The Fortunes of Nigel by Walter Scott (bookreader .txt) 📖

“The board has swept me, I know,” replied Jin Vin, “and that pretty clean out.—I would that were the worst; but I owe for all this finery, and settling-day is coming on, and my master will find my accompt worse than it should be by a score of pieces. My old father will be called in to make them good; and I—may save the hangman a labour and do the job myself, or go the Virginia voyage.”

“Do not speak so loud, my dear boy,” said Dame Ursley; “but tell me why you borrow not from a friend to make up your arrear. You could lend him as much when his settling-day came round.”

“No, no—I have had enough of that work,” said Vincent. “Tunstall would lend me the money, poor fellow, an he had it; but his gentle, beggarly kindred, plunder him of all, and keep him as bare as a birch at Christmas. No—my fortune may be spelt in four letters, and these read, RUIN.”

“Now hush, you simple craven,” said the dame; “did you never hear, that when the need is highest the help is nighest? We may find aid for you yet, and sooner than you are aware of. I am sure I would never have advised you to such a course, but only you had set heart and eye on pretty Mistress Marget, and less would not serve you—and what could I do but advise you to cast your city-slough, and try your luck where folks find fortune?”

“Ay, ay—I remember your counsel well,” said Jenkin; “I was to be introduced to her by you when I was perfect in my gallantries, and as rich as the king; and then she was to be surprised to find I was poor Jin Vin, that used to watch, from matin to curfew, for one glance of her eye; and now, instead of that, she has set her soul on this Scottish sparrow-hawk of a lord that won my last tester, and be cursed to him; and so I am bankrupt in love, fortune, and character, before I am out of my time, and all along of you, Mother Midnight.”

“Do not call me out of my own name, my dear boy, Jin Vin,” answered Ursula, in a tone betwixt rage and coaxing,—“do not; because I am no saint, but a poor sinful woman, with no more patience than she needs, to carry her through a thousand crosses. And if I have done you wrong by evil counsel, I must mend it and put you right by good advice. And for the score of pieces that must be made up at settling-day, why, here is, in a good green purse, as much as will make that matter good; and we will get old Crosspatch, the tailor, to take a long day for your clothes; and—”

“Mother, are you serious?” said Jin Vin, unable to trust either his eyes or his ears.

“In troth am I,” said the dame; “and will you call me Mother Midnight now, Jin Vin?”

“Mother Midnight!” exclaimed Jenkin, hugging the dame in his transport, and bestowing on her still comely cheek a hearty and not unacceptable smack, that sounded like the report of a pistol,—“Mother Midday, rather, that has risen to light me out of my troubles—a mother more dear than she who bore me; for she, poor soul, only brought me into a world of sin and sorrow, and your timely aid has helped me out of the one and the other.” And the good-natured fellow threw himself back in his chair, and fairly drew his hand across his eyes.

“You would not have me be made to ride the Skimmington then,” said the dame; “or parade me in a cart, with all the brass basins of the ward beating the march to Bridewell before me?”

“I would sooner be carted to Tyburn myself,” replied the penitent.

“Why, then, sit up like a man, and wipe thine eyes; and, if thou art pleased with what I have done, I will show thee how thou mayst requite me in the highest degree.”

“How?” said Jenkin Vincent, sitting straight up in his chair.—“You would have me, then, do you some service for this friendship of yours?”

“Ay, marry would I,” said Dame Ursley; “for you are to know, that though I am right glad to stead you with it, this gold is not mine, but was placed in my hands in order to find a trusty agent, for a certain purpose; and so—But what's the matter with you?—are you fool enough to be angry because you cannot get a purse of gold for nothing? I would I knew where such were to come by. I never could find them lying in my road, I promise you.”

“No, no, dame,” said poor Jenkin, “it is not for that; for, look you, I would rather work these ten bones to the knuckles, and live by my labour; but—” (and here he paused.)

“But what, man?” said Dame Ursley. “You are willing to work for what you want; and yet, when I offer you gold for the winning, you look on me as the devil looks over Lincoln.”

“It is ill talking of the devil, mother,” said Jenkin. “I had him even now in my head—for, look you, I am at that pass, when they say he will appear to wretched ruined creatures, and proffer them gold for the fee-simple of their salvation. But I have been trying these two days to bring my mind strongly up to the thought, that I will rather sit down in shame, and sin, and sorrow, as I am like to do, than hold on in ill courses to get rid of my present straits; and so take care, Dame Ursula, how you tempt me to break such a good resolution.”

“I tempt you to nothing, young man,” answered Ursula; “and, as I perceive you are too wilful to be wise, I will e'en put my purse in my pocket, and look out for some one that will work my turn with better will, and more thankfulness. And you may go your own course,—break your indenture, ruin your father, lose your character, and bid pretty Mistress Margaret farewell, for ever and a day.”

“Stay, stay,” said Jenkin “the woman is in as great a hurry as a brown baker when his oven is overheated. First, let me hear that which you have to propose to me.”

“Why, after all, it is but to get a gentleman of rank and fortune, who is in trouble, carried in secret down the river, as far as the Isle of Dogs, or somewhere thereabout, where he may lie concealed until he can escape aboard. I know thou knowest every place by the river's side as well as the devil knows an usurer, or the beggar knows his dish.”

“A plague of your similes, dame,” replied the apprentice; “for the devil gave me that knowledge, and beggary may be the end on't.—But what has this gentleman done, that he should need to be under hiding? No Papist, I hope—no Catesby and Piercy business—no Gunpowder Plot?”

“Fy, fy!—what do you take me for?” said Dame Ursula. “I am as good a churchwoman as the parson's wife, save that necessary business will not allow me to go there oftener than on Christmas-day, heaven help me!—No, no—this is no Popish matter. The gentleman hath but struck another in the Park—”

“Ha! what?” said Vincent, interrupting her with a start.

“Ay, ay, I see you guess whom I mean. It is even he we have spoken of so