A very fine fellow did Tom Tufton feel a few days later, when,
arrayed in all his new finery, he surveyed himself from head to
foot in Master Cale's long mirror, kept in the best light afforded
by the back room, for the benefit of the fops and dandies who
desired to see the effect of the finery purchased from the
fashionable perruquier.
Cale had used discretion, and urged the same upon Tom, in the selection
and fashion of his garments, and had sternly discountenanced anything
like undue extravagance and foppery. Tom had insisted upon the Blenheim
vest, with its rich flowering on the white satin ground, and its
trimming of golden cord; but for the rest he had permitted Cale to
select what he would, and was perfectly satisfied with the long coat
of claret-coloured cloth, with a modest trimming of gold cord, and
turned-back cuffs (showing the white lawn full shirt sleeve beneath),
which set off his tall and well-made figure to advantage. The breeches
were of the same cloth, but showed little, as silk stockings were drawn
high up over them, almost meeting the vest or waistcoat, which was
always long. He had shoes with high though not extravagant heels, and
gilt buckles; a gold cord with tassels adorned his jaunty three-cornered
hat; and his girdle and sword belt were of gold silk and cord.
But perhaps Tom was most proud of his periwig--an addition to his
outfit which he had insisted upon rather against the advice of
Cale, who had offered to curl and powder his own hair in an
imitation of the prevailing mode. But Tom would not be denied the
fashionable peruke. He had spent the best part of each day seated
behind a screen in Cale's inner shop, listening in a species of
fascination and amaze to the talk of the young dandies who daily
resorted thither. Cale told him that he would thus best learn
something of the language and gossip of the day, and be better able
to hold his own when he went abroad; and Tom already felt that he
possessed command of a thousand new epithets and words, to say
nothing of the meaningless oaths and blasphemies, which made a part
of the stock in trade of every fashionable man's vocabulary.
And now he stood regarding himself with complaisant satisfaction,
feeling that he could ruffle it with the best of them. He had heard
too much talk of periwigs not to feel resolved to wear one himself.
Unless he did so, he felt he should never take his place in the
world of fashion. His natural hair had therefore been cut close to
his head, the peruke was fitted on, and fell in bushy curls to his
shoulders.
Tom could not forbear a smile as he turned his head this way and
that to judge of the effect. He felt indeed a pretty fellow,
prepared to take his share in the drama of life going on about him.
"Harry Gay shall be your companion," said Cale, who had assisted at
the toilet with the interest of a connoisseur, and who did not
attempt to disguise his satisfaction at the result. "Harry is as
gay as his name, but he is a well-meaning youth, and will neither
rob you himself, nor suffer others to do so without warning you. He
knows London well, and the life has hurt him less than it hurts
most. He is brave without being a bully; he can play, and knows
when to stop. He is afraid of no man, and so he is left alone. He
has a good heart, and is to be trusted; and here he comes in good
time to take you under his care."
The young man who now lounged in with a smiling face and a nod of
recognition to Cale, was not unknown to Tom. He had seen him
several times, and had taken a liking for him, which the other
reciprocated. Harry Gay was the son of a leading merchant citizen,
a man of some importance and mark, who was able to give his son
every advantage that money could purchase, and the means to enter
almost any circle short of that of the court itself.
But he had also transmitted to his son a certain hard-headed
shrewdness, which stood him in good stead in the gay life he was
now leading. Harry had the sense not to try to push himself amongst
the high-born dames and gallants, where he would be regarded as an
interloper, and only admitted to be fleeced of his gold; but
contented himself with a more modest sphere, where he was a man of
some little mark, and could lead as well as follow, if he had the
mind.
Entering the back shop, Harry cast an approving glance at Tom, and
nodded his head towards Cale, at the same time taking a pinch of
snuff from his box, and handing it to the perruquier.
"Does you credit, Curley, does you great credit. A chaste and
simple costume, but elegant withal--uncommon elegant, i' faith.
Shouldn't mind a suit of the same myself, if I had our young
friend's inches.
"Well, friend Tom, and how do you feel? Learned to take snuff yet?
No! Ah, well, 'twill come by degrees.
"Put some more scent upon his person, Curley; he must smell like a
perfumer's shop; and so--give him his gold-tasselled cane, and the
gloves with the golden fringe. A muff? No! Well, perchance those
great fists would look something strange in one, and the day is
fine and mild.
