The Lady of Lynn
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The players began to recount their experiences. Fortune, which had smiled on a few, seemed to have frowned on most.
Then Lord Fylingdale offered another surprise.
"Ladies," he said, "I venture to offer you the refreshment of a glass of punch. Gentlemen, may I hope that you will join the ladies in this conclusion to the evening? I would willingly, if you will allow me, drink to your good luck at the card table. Let the county of Norfolk show that Fortune which has favoured this part of the country so signally in other respects has also been as generous in this. I am not myself a Norfolk, but a Gloucestershire man. I come from the other side of the country. Let me, however, in this gathering of all that is polite and of good family in the county be regarded as no stranger, but a friend."
By this time the punch was brought in, two steaming great bowls. The gentlemen ladled it out for the ladies and for themselves and all stood expectant.
"I give you a toast," said his lordship. "We are entertained by the ancient and venerable borough of Lynn; we must show our gratitude to our entertainers. I am informed that these rooms, these gardens, the music and the singers, together with the pump room, have all been designed, built, collected, and arranged for the company, namely, ourselves. Let us thank the good people of Lynn. And, since the town has sent to our assembly to-night its loveliest flower, the young heiress whom I shall call the Lady of Lynn, let us drink to her as the representative of her native place. Gentlemen, I offer you as a toast, 'Sweet Molly, the Lady of Lynn!'"
The gentlemen drank it with enthusiasm, the ladies looked at each other doubtfully. They had not come to Lynn expecting to hear the beauty of a girl of the place, the town of sailors, ships, quays, cargoes, casks, cranes, and merchants, the town of winding streets and narrow courts where the deserted houses were falling to pieces. The county families went sometimes to Norwich, where there is very good society; and sometimes to Bury, where there are assemblies in the winter; but no ladies ever came to Lynn, where there were no assemblies, no card parties, and no society.
After this toast, the Lady Anastasia withdrew with the other ladies. Lord Fylingdale led her to her chair and then called for his own.
The gentlemen remained sitting over their punch and talking.
"Who," said one, "is this sweet Molly? Who is this great heiress? Who is the Lady of Lynn?"
"I never knew," said another, "that there was a lady in Lynn at all."
"You have been in the card room all the evening," said another. "She danced the last minuet. Where can she be hidden that no one has seen her before? Gentlemen, 'twas a vision of Venus herself, or the fair Diana, in a silk frock and a flounced petticoat, with pearls and diamonds, and precious stones. An heiress? An heiress in Lynn?"
The poet, Sam Semple, who was present, pricked up his ears. The punch had begun to loosen his tongue.
"Gentlemen," he said, "by your leave. You are all strangers at Lynn Regis. Norwich you know, and Bury and Swaffham, and perhaps other towns in the county. But, with submission, Lynn you do not know."
"Why, sir, as for not knowing Lynn, what can a body learn of the place that is worth knowing?"
"You think that it is a poor place, with a few colliers and fishing smacks, and a population of sailors and vintners." The poet took another glass of punch and drank it off to clear his head. "Well, sir, you are mistaken. From Lynn goes forth every year a noble fleet of ships. Whither do they go? To all the ports of Europe. From Lynn they go out; to Lynn they return. To whom do these ships belong? Is a ship worth nothing? To whom do their cargoes belong? Is the cargo of a tall three-master worth nothing? Now, gentlemen, if most of these ships belong to one girl; if they are freighted for one girl; if half the trade of Lynn is in the hands of this girl's guardian; if for twenty years the revenues from the trade have been rolling up – what is that girl but a great heiress?"
"Is that the case with – with sweet Molly?" asked a young fellow who had been drinking before the punch appeared, and now spoke with a thick voice. "Is she the heiress and the Lady of Lynn?"
"She is nothing less," Sam Semple replied. "As for her fortune, I believe, if she wished it, she could buy up half this county."
"And she is unmarried… Egad!" it was the same young fellow who spoke, "he will be a lucky man who gets her."
"A lucky man indeed," said Sam, "but she is above your reach, let me tell you," he added, impudently, because the other was a gentleman.
