SIR FRANCIS INTERVENES
The St. James's coffee-house was nearly empty; the candles had burnt to
their sockets and only a sickly lamplight revealed the three gentlemen
who sat together at a table scattered with cards. They had finished
playing. One who had lost rose up without a word and reached down his
hat and coat from the shining wall. Rose Lyndwood, a second loser,
lifted his eyes to glance at him.
A clock without struck three. A sleepy drawer was slowly clearing some
of the other tables. The place, but a little while since so noisy, had
an extraordinarily dreary look.
"Good-night," said Lord Sandys. He put on his hat and left the room
with a firm step.
The Earl nodded. Cathcart, the winner, laughed.
"Sandys looks dashed," he remarked.
"Probably ruined," remarked my lord.
A fresh gust of air rushed in and stirred for a second the stale,
smoke-laden atmosphere; then the door was closed again, and idle, heavy
silence was unbroken.
The Earl pushed aside the backgammon board and the glasses, and leant
his elbow on the table. He sat with his back to the door and opposite
the shuttered window. He took his chin in his hand and stared at these
blank shutters through half-closed eyes. He wore pearl-colour; at his
throat was a large buckle of brilliants that sparkled with restless
hues; his hair and his dress were tumbled, his face disfigured with a
lazy expression of sneering distaste. At the corner of his mouth was
the fantastic patch cut into the shape of a bat.
"You should have gone to Kensington to-night," said Cathcart, who was
leaning back and smoking. "I'll wager you'll hear of it."
"Why should I have been there?" asked the Earl, without moving his eyes
or changing his expression.
"You know, 'twas a Cabinet meeting, or some such foolery. But I am no
agent of the Government."
"Why, then, 'tis no matter of yours," said Lord Lyndwood in the same
tone.
"But something of yours," answered the other. "Lud, how you throw
away your chances! Newcastle said you might have been Chancellor or
a Secretary of State by now had you cared. Don't that fire you?" He
laughed, then yawned.
"Why should I trouble about their soiled politics?" asked my lord
indifferently. "What comes my way I'll see to. But what is this all
about? A parcel of niggers on the coast of Coromandel--Coromandel! Good
Lord!"
Cathcart laughed again.
"I see you have got in your man."
"My man?"
"Francis Boyle--to be Lord of the Bedchamber. I saw it to-day."
"I haven't looked at the _Gazette_" answered Rose Lyndwood. "I hope
he will be pleased," he added with a sneer. "It cost me more damned
trouble than it was worth. Newcastle resisted, of course, and Pelham
don't like me."
"Why did you do it?" asked Sir Thomas abruptly.
The Earl turned and fixed his eyes on him.
"I wonder," he said languidly.
Cathcart returned his gaze curiously.
"So you haven't seen the _Gazette_?"
"No. What's in it now?"
"One of their paragraphs about you, my lord." Cathcart put down his
pipe, stretched himself and yawned again.
"I do not find them amusing," smiled Rose Lyndwood.
Both fell on silence again. The door opened sharply, and a gentleman
entered the coffee-house. My lord did not turn his head, but Sir Thomas
looked with some surprise at the new-comer, who was not of a type
common to taverns at this time of night.
He was a young man, alert, composed, graceful, with noticeable chestnut
hair and eyes of the same hue; a peacock-blue mantle was wrapped about
him. He took off his hat, spoke to the drawer and passed to the table
behind the Earl, where the screen hid him from Cathcart's observation.
"Who is that spark?" asked my lord. "He has a business-like tread for
three in the morning."
"I do not know him; 'tis no one I have seen here before." Sir Thomas
called for his bill and shifted from one pocket to another the roll of
paper and gold he had won from the Earl and Lord Sandys. "I'm going,"
he said, as he paid the drawer. "It is plaguy dull here, and late, too."
"I'm well enough," answered my lord, yawning. "Good-night."
"Good-night!"
Sir Thomas got into his cloak and swaggered off; the door banged after
him. My lord yawned again, and called for a pint of wine. The sombre
chimes struck half-past three. The Earl eyed under drooping lids the
stained glasses and cards before him, the closed window, the flickering
lamp. He drank his wine slowly, and with a brooding face propped on his
hand fell into a gloomy silence of miserable thoughts.
