I must admit that in the conduct of this affair Lord Fylingdale showed both coolness and resolution.
The news that the heiress of Lynn had been abducted spread immediately through the rooms; the whole company flocked to the doors, where Lord Fylingdale stood, calm and without passion, while beside him the old captain stamped and cursed the villains unknown.
He called Molly's chairmen. What had those fellows seen? They said that they were waiting by order; that another chair stood before them at the door, the bearers of which were strangers to them, a fact which at this crowded season occurred constantly; that a gentleman whose name they knew not, but whom they had seen in the streets and at the assembly, mostly drunk, had come out hastily and spoken to these chairmen; that his lordship himself had handed the lady into the chair and closed the doors, to their astonishment, because they were themselves waiting for the lady; and that the chair was carried off instantly, leaving them in bewilderment, not knowing what to do.
He asked them, next, for a closer description of the gentleman. He was young, it appeared; he was red in the face; he looked masterful; he cursed the chairmen in a very free and noble manner; one of the chairmen gave him his sword to wear, which is not permitted in the assembly; he was swearing all the time as if in great wrath.
"My lord," a gentleman interrupted, "the description fits Tom Rising."
"Has Mr. Rising been seen in the assembly this evening?"
"He was not only here, but he danced with the lady."
"Is he here now? Let some one look for Mr. Rising."
There was no need to look for him, because the rooms—even the card room—was now empty, all the people being crowded about the doors.
"Where does he lodge? Let some one go to his lodgings."
"With submission, my lord," said another. "It is not at his lodgings that he will be found. After the assembly, he goes to the 'Rose Tavern,' where he drinks all night."
"Let some one go to the 'Rose Tavern,' then, and quickly. Captain Crowle, we will go to the 'Crown' while inquiries are made. Gentlemen, there is great suspicion that an abominable crime hath been committed, and that this young lady hath been forcibly carried away for the sake of her fortune. I take blame to myself for not making sure that I was placing her in her own chair. This is my business. But I ask your help for the honour of the spa and the company."
A dozen gentlemen stepped forward and offered their help and their swords, if necessary. Among them was Colonel Lanyon.
"Come, then. Let us adjourn to the 'Crown' and make inquiries. Be of good cheer, captain. We will find out which way they took. If they have nothing but the chair to carry her away we can easily catch them up."
"I know my girl," said the captain. "It is not one man who can daunt her, nor will a dozen men force her to marry against her will. If they try there will be murder."
"If we cannot find the way they took, we must scour the country."
At the gates of the garden they learned that the keeper had seen the chair go out, and observed that it was closely followed by a gentleman whom he could only describe by his height, which was taller than the average. Now, Tom Rising was six feet at least.
At the "Crown," in Lord Fylingdale's room, they held a brief consultation, after which the gentlemen who had volunteered their help went out into the town to make inquiries.
In a few minutes they began to return. It was ascertained that Tom Rising was not at his lodging; nor was he at the "Rose Tavern"; nor could he be found at any of the taverns used by gentlemen; this strengthened the suspicion against him. Then one remembered the strange words of the Tuesday night, in which Tom Rising had promised his friends that he would, before the week was done, be the richest man in the county; rich enough to play with them until he had stripped every man as bare as Adam. Those words were taken as mere drunken ravings. But now they seemed to have had a meaning. Where was Tom Rising?
Another discovery was that of the two men belonging to the chair in which Molly was carried off. They were found in one of the low taverns by the riverside, drinking. One of them was already too far gone to speak. The other, with a stronger head, was able to give information, which he was quite ready to do. A gentleman, he said, had engaged the chair, and had given them a guinea to drink if they would suffer him to find his own chairmen. His description of the gentleman corresponded with that already furnished. He spoke of a tall gentleman with a flushed face and rough manner of speech. He knew nothing more, except that two men, strangers to himself, had taken the chair and carried it off.
"Gentlemen," said his lordship, "there can be, I fear, no doubt the abduction of Miss Molly has been designed and attempted by Mr. Rising. Fortunately, he cannot have gone very far. It remains for us to find the road which he has taken."
They fell to considering the various roads which lead out of the town. There is the high road to Ely, Cambridge, and London; but to carry a chair with an unwilling lady in it on the high road, frequented by night as well as by day with travellers of all kinds and strings of pack horses, would be ridiculous. There was the road which led to the villages on the east side of the Wash; there was also the road to Swaffham and Norwich; another was also the road to Hunstanton.
"I am of opinion," said one of the gentlemen, "that he has fixed on some lonely place not far from Lynn, where he could make her a prisoner until she complies with his purpose and consents to marry him."
Captain Crowle shook his head. "She would never consent," he repeated. "My girl is almost as strong as any man, and quite as resolute. There will be murder if this villain attempts violence."
