The Lady of Lynn

What kind of happiness, what kind of good fortune was that which could fill the mind of the captain with gloom and could dissolve Molly's mother in tears, and could herald its approach to the bride by sadness which weighed her down? And as for me, you may believe that my heart was like a lump of lead within me, partly because I was losing the girl I loved, but had never hoped to marry, and partly because from the outset of the whole affair – yes, from the very evening when the news of the grand discovery was read to the "Society of Lynn" – I had looked forward to coming events with foreboding of the most dismal kind.

"Come to see me to-morrow afternoon, Jack," she said. "I must talk about it to some one. With the captain I cannot talk, because he is all for the unequal match, and with my mother I cannot talk because she foretells trouble, and will acknowledge no good thing at all in the man or in the match. Do not forget, Jack. Come to-morrow. I don't know how many days are left to me when I can ask you to come. Oh, Jack, to leave everybody – all my friends – it is hard! But I am the most ungrateful of women, because I am the happiest – the happiest. Oh, Jack, the happiest and most fortunate woman that ever lived."

CHAPTER XXVIII

WARNING

In the evening, which was Wednesday, I repaired to the gardens, paying for my admission, but no longer in the character of a fine gentleman. Lord Fylingdale was not present, nor Molly. Lady Anastasia was there, gracious and smiling as usual. Nothing was said about her approaching departure. After walking round the long room she retired to the card room, and play began as usual. It seemed to me, looking on with a few others at the door, that there was a kind of awkwardness or constraint among the company. They collected together in small groups, which whispered to each other; then these groups melted away, forming new companies, which in their turn dissolved. Something of importance had happened. Presently some of the gentlemen in the card room came out. They, in their turn, became surrounded and formed into another group, who whispered eagerly with each other. They were standing near the door, and I overheard some of their discourse. "I am assured," one of them was saying, "that he has been ordered out of the assembly at Bath for foul play at cards, and I have it on the best authority that he was driven off the Heath of Newmarket." I did not know of whom he was speaking.

"Truly," said another, "we seem to have fallen into the midst of a very pretty set of sharpers. Will Tom Rising, if he gets the better of his wound, have to pay that debt? I think not. A debt of honour can only be contracted with a man of honour."

"On the other hand, sir, if Tom had won he would have looked for payment."

"Why, sir, that is true. But observe, when we played with the colonel we took him for a man of honour. Some of us have won a few guineas of him. Should we return them? No. And why? Because we accepted him as a man of honour, and stood to win or lose as between gentlemen. Now, one does not play with a sharper knowingly. One would not take his money; one would not pay him if we lost."

"Then Tom must not pay."

"If what we hear is true; if the man has been exposed at Bath; if he has been warned off the Heath of Newmarket; most assuredly Tom must not pay a farthing."

"At present the fever is still upon him. Well, but we must wait. All this may be mere rumour."

"It may be, as you say; but I think not. The report comes from Houghton, Sir Robert's place, where a certain cousin of Tom Rising, member of Parliament, I think, for Ipswich, is now staying as a guest. Houghton is only a few miles from Lynn. It lies in the marshland. This gentleman, then, heard of the duel and the wound, and has been to see his cousin."

"Is he still in the town? Can one have speech with him?"

"I think not. He has gone back to Houghton. But he will return. I am informed that he inquired into the whole particulars; that he learned of his cousin's heavy losses at play to one, Colonel Lanyon. 'Lanyon?' says my Parliament man. 'I know that name – Colonel Lanyon? Why, the fellow ought not to show his face among gentlemen,' and then out came the whole story."

"Still," said the other, "he may be mistaken."

"Men are not often mistaken in such matters. But, sir, I can tell you more. There are gentlemen in Sir Robert's party, at Houghton, who profess to know strange things about others of our visitors from London. I will mention no names, yet there will be a surprise for some who pretend to be what they are not. I say no more, except to advise you not to neglect next Friday's assembly. Meantime, silence, let us say nothing."

