Charlie to the Rescue by R. M. Ballantyne (great book club books txt) 📖

“La! sir,” said the landlady, who had followed him into the room, “you don’t need to fear anythink. That sofar, sir, ’as bin in my family for three generations. The frame was renoo’d before I was born, an’ the legs I ’ad taken off an’ noo ones putt on about fifteen year ago last Easter as ever was. My last lodger ’ee went through the bottom of it, w’ich obliged me to ’ave that renoo’d, so it’s stronger than ever it were. If you only keep it well shoved up agin the wall, sir, it’ll stand a’most any weight—only it won’t stand jumpin’ on. You mustn’t jump on it, sir, with your feet!”

Charlie promised solemnly that he would not jump on it either with his feet or head, and then asked if he could have tea and a fire. On being informed that he could have both, he drew out his purse and said—

“Now, Mrs Butt, I expect to stay here for two or three weeks—perhaps longer. My name is Brooke. I was advised to come here by a gentleman in the offices of the City Mission. I shall have no visitors—being utterly unknown in this neighbourhood—except, perhaps, the missionary who parted from me at the door—”

“Mr Stansfield, sir?” said the landlady.

“Yes. You know him?”

“I’ve knowed ’im for years, sir. I shall only be too pleased to ’ave any friend of ’is in my ’ouse, I assure you.”

“That’s well. Now, Mrs Butt, my motive in coming here is to discover a runaway relation—”

“La! sir—a little boy?”

“No, Mrs Butt, a—”

“Surely not a little gurl, sir,” said the landlady, with a sympathetic expression.

“It is of no consequence what or who the runaway relation is, Mrs Butt; I merely mention the fact in order that you may understand the reason of any little eccentricity you may notice in my conduct, and not perplex your mind about it. For instance, I shall have no regular hours—may be out late or early—it may be even all night. You will give me a pass-key, and I will let myself in. The only thing I will probably ask for will be a cup of tea or coffee. Pray let me have one about an hour hence. I’m going out at present. Here is a week’s rent in advance.”

“Shall I put on a fire, sir?” asked Mrs Butt.

“Well, yes—you may.”

“Toast, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” said Charlie, opening the outer door.

“’Ot or cold, sir?”

“’Ot, and buttered,” cried Charlie, with a laugh, as he shut the door after him and rendered further communication impossible.

Wending his way through the poor streets in the midst of which his lodging was situated, our hero at last found an old-clothes store, which he entered.

“I want a suit of old clothes,” he said to the owner, a Jew, who came forward.

The Jew smiled, spread out his hands after the manner of a Frenchman, and said, “My shop, sir, is at your disposal.”

After careful inspection Charlie selected a fustian coat of extremely ragged appearance, with trousers to match, also a sealskin vest of a mangy complexion, likewise a soiled and battered billycock hat so shockingly bad that it was difficult to imagine it to have ever had better days at all.

“Are they clean?” he asked.

“Bin baked and fumigated, sir,” answered the Jew solemnly.

As the look and smell of the garments gave some countenance to the truth of this statement, Charlie paid the price demanded, had them wrapped up in a green cotton handkerchief, and carried them off.

Arrived at his lodging he let himself in, entered his room, and threw the bundle in a corner. Then he rang for tea.

It was growing dark by that time, but a yellow-cotton blind shut out the prospect, and a cheery fire in the grate lighted up the little room brightly, casting a rich glow on the yellow-white table-cloth, which had been already spread, and creating a feeling of coziness in powerful contrast to the sensation of dreariness which had assailed him on his first entrance. When Mrs Butt had placed a paraffin lamp on the table, with a dark-brown teapot, a thick glass sugar-bowl, a cream-jug to match, and a plate of thick-buttered toast that scented the atmosphere deliciously, our hero thought—not for the first time in his life—that wealth was a delusion, besides being a snare.

“‘One wants but little here below,’” he mused, as he glanced round the apartment; “but he wants it longer than that,” thought he, as his eyes wandered to the ancient sofa, which was obviously eighteen inches too short for him.

“I ’ope you’ve found ’im, sir,” said Mrs Butt anxiously, as she was about to retire.

“Found who?”

“Your relation, sir; the little boy—I mean gurl.”

“No, I have found neither the boy nor the girl,” returned the lodger sharply. “Haven’t even begun to look for them yet.”

“Oh! beg parding, sir, I didn’t know there was two of ’em.”

“Neither are there. There’s only one. Fetch me some hot water, Mrs Butt, your tea is too good. I never take it strong.”

The landlady retired, and, on returning with the water, found her lodger so deep in a newspaper that she did not venture to interrupt him.

Tea over, Charlie locked his door and clothed himself in his late purchase, which fitted him fairly well, considering that he had measured it only by eye. Putting on the billycock, and tying the green cotton kerchief loosely round his neck to hide his shirt, he stepped in front of the looking-glass above the mantelpiece.

