CHAPTER VIMy Lord Marlborough makes a NoteLondon Streets—A Chair!—A Great Man's Portals—An Effort of Memory—Patronage—Marlborough—A Step in the Peerage—A Memorandum—A Friend in London—A Dinner at Locket's—Mr. Colley Cibber—Great Expectations—A Thick Stick—PrevaricationHarry was awake long before Sherebiah tapped at his door next morning. His projected visit to Lord Godolphin gave him some concern. He had no tremors of shyness at the thought of meeting the Lord Treasurer; but, ignorant as he was of London ways, he knew not how to time his visit, and could hope for no counsel on that point from Sherebiah. He was too much excited to do justice to the crisp rashers which were placed before him at the breakfast-table, and felt little disposed to converse with Jan Grootz the Dutchman opposite. Sherebiah had taken upon himself to wait at table, but, as a privileged servitor, did not think it unbecoming to throw in a word here and there. He gave Grootz his views on the price of oats and the policy of King Louis of France with equal assurance."Know ye where de lord live?" asked the Dutchman suddenly.Harry had forgotten that he had mentioned his errand to his fellow-passenger, and for the moment repented his confidence. Before he could reply, Grootz went on:"He live over against the Queen's Wood Yard, by Thames-side, leading to Scotland Yard. My vrient John Evelyn built de house. I have been dere.""Oh!" exclaimed Harry. "Then can you tell me the best time to visit him?""Ja! De best time, it is ten o'clock, before he go to de palace. He rise late; he has many visitors; I zee him myself in his dressing-gown before his zervant have curled his wig, and I wait my turn two hours. And when you zee him, you zall lose no time; he like man to speak out, mark you."The Dutchman spoke very slowly, not interrupting his meal, and wagging his fat finger as he concluded."And how shall I go? Shall I walk?""I' feck, no," said Sherebiah from behind. "The night have been rainy, and the streets be mushed wi' mud; you'd be spattered from head to heel, Master Harry. Nay; you med walk as far as the Exchange and buy 'ee a pair o' gloves there for seemliness, and then get your shoes brushed by one o' the blackguards at the corner. Then you can take a chair; 'tis a shilling a mile, and easier goen nor the hackneys, for the chairmen walk on the pavement, and you won't get jolted nor splashed so bad.""Ja, and I tell you dis," added the Dutchman. "Short poles, and short men; zo, dey take not zo much room, and if dey upzet you, why, you do not fall zo much.""Ay, and don't let 'em chouse 'ee out o' more than their due," said Sherebiah. "I know they men. If they think a man be up from country, they look at un and then at the shilling, up and down, and miscall un wi' such brazen tongues that he'll pay anything to save his ears. A shilling a mile, Master Harry, no more.""Zo! De counsel is good. But I give you a better: go not at all. Lords! I tell you dis before: an honest merchant is worth two, dree, no man zay how many lords; and de Book zay, 'Put not your drust in princes'. Still, I wish you good luck, my young vrient, Jan Grootz; zo!"He squeezed Harry's hand in his own great fist, and then, having demolished his mountain of food, filled his pipe and set forth for the Custom House on Thames bank. Two hours later, Harry left the inn under Sherebiah's guidance, and for the first time in his life trod the streets of London. Filled though his mind was with the approaching interview, which might mean so much to him, he was yet able to take an interest in the strange scenes that opened before his inexperienced eyes: the brilliant shops, each with its sign of painted copper, pewter, or wood hanging from iron branches; the taverns and coffee-houses, already crowded with people eager to hear and discuss the news, and perhaps to get a peep at the morning'sCourant; the court and porticoes of the Royal Exchange, to which merchants were flocking; the crowds of money-dealers in Change Alley, looking for clients. He went up to the gallery on the first floor of the Exchange, and bought a pair of gloves from a neat and pretty girl at one of the booths; then strolled along, admiring the rich and dazzling display of silks and jewellery which a few hours later would attract all the fine ladies in town.Descending to the street again, he passed up Cheapside and through St. Paul's Churchyard, down Ludgate Hill and through Ludgate, where he beheld impaled on stakes a row of hideous heads of traitors, one of which, Sherebiah told him with indignation, was that of Noll Crum'ell. Then skirting the Fleet Ditch, once navigable, but now a noisome slimy sewer, he came into Fleet Street, through Temple Bar to the Strand, and at length arrived at Charing Cross, where he was nearly overturned by a hasty chair-man, whose "By your leave!" was not yet familiar to his ears. At Charing Cross stood a number of boys with boxes before them on the pavement, and cries of "Clean your shoes!" "London fucus!" "Best Spanish blacking!" came in eager competing tones. Sherebiah selected one whose stand was in front of a barber's shop."Here's the blackguard for 'ee, Master Harry," he said. "He'll shine your shoes while barber shaves my stubble. A penny; no more."When the shoes were polished and the stubble mown, Sherebiah called up a couple of chairmen who were sitting on their poles near by."Do 'ee know my Lord Godolphin's noble house?" he asked."Ay; servant, sir.""Well then, carry my young master to that very house, and see 'ee don't jolt 'n, or drop 'n, or let 'n get splashed. 'Tis under a mile, Master Harry," he whispered at parting.Harry would rather have walked. The men took what care they could, but the press of people was so great that they had to dodge at every few steps, and their fare gripped the seat to prevent himself from being knocked against first one side, then the other, of the conveyance. At the corner of Whitehall, as they turned into Scotland Yard, a passing dray splashed up a shower of liquid mud, and Harry felt a moist dab upon his nose. Fortunately the spot was soon removed with his handkerchief; and when, after crossing by the Charcoal House and through the Wood Yard, the chairmen at length set him down at the door of Godolphin's house, he would have felt no anxiety about his personal appearance, if he had been sufficiently self-conscious to think about it. He had put on his best coat, silk stockings, and buckle shoes; at his side he wore the sword about which he had spoken to Sherebiah. He sprang alertly up the steps, and looked about him with a keen quick gaze that bespoke a definite purpose.The great entrance-hall was thronged. Servants, officers, government officials, men about town, stood in groups or moved here and there in pursuit of their several objects of business or pleasure. No one appeared to remark the presence of the new-comer, who walked quietly through the throng towards the broad staircase. At the foot a gorgeously-dressed flunkey was standing, to whom one or two gentlemen had already applied for information. As Harry was about to address him, his attention was attracted by a woolly-pated wide-grinning black boy, who at that moment ran down the stairs. He carried a silver tray, on which a cup and jug of fine porcelain jingled as he ran."Done, Sambo?" asked the tall flunkey at the stair-foot."Yussir!" replied the boy with a white grin. "My lord jolly dis mornin; oh yes; drink him chocolate without one cuss. Gwine to begin work now; oh yes.""Can I see the Lord Godolphin?" asked Harry, stepping up to the servant as Sambo disappeared.The man gave Harry a stare, but answered respectfully: "My lord's levee is over, sir. The nigger brings down the tray when the last visitor has gone.""I have come specially to see my lord, and——""Have you an appointment, sir?""I think if you will take my name to my lord he will see me."Harry spoke quietly; he was determined not to be turned from his purpose by mere formality or red tape. The man eyeing him saw nothing but self-possession and confidence in his air."My lord is now engaged with his correspondence," he said. "He does not brook interruption.""My name is Harry Rochester; I will answer for it that you will do no wrong in acquainting his lordship."After a moment's hesitation the man beckoned to a fellow-servant, and gave him Harry's message. He went upstairs, and returning in a few minutes said:"What is your business with my lord, sir? His lordship does not remember your name."There was the suggestion of a sneer in the man's voice. With hardly a perceptible pause Harry replied:"Tell his lordship I am from Winton St. Mary, at his invitation."A faint smile curled the lips of the two flunkeys. The second again mounted the stairs. When he descended, his face wore its usual expression of deference and respect."Be so good as to wait upon his lordship," he said, and led the way.In a few minutes Harry found himself, hat in hand, making his bow to Lord Godolphin in a large wainscoted apartment. Four large candles burnt upon the mantel-piece, daylight being kept out by the heavy curtains on either side of the narrow window. A huge log fire filled the chimney-place; beyond it stood a broad table littered with papers, which at that moment a young man was sorting by the light of a shaded candle. Lord Godolphin was in dressing-gown and slippers."Well, sir?" he said."My name is Rochester, my lord.""I am aware of that. I do not recall it. Well?"My lord's tone was cold and uninviting."Your lordship will permit me to mention a little incident on the Roman road by Sir Godfrey Fanshawe's park, when——""Stay, I remember now. You are the lad they called the young parson, eh? I have a poor head for names. When my man spoke of Winton St. Mary I supposed you might be a messenger from the gentleman who entertained us there."Now that Harry was actually face to face with the Lord Treasurer, he felt some diffidence in opening the subject of his visit. My lord, in spite of his deshabille, seemed far less approachable than he had been on the old Roman road. Then he was the country sportsman; now he was the chief minister of the Queen."Your shouting friend with the scriptural name—how is he?" he asked in a somewhat more cordial tone."He is well, my lord; he is with me in London.""And your father: has he won his case against the squire? I heard something of him at Sir Godfrey Fanshawe's, I think.""My father is dead, my lord.""Indeed! Pray accept my condolences. And now, tell me what brings you here.""Your lordship may remember, after the scene with the highwaymen——""Yes, yes; you did me a service, you and your man; what then?""It was but a slight service, my lord; I do not presume on it; but you were so good as to say that if, at some future time, I should find myself in need of assistance, I was to come to your lordship.""Why, I did speak of a country parsonage, I believe. But you,"—he smiled—"why, I really may not venture to set you up in a cure of souls. You have to take your degrees yet.""That is impossible, my lord. My father impoverished himself in his feuds with Mr. Berkeley; when his affairs were settled I found myself possessed of but a poor twenty guineas. I have given up all thought of going to Oxford; I must seek a livelihood.""H'm!"Lord Godolphin looked him up and down, as though estimating his chances of making his way in the world."You wear a sword," he said. "Rochester—you are no connection of the earl's?—no, of course not, he is a Wilmot. Where do you spring from?""My grandfather was a soldier, my lord; I have heard that he died young, but my father seldom spoke of these matters; we have no relatives.""H'm! I bethink me now, you yourself have an itch for martial life. All boys have, I suppose. Young Lord Churchill was cut to the heart a few months ago because my lady Marlborough would not permit him to follow his father to Flanders. Well, to be frank with you, I see no way of helping you. With twenty guineas you can no more buy a commission than you can enter yourself at a college. To enlist as a common soldier would be a last resource to one of your breeding. There are too many young scions of good stocks for the lesser places at court to go round among them. Yet I would fain do something for you."He began to saunter up and down the room, his hands clasped behind him, stopping for a moment to listen as the sound of cheers came from the street. Suddenly the door was opened, and the voice of the servant was heard announcing a visitor."My lord Marlborough."Harry looked with eager curiosity as the great soldier entered the room. He saw a tall, singularly handsome man, with short curved upper lip, firm chin, long almond-shaped eyes, and a calm benignity of expression. John Churchill, Earl of Marlborough, was at this time fifty-two years of age. As captain-general of the English forces, in the summer of this year, 1702, he had opened in concert with the Dutch a campaign in Flanders against Louis the Fourteenth of France,—a new campaign in the great war of the Spanish Succession which the policy of William the Third had bequeathed to his sister-in-law. Venloo and other towns had been captured by the confederate armies, Liège had been reduced, and the forces having gone into winter quarters, Marlborough had returned to England to support the Occasional Conformity Bill. He was a close personal friend of Godolphin, and allied to him by the marriage of Francis Godolphin to his daughter Henrietta."Welcome, my dear lord!" said Godolphin, starting forward to meet the earl. "I did not know you had arrived.""I am but just come from waiting on the Queen," said Marlborough. "I arrived late last night.""You are welcome indeed. All men's mouths are full of your praises.""Ay," returned Marlborough with a smile; "your Londoners have lusty throats. And I have a piece of news for you." He dropped his voice: the secretary had vanished through a further door: Harry stood in a quandary, the noblemen both seeming to ignore his presence. "The Queen has been pleased to express her wish to make me a duke."Godolphin laid his hand on his friend's arm, and said cordially: "I congratulate you, Jack, with all my heart. Why, this very morning I have a letter from Churchill at Cambridge; there are shrewd wits there; he says 'tis whispered you are to be raised in the peerage, and the boy, young dog, begs me to tell him what his own title will be then.""Ah! 