Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (305 page)

AN OLD FRIEND

    LET US now return to the Rattlesnake, whom
we left in the act of flying from the pursuit which she knew
 
 
would be undertaken in respect to
her by the Resurrection Man.
    Having bade farewell to Mrs. Chichester at Cambridge
Heath, Margaret Flathers, with her well-filled bag under her arm, hastened
along the road leading to Hackney.
    She cared not which direction she pursued, provided she
placed a considerable distance between herself and London; for so terrible was
the dread under which she laboured from her knowledge of the desperate
character and profound cunning of the Resurrection Man, that she conceived it
to be impossible for her to be safe so long as she was within even a wide
circuit of the great metropolis.
    Having passed through Hackney, she speedily left the
main road, and struck at random across the fields, careful only to pursue a
course which she felt convinced must remove her further and further from
London.
    Unweariedly for two long hours did she hurry on her
way, until she fell, overcome with weariness, beneath a large tree, whose gigantic
leafless boughs creaked ominously in the darkness over her head.
    The night was fearfully cold — the grass was
damp — and the wind moaned gloomily through the trees.
    The Rattlesnake was hungry and thirsty; but she had not
food nor drink to satisfy the cravings of nature. In that
solitude, — without a light gleaming through the obscurity as a
beacon of hospitality, — she felt that her gold was then and there no
better to her than the cold soil upon which she rested her weary limbs.
    At length, worn out by fatigue and want, she fell
asleep.
    When she awoke the sun was shining.
    But where was she?
    Close at hand burnt a blazing fire, fed with wood and
turf, and sending up a dense smoke into the fine frosty air. To an iron rod,
fastened horizontally to two upright stakes, was suspended a huge caldron, the
bubbling of which reached her ears, and the savour of whose contents was wafted
most agreeably to her nostrils.
    Grouped around the fire, and anxiously watching the
culinary process, were two women, four men, and a boy.
    Two of the men were not characterised by that swarthy
complexion and those black elf-lacks which distinguished their two male
companions, the women, and the boy.
    Of the two men thus especially alluded to, as not being
of the gipsy race, to which their companions evidently
belonged, — the first was about forty years of age and possessed a
herculean form. His countenance was weather-beaten and indicated the endurance
of great hardship: indeed, he had been abroad to far-off climes, and had gone
through privations of an almost incredible nature. He was, however, taciturn
and reserved, and ever seemed brooding upon some secret grief or absorbing
sentiment of a darker nature: nevertheless, the little he had chosen to tell
his present companions relative to his former history had obtained for him the
name of the
 
Traveller
; and by no other appellation was he known amongst them.
    The other man, whose complexion proclaimed him not to
be of the Egyptian race, was apparently verging towards thirty; and, although
slight, he was well-built and uncommonly active. His name will transpire
presently.
    The elder of the two male gipsies was a man of nearly
eighty years of age. His hair was as white as driven snow; and his bald head
was protected from the cold wind by only a thin faded green silk skull-cap. His
beard, as white as his hair, hung down over his breast, and formed a strange
contrast with his swarthy countenance and piercing black eyes, the fires of
which were not dimmed with age. This individual was the King of the Gipsies,
and rejoiced in the assumed name of Zingary.
    The other male gipsy was the King's son, and was a fine
tall handsome fellow of about thirty-five, dark as a Spaniard, and with fine
Roman features.
    The two women were also very discrepant in respect to
age: one was nearly sixty, and was the Queen of the Gipsies, her assumed name
being Macha: the other was a pretty brunette, with fine laughing eyes and
brilliant teeth, and was the wife of Morcar, the King's son. Her name was Eva;
and she was the mother of the boy before alluded to, and who was between eight
and nine years old.
    We have thought it as well to state all these
particulars at once in order to avoid confusion; although the Rattlesnake was
not immediately aware of them.
    When the Rattlesnake awoke up and surveyed this strange
groupe, she instinctively felt for her bag of gold; and a scream of dismay
escaped her lips when she perceived that it was gone.
    A loud burst of laughter emanated from the
gipsies, — for by this general name we shall denominate the band,
although two members of it were not or the race; — and the
fair-complexioned man, whose name we have not yet stated, exclaimed,
"Don't alarm yourself, my dear young woman: we have banked the rag*
 
