There was a brief, breathless pause. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety.
“It is past,” said Jack, placing his finger on the trigger.
“Hold!” cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; “they are nothing to me.”
“But they are everything to me,” cried Jack, stooping to pick them up. “These packets will establish Thames Darrell’s birth, win him his inheritance, and procure him the hand of Winifred Wood.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” rejoined Kneebone, snatching up the staff, and aiming a blow at his head, which was fortunately warded off by Mrs. Maggot, who promptly interposed her cudgel.
“Defend yourself!” cried Jack, drawing his sword.
“Leave his punishment to me, Jack,” said Mrs. Maggot. “I’ve the Bridewell account to settle.”
“Be it so,” replied Jack, putting up his blade. “I’ve a good deal to do. Show him no quarter, Poll. He deserves none.”
“And shall find none,” replied the Amazon. “Now, Mr. Kneebone,” she added, drawing up her magnificent figure to its full height, and making the heavy cudgel whistle through the air, “look to yourself.”
“Stand off, Poll,” rejoined the woollen-draper; “I don’t want to hurt you. It shall never be said that I raised my arm willingly against a woman.”
“I’ll forgive you all the harm you do me,” rejoined the Amazon. “What! you still hesitate! Will that rouse you, coward?” And she gave him a smart rap on the head.
“Coward!” cried Kneebone. “Neither man nor woman shall apply that term to me. If you forget your sex, jade, I must forget mine.”
With this, he attacked her vigorously in his turn.
It was a curious sight to see how this extraordinary woman, who, it has been said, was not less remarkable for the extreme delicacy of her features, and the faultless symmetry of her figure, than for her wonderful strength and agility, conducted herself in the present encounter; with what dexterity she parried every blow aimed against her by her adversary, whose head and face, already marked by various ruddy streams, showed how successfully her own hits had been made; — how she drew him hither and thither, now leading him on, now driving him suddenly back; harassing and exhausting him in every possible way, and making it apparent that she could at any moment put an end to the fight, and only delayed the finishing stroke to make his punishment the more severe.
Jack, meanwhile, with Blueskin’s assistance, had set the table once more upon its legs, and placing writing materials, which he took from a shelf, upon it, made Shotbolt, who was still gagged, but whose arms were for the moment unbound, sit down before them.
“Write as I dictate,” he cried, placing a pen in the jailer’s hand and a pistol to his ear.
Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound.
“Write as follows,” continued Jack. “‘I have succeeded in capturing Jack Sheppard. The reward is mine. Get all ready for his reception. In a few minutes after the delivery of this note he will be in Newgate.’ Sign it,” he added, as, after some further threats, the letter was indited according to his dictation, “and direct it to Mr. Austin. That’s well. And, now, to find a messenger.”
“Mr. Kneebone’s man is in the shop,” said Rachel; “he’ll take it.”
“Can I trust him?” mused Jack. “Yes; he’ll suspect nothing. Give him this letter, child, and bid him take it to the Lodge at Newgate without loss of time. Blueskin will go with you — for fear of a mistake.”
“You might trust me,” said Rachel, in an offended tone; “but never mind.”
And she left the room with Blueskin, who very politely offered her his arm.
Meanwhile, the combat between Kneebone and Mrs. Maggot had been brought to a termination. When the woollen-draper was nearly worn out, the Amazon watched her opportunity, and hitting him on the arm, disabled it.
“That’s for Mrs. Wood,” she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp.
“I’m at your mercy, Poll,” rejoined Kneebone, abjectly.
“That’s for Winifred,” vociferated the Amazon, bringing the cudgel heavily upon his shoulder.
“Damnation!” cried Kneebone.
“That’s for myself,” rejoined Mrs. Maggot, dealing him a blow, which stretched him senseless on the floor.
“Bravo, Poll!” cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. “You’ve given him a broken head, I perceive.”
“He’ll scarcely need a plaister,” replied Mrs. Maggot, laughing. “Here, Bess, give me the cord, and I’ll tie him to this chest of drawers. I don’t think he’ll come to himself too soon. But it’s best to be on the safe side.”
“Decidedly so,” replied Edgeworth Bess; “and I’ll take this opportunity, while Jack’s back is turned — for he’s grown so strangely particular — of easing him of his snuff-box. Perhaps,” she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the before-named article, “he has a pocket-book.”
“Hush!” replied Mrs. Maggot; “Jack will hear you. We’ll come back for that by and by, and the dressing-gown.”
At this moment, Rachel and Blueskin returned. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them.
“Have you sent off the note?” inquired Jack.
“We have, Captain,” replied Blueskin. “I say we, because Miss Rachel and I have struck up a match. Shall I bring off anything?” he added, looking eagerly round.
“No,” replied Jack, peremptorily.
Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt’s face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. He, next, seized the unlucky jailer, and forced him along, while Blueskin expedited his movements by administering a few kicks behind.
Jack Sheppard striking Shotbolt the Gaoler
When they got to the door, Jack opened it, and, mimicking the voice of the jailer, shouted, “Now, my lads, all’s ready?”
“Here we are,” cried the chairmen, hurrying out of the court with their swinging vehicle, “where is he?”
“Here,” replied Sheppard, dragging out Shotbolt by the collar, while Blueskin pushed him behind, and Mrs. Maggot held up a lantern, which she found in the shop. “In with him!”
“Ay — ay, yer hon’r,” cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. “Get in wid ye, ye villin!”
And, despite his resistance, Shotbolt was thrust into the chair, which was instantly fastened upon him.
“There, he’s as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould,” laughed the man.
“Off with you to Newgate!” cried Jack, “and don’t let him out till you get inside the Lodge. There’s a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. Irreton. D’ye hear.”
“Yes, yer hon’r,” replied the chairman, taking the note.
“What are you waiting for?” asked Jack, impatiently.
“The gen’l’man as hired us,” replied the chairman.
“Oh! he’ll be after you directly. He’s settling an account in the house. Lose no time. The letter will