The White-Haired Gentleman: WHG

By Samuel C Richards

The white, stark lengthy fingers emerging from giant sleeves, now twisted and pulled at this rod, extending it to a size not less than the height of the spectral form itself, which held the same within a bony, clenched grasp.

Christmas 1848, the City of York, England. Capus Munion is the accounts clerk to an old family-firm of auctioneers, being carefully plundered by its artful directors. The year's end brings unprecedented weather in the form of recurrent snowfalls and frightening electrical storms; to become a winter siege that pushes the ancient city's people to their limit. But now there is something strange about the white-haired gentleman, his knowledge, his wisdom; that is both unearthly and provocative. A humble clerk who finds the good and the bad of those that cross his path, only to exercise the final words of truth and justice...

In a web spun by so many unique and often humorous characters, is a ghostly Dickensian work and a tribute to 'A Christmas Carol' and a must for those who enjoy the traditionally spoken tale. Complete with rich, classically illustrated pen drawings styled of the period.

• Language: English
• Publisher: coach dog publications
• Release date: Nov 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781908886118

Book preview

GENTLEMAN

Chapter I

HE sat as he had always sat, alone, and at a high, narrow desk and with his back to the thin glass of the counting-house window, and his large head facing toward the door. Here, he laboured long and conscientiously at the figures before him, and to assess these by means of a brightly-coloured abacus; and so likewise observe, the better facts of men and life, and with this the poorer contradictions of a closing world of white. That with moon locks curling low at their ends and resting snugly on a black velvet collar, of a blacker than black stuff frock-coat. Which itself not quite as black, as an ever blacker satin waistcoat, but perhaps there as perfectly black as the faded arm-band which frayed at its edges, was secure upon his left-arm — and here, did he muse long and hard, staring into a void of seemingly numerical eternity, dressed in this his darksome costume.

Munion, I say Munion can you hear me?

The white locks turned, and slowly brushing at the black collar, a whiter than white face, more skin and bone than flesh; which, with small red-eyes, subsequently narrowed upon the open door-way from whence the words had come. Where a large jelly of a man with boots quite the shape of house-boats and twice as clumsy, dressed in tweeds and of a too fashionable type to be considered in any way genteel: presently declared somewhat gruffly, his protestations, Munion do not sneer at me, Munion do not score your vanity for my wonder, I dislike competition among my employees.

I merely expressed an inner notion, sir, responded the clerk, and in doing so ran a delicate, white hand across his smooth brow, to there follow down an aquiline nose to touch the thin grey lips that had announced all this, and if by any real movement at all. Meanwhile, the big boots returned and were closely followed by a large rump in tails.

Falling once again, the snow in large woolly-drops piled easily at the window-ledges of the counting-house and spoke of endless falls and freezing air; that could bleed the life of any poor creature, left to its cruel measure. Breaching this bleak landscape and into another bland and seemingly hopeless environment — that of the counting-house: a youngish-looking man of some five and thirty-years. His complexion burning through, and the now melting snowflakes sliding off his ruddy cheeks, whilst the same fell from his boots and short thick cloak, and all to the rough deal-floor below. Then with an expression of kindness, he leaned towards the old clerk, and dusting himself off in a trifling way, lowered his chin and spoke; breath flowing out quickly, easily, as if it were freezing smoke, and marking the scene analogous to a capital chorus at a history.

Capus Munion. I am sure of course?

Moving several paces and farther inside the room and dusting himself once more, the young man continued in his inquiries.

It is you, Capus! How in Heaven are you? You are well I take it? I tell you it is cold out there — freeze the hind-legs of the hardiest mule.

The little speech performed, its erratic overflow of sentiment and surprise taking some wind from its performer, and perhaps more so than bargained of; much that it left the speaker short from the effort, tired of motion, but increasingly brightened, as much he had been rouged unnaturally all the same.

How are you Paul?

The thin lips opening a further fraction as the coolest of expressions now illuminated the lambent eyes of the silent clerk.

Still suffering from the effects of the weather, Paul shuffled again and to the direction of a corner-stove, which seemingly hovered within an acute angle and at the darkest part of the sombre room, as if it were frightened of its own purpose — here it skulked, and with its back high and seemingly stood abruptly against the shadows, was it ready to defend itself in any regard to such contributions propagated by its own society. And though finding little heat from that black, iron cherub; Paul extended his hands towards it, much as a show than any play for heat, and warmed himself — if only, in the acting up of that farce.

There was time, no, a period, when I should say I was a little greyer, even a little plumper, but are we not all? said Paul, turning his head on the balance of his words, to see the joke fall quite as any delicacy, cooked of a Shrove Tuesday and deriving from batter, is fried, flavoured with lemon-juice, and always a little prostrate and dull.

Rubbing his elbows through the leather-patches of his dark coat with bony hands, Capus Munion gave an air of mild dissatisfaction at the visitor’s jocular form and then continued at his abacus with some dispirited authority, softened only in this by his singing quietly out the numbers as he crossed at a huge register.

I say Capus, are you still at Mrs. Crisp’s? questioned Paul impossibly, and trying his best to soften the effects of the frigid atmosphere, whilst rinsing his hands in the tepid air, which was only just given to rise from that struggling impostor of a stove. Now waited patiently for a reply, and blessed with a cool communication, itself positively as frosty as the climate; felt a sudden pang of regret at the genial inquiry and the lightness of this, his approach.

I lodge with Mrs. Crisp, you know this already. I have for several years and more. Pray Paul, do tell the purpose of your visit, I suggest to you — you are not here to sell?

Cautious of any response in the affirmative Paul gave to lying.

Good gracious, no, not at all.

An elastic frown now rippled across the brow of the clerk and sprung to nothing.

"Hem, there are a number of machines which are no longer in use at the factory, and might do well in a special-sale, there it is," announced the visitor, shyly.