Just then the landlady of the "Crown" threw open the door and burst in. "Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen!" she cried, "I have found out where they are gone. Ride after them. Ride after them quick, before worse mischief is done. I have ordered all the horses in the stables to be saddled. There are eight. Quick! gentlemen, for the love of the Lord, ride after them."
"Quick! Quick!" said his lordship.
"Where are they? Where are they?" The captain sprang up.
"They are on their way. They cannot be there yet."
"But where? Where?"
"Mr. Rising ordered a post-chaise to wait for him at ten o'clock."
"He left the gardens," said his lordship, "about that time. Go on."
"He ordered it at the Duke's Head. The postboy told the ostler his orders. He was to wait for Mr. Rising at 'The Travellers' Rest,' at Riffley Spring, on the way to Wootton."
"'The Travellers' Rest'? What kind of place is that?"
"It is a bad place, my lord—a villainous place—on a lonely road up and down which there is little travelling. It is a resort of pedlars, tinkers, and the like—gipsies, vagabonds, footpads, and rogues. It is no place for a young lady."
"It is not, indeed," said one of the gentlemen.
"Gentlemen," the landlady repeated, "ride after him! Ride after them! Oh! the sweet Miss Molly!"
"Are the horses ready?"
"They will be ready in a minute."
"Gentlemen, there are, you hear, eight horses. Captain Crowle will take one, I will take another. The remaining six are at your disposal. I shall feel honoured if you will accompany me; but on one condition, if you will allow me to make a condition. The man will fight, I suppose?"
"Tom Rising," one of them replied, "would fight the devil."
"One could desire nothing better. The condition is that when we overtake Mr. Rising you will leave him to me. That is understood?"
"My lord, we cannot, by your leave, allow your valuable life to be at the hazard of a duel with a man both desperate and reckless."
"I shall take care of myself, I assure you. Meantime, if I fall I name Colonel Lanyon to succeed me, and after him, should he, too, unhappily fall, you will yourselves name his successor. Gentlemen, we must rescue the lady and we must punish the abductor. I hear the horses. Come."
The postboy, foreseeing events which might require a clear stage, warily drew his chaise off the road, which here widened into a small area trodden flat by many feet, into the grassy field at the side, and stood at his horses' heads in readiness.
The men on the ladder, who were pulling away at the thatch with zeal, stopped their work. "What's that, George?" asked one. "Seems like horses. They're coming after the young lady, likely;" so he slid down the ladder followed by the other, and they ran round to the front, seizing their poles in case of need. At elections, and on the occasion of a street fight, the chairman's pole has often proved a very efficient weapon. Handled with dexterity it is like a quarter staff, but heavier, and will not only stun a man, but will brain him, or break arm, leg, or ribs for him.
"For my part," Molly told me, "I saw them suddenly desist from their work, though in a few minutes the hole in the thatch would have been large enough to admit of a man's passing through. I was waiting within, knife in hand. Do you think I would have suffered one of those fellows to lay hand upon me? Well, in the midst of their work they stopped, they listened, and they stepped down the ladder. What did this mean? There was no window to the loft except a single frame with half-a-dozen small diamond shaped panes too high up to serve any purpose except to admit a little light. I put my head through the hole in the thatch. And I heard—imagine my joy—the clatter of horses and the voices of the horsemen. And then I knew, and was quite certain, that my rescue had arrived. 'Jack,' I said to myself, 'has found out the way taken by this villain, and is riding after him.'"
Alas! I, who should have been riding in the front of all, was at that moment unconsciously sleeping in my bunk aboardThe Lady of Lynn.
"I thought that at such a moment Mr. Rising would be wholly occupied with defending himself. I therefore withdrew the boards from the top of the stair and looked down. No one was in the room below, that I could see. I cautiously descended. In the corner of the settle by the fireplace there was the old woman of the house.
"'They are coming after you, Missy,' she said. 'I knew how it would end. I warned him. I told him that everything was against it. I read his luck by the cards and by the magpies, and by the swallows. Everything was against it. They are coming. Hark! They are very close now, and they will kill him!'
"I ran to the open door. Mr. Rising was in the middle of the road without his hat, his sword in his hand; behind him stood his chairmen. He was not going to give me up without a fight. The postboy had drawn the chaise into the field, and the sedan chair was standing beside it. And down the road, only a little way off, I saw, in the growing light of daybreak, Lord Fylingdale leading, the captain beside him, and half-a-dozen gentlemen following, all on horseback."
"There she is! There is Molly!" cried the captain. "What cheer, lass? What cheer?"
Lord Fylingdale held up his hand. The whole party drew rein and halted. Then their leader dismounted. They were now about twenty yards from the men. He threw his reins to the nearest of the little troop. "Gentlemen," he said, "we must proceed with this business without hurry or bluster, or threats. Mr. Rising will, perhaps, threaten and bluster. We are here to rescue a lady and to punish a villain. Let both be done without the appearance of wrath or revenge. Captain Crowle, do not dismount, I entreat you, until the conclusion of the next act. Miss Molly is, as you see, apparently safe and unhurt."