'tis over soon to talk of it. I must acquaint my lady first, and methinks she will object.""Stap me, Jack! 'tis few women would hesitate to exchange countess for duchess.—God bless me, I'd forgotten the boy! My lord, this is the hero of the little adventure at Winton St. Mary I writ you of. 'Twas he that inspired the stout fellow to shout, and scared the highwaymen out of their five wits."[image]My Lord MarlboroughMarlborough looked towards Harry, who flushed and bowed. An idea seemed to strike Godolphin. Linking his arm with the earl's, he led him slowly to the other end of the room, and stood there talking earnestly to him in tones too low for Harry to catch a word. Once or twice both glanced at the tall youthful figure standing in some natural embarrassment near the door. Once Marlborough shook his head and frowned, upon which Godolphin took him by a button of his laced coat and spoke more earnestly than before. At length Marlborough smiled, laid a hand on Godolphin's shoulder, and spoke a few words in his ear. Then he turned about, and coming slowly towards Harry, said, in his clear bell-like tones:"My lord Godolphin tells me you have lost your father and are all but penniless. 'Tis an unfortunate situation for a lad of your years. You would serve the Queen?""Ay, my lord.""You have a quick wit, my lord says. I may make some use of you. Write your name on a piece of paper, and the name of your lodging."Godolphin motioned him to the table, where he found paper and a pencil. He wrote his name and the name of his inn, and handed the paper to Marlborough, who said, as he folded it and placed it in his pocket:"I will send for you, Master Rochester, if I can serve you.""My lord, I am much beholden to you—" began Harry.Marlborough interrupted him."'Tis my lord Godolphin you should thank for his good word.""'Faith, my lord," said Godolphin, "'tis due to Master Rochester that the Queen is served by her present Lord Treasurer. I am glad, my lad, that my friend Lord Marlborough chanced to come upon us here, and I hope you will have reason to be glad also. Now, you will excuse us; we have matters of state to speak of; I wish you well."Harry murmured his thanks and bowed himself out. His nerves were a-tingle with his unexpected good fortune. To have seen and spoken with the greatest man in the kingdom was itself an unforeseen privilege; and the prospect of assistance from such a powerful and august personage filled him with elation. The earl had shown no great cordiality, it was true; but Harry was inclined to draw good augury from the few words he had uttered. They were probably more sincere than a warm volubility would have been. He left the house with a sparkling eye and a springy gait, and looked eagerly around to see if Sherebiah were near at hand to hear his news. But Sherebiah was nowhere to be seen. Having no particular business, now that his great errand was accomplished, Harry walked through Whitehall into St. James's Park, in the hope that he might catch a glimpse of Queen Anne herself. The guard had just been changed at St. James's Palace, and a stream of people met him as he strolled along the Mall. He was interested in watching them—the fine ladies with their hoops and patches, the beaux with their many-coloured coats, canes dangling at their buttons, toothpicks between their teeth, and snuff-boxes in frequent use. So absorbed was he that he was startled when all at once a hand struck him a hearty blow on the shoulder, and a voice exclaimed:"Hey, Harry, what make you, ogling the ladies?"He turned and saw his friend Godfrey Fanshawe, the captain of the cricket team to whose victory he had so much contributed. The two young fellows shook hands heartily."What brings you to London?" continued Fanshawe."I've come in search of fortune, like Dick Whittington. You heard of my father's death?""Ay, but nothing since. They seldom write letters at home."Harry then explained the course of events which had brought him to London, concluding with his recent interview with Marlborough and Godolphin."Egad, man!" exclaimed Fanshawe, "you're in luck's way indeed. Would that I stood so well with the two greatest men in England. My lord Marlborough will gazette you an ensign of foot or a cornet of horse; and my cornetcy, I may tell you, cost my father a pretty penny. What luck, Harry, if we make the next campaign together! The earl will surely go back to Flanders when the winter is over.""I should like nothing better.""Where are you staying?""At the Angel and Crown, in Threadneedle Street.""You must leave that and come westward. Are you alone?""Sherry Minshull is with me at present; but he'll get work for himself as soon as I am settled.""Sherry's a handy fellow; egad, I know no better! He'll tie a fly with any man, and is as good with sword or quarterstaff as he is with his fists. Well now, 'tis drawing towards dinner-time; come and dine with me; the people of fashion here dine at four, but I stick to country habits. We'll go to Locket's at Charing Cross; you're my guest to-day. And we'll go to the play this evening; the first time, I warrant you, you've seen a play. Come! I stand well with the people at Locket's, and the sharp air this morning has given me an appetite."It was but five minutes' walk to Locket's tavern. Entering, Fanshawe bowed with elaborate courtesy to the fair dame in charge, and called for the card."There's boiled beef and carrots, I see, and a goose, and look, a calf's head. I adore calf's head. What say you? Yes? Boy, bring calf's head for two, and quickly."With calf's head and cabbage and a wedge of Cheshire cheese, the two young fellows appeased their unjaded appetites. Fanshawe sat for some time finishing his bottle of wine, Harry contenting himself with small beer. Then, as there still remained a few hours to while away before theatre time, Fanshawe proposed a row on the river. Harry eagerly assented; they sallied forth, took boat at Westminster stairs and rowed up to Chelsea, returning to Westminster in time for the performance of Mr. Colley Cibber's new play, "She would and she would not", by Her Majesty's Servants at Drury Lane. Harry was delighted with his first visit to the theatre. He was tickled at the unabashed impertinence of Trappanti the discarded servant, played by Mr. Penkethman, one of the best comedians in London, as Fanshawe informed him; and fell in love with Hypolita the heroine, a part which suited Mrs. Mountford to perfection. But he was perhaps most interested in Mr. Colley Cibber himself, who played the part of Don Manuel the irascible father. His pleasure was complete when, after the performance, Fanshawe took him to the Bull's Head tavern, and showed him Mr. Cibber with his paint washed off, surrounded by a circle of actors, soldiers, lords, and even clergymen. He had never seen an author before. Mr. Cibber had no presence to boast of, with his thick legs, lean face, and sandy hair; but the liveliness of his conversation gave him a sort of pre-eminence among his coterie, and made a considerable impression on a youth ready to admire and wonder at anything.Fanshawe appeared quite at home among the company. He was indeed a frequent visitor at the Bull's Head after the play, where all were welcome on condition of providing their quota towards the general hilarity. Fanshawe was the lucky possessor of a fine baritone voice, and his spirited singing of west-country songs had won him instant popularity. On this night, in response to the usual call, he began—"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me thy grey mare,All along, down along, out along lee;For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair,Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,Dan Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all";and by the time he reached the end of the third of the eight stanzas, the whole company were ready to join him in trolling the chorus,"Old uncle Tom Cobleigh and all".It was late when Harry reached the Angel and Crown. Sherebiah was marching up and down before the tavern, blowing great clouds from his pipe."Hey now, Master Harry," he said, with an expression of mingled wrath and relief; "'tis a mighty scurvy trick you have played me, i' feck 'tis so. Here we are, your second day in London, and you must go off along by your lone self on who knows what errand o' foolery. Ay, 'tis strong words for me, and a man o' peace and all, but not too strong, seee'n as I knows the wicked ways o' the town and you be unfledged. Zooks, sir, I've been in a terrible way, thinken all manner of awsome an' gashly things, as how you med ha' been trepanned, or slit by the Scourers, or trampled by some high lard's horses, or rifled and beat by footpads, or 'ticed into a dicing den by sweetners always on the look-out for a country gudgeon, or——""Hold, Sherry, you forget yourself," said Harry, who was, however, not displeased to find the honest fellow so solicitous about him. "In truth, I forgot all about you. I can take care of myself, I think. I dined with Mr. Godfrey Fanshawe, whom I chanced to meet, and we went to the play afterwards, and I never laughed so much in my life. Mrs. Mountford's a beauty, Sherry, and Mr. Cibber—when he doesn't squeak—has the pleasantest voice ever I heard—nay, not that, after all; 'tis not so pleasant as my lord Marlborough's. What d'ye think, Sherry? I met the earl himself at Lord Godolphin's, and he has my name on a scrap of paper, and to-morrow or next day I shall hold the queen's commission, and then off with the troops to Flanders, and I shall make my fortune, man, and then——""Huh!" put in a voice from the doorway. "Haastige spoed is zelden goed."Harry's excitement was dashed by the slow drawl of Mynheer Grootz, whose little eyes were twinkling as he puffed at his big pipe."Ay, a true word," said Sherebiah. "'More haste, less speed,' as the Dutch words mean put into rightful language. 'Counten chickens afore they be hatched,' as ye med say."Though he was a little nettled, Harry had too much good sense not to see that his elation had carried him too far. He could laugh at himself—an excellent virtue in man or boy."I am an ass, Mr. Grootz," he said; "but really I did not expect such good luck. My lord Godolphin was very kind, and so was the earl, and as he used but few words I do think he meant what he said. I am sorry my absence made you uneasy, Sherry; but I don't understand why you should imagine all manner of harm.""An ye knew——" began Sherebiah; but he paused, hemmed, and changed his sentence. "All's well as ends well, Master Harry; I axe your pardon for my free words; and here be a fine stout piece of ash I bought in Fleet Street for your hand. Feel un; 'twill crack a pate as quick as speaken, and I'll be more easy in mind knowen you have such a good staff in company.""Thanks, Sherry!" said Harry with a laugh, weighing in his hand the stick with which the man presented him. "But I'm a man of peace, you know, eh?