[*Secured the  money]
 
for fear that a buzman*
 
[*Informer - spy]
 
should have nabbed you with it in
your possession. But you shall have your reg'lars out of it, mind, whenever you
want to pursue your way. Only, as you've happened to trespass upon the
dominions of his high mightiness King Zingary, you must pay toll."
    While this individual was speaking, the Rattlesnake,
who had first been struck by the tone of his voice, considered him with great
attention, and seemed to forget the loss she had sustained in the interest with
which she contemplated the person addressing her.
    At length, when he had ceased to speak, she started
from the ground, advanced towards him, and exclaimed in an excited tone,
"Have not you and I met before?"
    "Not unlikely, my dear," was the reply.
"Perhaps under the screw*
 
[*In prison]
 
 — or in the Holy Land*
 
[*St. Giles]
,  which I visit from time
to time — or else in the bottom of a coal-hell*
 
[*Coal-mine] 
 
in the county of Stafford."
    "It is! it is!" ejaculated the Rattlesnake,
ready to spring towards him, and throw her arms around his neck. "Don't
you remember me now?"
    "Remember you?" repeated the man slowly, and
he gazed upon the Rattlesnake's countenance for some moments; — then,
as if a sudden light dawned in upon him, he started from the ground in his
turn, crying, "May I never drink rum slim*
[*Rum-punch]
 
again if it isn't my old flame,
Meg Flathers!"
    And they flew into each other's arms.
    "Your Majesty," said
Skilligalee, — for this was the individual whose name we for a moment
suppressed, "Your Majesty," he exclaimed, when this embrace was over,
"allow me to present to you my wife, the lovely and accomplished Margaret
Flathers."
    "She is welcome," said Zingary gravely.
"Young woman, sit down and be welcome. We ask no questions whether you are
our comrade's splice*
 
[*Wife]
 
or
 
not: it is enough for us that he
acknowledges you as such. Aischa — welcome a daughter;
Eva — greet a sister."
    The old and the young gipsy women advanced towards the
Rattlesnake and took each a hand.
    "I welcome you, daughter," said Aischa.
    "I greet you, sister," said Eva.
    They then each kissed her forehead, and resumed their
seats close by the fire.
    "And I greet you too, my gal," exclaimed
Morcar, thrusting out his large muscular hand, and giving that of the
Rattlesnake a friendly squeeze.
    "And now sit down," said the King, "and
moisten your chaffer*
 
[*Take something to drink].
"
    "Ah! do," cried Morcar; "for you must
want it after sleeping underneath that tree on the top of the hill, exposed to
the cold wind and damp."
    This observation led the Rattlesnake to cast a glance
around her; and she found that the gipsy camp was at the bottom of a deep
valley, on the brow of which stood the tree to which the King's son pointed,
and beneath which she had sunk exhausted on the preceding night.
    Meantime Skilligalee had visited a covered van, which
stood at a little distance, and near which an old horse was quietly munching
the contents of a capacious nose-bag; and, in a few moments he returned,
bearing with him a large stone bottle that might have held two gallon~ of
liquor.
    From his pocket he produced a small horn-cup; and,
pouring forth a bumper of rum, he handed it to the queen.
    "No — there first," laconically
said Aischa, pointing towards the Rattlesnake, who was accordingly compelled to
drain the horn before her majesty.
    "Good — isn't it? " asked
Skilligalee, with a sly wink.
    "I felt very cold — and it has revived
me," replied the Rattlesnake.
    "And the contents of that pot will put you right
altogether," said Skilligalee, pointing to the caldron that was simmering
over the fire. "Beg pardon, majesty," he added, turning towards the
queen, and pouring forth another dram.
    Macha drank the contents of the horn cup without
winking; and Skilligalee proceeded to do the honours of the bottle to the rest
of the company.
    Having served the king, Eva, and Morcar, he approached
the Traveller, who had sat a silent spectator of all that passed.
    "Now, friend, your turn is come."
    "Thank you," said the man, drily; and having
tossed off the liquor, he muttered, grinding his teeth savagely, "And some
one else's turn must come too, sooner or later."
    "Always brooding upon the same thing,"
exclaimed the laughing, light-hearted Skilligalee.
    "And if you had been served by a villain as I
was," returned the Traveller, brutally, "you would long for the time
to come to settle up accounts with him. Thank my Stars! we shall be in London
tomorrow, and then — then — "
    The remainder of the man's words were lost in
mutterings, which, to judge by the terrific workings of his countenance, the
violence with which he ground his teeth, and the convulsive rage indicated by
the manner in which he clenched his fist, must have been a direful portent.
    But a few words which he had uttered, struck sudden
dismay to the heart of the Rattlesnake.
    "Are you going to London?" she whispered, in
a tone of alarm, to Skilligalee, who had now resumed his seat by her side.
    "Ah I indeed are we, my dear," was the reply.
"The royal palace in the Holy Land is prepared for our reception; and this
night at nine o'clock does his majesty make his triumphant entry, disguised as
a timber-merchant*
 
