The Lady of Lynn

"To thwart Tom in anything," the gentleman went on, "is dangerous; but to take away his girl – and such a girl – to rob him of that great fortune just at the moment of success – would madden the mildest of men. He looks like a madman. Should one warn his lordship? And he has got two chairmen with their poles in readiness. We should ride in upon them before they can do any mischief." So they whispered.

Said Captain Crowle: "Kill him, my lord; kill the villain. Kill him."

"Let me warn your lordship," said the gentleman who had last spoken, "his method will be a fierce attack; he will try to break down your guard."

"I know that method," Lord Fylingdale replied, coldly. Then he stepped forward and took off his hat. "Mr. Rising," he said, "this affair might very well be settled by two or three sailors or common porters. We are willing, however, to treat you as a gentleman, which, sir, you no longer deserve."

"Go on, go on," said Tom. "'Twill be all the same in five minutes."

"I am therefore going to do you the honour of fighting you."

"I shall show you how I appreciate that honour. Stop talking, man, and begin."

"I must, however, warn you that if you are to fight as a gentleman you must try to behave as one, for this occasion only. Should you attempt any kind of treachery my friends will interfere. In that case you will certainly not leave the field alive."

"What do you want then?"

"You must send away those two hulking fellows behind you. I am willing to fight you with swords, but I am not going to fight your lackeys with clubs."

Tom turned round. "Here, you fellows, get off. Go and stand beside the chair. Whatever happens don't interfere. Well, my lord, the sooner this comes off the better."

He laid down his sword and took off coat and waistcoat, turning up the sleeve of his right arm. Then he turned to Molly and saluted her. "Mistress Molly," he said, with a grin, "you are going to have a very fine sight. Perhaps, when it is over you will be sorry for your shilly-shally stand off – no, I won't say it. You're not worth carrying off. If I'd known. Now, my lord."

Lord Fylingdale had also removed his coat and waistcoat, and now stood in his shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, hat-less.

Just at that moment the sun rose swiftly, as is his manner in this flat country. It was as if the sky had leaped into light in order to give these swordsmen a clearer view of each other. They were a strange contrast. Molly's champion erect, pale, and calm; his adversary bent, as if with passion, grasping his sword with eager hand.

"He means mischief," repeated the gentlemen of the troop. "I would this business was ended. I wonder if the noble lord can fight. He does not look afraid, anyhow."

"He looks as if he could feel neither fear nor anger, nor love, nor any passion at all. He is an iceberg. Ha! they are beginning."

They faced each other.

The swords crossed. "Look to yourself," said Tom. "I will spit you like a pigeon."

He stamped and lunged. The thrust was parried, easily and lightly. Tom lunged again, and again, with a slight turn of the wrist, the thrust was parried. But as yet Lord Fylingdale seemed to stand on the defensive.

"He knows how to fence," they whispered. "See! he means to tire his adversary. He parries everything. Tom thrusts like a madman. Why, he exposes himself at every lunge. See! he has lost his head. One would think he was fighting with an automaton who could only parry."

At the door stood the object and cause of the encounter, the girl, namely, who had brought all this trouble upon Tom Rising's head. She stood motionless, hardly breathing, watching the duel, as they say the Roman women used to watch the fight of the gladiators in the amphitheatre, and as I have seen the Spanish women watch the men who fight the bull in their circus. I believe that women, in spite of their tender hearts, are carried away out of themselves by the sight of mere fighting. It is a spectacle which they cannot choose but gaze upon; it shows the true nature of man as opposed to that of woman. He stands up and risks his life, trusting sometimes to his skill, as in a duel with swords, and sometimes to chance, as on a battlefield where the bullets are flying. Molly, therefore, watched the fight with gleaming eyes and parted lips. She was almost ready to forgive the man who had attempted this injury for the sake of his courage, and she could not sufficiently admire his adversary for the cold and impassive way in which he met every furious attack, just with a simple turn of the wrist, as it seemed to her.

Tom was a strong and lusty fellow, and he could fight after his fashion, which was with thrust upon thrust, fast and furious, as if reckless of himself, so that he could engage his adversary wholly in defence until he found a moment of weakness.

