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[Illustration: "GRATITUDE, MY LORD, TO YOU," HE REPLIED.]
THE LADY OF LYNN
by
SIR WALTER BESANT
Author of "All Sorts and Conditions of Men,"
"The Orange Girl," Etc.
With Illustrations
New York . Dodd, Mead
and Company . . . 1901
Copyright, 1900
By Sir Walter Besant
The Caxton Press
New York.
Contents
CHAP. PAGE
PROLOGUE 1
I. MY LORD'S LEVEE 15
II. THE LADY ANASTASIA 29
III. THE "SOCIETY" OF LYNN 34
IV. THE GRAND DISCOVERY 42
V. THE PORT OF LYNN 48
VI. THE MAID OF LYNN 55
VII. THE POET 64
VIII. THE OPENING OF THE SPA 70
IX. SENT TO THE SPA 83
X. "OF THE NICEST HONOUR" 97
XI. THE HUMOURS OF THE SPA 104
XII. THE CAPTAIN'S AMBITION 112
XIII. MOLLY'S FIRST MINUET 120
XIV. MOLLY'S COUNTRY DANCE 127
XV. THE CARD ROOM 133
XVI. HIS LORDSHIP'S INTENTIONS 141
XVII. "IN THE LISBON TRADE" 147
XVIII. THE WITCH 157
XIX. A TRUE FRIEND 163
XX. FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING 172
XXI. MOLLY'S SECOND APPEARANCE 178
XXII. THE ABDUCTION 185
XXIII. WHICH WAY TO FOLLOW? 196
XXIV. THE PUNISHMENT 201
XXV. A GRATEFUL MIND 209
XXVI. THE LAST STEP BUT ONE 217
XXVII. THE EXPECTED BLOW 224
XXVIII. WARNING 231
XXIX. THE ARDENT LOVER 238
XXX. THE SECRET 246
XXXI. THE "SOCIETY" AGAIN 254
XXXII. A RESPITE 262
XXXIII. A WEDDING 270
XXXIV. A NEW COMPACT 278
XXXV. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? 287
XXXVI. THE DAY OF FATE 293
XXXVII. THE BUBBLE AND THE SKY ROCKET 306
XXXVIII. THE OPINION OF COUNSEL 312
XXXIX. THE FRUITS OF SUBMISSION 320
XL. ON MY RETURN 332
XLI. THE FIRST AND THE SECOND CONFEDERATE 345
XLII. THE THIRD AND THE FOURTH CONFEDERATE 355
XLIII. THE FIFTH AND LAST CONFEDERATE 361
PROLOGUE
PROMOTION AND A BASTING
The happiest day of my life, up to that time, because I should be the
basest and the most ungrateful of men were I not to confess that I
have since enjoyed many days far excelling in happiness that day, was
the 20th day of June, in the year of grace, seventeen hundred and
forty-seven.
For on that day, being my nineteenth birthday, I was promoted, though
so young, to be mate, or chief officer, on board my ship, _The Lady of
Lynn_, Captain Jaggard, then engaged in the Lisbon trade.
In the forenoon of that day I was on board and on duty. We were taking
in our cargo. Barges and lighters were alongside and all the crew with
the barges were hoisting and heaving and lowering and stowing with a
grand yohoing and chanting, such as is common, with oaths innumerable,
in the lading and the unlading of a ship. It was my duty to see the
casks and crates hoisted aboard and lowered into the hold. The
supercargo and the clerk from the counting-house sat at a table on
deck and entered in their books every cask, box, chest, or bale. We
took aboard and carried away for the use of the Portugals or any whom
it might concern, turpentine, tar, resin, wool, pig iron and other
commodities brought by our ships from the Baltic or carried in barges
down the river to the port of Lynn. These were the things which we
took out--what we brought home was wine; nothing but wine; barrels,
tuns, pipes, hogsheads, casks of all kinds, containing wine. There
would be in our hold wine of Malmsey, Madeira, Teneriffe, Canary,
Alicante, Xeres, Oporto, Bucellas and Lisbon; all the wines of Spain
and Portugal; the sweet strong wines to which our people are most
inclined, especially our people of Norfolk, Marshland, Fenland,
Lincoln and the parts around. Thanks to the port of Lynn and to the
ships of Lynn engaged in the Lisbon trade, there is no place in
England where this sweet strong wine can be procured better or at a
more reasonable rate. This wine is truly beloved of all classes: it is
the joy of the foxhunter after the day's run: of the justices after
the ordinary on market day: of the fellows in their dull old colleges
at Cambridge: of the dean and chapter in the sleepy cathedral close:
of the country clergy and the country gentry--yea, and of the ladies
when they visit each other. I say nothing in dispraise of Rhenish and
of Bordeaux, but give me the wine that comes home in the bottoms that
sail to and from Lisbon. All wine is good but that is best which warms
the heart and strengthens the body and renews the courage--the wine of
Spain and Portugal.
_The Lady of Lynn_ was a three-masted, full rigged ship of 380 tons, a
stout and strong built craft, not afraid of the bay at its worst and
wildest, making her six knots an hour with a favourable breeze,
therefore not one of your broad slow Dutch merchantmen which creep
slowly, like Noah's Ark, over the face of the waters. Yet she was full
in the beam and capacious in the hold: the more you put into her, the
steadier she sat and the steadier she sailed. Man and boy I sailed in
_The Lady of Lynn_ for twenty-five years and I ought to know. We made,
for the most part, two, but sometimes three voyages in the year,
unless we experienced bad weather and had to go into dock. Bad weather
there is in plenty: storms and chopping winds in the bay: beating up
the channel against east winds: things are always uncertain in the
North Sea; sometimes the ship will be tacking day after day, getting a
knot or two in four and twenty hours: and sometimes she will be two or
three weeks crossing the Wash, which, as everybody knows, is cumbered
with shallows, and making way up the Ouse when a wind from the south
or southeast will keep a ship from reaching her port for days
together. To be sure, a sailor pays very little heed to the loss of a
few days: it matters little to him whether he is working on board or
in port: he is a patient creature, who waits all his life upon a
favourable breeze. And since he has no power over the wind and the
sea, he accepts whatever comes without murmuring, and makes the best
of it. Perhaps the wind blows up into a gale and the gale into a
storm: perhaps the good ship founders with all hands: nobody pities
the sailor: it is all in the day's work: young or old every one must
die: the wife at home knows that, as well as the man at sea. She knew
it when she married her husband. I have read of Turks and pagan
Mohammedans that they have no fear or care about the future, believing
that they cannot change what is predestined. It seems to me a foolish
doctrine, because if we want anything we must work for it, or we shall
not get it, fate or no fate. But the nearest to the Turk in this
respect is our English sailor, who will work his hardest in the worst
gale that ever blew, and face death without a pang, or a prayer, or a
touch of fear, because he trusted his life to the sea and the wind,
and he has no power to control the mounting waves or the roaring
tempest. It is as if one should say "I make a bargain with the ocean,
and with all seas that threaten and every wind that blows." I say to
them, "Suffer me to make my living on a ship that your winds blow
across your seas, and in return I will give you myself and the ship
and the cargo--all your own--to take, if you please and whenever you
please." It is a covenant between them. Sometimes the sailor gets the
best of it and spends his old age on dry land, safe after many
voyages: sometimes he gets the worst of it, and is taken, ship and
all, when he is quite young. He cannot complain. He has made the
bargain and must hold to it. But if one could sweep the bed of the
ocean and recover among the tangled seaweed and the long sea serpents
and monsters the treasures that lie scattered about, how rich the
world would be! Perhaps (but this is idle talk) the sea might some day
say, "I am gorged with the things that mankind call riches. My floor
is strewn thick with ribs of ships and skeletons of men; with chests
of treasure, bales and casks and cargoes. I have enough. Henceforth
there shall be no more storms and the ships shall pass to and fro over
a deep of untroubled blue with a surface like unto a polished mirror!"
