Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
THE WIDOW
THE cold January morning struggled into existence, amidst rain and
sleet, and seemed cradled in dense masses of clouds of tempestuous blackness.
It appeared as if the sun had taken leave of the, earth for
ever; and it would not have been surprising had the ignorant inquired whence
came the gloomy light that just seemed to guide them to their toil.
Miserable indeed was the aspect of the eastern district of
the metropolis. Emaciated women, wrapt in thin and scanty shawls, crept along
the streets, through the pouring rain, to purchase at the chandlers' shops the
morsel that was to serve for the' morning's meal, - or, perhaps, to pledge some
trifling article in their way, ere they could obtain that meal! Half-starved
men, - poor wretches who never made a hearty meal, and who were yet compelled
to work like horses, - unhappy beings, who flew to the public houses in
despair, and then were reproached by the illiberal and intolerant for their
immorality, - black sheep of Fortune's flock, to whom verdant pastures were
unknown,- friendless outcasts, who in sickness knew no other consolation than
that of the hospital, and in destitution, no asylum save the workhouse, -
luckless mortals, who cursed the day they knew the power of love, and execrated
that on which they pronounced the marriage vows, because therefrom had
sprung children who pined for want before their face,- such men as these were
seen dragging themselves along to their labours on the railroad, the canal, or
at the docks.
It was about eight o'clock on this miserable morning, when a
man, dressed in a shabby suit of black, and wearing a very dirty white
neckcloth, the long ends of which hung, damp and lanky, over the front of his
closely-buttoned body-coat, walked slowly along Smart Street - a thoroughfare
in the eastern part of Globe Town.
This individual was in reality verging upon sixty; but as he
dyed his hair and whiskers in order to maintain an uniform aspect of funereal
solemnity, he looked ten years younger. His manner was grave and important;
and, although the rain was descending in torrents, he would not for the world
depart from that measured pace which was habitual to him. He held an old
umbrella above his head, to protect a battered hat, round which a piece of
crape was sewn in three or four clumsy folds ; but the torrent penetrated
through the cotton tegumeut, and two streams poured from the broad brims of his
hat adown his anti-laughter-looking and rigidly demure countenance.
When he arrived at about the middle of Smart Street, he
halted, examined the numbers of the houses, and at length knocked at the door
of one of them.
An elderly woman, dressed in a neat but very homely garb,
responded to the summons.
"Does Mrs. Smith live here, ma'am?" demanded the
individual in black.
"My name's Smith, sir," answered the widow.
"Very good, ma'am. I'll have a little conversation with
you, if you please, " - and the stranger stepped into the passage.
Mrs. Smith conducted him into her little parlour, and
inquired his business.
"Mine, ma'am," was the answer, "is a
professional visit - entirely a professional visit, ma am. Alas! ma'am,"
continued the stranger, casting his eyes upwards in a most dolorous manner, and
taking a dirty white handkerchief from his pocket, - "alas ma'am, I
understand you have had a sad loss here?"
"A lodger of mine, sir, is dead," said Mrs. Smith,
somewhat surprised at the display of sorrow which she now beheld, and very
naturally expecting that her visitor would prove to be a relation of the
deceased.
"Ah! ma'am, we’re all mortal!"
exclaimed the stranger, with a mournful shake of the head, and a truly pitiful
turning up of the whites of his eyes, "we're all mortal, ma'am; and howsoever
high and mighty we may be in this life, the grave at last must have our
carkisses!"
"Very true, sir," said the good woman, putting the
corner of her apron to her eyes; for the reflection of the stranger called to
her mind the loss she had experienced in the deceased Mr. Smith.
"Alas! it's too true, ma'am," continued the
stranger, applying his handkerchief to his face, to suppress, as the widow
thought, a sob: "but it is to be hoped, ma'am, that your lodger has gone
to a better speer, where there's no cares to wex him - and no rent to
pay!"
"I hope so too, most sincerely, sir," said Mrs.
Smith, wondering when the gentleman would announce the precise terms of
relationship in which he stood to the deceased. "But, might I inquire
—"
"Yes, ma'am, you may inquire anything you choose,"
said the stranger, with another solemn shake of his head - in consequence of
which a great deal of wet was thrown over Mrs. Smith's furniture; "for I
know you by name, Mrs. Smith - I know you well by reputation - as a
respectable, kind-hearted, and pious widder; and I feel conwinced that your treatment
to the poor lamented deceased —" here the stranger shook his head again,
and groaned audibly - "was every thing that it ought to be in this blessed
land of Christian comfort!"
