JOHN LAW OF LAURISTON
Unconsciously the coachman obeyed the unvoiced command of this man, who
stepped out from the shelter of the hedge. Travel-stained, just awakened
from sleep, disheveled, with dress disordered, there was none the less
abundant boldness in his mien as he came forward, yet withal the grace
and deference of the courtier. It was a good figure he made as he
stepped down from the bank and came forward, hat in hand, the sun, now
rising to the top of the hedge, lighting up his face and showing his
bold profile, his open and straight blue eye.
"Ladies," he said, as he reached the road, "I crave your pardon humbly.
This, I think, is the coach of my Lord, the Earl of Banbury. Mayhap this
is the Lady Catharine Knollys to whom I speak?"
The lady addressed still gazed at him, though she drew up with dignity.
"You have quite the advantage of us," said she. She glanced uneasily at
the coachman, but the order to go forward did not quite leave her lips.
"I am not aware--I do not know--," she began, afraid of her adventure
now it had come, after the way of all dreaming maids who prate of men
and conquests.
"I should be dull of eye did I not see the Knollys arms," said the
stranger, smiling and bowing low. "And I should be ill advised of the
families of England did I not know that the daughter of Knollys, the
sister of the Earl of Banbury, is the Lady Catharine, and most charming
also. This I might say, though 'tis true I never was in London or in
England until now."
The speech, given with all respectfulness, did not fail of flattery.
Again the order to drive on remained unspoken. This speaker, whose foot
was now close to the carriage step, and whose head, gravely bowed as he
saluted the occupants of the vehicle, presented so striking a type of
manly attractiveness, even that first moment cast some spell upon the
woman whom he sought to interest. The eyes of the Lady Catharine Knollys
did not turn from him. As though it were another person, she heard
herself murmur, "And you, sir?"
"I am John Law of Lauriston, Scotland, Madam, and entirely at your
service. That is my brother Will, yonder by the bank." He smiled, and
the younger man came forward, hesitatingly, and not with the address of
his brother, though yet with the breeding of a gentleman.
The eyes of Mary Connynge took in both men with the same look, but her
eyes, as did those of the Lady Catharine, became most concerned with the
first speaker.
"My brother and I are on our first journey to London," continued he,
with a gay laugh which did not consort fully with the plight in which he
showed. "We started by coach, as gentlemen; and now we come on foot,
like laborers or thieves. 'Twas my own fault. Yesterday I must needs
quit the Edinboro' stage. Last night our chaise was stopped, and we were
asked to hand our money to a pair of evil fellows who had made prey of
us. In short--you see--we fared ill enough. Lost in the dark, we made
what shift we could along this road, where we both are strangers. At
last, not able to pay for better quarters even had we found them, we lay
down to sleep. I have slept far worse. And 'tis a lovely morning. Madam,
I thank you for this happy beginning of the day."
Mary Connynge pointed to the bandage on the younger man's arm, speaking
a low word to her companion.
"True," said the Lady Catharine, "you are injured, sir; you did not come
off whole."
"Oh, we would hardly suffer the fellows to rob us without making some
argument over it," said the first speaker. "Indeed, I think we are the
better off hereabouts for a brace of footpads gone to their account. I
made them my duties as we came away. Will, here, was pricked a trifle,
but you see we have done very well."
The face of Will Law hardly offered complete proof of this assertion. He
had slept ill enough, and in the morning light his face showed gaunt and
pale. Here, then, was a situation most inopportune; the coach of two
ladies, unattended, stopped by two strangers, who certainly could not
claim introduction by either friend or reputation.
"I did but wish to ask some advice of the roads hereabout," said the
elder brother, turning his eyes full upon those of the Lady Catharine.
"As you see, we are in ill plight to get forward to the city. If you
will be so good as to tell me which way to take, I shall remember it
most gratefully. Once in the city, we should do better, for the rascals
have not taken certain papers, letters which I bear to gentlemen in the
city--Sir Arthur Pembroke I may name as one--a friend of my father's,
who hath had some dealings with him in the handling of moneys. I have
also word for others, and make sure that, once we have got into town, we
shall soon mend our fortune."
Lady Catharine looked at Mary Connynge and the latter in turn gazed at
her. "There could be no harm," said each to the other with her eyes.
"Surely it is our duty to take them in with us; at least the one who is
wounded."
Will Law had said nothing, though he had come forward to the road, and,
bowing, stood uncovered. Now he leaned against the flank of one of the
horses, in a tremor of vertigo which seized him as he stood. It was
perhaps the paleness of his face that gave determination to the issue.
"William," called the Lady Catharine Knollys, "open the door for Mr. Law
of Lauriston!"
The footman sprang to the ground and held open the door. Therefore, into
the coach stepped John Law and his brother, late of Edinboro', sometime
robbed and afoot, but now to come into London in circumstances which
surely might have been far worse.
John Law entered the coach with the dignity and grace of a gentleman
born. He bowed gravely as he took his seat beside his brother, facing
the ladies. Will Law sank back into the corner, not averse to rest. The
eyes of the two young women did not linger more upon the wounded man
than upon his brother. He, in turn, looked straight into their eyes,
courteously, respectfully, gravely, yet fearlessly and calmly, as
though he knew what power and possibilities were his. Enigma and
autocrat alike, Beau Law of Edinboro', one of the handsomest and
properest men ever bred on any soil, was surely a picture of vigorous
young manhood, as he rode toward Sadler's Wells, with two of the
beauties of the hour, and in a coach and four which might have been his
own.
Now all the sweet spring morning came on apace, and from the fields and
little gardens came the breath of flowers. The sky was blue. The languor
of springtime pulsed through the veins of those young creatures, those
engines of life, of passion and desire. Neither of the two women saw the
torn garb of the man before them. They saw but the curve of the strong
chest beneath. They heard, and the one heard and felt as keenly as the
other, the voice of the young man, musical and rich, touching some
deep-seated and vibrating heart-string. So in the merry month of May,
with the birds singing in the trees, and the scent of the flowers wafted
coolly to their senses, they came on apace to the throng at Sadler's
Wells. There it was that John Law, finding in a pocket a coin that had
been overlooked, reached out to a vender and bought a rose. He offered
his flower with a deep inclination of the body to the Lady Catharine.
It was at this moment that Mary Connynge first began to hate her friend,
the Lady Catharine Knollys.