sisters — Aliva and Constance.”
“Both are dead,” observed the knight, gloomily.
“Not so;” answered Wild. “Constance is yet living.”
“Constance alive? Impossible!” ejaculated Trenchard.
“I’ve proofs to the contrary,” replied Jonathan.
“If this is the case, where is she?”
“In Bedlam,” replied the thief-taker, with a Satanic grin.
“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed the knight, upon whom a light seemed suddenly to break. “You mentioned Mrs. Sheppard. What has she to with Constance Trenchard?”
“Mrs. Sheppard is Constance Trenchard,” replied Jonathan, maliciously.
Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment.
“Again,” cried Jonathan, sternly: “beware!”
“What!” vociferated Trenchard. “My sister the wife of one condemned felon! the parent of another! It cannot be.”
“It is so, nevertheless,” replied Wild. “Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. It is useless to trace out her miserable career; though I can easily do so if you require it. To preserve herself, however, from destitution, or what she considered worse, she wedded a journeyman carpenter, named Sheppard.”
“Alas! that one so highly born should submit to such a degradation?” groaned the knight.
“I see nothing surprising in it,” rejoined Jonathan. “In the first place, she had no knowledge of her birth; and, consequently, no false pride to get rid of. In the second, she was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which you can form no idea. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. With the same inducements we should all do the same thing. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her.”
Jack Sheppard again sought his pistol, and was only withheld from levelling it at the thief-taker’s head, by the hope that he might gather some further information respecting his mother. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance.
“What proof have you of the truth of this story?” inquired Trenchard.
“This,” replied Jonathan, taking a paper from a portfolio, and handing it to the knight, “this written evidence, signed by Martha Cooper, the gipsy, by whom the girl was stolen, and who was afterwards executed for a similar crime. It is attested, you will observe, by the Reverend Mr. Purney, the present ordinary of Newgate.”
“I am acquainted with Mr. Purney’s hand-writing,” said Jack, advancing, “and can at once decide whether this is a forgery or not.”
“Look at it, then,” said Wild, giving him the portfolio.
“It’s the ordinary’s signature, undoubtedly,” replied Jack.
And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket.
“And, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruffianly housebreaker?” cried Trenchard, with a look of bewilderment. “I’ll not believe it.”
“Others may, if you won’t,” muttered Jack, retiring. “Thank Heaven! I’m not basely born.”
“Now, mark me,” said Jonathan, “and you’ll find I don’t do things by halves. By your father, Sir Montacute Trenchard’s will, you are aware — and, therefore, I need not repeat it, except for the special purpose I have in view — you are aware, I say, that, by this will, in case your sister Aliva, died without issue, or, on the death of such issue, the property reverts to Constance and her issue.”
“I hear,” said Sir Rowland, moodily.
“And I,” muttered Jack.
“Thames Darrell once destroyed,” pursued Jonathan. “Constance — or, rather, Mrs. Sheppard — becomes entitled to the estates; which eventually — provided he escaped the gallows — would descend to her son.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Jack, drawing in his breath, and leaning forward with intense curiosity.
“Well, Sir?” gasped Sir Rowland.
“But this need give you no uneasiness,” pursued Jonathan; “Mrs. Sheppard, as I told you, is in Bedlam, an incurable maniac; while her son is in the New Prison, whence he will only be removed to Newgate and Tyburn.”
“So you think,” muttered Jack, between his ground teeth.
“To make your mind perfectly easy on the score of Mrs. Sheppard,” continued Jonathan; “after we’ve disposed of Thames Darrell, I’ll visit her in Bedlam; and, as I understand I form one of her chief terrors, I’ll give her such a fright that I’ll engage she shan’t long survive it.”
“Devil!” muttered Jack, again grasping his pistol. But, feeling secure of vengeance, he determined to abide his time.
“And now, having got rid of the minor obstacles,” said Jonathan, “I’ll submit a plan for the removal of the main difficulty. Thames Darrell, I’ve said, is at Mr. Wood’s at Dollis Hill, wholly unsuspicious of any designs against him, and, in fact, entirely ignorant of your being acquainted with his return, or even of his existence. In this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare. To-morrow night — or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day — I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. To make sure work of it, I’ll superintend the job myself. Before midnight, I’ll answer for it, it shall be done. My janizaries shall go with me. You hear what I say, Quilt?” he added, looking at Jack.
“I do,” replied Sheppard.
“Abraham Mendez will like the task — for he has entertained a hatred to the memory of Thames Darrell ever since he received the wound in the head, when the two lads attempted to break out of St. Giles’s round-house. I’ve despatched him to the New Prison. But I expect him back every minute.”
“The New Prison!” exclaimed Sheppard. “What is he gone there for?”
“With a message to the turnkey to look after his prisoner,” replied Wild, with a cunning smile. “Jack Sheppard had a visitor, I understand, yesterday, and may make an attempt to escape. It’s as well to be on the safe side.”
“It is,” replied Jack.
At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He drew both his pistols, and prepared for a desperate encounter.
“There is another mystery I would have solved,” said Trenchard, addressing Wild; “you have told me much, but not enough.”
“What do you require further?” asked Jonathan.
