Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire

Wyvil suffered himself to be led up the court, and passing through a door on the left, they entered a spacious room, across which ran a long table, furnished at one end with wine and refreshments, and at the other with cards and dice.

Three persons were seated at the table, the most noticeable of whom was a dissipated-looking young man, dressed in the extremity of the prevailing mode, with ruffles of the finest colbertine, three inches in depth, at his wrists; a richly-laced cravat round his throat; white silk hose, adorned with gold clocks; velvet shoes of the same colour as the hose, fastened with immense roses; a silver-hilted sword, supported by a broad embroidered silk band; and a cloak and doublet of carnation-coloured velvet, woven with gold, and decorated with innumerable glittering points and ribands. He had a flowing wig of flaxen hair, and a broad-leaved hat, looped with a diamond buckle, and placed negligently on the left side of his head. His figure was slight, but extremely well formed; and his features might have been termed handsome, but for their reckless and licentious expression. He was addressed by his companions as Sir Paul Parravicin.

The person opposite to him, whose name was Disbrowe, and who was likewise a very handsome young man, though his features were flushed and disturbed, partly by the wine he had drunk, and partly by his losses at play, was equipped in the splendid accoutrements of a captain in the king's body-guard. His left hand convulsively clutched an empty purse, and his eyes were fixed upon a large sum of money, which he had just handed over to the knight, and which the latter was carelessly transferring to his pocket.

The last of the three, whose looks betrayed his character—that of a sharper and a bully—called himself Major Pillichody, his pretensions to military rank being grounded upon his service (so ran his own statement, though it was never clearly substantiated) in the king's army during the civil wars. Major Pillichody was a man of remarkably fierce exterior. Seamed with many scars, and destitute of the left eye, the orifice of which was covered, with a huge black patch; his face was of a deep mulberry colour, clearly attesting his devotion to the bottle; while his nose, which was none of the smallest, was covered with "bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire." He was of the middle size, stoutly built, and given to corpulency, though not so much so as to impair his activity. His attire consisted of a cloak and doublet of scarlet cloth, very much stained and tarnished, and edged with gold lace, likewise the worse for wear; jack-boots, with huge funnel tops; spurs, with enormous rowels, and a rapier of preposterous length. He wore his own hair, which was swart and woolly, like that of a negro; and had beard and moustaches to match. His hat was fiercely cocked; his gestures swaggering and insolent; and he was perpetually racking his brain to invent new and extra-ordinary oaths.

"So soon returned!" cried Parravicin, as Wyvil appeared. "Accept my congratulations?"

"And mine!" cried Pillichody. "We wild fellows have but to be seen to conquer. Sugar and spice, and all that's nice!" he added, smacking his lips, as he filled a glass from a long-necked bottle on the table; "May the grocer's daughter prove sweeter than her father's plums, and more melting than his butter! Is she without? Are we to see her?"

Wyvil made no answer, but, walking to the other end of the room, threw himself into a chair, and, covering his face with his hands, appeared wrapped in thought. Lydyard took a seat beside him, and endeavoured to engage him in conversation; but, finding his efforts fruitless, he desisted.

"Something is wrong," observed Parravicin, to the major. "He has been foiled in his attempt to carry off the girl. Sedley has won his wager, and it is a heavy sum. Shall we resume our play?" he added, to Disbrowe.

"I have nothing more to lose," observed the young man, filling a large goblet to the brim, and emptying it at a draught. "You are master of every farthing I possess."

"Hum!" exclaimed Parravicin, taking up a pack of cards, and snapping them between his finger and thumb. "You are married, Captain Disbrowe?"

"What if I am?" cried the young man, becoming suddenly pale; "what if I am?" he repeated.

"I am told your wife is beautiful," replied Parravicin.

"Beautiful!" ejaculated Pillichody; "by the well-filled coffers of the widow of Watling-street! she is an angel. Beautiful is not the word: Mrs. Disbrowe is divine!"

"You have never seen her," said the young man, sternly.

"Ha!—fire and fury! my word doubted," cried the major, fiercely. "I have seen her at the play-houses, at the Mulberry-garden, at court, and at church. Not seen her! By the one eye of a Cyclops, but I have! You shall hear my description of her, and judge of its correctness. Imprimis, she has a tall and majestic figure, and might be a queen for her dignity."

