LADY BARBARITY
_A ROMANCE_
BY
J. C. SNAITH
AUTHOR OF MISTRESS DOROTHY MARVIN
AND FIERCEHEART, THE SOLDIER
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1898, 1899,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--DEPLORES THE SCARCITY OF MEN 1
II.--THE REBEL APPEARS 16
III.--THE REBEL DISAPPEARS 29
IV.--OF AN ODD PASSAGE IN THE MEADOW 53
V.--I MIX IN THE HIGH POLITICAL 66
VI.--I CONTINUE MY NIGHT ADVENTURES 80
VII.--THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS 106
VIII.--IN WHICH THE HERO IS FOUND TO BE A PERSON
OF NO DESCENT WHATEVER 118
IX.--OF THE MONSTROUS BEHAVIOUR OF MISS PRUE 135
X.--I PLAY CATHERINE TO MR. DARE’S PETRUCHIO 154
XI.--I UNDERGO AN ORDEAL; I PLAY WITH A FIRE 171
XII.--I DEFY DEAR LADY GRIMSTONE 189
XIII.--I DISPLAY MY INFINITE RESOURCES 204
XIV.--IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN’S WIT BECOMES A
RIVAL OF MY OWN 220
XV.--THE CAPTAIN TRUMPS MY TRICK 231
XVI.--IN WHICH I AM WOOED AND WON 247
XVII.--MORE ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 258
XVIII.--IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN’S COMEDY IS PLAYED 272
XIX.--I SUFFER GREAT ADVERSITY 286
XX.--I SPEAK WITH THE CELEBRATED MR. SNARK 300
XXI.--I COME TO TYBURN TREE 315
EPILOGUE 331
LADY BARBARITY.
CHAPTER I.
DEPLORES THE SCARCITY OF MEN.
TO deny that I am an absurdly handsome being would be an affectation.
Besides, if I did deny it, my face and shape are always present to
reprove me. Some women I know--we call each other friends--who happen
to possess an eyebrow, an elbow, an impertinence, a simper, or any
other thing that is observable, I have seen to cast their eyes down
at the compliment, and try to look so modest too, that one could tell
quite easily that this missish diffidence was a piece of art since
it sat so consciously upon ’em, it could not possibly be nature. But
furnished as I am with a whole artillery of charms, sure they need
no adventitious blushes for their advertisement; indeed, they are so
greatly and variously sung that it is quite a common thing for the
poets to make an ode or sonnet of ’em every night, and a ballad every
morning. The late poor little Mr. Pope was so occupied at times in
comparing my eyes to Jupiter, or the evening star that I was fain to
correct him for ’t, on the pretext that the heavenly bodies might not
like it, they being such exalted things, whilst my Lady Barbarity was
but a humble creature in a petticoat. Therefore if you would know the
graces of my person I must refer you to the poets of the age; but if
you would seek the graces of my mind, in this book you shall discover
them, for I could not make it wittier if I tried. I have heard the
young beaux speak of certain women of their acquaintancy as being as
justly celebrated for their wit as for their beauty, but have yet to
hear the old ones say this, since they know that wit and beauty is as
rare a combination as is loveliness and modesty. This book will tell
you, then, that my wit is in proportion to my modesty.
I returned from town with a hundred triumphs, but my heart intact.
The whirl of fashion had palled upon me for a season. I was weary of
the fume I had created in St. James’s and the Mall, and I retired
to my northern home in the late January of ’46. Sweet High Cleeby,
cradle of my joyous girlhood, home of romance and these strange events
I now relate, let me mention you with reverence and love. Yet our
ancestral seat is a cold and sombre place enough, wrapped in ivy and
gray ghostliness. The manor is folded in on every side by a shivering
gloom of woods, and in winter you can hear them cry in company with
those uneasy souls that make our casements rattle. ’Tis dreary as
November with its weed-grown moat; its cawing rooks; its quaint gables
of Elizabeth; and its sixteenth-century countenance, crumbling and
grim. Besides, it occupies a most solitary spot on the bare bosom of
the moors, many a mile from human habitation, a forsaken house indeed
where in the winter time rude blasts and the wind-beaten birds are its
customary visitors. But the brisk north gales that fling the leaves
about it, and scream among the chimneys late at night, had no sooner
whipped my cheeks than my blood suddenly woke up and I began to rejoice
in my return. The morning after my arrival, when I carried crumbs to
the lawn in the hope of an early robin, a frost-breath stung my lips,
and at the first bite of it, sure methinks I am tasting life at last.