Mrs. Smith now began to suspect that she was honoured with
the visit of a devout minister of some particular sect to which the deceased
had probably belonged. But before she had time to mention her supposition, the
stranger resumed his highly edifying discourse.
"My dear madam," he said, turning up his eyes,
" the presence of death in this house - this wery house - ought to make us
mindful of the uncertain leasehold of our own lives; it ought to make us
prayerful and church-loving. But madam - my dear madam," continued the
stranger, apparently on the point of bursting out into a perfect agony of
grief, "there are attentions to be paid to the body as well as cares to
entertain for the soul; and the least we can do is to show a feeling of
weneration for our deceased friends by consigning them in a decent manner to
the grave."
"On that point, sir," said Mrs. Smith, "I
think
as you do; and I s'pose you're come to superintend the funeral. If
so, I am sure I am very thankful, for it's a great tax on a poor lone body like
me to have such a undertaking to attend to."
""I'll
undertake
the undertaking - out of respect
to the poor dear deceased, ma'am," observed the stranger, in a tone of
deep solemnity. "And now, ma'am," he continued, rising, "I must
request you to command those feelings which is so nat'ral under such
circumstances, and show me into the room where the blessed departed lays."
Mrs. Smith, thinking within herself that the visitor must
have some legitimate authority for his present proceeding, and presuming that
he would condescend to impart to her the nature of that authority ere he took
his leave, conducted him with very little hesitation to the room where the
deceased lay stretched upon the bed.
The corpse was covered with a clean white sheet; for every
thing, though excessively homely, was still neat and decent In the widow's
dwelling.
"I see, ma'am," said the stranger, advancing
solemnly up to the bed, and drawing the sheet away from the corpse, - "I
see that you know how to pay proper respect to the last remnants of mortality.
Ah! ma'am, it's all wanity and wexation of spirit!"
With these words the extraordinary stranger drew a rule
gravely from his pocket, and proceeded to measure the corpse, saying at the
same time, "Ah! my dear madam, heaven will reward you for all your
goodness towards our dear deceased friend!"
"Was he a friend of yours, then, sir!" demanded
the widow, somewhat astounded at the process of measurement which was now going
on before her eyes.
"Are we not all friends and brethren, ma'am!" said
the stranger "are we not all Christian friends and Christian brethren?
Yes, ma'am, we are - we must be."
"May I ask, sir, why —"
"Yes, ma'am, ask any thing - I implore you to ask any
thing. I am so overcome by the idea of your goodness towards the blessed
defunct, and by the sense of the dooty which my profession —"
"What profession, sir?" asked Mrs. Smith,
point-blank.
"Ah! my dear madam," answered the stranger, with a
shake of the head more solemn than any be had yet delivered himself of, "I
exercise the profession of undertaker."
"Undertaker!" ejaculated the widow, a light
breaking in upon her as she thought of the systematic measurement of the body.
"Undertaker and furnisher of funerals, ma'am, on the
most genteel and economic principles."
"Well - I really took you for a minister," said
Mrs. Smith, somewhat disappointed.
"Excellent woman! your goodness flatters me,"
ejaculated the undertaker. "But here is my card, ma'am -
Edward Banks
, you perceive -
Globe Lane
. Ah! my dear madam, I knew your
dear deceased husband well ! Often and oft have we chanted the same hymn
together in the parish church; and often have we drunk together out of the same
pewter at the
Spotted Dog
."
Mournful, indeed, was the shake of the head that accompanied
this latter assurance; and the undertaker once more had recourse to his dingy
pocket-handkerchief.
The widow used the corner of her apron.
Mr. Banks saw the advantage he had gained, and hastened to
clench the object of his visit.
"Yes, my dear madam, no man respected your dear husband
more than me: in fact, I wenerated that man. Poor dear Thomas Smith
—"
"Matthew, sir," said the widow mildly.
"Ah I so it was, ma'am - Matthew Smith! Good fellow -
charming companion - excellent man - gone, gone - never to come back no
more!"
And Mr. Banks sobbed audibly.
"Well," observed the widow, wiping her eyes,
"it's wery strange that poor dear Mat never should have mentioned your
name to me, considering you was so intimate."
"Our friendship, ma'am, was a solemn compact - too
solemn to be made a matter of idle conversation. But since I have made myself
known to you, my dear madam, do, pray, let me take this unpleasant business off
your hands, and conduct the funeral of your lamented lodger."
