"Molly, my dear." The captain's voice was broken. "It is my doing—mine. I am an old fool. Yet I thought I was doing the best for you."
"Nay," said Molly. "It is no one's fault. It is my great misfortune."
"Must he take all?" asked the captain.
"He will take all he can claim," the vicar answered. "Revenge, as well as cupidity, is in his mind. I read it through the cold masque of pride with which he covers his face and tries to conceal himself. He will be revenged. He is like unto Lucifer for pride, and unto Belial for wickedness. Molly, my dear, I fear thou wilt soon be poor indeed in worldly goods. The Lord knoweth what is best. He leaveth thee, still, the friends who love thee."
The mother resumed the lamentations which she never ceased.
"Molly is a widow who cannot marry again—Molly is a wife without a husband. Oh, Molly! My poor Molly!"
"It grieves me sore," said the vicar, "to counsel submission. Yet what could we do? How can we explain this great mystery that he who knew not your change of purpose should in a moment be able to substitute, in your place, at the hour fixed, a woman dressed and masked as had been arranged? There is no explanation possible, and I understand very clearly that this fact outweighs all the evidence on either side. There is nothing to be done. We must submit, saving only your personal freedom, Molly. The man confesses that he has no wish to molest you, and nothing to gain by any molestation. To be sure, without it he can take what he pleases. Your presence, indeed, would be a hindrance and a reproach to his mode of life."
So we talked together, with sadness and heaviness. Yet for one thing I was well pleased; that Molly had not been forced into daily companionship with this man. For that would have killed her—body and soul, if a soul can be destroyed by despair and misery, and cruelty.
"Courage, Molly!" We were on the point of weighing anchor—and we stood on the quay to say farewell. "Things will get right, somehow. Oh! I know they will. I cannot tell how I know. Perhaps we shall find the woman. Then we shall explain the mystery and expose the cheat. Perhaps—but we know not what may happen. As for your fortune, Molly, that is as good as gone; but you yourself remain, and you are far more precious than all the gold and silver in the land."
YOU ARE FAR MORE PRECIOUS THAN ALL THE GOLD AND SILVER IN THE LAND."YOU ARE FAR MORE PRECIOUS THAN ALL THE GOLD AND SILVER IN THE LAND."
YOU ARE FAR MORE PRECIOUS THAN ALL THE GOLD AND SILVER IN THE LAND."YOU ARE FAR MORE PRECIOUS THAN ALL THE GOLD AND SILVER IN THE LAND."
"YOU ARE FAR MORE PRECIOUS THAN ALL THE GOLD AND SILVER IN THE LAND."
So we parted and for five months, until our return, I knew nothing of what was done.
You may easily guess what was done.
First of all, a letter came from London. It was addressed to Captain Crowle, and it called upon him to prepare the books and accounts connected with the estate of Mary, Countess of Fylingdale, for the information of the Right Honourable the Earl of Fylingdale. It was written by an attorney, and it announced the intention of the writer to send down a person—one, Stephen Bisse, attorney-at-law—duly authorised to examine and to audit the accounts, and to make known his lordship's intentions as regards the administration of the estate.
The captain, ignorant of the law, took the letter to the vicar for advice.
"This," said the latter, "may be simply a first step to taking over the whole of the property, or it may be the first step towards a system of revenge and persecution. For if the attorney who comes here to investigate the accounts finds anything irregular, we may be trapped into legal expenses, and heaven knows, what to follow."
The captain, however, had not commanded a ship in vain; for the commanding officer of a ship must keep the log and all the papers connected with the cargo, lading, and unlading, pay of the ship's company, port dues, and everything. He must, in a word, be as methodical in his accounts as any quill driver ashore.
"He may examine my accounts as much as he pleases," he declared. "They are all right."
"Nevertheless, friend, be advised. Place the whole business in the hands of one who knows the law. In the end it may be far cheaper."
In every port there must be one or more persons skilled in that part of the law which concerns trade and commerce, imports and exports, customs, excise, and harbour dues. At Lynn there was such an one, attorney and notary; a man of great probity and responsibility—Mr. Nathaniel Redman by name. To him the captain entrusted the papers of the estate. These papers, which had been accumulating for eighteen years, and represented the increase and the administration of a very large estate, were now voluminous to the highest degree. The mere perusal of them would entail the labour of many attorneys for many weeks, while the audit of the whole, bit by bit, would engage the same persons many months, or even years.
"The Earl of Fylingdale will have the accounts audited, will he?" said Mr. Redman. "Then his lordship is in no immediate want of money."
"Why? Cannot he take what he wants?"
"Sir, you are the lady's guardian; you have to be released from your trust before you hand over the property. Without such a release you will keep the whole. That means, that his lordship must wait for the long and tedious business of a complete audit. I say long and tedious, because, if the examination of accounts is undertaken in a spirit of hostility, we can raise in our turn objection after objection by going back to the commencement of the trust. In other words, captain, if your papers are all preserved, which I doubt not, we shall be in a position to delay the acquisition of the estate by the earl almost indefinitely."
