Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty Read online

  Chapter 5

  As soon as the business of the day was over, the locksmith salliedforth, alone, to visit the wounded gentleman and ascertain the progressof his recovery. The house where he had left him was in a by-streetin Southwark, not far from London Bridge; and thither he hied with allspeed, bent upon returning with as little delay as might be, and gettingto bed betimes.

  The evening was boisterous--scarcely better than the previous night hadbeen. It was not easy for a stout man like Gabriel to keep his legs atthe street corners, or to make head against the high wind, which oftenfairly got the better of him, and drove him back some paces, or, indefiance of all his energy, forced him to take shelter in an arch ordoorway until the fury of the gust was spent. Occasionally a hat or wig,or both, came spinning and trundling past him, like a mad thing; whilethe more serious spectacle of falling tiles and slates, or of masses ofbrick and mortar or fragments of stone-coping rattling upon the pavementnear at hand, and splitting into fragments, did not increase thepleasure of the journey, or make the way less dreary.

  'A trying night for a man like me to walk in!' said the locksmith, ashe knocked softly at the widow's door. 'I'd rather be in old John'schimney-corner, faith!'

  'Who's there?' demanded a woman's voice from within. Being answered, itadded a hasty word of welcome, and the door was quickly opened.

  She was about forty--perhaps two or three years older--with a cheerfulaspect, and a face that had once been pretty. It bore traces ofaffliction and care, but they were of an old date, and Time had smoothedthem. Any one who had bestowed but a casual glance on Barnaby mighthave known that this was his mother, from the strong resemblance betweenthem; but where in his face there was wildness and vacancy, in hersthere was the patient composure of long effort and quiet resignation.

  One thing about this face was very strange and startling. You could notlook upon it in its most cheerful mood without feeling that it had someextraordinary capacity of expressing terror. It was not on the surface.It was in no one feature that it lingered. You could not take theeyes or mouth, or lines upon the cheek, and say, if this or that wereotherwise, it would not be so. Yet there it always lurked--something forever dimly seen, but ever there, and never absent for a moment. It wasthe faintest, palest shadow of some look, to which an instant of intenseand most unutterable horror only could have given birth; but indistinctand feeble as it was, it did suggest what that look must have been, andfixed it in the mind as if it had had existence in a dream.

  More faintly imaged, and wanting force and purpose, as it were, becauseof his darkened intellect, there was this same stamp upon the son.Seen in a picture, it must have had some legend with it, and would havehaunted those who looked upon the canvas. They who knew the Maypolestory, and could remember what the widow was, before her husband's andhis master's murder, understood it well. They recollected how the changehad come, and could call to mind that when her son was born, upon thevery day the deed was known, he bore upon his wrist what seemed a smearof blood but half washed out.

  'God save you, neighbour!' said the locksmith, as he followed her, withthe air of an old friend, into a little parlour where a cheerful firewas burning.

  'And you,' she answered smiling. 'Your kind heart has brought youhere again. Nothing will keep you at home, I know of old, if there arefriends to serve or comfort, out of doors.'

  'Tut, tut,' returned the locksmith, rubbing his hands and warming them.'You women are such talkers. What of the patient, neighbour?'

  'He is sleeping now. He was very restless towards daylight, and forsome hours tossed and tumbled sadly. But the fever has left him, and thedoctor says he will soon mend. He must not be removed until to-morrow.'

  'He has had visitors to-day--humph?' said Gabriel, slyly.

  'Yes. Old Mr Chester has been here ever since we sent for him, and hadnot been gone many minutes when you knocked.'

  'No ladies?' said Gabriel, elevating his eyebrows and lookingdisappointed.

  'A letter,' replied the widow.

  'Come. That's better than nothing!' replied the locksmith. 'Who was thebearer?'

  'Barnaby, of course.'

  'Barnaby's a jewel!' said Varden; 'and comes and goes with ease where wewho think ourselves much wiser would make but a poor hand of it. He isnot out wandering, again, I hope?'

  'Thank Heaven he is in his bed; having been up all night, as you know,and on his feet all day. He was quite tired out. Ah, neighbour, if Icould but see him oftener so--if I could but tame down that terriblerestlessness--'

  'In good time,' said the locksmith, kindly, 'in good time--don't bedown-hearted. To my mind he grows wiser every day.'