The young man pulling at his chin once more and keeping eyes fixed upon the stove in the idea that it should improve its heat, or at least bend its pipe in recognition to the judged proposal. And all this whilst the red-eyes of the clerk showed only the lightest hollow of some sense of disapproval, and all borne within the darkness of his bearing. Then pushing against the desk, and leaning backwards to allow his great arms to stretch, Capus Munion rose slowly to his feet. So slowly, his silhouette climbing high upon the dull, grey paint-work of the counting-house walls, and in such a morbid way, it was as though the dead were rising at Judgement. The exchange of time elapsing at the generation of his limbs and trunk: becoming a minor eternity. Until, eventually, the seven-feet and more, of his frame being achieved by this consuming erection; and with a seemingly infinite control of energy expended with it, did he come to presently tower over the young man. Who having heard the grating sound of the giant clerk’s stool, hard against the dark, wooden floor, quickly stood back, to find he was suddenly being glowered upon, as suffering some great abjection on his part, I shall get Mr. Hardie for you Paul.

The mere whiff of trade had brought that gentleman quickly back to the counting-house, and with him, some decorative advance to this man’s (otherwise) set features, which for the most, were moulded in a state of continuing grimace.

But for so many people, the fragrance of money has its charms, albeit if these allures are as false as dicers’ oaths; they can, and they do, at least make some pleasant assent to the otherwise difficult standard of man’s common ground. Just as players of most penny-theatres, Mr. Hardie’s tact was less convincing than his stretching chops displayed; which now expanding to become of such a harlequin grin, were as much of medical curiosity, than as any other interpretation.

Tuckbury’s lad! How large you are? Must be twelve-year since I saw thee! Mr. Tuckbury — how is he then, still at the Lodge? I’d say there was no nicer bower in Christendom than in garden of the Lodge! Rose garden and Mrs. Tuckbury were one, I take it your mother remains at her needle?

Capus resumed his seat and with a quickness that spoke for the young man, presented the case drily, Death has taken them both.

Paul shrank with these words, for it was as though his soul had been wrung and his heart rendered-in-two.

"Of course they are dead, I remember it being in the Post, have you done well sir?"

Paul muttered something unremarkable and stood in brief paralysis, to close his eyes, and on opening them saying part of the Lord’s Prayer; here pronounced, that Mr. Bovverham had taken the factory on his own part and was providing well for all, what with the winding-down of the company and, other such incumbent matters. Standing like some actor finding his lines, and anxious in that process, Mr. Hardie considered all exits for his part, until a light cough coming from his clerk suggested an alternative route.

Oh, indeed, the business you have mentioned to my employee. I’ll be at your offices, say Monday morning, eight o’clock?

Paul nodded his thanks to Mr. Hardie and bowed lightly to Capus, only to trudge off and whispering to himself, over a bower that had been removed from the family home some five and twenty-years prior. He made no attempt to close the door.

These things taken to heart, are often the weakest way to recovery!

Capus putting his hands lightly to his face, coughed again and Mr. Hardie chose to make his way back to his office. Closing the door with a tug, that caused that item to tremble wildly — quite as if it were a frightened blancmange, this, whilst the accountant could be heard muttering incoherently, and then with additional agitation pulled at the door again — off-stage so-to-speak; and until, rendering it unto the casement by such eventual success, was he away.

The clerk, his fingers upon his lips, considered the late visitor and then placing a note on the desk where the ledger reclined, rapidly cleared some silver into a leathern-pouch and next, put this in a drawer (having turned the key in its lock); only to pocket that item within his dark and threadbare frock-coat. Here he quickly gathered up a silver-topped cane and made for the office-door, whilst neatly ducking under its frame to take the back-stairs to the floor below, and the remaining flight via the hard metal-footings of an insipid if not truly ornamental fire-escape. Moving, that any slipping from step to step gave way to the very motion required, the tall clerk soon planted his feet on firmer ground; that gigantic steps across a littered yard, filled with broken items and too much rubbish found him at a much-neglected, cherry-coloured brick outer-wall. Arriving, he grabbed at an ill-looking key which hanging from a jaded length of string, allowed a large green-painted door to be opened, here he passed through the same, locking it once more. Disturbing the settled snow, then threw the key back over the wall to hear clanking noises as it bounced ardently against coarse, heavy timbers.

With the snow falling, and the icy-petals contributing to the mass of whiteness about his shoulders, the dark-looking clerk turned to view each way, and sniffing at the air with a mind to hunt, bore right, and strode off as if he were some monstrous hound. And a few hundred-feet down an odd and curving lane, took Capus Munion along bluish cobbles. The snow disturbed and complete of some further perilous movements, now brought more erosion to that covering and similarly exposed him to the broad High-street. To which he turned sharply to the right and in the direction of an ancient lichen-coated and crumbling church.

The gradient had improved Paul’s headway to the city, and though struggling in the cool, thick snow, his temperament had gained the resolute opinion he would make good time in any event of the obstacle before him. When a sharp tap to the shoulder brought that young man to a sudden cease of perambulation, and, turning to see through the thick shower of snow, which had started abruptly (above the constant veil that had been prevalent). Became alarmed to catch the amazing image of Capus Munion — quite as a momentary gust of wind tore down the street, to pick up and wind the soft and powdery snow into frenzied clouds. Paul gave a shriek.

My word, sir! I was not expecting attention, and my mind upon walking through this weather!

I am so sorry, offered Capus, his hands clasped in the office of prayer.

That so taking Paul’s gaze, deeply upon him and reflecting his thoughts to his own mind, now spoke only with his eyes to comfort the broken, young man. Knowing the meaning of the giant’s gentle nature, and easily touched by the subject, Paul suppressed a sob and bit his lip sharply, and with his gloved-hand and some callow movement touched the dark sleeve of the old clerk’s coat and turning, resumed his struggle through bitter elements.

Rooted to the spot and staring at the lonely figure making his way through the snow and ice, Capus raised his sights to the pink of Heaven, only to watch and become dizzy at the tireless cascade of spinning, white drops. Which likewise illuminated by the charm of the gas-light of a winter’s eve, this, as the bells of the old church, rang out a simple peal that dictated the working day almost out. For he could not help but feel saddened, looking back once more to see the tiny form make its way across the bridge, only to watch that image finally blend into the crowds of people equally small upon the eye.

