FORECASTINGS.
Gerald Edmonson, Esquire, and Lord Bulchester drove leisurely through
the streets of the London of 1743. They found in it that same element
that makes the fascination of the London of to-day; for the streets,
dim, narrower, and less splendid than now, were full of this same charm
of human life, and yet, human isolation. Then, as now, might a man
wander homeless and lost, or these grim houses might open their doors to
him and reveal the splendors beyond them; and whether he were desolate,
or shone brilliant as a star depended upon so many chances and changes
that this Fortune's-Wheel drew him toward itself like a magnet.
"I tell you," said Edmonson to his companion as they went along, "there
is not a shadow of a chance for me. When a woman says, 'no,' you can
tell by her eyes if she means it, and if there had been the least sign
of relenting or a possibility of it in Lady Grace's eyes, do you think I
would have given up? She has led me a sorry chase, that pretty sister of
yours."
"Her beauty would not have taken you ten steps out of your way, if she
had not been such an heiress," retorted Bulchester.
"Don't be so blunt, my friend. Is it my fault that I am obliged to look
out for money? If a man has only a tenth of the income he needs to live
upon, what is he going to do? It is well enough for you to be above
sordidness, so could I be with your purse and your prospects. Besides,
you know that I told you frankly I found Lady Grace charming. I wonder,"
he asked turning sharply round, "if you have been playing me false?"
But Bulchester laughed. A laugh at such a time, and a laugh so full of
simplicity and amusement brought the other to his bearings again.
"You know I favored the match," added the nobleman. "Hang it! I don't
see why my sister could not have had my taste. She does not know all
your deviltries as I do, but yet I think you the most fascinating fellow
in England."
"Perhaps that is the reason, because she does not know," laughed
Edmonson. "But, then, you have not been very far beyond England, except
to the land of the frog, and nobody expects to delight in the messieurs
anywhere but on the point of the bayonet, as we had them lately at
Dettengen." In a moment, however, he added gravely, "I am afraid my suit
to your sister has damaged my prospects in another quarter, at least the
matrimonial part of them, and I can hardly expect to be so successful
otherwise as to enable me to marry a lady whose face is her fortune."
"Hardly, with your tastes," said Bulchester. "But, for my part, I am
glad that I can afford to be sentimental if I like. For that very reason
I shall probably be extremely sensible."
Edmonson smiled, half in amusement, half in contempt.
"Suppose the lady should be so too?" he asked slyly; then added, "I hope
she will, Bulchester, and take you. I don't know her name yet."
"Nor I. But I don't want to consider only the rent-roll of the future
Lady Bulchester."
"My lord, I shall be devotion itself to Mistress Edmonson, and I assure
you that the young lady I have chosen, I having failed to win your
adorable sister, is not a nonentity, though I cannot say that she is
charming. But you will see her. Her father was very gracious to me when
I was in Boston last winter, and regretted that I was obliged to leave
in the spring on affairs of importance. How was he to know, he or the
fair Elizabeth, that the business was a love suit? That would not have
done. The old gentleman would not think the king himself too good for
his daughter; if he dreamed that she was second fiddle, he would want me
to find the door faster than he could shew me there. So, if you fall in
love with her and want to supersede me, there's your chance."
"I'm Jonathan to your David," returned the smaller man, "the kingdom is
for you, Edmonson." And the speaker looked at his companion with an
admiration that was deep in proportion as he felt himself unable to
imitate that mixture of good nature, strong will, and audacity that in
Edmonson fascinated him. "Is she handsome?" he added.
"No," said the other decidedly. "She has a smile that lights up her face
well, and occasionally she says good things, but half the time in
company she seems not to be attending to what is going on about her, she
is away off in a dream about something that nobody cares a pin for, and
of course, it gives her a peculiar manner. I could see I interested her
more than anybody else did, but I had hard work sometimes to know how to
answer her queer sayings, for I could scarcely tell what she was talking
about."
"You don't like that," suggested Bulchester. "You like ladies who lead
in society."
"Well," assented Edmonson, "I know. But she will have to set up for an
oddity, and, you see, she has money enough to be able to afford it. A
fortune in her own right, and large expectations from the old gentleman
who began with money and has never made a bad investment in his life.
Think of it! Gerald Edmonson will keep open house and live rather
differently from at present in his bachelor quarters; and all his old
friends will be welcome."