"Go on," said Disbrowe, by no means displeased with the commencement.

"Secondly," pursued Pillichody, "she has a clear olive complexion, bright black eyes, hair and brows to match, a small foot, a pretty turn-up nose, a dimpling cheek, a mole upon her throat, the rosiest lips imaginable, an alluring look—"

"No more," interrupted Disbrowe. "It is plain you have never seen her."

"Unbelieving pagan!" exclaimed the major, clapping his hand furiously upon his sword. "I have done more—I have spoken with her."

"A lie!" replied Disbrowe, hurling a dice-box at his head.

"Ha!" roared Pillichody, in a voice of thunder, and pushing back his chair till it was stopped by the wall. "Death and fiends! I will make mincemeat of your heart, and send it as a love-offering to your wife."

And, whipping out his long rapier, he would have assaulted Disbrowe, if Sir Paul had not interposed, and commanded him authoritatively to put up his blade.

"You shall have your revenge in a safer way," he whispered.

"Well, Sir Paul," rejoined the bully, with affected reluctance, "as you desire it, I will spare the young man's life. I must wash away the insult in burgundy, since I cannot do so in blood."

With this, he emptied the flask next him, and called to a drawer, who was in attendance, in an imperious tone, to bring two more bottles.

Parravicin, meanwhile, picked up the dice-box, and, seating himself, spread a large heap of gold on the table.

"I mentioned your wife, Captain Disbrowe," he said, addressing the young officer, who anxiously watched his movements, "not with any intention of giving you offence, but to show you that, although you have lost your money, you have still a valuable stake left."

"I do not understand you, Sir Paul," returned Disbrowe, with a look of indignant surprise.

"To be plain, then," replied Parravicin, "I have won from you two hundred pounds—all you possess. You are a ruined man, and, as such, will run any hazard to retrieve your losses. I give you a last chance. I will stake all my winnings, nay, double the amount, against your wife. You have a key of the house you inhabit, by which you admit yourself at all hours; so at least the major informs me. If I win, that key shall be mine. I will take my chance for the rest. Do you understand me now?"

"I do," replied the young man, with concentrated fury. "I understand that you are a villain. You have robbed me of my money, and would rob me of my honour."

"These are harsh words, sir," replied the knight, calmly; "but let them pass. We will play first, and fight afterwards. But you refuse my challenge ?"

"It is false!" replied Disbrowe, fiercely, "I accept it." And producing a key, he threw it on the table. "My life is, in truth, set on the die," he added, with a desperate look—"for if I lose, I will not survive my shame."

"You will not forget our terms," observed Parravicin. "I am to be your representative to-night. You can return home to-morrow."

"Throw, sir—throw," cried the young man, fiercely.

"Pardon, me," replied the knight; "the first cast is with you. A single main decides it."

"Be it so," returned Disbrowe, seizing the box. And as he shook the dice with a frenzied air, the major and Lydyard drew near the table, and even Wyvil roused himself to watch the result.

"Twelve!" cried Disbrowe, as he removed the box. "My honour is saved! My fortune retrieved—Huzza!"

"Not so fast," returned Parravicin, shaking the box in his turn. "You were a little too hasty," he added, uncovering the dice. "I am twelve, too. We must throw again."

"This to decide," cried the young officer, again rattling the dice.

"Six!"

Parravicin smiled, took the box, and threw ten.

"Perdition!" ejaculated Disbrowe, striking his brow with his clenched hand. "What devil tempted me to my undoing?—My wife trusted to this profligate! Horror!—it must not be!"

"It is too late to retract," replied Parravicin, taking up the key, and turning with a triumphant look to his friends.

Disbrowe noticed the smile, and stung beyond endurance, drew his sword, and called to the knight to defend himself.

In an instant, passes were exchanged. But the conflict was brief. Fortune, as before, declared herself in favour of Parravicin. He disarmed his assailant, who rushed out of the room, uttering the wildest ejaculations of rage and despair.

"I told you you should have your revenge," observed the knight to Pillichody, as soon as Disbrowe was gone. "Is his wife really as beautiful as you represent her?"

"Words are too feeble to paint her charms," replied the major. "Shafts of Cupid! she must be seen to be appreciated."

"Enough!" returned Parravicin. "I have not made a bad night's work of it, so far. I'faith, Wyvil, I pity you. To lose a heavy wager is provoking enough—but to lose a pretty mistress is the devil."

