HIS LORDSHIP'S INTENTIONS
In the morning the newly laid out gardens were the resort--after
prayers, the pump room, the pastry cook, the bookseller, and the
draper--of all the ladies and of many of the men--those, indeed, who
preferred the pleasures of society and the discourse of the ladies, to
the dull talk of the Cambridge fellows and the canons of Ely in the
coffee house, or the noisy disputes and the wagers of the tavern, or
the sport of the cockpit. The gardens became the haunt of scandal and
of gossip; here a thousand stories were invented; here characters were
taken away and reputations dragged in the mud; the ladies in their
morning dress walked about under the trees and in the alleys,
diverting themselves as best they could. At eleven the music played in
the gallery outside the long room. On some days a public breakfast was
offered; on other days there was a lottery or raffle, in which
everybody took a huge interest. Sometimes the company were content to
walk or sit under the trees, talking; sometimes there was singing in
the long room; or perhaps the Rev. Mr. Purdon would read aloud to a
small circle from some book of verse or of romance; or there were
parties made up for voyages up the river; or a play was bespoke by the
general consent. In a word, it was the resort of a multitude who had
nothing to do but to divert themselves; they were full of scandal
about each other; a young fellow could not squeeze a girl's hand but
it was whispered all over the place that he had run away with her; and
though one would think, to hear them, that every woman of the company
was ready to tear to pieces every other woman, yet they assumed so
pretty a disguise, and professed so much interest and affection and
friendship for each other, that one was inclined to believe the
scandal and gossip to be a pretence or masque to hide their true
feelings.
It was natural that in walking about the gardens the people should
divide themselves into parties of two, or three, or more. But in the
morning, after Molly's first appearance, these parties consisted of
groups, each of half a dozen and more, talking about last night's
unexpected apparition of a woman more finely dressed than any of them,
with jewels and gold chains which made the hearts of all who beheld to
sink with envy. "The men, they say, admired her face. Lord Fylingdale
himself, they say, toasted her by name as an heiress. What kind of
heiress can she be? And there was a quarrel about her over the punch.
Tom Rising poured the whole of the punch bowl upon the head of a
gentleman said to be his lordship's secretary. This morning they met
outside the walls. The gentleman is run through the body and cannot
live. No, through the shoulder and will recover. I heard that it was
in the arm, and that he will be well again in a week. But the
heiress--who is the heiress?" And so they went on. You may be sure
that Sam Semple found it prudent to keep out of the way. There was,
therefore, no one to tell these curious ladies who the heiress was, or
what her fortune might be. Mostly they inclined to the belief that a
thousand pounds would cover the whole of her inheritance, and that
Lord Fylingdale meant no more than an act of politeness to the town,
which certainly had done its best to entertain the company. And so on.
Presently there appeared, walking side by side, Lord Fylingdale
himself and Lady Anastasia. He carried his hat under his arm, and his
cane dangled from his right wrist; his face was as cold and as devoid
of emotion as when the night before he had rebuked the company.
They passed along under the trees, conversing. When they passed or met
any others they lowered their voices. Their conversation--I will tell
you in due course how I learned it--was important and serious. It was
of greater importance to Molly and to me, had I known it, than one
could imagine or suspect. And this was, in effect, the substance of
their discourse.
"I know," she said, "that you have some design in coming to Lynn, and
that you intend me to assist you. Otherwise, why should you drag me
here, over vile roads, to a low lodging, in the company of fox hunters
and their ladies? Otherwise, indeed, why should you come here
yourself?"
"The healing waters of the spa," he suggested gravely.
"You have nothing the matter with you. Nothing ever hurts you. If
other men drink and rake all night they show it in their faces and
their swollen bodies. But you--why you look as if you lived like a
saint or a hermit in a cell."
"Yet--to prevent disease--to anticipate, so to speak."
"Ludovick, you have no longer any confidence in me. You tell me to
come here--I come. You order me to set up a bank here every night. I
have done so. What has happened? Sir Harry and the colonel lose and
win with each other and with me. You look in and throw away fifty
guineas with your lofty air as if they mattered nothing. These country
bumpkins look on and wonder. They are lost in admiration at a man who
can lose fifty guineas without so much as a word or a gesture. And
then they put down--a simple guinea. To please you, Ludovick, I have
become a guinea hunter. And I am standing at great expense, and I am
losing the profits of my London bank."
"The change of air will do you good, Anastasia. You were looking pale
in town. Besides, there were too many rumours afloat."
"If I had your confidence, I should not care for anything. I am
willing to be your servant, Ludovick, your tool. I endure the colonel
and I tolerate Sir Harry, with his nauseous old compliments. For your
sake I suffer them to bring discredit on my name and my play. But I do
not consent to be your slave."
"My mistress, not my servant," he murmured, touching her fingers.
She laughed scornfully. "Will you tell me, then, if you wish me to do
anything more for you? Am I to continue picking up the guineas of
these hard-fisted rustics? Am I to figure in their stupid minuets,
whenever they have their assembly? How long am I to stay here?"