Idle talk! And who would be a sailor then? We should hand the ships
over to the women and apprentice our girls to the trade of setting
sails of silk with ropes of ribbons.
I will tell you presently how I was so fortunate as to be apprenticed
to so fine a craft as _The Lady of Lynn_. Just now it is enough to set
down that she was the finest vessel in the little fleet of ships
belonging to my young mistress, Molly Miller, ward of Captain Crowle.
There were eight ships, all her own: _The Lady of Lynn_, the ship in
which I served my apprenticeship; the _Jolly Miller_, named after her
father; the _Lovely Molly_, after herself; the _Joseph and Jennifer_,
after her parents; the _Pride of Lynn_, the _Beauty of Lynn_, the
_Glory of Lynn_, and the _Honour of Lynn_, all of which you may take,
if you like, as named after their owner. Molly owned them all.
I have to tell you, in this place, why one day in especial must ever
be remembered by me as the most surprising and the happiest that I had
ever known.
I was, therefore, on the quarter-deck on duty when the boy came up the
companion saying that the captain wanted to speak to me. So I
followed, little thinking of what they had to say, expecting no more
than some question about log or cargo, such as the skipper is always
putting to his officers.
In the captain's cabin, however, I found sitting at the table not only
Captain Jaggard himself, but my old friend and patron, Captain Crowle.
His jolly face was full of satisfaction and good humour, so that it
gave one pleasure only to look at him. But he sat upright and assumed
the air of dignity which spoke of the quarter-deck. A man who has
walked that part of the ship in command doth never lose the look of
authority.
"John Pentecrosse," he began, "I have sent for you in order to inform
you that on the recommendation of Captain Jaggard here--" Captain
Jaggard gravely inclined his head in acquiescence, "and with the
consent of Miss Molly Miller, sole proprietor of this good ship, _The
Lady of Lynn_, I have promoted you to the rank of chief officer."
"Sir!" I cried, overwhelmed, for indeed, I had no reason to expect
this promotion for another two or three years. "What can I say?"
"We don't want you to say anything, Jack, my lad,"--the captain came
down from the quarter-deck and became my old friend again. "Give me
your hand. You're young, but there's never a better sailor afloat, is
there, Captain Jaggard?"
"None, Captain Crowle--none. For his years."
"For his years, naturally. He's salt through and through, isn't he,
Captain Jaggard?"
"And through, Captain Crowle." My skipper was a man of grave aspect
and few words.
"Well, then--let us drink the lad's health." And upon that the cabin
boy, who needed no further order, dived into the locker, produced a
bottle, opened it and placed three glasses.
"No better Lisbon," said Captain Jaggard, pouring it out, "goes even
to the table of the King--God bless him!"
"Now, gentlemen," Captain Crowle pushed a glass to me, "first, a glass
to Miss Molly--my little maid. Jack, you've been her playfellow and
you're now her servant."
"I could ask nothing better, sir."
"I know--a good and zealous servant. Drink it off--a full glass,
running over, to Molly Miller."
We obeyed, nothing loth.
"And now, Captain Jaggard, here's the health of your new mate--long to
serve under you--your right hand--your eyes open when you are off the
deck--your sailing master--the keeper of your log--Jack Pentecrosse, I
drink to your good luck."
* * * * *
That was the event which made this day the happiest in my life.
Another event, of which I thought little at the time, was more
important still in the after consequences. This was the humiliation of
Samuel Semple.
In the evening, as soon as I could get ashore, I repaired, as in duty
bound, to pay my respects to my young mistress. She lived, being
Captain Crowle's ward, in his house, which was the old house with a
tower formerly built for some religious purpose. It stands retired
from the street, with a fair garden in front, a garden where I had
played many hundreds of times with Molly when we were boy and girl
together.
This evening she was sitting in the summerhouse with some needlework.
Beside her sat her good old black woman, Nigra.
"Jack!" She dropped her work and jumped up to meet me. "I thought you
would come this evening. Oh! Are you pleased?"
"You knew I should come, Molly. Why, have I not to thank you for my
promotion?"
She gave me her hand with her sweet frankness and her smiling face.
"I would make you Captain Jack, but my guardian will not hear of it.
All in good time, though. I am only waiting. I am proud of you, Jack,
because everybody speaks so well of you. I met your father this
morning and gave him the good news to rejoice his good old heart. He
was too proud to confess his joy. But we know him, don't we, Jack?
Well, I confess that I shall not be happy till you are Captain
Pentecrosse, with a share in every cargo."
"Nay, Molly, the ship is yours and I am but your servant--though a
proud and joyful servant."
She shook her head. "All you brave fellows," she said, "are going out
to sea in storm and tempest to work for me. Why should all these ships
bring riches to me? I have done nothing. They ought to bring riches
for those who work." This shows her tenderness of heart. Never have I
heard of any other woman who complained that her servants worked to
make her rich while she did nothing. Yet the vicar would rebuke her,
saying that riches and increase were the gifts of Providence, and that
she must accept the things plainly intended by heaven. And Captain
Crowle spoke to the same effect and my father, the schoolmaster, also
pointed out that in the Divine scheme there were rich and there were
poor: the former for an example and for an encouragement to industry:
the latter for the virtues of duty, discipline and contentment--things
pleasing in the eyes of the Lord. But still she returned to her talk
about the people who worked for her.