Now the air filling with mellow voices; was the lusty singing of an archaic carol that emanated from the nearby, decrepit house of prayer. So much of the ancient, rich crimson and deep blue stained-glass markedly brightening, and seemingly as by the chanting, joyous score from within, as the sharp rays from burning cumbersome candles — was, perhaps for the pleasure of most, than the disdain of the few. Here the tide soon turned on this winter’s day as labour for the majority sooner pushed aside. As taverns quickly filled with workers, their hot thirsts and warm coins all to be quenched in the ales of those establishments, establishments that often in reality, make for the smarter parlours of brighter homes and wider hearths!

Capus Munion gave up on the bridge and he gave up on the church, the snow, and the taverns, and took his way in the opposite direction and to the very steep and difficult walk of Micklegate hill. Gaining many that he passed in his walking; despite his slipping, his sliding and grabbing at useful objects to assist his troublesome ascent. This, whilst giving little to those persons whose acerbic commentary considered the length of his strides and the very enormity, of those boots. But stopping hard by, to put his fingers once again to his lips in thought— had he closed up the accounts drawer? Fumbled for that special key (one he could not afford to lose), and found it in a side-pocket in his tired frock-coat. Much relieved, sighed quietly to himself, just as a shout and then another was given up, this along with a series of shrill, irritating barks and some fiercer snarling that lighted up the air as though a flair from a sinking ship on a dark, desolate ocean.

A young boy was fighting for a pastry outside the pie-shop opposite, two strays whining and growling kept him at bay with gritted teeth and maddening eyes; the child losing the contest, jabbing, pushing out with a short stick. Emaciated dogs, that desperate and unkempt, were indeed no better in their condition than the young ragged urchin, who, in his bare dirty feet, was long used to the cold under foot, the hunger in his belly and a render to the heart.

His head bowed, his eyes clouding, as half-starving, rocked in those chilled, little feet and looked on jealously as the dogs finished the broken scraps; nosing and biting into the snowy track, to pick up straggling crusts and securing their fill. As another fresh song from the old church opposite, struck up, and the joyful chorus almost plagued the boy’s cares with ill-use. And the strays that had won the prize, were quickly disappeared to the scene.

The incident witnessed quietly, and by a tired vagabond, who in his dull, care-worn world understood the plight of the shivering boy: knew cold, cruel life for what it was; where a farthing to a man of want was as a fortune, and where charity was simply broken sermons, with rusty words all bent out of shape and redundant. From icy shadows, this man looked on, to see the thin, disorientated boy soon knocked aside, and easily, by a careless push from a very large, and weighty individual; one of a striking party of several well-wrapped pedestrians, keen with their minds on getting by, tolerating nothing in their drive to a favourite tavern for hot bread and meat, and too much porter. That some tiresome waif, in the path of sturdy boots worn by men of principle and rule, had better stay down and out, and allow such gentleman to pass, and freely in the city that they had made. Passing, scoffing and sneering, putting down smart little comments from the sides of mean mouths; as the child rubbed the snow out of his short, matted, black hair and stared briefly in return, as brushing at himself in his getting up.

Boy, yes you, come here boy.

Me? asked the boy quizzically; now aiming his reply to a stout stone-built entrance, having first twisted about to ascertain where the sound originating.

Yes, you, come here, demanded the man, hiding in the stark shadow of the door-way. Who in no better clothes himself, other than he had more and better rags to wear, that blackened toes surfaced from a pair of battered boot-caps. Here he shuffled miserly in his dark spot, ever creeping in the small space, though careful not to show his face to the light. The boy gave up a squint and was in a good mind to turn tail and run, until he heard a rattling from a tin, and saw a grimy hand put out with a penny in a craggy palm, get two steak n’ ale, and bring one back for me, bring it back here, boy, and don’t you runaway with em both or the change, or you’ll be what for, I’ve killed men in my time.

The boy nodded and nipped quickly back to the shop and was almost thrown out of that crude establishment, until he showed the coin in the air, as just another chord was struck out again by the tiny church.

Capus turned once more toward the hill and again pressed forwards. That he was soon at the old Bar, that with much of its cream-coloured stone touched with pearly snow as like seasonal mortar decorating the ancient and formidable rampart. And after stopping but briefly, for a needed rest, ignored some new commotion in the guise of a bailiff hammering at a shop-door. As another man shouting back the odds with grim threats, retreated behind his spouse; before their shutting up the door, and both parties giving out a vicious look to the tall clerk, that he should move on and soonest, the hint easily taken.

Now through the old, walled fortification and looking back to stand at the corner and see the carved stone figures in miniature, that spaced at intervals; stood high on that same defence, and to ward off attackers. That at any distance, appeared as the smallest army and one to tickle-a-fancy than cause to retreat in terror, but there they stood, and for some hundreds of years, watching, observing, and in all and every weather.

Capus, mirroring such images but in grander scale, was carefully poised at the wide street’s kerb, opposite the convent’s angled position, watching, looking, checking down each road, ready to make his crossing. Cautious of every condition, as he now strode out with long legs; the noise growing, growing with sudden sounds, the wind’s voice in his ears, screaming, moaning, its constant power, droning and calling. At this same time, the vehicles braving this weather, the light now faded, but still the crossroads were filled with busying traffic. Illuminated against the blowing, bustling snow, with failing gas-lamps flickering at corners; that struggling images rushed at peaks, then suddenly closed to a sluggish, rocking dawdle, and slowed again to avoid collision. Horses’ hooves that pasting the flattened snow at these tracks, that once were black roads, now brushed over these with icy-slush that mixed with more snow and without friction, began again to freeze, such was the bitter cold. Manes coated with frozen hanging beads, that ornately strung as if these animals were part of a country-contest, than trudging through this bleak episode. Snorting hot breath, to warn and mark their masters’ whims, whims of driving through such elements, than resting, resting until all had eased, resting as wise and cautious nature would have rested!

The clerk, dodged as he might these individual riders and carts, as they moved abruptly aside for a stately, black carriage; whilst regular coaches bustled and took up at some speed, to gain where they could. To drive off quickly and make up time, that shifting with skids and starts, accompanied with the loud, shrill warning-calls from the hardy men that drove them.

