Authors: Sheridan Le Fanu
When I made it my first visit, it was in company with my father, when I
was still a boy, in the year 1808. I was about twelve years old, and my
imagination impressible, as it always is at that age. I looked about me
with great awe. I was here in the very centre and scene of those
occurrences which I had heard recounted at the fireside at home, with so
delightful a horror.
My father was an old bachelor of nearly sixty when he married. He had,
when a child, seen Judge Harbottle on the bench in his robes and wig a
dozen times at least before his death, which took place in 1748, and his
appearance made a powerful and unpleasant impression, not only on his
imagination, but upon his nerves.
The Judge was at that time a man of some sixty-seven years. He had a
great mulberry-coloured face, a big, carbuncled nose, fierce eyes, and a
grim and brutal mouth. My father, who was young at the time, thought it
the most formidable face he had ever seen; for there were evidences of
intellectual power in the formation and lines of the forehead. His voice
was loud and harsh, and gave effect to the sarcasm which was his
habitual weapon on the bench.
This old gentleman had the reputation of being about the wickedest man
in England. Even on the bench he now and then showed his scorn of
opinion. He had carried cases his own way, it was said, in spite of
counsel, authorities, and even of juries, by a sort of cajolery,
violence, and bamboozling, that somehow confused and overpowered
resistance. He had never actually committed himself; he was too cunning
to do that. He had the character of being, however, a dangerous and
unscrupulous judge; but his character did not trouble him. The
associates he chose for his hours of relaxation cared as little as he
did about it.
One night during the session of 1746 this old Judge went down in his
chair to wait in one of the rooms of the House of Lords for the result
of a division in which he and his order were interested.
This over, he was about to return to his house close by, in his chair;
but the night had become so soft and fine that he changed his mind, sent
it home empty, and with two footmen, each with a flambeau, set out on
foot in preference. Gout had made him rather a slow pedestrian. It took
him some time to get through the two or three streets he had to pass
before reaching his house.
In one of those narrow streets of tall houses, perfectly silent at that
hour, he overtook, slowly as he was walking, a very singular-looking old
gentleman.
He had a bottle-green coat on, with a cape to it, and large stone
buttons, a broad-leafed low-crowned hat, from under which a big powdered
wig escaped; he stooped very much, and supported his bending knees with
the aid of a crutch-handled cane, and so shuffled and tottered along
painfully.
"I ask your pardon, sir," said this old man, in a very quavering voice,
as the burly Judge came up with him, and he extended his hand feebly
towards his arm.
Mr. Justice Harbottle saw that the man was by no means poorly dressed,
and his manner that of a gentleman.
The Judge stopped short, and said, in his harsh peremptory tones, "Well,
sir, how can I serve you?"
"Can you direct me to Judge Harbottle's house? I have some intelligence
of the very last importance to communicate to him."
"Can you tell it before witnesses?" asked the Judge.
"By no means; it must reach
his
ear only," quavered the old man
earnestly.
"If that be so, sir, you have only to accompany me a few steps farther
to reach my house, and obtain a private audience; for I am Judge
Harbottle."
With this invitation the infirm gentleman in the white wig complied very
readily; and in another minute the stranger stood in what was then
termed the front parlour of the Judge's house,
tête-à-tête
with that
shrewd and dangerous functionary.
He had to sit down, being very much exhausted, and unable for a little
time to speak; and then he had a fit of coughing, and after that a fit
of gasping; and thus two or three minutes passed, during which the Judge
dropped his roquelaure on an arm-chair, and threw his cocked-hat over
that.
The venerable pedestrian in the white wig quickly recovered his voice.
With closed doors they remained together for some time.
There were guests waiting in the drawing-rooms, and the sound of men's
voices laughing, and then of a female voice singing to a harpsichord,
were heard distinctly in the hall over the stairs; for old Judge Harbottle
had arranged one of his dubious jollifications, such as might well make
the hair of godly men's heads stand upright for that night.