And then we sat and talked, while Nigra went on with her work, sitting
at the feet of her mistress, whom she watched all the time as a dog
keeps one eye always upon his master.
At this time, my mistress, as I have said, was already sixteen years
of age, a time when many girls are already married. But she was still
a child, or a young girl, at heart: being one of those who, like a
fine Orleans plum, ripen slowly and are all the better for the time
they take. In person, if I may speak of what should be sacred, she was
finely made, somewhat taller than the average, her hair of that fair
colour which is the chief glory of the English maiden. Lord! If a
Lisbon girl could show that fair hair, with those blue eyes, and that
soft cheek, touched with the ruddy hue and the velvet bloom of the
September peach, she would draw after her the whole town, with the
king and his court and even the grand inquisitor and his accursed crew
of torturers. I know not how she was dressed, but it was in simple
fashion. Though so great an heiress she went to church no more finely
dressed than any of the girls belonging to the better sort, save for a
substantial gold chain which had been her father's. And this she
always wore about her neck.
She was of a truly affectionate disposition--her mind being as lovely
as her face. In manners she was easy and compliant: in discourse
sometimes grave and sometimes merry. As for her great possessions, she
was so simple in her tastes and habits, being in all respects like the
daughter of a plain merchantman's skipper, that she understood little
or nothing of what these possessions meant or what they might bestow
upon her. She was, in a word, a plain and unaffected damsel with no
pretence of anything superior to those around her. She was skilled in
all household matters although so well read: she could brew and pickle
and make perfumes and cordials for the still room: she could make
cakes and puddings: she knew how to carve at table: she had poultry,
her ducks, her pigs and her dairy, in the fields within the walls hard
by the Lady's Mount. She was always busy and therefore never afflicted
with the vapours or the spleen or the longing for one knows not what
which afflict the empty mind of the idle and the fashionable dame.
There were other good and comely girls in King's Lynn. I might
perhaps,--I say it not with boastfulness--have married Victory,
daughter of the Reverend Ellis Hayes, curate of St. Nicholas. She was
a buxom wench enough and a notable housewife. Or I might have married
Amanda, daughter of Dr. Worship, our physician--she who married Tom
Rising, and when he broke his neck hunting the fox, afterwards married
the Vicar of Hunstanton. She, too, was a fine woman, though something
hard of aspect. But there was never, for me, any other woman in the
world than Molly, my mistress.
No one, however, must believe that there was any thought or discourse,
concerning love between us. I had been her companion and playfellow: I
knew her very mind, and could tell at any time of what she was
thinking. Sometimes her thoughts were of high and serious things such
as were inspired by the sermon; mostly they were of things simple,
such as the prospects of the last brew, or the success of the latest
cordial. Of suitors she had none, although she was now, as I said,
sixteen years of age. There were no suitors. I very well know why,
because, perhaps for friendly reasons, Captain Crowle had told me
something of his ambition for his ward. She was too rich and too good
for the young men of Lynn--what would any of them do with such an
heiress? She was too rich and too good even for the gentlefolk of the
county, a hearty, rough, good-natured people who hunted and shot and
feasted and drank--what would they do with an heiress of wealth beyond
their highest hopes--had they any knowledge of her wealth; but I
believe that they had none. No one knew how rich she was, except the
captain. The girl was intended by her guardian for some great man; he
knew not, as yet, how he should find this great man: but he knew that
there were very few, even of the noble lords in the House of Peers,
whose fortune or whose income would compare with that of his ward--his
little maid. And I, who knew this ambition, knew also that I was
trusted not to betray confidence, nor to disturb the girl's mind by
any talk of love. Now the mind of a young maid piously disposed is
like the surface of a calm sea, which looks up to the sky and reflects
the blue of heaven, undisturbed: till Dan Cupid comes along and
agitates the calm with the reflection of some shepherd swain and
ripples the surface with new thoughts which are allowed by heaven, but
belong not to any of its many mansions.
Therefore we talked of everything except love: of the voyages to the
Portugals and their horrid Inquisition: of the yarns told by sailors
of the places they had seen, and so forth. There was no talk about
books because there were none. A Ready Reckoner; a Manual of
Navigation; Mill's Geography; a Wages Book; the Bible and the Book of
Common Prayer were the only books belonging to the good old captain.
Nor, in all Lynn, save for the learned shelves of the vicar and the
curate of St. Nicholas are there any books. It is not a town which
reads or asks for, books. Why, even on market days you will not see
any stall for the sale of books such as may be seen every week at
Cambridge, and at Norwich, and even at Bury St. Edmund's. 'Tis perhaps
pity that so many gentlemen, substantial merchants, and sea captains
never read books. For their knowledge of the outer world, and the
nations, they trust to the sailors who, to tell the truth, know as
much as any books can tell them: but sailors are not always truthful.
For their wisdom and their conduct of life and manners these honest
merchants depend upon the Old and the New Testament: or, since there
are some who neglect that Treasury of Divine knowledge, they trust to
mere tradition and to proverbs; to the continuation of their
forefathers' habits, and to the memory of what their forefathers
achieved.
The sun went down as we sat talking. The sun went down and the soft
twilight of June, the month which most I love because there is no
darkness, and a man on watch can discern ahead breakers and ships as
well as the vast circle of the rolling sea. And then Nigra gathered
her work together and arose.
"Come to supper, honey," she said. "Come, Massa Jack," and led the
way.
I have often, since I learned and understood things, wondered at the
simplicity with which Molly's guardian thought it proper to bring up
this young heiress whose hand he intended for some great personage, as
yet unknown. He lived for choice in a small parlour overlooking his
neighbour's garden: it was nearly as narrow as the cabin to which he
was accustomed. His fare was that which, as a sailor, he considered
luxurious. The staple, so to speak, was salt beef or salt pork, but
not quite so hard as that of the ship's barrels. This evening, for
instance, we sat down to a supper consisting of a piece of cold boiled
beef somewhat underdone; there was a cold chicken; a sallet of
lettuce, spring onions and young radishes; and a gooseberry pie
afterwards with plenty of strong brown sugar. With these dainties was
served a jug of home-brewed--to my mind a more delicious drink than
any of the wine brought home by _The Lady of Lynn_--I remember now how
it stood beside the captain with its noble head of froth, overtopping
the Brown George in which it was drawn.
It had been a joyful day. It was destined to conclude with an event
neither joyful nor sorrowful--an act of justice. For my own part I
could have sung and laughed all through the supper: the more joyful,
because Molly looked happy in my happiness. But there was something
wrong. When we talked and laughed, the captain laughed with us, but
not mirthfully. His face indicated a change of weather, just as in the
bay before a storm the waters grow turbid: and I observed also, that
Molly's mother, though she laughed with Molly and applauded our
sallies, glanced anxiously from time to time at the captain, who was
her cousin as well as her husband's executor and her daughter's
guardian. And I knew not what to make of these symptoms, because in
the midst of fine weather, with an open sea, a fine sky, and a
favouring breeze, one does not expect the signs of head winds and
driving sleet. What it meant you shall learn, and why I have said that
the day was memorable for two reasons.
Supper over, the captain, instead of turning round his chair to the
fireplace, filling his pipe, and calling for another glass of October,
as we expected, pushed back his chair, and rose with dignity.
"Jennifer," he addressed Molly's mother, "the persuader."
Jennifer was her Christian name. She got up and drew from the corner
by the cupboard a stout crab tree cudgel, twisted and gnarled like the
old tree from which it came. "Be not revengeful, John," she said.
"No, no. I am a justice of the peace. I am captain on my own
quarter-deck. Punishment I shall bestow--not revenge."
"Well, John. But he is young and you are old."
Captain Crowle laughed. "Young, is he? And I am old, am I? We shall
see."
Some one was going to be tried, judged, found guilty, sentenced and to
receive his sentence at once. The thing was not unusual in the house
of a justice of the peace.
"Come with me, Jack. It shall not be said that I inflicted this
punishment without a witness. All the world shall know about it, if so
be the culprit desires. Come with me. Jennifer, keep within, and if
you hear groans, praise the Lord for the correction of a sinner."
Greatly marvelling I followed the captain as he marched out of the
parlour. Arrived at the garden he looked around. "So!" he said, "he
has not yet come. Perhaps it is light enough for you to read some of
his pernicious stuff." With that he put his hand into his pocket and
drew forth a paper. "Read that, Jack, I say, read it."
I obeyed: the twilight gave sufficient light for reading the
manuscript. Besides, the writing was large and in bold characters.
"Why," I said, "I know this writing. It is Sam Semple's."
"Very good. Go on, therefore----"
At the very first words I understood what had already happened and
guessed, pretty well, what was going to happen--
"Molly divine! Thy heavenly charms prevail;
As when the sun doth rise stars fade and pale."
"No need for much more of the rubbish, Jack. Read the last of it. I
read it all and it made me sick."
"So, matchless maid, thy silence grants consent.
See, at thy feet, the poet's knee is bent--
When evening roses scatter fragrance faint
And the sad Philomel renews his plaint."
"Did ever man hear such stuff, Jack? Go on."
"Within this bow'r afar from sight of men;
To-morrow, Wednesday, at the hour of ten,
That bow'r a shrine of Love and Temple fair,
I will await thee--Samuel Semple--there."
"What do you think of that, Jack? Samuel Semple! the ragged, skulking,
snivelling, impudent son of a thieving exciseman! A very fine lover
for my little maid! Ha! Will he? Will he?" The captain grasped his
cudgel, with resolution.
"Sir," I said, with submission. "What did Molly say to this precious
epistle?"
"Molly? Dost think that I would let the little maid see such ranting
stuff? Not so. The black woman brought the precious letters to me.
There are three of them. Wait, Jack. Thou shalt see. Hush! I hear his
step. Let us get into the summerhouse, and lie snug to see what
happens."
We stepped into the summerhouse, now pretty dark, and waited
expectant.
Like the captain, I was filled with amazement that Samuel, whom I knew
well, who was my schoolfellow, should presume to lift his eyes so
high. Alas! There is no bound, or limit, I am assured, to the
presumption of such as this stringer of foolish rhymes. Yet I felt
some compunction for him, because he would most assuredly receive a
basting such as would cure him effectually of the passion called Love,
so far as this object was concerned.
Presently, we heard footsteps crunching the gravel. "Snug, my lad! Lie
snug," whispered the captain. We heard the steps making their way
along the path between the gooseberry and current bushes. Then they
came out upon the grass lawn before the summerhouse. "The grass is as
big as a quarter-deck, Jack," said the captain. "It will serve for the
basting of a measley clerk. I've knocked down many a mutinous dog on
the quarter-deck."
The poet came to the summerhouse and stood outside, irresolute. He
could not see the two occupants. He hemmed twice, aloud. There was no
reply. "Matchless Molly!" he whispered. "Divine Maid! I am here, at
thy feet. Nymph of the azure sea, I am here."
"The devil you are!" cried the captain, stepping out. "Why, here is a
precious villain for you! Jack, cut him off in the rear if he tries to
get away. So--so, my young quill driver. You would poach on the
preserves of your betters, would you? Would you? Would you?" At each
repetition he banged the wooden post of the summerhouse with his
cudgel.
The poet made no reply, but he looked to right and to left and behind
him, for a way of escape, but found none, for I was ready to bar his
flight. Wherefore, his shoulders became rounded, and his head hung
down, and his knees trembled. Samuel Semple was caught in a trap. Some
young fellows would have made a fight of it. But not Samuel: all he
thought about was submission and non-resistance, which might provoke
pity.
"Three times, jackanapes, hast thou presumed to send stuff to my ward.
Here they are," he took from me the last sheet of doggerel verse and
drew from his pocket two more. "Here they are--one--two--three--all
addressed to the Matchless Molly. Why, thou impudent villain--what
devil prompted thee to call her Matchless Molly--matchless--to such as
you! Take that, sirrah, and that----" They were laid on with a will.
The poet groaned but made no reply--again looking vainly to right and
left for some way of escape.
"Now, sir," said the captain, "before we go on to the serious
business, thou wilt eat this precious stuff--eat it--eat it--swallow
it all--or by the Lord!" Again he raised the cudgel, "I will stuff it
down thy throat."
"Oh! Captain Crowle," he murmured, "I will eat them--I will eat them."
The poet took the papers. They were dry eating and I fear tasteless,
but in a few minutes he had swallowed them all.
"They are down," said the captain. "Now comes the basting. And I would
have you to understand, lump of impudence, that it is my mercy
only--my foolish mercy, perhaps, that keeps me from sending you
through the town at the tail of a cart. Kneel down, sir, in token of
repentance. What? I say--kneel down."
The basting which followed was really worthy of the days when Captain
Crowle, with his own hand, quelled a mutiny and drove the whole crew
under hatches. The right hand at seventy was as vigorous as at forty.
