A RESPITE
I was as one who carries a respite for a man already in the cart and
on his way to Tyburn; or I was one who himself receives a respite on
the way to Tyburn. For, if the charges in those letters were true,
there could be no doubt as to the results of an inquiry. Now could
there be any doubt that Lord Fylingdale, in such a case, would refuse
an inquiry? I ran, therefore, as if everything depended on my speed,
and I arrived breathless.
Molly was alone walking about the garden restlessly. The sun was now
set, but the glow of the sky lingered, and her face was flushed in the
western light. "Jack," she cried, "I thought we had parted this
afternoon. What has happened? You have been running. What is it?"
"A good deal has happened, Molly. For one thing, you will not be
married to-morrow morning."
"Why not? Is my lord ill?"
"Not that I know of. But you will not be married to-morrow morning."
"You talk in riddles, Jack."
"Would you like to put off the wedding, Molly?"
"Alas! If I could put it off altogether! I am down-hearted over it,
Jack. It weighs me down like lead. But there is no escape."
"I think I have in my pocket a means of escape--a respite, at
least--unless there are worse liars in the world than those we have at
Lynn."
"Liars at Lynn, Jack? Who are they? Oh, Jack, what has happened?"
I sat down on a garden bench. "Molly," I said, "you hold the private
character of Lord Fylingdale in the highest esteem, do you not?"
"There is no better man living. This makes me ashamed of being so
loath to marry him."
"Well, but, Molly, consider. Who hath bestowed this fine character
upon his lordship?"
"Everybody who knows him--Sam Semple, for one. He is never weary of
singing the praises of his patron."
"He is a grateful soul, and, on his own account, a pillar of truth. I
will show you presently what an ornament he is to truth. Who else?"
"The Reverend Benjamin Purdon, once his tutor. Surely he ought to
know."
"Surely. Nobody ought to know better. I will show you presently how
admirable a witness to character this reverend divine must be
esteemed."
"There is Sir Harry Malyns, who assured us that his lordship is
thought to be too virtuous for the world of fashion."
"He is himself, like the parson, a fine judge of character. Is that
all?"
"No. The Lady Anastasia herself spoke to me of his nobility."
"She has also spoken to me--of other things. See here, Molly." I
lugged out the two letters. "What I have here contains the characters
of all these excellent persons; the latest scandals about them, their
reputation, and their practices."
"But, Jack, what scandals? What reputations?"
"You shall see, Molly. Oh, the allegations may be false, one and all!
For what I know, Sam may have the wings of an archangel and Mr. Purdon
may be already overripe for the New Jerusalem. But you shall read."
I offered her the letters. "No," she said; "read them yourself."
"The first, then, is from my father's first cousin, Zackary
Pentecrosse, a bookseller in Little Britain, which is a part of
London. He is, I believe, a respectable, God-fearing man. You will
observe that he does not vouch for the truth of his information."
I then read, at length, the letter which you have already heard.
"What do you think, Molly?"
"I don't know what to think. Is the world so wicked?"
"Here is another letter concerning the Reverend Benjamin Purdon.
Observe that this is another and an independent witness." So I read
the second letter, which you have also heard.
"What do you think of this worthy gentleman, Molly?"
"Oh, Jack, I am overwhelmed! Tell me more what it means."
"It means, my dear, that a ruined gamester thought to find an heiress
who would know nothing of his tarnished reputation. She must be rich.
All he wanted was her money. She must not have her money tied up. It
must be all in his own hands, to do with it what he chose; that is to
say, to dissipate and waste it in riot and raking and gambling."
"Lord Fylingdale? Jack! Think of his face! Think of his manners! Are
they such as you would expect in a rake?"
"There are, perhaps, different kinds of rakes. Tom Rising would spend
the night drinking and bawling songs. Another kind would practice
wickedness as eagerly, but with more politeness. What do I know of
such men? Certain I am that Lord Fylingdale would not scour the
streets and play the Mohock; but that he has found other vices more
pleasant and more (apparently) polite is quite possible."
"I don't understand, Jack. All the gentlemen, like Mr. Rising, drink
and sing. Do all gentlemen who do not drink practice other vices?"