A little breathless, warmed from all this quick movement, found the clerk brushing a covering of snow from his dark, drab coat and at the convent-door; his cold, white fist poised to rap at a deep, glossy panel — only to pause mid-action, as the door now opened before him, and he registered finality to any further agency.

Come in Capus, for Heaven’s sake, you’ll catch the chill of Death in this weather! beckoned a lightly-spoken, and shivering, elderly Irish lady, with dress unmistakable to her calling. She wasted no further effort with pleasantries, but ever practical was soon leading the giant clerk by his coat-sleeve and through a darken hall, to cover quickly the coolness and gloss of an old, stone flag-floor made up of ancient headstones, and all before he had time to even shake his boots. The elderly nun suddenly stopping, that despite her frailty brought Capus Munion to an abrupt standstill. This by a sharp tug at his sleeve, and looking sternly into the face of the tall clerk, with a keen and steady eye, lost no time to speak, and whispered harshly as much an omen was at hand, "Capus, the world is weary, weary of man and his cruel abuse of what God has been benevolent of, here, the old lady took with a bleak aspect, almost as if she was gone already from the earth. No sooner spoke again, in the thick accent of her native tongue (in that freezing, dark hall), I say, you have a job of work, my son, a very tedious and trying job of work, but you must endeavour, for all our sakes. Then the old nun, smiled a sweet and good-natured grin, and her voice faltered and became an octave or so lighter, as she quickly chuckled out the balance of her words, Capus, the sisters are ready for your readings, but first our Mary has prepared potage with every root-vegetable grown on God’s earth!"

The sense of smell generally being sharper than that of sight, had favourably warned Capus that his journey was near its end, as fabulous aromas of the aforementioned freshly-cooked food were closely buffeted by gentle currents of soft warm air, and generously driven out from an old and bulbous brick-built oven.

Vibrant yellows: mild, glowing illuminations that emanated easily from the kitchen-cum-parlour; that likewise lighted uneven and tightly winding stone-steps, that led down to the vaulted room, itself of some antiquity, and far older than the main building. Here, a gathering of some devoted women of various sizes and shapes (and an even wider range of years), looked carefully on at the tall clerk, as he trod seemingly ever downwards and then into the brightening room itself.

Refreshed from his supper, Capus cleared his throat, as he caressed a large and ornate bible.

A steel chair, simple but several inches taller than the usual, being soon arranged by two younger nuns, indicating that very article was the point of some much needed rest; as they showed with open palms for Capus to take his seat. Others fussed ceaselessly, placing pot-jugs and glass beakers on a huge oaken table; then the party hushed to a dead-silence, as now only the shuffling steps could be heard of a careful and very nervous, plump novice. Her eyes telling everything her trembling hands showed equally, as she carefully delivered up a large, broad and cumbersome earthenware bowl, containing a substantial soup, all served steaming hot.

The crowded room became still, as the white-haired man inching slowly the heavy robust chair, its weighty frame catching a flag-stone and giving out a grinding call, now sat; making himself comfortable, then to fold his hands in prayer. After bowing his head, began to say Grace and a further prayer at its conclusion, then bread was broken. Fussing again, the sisters of the convent providing every comfort they could muster, as chatting gaily in detail of their week, and the evolving preparations for the forth-coming greatest day of the calendar. Nuns that having helped create the delicious meal, watched every detail of its depletion as the spoon dipped, then rose and delivered to the diner’s careful mouth; only in that, each were eager to note every sigh of satisfaction, every lick of the lips as the hearty fayre consumed. The table being cleared of Capus’s bowl and plate, the party increased its numbers, as habits bustled and folded, to bunch up and share the simple benches at the place where the giant man had taken his neat banquet.

Refreshed from his supper, Capus cleared his throat as he caressed a large and ornate bible; and unclipping its brass-clasps, opened that item at a suitable point of reference, and began to read out loud, in a rich and colourful voice, that it was a delight in its melody. The devout audience in keen reverence, soaked up the many passages and messages within; nodding at such points of close interest, delighting the oldest and wisest of the sisterhood. And that frail lady, who had opened up the convent for Capus, now smiled and for a moment looked almost contented; whilst pleased with the devotion of her more youthful novices, was perhaps a little disappointed over such rivalry for her attention, as they poked their heads about trying to catch her eye and give out smiles.

Resting, Capus now looked bleakly over the dark, stone ceiling, indeed in quiet cogitation for some time, as silence became the room, except for the humming beat of the oven’s furnace— moments of space, moments of time. Until bringing his eyes once more to take in the gathering, quietly mentioned Timothy was a favourite. Soft clapping, gently checked by a nod from the Superior brought the long but stimulating evening to a close.

Capus out of the warmth of the kitchen parlour and into the cold, white world of the night; that on the eve of the stroke of twelve, realised in horror the time, and so taking flight, ran and skated and slipped at his way along the icy street, until arriving out of breath at his lodgings. Quietly and slowly, checked himself into his garret, having taken the dull, bleak, back-stairs; and entered now his greyish-rooms, to lean heavily against the door, shaking lightly in his tall slender frame, only now to speak in a rushed, breathless tone, God save, there’s time, the moment is not lost!

Chapter II

DEDLEY Sneerton was about his chores. The dull office he had made of his study, littered with papers and seals. The brightness short, the room barely lighted by the sparsely-trimmed wick of a single and exceedingly stout, tallow-candle. And that, which marked carefully at intervals for precise consumption, now burned noisily, giving off an acrid scent as if to witness the whole scene as much by fumes alone. Whilst a vast and ridiculous, mahogany monster disguised as a partners-desk, with its mass took the bulk of the room by proportion if not quite by surprise. Certainly an abundance of gross vulgarity: and one that on this incredible carbuncle, ungainly carved-lions looked-on, possibly bemused at the quality of competition by numbers of other equally competent grotesques. That with so many gargoyles and too many beasts of so great and sundry calling, and all here silently mooting with panting mouths, and announcing themselves at every conceivable location: it was, that the whole was indeed, liable to be likened to some cache of Parliamentary Members — and with each grimacing, only to be called, and in that concerning discretion over questions to the House. And, always, on decaying, forgotten matters and never to raise anything, other than personal chitties purchased by means of dubious origination. So with the tranquil folly of a plague-victim, applying a life-policy: this desk, sat redundant of true Hope, and similarly — as royal persuasion — existed, purely, because plainly it was too large, remained too awkward to be removed, and seemingly would persist for ever.

