“They’ve caught your man, you means, mum,” returned Mrs. Fokesell, shaking her head till the little bunch of vermicular ringlets at each side of her face swung backwards and forwards, like the “wings” of a kite in the wind.
“My man!” ejaculated the terrified Aggy, as she began to have a vague perception that “something dreadful” had occurred to her beloved Cursty. “What in t’ warl’ do’sta mean—what do’sta mean?”
“Why, it’s just this here, mum—that your good man, as you call him”—here the circumspect landlady opened the room-door mysteriously, to satisfy herself that nobody was listening, and then closing it again, advanced towards Mrs. Sandboys, and said, in a half-whisper, “your good man has been and got took up for being drunk and disorderly, and oncapable of taking care of hisself.”
Mrs. Sandboys threw up her hands, and dropped into the nearest chair; while Elcy came and leant over and tried to assure her that “it must be some shocking mistake again.”
But Mrs. Fokesell would not hear of such a thing; she had made most particular inquiries of the “party” below—for at first, she herself could hardly bring herself to believe that such a thorough gentleman, as Mr. Sandboys always appeared to be, could so lower hisself as to be seen intosticated in the public streets—but there couldn’t be no mistake this time, because the “party” had brought one of the “gent’s” cards with him. And when she heard Mrs. Sandboys and Elcy both sobbing at the intelligence, the landlady begged of them “not to go and take on in that manner,” for after his last voyage, Mr. Fokesell hisself—though he was as good a man as ever walked in shoe-leather, so long as he was at sea out of harm’s way—had gone and got overtook by liquor, and been skinned and robbed of everything he had, for all the world like young Mr. Sandboys was, by them painted dolls nigh the docks, and, as if that wasn’t enough to ruin her peace of mind, he must get hisself fined two pounds, or ten days imprisonment, for an assault on a policeman. Here the lady digressed into a long account of Mr. Fokesell’s failings, saying, that ever since their marriage she had never been a penny the better for his money, and that she didn’t know what would have become of her if it hadn’t been for her lodgers and the rent of a six-roomed cottage, that had been left her by her fust husband, who was an undertaker with a large connexion, but a weak, though an uncommon fine man, and who might have made her very comfortable at his death, if he had only done by her as he ought. Whereupon, wholly forgetting the object of her errand to Mrs. Sandboys, she further digressed into a narrative of the mixed qualities of Mr. Bolsh’s—her poor dear first husband’s—character.
Mrs. Cursty, who had been too deeply absorbed in her own family misfortunes to listen to those of Mrs. Fokesell, at length, on recovering her self-possession, requested to be informed where Mr. Sandboys had been “picked up” previous to being taken into custody.
The landlady, anxious to produce as great a sensation as she could, made no more ado, but informed her that her “good man” had been found lying on his back in a gutter in Wild Street, Drury Lane, and that it was a mercy that he hadn’t been druv over by one of them Safety Cabs as was dashing along, as they always does, at the risk of people’s lives.
The circumstance of the messenger having brought Cursty’s card with him was sufficient to preclude all doubt from Mrs. Sandboys’ mind; nevertheless she sat for a minute or two wondering how the misfortune could possibly have happened. At one moment she imagined that the loss of his bank notes had produced so depressing an effect on his spirits that Cursty had gone into some tavern to procure a glass of wine, in the hopes of cheering himself up amid his many misfortunes, and being unaccustomed to take anything of the kind before dinner, had perhaps been suddenly overcome by it. The next minute she felt satisfied that he had been entrapped into some dreadful place and drugged, like poor dear Jobby. Then she began to ask herself whether he could have lighted upon any friend from Cumberland, and in the excitement of the meeting been induced to take a glass or two more than he otherwise would; and immediately after this she felt half convinced that Cursty had discovered the flower-seller, and been so delighted at recovering possession of his pocket-book, that he had accompanied the fellow to some “low place” to treat him, and there, perhaps, been imprudent enough to take a glass of hot spirits and water “on an empty stomach,” and that this had flown to his head, and rendered him quite insensible to everything around him; or else she was satisfied that it was owing to the nasty bit of red herring which he would have that morning for breakfast.
When Mrs. Sandboys communicated to Mrs. Fokesell the several results of her ruminations, that lady was far from being of the same opinion, and did not hesitate to confess that she had long been convinced that the men were all alike, and that, for herself, she wouldn’t trust anyone of them—and especially her Fokesell—further than she could see him.
Mrs. Sandboys, however, was in no humour to listen to such harangues, and starting from her seat, desired to know whether the messenger from the station-house was still below stairs, so that she might accompany him back to her husband. On being answered in the affirmative, she proceeded to “put on her things” with all speed, while Elcy, with her eyes still full of tears, implored to be allowed to go with her.