_In the which Lady Peg overhears a horrible
plot to murder; and wherein
Mr. Incognito encountereth
Sir Robin._
She herself falls into such an immediate flood of tears as shakes her
well, and then up she rises from her depths, and with all the courage of
her race and blood, she vows that, come another sunset she will quit
Peter’s Court as if for a walk, and never return; that in small clothes,
since it must be, she will journey back to Kennaston Castle, and risk
all the discomfiture and disgrace her doing so may bring upon her.
In point of fact, My Lady Peggy was at that state of mind when it seemed
to her no degradation or humiliation, no sorrow that could be visited
upon her, would be too much punishment, or enough, for the sins without
number she had committed since the luckless day she took the coach for
town.
When she emerged from her room for dinner, ’twas to learn that Mr.
Brummell had been summoned hastily to St. James’s on so important an
affair as to initiate His Royal Highness into the mysteries of the new
tie of Sir Robin’s own invention! and that he trusted in this audience
to obtain permission to fetch Sir Robin to the Palace and present him
within a few days to several august personages, etc., etc., etc.
Her Ladyship, therefore, dined alone, scantily too; food choked her,
wine burned her throat, and to speak truth she was heartily glad not to
have to drink it, for Her Ladyship was an abstemious young lady and
believed milk, Bohea and Pekoe the beverages for her sex, to the
exclusion of any stronger.
At twilight, having made her duds and her tresses up into a reputable
enough parcel, Lady Peggy, in a suit of claret velvet, leaving all the
rest of her man’s attire hanging in the presses, sauntered carelessly
out of the house, declining the footman’s offer of a chair, or even a
hackney chaise, or a page to carry her parcel, and set off at a swinging
pace across the square and toward the river. It was her intention, by
way of frustrating any attempts at tracing her which might be set afoot,
the discovery of her flight once made, to so double on her own tracks,
and to seek out such unimagined and unlikely streets to traverse, as
must puzzle both bell-man, watch, and redbird alike, as well as her
acquaintances.
She swaggered along toward St. Stephen’s where a coach containing
quality was occasionally met even now; then down Horseferry Road, almost
to the river’s bank; then along Jackanapes Row, with little idea of the
cut-throat locality she was haunting; back again toward better
neighborhoods; then a lurch to the Thames making into Farthing Alley and
Little Boy Yard, at the end of which she found herself at the old Dove
Pier.
Peg stood still, her heart beating both with her quick walk, and at the
strangeness of all that surrounded her. She had no fear, because her arm
was stout, her aim sure, pistols at her belt and a good sword at her
side; and she was perfectly ignorant of any harm here to be found,
greater than at the door of Beau Brummell’s house.
The dark dwellings of the yard frowned at one another, with not an ell
of sky to share between ’em at their roofs; the sign of the “Three Cups”
swung and creaked in the slow breeze; the river, black and gruesome,
lapped at the foot of the stone pile against which she leaned. On the
river the tired bargemen rested at their oars, and the dip of a
water-bird was the only sound that struck upon her ear. Peggy was
casting about in her mind whether to enter the inn and inquire her road
to the King’s Arms in the Strand, and had just turned to do so, when in
the cavernous doorway of one of the gaunt-looking tenements she beheld
three figures. The faces of two were toward her, and by the light of the
fish-oil lamp swinging at the next-door tavern, she beheld them, so
sinister and forbidding as to cause her to halt for a space, and then,
overcoming her dread, to pursue her path, but slowly and by crossing the
yard.
As she did so, her weapon caught in her heel and as she bent to
disengage it, a voice speaking in low muffled tones arrested her gait.
It was the voice of Sir Robin McTart saying:
“If I make it ten guineas apiece on the spot, you swear to leave him
cold on the pier yonder, come Sunday night, or to tie a stone about his
throat and throw him into the river?”
“Aye, aye,” grunts one of the two companions of this most valorous
gentleman. “’E’s h’always ’ulkin ’ereabouts o’ Sunday nights.”
Lady Peggy, with such a pull-string of terror at her heart as she never
had before, draws closer to the wall of the tenement before which she
has halted, creeps nearer to the portal wherein these cavaliers are
quartered.
“Let it be five guineas apiece to-night,” squeaks the Baronet, “and the
remainder when the business is done?”
“The devil knock you into hell with your, ‘when the business is done!’”
mutters the other. “We’s doin’ your job for you for little enough.
