CHAPTER XIX.I SUFFER GREAT ADVERSITY.
Ofour cruel parting I shall speak little. During the forenoon the soldiers buried their commander in the rude military way. Few were the honours that attended him, and perhaps fewer still the tears. But mine were with him, and also a remorse that I have never yet outlived. That he deserved to die, even as he did, I know; for the world has no room for weakness in a man, and, verily, this poor Captain was the very slave of his. And yet!—was there not ever the great “And yet!” attached to this poor man’s character? His mind was powerful, and better far, his heart was true. He would have been a fitting guardian for the finest woman of us all; a tender lover, an unswerving friend, wise, temperate, of the cream of chivalry withal. I had slain a very pretty man to gain my private ends—I, who in my ignorance had declared that the world held no men whatever!
At two of the clock that afternoon the soldiers started on their London journey with the prisoner in their care. The admonition that I gave to my young lover was of this nature:
“Child, do not despair until you are writhing in the rope. I, Bab Gossiter, have sworn to save you, and you know my power. I will accost the King; I will browbeat his Justices; I will intimidate his Parliament rather than you shall grin through a halter at the dirty populace. Remember that I love you, and that love unaided can overthrow the devil. Be of good heart then, and continue in that most excellent way of yours of taking a quart of old ale and a solid pound of rump steak to your breakfast. As for your prayers, I would have you invariably conclude ’em in this manner: ‘And, O God, do you bless my dearest Bab, for she has sworn to deliver me from this most horrid prison, that she may make a right proper husband of me to the end that my state may be exchanged to a sweeter bondage than this present one.’”
At these words his fine eyes danced with a laugh which said how inflexible his courage was. Afterwards he mounted his horse and rode towards the moors in the society of his captors. As his form receded slowly among the trees, and my spirits ceased to be encouraged by his robust bearing and the jaunty waving of his hat, an impending cloud blotted the December sun and darkened the whole of earth.
It was then I felt my heart sink. Only for a moment though, for the high buoyancy of its resolves was sufficient to support it. There was work to do, and work, I take it, is the true elixir, the secret of everlasting energy. In order to repressmy tears, and to defeat a very natural tendency to such-like female squeamishness, I began at once to prosecute the matter.
The Earl, my papa, was the earliest victim of this fanatical determination. Poor Anthony had not left the place an hour ere I repaired to the apartment of his lordship. The dear, good old gentleman was exactly in the posture that I had anticipated seeing him; to wit, he was propped up in cushions beside the fire, with divers cellarets of liquor at a little table ready to his hand, of which he was for the nonce utterly unheedful, having a nicer dissipation to enjoy. A handkerchief was spread across his face, and right lustily was he snoring, this being the hour of his post-prandial nap, a performance he undertook far more religiously than he ever did his prayers.
“Wake up, my dear,” says I, for my eagerness was such that it would brook delay from none. Therefore I flicked away his lordship’s handkerchief, and with my little finger did tickle tenderly his ancient chin.
“Go ’way, you flies!” he grunted, “and damn you!”
However, his nose being presently attacked, the old gentleman’s annoyance grew so imperative that he shook his face, and was just about to fall into a great volubility of language, when his eyes came open, and the sight of me immediately curtailed it. For the politest man of his time was out of his chair bowing and apologising ere one might wink, expressingwith his hand over his heart his delight at my appearance, and his sincere appreciation of the honour that a visit from my fair self conferred upon him.
“And, my dearest lady,” he concluded, rubbing his drowsy eyes, “if there is one thing you would have me perform, I shall esteem it a privilege to perform it, for at this moment you behold me quite as much as formerly the servant—nay, the slave—of beauty, youth, wisdom and wit. But first, dear madam, I beseech you to accept a chair.”
“Papa,” says I, plunging straight into the business that had brought me, “I have a few surprises for you. First, I think you are acquainted with the name of a certain Mr. Dare, a very arrant rebel?”
“I am,” says he, “and to my sorrow.”
“Well, my lord,” says I, “they have now reta’en this person, and he is bound for Tyburn even now.”