Puffing and snorting, enthroned as emperor unique and with all his dominions before him, and to attach seals to papers which he took up with one hand, then passing to the other, put down and quickly collected up again, to eventually deposit as small piles of nuisance. The solicitor-partner of Arnold Crumpton & Co, and part-time Judge of the York Assizes, creased his brow and pulled his long, thin nose to sight each and every document, and all with a corresponding measured look of disdain, quite as the one were a necessity to the other’s creation. And pausing a while at the task in hand, and justly (to his whim), and admiring the view of his magnificent and thrilling desk, stopped, took sight of all its glorious decoration, and with this, gave out a cheap gasp of breath that soon melting into an effusive smile, was one that might have cradled the origins of Hell itself. That in such mournful light, and with the hopeless song of that stifling, flickering and hissing candle despatching a tuneless mire, and this akin to some choir of choking, inebriate adders (and which by smell alone, they had been forgotten there after Death), that the great man thought on destiny, and his rightful place beside it. How superb the engaging sight must have been, on a final day of October, and how the shadows of the room must have danced in sick mockery, to bring out the pasty features of His Honour. A narrow, mean face — complete with its cruel visage supplied of a thrusting nose, and the short pile of yellowing-hair that struggled with a sloping pate, which to sit nervously as if it were a twisted, straw-thatched toad, and one which appeared carelessly idling upon that most grave, most important officer of the court. Should only have ever defined, such a brilliant law-abiding maniac! How, in the moment, a Judge must dwell over his encompassed humanity and conceive his own wonder, his grand position, nay a swelling rank — indeed, possible majesty! Oh, if people could only dream — to have that sight, and from those dizzy cliffs, which are perhaps the peaks of such human achievement — and just as his Honour, could turn and look down to the troughs and trenches, where us mortals do cower and wallow, and there say: yea, this is my perch! What then?

Leaving his papers and chores for one moment, to rise in secluded grandeur and attend on matters of heating, the imperious Justice made the short distance to the grate; where a fire of the Lilliputian variety gave Spartan relief in the way of complexities borne of its radiance, to the equally modelled hearth. Which, even for a largish dolls-house should have seemed somewhat dis-proportioned. To this, and with thin amber-like hands, Dedley Sneerton stood struggling to grapple an indifferent piece of doomed anthracite. And not being well-assisted with a hideous pair of tongs (that by their very construction adequate if not excellent conductors), there gave to speak his mind and with no subtle fury.

I will have you sir; I will have you upon your glorious death-bed of fire!

Standing firmly, stabbed at the fuel, and finally clutching it in those tongs, (which now hotter than the epicentre of the grey ashes in the grate), peered down the gradient of his huge proboscis, and cast a cold, heartless reflection upon the ice-age relic before him, to again firmly sound out his heart, for failing to attend the summary hearing by your own induced escape, and for those crimes, you have been found deservedly guilty of, you shall be brought to a place of execution, here Dedley paused and turned acutely, as much to say to the room — drum roll? and spoke further. Then in sight of the Almighty, be put to Death! with this judgment laughed out, he tossed the lifeless article into the shy flames with adequate disgust, rolled his grey, cool eyes and again mocked in a flimsy fashion and returned to his filing, once more.

Resuming his seat, and in a large hide-chair (probably upholstered in a skin — killed of something by the desk), the Judge took a paper in hand, and that paper took his attention more so than any other, he had thumbed and folded that evening. It was an order, one that had found its way into the paper-work of that company, and the business the Judge presided over as director. Glancing at its formidable structure and of the laying out of various unpleasant and forbidding suggestions, the miserable reader could not conceal his feelings of compunction and mild self-disgust.

Quickly hiding the paper in the pocket of a large leathern-wallet, there rose to his feet and so rapidly that he almost knocked down his chair in the pursuance of real movement, to motion then at a pace, only to pause at the fireplace. But this time, he looked carefully to a ghostly-looking canvas of Mary Queen of Scots, and to gasp loudly. The picture above the chimney-piece itself fixed to a large bracket, allowed it to be swung back to reveal a safe, and this, inset into the wall of the chimneybreast. A neat brass item — a scientific wonder: which, with a series of twists to the left and to the right would reveal the contents, that is, after a further click and another pull.

Inside: crumpled brown-packets, a gold chalice of a very early pattern and obvious value and charm, whilst a quantity of good-sized gems of primary colours hid themselves within a chipped gilt and navy-blue, porcelain coffee-can. Pushing these back, whilst tightly grasping the wallet, to slot it within the confines of the small area, Dedley Sneerton began to shove wildly, until all the items were composed and housed in the boundaries of the closing point of the safe. No sooner had he completed this dubious task, than he had flipped the lid back and rung the combination quickly, to seal the minor vault. The picture following in this genteel fashion of business, by the Judge’s fair and uneven hand, and so to sound out its contempt — its noisome notes smothered, as he quickly spoke in a difficult if not respiratory tone.

Later. Much later! No — no, not at this time; ooh no, oh, it’s far too early?

What is dear?

Mrs. Sneerton had entered the room, unseen by her master, who, turning with a slightly crazed look of the eye and in his wife’s direction, caused that dear lady some consternation.

I’ve brought you some consommé my dear. Oh, how you do work late! I’m sure Mr. Crumpton does not appreciate your services, or do the company, I am certain of all of this! No bread of course, but some biscuits.

Dedley brought his head to view the picture once more, to comment of the luxury of such an oil painting — how that in place of this work, a lithograph would be more adequate. Continued in this vein, until he felt sure the offending work-of-art, could find its way to the next fine-sale and that five-pounds be fetched easily, By such an uncommon article of decoration.

