The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy (top ten books to read txt) đ
- Author: Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy
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âNo,â replied Mr. Jellyband, sententiously, âI dunno, Mr. âEmpseed, as I ever did. Anâ Iâve been in these parts nigh on sixty years.â
âAye! you wouldnât recâllect the first three years of them sixty, Mr. Jellyband,â quietly interposed Mr. Hempseed. âI dunno as I ever seeâd an infant take much note of the weather, leastways not in these parts, anâ Iâve lived âere nigh on seventy-five years, Mr. Jellyband.â
The superiority of this wisdom was so incontestable that for the moment Mr. Jellyband was not ready with his usual flow of argument.
âIt do seem more like April than September, donât it?â continued Mr. Hempseed, dolefully, as a shower of raindrops fell with a sizzle upon the fire.
âAye! that it do,â assented the worthy host, âbut then what can you âxpect, Mr. âEmpseed, I says, with sich a government as weâve got?â
Mr. Hempseed shook his head with an infinity of wisdom, tempered by deeply-rooted mistrust of the British climate and the British Government.
âI donât âxpect nothing, Mr. Jellyband,â he said. âPore folks like us is of no account up there in Lunnon, I knows that, and itâs not often as I do complain. But when it comes to sich wet weather in September, and all me fruit a-rottinâ and a-dyinâ like the âGuptian motherâs first-born, and doinâ no more good than they did, pore dears, save to a lot of Jews, pedlars and sich, with their oranges and sich like foreign ungodly fruit, which nobodyâd buy if English apples and pears was nicely swelled. As the Scriptures sayââ
âThatâs quite right, Mr. âEmpseed,â retorted Jellyband, âand as I says, what can you âxpect? Thereâs all them Frenchy devils over the Channel yonder a-murderinâ their king and nobility, and Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox and Mr. Burke a-fightinâ and a-wranglinâ between them, if we Englishmen should âlow them to go on in their ungodly way. âLet âem murder!â says Mr. Pitt. âStop âem!â says Mr. Burke.â
âAnd let âem murder, says I, and be demmed to âem,â said Mr. Hempseed, emphatically, for he had but little liking for his friend Jellybandâs political arguments, wherein he always got out of his depth, and had but little chance for displaying those pearls of wisdom which had earned for him so high a reputation in the neighbourhood and so many free tankards of ale at âThe Fishermanâs Rest.â
âLet âem murder,â he repeated again, âbut donât letâs âave sich rain in September, for that is agin the law and the Scriptures which saysââ
âLud! Mr. âArry, âow you made me jump!â
It was unfortunate for Sally and her flirtation that this remark of hers should have occurred at the precise moment when Mr. Hempseed was collecting his breath, in order to deliver himself of one of those Scriptural utterances which had made him famous, for it brought down upon her pretty head the full flood of her fatherâs wrath.
âNow then, Sally, me girl, now then!â he said, trying to force a frown upon his good-humoured face, âstop that fooling with them young jackanapes and get on with the work.â
âThe workâs gettinâ on all riâ, father.â
But Mr. Jellyband was peremptory. He had other views for his buxom daughter, his only child, who would in Godâs good time become the owner of âThe Fishermanâs Rest,â than to see her married to one of these young fellows who earned but a precarious livelihood with their net.
âDid ye hear me speak, me girl?â he said in that quiet tone, which no one inside the inn dared to disobey. âGet on with my Lord Tonyâs supper, for, if it ainât the best we can do, and âe not satisfied, see what youâll get, thatâs all.â
Reluctantly Sally obeyed.
âIs you âxpecting special guests then to-night, Mr. Jellyband?â asked Jimmy Pitkin, in a loyal attempt to divert his hostâs attention from the circumstances connected with Sallyâs exit from the room.
âAye! that I be,â replied Jellyband, âfriends of my Lord Tony hisself. Dukes and duchesses from over the water yonder, whom the young lord and his friend, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, and other young noblemen have helped out of the clutches of them murderinâ devils.â
But this was too much for Mr. Hempseedâs querulous philosophy.
âLud!â he said, âwhat they do that for, I wonder? I donât âold not with interferinâ in other folksâ ways. As the Scriptures sayââ
âMaybe, Mr. âEmpseed,â interrupted Jellyband, with biting sarcasm, âas youâre a personal friend of Mr. Pitt, and as you says along with Mr. Fox: âLet âem murder!â says you.â
âPardon me, Mr. Jellyband,â feebly protested Mr. Hempseed, âI dunno as I ever did.â
But Mr. Jellyband had at last succeeded in getting upon his favourite hobby-horse, and had no intention of dismounting in any hurry.
âOr maybe youâve made friends with some of them French chaps âoo they do say have come over here oâ purpose to make us Englishmen agree with their murderinâ ways.â
âI dunno what you mean, Mr. Jellyband,â suggested Mr. Hempseed, âall I know isââ
âAll I know is,â loudly asserted mine host, âthat there was my friend Peppercorn, âoo owns the âBlue-Faced Boar,â anâ as true and loyal an Englishman as youâd see in the land. And now look at âim!ââE made friends with some oâ them frog-eaters, âobnobbed with them just as if they was Englishmen, and not just a lot of immoral, God-forsaking furrinâ spies. Well! and what happened? Peppercorn âe now ups and talks of revolutions, and liberty, and down with the aristocrats, just like Mr. âEmpseed over âere!â
âPardon me, Mr. Jellyband,â again interposed Mr. Hempseed, feebly, âI dunno as I ever didââ
Mr. Jellyband had appealed to the company in general, who were listening awe-struck and open-mouthed at the recital of Mr. Peppercornâs defalcations. At one table two customersâgentlemen apparently by their clothesâhad pushed aside their half-finished game of dominoes, and had been listening for some time, and evidently with much amusement at Mr. Jellybandâs international opinions. One of them now, with a quiet, sarcastic smile still lurking round the corners of his mobile mouth, turned towards the centre of the room where Mr. Jellyband was standing.
âYou seem to think, mine honest friend,â he said quietly, âthat these Frenchmenâspies I think you called themâare mighty clever fellows to have made mincemeat so to speak of your friend Mr. Peppercornâs opinions. How did they accomplish that now, think you?â
âLud! sir, I suppose they talked âim over. Those Frenchies, Iâve âeard it said, âave got the gift of gabâand Mr. âEmpseed âere will tell you âow it is that they just twist some people round their little finger like.â
âIndeed, and is that so, Mr. Hempseed?â inquired the stranger politely.
âNay, sir!â replied Mr. Hempseed, much irritated, âI dunno as I can give you the information you require.â
âFaith, then,â said the stranger, âlet us hope, my worthy host, that these clever spies will not succeed in upsetting your extremely loyal opinions.â
But this was too much for Mr. Jellybandâs pleasant equanimity. He burst into an uproarious fit of laughter, which was soon echoed by those who happened to be in his debt.
âHahaha! hohoho! hehehe!â He laughed in every key, did my worthy host, and laughed until his sides ached, and his eyes streamed. âAt me! hark at that! Did ye âear âim say that theyâd be upsettinâ my opinions?âEh?âLud love you, sir, but you do say some queer things.â
âWell, Mr. Jellyband,â said Mr. Hempseed, sententiously, âyou know what the Scriptures say: âLet âim âoo stands take âeed lest âe fall.ââ
âBut then harkâee, Mr. âEmpseed,â retorted Jellyband, still holding his sides with laughter, âthe Scriptures didnât know me. Why, I wouldnât so much as drink a glass of ale with one oâ them murderinâ Frenchmen, and nothinâ âd make me change my opinions. Why! Iâve âeard it said that them frog-eaters canât even speak the Kingâs English, so, of course, if any of âem tried to speak their God-forsaken lingo to me, why, I should spot them directly, see!âand forewarned is forearmed, as the saying goes.â
âAye! my honest friend,â assented the stranger cheerfully, âI see that you are much too sharp, and a match for any twenty Frenchmen, and hereâs to your very good health, my worthy host, if youâll do me the honour to finish this bottle of mine with me.â
âI am sure youâre very polite, sir,â said Mr. Jellyband, wiping his eyes which were still streaming with the abundance of his laughter, âand I donât mind if I do.â
The stranger poured out a couple of tankards full of wine, and having offered one to mine host, he took the other himself.