"Well, sir," said the widow, after a moment's
reflection, "since you are In the undertaking line, and as you've called
so polite and all, I shall be wery much obleeged —"
"Say no more, my dear Mrs. Smith," exclaimed Mr.
Banks. "I will do the thing respectable for you - and wery moderate
charges. You need not bother yourself about it in any way. We will bury the
dear departed in one of the Globe Lane grounds and I will even provide the
clergyman."
"Do you know a good - pious - sincere minister that you
can recommend, Mr. Banks?" asked the widow.
"I do, ma'am - a godly, dewout, prayerful man - meek
and humble," answered the undertaker.
"I rather want a little advice in one way - quite
private," continued Mrs. Smith; "and I should take it as a favor if
your friend the minister would just step round - or shall I call upon
him?"
"No, Mrs. Smith - certainly not. He shall pay his
respects to you. Gentlemen always waits upon ladies," added Mr. Banks.
Though he uttered a compliment, he did not smile; but Mrs.
Smith was flattered; and, leading the way down stairs to her little parlour,
she invited Mr. Banks to take "a thimble-full of something short to keep
out the damp that cold morning."
Mr. Banks accepted the civility; and the costs of the
funeral were duly settled. The undertaker engaged to inter the deceased lodger
for five pounds, and pay all expenses. At length he took his leave; and Mrs.
Smith felt quite relieved from any anxiety respecting the obsequies of the
deceased.
From Mrs. Smith's humble abode, the respectable Mr. Banks
proceeded to the dwelling of the Resurrection Man, who had just returned from a
visit to the surgeon that had attended upon the deceased. The success of this
visit will be related hereafter; for the present, let us hasten to inform our
readers that Mr. Banks acquainted his friend Mr. Tidkins with every particular
respecting his call upon the widow in Smart Street.
THE REVEREND VISITOR
WHEN Mr. Banks had taken his leave of the widow in Smart Street,
Globe Town, the latter seated herself in her little parlour to reflect upon
what had passed during the interview.
"Well," she said to herself, "that
certainly is a very singular man. To have knowed my husband so well, and for me
never to have knowed
him!
P'raps, after all, my poor Mat
was fond of the public-house, and didn't like to speak of the acquaintances he
met there. That accounts for his never mentioning Mr. Banks's name. But for a
man like Mr. Banks to come here whimpering and crying over a corpse, which he
never see living, shows an excellent heart. Mr. Banks must be a wery amiable
man. And yet I always heerd say that butchers and undertakers was the most
unfeelingest of men. They never let butchers set on juries; but I'm sure if
undertakers is so milk-hearted,
they
may set on juries, or up in
pulpits, or any where else, for my part. Mr. Banks is a wery respectable man -
and a wery pious one too. I'm sure I thought he was going to sing a hymn -
'specially after the dodger of gin he took. The minister that he said he'd send
to me must be a holy man: I shall put confidence in him - and foller his
advice."
A tap at the parlour door interrupted Mrs. Smith's reverie;
and the Buffer's wife entered the room.
"How do you do this morning, ma'am?" said Moll Wicks.
"I thought I heerd that you had company just now?"
"Only Mr. Banks, the undertaker, Mrs. Wicks."
"Oh! Mr. Banks. was it? ejaculated the Buffer's wife,
who now began to comprehend a part of the Resurrection Man's plan " and a
highly respectable individual he is too."
"Do you know any thing of him, Mrs. Wicks ?"
"Certainly I do, ma'am. He buried my grandfather and
grandmother, my great uncle and my lame aunt, and never took no more than
expenses out of pocket," answered Moll - although be it well remembered,
she had never seen nor heard of Mr. Banks before the preceding evening.
"Ah! well - I thought I couldn't be wrong,"
observed the widow, extremely satisfied with this information.
"And so I suppose, ma'am, you've made the arrangements
with him for the funeral ?"
"Just so," responded Mrs. Smith; "and in the
course of the day I expect a wery pious minister of Mr. Banks's
acquaintance."
Scarcely were these words uttered, when a modest double
knock at the front door was heard - a summons which Mrs. Wicks volunteered to
answer.
The moment she opened the door, an ejaculation of surprise
was about to issue from her tongue; but the individual whom she saw upon the
threshold put his finger to his lips to impose silence.
The Buffer's wife responded with a significant nod, and
introduced the visitor into the widow's parlour.
Moll Wicks then withdrew to her own room.
