“Oh Lord ha’ mercy!” whimpered the old gentleman, as he wiped his forehead in a state of ludicrous distress, “to think of sending an alderman to awe a crowd! Why, my lord, if they were even so many babies, fed on mother’s milk, what do you think they’d care for an alderman! Will you come?”
“I!” said the Lord Mayor, most emphatically: “Certainly not.”
“Then what,” returned the old gentleman, “what am I to do? Am I a citizen of England? Am I to have the benefit of the laws? Am I to have any return for the King’s taxes?”
“I don’t know, I am sure,” said the Lord Mayor; “what a pity it is you’re a Catholic! Why couldn’t you be a Protestant, and then you wouldn’t have got yourself into such a mess? I’m sure I don’t know what’s to be done.—There are great people at the bottom of these riots.—Oh dear me, what a thing it is to be a public character!—You must look in again in the course of the day.—Would a javelin-man do?—Or there’s Philips the constable—he’s disengaged—he’s not very old for a man at his time of life, except in his legs, and if you put him up at a window he’d look quite young by candlelight, and might frighten ’em very much.—Oh dear!—well!—we’ll see about it.”
“Stop!” cried Mr. Haredale, pressing the door open as the porter strove to shut it, and speaking rapidly, “My Lord Mayor, I beg you not to go away. I have a man here, who committed a murder eight-and-twenty years ago. Half-a-dozen words from me, on oath, will justify you in committing him to prison for reexamination. I only seek, just now, to have him consigned to a place of safety. The least delay may involve his being rescued by the rioters.”
“Oh dear me!” cried the Lord Mayor. “God bless my soul—and body—oh Lor!—well I!—there are great people at the bottom of these riots, you know.—You really mustn’t.”
“My lord,” said Mr. Haredale, “the murdered gentleman was my brother; I succeeded to his inheritance; there were not wanting slanderous tongues at that time, to whisper that the guilt of this most foul and cruel deed was mine—mine, who loved him, as he knows, in Heaven, dearly. The time has come, after all these years of gloom and misery, for avenging him, and bringing to light a crime so artful and so devilish that it has no parallel. Every second’s delay on your part loosens this man’s bloody hands again, and leads to his escape. My lord, I charge you hear me, and despatch this matter on the instant.”
“Oh dear me!” cried the chief magistrate; “these an’t business hours, you know—I wonder at you—how ungentlemanly it is of you—you mustn’t—you really mustn’t.—And I suppose you are a Catholic too?”
“I am,” said Mr. Haredale.
“God bless my soul, I believe people turn Catholics a’purpose to vex and worrit me,” cried the Lord Mayor. “I wish you wouldn’t come here; they’ll be setting the Mansion House afire next, and we shall have you to thank for it. You must lock your prisoner up, sir—give him to a watchman—and—call again at a proper time. Then we’ll see about it!”
Before Mr. Haredale could answer, the sharp closing of a door and drawing of its bolts, gave notice that the Lord Mayor had retreated to his bedroom, and that further remonstrance would be unavailing. The two clients retreated likewise, and the porter shut them out into the street.
“That’s the way he puts me off,” said the old gentleman, “I can get no redress and no help. What are you going to do, sir?”
“To try elsewhere,” answered Mr. Haredale, who was by this time on horseback.
“I feel for you, I assure you—and well I may, for we are in a common cause,” said the old gentleman. “I may not have a house to offer you tonight; let me tender it while I can. On second thoughts though,” he added, putting up a pocketbook he had produced while speaking, “I’ll not give you a card, for if it was found upon you, it might get you into trouble. Langdale—that’s my name—vintner and distiller—Holborn Hill—you’re heartily welcome, if you’ll come.”
Mr. Haredale bowed, and rode off, close beside the chaise as before; determining to repair to the house of Sir John Fielding, who had the reputation of being a bold and active magistrate, and fully resolved, in case the rioters should come upon them, to do execution on the murderer with his own hands, rather than suffer him to be released.
They arrived at the magistrate’s dwelling, however, without molestation (for the mob, as we have seen, were then intent on deeper schemes), and knocked at the door. As it had been pretty generally rumoured that Sir John was proscribed by the rioters, a body of thief-takers had been keeping watch in the house all night. To one of them Mr. Haredale stated his business, which appearing to the man of sufficient moment to warrant his arousing the justice, procured him an immediate audience.
No time was lost in committing the murderer to Newgate; then a new building, recently completed at a vast expense, and considered to be of enormous strength. The warrant being made out, three of the thief-takers bound him afresh (he had been struggling, it seemed, in the chaise, and had loosened his manacles); gagged him lest they should meet with any of the mob, and he should call to them for help; and seated themselves, along with him, in the carriage. These men being all well armed, made a formidable escort; but they drew up the blinds again, as though the carriage were empty, and directed Mr. Haredale to ride forward, that he might not attract attention by seeming to belong to it.
The wisdom of this proceeding was sufficiently obvious, for as they hurried through the city they passed among several groups of men, who, if they had not supposed the chaise to be quite empty, would certainly