"But at whose charge?" asked the vicar. "For the captain has no means of paying heavy expenses."
"At the charge of the estate. Oh! sir, do not think that an attorney of London, to say nothing of myself, would embark upon so large a business save at the charge of the estate itself."
"It is, then, in your interest to prolong this examination into the accounts?"
"It is, most certainly, in the interest of this gentleman from London and of myself; but," he sighed heavily, "if all reports are true, I do not believe that Lord Fylingdale will prolong the inquiry."
The person who was promised presently arrived with his credentials. He was quite a young man, apparently about two or three and twenty; his letter to Captain Crowle described him as an attorney-at-law. He was quick of speech and of the greatest possible assurance in manner. In appearance he was small of stature, pasty-faced, and with a turned-up nose, the possession of which should be regarded by the owner as a misfortune and personal defect, like a round back. It is said, on the other hand, to be an indication of great self-conceit.
He came, therefore, was set down at the "Crown," and inquired for the residence of Captain Crowle, on whom he called without delay.
The captain received him in his summerhouse. He read the letter, introducing and describing him. Then he laid it down and looked at his visitor cursorily. "Oh!" he said, "you are the attorney of Lord Fylingdale, are you, and you want to make an audit of my accounts? You've come all the way from London on purpose to make that audit, have you? Well, sir, you will carry this letter to Mr. Nathaniel Redman, and you will give it to him."
"Who is Mr. Redman? I know of no Redman in this business."
"He is an attorney-at-law, like yourself, young man, and he is a notary, and this job is turned over to him."
"Oh! I understood, Captain Crowle, that I should confer with you personally."
"Did you so? Well, sir, if you will see Mr. Redman you can confer with him instead. The job is his."
The captain, in fact, had been warned not to make any communications or to hold any conversation with the attorney. He felt himself only safe, therefore, in repeating that the job was Mr. Redman's.
"We may, however, come to some preliminary, Captain Crowle. The estate now——"
The captain waved his hand in the direction of the garden door. "The job, young man, is Mr. Redman's. There is your letter. Take it to him."
Mr. Bisse accordingly retired and repaired to the office and residence of Mr. Redman—to whom he gave his letter.
"We shall have no difficulties, I presume," he said.
"I hope not."
"Of course, I know the law in these matters—I can direct you——"
"Young gentleman"—Mr. Redman was well stricken in years—"I could direct your father. But go on. You will proceed in accordance with your powers. I shall take good care that you keep within your powers. Now, sir, what do you propose?"
Mr. Redman spoke from the commanding position of an armchair before a large table; he was also a large and imposing man to look at while Mr. Bisse stood before him, small and insignificant, his original impudence fast deserting him. As for Mr. Redman, his professional pride was aroused; this young Skip Jack dared to directhimin matters of law, did he?
"I am, I confess," said Mr. Bisse, "disappointed to find that my noble client's advances are received with suspicion. I hoped that Captain Crowle would have met me in a spirit of confidence."
"Come, sir, between ourselves what has your noble client to complain of? He sends an attorney here. Captain Crowle meets him in the person of an attorney."
"Well, it matters not. Captain Crowle has, no doubt, reasons of his own for his action. We must, however, since we are men of business as you say, demand an exact audit. The interests involved are, I understand, very considerable?"
"They are very considerable."
"I shall, however, ask for an advance of ten thousand pounds to be made to his lordship on account."
"An advance? The guardian to advance money before you have audited the accounts? My dear sir, are you serious?"
"You admit that there will be a great deal more than £10,000."
"I admit nothing that is not proved."
"Then you refuse to give my client anything?" His air of assurance began to desert him. In fact, he had been especially charged to open the proceedings by demanding such an advance.
"We refuse to do anything illegal. The papers will show the extent and the nature of the estate. You can then claim the whole. But you must first send in your claim and be prepared with the release."
Mr. Bisse hesitated. "My instructions are to demand a strict scrutiny of all the accounts."
"They are waiting for you. Would you like to see the papers?" Mr. Redman led him into an adjoining room where on shelves and on the tables the books and papers were laid out in order—tied up and labelled. "My clerk," said Mr. Redman, "will go through these papers with you. I shall look on."
"All these papers?" Mr. Bisse gazed with dismay upon the piles before him.
"You will have to peruse, to examine, to pass every scrap of paper in this room. Captain Crowle, sir, is the most methodical man in the world."
"All these papers? But it will take months."
"Years, perhaps. You have your instructions."
"Sir," said Mr. Bisse, crestfallen, "I must write to my principals for further instructions."
"That will probably be your best course. Good-morning, sir."
Mr. Bisse wrote accordingly. Meanwhile he made another attempt to assert his authority. He went to the quay, looked about him with satisfaction at the proofs and evidences of brisk trade, and entered the counting-house where the clerks were at work.
"My name," he said pompously, "is Bisse, Mr. Stephen Bisse, attorney-at-law. I am here as attorney for the Right Honourable the Earl of Fylingdale."
"What do you want?" asked the chief clerk.