"What do you say to those we are going to meet to-night, who are to give
us our farewell supper; you would not ask a set like that to a lady's
table?"
Edmonson laughed.
"Why, and if I did," he answered, "Elizabeth Royal would never fathom
them. She might think they drank somewhat too much, and discover that
they were noisy; but as to the wild pranks we have played, yes, you and
I, Bulchester, I out of pure enjoyment of them, you, I do believe, more
than half not to be behind other men of fashion, why, you might tell
them to her safely, for she would never comprehend. One can't get along
so well with her on the little nothings one says to other women, to be
sure, but she has the greatest simplicity in the world, and that touch
of evil that spices life is entirely beyond her. But however that might
be, I tell you this, my lord: Gerald Edmonson is always master, and
always will be."
"Yes," assented his hearer.
"I only hope the extent of my impecuniosity will not cross the water
with me. I have never pretended to be rich, but I have said that my
expectations were excellent. So they are; for you know, Bulchester, the
heiress is not all my errand to these outlandish colonies. I have
expectations there. Rather strange ones, to be sure, so strange, and to
be come at so strangely, that if I can make anything out of them I shall
enjoy it a thousand times more than by any stupid old way of
inheritance."
"It strikes me, though, you would not object to the stupid if a good
plum should fall down on your head from an ancestral tree."
Edmonson laughed.
"You have me there, Bul," he said. "But, on your honor, you are not to
betray my plans, or I have no chance at all," he added, suddenly facing
his companion.
"What do you take me for, a traitor?"
"No," exclaimed Edmonson with an oath.
"For a tattler, then?"
"No," came the answer again. "Only, inadvertence is sometimes as
mischievous in its results."
"I, inadvertent?" cried Bulchester.
His listener smiled slyly. The other felt that caution was his strong
point, and Edmonson's diplomacy would not assault this vigorously; his
aim had been merely to warn Bulchester and strengthen the defences. Soon
after this they reached the inn, where they were boisterously greeted by
their companions, who had been waiting for them in what was then one of
the fashionable public houses of London, though long since fallen out of
date and forgotten.
"Don't be flattered," said Edmonson aside, "all this welcome is not for
us; the feast is to begin now that we have arrived." And a cynical smile
flashed over his handsome face.
It was hours after this. The high revel had gone on with jest, and
laugh, and song, with play, too, and some purses were empty that before
had been none too well filled. Through it all Edmonson, the life of the
party, kept the control over himself that many had lost. There was no
credit due to him for the fact that he could drink more wine without
being overcome than any other man there. His face was flushed with it,
his eyes somewhat blood-shot and his fair hair disordered as, at last,
looking at his opposite neighbor, he nodded to him, leaned across the
table and touched glasses with him. Then, "Let us drink this toast
standing," he said, rising as he spoke; and at the movement ten other
young men, full of the effrontery of a long carousal, pushed back their
chairs noisily and rose, exclaiming in tones varying in degrees of
intoxication:
"We pledge."
"Yes," returned the man opposite Edmonson, repeating the pledge that
they all without exception would meet one hundred years from that night
to pledge each other again.
A shout, more of drunken acquiescence than of comprehension went up in
chorus from all but one of the revelers; he held his glass silently a
moment, disposed to put it untasted on the table.
"Bulchester's backing out," cried Edmonson giving him a scornful glance.
"Oh, ho! Backing out!" echoed nine derisive voices.
"We have made it too hot for him," called out Edmonson again.
At which remark another shout arose, and the glasses were tossed off
with bravado, Bulchester's also being set down empty.
After this the party broke up boisterously, Edmonson and Bulchester
receiving the good wishes of the company for their prosperous voyage.
Leaving the inn, they went out into the night again, in which the
October moon veiled in clouds was doing its best to light the streets
now almost deserted. Bulchester looked with disapprobation at his
smiling companion. It was for the first time in their acquaintance, but
the compact into which the earl had so unwillingly entered had sobered
him, and was still ringing in his ears, giving him a sort of horror. He
said this to Edmonson, who burst out laughing.
"A mere drunken freak, Bul, that counts for nothing. You will be an
angel sitting on a cold cloud singing psalms long before that time. I'll
warrant it. You are a good fellow. Don't bother your brains about such
nonsense."
The third of November, Edmonson and Lord Bulchester sailed from
Liverpool in the "Ariel" for Boston.