A Story by William Makepeace Thackeray
He was employed in these efforts when the doctor entered, along with
Mr. Brock and Mr. Trippet; who was not a little pleased to hear that
the poisoned punch had not in all probability been given to him. He
was recommended to take some of the Count's mixture, as a
precautionary measure; but this he refused, and retired home,
leaving the Count under charge of the physician and his faithful
corporal.
It is not necessary to say what further remedies were employed by
them to restore the Captain to health; but after some time the
doctor, pronouncing that the danger was, he hoped, averted,
recommended that his patient should be put to bed, and that somebody
should sit by him; which Brock promised to do.
"That she-devil will murder me, if you don't," gasped the poor
Count. "You must turn her out of the bedroom; or break open the
door, if she refuses to let you in."
And this step was found to be necessary; for, after shouting many
times, and in vain, Mr. Brock found a small iron bar (indeed, he had
the instrument for many days in his pocket), and forced the lock.
The room was empty, the window was open: the pretty barmaid of the
"Bugle" had fled.
"The chest," said the Count--"is the chest safe?"
The Corporal flew to the bed, under which it was screwed, and
looked, and said, "It IS safe, thank Heaven!" The window was
closed. The Captain, who was too weak to stand without help, was
undressed and put to bed. The Corporal sat down by his side;
slumber stole over the eyes of the patient; and his wakeful nurse
marked with satisfaction the progress of the beneficent restorer of
health.
When the Captain awoke, as he did some time afterwards, he found,
very much to his surprise, that a gag had been placed in his mouth,
and that the Corporal was in the act of wheeling his bed to another
part of the room. He attempted to move, and gave utterance to such
unintelligible sounds as could issue through a silk handkerchief.
"If your honour stirs or cries out in the least, I will cut your
honour's throat," said the Corporal.
And then, having recourse to his iron bar (the reader will now see
why he was provided with such an implement, for he had been
meditating this coup for some days), he proceeded first to attempt
to burst the lock of the little iron chest in which the Count kept
his treasure, and, failing in this, to unscrew it from the ground;
which operation he performed satisfactorily.
"You see, Count," said he, calmly, "when rogues fall out there's the
deuce to pay. You'll have me drummed out of the regiment, will you?
I'm going to leave it of my own accord, look you, and to live like a
gentleman for the rest of my days. Schlafen Sie wohl, noble
Captain: bon repos. The Squire will be with you pretty early in
the morning, to ask for the money you owe him."
With these sarcastic observations Mr. Brock departed; not by the
window, as Mrs. Catherine had done, but by the door, quietly, and so
into the street. And when, the next morning, the doctor came to
visit his patient, he brought with him a story how, at the dead of
night, Mr. Brock had roused the ostler at the stables where the
Captain's horses were kept--had told him that Mrs. Catherine had
poisoned the Count, and had run off with a thousand pounds; and how
he and all lovers of justice ought to scour the country in pursuit
of the criminal. For this end Mr. Brock mounted the Count's best
horse--that very animal on which he had carried away Mrs. Catherine:
and thus, on a single night, Count Maximilian had lost his mistress,
his money, his horse, his corporal, and was very near losing his
life.
CHAPTER IV. IN WHICH MRS. CATHERINE BECOMES AN HONEST WOMAN AGAIN.
In this woeful plight, moneyless, wifeless, horseless, corporalless,
with a gag in his mouth and a rope round his body, are we compelled
to leave the gallant Galgenstein, until his friends and the progress
of this history shall deliver him from his durance. Mr. Brock's
adventures on the Captain's horse must likewise be pretermitted; for
it is our business to follow Mrs. Catherine through the window by
which she made her escape, and among the various chances that befell
her.