They obeyed.
"I shall now measure swords with the young gentleman who thinks that he can carry off heiresses with impunity. I would advise you to advance a little closer to the house. He must understand that punishment awaits him, if not from me, then from some other of this company."
"Look at Tom," said one of them. "His blood is up. He is now all for fighting. He means mischief, if ever he has meant mischief. I remember at Swaffham when he fought the young squire of Headingley. That was about a girl, too. A mere worthless drab of a tavern servant. Tom broke down the man's guard and ran him through in half a minute. I wish we were well out of this job."
Tom stood in the road, as I have said, his sword in his hand, his hat lying on the ground before him. If flaming cheeks and eyes as fiery as those of a bull brought to bay mean mischief, then Tom's intention was murderous.
"To thwart Tom in anything," the gentleman went on, "is dangerous; but to take away his girl—and such a girl—to rob him of that great fortune just at the moment of success—would madden the mildest of men. He looks like a madman. Should one warn his lordship? And he has got two chairmen with their poles in readiness. We should ride in upon them before they can do any mischief." So they whispered.
Said Captain Crowle: "Kill him, my lord; kill the villain. Kill him."
"Let me warn your lordship," said the gentleman who had last spoken, "his method will be a fierce attack; he will try to break down your guard."
"I know that method," Lord Fylingdale replied, coldly. Then he stepped forward and took off his hat. "Mr. Rising," he said, "this affair might very well be settled by two or three sailors or common porters. We are willing, however, to treat you as a gentleman, which, sir, you no longer deserve."
"Go on, go on," said Tom. "'Twill be all the same in five minutes."
"I am therefore going to do you the honour of fighting you."
"I shall show you how I appreciate that honour. Stop talking, man, and begin."
"I must, however, warn you that if you are to fight as a gentleman you must try to behave as one, for this occasion only. Should you attempt any kind of treachery my friends will interfere. In that case you will certainly not leave the field alive."
"What do you want then?"
"You must send away those two hulking fellows behind you. I am willing to fight you with swords, but I am not going to fight your lackeys with clubs."
Tom turned round. "Here, you fellows, get off. Go and stand beside the chair. Whatever happens don't interfere. Well, my lord, the sooner this comes off the better."
He laid down his sword and took off coat and waistcoat, turning up the sleeve of his right arm. Then he turned to Molly and saluted her. "Mistress Molly," he said, with a grin, "you are going to have a very fine sight. Perhaps, when it is over you will be sorry for your shilly-shally stand off—no, I won't say it. You're not worth carrying off. If I'd known. Now, my lord."
Lord Fylingdale had also removed his coat and waistcoat, and now stood in his shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, hat-less.
Just at that moment the sun rose swiftly, as is his manner in this flat country. It was as if the sky had leaped into light in order to give these swordsmen a clearer view of each other. They were a strange contrast. Molly's champion erect, pale, and calm; his adversary bent, as if with passion, grasping his sword with eager hand.
"He means mischief," repeated the gentlemen of the troop. "I would this business was ended. I wonder if the noble lord can fight. He does not look afraid, anyhow."
"He looks as if he could feel neither fear nor anger, nor love, nor any passion at all. He is an iceberg. Ha! they are beginning."
They faced each other.
The swords crossed. "Look to yourself," said Tom. "I will spit you like a pigeon."
He stamped and lunged. The thrust was parried, easily and lightly. Tom lunged again, and again, with a slight turn of the wrist, the thrust was parried. But as yet Lord Fylingdale seemed to stand on the defensive.
"He knows how to fence," they whispered. "See! he means to tire his adversary. He parries everything. Tom thrusts like a madman. Why, he exposes himself at every lunge. See! he has lost his head. One would think he was fighting with an automaton who could only parry."
At the door stood the object and cause of the encounter, the girl, namely, who had brought all this trouble upon Tom Rising's head. She stood motionless, hardly breathing, watching the duel, as they say the Roman women used to watch the fight of the gladiators in the amphitheatre, and as I have seen the Spanish women watch the men who fight the bull in their circus. I believe that women, in spite of their tender hearts, are carried away out of themselves by the sight of mere fighting. It is a spectacle which they cannot choose but gaze upon; it shows the true nature of man as opposed to that of woman. He stands up and risks his life, trusting sometimes to his skill, as in a duel with swords, and sometimes to chance, as on a battlefield where the bullets are flying. Molly, therefore, watched the fight with gleaming eyes and parted lips. She was almost ready to forgive the man who had attempted this injury for the sake of his courage, and she could not sufficiently admire his adversary for the cold and impassive way in which he met every furious attack, just with a simple turn of the wrist, as it seemed to her.