At her husband’s statement of frugality, Mrs. Sneerton (who resting the tray on the desk of knowledge, and in doing so, crushing various piles of nuisance) made several further announcements in regards to her beloved’s devotion to sensible ways. Praising him for such intelligence, to the point, that the thrift of Crumpton and Co, was not necessarily the sole device of Gryvus Hardie but indeed, likely the sole accomplishment of her brilliant lover. And for his additional efforts in that direction of fiscal authority, being never truly matched or rewarded; and all this, by sundry partners ignorant to such mysterious quantum. So causing him to become diffident to latent skills, that otherwise would have lent a kind of natural motherly instinct to Dedley, and one presently being, cruelly and hopelessly crushed! As such, that they (everybody else) used her husband poorly, absolutely, and with-all, and without the justice of merit: a consideration he so richly deserved and she depended upon. Adding to this minor report, that her love’s joy of the law and unbending moral code, would be recognised not only by the Queen (in her finer wisdom) but as rightly so, by the Pope — His Holiness, who in no short understanding of how often, an ordinary, and even an extraordinary man, can, by humility alone — become above man — elevating, levitating or even simply irritating. In such that the letters S and t were his to be delivered, and never to be begged of, and for five long years!

No—no, not at this time.

His Honour in return, informing of his wife, whilst though he could understand her praise, maintained it would be unwise to offer such snippets of remarkable intelligence to others. That it allowed at least a reasonable benefit against compunction (and here he put it with some fervent effort) that anyone could (and as much, he felt similar) perceive unto such a consideration — that she was, most undeniably — probably unhinged.

The Judge followed this affectionate remark with the caring order that she was free to go, to which Mrs. Sneerton gave up a gentle curtsy and left the room, to close the door slowly behind her. Slowly, as to avoid any abrupt, unwelcome interruption to her learned spouse; or actually, was it for that lady to be out of his mind, simply by the very absence of her presence?

Thankful for the blessing of his wife’s departure, and now keen to attack the viands before him and enjoy this repast. Dedley pulled at the delicate papier-mâché tray, and looking sadly upon a large plate of plain-biscuits, took one up in a severe clawing action and greedily bit into it; causing crumbs to spray across those papers he had so previously and religiously coveted. Then, gulping at his soup with adequate animal noises, interspersed with a handsome theme of music that he composed as he went at his meal. Devoured what was before him, whilst the solemn and darksome room echoed the violence of his vulgar and horrid mastication. Finishing with appropriate clacking noises, and these encouraged by sundry clicking sounds gained from cleaning at his mouth with his thick, yellowing tongue. Dedley announced to the small and difficult world of his papers and the company of his hideous desk and the propriety of its unholy society, that it should be much later.

Chapter III

THE next day brought the world in white to a standstill: the paths and the roads allowed nothing to penetrate them easily. The roof-tops, chimney-stacks and window-sills, the street-lamps and trees, the grass and cream-coloured stone Bar-walls — all were a uniform of white — all were covered: everything enrobed, and capped and smothered in a quilting and suffocating, soft, thick layer of snow.

Capus played his fingers on the window’s shelf and leaning towards the glass looked out and caught his own reflection. The child of his soul was in his eyes, and he could do little but laugh at the sheer beauty of the sumptuous blanket of richness that was all about the streets and houses. He laughed and laughed until his eyes watered, though the additional noise of his landlady knocking upon his door soon brought his attention. Entering on the occupier’s request, the said Mrs. Crisp, exclaiming, and with toasting-fork in hand, looking quite fine in her smart cleaning-attire and easily liken to some domestic Boudicca. Here, propositioned, that there must be surely something ill-at-ease, what with a man who at best ever creased his face in any part, was now guffawing like, a Friday-night coal-heaver at the Theatre Royal, worse-for-wear and no better for the drink!

Come to the window Mrs. Crisp, and take delight of the morn and look upon the scene, have you ever witnessed such a covering? suggested Capus, teasing as though in second youth, whilst turning the corners of his thin lips into a feline-like mode of smirking.

Mrs. Crisp giving the benefit of the doubt to her lodger, put her fork and accompanying toast to one side and on a large trunk, and walking over to the window peered out to see the wondrous sight, thus exclaimed.

Oh yes I quite see it now from this height, Mr. Munion, I rather thought it less from the yard-door, particularly with nearly breaking my neck to get at the coal-house; but there it is and ever so pretty. Yes, I do, I do like it all very much!

Coming away from the window, Mrs. Crisp took no time to attempt to conceal the realisation; only to see her breath, and quite as clearly as when she had been in the yard below, or indeed the very street that she had been viewing several moments previously.

Ooh, your hands is ice!

The landlady no sooner clasped Capus’s left-hand, than he withdrew it.

Mrs. Crisp. I feel little of the cold, and enjoy the benefit of an airy chamber and antechamber.

Of which the towering clerk now walked into the second, which after his usual ducking of the door-frame, and here in this study, made a cautious if not surreptitious turn of a key to a very high, narrow, and curious cupboard. Strolling back into his chamber and eying up the toasting-fork on the trunk with a look of mild contempt, the dry clerk, shrank back at Mrs. Crisp’s further idiom of the subject of her lodger’s hands.

As cold as Death! You should light a fire Mr. Munion, we’ve plenty of coal, Mrs. Crisp announced, looking at the stark, open grate, I’ll get you some — fetch a good pail, continued the cheerful landlady, and on her way to the outer door of the rooms.

But her lodger arriving there first, advised in a voice of some authority that he really did prefer the cooler qualities of his home, and then thanking Mrs. Crisp for such good thoughts, only added further he could never consider leaving, even if his savings possibly ran to a lease in the same wonderful terrace. All this, that on the grounds his landlady was the very best landlady, a cold-comforted lodger could rely upon. And here, having such a pleasure engaging in the joy of delivering his rent, never in fact on time, but always ahead of that precious commodity.

