The Lady of Lynn

CHAPTER XXX

THE SECRET

All these things were told me by Molly herself in the afternoon. You may very well believe that my heart was sick and sore to think of Molly being thus thrown away for a bribe of rank and position upon a man who seemed to be of marble or of ice. For of one thing concerning women I am very certain, that to make them happy they must be loved. At the time I could not know, nor did I suspect, that this noble earl was marrying Molly for her fortune. Like the captain, I pictured him as one lifted above the common lot and apart from all temptations as regards money, by his own great possessions. Why, he had nothing – nothing at all. So much I know – he had wasted and dissipated the whole. There was nothing left, and his marriage, especially his private and hurried manner of it, was designed wholly to give him the possession and the control of Molly's riches.

"To-morrow, then, we lose you, Molly."

"To-morrow, Jack. His lordship consents that whenever, if ever, I am within an easy journey of Lynn I may come back to see my mother. But when will that be? Alas! I know not. Gloucestershire is on the other side of the country."

"After all, Molly, there are many wives who thus go away with their husbands and never see their own folk any more. They forget them; they find their happiness with the home and the children. Why, my dear, in a year or two, when you have grown accustomed to your state and the condition of a great lady, you will forget Lynn and the old friends."

"Never, Jack, never. You might as well expect me to forget the days when we were children together and played about the Lady's Mount and on the walls, and rowed our dingey in the river. Forget my own folks? Jack, am I a monster?"

"Nay, but, Molly, all I want is to see you happy. Remember us if you will, and remember that we are all, the captain, and your mother and your faithful black and myself, daily praying for your welfare."

So we talked. It was agreed between us that a private wedding was, under the circumstances, much more convenient than a public one, with all the display and feasting in which Lord Fylingdale could not take part. I could not but think the business too much hurried and too secret. As for other reasons, especially the absence of any settlements which would protect the wife, I had no knowledge of such things, and therefore no suspicion.

I bade her farewell – the last time I should see her in private and converse with her as of old – and with tears, we kissed and parted. But there was no question of love or of disappointment. We were like brother and sister who were separated after growing up together. And so I kissed her and said no more than "Oh! Molly, if you had no money, we should not lose you," and she replied with a sigh and more tears, "And if I had no money, Jack, I should not have to leave my own people and go among strangers who will not welcome me, or love me, or give me even their friendliness."

I left her, and walked away. I was too downhearted to stay ashore; I would go aboard and sit alone in the captain's cabin. There is nothing so lonely as a ship without her crew. If a man in these days desires to become a hermit, he should take up his quarters in one of the old hulks that lie in every harbour, deserted even by the rats, who swim away when the provisions are all gone. It is lonely by day, and it is ghostly by night. For then the old ship is visited by the sailors who have sailed in her and have died in her. In every ship there have been many who die of disease or by accident, or fall overboard and are drowned. These are the visitors to the hulk at night. Every sailor knows this, and has seen them. I wanted to be alone, I say, therefore, I thought I would go on board and stay there.

Now, on my way across the market-place, there came running after me a man, who called me by name. "Mr. Pentecrosse – Mr. Pentecrosse," and, looking round, I saw that it was the Lady Anastasia's footman, in the green and gold livery – a very line person indeed, to look at, much finer than myself in my workaday clothes. "Sir," he said "my mistress, Lady Anastasia, desires speech with you. Will you kindly follow me to her lodging?"

I obeyed. What did the lady wish to say to me?

She was in her parlour, half dressed in what they call, I believe, a dishabille. She nodded to the footman, who closed the door and left us alone.

"Mr. Pentecrosse," she said graciously, "this is the second time I have sent for you. Yet I gave you permission to call upon me often. Is this the politeness of a sailor? Never mind; I forgive you, because Molly loves you and you love Molly."

"Madam," I replied, "it is true that I love Molly, but I have no longer any right to love her except as one who would call himself, if he could, her brother."

"So I wanted, Mr. Pentecrosse – may I say Jack? – to learn your sentiments about this affair. I am, of course, in the confidence of Lord Fylingdale. I believe that I know all his secrets – or, at least, as many as a man chooses to tell a woman. You men have all got your secret cupboards, and you lock the door and keep the key. Say, therefore, rather, most of my lord's secrets."

"What affairs, madam, do you mean?" I remembered that the business of the betrothal was a secret. "What affairs?"

"Why ask – the affair between his lordship and Molly, of course. Shall I prove to you that I know all about it?"

"You can do better, madam, you can tell me what the affair is."

