SIR HERVEY TAKES THE FIELD
In his rooms at the corner house between Portugal Street and Bolton
Street, so placed that by glancing a trifle on one side of the oval
mirror before him he could see the Queen's Walk and the sloping
pastures of the Green Park, Sir Hervey Coke was being shaved. A pile
of loose gold which lay on the dressing-table indicated that the
evening at White's had not been unpropitious. An empty chocolate cup
and half-eaten roll stood beside the money, and, with Sir Hervey's
turban-cap and embroidered gown, indicated that the baronet, who in
the country broke his fast on beef and small beer, and began the day
booted, followed, in town, town fashions. To-day, however, early as it
was--barely ten--his wig hung freshly curled on the stand, and a
snuff-coloured coat and long-flapped waistcoat, plainly laced, were
airing at the fire; signs that he intended to be abroad betimes, and
on business.
Perhaps the business had to do with an open letter in his lap, at
which the man who was shaving him cocked his eye inquisitively between
strokes. Or perhaps not, for Sir Hervey did not seem to heed this
curiosity; but the valet had before had reason--and was presently to
have fresh reason--to know that his taciturn master saw more than he
had the air of seeing.
Suddenly Sir Hervey raised his hand. Watkyns, the valet, stood back.
"Bring it me!" Coke said.
The man had heard without hearing, as he now understood without
explanation. He went softly to the door, received a note, and brought
it to his master.
"An answer?"
"No, sir."
"Then finish."
The valet did so. When he had removed the napkin, Sir Hervey broke the
seal, and, after reading three or four lines of the letter, raised his
eyes to the mirror. He met the servant's prying gaze, and abruptly
crumpled the paper in his hand. Then, "Watkyns," he said, in his
quietest tone.
"Sir?"
[Illustration: "ABOUT THE TWO GUINEAS--YOU STOLE THIS MORNING ..."]
"About the two guineas you--stole this morning. For this time you may
keep them; but in the future kindly remember two things."
The razor the man was cleaning fell to the floor. His face was a
sickly white; his knees shook under him. He tried to frame words, to
deny, to say something, but in vain. He was speechless.
"Firstly," Coke continued blandly, "that I count the money I bring
home--at irregular intervals. Secondly, that two guineas is a larger
sum than forty shillings. Another time, Watkyns, I would take less
than forty shillings. You will understand why. That is all."
The man, still pale and trembling, found his tongue. "Oh, sir!" he
cried, "I swear, if you'll--if you'll forgive me----"
Coke stopped him. "That is all," he said, "that is all. The matter is
at an end. Pick that up, go downstairs, and return in five minutes."
When the man was gone, Sir Hervey smoothed the paper, and, with a face
that grew darker and darker as he proceeded, read the contents of the
letter from beginning to end. They were these:--
"Dear Sir,
"The honour you intended my family by an alliance with a person so
nearly related to us as Miss Maitland renders it incumbent on me to
inform you with the least possible delay of the unfortunate event
which has happened in our household, an event which, I need not say, I
regret on no account more than because it must deprive us of the
advantage we rightly looked to derive from that connection. At a late
hour last evening the misguided (and I fear I must call her the
unfortunate) girl, whom you distinguished by so particular a mark of
your esteem, left the shelter of her home, it is now certain, to seek
the protection of a lover.
"While the least doubt on this point remained, I believed myself
justified in keeping the matter even from you, but I have this morning
learned from a sure source--Lane, the mercer, in Piccadilly--that she
was set down about nine o'clock last night at a house in Davies
Street, kept by a man of the name of Wollenhope, and the
residence--alas, that I should have to say it!--of the infamous
Irishman whose attentions to her at one time attracted your notice.
"You will readily understand that from the moment we were certified of
this we ceased to regard her as a part of our family; a choice so
ill-regulated can proceed only from a mind naturally inclined to vice.
Resentment on your account no less than a proper care of our
household, dictates this course, nor will any repentance on her part,
nor any of those misfortunes to which as I apprehend her misconduct
will surely expose her, prevail on us to depart from it.
"Forgive me, dear sir, if, under the crushing weight of this
deplorable matter, I confine myself to the bare fact and its
consequence, adding only the expression of our profound regret and
consideration.
"I have the honour to remain,
"Dear sir,
"Your most obedient, humble servant,
"J. NORTHEY."