—at present. Now let's to bed."As they went from the room Harry remarked, "By the way, Sherry, how is it that you know Dutch?""Me know Dutch? Why, sir, what makes ye think I know that outlandish tongue?""Why, didn't you tell me just now the meaning of what Mynheer Grootz said to me?""Ay, so I did, now. It must ha' been as a dog knows his master's speech, or just as I knowed the meanen o' the holy things your good feyther was used to speak in the high pulpit, for egad, word by word I knowed no more than the dead what a' said, not I."The explanation struck Harry as rather lame, but he merely said, with a laugh:"Well, you'll make a very faithful watch-dog, Sherry. Good-night! I shall sleep well;—if I don't dream too much of battle and glory."CHAPTER VIISnaredHope Deferred—Motes in the Sunbeam—Mynheer makes an Offer—Sherebiah on Guard—New Quarters—Tumblers—Solvitur Ambulando—Doubling—Sick at Heart—Too Late—A Debit Balance—Gloom—Cold Streets—Three Sailors—MuffledSeveral days passed—days of unfailing happiness for Harry. Though he spent hours in roaming the town, there was always something fresh to see, something novel to capture his interest. He saw the state entrance of the new Venetian ambassador. He visited the Tower, the Abbey, and St. Paul's, saw Winstanley's water-works in Piccadilly near Hyde Park, and witnessed a football match at Covent Garden. He accompanied Fanshawe several times to the theatre, and somewhat offended that sparkish young gentleman by constantly refusing to join him in card-parties and night escapades in the streets. He saw a back-sword match at the Bear Garden in Hockley in the Hole, and a billiard match at the Greyhound Coffee-house near Monmouth Street. Apart from these public sights, he found endless diversion in the ordinary street scenes: the markets, the itinerant vendors, the acrobats, or posture-masters as they were then called, who performed their dancing and tumbling in squares remote from the traffic. It amused Harry that Sherebiah never tired of these mountebank tricks, but would stand and watch them with unflagging interest by the hour, applauding every neatly executed feat, and criticising with unsparing severity every instance of clumsiness or bungling. Soldiers, on the other hand, apparently did not interest Sherebiah. Harry liked to watch them drilling on the Horse Guards' parade or in Hyde Park; but on these occasions Sherebiah always strolled away, waiting with impatience until his young master had satisfied his curiosity."They won't kill you, Sherry," said Harry once, laughing as the man sheered off. "Their muskets are not loaded.""True. But 'tis no pleasure to me to see such men o' war. Feyther o' mine were a trooper; he be always talken on it; I be a man o' peace, I be."Every day when he came down to breakfast, and when he returned in the evening, Harry eagerly looked for a message from Lord Marlborough. But the days passed; a week flew by; and still no message came. After the second day he made no reference to the matter; Sherebiah and Grootz considerately forbore to allude to it. But they watched him with shrewd eyes, and saw, through all the curiosity and pleasure he took in his new life, a growing sense of disappointment and anxiety. He had built high hopes upon the interview at Godolphin's; as boys will, he had allowed his fancy to outstrip his judgment, and had added a good deal of embroidery to the simple facts. Already in imagination he saw himself carrying the Queen's colours, performing heroic deeds in the field, winning golden opinions from the general, coming home laden with honour and substantial rewards, perhaps to gain, as the acme of bliss, an approving smile from the Queen herself. And he would wake from these day-dreams to the sober reality—-that the desired message from Marlborough had not come, and meanwhile time was fleeting by, and every day saw his little stock of money diminished.He had resisted Fanshawe's recommendation to change his lodging. Charges were higher, Sherebiah informed him, in the more fashionable parts, and he knew that he could not afford to run risks. At first he had not been parsimonious; he was not extravagant by nature, but he had not hesitated to buy a trifle that pleased him, to give largesse to the ballad-singers and street musicians, to pay his eighteenpence for a seat in the pit at Drury Lane or Lincoln's Inn Fields. But he gave all this up, and thought twice about spending a penny. He bought only the strictest necessaries, and for his amusement depended on the sights of the streets, the parks, and the river, and such entertainment as could be had at the coffee-houses, where for a penny he could obtain a dish of coffee, read theDaily Courantwith its manuscript supplement, or Dawks'sNews Letter, and hear all the news of the day discussed with more heat than information by arm-chair politicians.One day theCourantannounced that the Queen had been pleased to confer the dignity of a dukedom upon the Earl of Marlborough, and that the House of Commons would be asked to grant him an annual pension to match his new rank. Harry remembered what he had heard pass between Marlborough and Godolphin, and when the coffee-house gossips supplemented the official intimation with the rumour that the Countess Sarah had been violently opposed to her husband's elevation in the peerage, he understood the meaning of the peculiar tone in which Marlborough had spoken of acquainting her ladyship. The new duchess was the theme of much conversation and many jests in these free-spoken assemblies. Marlborough was a very great general; everybody was agreed on that; but it was doubted whether he was master in his own house; some said he was henpecked; one plain blunt fellow declared in Harry's hearing that the duke was as much afraid of his missis as any Thames bargee. Harry was not interested in Marlborough's domestic affairs, but his heart sank when he reflected on his own insignificance beside the great man whom the Queen was delighting to honour. After all, how could he expect a man of such eminence, immersed in state affairs, with all the responsibility for conducting a great campaign, to remember a country youth whom he had seen once, and who had made, perhaps, as deep an impression on him as a fly might make on a lion.That night Harry was eating his supper, somewhat moodily, when Mynheer Grootz, sitting opposite, made him a sudden proposition."I tell you dis," he said. "I go back to my country zoon. I have business wid de armies; I sell hay for de horses, meal for de men. You are quick, I see dat; you speak French, enough for my purpose; I give you good wages if you come and help me in my business."Harry flushed. The Dutchman dipped a hunk of bread into his soup and filled his mouth with it, looking down at the bare deal board the while."I thank you, Mynheer," said Harry with some constraint. "I have another purpose, as you know."Up came the fat forefinger, moist with gravy."I speak plain to you. You have pride; I alzo. But I have mills, and ships, and vields; dey are mine; I am rich—ja, rich; I, Jan Grootz. My fader, he was a poor weaver in Dort; he work hard and die poor; I work hard, and grow rich. I have what for to be proud. You are a gentleman; dat is zo; it is good to be a gentleman; it is not good to be poor. And more, it is not good to zee money go every day, every day, and wait for some prince to fill de empty purse. You have pride; for what? For white hands, and by and by an empty stomach. My hands, dey are not white, naturlik; but my stomach is full, and I stand up before any prince; Jan Grootz; zo!"He spread his broad hands before Harry, as though he were proud even of their horny skin. The action brought a smile to the lad's gloomy face and dulled the edge of his irritation."I won't debate the matter with you," he said. "I'm not afraid of work, I hope, and maybe my white hands may be red enough before long. I won't despair of my lord Marlborough yet; and I know your intention is friendly, Mynheer."The Dutchman grunted, and applied himself again to his meal.Great as were Harry's anxieties, Sherebiah's were perhaps even greater. He also was disappointed by the forgetfulness or neglect of Marlborough, and concerned at the constant drain upon his young master's purse; but he had further causes of trouble of which Harry was unaware. Ever since their arrival in London Sherebiah had been possessed by a dread of impending ill. He had always in mind the interview between Captain Aglionby and the squire's man at the White Hart tavern, and day by day expected it to bear fruit to Harry's harm; but for reasons of his own he hesitated to tell him the plain truth. He stuck like a leech to Harry when he went walking, and many times when the lad would rather have been alone with his dismal thoughts he found Sherebiah at his heel, like the watch-dog to which he had compared him. He did not know that even when he succeeded in eluding his too solicitous henchman, it was only in appearance; for Sherebiah, armed with a stout ash cudgel, was seldom many yards behind. Many a night after Harry had gone disconsolate to his bed, the man wended his way to Southwark in the hope of making a further discovery; but he never saw the captain or anyone whom he knew to be connected with him, and when at last he found an opportunity of making a discreet enquiry at the hostelry, he was more alarmed than pleased to find that Captain Aglionby had departed some time before, and that nothing had since been heard of him.One morning, when they had been for about a month in London, when Parliament had been prorogued, and a new year had opened, Sherebiah surprised Harry by suggesting that they should remove to an inn near Leicester fields."Why, you were against it when Mr. Fanshawe proposed it. How is it that you have changed your mind, Sherry?""Well, sir, 'tis this way, if I med be so bold. Your money be gwine fast, and 'twould never do to begin a more humble way o' liven here. Nay, what I say is, if you must pare and scrape, go where you bean't so well known, and then nobody'll think the worse on 'ee for't.""Hang me, who talked of paring and scraping, Sherry?" cried Harry impatiently."I axe your pardon, sir," said Sherebiah earnestly, "but I were not born yesterday. Here are we, four weeks in Lun'on, and you know yourself how many golden guineas you brought wi' 'ee, and how many be left. Sure I bean't a great eater myself, but even my little small morsel ha' got to be paid for. Master Harry, 'twill be best for 'ee to do as I say. Ay, an' if I knowed 'ee wouldn't up and rate me, I'd say another thing, I would so.""Well—what's that?""Why, I'd say, hand over your purse to me. Nay, sir, don't be angry; ye're not wasteful, no; but if we go to another house, I can save 'ee many a penny here and penny there in ways you wouldn't so much as dream on. I know Lun'on folk, you see; ay, I know 'em well."In the upshot, Sherebiah had his way on both points. The reason for his change of front was that on the previous afternoon he had seen the squire's man Jock hanging about the inn, and had found out subsequently that Captain Aglionby had returned to his old quarters at the White Hart. It was just as well, he thought, to take one step further from danger by changing their lodging. When this was done, and Sherebiah kept the purse, Harry was amazed to find how much further his money went. It would not have surprised him if the weekly bill had been reduced by a small amount; but when he discovered that, though he fared quite as well, the expenses were not half what they had been, he began to think that Sherebiah possessed some talisman against the cupidity of London innkeepers. He found, too, that he was left much more to himself, and wondered why, with the change of lodging, Sherebiah's watchfulness appeared to have diminished.He was walking with Godfrey Fanshawe one cold January afternoon by Pye Corner, when he was attracted by a crowd of people gazing at a street show that, to judge by their laughter and applause, was exceedingly entertaining. Elbowing their way through the stragglers on the outskirts, the two young fellows arrived at a position whence they could see what was going on. A group of posture-masters were performing, and at the moment of Harry's arrival, a short thickset man, dressed in fantastic costume, and with painted face, was dancing on his knees with his toes in his hands, keeping time to the music of a flute and a violin. The tune was a merry one, and the movements of the acrobat irresistibly funny, so that every member of the crowd roared with laughter."Adzooks!" exclaimed Fanshawe, "the fellow's face is the funniest part of the performance. Look'ee, Harry, 'tis as sober as a judge's on assize; one would think 'twere a hanging matter."Harry had been so tickled by this odd mode of dancing that he had not noticed the performer's features. He glanced at them now, started with a sudden gasp, and cried:"By the Lord Harry, 'tis——""'Tis what?" said Fanshawe, looking at him in surprise."Oh, nothing!""Come, I scent a mystery. Unravel, sir!""'Tis nothing. See, Fanshawe, the dance is over. Let us go on."Without waiting for his companion, he pushed his way back through the crowd."Faith, I don't understand you of late, Rochester," said Fanshawe in a half-vexed tone, when he overtook him. "You're moody, full of whimsies, all starts and surprises. Would to Heaven that the duke would bethink him of that paper you gave him! You need settling in life. Why don't you go to him, or to Lord Godolphin again? 'Tis few suitors but would show more perseverance.""Not I. 