He had fought many times, and hitherto without a scratch or a wound, the fight always ending with his adversary lying prostrate before him. On this occasion, however, he found that every thrust was parried; that his adversary yielded not so much as an inch of ground, and that he had to do with a wrist of iron and the eye of a hawk.

"Jack!" said Molly. "I hope that I desired not the death of the young man. But I did desire his defeat. It was splendid to see him stamping on the ground and attacking like lightning. But it was more splendid to see his adversary immovable. He stood like a rock; he showed neither passion nor excitement. He parried every thrust with just a turn of his wrist."

The gentlemen on horseback closed in and looked on holding their breath. There was no longer any fear on account of their champion. For the first time in their lives they saw as fine a master of fence as ever came out of the schools of Paris. Meantime, the other man was as one maddened. He drew back; he roared like a bull; he rushed upon his enemy; he panted and gasped; but he continued the fight undaunted.

Suddenly, his sword flew out of his hand, and fell in the field beside the chaise.

"Pick up your master's sword," Lord Fylingdale ordered the chairmen.

The spectators looked to see Tom run through on the spot. On the contrary, Lord Fylingdale remained in his attitude of defence; he was playing with his enemy. "Take your sword," he said. "You are at my mercy. But take your sword, man; we have only just begun."

Tom received his sword, and wiped off the mud upon his shirt. Then he renewed the attack; but it was with less confidence. That one should refuse to finish the duel when he had disarmed his adversary was a thing beyond his experience.

"Tom is dashed," said one of the company. "It is all over with Tom."

It was. After a few more lunges, parried with the same quiet skill and calmness of manner, Tom's sword once more flew out of his hand. Then the duel was over, for Lord Fylingdale made one thrust and his sword passed clean through the right arm at the shoulder, passing out at the other side. Tom reeled; one of his chairmen ran to his help, and he fell upon the ground, fainting in a small pool of blood.

Lord Fylingdale paid no attention to him. He wiped his sword on the grass, replaced it in the scabbard, and put on his coat and waistcoat. This done, he advanced to Molly.

"Madam," he said, "we are fortunate, indeed, in being able to effect a rescue. This is not a place for a lady, nor is this a sight that one would willingly offer you. I trust that no violence has been used."

"I thank your lordship. It was a horrid sight. Oh! do not let the poor man die. He is a villain, but he has failed. Be merciful."

Then the captain came running up. "Molly!" he cried, with the tears running down his face. "Molly! We are not too late? They haven't married you? The villain is paid. He is paid, I take it. He hasn't married you yet? By the Lord, if he has I will brain him with my cudgel, so you shall be a widow as soon as a wife."

"Captain, can you ask me? The man had a chaise waiting here and would have forced me into it; but I ran into the house, and so to the upper floor, whither he could not follow. He set his men to pull off the thatch. What he would have done next I know not. But I could defend myself."

"What is that in your hand, Molly?"

It was the knife, which she still held in readiness. She threw it away. "I shall not need it now," she said. "What do you think I should have done with it?"

"Molly, I know what you would have done. I said that there was no man in England who could marry you against your will. It was his heart and not his shoulder that would have received the knife. My dear, I knew my Molly. I knew my girl."

Then the other gentlemen crowded round, offering their congratulations, no one taking the least notice of the unlucky Tom, who still lay pale and bleeding on the ground.

It was Lord Fylingdale who came to his assistance. "Here, fellows," he ordered the chairmen, "take up your master and put him in the chaise – so. And as for you," he addressed the postboy, "here is a guinea. Drive as fast as you can back to Lynn. Put him to bed in his lodgings and send for a surgeon or a wise woman, or some one to look after the wound."

"Will he die?" asked one of the bystanders.

"I should think it not unlikely. His wound is dangerous, and if I know anything about a man from his appearance I should say that he would be inclined to fever. But we are not concerned with his fate. Whether he dies or lives, he has attempted a villainous act and has met with a fitting punishment."

The carriage, with the wounded man in it, went rattling along the road, the jerks and bumps among the ruts being enough to keep the wound open and the blood flowing.

Then Lord Fylingdale called the chairmen. "Who are you?" he asked. "Do you belong to the town of Lynn?"

They looked at each other. Then one said, "No; we be from Swaffham. Squire Rising sent for us to do his job."

"Put in your poles. You must now carry the lady back."

"We have done our work," said his lordship. "It remains for us to escort Miss Molly home again. Madam, you can leave this foul den with the consciousness that you are avenged."

"Indeed, I want no revenge."

"Justice has been done. Justice is not revenge. You can now, madam, go back in the chair in which you were brought here. The villain who made the attempt is already on his way back. Since you desire mercy rather than revenge we must hope that his wound is not fatal."

So Molly reëntered the chair. Then she was brought home in triumph. The captain rode on one side; her champion on the other; before and behind her rode her mounted escort. If she had been a queen they could not have shown her greater deference and respect.

CHAPTER XXV

A GRATEFUL MIND

The news of the abduction, you may be sure, formed, next day, the only topic of talk in the pump room and the gardens. There are many rumours and reports. Mr. Rising was allowed to be a villain of the deepest dye. He was also allowed to be a gentleman of the greatest courage and resolution. The duel was described with such embroideries and additions as the feminine imagination could invent. Lord Fylingdale was desperately wounded; no, only slightly wounded; no, he was not touched. Mr. Rising was brought home dead, in a pool of blood; no, he was wounded and not expected to live; and so on. He lay, indeed, at his lodgings in a fever, which held him for some days; but being young and strong, and in good health, except that his habit of drinking had inflamed his blood, he recovered, and, as you shall presently learn, escaped from certain toils and snares that had been laid with skill, and were promising success.

I am sorry to say that the opinion of the ladies remained adverse to Molly. It was universally acknowledged that she was a forward minx; that she ought to have known her place; that, had she not given encouragement, Mr. Rising could never have attempted his rash adventure. "She wants to marry a gentleman. Naturally; she thinks that money will buy anything. What is the good of having all these fine things – if, indeed, they are hers – if she is to marry in her own class, a quill driver, a shopkeeper, a tarpauling? As everybody knows, Mr. Rising is a gentleman of good family and good estate; could she look higher? She ought to feel honoured at being carried away by a gentleman. As for any rumour, connecting her with Lord Fylingdale, one would be sorry for the poor wench if that was true, because nothing could be more impossible. Yet the ambition of a girl ignorant of the world may soar to heights incredible, like the soap bubble, only to burst, or the sky-rocket, only to fall ignobly to the ground. It is not likely that his lordship, said to be so fastidious, would bestow a serious thought upon the girl, save as representing the town of Lynn." And so on … with whispers from one to the other at morning prayers, and louder talk in the pump room, and at the confectioner's and in the gardens.

Meantime, the captain made haste to wait upon his lordship, in order to thank him more formally than in the turmoil and agitation of the evening had been possible.

"Captain Crowle," said his lordship, "there needs no thanks. The honour of the spa – of the company – was at stake. Could we look on unmoved when such a crime was committed under our very eyes? Sir, there were with me, as you saw, half-a-dozen gallant gentlemen, all pledged to take my place should I fall. Their swords were as much at the service of insulted virtue as my own."

"You fought a desperate man, my lord. Had you lost hand or eye for a moment, you would now be dead."

"Captain, I do not lose my eye nor my hand. Nevertheless, to die for the honour of such a woman as Miss Molly should be happiness enough for any man."

Said I not that the abduction was the very best thing that could possibly happen to Lord Fylingdale? Whether he understood the captain's ambitions as regards himself, or not, I cannot say. We know, however, that the old man aimed at nothing short of a great alliance for his ward, a dream that was justified by the noble fortune which would go with her. Lord Fylingdale knew, besides, that he himself had made a most favourable impression upon this simple sailor, who believed everything that he was told. And now, by the rescue of the girl, he had not only raised himself still higher in the estimation of the captain, but he stood before Molly as a hero and a fearless avenger of insult and violence. Nothing could have been more fortunate.

"Sir," he added, "if you will carry me to Miss Molly herself, I would offer her my congratulations on the happy ending of her adventure. She is perhaps overcome by the terrors of the night."