The little group broke up. I paid small attention to the words. The colonel was quite unknown to me, except as a constant attendant in the card room. But I observed that the whispering went on, and increased, and that every man in every group presently went away and formed other groups, and that more communications were made and more discussions followed, and that on every one was enjoined a promise of the greatest secrecy.

Also I observed that every group contained the same varieties of listeners. There was the open-mouthed man, who gaped with wonder; the wise man after the event, who had always entertained suspicions; the indignant man, who was for immediate measures; the slow man, who would wait; and the critical man, who wanted evidence and proof. I dare say there were more.

Such whisperings and such groups do not create cheerfulness in a company. Suspicion and jealousy were in the air that night; the music played and the fiddlers scraped; the singers squalled; the people walked round and round, after their usual fashion; there was plenty of conversation and of animation; they were excited; they were evidently looking forward to some important event; but they were not laughing, nor paying compliments, nor talking of dress, nor were they listening to the music or the singers.

And a very curious circumstance happened in the card room. There was at first the usual crowd of players sitting and standing; the usual staking of guineas, and laying and taking odds; it was, in fact, an ordinary evening, when the company pressed round the table and the game went on merrily. Then one or two people came in from the long room. There were whispers; two or three left their places and retired from the room. Other people came in from the long room; there were more whispers; more players gave up their seats and left the room. After a while there was no one left in the card room at all except Lady Anastasia, Sir Harry Malyns, and Colonel Lanyon. The croupier still stood at the head of the table, rake in hand, crying the main and proclaiming the odds. Seeing no one else at the table, the two players desisted.

"What does it mean?" asked the lady, looking round. "We are deserted."

"I know not," Sir Harry replied. "Some distraction in the gardens; probably a quarrel; one of the bumpkins has perhaps struck another."

He went out to inquire, but came back immediately. "There is no distraction," he said. "Nothing has happened; the people are walking round as usual."

"Something, surely," said the lady, "must have happened. Why are the tables deserted? Such a thing has never occurred before. Colonel, will you kindly find out what it means? I have the vapours to-night, I think. My mind misgives me."

Colonel Lanyon rose and walked to the door. He looked up and down the long room and returned. "Nothing has happened," he said. "They are all strangers to me. But since there is no more play I will e'en betake me to the tavern."

"And I," said the lady, "will go home. Sir Harry, please call my fellows."

Sir Harry led her through the long room to the door. As she got into the chair, she said, "Sir Harry, there is something brewing. I caught looks of hostility as we passed through the room. Do you think it is the jealousy of the women about that girl with the diamonds?"

"I observed no hostile looks."

"Men never see such things. I tell you I not only saw them, but I felt them. We have given these people mortal offence. They are gentlefolk. We come among them, and we admit to our society a girl who has no pretence to gentility. Lord Fylingdale dances with her; I take her to the assembly. Lord Fylingdale actually follows her when she is carried off and fights for her and rescues her. This is a thing which he might do for any of those ladies, and with no more than the customary jealousies; but with such a girl it makes bad blood."

"Hostile looks mean nothing. What if there is bad blood?"

"Sir Harry – Sir Harry – it is only in London, and not always there, that we account ourselves free from revenge. It is a revengeful world, and there are many people in it who would willingly put you and me and the colonel, not to speak of the parson and the earl himself, in pillory, and pelt us with rotten eggs and dead cats."

So she got into her chair, and the old beau, shaking his head, called his own chair and was carried home.

But Colonel Lanyon who walked to the tavern where his friends met every night found the place, to his astonishment, empty. Then he, too, remembered certain signs of hostility or resentment, notably the desertion of the players, and the cold looks as he left the place. Now, as the worthy adventurer and sharper was by no means conscious of innocence, he began to feel uneasy. To such men as those who live by their wits there is always the danger that some past scandal may be revived, some former half forgotten villainy remembered.

Therefore he became disquieted. He had some reason for disquiet, for, to begin with, he had done very well. Tom Rising would recover, it was thought. He would recover in a week or two, or more. He would then, as a man of honour, have to raise, by hook or by crook, the sum of £1,200, of which, by the compact, one-fourth was to be the colonel's and three-fourths were the earl's. This is a large sum of money to win or to lose. Now, if anything inopportune was to occur, such as the revival of an old scandal – say that of Bath, or that of Tunbridge Wells, or that of Newmarket, these winnings would be in a dangerous situation.