At sight of himself he was prepared to be amused, but he had not expected to be shocked! Yet shocked he certainly was, for the transformation was so complete that it suddenly revealed to him something of the depth of degradation to which he might fall—to which many a man as good as himself, if not better, had fallen. Then amusement rose within him, for he was the very beau-ideal of a typical burglar, or a prize-fighter: big, square-shouldered, deep-chested, large-chinned. The only parts that did not quite correspond to the type were his straight, well-formed nose and his clear blue eyes, but these defects were put right by slightly drooping his eyelids, pushing his billycock a little back on his head, and drawing a lock of hair in a drunken fashion over his forehead.

Suddenly an idea occurred to him. Slipping his latchkey into his pocket he went out of the house and closed the door softly. Then he rang the bell.

“Is the gen’leman at ’ome?” he asked of Mrs Butt, in a gruff, hoarse voice, as if still engaged in a struggle with a bad cold.

“What gentleman?” asked Mrs Butt eyeing him suspiciously.

“W’y, the gen’leman as sent for me to give ’im boxin’ lessons—Buck or Book, or some sitch name.”

“Brooke, you mean,” said Mrs Butt still suspicious, and interposing her solid person in the doorway.

“Ay, that’s the cove—the gen’leman I mean came here this arternoon to lodge wi’ a Missis Butt or Brute, or suthin’ o’ that sort—air you Mrs Brute?”

“Certainly not,” answered the landlady, with indignation; “but I’m Mrs Butt.”

“Well, it’s all the same. I ax yer parding for the mistake, but there’s sitch a mixin’ up o’ Brutes an’ Brookes, an’ Butts an’ Bucks, that it comes hard o’ a man o’ no edication to speak of to take it all in. This gen’leman, Mr Brute, ’e said if ’e was hout w’en I called I was to wait, an’ say you was to make tea for two, an’ ’ave it laid in the bedroom as ’e’d require the parlour for the mill.”

The man’s evident knowledge of her lodger’s affairs, and his gross stupidity, disarmed Mrs Butt. She would have laughed at his last speech if it had not been for the astounding conclusion. Tea in the bedroom and a mill in the parlour the first night was a degree of eccentricity she had not even conceived of.

“Come in, then, young man,” she said, making way. “You’ll find Mr Brooke in the parlour at his tea.”

The prize-fighter stepped quickly along the dark passage into the parlour, and while the somewhat sluggish Mrs Butt was closing the door she overheard her lodger exclaim—

“Ha! Jem Mace, this is good of you—very good of you—to come so promptly. Mrs Butt,” shouting at the parlour door, “another cup and plate for Mr Mace, and—and bring the ham!”

“The ’am!” repeated Mrs Butt softly to herself, as she gazed in perplexity round her little kitchen, “did ’e order a ’am?”

Unable to solve the riddle she gave it up and carried in the cup and saucer and plate.

“I beg your parding, sir, you mentioned a ’am,” she began, but stopped abruptly on seeing no one there but the prize-fighter standing before the fire in a free-and-easy manner with his hands in his breeches pockets.

The light of the street-lamps had very imperfectly revealed the person of Jem Mace. Now that Mrs Butt saw him slouching in all his native hideousness against her mantelpiece in the full blaze of a paraffin lamp, she inwardly congratulated herself that Mr Brooke was such a big strong man—almost a match, she thought, for Mace!

“I thought you said the gen’leman was in the parlour, Mrs Brute?” said Mace inquiringly.

“So ’e—was,” answered the perplexed lady, looking round the room; “didn’t I ’ear ’im a-shakin’ ’ands wi’ you, an’ a-shoutin’ for ’am?”

“Well, Mrs Brute, I dun know what you ’eard; all I know is that I’ve not seed ’im yet.”

“’E must be in the bedroom,” said Mrs Butt, with a dazed look.

“No ’e ain’t there,” returned the prize-fighter; “I’ve bin all over it—looked under the bed, into the cupboard, through the key’ole;—p’r’aps,” he added, turning quickly, “’e may be up the chimbly!”

The expression on poor Mrs Butt’s face now alarmed Charlie, who instantly doffed his billycock and resumed his natural voice and manner.

“Forgive me, Mrs Butt, if I have been somewhat reckless,” he said, “in testing my disguise on you. I really had no intention till a few minutes ago of playing such a practical—”

“Well, well, Mr Brooke,” broke in the amazed yet amiable creature at this point, “I do assure you as I’d never ’ave know’d you from the worst character in W’itechapel. I wouldn’t have trusted you—not with a sixpence. You was born to be a play-actor, sir! I declare that Jem Mace have given me a turn that— But why disguise yourself in this way, Mr Brooke?”

“Because I am going to haunt the low lodging-houses, Mrs Butt and I could not well do that, you know, in the character of a gentleman; and as you have taken it so amiably I’m glad I tried my hand here first, for it will make me feel much more at ease.”

“And well it may, sir. I only ’ope it won’t get you into trouble, for if the p’leece go lookin’ for a burglar, or murderer, or desprit ruffian, where you ’appen to be, they’re sure to run you in. The only think I would point out, sir, if I may be so free, is that your ’ands an’ face is too clean.”

“That is easily remedied,” said Charlie, with a laugh, as he stooped and rubbed his hands among the ashes; then, taking a piece of cinder, he made sundry marks on his countenance therewith, which, when judiciously touched in with a little water and some ashes, converted our hero into as thorough a scoundrel as ever walked the streets of London at unseasonable hours of night.