'Twas against the grain to beg even one favour. I'd rather earn my bread by scraping a fiddle, or dancing on my knees like—like the poor fellow there.""Well, let me tell you, you'll rue your independence. Adsbud, who would get on in this world if he didn't pay court to the great! Your starveling poet writes a flattering dedication to a lord—for pay! Your snivelling parson toadies to the lord of the manor—for a meal! I except your father, Harry; he was a rare one. 'Tis the way o' the world; we must all do it, or pay the penalty.""Be the penalty what it will, I'll pay it rather than play lick-spittle to any man."Fanshawe shrugged. "By the way," he said, "Mr. Berkeley is in town—to pay his court to someone, I swear. 'Tis said he is buying a commission for that cub his son; pray Heaven it be not in my regiment! That's the way o' the world again. Here's Piers Berkeley, the young popinjay, all grins and frippery, like to carry the Queen's colours in a fine regiment because his father has a long purse, and you, a deal more fit for it, kicking your heels for want of a rich father or a richer patron. I fear 'tis all up with your chances now; but I wish you luck. I go to Flanders in a week; home to-morrow to say good-bye; who knows when we may meet again!"The two friends bade each other a cordial farewell; then Harry returned sadly to his lodging. Some two hours later Sherebiah came back."What do 'ee think, Master Harry?" he said. "I ha' seed old Squire.""I knew he was in town," replied Harry. "And what do you think I've seen, Sherry?"Detecting a something strange in his tone, Sherebiah gave him a hard look."I never was no good at guessen," he said. "Mebbe the German giant at Hercules' Pillars, or the liven fairy in Bridges Street.""No, 'twas no giant and no fairy, but a short man—about your height, Sherry—with a round face—just as round as yours—and a solemn look—like yours at whiles; and what think you he was doing? He was dancing on his knees, with a crowd of numskulls round him grinning at his capers, and——""There now, 'twas sure to be found out, I knowed it. 'Twas me—I don't deny it, 'cos bean't no good.""Now I know why you wanted to keep the purse, you old dissembler. You eke out my little store with the pence your antics fetch. Sherry, I love thee; I do indeed. But how did you learn those fantastic tricks with your knees?""Oh, I ha' done a bit o' tumblen in my time; ay sure.""You seem to have done a bit of everything. But when? and why? You must tell me all about it.""Some day mebbe. Ha' led a motley life for a man o' peace; so 'tis. 'Twould make old feyther o' mine drop all his old bones in a heap if so be as he knowed all my lines o' life. The time'll come to tell 'ee, sir, but 'tis not yet, no."That was the end of Sherebiah's acrobatic performances. From that day he stuck to Harry more closely than ever; and the weekly bills increased. They had been in town now for nearly two months, and by dint of the greatest economy Sherebiah thought that the money might last for a fortnight longer. Then the wolf would be at the door. Harry had not told his man of Jan Grootz's offer, though he surmised, from a word Sherebiah let fall, that he knew of it. Hoping against hope, he waited and longed for some sign from the duke. Every day Sherebiah went to the Angel and Crown to see if a letter had come, and every day he came back disappointed. He had not given the host his new address, for reasons of his own; and when on one of his visits he learnt that a man had enquired for the present whereabouts of Mr. Harry Rochester, he hugged himself on his prudence. He would not have been so well pleased if he had known that on the very next day, when he returned from the Angel and Crown by a roundabout way to his inn in Leicester Fields, he was shadowed by a man who had waited for several hours for the opportunity. And he would undoubtedly have counselled a second change of abode if he had known that the spy, after assuring himself that Harry Rochester was a guest of the inn, had gone hotfoot to Captain Aglionby.Another week went by. On Saturday night Sherebiah counted up the contents of his purse, and found that by the end of the next week he would have spent the uttermost farthing."I give it back to 'ee, sir," he said. "Come Monday morn, I go to find work.""Not so fast, Sherry. We share alike; when you go to find work, I go too. The duke may send for me even at the eleventh hour.""A plague on the duke! I wish I may never hear of dukes again to th' end o' my mortal days. A duke's a bubble, and that's the truth on't. Better be an honest man, as Mynheer Grootz says.""'Tis mere forgetfulness, I am sure, Sherry. He has mislaid the paper, I suspect, and his mind being filled with weightier matters, has forgotten that even so insignificant a person as myself exists.""'Tis my belief he never did a kindness to man, woman, or child in all his born days. Why, all the chairmen and hackney coachmen know un; ay, and madam his duchess too. My lady will haggle with an oyster-wench over a ha'penny, and the only thing my lord gives away for nowt is his smile. Hang dukes and duchesses, say I!""Well, Sherry, I can't gainsay you, because I don't know. We'll give him three days' grace, and then——"He sighed. The world looked black to him. He knew no trade, had practised no art, had no means to enter a profession. He turned over in his mind the possible openings. He could not apprentice himself to a merchant or handicraftsman, for that needed money. He might perhaps get a clerkship in a goldsmith's or a warehouse; Sir Godfrey Fanshawe, no doubt, would vouch for his respectability! He almost envied the footmen of gentlemen of quality, who wore a livery, earned six pounds a year, and a crown a week extra for gloves and powder. He writhed on his sleepless bed that night as he contrasted his present circumstances with his former prospects and his recent imaginings. A clergyman,—an officer of the Queen's, forsooth! he was a pauper, a beggar, with nothing but his health and his wits. Then he rated himself for his despondency. "Fancy snivelling," he said to himself, "because a duke hasn't the grace or the time to remember a promise! What would my father think of me? Here have I wasted precious time waiting on a duke's pleasure when I might have been turning the weeks to some profit. And I was too proud to accept the Dutchman's friendly offer. Egad, I'll go to him on Monday and beg him to give me employment; sink my pride for good and all."So possessed was he by his determination that Sunday passed all too slowly. On Monday morning he walked early to the Angel and Crown and asked for Mynheer Grootz. The landlord replied that Mynheer Grootz had left the inn on Friday, removing all his baggage. He was about to sail for Holland, and, as the wind favoured, it was probable that his ship had already left the Thames. This news was a terrible damper. Harry had built confidently on the anticipated interview. Mingled with his gratitude for the coming favour, he even felt a pleasant glow at his condescension in accepting service so much beneath him. And now this new house of cards was toppled down! He turned gloomily away, and wandered aimlessly through the streets, disposed, under the first sting of the disappointment, to believe that fate had indeed a spite against him. He was glad he had said nothing to Sherebiah of his intention, being in no mood to endure condolences, in word or look. "What a useless loon I am!" he said to himself bitterly. "Sherry can earn his living by tumbling in the streets, and maybe in dozens of other ways; I can do nothing. Even Piers Berkeley has a commission in the army—that puppy!"But Harry was never long in the dumps. He was only a boy, and the misfortunes that had befallen him so suddenly were sufficient excuse for his passing fits of moodiness; but his was naturally a sanguine temper, and by the time he reached the inn his brow had cleared and he was able to eat his dinner with good appetite."The last but one, Sherry," he said with a smile. "After to-morrow the purse will be all but dry, and then I shall have to earn my bread. What do you say? Will you teach me to stand on my head, to begin with?""Zooks, sir, dont'ee put it so terrible low. Look'ee, now, I ha' some score o' guineas behind my belt; ye're welcome to the loan on 'em till your ship do come home.""You're a good fellow, Sherry, but I couldn't think of it. Do you want to make me still more ashamed of myself?""Well then, sir, why not go to my lord Marlborough's noble house and walk up and down outside till the duke comes out, and stand full in his path and catch his eye—or mebbe his missis'; her med be taken wi' 'ee and command her good man to remember 'ee, for by all accounts she——""Hold your tongue, sirrah!" cried Harry with a touch of anger. "Hang about a great man's door, like Lazarus waiting for the offal! No indeed. Nay. To-morrow we shall be adrift; pray God a fair breeze will carry us into port. Sherry, you had better go and tell the landlord we shall leave him to-morrow. Ask for the reckoning; we will pay the score and begin the morning at least free men."In half an hour Sherebiah returned with the bill. Harry pulled a long face as he glanced at it. He untied the purse-strings and laid his money out on the table."'Tis worse than I thought," he said ruefully. "In some unconscionable fashion the bill mounts higher this week; I am ten shillings short without vails to the servants.""Ah, I know Lun'on folk, I do. But don't let that trouble 'ee, sir; ten shillens won't make a great hole in my store.""But I won't have your money. Nay, Sherry, call it a whim of mine; 'tis our last day; the charges are mine; to-morrow we must start afresh. I have some trinkets in my box; their worth I know not; but you can take one or two to a goldsmith's and place them with him until the luck turns. You will do that better than I."He left the room and came back with a miniature set in gold and a brooch of antique make. Sherebiah looked at them with a deliberative air."Baubles like these sell for next to nowt," he said. "'Tis not all gold that glitters. But I'll take 'em, sir, and cheapen 'em as best I may. Be I to pledge 'em in my name or yours?""It doesn't matter—whichever you like. I'll sit by the fire and read while you are gone.""Ay, 'tis a raw and nippen afternoon, and there be true comfort in a log fire."He flung his cloak over his shoulders and was gone. Harry went to his room and brought down a volume of his father's containing Mr. John Milton's poem of "Samson Agonistes". In the dark afternoon he read for some time by the light of the fire, finding a certain melancholy pleasure in fitting Samson's woeful laments to his own case."So much I feel my genial spirits droop,My hopes all flat",he murmured, and then closed the book over his finger and gazed into the ruddy cavern of the fire till his eyes ached. Sherebiah seemed a long time gone; a feeling of restlessness stole upon Harry. He let the book fall from his hand, rose, and paced about the room, stopping once or twice at the narrow window to look out into the street. The air was misty, the pavement sticky with mud; every passing horse stepped under a blanket of vapour; the wayfarers were muffled about their necks and walked as though bent under a load. Harry fidgeted, wondering why Sherebiah was so long. His reading had not cheered him; his musing did but increase his gloom. At last, unable to endure inaction longer, he put on his cloak and hat, took up the cudgel without which, in deference to Sherebiah's advice, he seldom went abroad, and sallied forth into the street, to walk off his fit of the dumps, if that might be.By the flickering light above the door he saw three sailors lurching up the street. He passed them, giving them but a casual glance, turned into the Strand, and spent some time looking listlessly into the lighted shops. At the door of a coffee-house he noticed a group gathered about a newspaper pasted on the wall. A manuscript supplement had just been affixed to it. When he could get near enough to see the writing, he felt a momentary interest in the announcement he read.
CHAPTER VI
My Lord Marlborough makes a Note
London Streets—A Chair!—A Great Man's Portals—An Effort of Memory—Patronage—Marlborough—A Step in the Peerage—A Memorandum—A Friend in London—A Dinner at Locket's—Mr. Colley Cibber—Great Expectations—A Thick Stick—Prevarication
Harry was awake long before Sherebiah tapped at his door next morning. His projected visit to Lord Godolphin gave him some concern. He had no tremors of shyness at the thought of meeting the Lord Treasurer; but, ignorant as he was of London ways, he knew not how to time his visit, and could hope for no counsel on that point from Sherebiah. He was too much excited to do justice to the crisp rashers which were placed before him at the breakfast-table, and felt little disposed to converse with Jan Grootz the Dutchman opposite. Sherebiah had taken upon himself to wait at table, but, as a privileged servitor, did not think it unbecoming to throw in a word here and there. He gave Grootz his views on the price of oats and the policy of King Louis of France with equal assurance.