I think that I must have learned the wisdom of what followed from some
book.
"Well, Molly, you have seen the vicar taste a glass of wine. He will
roll it in the glass; he will hold it to the light, admiring the
colour; he will inhale the fragrance; he will drink it slowly, little
by little, sipping the contents, and he will not take more than a
single glass or two at the most. In the same time, Tom Rising would
have gulped down a whole bottle. One man wants to gratify many senses;
the other seeks only to get drunk as quickly as he can. So, I take it,
with the forbidden pleasures of the world. One man may cultivate his
taste; the other may be satisfied with the coarse and plentiful
debauchery. This is not, however, talk for honest folk like you and
me."
"Go on with your story, Jack. Never mind the different ways of
wickedness."
"Well, he heard of an heiress. She belonged to a town remote from
fashion; a town of simple merchants and sailors; she was very rich;
much richer than he at first believed."
"Who told him about this heiress?"
"A creature called Sam Semple, whom the captain once cudgelled. Why,
Molly, it was revenge. In return for the cudgelling he would place you
and your fortune in the hands of a man who would bring misery upon you
and ruin on your fortune. Heavens, how the thing works out! And it
happened just in the nick of time that a spring was found in the
town--a spring whose medicinal properties----" "Ha!" I jumped to my
feet. "Molly, who found that spring? Sam Semple. Who wrote to the
doctor about it? Sam Semple. Who spread abroad a report that the
physicians of London were sending their patients to Lynn? Sam Semple.
How many patients have come to us from London? None--save and except
only the party of those who came secretly in his lordship's train--to
sing his praises and work his wicked will. Why, Molly." I burst into a
laugh, for now I understood, as one sometimes does understand,
suddenly and without proof other than the rapid conclusion, the full
meaning of the whole. "Molly, I say, there has never been any
medicinal spring here at all; the doctor's well is but common spring
water; there are no cures; the whole business is a plan--a bite--an
invention of Sam Semple!"
"Jack; have a care. How can that be, when the doctor has a long list
of cures?"
"I know not. But I do know that Sam Semple invented the spa in order
to bring down this invasion of sharpers and gamblers and heiress
hunters. Oh, what a liar he is! What revenge! What cunning! What
signal service has this servant of the devil rendered to his master!"
Truly, I was carried out of myself by this discovery which explained
everything.
"So," I went on, "they came here all the way from London, their lying
excuse that they were ordered here by their physicians, and we, poor
simple folk, fell into the snare; all the country side fell into the
snare, and we have been fooled into drinking common water and calling
it what you please; and we have built gardens and engaged musicians,
and created a spa, and--oh, Lord! Lord! what a liar he is! What a
liar! This comes, I suppose, of being a poet!"
Then Molly laid her hand upon my arm. "Jack," she said, very
seriously, "do you really believe this story? Only consider what it
means to me." Molly was more concerned about Lord Fylingdale than
about Sam Semple.
"I believe every word of it, Molly. I believe that they have all
joined in the conspiracy--more or less; that they have all got
promises; and that to-morrow morning, if you do not refuse to meet
this man in St. Nicholas Church, you will bring upon yourself nothing
but misery and ruin."
"I have promised to meet him. I must at least send him a message, if
only to say that I shall not come."
"I should like to send him nothing. But you are right. It is best to
be courteous. Well, you may send him a letter. I will myself take it
to the 'Crown.'"
"But afterwards, Jack. What shall we do afterwards? If he is innocent
he will take offence. If not----"
"If you were engaged to marry a young merchant, Molly, or to a
skipper, and you heard rumours of bankruptcy, drink, or evil courses,
what would you do?"
"I would tell him that I had heard such and such about him and I
should ask for explanations."
"Then do exactly the same with Lord Fylingdale. He is accused of
certain things. The captain must make inquiry--he is bound to inquire.
Why, the vicar himself says that he would, if necessary, in order to
ascertain the truth, travel all the way to London, there to learn the
foundations, if any, for these charges, and afterwards into
Gloucestershire, where his country mansion stands, to learn on the
spot what the tenants and the people of the country know of him."
