Chapter 5

"MANY A MAN WOULD GIVE A HANDFUL OF GUINEAS FOR A KISS FROM SALLY SALISBURY"

The fugitive found himself in a narrow ill-smelling, vilely paved alley to the east of the Borough. Tall, ugly, dirty houses bordered it on each side, a thick greasy mud covered the uneven stones. Dimly he was conscious of the sound of a window being opened here and there, of hoarse shouts and shrill screams, of shadowy beings who doubtless were men and women but who were more like ghosts than creatures of flesh and blood.

But no one molested him. This might be explained by the fact that those who saw him running took him to be some criminal fleeing from justice to take sanctuary in the Southwark slums, an impression quite sufficient to ensure their sympathy. At least, this was what at first happened. Afterwards the mob took it into their heads to pursue him and for no particular reason save devilry.

The seething crowd poured into the narrow alley. Like a hunted deer the young man ran up one court and down another, stumbling now and again half from exhaustion and half from the greasy mud covered stones. He could hear his pursuers coming nearer and nearer, but his strength was gone. He dragged himself a few steps further and staggered into a doorway, sinking on the steps in an almost fainting condition.

The next moment the door behind him opened, a hand gripped his shoulder and a woman's voice whispered:--

"Come inside. Make haste before you're seen."

The young man raised his head. He was dimly conscious of a handsome face, of a pair of bold eyes staring into his.

"Come. Why are you waiting? Do you want to be murdered?" she cried imperiously.

He struggled to his feet and she dragged him into the passage and closed the door. Scarcely had she done so when the clatter of feet and a confused sound of voices told that his pursuers were approaching. Had they tracked him to the house? The point was at once settled by a loud hammering at the door.

The woman half turned her head and cast a scornful look over her shoulder.

"Knock away, you devils. You won't break those panels in a hurry. For all that, the place isn't safe for you, Mr. Vane."

"What, you know me?"

She laughed. Her laughter was loud rather than musical.

"Haven't I seen you with many a merry party at Spring Gardens? Don't you remember that mad night when one of your friends was full of wine? Didn't I cut off the end of his periwig and throw it to the mob to be scrambled for?"

Lancelot Vane's pale face flushed slightly. He hadn't a very precise recollection of what had happened on that night of frolic and revelry. Like the rest he had had his bottle or two. The full blooded handsome woman whom nothing abashed, who could take her liquor like a man, whose beauty fired the souls of the gallants hovering about her wrangling for her smiles, was part of the confused picture that had remained in his memory. He had some vague remembrance of having kissed her or that she had kissed him--it didn't matter which it was, nothing mattered very much when the wine was in and the wit was out.

Yet now when both were sober and her round, plump arm was round his shoulders on the plea of supporting him he felt embarrassed, ashamed.

"I thank you, madam, for your help," he said hurriedly. "But I won't bring trouble upon you. Those rascals are still clamouring for my blood--why I know not--and if they once burst into the house you'll suffer."

"They won't frighten me, but I wouldn't have you come to harm. There's a way of escape. I'll show it you."

With her arm still round him though there was no necessity for his strength was gradually returning, she led him up the first flight--some half dozen steps--of a narrow staircase to a small window which she threw open.

"That's the Black Ditch. It leads to the river and is fairly dry now that the tide is out. You can easily find your way to Tooley Street."

"Thanks--thanks," he murmured.

He clambered on to the window sill and gradually lowered himself. While his head, slightly thrown back, was above the sill she bent down swiftly and kissed him full on the lips.

"Many a man would give a handful of guineas for a kiss from Sally Salisbury. You shall have one for nothing. It mayn't bring you luck, but what of that?"

He let go his hold, alighted safely on his feet and ran along the ditch, every nerve quivering in a tumult of emotion, and with Sally Salisbury's strident, reckless laugh ringing in his ears.

Sally leaned her elbows on the sill and craning her head watched the receding figure of the young man. Then she straightened her body and walked leisurely from the room into one at the front of the house on the first floor. The hammering at the entrance door had never ceased. She threw open the window and looked down upon the swaying crowd.

"What do you want?" she called out.

"The man you're hiding," was the reply in a hoarse voice.

"You lie. There's no man here."

"No man where Mistress Sally Salisbury is? Ho-ho!"

She knew the voice. It was that of Captain Jeremy Rofflash.