"Know ye where de lord live?" asked the Dutchman suddenly.
Harry had forgotten that he had mentioned his errand to his fellow-passenger, and for the moment repented his confidence. Before he could reply, Grootz went on:
"He live over against the Queen's Wood Yard, by Thames-side, leading to Scotland Yard. My vrient John Evelyn built de house. I have been dere."
"Oh!" exclaimed Harry. "Then can you tell me the best time to visit him?"
"Ja! De best time, it is ten o'clock, before he go to de palace. He rise late; he has many visitors; I zee him myself in his dressing-gown before his zervant have curled his wig, and I wait my turn two hours. And when you zee him, you zall lose no time; he like man to speak out, mark you."
The Dutchman spoke very slowly, not interrupting his meal, and wagging his fat finger as he concluded.
"And how shall I go? Shall I walk?"
"I' feck, no," said Sherebiah from behind. "The night have been rainy, and the streets be mushed wi' mud; you'd be spattered from head to heel, Master Harry. Nay; you med walk as far as the Exchange and buy 'ee a pair o' gloves there for seemliness, and then get your shoes brushed by one o' the blackguards at the corner. Then you can take a chair; 'tis a shilling a mile, and easier goen nor the hackneys, for the chairmen walk on the pavement, and you won't get jolted nor splashed so bad."
"Ja, and I tell you dis," added the Dutchman. "Short poles, and short men; zo, dey take not zo much room, and if dey upzet you, why, you do not fall zo much."
"Ay, and don't let 'em chouse 'ee out o' more than their due," said Sherebiah. "I know they men. If they think a man be up from country, they look at un and then at the shilling, up and down, and miscall un wi' such brazen tongues that he'll pay anything to save his ears. A shilling a mile, Master Harry, no more."
"Zo! De counsel is good. But I give you a better: go not at all. Lords! I tell you dis before: an honest merchant is worth two, dree, no man zay how many lords; and de Book zay, 'Put not your drust in princes'. Still, I wish you good luck, my young vrient, Jan Grootz; zo!"
He squeezed Harry's hand in his own great fist, and then, having demolished his mountain of food, filled his pipe and set forth for the Custom House on Thames bank. Two hours later, Harry left the inn under Sherebiah's guidance, and for the first time in his life trod the streets of London. Filled though his mind was with the approaching interview, which might mean so much to him, he was yet able to take an interest in the strange scenes that opened before his inexperienced eyes: the brilliant shops, each with its sign of painted copper, pewter, or wood hanging from iron branches; the taverns and coffee-houses, already crowded with people eager to hear and discuss the news, and perhaps to get a peep at the morning'sCourant; the court and porticoes of the Royal Exchange, to which merchants were flocking; the crowds of money-dealers in Change Alley, looking for clients. He went up to the gallery on the first floor of the Exchange, and bought a pair of gloves from a neat and pretty girl at one of the booths; then strolled along, admiring the rich and dazzling display of silks and jewellery which a few hours later would attract all the fine ladies in town.
Descending to the street again, he passed up Cheapside and through St. Paul's Churchyard, down Ludgate Hill and through Ludgate, where he beheld impaled on stakes a row of hideous heads of traitors, one of which, Sherebiah told him with indignation, was that of Noll Crum'ell. Then skirting the Fleet Ditch, once navigable, but now a noisome slimy sewer, he came into Fleet Street, through Temple Bar to the Strand, and at length arrived at Charing Cross, where he was nearly overturned by a hasty chair-man, whose "By your leave!" was not yet familiar to his ears. At Charing Cross stood a number of boys with boxes before them on the pavement, and cries of "Clean your shoes!" "London fucus!" "Best Spanish blacking!" came in eager competing tones. Sherebiah selected one whose stand was in front of a barber's shop.
"Here's the blackguard for 'ee, Master Harry," he said. "He'll shine your shoes while barber shaves my stubble. A penny; no more."
When the shoes were polished and the stubble mown, Sherebiah called up a couple of chairmen who were sitting on their poles near by.
"Do 'ee know my Lord Godolphin's noble house?" he asked.
"Ay; servant, sir."
"Well then, carry my young master to that very house, and see 'ee don't jolt 'n, or drop 'n, or let 'n get splashed. 'Tis under a mile, Master Harry," he whispered at parting.
Harry would rather have walked. The men took what care they could, but the press of people was so great that they had to dodge at every few steps, and their fare gripped the seat to prevent himself from being knocked against first one side, then the other, of the conveyance. At the corner of Whitehall, as they turned into Scotland Yard, a passing dray splashed up a shower of liquid mud, and Harry felt a moist dab upon his nose. Fortunately the spot was soon removed with his handkerchief; and when, after crossing by the Charcoal House and through the Wood Yard, the chairmen at length set him down at the door of Godolphin's house, he would have felt no anxiety about his personal appearance, if he had been sufficiently self-conscious to think about it. He had put on his best coat, silk stockings, and buckle shoes; at his side he wore the sword about which he had spoken to Sherebiah. He sprang alertly up the steps, and looked about him with a keen quick gaze that bespoke a definite purpose.
The great entrance-hall was thronged. Servants, officers, government officials, men about town, stood in groups or moved here and there in pursuit of their several objects of business or pleasure. No one appeared to remark the presence of the new-comer, who walked quietly through the throng towards the broad staircase. At the foot a gorgeously-dressed flunkey was standing, to whom one or two gentlemen had already applied for information. As Harry was about to address him, his attention was attracted by a woolly-pated wide-grinning black boy, who at that moment ran down the stairs. He carried a silver tray, on which a cup and jug of fine porcelain jingled as he ran.
"Done, Sambo?" asked the tall flunkey at the stair-foot.
"Yussir!" replied the boy with a white grin. "My lord jolly dis mornin; oh yes; drink him chocolate without one cuss. Gwine to begin work now; oh yes."
"Can I see the Lord Godolphin?" asked Harry, stepping up to the servant as Sambo disappeared.
The man gave Harry a stare, but answered respectfully: "My lord's levee is over, sir. The nigger brings down the tray when the last visitor has gone."
"I have come specially to see my lord, and——"
"Have you an appointment, sir?"
"I think if you will take my name to my lord he will see me."
Harry spoke quietly; he was determined not to be turned from his purpose by mere formality or red tape. The man eyeing him saw nothing but self-possession and confidence in his air.
"My lord is now engaged with his correspondence," he said. "He does not brook interruption."
"My name is Harry Rochester; I will answer for it that you will do no wrong in acquainting his lordship."
After a moment's hesitation the man beckoned to a fellow-servant, and gave him Harry's message. He went upstairs, and returning in a few minutes said:
"What is your business with my lord, sir? His lordship does not remember your name."
There was the suggestion of a sneer in the man's voice. With hardly a perceptible pause Harry replied:
"Tell his lordship I am from Winton St. Mary, at his invitation."
A faint smile curled the lips of the two flunkeys. The second again mounted the stairs. When he descended, his face wore its usual expression of deference and respect.
"Be so good as to wait upon his lordship," he said, and led the way.
In a few minutes Harry found himself, hat in hand, making his bow to Lord Godolphin in a large wainscoted apartment. Four large candles burnt upon the mantel-piece, daylight being kept out by the heavy curtains on either side of the narrow window. A huge log fire filled the chimney-place; beyond it stood a broad table littered with papers, which at that moment a young man was sorting by the light of a shaded candle. Lord Godolphin was in dressing-gown and slippers.
"Well, sir?" he said.
"My name is Rochester, my lord."
"I am aware of that. I do not recall it. Well?"
My lord's tone was cold and uninviting.
"Your lordship will permit me to mention a little incident on the Roman road by Sir Godfrey Fanshawe's park, when——"
"Stay, I remember now. You are the lad they called the young parson, eh? I have a poor head for names. When my man spoke of Winton St. Mary I supposed you might be a messenger from the gentleman who entertained us there."
Now that Harry was actually face to face with the Lord Treasurer, he felt some diffidence in opening the subject of his visit. My lord, in spite of his deshabille, seemed far less approachable than he had been on the old Roman road. Then he was the country sportsman; now he was the chief minister of the Queen.
"Your shouting friend with the scriptural name—how is he?" he asked in a somewhat more cordial tone.
"He is well, my lord; he is with me in London."
"And your father: has he won his case against the squire? I heard something of him at Sir Godfrey Fanshawe's, I think."
"My father is dead, my lord."
"Indeed! Pray accept my condolences. And now, tell me what brings you here."
"Your lordship may remember, after the scene with the highwaymen——"
"Yes, yes; you did me a service, you and your man; what then?"
"It was but a slight service, my lord; I do not presume on it; but you were so good as to say that if, at some future time, I should find myself in need of assistance, I was to come to your lordship."
"Why, I did speak of a country parsonage, I believe. But you,"—he smiled—"why, I really may not venture to set you up in a cure of souls. You have to take your degrees yet."
"That is impossible, my lord. My father impoverished himself in his feuds with Mr. Berkeley; when his affairs were settled I found myself possessed of but a poor twenty guineas. I have given up all thought of going to Oxford; I must seek a livelihood."
"H'm!"
Lord Godolphin looked him up and down, as though estimating his chances of making his way in the world.
"You wear a sword," he said. "Rochester—you are no connection of the earl's?—no, of course not, he is a Wilmot. Where do you spring from?"
"My grandfather was a soldier, my lord; I have heard that he died young, but my father seldom spoke of these matters; we have no relatives."
"H'm! I bethink me now, you yourself have an itch for martial life. All boys have, I suppose. Young Lord Churchill was cut to the heart a few months ago because my lady Marlborough would not permit him to follow his father to Flanders. Well, to be frank with you, I see no way of helping you. With twenty guineas you can no more buy a commission than you can enter yourself at a college. To enlist as a common soldier would be a last resource to one of your breeding. There are too many young scions of good stocks for the lesser places at court to go round among them. Yet I would fain do something for you."
He began to saunter up and down the room, his hands clasped behind him, stopping for a moment to listen as the sound of cheers came from the street. Suddenly the door was opened, and the voice of the servant was heard announcing a visitor.
"My lord Marlborough."
Harry looked with eager curiosity as the great soldier entered the room. He saw a tall, singularly handsome man, with short curved upper lip, firm chin, long almond-shaped eyes, and a calm benignity of expression. John Churchill, Earl of Marlborough, was at this time fifty-two years of age. As captain-general of the English forces, in the summer of this year, 1702, he had opened in concert with the Dutch a campaign in Flanders against Louis the Fourteenth of France,—a new campaign in the great war of the Spanish Succession which the policy of William the Third had bequeathed to his sister-in-law. Venloo and other towns had been captured by the confederate armies, Liège had been reduced, and the forces having gone into winter quarters, Marlborough had returned to England to support the Occasional Conformity Bill. He was a close personal friend of Godolphin, and allied to him by the marriage of Francis Godolphin to his daughter Henrietta.