"You will at once show me your ledgers, your day books, and the books used by you in your daily business."
"You must go to Mr. Redman, sir. His office is beside the customhouse. Without his permission we can do nothing for you."
Mr. Redman had been before him, you see.
"You refuse me, at your peril," said Mr. Bisse. "I am——"
"You will go out of the counting-house, sir," said the chief clerk, "and you will leave the quay. We take our orders from Mr. Redman in place of Captain Crowle."
So Mr. Bisse departed. He walked from the quay to the Common Stathe, and there, looking at the ships lying moored in the stream, he asked a waterman if by chance any of them belonged to Captain Crowle.
The man pointed to one. "Then," said Mr. Bisse, "take me to that ship."
Mr. Redman had been before him here as well. He climbed up the ladder and was about to step on the deck when the mate accosted him.
"What is your business, friend?" he asked.
Mr. Bisse replied as he had done in the counting-house.
"Well, sir," said the mate, "you can't come aboard here. Strangers are not allowed aboard this ship without an order from Captain Crowle or Mr. Redman."
So, Mr. Bisse had to go ashore again.
He found, I fear, the town of Lynn inhospitable. In fact, everybody was in favour of Molly, and the name of Lord Fylingdale stank. No one would speak to him. He wandered about waiting for a reply to his letter asking for further instructions in a disconsolate and crestfallen spirit, very different from the confident assurance which he had shown on his arrival.
His new instructions reached him in about ten days. Again he waited on Mr. Redman.
"Well, sir?" asked the latter. "You are come to direct me in matters of law?"
"I have received new instructions," the young man put the question aside, "from my principals. They are to the effect that if you will draw up for me a schedule of the whole estate, I am to forward it to London, and to receive orders thereupon as to what part of the accounts I must specially examine."
"Sir, at the outset I refuse to accept anything but a general release. You will represent to your principals that every part of this complicated estate is involved with the whole transactions which precede it. That is to say, every purchase of a farm or a house has to be made by combined savings from every source of income, consequently, any special line of investigation will necessitate a wide and prolonged examination."
"I perceive that you are determined to give us trouble."
"Not so, sir. We are determined to resist persecution. Your instructions, if I understand them aright, were to fix upon Captain Crowle some difficulty, and, if possible, to accuse him of malversation." Mr. Bisse changed colour. That was, in fact, the secret instruction. "Now, sir, we have all our papers in order, and you will find it impossible, while I stand at your elbow, to discover or to invent a loophole. At the same time, I shall prolong the investigation if you once enter upon it as much as possible. You may inform your principals of this, and you will return as soon as you have further instructions."
"Will you not, at least, prepare a schedule of the property?"
"Certainly. You shall have this prepared in readiness for your next visit, which will be, I suppose, in another ten days. I hope you find your stay pleasant."
"No, sir, it is not pleasant. At the inn the people are barely civil, and I am treated everywhere as if I were a Frenchman."
"No; not a Frenchman, but the attorney of Lord Fylingdale."
Mr. Redman addressed himself, therefore, with the aid of the captain, to the schedule. The estate was far greater than he had anticipated.
"Why," he said, "you are surprised that a noble earl should marry this girl for her money. Had the world suspected the truth, there would have been an abduction every week." He then proceeded to go through the long list of lands, houses, mortgages, money lying idle, jewels, and everything. "The only charge upon the estate seems to be an annuity of £150 a year for the mother. What money have you taken for maintenance?"
"Why, none."
"None? Did the girl live on air? And what for your own services?"
"Nothing; we lived rent free. It is Molly's own house; and her mother's money kept the household."
"Well, but—captain—the thing is incredible. You have conducted the whole business from the death of Molly's father to the present day actually for nothing."
"It was for the little maid."
"Captain, you have acted, I dare say, for the best. But with submission, you have acted like a fool. However, it is not too late to remedy. I shall charge the estate, which will now become Lord Fylingdale's, with £300 a year, your salary for administering the estate and for managing the business. It will be impossible to refuse this claim, and I shall set down £150 a year for maintenance of your ward."
The captain stared. Here was a turning of the tables, with a vengeance.
"The claim is just, reasonable, and moderate. I shall not advance it as a thing to be objected to. You will, meantime, go through the accounts; take out £450 a year; this for eighteen years, would be £8,100; but the money must be considered as used for investments. You will therefore set apart £450 a year, and as soon as that amounts to a sufficient sum to be represented by an investment, you will set apart that piece of property as your own. This will represent a much larger sum than £8,100. Your ward will not, after all, be left penniless, if you bequeath her your money. Ha! the young man is going to directmein matters of law—me, is he?"
In fact the captain was so simple that it had never occurred to him that he could take a salary for his conduct of the business; or that he could ask for an allowance for the maintenance of his ward, and this timely discovery by the attorney in the end saved Molly from poverty and left her still, in comparison with most girls of the place or of the county, a very considerable heiress.