"Oh! Jack, you act very badly. Never, my dear young man, go upon the stage. Of course, you know Molly has no secrets from you. Listen, then.

"On the first night when Molly and you distinguished yourselves in the minuet – never blush, Jack, a British sailor should always show that he knows no fear – Lord Fylingdale administered a public rebuke to the company for their rudeness. He showed thereby that he was already interested in the girl. He then paid attention to the old captain, whose simplicity and honesty are charming. I need not point out to you, Jack, that the good old man became like wax in his lordship's hands. He even revealed his ambition of finding an alliance for the girl with some noble house or sprig of quality, attracted by the report of her fortune. He was also simple enough to imagine that any young nobleman, a younger son, who would take a girl for her money, must needs be a miracle of virtue, and beyond all considerations of money. So far I am quite correct, I believe."

"Your ladyship is quite correct, so far." In fact, the captain's ambitions were the common theme of ridicule in the pump room and in the gardens.

"He then came to see me, and engaged me as an old friend and one fully acquainted with his qualities – "

"Virtues, you mean, madam."

"Qualities, I said – to make myself a friend of the fair Molly. This I did. She showed me the amazing collection of jewels which she possesses, and I gave her advice on certain points. She came here and I taught her something of the fashions in dress, carriage, and behaviour. She is an apt pupil, but lacking in respect for the manners of the polite world. I then find my lord entering into further confidential discourse with the captain. He even went on board your ship, and was by you escorted over the whole vessel. He took so great an interest in everything that you were surprised, and at parting he drank a glass of wine to the health of the fair Molly."

"Quite true." I suppose that the captain had told Molly, who told Lady Anastasia.

"Very well. You see that I know something. But there is a great deal more. At the next assembly, where Molly went with me, having been dressed by my own maid in better taste, and without the barbaric splendour of so many gold chains and precious stones, Lord Fylingdale took her out before all the ladies – the Norfolk ladies being more than commonly observant of pedigree and lineage – and danced the first minuet with her and the first of the country dances. What was this, I ask you, but an open proclamation to the world that he was in love with this girl – the daughter of a town full of sailors? So, at least, it was interpreted, I hear, by some of the company. Others, out of sheer jealousy and envy, would not so acknowledge the action."

"It was not so interpreted by the captain nor by Molly herself."

"Tut, tut" (she rapped my fingers smartly with her fan), "what signifies their opinion? As if they know anything of the meaning of things, even when they are done in broad daylight, so to speak, and in presence of all the fashion in the place. Why, Jack, there was not a girl in the town, who, if such an honour had been done to her, would not have gone home that evening to see in the looking-glass a coronet already on her head.

"And then came the conclusion. Oh, the beautiful conclusion! The romantic conclusion when that misguided young gentleman called Tom Rising endeavoured to carry her off. 'Twas a gallant attempt, and would have succeeded, I doubt not – "

"Madam, with submission – you know not Molly."

"I know my own sex, Jack – and I know that a man is never liked the less for showing courage. However, Lord Fylingdale took the matter into his own hands – rode after her – fought the unlucky Tom and brought back the lady. I am still, I believe, correct."

"You are quite correct, madam, so far as I know."

"The next day Lord Fylingdale called at the captain's house to inquire after the lady's health. He saw the captain; he saw the lady herself, who was none the worse, but rather much the better for the excitement of the adventure and the delightful sight of two gentlemen trying to kill each other for her sake. He also saw the lady's mother, who came out of the kitchen, her red arms white with dough and flour, to receive the noble lord. Her lively sallies only made him the more madly in love with the girl."

How had she learned all this? I cannot tell. But ladies of wealth can always, I believe, find out things, and servants know what goes on.

Lady Anastasia continued her narrative. "Next day my lord sent his secretary, Mr. Semple, as an ambassador to the captain. He was instructed to ask formally the hand of the captain's ward in the name of his master. This he did, the captain not being able to disguise his joy and pride at this most unexpected honour. Now, sir, you perceive that I do know the secrets of that young lady. This morning he has again visited the house, and he received the consent – no doubt it was with disguised joy – of the lady herself. And you have just come from her. She has told you of her fine lover and of her engagement."

I made no reply.

"I will tell you more. My lord desires a private marriage and a marriage very soon. Ha! Do I surprise you?"

"Madam, I perceive that he has told you all. You are quite right. The wedding, as you know, is to be in St. Nicholas Church to-morrow morning at six before the better sort have left their beds. And in order not to be recognised by any of the people, Molly will wear a domino and her pink silk cloak."