She had one cause to congratulate herself,--that she had not her
baby at her back; for the infant was safely housed under the care of
a nurse, to whom the Captain was answerable. Beyond this her
prospects were but dismal: no home to fly to, but a few shillings
in her pocket, and a whole heap of injuries and dark revengeful
thoughts in her bosom: it was a sad task to her to look either
backwards or forwards. Whither was she to fly? How to live? What
good chance was to befriend her? There was an angel watching over
the steps of Mrs. Cat--not a good one, I think, but one of those
from that unnameable place, who have their many subjects here on
earth, and often are pleased to extricate them from worse
perplexities.
Mrs. Cat, now, had not committed murder, but as bad as murder; and
as she felt not the smallest repentance in her heart--as she had, in
the course of her life and connection with the Captain, performed
and gloried in a number of wicked coquetries, idlenesses, vanities,
lies, fits of anger, slanders, foul abuses, and what not--she was
fairly bound over to this dark angel whom we have alluded to; and he
dealt with her, and aided her, as one of his own children.
I do not mean to say that, in this strait, he appeared to her in the
likeness of a gentleman in black, and made her sign her name in
blood to a document conveying over to him her soul, in exchange for
certain conditions to be performed by him. Such diabolical bargains
have always appeared to me unworthy of the astute personage who is
supposed to be one of the parties to them; and who would scarcely be
fool enough to pay dearly for that which he can have in a few years
for nothing. It is not, then, to be supposed that a demon of
darkness appeared to Mrs. Cat, and led her into a flaming chariot
harnessed by dragons, and careering through air at the rate of a
thousand leagues a minute. No such thing; the vehicle that was sent
to aid her was one of a much more vulgar description.
The "Liverpool carryvan," then, which in the year 1706 used to
perform the journey between London and that place in ten days, left
Birmingham about an hour after Mrs. Catherine had quitted that town;
and as she sat weeping on a hillside, and plunged in bitter
meditation, the lumbering, jingling vehicle overtook her. The
coachman was marching by the side of his horses, and encouraging
them to maintain their pace of two miles an hour; the passengers had
some of them left the vehicle, in order to walk up the hill; and the
carriage had arrived at the top of it, and, meditating a brisk trot
down the declivity, waited there until the lagging passengers should
arrive: when Jehu, casting a good-natured glance upon Mrs.
Catherine, asked
she would like a ride in his carriage. To the latter of which
questions Mrs. Catherine replied truly yes; to the former, her
answer was that she had come from Stratford; whereas, as we very
well know, she had lately quitted Birmingham.
"Hast thee seen a woman pass this way, on a black horse, with a
large bag of goold over the saddle?" said Jehu, preparing to mount
upon the roof of his coach.
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Cat.
"Nor a trooper on another horse after her--no? Well, there be a
mortal row down Birmingham way about sich a one. She have killed,
they say, nine gentlemen at supper, and have strangled a German
prince in bed. She have robbed him of twenty thousand guineas, and
have rode away on a black horse."
"That can't be I," said Mrs. Cat, naively, "for I have but three
shillings and a groat."
"No, it can't be thee, truly, for where's your bag of goold? and,
besides, thee hast got too pretty a face to do such wicked things as
to kill nine gentlemen and strangle a German prince."
"Law, coachman," said Mrs. Cat, blushing archly--",Law, coachman, DO
you think so?" The girl would have been pleased with a compliment
even on her way to be hanged; and the parley ended by Mrs. Catherine
stepping into the carriage, where there was room for eight people at
least, and where two or three individuals had already taken their
places. For these Mrs. Catherine had in the first place to make a
story, which she did; and a very glib one for a person of her years
and education. Being asked whither she was bound, and how she came
to be alone of a morning sitting by a road-side, she invented a neat
history suitable to the occasion, which elicited much interest from
her fellow-passengers: one in particular, a young man, who had
caught a glimpse of her face under her hood, was very tender in his
attentions to her.
