Part 8

York uttered a sound, but I was silent.

"Oh, sir!" she pleaded.

"Why," I said, with a laugh. "It seems I must condone wounds and abduction and all."

"'Tis on me the brunt will fall--the shame and scandal," she urged, and, looking in her pretty face, I could resist no longer, for I'll swear she was genuine, and had been misled by that muckrake.

"I will go," says I, and then of a sudden remembered. "But how am I to escape?" says I.

"By the window," she said, pointing to it with animation.

"Why, to be sure," says I, slowly, for I was taken with a notion, "but there is this gentleman who is my guard."

"Oh!" says she, archly, "I think your sword is better than his, and he will not stay you."

"True," says I, "but 'tis best to be prudent and to avoid Sir Philip's suspicions. He must have some marks of a struggle. Either I must leave him with a wound, or senseless, or gagged and bound ... or maybe suspicion will come to rest on you, madam."

Her brows were bent in a little frown. "That is true," she said, and turned to York, whose face for the first time, as I could see, wore a look of discomposure.

"He must be bound and gagged," says I, shaking my head.

"Ye-es," she says, hesitatingly.

Whereupon I went forward to the fellow, who gnawed his lip and fidgeted. He looked at Miss Lydia as if about to speak, and then shot an angry glance at me, but paused.

"Oh, very well," says he, at last, with a grin, "but pray make haste or you will be surprised in the middle of your job--" and he had the air of yielding himself with good humour. But I knew what must be his chagrin, though I admired him for his manner. He would have done pretty well on the road if he could have put by his scurvy way with women. Yet I was not for letting him off, after what he had done, so, withdrawing the cords from the window curtains, I tied him pretty quickly in a fast enough bundle. But when, his arms being lashed behind, I approached with a wedge of wood, York cried out in protest.

"I'll have none of that," said he.

"He must be gagged," says I to the lady, appealing to her. She hesitated, and, looking on him, appeared to take pity; or maybe she was afraid of him.

"Perhaps it is not necessary," she said.

"Why, look you, madam," said I, earnestly, "we must convince Sir Philip of our good faith; else he will smell out this trickery and all our pains are thrown away."

She made no answer and with the wedge I moved a step nearer to York, who grimaced and cried out with an oath,--

"May I be--"

But ere he could get it forth I had it between his teeth, and with my knee in his wind threw him in a heap upon the floor. Miss Lydia looked on with open eyes, and with an air of uncertainty.

What she would have said I know not, but at that moment there was a sound without the door, and she broke out.

"Go--go," she cried, running to me. "You can go now in safety."

"Yes, 'tis time I was gone if I am to keep the bargain," said I, looking with a grin on York, who was wriggling on the floor.

I gave miss a congee, and backed to the window. "If you will credit me, madam," says I, "you will think twice ere you take up with York there."

"I know, I know," says she, eagerly, for she was terrified of the sounds outside. "I will be wise, I promise you."

Her skirts swung against me, and that touch on my arm sent through me an amazing thrill, so that, beholding her so vastly handsome and passionate at my elbow, my blood fired at the sight.

"Madam," said I, very grave, "I had thought to do you some good, and that privilege would have been my reward. But I find myself only to have plunged you in embarrassments, for which may I be whipped. What get I for my pains, then? Why, nothing, not even the private consolation to have relieved you; and in this escape what touches me is not so much the ignominy as the deprivation of these eyes of one they would have dwelled on always."

'Twas not ill phrased, as you will admit, and I got it off with unction, her face being so close to me, and devilish enticing. The sounds were not now audible, and I was at the window, so that I suppose she had forgot her tremors. A demure look crept in her face under my boldness, and says she softly,--

"What would you have me do?"

"Oh, madam," said I, burning on her. "Look up, look up, I pray you, and I'll warrant you'll read me as clear as a book."

"I cannot guess, sir," says she, looking up with her innocent eyes all the same, while from the floor there was a choking sound which, maybe, was the dust in York's nostrils. Miss looked round.

"We are keeping Mr York in an uncomfortable position," says she, sweetly. "'Tis not a pleasant posture to be in."

"Faith," said I, boldly, "I would lie so all night if I might get what I want now."

"What is it you want?" says she, opening her eyes in wonder.

"Why, what I will take, and suffer all risks," says I of a sudden. With which I put my arm about her swiftly and carried her face to mine. Miss Lydia called out "Oh!" and the gag was shaken with uncouth, unintelligible sounds. A noise streamed out of the hall.

"Go, go!" cries she, pink of face and sparkling, and seeing my time was come I turned and went, leaving the gag still spluttering in the corner.

THE GENTLEMANLY HABERDASHER

I have dealt in my time with traps and catchpoles of many colours; I have treated with justices and officers of the law that were mighty difficult; and I have encountered innumerable rough bucks that have pressed me badly. But give me them all rather than a pack of silly, screaming women that know not their own mind for two minutes on end. Many times have I adventured the sex in one way or another, and I can claim to have been esteemed by them, from milkmaids to ladies, even to my Lady Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland. But I will confess that my heart beats too soft in me to confront them rightly. I cannot abide tears nor a swollen countenance, and a petticoat catches me; and there it is. Not that I am a fool where women are concerned, for on occasion there is no harder flint than Dick Ryder, as is known in the four quarters of the kingdom. But I lean to mercy and consideration, and particularly if I be in a good humour or in liquor.

'Twas in a frolic mood that I met the wench of the Magpie, which meeting led to an evening's entertainment, tolerably humoursome, but something "pretty-missy" for a stark man like me. I was newly come from the Bath Road with my purse full of king's pictures, to the which I had added on Turnham Green without so much as a thought of it. 'Twas fallen dark of a foul December evening, and, as I was riding for town, I missed the road and Calypso floundered into a bog of water and mire. With a curse I pulled her out, when just at that moment I heard a voice crying out a little way off. The common oozed mud, for the rain had been falling heavily, but I pushed the mare across in the direction of the voice, and there was another that had fallen into my plight, but much worse. For a chaise had wandered off the road and was axle-deep in a pond that spreads on the common.

"Help!" says the voice.

"That I will! Help you and myself, too," says I; and I gave a hand to the coachman and together we got the carriage to land.

"I am much in your debt, sir," says the master of it when we were done--a smug-speaking sort of fellow whose face I could not see. "You have placed Samuel Hogg, haberdasher, of Bristol, under obligations," he said pompously.

"Oh, you are in my debt, 'tis no doubt," says I, laughing, "but, rip me, you won't be long;" and at that I delivered him of a pile of gold guineas, and turned my back on his entreaties and objurgations.

When I was come to town I put up at my favourite inn and where I am known, and on the next day I set out for Polly Scarlet's. But when I got there, there was my poor girl abed with a swollen cheek. So, says I, giving her good cheer and a certain trinket that I had for her, I will make the best of my way to Soho and see if, maybe, some of the lads be assembled. But I had got no further than the Minories, when who should emerge into sight in the company of two officers, but Timothy Grubbe, that rascally thief-taker, crimp and scoundrel. I am not to be frightened by any man on earth, but 'twas wise to go shy of Timothy and his friends at that time; so ere they had a sight of me I turned my back on them and slipped in at the Magpie tavern. Here was a warm room and comfortable, and the wine, when mulled, was passable, though sour. So I tossed off a draught and says to the wench, ironically,--

"To bring out the flavour of this tap, I'll eat cheese, my dear. 'Tis a wine worth testing," says I.

Thereat she fetched me cheese, and stood staring on a ring that she wore on her finger, a little in the shadow. Well, I sat idly there, sipping at my glass, for 'twas pleasant enough, and quiet. 'Twas a bare, empty tap, as it chanced, and the wench and I had it to ourselves. She was a pretty sort of figure, all in white--white mob and white apron; of a middle height and slightness pleasant in so young a maid, brisk of eye, quick of face, and with a certain abruptness of chin. She stood, as I say, staring on a ring, in a brooding seriousness, and then of a sudden she uttered a little sob and rushed her apron to her eye.

"Whoa!" says I. "Whoa there, mare," speaking softly enough, but she started up and turned about, so that her face was no longer in the light, and so remained a little while.

