THE OUTRAGE
1
A great Sadness descends upon my Soul, dear Mistress, even as I write.
Cold shivers course up and down the length of my spine and mine eyes
feel hot with tears still unshed--tears of Sorrow and of Shame, aye! and
of a just Anger that it should have been in the power of two
empty-headed Coxcombs to wreak an irreparable Injury upon one who is as
much above them as are the Stars above the grovelling Worms.
I use the words "irreparable Injury" advisedly, dear Lady, because what
happened on that late September afternoon will for ever be graven upon
the Heart and Memory of a great and noble Man, to the exclusion of many
a gentle feeling which was wont to hold full sway over his Temperament
before then. Time, mayhap, and the triumph of a great Soul over
overwhelming temptation, have no doubt somewhat softened the tearing
ache of that cruel brand; but only your Hand, fair Mistress, can
complete the healing, only your Voice can, with its tender gentleness,
drown the insistent call of Pride still smarting for further Revenge.
2
Lord Douglas Wychwoode did not speak to Mr. Betterton after her Ladyship
and my Lord Stour had gone out of the room, but continued his restless
pacing up and down. I thought his Silence ominous.
Half consciously, I kept my attention fixed upon the street below, and
presently saw the Lady Barbara get into her chair and bid adieu to his
Lordship, who remained standing on our doorstep until the Sedan was
borne away up the street and out of sight. Then, to my astonishment, he
walked down as far as the _Spread Eagle_ tavern and disappeared within
its doors.
The Silence in our parlour was getting on my nerves. I could not see
Mr. Betterton, only Lord Douglas from time to time, when in his
ceaseless tramping his short, burly figure crossed the line of my
vision.
Anon I once more thought of my Work. There were a couple more copies of
the Manifesto to be done, and I set to, determined to finish them. Time
went on, and the afternoon light was now rapidly growing dim. Outside,
the weather had not improved. A thin rain was coming down, which turned
the traffic-way of our street to sticky mud. I remember, just after I
had completed my Work and tidied up my papers, looking out of the window
and seeing, in the now fast-gathering gloom, the young Lord of Stour on
the doorstep of the _Spread Eagle_ tavern, in close conversation with
half a dozen ill-clad and ill-conditioned Ruffians. But I gave the
matter no further thought just then, for my mind happened to be
engrossed with doubts as to how I should convey the Copies I had made to
my Employer without revealing my presence to Lord Douglas Wychwoode.
His Lordship himself, however, soon relieved me of this perplexity, for
presently he came to a halt by the door which led to the inner office
and quite unceremoniously pushed it open and walked through. I heard his
peremptory demands for the Copies, and Mr. Baggs' muttered explanations.
But I did not wait a moment longer. This was obviously my best
opportunity for reappearing upon the Scene without his Lordship
realizing that I had been in the parlour all the time. I slipped out
from my hiding place and carefully rearranged the screen in its former
position, then I tiptoed across the room.
In the gloom, I caught sight of Mr. Betterton standing in one of the
Recesses, his slender white hands, which were so characteristic of his
refined, artistic Personality, were clasped behind his back. I would
have given a year or two of my humdrum life for the privilege of
speaking to him then and of expressing to him some of that Sympathy with
which my heart was overflowing. But no one knows better than I how
proud a Man he is, and how he would have resented the thought that any
one else had witnessed his Humiliation.
So I executed the Manoeuvre which I had in my mind without further
delay. I opened the door which gave on the stairs noiselessly, then
closed it again with a bang, as if I had just come in. Then I strode as
heavily as I could across the room to the door of the inner office,
against which I then rapped with my knuckles.
"Who's that?" Mr. Baggs' voice queried immediately.
"The Copies, Sir, which you ordered," I replied in a firm voice. "I
have finished them."
"Come in! come in!" then broke in Lord Douglas impatiently. "I have
waited in this accursed hole quite long enough."
The whole thing went off splendidly, and even Mr. Baggs did subsequently
compliment me on my clever Ruse. Lord Douglas never suspected the fact
that I had not been out of the Parlour for a moment, but had heard from
the safe shelter of the window-recess everything that had been going on.
3
When, a few moments later, I returned to the Parlour, eager to have a
few minutes' speech with Mr. Betterton, I saw that he had gone. Anon,
Kathleen, the maid, brought in the candles and closed the shutters. I
once more took my place at my desk, but this time made no use of the
screen. After awhile, Lord Douglas came in, followed by the
ever-obsequious Mr. Baggs, and almost directly after that, my Lord Stour
came back.
His clothes were very wet and he shook the rain out from the brim of his
hat.
"What a time You have been!" Lord Douglas said to him. "I was for going
away without seeing You."
"I wanted to find out what had happened in here," my Lord Stour gave
reply, speaking in a whisper.
"What do you mean?"
"The Fellow had the audacity to pay his addresses to Lady Barbara," my
Lord Stour went on, still speaking below his breath. "I guessed as
much, but wanted to make sure."