"So, if you are ready, friend Tom, we will sally forth. To the
coffee house first, and afterwards, an it please you, to the play.
"Farewell, Curley; I will bring you back your nursling safe and
sound. He shall not be rooked or robbed today. But how long I shall
be able to hold the cub in leading strings remains yet to be
proved!"
Tom was in far too good spirits to take umbrage at this name. He
felt anything but a cub as he walked down the street beside his
scented and curled and daintily-arrayed companion, unconsciously
striving to copy his jaunty step, and the little airs and graces of
his manner.
"We will to the Folly," said Harry, as they stepped out into
Holborn and turned their faces westward. "You have not yet seen the
river, and the Folly is a floating structure moored in the water on
the farther shore opposite to Somerset House, of which you may have
heard. It is not the most fashionable resort; but, for my part, I
like it well. There is always good company to be had there, and we
are not interrupted every moment by the incursions of drunken
roisterers, who spend their day in reeling from tavern to tavern,
or coffee house to coffee house, in search of some new story to
tell, or some fresh encounter to provoke."
Tom listened eagerly to all his friend told him as they went their
way towards the river. So far he had not cared to show himself in
the streets till after dusk, as he had become foolishly ashamed of
his rustic garb. He was immensely interested in all that he beheld,
and in the stories his companion told him about the places they
passed, the persons they met, and the occupants of the coaches
which were now rolling to and fro through the streets, taking
ladies and their fine gentlemen friends either to the park, or some
fashionable rendezvous.
Great indeed was his interest and amazement as they reached the
steps beside the river, and Harry signalled to a waterman to bring
up a wherry alongside to take them to the Folly. He had never
imagined anything so wide and grand as this great flowing river,
lined with its stately buildings, and bearing on its bosom more
vessels than he imagined that the world held! Had it not been for
his fear of betraying undue ignorance, he would have broken into a
torrent of questions; as it was, he sat in wide-eyed silence,
gazing about him like a savage suddenly transported into the world
of civilization--not a little to the amusement of his cicerone.
The Folly was a floating structure not unlike a large houseboat of
the present day. Its guests could walk to and fro upon the roof, or
find warmth and entertainment within its walls, as did Harry and
his friend; for although the sun shone, the wind blew cold upon the
water, and it was pleasanter within the warmed interior, where
already a sprinkling of guests had assembled.
The place was divided into two rooms for the public accommodation.
The first of these was a bar and gaming room. A buxom and
rosy-cheeked damsel was presiding at the bar, and several young
dandies leaned their elbows upon it, and strove to engage her in
conversation. Some others were already seated at a table, and were
throwing the dice, laughing and swearing ceaselessly over their
game. The second room was quieter at present, and upon the table
there lay strewn about the various newspapers and pamphlets of the
day. Two or three men were reading them, and discussing the news of
the hour as they sipped their coffee or chocolate.
Harry led the way into this place, ordered coffee for himself and
his friend, and, whilst nodding familiarly to the occupants of the
room, possessed himself of a few papers, and pushed some of them
across to Tom.
"A new pamphlet by Jonathan Swift, I see," he remarked carelessly,
with a wink at his pupil. "You know his Tale of a Tub, Tom?
Monstrous clever thing that! It tickles one to death reading it. So
do his pamphlets--sharpest things out. Some talk of Defoe as his
rival; but, for my part, I never read anything that rivals Swift's
writings! Pity he has such a sharp edge to his temper. They say he
will never get promotion."
Tom took up the pamphlet, and tried to look as though he were
reading it with appreciation; but he had never been much of a
student, and the comings and goings of a constant stream of
visitors engrossed him far more than the printed words, the meaning
of which he understood no whit.
It was much more interesting to him to listen to what the
frequenters of the coffee house were saying amongst themselves; and
greatly did he admire the ease and readiness with which Harry took
his share in the conversation.
"Has my Lord Godolphin found a worthy pen to sing the praise of the
victor of Blenheim yet?" he asked of a man who appeared to be a
referee on matters literary. "The last I heard was that he was
scouring London, tearing his periwig in pieces in despair that the
race of poets was extinct, and he could only find the most wretched
doggerel mongers, whose productions were too vile to be tolerated.
Has the noble lord found a better rhymster? Or will the victory of
the great Duke have to go unsung by the Muse?"