Tom was a strong and lusty fellow, and he could fight after his fashion, which was with thrust upon thrust, fast and furious, as if reckless of himself, so that he could engage his adversary wholly in defence until he found a moment of weakness.
He had fought many times, and hitherto without a scratch or a wound, the fight always ending with his adversary lying prostrate before him. On this occasion, however, he found that every thrust was parried; that his adversary yielded not so much as an inch of ground, and that he had to do with a wrist of iron and the eye of a hawk.
"Jack!" said Molly. "I hope that I desired not the death of the young man. But I did desire his defeat. It was splendid to see him stamping on the ground and attacking like lightning. But it was more splendid to see his adversary immovable. He stood like a rock; he showed neither passion nor excitement. He parried every thrust with just a turn of his wrist."
The gentlemen on horseback closed in and looked on holding their breath. There was no longer any fear on account of their champion. For the first time in their lives they saw as fine a master of fence as ever came out of the schools of Paris. Meantime, the other man was as one maddened. He drew back; he roared like a bull; he rushed upon his enemy; he panted and gasped; but he continued the fight undaunted.
Suddenly, his sword flew out of his hand, and fell in the field beside the chaise.
"Pick up your master's sword," Lord Fylingdale ordered the chairmen.
The spectators looked to see Tom run through on the spot. On the contrary, Lord Fylingdale remained in his attitude of defence; he was playing with his enemy. "Take your sword," he said. "You are at my mercy. But take your sword, man; we have only just begun."
Tom received his sword, and wiped off the mud upon his shirt. Then he renewed the attack; but it was with less confidence. That one should refuse to finish the duel when he had disarmed his adversary was a thing beyond his experience.
"Tom is dashed," said one of the company. "It is all over with Tom."
It was. After a few more lunges, parried with the same quiet skill and calmness of manner, Tom's sword once more flew out of his hand. Then the duel was over, for Lord Fylingdale made one thrust and his sword passed clean through the right arm at the shoulder, passing out at the other side. Tom reeled; one of his chairmen ran to his help, and he fell upon the ground, fainting in a small pool of blood.
Lord Fylingdale paid no attention to him. He wiped his sword on the grass, replaced it in the scabbard, and put on his coat and waistcoat. This done, he advanced to Molly.
"Madam," he said, "we are fortunate, indeed, in being able to effect a rescue. This is not a place for a lady, nor is this a sight that one would willingly offer you. I trust that no violence has been used."
"I thank your lordship. It was a horrid sight. Oh! do not let the poor man die. He is a villain, but he has failed. Be merciful."
Then the captain came running up. "Molly!" he cried, with the tears running down his face. "Molly! We are not too late? They haven't married you? The villain is paid. He is paid, I take it. He hasn't married you yet? By the Lord, if he has I will brain him with my cudgel, so you shall be a widow as soon as a wife."
"Captain, can you ask me? The man had a chaise waiting here and would have forced me into it; but I ran into the house, and so to the upper floor, whither he could not follow. He set his men to pull off the thatch. What he would have done next I know not. But I could defend myself."
"What is that in your hand, Molly?"
It was the knife, which she still held in readiness. She threw it away. "I shall not need it now," she said. "What do you think I should have done with it?"
"Molly, I know what you would have done. I said that there was no man in England who could marry you against your will. It was his heart and not his shoulder that would have received the knife. My dear, I knew my Molly. I knew my girl."
Then the other gentlemen crowded round, offering their congratulations, no one taking the least notice of the unlucky Tom, who still lay pale and bleeding on the ground.
It was Lord Fylingdale who came to his assistance. "Here, fellows," he ordered the chairmen, "take up your master and put him in the chaise—so. And as for you," he addressed the postboy, "here is a guinea. Drive as fast as you can back to Lynn. Put him to bed in his lodgings and send for a surgeon or a wise woman, or some one to look after the wound."
"Will he die?" asked one of the bystanders.
"I should think it not unlikely. His wound is dangerous, and if I know anything about a man from his appearance I should say that he would be inclined to fever. But we are not concerned with his fate. Whether he dies or lives, he has attempted a villainous act and has met with a fitting punishment."
The carriage, with the wounded man in it, went rattling along the road, the jerks and bumps among the ruts being enough to keep the wound open and the blood flowing.
Then Lord Fylingdale called the chairmen. "Who are you?" he asked. "Do you belong to the town of Lynn?"
They looked at each other. Then one said, "No; we be from Swaffham. Squire Rising sent for us to do his job."
"Put in your poles. You must now carry the lady back."
"We have done our work," said his lordship. "It remains for us to escort Miss Molly home again. Madam, you can leave this foul den with the consciousness that you are avenged."
"Indeed, I want no revenge."
"Justice has been done. Justice is not revenge. You can now, madam, go back in the chair in which you were brought here. The villain who made the attempt is already on his way back. Since you desire mercy rather than revenge we must hope that his wound is not fatal."
So Molly reëntered the chair. Then she was brought home in triumph. The captain rode on one side; her champion on the other; before and behind her rode her mounted escort. If she had been a queen they could not have shown her greater deference and respect.
The news of the abduction, you may be sure, formed, next day, the only topic of talk in the pump room and the gardens. There are many rumours and reports. Mr. Rising was allowed to be a villain of the deepest dye. He was also allowed to be a gentleman of the greatest courage and resolution. The duel was described with such embroideries and additions as the feminine imagination could invent. Lord Fylingdale was desperately wounded; no, only slightly wounded; no, he was not touched. Mr. Rising was brought home dead, in a pool of blood; no, he was wounded and not expected to live; and so on. He lay, indeed, at his lodgings in a fever, which held him for some days; but being young and strong, and in good health, except that his habit of drinking had inflamed his blood, he recovered, and, as you shall presently learn, escaped from certain toils and snares that had been laid with skill, and were promising success.
I am sorry to say that the opinion of the ladies remained adverse to Molly. It was universally acknowledged that she was a forward minx; that she ought to have known her place; that, had she not given encouragement, Mr. Rising could never have attempted his rash adventure. "She wants to marry a gentleman. Naturally; she thinks that money will buy anything. What is the good of having all these fine things—if, indeed, they are hers—if she is to marry in her own class, a quill driver, a shopkeeper, a tarpauling? As everybody knows, Mr. Rising is a gentleman of good family and good estate; could she look higher? She ought to feel honoured at being carried away by a gentleman. As for any rumour, connecting her with Lord Fylingdale, one would be sorry for the poor wench if that was true, because nothing could be more impossible. Yet the ambition of a girl ignorant of the world may soar to heights incredible, like the soap bubble, only to burst, or the sky-rocket, only to fall ignobly to the ground. It is not likely that his lordship, said to be so fastidious, would bestow a serious thought upon the girl, save as representing the town of Lynn." And so on … with whispers from one to the other at morning prayers, and louder talk in the pump room, and at the confectioner's and in the gardens.
Meantime, the captain made haste to wait upon his lordship, in order to thank him more formally than in the turmoil and agitation of the evening had been possible.
"Captain Crowle," said his lordship, "there needs no thanks. The honour of the spa—of the company—was at stake. Could we look on unmoved when such a crime was committed under our very eyes? Sir, there were with me, as you saw, half-a-dozen gallant gentlemen, all pledged to take my place should I fall. Their swords were as much at the service of insulted virtue as my own."
"You fought a desperate man, my lord. Had you lost hand or eye for a moment, you would now be dead."
"Captain, I do not lose my eye nor my hand. Nevertheless, to die for the honour of such a woman as Miss Molly should be happiness enough for any man."
Said I not that the abduction was the very best thing that could possibly happen to Lord Fylingdale? Whether he understood the captain's ambitions as regards himself, or not, I cannot say. We know, however, that the old man aimed at nothing short of a great alliance for his ward, a dream that was justified by the noble fortune which would go with her. Lord Fylingdale knew, besides, that he himself had made a most favourable impression upon this simple sailor, who believed everything that he was told. And now, by the rescue of the girl, he had not only raised himself still higher in the estimation of the captain, but he stood before Molly as a hero and a fearless avenger of insult and violence. Nothing could have been more fortunate.
"Sir," he added, "if you will carry me to Miss Molly herself, I would offer her my congratulations on the happy ending of her adventure. She is perhaps overcome by the terrors of the night."
"Molly felt no terrors. She had a knife in her hand which might have proved more formidable to the young man than your lordship's sword. But if you will honour my humble house, both Molly and I shall be still more grateful."
Molly was in the kitchen making a beefsteak pie, with her sleeves rolled up and her apron on. "Shall I go to my lord as I am?" she said. "Let me wash my hands and roll down the sleeves at least."
She presented herself, therefore, in her plain morning dress, that in which she performed her domestic work. Perhaps she showed to greater advantage thus than in her silks and jewels.
"Miss Molly, your obedient servant." His lordship bowed as low as if he was addressing a countess at least. "I have ventured to inquire after your health. Last night's adventure may have proved too great a shock."
"I am quite well, my lord, thanks to your bravery and your generosity, which I can never forget—never—not even if I wished to forget."
"Never," said the captain.
"Whenever I hear of a brave man I shall think of your lordship, and whenever I think of a gallant fight, it will be your lordship fighting."
"You think too highly of a simple affair, Miss Molly. Nevertheless, I am proud to have been of service to you."
"At least we must continue grateful, because we have nothing that we can do in return."
"I am not so sure of that." He smiled kindly. "We shall see. Meantime, Miss Molly, there is one thing which you might do to please me."