"I have lost neither yet," replied Wyvil, who had completely recovered his spirits, and joined in the general merriment occasioned by the foregoing occurrence. "I have been baffled, not defeated. What say you to an exchange of mistresses? I am so diverted with your adventure, that I am half inclined to give you the grocer's daughter for Disbrowe's wife. She is a superb creature—languid as a Circassian, and passionate as an Andalusian."

"I can't agree to the exchange, especially after your rapturous description," returned Parravicin, "but I'll stake Mrs. Disbrowe against Amabel. The winner shall have both. A single cast shall decide, as before."

"No," replied Wyvil, "I could not resign Amabel, if I lost. And the luck is all on your side to-night."

"As you please," rejoined the knight, sweeping the glittering pile into his pocket. "Drawer, another bottle of burgundy. A health to our mistresses!" he added, quaffing a brimmer.

"A health to the grocer's daughter!" cried Wyvil, with difficulty repressing a shudder, as he uttered the pledge.

"A health to the rich widow of Watling-street," cried Pillichody, draining a bumper, "and may I soon call her mine!"

"I have no mistress to toast," said Lydyard; "and I have drunk wine enough. Do not forget, gentlemen, that the plague is abroad."

"You are the death's-head at the feast, Lydyard," rejoined Parravicin, setting down his glass. "I hate the idea of the plague. It poisons all our pleasures. We must meet at noon to-morrow, at the Smyrna, to compare notes as to our successes. Before we separate, can I be of any further service to you, Wyvil? I came here to enjoy your triumph; but, egad, I have found so admirable a bubble in that hot-headed Disbrowe, whom I met at the Smyrna, and brought here to while away the time, that I must demand your congratulations upon mine."

"You have certainly achieved an easy victory over the husband," returned Wyvil; "and I trust your success with the wife will be commensurate. I require no further assistance. What I have to do must be done alone. Lydyard will accompany me to the house, and then I must shift for myself."

"Nay, we will all see you safe inside," returned Parravicin, "We shall pass by the grocer's shop. I know it well, having passed it a hundred times, in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of its lovely inmate."

"I am glad it was a vain hope," replied Wyvil. "But I must scale a wall to surprise the garrison."

"In that case you will need the rope-ladder," replied Lydyard; "it is in readiness."

"I will carry it," said Pillichody, picking up the ladder which was lying in a corner of the room, and throwing it over his shoulders. "Bombs and batteries! I like to be an escalader when the forts of love are stormed."

The party then set out. As they proceeded, Parravicin ascertained from the major that Disbrowe's house was situated in a small street leading out of Piccadilly, but as he could not be quite sure that he understood his informant aright, he engaged him to accompany him and point it out.

By this time they had reached Wood-street, and keeping in the shade, reconnoitred the house. But though Wyvil clapped his hands, blew a shrill whistle, and made other signals, no answer was returned, nor was a light seen at any of the upper windows. On the contrary, all was still and silent as death.

The grocer's was a large, old-fashioned house, built about the middle of the preceding century, or perhaps earlier, and had four stories, each projecting over the other, till the pile seemed completely to overhang the street. The entire front, except the upper story, which was protected by oaken planks, was covered with panels of the same timber, and the projections were supported by heavy beams, embellished with grotesque carvings. Three deeply-embayed windows, having stout wooden bars, filled with minute diamond panes, set in leaden frames, were allotted to each floor; while the like number of gables, ornamented with curiously-carved coignes, and long-moulded leaden spouts, shooting far into the street, finished the roof. A huge sign, with the device of Noah's Ark, and the owner's name upon it, hung before the door.

After carefully examining the house, peeping through the chinks in the lower shutters, and discovering the grocer seated by the bedside of his son, though he could not make out the object of his solicitude, Wyvil decided upon attempting an entrance by the backyard. To reach it, a court and a narrow alley, leading to an open space surrounded by high walls, had to be traversed. Arrived at this spot, Wyvil threw one end of the rope ladder over the wall, which was about twelve feet high, and speedily succeeding in securing it, mounted, and drawing it up after him, waved his hand to his companions, and disappeared on the other side. After waiting for a moment to listen, and hearing a window open, they concluded he had gained admittance, and turned to depart.