"Above my reach? Take that," he threw the glass of punch in the poet's face. "Above my reach? Mine? Who the devil is this fellow? The owner of a ship, or a dozen ships, with their stinking cargoes and their cheating trade, above my reach? Why – " Here he would have fallen upon the offender, but was restrained by his friends.
Sam stood open-mouthed, looking about him dumfoundered, the punch streaming over his cheeks.
"You'd best go, sir," said one of them. "I know not who you are. But, if you are a gentleman you can send your friend to-morrow. If not" – he laughed – "in our country if a gentleman falls out with one whom he cannot fight with swords, he is not too proud to meet him with stick or fist. In any case you had better go – and that without delay."
The poet turned and ran. No hostile meeting followed. Sam could not send a challenge, being no gentleman, and, as you have already seen, he was not naturally inclined for the ordeal by battle in any other form.
The young man was one Tom Rising, whose estates lay near Swaffham. He was well known as the best and most fearless rider in the whole county; he was the keenest sportsman; he knew where to find fox, hare, badger, ferret, stoat, or weasel; he knew where to put up a pheasant or a cover of partridges; he could play at all manly sports; he was a wild, fearless, reckless, deboshed young fellow, whom everybody loved and everybody feared; always ready with a blow or an oath; afraid of nothing if he set his heart upon anything. You shall see presently that he set his heart upon one thing and that he failed. For the rest, a comely, tall, and proper young man of four-and-twenty or so, whose careless dress, disordered necktie, and neglected head sufficiently indicated his habits, even if his wanton rolling eyes, loose lip, and cheeks always flushed with wine, did not loudly proclaim the manner of his life and the train of his thoughts.
When Sam was gone he turned again to the bowl.
In the morning it was reported that there had been wagers, and that a great deal of money had been won and lost. Some said that Colonel Lanyon, one of the gentlemen from London, had lost a great sum; others said that Tom Rising was the heaviest loser. I judge from what I now know that Tom Rising lost, that evening, more than his estates would bring him in a whole quarter. And I am further of opinion that Colonel Lanyon did not lose anything except a piece of paper with some figures on it, which he handed, ostentatiously proclaiming the amount, which was very large, to his honourable friend, Sir Harry Malyus, Baronet.
CHAPTER XVI
HIS LORDSHIP'S INTENTIONS
In the morning the newly laid out gardens were the resort – after prayers, the pump room, the pastry cook, the bookseller, and the draper – of all the ladies and of many of the men – those, indeed, who preferred the pleasures of society and the discourse of the ladies, to the dull talk of the Cambridge fellows and the canons of Ely in the coffee house, or the noisy disputes and the wagers of the tavern, or the sport of the cockpit. The gardens became the haunt of scandal and of gossip; here a thousand stories were invented; here characters were taken away and reputations dragged in the mud; the ladies in their morning dress walked about under the trees and in the alleys, diverting themselves as best they could. At eleven the music played in the gallery outside the long room. On some days a public breakfast was offered; on other days there was a lottery or raffle, in which everybody took a huge interest. Sometimes the company were content to walk or sit under the trees, talking; sometimes there was singing in the long room; or perhaps the Rev. Mr. Purdon would read aloud to a small circle from some book of verse or of romance; or there were parties made up for voyages up the river; or a play was bespoke by the general consent. In a word, it was the resort of a multitude who had nothing to do but to divert themselves; they were full of scandal about each other; a young fellow could not squeeze a girl's hand but it was whispered all over the place that he had run away with her; and though one would think, to hear them, that every woman of the company was ready to tear to pieces every other woman, yet they assumed so pretty a disguise, and professed so much interest and affection and friendship for each other, that one was inclined to believe the scandal and gossip to be a pretence or masque to hide their true feelings.