"What! have you not heard the end of that matter? Why, my Lord
Halifax declared that he knew the man worthy of the occasion; but
he would not reveal the name unless it was promised that he should
be excellently well treated. And this man is none other than Joseph
Addison, a fellow of the University of Oxford, and a man well
thought of and pensioned, too, by the late King William. But since
the death of His Majesty, the poet has been living in poverty and
obscurity in a humble lodging hard by the Haymarket. There it was
that he received a visit one day from the two noble lords; and it
hath since been whispered that a poem is a-preparing so fine in
quality and so finished in style, that my Lord Godolphin is now fit
to dance a hornpipe for joy, and has promised a bountiful reward to
the genius whose brain has devised and whose hand has penned the
lines. They say that the poem is to be called 'The Campaign,' and
that it is one of the finest the world has ever seen."
Whilst this sort of talk was going on in one corner, there were
counter-conversations, more interesting to Tom, being carried on in
other parts of the room. One band of bully beaux, somewhat the
worse for drink already, were telling stories of scandal and
duelling, to which Tom could not but listen with ill-concealed
interest. Others were discussing the last new play, or the last new
toast. A few fine dandies sat combing their periwigs as they talked
of the latest fashions, taking snuff freely, and sprinkling
themselves with perfume from a small pocket flask, if they were
ever too nearly approached by some commoner person.
As time passed by the quieter men, who had come early to read and
talk politics and literature, withdrew themselves and took their
departure. Harry Gay was claimed by a party of dashing-looking
young rakes, who insisted that he should come and play a game of
tic-tac with them in the outer room; and as Tom made no move to
accompany him, he left him in his seat in the corner to look on and
learn all he could.
Tom, indeed, was quite fascinated by the scene around him, and had
no desire to tear himself away. Presently one of the men from the
group of bully beaux (as Tom had dubbed them, not by any means
incorrectly) moved nearer to him, and took the chair vacated by
Harry; and gradually the group reformed, with Tom as one of its
members. The others addressed him, asking his name and his history.
Tom was reserved as to this last, but spoke in a frank and easy way
which seemed to win upon his comrades. There were four of them, and
whatever might be their real names, Tom found out that they were
known amongst themselves, and by the world of the tavern, by the
following cognomens: "Slippery Seal," "Bully Bullen," "Thirsty
Thring," and "Dicing Dick."
Tom was not sure that he liked or approved these new comrades, but
at least their conversation interested and excited him. They told
of duels fought in the ring at Hyde Park, or at the back of
Montague House; of the exploits of highwaymen, and the executions
at Newgate, which were plainly favourite spectacles with them. They
told of the doings of themselves and other marauders in the streets
of London, and roared with laughter over their exploits. Tom,
ashamed of his real disgust, strove to laugh too, for he dreaded
above everything to be thought a man lacking in spirit; but perhaps
his face betrayed more than he meant, for his comrades began to
gibe him in a fashion which made his hot blood rise; and he might
have got into trouble before Harry could come to the rescue, had it
not been that a sudden hush fell upon the room, whilst the word
went round, spoken in every intonation of curiosity, respect, and
admiration:
"'Tis Lord Claud himself! Hither he comes! Certes, but he is a fine
figure of a man! So he has not grown too fine for his old haunts,
though men did say that he was the pet and the favourite of all the
court ladies!"
At that name, heard once before from the lips of Captain Jack, Tom
looked round in great curiosity and eagerness. Immediately he was
gratified by the sight of the entrance into the inner room of the
person who was the cause of all this subdued commotion.
The newcomer was a very handsome man, of slender and graceful
proportions, tall and elegant, and dressed in the extreme of
fashion, yet with a taste that robbed foppery itself of any
appearance of absurdity in his case. He looked quite young at the
first glance; but a keen and practised eye could detect lines in
that gay and handsome face which only time could trace. Probably he
was past thirty by some years, yet many men of five and twenty
looked older. The only thing in which he differed materially from
his brother dandies was that he wore his own hair in lieu of the
wig; but so abundant and beautiful was it, lying upon his shoulders
in large curls of tawny golden hue, and clustering with a grace
about his temples that no wig ever yet attained, that not the most
ardent upholder of the peruke could wish him to change the fashion
of his coiffure, which, in fact, gave to his outer man a touch of
distinction which was well borne out by the elegance of his
deportment and costume.