When Mr. Bisse, a few days later, arrived with his instructions, he found drawn up for him a statement for the eighteen years of the captain's trusteeship. On the working side of the account was shown a charge of £150 a year as provided by the will of Molly's father for his widow for life; a similar sum for the maintenance of the ward, and a salary of £300 to Captain Crowle for managing the business in the name of the firm as shippers and general merchants. Mr. Stephen Bisse, by this time, had quite lost his assurance. He attempted no objections. "I suppose," he said, "you will allow me an inspection of the books."
"Certainly. You will, however, find them difficult to make out. Are you acquainted with the routine work of a counting-house?"
Mr. Bisse owned that he was not. "I shall be asked," he said, "if I have examined the books."
"You shall examine what you please." Mr. Redman understood by this time the character of this young attorney. "The chief clerk of the counting-house shall be with you to answer any questions you please to ask."
He had come to Lynn, you see, by order of his principals, instructed that the guardian was an old addle-headed sailor, whose accounts would certainly prove liable to question and very likely open to dispute and to claims; he was aware that the noble client desired nothing so much as to ruin this old sailor; that he was also in great necessities for want of money; and that he was anxious, for some reason unknown to his attorney that the question of the validity of the marriage should not be raised or tried in open court. But he had been met by a man of law and by accounts of a most complicated kind, and by the direct refusal to part with any money until a final release had been obtained for the guardian. He, therefore, referred to his principals twice. On the second occasion he was told that his lordship could not wait; that he was to guard against fraud by such an examination of the books as was possible; that he was to get rid of the guardian, grant the release if the accounts allowed him to do so, lay hands on all the monies available, and report progress.
This, in short, he did. The amended schedule reserved property amounting in value to £450 a year as invested year after year, and therefore at something like compound interest, so that this deduction gave the captain personal and real property representing some £12,000. The rest was acknowledged to be the property of the ward, and therefore, assuming the marriage to be valid, under the control of my Lord Fylingdale.
The auditor went to the counting-house and called for the books. He opened one or two at random; he looked wise; he made a note or two, for show; he asked a question or two, for pretence, and he went away.
This done, he repaired to Mr. Redman's office again and tendered a full release to Captain Crowle for his trusteeship. The document, in which Molly was called by her maiden name, and not by that of the Countess of Fylingdale, when it was signed and sealed, rendered the old man free of any persecution; but it left the estate entirely in the hands of the pretended husband.
"You are aware, sir, of course," said Mr. Bisse, "that this release accepted by Captain Crowle, also accepts the truth of my client's statements as regards his marriage."
"We are not going to dispute the fact. We have our opinion, but the weight of evidence and presumption is against us. As his lordship only wants the fortune he can take it. May I ask what you are instructed to do about it?"
"My instructions are first to receive all monies in hand, save what is wanted for current expenses in conducting the business."
"You will see what Captain Crowle has in his strong room. You can take that money to-day if you please."
"And next, all the jewels, gold chains, bracelets, etc., belonging to the countess."
"You can have them also."
"As regards the lands, houses, mortgages, and the business, my lord will consider what is best to be done. I am directed to find some person of integrity in the place who will receive the rents and carry on the business. I fear I cannot ask for your assistance."
"You can, and may. It is still our interest that the affairs of the firm shall be well managed. The chief clerk in the counting-house is the best man you can appoint. He now receives £90 a year. You can give him what the captain had, £300."
"I do not know how long the arrangement will last."
"You mean that your client will probably waste and squander the whole."
"I desire to speak of that nobleman with respect. He is, however, in expenditure even more profuse than becomes his high rank."
Molly shed no tears over the loss of her jewels. She brought the box down with her own hands; she opened it, took out the contents to be verified by the inventory, shut and locked it, and gave the attorney the key. The captain led him downstairs to the cellar, in a wall of which a cupboard had been constructed, which, with a stone in front, removable with a little trouble, formed a strong room. Here were the boxes of guineas waiting to be invested or employed. I know not how many there were, but Mr. Bisse carried all away with him.
When he departed the next day for London he was escorted by four stout fellows armed with cudgels and pistols riding beside his post-chaise. However, he reached London in safety and delivered his prize.
"I wonder," said Mr. Redman, "how long it will be before instructions come for the foreclosing of the mortgages and the sale of the property."
"I am doubtful after all," said the vicar, who always doubted because he always saw both sides of the question, "whether we have done rightly. We could have made a good fight, and we could have proved, at least, that Lord Fylingdale was in desperate straits for money."
"Jack was right," said Molly. "Nothing can be done until we find the other woman."
These things happened soon after my departure. When six months later I returned home I found that many things had followed.
First of all, the chief clerk, promoted to the management of the estate under orders from London, found himself in no enviable position. He was called upon to send up money week after week—my lord wanted a hundred—five hundred—one knows not what, and must have it without delay. If there was no money, then all outstanding accounts must be collected, mortgages must be foreclosed; but where credit has been allowed it is not possible to collect accounts suddenly, nor can mortgages be foreclosed without due notice given. Then the houses must be sold; but in a place like Lynn, which has more houses than it can fill, it is not easy to sell a house, and the price which can be obtained is small indeed compared with the value of houses in London. Then farms and lands must be sold. But who was there to buy them?
