I must do. 
 Farewell/ 
 
 He seized her in his arms ; he kissed her forehead and 
 cheek and lips and hands. He ceased to urge his suit. He 
 saw that she was fixed, and in his heart he knew that she 
 
346 The Orange Girl 
 
 was right. ' I obey/ he said. ' Oh ! noblest of women, I 
 obey.' 
 
 So he rushed away, and Jenny fell into Alice's arms. 
 
 I sit on my own estate in the pleasant land of Virginia; 
 outside the veranda the hot sun ripens the corn and fruit: 
 I did my duty in the great and glorious war which set our 
 country free: my sons will do theirs if the occasion should 
 again arise: we have taught our cousins across the seas that 
 we can fight for freedom : but there will be no more fighting 
 for that. It is won, once for all I am now old, but as I sit 
 alone, my eyes resting on as fair a landscape of river and 
 forest and orchard and garden as the world can show, I 
 suddenly wander away and gaze beyond the ocean, beyond 
 the years, upon that abode of despair and wretchedness, 
 where Jenny sits like a flower in a pig-sty, talking of what 
 she should do when she came out of prison, but unable to 
 read in the future any return to the world at all. As for fear 
 or doubt, or any anxiety about the future, the poor soul had 
 none. She was going to continue for ever beautiful, to win 
 that worship of men which she loved so much. I have now 
 lost all the friends of my youth: they pass before me some- 
 times in a long procession. It is the consolation of age to 
 live in the past: but in all the array of ghosts there is none 
 that brings tears except the figure of Jenny in her wondrous 
 beauty and her soft and lovely eyes. 
 
 She lived with us for more than thirty years. She grew 
 gray but she was as lovely in her age as in her youth. 
 She was mistress unquestioned to the end and never more 
 than in her old age. But always with the same kindness: 
 the same grace: the same sweetness of look, and the same 
 softness of eye. 
 
 She died at last of some fever caught of a young negress 
 whom she visited in the infirmary. She was ill for three days 
 only, and she died lying in the veranda, looking out upon 
 the woods and mountains on the golden sunshine that she 
 loved. 
 
 * Alice, dear/ she said, ' you have told me, often, that we 
 are led, we know not how, to things that are best for us, 
 though by ways that we would not choose. I have not for- 
 gotten what you said. I never forget, my dear, what you 
 say/ 
 
 Alice kissed her fingers. 
 
Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire 347 
 
 'I understand now what you mean. I have been led. I 
 
 have been led My dear, I am going to die. Bury 
 
 me as one of yourselves not in a ditch like my own people 
 
 who, perhaps, are not led. Bury me in the burial-ground 
 where your baby lies. Put no stone upon my grave, but 
 plant white flowers over it. Let my abode, at least, look 
 lovely after death. I have been led, Alice I have been led 
 
 I understand it now.' 
 
 After a little. ' Alice, I have been proud of what men 
 called my loveliness. It makes every woman happy when 
 men call her lovely. My Lord called me lovely. Send him,' 
 Alice, a lock of my hair. Tell him that I have never loved 
 any other man.' 
 
 She died. We buried her in the little burial-ground where 
 lay the child we lost. We put up no headstone, but we 
 planted the grave with white flowers. 
 
 There is now another grave beside hers with more white 
 flowers. It bears the name of Alice. 
 
 To me it has been given to love two women at the same 
 time, and that with equal love and equal respect and with- 
 out blame or sin. 
 
 THE END. 
 
YD TUA? 
 
 U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 CD5bDfiE71E 
 
 952440 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY