The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 133: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE MYSTERIES OF TILE COURT. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE PCSTMAN. BrEecHey Manor, in the immediate vicinage of Wandsworth, which is between six and seven miles from the centre of London, was an old build- ing, spacious, and having a gate-way in one of its wings. It stood at a distance of about fifty yards from the main road, and was approached by a shady lane. At the point where the lane thus branched off from the road, stood a small public- house bearing the sign of the Blue Lion; anda board, daubed with a ferocious specimen of the cerulean animal, swung crazily and creakingly over the door. The Manor belonged to a certain General Beechey, whose profligacy and extravagance had compelled him to fly from the country a few months previously to the date of our narrative; and in the interval the house nad remained pretty nearly unoccupied, save and except so far as will presently transpire. It was about half-past twelve o’clock on the Friday of which we are writing, that a postman, duly apparelled in the official costume and carrying a bundle of letters in his hand, entered the Blue Zion in that bustling, hurried manner which is wont to characterise individuals in that department of the Government service. “Glass of ale,” he said, with a corresponding rapidity of utterance, to the landlord at the bar: and while the latter was drawing the beer, the postman asked, “ Who are the people up at the Manor now ?” “I know nothing more about them than their name,” replied the landlord, as he handed the glass of ale. “And what is their name?” inquired the post- man, examining the superscription of a letter with great intentness: “for Vill be hanged if I can make it out with this queer writing.” “Bradshaw—Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw,” said the landlord. ‘ “To be sure !—so it is!” ejaculated the postman: then, having tossed off the ale, he observed as he tendered the halfpence in payment, * They haven't been there long—have they ?” “Only a few days—a week or so, as near as I can guess,” answered the landlord. “But you are a new man in this letter-delivery district, ain't you?” *“Yes—only put on temporary,” was the reply. “That’s capital ale of your’s. Ill take another glass. One doesn’t get such ale as this every day in the week.” “I believe you,” exclaimed the landlord, highly flattered by the homage thus done to his liquor: and well he might be, inasmuch as it had far more a Ee eee of the taste of vinegar and the appearance of muddy fluid, than the twang of the hop or the transparency of genuine ale. “Have you seen these Bradshaws at all?” in- quired the postman carelessly, as he sipped the ale. “I think they must be the same that used to live up Islington way, when I was on that beat two or three years ago: and if so, they’re capital people. Always came down with a present at Christmas and a drop of something short on a cold night.” SF ee Ee ee -_—_— = eee ee “J have seen the gentleman once or twice,” an- swered the landlord. “ He’s an elderly man—very agreeable to talk to—and loves a drop of good drink. He says my brandy beats the best French he ever tasted.” “Ah! then I suppose he has been in France?” said the postman. “It appears so from what he tells me. I haven't seen the lady—she doesn’t go out much, if at all: her husband told me she wasn’t in good health ” “Do they keep up any establishment at all?” inquired the letter-deliverer. “No—not a bit,” was the reply. “When General Beechey went away some months ago, he left an old man and a woman—that is, the old man’s wife—to take care of the place; and they are the only servants now at the Manor. So I suppose that the Bradshaws don’t intend to make a long stay of it. Old Tom Underdown— that’s the man—comes here of an evening to smoke his pipe and take his pint; and he tells me that Mrs. Bradshaw is a beautiful woman. He doesn’t think that she and her husband lead a very pleasant life together: for they’re constantly quarrelling.” “Ah! then they are the same Bradshaws of whom I spoke just now,” exclaimed the postman, as he paid for his second glass of ale. “ Good day, landlord.” And with this hurried farewell, he quitted the Blue Lion, proceeding on his way towards the Manor, which he reached ina few minutes. Instead of going up to the front entrance, he passed into the gateway, and found, as he seemed to have anticipated, that there was a side-door be- longing to the house. He gave the usual post- man’s knock; and after some delay an old woman made her appearance. - “ Mr. Bradshaw at home ?” inquired the postman. “No. You can give any letters to me,” was the answer. “I have none for him now,” said the postman: “but I want to make an inquiry about a particular letter-———” “Well, I tell you he isn’t at home,” interrupted the old woman, querulously: and she was about to close the door. “If Mrs. Bradshaw is at home, she will do as well as her husband,” said the postman. ‘“ Come—I can’t stand here all day—i’m not paid for losing my time——” “ Wait a minute,” said the old woman: and she hurried off as quick as she could to deliver the postman’s message. In a short time she re-appeared, requesting this individual to walkin. He accordingly entered the hall, and was conducted by old Mrs. Underdown, as he conjectured the crone to be, up a wide and handsome staircase to a spacious landing. There the woman threw open a door—and the postman was ushered into a large and elegantly- furnished apartment, where a lady of great beauty was seated upon a sofa, She looked very hard at the postman as he entered the room and made a bow: but speedily resuming an easy manner and indifferent mien, she appeared to wait the explanation of his business. “ Beg pardon, ma’am, for intruding,” he said: “but [’vegot a letter addressed to General Beechey, and it’s marked outside that it’s to be forwarded to ee _ COMICOOOKS aC ne