"And now for Mrs. Disbrowe!" cried Parravicin. "We shall find a coach or a chair in Cheapside. Can I take you westward, Lydyard?"

But the other declined the offer, saying, "I will not desert Wyvil. I feel certain he will get into some scrape, and may need me to help him out of it. Take care of yourself, Parravicin. Beware of the plague, and of what is worse than the plague, an injured husband. Good-night, major."

"Farewell, sir," returned Pillichody, raising his hat. "A merry watching, and a good catching, as the sentinels were wont to say, when I served King Charles the First. Sir Paul, I attend you."

IV.

THE INTERVIEW

Maurice Wyvil, as his friends conjectured, had found his way into the house. Creeping through the window, and entering a passage, he moved noiselessly along till he reached the head of the kitchen stairs, where, hearing voices below, and listening to what was said, he soon ascertained from the discourse of the speakers, who were no other than old Josyna and Patience, that it was not the grocer's daughter, but one of his sons, who was attacked by the plague, and that Amabel was in perfect health, though confined in her mother's bedroom.

Overjoyed at the information he had thus acquired, he retired as noiselessly as he came, and after searching about for a short time, discovered the main staircase, and ascended it on the points of his feet. He had scarcely, however, mounted a dozen steps, when a door opened, and Blaize crawled along the passage, groaning to himself, and keeping his eyes bent on the ground. Seeing he was unnoticed, Wyvil gained the landing, and treading softly, placed his ear at every door, until at last the musical accents of Amabel convinced him he had hit upon the right one.

His heart beat so violently that, for a few seconds, he was unable to move. Becoming calmer, he tried the door, and finding it locked, rapped with his knuckles against it. The grocer's wife demanded who was there. But Wyvil, instead of returning an answer, repeated his application. The same demand followed, and in a louder key. Still no answer. A third summons, however, so alarmed Mrs. Bloundel, that, forgetful of her husband's injunctions, she opened the door and looked out; but, as Wyvil had hastily retired into a recess, she could see no one.

Greatly frightened and perplexed, Mrs. Bloundel rushed to the head of the stairs, to see whether there was any one below; and as she did so, Wyvil slipped into the room, and locked the door. The only object he beheld—for he had eyes for nothing else—was Amabel, who, seeing him, uttered a faint scream. Clasping her in his arms, Wyvil forgot, in the delirium of the moment, the jeopardy in which he was placed.

"Do you know what has happened?" cried Amabel, extricating herself from his embrace.

"I know all," replied her lover; "I would risk a thousand deaths for your sake. You must fly with me."

"Fly!" exclaimed Amabel; "at such a time as this?—my brother dying—the whole house, perhaps, infected! How can you ask me to fly? Why have you come hither? You will destroy me."

"Not so, sweet Amabel," replied Wyvil, ardently. "I would bear you from the reach of this horrible disease. I am come to save you, and will not stir without you."

"What shall I do?" cried Amabel, distractedly. "But I am rightly punished for my disobedience and ingratitude to my dear father. Oh! Wyvil, I did not deserve this from you."

"Hear me, Amabel," cried her lover; "I implore your forgiveness. What I have done has been from irresistible passion, and from no other cause. You promised to meet me to-night. Nay, you half consented to fly with me. I have prepared all for it. I came hither burning with impatience for the meeting. I received no signal, but encountering your father's apprentice, was informed that you were attacked by the plague. Imagine my horror and distress at the intelligence. I thought it would have killed me. I determined, however, at all risks, to see you once more—to clasp you in my arms before you died—to die with you, if need be. I accomplished my purpose. I entered the house unobserved. I overheard the servants say it was your brother who was ill, not you. I also learnt that you were in your mother's room. I found the door, and by a fortunate device, obtained admittance. Now you know all, and will you not fly with me?"

"How can I fly?" cried Amabel, gazing wildly round the room, as if in search of some place of refuge or escape, and, noticing her little sister, Christiana, who was lying asleep in the bed—"Oh! how I envy that innocent!" she murmured.

"Think of nothing but yourself," rejoined Wyvil, seizing her hand. "If you stay here, it will be to perish of the plague. Trust to me, and I will secure your flight."

"I cannot—I dare not," cried Amabel, resisting him with all her force.

"You must come," cried Wyvil, dragging her along.