A gentleman who lives by his wits, although he may be a good swordsman and a good shot with a pistol, cannot escape the consequences of a scandal. The thing follows him from place to place. It gets into taverns and hangs about gaming-houses; it stands between him and his prey; it snatches the young and inexperienced player from his grasp; it even prevents the payment of the debts commonly called of honour. Now, the colonel had been about town and in the haunts of gamesters for a good score of years, and, truth to tell, he now found it difficult, anywhere, to be received into the company of gentlemen.

While he sat in the empty room one of the gentlemen, its frequenters, came in. The colonel looked up.

"Why, sir," he said, "where is the company this evening?"

"There will be no company to-night, colonel."

"Ay – ay? No company? Where are they all, then?"

"To be frank with you, Colonel Lanyon, I am deputed to inform you that certain things are rumoured about you which must be explained."

"Certain things, sir?" The colonel sprang to his feet. "To be explained? This is a very ugly word. To be explained. The word, sir, attacks my honour."

"It does so, colonel. You are quite right."

"Then, sir, you and your friends will have to fight me."

"We will willingly fight with – a man of honour. Not only that, but where a man of honour is concerned we should be most willing to offer an apology, if we have attacked his honour. To be brief, colonel, certain things have been said concerning you and your honour. They have been alleged behind your back."

"Well, sir, suppose my assailant meets me face to face. Gad, sir, he shall meet me on the grass."

"Softly, softly, colonel. There will be no fighting, I assure you. As for anything else, that depends on yourself. Frankly, colonel, they are very nasty things. On the other hand, I assure you that, as we have received you without suspicion, we shall stand by you loyally."

"In that case we need not talk of explanations."

"Loyally, I say, unless the explanations are not forthcoming."

"Give me the statements or the charges."

"I cannot, colonel. They are at present vague. But I am instructed to invite you to be present in the card room on Friday evening next, when an opportunity will be afforded you of hearing what has been stated and of replying. Colonel, we have found you very good company. We all desire to retain you as a friend."

"But, sir, permit me. This is monstrous. You tell me of charges, you avoid my society, you refuse to tell me the nature of the charges, and you call upon me to reply on the spot without knowing – "

"Your reply will be quite easy. It really means either yes or no. And if, as I doubt not, you can disprove whatever is alleged, you will yourself entirely approve of our action in separating for a time from a man accused of things dishonourable, of giving him an opportunity of reply, also of my warning."

"Why, sir, if to be grateful for such a warning and for such general charges is a duty, I will be grateful. Meantime – "

"Meantime, colonel, you know your past life better than any one. If there is in it anything of which you are ashamed let me recommend you to present that affair in as favourable a light as possible. Men will quarrel over cards. Accusations are easily made. The duel next morning does not clear away suspicion. If, however, there is nothing, as I hope, come with a light heart and a cheerful countenance, and we shall rally round you as brothers and men of honour. I wish you good-night, Colonel Lanyon, until Friday, after which I hope to sit here beside you, the bowl of punch on the table, and your songs and stories to keep us awake, till we sit down again to the cards."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE ARDENT LOVER

Between ten and eleven of the clock next morning, Molly's suitor – I cannot call him her lover – arrived at the house. At that hour most of the ladies are at morning prayers, and the gentlemen are either at the tavern taking their morning whet, or at the coffee house in conversation, or engaged in some of the sports to which most of them are so much addicted. Lord Fylingdale, although the streets at such an hour are mostly deserted, had to cross the market-place on his way to the captain's house, in Hogman's Lane, and was, therefore, carried in a chair with the curtains drawn, so as to avoid recognition.

He was received by Captain Crowle in the parlour. For the occasion the old man had put on his Sunday suit, with white silk stockings; and he wore his sword, to which, as the former commander of a ship, he was entitled.