“Very glad indeed to hear it,” says my lord, right heartily. “And had this been the case a week ago, I should have been spared some shattering of sleep.”
The old gentleman here regarded me with a singular twinkling keenness that required great sturdiness to meet.
“Very nice of you, my lord, to cherish such sentiments as these towards my future husband,” says I, with the most brazen boldness.
“Your future what!” cries out my lord, jumpingup as though some imp had stuck a pin into his chair.
“My future husband,” says I, winningly.
For the best part of a minute a highly comic silence took him. His brow was puckered into creases, as is the way when one is seeking for a jest that is concealed.
“Ha! ha!” he crackled presently, “very good jest indeed, my dear, very good indeed!”
“I am sure I am charmed, my lord, that you appreciate it,” I says, “but I have my doubts whether this affair is quite such a jest for poor young Mr. Anthony.”
“Not if you marry him, I daresay,” says his lordship naughtily.
“Well, my lord,” says I, “just to be as brief as possible, I desire you to see his Majesty at once and procure my future husband’s pardon.”
My lord took forth a red silk handkerchief and slowly wiped his wig.
“This comes of excessive beauty in a daughter,” he commented. “Lord, ’tis a mercy to have ’em plain. My dear child, go and put a powder in your milk and sleep off this attack. Frankly, I do not like it. Or stay, shall I send for Paradise? It were well, perhaps, an your tongue were instantly inspected.”
“Papa,” says I, with awful gravity, “you appear to forget that the first duty of a parent is to be obedient. I command you, sir, to get you to town by to-morrow morning’s mail.”
“’Pon my soul and honour!” coughed his lordship, “this is really——”
“My lord,” says I, “must I repeat that I command you? I love young Anthony, and therefore am I going to marry him.”
“He has a birth, of course?” says this wriggling aristocrat.
“Not he,” says I, “left one night on the doorstep of a priory. Doubtless a bastard of the gutter scum. Even his name is not his own. Hath no more than threepence-halfpenny and a pair of ragged breeches to his fortune. Hath stood in prison several times and adorned the pillory and the whipping post on various occasions. In short, my lord, he is the sauciest rogue that ever kissed a maid against her inclination. And, faith, I believe the very raggedest.”
“And you say you are going to marry him?”
“My lord, I have sworn to marry him.”
“But, my dear lady, this is really too preposterous. I think you had better talk it over with your aunt.”
The unexpected mention of that dame was perilously like cold water to my courage. But a little fortitude overcame my qualms.
“No need to appeal to the family, my lord,” I said, with arrogance; “I don’t care fourpence for ’em, and never did. As for the dowager, my aunt, I hate her; and I am indulging in great hopes that this miserable match will make her very ill.”
“But, my dearest girl, I beseech you to condescend to a little reason.”
“Oh, if it comes to reason, sir,” I blithely reassured him, “I have sufficient reason to advance with which to endow two sciences.”
“We’ll hear it, then, under your permission.”
“It’s simply that I love the man, my lord. He’s the finest lad you ever saw; a person of tenacity and kindness, of sagacity and courage, of simplicity and wit. He would die for me to-morrow, yet he would correct me in an error, and have the magnanimity to forgive me for a crime. In short, my lord, he is the very husband I’ve been pining for this five-and-twenty years, and, my lord, let me tell you in confidence that this is the husband that I am going to marry an I must burn Newgate to the ground to achieve the consummation. He’s as sparkling as the sunshine, and keen as the shrewd east wind.”
“But insufficient in his pedigree,” my lord groaned, and it was really ridiculously piteous to witness his drawn white countenance.
“My dearest Bab,” says he, directly, and with a simple gentleness that was appealing, “pray allow me to give you a little counsel. I pray you for heaven’s sake dismiss this folly! I beg you to abstain from so terrible an error.”
“Papa,” says I, curtly, “I have a chin.” And out I jutted it, and dipped my forefinger in the dimple in it, which dimple is worth about two thousand sighs a year, they tell me.