"Oh, what is that?"
"You wore at your first appearance a large quantity of gold chains and precious stones. I am curious about such gauds. Will you allow me to see your treasures?"
It was an unexpected favour to ask. Molly laughed, however, and ran to fetch the box. She poured out the whole of the glittering contents upon the table. "There, my lord, and if I could venture to offer any of these things that would please you."
He laughed. "You are kindness itself, Miss Molly. But I am not a lady, and jewels are of no use to me. I have, however, at my poor house in Gloucestershire, my family jewels. Let me look at yours."
He sat down and began to examine them closely. Apparently he understood jewels. It was as if he apprised their value. He placed some on one side; some on the other. "This," he said, "is a diamond of the first water. Keep it very carefully. This has a slight flaw, yet, with more careful cutting, it might become a valuable stone. This chain is fashioned by an Indian workman. None but an Indian can make a chain so fine and so delicate. See, it is no thicker than a piece of twine, and yet how careful and how intricate the workmanship! The man's fingers must have been more delicate than our craftsmen can imagine." And so on through the whole of the treasure. "Well, Miss Molly," he said, "there are few ladies, indeed, even of the highest rank, who can show so good a collection. I congratulate you with all my heart. Some day, I hope to see you at court wearing these jewels and bearing—who knows?—a name as honourable as these are precious."
"Your lordship always encourages," said the captain. "You hear, Molly? At court and bearing an honourable name."
She blushed and gathered up her treasures.
Her visitor looked round the room. It was the parlour. The homely appearance of the room, plainly furnished, as might be expected of a man in the captain's position, was strangely inconsistent with the mass of treasure which he had just examined. The plain linsey woolsey of the girl who owned the treasure was also out of proportion, so to speak, for he understood that this glittering pile of jewels represented a vast sum of money, and that the girl was far richer than the poet knew or even the captain guessed. At the mere thought of getting possession of this treasure his blood quickened; but he remained, to all appearance, save for a slight and unwonted colour in his cheek, unmoved. I have never heard, nor can I guess, the value of these jewels, save that they were worth many thousands.
"These jewels," he said, coldly, "should belong to a great lady. They deserve to be seen. They are thrown away, save as portable property, unless they can be used to grace the court. However, … let me hope that they will not be thrown away. I think, Miss Molly, that your mother lives with you in this house. Perhaps this treasure is hers—or is it all your own?"
The captain made answer. "Molly's mother has no share. A modest sum of money, sufficient for her needs, is paid her out of the estate. The rest—all the rest belongs to Molly."
"Truly she is first favourite with Dame Fortune, who, I hope, will not turn her wheel. Miss Molly, will you present me to madam, your mother?"
"With all my heart; but my lord, my mother is not used to being called madam." So saying, Molly retired to the kitchen, and presently returned, bringing her mother with her. She came in red faced from stooping over the kitchen fire, wiping her fingers, which she had hurriedly washed, on her apron, wearing at her side her great housekeeper's pocket, in which she carried a vast quantity of things necessary, useful, and handy, such as scissors, pins, a needle-case, the nutmeg grater, a corkscrew, a few weights, a thread paper, a yard measure, stockings to be darned, a ball of twine, a skein or two of silk, ends of ribbon, fragments and rags of cloth, lint for wounds, a box of goose fat for ointment, and many other articles indispensable for the complete housewife. Jennifer Miller, Molly's mother, was indeed a homely body, low in stature, inclined to stoutness, somewhat short of breath, and, in appearance, exactly what she was in fact, namely, a woman whose whole delight and study was in housewifery. When she was young I have heard that she possessed some share of beauty, as a rosy cheek, red lips, bright eyes, and so forth. But her daughter took after the father, who was a tall and proper man, as those testify who knew him.
His lordship treated her with the respect due to a great lady, bowing as low to her as he had done to Molly.
"Madam, I come to congratulate you on the escape of your daughter. 'Twas providential."
"With your help, sir. Oh! I know a gentleman's modesty. Well, sir—my lord, I mean—we are humble folk, but I hope we know how to be grateful. I said to Molly this morning: 'Look out,' I said, 'among your fine trinkets the very finest thing you've got, and take it yourself with your humble respects to his lordship,' and I would have sent with it some of my last year's ginger cordial to warm the stomach. I warrant it is poor stuff that they give you. Servants don't give their minds to cordials. But Molly wouldn't go. She was never one of your shy and shamefaced girls, neither. 'Go and thank his honour, do,' I said to her, 'What will he think of your manners? Don't leave it to the captain. Go yourself.' That's what I said."
"Indeed, madam, Miss Molly has already thanked me more than enough. I am most fortunate in being of some service to her."
"John," the good lady added, "where are your manners, pray? His honour has nothing to drink. A glass of home-brewed, now, or a little of my ginger cordial? Unless you will take a bottle home with you. Or a glass of Lisbon? We are not so poor as to miss it."