Lord Douglas uttered an angry Oath, and Lord Stour continued hurriedly:
"Such Insolence had to be severely punished, of course; and I saw to
it."
"How?" queried the other eagerly.
"I have hired half a dozen Ruffians from the tavern yonder, to waylay
him with sticks on his way from here, and to give him the sound
thrashing he deserves."
It was with the most terrific effort at self-control that I succeeded in
smothering the Cry of Horror which had risen to my lips. As it was, I
jumped to my feet and both my chair and the candle from my desk fell
with a clatter to the floor. I think that Mr. Baggs hurled a Volley of
abuse upon me for my clumsiness and chided me in that the grease from
the candle was getting wasted by dripping on the floor. But the
Gentlemen paid no heed to me. They were still engaged in their
abominable conversation. While I stooped to pick up the chair and the
candle, I heard my Lord Stour saying to his Friend:
"Come with me and see the Deed accomplished. The Mountebank must be made
to know whose Hand is dealing him the well-merited punishment. My
Hirelings meant to waylay him at the corner of Spreadeagle Court, a
quiet place which is not far from here, and which leads into a blind
Alley. Quickly, now," he added; "or we shall be too late."
More I did not hear; for, believe me, dear Mistress, I felt like one
possessed. For the nonce, I did not care whether I was seen or not,
whether Mr. Baggs guessed my purpose or not. I did not care if he
abused me or even punished me later for my strange behaviour. All that
I knew and felt just then was that I must run to the corner of
Spreadeagle Court, where one of the most abominable Outrages ever
devised by one Man against Another was even then being perpetrated. I
tore across the room, through the door and down the stairs, hatless, my
coat tails flying behind me, like some Maniac escaping from his Warders.
I ran up Chancery Lane faster, I think, than any man ever ran before.
Already my ears were ringing with the sound of distant shouts and
scuffling. My God! grant that I may not come too late. I, poor, weak,
feeble of body, could of course do nothing against six paid and armed
Ruffians; but at least I could be there to ward off or receive some of
the blows which the arms of the sacrilegious Miscreants were dealing, at
the instance of miserable Coxcombs, to a man whose Genius and Glory
should have rendered him almost sacred in their sight.
4
As long as I live will that awful picture haunt me as I saw it then.
You know the Blind Alley on the left-hand side of Spreadeagle Court,
with, at the end of it, the great double doorway which gives on the back
premises of Mr. Brooks' silk warehouse. It was against that doorway
that Mr. Betterton had apparently sought some semblance of refuge when
first he was set upon by the Ruffians. By the time that I reached the
corner of the Blind Alley, he had fallen against the door; for at first
I could not see him. All that I saw was a group of burly backs, and
arms waving sticks about in the air. All that I heard, oh, my God! were
ribald cries and laughter, and sounds such as wild animals must make
when they fall, hungry, upon their Prey. The Ruffians, I make no doubt,
had no grudge against their Victim; but they had been well instructed
and would be well paid if their foul deed was conscientiously
accomplished.
My Wrath and Anxiety gave me the strength which I otherwise lack.
Pushing, jostling, crawling, I contrived to work my way through the
hideous Barrier which seethed and moved and shouted betwixt me and the
Man whom I love.
When I at last kneeled beside him, I saw and heard nothing more. I did
not feel the blows which one or two of the Ruffians thought fit to deal
to Me. I only saw him, lying there against the door, panting, bleeding
from forehead and hands, his clothes torn, his noble Face of a deathly
Pallor. I drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket and staunched the
wounds upon his face; I pillowed his head against my Shoulder; I helped
him to struggle to his feet. He was in mortal pain and too weak to
speak; but a ray of kindliness and of gratitude flashed through his eyes
when he recognised me.
The Ruffians were apparently satisfied with their hideous work; but they
still stood about at the top of the Alley, laughing and talking, waiting
no doubt for their Blood Money. Oh! if wishes could have struck those
Miscreants dumb or blind or palsied, my feeble voice would have been
raised to Heaven, crying for Vengeance on such an infamous Deed. Hot
tears came coursing down my cheeks, my temples throbbed with pain and
Misery, as my arm stole round the trembling figure of my Friend.
Then all at once those tears were dried, the throbbing of my temples was
stilled. I felt no longer like a Man, but like a petrified Statue of
Indignation and of Hate. The sound of my Lord Stour's Voice had just
struck upon mine ear. Vaguely through the gloom I could see him and
Lord Douglas Wychwoode parleying with those abominable Ruffians.... I
heard the jingle of Money ... Blood Money ... the ring of ribald
laughter, snatches of a bibulous song.
These sounds and the clang of the Gentlemen's footsteps upon the
cobble-stones also reached Mr. Betterton's fast-fading Senses. I felt a
tremor coursing right through his limbs. With an almost superhuman
Effort, he pulled himself together and drew himself erect, still
clinging with both hands to my arms. By the time that the two young
Cavaliers had reached the end of the blind Alley, the outraged Man was
ready to confront them. Their presence there, those sounds of jingling
money and of laughter, had told him the whole abominable tale. He fought
against his Weakness, against Pain and against an impending Swoon. He
was still livid, but it was with Rage. His eyes had assumed an
unnatural Fire; his whole appearance as he stood there against the solid
background of the massive door, was sublime in its forceful Expression
of towering Wrath and of bitter, deadly Humiliation.