“Yes,” says his lordship, sadly, “youhaveachin. It was bequeathed you by your late mamma. She was the celebrated lady who on one occasion did box the ears of the Prince of Wales. I believe that on one or two occasions also she interfered with mine. A very pearl of women, mind, with the beauty of an angel, but she could be a domestic terror if she chose.”
“But, my lord, I understand that if she so much as held her little finger up, you were wonderful docile and obedient.”
“I was never guilty of the discourtesy of thwarting a woman in her whims.”
“And in your age you will not be so, I am certain, else the world will say you are arrived at your decrepitude,” I cunningly replied.
“You really think they will?” his lordship gasped.
“I am as certain of it as I am uncertain of my future state,” says I, with fervour. “And if you order the chaise for twenty after six to-morrow, you will catch the nine o’clock from York with ease.”
“’Tis horrible cold at that unseasonable hour these winter mornings,” says the old man, nervously.
“The journey will do you more good than six physicians,” says I, with the sturdiest conviction. “And when his Majesty receives so old a friend, tears of joy will fill his eyes; and when he learns the exceeding mercy of the errand that hath brought you, his compassion for you will be such, that ’pon my soul I think he’ll weep upon your neck. AndI believe he’ll lend us the Royal Chapel to be married in. And faith, my lord, what if he gave away the bride!”
The dear old gentleman, who never could find it in his heart to deny us women anything, was visibly shaken by my ruddy eloquence and the excited flashing of my eyes.
“But these winter mornings are most harsh towards us men of middle age,” says he.
“My dear papa,” says I, “your years sit so neatly on you that it is the height of affectation for you to claim the least infirmity. Now I will see that you retire at nine o’clock this evening; I will have your man prepare your baggage, and see that he puts a water-bottle in the chaise. Leave everything to me, my dear papa, and depend upon it you shall start for town at twenty after six to-morrow, as blithely as you did upon your wedding morning. But, sir, there is one thing that you must promise me: not a word to my most admirable aunt. A long course of theology and smelling salts hath perverted the original poetry of her soul.”
His lordship promised gallantly, but quite as much, I think, from a fear of Lady Caroline as from his natural disposition to oblige me. Having once wrung a kind of tottering consent from the old, reluctant gentleman, I was at great pains to keep him to his word. I planned everything relating to his journey with the greatest perspicacity and promptitude, nor did I omit to advise his lordship of the fact. But I had to confess to my private mind thatmy faith was not too great in my ambassador, who, from age and his habit of indolence, might not conduct my cause with a liveliness that would readily sway his Majesty. Therefore I took a piece of paper and drew up the heads of what I considered his behaviour ought to be in the presence of the King, and hoped that as they were so explicitly recorded he would duly follow them. The paper ran, I think, somewhat to this tenour: Obtain audience after his Majesty hath dined, for the sake of his temper’s condition—inquire after his health with concern—if it be strong let your solicitude be quite visible; if it be weak tell him in a hearty voice that you never saw him looking better in his life, and that you never knew a doctor yet who was not a fool providing he was not a rogue. Casually introduce the beauty and the amiability of his children; if his Majesty attempt a jest laugh heartily, if he undertake a story, do not by any chance have heard it previously, and encourage him with your applause long before it culminates; if he adventure a pun, flick forth your handkerchief to take away appreciative tears; if he be glum, avoid theology and politics; if he offer snuff, accept the most moderate of pinches (he is a Guelph, you know), and be horribly careful that you do not drop a grain on the carpet or his breeches; be charmed with the rarity and the beauty of the box, and if it prove a present from the Queen comment on the chastity of her taste—if you carry a better in your fob do not exhibit it; tell him casually that your daughter Bab isdevoted to him, and contrive to let him know what the poets think abouther(even kings cannot withstand the devotion of fair women)—tell him that she has five pictures of him to adorn her chamber, then pave the way with compliments and caution for the business of your visit.
I insisted on his lordship’s retiring that evening very early, and after a pretty moderate potation. Having bribed his man to have his master wound up and set in motion at an hour that astonished him, I retired also. The following morning at the stroke of five I was in the hands of Emblem, and a little later was personally superintending the departure of my emissary. Long before my aunt appeared at eight o’clock I had got my lord upon his journey.
