rapacity, and prevented him from pouncing on his prey like a kite, and swooping it all off at once.
This chilling reflection produced the following sullen reply to Peveril:—'There were sundry rates. Gentlemen must choose for themselves. He asked nothing but his fees. But civility,' he muttered, 'must be paid for.'
'And shall, if I can have it for payment,' said Peveril; 'but the price, my good sir, the price?'
He spoke with some degree of scorn, which he was the less anxious to repress, that he saw, even in this jail, his purse gave him an indirect but powerful influence over his jailer.
The Captain seemed to feel the same; for, as he spoke, he plucked from his head, almost involuntarily, a sort of scalded fur-cap, which served it for covering. But his fingers revolting from so unusual an act of complaisance, began to indemnify themselves by scratching his grizzly shock-head, as he muttered, in a tone resembling the softened growling of a mastiff when he has ceased to bay the intruder who shows no fear of him,—'There are different rates. There is the Little Ease, for common fees of the crown—rather dark, and the common sewer runs below it; and some gentlemen object to the company, who are chiefly padders and michers. Then the Master's side—the garnish came to one piece—and none lay stowed there but who were in for murder at the least.'
'Name your highest price, sir, and take it,' was Julian's concise reply.
'Three pieces for the Knight's ward,' answered the governor of this terrestrial Tartarus.
'Take five, and place me with Sir Geoffrey,' was again Julian's answer, throwing down the money upon the desk before him.
'Sir Geoffrey?—Hum!—ay, Sir Geoffrey,' said the jailer, as if meditating what he ought to do. 'Well, many a man has paid money to see Sir Geoffrey—Scarce so much as you have, though. But then you are like to see the last of him.—Ha, ha ha!'
These broken muttered exclamations, which terminated somewhat like the joyous growl of a tiger over his meal, Julian could not comprehend; and only replied to by repeating his request to be placed in the same cell with Sir Geoffrey.
'Ay, master,' said the jailer, 'never fear; I'll keep word with you, as you seem to know something of what belongs to your station and mine. And hark ye, Jem Clink will fetch you the darbies.'
'Derby!' interrupted Julian,—'Has the Earl or Countess——'
'Earl or Countess!—Ha, ha, ha!' again laughed, or rather growled, the warden. 'What is your head running on? You are a high fellow belike! but all is one here. The darbies are the fetlocks—the fast-keepers, my boy—the bail for good behaviour, my darling; and if you are not the more conforming, I can add you a steel nightcap, and a curious bosom-friend, to keep you warm of a winter night. But don't be disheartened; you have behaved genteel; and you shall not be put upon. And as for this here matter, ten to one it will turn out chance-medley, or manslaughter, at the worst on it; and then it is but a singed thumb instead of a twisted neck—always if there be no Papistry about it, for then I warrant nothing.—Take the gentleman's worship away, Clink.'
A turnkey, who was one of the party that had ushered Peveril into the presence of this Cerberus, now conveyed him out in silence; and, under his guidance, the prisoner was carried through a second labyrinth of passages with cells opening on each side, to that which was destined for his reception.
On the road through this sad region, the turnkey more than once ejaculated, 'Why, the gentleman must be stark-mad! Could have had the best crown cell to himself for less than half the garnish, and must pay double to pig in with Sir Geoffrey! Ha, ha!—Is Sir Geoffrey akin to you, if any one may make free to ask?'
'I am his son,' answered Peveril sternly, in hopes to impose some curb on the fellow's impertinence; but the man only laughed louder than before.
'His son!—Why, that's best of all—Why, you are a strapping youth—five feet ten, if you be an inch—and Sir Geoffrey's son!—Ha, ha, ha!'
'Truce with your impertinence,' said Julian. 'My situation gives you no title to insult me!'
'No more I do,' said the turnkey, smothering his mirth at the recollection, perhaps, that the prisoner's purse was not exhausted. 'I only laughed because you said you were Sir Geoffrey's son. But no matter—'tis a wise child that knows his own father. And here is Sir Geoffrey's cell; so you and he may settle the fatherhood between you.'