Ten months had I been regaled in town with the cream of everything that
is; but it seemed that I must resort to my dear despised old Cleeby for
those keen airs that keep the pulses vigorous. London is fine comedy,
but in ten months the incomparable Mr. Congreve loses his savour,
even for a sinner. Ombre was indeed a lively game; the play adorable;
Vauxhall entertaining; wholesale conquest most appetising to feed one’s
vanity upon, while to be the toast of the year was what not even the
psalm-book of my dearest Prue would venture to disdain. To be courted,
flattered, and applauded by every waistcoat west of Temple Bar,
beginning with the K----g’s, was to become a mark for envy, and yet to
stand superior to it in oneself. But now I was tiring of playing “Lady
Barbarity” to coats and wigs, and silver-buckled shoes. This is the
name the beaux had dubbed me, “Because” said they, “you are so cruel.”
It is true that I wore a claw. And if I occasionally used it, well, my
endurance was abominably tried, and I will confess that mine is not
the most patient temper in the world. The truth is that I was very
bitter, having sought ten months in London for a Man, when the pink of
England was assembled there, and had had to come away without having
found so rare a creature. I had encountered princes, but the powder in
their wigs, and buckles of their shoes were the most imposing parts of
their individuality. I had looked on lesser gentlemen, but the correct
manner in which they made a leg was the only test you might put upon
their characters. I congratulate myself, however, that I made some
little havoc with these suits of clothes. Therefore, Barbara became
Barbarity, and I sustained this parody as fully as I could. They said
I was born without a heart. Having gaily tried to prove to them how
sound this theory was, I purchased the choicest string of pearls and
the most delicate box of bonbons money could obtain, and returned to
dear High Cleeby, January 22d, 1746, with my aunt, the dowager, in a
yellow-coloured chaise.
The following morning I went to pay my devoir to my lord, who took his
chocolate at eleven o’clock in his private chamber. Now I have always
said that the Earl, my papa, was the very pattern of his age. He was
polished to that degree that he seemed a mirror to reflect the graces
of his person and his mind. Lord knows! in all his life ’twas little
enough he said, and perhaps still less he did. There is not a deed of
his that is important; nor hath he left a solitary phrase or sentiment
in which his memory may be embalmed. ’Twas ill-bred, he used to say,
for a man to endeavour to outshine his fellows, and to step out of
the throng that is his equal in manners and in birth. And indeed he
did not try; but, in spite of that, I am sure he was one of the most
considerable persons of his time by virtue of the very things he did
not do, and the speeches that he did not utter. It was his privilege,
or his art perhaps, to win the reputation of a high intelligence, not
because he had one, but because it was a point with him to keenly
appreciate its exercise in those who were so liberally furnished. I
found him this morning seated at the fire, sipping his chocolate from
a low table at his side, and one foot was tucked up on a stool and
bandaged for the gout as usual. On my entrance, though, and despite his
complicated posture, he rose at once, and bowing as deeply as though
I were the Queen, implored me to confer the honour of my person on
his chair, and limped across the rug to procure another for himself.
When we were seated and the Earl fixed his glasses on, for he was very
near-sighted at this time, he quizzed me for at least a quarter of a
minute, ere he said:
“Why, Bab, I think you are getting very handsome.”
I admitted that I was.
“And do you know that I have heard such a tale of you from town, my
pretty lady? You have turned the heads of all the men, I understand.”
“Men!” said I, “suits of clothes, papa, and periwigs!”
“Well, well,” says he, in his tender tone, and bowing, “let us deal
gently with their lapses. ’Tis a sufficient punishment for any man, I’m
sure, to be stricken with your poor opinion. But listen, child, for I
have something serious to say.”