It was natural that in walking about the gardens the people should divide themselves into parties of two, or three, or more. But in the morning, after Molly's first appearance, these parties consisted of groups, each of half a dozen and more, talking about last night's unexpected apparition of a woman more finely dressed than any of them, with jewels and gold chains which made the hearts of all who beheld to sink with envy. "The men, they say, admired her face. Lord Fylingdale himself, they say, toasted her by name as an heiress. What kind of heiress can she be? And there was a quarrel about her over the punch. Tom Rising poured the whole of the punch bowl upon the head of a gentleman said to be his lordship's secretary. This morning they met outside the walls. The gentleman is run through the body and cannot live. No, through the shoulder and will recover. I heard that it was in the arm, and that he will be well again in a week. But the heiress – who is the heiress?" And so they went on. You may be sure that Sam Semple found it prudent to keep out of the way. There was, therefore, no one to tell these curious ladies who the heiress was, or what her fortune might be. Mostly they inclined to the belief that a thousand pounds would cover the whole of her inheritance, and that Lord Fylingdale meant no more than an act of politeness to the town, which certainly had done its best to entertain the company. And so on.
Presently there appeared, walking side by side, Lord Fylingdale himself and Lady Anastasia. He carried his hat under his arm, and his cane dangled from his right wrist; his face was as cold and as devoid of emotion as when the night before he had rebuked the company.
They passed along under the trees, conversing. When they passed or met any others they lowered their voices. Their conversation – I will tell you in due course how I learned it – was important and serious. It was of greater importance to Molly and to me, had I known it, than one could imagine or suspect. And this was, in effect, the substance of their discourse.
"I know," she said, "that you have some design in coming to Lynn, and that you intend me to assist you. Otherwise, why should you drag me here, over vile roads, to a low lodging, in the company of fox hunters and their ladies? Otherwise, indeed, why should you come here yourself?"
"The healing waters of the spa," he suggested gravely.
"You have nothing the matter with you. Nothing ever hurts you. If other men drink and rake all night they show it in their faces and their swollen bodies. But you – why you look as if you lived like a saint or a hermit in a cell."
"Yet – to prevent disease – to anticipate, so to speak."
"Ludovick, you have no longer any confidence in me. You tell me to come here – I come. You order me to set up a bank here every night. I have done so. What has happened? Sir Harry and the colonel lose and win with each other and with me. You look in and throw away fifty guineas with your lofty air as if they mattered nothing. These country bumpkins look on and wonder. They are lost in admiration at a man who can lose fifty guineas without so much as a word or a gesture. And then they put down – a simple guinea. To please you, Ludovick, I have become a guinea hunter. And I am standing at great expense, and I am losing the profits of my London bank."
"The change of air will do you good, Anastasia. You were looking pale in town. Besides, there were too many rumours afloat."
"If I had your confidence, I should not care for anything. I am willing to be your servant, Ludovick, your tool. I endure the colonel and I tolerate Sir Harry, with his nauseous old compliments. For your sake I suffer them to bring discredit on my name and my play. But I do not consent to be your slave."
"My mistress, not my servant," he murmured, touching her fingers.
She laughed scornfully. "Will you tell me, then, if you wish me to do anything more for you? Am I to continue picking up the guineas of these hard-fisted rustics? Am I to figure in their stupid minuets, whenever they have their assembly? How long am I to stay here?"
"You ask too many questions, Anastasia. Still, to show you that I place confidence in you, although you mistrust me, I will answer some of them. Of course it is no news to you that I have at this moment no rents – nothing to receive and nothing to sell."
"I have known that for two years. You best know how you continue to keep up your establishment."
"Partly by the help of your table, dear Anastasia. I am not ungrateful, believe me." Again he touched her fingers, and again she drew herself away.
"You have remarked upon the danger of having the colonel and old Sir Harry about you. Both are a good deal blown upon. I would not suffer them to be with you again at Bath or Tunbridge Wells. In this place they are safe. Both of them will encourage the play and set an example of high play and great winnings. One of them will also be ready to challenge any who refuses to pay. The colonel has his uses. As for Harry, he is useful to me in other ways. Like his reverence."
"The odious, vile, crawling worm!"
"Quite so. Sir Harry and the Reverend Mr. Purdon are useful in assuring the world of my own virtuous character."
"Why do you want to appear virtuous? You, whose character is notorious."
