Mrs. Wood could stand it no longer.
“I think you’re all bewitched,” she cried.
“So we are, Ma’am, by your charms,” returned Mr. Jackson, gallantly.
“Quite captivated, Ma’am,” added Mr. Smith, placing his hand on his breast.
Mr. Kneebone and Mr. Wood laughed louder than ever.
“Mr. Wood,” said the lady bridling up, “my request may, perhaps, have some weight with you. I desire, Sir, you’ll recollect yourself. Mr. Kneebone,” she added, with a glance at that gentleman, which was meant to speak daggers, “will do as he pleases.”
Here the chapmen set up another boisterous peal.
“No offence, I hope, my dear Mrs. W,” said Mr. Kneebone in a conciliatory tone. “My friends, Mr. Jackson and Mr. Smith, may have rather odd ways with them; but —”
“They have very odd ways,” interrupted Mrs. Wood, disdainfully.
“Our worthy friend was going to observe, Ma’am, that we never fail in our devotion to the fair sex,” said Mr. Jackson.
“Never, Ma’am!” echoed Mr. Smith, “upon my conscience.”
“My dear,” said the hospitable carpenter, “I dare say Mr. Kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment.”
“They shall have it, then,” replied his better half, rising. “You base ingrate,” she added, in a whisper, as she flounced past Mr. Kneebone on her way to the door, “how could you bring such creatures with you, especially on an occasion like this, when we haven’t met for a fortnight!”
“Couldn’t help it, my life,” returned the gentleman addressed, in the same tone; “but you little know who those individuals are.”
“Lord bless us! you alarm me. Who are they?”
Mr. Kneebone assumed a mysterious air; and bringing his lips close to Mrs. Wood’s ear, whispered, “secret agents from France — you understand — friends to the cause — hem!”
“I see — persons of rank!”
Mr. Kneebone nodded.
“Noblemen.”
Mr. Kneebone smiled assent.
“Mercy on us! Well, I thought their manners quite out o’ the common. And so, the invasion really is to take place after all; and the Chevalier de Saint George is to land at the Tower with fifty thousand Frenchmen; and the Hanoverian usurper’s to be beheaded; and Doctor Sacheverel’s to be made a bishop, and we’re all to be — eh?”
“All in good time,” returned Kneebone, putting his finger to his lips; “don’t let your imagination run away with you, my charmer. That boy,” he added, looking at Thames, “has his eye upon us.”
Mrs. Wood, however, was too much excited to attend to the caution.
“O, lud!” she cried; “French noblemen in disguise! and so rude as I was! I shall never recover it!”
“A good supper will set all to rights,” insinuated Kneebone. “But be prudent, my angel.”
“Never fear,” replied the lady. “I’m prudence personified. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself — I’d never betray him. But why didn’t you let me know they were coming. I’d have got something nice. As it is, we’ve only a couple of ducks — and they were intended for you. Winny, my love, come with me. I shall want you. — Sorry to quit your lord — worships, I mean — I don’t know what I mean,” she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least — “but I’ve a few necessary orders to give below.”
“Don’t mind us, Ma’am,” said Mr. Jackson: “ha! ha!”
“Not in the least, Ma’am,” echoed Mr. Smith: “ho! ho!”
“How condescending!” thought Mrs. Wood. “Not proud in the least, I declare. Well, I’d no idea,” she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, “that people of quality laughed so. But it’s French manners, I suppose.”
CHAPTER 5.
HAWK AND BUZZARD.
Mrs. Wood’s anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast. To the duckling, peas, and other delicacies, intended for Mr. Kneebone’s special consumption, she added a few impromptu dishes, tossed off in her best style; such as lamb chops, broiled kidneys, fried ham and eggs, and toasted cheese. Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter’s board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie — the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth’s delectable print — the Modern Midnight Conversation.
Mrs. Wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by Winifred, took her seat at the table. Operations then commenced. Mr. Wood carved the ducks; Mr. Kneebone helped to the pigeon-pie; while Thames unwired and uncorked a bottle of stout Carnarvonshire ale. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child’s sport compared with those of Mr. Smith. The leg and wing of a duck were disposed of by this gentleman in a twinkling; a brace of pigeons and a pound of steak followed with equal celerity; and he had just begun to make a fierce assault upon the eggs and ham. His appetite was perfectly Gargantuan. Nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his teeth, he neglected the flagon. On the contrary, his glass was never idle, and finding it not filled quite so frequently as he desired, he applied himself, notwithstanding the expressive looks and muttered remonstrances of Mr. Jackson, to the swig. The latter gentleman did full justice to the good things before him; but he drank sparingly, and was visibly annoyed by his companion’s intemperance. As to Mr. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm.
“I was in the right, you see, father,” observed Thames, smiling; “Jack has done his task.”
“So I perceive,” replied Wood.
“Where am I to take it to?” asked Sheppard.
“I told you that before,” rejoined Wood, testily. “You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard’s in Southampton Fields. And, mind, it’s for his sister, Lady Trafford.”
“Very well,