You may divine with what impatience I awaited his return. I might be distrustful of his years, but regarding the considerable figure that he made at Court, and the power he wielded, I never entertained a doubt. Besides, he had a tact quite wonderful in a man, and a power of soft persuasion that was irresistible as a music. And I knew the dear good soul to be devoted to me, and incapable of thwarting my most unreasonable whims.
An intolerable fortnight passed before my lord was back again. He had hardly time to doff his travelling suit ere I was besieging him with my anxious questions. But it was very sad news he brought me.
“My dear child,” he told me, tenderly, “I wish to spare you all pain that is unnecessary, but I regretto say that there is really nothing to be done. His Majesty refused to see me.”
“His Majesty refused to see you!” I cried out. His words had put a pitiful commotion in my heart.
“Unhappily,” he says, “these Yorkshire irregularities of ours have by some means become the property of the town, and the whole family is in terrible disgrace; and, I might add, would have been in some degree of peril but for the merciful recovery of the rebel.”
“Indeed,” says I, inconsequently, and then observed a miserable silence for a while.
“You see, my poor dear child,” the old worldling said, “one cannot hope to plunge one’s finger in the smoking pie of politics without getting that finger burned. I am very sorry for you, child, but I can no more save your friend than I can sway the eternal forces.”
“Have you seen the Parliament men, my lord, Walpole, Harley, and the rest?”
“Yes; and quite against their several inclinations,” he replied. “They felt it to be highly indiscreet to receive one who was out of favour. As for lending their assistance, I can assure you, child, that they know their business better.”
“How monstrous of them!” I broke out; “set of water-blooded wretches, who will not help their friends!”
“Ah, but we are not their friends now; we are out of favour.” The ancient courtier said this lightly, but I knew that his heart was groaning. He hadpassed his gay years bathed in the sunshine of applause and popularity; it was bitter that his end should be a dark night of contumely and neglect. Nothing could be more cruel or more wounding to this polished and successful man of fashion. Yet it amazed me to see how finely he took these rebuffs of fortune. His courage sat on him like a shining suit of mail. It filled my heart with tears to witness such cheerful bravery in the aged and the infirm.
“Well, papa,” says I, turning to speech as a remedy against the weakness that strove to so insidiously reduce me, “I have sworn to save young Anthony, and never yet have I proved unequal to my word.”
“’Tis never too late to create a precedent,” says the Earl, “nor to enjoy a new experience. I have lived many years, but it is not until to-day that I have tasted the coldness of the world.”
“I have always averred, you know,” says I, with misfortune spurring me to my customary petulance; “that these sauer-kraut chewing boors from Hanover have no more breeding than a certain native beastliness that enables them to become like pigs, offensive to creatures of a nicer mind. But, after all, wit is the superior of power; and if I cannot find a means whereby to thwart ’em, I must be content to lose the only husband I ever can accept. I will start for town to-morrow morning.”
“No, don’t do that,” says his lordship, hastily; “I am sure it will be very ill advised. Pray wait until this cloud is over blown. You are too muchof a butterfly, my pretty lady, not to discover the shade exceeding cruel to endure. You will find London very blighting, I assure you.”
But I was unheedful, and the more particularly when I was told that poor Anthony had undergone his trial already, and that at that hour he lay in Newgate under extreme sentence, which awaited execution on the 24th of May.
It was now the 2nd of that month. It will thus be seen how little time there was to lose. Three weeks and a day were left in which to procure his deliverance; not by any means too adequate a period in which to accomplish so involved a deed, even had I had the ghost of an idea as to the manner of its consummation.
To remain at Cleeby the slave of despair and bitterness would certainly be fatal to my lover; therefore, quitting my dubious papa, I hied immediately to Emblem and bade her pack my baggage. On the morrow I was speeding to the south, evolving as I went all sorts of mad schemes in my brain for the achievement of so desperate an end.