A momentary pause ensued, during which Mounchensey regarded the knight
so fiercely, that the latter began to entertain apprehensions for his
personal safety, and meditated a precipitate retreat. Yet he did not
dare to move, lest the action should bring upon him the hurt he wished
to avoid. Thus he remained, like a bird fascinated by the rattlesnake,
until the young man, whose power of speech seemed taken from him by
passion, went on, in a tone of deep and concentrated rage, that
communicated a hissing sound to his words.
"Yes, I am Jocelyn Mounchensey," he said, "the son of him whom your arts
and those of your partner in iniquity, Sir Giles Mompesson, brought to
destruction; the son of him whom you despoiled of a good name and large
estates, and cast into a loathsome prison, to languish and to die: I am
the son of that murdered man. I am he whom you have robbed of his
inheritance; whose proud escutcheon you have tarnished; whose family you
have reduced to beggary and utter ruin."
"But Sir Jocelyn, my worthy friend," the knight faltered, "have
patience, I pray of you. If you consider yourself aggrieved, I am
willing to make reparation--ample reparation. You know what were my
intentions towards you, before I had the slightest notion who you might
be. (If I had but been aware of it, he thought, I would have taken care
to keep at a respectful distance from him.) I will do more than I
promised. I will lend you any sums of money you may require; and on your
personal security. Your bare word shall suffice. No bonds--no written
obligations of any kind. Does that sound like usury? As I am a true
gentleman! I am most unfairly judged. I am not the extortioner men
describe me. You shall find me your friend," he added in a low earnest
tone. "I will re-establish your fortune; give you a new title, higher
and prouder than that which you have lost; and, if you will follow my
counsel, you shall supplant the haughty favourite himself. You shall
stand where Buckingham now stands. Hear reason, good Sir Jocelyn. Hear
reason, I entreat you."
"I will hear nothing further," Jocelyn rejoined. "Were you to talk till
Doomsday, you could not alter my feelings towards you a jot. My chief
errand in coming to London was to call you and Sir Giles Mompesson to
strict account."
"And we will answer any charges you may bring against us readily--most
readily, Sir Jocelyn. All was done in fairness--according to law. The
Star-Chamber will uphold us."
"Tut! you think to terrify me with that bugbear; but I am not so easily
frightened. We have met for the first time by chance, but our next
meeting shall be by appointment."
"When and where you please, Sir Jocelyn," the knight replied; "but
recollect the duello is forbidden, and, though I would not willingly
disappoint you in your desire to cut my throat, I should be sorry to
think you might be hanged for it afterwards. Come, Sir Jocelyn, lay
aside this idle passion, and look to your true interests, which lie not
in quarrelling with me, but in our reconciliation. I can help you
effectually, as I have shown; and, as I am a true gentleman, I _will_
help you. Give me your hand, and let us be friends!"
"Never!" Jocelyn exclaimed, withdrawing from him, "never shall the hand
of a Mounchensey grasp yours in friendship! I would sooner mine rotted
off! I am your mortal foe. My father's death has to be avenged."
"Provoke him not, my good young Sir," interposed an elderly man, next
him, in a long furred gown, with hanging sleeves, and a flat cap on his
head, who had heard what was now passing. "You know not the mischief he
may do you."
"I laugh at his malice, and defy him," Jocelyn cried--"he shall not sit
one moment longer beside me. Out, knave! out!" he added, seizing Sir
Francis by the wing of his doublet, and forcibly thrusting him from his
seat. "You are not fit company for honest men. Ho! varlets, to the door
with him! Throw him into the kennel."
"You shall rue this, villain!--you shall rue it bitterly," Sir Francis
cried, shaking his clenched hands at him. "Your father perished like a
dog in the Fleet, and you shall perish there likewise. You have put
yourself wholly in my power, and I will make a fearful example of you.
You have dared to utter scandalous and contemptuous language against the
great and high court of Star-Chamber, before the decrees of which, all
men bow; impugning its justice and denying its authority; and you shall
feel the full weight of its displeasure. I call upon these worthy
gentlemen to testify against you."
