The Cock and Anchor Part 48

"How are you, Parson Shyc.o.c.k?" said Chancey; "how do you find yourself this morning, doctor?"

"Tolerably well. But what is it you want with me? out with it, spooney.

Any job in my line, eh?" inquired the clergyman.

"Yes, indeed, doctor," replied Chancey, "and a very good job; you're wanted to marry a gentleman and a lady privately, not a mile and a half out of town, this evening; you'll get five guineas for the job, and I think that's no trifle."

The parson mused, and scratched his head again.

"Well," said he, "you must do a little job for me first. You can't be ignorant that we members of the Church militant are often hard up; and whenever I'm in a fix I pop wig, breeches, and gown, and take to my bed; you'll find the three articles in this lane, corner house--sign, three golden b.a.l.l.s; present this docket--where the devil is it? ay, here; all right--present this along with two guineas, paid in advance on account of job: bring me the articles, and I'll get up and go along with you in a brace of shakes. And stay; didn't I hear some one talking of brandy? or--or was I dreaming? You may as well get in a half-pint, for I'm never the thing till I have some little moderate refreshment; so, dearly beloved, mizzle at once."

"Dear me, dear me, doctor," said Chancey, "how can you think I'd go for to bring two guineas along with me?"

"If you haven't the _rhino_, this is no place for you, my fellow-sinner,"

rejoined the couple-beggar; "and if you _have_, off with you and deliver the togs out of pop. You wouldn't have a clergyman walk the streets without breeches, eh, dearly beloved cove?"

"Well, well, but you're a wonderful man," rejoined Chancey, with a faint smile. "I suppose, then, I must do it; so give me the docket, and I'll be here again as soon as I can."

"And do you mind me, you stray sheep, you, don't forget the lush,"

added the pastor. "I'm very desirous to wet my whistle; my mums, by the hokey, is as dry as a Dutch brick. Good-bye to you, and do you mind, be back here in the twinkling of a brace of bed-posts."

With this injunction, and bearing the crumpled doc.u.ment, which the reverend divine had given him, as his credentials with the p.a.w.nbroker, Mr. Chancey cautiously lounged down the crazy stairs.

"I say, my nutty Nancy," observed the parson, after a long yawn and a stretch, addressing the female who sat at the window, "that chap's made of money. I had a pint with him once in Clarke's public--round the corner there. His name's Chancey, and he does half the bills in town--a regular Jew chap."

So saying, the Reverend Ebenezer Shyc.o.c.k, LL.D., unceremoniously rolled himself out of bed and hobbled to a crazy deal box, in which were deposited such articles of attire as had not been transmitted to the obliging proprietor of the neighbouring three golden b.a.l.l.s.

While the reverend divine was kneeling before this box, and, with a tenderness suited to their frail condition, removing the few scanty articles of his wardrobe and laying them reverently upon a crazy stool beside him, Mr. Chancey returned, bearing the liberated decorations of the doctor's person, as also a small black bottle.

"Oh, dear me, doctor," said Chancey, "but I'm glad to see you're stirring. Here's the things."

"And the--the lush, eh?" inquired the clergyman, peering inquisitively round Chancey's side to have a peep at the bottle.

"Yes, and the lush too," said the barrister.

"Well, give me the breeches," said the doctor, with alacrity, clutching those essential articles and proceeding to invest his limbs therein.

"And, Nancy, a sup of water and a brace of cups."

A cracked mug and a battered pewter goblet made their appearance, and, along with the ruin of a teapot which contained the pure element, were deposited on a chair--for tables were singularly scarce in the reverend doctor's establishment.

"Now, my beloved fellow-sinner, mix like a Trojan!" exclaimed the divine; "and take care, take care, pogey aqua, don't drown it with water; chise it, _chise_ it, man, that'll do."

With these words he grasped the vessel, nodded to Chancey, and directing his two grey eyes with a greedy squint upon the liquor as it approached his lips, he quaffed it at a single draught.

Without waiting for an invitation, which Chancey thought his clerical acquaintance might possibly forget, the barrister mingled some of the same beverage for his own private use, and quietly gulped it down; seeing which, and dreading Mr. Chancey's powers, which he remembered to have already seen tested at "Clarke's public," the learned divine abstractedly inverted the brandy bottle into his pewter goblet, and shedding upon it an almost imperceptible dew from the dilapidated teapot, he terminated the _symposium_ and proceeded to finish his toilet.

This was quickly done, and Mr. Gordon Chancey and the Reverend Ebenezer Shyc.o.c.k--two ill.u.s.trious and singularly well-matched ornaments of their respective professions--proceeded arm in arm, both redolent of grog, to the nearest coach stand, where they forthwith supplied themselves with a vehicle; and while Mr. Chancey pretty fully instructed his reverend companion in the precise nature of the service required of him, and, as far as was necessary, communicated the circ.u.mstances of the whole case, they traversed the interval which separated Dublin city from the manor of Morley Court.

CHAPTER LVII.

THE CHAPLAIN'S ARRIVAL AT MORLEY COURT--THE KEY--AND THE BOOZE IN THE BOUDOIR.

The hall door was opened to the summons of the two gentlemen by no less a personage than Nicholas Blarden himself, who, having carefully locked it again, handed the key to his accomplice, Gordon Chancey.