"Welcome, my dear lord!" said Godolphin, starting forward to meet the earl. "I did not know you had arrived."
"I am but just come from waiting on the Queen," said Marlborough. "I arrived late last night."
"You are welcome indeed. All men's mouths are full of your praises."
"Ay," returned Marlborough with a smile; "your Londoners have lusty throats. And I have a piece of news for you." He dropped his voice: the secretary had vanished through a further door: Harry stood in a quandary, the noblemen both seeming to ignore his presence. "The Queen has been pleased to express her wish to make me a duke."
Godolphin laid his hand on his friend's arm, and said cordially: "I congratulate you, Jack, with all my heart. Why, this very morning I have a letter from Churchill at Cambridge; there are shrewd wits there; he says 'tis whispered you are to be raised in the peerage, and the boy, young dog, begs me to tell him what his own title will be then."
"Ah! 'tis over soon to talk of it. I must acquaint my lady first, and methinks she will object."
"Stap me, Jack! 'tis few women would hesitate to exchange countess for duchess.—God bless me, I'd forgotten the boy! My lord, this is the hero of the little adventure at Winton St. Mary I writ you of. 'Twas he that inspired the stout fellow to shout, and scared the highwaymen out of their five wits."
[image]My Lord Marlborough
[image]
[image]
My Lord Marlborough
Marlborough looked towards Harry, who flushed and bowed. An idea seemed to strike Godolphin. Linking his arm with the earl's, he led him slowly to the other end of the room, and stood there talking earnestly to him in tones too low for Harry to catch a word. Once or twice both glanced at the tall youthful figure standing in some natural embarrassment near the door. Once Marlborough shook his head and frowned, upon which Godolphin took him by a button of his laced coat and spoke more earnestly than before. At length Marlborough smiled, laid a hand on Godolphin's shoulder, and spoke a few words in his ear. Then he turned about, and coming slowly towards Harry, said, in his clear bell-like tones:
"My lord Godolphin tells me you have lost your father and are all but penniless. 'Tis an unfortunate situation for a lad of your years. You would serve the Queen?"
"Ay, my lord."
"You have a quick wit, my lord says. I may make some use of you. Write your name on a piece of paper, and the name of your lodging."
Godolphin motioned him to the table, where he found paper and a pencil. He wrote his name and the name of his inn, and handed the paper to Marlborough, who said, as he folded it and placed it in his pocket:
"I will send for you, Master Rochester, if I can serve you."
"My lord, I am much beholden to you—" began Harry.
Marlborough interrupted him.
"'Tis my lord Godolphin you should thank for his good word."
"'Faith, my lord," said Godolphin, "'tis due to Master Rochester that the Queen is served by her present Lord Treasurer. I am glad, my lad, that my friend Lord Marlborough chanced to come upon us here, and I hope you will have reason to be glad also. Now, you will excuse us; we have matters of state to speak of; I wish you well."
Harry murmured his thanks and bowed himself out. His nerves were a-tingle with his unexpected good fortune. To have seen and spoken with the greatest man in the kingdom was itself an unforeseen privilege; and the prospect of assistance from such a powerful and august personage filled him with elation. The earl had shown no great cordiality, it was true; but Harry was inclined to draw good augury from the few words he had uttered. They were probably more sincere than a warm volubility would have been. He left the house with a sparkling eye and a springy gait, and looked eagerly around to see if Sherebiah were near at hand to hear his news. But Sherebiah was nowhere to be seen. Having no particular business, now that his great errand was accomplished, Harry walked through Whitehall into St. James's Park, in the hope that he might catch a glimpse of Queen Anne herself. The guard had just been changed at St. James's Palace, and a stream of people met him as he strolled along the Mall. He was interested in watching them—the fine ladies with their hoops and patches, the beaux with their many-coloured coats, canes dangling at their buttons, toothpicks between their teeth, and snuff-boxes in frequent use. So absorbed was he that he was startled when all at once a hand struck him a hearty blow on the shoulder, and a voice exclaimed:
"Hey, Harry, what make you, ogling the ladies?"
He turned and saw his friend Godfrey Fanshawe, the captain of the cricket team to whose victory he had so much contributed. The two young fellows shook hands heartily.
"What brings you to London?" continued Fanshawe.
"I've come in search of fortune, like Dick Whittington. You heard of my father's death?"
"Ay, but nothing since. They seldom write letters at home."
Harry then explained the course of events which had brought him to London, concluding with his recent interview with Marlborough and Godolphin.
"Egad, man!" exclaimed Fanshawe, "you're in luck's way indeed. Would that I stood so well with the two greatest men in England. My lord Marlborough will gazette you an ensign of foot or a cornet of horse; and my cornetcy, I may tell you, cost my father a pretty penny. What luck, Harry, if we make the next campaign together! The earl will surely go back to Flanders when the winter is over."
"I should like nothing better."
"Where are you staying?"
"At the Angel and Crown, in Threadneedle Street."
"You must leave that and come westward. Are you alone?"
"Sherry Minshull is with me at present; but he'll get work for himself as soon as I am settled."
"Sherry's a handy fellow; egad, I know no better! He'll tie a fly with any man, and is as good with sword or quarterstaff as he is with his fists. Well now, 'tis drawing towards dinner-time; come and dine with me; the people of fashion here dine at four, but I stick to country habits. We'll go to Locket's at Charing Cross; you're my guest to-day. And we'll go to the play this evening; the first time, I warrant you, you've seen a play. Come! I stand well with the people at Locket's, and the sharp air this morning has given me an appetite."
It was but five minutes' walk to Locket's tavern. Entering, Fanshawe bowed with elaborate courtesy to the fair dame in charge, and called for the card.
"There's boiled beef and carrots, I see, and a goose, and look, a calf's head. I adore calf's head. What say you? Yes? Boy, bring calf's head for two, and quickly."
With calf's head and cabbage and a wedge of Cheshire cheese, the two young fellows appeased their unjaded appetites. Fanshawe sat for some time finishing his bottle of wine, Harry contenting himself with small beer. Then, as there still remained a few hours to while away before theatre time, Fanshawe proposed a row on the river. Harry eagerly assented; they sallied forth, took boat at Westminster stairs and rowed up to Chelsea, returning to Westminster in time for the performance of Mr. Colley Cibber's new play, "She would and she would not", by Her Majesty's Servants at Drury Lane. Harry was delighted with his first visit to the theatre. He was tickled at the unabashed impertinence of Trappanti the discarded servant, played by Mr. Penkethman, one of the best comedians in London, as Fanshawe informed him; and fell in love with Hypolita the heroine, a part which suited Mrs. Mountford to perfection. But he was perhaps most interested in Mr. Colley Cibber himself, who played the part of Don Manuel the irascible father. His pleasure was complete when, after the performance, Fanshawe took him to the Bull's Head tavern, and showed him Mr. Cibber with his paint washed off, surrounded by a circle of actors, soldiers, lords, and even clergymen. He had never seen an author before. Mr. Cibber had no presence to boast of, with his thick legs, lean face, and sandy hair; but the liveliness of his conversation gave him a sort of pre-eminence among his coterie, and made a considerable impression on a youth ready to admire and wonder at anything.
Fanshawe appeared quite at home among the company. He was indeed a frequent visitor at the Bull's Head after the play, where all were welcome on condition of providing their quota towards the general hilarity. Fanshawe was the lucky possessor of a fine baritone voice, and his spirited singing of west-country songs had won him instant popularity. On this night, in response to the usual call, he began—
"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me thy grey mare,All along, down along, out along lee;For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair,Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,Dan Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all";
"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me thy grey mare,All along, down along, out along lee;For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair,Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,Dan Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all";
"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me thy grey mare,
All along, down along, out along lee;
All along, down along, out along lee;
For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,Dan Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all";
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,
Dan Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Dan Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all";
and by the time he reached the end of the third of the eight stanzas, the whole company were ready to join him in trolling the chorus,
"Old uncle Tom Cobleigh and all".
"Old uncle Tom Cobleigh and all".
"Old uncle Tom Cobleigh and all".
It was late when Harry reached the Angel and Crown. Sherebiah was marching up and down before the tavern, blowing great clouds from his pipe.
"Hey now, Master Harry," he said, with an expression of mingled wrath and relief; "'tis a mighty scurvy trick you have played me, i' feck 'tis so. Here we are, your second day in London, and you must go off along by your lone self on who knows what errand o' foolery. Ay, 'tis strong words for me, and a man o' peace and all, but not too strong, seee'n as I knows the wicked ways o' the town and you be unfledged. Zooks, sir, I've been in a terrible way, thinken all manner of awsome an' gashly things, as how you med ha' been trepanned, or slit by the Scourers, or trampled by some high lard's horses, or rifled and beat by footpads, or 'ticed into a dicing den by sweetners always on the look-out for a country gudgeon, or——"
"Hold, Sherry, you forget yourself," said Harry, who was, however, not displeased to find the honest fellow so solicitous about him. "In truth, I forgot all about you. I can take care of myself, I think. I dined with Mr. Godfrey Fanshawe, whom I chanced to meet, and we went to the play afterwards, and I never laughed so much in my life. Mrs. Mountford's a beauty, Sherry, and Mr. Cibber—when he doesn't squeak—has the pleasantest voice ever I heard—nay, not that, after all; 'tis not so pleasant as my lord Marlborough's. What d'ye think, Sherry? I met the earl himself at Lord Godolphin's, and he has my name on a scrap of paper, and to-morrow or next day I shall hold the queen's commission, and then off with the troops to Flanders, and I shall make my fortune, man, and then——"
"Huh!" put in a voice from the doorway. "Haastige spoed is zelden goed."
Harry's excitement was dashed by the slow drawl of Mynheer Grootz, whose little eyes were twinkling as he puffed at his big pipe.
"Ay, a true word," said Sherebiah. "'More haste, less speed,' as the Dutch words mean put into rightful language. 'Counten chickens afore they be hatched,' as ye med say."
Though he was a little nettled, Harry had too much good sense not to see that his elation had carried him too far. He could laugh at himself—an excellent virtue in man or boy.
"I am an ass, Mr. Grootz," he said; "but really I did not expect such good luck. My lord Godolphin was very kind, and so was the earl, and as he used but few words I do think he meant what he said. I am sorry my absence made you uneasy, Sherry; but I don't understand why you should imagine all manner of harm."
"An ye knew——" began Sherebiah; but he paused, hemmed, and changed his sentence. "All's well as ends well, Master Harry; I axe your pardon for my free words; and here be a fine stout piece of ash I bought in Fleet Street for your hand. Feel un; 'twill crack a pate as quick as speaken, and I'll be more easy in mind knowen you have such a good staff in company."
"Thanks, Sherry!" said Harry with a laugh, weighing in his hand the stick with which the man presented him. "But I'm a man of peace, you know, eh?—at present. Now let's to bed."
As they went from the room Harry remarked, "By the way, Sherry, how is it that you know Dutch?"
"Me know Dutch? Why, sir, what makes ye think I know that outlandish tongue?"
"Why, didn't you tell me just now the meaning of what Mynheer Grootz said to me?"