"Nothing, madam, nothing, I assure you." So saying, his lordship, with his most profound bow, quitted the room and the house.
His mind was now made up. There was no longer any doubt possible as to the girl's great fortune. He had satisfied himself in every particular. He knew the value of her fleet, and the income of her business. He now knew the value of her jewels. He would make the girl his wife, provided he could do it without the settlement of her fortune upon herself. There must be no settlement.
What he proposed to do with her after his marriage I do not know. Perhaps he would send her to his country house, from which he had already sold the furniture, the pictures, the books, and everything. It stood, I have been told, in a desert, which had once been a lovely wood. But the wood was felled, and only the stumps were left. There were gardens around, but they had gone to wrack and ruin. The farmers, his tenants, paid their rent to the lawyers; his name was a by-word and a proverb in his own county for mad gambling, for raking, and ungodly living. I say that he might have proposed to take her to this deserted spot, and to leave her there. Or he might have taken her to London, there to associate with I know not what kind of women or what kind of men. It is certain, however, that no good woman and no honest man would consort with the wife of the Earl of Fylingdale. He walked away, however, his mind made up. He would marry the girl if he could get her without settlements. And as he thought of that treasury of precious stones, his unholy heart glowed within him.
Molly went back to the kitchen and resumed the making of the beefsteak pie.
"John," said her mother, "does that young man mean anything?"
"He gives me advice. He knows my design as regards Molly. He is a very virtuous young gentleman, as well as courageous."
"John, do nothing hastily. He did not look at Molly in a way—well, I can remember—what I call a hungry way. Take care, John. Perhaps he only wants her money."
"Why, Jennifer, he is the most fastidious man in the world. Do you think he can be taken with Molly?"
"Try him. Offer him Molly without a farthing. He would turn away. I am sure he would, John. I know what a lover's looks should be. Offer him Molly with her fortune. Ah! then you shall see. John, do nothing rash. Remember, Molly is ignorant of gentlefolk and their ways. I've heard of their ways. Molly is like me; she will expect the whole of her husband, not a part of him."
"Don't I tell the woman that he is a man of the nicest honour?"
"You say so. How do you know, John?"
"Did he not rescue the girl at the risk of his own life? Why, Jennifer, what more do you ask?"
"Ay. That he did. Perhaps he was not willing to let her fortune go to some other man. Molly is worth fighting for. Well, if he means something, why did he go on board the dirty ship with you—and he so fine? Why was he so anxious to know what the girl has in ships and things? Why did he ask to see her jewels if it was not to find out what they are worth? I tell you, John, I could see in his eyes what he was thinking about."
"Ay, ay; trust a woman for seeing into a millstone."
"He was thinking 'Is she worth it?' And he was calculating how it all mounted up. Oh! I saw it in his eyes. John, be very careful. If she is taken from us let her go to a man who will make her happy and then I will bear it. But not among them that drink and gamble, nor make a woman mad with jealousy and sick with fear. John, John, be very careful with that man."
You shall now hear more of the cunning by which this noble and virtuous person—this adornment and boast of the peerage—laid his plans for securing the fortune and the hand of our Molly. He had persuaded the simple old sailor to believe anything he chose to advance; he had shown himself in the eyes of the girl, that which women admire more than anything else in the world, fearless and skilled in fence and ready to fight; he had also shown himself ready to place his courage and his skill at the service and for the rescue of a woman. So far, everything was prepared and in readiness for the next step. But there were certain obstacles still in the way. These he proceeded to remove.
The Lady Anastasia, after the morning prayers, at which she was a regular attendant, generally returned to her lodging, where she sat with her maid engaged in the important affairs of the toilette until dinner.
This day, after his examination of the jewels, Lord Fylingdale was carried to Lady Anastasia's lodging in the market-place.
The Lady dismissed her maid. "You have something to tell me, Ludovick," she said. "I cannot tell from your face whether you are going to deal truthfully. I have had, as you know, a large experience of the other way. Now, what is it?"
"What I have come to say is important. Anastasia, in this matter I have given you my entire confidence. There have been, I own, occasions when I have been compelled—but all that is over. I now confide absolutely in you and in you alone. My interests are yours."
"You have already given me that assurance on other occasions." She implied, perhaps, by these words that the assurance and the fact were not identical.
"What can I give you except my assurance?"
"Nothing, truly. But pray go on. I hear that you have been playing the part of knight errant and fighting for distressed damsels. I laughed when I heard of it. You to fight on the side of the angels? Where are your wings, my Ludovick?"
"The thing happened exactly as I could have wished. The country bumpkin who carried her off had no knowledge of fence. He could only lunge, and he was half drunk. There was a great appearance of desperate fighting—because he was mad with drink and disappointment. I played with the fellow long enough to make a show of courage and danger. Then I pinked him."
