“What matter!” repeated Lady de Brantefield: “are you my daughter, and a descendant of Sir Josseline de Mowbray, and ask what matter?”
“Dear mamma, that’s the old story! that’s so long ago!—How can you think of such old stuff at such a time as this? I’m sure I was frightened out of my wits—I forgot even my detestation of——But I must not say that before Mr. Harrington. But now I see the house, and all that, I don’t wonder at him so much; I declare it’s a monstrous handsome house—as rich as a Jew! I’m sure I hope those wretches will not destroy our house—and, oh! the great mirror, mamma!”
Mr. and Miss Montenero returned with much concern in their countenances: they announced that the messenger had brought word that the mob were actually pulling down Lady de Brantefield’s house—that the furniture had all been dragged out into the street, and that it was now burning. Pride once more gave way to undisguised terror in Lady de Brantefield’s countenance, and both ladies stood in speechless consternation. Before we had time to hear or to say more, the orange-woman opened the door, and putting in her head, called out in a voice of authority, “Jantlemen, here’s one wants yees, admits of no delay; lave all and come out, whether you will or no, the minute.”
We went out, and with an indescribable gesture, and wink of satisfaction, the moment she had Mr. Montenero and me in the hall, she said in a whisper, “‘Tis only myself, dears, but ‘tis I am glad I got yees out away from being bothered by the presence of them women, whiles ye’d be settling all for life or death, which we must now do—for don’t be nursing and dandling yourselves in the notion that the boys will not be wid ye. It’s a folly to talk—they will; my head to a China orange they will, now: but take it asy, jewels—we’ve got an hour’s law—they’ve one good hour’s work first—six garrets to gut, where they are, and tree back walls, with a piece of the front, still to pull down. Oh! I larnt all. He is a ‘cute lad you sent, but not being used to it, just went and ruined and murdered us all by what he let out! What do ye tink? But when one of the boys was questioning him who he belonged to, and what brought him in it, he got frighted, and could think of noting at all but the truth to tell: so they’ve got the scent, and they’ll follow the game. Ogh! had I been my own messenger, in lieu of minding that woman within, I’d have put ‘em off the scent. But it’s past me now—so what next?” While Mr. Montenero and I began to consult together, she went on—“I’ll tell you what you’ll do: you’ll send for two chairs, or one—less suspicious, and just get the two in asy, the black one back, the white for’ard, beca’ase she’s coming nat’ral from the Opera—if stopped, and so the chairmen, knowing no more than Adam who they would be carrying, might go through the thick of the boys at a pinch safe enough, or round any way, sure; they know the town, and the short cuts, and set ‘em down (a good riddance!) out of hand, at any house at all they mention, who’d resave them of their own frinds, or kith and kin—for, to be sure, I suppose they have frinds, tho’ I’m not one. You’ll settle with them by the time it’s come, where they’ll set down, and I’ll step for the chair, will I?”
“No,” said Mr. Montenero, “not unless it be the ladies’ own desire to go: I cannot turn them out of my house, if they choose to stay; at all hazards they shall have every protection I can afford. Berenice, I am sure, will think and feel as I do.”
Mr. Montenero returned to the drawing-room, to learn the determination of his guests.
“There goes as good a Christian!” cried the Widow Levy, holding up her forefinger, and shaking it at Mr. Montenero the moment his back was turned: “didn’t I tell ye so from the first? Oh! if he isn’t a jewel of a Jew!—and the daughter the same!” continued she, following me as I walked up and down the hall: “the kind-hearted cratur, how tinder she looked at the fainting Jezabel—while the black woman turning from her in her quality scowls.—Oh! I seed it all, and with your own eyes, dear—but I hope they’ll go—and once we get a riddance of them women. I’ll answer for the rest. Bad luck to the minute they come into the house! I wish the jantleman would be back—Oh! here he is—and will they go, jewel?” cried she, eagerly. “The ladies will stay,” said Mr. Montenero.
“Murder!—but you can’t help it—so no more about it—but what arms have ye?”
No arms were to be found in the house but a couple of swords, a pair of pistols of Mr. Montenero’s, and one gun, which had been left by the former proprietor. Mr. Montenero determined to write immediately to his friend General B—, to request that a party of the military might be sent to guard his house.
“Ay, so best, send for the dragoons, the only thing left on earth for us now: but don’t let ‘em fire on the boys—disperse ‘em with the horse, asy, ye can, without a shot; so best—I’ll step down and feel the pulse of all below.”