"Ay, so I did, now. It must ha' been as a dog knows his master's speech, or just as I knowed the meanen o' the holy things your good feyther was used to speak in the high pulpit, for egad, word by word I knowed no more than the dead what a' said, not I."
The explanation struck Harry as rather lame, but he merely said, with a laugh:
"Well, you'll make a very faithful watch-dog, Sherry. Good-night! I shall sleep well;—if I don't dream too much of battle and glory."
CHAPTER VII
Snared
Hope Deferred—Motes in the Sunbeam—Mynheer makes an Offer—Sherebiah on Guard—New Quarters—Tumblers—Solvitur Ambulando—Doubling—Sick at Heart—Too Late—A Debit Balance—Gloom—Cold Streets—Three Sailors—Muffled
Several days passed—days of unfailing happiness for Harry. Though he spent hours in roaming the town, there was always something fresh to see, something novel to capture his interest. He saw the state entrance of the new Venetian ambassador. He visited the Tower, the Abbey, and St. Paul's, saw Winstanley's water-works in Piccadilly near Hyde Park, and witnessed a football match at Covent Garden. He accompanied Fanshawe several times to the theatre, and somewhat offended that sparkish young gentleman by constantly refusing to join him in card-parties and night escapades in the streets. He saw a back-sword match at the Bear Garden in Hockley in the Hole, and a billiard match at the Greyhound Coffee-house near Monmouth Street. Apart from these public sights, he found endless diversion in the ordinary street scenes: the markets, the itinerant vendors, the acrobats, or posture-masters as they were then called, who performed their dancing and tumbling in squares remote from the traffic. It amused Harry that Sherebiah never tired of these mountebank tricks, but would stand and watch them with unflagging interest by the hour, applauding every neatly executed feat, and criticising with unsparing severity every instance of clumsiness or bungling. Soldiers, on the other hand, apparently did not interest Sherebiah. Harry liked to watch them drilling on the Horse Guards' parade or in Hyde Park; but on these occasions Sherebiah always strolled away, waiting with impatience until his young master had satisfied his curiosity.
"They won't kill you, Sherry," said Harry once, laughing as the man sheered off. "Their muskets are not loaded."
"True. But 'tis no pleasure to me to see such men o' war. Feyther o' mine were a trooper; he be always talken on it; I be a man o' peace, I be."
Every day when he came down to breakfast, and when he returned in the evening, Harry eagerly looked for a message from Lord Marlborough. But the days passed; a week flew by; and still no message came. After the second day he made no reference to the matter; Sherebiah and Grootz considerately forbore to allude to it. But they watched him with shrewd eyes, and saw, through all the curiosity and pleasure he took in his new life, a growing sense of disappointment and anxiety. He had built high hopes upon the interview at Godolphin's; as boys will, he had allowed his fancy to outstrip his judgment, and had added a good deal of embroidery to the simple facts. Already in imagination he saw himself carrying the Queen's colours, performing heroic deeds in the field, winning golden opinions from the general, coming home laden with honour and substantial rewards, perhaps to gain, as the acme of bliss, an approving smile from the Queen herself. And he would wake from these day-dreams to the sober reality—-that the desired message from Marlborough had not come, and meanwhile time was fleeting by, and every day saw his little stock of money diminished.
He had resisted Fanshawe's recommendation to change his lodging. Charges were higher, Sherebiah informed him, in the more fashionable parts, and he knew that he could not afford to run risks. At first he had not been parsimonious; he was not extravagant by nature, but he had not hesitated to buy a trifle that pleased him, to give largesse to the ballad-singers and street musicians, to pay his eighteenpence for a seat in the pit at Drury Lane or Lincoln's Inn Fields. But he gave all this up, and thought twice about spending a penny. He bought only the strictest necessaries, and for his amusement depended on the sights of the streets, the parks, and the river, and such entertainment as could be had at the coffee-houses, where for a penny he could obtain a dish of coffee, read theDaily Courantwith its manuscript supplement, or Dawks'sNews Letter, and hear all the news of the day discussed with more heat than information by arm-chair politicians.
One day theCourantannounced that the Queen had been pleased to confer the dignity of a dukedom upon the Earl of Marlborough, and that the House of Commons would be asked to grant him an annual pension to match his new rank. Harry remembered what he had heard pass between Marlborough and Godolphin, and when the coffee-house gossips supplemented the official intimation with the rumour that the Countess Sarah had been violently opposed to her husband's elevation in the peerage, he understood the meaning of the peculiar tone in which Marlborough had spoken of acquainting her ladyship. The new duchess was the theme of much conversation and many jests in these free-spoken assemblies. Marlborough was a very great general; everybody was agreed on that; but it was doubted whether he was master in his own house; some said he was henpecked; one plain blunt fellow declared in Harry's hearing that the duke was as much afraid of his missis as any Thames bargee. Harry was not interested in Marlborough's domestic affairs, but his heart sank when he reflected on his own insignificance beside the great man whom the Queen was delighting to honour. After all, how could he expect a man of such eminence, immersed in state affairs, with all the responsibility for conducting a great campaign, to remember a country youth whom he had seen once, and who had made, perhaps, as deep an impression on him as a fly might make on a lion.
That night Harry was eating his supper, somewhat moodily, when Mynheer Grootz, sitting opposite, made him a sudden proposition.
"I tell you dis," he said. "I go back to my country zoon. I have business wid de armies; I sell hay for de horses, meal for de men. You are quick, I see dat; you speak French, enough for my purpose; I give you good wages if you come and help me in my business."
Harry flushed. The Dutchman dipped a hunk of bread into his soup and filled his mouth with it, looking down at the bare deal board the while.
"I thank you, Mynheer," said Harry with some constraint. "I have another purpose, as you know."
Up came the fat forefinger, moist with gravy.
"I speak plain to you. You have pride; I alzo. But I have mills, and ships, and vields; dey are mine; I am rich—ja, rich; I, Jan Grootz. My fader, he was a poor weaver in Dort; he work hard and die poor; I work hard, and grow rich. I have what for to be proud. You are a gentleman; dat is zo; it is good to be a gentleman; it is not good to be poor. And more, it is not good to zee money go every day, every day, and wait for some prince to fill de empty purse. You have pride; for what? For white hands, and by and by an empty stomach. My hands, dey are not white, naturlik; but my stomach is full, and I stand up before any prince; Jan Grootz; zo!"
He spread his broad hands before Harry, as though he were proud even of their horny skin. The action brought a smile to the lad's gloomy face and dulled the edge of his irritation.
"I won't debate the matter with you," he said. "I'm not afraid of work, I hope, and maybe my white hands may be red enough before long. I won't despair of my lord Marlborough yet; and I know your intention is friendly, Mynheer."
The Dutchman grunted, and applied himself again to his meal.
Great as were Harry's anxieties, Sherebiah's were perhaps even greater. He also was disappointed by the forgetfulness or neglect of Marlborough, and concerned at the constant drain upon his young master's purse; but he had further causes of trouble of which Harry was unaware. Ever since their arrival in London Sherebiah had been possessed by a dread of impending ill. He had always in mind the interview between Captain Aglionby and the squire's man at the White Hart tavern, and day by day expected it to bear fruit to Harry's harm; but for reasons of his own he hesitated to tell him the plain truth. He stuck like a leech to Harry when he went walking, and many times when the lad would rather have been alone with his dismal thoughts he found Sherebiah at his heel, like the watch-dog to which he had compared him. He did not know that even when he succeeded in eluding his too solicitous henchman, it was only in appearance; for Sherebiah, armed with a stout ash cudgel, was seldom many yards behind. Many a night after Harry had gone disconsolate to his bed, the man wended his way to Southwark in the hope of making a further discovery; but he never saw the captain or anyone whom he knew to be connected with him, and when at last he found an opportunity of making a discreet enquiry at the hostelry, he was more alarmed than pleased to find that Captain Aglionby had departed some time before, and that nothing had since been heard of him.
One morning, when they had been for about a month in London, when Parliament had been prorogued, and a new year had opened, Sherebiah surprised Harry by suggesting that they should remove to an inn near Leicester fields.
"Why, you were against it when Mr. Fanshawe proposed it. How is it that you have changed your mind, Sherry?"
"Well, sir, 'tis this way, if I med be so bold. Your money be gwine fast, and 'twould never do to begin a more humble way o' liven here. Nay, what I say is, if you must pare and scrape, go where you bean't so well known, and then nobody'll think the worse on 'ee for't."
"Hang me, who talked of paring and scraping, Sherry?" cried Harry impatiently.
"I axe your pardon, sir," said Sherebiah earnestly, "but I were not born yesterday. Here are we, four weeks in Lun'on, and you know yourself how many golden guineas you brought wi' 'ee, and how many be left. Sure I bean't a great eater myself, but even my little small morsel ha' got to be paid for. Master Harry, 'twill be best for 'ee to do as I say. Ay, an' if I knowed 'ee wouldn't up and rate me, I'd say another thing, I would so."
"Well—what's that?"
"Why, I'd say, hand over your purse to me. Nay, sir, don't be angry; ye're not wasteful, no; but if we go to another house, I can save 'ee many a penny here and penny there in ways you wouldn't so much as dream on. I know Lun'on folk, you see; ay, I know 'em well."
In the upshot, Sherebiah had his way on both points. The reason for his change of front was that on the previous afternoon he had seen the squire's man Jock hanging about the inn, and had found out subsequently that Captain Aglionby had returned to his old quarters at the White Hart. It was just as well, he thought, to take one step further from danger by changing their lodging. When this was done, and Sherebiah kept the purse, Harry was amazed to find how much further his money went. It would not have surprised him if the weekly bill had been reduced by a small amount; but when he discovered that, though he fared quite as well, the expenses were not half what they had been, he began to think that Sherebiah possessed some talisman against the cupidity of London innkeepers. He found, too, that he was left much more to himself, and wondered why, with the change of lodging, Sherebiah's watchfulness appeared to have diminished.
He was walking with Godfrey Fanshawe one cold January afternoon by Pye Corner, when he was attracted by a crowd of people gazing at a street show that, to judge by their laughter and applause, was exceedingly entertaining. Elbowing their way through the stragglers on the outskirts, the two young fellows arrived at a position whence they could see what was going on. A group of posture-masters were performing, and at the moment of Harry's arrival, a short thickset man, dressed in fantastic costume, and with painted face, was dancing on his knees with his toes in his hands, keeping time to the music of a flute and a violin. The tune was a merry one, and the movements of the acrobat irresistibly funny, so that every member of the crowd roared with laughter.
"Adzooks!" exclaimed Fanshawe, "the fellow's face is the funniest part of the performance. Look'ee, Harry, 'tis as sober as a judge's on assize; one would think 'twere a hanging matter."
Harry had been so tickled by this odd mode of dancing that he had not noticed the performer's features. He glanced at them now, started with a sudden gasp, and cried:
"By the Lord Harry, 'tis——"
"'Tis what?" said Fanshawe, looking at him in surprise.
"Oh, nothing!"
"Come, I scent a mystery. Unravel, sir!"
"'Tis nothing. See, Fanshawe, the dance is over. Let us go on."