Even those two miserable Coxcombs paused for an instant, silenced and
awed by what they saw. The laughter died upon their lips; the studied
sneer upon their Face gave place to a transient expression of fear.
Mr. Betterton's arm was now extended and with trembling hand he pointed
at Lord Stour.
"'Tis You----" he murmured hoarsely. "You--who have done--this thing?"
"At your service," replied the young Man, with a lightness of manner
which was obviously forced and a great show of Haughtiness and of
Insolence. "My friend Lord Douglas here, has allowed me the privilege of
chastising a common Mountebank for daring to raise his eyes to the Lady
Barbara Wychwoode----"
At mention of the Lady's name, I felt Mr. Betterton's clutch on my arm
tighten convulsively.
"Does she----" he queried, "does she--know?"
"I forbid You," interposed Lord Douglas curtly, "to mention my Sister's
name in the matter."
"'Tis to my Lord Stour I am speaking," rejoined Mr. Betterton more
firmly. Then he added: "You will give me satisfaction for this outrage,
my Lord----"
"Satisfaction?" riposted his Lordship coolly. "What do you mean?"
"One of us has got to die because of this," Mr. Betterton said loudly.
Whereupon my Lord Stour burst into a fit of hilarious laughter, which
sounded as callous as it was forced.
"A Duel?" he almost shrieked, in a rasping voice. "Ha! ha! ha! a
Duel!!!--a duel with You? ... With Tom Betterton, the Son of a
Scullion.... By my faith! 'tis the best joke you ever made, Sir Actor
... 'tis worth repeating upon the Stage!"
But the injured Man waited unmoved until his Lordship's laughter died
down in a savage Oath. Then he said calmly:
"The day and hour, my Lord Stour?"
"This is folly, Sir," rejoined the young Cavalier coldly. "The Earl of
Stour can only cross swords with an Equal."
"In that case, my lord," was Mr. Betterton's calm reply, "you can only
cross swords henceforth with a Coward and a Liar."
"Damned, insolent cur!" cried Lord Stour, maddened with rage no doubt at
the other's calm contempt. He advanced towards us with arm
uplifted--then perhaps felt ashamed, or frightened--I know not which.
Certain it is that Lord Douglas succeeded in dragging him back a step or
two, whilst he said with well-studied contempt:
"Pay no further heed to the fellow, my Friend. He has had his
Punishment--do not bandy further Words with him."
He was for dragging Lord Stour away quickly now. I do believe that he
was ashamed of the abominable Deed. At any rate, he could not bear to
look upon the Man who had been so diabolically wronged.
"Come away, Man!" he kept reiterating at intervals. "Leave him alone!"
"One moment, my Lord," Mr. Betterton called out in a strangely powerful
tone of Voice. "I wish to hear your last Word."
By now we could hardly see one another. The Blind Alley was in almost
total gloom. Only against the fast-gathering dusk I could still see the
hated figures of the two young Cavaliers, their outlines blurred by the
evening haze. Lord Stour was certainly on the point of going; but at
Mr. Betterton's loudly spoken Challenge, he paused once more, then came
a step or two back towards us.
"My last Word?" he said coldly. Then he looked Mr. Betterton up and
down, his every Movement, his whole Attitude, a deadly Insult. "One
does not fight with such as You," he said, laughed, and would have
turned away immediately, only that Mr. Betterton, with a quick and
unforeseen Movement, suddenly reached forward and gripped him by the
Wrist.
"Insolent puppy!" he said in a whisper, so hoarse and yet so distinct
that not an Intonation, not a syllable of it was lost, "that knows not
the Giant it has awakened by its puny bark. You refuse to cross swords
with Tom Betterton, the son of a Menial, as you choose to say? Very
well, then, 'tis Thomas Betterton, the Artist of undying renown, who now
declares war against You. For every Jeer to-day, for every Insult and
for every Blow, he will be even with You; for he will launch against You
the irresistible Thunderbolt that kills worse than death and which is
called _Dishonour_! ... Aye! I will fight You, my Lord; not to your
death, but to your undying Shame. And now," he added more feebly, as he
threw his Lordship's arm away from him with a gesture of supreme
contempt, "go, I pray You, go! I'll not detain You any longer. You and
your friend are free to laugh for the last time to-day at the name which
I, with my Genius, have rendered immortal. Beware, my Lord! The
Ridicule that kills, the Obloquy which smirches worse than the impious
hands of paid Lacqueys. This is the Word of Tom Betterton, my Lord; the
first of his name, as you, please God, will be the last of yours!"
Then, without a groan, he fell, swooning, upon my shoulder. When
consciousness of my surroundings once more returned to me, I realized
that the two Gentlemen had gone.