"Come, my pretty," said I in a good-humoured way. "Wash no colour from that blue. I'll warrant 'tis admired, and rightly. If there's any huff or bully that breeds those dew-drops give me his name, and on my word, I'll make carrion of him."

At that she turned to me again, holding herself erect, and her eyes discharged at me a glance. 'Twas not one of haughtiness merely, but rather one in which fear and defiance and anger rubbed shoulders. One might have said, indeed, that all these sentiments rained together from her pretty peepers. But then she dropped her head as quickly, and affected her interest in the bottles or the casks or something else in the distance.

"Why," says I, "I will even taste once more that delectable bin," and she came forth, reluctant, to fill my glass again. "Now," says I, when I had her there, "you're a girl of spirit; rip me, what's amiss?"

"Sir?" she says with a glare in her face.

"Come, if every pretty filly used her hind legs so hard," said I with a laugh, "what room would be left in the stalls?"

She said no word but went about her business, the which, as I am not used to rebuffs either from man, madam, or maid, nettled me; but I know such wildings; they be not pigeons nor doves nor tame sparrows neither. I must lime her with another manner; so I altered my voice, and says I, in a pleasant, but masterful, tone,--

"You must not think me any Peeping Tom," I said, "to twist his eyes on you and badger you. Tears spoil that handsome cheek, and I would know if there be no remedy. I cannot abide to see youth and beauty weeping."

She had turned her head now, and gave me a searching glance. "'Tis naught you could help in, sir," she says with some demureness, and then broke out, "'tis along of my aunt. She has put upon me and treated me ill."

"A hag of an aunt," says I sympathetically, "to bruise one so tender and so dutiful, I'll swear."

"Yes, 'tis so," says she, now with some confidence, and wagging her little head towards me. "She knows not when she is well-served--that she doth not."

"I'll take oath of that," says I.

"I am daughter to her husband's sister, sir," said she, running on glibly by this time, "and Cousin Tom is sib to me."

"Why, for sure, if he be your cousin," said I.

"And when my mother died," she said, taking no heed, "uncle says I must live with him, and there have I lived all these years."

"None so many, rip me," says I, handsomely.

"He has had good service out of me," she said, casting me a glance, as of one who would assert her rights. "There have I worked for my Aunt Susan and cast up figures for uncle, and no thanks given me--no, not a crown's worth all these years."

"A sorry pair of skinflints," said I, nodding. "But I would not cry tears on them, not I, if I was a spirited wench."

"'Tis not that," says she, weeping anew. "'Tis that I am turned out of doors; they will not have me more."

"Why, how is that?" I asked, whereat she looked demure as a saint, and says she,--

"Oh, 'twas but nothing. 'Twas Cousin Tom."

And it appeared that Cousin Tom had set calf's eyes on her, and that his mother destined him for better things; so that the wench must quit, though she kept the tally for nunkie and the house for aunt.

"Well," says I, "'tis a piece of injustice, my dear, and that I'll swear to. Love you this Tom?"

Whereat she hesitated, and stammered, and turned aside her face, and then heaved up her pretty shoulders.

"He is so silly," says she.

"Why, that is the right kind of silliness for a maid, I'll take oath," said I.

But she said nothing, so I tossed a guinea on the table, for I had just taken a fancy to a little entertainment, having nothing to do and being at a loose end by reason of Polly.

"There's that will pay for a bottle of wine," said I, "the which I will put under my jacket by your leave, mistress. And I will be the one to pull you out of your despair."

She looked at me in surprise.

"Oh, I have an eye for a wench," said I, "and I know virtue when it peeps out. And if so be you want Tom, rip me, you shall have him."

"I do not understand you, sir," said she, still wondering.

"See you here, mistress," says I, with a wink, "if you was known to be in the expectation of money," says I, "maybe auntie would sing to another tune."

"Yes," said she, with her mouth open and her eyes.

"Very well," said I, "a gentlemanly haberdasher has clapped eyes on a pretty miss and taken a fancy to her for a daughter."

She stared at me.