Tain’t everyone as’d h’undertake the funeral of a h’Earl’s heir like Sir
Percy de Bohun——”
Her Ladyship’s like now to fall in a swoon; but not she; only leans she
a bit against the bricks, her bosom heaving, her eyes dilating, her lips
bitten in until they are almost bleeding.
“Hush-h-h! no names, you varlets!” interrupts Sir Robin.
“Hey?” responds the other, “the walls ain’t got no h’ears, and if they
’ad wot I’m a-sayin’s the cussid truth, eh, Bloksey?”
Bloksey grunts.
“The town’ll be afire when it’s out that a gallant like ’im that’s heir
to Lord Gower’s been done fer; and then, my fine gentleman, who’s to pay
for’t, if we’s caught and if we ’appens to be seen by any one when we’re
a doin’ of your job? No, money all down now, or Sir Percy lives as long
as ’e likes, for us!”
Peg’s hand’s upon the hilt of her sword.
Shall she spring and run Sir Robin through?
Shall she hide and buy the rascals out at a higher price than he has
paid?
But no sooner do these thoughts rush through her brain than the utter
impossibility of compassing the one, or of performing the other,
undetected, if even with her life, and she so at the mercy of these
cut-throats, comes to steady her, and she realizes that her only part is
to get away as fast as she may, and unseen if she can.
Meantime Sir Robin concludes his bargain with the two desperadoes, and
as they withdraw into their haunt, and he turns on his heel, he espies
Lady Peggy rounding the corner with her bundle under her arm. The little
Baronet with a sidelong glance in at the hallway to make sure his men
are out of sight, darts to the opposite side of the court on tiptoe, and
then, putting hands to mouth, calls across softly, but clearly, in a
tone half of joy, half anger.
“Mr. Incognito! Mr. Incognito! Ho! I say, Incognito!”
Peg stops short. ’Twere wiser perhaps to try to discover what had put
Sir Robin McTart up to the murder.
“By Gad, Sir!” cries this one, making a dash now over to Peg’s side of
the way. “Here have I scoured the town for you day and night, and no
trace of you anywhere! ‘Incognito’ me no more, Sir! Who are you, Sir?
Damme! I’ll stand no more such nonsense!” Sir Robin’s valor’s thoroughly
based on the knowledge that, were blade to be unsheathed to his hurt, he
could and would shout for his hirelings to the rescue.
’Twas the first and only time in his life that he was ever known to
urge, or even hint, a quarrel _in propria persona_.
“I’ll ‘incognito’ you to the end of the chapter, Sir Robin McTart,”
answers Lady Peggy, clapping hand to hilt.
“Very well, Sir, very well,” says the Baronet, reflecting that another
corpse might cost him ten guineas more, ere he were done with it; and
besides yearning for the news of His Lady which he thinks he may glean.
“I’ve small stomach for fightin’ any man. Religion don’t teach us that
lesson, but ’tis a devilish trick you’ve played me, Sir.”
“In what way, Sir? Out with it,” replies Peggy.
“You, Sir, sent me to Kennaston a-seeking Lady Peggy Burgoyne, Sir; she
was from home, and not a word else could I buy or wring out of her
servant’s cursed mouth. Then I hied to Kent, believing, from your fine
messages to me from Her Ladyship, that she must be there at her
godmother’s. No, Sir! she was not; nor could any one tell but that she
was at Kennaston Castle for all they knew. Back in town post-haste, I
seek Lark Lane, where her brother lodges, so I had heard, only to learn
that he has gone to stop with Sir Percy de Bohun, in Charlotte Street.”
“Well, you sought him there?” inquires Peg quivering with suppressed
excitement.
“I did not, Sir!” replies Sir Robin with emphasis.
“Thank heaven!” says his companion fervently, an exclamation which may
do double duty, and is well taken by the little gentleman from Kent.
“No, Sir; you do not suppose, Sir, that I’m a-going to risk a life
that’s dear to Lady Peggy, at the hands of a ripping brawler and
sure-kill like Sir Percy, do you?”
“Ah, Sir Robin,” quoth Her Ladyship. “If you knew what a consolation it
would be to Lady Peggy to hear of your unwillingness to hazard your
precious person in such company, ’twould ease your mind and heart.”
“Look you!” whispers Sir Robin, plucking at Peg’s sleeve. “But tell me
where she is? This mystery’s killing me! How fares she? Does she pine
for me? and is this true?” With shaking hands Sir Robin takes from his
pocket a copy of a print of the day previous, and unfolding, reads to
the astonished Peg the following paragraphs.