âLoyal Englishmen as we all are,â he said, whilst the same humorous smile played round the corners of his thin lipsââloyal as we are, we must admit that this at least is one good thing which comes to us from France.â
âAye! weâll none of us deny that, sir,â assented mine host.
âAnd hereâs to the best landlord in England, our worthy host, Mr. Jellyband,â said the stranger in a loud tone of voice.
âHip, hip, hurrah!â retorted the whole company present. Then there was loud clapping of hands, and mugs and tankards made a rattling music upon the tables to the accompaniment of loud laughter at nothing in particular, and of Mr. Jellybandâs muttered exclamations:
âJust fancy me beinâ talked over by any God-forsaken furriner!âWhat?âLud love you, sir, but you do say some queer things.â
To which obvious fact the stranger heartily assented. It was certainly a preposterous suggestion that anyone could ever upset Mr. Jellybandâs firmly-rooted opinions anent the utter worthlessness of the inhabitants of the whole continent of Europe.
THE REFUGEES
Feeling in every part of England certainly ran very high at this time against the French and their doings. Smugglers and legitimate traders between the French and English coasts brought snatches of news from over the water, which made every honest Englishmanâs blood boil, and made him long to have âa good goâ at those murderers, who had imprisoned their king and all his family, subjected the queen and the royal children to every species of indignity, and were even now loudly demanding the blood of the whole Bourbon family and of every one of its adherents.
The execution of the Princesse de Lamballe, Marie Antoinetteâs young and charming friend, had filled everyone in England with unspeakable horror, the daily execution of scores of royalists of good family, whose only sin was their aristocratic name, seemed to cry for vengeance to the whole of civilised Europe.
Yet, with all that, no one dared to interfere. Burke had exhausted all his eloquence in trying to induce the British Government to fight the revolutionary government of France, but Mr. Pitt, with characteristic prudence, did not feel that this country was fit yet to embark on another arduous and costly war. It was for Austria to take the initiative; Austria, whose fairest daughter was even now a dethroned queen, imprisoned and insulted by a howling mob; and surely âtwas notâso argued Mr. Foxâfor the whole of England to take up arms, because one set of Frenchmen chose to murder another.
As for Mr. Jellyband and his fellow John Bulls, though they looked upon all foreigners with withering contempt, they were royalist and anti-revolutionists to a man, and at this present moment were furious with Pitt for his caution and moderation, although they naturally understood nothing of the diplomatic reasons which guided that great manâs policy.
But now Sally came running back, very excited and very eager. The joyous company in the coffee-room had heard nothing of the noise outside, but she had spied a dripping horse and rider who had stopped at the door of âThe Fishermanâs Rest,â and while the stable boy ran forward to take charge of the horse, pretty Miss Sally went to the front door to greet the welcome visitor.
âI think I seeâd my Lord Antonyâs horse out in the yard, father,â she said, as she ran across the coffee-room.
But already the door had been thrown open from outside, and the next moment an arm, covered in drab cloth and dripping with the heavy rain, was round pretty Sallyâs waist, while a hearty voice echoed along the polished rafters of the coffee-room.
âAye, and bless your brown eyes for being so sharp, my pretty Sally,â said the man who had just entered, whilst worthy Mr. Jellyband came bustling forward, eager, alert and fussy, as became the advent of one of the most favoured guests of his hostel.
âLud, I protest, Sally,â added Lord Antony, as he deposited a kiss on Miss Sallyâs blooming cheeks, âbut you are growing prettier and prettier every time I see youâand my honest friend, Jellyband here, must have hard work to keep the fellows off that slim waist of yours. What say you, Mr. Waite?â
Mr. Waiteâtorn between his respect for my lord and his dislike of that particular type of jokeâonly replied with a doubtful grunt.
Lord Antony Dewhurst, one of the sons of the Duke of Exeter, was in those
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