"Say that here sits the haberdasher," said I, cocking an eye at her, "a gentlemanly haberdasher that is a widower and is peaking for a daughter that he will never get," says I, "what says auntie and nunkie now?"

She met my glance and presently hers fell. I could see she was quick of wit and took me now.

"But, sir, I do not know who you be," said she, demurely, and fidgeting with her apron.

"Oh, we will better that," says I, remembering of the man on Turnham Green. "Call me Samuel Hogg," said I, "godly Samuel Hogg, of Bristol, that wants a daughter all to himself and is willing to leave her a hundred guineas for a dowry and a thousand on his deathbed."

Her lips parted and her eyes gleamed. Then she gave me a shrewd glance, for she was no fool, and at last she smiled.

"You are very kind," said she.

"Pooh!" said I, emptying the bottle. "You may say that when I see you this evening and confront 'em."

"Confront 'em," she said.

"D'ye suppose I will not pursue that which I propose?" I asked. "I will see auntie, nunkie and all, and so you may warn 'em. The gentlemanly haberdasher, rip me, will visit 'em to-night, for to beg their niece of 'em."

'Twas on that understanding we parted, though I believe the girl thought me gone in liquor and talking foolishly. But that I was not, as she discovered, for I meant to go through with the jest and help a poor female against her shrew of an aunt at the same time.

So that evening when it had fallen dark, sure enough, I presented myself before the Magpie, clothed very old and sober and with a wig to suit, and knocked for admittance. Well, there were they assembled to meet me (for the wench had done her part), looking very expectant and all in a flutter. There was uncle that was broad and short and of a weak cast of face with a grin on it, and by him was aunt, prim and stiff, but the vinegar of her face sugared over with a smile; and to these were added Cousin Tom, a lubberly big fellow with a booby expression, and a couple more. Why, had I not been used to distinguished company I might have turned white of trembling and bashfulness before them. But as it was, the more the merrier, and, says I, with a congee to aunt,--

"By your leave, madam."

"Sir," says she, "our niece Nancy has acquainted us with your story;" at which, thinks I, "'Egad I'm glad I know her name," the which I had misremembered to ask.

"She hath done me honour, mistress," I replied, polite as a pea. "And since you know why I am here, faith, let us sit down and discuss of it."

Uncle sat down, blinking rapidly at us, and a little fat man in the corner eyed me curiously.

"Your sister's daughter, my good man?" says I to uncle, with a benevolent smile. He nodded.

"And a very precious daughter she has been to us, sir," says aunt with a sort of whine.

Now that kind fairly makes my stomach queasy, and, moreover, I guessed what she was after. She meant to pull a long face on parting with her niece, with an eye to money.

"I hope," said I, suavely, "that she will prove a precious daughter to me in good time."

"That depends," says the little fat man, who, it seems, was a grocer.

"Ay, that depends," says the remaining person in the room, a thin, elderly woman.

"Well," said I, annoyed at this intervention, "it depends on whether miss here suits me. I will confess she has took my fancy, and I have room for her."

"You want to adopt Nancy?" says the aunt.

"'Tis my intention," I answered plump.

"May we ask what set the notion in your head?" says the grocer from his corner.

"Faith you may," said I, "and 'tis easy said. For walking down the Minories yesterday, whom did I spy but a handsome miss with as two pretty eyes as ever sparkled in a wench's face. 'She's for me,' says I to myself, 'she'll suit my town house like a linnet or a piping lark. I'll warrant she's all sunshine.'"

At that I thought they looked on me with some suspicion, and, perish me, I believe I had spoken too warmly, for she was dainty enough.

"Oh!" says aunt, faintly, and glanced at her husband, as if inviting him to speak, but he sat smoking.

"My niece says you are a godly man, sir?" she pursued.

"Godly," says I, "is not the word. I cry second to none if it comes to church and prayers."

She looked astonished at that, but 'twas the grocer who spoke next.

"'Tis a strange matter," he said, "that you should have took so great a fancy to Miss Nancy here. It may be, as you say, that you would adopt her, yet you are young for a daughter."