"A d----d cold-blooded fish!" Sir Hervey muttered when he had
finished, and he cast the letter on the table with a gesture of
disgust. Then he sat motionless for several minutes, gazing at
nothing, with a strange expression of pain in his eyes. Perhaps he was
thinking of the old mansion in Sussex, standing silent and lonely in
its widespread park, awaiting--still awaiting, a mistress. Perhaps of
plans late made, soon wrecked, yet no less cherished. Perhaps of a
pale young face wide-browed and wilful, with eyes more swift to blame
than praise; eyes which he had seen seeking--seeking pathetically
they knew not what. Or perhaps he was thinking of the notorious Lady
Vane--of what she had been once, of what Sophia might be some day. For
he swore softly, and the look of pain deepened in his eyes. And then
Watkyns returned.
Sir Hervey stood up. "You'll go to Wollenhope's," he said without
preface. "Wollenhope's, in Davies Street, and learn--you'll know
how--whether the young lady who alighted there last night from a chair
or coach is still there. And whether a person of the name of
Hawkesworth is there. And whether he is at home. You will not tell my
name. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've half an hour."
The man slid out of the room, his face wearing a look of relief,
almost of elation. It was true then. He was forgiven!
After that Coke walked up and down, his watch in his hand, until the
valet returned. In the interval he spoke once only. "She is but a
child!" he muttered, "she's but a child!" and he followed it with a
second oath. When his man returned, "Well?" he said, without looking
round.
"The young lady is not there, sir," Watkyns replied. "She arrived at
eight last evening in a chair, and left a little after nine with a
young gentleman."
"The person Hawkesworth?"
"No, sir."
"No?" Sir Hervey turned as he spoke, and looked at him.
"No, sir. Who it was the landlord of the house did not know or would
not tell me. He was not in the best of tempers, and I could get no
more from him. He told me that the young gentleman came in with his
lodger about a quarter to nine."
"With Hawkesworth?"
"Yes, sir, and found the young lady waiting for them. That the two
gentlemen quarrelled almost immediately, and that the young lady went
off with the young gentleman. Who was very young, sir, not much more
than a boy."
"What address?"
"I could not learn, sir."
"Watkyns!"
"Yes, sir."
"You may take two guineas."
The man hesitated, his face scarlet. "If you please, sir," he
muttered, "I'll consider I have them."
"Very good. I understand you. Now dress me."
It took about five minutes, as London then lay, to walk from Bolton
Street to Davies Street, by way of Bolton Bow and Berkeley Square. At
that hour, it was too early for fine gentlemen of Sir Hervey's stamp
to be abroad, and fine ladies were still abed, so that he fell in with
no acquaintances. He had ascertained from Watkyns in what part of the
street Wollenhope's house was situate, and, well within the prescribed
space of time, he found himself knocking at the door. It was opened
pretty promptly by Mrs. Wollenhope.
"Does Mr. Hawkesworth lodge here?" Sir Hervey asked, without preamble.
"Yes, sir, he does," the good woman answered, curtseying low at the
sight of his feathered hat and laced waistcoat; and instinctively she
looked up and down the street in search of his chair or coach. "But he
is out at present," she continued, her eyes returning to him. "He left
the house about half an hour ago, your honour."
"Can you tell me where he may be found?"
"No, sir, I have no notion," Mrs. Wollenhope answered, wiping her
hands on her apron.
"Still," Sir Hervey rejoined, "you can, perhaps, tell me the name of
the young gentleman who was here last evening and took a lady away."
Mrs. Wollenhope raised her hands. "There!" she exclaimed. "I said we
should hear of it again! Not that we are to blame, no, sir, no! Except
in the way of saving bloodshed! And as for the name, I don't know it.
But the address now," dropping her voice and looking nervously behind
her, "the young gentleman did give an address, and----" with a sudden
change of manner. "Are these with you, sir?"
Coke, following the direction of her gaze, turned about, and found two
rough-looking men standing at his elbow. "No," he said, "they are not.
What do you want, my men?"
"Lord, your honour, no hurry, we can wait till you've done," the
foremost answered, tugging obsequiously at the uncocked flap of his
hat; while his companion sucked his stick and stared. "Or after all,
what's the odds? Time's money, and there's many go in front of us
would rather see our backs! Is the lady that came last night in the
house, mistress?"
Sir Hervey stared, while Mrs. Wollenhope eyed the speaker with great
disfavour. "No," she said, "if that's what you want, she is not!"
The man slowly expectorated on the ground. "Oh," he said, "that being
the case, when did she leave? No harm in telling that, mistress!"
"She left within the hour," Mrs. Wollenhope snapped. "And that's all
I'll tell you about her, so there! And take yourself off, please!"
"If the matter of half a crown, now----?"
Mrs. Wollenhope shook her head vigorously. "No!" she cried. "No! I
don't sell my lodgers. I know your trade, my man, and you'll get
nothing from me."