Then came letters of rebuke, answered by letters of remonstrance. Money must be raised somehow; money had been advanced on the security of Molly's property; my lord was in difficulties.
It is almost incredible that a man should be able in so short a time to waste and dissipate so large a sum of money. When we returned, and I went ashore, the first person I saw was the unfortunate chief clerk, promoted to be manager.
"Mr. Pentecrosse," he said, "little did I think when I was put into this charge at a yearly salary of £300—more than ever I hoped or dreamed of getting—what a peck of trouble was waiting for me. Little did I understand, sir, how the great live; with what profusion, with what extravagance! As for that poor young lady—heaven help her, for her property is vanishing fast! Soon there will be none. I have no right to talk of my employer's affairs; but you know what has happened."
"In a word, Lord Fylingdale is getting through Molly's property."
"Worse than that; he is throwing it away. Sir, I wake in the night with dreams of terror. I think I see a man plunging his hands into a sack of gold and throwing it about with both hands. I have been ordered to foreclose mortgages, to sell houses, to sell farms, to sell everything. When I cannot find a purchaser there come letters from my lord's attorneys, Bisse and Son—the young man was here himself with peremptory orders to find a purchaser—any purchaser. Money must be had."
"Well, there will be, I suppose, an end some time or other."
"The end will come before we look for it. Because, Mr. Pentecrosse, while the profusion goes on the estate grows less, and it becomes more difficult every day to answer their demands."
"What is left?"
"I hear that Miss Molly's jewels were carried away by the young man. I hope he was honest, and kept none for himself. I know that the captain had a large sum of money in his strong room waiting for a mortgage; that went away with the young man. Since then I have sent up all the money as it came in. I have foreclosed the mortgages. Some of the mortgagors could not pay, and are now bankrupt. The captain would never press his people so long as they paid the interest. I have been able to sell some of the farms; but you know this country, Mr. Pentecrosse; there is not much money among the gentry of these parts; they have been sold at a sacrifice; I have others in the market; there are houses, also, but no one will buy them. Well, all will soon be gone. Then there will remain but one asset out of all the magnificent property of the work of three generations. Miss Molly's grandfather, and her father, and herself by means of the captain—only one asset."
"What is that?"
"And soon that will go, too," he replied with a hollow groan. "Sir, it is the noble fleet and the great business which belongs to the fleet. If the ships are sold——"
Suddenly I remembered my lord's question on boardThe Lady of Lynn. "Can," he asked, "a ship be sold like an estate of land?"
"They will be sold," I said, confidently. "You may look to have them sold as soon as the other assets are expended. The last thing to be sold will be the fleet of ships, and the business which belongs to the ships."
"And what will become of me?"
"Why," I said, "somebody must manage the business. Why not you, since you have been all your life in it, and know what it means and how it is conducted? But who will buy it?"
"Not all the merchants of Lynn together could find the money to buy these ships and to carry on this business. No, sir, the whole must go to strangers."
I left him, having given him the ship's papers, and went on to see the captain and Molly.
"Jack," she said, ruefully, "you promised when you went away that there would be a change. None has come, except a change for the worse. But that we expected."
"In other words, Jack," the captain explained, "everything that happens must happen before very long, or there will be nothing left. My lord is spending at such a rate as no fortune could stand. What does he mean? When it is gone will he find another Molly and marry her for her money? There is not in all the land another Molly—not even for her good looks, let alone her fortune."
As for good looks, her misfortunes had only improved poor Molly's face which was now of a more pensive cast and had lost some of its youthful joyousness. To be sure she had little to make her joyous.
I observed, and I understood, that she was dressed with the utmost simplicity, like a farmer's daughter. For, outside, the people spoke of her as the countess, even while they accepted her story and did not allow her to be married. She would, at least, present no external sign of the rank which she denied.
"How does the man spend all this money?" I asked.
"Thank heaven, Jack, a plain person, like you and me, cannot answer that question. How does he spend that money? Who knows? He has had, since he began, six months ago, a great many thousands. If he has sold the jewels he has had I know not how many more, and still the same cry—'send more money—send more money, my lord wants more money without delay.' As for that poor man, lately my clerk, he is driven like a slave and bullied like a raw recruit. He wrings his hands. 'What shall I do, captain?' he asks. 'What shall I do? Whither shall I turn?'"
Then there came into my head the thought that I might somehow, by going to London find out what manner of life was led by my lord and in what ways he wasted and scattered Molly's substance. I could do nothing to stop or to hinder the waste; yet when one knows the truth it is generally more tolerable than the uncertainty—the truth is an open enemy which one can see and avoid, or submit to, or fight; the unknown is an unknown and an unseen enemy who may attack from any quarter and by any weapon.
I thought over the plan for some days; it assumed clearer shape; it became a purpose. Molly, for her part, neither approved nor disapproved. She was for letting the man, who pretended to be her husband, work his wicked will and do what he pleased, provided that he left her in peace.