[*Beggar with matches]
, into that part of his
dominions."
    "To London!" gasped the Rattlesnake.
"Then — then — I cannot accompany
you — I —  — "
    "What have you to fear?" demanded
Skilligalee. "Have you not me to defend you individually, and his
majesty's protection to shield you generally?"
    "No — no," returned Margaret
Flathers; "I cannot — will not return to London. I hate the
place — I detest it — I abhor it! I am not even now as far
from it as I could wish — not half."
    "Far from it?" ejaculated Skilligalee, with a
merry laugh. "Why, you can almost hear the sounds of the cabs and
hackney-coaches where we are now."
    "What!" cried Margaret. "How far are we
from London? tell me — speak!"
    "When you are on the top of that place where I
found you sleeping early this morning," answered Skilligalee, "you
can see Hornsey Wood on the next hill — about two miles off."
    "My God! then in spite of all my care last. night,
I must have gone a strange round," said Margaret, speaking rather to
herself than to her companion.
    "Ah! I see how it is, Meg," observed
Skilligalee; "you are in trouble about that gold. Well — never
mind, old gal — so much the more reason for me to protect you. Now I
tell you what it is: not all the buzmen in London can find you out at our crib
in the Holy Land; and so you shall come along with us, and you shall keep in
doors the whole time: we'll take care of you. What do you think of that?"
    "Skilligalee," whispered Margaret, "I am
not afraid of the police: they don't trouble themselves about me. But there is
a certain man that seeks my life — "
    "Oh! if that's all," interrupted her
companion, "make yourself perfectly easy. You don't know yet what defences
and fortifications the king has got to his palace: a regiment of swaddies*
 
[*soldiers]
 
would never storm it, or take it
by surprise."
    "And you really think that I shall be safe?"
asked the Rattlesnake, hesitating; for these assurances of protection began to
please her more than the idea of being compelled to wander alone about the
country.
    "Think!" cried Skilligalee, "I don't
think — I'm certain, Trust to me — and all will be right.
Besides, do you not pay toll to his majesty? and where can you find a more
powerful protector than King Zingary? You will see what he can do, when once we
arrive at the palace in the Holy Land."
    "But — but — will he keep all
my gold?" asked the Rattlesnake, hesitatingly.
    "Not all, my dear," answered Skilligalee.
"One third goes to the Box*
 
[*Treasury]
; another third to be divided
amongst all us here who picked you up; and the other remains at your own
disposal. Are you content?"
    "Quite," said the Rattlesnake, knowing full
well that it was no use to remonstrate, and not unwilling, moreover, to pay
handsomely for the protection promised to her.
    While this conversation took place between the
Rattlesnake and Skilligalee, the two women had prepared the repast. The king
had in the meantime amused himself with what, in his own lingo, he termed
"cocking a broseley;"*