For my own part, I attempted no interference. The captain was wrathful
but he had command of himself. If he added to the basting a running
commentary of sea-going terms, signifying scorn and contempt, with the
astonishment with which a sailor always regards presumption, it was
only to increase the terror and the effect of the cudgelling. I am
quite certain that he was resolved in his own mind when he should
stop; that is to say, when the justice of the case would have been met
and revenge would begin. And I hold myself excused for not preventing
any portion of this commentary.
It was a poor, shrinking, trembling figure full of bruises and aches
and pains that presently arose and slunk away. I should have felt
sorry for him had he taken punishment like a man. Why, I would maroon
any of my crew who would cry and grovel and snivel when tied up for
his three dozen. It made one sick and ashamed to see him and to hear
him, with his--
"Mercy, captain! Oh! Enough, good captain! Oh! captain, I confess. I
deserve it all. Never again, captain. Oh! Forgiveness--forgiveness!"
And so on. I say it made me sick and ashamed. When all was over I
followed him to the garden gate. "Oh! Jack," he groaned. "You stood by
and saw it all. I am a dead man. He shall be hanged for it. You are
the witness. I am nothing but a bag of broken bones. Ribs and collar
bones and skull. I am a poor, unfortunate, murdered man. I am done to
death with a cudgel."
"Go home," I said. "You a man? You cry like a whipped cur. Murdered?
Not you. Cudgelled you are, and well you deserved it. Go home and get
brown paper and vinegar and tell all the town how you have been
cudgelled for writing verses to a matchless maid. They will laugh, Sam
Semple. They will laugh."
The captain went back to the parlour, somewhat flushed with the
exercise.
"Justice," he said, "has been done, without the cart and the cat. My
pipe, Jennifer, and the home-brewed. Molly, my dear, your very good
health."
A day or two afterwards, we heard that Sam Semple had gone to London
to make his fortune. He was carried thither by the waggon that once a
week makes the journey to London, returning the following week. But
when Sam Semple came back it was in a chaise, with much splendour, as
in due course you shall hear. You shall also hear of the singular
gratitude with which he repaid the captain for that wholesome
correction.
The Lady of Lynn
CHAPTER I
MY LORD'S LEVEE
It is three years later. We are now in the year 1750.
At twelve o'clock in the morning the anteroom of the town house of the
Right Honourable the Earl of Fylingdale was tolerably filled with a
mixed company attending his levee. Some were standing at the windows;
some were sitting: a few were talking: most, however, were unknown to
each other, and if they spoke at all, it was only to ask each other
when his lordship might be expected to appear.
As is customary at a great lord's levee there were present men of all
conditions; they agreed, however, in one point, that they were all
beggars. It is the lot of the nobleman that he is chiefly courted for
the things that he can give away, and that the number of his friends
and the warmth of their friendship depend upon the influence he is
supposed to possess in the bestowal of places and appointments.
Among the suitors this morning, for instance, was a half-pay captain
who sought for a company in a newly raised regiment: he bore himself
bravely, but his face betrayed his anxiety and his necessities. The
poor man would solicit his lordship in vain, but this he did not know,
and so he would be buoyed up for a time with new hopes. Beside him
stood a lieutenant in the navy, who wanted promotion and a ship. If
good service and wounds in battle were of any avail he should have
commanded both, but it is very well known that in the Royal Navy there
are no rewards for gallantry; men grow old without promotion: nothing
helps but interest: a man may remain a midshipman for life without
interest: never has it been known that without interest a ship has
been bestowed even upon the most deserving officer and after the most
signal service. The lieutenant, too, would be cheered by a promise,
and lulled by false hopes--but that he did not know.
One man wanted a post in the admiralty: the pay is small but the
perquisites and the pickings are large: for the same reason another
asked for a place in the customs. A young poet attended with a
subscription list and a dedication. He thought that his volume of
verse, once published, would bring him fortune, fame, and friends: he,
too, would be disappointed. The clergyman wanted another living: one
of the fat and comfortable churches in the city: a deanery would not
be amiss: he was even ready to take upon himself the office of bishop,
for which, indeed, he considered that his qualifications admirably
fitted him. Would his lordship exercise his all powerful influence in
the matter of that benefice or that promotion?
A young man, whose face betrayed the battered rake, would be contented
even with carrying the colours on the Cape Coast regiment if nothing
better could be had. Surely his lordship would procure so small a
thing as that! If nothing could be found for him then--the common side
of the King's Bench Prison and rags and starvation until death
released him. Poor wretch! He was on his way to that refuge, but he
knew it not; for my lord would promise to procure for him what he
wanted.
So they all waited, hungry and expectant, thinking how best to frame
their requests: how best to appear grateful before there was any call
for gratitude. Surely a nobleman must grow wearied with the assurances
of gratitude and promises of prayers. His experience must teach him
that gratitude is but a short-lived plant: a weed which commonly
flourishes for a brief period and produces neither flowers nor fruit;
while as for the prayers, though we may make no doubt that the fervent
prayer of the righteous availeth much, we are nowhere assured that the
prayers of the worldly and the unrighteous are heard on behalf of
another; while there is no certainty that the promised petition will
ever be offered up before the throne. Yet the suitors, day after day,
repeat the same promise, and rely on the same belief. "Oh! my lord,"
they say, or sing with one accord, "your name: your voice: your
influence: it is all that I ask. My gratitude: my life-long gratitude:
my service: my prayers will all be yours."
Soon after twelve o'clock the doors of the private apartments were
thrown open and his lordship appeared, wearing the look of dignity and
proud condescension combined, which well became the star he wore and
the ancient title which he had inherited. His age was about thirty, a
time of life when there linger some remains of youth and the serious
responsibilities are yet, with some men, hardly felt. His face was
cold and proud and hard; the lips firmly set: the eyes keen and even
piercing; the features regular: his stature tall, but not ungainly,
his figure manly. It was remarkable, among those who knew him
intimately, that there was as yet no sign of luxurious living on face
and figure. He was not as yet swelled out with wine and punch: his
neck was still slender; his face pale, without any telltale marks of
wine and debauchery; so far as appearance goes he might pass if he
chose, for a person of the most rigid and even austere virtue. This,
as I have said, was considered remarkable by his friends, most of whom
were already stamped on face and feature and figure with the outward
and visible tokens of a profligate life. For, to confess the truth at
the very beginning and not to attempt concealment, or to suffer a
false belief as regards this nobleman, he was nothing better than a
cold-blooded, pitiless, selfish libertine; a rake, and a voluptuary;
one who knew and obeyed no laws save the laws of (so-called) honour.