But whether it was that she had been too much fatigued by the
occurrences of the past day and sleepless night, or whether the
little laudanum which she had drunk a few hours previously now began
to act upon her, certain it is that Mrs. Cat now suddenly grew sick,
feverish, and extraordinarily sleepy; and in this state she
continued for many hours, to the pity of all her fellow-travellers.
At length the "carryvan" reached the inn, where horses and
passengers were accustomed to rest for a few hours, and to dine; and
Mrs. Catherine was somewhat awakened by the stir of the passengers,
and the friendly voice of the inn-servant welcoming them to dinner.
The gentleman who had been smitten by her beauty now urged her very
politely to descend; which, taking the protection of his arm, she
accordingly did.
He made some very gallant speeches to her as she stepped out; and
she must have been very much occupied by them, or wrapt up in her
own thoughts, or stupefied by sleep, fever, and opium, for she did
not take any heed of the place into which she was going: which, had
she done, she would probably have preferred remaining in the coach,
dinnerless and ill. Indeed, the inn into which she was about to
make her entrance was no other than the "Bugle," from which she set
forth at the commencement of this history; and which then, as now,
was kept by her relative, the thrifty Mrs. Score. That good
landlady, seeing a lady, in a smart hood and cloak, leaning, as if
faint, upon the arm of a gentleman of good appearance, concluded
them to be man and wife, and folks of quality too; and with much
discrimination, as well as sympathy, led them through the public
kitchen to her own private parlour, or bar, where she handed the
lady an armchair, and asked what she would like to drink. By this
time, and indeed at the very moment she heard her aunt's voice, Mrs.
Catherine was aware of her situation; and when her companion
retired, and the landlady, with much officiousness, insisted on
removing her hood, she was quite prepared for the screech of
surprise which Mrs. Score gave on dropping it, exclaiming, "Why, law
bless us, it's our Catherine!"
"I'm very ill, and tired, aunt," said Cat; "and would give the world
for a few hours' sleep."
"A few hours and welcome, my love, and a sack-posset too. You do
look sadly tired and poorly, sure enough. Ah, Cat, Cat! you great
ladies are sad rakes, I do believe. I wager now, that with all your
balls, and carriages, and fine clothes, you are neither so happy nor
so well as when you lived with your poor old aunt, who used to love
you so." And with these gentle words, and an embrace or two, which
Mrs. Catherine wondered at, and permitted, she was conducted to that
very bed which the Count had occupied a year previously, and
undressed, and laid in it, and affectionately tucked up by her aunt,
who marvelled at the fineness of her clothes, as she removed them
piece by piece; and when she saw that in Mrs. Catherine's pocket
there was only the sum of three and fourpence, said, archly, "There
was no need of money, for the Captain took care of that."
Mrs. Cat did not undeceive her; and deceived Mrs. Score certainly
was,--for she imagined the well-dressed gentleman who led Cat from
the carriage was no other than the Count; and, as she had heard,
from time to time, exaggerated reports of the splendour of the
establishment which he kept up, she was induced to look upon her
niece with the very highest respect, and to treat her as if she were
a fine lady. "And so she IS a fine lady," Mrs. Score had said
months ago, when some of these flattering stories reached her, and
she had overcome her first fury at Catherine's elopement. "The girl
was very cruel to leave me; but we must recollect that she is as
good as married to a nobleman, and must all forget and forgive, you
know."
This speech had been made to Doctor Dobbs, who was in the habit of
taking a pipe and a tankard at the "Bugle," and it had been roundly
reprobated by the worthy divine; who told Mrs. Score, that the crime
of Catherine was only the more heinous, if it had been committed
from interested motives; and protested that, were she a princess, he
would never speak to her again. Mrs. Score thought and pronounced
the Doctor's opinion to be very bigoted; indeed, she was one of
those persons who have a marvellous respect for prosperity, and a
corresponding scorn for ill-fortune. When, therefore, she returned
to the public room, she went graciously to the gentleman who had led
Mrs. Catherine from the carriage, and with a knowing curtsey
welcomed him to the "Bugle;" told him that his lady would not come
to dinner, but bade her say, with her best love to his Lordship,
that the ride had fatigued her, and that she would lie in bed for an
hour or two.