Meantime the visitor stood in the presence of Mrs. Smith,
who beheld before her a short man, with a pale face, dark piercing eyes, shaggy
brows, and long straggling black hair. He was dressed in a respectable suit of
mourning, and wore a clean white cravat.
"Pardon me, ma'am, if I intrude," said the
visitor; "but my friend Mr. Banks —"
"Oh! sir, you are quite welcome," ejaculated the
widow. "Pray sit down, sir. I presume you arc the reverend minister
—"
"I am a humble vessel of the Lord," answered the
visitor, casting down his eyes with great meekness: "and I am come to see
in what way I can be useful to a respectable widow of whom my friend, the
excellent Mr. Banks has spoken so very highly."
"The truth is, reverend sir," said the widow,
sinking her voice, and drawing her chair closer up to her sanctified visitor,
"I want some good advice how to act in a wery partickler matter."
"It is my business to give good advice," was the
reply.
"I thought so, reverend sir; and if Mat had been alive,
I should have told him that I thought so. Howsomever, this is what I want to
know about. An old gentleman dies yesterday morning in my house; and he leaves
a little money - thirty or forty pounds, or so - behind him. He always paid his
way with me; and so I don't start no claim to a farthing of it. He has no name
- no friends - no relations - no nothing: now the question is, sir, what am I
to do with this here money that he's left behind him?"
"You are a very honest woman, Mrs. Smith,"
answered the reverend gentleman; "and you conduct yourself in a most
creditable way in this respect. Many people would have put the money into their
own pockets."
"And that a just what a female lodger of mine wanted me
to do, reverend sir," exclaimed the landlady. "But I know myself
better. Dead man's money never did no one no good unless it was properly left,
as the saying is. Mrs. Wicks would have had me keep it all quiet; and I must
say that I was surprised at the proposal. But, between you and me, sir, I don't
think overmuch of my lodgers, although they do pay their rent pretty reg'lar.
The man doesn't seem to have any work or employment; and yet they live on the
best-biled beef one day, steaks the next, bacon and greens the next - and so
on. I know that
I
can't do it on nothing. And then
they have their ale at dinner, and their gin of an evening. For my part I can't
understand it. The man keeps late hours too; and the woman swears like a
trooper when she's got a drop too much. But then, as I said, they pays their
way; and a lone widder like me doesn't dare ask no questions."
"Of course not," said the reverend gentleman.
"I think you stated that the name of the lodgers you allude to is Wicks
?"
Yes, sir - Wicks."
"I know them - by reputation only. They have an annuity
of eighty pounds a-year, and are very respectable people. Their only fault is
that they are rather fond of company - and that, perhaps, makes them stay out
late now and then."
"Well, sir, if a pious gentleman like you thinks well
on them, it isn't for a poor ignorant creatur' like me to say black's the white
of their eye. They pays their way; and that's all I ought to bother myself
about. But, as I was a-saying, the old gentleman which lodged with me dies and
leaves some money behind him. There ain't kith or kin to claim it. Now what had
I better do with it?"
"The ecclesiastical law —"
"Sir?"
"The law of Doctors' Commons, I mean, is very
particular on this head," said the reverend visitor. "There are only
two things to do —"
"And which be they, sir?" asked the widow.
"Either to go and put the money into the Chancery Court,
or to bury it in the coffin along with the deceased."
"And suppose I put it into the Chancery Court,
sir?"
"Then no one will ever get it out again - that's
all."
"But if some relation comes for'ard?"
"Then he'll just have to pay
two pounds costs for every pound he draws out."
"Lack-a-daisy me!" ejaculated the widow. "I
raly think it would be best to bury the money in the poor old gentleman's
coffin "
"I am sure it would be," said the reverend
adviser; "and although you would be giving up a treasure in this life, you
would be laying up for yourself a treasure in heaven."
"Ah! well-a-day, sir - we must all think of that. I
shall foller your advice, and bury the money with the poor man in his
coffin."
"Without mentioning the business to a soul except Mr.
Banks," said the saintly man, in an impressive tone.
"Or else his rest might he disturbed - eh, sir?"
demanded the widow, sinking her voice to a whisper. "But do you think
there a such people as resurrection men now-a-days?"
"Resurrection men!" ejaculated the reverend
visitor, bursting out into a laugh; "no, my dear madam - society has got
rid of those abominations.''
"Then where do surgeons get corpses from, sir?
"From the hulks, the prisons, and the workhouses,"
was the answer.
