“Mother, you yourself will soon appear to me to be indulging in idiotic musings!” cried Perdita, half in delight—half in contemptuous incredulity. “You never saw this young man—you know nothing of him——”
“Know nothing of him!” repeated her mother, scornfully. “We know enough, Perdita, to compel a whole family to implore our forbearance and our mercy,—to reduce that Mr. Hatfield, Lady Georgiana, and their nephew to the necessity of beseeching our silence on their bended knees!”
“Do you really put faith in the rhodomontade of that gipsy about the identity of the Mr. Hatfield of whom she spoke with a certain Tom Rain who had been hanged?” demanded Perdita, impatiently.
“Yes—because I know it to be true!” ejaculated her mother. “Listen, Perdita:—you were not born at that time—but it was only a few months before your birth when the whole metropolis was astounded by the sudden discovery that Tom Rain, the highwayman, was indeed alive. I was in London at the time——”
“In Newgate, mother?” asked her daughter, as coolly as if it were the most common-place question.
“Yes—in Newgate, if you must have me be particular in every detail,” answered the old harridan, bitterly.
“Where I was born,” remarked Perdita. “One of the first places I shall request you to show me, will be that same Newgate. But go on—I am listening attentively.”
“Well, then—I was in Newgate at the time that all London was astounded by certain discoveries relative to this same Tom Rainford—all brought about in consequence of a dreadful murder committed by that very Benjamin Bones whom you heard the gipsy mention. The story is too long to tell you now; but you shall have it shortly in its fullest details—for it may regard our interests more nearly than you at present imagine. One fact I must however state,—which is that Thomas Rainford was a famous highwayman who was hanged, and that by some means which never transpired, he was rescued from death—resuscitated, in fine. He received the royal pardon for all the deeds he had committed in opposition to the laws; and what afterwards became of him I knew not——”
“Because you had to leave England in pursuance of your sentence, I suppose, mother?” added Perdita, enquiringly.
“Precisely so. And now chance throws us in the way of an old crone who, in the audible musings of dotage, informs us that this same Tom Rain is actually living under a feigned name—aye, and at the mansion of the Earl of Ellingham. It is clear that the gipsy had never heard of the wondrous fact that Rainford appeared in London disguised as a Blackamoor, only a few months after his execution, as I may call it: it is evident that the circumstance of his having survived the scaffold was unknown to her and to her companions. Thus was she struck with amazement and surprise, as well she might be under such circumstances, when she beheld him in Lord Ellingham’s carriage. But gipsies go so little into great cities and towns—hold so little intercourse with any save their own people—and are so little curious in respect to matters which do not immediately concern themselves, that it is not surprising if the old gipsy had never heard reported the well-known fact of Rainford’s resuscitation.”