Walter Besant
The Lady of Lynn
CHAPTER XXV
A GRATEFUL MIND
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."
CHAPTER XXVI
THE LAST STEP BUT ONE
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.
"Dear Beau, – I think that the air of Lynn after a few weeks is not wholesome for one no longer in his first youth. I would therefore advise that you should think about going back to town. Settle immediately your affairs, gaming and others. Leave the hearts you have broken and return to mend those which are only cracked. In a word, the ladies of London are calling loudly for your return, and the wits and pretty fellows are asking what has become of Sir Harry. – Your obedient servant to command,
"Fylingdale."
There remained the parson and the poet. The latter he could send away at a day's notice; the former he would probably want for a certain purpose. He sent for Mr. Semple, his secretary.
"Semple," he said, "I have now made inquiry into the truth of your statements – I mean as regards this young lady's fortune."
"It is as I told your lordship?"
"It is. The fortune you have exaggerated, but it is no doubt considerable. Well, I have sent for you in order to tell you that I am now resolved upon carrying out the project you submitted to me. My own affairs are, as you found out, embarrassed; the girl's fortune will be useful to me; her person is passable; her manners can be improved. I have therefore determined to make her my countess."
"My lord, I rejoice to have been the humble instrument – "
"You have kept the secret, so far, I believe. At least I have seen no sign that any one suspects my intentions. You have invented a lie of enormous audacity in order to bring us all together; myself, your project up my sleeve; and certain friends of mine, to assist in various ways; your inventions have converted an ordinary well into a health restoring spring; you have caused the elevation of this town of common sailors and traders and mechanics into a fashionable spa. Semple, you are a very ingenious person. I hope that you are satisfied with your success."
"Gratified, my lord. Not satisfied."
"I understand. You shall be satisfied very shortly by the fulfillment of my promise. It is, if I remember, to find you a place under government, worth at least £200 a year, with perquisites. You shall learn, Semple, that I can be grateful and that I can keep my word, written or spoken. Now there remains one more service."
He proceeded to give him certain instructions.
"And, remember, the greatest secrecy is to be observed. Neither you nor the captain is to reveal the fact – until the business is completed. Everything will be ruined if anything is revealed. Your own future depends upon your secrecy. You are sure that you have your instructions aright?"
"I am quite sure, my lord. I am your ambassador. I come with a message of great importance. There are reasons why the proceedings are to be kept secret. The lady will be made a countess before a prying and impertinent world can be informed of your lordship's intentions. I fly, my lord. I fly."
"One moment, friend Semple. Before you depart on this mission, resolve me as to a difficulty in my mind."
"What is that, my lord?"
"You are aware, of course, that my plan of life is not quite what this girl looks for in a husband. She will expect, in fact, the bourgeoise virtues – constancy, fidelity, early hours, regularity, piety. You know very well that she will find none of these virtues. They are not, I believe, expected in persons of my rank. You are preparing for the girl, in fact, a great disappointment, and, perhaps, a life of misery. If I did not want her money, I might pity her."
Sam's face darkened.
"Tell me, my friend, in return for what acts of kindness done to you by the captain or by Molly herself are you conferring this boon upon the girl?"
The poet made no reply for awhile. Then he answered, his eyes on the ground. "The thing is as good as done. I may as well let you know. The captain cudgelled me like a dog – like a dog. My gratitude is so great that I have succeeded in marrying his ward to – you, my lord. What worse revenge could I take?"
"Frankly, I know of none." The devil, himself, you see, can speak truth at times.
"You will waste and dissipate the whole of her fortune, and would if it were ten times as great, in raking and gaming; you will send her back to her own people brokenhearted and ruined. That will be my doing."
"Friend Semple," said his lordship, "if I were not Fylingdale I would be Semple; and, to tell the truth, if I saw any other way of raising money I would – well, perhaps I would – even pity the girl and let her go."
