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THE BEDFORD-ROW CONSPIRACY.*

PART TWO.

СПАР. І.

SHOWS HOW THE PLOT BEGAN TO THICKEN IN OR ABOUT BEDFORD-ROW.

"MISS LUCY!"

"Upon my word!"

"I'm hanged if it arn't Lucy! How do, Lucy ?" uttered Lady, the Misses, and Master Gorgon in a breath.

Lucy came forward, bending down her ambrosial curls, and blushing as a modest young woman should; for in truth the scrape was very awkward—and as for John Perkins, he made a start, and then a step forwards, and then two backwards, and then began laying hands upon his black satin stock-in short, the sun did not shine at that moment upon a man who looked so exquisitely foolish.

"Miss Lucy Gorgon, is your aunt, is Mrs. Briggs here?" said Lady Gorgon, drawing herself up with much state.

"Mrs. Biggs, aunt," said Lucy, demurely.

"Biggs or Briggs, madam, it is not of the slightest consequence. I presume that persons in my rank of life are not expected to know every body's name in Magdeburg-square? (Lady Gorgon had a house in Baker-street, and a dismal house it was). Not here," continued she, rightly interpreting Lucy's silence, "NOT here ?-and may I ask how long it is that young ladies have been allowed to walk abroad without chaperons and to-to take a part in such scenes, as that which we have just seen acted?"

To this question-and indeed it was rather difficult to answer-Miss Gorgon had no reply. There were the six grey eyes of her cousins glowering at her: there was George Augustus Frederic examining her with an air of extreme wonder, Mademoiselle the governess turning her looks demurely away, and awful Lady Gorgon glancing fiercely at her in front. Not mentioning the footman and poodle, what could a poor, modest, timid girl plead before such an inquisition, especially when she was clearly guilty? Add to this, that as Lady Gorgon, that majestic woman, always remarkable for her size and insolence of demeanour, had planted herself in the middle of the path, and spoke at the extreme pitch of her voice, many persons walking in the neighbourhood, had heard her ladyship's speech, and stopped, and seemed disposed to await the rejoinder.

"For Heaven's sake, aunt, don't draw a crowd around us," said Lucy, who indeed was glad of the only escape that lay in her power. "I will tell you of the-of the circumstances of-of my engagement with this gentleman-with Mr. Perkins," added she in a softer tone-so soft that the 'erkins was quite inaudible.

* Continued from No. ccxxix., page 32.

"A Mr. What? An engagement without consulting your guardians!" screamed her ladyship, "this must be looked to! Jerningham, call round my carriage. Mademoiselle, you will have the goodness to walk home with Master Gorgon, and carry him if you please, where there is wet, and, girls, as the day is fine, you will do likewise. Jerningham, you will attend the young ladies. Miss Gorgon, I will thank you to follow me immediately;" and so saying, and looking at the crowd with ineffable scorn, and at Mr. Perkins not at all, the lady bustled away forwards, the files of Gorgon daughters and governess closing round and enveloping poor Lucy, who found herself carried forward against her will, and in a minute seated in her aunt's coach, along with that tremendous person.

Her case was bad enough, but what was it to Perkins's? Fancy his blank surprise and rage at having his love thus suddenly ravished from him, and his delicious tête-à-tête interrupted. He managed, in an inconceivably short space of time, to conjure up half a million obstacles to his union. What should he do? he would rush on to Baker-street, and wait there until his Lucy left Lady Gorgon's house.

He could find no vehicle for him in the Regent's Park, and was in consequence obliged to make his journey on foot. Of course, he nearly killed himself with running, and ran so quick, that he was just in time to see the two ladies step out of Lady Gorgon's carriage at her own house, and to hear Jerningham's fellow-footman roar to the Gorgonian coachman, "Half-past seven;" at which hour we are, to this day, convinced that Lady Gorgon was going out to dine. Mr. Jerningham's associate having banged-to the door, with an insolent look towards Perkins, who was prying in with a most suspicious and indecent curiosity, retired exclaiming, "That chap has a hi to our great-coats, I reckon," and left John Perkins to pace the street and be miserable.

John Perkins then walked resolutely up and down dismal Bakerstreet, determined on an éclaircissement. He was for some time occupied in thinking how it was that the Gorgons were not at church, they who made such a parade of piety: and John Perkins smiled as he passed the chapel, and saw that two charity-sermons were to be preached that day-and therefore it was that General Gorgon read prayers to his family at home in the morning.