How was a simple sailor to find out the daily life of a great lord? The backstairs one would not choose; but what other way was there? I laid the matter before my father and the vicar. "I know not," said the latter, "that we can do much good by learning the truth, even if we ascertain all the particulars of the man's life from his very companions, but you might satisfy us on certain points. For instance, about that mysterious woman. I know not how you can find out anything, but you might possibly chance upon a clue."
"Go," said my father, "to my cousin, the bookseller. He found out something about Lord Fylingdale's character. He might find out more. You can at least explain what you want and why."
The end of it was that I went to London, riding with a small company, and meeting with no adventures on the way; that I put up at one of the inns outside Bishopsgate, and that I found out my cousin and put the whole case before him. He was a grave and responsible citizen, a churchwarden, and of good standing in the Stationers' company.
"You want to know how Lord Fylingdale spends his money. I suppose there are but two or three ways; of profligates, I take it, there are only a few varieties; one games; another rakes; a third surrounds himself with companions who flatter him and strip him. The first two are possessed of devils; the third is a fool. I do not imagine that my Lord Fylingdale is a fool, but you will probably find that he is possessed of both the other devils, and perhaps more."
"But how am I to find out?"
"Why, cousin, I think I know a young fellow who can help you in this business."
"Who is he? How shall I approach him?"
"He is a gentleman who lives by his wits; not one of the ragged poets who haunt our shops with offers and projects and entreat work at a guinea a sheet. No; he is a gentleman, and a wit; his father was a general in the army; his cousin is a noble lord; he is received into the houses of the great when he chooses to go. He works for the theatre, and has composed several pieces said to be ingenious. As for his acquaintance with me, I would have you to understand that with two or three other booksellers we bring out a weekly essay like those of theSpectatorandTatler, which, of course, you know."
"I never heard of them."
The bookseller smiled with compassion. "To be sure; at sea there are no books. Well, cousin, this young gentleman sometimes, when he is in the humour, will write me an essay in the true vein of an Addison. I will speak with him. If any one can, he can do your business for you."
It was by the kind offices of this gentleman, whom I found to be a person of quick wit and ready understanding, besides being of a most obliging disposition, that I was enabled to see, with my own eyes, an evening such as my lord loved. As for the details, you must, if you please, hold me excused. Let it suffice that our observations began at a gaming house and ended at a tavern. At both places I kept in the background, because I would not be recognised by Lord Fylingdale.
He came into the gaming table with the same lofty, cold carriage which he had shown at our humble assembly. He advanced to the table; he began to play; no one could tell from his lordship's face whether he lost or won; in half an hour or so my friend returned to my corner. "He has lost a cool five hundred. They are whispering round the table that he loses hundreds every evening. All the world are asking what gold mine he possesses that he can stand these losses?"
"I know his gold mine," I replied, with a sigh. "But it is nearly exhausted."
We stayed a little longer. It was about ten or eleven in the evening that his lordship left the table.
"Come," said my friend. "I know the tavern where he will spend the next three or four hours. I can take you there. The bowls of punch and the company and everything are provided at his lordship's expense. Mr. Pentecrosse, it must be not a gold mine, but a mine of Golconda, to bear this profusion."
"I tell you, sir, whatever it is, the mine is nearly run out."
"It will not be bad for the morals of the town when it has quite run out."
As regards the tavern and its company it is, indeed, astonishing to me that any man should find pleasure in such a company and in such discourse. At the head of the table sat my lord. He appeared to be neither pleased nor displeased; the drink flowed like a stream of running water; it seized on all and made their faces red, their voices thick; the noble leader sat unmoved, or, if moved at all, then by a kind of contempt. At two o'clock he rose and walked out into the street, where his chair awaited him.
"This is his humour," said my guide. "Play is his passion; it is the one thing that he lives for; he has wasted and ruined his own estate, which will be transmitted to his successor as bare as the back of my hand; and now he is wasting the wealth of Potosi and the diamonds of Golconda. He would waste the whole world if he could."
"Why does he entertain such a crew?"
"It is his humour. He seems to delight in observing the wickedness of the world. He sits and looks on; he encourages and stimulates, and his face grows colder and his eyes harder. This man is not possessed of a devil. He is himself the Great Devil—the Prince of Iniquity."
So I had learned all that I wanted to know. It was now quite certain that we were within a short distance from the end. The lands and houses in the market would find a purchaser; the fleet and the business would then be sold. What next?
The day after this experience in the life of a rake I paid a visit for the first and only time to St. James Park in the afternoon. It was, I remember, a cold but clear and bright day in January. At the gates stood a crowd of lacqueys and fellows waiting for their ladies, and stamping on the ground to keep off the cold. Within, a goodly company walked briskly up and down. They were the great people of London whom I saw here. While I looked on admiring the dresses of the ladies and the extravagances of the gentlemen, who seemed to vie with each other in calling attention to themselves by their dress and by their gestures, there passed me, walking alone, a lady whom at first I did not recognise. She started, however, and smartly tapped my hand with her fan—she carried the fan although it was winter, just as the beaux dangled their canes from their wrists.