Now, quite buttered up perhaps more so than her frigid portion of toast. That whilst a cautious smile stretched upon Mrs. Crisp’s generous face (much alike in similarity to that found of an antique Greek player’s mask), coughed lightly and frowning a little, put a finger to her lips. And handed back the fork, as if the very presentation of a trophy for an elected award for exceptional duties, she then returned a comic bow to her lodger and closing the door behind, sang her way down-stairs in a jubilant lift.

Capus, pausing to listen to Mrs. Crisp’s opinion, grinned, and gathering his personal items, which included a black note-book and ivory pen-case: and of these, he then placed into the appropriate sections of his frock-coat, to put on that item of apparel and make a pull at the coat-cuffs to allow his shirt-sleeves to rise. Then, with careful winding of a pink-gold watch — restored that item to its hold and within the predestined confines of his waistcoat. Grasped tentatively at his silver-topped ebony cane and, looked round, again only to quickly peer into the adjacent room, and repeating this exercise once more (for no reason other, than to reinforce the fact the previous act complete), walked briskly to the door. Then the white-haired gentleman made his exit. Firmly locking, rattling the handle, assuring himself of the execution of these former actions. Took the steep stairs, down to the second-floor and subsequent landings. Which ultimately guaranteed his carriage to the small tiled-vestibule, with its dark-blue ceramic oblongs that covered the floor and half-walls, and then out through the street-door. This after turning down the sign that marked his exit, a device, which to detail further to those interested: consisted of a row of small flags, with which the individual lodger, checking out — would move his mark (the nation he had elected by prior agreed choice) to a lowered position, and against similar standards — which indicated to Mrs. Crisp, the exact number of lodgers that had vacated for the day!

The duty of this task performed and the street-door pulled gently-to, for the advantage of his comrades and his conscience, Capus was in the clear air of a crisp Saturday morning. The sun having risen in all its glorious state, and with a brightness touching the perfect Wedgwood-blue of the morning sky; that with the bird-song and a lightly blowing breeze, the lovely morning was quite complete and a loss to those that idly slumbered.

Breathing in the sharpened air and taking in the full view of the vista and matching it to the one still committed to memory, the old clerk felt a gladness in his heart and one which, soon radiated in the warmth of his genial expression.

Now, Capus had decided earlier that he would take his walk round the great bluff-coloured walls of stone, which enshrined the old city. Starting from his point of definition and then towards the bridge and over to the Assizes, and to take in the historic splendour and horror of the Tower, on the hill. With this decision in mind, and supplemented by the action of his quick perambulation disturbing the thick, powdery snow (which so clean and so fresh) gave nothing but amusement to the giant clerk, as lanky limbs thrust huge boots through the perfectly layered form, to spray ice-cool dusty clouds in each and every direction.

Shortly the river came into view. And he, having covered easily the distance could see now in the flows: massive, thickly formed chunks of translucent ice, bobbing mid-stream, and bumping clumsily the bows of so many slothful barges. Which chugging along, dressed in an adornment of pure white; and floating by as if gigantic snowy logs, to momentarily disappear under the ornate iron-work of the robust structure of the magnificent bridge, were, but another marvellous addition to this wonderful and enchanting scene. Running his hands on the wide balustrade and pushing the snow off in compressed slices as though portions of Twelfth-cake, only for these to fall to the river below and in instances add to the icy-coats of the passing boats. Capus began to whistle a happy tune in his simple joys, that various small birds resting on the lamps and balustrades were keen to make their own. This concord, soon struck out by a group of boys whose noisy exclamations broke the calm order. That with ruddy cheeks and sparkling eyes and bright smiling faces marched boisterously ahead, and complete with a variety of head-gear committed under licence and without appeal — were each dressed as to the capability of their corresponding parental fortunes.

This society of youth was absolutely a friendly-society, inasmuch as most types of birds in quite every garden, the boys were comfortable in company and happy to share the bread n’ dripping and other simple eatables, they had been sent away with. And in the warmth of its simplicity and companionship: was Hope resurrected, for this little world had joined as one, and for the benefit of enjoying — winter weather!

To this caravan, a group of various sleds, some sturdy, and some home-made affairs, scaling in range to the more salubrious and exciting models purchased at that fine establishment of Mr. Popkiss, toy-maker to the Lord Mayor! Varied and individually unique, that some complete with splendid enamelling, as others with beads and bells, all comparable against those more obscure and basic modes of snow transport — the greased sack’ cloth! With which, rolled tightly and neatly tucked, were lodged severely under the arms of proud owners, and certainly more than to be bargained of!

All of this, was to Capus’s joy, as smiling at the sight of the fabulous little troop, that laughing and shouting, as periodic screams burst upon the wind and pieces off ice found their way down the backs of the unwitting, made Capus chortle to himself, and was this very much the laugh he had reeled in that same early morning.

Then suddenly, there existed a shared feeling among the boys, indeed, a sort of awareness, and of a presence — quite as much, something were looming behind, and that this something began now to reduce its pace. The troop froze and became a sterile-looking mass devoid of sound or movement. As a strange shadow, growing larger and larger, developing, increasing in size — until at last some every part of its menacing image played cruel advantage over each child. Then, as a whole, that with some great trepidation, these boys slowly turned. No sooner had they moved and seen the full spectacle of this giant monster on the bridge, that with long, white-locks a-flowing, and the dark and sombre expanse of a huge coat, fluttering violently in the now blustering, cold wind — was the very horror of the scene upon them!

That they rushed in and grabbing at his coat tails, hollering, jabbing and pulling at one another; as some crouched and pushing at the giant’s huge boots, sang songs in his name and the history of the enormous and legendary footwear. But then, were soon given to shrieking and calling out in high-pitched screams of joy, and all as loud as they should. Only, to then run ahead boisterously and here continue in these wild and frantic muses, themed of such fanatical appreciation.

It’s Capus! It’s Capus! cried a chubby-faced boy of five-years.

Who remaining behind with a small party, eagerly looked up and towards that very giant, the youngster’s front-teeth over-biting a plump bottom-lip and in such an endearing way, that he had a definite cherubic quality if not altogether, a gentle comic appeal. His amusement, to make him most happy was to scurry in and out of the long legs of this old clerk, and there look up and be ever beneficent in giving up a series of the sweetest of smiles!