These laws allow a man to waste his fortune at the gaming table: to
ruin confiding girls: to spend his time with rake hell companions in
drink and riot and debauchery of all kinds. He must, however, pay his
gambling debts: he must not cheat at cards; he must be polite in
speech: he must be ready to fight whenever the occasion calls for his
sword, and the quarrel seems of sufficient importance. Lord
Fylingdale, however, was not among those who found his chief pleasure
scouring the streets and in mad riot. You shall learn, in due course,
what forms of pleasure chiefly attracted him.
I have said that his face was proud. There was not, I believe, any man
living in the whole world, who could compare with Lord Fylingdale for
pride. An overwhelming pride sat upon his brow; was proclaimed by his
eyes and was betrayed by his carriage. With such pride did Lucifer
look round upon his companions, fallen as they were, and in the depths
of hopeless ruin.
In many voyages to foreign parts I have seen something of foreign
peoples; every nation possesses its own nobility; I suppose that king,
lords and commons is the order designed for human society by
Providence. But I think that there is nowhere any pride equal to the
pride of the English aristocracy. The Spaniard, if I have observed him
aright, wraps himself in the pride of birth as with a cloak: it is
often a tattered cloak: poverty has no terrors for him so long as he
has his pride of birth. Yet he tolerates his fellow-countrymen whom he
does not despise because they lack what most he prizes. The English
nobleman, whether a peer or only a younger son, or a nephew or a
cousin, provided he is a sprig of quality, disdains and despises all
those who belong to the world of work, and have neither title, nor
pedigree, nor coat of arms. He does not see any necessity for
concealing this contempt. He lacks the courtesy which would hide it in
the presence of the man of trade or the man of a learned profession.
To be sure, the custom of the country encourages him, because to him
is given every place and every preferment. He fills the House of
Commons as well as the House of Lords: he commands our armies, our
regiments, even the companies in the regiments: he commands our fleets
and our ships: he holds all the appointments and draws all the
salaries: he makes our laws, and, as justice of the peace, he
administers them: he receives pensions, having done nothing to deserve
them; he holds sinecures which require no duties. And the people who
do the work--the merchants who bring wealth to the country: the
manufacturers; the craftsmen; the farmers; the soldiers who fight the
wars which the aristocracy consider necessary; the sailor who carries
the flag over the world: all these are supposed to be sufficiently
rewarded with a livelihood while they maintain the nobility and their
children in luxury and in idleness and are received and treated with
contempt.
I speak of what I have myself witnessed. This man's pride I have
compared with the pride of Lucifer. You shall learn while I narrate
the things which follow, that he might well be compared, as regards
his actions as well, with that proud and presumptuous spirit.
He was dressed in a manner becoming to his rank: need we dwell upon
his coat of purple velvet; his embroidered waistcoat; his white silk
stockings; his lace of ruffles and cravat; his gold buckles and his
gold clocks; his laced hat carried under his arm; his jewelled sword
hilt and the rings upon his fingers? You would think, by his dress,
that his wealth was equal to his pride, and, by his reception of the
suitors, that his power was equal to both pride and wealth together.
The levee began; one after the other stepped up to him, spoke a few
words, received a few words in reply and retired, each, apparently,
well pleased. For promises cost nothing. To the poet who asked for a
subscription and preferred a dedication, my lord promised the former,
accepted the latter, and added a few words of praise and good wishes.
But the subscription was never paid; and the dedication was afterwards
altered so far as the superscription, to another noble patron. To the
clergyman who asked for a country living then vacant, my lord promised
the most kindly consideration and bade him write his request and send
it him by letter, for better assurance of remembrance. To the officer
he promised his company as only due to gallantry and military skill:
to the place hunter he promised a post far beyond the dreams and the
hopes of the suppliant. Nothing more came of it to either.
The company grew thin: one after the other, the suitors withdrew to
feed on promises. It is like opening your mouth to drink the wind. But
'twas all they got.
Among those who remained to the last was a man in the dress of a
substantial shopkeeper, with a brown cloth coat and silver buttons.
He, when his opportunity arrived, advanced and bowed low to my lord.
"Sir," said his lordship, with gracious, but cold looks, "in what way
may I be of service to you?"
"With your lordship's permission, I would seek a place in your
household--any place--scullion in the kitchen, or groom to the
stable--any place."
"Why should I give you a place? Have I room in my household for every
broken cit?"
"My lord, it is to save me from bankruptcy and the King's Bench. It is
to save my wife and children from destitution. There are already many
shopkeepers in Westminster and the city who have been admitted
servants in the households of noblemen. It is no new thing--your
lordship must have heard of the custom."
"I do not know why I should save thy family or thyself. However, this
is the affair of my steward. Go and see him. Tell him that a place in
my household will save thee from bankruptcy and prison--it may be that
a place is vacant."
The man bowed again and retired. He knew very well what was meant. He
would have to pay a round sum for the privilege. This noble lord, like
many others of his rank, took money, through his steward, for nominal
places in his household, making one citizen yeoman of his dairy; in
Leicester Fields, perhaps, where no dairy could be placed; another
steward of the granaries, having in the town neither barns nor
storehouses nor ricks: a third, clerk to the stud book, having no race
horses; and so on. Thus justice is defeated, a man's creditors may be
defied and a man may escape payment of his just debts.
When he was gone, Lord Fylingdale looked round the room. In the window
stood, dangling a cane from his wrist, a gentleman dressed in the
highest and the latest fashion. In his left hand he held a snuffbox
adorned with the figure of a heathen goddess. To those who know the
meaning of fashion it was evident that he was in the front rank,
belonging to the few who follow or command, the variations of the
passing hour. These descend to the smallest details. I am told that
the secrets of the inner circle, the select few, who lead the fashion,
are displayed for their own gratification in the length of the cravat,
the colour of the sash, the angle of the sword, the breadth of the
ruffles, the width of the skirts, the tye of the wig. They are also
shown in the mincing voice, and the affected tone, and the use of the
latest adjectives and oaths. Yet, when one looked more closely, it was
seen that this gallant exterior arrayed an ancient gentleman whose
years were proclaimed by the sharpening of his features, the wrinkles
of his feet, the crows'-feet round his eyes, and his bending shoulders
which he continually endeavoured to set square and upright. Hat in one
hand, and snuffbox in the other, he ambled towards his lordship on
tiptoe, which happened just then to be the fashionable gait.
"Thy servant, Sir Harry"--my lord offered him his hand with
condescension. "It warms my heart to see thee. Therefore I sent a
letter. Briefly, Sir Harry, wouldst do me a service?"
"I am always at your lordship's commands. This, I hope, I have
proved."