So saying, he ushered his prisoner into a cell, or rather a strong room of the better order, in which there were four chairs, a truckle-bed, and one or two other articles of furniture.
Julian looked eagerly around for his father; but to his surprise the room appeared totally empty. He turned with anger on the turnkey, and charged him with misleading him; but the fellow answered, 'No, no, master; I have kept faith with you. Your father, if you call him so, is only tappiced in some corner. A small hole will hide him; but I'll rouse him out presently for you.—Here, hoicks!—Turn out, Sir Geoffrey!—Here is—Ha, ha, ha!—your son—or your wife's son—for I think you have but little share in him—come to wait on you.'
Peveril knew not how to resent the man's insolence; and indeed his anxiety, and apprehension of some strange mistake, mingled with, and in some degree neutralised his anger. He looked again and again, around and around the room; until at length he became aware of something rolled up in a dark corner, which rather resembled a small bundle of crimson cloth than any living creature. At the vociferation of the turnkey, however, the object seemed to acquire life and motion, uncoiled itself in some degree, and, after an effort or two, gained an erect posture; still covered from top to toe with the crimson drapery in which it was at first wrapped. Julian, at the first glance, imagined from the size that he saw a child of five years old; but a shrill and peculiar tone of voice soon assured him of his mistake.
'Warder,' said this unearthly sound, 'what is the meaning of this disturbance? Have you more insults to heap on the head of one who hath ever been the butt of fortune's malice? But I have a soul that can wrestle with all my misfortunes; it is as large as any of your bodies.'
'Nay, Sir Geoffrey, if this be the way you welcome your own son!' said the turnkey; 'but you quality folks know your own ways best.'
'My son!' exclaimed the little figure. 'Audacious——'
'Here is some strange mistake,' said Peveril, in the same breath. 'I sought Sir Geoffrey——'
'And you have him before you, young man,' said the pigmy tenant of the cell, with an air of dignity; at the same time casting on the floor his crimson cloak, and standing before them in his full dignity of three feet six inches of height. 'I who was the favoured servant of three successive Sovereigns of the Crown of England, am now the tenant of this dungeon, and the sport of its brutal keepers. I am Sir Geoffrey Hudson.'
Julian, though he had never before seen this important personage, had no difficulty in recognising, from description, the celebrated dwarf of Henrietta Maria, who had survived the dangers of civil war and private quarrel—the murder of his royal master, Charles I., and the exile of his widow—to fall upon evil tongues and evil days, amidst the unsparing accusations connected with the Popish Plot. He bowed to the unhappy old man, and hastened to explain to him, and to the turnkey, that it was Sir Geoffrey Peveril, of Martindale Castle in Derbyshire whose prison he desired to share.
'You should have said that before you parted with the gold-dust, my master,' answered the turnkey; 'for t'other Sir Geoffrey, that is the big, tall, grey-haired man, was sent to the Tower last night; and the Captain will think he has kept his word well enow with you, by lodging you with this here Sir Geoffrey Hudson, who is the better show of the two.'
'I pray you go to your master,' said Peveril; 'explain the mistake; and say to him I beg to be sent to the Tower.'
'The Tower!—Ha, ha, ha!' exclaimed the fellow. 'The Tower is for lords and knights, and not for squires of low degree—for high treason, and not for ruffing on the streets with rapier and dagger; and there must go a secretary's warrant to send you there.'
'At least, let me not be a burden on this gentleman,' said Julian. 'There can be no use in quartering us together, since we are not even acquainted. Go tell your master of the mistake.'
'Why, so I should,' said Clink, still grinning, 'if I were not sure that he knew it already. You paid to be sent to Sir Geoffrey, and he sent you to Sir Geoffrey. You are so put down in the register, and he will blot it for no man. Come, come, be comfortable, and you shall have light and easy irons—that's all I can do for you.'
Resistance and expostulation being out of the question, Peveril submitted to have a light pair of fetters secured on his ankles, which allowed him, nevertheless, the power of traversing the apartment.
During this operation, he reflected that the jailer, who had taken the advantage of the equivoque betwixt the two Sir Geoffreys, must have acted as his assistant had hinted, and cheated him from malice prepense, since the