Young Sam is that you? inquired Capus lightly, whilst putting his hands on his waist and laughing loudly as he was given out to, then to slowly bend down and raise the child, high above his head.

How tall do you think Sam is now, boys?

Those who had kept back with Capus did some rough calculations.

O, about ten-feet, sir!

Bigger than the Minster!

Sam, being no sooner raised than lowered, as cheeks puffing out with excitement and clambering down to the ground, was he then generously huffing and chuckling at the whole affair.

Catching up, Capus strode towards the bulk of the boys, (whilst the juniors about, kicked at their heels to keep time), and then from cavernous pockets took twists of barley-sugar, giving them up whenever a reaching hand, managed to secure the treat! Meanwhile, the older pedestrian passing on the narrow strips of path opposite, likewise smiled upon the clerk and his party of friends, distantly aware of the simple delights of the bustling throng. The excitement and innocent meditations, focusing on the image of the genial giant, as memories of their own far-off halcyon-days were stirred; indeed, dragged from a deep slumber, as those considerations to nostalgia serving now perhaps as delightful measures of a less sophisticated and morbid world, when truth was a simple tool and to obey a pleasure. Found now, to this issue, could not help but laugh at the recollection of their own unaffected amusement of Times Past. But now in Times Present, considered the general spectacle — the easy way the tall, dark figure kept without care or restrain, these boys and all with their fabulous gestures and movements, under such rigid but natural control.

The party now crossed the bridge, their very goal a looming tower of stone, that suddenly this mass was before them, beckoning, as though some indolent monster testing the waters of fate and the boys’ own mettle; though still remaining resplendent, bathed with cool shadows created plentiful of an unquenchable morning sun.

Are you sled-riding to-day, Capus — say you will be sledding? inquired a stout boy of four-teen.

Sam in eager anticipation of this consideration looked up, to stare deeply into the strange, red-eyes of the giant clerk.

Yes, say you will be sled-riding, great Capus!

Tapping the boy lightly on his cap, the tall, lean man could deliver no other reply than the affirmation of the hopes of his tiny toothy-friend. That on arrival at the grounds, the run-away troop was not alone at the Tower, as the boys darted off in every direction.

But the gathering was greater than other years and the crowds seemed to extend to the area surrounding the entire Tower. The competition rife, the prize certainly well-known, that among the parents as much as the boys themselves, and here the money to most meaning more in the difficult times than the title, such that the gathering was not unsurprisingly large.

To this, the commercial aspects of the occasion made available to the budding man of business, numerous. Neither being unnoticed nor lost to opportunity, what with key-sites having been kept each year for those who secured by fee or bribe. Whilst some, their stalls acting as temporary shops, extensions of their own city premises, for others, points of action to gather up custom or just gain from the day whatever they might by chance.

Certainly there was selection. Up-market grocers and sellers of gifts and confectionery, that with brightly decorated carts, appeared gay in the vivid morning light, often supplemented with magnificent and richly-coloured flowing banners. Competing sufficiently, to dashing awnings complete with red and blue stripes of candle-stick-makers, bakers, and ginger-bread and beer sellers and this former group at the Assizes main entrance, and taking the best position and display. Particularly at some preference for those in the crowd, who preferred not to mingle with the lower elements but showed a deep keenness in social fondness, by taking their refreshments from these more business-like stalls. To watch sporting feats from a cosseted position, that it was a wonder for their visit at all.

Even closer to the spectacle, all manner of wagons and carts equally loaded up with every conceivable foodstuff: as carefully portioned quantities of chestnuts, baked-potatoes, and fried-fish; were all widely being made accessible to the consumer and at a reasonable cost to the purse and this despite the early hour!

As noisome peddlers screeched competitively into the freezing air the splendour and delight of their enticing pabulum, and with which such heady, swirling aromas, gave a very determinate odour; adding proportionally to the already turbid atmosphere of the flowing swelling fair, that turning heads as perhaps so many stomachs, that it was always in equal measure. As steam from bubbling cooking-pots clashed with the billowing, grey smoke delivered by the fires of so many red-flaming ovens, all contributing to the melting-pot of smell and taste, sight and sound: which makes for the carnival of such familiar occasions and affairs.

One such mobile culinary practitioner and supplier of this art, was M. Dumbpall. What with the absolute peak of his vociferations and other appalling calls of recommendations, his blaring gossip simply spread throughout the air, as a thick and vulgar vocal fog, as he screamed the values of a blunt edict of his nuts. Until such, the creed became of some peculiar credulity to the popular public at large, there by its repetition and, quite possibly due to the morbid pitch with which it was thrust cruelly upon every ear. Much, that it could be only a curse to man, whilst a success to M. Dumbpall, and one in which the queue now formed at that wagon, and it seemed had done so, to appease if nothing else. And curb this hideous ranting, which coursing round the cool atmosphere, and subsequently all about the Assizes, and no doubt far beyond, was a hellish thing to listen of.

Trading his consumables under the giddy display of Dumbpall’s Nutts, had been a deliberation of some magnitude in the concern of the christening of the enterprise, and this spelling confused, even to the owner’s pronunciation of the eatable in question — of which was simply orally ejected as nughts.

This might have put anybody off? Perhaps more so, if they had only stared too much at the orator in question, whilst in receipt of the very perishables he was touting. But, Mr. Dumbpall was straight-speaking, and dressed in his atrocious waistcoat and striped-silk topper, and himself presently sporting a pony-tail of greying-hair, and his person likewise completed here and there with intense and interesting features, which if not kept wholly within his commercial grin were mildly terrifying. He was to be precisely expected of. Mr. Dumbpall was indeed a treat for the eyes and ears, and justified here with his quips and jibes of mi nughts is best in town — all eri’bodi noz’ Dumbpall’s nughts, who could have feasted upon anything else, but for bizarre amusement, alone?

For there was not much to M. Dumbpall that was wholesome, it could have been said there wasn’t much good about him in any event; in reality he was simply a crude and obtuse bully adept to swaggering and without certainty, blessed as a very wonderful coward. For a good fighter would have kept his mind and