"Why," she cried, "it is my sailor! It is surely Jack Pentecrosse!"
Then I recognised the Lady Anastasia.
"And what is Jack Pentecrosse doing in this wicked town? And how is Molly—the countess? Come, Jack, to my house. It is not far from here. I should like a talk with you, and to hear the news. And I will give you a dish of tea. Why, I left Lynn in disgrace—did I not? On account of the grand jury of Middlesex. It was that evening when Lord Fylingdale turned upon his enemies."
Her house was not very far from St. James's Street. As we walked along, she discoursed pleasantly in her soft and charming manner, as if she was made happy just by meeting me, and as if she had always been thinking about me.
She placed me in a chair before the fire; she sat opposite; she pulled her bell rope and called for tea; then she began to talk about Lynn and its people.
"Tell me, Jack, about your friend Molly. Is she reconciled to her rank and title yet? I believe that she does not live with her husband."
"She denies that she was married."
"Ah! I have heard, in fact, that there is some sort of a story—a cock and a bull story—about the wedding."
"Another woman was substituted. Molly was at home."
"Another woman? Strange! Why was she substituted? Who was she?"
"I know not. The matter is a mystery. Certain it is, however, that Lord Fylingdale was married. I myself saw the wedding. I was in the church."
"You were in the church?" She raised her fan for a moment. "You were in the church? And you saw the wedding. Who was the bride?"
"I do not know. At the time I thought it was Molly."
"Jack," she leaned over, looking me full in the face. "Have you no suspicion?"
"None. I cannot understand how, all in a moment, and when he found that Molly was not there, the bridegroom found means to substitute another woman dressed as Molly should have been. I cannot understand it."
"It is, as you say, strange. Do you think you will ever find out?"
"Why not? There are three persons in the plot—Lord Fylingdale, Mr. Purdon, and the woman. One of the two last will perhaps reveal the truth."
She was silent for a moment.
"Well, and what are you doing in town?"
"I came to learn, if I could, something of Lord Fylingdale's private life."
"Have you succeeded?"
"He is a gambler and a rake. He is rapidly wasting the whole of poor Molly's fortune. In a few months, or weeks, it will all be gone."
"Yes," she replied; "all will be gone."
"First he took the money and the jewels——"
"What?" she sat up suddenly. "He took the jewels?"
"He took them first. Then he sold the lands."
"Oh, tell me no more! He is wasting and destroying. It is his nature. First he took the jewels. How long ago?"
"Six months ago."
"He has had the jewels," she said. "He has had them for six months." Her face became hard and drawn as with pain; her smiling mouth became hard; the light died out of her eyes; she became suddenly twenty years older. I wondered what this change might mean. You will think that I was a very simple person not to guess more from all these indications. She pushed back her chair and sprang to her feet; she walked over to the window and looked out upon the cold street, in which there were flying flakes of snow. Then she came back and stood before the fire. "You can go," she said, harshly, not looking me in the face. "You can go," she repeated, forgetting her proffered hospitality of tea. "About that woman, Jack, you may find her yet. Many a wicked woman has been goaded by wrongs intolerable to confess her wickedness. I think you may find her. It will be too late to save Molly's fortune; but when it is all spent there will be a chance for you, Jack." She turned upon me a wan and sad smile. "Happy Molly!" she added, laying her hand upon my arm with the sweet graciousness that she could command. "Jack," she added, "I think we may pity that poor wretch who personated Molly. It was perhaps out of love for a worthless man. Women are so. It is not worth, or virtue, or ability, or character that awakens love and keeps it alive. A woman, Jack, loves a man. There is nothing more to be said. If he is a good man so much the better. If not—still she loves him." She sighed heavily. "What do you sailors know about women? Virtue, fame, and fortune do not make love, nor—Jack, which is a hard thing for you to believe—does all the wickedness in the world destroy love. A woman may be goaded into revenge, but it makes her all the more unhappy—because love remains."
I went away, musing on this woman who sometimes seemed so true and earnest with all her fashion and affectations. For, as she spoke about love, the tears stood in her eyes as if she was speaking of her own case. But I never suspected her; I never had the least suspicion of her as the mysterious woman.
I took cars into the city and went to my cousin's shop, where there were half-a-dozen gentlemen talking volubly about new books, among them my friend who had taken me to the gaming house and to the tavern. When he saw me he slipped aside. "Mr. Pentecrosse," he said, "your cousin reminds me that I once told him what I could learn concerning an unfortunate poet named Semple. If you would like to see him I think I can take you to him."
I thanked him, and said that I would willingly have speech of Mr. Semple.
So he led me down little Britain, and so by a maze of streets to a place called Turnagain Lane. He stopped at an open door. The street in the waning light looked squalid, and the house mean.
"The darling of Parnassus," he said, "lies in the top chamber. You will find him there, unless I mistake not, because he cannot conveniently go abroad."