Perkins at last saw that little general, in blue frock-coat and spotless buff gloves, saunter scowling home; and half an hour before his arrival, had witnessed the entrance of Jerningham, and the three gaunt Miss Gorgons, poodle, son-and-heir, and French governess, protected by him, into Sir George's mansion.

"Can she be going to stay all night?" mused poor John, after being on the watch for three hours, "that footman is the only person who has left the house," when presently, to his inexpressible delight, he saw a very dirty hackney-coach clatter up to the Gorgon door, out of which first issued the ruby plush breeches and stalwart calves of Mr. Jerningham; these were followed by his body, and then the gentleman, ringing modestly, was admitted.

Again the door opened a lady came out, nor was she followed by the footman, who crossed his legs at the doorpost, and allowed her to mount the jingling vehicle as best she might. Mr. Jerningham had witnessed the scene in the Park-gardens, had listened to the altercation,

through the library keyhole, and had been mighty sulky at being ordered to call a coach for this young woman. He did not therefore deign to assist her to mount.

But there was one who did! Perkins was by the side of his Lucy: he had seen her start back, and cry, " La, John!" had felt her squeeze his arm-had mounted with her into the coach, and then shouted with a voice of thunder to the coachman,

"Caroline-place, Mecklenburgh-square!"

But Mr. Jerningham would have been much more surprised and puzzled if he had waited one minute longer, and seen this Mr. Perkins, who had so gallantly escaladed the hackney-coach, step out of it with the most mortified, miserable, chapfallen countenance possible.

The fact is, he had found poor Lucy sobbing fit to break her heart, and instead of consoling her as he expected, he only seemed to irritate her further for she said, "Mr. Perkins-I beg-I insist, that you leave the carriage ;" and when Perkins made some movement (which, not being in the vehicle at the time, we have never been able to comprehend), she suddenly sprung from the back-seat, and began pulling at a large piece of cord, which communicated with the wrist of the gentleman driving; and, screaming to him at the top of her voice, bade him immediately to stop.

This Mr. Coachman did, with a curious, puzzled, grinning air.

Perkins descended, and on being asked, "Vere ham I to drive the young 'oman, sir," I am sorry to say muttered something like an oath, and uttered the above-mentioned words, "Caroline-place, Mecklenburgh-square," in a tone which I should be inclined to describe as both dogged and sheepish-very different from that cheery voice, which he had used when first he gave the order.

Poor Lucy in the course of those fatal three hours, which had passed while Mr. Perkins was pacing up and down Baker-street, had received a lecture which lasted exactly one hundred and eighty minutes from her aunt first, then from her uncle, whom we have seen marching homewards, and often from both together.

Sir George Gorgon and his lady poured out such a flood of advice and abuse against the poor girl, that she came away from the interview quite timid and cowering; and when she saw John Perkins (the sly rogue! how well he thought he had managed the trick!) she shrunk from him as if he had been a demon of wickedness, ordered him out of the carriage and went home by herself, convinced that she had committed some tremendous sin.

While, then, her coach jingled away to Caroline-place, Perkins, once more alone, bent his steps in the same direction-a desperate heartstricken man-he passed by the beloved's door-saw lights in the front drawing-room-felt probably that she was there-but he could not go in. Moodily he paced down Doughty-street, and turning abruptly into Bedford-row, rushed into his own chambers, where Mrs. Snooks, the laundress, had prepared his humble sabbath meal.

A cheerful fire blazed in his garret, and Mrs. Snooks had prepared for him the favourite blade-bone he loved (blest four days' dinner for a bachelor, roast, cold, hashed, grilled blade-bone, the fourth being better than the first); but although he usually did rejoice in this meal, ordinarily, indeed, grumbling that there was not enough to satisfy him

-he, on this occasion, after two mouthfuls, flung down his knife and fork, and buried his two claws in his hair.

66

'Snooks," said he at last, very moodily, "remove this d― mutton, give me my writing-things, and some hot brandy-and-water."

This was done without much alarm, for you must know that Perkins used to dabble in poetry, and ordinarily prepared himself for composition by this kind of stimulus.

He wrote hastily a few lines.