As he spoke, Mrs. Bloundel, who had been down to Blaize's room to ascertain what was the matter, returned. Trying the door, and finding it fastened, she became greatly alarmed, and called to Amabel to open it directly.

"It is my mother," cried Amabel. "Pity me, Heaven! I shall die with shame."

"Heed her not," replied Wyvil, in a deep whisper; "in her surprise and confusion at seeing me, she will not be able to stop us. Do not hesitate. There is not a moment to lose."

"What is the matter, child?" cried Mrs. Bloundel. "Why have you fastened the door? Is there any one in the room with you?"

"She hears us," whispered Amabel. "What shall I do? You must not be seen?"

"There is no use in further concealment," cried Wyvil. "You are mine, and twenty mothers should not bar the way."

"Hold!" cried Amabel, disengaging herself by a sudden effort. "I have gone too far—but not so far as you imagine. I am not utterly lost."

And before she could be prevented, she rushed to the door, threw it open, and flung herself into her mother's arms, who uttered an exclamation of terror at beholding Wyvil. The latter, though filled with rage and confusion, preserved an unmoved exterior, and folded his arms upon his breast.

"And so it was you who knocked at the door!" cried Mrs. Bloundel, regarding the gallant with a look of fury—"it was you who contrived to delude me into opening it! I do not ask why you have come hither like a thief in the night, because I require no information on the subject. You are come to dishonour my child—to carry her away from those who love her and cherish her, and would preserve her from such mischievous serpents as you. But, Heaven be praised! I have caught you before your wicked design could Be effected. Oh! Amabel, my child, my child!" she added, straining her to her bosom, "I had rather—far rather—see you stricken with the plague, like your poor brother, though I felt there was not a hope of your recovery, than you should fall into the hands of this Satan!"

"I have been greatly to blame, dear mother," returned Amabel, bursting into tears; "and I shall neither seek to exculpate myself, nor conceal what I have done. I have deceived you and my father. I have secretly encouraged the addresses of this gentleman. Nay, if the plague had not broken out in our house to-night, I should have flown from it with him."

"You shock me, greatly, child," returned Mrs. Bloundel; "but you relieve me at the same time. Make a clean breast, and hide nothing from me."

"I have nothing more to tell, dear mother," replied Amabel, "except that Maurice Wyvil has been in the room ever since you left it, and might, perhaps, have carried me off in spite of my resistance, if you had not returned when you did."

"It was, indeed, a providential interference," rejoined Mrs. Bloundel. "From what a snare of the evil one—from what a pitfall have you been preserved!"

"I feel I have had a narrow escape, dear mother," replied Amabel. "Pardon me. I do not deserve your forgiveness. But I will never offend you more."

"I forgive you from my heart, child, and will trust you," returned Mrs. Bloundel, in a voice broken by emotion.

"That is more than I would," thought Maurice Wyvil. "A woman who has once deceived those she holds dear, will not fail to do so a second time. The fairest promises are forgotten when the danger is past."

"Mr. Wyvil, if you have a particle of regard for me, you will instantly leave the house," said Amabel, turning to him.

"If had my own way, he should leave it through the window," said Mrs. Bloundel; "and if he tarries a minute longer, I will give the alarm."

"You hear this, sir," cried Amabel:—"go, I entreat you."

"I yield to circumstance, Amabel," replied Wyvil; "but think not I resign you. Come what will, and however I may be foiled, I will not desist till I make you mine."

"I tremble to hear him," cried Mrs. Bloundel, "and could not have believed such depravity existed. Quit the house, sir, directly, or I will have you turned out of it."

"Do not remain another moment," implored Amabel. "Do not, do not!"

"Since I have no other way of proving my love, I must perforce obey," returned Wyvil, trying to snatch her hand and press it to his lips; but she withdrew it, and clung more closely to her mother. "We part," he added, significantly, "only for a time."

Quitting the room, he was about to descend the stairs, when Mrs. Bloundel, who had followed to see him safely off the premises, hearing a noise below, occasioned by the return of Leonard with the doctor, cautioned him to wait. A further delay was caused by Blaize, who, stationing himself at the foot of the stairs, with a light in his hand, appeared unwilling to move. Apprehensive of a discovery, Mrs. Bloundel then directed the gallant to the back staircase, and he had got about halfway down, when he was surprised by Leonard Holt, as before related.