This old gentleman in the powdered white wig, that rested on his stooped
shoulders, must have had something to say that interested the Judge very
much; for he would not have parted on easy terms with the ten minutes
and upwards which that conference filched from the sort of revelry in
which he most delighted, and in which he was the roaring king, and in
some sort the tyrant also, of his company.
The footman who showed the aged gentleman out observed that the Judge's
mulberry-coloured face, pimples and all, were bleached to a dingy
yellow, and there was the abstraction of agitated thought in his manner,
as he bid the stranger good-night. The servant saw that the conversation
had been of serious import, and that the Judge was frightened.
Instead of stumping upstairs forthwith to his scandalous hilarities, his
profane company, and his great china bowl of punch—the identical bowl
from which a bygone Bishop of London, good easy man, had baptised this
Judge's grandfather, now clinking round the rim with silver ladles, and
hung with scrolls of lemon-peel—instead, I say, of stumping and
clambering up the great staircase to the cavern of his Circean
enchantment, he stood with his big nose flattened against the window-pane,
watching the progress of the feeble old man, who clung stiffly to
the iron rail as he got down, step by step, to the pavement.
The hall-door had hardly closed, when the old Judge was in the hall
bawling hasty orders, with such stimulating expletives as old colonels
under excitement sometimes indulge in now-a-days, with a stamp or two of
his big foot, and a waving of his clenched fist in the air. He commanded
the footman to overtake the old gentleman in the white wig, to offer him
his protection on his way home, and in no case to show his face again
without having ascertained where he lodged, and who he was, and all
about him.
"By —, sirrah! if you fail me in this, you doff my livery to-night!"
Forth bounced the stalwart footman, with his heavy cane under his arm,
and skipped down the steps, and looked up and down the street after the
singular figure, so easy to recognize.
What were his adventures I shall not tell you just now.
The old man, in the conference to which he had been admitted in that
stately panelled room, had just told the Judge a very strange story. He
might be himself a conspirator; he might possibly be crazed; or possibly
his whole story was straight and true.
The aged gentleman in the bottle-green coat, in finding himself alone
with Mr. Justice Harbottle, had become agitated. He said,
"There is, perhaps you are not aware, my lord, a prisoner in Shrewsbury
jail, charged with having forged a bill of exchange for a hundred and
twenty pounds, and his name is Lewis Pyneweck, a grocer of that town."
"Is there?" says the Judge, who knew well that there was.
"Yes, my lord," says the old man.
"Then you had better say nothing to affect this case. If you do, by
—, I'll commit you! for I'm to try it," says the judge, with his
terrible look and tone.
"I am not going to do anything of the kind, my lord; of him or his case
I know nothing, and care nothing. But a fact has come to my knowledge
which it behoves you to well consider."
"And what may that fact be?" inquired the Judge; "I'm in haste, sir, and
beg you will use dispatch."
"It has come to my knowledge, my lord, that a secret tribunal is in
process of formation, the object of which is to take cognisance of the
conduct of the judges; and first, of
your
conduct, my lord; it is a
wicked conspiracy."
"Who are of it?" demands the Judge.
"I know not a single name as yet. I know but the fact, my lord; it is
most certainly true."
"I'll have you before the Privy Council, sir," says the Judge.
"That is what I most desire; but not for a day or two, my lord."
"And why so?"
"I have not as yet a single name, as I told your lordship; but I expect
to have a list of the most forward men in it, and some other papers
connected with the plot, in two or three days."
"You said one or two just now."
"About that time, my lord."
"Is this a Jacobite plot?"
"In the main I think it is, my lord."
"Why, then, it is political. I have tried no State prisoners, nor am
like to try any such. How, then, doth it concern me?"
"From what I can gather, my lord, there are those in it who desire
private revenges upon certain judges."
"What do they call their cabal?"
"The High Court of Appeal, my lord."
"Who are you, sir? What is your name?"
"Hugh Peters, my lord."
"That should be a Whig name?"
"It is, my lord." "Where do you lodge, Mr. Peters?"
"In Thames Street, my lord, over against the sign of the 'Three Kings.'"
"'Three Kings?' Take care one be not too many for you, Mr. Peters! How
come you, an honest Whig, as you say, to be privy to a Jacobite plot?
