Part 36 (2/2)

”Tell her 'no,'” I whispered, appalled at thought of a leave-taking, explanations, weeping, and delay. ”And for G.o.d's sake, let me--ah, thank you! Read the letter--you shall hear from us--G.o.d bless you all!”

The next moment I was speeding from the house, leaving Madge in a tumult of thoughts at the door. I turned into Gerrard Street without looking back; and brisk walking soon brought me to the Strand, where Philip himself was just ready to take the post-chaise.

”A strange thing delayed me,” said he, as we forthwith took our seats in the vehicle; which we had no sooner done than the postilions set the four horses going and our journey was begun.

”What was it?” I asked, willing to reserve the account of my interview with Madge till later.

”The most remarkable thing, for me to witness on this particular morning,” he replied; and told me the story as we rattled through Temple Bar and Fleet Street, on our way to the bridge and the Surrey side. ”After I left you, I don't know what it was that kept me from coming through St. Martin's Lane to the Strand, and made me continue East instead. But something did; and finally I turned to come through Bow Street. When I was nearly in front of the magistrate's house, a post-chaise stopped before it, and a fellow got out whom I took to be a Bow Street runner. Several people ran up to see if he had a prisoner in the chaise, and so the footway was blocked; and I stopped to look on for a moment with the rest. A man called out to the constable, 'What you got, Bill?' The constable, who had turned around and reached into the chaise, stopped to look at the speaker, and said, 'n.o.body much--only the Soho Square a.s.sault and robbery--I ran him down at Plymouth, waiting for a vessel--he had a mind to travel for his health.' The constable grinned, and the other man said, 'Sure that's a hanging business, and no mistake!'”

”And so it is,” said I, interrupting Philip. ”I read of the affair at the time. A fellow named Howard knocked down his landlady, robbed her money-box, and got away before she came to.”

”Yes,” Phil went on, ”I remembered it, too. And I waited for a glimpse of the robber's face. He stepped out, and the constable, with a comrade from inside the chaise, led him to where they hold prisoners for examination. He was all mud-stained, dishevelled, and frowsy: for two seconds, though he didn't notice me, I had a good view of him. And who do you think this Howard really was?”

”Bless me, how should I know? My acquaintance among the criminal cla.s.ses isn't what it might be.”

”'Twas Ned Faringfield!” said Philip. ”I should have known him anywhere--heavens, how little a man's looks change, through all vicissitudes!”

”Well, upon my soul!” I exclaimed, in a chill. ”Who'd have thought it?

Yet hanging is what we always predicted for him, in jest. That it should come so soon--for they'll make short work of that case, 'tis certain.”

”Yes, I fear they'll not lose much time over it, at the Old Bailey. We may expect to read his name among the Newgate hangings in a month or two. Poor devil!--I'll send him some money through my lawyer, and have n.o.bbs see that he gets decent counsel. Money will enable him to live his last weeks at Newgate in comfort, at least; though 'tis beyond counsel to save his neck. His people must never know. Nor f.a.n.n.y.”

”Unless he gives his real name at the trial, or in his 'last dying speech and confession.'”

”Why, even then it may not come to their ears. Best bring f.a.n.n.y and your mother soon to France. Madge will never tell, if she learns; I'll warrant her for that. To think of it!--the dear old house in Queen Street, and the boys and girls we used to play with--Tom's fate--and now Ned's--f.a.n.n.y in England--and Madge--! Was ever such diversity of destinies in so small a family?”

He fell into his thoughts: of what strange parts we play in the world, how different from those anybody would predict for us in our childhood--how different, from those we then predict for ourselves.

And so we were borne across the Thames, looking back to get our last view of St. Paul's dome for some time to come; through Southwark, and finally into the country. The postilions kept the horses at a good gait Southward. We did not urge them to this, for indeed we saw but little necessity for great haste, as there was likely to be some time ere Falconer's death became known to the authorities, and some time longer ere it was traced to us. But as Mr. Idsleigh, before getting out of the way himself, _might_ take means to lay written information against us, which would serve at least to put the minions of the law on the right track, and as we might be subjected to some delay at Hastings, we saw no reason to repress the postilions' zeal, either.

In our second stage we were not favoured with so energetic conductors, and in our third we had unfit horses. So we had occasion to be glad of our excellent start. Thus, between good horses and bad, live postilions and lethargic, smooth roads and rough, we fared on the whole rather well than ill, and felt but the smallest apprehension of being caught. To speak metaphorically, the coast of France was already in our sight.

At the end of the first stage, we had breakfasted upon eggs and beer.

We took an early dinner at Tunbridge Wells, and proceeded through Suss.e.x. 'Twas well forward in the afternoon, and we were already preparing our eyes, faces, and nostrils for the refres.h.i.+ng intimation of the sea, when our ears notified us of a vehicle following in our wake. Looking back, at a bend of the road, we saw it was a conveyance similar to our own, and that the postilions were whipping the horses to their utmost speed. ”Whoever rides there,” said I, ”has paid or promised well for haste.”

”'Tis strange there should be other folk bound in a hurry for Hastings this same day,” replied Phil.

We looked at one another, with the same thought.

”Their post-boys seem to be watching our chaise as much as anything else,” I remarked. ”To be sure, they can't know 'tis you and I.”

”No, but if they _were_ in quest of us, they would try to overtake this chaise or any other on the road. Ho, postilion!--an extra crown apiece for yourselves if you leave those fellows yonder behind for good.” And Phil added quietly to me: ”It won't do to offer 'em too much at first--'twould make 'em suspicious.”

”But,” quoth I, as our men put their horses to the gallop. ”How the devil could any one have got so soon upon our track?”

”Why, Idsleigh may have turned informer, in his own interest--he was in a devilish difficult position--and men would be sent with our descriptions to the post-houses. 'Tis merely possible. Or our hackney-coachman may have guessed something, and dogged me to the Strand, and informed. If they found where we started, of course they could track us from stage to stage. 'Tis best to be safe--though I scarce think they're in our pursuit.”

”Egad, they're in somebody's!” I cried. ”Their postilions are shouting to ours to stop.”

<script>