"I cannot conceive how she traced me," said Gerard. "I have never even breathed to her of our meeting. Would we had some water! Ah! here it comes.
"I arrest you in the Queen"s name," said a serjeant of police.
"Resistance is vain." Maclast blew out the light, and then ran up into the loft, followed by the thickset man, who fell down the stairs: Wilkins got up the chimney. The sergeant took a lanthorn from his pocket, and threw a powerful light on the chamber, while his followers entered, seized and secured all the papers, and commenced their search.
The light fell upon a group that did not move: the father holding the hand of his insensible child, while he extended his other arm as if to preserve her from the profanation of the touch of the invaders.
"You are Walter Gerard, I presume," said the serjeant, "six foot two without shoes."
"Whoever I may he," he replied, "I presume you will produce your warrant, friend, before you touch me."
""Tis here. We want five of you, named herein, and all others that may happen to be found in your company."
"I shall obey the warrant," said Gerard after he had examined it; "but this maiden, my daughter, knows nothing of this meeting or its purpose.
She has but just arrived, and how she traced me I know not. You will let me recover her, and then permit her to depart."
"Can"t let no one out of my sight found in this room."
"But she is innocent, even if we were guilty; she could be nothing else but innocent, for she knows nothing of this meeting and its business, both of which I am prepared at the right time and place to vindicate.
She entered this room a moment only before yourself, entered and swooned."
"Can"t help that; must take her; she can tell the magistrate anything she likes, and he must decide."
"Why you are not afraid of a young girl?"
"I am afraid of nothing; but I must do my duty. Come we have no time for talk. I must take you both."
"By G--d you shall not take her;" and letting go her hand, Gerard advanced before her and a.s.sumed a position of defence. "You know, I find, my height: my strength does not shame my stature! Look to yourself. Advance and touch this maiden, and I will fell you and your minions like oxen at their pasture."
The inspector took a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at Gerard.
"You see," he said, "resistance is quite vain."
"For slaves and cravens, but not for us. I say you shall not touch her till I am dead at her feet. Now, do your worst."
At this moment two policemen who had been searching the loft descended with Maclast who had vainly attempted to effect his escape over a neighbouring roof; the thickset man was already secured; and Wilkins had been pulled down the chimney and made his appearance in as grimy a state as such a shelter would naturally have occasioned. The young man too, their first prisoner who had been captured before they had entered the room, was also brought in; there was now abundance of light; the four prisoners were ranged and well guarded at the end of the apartment; Gerard standing before Sybil still maintained his position of defence, and the serjeant was, a few yards away, in his front with his pistol in his hand.
"Well you are a queer chap," said the serjeant; "but I must do my duty.
I shall give orders to my men to seize you, and if you resist them, I shall shoot you through the head."
"Stop!" called out one of the prisoners, the young man who drew proclamations, "she moves. Do with us as you think fit, but you cannot be so harsh as to seize one that is senseless, and a woman!"
"I must do my duty," said the serjeant rather perplexed at the situation. "Well, if you like, take steps to restore her, and when she has come to herself, she shall be moved in a hackney coach alone with her father."
The means at hand to recover Sybil were rude, but they a.s.sisted a reviving nature. She breathed, she sighed, slowly opened her beautiful dark eyes, and looked around. Her father held her death-cold hand; she returned his pressure: her lips moved, and still she murmured "fly!"
Gerard looked at the serjeant. "I am ready," he said, "and I will carry her." The officer nodded a.s.sent. Guarded by two policemen the tall delegate of Mowbray bore his precious burthen out of the chamber through the yard, the printing-offices, up the alley, till a hackney coach received them in Hunt Street, round which a mob had already collected, though kept at a discreet distance by the police. One officer entered the coach with them: another mounted the box. Two other coaches carried the rest of the prisoners and their guards, and within halt an hour from the arrival of Sybil at the scene of the secret meeting, she was on her way to Bow Street to be examined as a prisoner of state.
Sybil rallied quickly during their progress to the police office.
Satisfied to find herself with her father she would have enquired as to all that had happened, but Gerard at first discouraged her; at length he thought it wisest gradually to convey to her that they were prisoners, but he treated the matter lightly, did not doubt that she would immediately be discharged, and added that though he might be detained for a day or so, his offence was at all events bailable and he had friends on whom he could rely. When Sybil clearly comprehended that she was a prisoner, and that her public examination was impending, she became silent, and leaning back in the coach, covered her face with her hands.