"You ask too many questions, Anastasia. Still, to show you that I
place confidence in you, although you mistrust me, I will answer some
of them. Of course it is no news to you that I have at this moment no
rents--nothing to receive and nothing to sell."
"I have known that for two years. You best know how you continue to
keep up your establishment."
"Partly by the help of your table, dear Anastasia. I am not
ungrateful, believe me." Again he touched her fingers, and again she
drew herself away.
"You have remarked upon the danger of having the colonel and old Sir
Harry about you. Both are a good deal blown upon. I would not suffer
them to be with you again at Bath or Tunbridge Wells. In this place
they are safe. Both of them will encourage the play and set an example
of high play and great winnings. One of them will also be ready to
challenge any who refuses to pay. The colonel has his uses. As for
Harry, he is useful to me in other ways. Like his reverence."
"The odious, vile, crawling worm!"
"Quite so. Sir Harry and the Reverend Mr. Purdon are useful in
assuring the world of my own virtuous character."
"Why do you want to appear virtuous? You, whose character is
notorious."
"I have my reasons. Anastasia, I will place my whole confidence in
you. Perhaps you saw at the assembly the other night a certain
bourgeoise--a citizen's daughter--a girl dressed in the clothes of the
fashion, her face as red as her hands----"
"I saw a very remarkable woman, Ludovick--her face and her figure fine
enough to make her fortune. She was covered with jewels, which they
told me were false."
"They told you wrongly, Anastasia. They are real--diamonds, pearls,
rubies, gold chains and all--real. The girl is a great heiress. The
people here do not know how great, or the whole country would be on
bended knees before the goddess. But I know. And on her account--look
you--on her account am I here."
The Lady Anastasia changed her manner suddenly. She glanced at his
face. It was impassive; it showed no sign of any emotion at all.
"Well? What is this heiress to me? Can I get her diamonds?"
"I want you to become her friend, Anastasia. I desire this favour very
greatly."
The Lady Anastasia stopped suddenly. She lowered her face; her cheek
flushed; her lip trembled. "Ludovick," she said, "I am a woman after
all. You may command me in anything--anything else. But not in this.
If you insist upon this, I will go home at once."
He looked surprised. "Why?" he began. "Surely my Anastasia is not
jealous--not jealous, after all the proofs that I have given her of
fidelity?"
"Jealous?" she repeated. "What have you to do with the girl, then?"
[Illustration: "JEALOUS?" SHE REPEATED. "WHAT HAVE YOU TO DO WITH THE
GIRL, THEN?"]
"My dear mistress, I care nothing about the girl, or about any woman
in the world, except one. Who should know this except the one herself?
It is the girl's fortune that I want--not the girl herself."
"How will you get it without the girl?"
"That is the very point I am considering. I came here in order to get
this fortune. My secretary--the fellow Semple--told me of the girl. I
sent you here in order to help me to secure this fortune. I sent his
reverence here--the colonel--Sir Harry--all of them--here with the
same object, which they must not know. I came here. I have made a
friend of the girl's guardian."
"If this is true----"
"Of course, it is true," he replied coldly. "Let me go on. You shall
not charge me again with want of confidence. The guardian is a simple
old sailor. He is a fool, of course, being a sailor. He thinks to
marry his ward to a man of rank."
"Yourself, perhaps?"
"Perhaps. He also believes in the virtue and piety which my friends
here have ascribed to me."
"How will you get the fortune without the girl?"
"I tell you again--there is the difficulty. Anastasia, if you have
ever promised to assist me, give me your assistance now. I must win
the confidence of the old man and the girl. Everybody must speak well
of me. I will learn how the money is placed and where. I will get
possession of it somehow."
"And then--when you have it?"
"My difficulties will be at an end. I shall leave the town and the
gaming table and everything. You will come with me, Anastasia." This
time he took her hand. "We will be Alexis and Amaryllis, the shepherd
Strephon and the maiden Daphne. My Anastasia, believe me, I am tired
of the world and its noisy pleasures. I sigh for rest and repose."
"And the girl?"
"She will do better without this huge fortune. Ye gods! to give such a
girl--this sailor wench--this red and pink bourgeoise--the fortune
that should have been yours, Anastasia! 'Tis monstrous! It cuts her
off from her own people. She would do better to marry the young sailor
fellow who stumbled and rolled through the minuet with her, thinking
he was on his deck rolling in the bay of Biscay. I will set this
matter right. I will relieve her of her fortune and throw her into
those arms which reek of pitch and tar and rope. Happy girl!"
The Lady Anastasia sighed. "There will never be any rest--or any
repose--or any happiness for you or for me. Have it your own way. I
will make the girl my friend. I will tell her that you are the best of
men and the most virtuous. Yes," she laughed a little, but not
mirthfully, "the most virtuous. And now, I think, you may walk with me
through their narrow lanes with a bridge and a stream for every one,
to the small and dirty cabin where my maid makes shift to dress me
every day, so that I may turn out decent at least."