"We have heard nothing, and can testify nothing," several voices cried.
"But you, Sir, who were next him, you must have heard him?" Sir Francis
said, addressing the elderly man in the furred gown.
"Not I!" rejoined the person appealed to; "I gave no heed to what was
said."
"But I did, Sir Francis," squeaked a little whey-faced man, in a large
ruff and tight-laced yellow doublet, from the opposite side of the
table; "I heard him most audaciously vilipend the high court of
Star-Chamber and its councils; and I will bear testimony against him
when called upon."
"Your name, good Sir, your name?" Sir Francis demanded, taking out his
tablets.
"Set me down as Thopas Trednock, tailor, at the sign of the Pressing
Iron, in Cornhill," the whey-faced man replied, in his shrill tones,
amid the derisive laughter of the assemblage.
"Thopas Trednock, tailor--good!" the knight repeated, as he wrote the
name down. "You will be an excellent witness, Master Trednock. Fare you
well for the present, _Master_ Jocelyn Mounchensey, for I now mind well
your father was degraded from the honour of knighthood. As I am a true
gentleman! you may be sure of committal to the Fleet."
As may be supposed, the scuffle which had taken place, attracted the
attention of those in its immediate vicinity; and when the cause of it
became known, as it presently did throughout both tables, great
indignation was expressed against Sir Francis, who was censured on all
hands, jeered and flouted, as he moved to the door. So great was the
clamour, and so opprobrious were the epithets and terms applied to him,
that the knight was eager to make his escape; but he met Cyprien in his
way; and the droll young Gascon, holding a dish-cover in one hand, by
way of buckler, and a long carving-knife in the other, in place of a
sword, opposed his egress.
"Let me pass, knave," Sir Francis cried in alarm.
"By your leave, no," returned Cyprien, encouraged by the laughter and
plaudits of the company. "You have come hither uninvited, and must stay
till you have permission to depart. Having partaken of the banquet, you
must, perforce, tarry for the rerebanquet. The sweets and cates have yet
to come, Sir Francis."
"What mean you, sirrah?" the knight demanded, in increased trepidation.
"Your presence is necessary at a little entertainment I have provided to
follow the dinner, sweet Sir Francis," Madame Bonaventure cried,
advancing towards him; "and as you have a principal part in it, I can by
no means spare you."
"No one can spare you, sweet Sir Francis," several voices chimed in,
derisively. "You must remain with us a little longer."
"But I will not stay. I will not be detained. There is some conspiracy
a-foot against me. I will indict you all for it, if you hinder me in
going forth," the knight vociferated, in accents of mingled rage and
terror. "Stop me at your peril, thou saucy Gascon knave."
"_Cornes du diable_!--no more a knave than yourself, _gros usurier_!"
Cyprien cried.
"_Laissez-lui,_ Cyprien," Madame Bonaventure interposed;--"the
courteous knight will yield to my entreaties, and stay of his own free
will."
"I have business that calls me hence. I must go," Sir Francis said,
endeavouring to push by them.
"Let the door be closed," an authoritative voice cried from the head of
the table.
The order was instantly obeyed. Two serving-men stationed themselves
before the place of exit, and Sir Francis found himself a prisoner.
The roof rang with the laughter and gibes of the guests.
"This is a frolic, gentleman, I perceive. You are resolved to make me
your sport--ha! ha!" Sir Francis said, trying to disguise his uneasiness
under an appearance of levity--"But you will not carry the jest too far.
You will not maltreat me. My partner, Sir Giles Mompesson, will be here
anon, and will requite any outrage committed upon me."
"Sir Giles is impatiently expected by us," a spruce coxcomb near him
replied. "Madame Bonaventure had prepared us for his coming. We will
give him the welcome he deserves."
"Ah! traitress! then it was all planned," Sir Francis thought;--"and,
blind owl that I am, I have fallen into the snare."
But the poor knight was nearly at his wit's end with fright, when he saw
Lord Roos quit his place at the upper table and approach him.