CHAPTER XXVA CONFESSIONIt was Peggie who, after some hours' anxious watching, opened the door without waiting for Prue's knock. She had long ago persuaded the sleepy and unreluctant James to retire to bed, and settling herself beside the dim lamp with a book, uncomplainingly resigned herself to a tedious and solitary vigil.She had passed an evening not without excitement, for her grandmother's searching and persistent inquiries into Prue's mysterious behavior were not to be evaded, and some kind of explanation was inevitable. So, ingeniously substituting Captain de Cliffe, the emissary of King James, for Captain Freemantle, the highwayman, Peggie admitted that Prue and he had met "in the North," that after his arrest she had visited him in Newgate Prison, and that although now an outlaw and fugitive, steeped in Jacobite plots and charged with state secrets and compromising documents, he had played an important part in her recovery of the queen's necklace. In fact, she had contrived, without desperately straining the truth, to surround Robin with an aura of heroism and loyalty that had enlisted the old countess' sympathy for him, almost to the extent of preparing her to sanction Prue's marriage.Having skilfully wrought her up to this point. Peggie had retired, leaving her revelations to work upon Lady Drumloch's long-dormant but far from extinct passion for the cause which had robbed her of husband, sons and worldly possessions, and left her nothing for the consolation of her declining years but unrecognized devotion to the most ungrateful of dynasties.Too excited to think of bed, the cousins were still eagerly exchanging confidences, when Prue stopped abruptly and listened. Peggie was hurrying on with her story, but Prue checked her with a warning hand."Hark, Peggie, did you hear that? Was it not some one knocking at our door?"Peggie listened, and the knocking was repeated. She threw open the window, and thrusting her head out, withdrew it after a brief investigation, with the announcement that there was a man in the street, looking up at their lighted window."Only one man?" queried Prue. "Can it be Robin?""I think not," said Peggie; "it does not seem tall enough—this man is—there is the knocking again—what shall we do?""Something has happened to Robin!" cried Prue, hastily throwing a cloak about her. "I must go down and see what is the matter.""I'll come with you," cried Peggie, impelled partly by curiosity, and partly by the impulse to protect her cousin. They ran down together, and at the door paused to take counsel. It was no uncommon thing in those days for the "Mohawks" to batter thus at quiet citizens' doors and mistreat the person who answered their summons, or even, if a woman, to carry her off, shrieking and struggling."Who is there?" Prue demanded through the closed door."It is I, Steve Larkyn," a voice replied. "Oh! Mistress Brooke, I beseech you open the door; they have taken my master!"Prue flung the door open, and there stood Steve, ghastly pale in the broad moonlight."They have taken your master? Then what are you doing here, alive and unhurt?" she cried passionately."Madam, what could one arm, and without a sword, avail against a dozen men, fully armed? The captain had but time to say to me, 'Fly—to Prudence!'—your pardon, but those were his words—when they surrounded him and made him prisoner without a chance to defend himself.""Oh! dear God!" murmured Prue, covering her face with her trembling hands. "It is my fault; if I had left him with Barbara, he would now be safe. I brought him away to his death for a jealous whim! Where have they taken him?" she demanded, looking at Steve with widely distended eyes. "To Newgate? to the Tower? Tell me and I will go to him and share his prison.""I don't know what they mean to do with him," said Steve, "but they were taking him to Lord Beachcombe's house—""Lord Beachcombe! Oh! I see it all! This is no arrest; it is a plot to rob and mayhap to murder him. Lord Beachcombe fancies that he has to deal with a defenseless outlaw and a weak woman. I will show him that there are stronger weapons than swords and bludgeons. I will go instantly to Rodney House.""Oh! Prue, wait until morning!" implored Peggie."And give Lord Beachcombe time to spirit Robin away to some secret dungeon, where I may, perhaps, never find him alive? No! I will go to him at once, without a moment's delay.""Then I will go with you," cried Peggie. "You can not go to Lord Beachcombe's house alone.""Can not I? Besides, I shall not be alone; Steve Larkyn will escort me." She turned to Robin's faithful henchman with a wan smile. "One woman is enough for you to take care of; and you, Peggie, dear, will watch for me, so that when I return, I can get in without rousing the house. Believe me, dear," she went on firmly, as Peggie was about to remonstrate, "what I have to do can be better done by myself alone; and I am not timid, as you know.""But, Prue—what on earth can you do for Robin, by going to Lord Beachcombe in the middle of the night?" Peggie urged, in desperation."That remains to be seen," said Prue, with a smile of mystery. "I think I can make Lord Beachcombe set him free, and be grateful for the chance. Come, Steve," and wrapping her mantle closely round her, she drew the hood well over her face, and went out with a resolute step into the street, already growing gray in the early dawn of the May morning.The courtyard of Rodney House was all astir when Prudence, clinging to Steve Larkyn's arm, stole through the great gateway, and under the deep shadow of the arcade that flanked the main entrance. That was closed, but from a low door a few feet away, a flood of light poured upon a traveling carriage with four horses and a group of mounted men. Without a moment's hesitation, Prue darted past them, ran down a few stone steps and found herself in a large, bare basement hall, where Robin, his dress in some disorder and his hands tied behind him, stolidly confronted Lord Beachcombe in a white heat of fury.At Prue's sudden apparition a couple of servitors interposed to stop her and Lord Beachcombe, in a voice hoarse with rage, shouted, "Who are these people? What the devil do they want? Turn them out—"Prue's silvery laugh rang out. "Not so fast!" she cried, flinging back her hood. "I have business of the utmost importance with Lord Beachcombe," and she swept him a mockingly ceremonious curtsey. No lady of the court, not even the great Duchess Sarah herself, was better known than the beautiful "Widow Brooke." The sight of her familiar face seemed to paralyze every one present. The lackeys fell back abashed, Robin gazed at her speechless, and Beachcombe's sallow face flushed with a purple that suffused even his eyeballs."Viscountess Brooke!" he stammered. "What in the name—""You are surprised?" she interrupted. "To be sure, my visit is somewhat untimely." She came close to him and lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "Did you find what you expected when you searched Captain de Cliffe?" she inquired insinuatingly."How do you know I searched him?" demanded Beachcombe."Why, when one sees a man with his hands tied behind him and his pockets inside out, it is not unreasonable to suppose that he has been searched. Yet I'll venture to say, Lord Beachcombe, that whatever you found, it was not what you were looking for!""How can you know anything about that?" he replied, with dawning suspicion. "Perhaps you know what it was and where it may be found? If so, you must be aware that it has no value except to me—""And Captain de Cliffe," she interposed."Captain de Cliffe!" he repeated, with a bitter and disdainful emphasis."What would you have me call him?" she bent forward and in a whisper suggested, "Robert—Earl Beachcombe?—is that better?"The blood ebbed from his face, leaving it ghastly with fear and fury. He cast a hasty glance toward the group of men surrounding Robin, and although they were quite out of earshot, he fiercely motioned them to a greater distance. Then he pulled himself together sufficiently to force a sardonic laugh."Was it to play comedy that your ladyship honored me with this nocturnal visit?" he sneered."Not altogether," she replied. "I came to prevent your harming Captain de Cliffe, and, incidentally, yourself. Now tell me—in confidence—not having found the documents you sought, what do you propose to do with your prisoner?""I propose," said Beachcombe slowly, "to hand him over to justice. I believe the—documents—to be lost. At any rate, I am willing to hazard the risk of their recovery in order that this man may receive his deserts as a traitor and a malefactor. After he has been hanged, there will be plenty of time for me to deal with a claim that has no longer a claimant.""And you really hate him enough to prefer his death to your own safety?" Prue could not repress a shudder at the cold ferocity of his tone."What if I secure both?" he retorted, gratified by the effect he had produced. "This man is a traitor and has earned a traitor's death. Although I may not have found what I sought, Ihavefound papers that will send him to the gallows, and give me a claim to the gratitude of the government. Do not trouble further about him, his fate is sealed.""And how if another claimant, perhaps far stronger, should spring up in his place? How if he leaves a widow?" suggested Prue. "One, for example, able and willing to pursue his claim?""I am not uneasy about that," he replied, but his tone was less confident than his words. "I have the best of reasons for knowing that he is not married.""And you think that having no wife and leaving no—heir—to his claim (you acknowledge that he has a claim) it will cease with his death, because there is no one to pursue it?""My dear Lady Prudence, a lawyer could not have put it more clearly! That is exactly his position; I think mine is pretty safe, even if those redoubtable documents should still be in existence. It will then be merely a matter of money—some one will bleed me more or less copiously—but that will be the end of the trumped-up claim of Captain—Freemantle.""Well, Lord Beachcombe," said Prue, smiling up into his face, "now I ask you, as a favor to me, to liberate Captain Freemantle, and to molest him no further. I will answer for it that he will leave the country immediately and abandon his claim. Surely, you will not refuse a favor that is so hard to ask and so easy to grant!"Beachcombe laughed unpleasantly. "Come, dear Viscountess," he said, and his tone, though bland, was tinged with insolence, "I know of old your thirst for adventure, but surely it has been slaked by the romantic episode of the queen's necklace and the mysterious spiriting-away of your cavalier—your Knight of the Road—by Barbara Sweeting! The excitement of the affair has evaporated; its novelty has staled. Waste no more of your enchanting wiles on so sorry a subject. I have made