“Town’s talk is all for the very pretty quarrel betwixt Sir P——y de
B——n, and the gallant and handsome Sir R——n McT——t of Kent. ’Tis all
over Mayfair, and far beyond, that the cause of the dispute’s the lovely
but mysterious Lady P——y B——e.”
“’Slife!” interrupts Peg, catching at straws. “You now perceive, Sir
Robin, why ’tis that Her Ladyship must keep her whereabouts a secret,
even,” she adds with sentimental deflection, “from you. Trust me, Sir,
as you would trust her, and be guided by my counsel!”
Sir Robin nods vigorously, fluttering his sheet with anxious fingers.
“Listen, Sir, listen, to this further.” He reads on. “Sir P——y de B——n
has sworn by all that’s sacred, so ’tis said, to stick Sir R——n McT——t
to the death, and serious consequences are feared.”
“Ah!” cries Lady Peggy, overjoyed to hear anything that may serve to
keep the little Baronet and Sir Percy from meeting. “’Tis a gentleman of
his word, I promise you. Better get back at once to Robinswold, and let
London and Sir Percy gallop to the devil, an they see fit!”
“Nay,” replies the one addressed. “Not I, Sir Incognito. It is not for a
McTart to turn his back on danger, but the rather,” and here by the
fish-oil gleam, the little gentleman’s squint eyes leer cunningly up
into Her Ladyship’s face: “The rather,” continues he, glancing
cautiously around, “take measures to protect myself.”
“Very commendable of you, Sir Robin, by my faith,” cries Peggy, although
she shudders, now linking her arm in her companion’s, and assuming an
air of easy confidence, by the which she hopes to ensnare him into a
complete revelation of his plans.
“Since you go armed, and are, I doubt not, a master in the art of
self-defense, what have you to fear from Sir Percy de Bohun?”
“True,” responds the Baronet, with a reservation to himself and no mind
at all to proceed any further with his revelations. “Gad! Sir, a fellow
like that,” clutching at the newspaper stuck among his ruffles, “ain’t
to be trusted as long as he’s above the ground. I swear, Sir! I fear to
walk abroad and hold myself housed at my inn in Pimlico, close, not
daring to show my face. A ruffian that’s publicly printed as seekin’
life’d stick me in the back in the dark, an he got the chance.”
“Nay, nay, Sir Robin,” says Peg, up for her sweetheart, “he’s not that
sort of a gentleman—but, look you, keep close, frequent neither club,
coffee or chocolate-house, or rout or drum; eschew Vauxhall, Richmond
and the play-house, or any likely place where bucks gather, for trust
me, Sir, an you do meet Sir Percy, there’ll be the devil to pay, and his
blade’s his obedient slave.”
Poor Peg! She has not only to protect Percy of his life, but, as before,
to prevent any discovery of her usurpation of the little Baronet’s name.
“Curse him! I fear him not!” responds this one, his itching fingers
twisting about the empty purse in his pocket.
“But of Her Ladyship, Sir Go-between?” adds he presently, as they emerge
upon the broader and better lighted road. “’Pon my life, but to so find
myself the hero of a romantic passion with the Lady secluded in a
mystery, a nobleman thirsting for my blood, a nameless gentleman playin’
Mercury betwixt me and my fair, ’tis amazing, Sir! prodigious amazing!”
Sir Robin struts and takes snuff very comfortably, since he has got out
of a very dangerous environment.
Peg’s soul sickens within her as she listens to him.
“Tell me now, how fares she?”
“Not so well,” answers she.
“You’ve seen her?”
“Not I.”
“Are like to?”
“No, Sir.”
“You can convey messages to her by some fond way she’s planned to get
her news of me, eh?”
“I can, Sir Robin.”
“Sir, whoever you are, for pity’s sake, tell me where is she?”
“Not far, Sir.”
“Gad, Sir, to touch her hand, her cheek! You’re in her sure confidence?
She does favor me? She will not give me hopes, Sir, to turn around and
break my heart by marryin’ of another?”
“Lady Peggy’ll never marry any man, Sir Robin, I’m of the opinion, so
I’d not give that for your chances!” answers she.
“Think you she ever cared for Sir Percy?” asks he.
“Sir, who can fathom a woman’s heart? ’Tis deeper than the sea; so deep,
methinks, ofttimes she herself holds not that plummet that can sound it.
Sir Robin, I take my leave of you.”
“Hold! hold! Sir, not so fast. Where next may I encounter you?”
“That must be as Her Ladyship says,” answers Peggy. “Your inn’s in
Pimlico?”