A quick step roused him; he glanced up to see the gentleman in the
peacock mantle coming round the screen. He sat up, and it was not
pleasure that flushed his cheek. He saw, standing the other side of
the dismantled table, the elegant figure, the fresh handsome face, the
masterful eyes of a man he did not love.
"I had not thought to see you here," he said slowly.
"I followed your lordship," answered Sir Francis Boyle.
"Followed me?" queried the Earl.
"I called at your house, my lord, and was advised that you were at
Carlisle House. I waited there an hour or more, when one told me he had
seen you here."
"Is your business with me of such importance?"
"Yes."
The Earl leant back in his chair and idly fingered the stem of his
glass. His eyes were not idle, but excited and bright, though his
attitude was slack and his chin rested on his tumbled cravat.
"I have to thank your lordship for the promotion I was gazetted with
to-day, have I not?" said Sir Francis in a low voice.
"I used my influence on your behalf," answered Rose Lyndwood. "I think
you know it, Sir Francis."
"I wished to be confirmed, sir. I could not flatter myself it was my
own merits. I decline the place, my lord. I can be under no obligation
to your lordship."
"And your motive in this?" asked the Earl slowly. He roused himself
with an indolent air and looked up at the other.
"What was your motive in doing me this favour?" demanded Sir Francis,
his red-brown eyes darkening.
"I do not care to endeavour to understand you," said Rose Lyndwood,
frowning. "I do not know what you have against me, nor is it worth
while to inquire." He yawned and his lids drooped. "The time is
inconvenient--and the place--for these discussions," he added.
"I have not studied your convenience or my own in coming here,"
answered Sir Francis haughtily. "I am not fond of taverns. But the
matter I have in hand is imperative. Has your lordship seen the
_Gazette_ to-day?"
"It seems to have been an interesting sheet," said the Earl languidly
but with watchful eyes. "Ye are the second has asked me that. Well,
what of it?"
Sir Francis threw back his mantle and drew from the pocket of it a copy
of the paper.
"Will you read this?" he said. "Afterwards I shall have to ask your
lordship two questions."
Rose Lyndwood took the small, closely printed sheet and sat up, leaning
heavily on the table, to read it. Sir Francis stood erect, his hand
on his hip, observing him. There was not the slightest change in the
even pallor of my lord's weary face--not the least alteration in his
indifferent attitude. He laid down the _Gazette_ and looked up.
"What are the two questions?" he asked.
Sir Francis drew his breath sharply.
"First, is there any truth in that paragraph? Secondly, what are you
going to do?"
The Earl lowered his gaze to his fine hand lying idly across the paper.
"For the first, I will give you neither yes nor no, Sir Francis. For
the second, how can I say yet what I shall do?"
"I am not contented with that," answered Sir Francis. "If what is
stated there be true, I must know it, and you must answer for having
permitted it to become public. If it be false, you and I, my lord, must
track down the malice that dictated it."
Rose Lyndwood pushed his chair back.
"It is false," he said with sudden recklessness. "What should that lady
be writing to me for, or I to her? Oh, be assured that it is false,
Sir Francis. Do these damned scribblers ever write the truth?"
Sir Francis eyed him keenly.
"I do not take your mood, my lord. This cannot be ignored."
The Earl lifted his shoulders.
"Oh, if you like to challenge every hack in Grub Street!"
"I do not think one of those wrote that, Lord Lyndwood."
"Who else? There is no one in town who has not been so written of. I am
well used to it; and as to the lady----"
"As to the lady?" Sir Francis took him up with a strained voice and his
eyes narrowed and grew fiery.
"Am I her protector?" asked my lord. "By Gad, it would give a colour to
it if I interfered, would it not?"
His tone was unpleasantly mocking. Sir Francis coloured swiftly.
"I do not like the manner of your speech, my lord."
Rose Lyndwood laughed.
"Upon my honour, I do not know why you have come to me. Why do you not
marry the lady out of hand and give them the lie that way?"
"I do not think you understand me," said Sir Francis breathlessly.
My lord opened wide, insolent eyes.
"Has she jilted you? Are you sore on that? Well, you must not blame me.
I know nothing of it, whatever they say in the _Gazette_," he sneered.
"So you have answered my first question," said Sir Francis, keeping
himself well in hand. "This"--he struck the paper lying before him--"is
a malicious falsehood?"