The bailiff grinned and nodded. "All right," he said. "No need to grow
warm! Easy does it. She gave us the slip yesterday, but we're bound to
nab her by-and-by. We knew she was coming here, and if we'd waited
here yesterday instead of at the coach office, we'd have took her.
Come, Trigg, we'll to the Blue Posts; if she's had a coach or a chair
we'll hear of it there!" And with a "No offence, your honour!" and a
clumsy salute, the two catchpolls lounged away, the one a pace behind
the other, his knobby stick still in his mouth, and his sharp eyes
everywhere.
Coke watched them go, and a more talkative man would have expressed
his astonishment. He fancied that he knew all that was to be known of
Sophia's mode of life. She might have spent a little more than her
allowance at Margam's or Lane's, might have been tempted by lace at
Doiley's, or ribbons at the New Exchange. But a writ and bailiffs? The
thing was absurd, and for a good reason. Mr. Northey was rich, yet not
so rich as he was penurious; the tradesman did not exist, who would
not trust, to the extent of his purse, any member of that family. Coke
was certain of this; and that there was something here which he did
not understand. But all he said was "They are bailiffs, are they?"
"For sure, sir," Mrs. Wollenhope answered. "I've a neighbour knows one
by sight. All day yesterday they were hanging about the door, probing
if the young lady was come. 'Twas on that account she surprised me,
for I'd been led to look for a fine spendthrift madam, and when she
came--Lord ha' mercy, my husband's coming down! If you want the
address," she continued in a lower tone, as Wollenhope appeared at the
foot of the stairs, "'twas in Clarges Row, at Grocott's."
"Thank you," Coke said.
"Grocott's," she repeated in a whisper. Then in a louder tone, "No,
sir, I can't say when he will be at home."
"Thank you," Sir Hervey said; and having got what he wanted he did not
stay to waste time with the man, but made the best of his way to
Charles Street, into which the north end of Clarges Row, now Clarges
Street, opened at that date. Deeply engaged with the paramount
question in his mind, the identity of the young man in whose company
Sophia had left Hawkesworth's lodgings, he forgot the bailiffs; and it
was with some annoyance that, on reaching the Row, he espied one of
them lurking in a doorway in Charles Street. It was so plain that they
were watching him that Sir Hervey lost patience, turned, and made
towards the man to question him. But the fellow also turned on his
heel, and retreating with an eye over his shoulder, disappeared in the
square. To follow was to be led from the scent; Coke wheeled again,
therefore, and meeting a potboy who knew the street, he was directed
to Grocott's. The house the lad pointed out was one of the oldest in
the Row; a small house of brick, the last on the east side going
north. Sir Hervey scanned the five windows that faced the street, but
they told him nothing. He knocked--and waited. And presently, getting
no answer, he knocked again. And again--the pot-boy looking on from a
little distance.
After that Coke stood back, saw that the windows were still without
sign of life, and would have gone away--thinking to return in an hour
or two--but a woman came to the door of the next house, and told him,
"the old man is at home, your honour; it is not ten minutes since he
was at the door." On which he knocked again more loudly and
insistently. Suspicions were taking shape in his mind. The house
seemed too quiet to be innocent.
He had his hand raised to repeat the summons once more, when he heard
a dragging, pottering step moving along the passage towards him. A
chain was put up, a key turned, the door was opened a little, a very
little way. A pale, fat face, with small, cunning eyes, peered out at
him. Unless he was mistaken, it was the face of a frightened man.
"I want to see Miss Maitland," Sir Hervey said.
"To be sure, sir," the man answered, while his small eyes scanned the
visitor sharply. "Is it about a clock?"
"No," Coke answered. "Are you deaf, man? I wish to see the young lady
who is here; who came last night."
"You're very welcome, I am sure, but there is no young lady here, your
honour."
Sir Hervey did not believe it. The man's sly face, masking fear under
a smirk, inspired no confidence; this talking over a chain, at that
hour, in the daylight, of itself imported something strange.
Apparently Grocott--for he it was--read the last thought in his
visitor's eyes, for he dropped the chain and opened the door. "Was it
about a clock," he asked, the hand that held the door trembling
visibly, "that the lady came?"
"No," Sir Hervey answered curtly; he was not deceived by this apparent
obtuseness. "I wish, I tell you, to see the young lady who came here
with a gentleman last night. She came here from Davies Street."
"There is a lady here," the clock-maker answered, slowly. "But I don't
know that she will see any one."
"She will see me," Coke replied with decision. "You don't want me to
summon her friends, and cause a scandal, I suppose?"
"Well, sir, for her friends," Grocott answered, smiling unpleasantly,
"I know nothing about them, begging your honour's pardon. And, it is
all one to me whom she sees. If you'll give me your name, sir, I'll
take it to her."