up my mind, and even for the sake of the most charming of women, I will not change it.""Yet I think I may induce you," said Prue undauntedly, "because to my certain knowledge Captain de Cliffe has a wife and those precious papers are in her possession. She knows their value, too, and will only give them up on her own terms. If you will not grantmethis gentleman's life as a favor—will you make a bargain withher?"Astonishment and doubt struggled with Lord Beachcombe's self-command, but he kept an unmoved face, although an inkling of the truth began to force itself upon him. Not the whole incredible truth, of course, but enough to make him suspect that Lady Prudence Brooke was more than commonly interested in the subject of their discussion."And what might be the terms of the bargain?" he demanded, after a brief hesitation."You had better settle them with Captain de Cliffe," she said, "and I pledge my word that his wife will agree to whatever will satisfy him.""I will make no terms with him," said Beachcombe sullenly. "If I listen to any proposition it is entirely for your sake, Lady Prudence, and must come from you and be carried out by you alone."She reflected a few moments, while he watched her intently."This is my proposal," she said, at last. "That you will liberate your captive, giving him such time to reach a place of safety as he considers necessary. And that when you have received the packet you will engage not to take any steps to prevent his leaving the country. In return I promise that his wife will consider the whole matter at an end, and regard the claim as though it had never existed.""And when I have liberated him and given him every opportunity to elude justice, what security have I that those papers will be delivered to me?" he demanded."I myself will be hostage for him. Send Steve with him and when he returns, having left his master in safety, I will hand you the packet. Does that satisfy you?"Robin, sitting on the corner of a table, a little apart, could only guess from a word here and there that rose above the low-voiced colloquy, that Prue was making terms for him, the conditions of which it was not difficult to divine. Cruelly as it irked him to see her pleading with his bitter enemy for his life, he resisted the strong temptation to interfere, as he certainly would have done, could he have known that she was offering to remain a hostage to this unscrupulous man, until his safety had been purchased by her acknowledgment of their marriage. She was too well aware of that to admit him to the conference.Lord Beachcombe, sullenly balancing pros and cons, found it no easy matter to decide between the gratification of his revenge upon Robin and the fear of losing what might be his last chance of securing the coveted documents.It is impossible to say how long he might have fluctuated between two desires equally importunate, but it was at last borne in upon the sluggish current of his intelligence that the certificates were possibly that moment in the possession of Lady Prudence Brooke, who certainly would not hesitate to use them for his humiliation if he exasperated her."What will you do if I refuse?" he said at last."Then," said Prue, with spirit, "I shall go straight from here to the Duchess of Marlborough and lay the whole story—including thedocuments—before her. She has pledged herself to grant me any request I make of her, and will not consider the life of a highwayman too high a price to cancel her debt to me.""The duchess is no longer the power behind the throne," said Beachcombe, with a scowl. "If you rely upon her influence—""I do not rely upon thatalone," said Prue, retaining her patience with the greatest difficulty; "I will go to the queen herself and plead with her—oh! when I show her my heart, she can not resist the appeal of my prayers and tears—" She forgot for the moment where she was and who was her listener, and in imagination was already at the feet of her royal mistress. Beachcombe regarded the sapphire eyes sparkling through unshed tears and the piteous tumult of the lovely bosom beneath the laces of her ball-dress, and his pulse quickened dizzily."If her Gracious Majesty were a king, I think he would give you whatever you were pleased to ask," he breathed. "Ah! Prue—""And canyourefuse me, when with a word you can secure my gratitude—my friendship—for life?" She stretched out her hands with a gesture so alluring, and turned upon him a look of such compelling appeal, as might have melted even a colder heart than his. He could not altogether resist her, but he still sought to temporize."You have those—that packet?" he demanded."Yes.""Have you examined the contents? Surely woman's curiosity—" The lightness of his words could not veil the anxiety in his voice."The seals are still unbroken," she assured him, "and, if you agree to my terms, will remain so until you break them yourself.""But you know somewhat of the contents? No doubt," with intense bitterness, "Captain Freemantle has given you his version of their importance?""Whatever I know about them, Lord Beachcombe, will be forgotten—absolutely—from the moment that Captain—Freemantle—is out of danger."Beachcombe still hesitated. His curiosity was strongly roused. He had had more than one experience of Prue's unbridled caprice, but this one bewildered him. He could not grasp the only explanation; its improbability baffled him. She had led so many eligible suitors—himself one of them—a lively dance to the very altar-rails; was it believable that this man—outlaw, fugitive, proscribed, penniless—could have won the wayward beauty, and won her so completely that having actually married him, she was ready to sacrifice the future she expected to share, for his present safety?"How am I to know that his wife, if there be such a person, will keep the promises you make for her?" he said, with his crafty eyes upon her."I will answer for his wife—as for myself," said Prue. "Question me no further, Lord Beachcombe, but accept my terms—or refuse them if you deem it more to your advantage."It is doubtful whether even then he would have taken the decisive step, but for a sudden recollection that flooded his mind with rapture. If Prue were married, Sir Geoffrey had lost his bet, and five thousand pounds, plus a glorious revenge, would fall into the hands of his bitter foe! Unable to conceal his excitement, he seized Prue's hand and drew her reluctantly farther away."Tell me," he whispered, "are you his wife? If so, I will make no further demur. For your sake," he added as an afterthought, "I am willing not only to free this—gentleman—but to aid his escape, although, by doing so, I play the traitor to my sovereign."Prue gazed steadily into his eyes, as though she would read the depths of his mean soul. Then she replied firmly, "I am his wife.""He is free! I pledge you my word I will not pursue him. Let him go where he pleases; your husband is sacred in my eyes." The sinister light in them was not in accordance with the bland, congratulatory smile that played over his lips, as he turned to Robin."The Lady Prudence has proved irresistible, as usual, Captain Freemantle. You are free. Take my advice and use your freedom to put as many leagues as possible between yourself and London.Ishall not pursue you, but there are others who seek your life, on whom the charms of Lady Prue might be exercised in vain. Untie his hands and set him free."When he was obeyed and Robin had returned his pockets to their proper place, Beachcombe restored their ravished contents, reserving only one object. With his eyes fastened upon that, Robin pocketed his well-furnished purse, his handkerchief and other belongings, and then held out his hand once more."Your pardon, Lord Beachcombe, you have forgotten my wallet.""The contents of that wallet, Sir Highwayman, concern matters of too great importance for either of us to deal with. It shall be placed in the hands of those most interested—when you are out of their reach," was the reply, pompously delivered."I can not leave this place without that wallet," said Robin resolutely. "It is worth more than life to me, and rather than purchase my freedom at the price of its surrender, I will remain here, and risk the worst.""Robin!" cried Prue, in a voice of anguish. "Have pity on me if not on yourself!""Would you have me sacrifice a hundred lives to save my own?" said Robin unflinchingly, though pale to the lips. With drooping head she sank upon a bench, her courage for the first time failing. Lord Beachcombe looked from one to the other with a scowl as black as thunder, then with a sudden impulse snatched up the wallet and almost flung it into Robin's hand."Go!" he shouted; "go quickly, before I have time to repent my folly, and remember that other swords will soon be thirsting for your life," and he laughed harshly, as he turned abruptly away and walked to the farther end of the hall.Then Robin approached Prue and taking her hand, said gently, "A thousand pardons, dear Heart of my heart. I must seem an ungrateful churl; but oh! if you could know—I will write—""Yes, yes!" she interrupted feverishly; "but now go quickly—every moment's delay is fatal to you—and to me—" the last words were murmured inaudibly. "How soon can you reach some safe concealment?""Very soon; in less than an hour," he said. "I leave you in Steve's care; he will conduct you home and protect you with his life.""First you must take him with you and send him back when you are on the road to safety. I have pledged your precious packet," she said, smiling bravely up at him, "and when Steve returns to say you are safe, I shall give it to Lord Beachcombe. It is the price of your ransom.""But you—""Don't you yet understand," she cried impatiently, "that I am like a cat? No matter where I am thrown, I always fall on my feet. Do not fear for me, but begone, and if you love me, do not attempt to see me again. Farewell."It was no place for the tender adieux of parting lovers. He pressed her hand passionately to his lips, threw his cloak round him, and with a brief salute to Beachcombe—who took no notice of it—strode away, followed by Steve.When their footsteps ceased to reverberate under the colonnade, Beachcombe approached Prue with a friendly smile."Permit me, dear Viscountess, to offer my congratulations," he said. "You have indeed prepared a charming surprise for your friends—and enemies, if one so adorable could by any possibility have any such."Her answering laugh had the old ring of sweet, contagious mirth. "Circumstances have forced me to reveal my secret rather prematurely," she said, "but I can trust your lordship's discretion not to share it—with my dear friends—and enemies.""Oh! we will give your husband time to escape before we impart the joyful news to—Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert, for example!"Prue experienced an unpleasant shock as he pronounced