So saying, he left me, and I climbed up the dark and dirty staircase, some of the steps of which had been taken away for firewood, and presently found myself at the top of the last flight before a closed door. I knocked. A faint voice bade me come in.
There was no fire in the fireplace; there was no candle; by the faint light which struggled through the window I perceived that I was in a garret; that all the furniture visible was a bed, and a man in the bed, a table and a chair. On the mantelshelf stood a candlestick without a candle and a tinder box.
"Who is it?" asked the man in bed.
"I am in search of Sam Semple. Are you Sam Semple?"
"I know that voice." The man sat up. "Is it the voice of Jack Pentecrosse?"
"The same. What cheer, man?"
For all answer, he burst out crying like a child.
"Oh! Jack," he said, "I am starving. I made up my mind to starve. I have no longer any clothes. I have not even a candle. I have no money. I have not even a sheet of paper to write a letter, and I deserve it all—yes, I deserve it all."
"Why, this is bad. But let me first get you some food. Then we will talk."
I went downstairs and found a woman, who told me of a shop where I could get some necessaries, and I presently returned bearing food and a bottle of wine, some coals and candles, and a warm coat, which I thought would be useful.
By the light of the candle and the fire I could perceive that the condition of the unhappy poet was miserable indeed. Never was there a more wretched den of a garret. The plaster had fallen from the walls; the window was mostly stuffed with rags in place of glass; in a word, everything betokened the greatest extremity of poverty. As for the man himself, he had neither coat, waistcoat, nor shoes. He sat on the bed half-dressed, but the rest of his wardrobe had been pawned or sold. There were no books; there were no papers; there was nothing to show his calling; and there was no sign of food.
At the sight of my basket and its contents the man fell to. With just such a rage have I seen a sailor picked up at sea from an open boat, fall upon food and devour it. Nor did Sam finish till he had devoured the whole of the cold beef and bread—a goodly ration—and swallowed the whole of the bottle of wine, a generous allowance. Then he breathed a sigh of satisfaction, and put on the thick coat which I had bought for him.
"Well," I said, "can we now talk?"
"Jack, you have saved my life; but I shall be hungry again to-morrow. Lend me a little money."
"I will lend you a guinea or two. But tell me first how came you here? I thought you were in the confidence of a certain noble lord."
"He is a villain, Jack. He is the greatest villain unhung. Oh! hanging is too good for him. After all I did for him! The lying villain!"
"What you did for him, Sam, was to give him the chance of ruining the property of an innocent and helpless girl."
"I gave him the heiress. Was it nothing to promote the daughter of a plain merchant and make her a countess?"
"Tell me more. What were you to get for it?"
"It was I who invented an excuse for taking my lord and his friends to Lynn."
"Yes, I understand. You invented the spa. The water in the well——"
"The water is very good water. It could do no harm. I wrote to the doctor—I invented the analysis, applying it from another. I told him about the discovery and the things said by the newspapers. There was no discovery; nobody had heard of the water; no physician sent any of his patients there; the only visitors from London were my lord and his friends."
"They were all his friends, then?"
"All. His reverence is in the pay of Beelzebub, I believe. The colonel is a bully and a gamester—Sir Harry is a well-known decoy—Lady Anastasia shares her bank with Lord Fylingdale. They were a nest of sharpers and villains, and their business and mine was to spread abroad reports of the shining virtue of his lordship."
"All this, or part of it, we found out or guessed. The vicar publicly denounced you all at his assembly. But what were you to get by it for yourself?"
"I was to have an appointment under government of £200 a year at least."
"Well?"
"I was to have it directly after the marriage. That was the promise. I have it in writing."
"And you have not got it?"
"No; and I shall not get it. When I claimed it his lordship asked me to read the promise. I showed it him. I had kept it carefully in my pocketbook. 'On the marriage of Lord Fylingdale with Miss Molly.' What do you think he said. Oh, villain! villain!"
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'Hold there, my friend! On the marriage. Very well, although I say that I am married to that lady, very oddly the lady swears that she is not married to me. Now, when that lady acknowledges the marriage I will fulfill my promise. That is fair, is it not?' Then I lost my head and forgot his rank and my position, and the next moment I was kicked into the street by his lackeys without salary, without anything. Oh, villain! villain!"
It seemed as if there was here some opening—of what nature I knew not. However I spoke seriously to Sam. I pointed out that in introducing a broken gamester—a profligate—a man of no honour or principle, the companion of profligates and gamesters, to the simple folk of Lynn who were ready to believe anything, he had himself been guilty of an act more villainous even than the breaking of this contract. I gave him, however, a guinea for present necessities and I promised him five guineas more if he would write a history of the whole business so far as he was concerned. And I undertook to leave this money with my cousin the bookseller—to be paid over to him on receiving the manuscript.
This business arranged, I had nothing more to do with London. I had been, however, as you shall presently learn, more successful than I myself understood, for I had learned by actual presence the daily life and conversation of this noble lord and I had laid the foundation for a proof of the conspiracy to disguise his true character, and, what was much more important, I had unwittingly fired the mind of the mysterious woman herself with resentment and jealousy.