Without waiting for his companion, he pushed his way back through the crowd.
"Faith, I don't understand you of late, Rochester," said Fanshawe in a half-vexed tone, when he overtook him. "You're moody, full of whimsies, all starts and surprises. Would to Heaven that the duke would bethink him of that paper you gave him! You need settling in life. Why don't you go to him, or to Lord Godolphin again? 'Tis few suitors but would show more perseverance."
"Not I. 'Twas against the grain to beg even one favour. I'd rather earn my bread by scraping a fiddle, or dancing on my knees like—like the poor fellow there."
"Well, let me tell you, you'll rue your independence. Adsbud, who would get on in this world if he didn't pay court to the great! Your starveling poet writes a flattering dedication to a lord—for pay! Your snivelling parson toadies to the lord of the manor—for a meal! I except your father, Harry; he was a rare one. 'Tis the way o' the world; we must all do it, or pay the penalty."
"Be the penalty what it will, I'll pay it rather than play lick-spittle to any man."
Fanshawe shrugged. "By the way," he said, "Mr. Berkeley is in town—to pay his court to someone, I swear. 'Tis said he is buying a commission for that cub his son; pray Heaven it be not in my regiment! That's the way o' the world again. Here's Piers Berkeley, the young popinjay, all grins and frippery, like to carry the Queen's colours in a fine regiment because his father has a long purse, and you, a deal more fit for it, kicking your heels for want of a rich father or a richer patron. I fear 'tis all up with your chances now; but I wish you luck. I go to Flanders in a week; home to-morrow to say good-bye; who knows when we may meet again!"
The two friends bade each other a cordial farewell; then Harry returned sadly to his lodging. Some two hours later Sherebiah came back.
"What do 'ee think, Master Harry?" he said. "I ha' seed old Squire."
"I knew he was in town," replied Harry. "And what do you think I've seen, Sherry?"
Detecting a something strange in his tone, Sherebiah gave him a hard look.
"I never was no good at guessen," he said. "Mebbe the German giant at Hercules' Pillars, or the liven fairy in Bridges Street."
"No, 'twas no giant and no fairy, but a short man—about your height, Sherry—with a round face—just as round as yours—and a solemn look—like yours at whiles; and what think you he was doing? He was dancing on his knees, with a crowd of numskulls round him grinning at his capers, and——"
"There now, 'twas sure to be found out, I knowed it. 'Twas me—I don't deny it, 'cos bean't no good."
"Now I know why you wanted to keep the purse, you old dissembler. You eke out my little store with the pence your antics fetch. Sherry, I love thee; I do indeed. But how did you learn those fantastic tricks with your knees?"
"Oh, I ha' done a bit o' tumblen in my time; ay sure."
"You seem to have done a bit of everything. But when? and why? You must tell me all about it."
"Some day mebbe. Ha' led a motley life for a man o' peace; so 'tis. 'Twould make old feyther o' mine drop all his old bones in a heap if so be as he knowed all my lines o' life. The time'll come to tell 'ee, sir, but 'tis not yet, no."
That was the end of Sherebiah's acrobatic performances. From that day he stuck to Harry more closely than ever; and the weekly bills increased. They had been in town now for nearly two months, and by dint of the greatest economy Sherebiah thought that the money might last for a fortnight longer. Then the wolf would be at the door. Harry had not told his man of Jan Grootz's offer, though he surmised, from a word Sherebiah let fall, that he knew of it. Hoping against hope, he waited and longed for some sign from the duke. Every day Sherebiah went to the Angel and Crown to see if a letter had come, and every day he came back disappointed. He had not given the host his new address, for reasons of his own; and when on one of his visits he learnt that a man had enquired for the present whereabouts of Mr. Harry Rochester, he hugged himself on his prudence. He would not have been so well pleased if he had known that on the very next day, when he returned from the Angel and Crown by a roundabout way to his inn in Leicester Fields, he was shadowed by a man who had waited for several hours for the opportunity. And he would undoubtedly have counselled a second change of abode if he had known that the spy, after assuring himself that Harry Rochester was a guest of the inn, had gone hotfoot to Captain Aglionby.
Another week went by. On Saturday night Sherebiah counted up the contents of his purse, and found that by the end of the next week he would have spent the uttermost farthing.
"I give it back to 'ee, sir," he said. "Come Monday morn, I go to find work."
"Not so fast, Sherry. We share alike; when you go to find work, I go too. The duke may send for me even at the eleventh hour."
"A plague on the duke! I wish I may never hear of dukes again to th' end o' my mortal days. A duke's a bubble, and that's the truth on't. Better be an honest man, as Mynheer Grootz says."
"'Tis mere forgetfulness, I am sure, Sherry. He has mislaid the paper, I suspect, and his mind being filled with weightier matters, has forgotten that even so insignificant a person as myself exists."
"'Tis my belief he never did a kindness to man, woman, or child in all his born days. Why, all the chairmen and hackney coachmen know un; ay, and madam his duchess too. My lady will haggle with an oyster-wench over a ha'penny, and the only thing my lord gives away for nowt is his smile. Hang dukes and duchesses, say I!"
"Well, Sherry, I can't gainsay you, because I don't know. We'll give him three days' grace, and then——"
He sighed. The world looked black to him. He knew no trade, had practised no art, had no means to enter a profession. He turned over in his mind the possible openings. He could not apprentice himself to a merchant or handicraftsman, for that needed money. He might perhaps get a clerkship in a goldsmith's or a warehouse; Sir Godfrey Fanshawe, no doubt, would vouch for his respectability! He almost envied the footmen of gentlemen of quality, who wore a livery, earned six pounds a year, and a crown a week extra for gloves and powder. He writhed on his sleepless bed that night as he contrasted his present circumstances with his former prospects and his recent imaginings. A clergyman,—an officer of the Queen's, forsooth! he was a pauper, a beggar, with nothing but his health and his wits. Then he rated himself for his despondency. "Fancy snivelling," he said to himself, "because a duke hasn't the grace or the time to remember a promise! What would my father think of me? Here have I wasted precious time waiting on a duke's pleasure when I might have been turning the weeks to some profit. And I was too proud to accept the Dutchman's friendly offer. Egad, I'll go to him on Monday and beg him to give me employment; sink my pride for good and all."
So possessed was he by his determination that Sunday passed all too slowly. On Monday morning he walked early to the Angel and Crown and asked for Mynheer Grootz. The landlord replied that Mynheer Grootz had left the inn on Friday, removing all his baggage. He was about to sail for Holland, and, as the wind favoured, it was probable that his ship had already left the Thames. This news was a terrible damper. Harry had built confidently on the anticipated interview. Mingled with his gratitude for the coming favour, he even felt a pleasant glow at his condescension in accepting service so much beneath him. And now this new house of cards was toppled down! He turned gloomily away, and wandered aimlessly through the streets, disposed, under the first sting of the disappointment, to believe that fate had indeed a spite against him. He was glad he had said nothing to Sherebiah of his intention, being in no mood to endure condolences, in word or look. "What a useless loon I am!" he said to himself bitterly. "Sherry can earn his living by tumbling in the streets, and maybe in dozens of other ways; I can do nothing. Even Piers Berkeley has a commission in the army—that puppy!"
But Harry was never long in the dumps. He was only a boy, and the misfortunes that had befallen him so suddenly were sufficient excuse for his passing fits of moodiness; but his was naturally a sanguine temper, and by the time he reached the inn his brow had cleared and he was able to eat his dinner with good appetite.
"The last but one, Sherry," he said with a smile. "After to-morrow the purse will be all but dry, and then I shall have to earn my bread. What do you say? Will you teach me to stand on my head, to begin with?"
"Zooks, sir, dont'ee put it so terrible low. Look'ee, now, I ha' some score o' guineas behind my belt; ye're welcome to the loan on 'em till your ship do come home."
"You're a good fellow, Sherry, but I couldn't think of it. Do you want to make me still more ashamed of myself?"
"Well then, sir, why not go to my lord Marlborough's noble house and walk up and down outside till the duke comes out, and stand full in his path and catch his eye—or mebbe his missis'; her med be taken wi' 'ee and command her good man to remember 'ee, for by all accounts she——"
"Hold your tongue, sirrah!" cried Harry with a touch of anger. "Hang about a great man's door, like Lazarus waiting for the offal! No indeed. Nay. To-morrow we shall be adrift; pray God a fair breeze will carry us into port. Sherry, you had better go and tell the landlord we shall leave him to-morrow. Ask for the reckoning; we will pay the score and begin the morning at least free men."
In half an hour Sherebiah returned with the bill. Harry pulled a long face as he glanced at it. He untied the purse-strings and laid his money out on the table.
"'Tis worse than I thought," he said ruefully. "In some unconscionable fashion the bill mounts higher this week; I am ten shillings short without vails to the servants."
"Ah, I know Lun'on folk, I do. But don't let that trouble 'ee, sir; ten shillens won't make a great hole in my store."
"But I won't have your money. Nay, Sherry, call it a whim of mine; 'tis our last day; the charges are mine; to-morrow we must start afresh. I have some trinkets in my box; their worth I know not; but you can take one or two to a goldsmith's and place them with him until the luck turns. You will do that better than I."
He left the room and came back with a miniature set in gold and a brooch of antique make. Sherebiah looked at them with a deliberative air.
"Baubles like these sell for next to nowt," he said. "'Tis not all gold that glitters. But I'll take 'em, sir, and cheapen 'em as best I may. Be I to pledge 'em in my name or yours?"
"It doesn't matter—whichever you like. I'll sit by the fire and read while you are gone."
"Ay, 'tis a raw and nippen afternoon, and there be true comfort in a log fire."
He flung his cloak over his shoulders and was gone. Harry went to his room and brought down a volume of his father's containing Mr. John Milton's poem of "Samson Agonistes". In the dark afternoon he read for some time by the light of the fire, finding a certain melancholy pleasure in fitting Samson's woeful laments to his own case.
"So much I feel my genial spirits droop,My hopes all flat",
"So much I feel my genial spirits droop,My hopes all flat",
"So much I feel my genial spirits droop,
My hopes all flat",
he murmured, and then closed the book over his finger and gazed into the ruddy cavern of the fire till his eyes ached. Sherebiah seemed a long time gone; a feeling of restlessness stole upon Harry. He let the book fall from his hand, rose, and paced about the room, stopping once or twice at the narrow window to look out into the street. The air was misty, the pavement sticky with mud; every passing horse stepped under a blanket of vapour; the wayfarers were muffled about their necks and walked as though bent under a load. Harry fidgeted, wondering why Sherebiah was so long. His reading had not cheered him; his musing did but increase his gloom. At last, unable to endure inaction longer, he put on his cloak and hat, took up the cudgel without which, in deference to Sherebiah's advice, he seldom went abroad, and sallied forth into the street, to walk off his fit of the dumps, if that might be.
By the flickering light above the door he saw three sailors lurching up the street. He passed them, giving them but a casual glance, turned into the Strand, and spent some time looking listlessly into the lighted shops. At the door of a coffee-house he noticed a group gathered about a newspaper pasted on the wall. A manuscript supplement had just been affixed to it. When he could get near enough to see the writing, he felt a momentary interest in the announcement he read.