"I am come, captain, to receive in person your answer to the message conveyed to you yesterday by my ambassador. I hope that the message was delivered faithfully, and with due respect."

"I believe, my lord, with both."

"I assure you, Captain Crowle, that the respect I have conceived for your character and loyalty is more than I can express in words. That you have inspired, in the mind of your ward, similar virtues I do not doubt, and this confidence, believe me, has much to do with the offer of my hand to that young lady."

"Your lordship does me the greatest honour. My answer is that I accept in Molly's name, and joyfully."

"I am delighted. This should be," he added, coldly, "the happiest day of my life."

"When we spread the news abroad, everybody in Lynn will feel that the greatest honour has been done to the town as well as to this house."

"Sir, you overrate my position. Still … however, we must keep the matter secret for a day or two yet. I engage you, captain, to profound secrecy."

"As long as you please, my lord. The sooner I may speak of it the better I shall like it, for I am bursting with joy and satisfaction."

"Patience, captain, for a day or two."

The captain became serious, even melancholy. "You will take her away, I suppose."

"I fear I must. A married man generally takes away his wife, does he not?"

"You will take her to your country house, and to London. Well, I am old – I am seventy-five already. I cannot expect ever to see her again. Her mother, however, is not so old by thirty years. Perhaps your lordship will at some time or other – we would not remind you of your lady's humble folk – allow her if she is within an easy journey to come here to see her mother."

"Surely – surely, captain. Could I be so hard-hearted as to refuse? Her mother certainly – or yourself. But not her old friends. Not the friends of her childhood such as that young sailor man – nor the girls of the place."

"I care not for them, so that I may comfort her poor mother with that promise. As for myself, who am I that I should intrude upon her? Let me die happy in the knowledge that she is happy."

"She shall be as happy as the day is long, captain."

"I doubt it not. As for Jack Pentecrosse, an old playfellow, he is like me. He loves her as if she was his sister, but he desires nothing but the knowledge of the girl's happiness."

"I accept your assurance, captain, that he will not endeavour to seek her or to visit her."

"He will not. My lord," the captain became very serious, "I can promise you a well-conditioned, virtuous, modest, obedient, and dutiful wife. She will ask for nothing but a continuance of your lordship's affection and consideration, in return for which she will be your willing servant as well as your wife."

"Again, captain, I doubt it not. Else I should not be here."

"And when the day comes – when you pass the word, my lord – the bells shall ring and the music shall play and all the town shall make holiday, and we will have such a feast and merrymaking that all the country round shall ring with it. Lord, I am so happy!"

"But, captain, I have not yet received the consent of the lady."

"Be assured that you will have it. But the girl is shy and hesitates, being, to say the truth, dazzled by the rank to which she is to be raised. A young maid's modesty will perhaps hinder such freedom of speech as you would naturally desire."

"I hope, sir, that I am able to appreciate and value the virtue of modesty. All I ask of the young lady is her consent."

"Of that you may be assured beforehand."

"Then, captain, as this is an occasion of some awkwardness and one which it is well to get through as quickly as possible – " Did one ever hear of such a lover? "Well, to get through as quickly as possible," his first interview with his mistress. "You will perhaps bring Miss Molly to me or take me to her."

Molly, meanwhile, was in her bedroom, in a strange agitation, her colour coming and going; now pale, now blushing; for the first time in her life, trembling and inclined to swoon. Even for a girl who loves a man it is an event of the greatest importance, and one never to be forgotten, when she consents to make him happy. But when she is in grievous doubt, torn by the consciousness that she does not love the man; that she is afraid of him; that she does not desire the change of rank which he offers; and that she would far rather remain among her own people. In such a case, I say, her trouble is great indeed. However, to do honour to the occasion, she, like the captain, had assumed her Sunday attire. Her frock, to be sure, was not so fine as that in which she graced the assembly, but it was passable. To my mind she looked more beautiful than in that splendid dress.

