The Fortunes of Nigel by Walter Scott (good summer reads txt) 📕

not Andrew Skurliewhitter nick him as neatly? He hath been my patron—true—not more than Buckingham was his; and he can be so no more, for he departs presently for Scotland. I am glad of it—I hate him, and I fear him. He knows too many of my secrets—I know too many of his. But, no—no—no—I need never attempt it, there are no means of over-reaching him.—Well, Willie, what o'clock?”

“Ele'en hours just chappit, sir.”

“Go to your desk without, child,” said the scrivener. “What to do next—I shall lose the old Earl's fair business, and, what is worse, his son's foul practice. Old Heriot looks too close into business to permit me more than the paltry and ordinary dues. The Whitefriars business was profitable, but it has become unsafe ever since—pah!—what brought that in my head just now? I can hardly hold my pen—if men should see me in this way!—Willie,” (calling aloud to the boy,) “a cup of distilled waters—Soh!—now I could face the devil.”

He spoke the last words aloud, and close by the door of the apartment, which was suddenly opened by Richie Moniplies, followed by two gentlemen, and attended by two porters bearing money-bags. “If ye can face the devil, Maister Skurliewhitter,” said Richie, “ye will be the less likely to turn your back on a sack or twa o' siller, which I have ta'en the freedom to bring you. Sathanas and Mammon are near akin.” The porters, at the same time, ranged their load on the floor.

“I—I,”—stammered the surprised scrivener—“I cannot guess what you mean, sir.”

“Only that I have brought you the redemption-money on the part of Lord Glenvarloch, in discharge of a certain mortgage over his family inheritance. And here, in good time, comes Master Reginald Lowestoffe, and another honourable gentleman of the Temple, to be witnesses to the transaction.”

“I—I incline to think,” said the scrivener, “that the term is expired.”

“You will pardon us, Master Scrivener,” said Lowestoffe. “You will not baffle us—it wants three-quarters of noon by every clock in the city.”

“I must have time, gentlemen,” said Andrew, “to examine the gold by tale and weight.”

“Do so at your leisure, Master Scrivener,” replied Lowestoffe again. “We have already seen the contents of each sack told and weighed, and we have put our seals on them. There they stand in a row, twenty in number, each containing three hundred yellow-hammers—we are witnesses to the lawful tender.”

“Gentlemen,” said the scrivener, “this security now belongs to a mighty lord. I pray you, abate your haste, and let me send for Lord Dalgarno,—or rather I will run for him myself.”

So saying, he took up his hat; but Lowestoffe called out,—“Friend Moniplies, keep the door fast, an thou be'st a man! he seeks but to put off the time.—In plain terms, Andrew, you may send for the devil, if you will, who is the mightiest lord of my acquaintance, but from hence you stir not till you have answered our proposition, by rejecting or accepting the redemption-money fairly tendered—there it lies—take it, or leave it, as you will. I have skill enough to know that the law is mightier than any lord in Britain—I have learned so much at the Temple, if I have learned nothing else. And see that you trifle not with it, lest it make your long ears an inch shorter, Master Skurliewhitter.”

“Nay, gentlemen, if you threaten me,” said the scrivener, “I cannot resist compulsion.”

“No threats—no threats at all, my little Andrew,” said Lowestoffe; “a little friendly advice only—forget not, honest Andrew, I have seen you in Alsatia.”

Without answering a single word, the scrivener sat down, and drew in proper form a full receipt for the money proffered.

“I take it on your report, Master Lowestoffe,” he said; “I hope you will remember I have insisted neither upon weight nor tale—I have been civil—if there is deficiency I shall come to loss.”

“Fillip his nose with a gold-piece, Richie,” quoth the Templar. “Take up the papers, and now wend we merrily to dine thou wot'st where.”

“If I might choose,” said Richie, “it should not be at yonder roguish ordinary; but as it is your pleasure, gentlemen, the treat shall be given wheresoever you will have it.”

“At the ordinary,” said the one Templar.

“At Beaujeu's,” said the other; “it is the only house in London for neat wines, nimble drawers, choice dishes, and—”

“And high charges,” quoth Richie Moniplies. “But, as I said before, gentlemen, ye have a right to command me in this thing, having so frankly rendered me your service in this small matter of business, without other stipulation than that of a slight banquet.”

The latter part of this discourse passed in the street, where, immediately afterwards, they met Lord Dalgarno. He appeared in haste, touched his hat slightly to Master Lowestoffe, who returned his reverence with the same negligence, and walked slowly on with his companion, while Lord Dalgarno stopped Richie Moniplies with a commanding sign, which the instinct of education compelled Moniplies, though indignant, to obey.

“Whom do you now follow, sirrah?” demanded the noble.

“Whomsoever goeth before me, my lord,” answered Moniplies.

“No sauciness, you knave—I desire to know if you still serve Nigel Olifaunt?” said Dalgarno.

“I am friend to the noble Lord Glenvarloch,” answered Moniplies, with dignity.

“True,” replied Lord Dalgarno, “that noble lord has sunk to seek friends among lackeys—Nevertheless,—hark thee hither,—nevertheless, if he be of the same mind as when we last met, thou mayst show him, that, on to-morrow, at four afternoon, I shall pass northward by Enfield Chase—I will be slenderly attended, as I design to send my train through Barnet. It is my purpose to ride an easy pace through the forest, and to linger a while by Camlet Moat—he knows the place; and, if he be aught but an Alsatian bully, will think it fitter for some purposes than the Park. He is, I understand, at liberty, or shortly to be so. If he fail me at the place nominated, he must seek me in Scotland, where he will find me possessed of his father's estate and lands.”

“Humph!” muttered Richie; “there go twa words to that bargain.”

He even meditated a joke on the means which he was conscious he possessed of baffling Lord Dalgarno's expectations; but there was something of keen and dangerous excitement in the eyes of the young nobleman, which prompted his discretion for once to rule his vit, and he only answered—

“God grant your lordship may well brook your new conquest—when you get it. I shall do your errand to my lord—whilk is to say,” he added internally, “he shall never hear a word of it from Richie. I am not the lad to put him in such hazard.”

Lord Dalgarno looked at him sharply for a moment, as if to penetrate the meaning of the dry ironical tone, which, in spite of Richie's awe, mingled with his answer, and then waved his hand, in signal he should pass on. He himself walked slowly