this name, in a tone of malevolent triumph. This man, who had no cause to love either herself or Robin, evidently purposed using the secret he had torn from her in some hateful scheme of retaliation, of which Sir Geoffrey was to be the victim and executioner."Why Sir Geoffrey?" she murmured, half to herself."Because I hate Sir Geoffrey," said Beachcombe, with cold bitterness. "He has insulted me and triumphed over me—who can know how so well as you? He has worsted me in a duel and boasts that he will tame the lovely sorceress who has bewitched so many—myself among them—to their undoing. I hate him, and I shall never be satisfied until I see him reft of what I also have lost—impoverished—in a debtors' prison—" he checked himself at the sight of the indignant horror his words had roused. "I can wait, however," he went on, less vehemently. "It will satisfy me, for the present, to feel my power over him, without using it. How can I accommodate your ladyship while you wait for the captain's messenger? You can not wait here; will you honor me by accepting the poor hospitality of my house?""I can perfectly well wait here," she replied, reseating herself on the bench. "Your countess would be somewhat amazed to receive a visit from me at five o'clock in the morning—in my ball-dress! Even the Widow Brooke must draw the line somewhere!"CHAPTER XXVIPREPARATIONS FOR A JOURNEYMr. Moses Aarons sat in his private office. His pen hung idle between thumb and finger, and for perhaps the first time within his memory, his thoughts were very far from post-obit and mortgage. For once something more engrossing than money occupied his busy brain, and calculations more abstruse than compound interest furrowed his brow and contracted his eyes into a glittering line.A night's reflection, so far from softening the bitterness of his anger against Prue, had intensified it to a pitch that positively shocked him. While he despised himself for the unaccustomed tumult of emotion into which he had been plunged, he was amazed to discover that the desire of possession was vastly augmented by the obstacle which he did not for one moment dream of surmounting. He was too shrewd to indulge in futile hopes, but he was weak enough to crave after revenge.Only a week ago she had visited him, attempting to obtain a loan on the announcement of her speedy marriage with Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert. Was it possible that only a week had passed since she stood in that very room, indignantly championing one lover and that when she was already married to another? What were women made of, and who could anticipate the caprices of creatures so irresponsible? And yet, who could look into her eyes—those limpid sapphires—and not long to look again? Who could hear the thrilling voice and gushing laughter and not listen ever after for the echo of that divine music? The vision of that lovely face, smiling archly at him over the diamonds he had deemed irresistible, floated before him—sleeping and waking—yet it never occurred to him to claim them back or demand the payment he had refused. More, far more than that was necessary to assuage the fury that raged in his breast.She had made him suffer, had humbled his pride, befooled him and made him ridiculous in his own eyes. For thatshemust suffer;herpride must be dragged in the dust, and she who had made sport of hearts and reputations must find her own in the pillory of public derision.The wife of a highwayman—a malefactor who had been sentenced to die for his crimes, and had narrowly escaped the gallows! Married in Newgate Prison by a drunken Fleet-parson—"Lady Prudence Freemantle!" It was incredible! He laughed at the mere idea, a harsh, croaking laugh more evil than a curse. It would certainly be enough to publish such a mad freak, to cover the perpetrator with undying shame. But many considerations restrained him from taking a prominent part in her exposure. Some one else must be employed, some one whom his money could buy, and yet who would not be suspected of too base a motive.Goodridge was too mean a tool. The indomitable Lady Prudence Brooke would surely find weapons to defend herself triumphantly from so paltry a foe, even could he be brought to attack her, which was far from certain. Aarons' thoughts reverted time and again to Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert. A spendthrift at his last gasp for a guinea, no doubt he had a price, though it might be a high one. The money-lender was no miser. Money he worshipped less for itself than for its influence, and one factor in his successful accumulation of vast wealth, was his intuitive knowledge of when to spend and how. But this was probably the first occasion in his life on which he contemplated an outlay, without counting the cost or discounting the return.How could he buy Sir Geoffrey, and how could he use him? And in the first place, how could he reach him without arousing suspicion as to his own motive?Aarons threw down his pen, and leaving word that he would be back in about an hour, went on 'Change, in hopes of diverting his mind by the exciting scenes of "Bubble" speculation, then at its frenzied height. But his mind was out of tune to its ordinary interests, and within the appointed time he returned. At his office door stood a handsome chariot, and with boundless satisfaction, he recognized Sir Geoffrey's liveries.Within, impatiently pacing the narrow office, he found the man he was so anxious to see.During the few minutes he consumed in slowly mounting the stairs, Aarons had resumed complete mastery over himself. He was again the smooth, wily, impenetrable man of affairs, equally prepared to baffle the craft of his clients or profit by their lack of it."Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert! This is an unexpected honor," he said. "I trust I have not kept you waiting long?""Time is always long when one is waiting for so dear a friend, Mr. Aarons," replied Sir Geoffrey, in his jauntiest manner."Pray be seated," said Aarons, indicating the only easy chair, and taking his usual place at the desk. "You are well, I can see for myself. How goes the wooing of the fair viscountess?""Thewooingspeeds gloriously," said Sir Geoffrey, "but the wheels of Hymen's chariot do not run fast enough to satisfy an impatient lover. Truth to tell, they need greasing, and that quickly. Women are proverbially fickle and I would fain secure my lady while she is in a yielding mood."Aarons with difficulty repressed a sneer. This fatuity at the same time gratified him and excited his contemptuous amusement."The Lady Prudence has great temptations," he said suavely. "I understand that there are several rivals in your honor's way. With high titles and vast fortunes at her feet, I do not wonder at your eagerness to secure the prize before it is snatched from you. Yet without ready money—" he shook his head regretfully as he met Sir Geoffrey's clouded eyes."You will not believe in the wealth of old Lady Drumloch without positive proof, I suppose?" the baronet hinted, "yet I give you my word of honor that my information is from a source impossible to discredit. And furthermore, I shall receive five thousand guineas on the day I marry Lady Prudence—entirely independent of the fortune she will inherit from her grandmother.""Is it possible?" exclaimed Aarons. "Five thousand guineas on her wedding-day! I was not aware of this change in her fortunes, and yet," an idea struck him suddenly, "to tell you the truth—this is in sacred confidence between us, Sir Geoffrey—yesterday I returned her ladyship's necklace which I have held as security for moneys advanced a long time ago, and I have reason to know that, although she tried to borrow from me last week, she now has money to redeem her diamonds, and tossed hundred-pound notes about like curl-papers!"Sir Geoffrey's eyes sparkled. "What did I tell you?" he exclaimed. "Who but Lady Drumloch can have redeemed her diamonds (I saw them on her fair neck last night) and paid her debts? The old lady has done it before, and can do it again. Come, Aarons, open your heart and your purse-strings, and let me have a few hundreds on my note-of-hand, if you will not increase the mortgage. I'll pay you out of the five thousand guineas—that's a positive certainty—the day I marry Lady Prue.""And suppose—I am bound to be cautious—suppose, by any chance, you should not, after all, marry the viscountess?""I will marry her, if I have to carry her off by force!" cried Sir Geoffrey, suddenly savage. "She shall not jilt me, by Heaven! or if she does, no other man shall care to take her afterward!"Secretly delighted at this outburst of ferocity, Aarons assumed a deprecatory air, and with uplifted hands, entreated his visitor to be calm."We all know," he said insinuatingly, "how dearly the ladies love to think that they have been won in spite of themselves. The most tricksey of coquettes may turn out the meekest and most devoted of wives to the man who has the courage to prove himself master. At least, so I have heard, but of course I should not presume to advise so experienced a lady-killer as Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert.""Well, Aarons, if you will furnish the sinews of war, I will undertake to carry the citadel by storm. A few hundreds for a week or less, and if I fail you may clap me in the Fleet, an' you will, and put everything I possess under the hammer."Aarons still, for the sake of form, protested, but allowed himself to be coaxed and reasoned into a compliant mood, and finally accepted Sir Geoffrey's note for a substantial sum, on the tacit understanding that, by fair means or foul, the Lady Prudence Brooke was to be made Lady Beaudesert without loss of time.Leaving the money-lender to gloat over the unexpectedly efficient tool he had found for his vengeance, and to wonder whether Prue would confess her reckless marriage and take the consequences, or defy Sir Geoffrey and drive him to extremities, the latter made his way westward with all speed. Although the hour was still early for social calls, he presented himself at Lady Drumloch's and learning that Prue was somewhat indisposed and had not yet risen, left a message that he would return later, and having still some hours to spare before his parliamentary duties claimed his brief and perfunctory attendance, repaired to the Cocoa-Tree.With a pocketful of crisp bank-notes, the card-table irresistibly attracted him, and finding, as he expected, a little coterie of congenial spirits, he passed a pleasant and profitable hour or two with the luck steadily on his side. Then, flushed with victory and in something of a boastful humor, he ran almost into the arms of Lord Beachcombe, on his way out."Your pardon, my Lord!" he cried, retreating a step, and bowing low; "'tis a pity you were not here sooner. Nat Bedloe and Lord Eustace have been throwing dice, and the ace came up sixteen times running! 