"But suppose he refuses explanations. He is too proud to be called to
account."
"Then send him packing. Lord or no lord, proud or humble. If he
furnishes explanations--if these things are untrue--then--why, then,
you will consider what to do. But, Molly, I do not believe that any
explanations will be forthcoming, and that your noble lover will carry
it off to the end with the same lofty pride and cold mien."
"Let us go into the parlour, Jack. There are the captain's writing
materials. Help me to say what is proper. Oh! is it possible? Can I
believe it? Are these things true? That proud man raised above his
fellows by his virtues and his rank and his principles. Jack, he
risked his life for me."
"Ask no more questions, Molly. We must have explanations. Let us write
the letter."
It was Molly's first letter; the only letter, perhaps, that she will
ever write in all her life. Certainly she had never written one
before, nor has she ever written one since. Like most housewives, her
writing is only wanted for household accounts, receipts for puddings
and pies, and the labelling of her bottles and jars. I have the letter
before me at this moment. It is written in a large sprawling hand, and
the spelling is not such as would satisfy my father.
Naturally she looked to me for advice. I had written many letters to
my owners and to foreign merchants about cargoes and the like, and was
therefore able to advise the composition of a letter which should be
justly expressed and to the point.
"HONOURED LORD,--This is from me at the present moment in my
guardian's parlour. [Writing parlour, you see, when I as mate of
the ship should have written port or harbour.] It is to inform you
that intelligence has been brought by letters from London and
Cambridge. Touching the matters referred to in these letters, I
have to report for your satisfaction, that they call your lordship
in round terms, a gamester, and a ruined rake; and your companions
at the spa, viz, Sam Semple, the parson, the ricketty old beau,
and the colonel, simple rogues, common cheats, and sharpers. Shall
not, therefore, meet your lordship at the church to-morrow morning
as instructed. Awaiting your lordship's explanations and
commands.--Your most obedient, humble servant,
"MOLLY."
This letter I folded, sealed, addressed, and dropped into my pocket.
Then I bade Molly good-night, entreated her to be thankful for her
escape, and so left her with a light heart; verily it seemed as if the
sadness of the last two months had been wholly and suddenly lifted. On
my way back to the "Crown" I passed the Lady Anastasia's lodging just
as her chair was brought to the house. I opened the door for her and
stood hat in hand.
"Why, it is Jack," she cried. "It is the sailor Jack--the constant
lover. Have you anything more to tell me?"
"Only that Molly will not keep that appointment of to-morrow morning."
"Oh! That interesting appointment in St. Nicholas Church. May a body
ask why the ceremony has been postponed?"
"Things have been disclosed at the last moment. Fortunately, in time."
"What things, and by whom?"
"By letter. It is stated as a fact well known that Lord Fylingdale is
nothing better than a ruined rake and a notorious gamester."
"Indeed? The excellent Lord Fylingdale? Impossible! Quite impossible!
The illustrious example of so many virtues! The explanations will be,
I am sure, complete and satisfactory. Ruined? A rake? A notorious
gamester? What next will the world say? Does his lordship know of this
discovery? Not yet. You said it was a discovery, did you not? Well, my
friend, I am much obliged to you for telling me. You are quite sure
Molly will not be there? Very good of you to tell me. For my own part
I start for London quite early--at five o'clock. Good-bye, Jack."
Then I went in to the "Crown," where I learned that the captain had
been reading another letter containing accusations as bad as those in
the other two.
So we fell to talking over the business, and we congratulated the
captain that he had sent that letter; and we resolved that he should
refuse to receive the villain Sam Semple; and that the vicar should,
if necessary, proceed to London, and there learn what he could
concerning the past history and the present reputation of the noble
suitor. Meantime, I said no more about the intended marriage at St.
Nicholas Church and the abandonment of the plan. As things turned out,
it would have been far better had I told the captain and had we both
planted ourselves as sentinels at the door, so as to be quite sure
that Molly did not go forth at six in the morning.
That evening, after leaving me, Lady Anastasia sent a note to Lord
Fylingdale. "I am leaving Lynn early to-morrow morning. I expect to be
in London in two days. Shall write to Molly."