Seizing a lamp Sally Salisbury ran down the stairs and opened the door. Holding the lamp high over her head the light fell with striking effect upon her luxuriant yellow hair clustering down upon a neck and shoulders that Juno might have envied. The resemblance did not stop here. Juno in anger could have found her double in Sally Salisbury at that moment. Evidently the visitor was unwelcome.

"What does this silly masquerade mean?" she demanded, her eyes roaming over the coachman's livery in high displeasure. "Have you turned over a new leaf and gone into honest service?"

"Honest service be damned! Honesty doesn't belong to me or to you either, Sally. Where's the man I'm looking for? I twigged the fellow just as you shut the door upon him."

"Did you? Then you're welcome to go on looking."

He strode in, muttering oaths. When the door was closed he turned upon her.

"Hang me, Sally, if I know what your game is in sheltering this spark. Anyhow you wouldn't do it if you didn't see your way to some coin out of him."

"I don't, so shut up your sauce."

"More fool you then. Look here, Sal. I've got hold of a cull or I shouldn't be in this lackey's coat. The fool's bursting with gold and he wants someone to help him to spend it. I'll be hanged if there's another woman in London like you for that fun. Now's your chance. He's sweet on a wench--a raw boarding school miss--he ran off with her an hour or so ago. The little fool thought she was going to be married by a Fleet parson, but somehow she took fright and jumped out of the coach on London Bridge. How the devil she did it beats me, though to be sure when one of your sex makes up her mind to anything she'll do it and damme, I believe Beelzebub helps her. Now then----"

"What's this gabble to do with me?" broke in Sally, disdainfully.

"Wait a minute. The wench had a friend in the crowd--a man who got her away--damn him. I jumped from the coach and we had a set to. See this?"

Scowling ferociously Rofflash pointed to a lump beneath his eye which promised to become a beautiful mouse on the morrow.

"The jackanapes got me on the hop; my foot slipped and s'life, I was down. But for that I'd ha' spitted him like a partridge. By the time I was on my legs the mob were after him. I joined in the hue and cry and we ran him down to your house. Now then, where's his hiding hole? It'll mean a matter o' twenty guineas in your pocket to give him up."

"Blood money! I don't earn my living that way. You could have spared your breath, Rofflash. The man's not here. I'll show you how he escaped. Come this way."

Sally led the fellow to the window overlooking the Black Ditch and told him the story.

"Are you bamboozling me, you jade?" growled Rofflash. "It would be like you."

"I daresay it would if it were worth my while but it isn't. Look for yourself. Can't you see the deep foot-prints in the mud?"

The waning moon gave sufficient light to show the black slimy surface of the ditch. An irregularly shaped hole immediately below the window showed where Vane had alighted. Footprints distinct enough indicated the direction taken.

"If you're not satisfied search the house."

"I'll take your word. Who's your friend? You wouldn't lift your little finger to save a stranger."

"Who's the girl?" Sally parried in a flash. "What's she like?"

Rofflash had sharp wits. Cunning was part of his trade.

"Ho ho," he thought. "Sits the wind in that quarter? I'll steer accordingly."

"The girl? As tempting as Venus and a good deal livelier, I'll swear. 'Faith, she's one worth fighting for. I'll do her gallant justice. If he's as handy with his blade as he is with his fists he'll be a pretty swordsman. He'll need all he knows, though," added Rofflash darkly, "when I meet him."

"Yes, when!" echoed Sally sarcastically. "You'll get no help from me."

"What! Sally Salisbury handing over the man she fancies to another woman? Is the world coming to an end?"

Rofflash burst into a jeering laugh. It irritated Sally beyond endurance as he intended it should. But it did not provoke the reply he hoped for.

"Mind your own business," she snapped.

"Why, that's what I'm doing and _my_ business is _yours_. But if you're fool enough to chuck away a handful of guineas, why do it. All I can say is that _my_ man would give you anything you like to ask if you'd open your mouth and tell him where _your_ man is."

"Then I won't. That's my answer, Jeremy Rofflash. Put it in your pipe and smoke it."

Rofflash made her a profound bow and smiled mockingly.

"Have your own way, mistress. What about this? Something more in your line, I'll warrant."

He thrust his hand beneath the upper part of his long flapped waistcoat and drew out a necklace. The pearls of which it was composed were suffused with a pinkish tinge, the massive gold clasp gleamed in the lamplight. Sally's eyes flashed momentarily and then became scornful.

"I'm not going to be bribed by _that_ either," she cried.