"Sir Hervey Coke."
"Dear, dear, I beg your honour's pardon, I am sure," Grocott
exclaimed, bowing and wriggling obsequiously. "It's not to be thought
that she'll not see a gentleman of your honour's condition. But I'll
take her pleasure if you'll be so good as to wait a minute."
He left Coke standing on the threshold, and retreated up the passage
to the door of a room on the left. Here he went in, closing the door
after him. Sir Hervey waited until he was out of sight, then in three
strides he reached the same door, lifted the latch, and entered.
"'Twill take him finely, Sal!"
The words were in the air--they were all he caught, then silence; and
he stood staring. Abrupt as had been his entrance, he was the most
completely surprised of the three. For the third in the room, the lady
to whom Grocott's words were addressed, was not Sophia, but a
stranger; a tall, handsome woman, with big black eyes, fashionably
dressed and fashionably painted. The surprise drew from her a hasty
exclamation; she rose, her eyes sparkling with anger. Then, as Sir
Hervey, recovering from his astonishment, bowed politely, she sat down
again with an assumption of fineness and languor. And, taking a fan,
she began to fan herself.
"A thousand pardons, madam," Coke said. "I owe you every apology. I
came in under a misapprehension. I expected to find a friend here."
"That's very evident, I think, sir!" madam replied, tossing her head.
"And one you were in a hurry to see, I should fancy."
"Yes," Sir Hervey answered. He noted that the table, laid with more
elegance than was to be expected from Grocott's appearance, displayed
a couple of chickens, pigeons, and a galantine, besides a pretty
supply of bottles and flasks. "I trust you will pardon my mistake. I
was informed that a young lady came here last evening with a
gentleman."
Madam flamed up. "And what, sir, is it to you if I did!" she cried.
And she rose sharply.
"Your pardon! I did not mean----"
"I say, sir, what is it to you if I did?" she repeated in a tone of
the utmost resentment. "If I did come from Davies Street, and come
here? I don't remember to have met you before, and I fail to see what
ground you had for following me or for watching my movements. I am
sure I never gave you any, and I am not used to impertinence. For the
rest, I am expecting some friends--Grocott?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Show this gentleman out. Or--or perhaps I am hasty," she continued,
in a lower tone and with an abrupt return of good nature. "The last
thing I should wish to be to any gentleman," with a glance from a pair
of handsome eyes. "If I have met you at any time--at my Lady Bellamy's
perhaps, sir?"
"No, ma'am, I think not."
"Or at that good-natured creature, Conyers'--dear delightful woman;
you know her, I am sure?"
"No," Coke said, bluntly, "I have not the honour of her ladyship's
acquaintance; and I don't think I need trouble you farther. If there
is no one else in the house, it is evident I have made a mistake. I
offer my apologies, ma'am, regretting extremely that I trespassed on
you."
"I occupy the only rooms," she answered drily. "And--Grocott, if the
gentleman is quite satisfied--the door please! And send my woman to
me."
Sir Hervey bowed, muttered a last word of apology, and with a look
round the room, which brought to light nothing new except a handsome
mail that stood packed and strapped in a corner, he passed out. After
all, his discovery explained the appearance of the bailiffs outside
Wollenhope's. The over-dressed air and easy manners of the lady he had
seen were those of one not given to economy, nor, probably, too
particular as to ways and means. It accounted, also, for the lady's
departure from Davies Street immediately after her arrival. Clearly
Lane had misinformed the Northeys. It was not Sophia who had gone to
the house in Davies Street; nor Sophia who had left that house in a
gentleman's company. Then where was she?
As he paused in the passage revolving the question and seeking half a
crown to give to the man whom he had suspected without reason, a dull
sound as of a muffled hammer beating wood caught his ear. He had heard
it indistinctly in the parlour--it appeared to come from the upper
floor; but he had given no heed to it. "What's that?" he asked, idly,
as he drew out a coin.
"That noise, your honour?"
"Yes."
"My journeyman. Perhaps you'd like to see him," Grocott continued with
a malicious grin. "May be he's the young lady you're looking for. Oh,
make yourself at home, sir," he added bitterly. "A poor man mustn't
grumble if his house isn't his own and his lodgers are insulted."
"Here," Coke said, and dropping the half-crown into the dirty hand
extended for it, he passed out. Instantly the door clanged behind him,
the chain was put up, a bolt was shot; but although Sir Hervey stood a
moment uncertain which way he should go, or what he should do next, he
did not notice these extreme precautions, nor the pale, ugly face of
triumph that watched him from the window as he turned south to go to
Arlington Street.