"Is he dead?"
"I believe that he is in some kind of fever. Perhaps he is by this time dead. What matters? Well, Anastasia, the result of the affair is that I have now arrived at perfect confidence on the part of my old friend the guardian."
"And with the girl?"
"The girl matters nothing. The first part of the business is done. You can now go back to London."
"Go back to London?" she repeated, suspiciously.
"You have done all I wanted done here. You have given me a very good character; you have charmed the people of the spa; you have flattered the girl and inspired her with discontent. Why should you stay any longer?"
"To be sure I am living at great expense, and the bank is in a poor way. But what are you going to do?"
"Anastasia"—he sat down and took her hand—"I have inquired carefully into the whole business. There is no doubt, none whatever, that the girl is far richer than even her guardian understands. She has a huge income—a great accumulation of money—and, what is more, a collection of jewels which is in itself a large fortune. Go back to London to-morrow or next day; then sit down and write a letter inviting the girl to stay at your house. Bid her bring with her all her jewels and finery. I, for my part, will urge the captain to let her accept the invitation."
"All this is very circumstantial. What then?"
"I will promise the captain to find her a husband—a man of position, a man of rank, and, above all, one as virtuous as myself." He said this without the least blush or even a smile.
"Where is that husband to be found?"
"As yet I do not know. He must be a creation of our own. He must not know; he must simply obey. We shall find such a person somewhere. I have, I believe, a good many of my former friends in the fleet or the King's Bench. Now, Anastasia, to find one of these unfortunates; to offer him an allowance, say a guinea a week, in return for a power of attorney to administer the property. True, there are the creditors; but we might take over the detainers. He must not be suffered to get out." He went on suggesting deceits and villainies.
"You said 'we.' What have I to do with the scheme? It is, you must confess, Ludovick, one of those arrangements or understandings which the world calls a conspiracy."
Lord Fylingdale released her hand. Her words pained his sensitive soul. "If at this time, after all that we have done together, we are to talk of conspiracies, we had better act separately," he said coldly.
"No, I am your servant, as you know. Sometimes your most unhappy servant, but always at your command. Only now and then it pleases me to call things by their proper names. At such times, Ludovick, I look in my glass and I see, not the Lady Anastasia in a company of fashion, but a poor wretch sitting in a cart with her arms tied down, a white nightcap on her head and a prayer-book in her hand. There is a coffin in the cart."
"Anastasia! You are ridiculous. What have we done that all the world would not do if it could? These scruples are absurd, and these visions are fantastic. What is your share? You know that half of mine—all that is mine—is yours as well. You shall have my hand and my name. These you should have had long ago had they been worth your picking up. Alas! Anastasia, no one knows better than you the desperate condition of my affairs."
"Well, I will obey you. I will go back to town. I will go to-morrow. The other partners in our innocency—they will also go back, I suppose."
"They will have done their part—Sir Harry and the colonel and the parson—they will all go back. They cost a great deal to keep, and they have done their work."
"Should I see the girl before I go?"
"Perhaps not. Write to her from London. Invite her to stay with you. For my own part, I will look about me for the man we want. A prisoner—on the poor side—a gentleman; one who will do anything for a guinea a week. The girl will not know that he is a prisoner—it will be quite easy——"
This he said, concealing his real intentions, and only anxious to get this lady out of the way. But he left her suspicious and jealous. That is to say, she had already become both, and this intricate plot of getting a husband from the fleet, and the rest of it, made her still more suspicious and jealous.
At the "Crown" Lord Fylingdale found Colonel Lanyon waiting for him.
"I have inquired, my lord, after Tom Rising. He is in a fever this morning."
"Will he die? What do they think?"
"Perhaps. But he is young. They think that he will recover. What are your lordship's commands?"
"We have stayed here long enough, colonel."
"With submission, my lord. Although business has been very bad, it would be as well to wait for the event in Tom Rising's case. My position is very secure if he recovers. The gentlemen of the company have acknowledged that he forced high play upon me; they are unanimous in that respect. It means over a thousand pounds. If he recovers he must pay the money."
"Yes. In that case it may be best to wait. If he dies——"
"Then, my lord, we know not what his heirs and executors may resolve upon. The feeling concerning debts of honour is, however, very strong among the gentlemen of Norfolk. I am sorry that they are not richer."
"If the man dies you can refer to me, perhaps, as arbitrator with the executors. Meantime, make the best of your opportunities and lose no more money. Lady Anastasia goes home in a few days, perhaps to-morrow."
The man retired. Lord Fylingdale sat down and reflected. The great thing was to get Lady Anastasia out of the way; the rest might stay or not, as they pleased. Yet he would warn them that their departure would not be delayed long. He took pen and paper and wrote to Sir Harry.