The prisoners arrived at Bow Street; they were hurried into a back office, where they remained some time unnoticed, several police-men remaining in the room. At length about twenty minutes having elapsed, a man dressed in black and of a severe aspect entered the room accompanied by an inspector of police. He first enquired whether these were the prisoners, what were their names and descriptions, which each had to give and which were written down, where they were arrested, why they were arrested: then scrutinising them sharply he said the magistrate was at the Home Office, and he doubted whether they could be examined until the morrow. Upon this Gerard commenced stating the circ.u.mstances under which Sybil had unfortunately been arrested, but the gentleman in black with a severe aspect, immediately told him to hold his tongue, and when Gerard persisted, declared that if Gerard did not immediately cease he should be separated from the other prisoners and be ordered into solitary confinement.
Another half hour of painful suspense. The prisoners were not permitted to hold any conversation; Sybil sat half reclining on a form with her back against the wall, and her face covered, silent and motionless. At the end of half an hour the inspector of police who had visited them with the gentleman in black entered and announced that the prisoners could not be brought up for examination that evening, and they must make themselves as comfortable as they could for the night. Gerard made a last appeal to the inspector that Sybil might be allowed a separate chamber and in this he was unexpectedly successful.
The inspector was a kind-hearted man: he lived at the office and his wife was the housekeeper. He had already given her an account, an interesting account, of his female prisoner. The good woman"s imagination was touched as well as her heart; she had herself suggested that they ought to soften the rigour of the fair prisoner"s lot; and the inspector therefore almost antic.i.p.ated the request of Gerard. He begged Sybil to accompany him to his better half, and at once promised all the comforts and convenience which they could command. As, attended by the inspector, she took her way to the apartments of his family, they pa.s.sed through a room in which there were writing materials, and Sybil speaking for the first time and in a faint voice enquired of the inspector whether it were permitted to apprise a friend of her situation. She was answered in the affirmative, on condition that the note was previously perused by him.
"I will write it at once," she said, and taking up a pen she inscribed these words,
"I followed your counsel; I entreated him to quit London this night. He pledged himself to do so on the morrow.
"I learnt he was attending a secret meeting; that there was urgent peril. I tracked him through scenes of terror. Alas! I arrived only in time to be myself seized as a conspirator, and I have been arrested and carried a prisoner to Bow Street, where I write this.
"I ask you not to interfere for him: that would be vain; but if I were free, I might at least secure him justice. But I am not free: I am to be brought up for public examination to-morrow, if I survive this night.
"You are powerful; you know all; you know what I say is truth. None else will credit it. Save me!"
"And now," said Sybil to the inspector in a tone of mournful desolation and of mild sweetness, "all depends on your faith to me," and she extended him the letter, which he read.
"Whoever he may be and wherever he may be," said the inspector with emotion, for the spirit of Sybil had already controlled his nature, "provided the person to whom this letter is addressed is within possible distance, fear not it shall reach him."
"I will seal and address it then," said Sybil, and she addressed the letter to
"THE HON. CHARLES EGREMONT M.P."
adding that superscription the sight of which had so agitated Egremont at Deloraine House.
Book 5 Chapter 9
Night waned: and Sybil was at length slumbering. The cold that precedes the dawn had stolen over her senses, and calmed the excitement of her nerves. She was lying on the ground, covered with a cloak of which her kind hostess had prevailed on her to avail herself, and was partly resting on a chair, at which she had been praying when exhausted nature gave way and she slept. Her bonnet had fallen off, and her rich hair, which had broken loose, covered her shoulder like a mantle. Her slumber was brief and disturbed, but it had in a great degree soothed the irritated brain. She woke however in terror from a dream in which she had been dragged through a mob and carried before a tribunal. The coa.r.s.e jeers, the brutal threats, still echoed in her ear; and when she looked around, she could not for some moments recall or recognise the scene.
In one corner of the room, which was sufficiently s.p.a.cious, was a bed occupied by the still sleeping wife of the inspector; there was a great deal of heavy furniture of dark mahogany; a bureau, several chests of drawers: over the mantel was a piece of faded embroidery framed, that had been executed by the wife of the inspector when she was at school, and opposite to it, on the other side, were portraits of d.i.c.k Curtis and Dutch Sam, who had been the tutors of her husband, and now lived as heroes in his memory.