She nodded her head. And she hid her face with her fan, saying nothing for a space. When she spoke her voice was harsh.

"That is the arrangement. You have understood it perfectly. Well, Jack, it is a very pretty business, is it not? Here is a young man – only thirty, as yet – with a fine old title, an ancient name, and an ancient estate – who is bound by all the rules of his order to marry only within his own caste. He breaks all the rules; he marries a girl who is not even a gentlewoman; who belongs to the most homely folk possible. What kind of happiness do you think is likely to follow on such a marriage? You who are not altogether a fool, though you are ignorant of the ways, are the right man to marry Molly. She understands you and what you like, and how you think. Believe me, she can never be happy with this nobleman. Sailor man, you do not understand what it means to be a great man and a nobleman in this country. From his infancy the heir must have what he wants and must do as he pleases. No one is to check his fine flow of spirits; he must believe that the whole world is made for his amusement, and that everything in the world is made for him to devour and to destroy. When such a child becomes a man, what can you expect? He wants no friends, because friendships among people like yourself are based on mutual help, and he wants no help. Companions he must have; young men like himself. He need never do any kind of work. Consequently, his mind is never occupied. He has no serious pursuits; therefore, of simple amusements he soon tires. Can such a man be unselfish? Can such a man lead a quiet and domestic life? He will rake; he will gamble; he will drink; there is nothing else for him. These will form his life. If he now and then tosses a guinea to some poor wretch, it is counted as an act of the highest charity. The most virtuous of noblemen may also be the most profligate."

"Is this what one is to think of Lord Fylingdale?"

"Think what you please, Jack. Should you, however, hear that the marriage was forbidden, what should you say?"

"Forbidden? The marriage forbidden? But how? Why? It is to take place to-morrow."

"I don't know. Answer my question."

"Madam, I cannot answer it. If it is true that Lord Fylingdale is the kind of gentleman whose character you have drawn, there is nothing I should more rejoice to see. If, however – "

"You may go, Jack. You may go. I dare say something is going to happen to-morrow, at six in the morning, at St. Nicholas Church. Yes, something will probably happen. The bride will be recognised by her black domino and her pink silk cloak. Thank you, Jack. You are a very simple young man; as simple as you are honest, and a woman can turn you round her finger."

I went away wondering. I did not understand, being as she said, so simple that I had myself actually given her the information that she desired. I have since learned that the passion of jealousy and nothing else filled her soul and inspired all this reading of Lord Fylingdale's actions. In his conduct at the assembly she saw the beginning of his passion; his own explanation that he wanted to get her money only made her more jealous, because, although she fully believed that statement, she saw no way of getting at the fortune without marrying the girl. As for his visits to the house, I suppose that she simply caused him to be watched and followed, while her maid, who played the spy for her, could from a certain point in the road look into the parlour when the window was thrown open. It was easy for such a jealous woman to surmise the truth; to jump at the conclusion that, in spite of all his protestations, Lord Fylingdale had come to the conclusion that he must marry the girl; that his rescue made her grateful and filled her with admiration for his courage; that he sent his secretary to open the business, and that he followed up this message by a formal visit from himself when he placed the lady in a chair at the window and bent over her and kissed her hand.

This was not all. When he told Lady Anastasia that he had no further occasion for her services, and that she had better go back to London at once all her jealousy flared up. She thus divined, at once, that she was to be sent out of the way, so that when she next met him some of the business might have blown over and she herself might be less indignant at his treatment of her.

However, something, she said, was going to happen. What would happen? For my own part, I was restless and uneasy. What would happen? Had I known more about the wrath of a jealous woman I should have been more uneasy. Something was going to happen; could I go to the captain and warn him as to the character of the lover? Why, I knew nothing. All that talk about the heir to rank and riches meant nothing except to show the dangers of such a position. A man so born, so brought up, must of necessity be more tempted than other men in the direction of selfishness, indulgence, luxury, laziness, and want of consideration for others. It is surely a great misfortune to be born rich, if one would only think so. The common lot is best, with the necessity of work. All Molly's misfortunes came from that money of hers. Her father very wisely concealed from his wife the full extent of his wealth, so that she remained in her homely ways, and the captain also concealed from Molly until she grew up, the nature of her fortune. Why could he not conceal it altogether from the world? Then – but it is useless to think what would have happened. Most of our lives are made up with mending the troubles made by our own sins or our own follies. Poor Molly was about to suffer from her father's sin in having so much worldly wealth.