"Molly felt no terrors. She had a knife in her hand which might have proved more formidable to the young man than your lordship's sword. But if you will honour my humble house, both Molly and I shall be still more grateful."

Molly was in the kitchen making a beefsteak pie, with her sleeves rolled up and her apron on. "Shall I go to my lord as I am?" she said. "Let me wash my hands and roll down the sleeves at least."

She presented herself, therefore, in her plain morning dress, that in which she performed her domestic work. Perhaps she showed to greater advantage thus than in her silks and jewels.

"Miss Molly, your obedient servant." His lordship bowed as low as if he was addressing a countess at least. "I have ventured to inquire after your health. Last night's adventure may have proved too great a shock."

"I am quite well, my lord, thanks to your bravery and your generosity, which I can never forget – never – not even if I wished to forget."

"Never," said the captain.

"Whenever I hear of a brave man I shall think of your lordship, and whenever I think of a gallant fight, it will be your lordship fighting."

"You think too highly of a simple affair, Miss Molly. Nevertheless, I am proud to have been of service to you."

"At least we must continue grateful, because we have nothing that we can do in return."

"I am not so sure of that." He smiled kindly. "We shall see. Meantime, Miss Molly, there is one thing which you might do to please me."

"Oh, what is that?"

"You wore at your first appearance a large quantity of gold chains and precious stones. I am curious about such gauds. Will you allow me to see your treasures?"

It was an unexpected favour to ask. Molly laughed, however, and ran to fetch the box. She poured out the whole of the glittering contents upon the table. "There, my lord, and if I could venture to offer any of these things that would please you."

He laughed. "You are kindness itself, Miss Molly. But I am not a lady, and jewels are of no use to me. I have, however, at my poor house in Gloucestershire, my family jewels. Let me look at yours."

He sat down and began to examine them closely. Apparently he understood jewels. It was as if he apprised their value. He placed some on one side; some on the other. "This," he said, "is a diamond of the first water. Keep it very carefully. This has a slight flaw, yet, with more careful cutting, it might become a valuable stone. This chain is fashioned by an Indian workman. None but an Indian can make a chain so fine and so delicate. See, it is no thicker than a piece of twine, and yet how careful and how intricate the workmanship! The man's fingers must have been more delicate than our craftsmen can imagine." And so on through the whole of the treasure. "Well, Miss Molly," he said, "there are few ladies, indeed, even of the highest rank, who can show so good a collection. I congratulate you with all my heart. Some day, I hope to see you at court wearing these jewels and bearing – who knows? – a name as honourable as these are precious."

"Your lordship always encourages," said the captain. "You hear, Molly? At court and bearing an honourable name."

She blushed and gathered up her treasures.

Her visitor looked round the room. It was the parlour. The homely appearance of the room, plainly furnished, as might be expected of a man in the captain's position, was strangely inconsistent with the mass of treasure which he had just examined. The plain linsey woolsey of the girl who owned the treasure was also out of proportion, so to speak, for he understood that this glittering pile of jewels represented a vast sum of money, and that the girl was far richer than the poet knew or even the captain guessed. At the mere thought of getting possession of this treasure his blood quickened; but he remained, to all appearance, save for a slight and unwonted colour in his cheek, unmoved. I have never heard, nor can I guess, the value of these jewels, save that they were worth many thousands.

"These jewels," he said, coldly, "should belong to a great lady. They deserve to be seen. They are thrown away, save as portable property, unless they can be used to grace the court. However, … let me hope that they will not be thrown away. I think, Miss Molly, that your mother lives with you in this house. Perhaps this treasure is hers – or is it all your own?"

The captain made answer. "Molly's mother has no share. A modest sum of money, sufficient for her needs, is paid her out of the estate. The rest – all the rest belongs to Molly."

"Truly she is first favourite with Dame Fortune, who, I hope, will not turn her wheel. Miss Molly, will you present me to madam, your mother?"