"I have my reasons. Anastasia, I will place my whole confidence in you. Perhaps you saw at the assembly the other night a certain bourgeoise – a citizen's daughter – a girl dressed in the clothes of the fashion, her face as red as her hands – "
"I saw a very remarkable woman, Ludovick – her face and her figure fine enough to make her fortune. She was covered with jewels, which they told me were false."
"They told you wrongly, Anastasia. They are real – diamonds, pearls, rubies, gold chains and all – real. The girl is a great heiress. The people here do not know how great, or the whole country would be on bended knees before the goddess. But I know. And on her account – look you – on her account am I here."
The Lady Anastasia changed her manner suddenly. She glanced at his face. It was impassive; it showed no sign of any emotion at all.
"Well? What is this heiress to me? Can I get her diamonds?"
"I want you to become her friend, Anastasia. I desire this favour very greatly."
The Lady Anastasia stopped suddenly. She lowered her face; her cheek flushed; her lip trembled. "Ludovick," she said, "I am a woman after all. You may command me in anything – anything else. But not in this. If you insist upon this, I will go home at once."
He looked surprised. "Why?" he began. "Surely my Anastasia is not jealous – not jealous, after all the proofs that I have given her of fidelity?"
"Jealous?" she repeated. "What have you to do with the girl, then?"
"My dear mistress, I care nothing about the girl, or about any woman in the world, except one. Who should know this except the one herself? It is the girl's fortune that I want – not the girl herself."
"How will you get it without the girl?"
"That is the very point I am considering. I came here in order to get this fortune. My secretary – the fellow Semple – told me of the girl. I sent you here in order to help me to secure this fortune. I sent his reverence here – the colonel – Sir Harry – all of them – here with the same object, which they must not know. I came here. I have made a friend of the girl's guardian."
"If this is true – "
"Of course, it is true," he replied coldly. "Let me go on. You shall not charge me again with want of confidence. The guardian is a simple old sailor. He is a fool, of course, being a sailor. He thinks to marry his ward to a man of rank."
"Yourself, perhaps?"
"Perhaps. He also believes in the virtue and piety which my friends here have ascribed to me."
"How will you get the fortune without the girl?"
"I tell you again – there is the difficulty. Anastasia, if you have ever promised to assist me, give me your assistance now. I must win the confidence of the old man and the girl. Everybody must speak well of me. I will learn how the money is placed and where. I will get possession of it somehow."
"And then – when you have it?"
"My difficulties will be at an end. I shall leave the town and the gaming table and everything. You will come with me, Anastasia." This time he took her hand. "We will be Alexis and Amaryllis, the shepherd Strephon and the maiden Daphne. My Anastasia, believe me, I am tired of the world and its noisy pleasures. I sigh for rest and repose."
"And the girl?"
"She will do better without this huge fortune. Ye gods! to give such a girl – this sailor wench – this red and pink bourgeoise – the fortune that should have been yours, Anastasia! 'Tis monstrous! It cuts her off from her own people. She would do better to marry the young sailor fellow who stumbled and rolled through the minuet with her, thinking he was on his deck rolling in the bay of Biscay. I will set this matter right. I will relieve her of her fortune and throw her into those arms which reek of pitch and tar and rope. Happy girl!"
The Lady Anastasia sighed. "There will never be any rest – or any repose – or any happiness for you or for me. Have it your own way. I will make the girl my friend. I will tell her that you are the best of men and the most virtuous. Yes," she laughed a little, but not mirthfully, "the most virtuous. And now, I think, you may walk with me through their narrow lanes with a bridge and a stream for every one, to the small and dirty cabin where my maid makes shift to dress me every day, so that I may turn out decent at least."
CHAPTER XVII
"IN THE LISBON TRADE"
I was greatly surprised, being on duty aboard in the forenoon, to see Lord Fylingdale on our quay, which adjoins the Common Stath, in company with Captain Crowle.
