He spoke with some degree of scorn, which he was the less anxious to repress, that he saw, even in this jail, his purse gave him an indirect but powerful influence over his jailer.
The Captain seemed to feel the same; for, as he spoke, he plucked from his head, almost involuntarily, a sort of scalded fur-cap, which served it for covering. But his fingers revolting from so unusual an act of complaisance, began to indemnify themselves by scratching his grizzly shock-head, as he muttered, in a tone resembling the softened growling of a mastiff when he has ceased to bay the intruder who shows no fear of him,—“There are different rates. There is the Little Ease, for common fees of the crown—rather dark, and the common sewer runs below it; and some gentlemen object to the company, who are chiefly padders and michers. Then the Master’s side—the garnish came to one piece—and none lay stowed there but who were in for murder at the least.”
“Name your highest price, sir, and take it,” was Julian’s concise reply.
“Three pieces for the Knight’s ward,” answered the governor of this terrestrial Tartarus.
“Take five, and place me with Sir Geoffrey,” was again Julian’s answer, throwing down the money upon the desk before him.
“Sir Geoffrey?—Hum!—ay, Sir Geoffrey,” said the jailer, as if meditating what he ought to do. “Well, many a man has paid money to see Sir Geoffrey—Scarce so much as you have, though. But then you are like to see the last of him.—Ha, ha ha!”
These broken muttered exclamations, which terminated somewhat like the joyous growl of a tiger over his meal, Julian could not comprehend; and only replied to by repeating his request to be placed in the same cell with Sir Geoffrey.
“Ay, master,” said the jailer, “never fear; I’ll keep word with you, as you seem to know something of what belongs to your station and mine. And hark ye, Jem Clink will fetch you the darbies.”
“Derby!” interrupted Julian,—“Has the Earl or Countess——”
“Earl or Countess!—Ha, ha, ha!” again laughed, or rather growled, the warden. “What is your head running on? You are a high fellow belike! but all is one here. The darbies are the fetlocks—the fast-keepers, my boy—the bail for good behaviour, my darling; and if you are not the more conforming, I can add you a steel nightcap, and a curious bosom-friend, to keep you warm of a winter night. But don’t be disheartened; you have behaved genteel; and you shall not be put upon. And as for this here matter, ten to one it will turn out chance-medley, or manslaughter, at the worst on it; and then it is but a singed thumb instead of a twisted neck—always if there be no Papistry about it, for then I warrant nothing.—Take the gentleman’s worship away, Clink.”