"Here, take it, Gordy, boy," exclaimed he, "I make you porter for the term of the honeymoon. Keep the gates well, old boy, and never let the keys out of your pocket unless I tell you. And so," continued he, treating the Reverend Ebenezer Shyc.o.c.k to a stare which took in his whole person, "you have caught the doctor and landed him fairly.

Doctor--what's your name? no matter--it's a delightful turn-up for a sinner like me to have the heavenly consolation of your pious company.

Follow me in here; I dare say your reverence would not object to a short interview with the brandy flask, or something of the kind--even saints must wet their whistles now and again."

So saying, Blarden led the way into the parlour.

"Here, guzzle away, old gentleman, there's plenty of the stuff here,"

said Blarden, "only beware how you make a beast of yourself. You mustn't tie up your red rag, do you mind? We'll want you to stand and read; and if you just keep senses enough for that, you may do whatever you like with the rest."

The clergyman nodded, and with a single sweep of his grey eyes, took in the contents of the whole table. His shaking hand quickly grasped the neck of the brandy flask, and he filled out and quaffed a comforting b.u.mper.

"Now, take it easy, do, or, by Jove, you'll not _keep_ till evening,"

said Blarden. "Chancey, have an eye on the parson, for his mind's so intent on heaven that he may possibly forget where he is and what he's doing. After dinner, Ashwoode and I have to go into town--some matters that must be wound up before the evening's entertainment begins--we'll be out, however, at eight o'clock or so. And mind this," he continued, gripping the barrister's shoulder in his hand with an energizing pressure, and speaking into his ear to secure attention, "you know that little room upstairs wherein we had the bit of chat with my lady love--the--the boudoir, I think they call it--now, mind me well--when the dusk comes on, do you and his reverence there take your pipes and your brandy, or whatever else you're amusing yourselves with at the time, and sit in that same room together, so that not a mouse can cross the floor unknown to you. Don't forget this, for we can't be too sharp.

Do you hear me, old Lucifer?"

"Never fear, never fear," rejoined Mr. Chancey. "The Reverend Ebenezer and I will spend the evening there--and, indeed, I declare to G.o.d, it's a very neat little room, so it is, for a quiet pipe and a pot of sack."

"Well, that's a point settled," rejoined Blarden. "And do you mind me, don't let that beastly old sot knock himself up before we come home. Do you hear me, old scarecrow," he continued, poking the reverend doctor somewhere about the region of the abdomen with the hilt of his sword, which he was adjusting at his side, and addressing himself to that gentleman, "if I find you drunk when I return this evening, I'll make it your last bout--I'll tap the brandy, old tickle pitcher, and stave the cask, and send you to seek your fortune in the other world. Mind my words--I'm not given to joking when I have real business on hand; and faith, you'll find me as ready to _do_ as to promise."

So saying, he left the room.

"A rum cove, that, upon my little word," said the Reverend Ebenezer Shyc.o.c.k, filling out another b.u.mper of his beloved cordial. "Take the bottle away at once; lock it up, my fellow-worm, lock it up, or I'll be at it again. Lock it up while I have this gla.s.s in my hand, or I must have another, and that might be--_might_, I say--_possibly_ might--but d----n it, no, it can't--I will have one more." And so saying, with desperate resolution, he quaffed what he had already in his hand and filled out another.

Chancey did not wait till he had repeated his mandate, but quietly removed the seductive flask and placed it beyond the reach and the sight of his clerical friend, who, feeling himself a little pleasant, sat down before the hearth, and in a voice whose tone nearly resembled that of a raven labouring under an affection of the chest, he chaunted through his nose, with many significant winks and grimaces, a ditty at that time in high acceptance among the votaries of vice and license, and whose words were such as even the 'Old St. Columbkill' would hardly have tolerated. This performance over--which, by the way, Chancey relished in his own quiet way with intense enjoyment--the reverend gentleman, composed himself for a doze for several hours, from which he aroused himself to eat and to drink a little more.

Thus pleasantly the day wore on, until at length the sun descended in glory behind the far-off blue hills, and the pale twilight began to herald the approach of night.

That day Mary Ashwoode appeared to have lost all energy of thought and feeling; she lay pale and silent upon her bed, seeming scarcely conscious even of the presence of her faithful attendant. From the moment of her yesterday's interview with Blarden, and the meeting with her brother, she had been thus despairing and stupefied. Flora Guy sat in the window, sometimes watching the pale face of the wretched lady, and at others looking out upon the old woodlands and the great avenue, darkened among its double rows of huge old limes. As the day wore on she suddenly exclaimed,--

"Oh, my lady, here's a gentleman coming with Mr. Chancey up the avenue, I see them between the trees, and the coach driving away."

"Can it--_can_ it be?" exclaimed Mary, starting wildly up in the bed--"is it he?"

"It's a little stout gentleman, with a red pimply face--they're talking under the window now, my lady; he has a band on, and a black gown across his arm--as sure as daylight, my lady--he is--blessed hour; he _is_ a parson."

Mary Ashwoode did not speak, but the momentary flash of hope faded from her face, and was succeeded by a paleness so deadly that lips and cheeks looked bloodless as the marble lineaments of a statue; in dull and silent despair she sank again where she had lain before.

"Don't fear them, my lady," said the poor girl, placing herself by the bedside where, more like a corpse than a living being, her hapless mistress lay; "I will not leave you, and though they may threaten, they dare not hurt you--don't fear them, my lady."

The blanched cheeks and evident excitement of the honest maiden, however, too clearly belied her words of encouragement.