Answer me that."
"My lord, a person in whom I take an interest has been seduced to take a
part in it; and being frightened at the unexpected wickedness of their
plans, he is resolved to become an informer for the Crown."
"He resolves like a wise man, sir. What does he say of the persons? Who
are in the plot? Doth he know them?"
"Only two, my lord; but he will be introduced to the club in a few days,
and he will then have a list, and more exact information of their plans,
and above all of their oaths, and their hours and places of meeting,
with which he wishes to be acquainted before they can have any
suspicions of his intentions. And being so informed, to whom, think you,
my lord, had he best go then?"
"To the king's attorney-general straight. But you say this concerns me,
sir, in particular? How about this prisoner, Lewis Pyneweck? Is he one
of them?"
"I can't tell, my lord; but for some reason, it is thought your lordship
will be well advised if you try him not. For if you do, it is feared
'twill shorten your days."
"So far as I can learn, Mr. Peters, this business smells pretty strong
of blood and treason. The king's attorney-general will know how to deal
with it. When shall I see you again, sir?"
"If you give me leave, my lord, either before your lordship's court
sits, or after it rises, to-morrow. I should like to come and tell your
lordship what has passed."
"Do so, Mr. Peters, at nine o'clock to-morrow morning. And see you play
me no trick, sir, in this matter; if you do, by —, sir, I'll lay you
by the heels!"
"You need fear no trick from me, my lord; had I not wished to serve you,
and acquit my own conscience, I never would have come all this way to
talk with your lordship."
"I'm willing to believe you, Mr. Peters; I'm willing to believe you,
sir."
And upon this they parted.
"He has either painted his face, or he is consumedly sick," thought the
old Judge.
The light had shown more effectually upon his features as he turned to
leave the room with a low bow, and they looked, he fancied, unnaturally
chalky.
"D— him!" said the Judge ungraciously, as he began to scale the
stairs: "he has half-spoiled my supper."
But if he had, no one but the Judge himself perceived it, and the
evidence was all, as any one might perceive, the other way.
In the meantime the footman dispatched in pursuit of Mr. Peters
speedily overtook that feeble gentleman. The old man stopped when he
heard the sound of pursuing steps, but any alarms that may have crossed
his mind seemed to disappear on his recognizing the livery. He very
gratefully accepted the proffered assistance, and placed his tremulous
arm within the servant's for support. They had not gone far, however,
when the old man stopped suddenly, saying,
"Dear me! as I live, I have dropped it. You heard it fall. My eyes, I
fear, won't serve me, and I'm unable to stoop low enough; but if
you
will look, you shall have half the find. It is a guinea; I carried it in
my glove."
The street was silent and deserted. The footman had hardly descended to
what he termed his "hunkers," and begun to search the pavement about the
spot which the old man indicated, when Mr. Peters, who seemed very much
exhausted, and breathed with difficulty, struck him a violent blow, from
above, over the back of the head with a heavy instrument, and then
another; and leaving him bleeding and senseless in the gutter, ran like
a lamplighter down a lane to the right, and was gone.
When an hour later, the watchman brought the man in livery home, still
stupid and covered with blood, Judge Harbottle cursed his servant
roundly, swore he was drunk, threatened him with an indictment for
taking bribes to betray his master, and cheered him with a perspective
of the broad street leading from the Old Bailey to Tyburn, the cart's
tail, and the hangman's lash.
Notwithstanding this demonstration, the Judge was pleased. It was a
disguised "affidavit man," or footpad, no doubt, who had been employed
to frighten him. The trick had fallen through.
A "court of appeal," such as the false Hugh Peters had indicated, with
assassination for its sanction, would be an uncomfortable institution
for a "hanging judge" like the Honourable Justice Harbottle. That
sarcastic and ferocious administrator of the criminal code of England,
at that time a rather pharisaical, bloody and heinous system of justice,
had reasons of his own for choosing to try that very Lewis Pyneweck, on
whose behalf this audacious trick was devised. Try him he would. No man
living should take that morsel out of his mouth.