Slowly came over Sybil the consciousness of the dreadful eve that was past. She remained for some time on her knees in silent prayer: then stepping lightly, she approached the window. It was barred. The room which she inhabited was a high story of the house; it looked down upon one of those half tawdry, half squalid streets that one finds in the vicinities of our theatres; some wretched courts, haunts of misery and crime, blended with gin palaces and slang taverns, burnished and brazen; not a being was stirring. It was just that single hour of the twenty-four when crime ceases, debauchery is exhausted, and even desolation finds a shelter.
It was dawn, but still grey. For the first time since she had been a prisoner, Sybil was alone. A prisoner, and in a few hours to be examined before a public tribunal! Her heart sank. How far her father had committed himself was entirely a mystery to her; but the language of Morley, and all that she had witnessed, impressed her with the conviction that he was deeply implicated. He had indeed spoken in their progress to the police office with confidence as to the future, but then he had every motive to encourage her in her despair, and to support her under the overwhelming circ.u.mstances in which she was so suddenly involved. What a catastrophe to all his high aspirations! It tore her heart to think of him! As for herself, she would still hope that ultimately she might obtain justice, but she could scarcely flatter herself that at the first any distinction would be made between her case and that of the other prisoners. She would probably be committed for trial; and though her innocence on that occasion might be proved, she would have been a prisoner in the interval, instead of devoting all her energies in freedom to the support and a.s.sistance of her father. She shrank, too, with all the delicacy of a woman, from the impending examination in open court before the magistrate. Supported by her convictions, vindicating a sacred principle, there was no trial perhaps to which Sybil would not have been superior, and no test of her energy and faith which she would not have triumphantly encountered; but to be hurried like a criminal to the bar of a police office, suspected of the lowest arts of sedition, ignorant even of what she was accused, without a conviction to support her or the enn.o.bling consciousness of having failed at least in a great cause; all these were circ.u.mstances which infinitely disheartened and depressed her. She felt sometimes that she should be unable to meet the occasion: had it not been for Gerard she could almost have wished that death might release her from its base perplexities.
Was there any hope? In the agony of her soul she had confided last night in one; with scarcely a bewildering hope that he could save her. He might not have the power, the opportunity, the wish. He might shrink from mixing himself up with such characters and such transactions; he might not have received her hurried appeal in time to act upon it, even if the desire of her soul were practicable. A thousand difficulties, a thousand obstacles now occurred to her; and she felt her hopelessness.
Yet notwithstanding her extreme sorrow, and the absence of all surrounding objects to soothe and to console her, the expanding dawn revived and even encouraged Sybil. In spite of the confined situation, she could still partially behold a sky dappled with rosy hues; a sense of freshness touched her: she could not resist endeavouring to open the window and feel the air, notwithstanding all her bars. The wife of the inspector stirred, and half slumbering, murmured, "Are you up? It cannot be more than five o"clock. If you open the window we shall catch cold; but I will rise and help you to dress."
This woman, like her husband, was naturally kind, and at once influenced by Sybil. They both treated her as a superior being; and if, instead of the daughter of a lowly prisoner and herself a prisoner, she had been the n.o.ble child of a captive minister of state, they could not have extended to her a more humble and even delicate solicitude.
It had not yet struck seven, and the wife of the inspector suddenly stopping and listening, said, "They are stirring early:" and then, after a moment"s pause, she opened the door, at which she stood for some time endeavouring to catch the meaning of the mysterious sounds. She looked back at Sybil, and saying, "Hush, I shall be back directly," she withdrew, shutting the door.
In little more than two hours, as Sybil had been informed, she would be summoned to her examination. It was a sickening thought. Hope vanished as the catastrophe advanced. She almost accused herself for having without authority sought out her father; it had been as regarded him a fruitless mission, and, by its results on her, had aggravated his present sorrows and perplexities. Her mind again recurred to him whose counsel had indirectly prompted her rash step, and to whose aid in her infinite hopelessness she had appealed. The woman who had all this time been only standing on the landing-place without the door, now re-entered with a puzzled and curious air, saying, "I cannot make it out; some one has arrived."