'Gad I never saw such a thing before.""I never throw dice—can't see any sport in it," drawled Beachcombe; "but that must have been worth seeing. Have you been playing? With your usual good luck, no doubt?"Sir Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. "I must make the most of my few remaining days of bachelor freedom," he said. "I intend to settle down when I am married, and become a model man of family. But I am still a gay bachelor, and very much at your service at the club or elsewhere.""You forget thatIam already married—and a father, no less!" Beachcombe replied, in his friendliest manner. "Still, I have not entirely given up worldly pleasures. I still book a little wager from time to time, and as my lady has a passion for Ombre, she can not grumble if I still take a hand at écarté or whist. Is your wedding-day fixed? No doubt the marriage of so charming and popular a lady as the Viscountess Brooke will be a brilliant function. All the court will wish to do her honor; perhaps even her Gracious Majesty intends to be present?""I fear that the state of her grandmother's health will prevent Lady Prue's indulging her natural desire to shine on this occasion. As the old lady's heiress, of course she can not risk offending her; even at the last minute wills may be changed and fortunes lost for a trifle.""Ha! is the venerable countess so wealthy as to make her will a matter of importance? Yet she passes for poor, and when I was—when I had the privilege of standing in your present enviable relations to Lady Prue, she assured me—yet these old women are often miserly—no doubt she will give the world a surprise when her hoards are unearthed. I congratulate you upon your prospects! A bride so incomparable and a great fortune to boot! You are indeed the favored of the gods! With such a prize in your grasp, you will scarcely think it worth while to remember our little wager.""Five thousand guineas will come in very handy to start housekeeping!" cried Sir Geoffrey gaily. His laugh was echoed with a boisterous merriment that startled him like an explosion. Lord Beachcombe was so little given to mirth, his laughter was so noiseless and so rarely responsive to another man's hilarity, that the jovial shouts and gleeful contortions with which he received Sir Geoffrey's retort would have disturbed less susceptible nerves than his.The sinister sounds rang in his ears all the afternoon as he sat through a dreary debate which did not interest the few members present sufficiently to interrupt the general conversation. What was Lord Beachcombe laughing at? he asked himself a hundred times, with ever-increasing irritation. He was not a man to take the loss of a large sum of money cheerfully. Yet it was impossible for him to have any suspicion of a serious impediment to the marriage. Still, Sir Geoffrey decided that delay was perilous and a secret known to five persons has fifty loop-holes to escape through, so for a vast number of reasons Prue must be induced, by fair means, if possible—but somehow, anyhow—to marry him immediately.To reassure himself, Sir Geoffrey carefully read the record of the wager and satisfied himself that it merely required him to marry Lady Prudence Brooke within one month of a certain date. There was no stipulation of what kind of marriage it should be, and even should it be contested later. Lord Beachcombe could not repudiate a wager that had been settled, even if the method of winning it were open to criticism. He heartily cursed Robin for failing to be hanged according to reliable calculations, and was even inclined to blame Prue for lack of foresight, but he pooh-poohed the possibility of danger in ignoring the Newgate wedding and the idea of Robin as a serious rival brought a contemptuous sneer to his lips.At the first opportunity he slipped away and hurried back to Mayfair, where he found Prue and Peggie in a state of pleasurable excitement, and the anteroom thronged with milliners and mercers as in the early times of Lady Prue's lively widowhood.Surrounded by obsequious tradesmen, anxious to atone for their late importunities by reckless offers of unlimited credit to the reinstated favorite, Prue was in her element. Over her graceful shoulders a chattering, little Frenchwoman draped a filmy scarf, while gloves and ribbons, sacks and "heads," silken hose and rainbow stuffs were spread before her on every side and half-a-dozen voices, raised in laudation of these and other wares too numerous to mention, filled the air with confusion.Barbara Sweeting, as high-priestess of fashion, criticized, selected, condemned and approved, while Lady Drumloch, installed on her favorite sofa, half-buried in her choicest cashmeres, voiced an occasional opinion in her crisp, decisive way, to which Prue gave more than usual heed."A fair day to you, ladies!" cried Sir Geoffrey. "'I faith, I feel like a stag-beetle among the butterflies." He bent over Prue as though examining a trinket in her hand. "Are you choosing the nuptial garments, dearest?" he whispered. "May I have a voice in the selection?""What do you think of this?" she replied, indicating a skirt ruffled to the waist and surmounted by full paniers of brocade stiff with silver embroidery. "'Tis the latest from France and vastly becoming to a slender shape. I shall be glad of advice as I have but little time for selection. The queen's physicians have hurried her off to Tunbridge and she is even now on the road. The royal command to attend her there without loss of time reached me but an hour ago, and to-morrow I must follow post-haste, so I am just gathering a few necessaries. Barbara, would you decide on that blue train or do you think the pink stripe will go better with the silver-gray?""What are you going to do with that lace flounce?" interposed Peggie. "You ought to trim the silver brocade with it; it is too lovely for a petticoat.""Lady Drumloch's lace!" cried Barbara, pouncing on it with cries of ecstasy. "I protest 'tis the finest I ever beheld! You should keep it for your wedding-dress, Prue."Prue glanced at her grandmother, and the slight smile that passed between them caused Sir Geoffrey an uneasy thrill, though he could not have explained why."I wish Prue to look her best," said the old lady. "It is a great opportunity for her to be in waiting upon the queen at this particular time. Her Majesty is to be kept very quiet on account of her gout and few people will have access to her; Prue may be fortunate enough to become indispensable, and the queen can be very indulgent to those who win her favor.""And after Tunbridge there will be a summer at Windsor, I hope," said Prue, "and mayhap a few weeks at Bath—and who can tell what may happen before next winter?"Barbara, nothing loath, chimed in with various suggestions, by no means calculated to soothe Sir Geoffrey's temper, which by this time was almost out of control. This was what a man might expect who built his hopes on a shallow coquette without a thought above frills and furbelows, and entirely devoid of a proper sense of duty to her future lord! He felt that to subdue her tricksy spirit was a sacred duty, and that any means would be justified with such a laudable aim in view."Do you actually leave for the Wells to-morrow?" he inquired. "Is it possible for such elaborate preparations to be so quickly achieved?""Why, I must do the best I can," she replied regretfully. "This silver brocade can be fitted to me in a couple of hours. Mrs. Buckram has all her women at work upon a couple of morning frocks and a traveling dress, and with those I must be content. There will be no court at any rate for a few days and I am not journeying into a desert. London is not inaccessible, nor is there a better milliner here than little Madame Prim on Tunbridge High Street. Yes, my post-chaise is ordered for to-morrow morning, and I shall start at nine o'clock if I have to go barefoot and bareheaded.""Might I be permitted to offer you the use of my chariot? Posting is far from agreeable or safe in a hired rattletrap."She gave him an arch glance. "A thousand thanks!" she laughed, "but I am growing wise in my old age, and I fear that there would be a rare wagging of tongues should I be known to travel in Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert's coach.""I regret deeply that no service I can offer is acceptable to you, my dear Lady Prudence," said Sir Geoffrey, with grave dignity. "Yet I pray you to remember that should you find yourself in any unpleasant predicament, there is a sword at your service and a hand not unaccustomed to use it—for that purpose."Her eyes fell and he was gratified to observe a passing embarrassment in her manner. Taking the propitious moment for his departure, he rose, and while bending over her hand, murmured, "Have you forgotten that you promised me a favorable answer in a week?""If I mistake not I said that 'on my return,' I would hope to be ready with my answer. You see for yourself that my return is uncertain; but when it takes place I promise not to keep you in suspense. Do not forget that in the meantime you are free to—""Free to blow my brains out, if you drive me to despair," he interrupted, in a low, tense tone. "But not until I have exhausted every other means of bringing you to reason, dear Lady Prue. Tunbridge is not at the other end of the world, and as you may see me sooner than you expect, I will not say farewell, but—Until our next happy meeting!"Something in his manner restrained the petulant rejoinder that rose to her lips, and she allowed him to kiss her hand in silence. He lingered a few minutes beside Lady Drumloch, inquiring after her health and condoling with her approaching loss of Prue's delightful company, and then, with a few passing compliments to Peggie and a brief skirmish with Barbara, he bowed himself out with consummate aplomb."Dear Gossip," said Barbara, when he was out of hearing, "be on your guard; there goes one who will not wear his willow submissively.""He must wear it as he pleases," she replied, "or not at all if he prefer. I protest I'll not contradict him, if it suits him to say he jilted me.""Is his successor chosen?" queried Barbara archly. "Do I know him?—is he—""There is no successor," Prue interrupted hastily; "no more lovers for me. I am sick of courting and compliments, sick to death of 'hearts at my feet' and 'swords at my service,' and tongues more false than the one and sharper than the other ready and waiting to stab me in the back; or, worse still, in the reputation!"
CHAPTER XXV
A CONFESSION
It was Peggie who, after some hours' anxious watching, opened the door without waiting for Prue's knock. She had long ago persuaded the sleepy and unreluctant James to retire to bed, and settling herself beside the dim lamp with a book, uncomplainingly resigned herself to a tedious and solitary vigil.