CHAPTER XXXI

THE "SOCIETY" AGAIN

The "Society" continued to meet, but irregularly, during this period of excitement when everybody was busy making money out of the company, or joining in the amusements, or looking on. The coffee house attracted some of the members; the tavern others; the gardens or the long room others. It must be confessed that the irregularities of attendance and the absences and the many new topics of discourse caused the evenings to be much more animated than of old, when there would be long periods of silence, broken only by some reference to the arrival or departure of a ship, the decease of a townsman, or the change in the weather.

This evening the meeting consisted, at first, of the vicar and the master of the school only.

"We are the faithful remnant," said the vicar, taking his chair. "The mayor, no doubt, is at the coffee house, the alderman at the tavern, and the doctor in the long room. The captain, I take it, as at the elbow of his noble friend."

The master of the school hung up his hat and took his usual place. Then he put his hand into his pocket.

"I have this day received …"

At the same moment the vicar put his hand into his pocket and began in the same words.

"I have this day received …"

Both stopped. "I interrupted you, Mr. Pentecrosse," said the vicar.

"Nay, sir; after you."

"Let us not stand on ceremony, Mr. Pentecrosse. What have you received?"

"I have received a letter from London."

"Mine is from Cambridge. You were about to speak of your letter?"

"It concerns Sam Semple, once my pupil, now secretary to the Lord Fylingdale, who has his quarters overhead."

"What does your correspondent tell you about Sam? That he is the equal of Mr. Pope and the superior to Mr. Addison, or that his verses are echoes – sound without sense – trash and pretence? Though they cost me a guinea."

"The letter is a reply I addressed to my cousin, Zackary Pentecrosse, a bookseller in Little Britain. I asked him to tell me if he could learn something of the present position and reputation of Sam Semple, who gives himself, I understand, great airs at the coffee house as a wit of the first standing and an authority in matters of taste. With your permission I will proceed to read aloud the portion which concerns our poet. Here is the passage."

"You ask me to tell you what I know of the poet Sam Semple. I do not know, it is true, all the wits and poets; but I know some, and they know others, so one can learn something about all those who frequent Dolly's and the Chapter House, and the other coffee houses frequented by the poets. None of them, at first, knew or had heard of the name. At last one was found who had seen a volume bearing this name, and published by subscription. 'Sir,' he said, ''tis the veriest trash; a schoolboy should be trounced for writing such bad verses.' But, I asked him, 'He is said to be received and welcomed by the wits.' 'They must be,' he replied, 'the wits of Wapping, or the poets of Turnagain Lane. The man is not known anywhere.' So with this I had to be contented for a time. Then I came across one who knew this would-be poet. 'I was once myself,' he said, 'at my last guinea when I met Mr. Samuel Semple. He was in rags, and he was well-nigh starving. I gave him a sixpenny dinner in a cellar, where I myself was dining at the time. He told me that he had spent the money subscribed for his book, instead of paying the printer; that he was dunned and threatened for the debt; that if he was arrested, he must go the fleet or to one of the compters; that he must then go to the common side, and would starve. In a word, that he was on his last legs. These things he told me with tears, for, indeed, cold and hunger – he had no lodging – had brought him low. After he had eaten his dinner and borrowed a shilling he went away, and I saw him no more for six months, when I met him in Covent Garden. He was now dressed in broadcloth, fat, and in good ease. At first he refused to recognise his former companion in misery. But I persisted. He then told me that he had been so fortunate as to be of service to my Lord Fylingdale, into whose household he had entered. He, therefore, defied his creditors, and stood at bed and board at the house of his noble patron. Now, sir, it is very well known that any service rendered to this nobleman must be of a base and dishonourable nature. Such is the character of this most profligate of lords. A professed rake and a most notorious gambler. He is no longer admitted into the society of those of his own rank; he frequents hells where the play is high, but the players are doubtful. He is said to entertain decoys, one of whom is an old ruined gamester, named Sir Harry Malyns, and another, a half-pay captain, a bully and a sharper, who calls himself a colonel. He is to be seen at the house of the Lady Anastasia, the most notorious woman in London, who every night keeps the bank at hazard for the profit of this noble lord and his confederates. It is in the service of such a man that Mr. Semple has found a refuge. What he fulfills in the way of duty I know not.' I give you, cousin, the words of my informant. I have since inquired of others, and I find confirmation everywhere of the notorious character of Lord Fylingdale and his companions. Nor can I understand what service a poet can render to a man of such a reputation living such a life."