"Then, Sir Harry, this is the case. It is probable that for certain
private reasons, I may have to pay a visit to a country town--a town
of tarpaulins and traders, not a town of fashion"--Sir Harry
shuddered--"patience, my friend. I know not how long I shall endure
the barbaric company. But I must go--there are reasons--let me
whisper--reasons of state--important secrets which call me there"--Sir
Harry smiled and looked incredulous--"I want, on the spot, a
friend"--Sir Harry smiled again, as one who began to understand--"a
friend who would appear to be a stranger. Would you, therefore, play
the part of such a friend?"
"I will do whatever your lordship commands. Yet to leave town at this
season"--it was then the month of April--"the assembly, the park, the
card table--the society of the ladies----"
"The loss will be theirs, Sir Harry. To lose their old favourite--oh!
there will be lamentations, at the rout---- Perhaps, however, we may
find consolations."
"Impossible. There are none out of town, except at Bath or
Tunbridge----"
"The ladies of Norfolk are famous for their beauty."
"Hoydens--I know them,
"'I who erst beneath a tree
Sung, Bumpkinet, and Bowzybee,
And Blouzelind and Marian bright
In aprons blue or aprons white,'
"as Gay hath it. Hoydens, my lord, I know them. They play whist and
dance jigs."
"The Norfolk gentlemen drink hard and the wine is good."
"Nay, my lord, this is cruel. For I can drink no longer."
"I shall find other diversions for you. It is possible--I
say--possible--that the Lady Anastasia may go there as well. She will,
as usual, keep the bank if she does go."
The old beau's face cleared, whether in anticipation of Lady
Anastasia's society or her card table I know not.
"My character, Sir Harry, will be in your hands. I leave it there
confidently. For reasons--reasons of state--it should be a character
of...."
"I understand. Your lordship is a model of all the virtues----"
"So--we understand. My secretary will converse with thee further on
the point of expenditure."
Sir Harry retired, bowing and twisting his body something like an ape.
Then a gentleman in scarlet presented himself.
"Your lordship's most obedient," he said, with scant courtesy. "I come
in obedience to your letter--for command."
"Colonel, you will hold yourself in readiness to go into the country.
There will be play--you may lose as much as you please--to Sir Harry
Malyus or to any one else whom my secretary will point out to you.
Perhaps you may have to receive a remonstrance from me. We are
strangers, remember, and I am no gambler, though I sometimes take a
card."
"I await your lordship's further commands." So he, too, retired. A
proper well-set-up figure he was, with the insolence of the trooper in
his face, and the signs of strong drink on his nose. Any one who knew
the town would set him down for a half-pay captain, a sharper, a
bully, a roysterer, one who lived by his wits, one who was skilled in
billiards and commonly lucky at any game of cards. Perhaps such a
judgment of the gallant colonel would not be far wrong.
There remained one suitor. He was a clergyman dressed in a fine silk
cassock with bands of the whitest and a noble wig of the order
Ecclesiastic. I doubt if the archbishop himself had a finer. He was in
all respects a divine of the superior kind: a dean, perhaps; an
archdeacon, perhaps; a canon, rector, vicar, chaplain, with a dozen
benefices, no doubt. His thin, slight figure carried a head too big
for his body. His face was sallow and thin, the features regular; he
bore the stamp of a scholar and had the manner of a scoffer. He spoke
as if he was in the pulpit, with a voice loud, clear and resonant, as
though the mere power of hearing that voice diffused around him the
blessings of virtue and piety and a clear conscience.
"Good, my lord," he said, "I am, as usual, a suppliant. The rectory of
St. Leonard le Size, Jewry, in the city, is now vacant. With my small
benefices in the country, it would suit me hugely. A word from your
lordship to the lord mayor--the rectory is in the gift of the
corporation--would, I am sure, suffice."
"If, my old tutor, the thing can be done by me, you may consider it as
settled. There are, however, I would have you to consider, one or two
scandals still outstanding, the memory of which may have reached the
ears of the city. These city people, for all their ignorance of
fashion, do sometimes hear of things. The little affair at Bath, for
instance----"
"The lady hath since returned to her own home. It is now quite
forgotten and blown over. My innocency is always well known to your
lordship."
"Assuredly. Has that other little business at Oxford blown over? Are
certain verses still attributed to the Reverend Benjamin Purdon?"
His reverence lightly blew upon his fingers. "That report is now
forgotten. But 'tis a censorious world. One man is hanged for looking
over a gate while another steals a pig and is applauded. As for the
author of those verses, he still remains undiscovered, while the
verses themselves--a deplorable fact--are handed about for the joy of
the undergraduates."
"Next time, then, steal the pig. Frankly, friend Purdon, thy name is
none of the sweetest, and I doubt if the bishop would consent.
Meantime, you are living, as usual, I suppose, at great expense----"
"At small expense, considering my abilities; but still at greater
expense than my slender income will allow. Am I not your lordship's
domestic chaplain? Must I not keep up the dignity due to the
position?"
"Your dignity is costly. I must get a bishopric or a deanery for you.
Meantime I have a small service to ask of you."
"Small? My lord, let it be great: it cannot be too great."
"It is that you go into the country for me."
"Not to Bath--or to Oxford?" His reverence betrayed an anxiety on this
point which was not quite in harmony with his previous declarations.
"Not to either. To another place, where they know not thy name or thy
fame. Very good. I thought I could depend upon your loyalty. As for
arrangements and time, you will hear from my secretary." So my lord
turned on his heel and his chaplain was dismissed. He remained for a
moment, looking after his master doubtfully. The order liked him not.
He was growing old and would have chosen, had he the power of choice,
some fat city benefice with two or three country livings thrown in. He
was tired of his dependence: perhaps he was tired of a life that ill
became his profession: perhaps he could no longer enjoy it as of old.
There was, at least, no sign of repentance as there was no touch of
the spiritual life in his face, which was stamped with the plain and
visible marks of the world, the flesh and the devil. What is that
stamp? Nobody can paint it, or describe it: yet it is understood and
recognised whenever one sees it. And it stood out legible so that all
those who ran might read upon the face of this reverend and learned
divine.
When the levee was finished and everybody gone, Lord Fylingdale sank
into a chair. I know not the nature of his thoughts save that they
were not pleasant, for his face grew darker every moment. Finally, he
sprang to his feet and rang the bell. "Tell Mr. Semple that I would
speak with him," he ordered.
Mr. Semple, the same Samuel whom you have seen under a basting from
the captain, was now changed and for the better. His dress was simple.