Listen I did, you can be certain, for though I had known my papa, the
Earl, for a considerable time, ’twas the first occasion that I had
heard him mention serious matters. And as I pondered on the nature of
the surprise he had in store, my eyes fell upon an open book, beside
his tray of chocolate. It was a Bible. This caused me to look the more
keenly at the Earl, and I saw that in ten months ten years had been
laid upon his countenance. Even his powder could not hide its seams and
wrinkles now. Crow’s feet had gathered underneath his eyes, and his
padded shoulders were taken with a droop that left his stately coat in
creases.
“If I exercise great care,” says he, with a bland deliberation, “old
Paradise assures me that I yet have time to set my temporal affairs in
order. And you, my dearest Bab, being chief part of ’em, I thought it
well to mention this immediately to you. As for my spiritual affairs,
old Paradise is positive that my soul is of so peculiar a colour that
he recommends it to be scrubbed without delay. Thus I am taking the
proper steps, you see.”
He laid his hand upon the Bible.
“’Tis no secret, my dearest Bab,” he said, “that Robert John, fifth
Earl, your papa, never was an anchorite. He hath ta’en his fill of
pleasure. He hath played his hazard, and with a zest both late and
early; but now the candles sink, you see, and I believe they’ve called
the carriage.” Again he laid his hand upon the Bible.
’Twas a very solemn moment, and his lordship’s words had plunged me
in the deepest grief, but when he laid his hand upon that Testament a
second time, it was as much as I could do to wear a decent gravity. For
he was a very old barbarian.
“You see, child,” he continued, “that many years ago I took a
professional opinion on this point. The Reverend Joseph Tooley,
chaplain to the late lord, your grandpapa (I never felt the need for
one myself), was always confident that there was hope for a sinner who
repented. He used to say that he considered this saving clause a very
capital idea on the part of the Almighty, as it permitted a certain
degree of license in our generous youth. In fact, I can safely say
that in my case it has been a decided boon, for my blood appears to
be of a quality that will not cool as readily as another’s; indeed,
it hath retained its youthful ardours to quite a middle age. Highly
inconvenient for Robert John, fifth Earl, I can assure you, child,
but for this most admirable foresight on the part of heaven.” The
faint smile that went curling round the condemned man’s mouth was
delicious to perceive. “For my idea has ever been to run my course
and then repent. Well, I have now run my course, therefore let us
see about repentance. I am about to moderate my port, and resign the
pleasures of the table. My best stories I shall refrain from telling,
and confine myself to those that would regale a bishop’s lady. But I
want you, my charming Bab, to be very affectionate and kind towards
your poor old papa; be filial, my love--extremely filial, for I will
dispense--I’ve sworn to do it--with the lavish favours your angelic
sex have always been so eager to bestow upon me. Yes, for my soul’s
sake I must forbid ’em. But lord, what a fortitude I shall require!”
This ancient heathen lifted up his eyes and sighed most killingly. “I
am reading two chapters of the Bible daily, and I have also engaged
a private chaplain, who starts his duties here on Monday week. But I
think I’d better tell your ladyship”--with a wicked twinkle--“that he
is fifty if he’s a day, and with no personal graces to recommend him. I
was very careful on those points. For a young and comely parson where
there’s daughters means invariably _mésalliance_, and I prefer to risk
a permanent derangement in my soul than a _mésalliance_ in my family.”
“You appear, my lord,” says I, flashing at him, “to entertain a
singularly high opinion of my pride, to say nothing of my sense.”
“Tut, my dear person, tut!” says his lordship, wagging a yellow finger
at me. “I’ve made a lifetime’s study of you dear creatures, and I
know. You can no more resist an unctuous and insidious boy in bands
and cassock than your tender old papa can resist a pair of eyes. Oh,
I’ve seen it, child, seen it in a dozen cases--damn fine women too! And
their deterioration has been tragical. Faith, a parson where there’s
women is a most demoralising thing in nature.”