She had passed an evening not without excitement, for her grandmother's searching and persistent inquiries into Prue's mysterious behavior were not to be evaded, and some kind of explanation was inevitable. So, ingeniously substituting Captain de Cliffe, the emissary of King James, for Captain Freemantle, the highwayman, Peggie admitted that Prue and he had met "in the North," that after his arrest she had visited him in Newgate Prison, and that although now an outlaw and fugitive, steeped in Jacobite plots and charged with state secrets and compromising documents, he had played an important part in her recovery of the queen's necklace. In fact, she had contrived, without desperately straining the truth, to surround Robin with an aura of heroism and loyalty that had enlisted the old countess' sympathy for him, almost to the extent of preparing her to sanction Prue's marriage.
Having skilfully wrought her up to this point. Peggie had retired, leaving her revelations to work upon Lady Drumloch's long-dormant but far from extinct passion for the cause which had robbed her of husband, sons and worldly possessions, and left her nothing for the consolation of her declining years but unrecognized devotion to the most ungrateful of dynasties.
Too excited to think of bed, the cousins were still eagerly exchanging confidences, when Prue stopped abruptly and listened. Peggie was hurrying on with her story, but Prue checked her with a warning hand.
"Hark, Peggie, did you hear that? Was it not some one knocking at our door?"
Peggie listened, and the knocking was repeated. She threw open the window, and thrusting her head out, withdrew it after a brief investigation, with the announcement that there was a man in the street, looking up at their lighted window.
"Only one man?" queried Prue. "Can it be Robin?"
"I think not," said Peggie; "it does not seem tall enough—this man is—there is the knocking again—what shall we do?"
"Something has happened to Robin!" cried Prue, hastily throwing a cloak about her. "I must go down and see what is the matter."
"I'll come with you," cried Peggie, impelled partly by curiosity, and partly by the impulse to protect her cousin. They ran down together, and at the door paused to take counsel. It was no uncommon thing in those days for the "Mohawks" to batter thus at quiet citizens' doors and mistreat the person who answered their summons, or even, if a woman, to carry her off, shrieking and struggling.
"Who is there?" Prue demanded through the closed door.
"It is I, Steve Larkyn," a voice replied. "Oh! Mistress Brooke, I beseech you open the door; they have taken my master!"
Prue flung the door open, and there stood Steve, ghastly pale in the broad moonlight.
"They have taken your master? Then what are you doing here, alive and unhurt?" she cried passionately.
"Madam, what could one arm, and without a sword, avail against a dozen men, fully armed? The captain had but time to say to me, 'Fly—to Prudence!'—your pardon, but those were his words—when they surrounded him and made him prisoner without a chance to defend himself."
"Oh! dear God!" murmured Prue, covering her face with her trembling hands. "It is my fault; if I had left him with Barbara, he would now be safe. I brought him away to his death for a jealous whim! Where have they taken him?" she demanded, looking at Steve with widely distended eyes. "To Newgate? to the Tower? Tell me and I will go to him and share his prison."
"I don't know what they mean to do with him," said Steve, "but they were taking him to Lord Beachcombe's house—"
"Lord Beachcombe! Oh! I see it all! This is no arrest; it is a plot to rob and mayhap to murder him. Lord Beachcombe fancies that he has to deal with a defenseless outlaw and a weak woman. I will show him that there are stronger weapons than swords and bludgeons. I will go instantly to Rodney House."
"Oh! Prue, wait until morning!" implored Peggie.
"And give Lord Beachcombe time to spirit Robin away to some secret dungeon, where I may, perhaps, never find him alive? No! I will go to him at once, without a moment's delay."
"Then I will go with you," cried Peggie. "You can not go to Lord Beachcombe's house alone."
"Can not I? Besides, I shall not be alone; Steve Larkyn will escort me." She turned to Robin's faithful henchman with a wan smile. "One woman is enough for you to take care of; and you, Peggie, dear, will watch for me, so that when I return, I can get in without rousing the house. Believe me, dear," she went on firmly, as Peggie was about to remonstrate, "what I have to do can be better done by myself alone; and I am not timid, as you know."
"But, Prue—what on earth can you do for Robin, by going to Lord Beachcombe in the middle of the night?" Peggie urged, in desperation.
"That remains to be seen," said Prue, with a smile of mystery. "I think I can make Lord Beachcombe set him free, and be grateful for the chance. Come, Steve," and wrapping her mantle closely round her, she drew the hood well over her face, and went out with a resolute step into the street, already growing gray in the early dawn of the May morning.
The courtyard of Rodney House was all astir when Prudence, clinging to Steve Larkyn's arm, stole through the great gateway, and under the deep shadow of the arcade that flanked the main entrance. That was closed, but from a low door a few feet away, a flood of light poured upon a traveling carriage with four horses and a group of mounted men. Without a moment's hesitation, Prue darted past them, ran down a few stone steps and found herself in a large, bare basement hall, where Robin, his dress in some disorder and his hands tied behind him, stolidly confronted Lord Beachcombe in a white heat of fury.
At Prue's sudden apparition a couple of servitors interposed to stop her and Lord Beachcombe, in a voice hoarse with rage, shouted, "Who are these people? What the devil do they want? Turn them out—"
Prue's silvery laugh rang out. "Not so fast!" she cried, flinging back her hood. "I have business of the utmost importance with Lord Beachcombe," and she swept him a mockingly ceremonious curtsey. No lady of the court, not even the great Duchess Sarah herself, was better known than the beautiful "Widow Brooke." The sight of her familiar face seemed to paralyze every one present. The lackeys fell back abashed, Robin gazed at her speechless, and Beachcombe's sallow face flushed with a purple that suffused even his eyeballs.
"Viscountess Brooke!" he stammered. "What in the name—"
"You are surprised?" she interrupted. "To be sure, my visit is somewhat untimely." She came close to him and lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "Did you find what you expected when you searched Captain de Cliffe?" she inquired insinuatingly.
"How do you know I searched him?" demanded Beachcombe.
"Why, when one sees a man with his hands tied behind him and his pockets inside out, it is not unreasonable to suppose that he has been searched. Yet I'll venture to say, Lord Beachcombe, that whatever you found, it was not what you were looking for!"
"How can you know anything about that?" he replied, with dawning suspicion. "Perhaps you know what it was and where it may be found? If so, you must be aware that it has no value except to me—"
"And Captain de Cliffe," she interposed.
"Captain de Cliffe!" he repeated, with a bitter and disdainful emphasis.
"What would you have me call him?" she bent forward and in a whisper suggested, "Robert—Earl Beachcombe?—is that better?"
The blood ebbed from his face, leaving it ghastly with fear and fury. He cast a hasty glance toward the group of men surrounding Robin, and although they were quite out of earshot, he fiercely motioned them to a greater distance. Then he pulled himself together sufficiently to force a sardonic laugh.
"Was it to play comedy that your ladyship honored me with this nocturnal visit?" he sneered.
"Not altogether," she replied. "I came to prevent your harming Captain de Cliffe, and, incidentally, yourself. Now tell me—in confidence—not having found the documents you sought, what do you propose to do with your prisoner?"
"I propose," said Beachcombe slowly, "to hand him over to justice. I believe the—documents—to be lost. At any rate, I am willing to hazard the risk of their recovery in order that this man may receive his deserts as a traitor and a malefactor. After he has been hanged, there will be plenty of time for me to deal with a claim that has no longer a claimant."
"And you really hate him enough to prefer his death to your own safety?" Prue could not repress a shudder at the cold ferocity of his tone.
"What if I secure both?" he retorted, gratified by the effect he had produced. "This man is a traitor and has earned a traitor's death. Although I may not have found what I sought, Ihavefound papers that will send him to the gallows, and give me a claim to the gratitude of the government. Do not trouble further about him, his fate is sealed."
"And how if another claimant, perhaps far stronger, should spring up in his place? How if he leaves a widow?" suggested Prue. "One, for example, able and willing to pursue his claim?"
"I am not uneasy about that," he replied, but his tone was less confident than his words. "I have the best of reasons for knowing that he is not married."
"And you think that having no wife and leaving no—heir—to his claim (you acknowledge that he has a claim) it will cease with his death, because there is no one to pursue it?"
"My dear Lady Prudence, a lawyer could not have put it more clearly! That is exactly his position; I think mine is pretty safe, even if those redoubtable documents should still be in existence. It will then be merely a matter of money—some one will bleed me more or less copiously—but that will be the end of the trumped-up claim of Captain—Freemantle."
"Well, Lord Beachcombe," said Prue, smiling up into his face, "now I ask you, as a favor to me, to liberate Captain Freemantle, and to molest him no further. I will answer for it that he will leave the country immediately and abandon his claim. Surely, you will not refuse a favor that is so hard to ask and so easy to grant!"
Beachcombe laughed unpleasantly. "Come, dear Viscountess," he said, and his tone, though bland, was tinged with insolence, "I know of old your thirst for adventure, but surely it has been slaked by the romantic episode of the queen's necklace and the mysterious spiriting-away of your cavalier—your Knight of the Road—by Barbara Sweeting! The excitement of the affair has evaporated; its novelty has staled. Waste no more of your enchanting wiles on so sorry a subject. I have made up my mind, and even for the sake of the most charming of women, I will not change it."