Tom stared his fill at the newcomer, who was attended by several of
the habitues of the coffee house, and received their welcome with a
languid grace and indifferent goodwill. He was speedily
accommodated with the best seat in the room. Conversation was
hushed to listen to his words; the most fragrant cup of coffee was
brought to him by the beauty of the bar herself, and his orders
were dispatched with a celerity which was lacking to any other
customer.
Small wonder was it that Tom, gazing and marvelling, asked in a
whisper of the man next him:
"Who is it?"
"Lord Claud, of course, you rustic cub," was the scornful reply,
for politeness did not distinguish Tom's new friends. "Any fool
about town could tell you that much."
"I know it is Lord Claud," answered Tom, somewhat nettled; "but who
is Lord Claud? That is what I meant by my question."
Another laugh, not a whit less scornful, was the reply to this
second query.
"He'll be a clever fellow who tells you that, young greengoose from
the country!" was the answer, only that the words used were more
offensive, and were followed by the usual garnishing of oaths and
by blasphemous allusions to Melchisedec, from which Tom gathered
that nothing was known to the world at large as to the parentage or
descent of the man they called Lord Claud, and that this title had
been bestowed upon him rather as a nickname than because it was his
by right.
The babble of talk, hushed at the entrance of the newcomer, began
to rise again when he took up one of the journals, and appeared
disposed for reading rather than conversation. Tom, unable to take
his eyes off the elegant figure, still continued to ask questions
respecting him, but was more puzzled than enlightened by the nature
of the replies.
"There had been other Clauds before him," one of the men remarked.
Another added that it was easy to be rich when the king was made to
pay toll.
Slippery Seal wished, with a laugh and an oath, that he were half
as slippery as the great Lord Claud; and Bully Bullen remarked that
if he could but get such a reputation for duelling, he would play
the bully to better purpose than he did now.
This band of four were getting noisy and quarrelsome. They had been
drinking steadily ever since they came in, and their cups of coffee
had been tinctured by something much stronger. They were getting up
their energies for their nightly prowls about the city, and thought
it no bad start to bait young Tom first. Of course he had betrayed
his ignorance and rusticity in a hundred little ways. Although he
began to understand a little of what passed around him in the
interlarded speech of the day, he could not frame his tongue to any
adequate imitation of it yet. He had learnt, alas, to swear in his
old life; but there is a fashion even in oaths, and his were too
rustic in form to pass muster here.
As the bully beaux got deeper in their cups, so did their baiting
of young Tom increase in offensiveness and coarseness. The hot
flush of anger kept rising in the young man's face, and there were
moments when a fight was imminent, which was perhaps what the
aggressors desired. Harry was still in the outer room, or he would
have interposed, for it was not a nice thing to be the butt of a
set of braggarts and bullies, and this fashion of drawing a young
man into their clutches was by no means unusual.
Suddenly, as matters seemed to be getting ripe for some outbreak of
fury on Tom's part, which might well lead to disastrous results, a
sudden clear, resonant voice rose above the hubbub, and dominated
all other tones by a peculiar property impossible to describe.
"Let that lad alone, you cowards!" spoke the voice, in tones of
unmistakable authority. "Get out of this place, you swaggering
bullies! Are we to have no peace even in this inner room, for your
filibustering ways? Go and bluster out yonder, if bluster you must.
Speak a single word of insolence to me--" and here the blue eyes
seemed to flash fire--"and I will have every one of you ducked in
the Thames three times ere you take a step from hence! Now, will
you go quietly?"
It was strange to see the change which came over these young rakes
the moment that the clear, cold tones of Lord Claud's voice fell
upon their ears. They stopped, they cringed, they looked one at the
other, and then back at him, as a whipped dog looks at the master
who rates him. Thirsty Thring, who had drunk the most deeply, and
who was in consequence most filled with Dutch courage, ventured
once to look as though he were about to resist, or to dispute the
mandate of Lord Claud; but no sooner had he provoked that flash of
the eyes, than he too was cringing more humbly than his fellows.
To the great amazement of Tom, they took up their hats, and slunk
from the room like so many whipped curs. He heard them the next
minute chartering a wherry to take them to the shore once more.
