The Orange Girl

by Walter Besant

To my amazement Jenny's mother appeared. She was dressed up as a most respectable widow with a white cap, a black dress, and a white apron. She curtseyed to the Court and kissed the book with a smack, as if she enjoyed it.

She said that she was a widow, and respectable: that she kept the Black Jack, which was much frequented by the residents of St. Giles's. The Counsel did not press this point but asked her if she knew the Rev. Dr. Carstairs. She replied that she knew him, under other names, as a frequenter of her house off and on for many years: that he was familiarly known as the 'Bishop': that she did not inquire into the trades of her customers, but that it was understood that the Bishop was one of those who use their skill in writing for various purposes: for threatening persons who have been robbed: for offering stolen property for sale: for demanding money: for forging documents: and other branches of roguery demanding a knowledge of writing. She showed her own knowledge of the business by her enumeration of the branches. She said, further, that the gentleman had slept at the Black Jack every night for the last two months: that he had a bed there, took his meals there, and carried on his business there. As regards Mr. Ferdinando Fenwick, she knew him as the 'Captain,' or as Tom Kestever, and she identified him in the same way and beyond any power of doubt. As for Merridew, she knew him very well: he was a thief-taker by profession: he gave his man a good run and then laid information against him: he encouraged young rogues and showed them how to advance in their profession: and she deposed that on a certain day Merridew came to the house where the Bishop and the Captain were drinking together and sat with them: that all their talk was about getting a man out of the way: that the Bishop did not like it, but was told by Mr. Merridew very plainly that he must, and that he then assented.

Jenny's sister, Doll, next appeared. She was transformed into a young and pleasing woman with a silver ring for greater respectability. Her evidence corroborated that of her mother. But she added an important particular, that one morning when there was no one in the place but the Bishop and the Captain, Mr. Probus came with Mr. Merridew and sat conversing with those two gentlemen for a long time.

Then the young fellow called Jack went into the box. By this time the interest of everyone in the court was intense, because here was the unrolling of a plot which for audacity and wickedness was perhaps unequalled. And the wretched man Probus, still writhing in his seat, cast his eyes to the door in hopes of a chance at flight: in his agony his wig was pushed back, and the whole of his head exposed to view. I confess that horror rather than revenge possessed me.

The young fellow called Jack gave his evidence in a straightforward way. He confessed that he had run away from his native village in consequence of an unfortunate love affair; that he had come up to town, hoping to get employment: that he had been taken to the Black Jack by someone who met him in the street: that he had there been introduced to Mr. Merridew, who promised to find him work: that in fact he had been employed by him in shop-lifting and in small street robberies: his employer, he explained, would go along the street first and make a sign where he could carry off something: that he was promised promotion to be a highwayman by Mr. Merridew if he should deserve it: that he had been told to keep himself in readiness to help in knocking a gentleman on the head: that the thing was talked over with him by the Bishop and the Captain: that at the last moment they told him they should want none of his help. Asked what he should do after giving this evidence, replied that if Mr. Merridew got off, he should have to enlist in order to save his neck, which would be as good as gone. More he said, but this was the most important.

Then Mr. Caterham called Mr. Halliday.

My unfortunate cousin entered the witness-box pale and trembling. In answer to questions he acknowledged that he had lost the whole of his fortune and ruined a once noble business in the space of three or four years. He confessed that his bankruptcy was inevitable: that Probus had been urgent with him to get his cousin to sell his chance of succession in order to raise money by which he himself might recover his money: that he was willing to do so if his cousin would sell: but his cousin would not. He said that Mr. Probus had come to him stating that a man's life might be lost in many ways: that, for instance, he might fall into the hands of the law: that he had brought Mr. Merridew, who offered to arrange so that his cousin might lose his life in some such way if he were paid a thousand pounds down; that he would not listen to such detestable overtures; that he heard of his cousin's arrest: that he had informed his cousin's attorney of the offer made him by Probus and Merridew: but he had neither paid nor promised a thousand pounds, or anything at all: and that he had never been a consenting party to the plot.

He was allowed to stand down: he remained in the court, trembling and shivering, as pitiable an object as the wretched conspirators themselves.

If there had been interest in the case before, judge what it was now in the appearance of the next witness, for there entered the box none other than Jenny herself, the bewitching Jenny. She was all lace and ribbons, as beautiful a creature as one could expect to see anywhere. She smiled upon the Judge and upon the Lord Mayor: she smiled upon the Jury: she smiled upon me, the prisoner in the Dock. In answer to the questions put to her, she answered, in substance: 'My name is Jenny Halliday. I am the wife of the last witness, Matthew Halliday. I am an actress. I am known by my maiden name, Jenny Wilmot. As an entertainer, I am known as Madame Vallance.' There was now the most breathless attention in Court. 'By birth, I am the daughter of the landlady of the Black Jack. It is a place of resort of the residents of St. Giles's. Most of them, to my certain knowledge, probably all, are thieves. I sometimes go there to see my mother and sister, not to see the frequenters of the place. Whenever I do go there, I always find the two witnesses who just now called themselves Carstairs and Fenwick: at the Black Jack they were always called the Bishop and the Captain. I have always heard, and I understand, that they are rogues of the deepest dye. The Bishop is not a clergyman at all: he is so called because he dresses like a clergyman and can write well: the Captain is a highwayman: most of his fraternity call themselves Captains: he is the son of a butcher in Clare market. His name is Tom Kestever. Both are Mr. Merridew's men: that is, they have to carry out whatever he orders, and they live in perpetual terror that their time is up. The last time I was in the Black Jack, Merridew came in, drank a glass or two of punch in a friendly way, and so left them. When he said that he did not know the men, it was flat perjury. He was continually in the Black Jack looking up his people; admonishing the young and threatening the elders. Not a rogue in London but knows Mr. Merridew, and trembles at the thought of him.'

Asked about Mr. Probus, she said she did not know him at all, save by repute. That he constantly threatened the prisoner with consequences if he did not consent to sell his chance of succession: and that she had been present on a certain occasion in Newgate when Mr. Probus visited the prisoner and offered him there and then, if he would sign the document offered, that the principal witnesses should not appear at the Trial, which would thus fall through.