"Snooks, put on your bonnet," said he, " and carry this-you know where?" he added, in such a hollow heart-breaking tone of voice, that affected poor Snooks almost to tears. She went, however, with the note, which was to this

purpose:

"Lucy! Lucy! my soul's love-what, what has happened? I am writing this (a gulp of brandy-and-water) in a state bordering on distraction-madness-insanity (another). Why did you send me out of the coach in that cruel, cruel way? Write to me a word, a line-tell me, tell me, I may come to you-and leave not in this agonizing condition your faithful (glog-glog-glog-the whole glass)

"J. P."

He never signed John Perkins in full-he couldn't, it was so unromantic.

Well this missive was despatched by Mrs. Snooks, and Perkins in a fearful state of excitement, haggard, wild, and with more brandy-andwater, awaited the return of his messenger.

When at length, after an absence of about forty years, as it seemed to him, the old lady returned with a large packet, Perkins seized it with a trembling hand, and was yet more frightened to see the handwriting of Mrs. or Miss Biggs.

"My dear Mr. Perkins," she began, "although I am not your soul's adored, I performed her part for once, since I have read your letter: as I told her-you need not be very much alarmed, although Lucy is at this moment in bed and unwell, for the poor girl has had a sad scene at her grand uncle's house in Baker-street, and came home very much affected. Rest, however, will restore her, for she is not one of your nervous sort, and I hope when you come in the morning, you will see her as blooming as she was when you went out to-day on that unlucky walk.

"See what Sir George Gorgon says of us all! You won't challenge him I know, as he is to be your uncle, and so I may show you his

letter.

"Good night, my dear John; do not go quite distracted before morning; and believe me your loving aunt,

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"BARBARA BIGGS."

"Baker-street, 11 December.

Major-general Sir George Gorgon has heard with the utmost disgust and surprise of the engagement which Miss Lucy Gorgon has thought fit to form.

"The major-general cannot conceal his indignation at the share which Miss Biggs has taken in this disgraceful transaction.

"Sir George Gorgon puts an absolute veto upon all further communication between his niece and the low-born adventurer who has been admitted into her society, and begs to say that Lieutenant Fitch, of the Life-guards, is the gentleman who he intends shall marry Miss Gorgon.

"It is the major-general's wish, that on the 28th Miss Gorgon should be ready to come to his house, in Baker-street, where she will be more safe from impertinent intrusions than she has been in Muckleburysquare.

"Mrs. Biggs,
"Caroline-place,

"Mecklenburgh-square."

When poor John Perkins read this epistle, blank rage and wonder filled his soul, at the audacity of the little general who thus, without the smallest title in the world, pretended to dispose of the hand and for tune of his niece. The fact is, that Sir George had such a transcendent notion of his own dignity and station that it never for a moment entered his head that his niece, or any body else connected with him, should take a single step in life without previously receiving his orders, and Mr. Fitch, a baronet's son, having expressed an admiration of Lucy, Sir George had determined that his suit should be accepted, and really considered Lucy's preference of another as downright treason.

John Perkins determined on the death of Fitch as the very least reparation that should satisfy him; and vowed too that some of the general's blood should be shed for the words which he had dared to utter.

We have said that William Pitt Scully, Esq., M.P., occupied the first floor of Mr. Perkins's house, in Bedford-row; and the reader is further to be informed that an immense friendship had sprung up between these two gentlemen. The fact is, that poor John was very much flattered by Scully's notice, and began in a very short time to fancy himself a political personage; for he had made several of Scully's speeches, written more than one letter from him to his constituents, and, in a word, acted as his gratis clerk. At least a guinea a week did Mr. Perkins save to the pockets of Mr. Scully, and with hearty good will too, for he adored the great William Pitt, and believed every word that dropped from the pompous lips of that gentleman.

Well, after having discussed Sir George Gorgon's letter, poor Perkins, in the utmost fury of mind that his darling should be slandered so, feeling a desire for fresh air, determined to descend to the garden, and smoke a cigar in that rural quiet spot. The night was very calm. The moonbeams slept softly upon the herbage of Gray's Inn-gardens, and bathed with silver splendour Tibbald's-row. A million of little frisky twinkling stars attended their queen, who looked with bland round face upon their gambols, as they peeped in and out from the azure heavens. Along Gray's-inn wall a lazy row of cabs stood listlessly, for who would call a cab on such a night? Meanwhile their drivers, at the alehouse near, smoked the short pipe or quaffed the foaming beer. Perhaps from Gray's-inn-lane some broken sounds of Irish revelry might rise. Issuing perhaps from Raymond-buildings

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