  The widow shook her head. And yet, though she knew the locksmith soughtto cheer her, and spoke from no conviction of his own, she was glad tohear even this praise of her poor benighted son.

  'He will be a 'cute man yet,' resumed the locksmith. 'Take care, when weare growing old and foolish, Barnaby doesn't put us to the blush, that'sall. But our other friend,' he added, looking under the table andabout the floor--'sharpest and cunningest of all the sharp and cunningones--where's he?'

  'In Barnaby's room,' rejoined the widow, with a faint smile.

  'Ah! He's a knowing blade!' said Varden, shaking his head. 'I shouldbe sorry to talk secrets before him. Oh! He's a deep customer. I've nodoubt he can read, and write, and cast accounts if he chooses. What wasthat? Him tapping at the door?'

  'No,' returned the widow. 'It was in the street, I think. Hark! Yes.There again! 'Tis some one knocking softly at the shutter. Who can itbe!'

  They had been speaking in a low tone, for the invalid lay overhead, andthe walls and ceilings being thin and poorly built, the sound of theirvoices might otherwise have disturbed his slumber. The party without,whoever it was, could have stood close to the shutter without hearinganything spoken; and, seeing the light through the chinks and findingall so quiet, might have been persuaded that only one person was there.

  'Some thief or ruffian maybe,' said the locksmith. 'Give me the light.'

  'No, no,' she returned hastily. 'Such visitors have never come to thispoor dwelling. Do you stay here. You're within call, at the worst. Iwould rather go myself--alone.'

  'Why?' said the locksmith, unwillingly relinquishing the candle he hadcaught up from the table.

  'Because--I don't know why--because the wish is so strong upon me,' sherejoined. 'There again--do not detain me, I beg of you!'

  Gabriel looked at her, in great surprise to see one who was usually somild and quiet thus agitated, and with so little cause. She left theroom and closed the door behind her. She stood for a moment as ifhesitating, with her hand upon the lock. In this short interval theknocking came again, and a voice close to the window--a voice thelocksmith seemed to recollect, and to have some disagreeable associationwith--whispered 'Make haste.'

  The words were uttered in that low distinct voice which finds its way soreadily to sleepers' ears, and wakes them in a fright. For a momentit startled even the locksmith; who involuntarily drew back from thewindow, and listened.

  The wind rumbling in the chimney made it difficult to hear what passed,but he could tell that the door was opened, that there was the tread ofa man upon the creaking boards, and then a moment's silence--broken by asuppressed something which was not a shriek, or groan, or cry for help,and yet might have been either or all three; and the words 'My God!'uttered in a voice it chilled him to hear.

  He rushed out upon the instant. There, at last, was that dreadfullook--the very one he seemed to know so well and yet had never seenbefore--upon her face. There she stood, frozen to the ground, gazingwith starting eyes, and livid cheeks, and every feature fixed andghastly, upon the man he had encountered in the dark last night. Hiseyes met those of the locksmith. It was but a flash, an instant, abreath upon a polished glass, and he was gone.

  The locksmith was upon him--had the skirts of his streaming garmentalmost in his grasp--when his arms were tightly clutched, and the widowflung herself upon the groun
d before him.

  'The other way--the other way,' she cried. 'He went the other way.Turn--turn!'

  'The other way! I see him now,' rejoined the locksmith,pointing--'yonder--there--there is his shadow passing by that light.What--who is this? Let me go.'

  'Come back, come back!' exclaimed the woman, clasping him; 'Do nottouch him on your life. I charge you, come back. He carries other livesbesides his own. Come back!'

  'What does this mean?' cried the locksmith.

  'No matter what it means, don't ask, don't speak, don't think about it.He is not to be followed, checked, or stopped. Come back!'

  The old man looked at her in wonder, as she writhed and clung about him;and, borne down by her passion, suffered her to drag him into the house.It was not until she had chained and double-locked the door, fastenedevery bolt and bar with the heat and fury of a maniac, and drawn himback into the room, that she turned upon him, once again, that stonylook of horror, and, sinking down into a chair, covered her face, andshuddered, as though the hand of death were on her.