"Wait till you're asked, my dear. This is my business alone. It has nought to do with t'other. A week ago these pearls were round the fair neck of my Lady Wendover. I encountered her in her coach on the Bath Road near Maidenhead Thicket--my favourite trysting place with foolish dames who travel with their trinkets and fal-lals. At the sight of my barkers her ladyship screamed and fainted. This made things as easy as an old glove. Click! and the necklace was in my pocket and I was galloping back to Hounslow as if Old Nick himself was behind me."

"Well, and what have your highway robberies to do with me?"

"Just this, pretty one. My Lord Wendover's offered £1,000 reward for the return of her Ladyship's jewels. I dursn't hand 'em about. I've no fancy for the hangman's rope. But _you_ can get rid of them and no one be the wiser."

It was true. Sally had been very useful to Rofflash in disposing of some of the trophies of his exploits on the Bath Road. The highwayman never grumbled at whatever commission she chose to take and the arrangement was to their mutual advantage.

Sally took the pearls and stroked their smooth surfaces lovingly.

"It's a shame to part with 'em."

"Aye, they'd look brave on your neck, sweetheart."

"No. I'm as loth to travel to Tyburn as you. Every fine woman of quality knows the Wendover pearls. I'd be marked at the first ridotto or masquerade I showed my face in. I'll do my best to turn 'em into money."

"You're a jewel yourself, Sally. That's all I want. Adieu, mistress, and good luck go with you."

Rofflash swaggered out and as he made his way to the bridge he pondered deeply over the mystery of woman. Here was Sally Salisbury, a "flaunting extravagant quean," always over head and ears in debt, refusing a chance to put money in her purse just because she had a fancy for a man who maybe was as poor as a church mouse. Yet, as regarded men generally, Sally was a daughter of the horseleech!

"Humph," muttered Rofflash, "so much the better. The end on't is I pocket Dorrimore's gold and no sharing out. If Sally likes to be a fool 'tis her affair and not mine. I've only got to keep my eye on her. What a woman like her wants she'll get, even if it costs her her life. Sooner or later, madam, you'll find your way to the fellow's lodgings, and it'll go hard if I'm not on the spot too."

By the time Rofflash was at the bridge the obstructing waggon had been got out of the way. Dorrimore's coach was drawn to one side and Dorrimore himself was striding impatiently up and down, occasionally refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff and indulging in oaths more or less elegant.

"Where the devil have you been, Rofflash?" he cried, testily. "And where the devil's the girl?"

"She'll be safe in your hands shortly, Mr. Archibald, never fear."

"What, have you got her?"

"Not quite, but almost as good. The spark whose arms she jumped into is her gallant, you may lay your life, and----"

"By thunder, if that's so I'll--I'll run him through, I will, by God!"

"Softly--softly. All in good time. By a bit of luck I came across a friend who knows him and has engaged to run him to earth. It only means a few guineas and I made free to promise him a purse. Within a week you'll be face to face with your rival and you'll have your revenge."

"To the devil with my revenge. It's the girl I want, you blundering idiot."

"And it's the girl you shall have, by gad. Can't you see, my good sir, that when you clap your hands on the fellow you clap your hands on the girl too?"

"S'life! Do you mean to say she's with him?"

"I'd go to a thousand deaths on that."

"I'll not believe it. The girl's a pretty fool or I shouldn't have made her sweet on me with so little trouble, but she's not that sort."

"If she isn't, all I can say is that St. Giles and Drury Lane are the places where innocent and unsuspecting maids are to be found. Ask Sally Salisbury."

"Damn Sally Salisbury," cried the fine gentleman in a fury. "D'ye think I don't know gold from dross? I'll take my oath no man had touched the lips of that coy little wench before mine did."

"By all means keep to that belief, sir. It won't do you no harm. Now if you'll take my advice you'll let me drive you to Moll King's and you'll finish the night like a man of mettle and a gentleman."

Dorrimore was in a morose and sullen mood. He wanted bracing up and he adopted Rofflash's suggestion. The coach rattled to Mrs. King's notorious tavern in Covent Garden, where thieves and scoundrels, the very dregs of London, mingled with their betters; and amid a bestial uproar, with the assistance of claret and Burgundy, to say nothing of port "laced" with brandy on the one hand, and gin and porter on the other, all differences in stations were forgotten and gentlemen and footpads were on a level--dead drunk.