“Yes, the Puffled Hen, not far off Battersea Bridge.”
“Farewell, Sir, and look you keep close in-doors, and risk no quarrel
with Sir Percy de Bohun.”
“Farewell, Sir,” watching Her Ladyship turn down the street as he turns
up. “Gad’s life! ’twas well he happened when he did, and not earlier, to
eavesdrop my bargain with the wharf-rats! ’Sdeath! Risk no quarrel with
Sir Percy! Not so long as there’s guineas left to buy corpses with!” and
the little gentleman trots over to Pimlico, tolerably well pleased with
his evening’s work; there, however, to be greeted with the reading of
more newspapers, including that one which had earlier in the day so
entertained Beau Brummell and his familiars.
Not for a moment did the Baronet mistrust, or have a suspicion, other
than that his fame had caused him to be made the subject of such a pack
of pretty stories as was then the custom of the press, as now, regarding
any gentleman of position and gallantry. Sir Robin’s vanity easily
swallowed the dose, and he even slapped his thigh and laughed his little
dice-rattle laugh, as he reflected how safe he really was with never a
challenge or a brawl to his cowardly credit since he got his first
flogging at Eton.
He actually mouthed over his prospective wooing, and assured winning of
Lady Peggy, and felt a calm satisfaction in the knowledge that the one
rival he feared would so soon be beyond the reach of ladies’ smiles or
tears. No qualms came to disturb his genial enjoyment of purposed
assassination. In those days to kill was nearer men’s tempers than it is
to-day. ’Twas with blackguard and man of honor alike, the first redress
for even the pettiest sort of a dispute; with the difference of method
only, that the gallant blade fought out his quarrel on the open field,
while the craven bought a hireling’s dagger to do it in the dark.
Meantime, My Lady, by as direct a route as she can fathom out of the
labyrinth of her ignorance and her distracted state of mind, makes back
to Peter’s Court with her parcel of duds still under her arm.
She enters, mounts the stair-case, seeks her room, closes the door, and
sits down.
“’Tis now not to be doubted,” she says to herself, “but that the Devil’s
at the helm of my ship—and that I am to be a man for the rest of my
life. ’Sdeath! as dad says, I’ll stop over till Sunday night’s o’er
past, and as surely as my name’s Peggy Burgoyne I’ll foil that little
dastardly groat of a Baronet’s plot to murder him that I once l-loved.
Bah!” cries she half aloud. “What’s the use of mincin’ matters that’s
true? Him that I love! Even if he’s dyin’ for Lady Diana, and goin’ to
be her husband instead of mine! ‘Consents!’” murmurs she, flinging
herself on the bed in a flood of tempestuous tears.
In vain regretting, she now too fully realized that her own wilful
words, her jealousy, her falsehoods, her deceits, were the sole causes
for Sir Robin’s terror, and, therefore, for the abominable scheme which
he had just concocted.
Presently she arose, tossed the bundle once more back into its
hiding-place, and set to pacing up and down the floor as she’d seen her
twin do at home when he was looking high and low for a rhyme.
’Twas weightier matters kept Peg moving for an hour or more, and
quick-spinning as were her heart and temper, her brain bore a more even
balance.
First she had thought to warn Percy by a letter unsigned; the which she
knew he’d pitch into the fire and think no more about. Then, that she’d
write one to Kennaston imploring him to keep Percy from the pier Sunday
night or any other; this she soon recognized would have the fate of
t’other. Then, ’twas to contrive some plan to fetch him to Richmond,
Windsor, any place else for Sunday; but to this arose the objection that
the blackguards cheated of one day, or place, would not fail to wait
upon their prey some other. At the last, Her Ladyship’s shrewd
common-sense and indomitable pluck plainly showed her there was but one
safe plan out of the danger; and this must be to go herself to the river
Sunday night, and there concealed, armed, await the coming of the
cut-throats from their den, and from the rear, put a shot into each at
one and the same moment.
Could she do it?
Her Ladyship had muscles of steel, no nerves, as the fine ladies of her
day comprehended them; as brave and loyal a heart as ever beat in any
breast; good faith in God, for all her frowardness; and that species of
love burning within her for Sir Percy de Bohun, which has, not a few
times in the world’s history, made frailest woman into man’s equal for
courage.
To Lady Peggy there seemed a divine compensation in the fact that it had
come to her, to save the very one whom, by her lies and wilfulness, she
alone had been the means of endangering.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: At the table sat Kennaston...]
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[Illustration]