"It is a paragraph in the _Gazette_," answered Rose Lyndwood, raising
his eyebrows.
"I will have the name of the man who coined it and horsewhip him into
an open confession!" exclaimed Sir Francis.
"Is it worth while?" smiled the Earl. "There are always the pamphlets
and lampoons, and if you offend a penman they will kill you in a paper
warfare."
"I have no care for that. I shall know how to act."
"Why did you come to me?" the Earl interrupted suddenly.
"To ask you if there were any truth in this libel."
"Which seems as if you suggest there might be, Sir Francis." His tone
changed. "And had there been, do you think that you would have got it
from me?" he laughed. "I suppose that you came here to force a meeting
on me?"
"No," exclaimed Sir Francis, "no!"
"The matter is too delicate for speech," continued the Earl, "and one
you and I can never cross swords over. What is the use of these words?
We each know what we know." He glanced swiftly at the other. "Do what
seems good to you. You need give no thought to me."
"Because I am helpless I came to you," answered Sir Francis in an
agitated voice.
"And I can be no help."
"Will you not aid me to discover the writer of this?" Again he touched
the paper.
"I have no clue to go upon," answered the Earl slowly, "and I think you
make too much of it. What does any of it matter?"
His manner and his tone were devoid of meaning. Sir Francis Boyle, not
knowing him, felt as if he dealt with a man of sand. Against his own
conviction he believed the Earl was indifferent--to Miss Boyle, to
everything; but he could not remain content.
They fell both into silence. The solitary drawer passed them in a
noiseless weariness. Sir Francis picked up the paper and folded it
mechanically, then he looked across the table at my lord. A sharp
exclamation left his lips, for he seemed to be looking at a dead man.
Against the murky background the face of Rose Lyndwood showed white
in between the tumbled grey curls. There was a fixed smile on his
colourless lips and a lifeless droop in his weary pose. The brilliants
under his chin sparkled in an incongruous fashion.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
Sir Francis moved.
"It startled me," he said. "It is the dawn."
The drawer had opened the shutter of the window behind him, and the
first ghastly grey light entering had showed him the worn face and
fickle eyes of Lord Lyndwood.
"Yes, the dawn," repeated my lord. "It is ugly, is it not?"
Sir Francis turned away heavily.
"Good-night, then, my lord." He glanced back again in a fascinated way
at the Earl.
"Good-night," answered Rose Lyndwood. He looked so ill in the cold
unmerciful light that Sir Francis hesitated.
"Good-night," repeated my lord, with a deepening of his unnatural
smile. He half roused himself to pour out the wine he had ordered
before he had been interrupted.
Bewilderment and contempt gathered on the fresh countenance of Sir
Francis. He gave the drawer his money impatiently and impatiently
flung on his hat. His firm, angry step echoed the length of the dreary
coffee-house and the heavy door fell to slowly behind him.
My lord did not turn his head nor in any way alter his attitude, though
now there was no one to observe him save the man at the window, who
yawned miserably at the eastern sky.
The Earl drank his wine; he also stared out at the grey gloom gathering
strength above the hard dark line of the houses. The lamps burnt so
palely in this new insistent light that they became mere yellow
specks of misty radiance. The drawer shuffled to the other windows and
opened the shutters with a cumbrous slipping of bolts. An ignoble and
yet solemn stillness hung over the dreariness. The scattered cards,
backgammon boards, the glasses and bottles on the tables, the chairs
pushed awry--each of these details became more distinct as the sky
glowed into a melancholy faint gold and the blank windows filled with a
cold increasing light.
My lord finished his wine and leant forward across the table,
supporting his head by a hand thrust into his pomaded hair. The
splendid dress he wore and his bright ornaments glimmered softly
in contrast with his lifeless face. Presently the hush was rudely
disturbed by the rumble of the market carts coming in to Covent
Garden--the sound of the wheels over the cobbles, the clatter of the
harness.
Lord Lyndwood rose and stepped to the window. Slowly he set it open and
looked out. A waggon laden with country flowers was going past, and the
clear early air was fresh with the perfume of the masses of blooms that
lay close pressed in the wicker baskets. My lord watched these carts go
by until the sun was above the chimney-pots and shining down the narrow
street.