"What! poor creatures which goes to the workus! "
cried Mrs. Smith, revolting at the idea.
"Yes-ma'am; but the surgeons don't like them as
subjects, because they're nothing but skin and bone."
"Well, for my part," exclaimed the widow, wiping
away a tear, " I think it a wery hard if, after paying rates and taxes for
a many - many year, I should be obleeged to go to the workus, and then be cut
up in a surgeon's slaughter-house at last."
"Ah! my dear ma'am, these are sad times - very sad
times," said the sanctified gentleman. "But a woman who does her duty
to her fellow creatures as you do, need fear nothing ; heaven will protect
you!"
With these words the holy man rose from his seat, and
prepared to depart.
"I hope Mr. Banks has engaged you to perform the
service over my poor deceased lodger, sir ?" said the widow, as she
conducted him to the door.
"He has, ma'am," was the reply: and the reverend
minister took his leave of Mrs. Smith, from whose mind a considerable load was
removed by the suggestion she had received relative to the disposal of the
money of her defunct lodger - a suggestion which she now determined to follow
to the very letter.
In the mean time the Rattlesnake had been left alone at the
mysterious dwelling which she and her terrible paramour inhabited.
Before the Resurrection Man went out, after the call of Mr.
Banks, he threw aside his every-day garb, and put on a complete suit of black.
He performed the ceremony of his toilet somewhat hurriedly; and the Rattlesnake
perceived with the most unfeigned delight that he forgot to transfer the
contents of the pockets of his old garments to those of his new ones. At length
he went out; and the Rattlesnake instantly commenced a strict examination of
the clothes which he had just put off.
There were a few papers and dirty letters, but of those the
woman took no notice. Neither did her fingers clutch greedily the three or four
sovereigns which were contained in a greasy purse. A bunch of keys - the
principal object of her search - rivetted all her attention - engrossed all her
interest.
Without a moment's delay, she descended the stairs, and
issued from the house. She darted up the narrow alley, paused at the side door,
and tried the luck with the different keys. The last of all was the one which
opened the door.
The heart of the Rattlesnake beat with joy as she entered
the passage, and closed the door carefully behind her.
She first peeped into the front room, and by the faint light
that was admitted through the heart-shaped holes in the shutters, she beheld
only the implements peculiar to the avocation of a resurrection man; namely,
flexible iron rods to sound the depths of graves, and long poles with hooks at
the ends to drag up bodies, together with saws, spades, pickaxes, trowels,
ropes, skeleton-keys, &c. &c.
The Rattlesnake then entered the back room, which was small,
damp, and in a dilapidated condition. The plaster of the walls had given way in
several places; and the whole appearance of the chamber seemed to indicate that
it had not been inhabited for many years.
A table, a chair, and a cupboard were all the furniture
which the room contained. On the table lay the mask, and over the chair hung
the cloak in which the Resurrection Man had disguised himself on the preceding
night. The basket, which she had seen him use on the same occasion, and which
was of the kind that housewives take to market to hold their purchases, lay
upon the floor.
The contents and appearance of the room were visible by
means of the light admitted through the shutters.
The door of the cupboard was locked, but one of the keys
which the Rattlesnake had with her speedily unlocked it. There, however, was
nothing either to excite or allay her curiosity - for it was empty.
She now proceeded to examine the chamber more carefully,
expecting to find some secret communication with a subterranean excavation; for
she was still impressed with the idea that she had heard the steps of the
Resurrection Man descend a flight of stairs on the preceding evening; and she
was also convinced that the scream she had then heard had proceeded from a
greater distance or lower depth than the small back chamber in which she now
found herself.
But all her attempts to penetrate this mystery were
unavailing; and, fearful that the Resurrection Man might return and detect her
proceedings, she hastened away from the ground floor of this strange house.
Carefully locking the doors after her, she succeeded in
reaching the upper story and replacing the keys where she had found them, some
time ere she heard the steps of the Resurrection Man ascending the staircase.
When he entered the bed-room to change his clothes once
more, he found her busily engaged in some domestic occupation; and, as she
welcomed him in her usual manner, not a suspicion of lies proceedings entered
his mind.
"Well," he said, as he assumed his common garb,
"I have managed this business. I have played the parson to some purpose;
and the old woman has consented to bury the yellow boys along with the old
fellow. I shall now sit down and write a letter to a certain Mr. Chichester,
which letter you must take to the post yourself. That being done, I can remain
quiet until the evening; and then, he added, with a ferocious leer, "
then
for Richard Markham!"