“I expect no commiseration,” returned Mrs. Sheppard, gently, “nor do I need any. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever.”
“Pray do so, Madam,” retorted Mrs. Wood, “and take your son with you.”
“My son!” echoed the widow, trembling.
“Yes, your son, Madam. If you can do any good with him, it’s more than we can. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold.”
“Is this true, Sir?” cried Mrs. Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. “I know you’ll not deceive me. Is Jack what Mrs. Wood represents him?”
“He’s not exactly what I could desire him to be, Joan,” replied the carpenter, reluctantly, “But a ragged colt sometimes makes the best horse. He’ll mend, I hope.”
“Never,” said Mrs. Wood — “he’ll never mend. He has taken more than one step towards the gallows already. Thieves and pickpockets are his constant companions.”
“Thieves!” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, horror-stricken.
“Jonathan Wild and Blueskin have got him into their hands,” continued Mrs. Wood.
“Impossible!” exclaimed the widow, wildly.
“If you doubt my word, woman,” replied the carpenter’s wife, coldly, “ask Mr. Wood.”
“I know you’ll contradict it, Sir,” said the widow, looking at Wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed — “I know you will.”
“I wish I could, Joan,” returned the carpenter, sadly.
Mrs. Sheppard let fall her basket.
“My son,” she murmured, wringing her hands piteously — “my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild’s power! It cannot be.”
“Why not?” rejoined Mrs. Wood, in a taunting tone. “Your son’s father was a thief; and Jonathan Wild (unless I’m misinformed,) was his friend — so it’s not unnatural he should show some partiality towards Jack.”
“Jonathan Wild was my husband’s bitterest enemy,” said Mrs. Sheppard. “He first seduced him from the paths of honesty, and then betrayed him to a shameful death, and he has sworn to do the same thing by my son. Oh, Heavens; that I should have ever indulged a hope of happiness while that terrible man lives!”
“Compose yourself, Joan,” said Wood; “all will yet be well.”
“Oh, no — no,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, distractedly. “All cannot be well, if this is true. Tell me, Sir,” she added, with forced calmness, and grasping Wood’s arm; “what has Jack done? Tell me in a word, that I may know the worst. I can bear anything but suspense.”
“You’re agitating yourself unnecessarily, Joan,” returned Wood, in a soothing voice. “Jack has been keeping bad company. That’s the only fault I know of.”
“Thank God for that!” ejaculated Mrs. Sheppard, fervently. “Then it is not too late to save him. Where is he, Sir? Can I see him?”
“No, that you can’t,” answered Mrs. Wood; “he has gone out without leave, and has taken Thames Darrell with him. If I were Mr. Wood, when he does return, I’d send him about his business. I wouldn’t keep an apprentice to set my authority at defiance.”
Mr. Wood’s reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door.
“‘Odd’s-my-life! — what’s that?” he cried, greatly alarmed.
“It’s Jonathan Wild come back with a troop of constables at his heels, to search the house,” rejoined Mrs. Wood, in equal trepidation. “We shall all be murdered. Oh! that Mr. Kneebone were here to protect me!”
“If it is Jonathan,” rejoined Wood, “it is very well for Mr. Kneebone he’s not here. He’d have enough to do to protect himself, without attending to you. I declare I’m almost afraid to go to the door. Something, I’m convinced, has happened to the boys.”
“Has Jonathan Wild been here to-day?” asked Mrs. Sheppard, anxiously.
“To be sure he has!” returned Mrs. Wood; “and Blueskin, too. They’re only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter,” she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before.
While the carpenter irresolutely quitted the room, with a strong presentiment of ill upon his mind, a light quick step was heard descending the stairs, and before he could call out to prevent it, a man was admitted into the passage.
“Is this Misther Wudd’s, my pretty miss?” demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman.
“It is”, seplied Winifred; “have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!”
“Troth have I!” replied Terence: “but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?”
“Is he well? — is he safe? — is he coming back,” cried the little girl, disregarding the question.
“He’s in St. Giles’s round-house,” answered Terence; “but tell Mr. Wudd I’m here, and have brought him a message from his unlawful son, and don’t be detainin’ me, my darlin’, for there’s not a minute to lose if the poor lad’s to be recused from the clutches of that thief and thief-taker o’ the wurld, Jonathan Wild.”
The carpenter, upon whom no part of this hurried dialogue had been lost, now made his appearance, and having obtained from Terence all the information which that personage could impart respecting the perilous situation of Thames, he declared himself ready to start to Saint Giles’s at once, and ran back to the room for his hat and stick; expressing his firm determination, as he pocketed his constable’s staff with which he thought it expedient to arm himself, of being direfully revenged upon the thief-taker: a determination in which he was strongly encouraged by his wife. Terence, meanwhile, who had followed him, did not remain silent, but recapitulated his story, for the benefit of Mrs. Sheppard. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. Wood, who maintained stoutly, that if Thames had been led to do wrong, it must be through the instrumentality of his worthless companion.
“And there you’re right, you may dipind, marm,” observed Terence. “Master Thames Ditt — what’s his blessed name? — has honesty written in his handsome phiz; but as to his companion, Jack Sheppard, I think you call him, he’s a born and bred thief. Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on ’em in our purfession. Them young prigs is all alike. I seed he was one — and a sharp un, too — at a glance.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands.
“Take a drop of brandy before we start, watchman,” said Wood, pouring out a glass of spirit, and presenting it to Terence, who smacked his lips as he disposed of it. “Won’t you be persuaded, Joan?” he added, making a similar offer to Mrs. Sheppard, which she gratefully declined. “If you mean to accompany us, you may need it.”
“You are