“’Pon my soul, my lord,” says I, in my courtliest manner, and
adroitly misreading the opinion he expressed, “your own case is quite
sufficient to destroy that theory, for you, my lord, are not the least
ecclesiastical.”
“Faith, that’s true,” says he, and the old dog positively blushed with
pleasure; “but had it been necessary for me to earn a livelihood I
should certainly have gone into the Church. And while we are on matters
theological I might say that I do believe that these strict practices
will cheat Monsieur le Diable of my soul, as was my hope from the
beginning.”
At this my lord could say no more. He burst into such a peal of
laughter at his lifelong agility in this affair that the tears stepped
from his eyes and turned the powder on his cheeks to paste.
Now I ever had allowed that the Earl, my papa, was the greatest man
of my acquaintance. But it was not until this hour that I gauged the
whole force and tenacity of his character. That a man should accept
the sentence of his death so calmly, and thereupon prepare so properly
to utilise his few remaining days in correcting the errors of his
life, showed the depth of wisdom that was in his spirit. For he whose
worldly business had been diplomacy now placed its particular genius at
the service of his soul, that he might strike a bargain, as it were,
between Heaven and the Prince of Darkness as to its eternal dwelling
place.
“Howbeit this is simply of myself,” says he, when recovered of his
mirth, “and it is of you, child, that I desire to speak. Before I go I
must see you reasonably wed; beauty and high blood should be broken in
and harnessed early, else it is prone to flick its heels and run away.
Now, Bab, you have all the kingdom at your feet, they tell me. ’Tis a
propitious hour; seize it, therefore, and make yourself a duchess with
a hundred thousand pound. And farther, you have ever been my constant
care, my pretty Bab, and I shall not be content unless I leave you at
your ease.”
This consideration touched me.
“My lord,” says I, “I thank you for these tender thoughts. I fear I
must die a spinster, though. For I will not wed a clothes-pole, I will
not wed a snuff-box. A Man is as scarce, I vow, as the Philosopher’s
Stone. So you must picture me, papa, an old maid of vinegar aspect,
whose life is compounded of the nursing of cats and the brewing of
caudles. Conceive your brilliant Bab, the handsomest wretch in the
realm, who hath all the kingdom kissing her satin shoe, reduced to this
in her later years! For I’ll warrant me there is not a Man in London.”
“Why, what is this?” cries out my lord, his eyebrows rising in
surprise. “Is there not the Duke of----, with his town and country
houses? Is he not a Privy Councillor? Hath he not the Garter? Hath he
not a rent-roll, and would he not make a duchess of you any day you
please?”
“My lord,” I answered, sadly, “I am unhappily cursed with a keen nose
for a fool.”
He looked at me and smiled.
“He is a duke, my dear. But madam is a woman, therefore let me not
attempt to understand her. But there is the Earl of H----, and the Hon.
A----, and Mr. W----; indeed, every bachelor of station, lands, and
pedigree in town.”
“Of which I am bitterly aware,” I sighed. “But I require a man, my
lord, not a name and a suit of clothes.”
The delightful old barbarian did not apprehend my meaning, I am sure,
but the secret of his reputation lay in the fact that he never let the
world know that there was a subject in earth or heaven that he did not
understand. When a topic travelled beyond the dominion of his mind,
he preserved a melancholy silence, and contrived to appear as though
the thing was too trivial to occupy his thoughts. But he changed the
conversation at the earliest opportunity. The word “love” was to him
the most mysterious monosyllable in the world. Wherefore he proceeded
to speak about my bills, and said, in his charming way, that he did not
mind how much they did amount to if I exhibited a mastery in the art of
spending with grace and elegance.
“Now I see there is a yellow chaise,” said he, “and a yellow chaise I
consider a trifle bourgeois, although my taste is perhaps a thought
severe. A purple chaise, or vermilion even, hath a certain reticence
and dignity, but yellow is enough to startle all the town.”
“True, papa,” says I with animation, “and I chose it for that purpose.