This speech was received with much wonder by his Lordship; who was,
indeed, no other than a Liverpool tailor going to London to learn
fashions; but he only smiled, and did not undeceive the landlady,
who herself went of
The two or three hours allotted to that meal by the liberal
coachmasters of those days passed away, and Mr. Coachman, declaring
that his horses were now rested enough, and that they had twelve
miles to ride, put the steeds to, and summoned the passengers. Mrs.
Score, who had seen with much satisfaction that her niece was really
ill, and her fever more violent, and hoped to have her for many days
an inmate in her house, now came forward, and casting upon the
Liverpool tailor a look of profound but respectful melancholy, said,
"My Lord (for I recollect your Lordship quite well), the lady
upstairs is so ill, that it would be a sin to move her: had I not
better tell coachman to take down your Lordship's trunks, and the
lady's, and make you a bed in the next room?"
Very much to her surprise, this proposition was received with a roar
of laughter. "Madam," said the person addressed, "I'm not a lord,
but a tailor and draper; and as for that young woman, before to-day
I never set eyes on her."
"WHAT!" screamed out Mrs. Score. "Are not you the Count? Do you
mean to say that you a'n't Cat's--? DO you mean to say that you
didn't order her bed, and that you won't pay this here little bill?"
And with this she produced a document, by which the Count's lady was
made her debtor in a sum of half-a-guinea.
These passionate words excited more and more laughter. "Pay it, my
Lord," said the coachman; "and then come along, for time presses."
"Our respects to her Ladyship," said one passenger. "Tell her my
Lord can't wait," said another; and with much merriment one and all
quitted the hotel, entered the coach, and rattled off.
Dumb--pale with terror and rage--bill in hand, Mrs. Score had
followed the company; but when the coach disappeared, her senses
returned. Back she flew into the inn, overturning the ostler, not
deigning to answer Doctor Dobbs (who, from behind soft
tobacco-fumes, mildly asked the reason of her disturbance), and,
bounding upstairs like a fury, she rushed into the room where
Catherine lay.
"Well, madam!" said she, in her highest key, "do you mean that you
have come into this here house to swindle me? Do you dare for to
come with your airs here, and call yourself a nobleman's lady, and
sleep in the best bed, when you're no better nor a common tramper?
I'll thank you, ma'am, to get out, ma'am. I'll have no sick paupers
in this house, ma'am. You know your way to the workhouse, ma'am,
and there I'll trouble you for to go." And here Mrs. Score
proceeded quickly to pull off the bedclothes; and poor Cat arose,
shivering with fright and fever.
She had no spirit to answer, as she would have done the day before,
when an oath from any human being would have brought half-a-dozen
from her in return; or a knife, or a plate, or a leg of mutton, if
such had been to her hand. She had no spirit left for such
repartees; but in reply to the above words of Mrs. Score, and a
great many more of the same kind--which are not necessary for our
history, but which that lady uttered with inconceivable shrillness
and volubility, the poor wench could say little,--only sob and
shiver, and gather up the clothes again, crying, "Oh, aunt, don't
speak unkind to me! I'm very unhappy, and very ill!"
"Ill, you strumpet! ill, be hanged! Ill is as ill does; and if you
are ill, it's only what you merit. Get out! dress yourself--tramp!
Get to the workhouse, and don't come to cheat me any more! Dress
yourself--do you hear? Satin petticoat forsooth, and lace to her
smock!"
Poor, wretched, chattering, burning, shivering Catherine huddled on
her clothes as well she might: she seemed hardly to know or see
what she was doing, and did not reply a single word to the many that
the landlady let fall. Cat tottered down the narrow stairs, and
through the kitchen, and to the door; which she caught hold of, and