"Yet I think I may induce you," said Prue undauntedly, "because to my certain knowledge Captain de Cliffe has a wife and those precious papers are in her possession. She knows their value, too, and will only give them up on her own terms. If you will not grantmethis gentleman's life as a favor—will you make a bargain withher?"
Astonishment and doubt struggled with Lord Beachcombe's self-command, but he kept an unmoved face, although an inkling of the truth began to force itself upon him. Not the whole incredible truth, of course, but enough to make him suspect that Lady Prudence Brooke was more than commonly interested in the subject of their discussion.
"And what might be the terms of the bargain?" he demanded, after a brief hesitation.
"You had better settle them with Captain de Cliffe," she said, "and I pledge my word that his wife will agree to whatever will satisfy him."
"I will make no terms with him," said Beachcombe sullenly. "If I listen to any proposition it is entirely for your sake, Lady Prudence, and must come from you and be carried out by you alone."
She reflected a few moments, while he watched her intently.
"This is my proposal," she said, at last. "That you will liberate your captive, giving him such time to reach a place of safety as he considers necessary. And that when you have received the packet you will engage not to take any steps to prevent his leaving the country. In return I promise that his wife will consider the whole matter at an end, and regard the claim as though it had never existed."
"And when I have liberated him and given him every opportunity to elude justice, what security have I that those papers will be delivered to me?" he demanded.
"I myself will be hostage for him. Send Steve with him and when he returns, having left his master in safety, I will hand you the packet. Does that satisfy you?"
Robin, sitting on the corner of a table, a little apart, could only guess from a word here and there that rose above the low-voiced colloquy, that Prue was making terms for him, the conditions of which it was not difficult to divine. Cruelly as it irked him to see her pleading with his bitter enemy for his life, he resisted the strong temptation to interfere, as he certainly would have done, could he have known that she was offering to remain a hostage to this unscrupulous man, until his safety had been purchased by her acknowledgment of their marriage. She was too well aware of that to admit him to the conference.
Lord Beachcombe, sullenly balancing pros and cons, found it no easy matter to decide between the gratification of his revenge upon Robin and the fear of losing what might be his last chance of securing the coveted documents.
It is impossible to say how long he might have fluctuated between two desires equally importunate, but it was at last borne in upon the sluggish current of his intelligence that the certificates were possibly that moment in the possession of Lady Prudence Brooke, who certainly would not hesitate to use them for his humiliation if he exasperated her.
"What will you do if I refuse?" he said at last.
"Then," said Prue, with spirit, "I shall go straight from here to the Duchess of Marlborough and lay the whole story—including thedocuments—before her. She has pledged herself to grant me any request I make of her, and will not consider the life of a highwayman too high a price to cancel her debt to me."
"The duchess is no longer the power behind the throne," said Beachcombe, with a scowl. "If you rely upon her influence—"
"I do not rely upon thatalone," said Prue, retaining her patience with the greatest difficulty; "I will go to the queen herself and plead with her—oh! when I show her my heart, she can not resist the appeal of my prayers and tears—" She forgot for the moment where she was and who was her listener, and in imagination was already at the feet of her royal mistress. Beachcombe regarded the sapphire eyes sparkling through unshed tears and the piteous tumult of the lovely bosom beneath the laces of her ball-dress, and his pulse quickened dizzily.
"If her Gracious Majesty were a king, I think he would give you whatever you were pleased to ask," he breathed. "Ah! Prue—"
"And canyourefuse me, when with a word you can secure my gratitude—my friendship—for life?" She stretched out her hands with a gesture so alluring, and turned upon him a look of such compelling appeal, as might have melted even a colder heart than his. He could not altogether resist her, but he still sought to temporize.
"You have those—that packet?" he demanded.
"Yes."
"Have you examined the contents? Surely woman's curiosity—" The lightness of his words could not veil the anxiety in his voice.
"The seals are still unbroken," she assured him, "and, if you agree to my terms, will remain so until you break them yourself."
"But you know somewhat of the contents? No doubt," with intense bitterness, "Captain Freemantle has given you his version of their importance?"
"Whatever I know about them, Lord Beachcombe, will be forgotten—absolutely—from the moment that Captain—Freemantle—is out of danger."
Beachcombe still hesitated. His curiosity was strongly roused. He had had more than one experience of Prue's unbridled caprice, but this one bewildered him. He could not grasp the only explanation; its improbability baffled him. She had led so many eligible suitors—himself one of them—a lively dance to the very altar-rails; was it believable that this man—outlaw, fugitive, proscribed, penniless—could have won the wayward beauty, and won her so completely that having actually married him, she was ready to sacrifice the future she expected to share, for his present safety?
"How am I to know that his wife, if there be such a person, will keep the promises you make for her?" he said, with his crafty eyes upon her.
"I will answer for his wife—as for myself," said Prue. "Question me no further, Lord Beachcombe, but accept my terms—or refuse them if you deem it more to your advantage."
It is doubtful whether even then he would have taken the decisive step, but for a sudden recollection that flooded his mind with rapture. If Prue were married, Sir Geoffrey had lost his bet, and five thousand pounds, plus a glorious revenge, would fall into the hands of his bitter foe! Unable to conceal his excitement, he seized Prue's hand and drew her reluctantly farther away.
"Tell me," he whispered, "are you his wife? If so, I will make no further demur. For your sake," he added as an afterthought, "I am willing not only to free this—gentleman—but to aid his escape, although, by doing so, I play the traitor to my sovereign."
Prue gazed steadily into his eyes, as though she would read the depths of his mean soul. Then she replied firmly, "I am his wife."
"He is free! I pledge you my word I will not pursue him. Let him go where he pleases; your husband is sacred in my eyes." The sinister light in them was not in accordance with the bland, congratulatory smile that played over his lips, as he turned to Robin.
"The Lady Prudence has proved irresistible, as usual, Captain Freemantle. You are free. Take my advice and use your freedom to put as many leagues as possible between yourself and London.Ishall not pursue you, but there are others who seek your life, on whom the charms of Lady Prue might be exercised in vain. Untie his hands and set him free."
When he was obeyed and Robin had returned his pockets to their proper place, Beachcombe restored their ravished contents, reserving only one object. With his eyes fastened upon that, Robin pocketed his well-furnished purse, his handkerchief and other belongings, and then held out his hand once more.
"Your pardon, Lord Beachcombe, you have forgotten my wallet."
"The contents of that wallet, Sir Highwayman, concern matters of too great importance for either of us to deal with. It shall be placed in the hands of those most interested—when you are out of their reach," was the reply, pompously delivered.
"I can not leave this place without that wallet," said Robin resolutely. "It is worth more than life to me, and rather than purchase my freedom at the price of its surrender, I will remain here, and risk the worst."
"Robin!" cried Prue, in a voice of anguish. "Have pity on me if not on yourself!"
"Would you have me sacrifice a hundred lives to save my own?" said Robin unflinchingly, though pale to the lips. With drooping head she sank upon a bench, her courage for the first time failing. Lord Beachcombe looked from one to the other with a scowl as black as thunder, then with a sudden impulse snatched up the wallet and almost flung it into Robin's hand.
"Go!" he shouted; "go quickly, before I have time to repent my folly, and remember that other swords will soon be thirsting for your life," and he laughed harshly, as he turned abruptly away and walked to the farther end of the hall.
Then Robin approached Prue and taking her hand, said gently, "A thousand pardons, dear Heart of my heart. I must seem an ungrateful churl; but oh! if you could know—I will write—"
"Yes, yes!" she interrupted feverishly; "but now go quickly—every moment's delay is fatal to you—and to me—" the last words were murmured inaudibly. "How soon can you reach some safe concealment?"
"Very soon; in less than an hour," he said. "I leave you in Steve's care; he will conduct you home and protect you with his life."
"First you must take him with you and send him back when you are on the road to safety. I have pledged your precious packet," she said, smiling bravely up at him, "and when Steve returns to say you are safe, I shall give it to Lord Beachcombe. It is the price of your ransom."
"But you—"
"Don't you yet understand," she cried impatiently, "that I am like a cat? No matter where I am thrown, I always fall on my feet. Do not fear for me, but begone, and if you love me, do not attempt to see me again. Farewell."
It was no place for the tender adieux of parting lovers. He pressed her hand passionately to his lips, threw his cloak round him, and with a brief salute to Beachcombe—who took no notice of it—strode away, followed by Steve.
When their footsteps ceased to reverberate under the colonnade, Beachcombe approached Prue with a friendly smile.
"Permit me, dear Viscountess, to offer my congratulations," he said. "You have indeed prepared a charming surprise for your friends—and enemies, if one so adorable could by any possibility have any such."
Her answering laugh had the old ring of sweet, contagious mirth. "Circumstances have forced me to reveal my secret rather prematurely," she said, "but I can trust your lordship's discretion not to share it—with my dear friends—and enemies."