"With all my heart; but my lord, my mother is not used to being called madam." So saying, Molly retired to the kitchen, and presently returned, bringing her mother with her. She came in red faced from stooping over the kitchen fire, wiping her fingers, which she had hurriedly washed, on her apron, wearing at her side her great housekeeper's pocket, in which she carried a vast quantity of things necessary, useful, and handy, such as scissors, pins, a needle-case, the nutmeg grater, a corkscrew, a few weights, a thread paper, a yard measure, stockings to be darned, a ball of twine, a skein or two of silk, ends of ribbon, fragments and rags of cloth, lint for wounds, a box of goose fat for ointment, and many other articles indispensable for the complete housewife. Jennifer Miller, Molly's mother, was indeed a homely body, low in stature, inclined to stoutness, somewhat short of breath, and, in appearance, exactly what she was in fact, namely, a woman whose whole delight and study was in housewifery. When she was young I have heard that she possessed some share of beauty, as a rosy cheek, red lips, bright eyes, and so forth. But her daughter took after the father, who was a tall and proper man, as those testify who knew him.

His lordship treated her with the respect due to a great lady, bowing as low to her as he had done to Molly.

"Madam, I come to congratulate you on the escape of your daughter. 'Twas providential."

"With your help, sir. Oh! I know a gentleman's modesty. Well, sir – my lord, I mean – we are humble folk, but I hope we know how to be grateful. I said to Molly this morning: 'Look out,' I said, 'among your fine trinkets the very finest thing you've got, and take it yourself with your humble respects to his lordship,' and I would have sent with it some of my last year's ginger cordial to warm the stomach. I warrant it is poor stuff that they give you. Servants don't give their minds to cordials. But Molly wouldn't go. She was never one of your shy and shamefaced girls, neither. 'Go and thank his honour, do,' I said to her, 'What will he think of your manners? Don't leave it to the captain. Go yourself.' That's what I said."

"Indeed, madam, Miss Molly has already thanked me more than enough. I am most fortunate in being of some service to her."

"John," the good lady added, "where are your manners, pray? His honour has nothing to drink. A glass of home-brewed, now, or a little of my ginger cordial? Unless you will take a bottle home with you. Or a glass of Lisbon? We are not so poor as to miss it."

"Nothing, madam, nothing, I assure you." So saying, his lordship, with his most profound bow, quitted the room and the house.

His mind was now made up. There was no longer any doubt possible as to the girl's great fortune. He had satisfied himself in every particular. He knew the value of her fleet, and the income of her business. He now knew the value of her jewels. He would make the girl his wife, provided he could do it without the settlement of her fortune upon herself. There must be no settlement.

What he proposed to do with her after his marriage I do not know. Perhaps he would send her to his country house, from which he had already sold the furniture, the pictures, the books, and everything. It stood, I have been told, in a desert, which had once been a lovely wood. But the wood was felled, and only the stumps were left. There were gardens around, but they had gone to wrack and ruin. The farmers, his tenants, paid their rent to the lawyers; his name was a by-word and a proverb in his own county for mad gambling, for raking, and ungodly living. I say that he might have proposed to take her to this deserted spot, and to leave her there. Or he might have taken her to London, there to associate with I know not what kind of women or what kind of men. It is certain, however, that no good woman and no honest man would consort with the wife of the Earl of Fylingdale. He walked away, however, his mind made up. He would marry the girl if he could get her without settlements. And as he thought of that treasury of precious stones, his unholy heart glowed within him.

Molly went back to the kitchen and resumed the making of the beefsteak pie.

"John," said her mother, "does that young man mean anything?"

"He gives me advice. He knows my design as regards Molly. He is a very virtuous young gentleman, as well as courageous."

"John, do nothing hastily. He did not look at Molly in a way – well, I can remember – what I call a hungry way. Take care, John. Perhaps he only wants her money."

"Why, Jennifer, he is the most fastidious man in the world. Do you think he can be taken with Molly?"

"Try him. Offer him Molly without a farthing. He would turn away. I am sure he would, John. I know what a lover's looks should be. Offer him Molly with her fortune. Ah! then you shall see. John, do nothing rash. Remember, Molly is ignorant of gentlefolk and their ways. I've heard of their ways. Molly is like me; she will expect the whole of her husband, not a part of him."

"Don't I tell the woman that he is a man of the nicest honour?"

"You say so. How do you know, John?"