Mrs. Bardell had just recovered from her fainting fit when the ladies observed a hackney coach stop at the garden gate.  Out of it stepped Mr. Jackson of Dodson and Fogg, who, coming up to the party, informed Mrs. Bardell that his “people” required her presence in the city directly on very important and pressing business.  “How very strange,” said Mrs. Bardell, with an air of being someone of distinction, as she allowed herself to be taken along, accompanied by Mrs. Sanders, Mrs. Cluppins and Tommy.  Entering the coach in waiting, to be driven, as they thought, to Dodson and Fogg’s, they were alas! sadly deceived, for shortly afterwards Mrs. Bardell was safely deposited in the Fleet Prison for not having paid those rascals their costs, and promptly fainted in “real downright earnest.”

What happened to the rest of the party at the “Spaniards” history does not relate.  But the event which had promised to be such a happy one at the famous old inn was spoiled by those rapscallions of lawyers, and we can only hope that Mr. Raddle made himself amiable with the two ladies left in his charge, and helped them to enjoy the remainder of the day in the pleasant rural and rustic spot.

The “Spaniards” is still a favourite resort of the pleasure-seeking pedestrian, and a halting-place for refreshment for pilgrims across the Heath.  The arbours and rustic corners of its pleasant tea gardens still attract holiday-makers, as they attracted Mrs. Bardell and her friends on that day long since gone by.

[illustration:  The “Spaniards,” Hampstead Heath.  Drawn by L. Walker]

The inn itself is spacious and offers the comforts expected of an ancient hostelry.  Dating back to about 1630 it occupies what was once the lodge entrance to the Bishop of London’s great rural park, whose old toll gate is still remaining.  It is said by some to have derived its name through having been once inhabited by a family connected with the Spanish Embassy; and by others from its having been taken by a Spaniard who converted it into a house of refreshment and entertainment.  Ultimately its gardens were improved and beautifully ornamented by one William Staples, similar to the gardens which flourished during this period in other parts of the metropolis.  It has carried on its business of catering for all and sundry to the present day, but the ornate decorations and statuary have long disappeared.

The “Spaniards” is a Dick Turpin house, for, according to tradition, in its precincts the famous highwayman often hid from his pursuers.  We are assured that in the out-house he found his favourite resting-place, which many a time on the late return of the marauder had served as his bedroom.  The under-ground passages that led to the inn itself have been filled up, years ago.  There were two doors attacked by unpleasant visitors, and a secret trap-door through which Turpin dived into the underground apartment, there to await the departure of the raging officers, or to betake himself to the inn, if that were clear of attack.