"Oh! we will give your husband time to escape before we impart the joyful news to—Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert, for example!"
Prue experienced an unpleasant shock as he pronounced this name, in a tone of malevolent triumph. This man, who had no cause to love either herself or Robin, evidently purposed using the secret he had torn from her in some hateful scheme of retaliation, of which Sir Geoffrey was to be the victim and executioner.
"Why Sir Geoffrey?" she murmured, half to herself.
"Because I hate Sir Geoffrey," said Beachcombe, with cold bitterness. "He has insulted me and triumphed over me—who can know how so well as you? He has worsted me in a duel and boasts that he will tame the lovely sorceress who has bewitched so many—myself among them—to their undoing. I hate him, and I shall never be satisfied until I see him reft of what I also have lost—impoverished—in a debtors' prison—" he checked himself at the sight of the indignant horror his words had roused. "I can wait, however," he went on, less vehemently. "It will satisfy me, for the present, to feel my power over him, without using it. How can I accommodate your ladyship while you wait for the captain's messenger? You can not wait here; will you honor me by accepting the poor hospitality of my house?"
"I can perfectly well wait here," she replied, reseating herself on the bench. "Your countess would be somewhat amazed to receive a visit from me at five o'clock in the morning—in my ball-dress! Even the Widow Brooke must draw the line somewhere!"
CHAPTER XXVI
PREPARATIONS FOR A JOURNEY
Mr. Moses Aarons sat in his private office. His pen hung idle between thumb and finger, and for perhaps the first time within his memory, his thoughts were very far from post-obit and mortgage. For once something more engrossing than money occupied his busy brain, and calculations more abstruse than compound interest furrowed his brow and contracted his eyes into a glittering line.
A night's reflection, so far from softening the bitterness of his anger against Prue, had intensified it to a pitch that positively shocked him. While he despised himself for the unaccustomed tumult of emotion into which he had been plunged, he was amazed to discover that the desire of possession was vastly augmented by the obstacle which he did not for one moment dream of surmounting. He was too shrewd to indulge in futile hopes, but he was weak enough to crave after revenge.
Only a week ago she had visited him, attempting to obtain a loan on the announcement of her speedy marriage with Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert. Was it possible that only a week had passed since she stood in that very room, indignantly championing one lover and that when she was already married to another? What were women made of, and who could anticipate the caprices of creatures so irresponsible? And yet, who could look into her eyes—those limpid sapphires—and not long to look again? Who could hear the thrilling voice and gushing laughter and not listen ever after for the echo of that divine music? The vision of that lovely face, smiling archly at him over the diamonds he had deemed irresistible, floated before him—sleeping and waking—yet it never occurred to him to claim them back or demand the payment he had refused. More, far more than that was necessary to assuage the fury that raged in his breast.
She had made him suffer, had humbled his pride, befooled him and made him ridiculous in his own eyes. For thatshemust suffer;herpride must be dragged in the dust, and she who had made sport of hearts and reputations must find her own in the pillory of public derision.
The wife of a highwayman—a malefactor who had been sentenced to die for his crimes, and had narrowly escaped the gallows! Married in Newgate Prison by a drunken Fleet-parson—"Lady Prudence Freemantle!" It was incredible! He laughed at the mere idea, a harsh, croaking laugh more evil than a curse. It would certainly be enough to publish such a mad freak, to cover the perpetrator with undying shame. But many considerations restrained him from taking a prominent part in her exposure. Some one else must be employed, some one whom his money could buy, and yet who would not be suspected of too base a motive.
Goodridge was too mean a tool. The indomitable Lady Prudence Brooke would surely find weapons to defend herself triumphantly from so paltry a foe, even could he be brought to attack her, which was far from certain. Aarons' thoughts reverted time and again to Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert. A spendthrift at his last gasp for a guinea, no doubt he had a price, though it might be a high one. The money-lender was no miser. Money he worshipped less for itself than for its influence, and one factor in his successful accumulation of vast wealth, was his intuitive knowledge of when to spend and how. But this was probably the first occasion in his life on which he contemplated an outlay, without counting the cost or discounting the return.
How could he buy Sir Geoffrey, and how could he use him? And in the first place, how could he reach him without arousing suspicion as to his own motive?
Aarons threw down his pen, and leaving word that he would be back in about an hour, went on 'Change, in hopes of diverting his mind by the exciting scenes of "Bubble" speculation, then at its frenzied height. But his mind was out of tune to its ordinary interests, and within the appointed time he returned. At his office door stood a handsome chariot, and with boundless satisfaction, he recognized Sir Geoffrey's liveries.
Within, impatiently pacing the narrow office, he found the man he was so anxious to see.
During the few minutes he consumed in slowly mounting the stairs, Aarons had resumed complete mastery over himself. He was again the smooth, wily, impenetrable man of affairs, equally prepared to baffle the craft of his clients or profit by their lack of it.
"Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert! This is an unexpected honor," he said. "I trust I have not kept you waiting long?"
"Time is always long when one is waiting for so dear a friend, Mr. Aarons," replied Sir Geoffrey, in his jauntiest manner.
"Pray be seated," said Aarons, indicating the only easy chair, and taking his usual place at the desk. "You are well, I can see for myself. How goes the wooing of the fair viscountess?"
"Thewooingspeeds gloriously," said Sir Geoffrey, "but the wheels of Hymen's chariot do not run fast enough to satisfy an impatient lover. Truth to tell, they need greasing, and that quickly. Women are proverbially fickle and I would fain secure my lady while she is in a yielding mood."
Aarons with difficulty repressed a sneer. This fatuity at the same time gratified him and excited his contemptuous amusement.
"The Lady Prudence has great temptations," he said suavely. "I understand that there are several rivals in your honor's way. With high titles and vast fortunes at her feet, I do not wonder at your eagerness to secure the prize before it is snatched from you. Yet without ready money—" he shook his head regretfully as he met Sir Geoffrey's clouded eyes.
"You will not believe in the wealth of old Lady Drumloch without positive proof, I suppose?" the baronet hinted, "yet I give you my word of honor that my information is from a source impossible to discredit. And furthermore, I shall receive five thousand guineas on the day I marry Lady Prudence—entirely independent of the fortune she will inherit from her grandmother."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Aarons. "Five thousand guineas on her wedding-day! I was not aware of this change in her fortunes, and yet," an idea struck him suddenly, "to tell you the truth—this is in sacred confidence between us, Sir Geoffrey—yesterday I returned her ladyship's necklace which I have held as security for moneys advanced a long time ago, and I have reason to know that, although she tried to borrow from me last week, she now has money to redeem her diamonds, and tossed hundred-pound notes about like curl-papers!"
Sir Geoffrey's eyes sparkled. "What did I tell you?" he exclaimed. "Who but Lady Drumloch can have redeemed her diamonds (I saw them on her fair neck last night) and paid her debts? The old lady has done it before, and can do it again. Come, Aarons, open your heart and your purse-strings, and let me have a few hundreds on my note-of-hand, if you will not increase the mortgage. I'll pay you out of the five thousand guineas—that's a positive certainty—the day I marry Lady Prue."
"And suppose—I am bound to be cautious—suppose, by any chance, you should not, after all, marry the viscountess?"
"I will marry her, if I have to carry her off by force!" cried Sir Geoffrey, suddenly savage. "She shall not jilt me, by Heaven! or if she does, no other man shall care to take her afterward!"
Secretly delighted at this outburst of ferocity, Aarons assumed a deprecatory air, and with uplifted hands, entreated his visitor to be calm.
"We all know," he said insinuatingly, "how dearly the ladies love to think that they have been won in spite of themselves. The most tricksey of coquettes may turn out the meekest and most devoted of wives to the man who has the courage to prove himself master. At least, so I have heard, but of course I should not presume to advise so experienced a lady-killer as Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert."
"Well, Aarons, if you will furnish the sinews of war, I will undertake to carry the citadel by storm. A few hundreds for a week or less, and if I fail you may clap me in the Fleet, an' you will, and put everything I possess under the hammer."
Aarons still, for the sake of form, protested, but allowed himself to be coaxed and reasoned into a compliant mood, and finally accepted Sir Geoffrey's note for a substantial sum, on the tacit understanding that, by fair means or foul, the Lady Prudence Brooke was to be made Lady Beaudesert without loss of time.
Leaving the money-lender to gloat over the unexpectedly efficient tool he had found for his vengeance, and to wonder whether Prue would confess her reckless marriage and take the consequences, or defy Sir Geoffrey and drive him to extremities, the latter made his way westward with all speed. Although the hour was still early for social calls, he presented himself at Lady Drumloch's and learning that Prue was somewhat indisposed and had not yet risen, left a message that he would return later, and having still some hours to spare before his parliamentary duties claimed his brief and perfunctory attendance, repaired to the Cocoa-Tree.
With a pocketful of crisp bank-notes, the card-table irresistibly attracted him, and finding, as he expected, a little coterie of congenial spirits, he passed a pleasant and profitable hour or two with the luck steadily on his side. Then, flushed with victory and in something of a boastful humor, he ran almost into the arms of Lord Beachcombe, on his way out.