I adore display; I must be looked at twice; I must perish, I suppose,
if the fops did not quiz me in the most monstrous manner every time I
took the Mall. When I die, let it be done to slow music, and I mean to
have a funeral at the Abbey if I can. Why, do you know, sir, that the
first country town I entered in this wondrous chaise, a tale was got
about that the Empress of All the Russias had arrived? ’Twas a moment
in my life I can assure you when I danced lightly from that vehicle,
and threw smiles to the mob that kept the entrance to the inn. Pomp and
circumstance are the blood of me. Dress me in ermine that I may become
a show, and provoke huzzahs in every city! And if I must have a man, my
lord, let him be a person of character and ideas to cheer me when I’m
weary.” I ended in a peal of mirth.
“Hum! character and ideas.” My lord scratched his chin with a face of
comical perplexity. “Would not position and a reasonable pin-money be
still more apposite to your case, my dearest person? And anyway,” says
he, “may I be in my grave ere my daughter Bab marries anywise beneath
her. Character and ideas!”
“Amen to that, my lord!” cries I, with a deal of fervour.
Thereupon I left the Earl to his light reflection and his piety. My
heart was heavy with the knowledge of his approaching end; but there
was still a period in which I might enjoy the inimitable charm of his
society. Passing from his chamber, I encountered my aunt upon the
stairs. The briskness of her step, and the animation of her face, alike
surprised me, as the dowager usually required nothing short of a cow, a
mouse, or a suspicion of unorthodoxy to arouse her.
“Do not delay me, Barbara,” she said, brushing past me. “I must see the
Earl immediately.”
I did not venture to impede her with my curiosity, for my aunt is a
dreadful engine when once she is set in motion.
Coming to the foot of the stairs, however, I chanced to stray into the
reception parlour to find a comfit box I had mislaid.
“My dear Lady Barbara!” a great voice hailed me, as soon as my face had
appeared within the door.
Raising my eyes I saw that I was in the presence of a town
acquaintance, Captain Grantley. A look assured me that he was here, not
in the social capacity of a friend, but in pursuance of his military
duties, inasmuch that he wore the red coat of his regiment, and was
furnished with a full accoutrement. Greetings exchanged, he said:
“Lady Barbara, I am here to interview the Earl on a matter of some
gravity. Nothing less, in fact, than that the Marshal at Newcastle is
transmitting one of the prisoners lately ta’en, and a very dangerous
and important rebel, to Newgate, and as the straightest way is across
your moors, I am come here to gain the Earl’s permission to billet
eight men and horses on him for this evening.”
“I have no doubt he will grant it readily,” says I, “for are we not
aware, my dear Captain, that my papa, the Earl, is the most hopeless
Hanoverian in the world?”
“Yet permit me to say, madam,” says the Captain, “that a lady of your
sense and penetration I should judge to be quite as hopelessly correct
as is her father.”
’Twas a soldier’s way of turning compliments, you will observe, and
of so coarse and ill-contrived a nature that I could not resist a
reprimand.
“’Tis the most palpable mistake, sir,” I replied; “for utterly as
Captain Grantley and my father are in the right, I, sir, am as utterly
in error. For, Captain, I would have you know that I am a very rebel,
and have shed many a tear for Charlie.”
I smartly beat the carpet with my boot, and gave my head its most
indignant altitude. This exhibition of sentiment was but the fruit
of my natural contrariety however, as I certainly never had shed a
tear for Charlie, and was not likely to. Indeed, I had not a care for
politics whatever, and for my life could not have said whether Sir
Robert Walpole was a Tory or a Whig. But it amused me mightily to see
the deep dismay that overtook the Captain, while he tried to gauge the
magnitude of the error of which I had attainted him so falsely. And
observing how tenderly my rebuke was felt, I was led to recall some
town matters in connection with this gentleman. And considering all
things appertaining to the Captain’s case, it was not remarkable that
I should arrive at the conclusion that though it might be true enough
that he was ostensibly arranging for the billets of men and horses
for the night, he had also made this business the occasion of a visit
to Barbara Gossiter, to whom he had been upon his knees in a London
drawing-room.