Lord Claud had taken up his paper again, but meeting Tom's bashful
glance of mingled gratitude and admiration, he remarked to him with
a quiet smile:
"You are a stranger to London and its sons, lad; take this bit of
advice from one who knows both well: Never let any man badger and
insult you. Take no word from any; but return it with a blow or a
sword thrust. Make your name feared--it is the surest road to
success. Tavern and street brawls are taken little note of by the
administrators of the law; but better a few weeks' discipline in
Newgate, than to be the butt and victim of a set of vulgar street
swaggerers and swashbucklers such as those worthies we have just
seen depart."
Tom had risen and had slowly approached Lord Claud. Now that the
hour for the play had all but come, the room was thinning of its
guests. He felt more courage to speak to this strange being, who
seemed so great a personage.
"I thank you, sir, for sending them away. I will seek to follow
your good counsel in the future."
And then, after a moment's hesitation, he added, "Sir, are there
more than one Lord Claud in this great city of London?"
"Not that I am aware of," answered the other, with a lighting of
the eyes. "Some would tell you that one was enough even for so vast
a city and realm as this!"
"Because," continued Tom, "I was charged with a message for one
Lord Claud, and I marvel that it can be your worshipful self, for
he that sent it was a strange man to speak of himself as your
master."
A laugh shone in the dark blue eyes of the other.
"In sooth I call no man my master," he answered lightly; "but tell
me the name of him who sent this message, and I shall know if it be
for me or not."
"He called himself Captain Jack," answered Tom, "and I met with him
betwixt my home in Essex and this city. He was dwelling in the
heart of the great Forest of Epping."
Upon Lord Claud's face there had come a look of vivid interest and
pleasure; yet he laid a finger upon his lips, as though to caution
Tom, who, indeed, had spoken in a tone too low to be heard by any
one else.
"Any news of or from Captain Jack is right welcome in mine ears,"
he said; "but this is not the time or place in which to speak of
such things. Come tomorrow morning early to my lodgings in the
Mall--any man will direct you to them--and there we will speak at
ease. Forget not--tomorrow morning by ten o' the clock, ere my
levee has begun. I shall expect you. Farewell, good youth, and keep
your distance with those gentlemen you have just left. They would
like to spit you as a goose is spitted, but I would see you again
ere that consummation be achieved!"
He nodded to Tom, and took up his paper again; and Tom, turning
round, encountered the amazed glance of Harry, who had come in to
find him, and discovered him in friendly converse with the greatest
man of all the company.
"How now, Tom! But you have a mettlesome spirit after all, if you
can scrape acquaintance with Lord Claud. I have been in his company
many a time, but never a word has he vouchsafed to me. And are you
invited to his lodgings? Surely my ears must have deceived me!"
"In sooth he asked me, but it is only to hear a message I chance to
bear from an old friend of his. Harry, tell me who is this Lord
Claud? Men seem to worship the ground he treads upon, and yet to
fear him, too, more than a little."
It was after they had reached the streets again that Tom put this
question, and Harry answered it by a knowing shake of the head.
"I should have the makings of a fortune in me," he answered, "if I
could tell who Lord Claud was. There be many fine ladies, and
curled darlings of fashion, who would give much to know that
secret."
"But if he be a lord--"
"Ah, indeed--a wise 'if'! He is no more a lord than I am! That much
I can tell you. But the name fits, and he wears it with a grace.
There be ladies in high places, too, who would not be averse to
share it with him, and be my Lady Claud, even though no other name
might be hers."
"But he is very rich; and rich men--"
"Rich!--ay, verily; and so should I be rich, if every time my purse
was empty I helped myself to Her Majesty's gold, as it traversed
the road from place to place!"
Tom stopped short as though he had been shot.
"A highwayman!" he gasped.
Harry bestowed upon him a sage glance and a mocking laugh.
"That is your word, not mine, my friend. Breathe it not before his
lordship! But there be many who swear that he is none other than a
grandson of the famous Claud Duval of olden days, and that he rolls
in the wealth he has filched from royalty itself."
"And yet he lives like a prince, and all the world pays him court!"
"Oh yes--it is the way of the world; a successful villain is as
much an idol as a successful general. The tide may turn. All high
positions have their dangers. Remember nothing has ever been proved
against him; but men think and whisper, though not in his presence.
Town talk may or may not be true; and the ladies like him none the
less for the tales that circulate about him. But come now, no more
questions, or we shall be late for the play!"