"Your pardon, my Lord!" he cried, retreating a step, and bowing low; "'tis a pity you were not here sooner. Nat Bedloe and Lord Eustace have been throwing dice, and the ace came up sixteen times running! 'Gad I never saw such a thing before."
"I never throw dice—can't see any sport in it," drawled Beachcombe; "but that must have been worth seeing. Have you been playing? With your usual good luck, no doubt?"
Sir Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. "I must make the most of my few remaining days of bachelor freedom," he said. "I intend to settle down when I am married, and become a model man of family. But I am still a gay bachelor, and very much at your service at the club or elsewhere."
"You forget thatIam already married—and a father, no less!" Beachcombe replied, in his friendliest manner. "Still, I have not entirely given up worldly pleasures. I still book a little wager from time to time, and as my lady has a passion for Ombre, she can not grumble if I still take a hand at écarté or whist. Is your wedding-day fixed? No doubt the marriage of so charming and popular a lady as the Viscountess Brooke will be a brilliant function. All the court will wish to do her honor; perhaps even her Gracious Majesty intends to be present?"
"I fear that the state of her grandmother's health will prevent Lady Prue's indulging her natural desire to shine on this occasion. As the old lady's heiress, of course she can not risk offending her; even at the last minute wills may be changed and fortunes lost for a trifle."
"Ha! is the venerable countess so wealthy as to make her will a matter of importance? Yet she passes for poor, and when I was—when I had the privilege of standing in your present enviable relations to Lady Prue, she assured me—yet these old women are often miserly—no doubt she will give the world a surprise when her hoards are unearthed. I congratulate you upon your prospects! A bride so incomparable and a great fortune to boot! You are indeed the favored of the gods! With such a prize in your grasp, you will scarcely think it worth while to remember our little wager."
"Five thousand guineas will come in very handy to start housekeeping!" cried Sir Geoffrey gaily. His laugh was echoed with a boisterous merriment that startled him like an explosion. Lord Beachcombe was so little given to mirth, his laughter was so noiseless and so rarely responsive to another man's hilarity, that the jovial shouts and gleeful contortions with which he received Sir Geoffrey's retort would have disturbed less susceptible nerves than his.
The sinister sounds rang in his ears all the afternoon as he sat through a dreary debate which did not interest the few members present sufficiently to interrupt the general conversation. What was Lord Beachcombe laughing at? he asked himself a hundred times, with ever-increasing irritation. He was not a man to take the loss of a large sum of money cheerfully. Yet it was impossible for him to have any suspicion of a serious impediment to the marriage. Still, Sir Geoffrey decided that delay was perilous and a secret known to five persons has fifty loop-holes to escape through, so for a vast number of reasons Prue must be induced, by fair means, if possible—but somehow, anyhow—to marry him immediately.
To reassure himself, Sir Geoffrey carefully read the record of the wager and satisfied himself that it merely required him to marry Lady Prudence Brooke within one month of a certain date. There was no stipulation of what kind of marriage it should be, and even should it be contested later. Lord Beachcombe could not repudiate a wager that had been settled, even if the method of winning it were open to criticism. He heartily cursed Robin for failing to be hanged according to reliable calculations, and was even inclined to blame Prue for lack of foresight, but he pooh-poohed the possibility of danger in ignoring the Newgate wedding and the idea of Robin as a serious rival brought a contemptuous sneer to his lips.
At the first opportunity he slipped away and hurried back to Mayfair, where he found Prue and Peggie in a state of pleasurable excitement, and the anteroom thronged with milliners and mercers as in the early times of Lady Prue's lively widowhood.
Surrounded by obsequious tradesmen, anxious to atone for their late importunities by reckless offers of unlimited credit to the reinstated favorite, Prue was in her element. Over her graceful shoulders a chattering, little Frenchwoman draped a filmy scarf, while gloves and ribbons, sacks and "heads," silken hose and rainbow stuffs were spread before her on every side and half-a-dozen voices, raised in laudation of these and other wares too numerous to mention, filled the air with confusion.
Barbara Sweeting, as high-priestess of fashion, criticized, selected, condemned and approved, while Lady Drumloch, installed on her favorite sofa, half-buried in her choicest cashmeres, voiced an occasional opinion in her crisp, decisive way, to which Prue gave more than usual heed.
"A fair day to you, ladies!" cried Sir Geoffrey. "'I faith, I feel like a stag-beetle among the butterflies." He bent over Prue as though examining a trinket in her hand. "Are you choosing the nuptial garments, dearest?" he whispered. "May I have a voice in the selection?"
"What do you think of this?" she replied, indicating a skirt ruffled to the waist and surmounted by full paniers of brocade stiff with silver embroidery. "'Tis the latest from France and vastly becoming to a slender shape. I shall be glad of advice as I have but little time for selection. The queen's physicians have hurried her off to Tunbridge and she is even now on the road. The royal command to attend her there without loss of time reached me but an hour ago, and to-morrow I must follow post-haste, so I am just gathering a few necessaries. Barbara, would you decide on that blue train or do you think the pink stripe will go better with the silver-gray?"
"What are you going to do with that lace flounce?" interposed Peggie. "You ought to trim the silver brocade with it; it is too lovely for a petticoat."
"Lady Drumloch's lace!" cried Barbara, pouncing on it with cries of ecstasy. "I protest 'tis the finest I ever beheld! You should keep it for your wedding-dress, Prue."
Prue glanced at her grandmother, and the slight smile that passed between them caused Sir Geoffrey an uneasy thrill, though he could not have explained why.
"I wish Prue to look her best," said the old lady. "It is a great opportunity for her to be in waiting upon the queen at this particular time. Her Majesty is to be kept very quiet on account of her gout and few people will have access to her; Prue may be fortunate enough to become indispensable, and the queen can be very indulgent to those who win her favor."
"And after Tunbridge there will be a summer at Windsor, I hope," said Prue, "and mayhap a few weeks at Bath—and who can tell what may happen before next winter?"
Barbara, nothing loath, chimed in with various suggestions, by no means calculated to soothe Sir Geoffrey's temper, which by this time was almost out of control. This was what a man might expect who built his hopes on a shallow coquette without a thought above frills and furbelows, and entirely devoid of a proper sense of duty to her future lord! He felt that to subdue her tricksy spirit was a sacred duty, and that any means would be justified with such a laudable aim in view.
"Do you actually leave for the Wells to-morrow?" he inquired. "Is it possible for such elaborate preparations to be so quickly achieved?"
"Why, I must do the best I can," she replied regretfully. "This silver brocade can be fitted to me in a couple of hours. Mrs. Buckram has all her women at work upon a couple of morning frocks and a traveling dress, and with those I must be content. There will be no court at any rate for a few days and I am not journeying into a desert. London is not inaccessible, nor is there a better milliner here than little Madame Prim on Tunbridge High Street. Yes, my post-chaise is ordered for to-morrow morning, and I shall start at nine o'clock if I have to go barefoot and bareheaded."
"Might I be permitted to offer you the use of my chariot? Posting is far from agreeable or safe in a hired rattletrap."
She gave him an arch glance. "A thousand thanks!" she laughed, "but I am growing wise in my old age, and I fear that there would be a rare wagging of tongues should I be known to travel in Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert's coach."
"I regret deeply that no service I can offer is acceptable to you, my dear Lady Prudence," said Sir Geoffrey, with grave dignity. "Yet I pray you to remember that should you find yourself in any unpleasant predicament, there is a sword at your service and a hand not unaccustomed to use it—for that purpose."
Her eyes fell and he was gratified to observe a passing embarrassment in her manner. Taking the propitious moment for his departure, he rose, and while bending over her hand, murmured, "Have you forgotten that you promised me a favorable answer in a week?"
"If I mistake not I said that 'on my return,' I would hope to be ready with my answer. You see for yourself that my return is uncertain; but when it takes place I promise not to keep you in suspense. Do not forget that in the meantime you are free to—"
"Free to blow my brains out, if you drive me to despair," he interrupted, in a low, tense tone. "But not until I have exhausted every other means of bringing you to reason, dear Lady Prue. Tunbridge is not at the other end of the world, and as you may see me sooner than you expect, I will not say farewell, but—Until our next happy meeting!"
Something in his manner restrained the petulant rejoinder that rose to her lips, and she allowed him to kiss her hand in silence. He lingered a few minutes beside Lady Drumloch, inquiring after her health and condoling with her approaching loss of Prue's delightful company, and then, with a few passing compliments to Peggie and a brief skirmish with Barbara, he bowed himself out with consummate aplomb.
"Dear Gossip," said Barbara, when he was out of hearing, "be on your guard; there goes one who will not wear his willow submissively."
"He must wear it as he pleases," she replied, "or not at all if he prefer. I protest I'll not contradict him, if it suits him to say he jilted me."
"Is his successor chosen?" queried Barbara archly. "Do I know him?—is he—"
"There is no successor," Prue interrupted hastily; "no more lovers for me. I am sick of courting and compliments, sick to death of 'hearts at my feet' and 'swords at my service,' and tongues more false than the one and sharper than the other ready and waiting to stab me in the back; or, worse still, in the reputation!"