No one could guess from his apparel the nature of his occupation. For
all professions and all crafts there is a kind of uniform. The divine
wears gown and cassock, bands and wig, which proclaim his calling: the
lawyer is also known by his gown and marks his rank at the bar by coif
and wig: the attorney puts on broadcloth black of hue: the physician
assumes black velvet, a magisterial wig, and a gold-headed cane. The
officer wears the King's scarlet; the nobleman his star: the sprig of
quality puts on fine apparel and assumes an air and manner unknown to
Cheapside and Ludgate Hill: you may also know him by his speech. The
merchant wears black velvet with gold buttons, gold buckles, white
silk stockings and a gold-laced hat; the shopkeeper substitutes silver
for gold and cloth for velvet: the clerk has brown cloth metal buttons
and worsted stockings. As for the crafts, has not each its own jacket,
sleeves, apron, cap, and badge?
But for this man, where would we place him? What calling did he
represent? For he wore the flowered waist-coat--somewhat frayed and
stained, of a beau, and the black coat of the merchant: the worsted
stockings of the clerk and his metal buttons. Yet he was neither
gentleman, merchant, shopkeeper, clerk, nor craftsman. He was a member
of that fraternity which is no fraternity because there is no
brotherhood among them all; in which every man delights to slander,
gird at, and to depreciate his brother. In other words he wore the
dress--which is no uniform--of a poet. At this time he also called
himself secretary to his lordship having by ways known only to
himself, and by wrigglings up back stairs, and services of a kind
never proclaimed to the world, made himself useful. The position also
granted him, as it granted certain tradesmen, immunity from arrest. He
had the privilege of walking abroad through a street full of hungering
creditors, and that, not on Sundays only, like most of his tribe, but
on every day in the week.
He obeyed the summons and entered the room with a humble cringe.
"Semple," said his lordship, crossing his legs and playing with the
tassel of his sword knot, "I have read thy letter----"
"Your lordship will impute----"
"First, what is the meaning of the preamble?"
"I have been your lordship's secretary for six months. I have
therefore perused all your lordship's letters. I have also in my zeal
for your lordship's interests--looked about me. And I discovered--what
I ventured to state in that preamble."
"Well, sir?"
"Namely, that the Fylingdale estates are gone so far as your
lordship's life is concerned--but--in a word, all is gone. And
that--your lordship will pardon the plain truth--your lordship's
credit cannot last long and that--I now touch a most delicate point to
a man of your lordship's nice sense of honour--the only resource left
is precarious."
"You mean?"
"I mean--a certain lady and a certain bank."
"How, sir? Do you dare? What has put this suspicion into your head?"
"Nay, my lord--I have no thought but for your lordship's interests,
believe me."
"And so you tell me about the rustic heiress, and you propose a
plan----"
"I have had the temerity to do so."
"Yes. Tell me once more about this girl--and about her fortune."
"Her name is Molly Miller: she is an orphan: her guardian is an honest
sailor who has taken the greatest care of her property. She was an
heiress already when her father died. That was eighteen years ago; she
is now nineteen."
"Is she passable--to look at? A hoyden with a high colour, I warrant."
"A cream-coloured complexion, touched with red and pink: light hair in
curls and blue eyes; the face and figure of a Venus; the sweetest
mouth in the world and the fondest manner."
"Hang me if the fellow isn't in love with her, himself! If she is all
this, man, why not apply yourself, for the post of spouse?"
"Because her guardian keeps off all would-be lovers and destines his
ward for a gentleman at least--for a nobleman, he hopes."
"He is ambitious. Now as to her fortune."
"She has a fleet of half a dozen tall vessels--nay, there are more,
but I know not how many. I was formerly clerk in a countinghouse of
the town and I learned a great deal--what each is worth and what the
freight of each voyage may produce--but not all. The captain, her
guardian, keeps things close. My lord, I can assure you, from what I
learned in that capacity and by looking into old books, that she must
be worth over a hundred thousand pounds--over a hundred thousand
pounds! My lord, there is no such heiress in the city. In your
lordship's interests I have enquired in the taverns where the
merchants' clerks congregate. They know of all the city heiresses. The
greatest, at this moment, is the only daughter of a tallow chandler
who has twenty thousand to her name. She squints."
"Why have you given me this information? The girl belongs to your
friends--are you anxious for her happiness? You know my way of life.
Would that way make her happier?"
The man made no reply.
"Come, Semple, out with it. Your reasons--gratitude--to me--or revenge
upon an enemy?"
The man coloured. He looked up: he stood upright but for a moment
only. Then his eyes dropped and his shoulders contracted.
"Gratitude, my lord, to you," he replied. "Revenge? Why what reason
should I have for revenge?"
"How should I know of any? Let it be gratitude, then."
"I have ventured to submit--not a condition--but a prayer."
"I have read the clause. I grant it. On the day after the marriage if
the plan comes to anything, I will present thee to a place where there
are no duties and many perquisites. That is understood. I would put
this promise in writing but no writing would bind me more than my
word."
"Yet I would have the promise in writing."
"You are insolent, sirrah."
"I am protecting myself. My lord, I must speak openly in this matter.
How many promises have you made this morning? How many will you keep?
I must not be pushed aside with such a promise."
Lord Fylingdale made no reply.
"I offer you a fortune of a hundred thousands pounds and more."
"I can now take this fortune without your assistance."
"With submission, my lord, you cannot. I know too much."
"What shall I write, then?"
"I am only reasonable. The girl's fortune when you have it will go the
same way as your rents and woods have gone. Provide for me, therefore,
before you begin to spend that money."
"Semple, I did not think you had so much courage. Learn that a dozen
times I have been on the point of kicking you out of the house. Now,"
he rose, "give me paper and a pen--and I will write this promise."
Semple placed a chair at the table and laid paper and pen before it.
"Let me presume so far as to dictate the promise," he said. "I
undertake and promise that on the day after my marriage with the girl
named Molly Miller, I will give Samuel Semple such a place as will
provide him for life with a salary of not less than £200 a year.
So--will your lordship sign it?"
He took up this precious paper from the table, read it, folded it and
put it in his pocket.
"What next?" asked his patron.
"I am preparing a scheme which will give a plausible excuse for your
lordship's visit to the town. I have already suggested that certain
friends should prepare the way. The lady's guardian has prejudices in
favour of morality and religion. They are, I know, beneath your
lordship's notice--yet still--it will be in fact, necessary that your
lordship's character shall be such as will commend itself to this
unfashionable old sailor."
"We will speak again upon this point. The girl you say has no lover."
"She has no lover. Your lordship's rank: your manner: your appearance
will certainly carry the day. By contrast alone with the country
bumpkins the heart of the girl will be won."
"Mr. Semple," his lordship yawned. "Do you suppose that the heart of
the girl concerns me? Go and complete your scheme--of gratitude, not
revenge."