At her guardian's summons, she slowly descended the stairs. The kitchen door was open; she looked in as she passed. Her mother, instead of being busy over her housewifery was sitting in her chair, her hands clasped, her eyes closed, her lips moving. She was praying for her daughter. Molly stepped in and kissed her. "Mother," she said, "pray that it may turn out well. I must accept him. Yet I doubt. Oh, pray for me!"

"Because," her mother murmured in reply, "the captain cannot help, and Jack cannot help; and there is none other that helpeth us but only Thou, O God!"

Then Molly turned the handle of the parlour door and entered.

"Miss Molly!" her gallant lover, splendid with his star and his fine clothes, took her hand, bowed low, and kissed her fingers.

"You would speak with me, my lord."

"Yesterday I sent a message to your guardian. I told him by my messenger that I was entirely overcome by the beauty and the charms and the virtues of his fair ward. And I offered, unworthy as I am, my hand and all that goes with it – my rank, and title, my possessions and myself."

"The captain told me of the message."

"I have to-day received an answer from him. But although he is your guardian I would not presume to consider that answer as final. I must have your answer as well."

"My lord, I am but a humble and a homely person."

"Nay, but lovely as Venus herself."

"I know now, since all the company have come to Lynn, how homely and humble I am in the eyes of gentlefolk."

"You will no longer be either homely or humble – when you are a countess."

"I fear that your friends among the great will make your lordship ashamed of your choice."

"My friends know me better than to suppose that I can be ashamed by their opinion. But, indeed, they have only to see you for that opinion to be changed. Once seen by the world and all will envy and congratulate the happy possessor of so much beauty."

"Then, are you satisfied that you are truly in love with me?"

"Satisfied?" He took her hand again and kissed it. "How shall I satisfy you on this point? By what assurance? By what lover's vows?"

She glanced upwards, having spoken so far with hanging head. Her eyes met his. Alas! they were cold and hard. There was no softening influence of love visible in those eyes; only resolution and purpose. His eyes were as cold as his forehead and as hard as his lips. Poor Molly! Poor countess!

"Is it not, my lord," she asked, "a mere passing fancy? You will be tired of me in a month; you will regret that you did not choose rather among the fine ladies who speak your language and follow your manners."

"Molly, I am a man who does not encourage idle fancies and passing loves. You will find no change in me. As I am now so I shall be always."

She shivered. The prospect made her feel cold.

"Then, my lord," she said, "I have nothing more to say. I shall not do justice to your rank, nor shall I bring to your house the dignity which you deserve. Such as I am, take me, if you will, or let me go, if you will."

"Can you doubt, Molly? I will take you." He hesitated; he took her hand again; he stooped and kissed her forehead. There was no passion in his kiss; no tenderness in his touch; no emotion in his voice. Such as he was then such he would always be. And though the door was closed, Molly seemed to hear again the voice of her mother murmuring "but only Thou, O God!"

Her lover drew the captain's armchair and placed it at the open window which looked out into the garden, then filled with flowers, fragrant and beautiful, and melodious with the humming of many bees.

"Sit down, Molly, and let us talk."

He did not sit down. He stood before her; he walked about the room; he played with the gold tassels of his sword.

"Molly, since we are to be married, we must be married at once."

"I am your lordship's servant."

"As soon as possible. Are you ready?"

"Ready? I suppose I could be ready in a month or six weeks."

"Why, what is there to do?"

"I have to get things – dresses, house linen, all kinds of things."

"My dear, you are not going to marry a cit. Everything that you want you can buy. There are plenty of shops. You want nothing but what you have – your wardrobe, your fine things, and your common things, and your jewels. You must not forget your jewels."

"I thought that brides were always provided with things for the house. But if your lordship has already the linen and the napery – "

"Good Lord! How should I know what I have? The thing is that you will need nothing."

"Where will you take me?"

"I think, first of all, to my house in Gloucestershire. It is not fully furnished; the late possessor, my cousin, whom I succeeded, was, unfortunately, a gambler. He had to cut down his woods and to sell them; he even had to sell his furniture and pictures. But I can soon put the house in order fit for your reception." It was he himself, and not his predecessor, who had sold these things. "If it is not so fine, at first, as you would wish, we can soon make it worthy of you."