In truth, the nobleman looked out of his element – a fish on dry land – in a place of trade. His dress was by no means suitable to the collection of bales and casks and crates with which the quay was piled, nor did his look resemble that of the merchant, who may be full of dignity, as he is full of responsibility, but is never cold and haughty. His secret purpose, as I afterwards understood, was to ascertain the true nature of Molly's fortune, which he could not believe to be so great as had been represented to him. His professed purpose was to see what Captain Crowle was anxious to show him. The good old man, in fact, played the very game which this virtuous gentleman desired; he threw the girl – money, and lands, and ships, and all – at the feet of the very man who wanted the fortune, and for the sake of it would not scruple to bring misery upon the girl.
"I have heard," his lordship was saying, as he looked around and marked the crowd of porters, lightermen, and clerks running about, "of ships and shipping. There is a place near London, I believe, where they have ships. But I have never seen that part of town. My own friends own farms, not ships."
"Ships may be better than farms," the old sailor replied, stoutly. "You have frosts in May; hail in August; drought in spring – where are your farms then?"
Lord Fylingdale laughed pleasantly.
"Nay, captain, but there is another side to your picture also. Storms arise; the waves become billows; there are hidden rocks – where are your ships then?"
"The underwriters pay for all. There may be better money, I say, in ships than in land."
"Then the merchants should be richer than the landowners."
"Not always, by your leave, my lord. For there are too many merchants; and of landowners, such as your lordship, there are never more than a few. But some merchants are richer than some landowners. Of these my ward is one."
"I should like to know, captain, what you mean by rich. Your ward owns ships, and brings home their cargoes – turpentine and tar – a fragrant trade."
"The farmer's muck heap smells no sweeter, and pig-styes, my lord, are no ladies' bowers."
"Show me one of your ships, captain. If you have one in port, take me on board. Make me understand what this trade means. I doubt not that before long we shall all turn our ploughs into rudders, our maypoles into masts, and our oaks into ships, and so go a trading up and down the seas, and get rich like the merchants of Lynn Regis."
I do not know how far he spoke truthfully; I am, on the whole, inclined to believe that he was actually ignorant of trade and shipping of any kind. He and his class build up a wall between themselves and those who carry on the trade which pours wealth into the country and push out their fleets into far distant seas; and he and his class imagine that they are a superior race to whom Providence hath delivered the work of administering the kingdom, with all the offices, prizes, places, and honours belonging to that work. They will not admit the merchants to any share; they fill the House of Commons – which should be an assembly containing the merchants, and who make the country rich – with placemen (their servants), and their own cousins, sons, and brothers. They command our armies and our navies; they are our judges and our magistrates; for them the poet writes, the player acts, the artist paints. They do not condescend to penetrate into the ports where the ships lie moored and the quays contain the treasures brought home and the treasures sent out. They grow continually poorer instead of richer; their gambling, their troops of servants, their drinking, their pleasant vices impoverish them; they sell their woods and pawn their revenues. All this time the merchants are growing richer; they live in places where they never see anything of the fashionable world – in villages outside London; in towns like Bristol, Lynn, Southampton, Newcastle, where there are no noble lords; they do not concern themselves about the government if only the seas are kept open.
Again, if these noblemen meet the merchants on any occasion their carriage is cold and proud. Perhaps they show an open scorn of trade; in any case, they treat them with scanty consideration, as people who have no rank. Even when they desire to conciliate these inferiors their manner is haughty, and they speak from a height.
One man is not better than another because he makes his living out of fields while this other makes his out of ships. And I do not find that one man makes a better sailor than another because he is the son of a gentleman while the other is the son of a boat builder or a rope maker.
However, I am talking likely enough as a fool. It is not for me to question the order of the world. If the merchants go on getting rich they may, some time or other, look down upon the House of Lords as much as the House of Lords, with their ladies, their sons, their daughters, their nephews, and their cousins, now look down upon merchants and all who earn their livelihood by honest work, and by enterprises which demand courage and resolution, knowledge, patience, and skill.
Presently I saw them both get into a dingey, which the captain rowed out into the river, making for The Lady of Lynn. He made fast the painter to the companion and climbed up the rope ladder, followed by his lordship, who, with some difficulty, landed on the deck, looking at his tarred hands with curiosity rather than disgust. I must say that he made no complaint, even though his dress, which was not adapted for rope ladders, showed also signs of the tar.