"Young!" said I, "why, I be ancient enough. I have gone through enough in my time to fetch out grey hairs in bunches. There was my poor wife that died ten years gone, and my daughter that followed her in the flower of her youth, to whom miss hath a most singular likeness. 'Twas that attracted me."

"You are a haberdasher, sir?" says the thin woman.

"'Tis my calling," I replied.

"Ah," she sighed. "And so 'twas my poor husband's that is at rest."

"He was engaged in an honourable trade," said I.

"You say truly. That he was," she assented, sighing.

But here uncle spoke for the first time. He was clearly no man of words, but the fat grocer had been whispering in his ears.

"We should want some warranty," said he.

"Warranty," said I indignantly. "There's my name, Samuel Hogg, of Bristol, and, for the rest, if it is the colour you wish, why I can satisfy you," and I brought out a purse full of King's pictures.

I could see that their eyes glistened.

"You seem well endowed," said the grocer.

"Ay, and 'tis all at the disposal of Miss Nancy, when I am in my gloomy tomb," said I.

But the grocer whispered to the widow, and she to aunt, and they glanced askance at me. So, as matters were not going forward to my taste, I got up and said I,--

"It seems that suspicions rule here. I am the target of eyes. Rip me, I carry not my wares to a market that fancies me not, and so I will bid you good evening."

But that shook them. "Stay, sir," says the aunt, "I am sure we may be pardoned if we hesitate to lose one so dear to us. 'Tis a new idea, and we must get used to it."

"Why," said I, smiling, for I could see the drift of her thoughts, "there is no haste. You shall satisfy yourself of what I promise. 'Tis but the preliminary to my design. I will not pluck your partridge from you roughly--not I. But I would have her remain with you during my preparations, and only ask that I may present her with that which shall fit her out as becomes one who is to do honour to my house and me."

And with that I opened the purse and counted out ten golden guineas.

Miss Nancy gazed wide-eyed, and there was a little silence among the others, save that uncle started and rubbed his eyes, and cried, "The devil!"

But 'twas enough for them. Auntie melted like a snowball in the sun; the grocer pursed up his lips; and the widow regarded me with wonder. Booby, in his corner, gave vent to a silly chuckle.

"Well, that's fair," said uncle hastily, and, at that, supper being ready, I was invited to join them.

Now this was the time that I should have taken to go, for I had done what I promised; but I had nothing to attract me that night, and, moreover, I was for pushing the fun a little further. Lord, if Tony or old Creech could have seen me a-sitting there, in such company, with an adopted daughter on my hands, 'twould have made them split their sides. So says I,--

"At your service, and thank ye;" and down we sat to the table.

As chance would have it I was set alongside of the widow, and on t'other side was the grocer. Says I to the girl in a whisper, as she passed me,--

"There; 'tis all laid for you, and you can fire the train when you will, along of Booby."

She cast a glance at me and looked down, fingering her guineas as if she loved 'em. But, bless you, I did not mind the guineas. There was plenty more behind 'em. And then the widow turns on me, and begins to ply me with questions about haberdashery and prices, but, rot me, I knew nothing about them more than the babe in its cradle. So said I presently,--

"Madam, I leave all such trifles to my man."

"Heavens!" says she, "you will be ruined. 'Tis most perilous. You want someone that will look after your interests, and keep your house in trim."

"Why, that's what miss will do," I laughed.

She shrugged her shoulders. "My husband," said she, "was worth his two hundred guineas a year, and that's all come to me, alas," she says sighing.

"'Tis not I would cry 'Alack,' if that befel me," I said with a grin.

"Ah, 'tis not the money," she says, "but the loneliness; and to think that it's all lost to business; for I am my own mistress," she says, "and can do what I like, having no child to consider."

"Well," said I, "I have one now, and an amazing beauty." She looked sourly at Miss Nancy, who flushed very deep. Just then I was digged in the ribs t'other side, and, turning, found the grocer with a grin on his face.

"Pretty wench," says he with a wink.

"That is so," said I, tossing off the wine, which was not so ill.

"There's none too many like her about the town," he says again with his significant wink.

"What the plague--" says I, but he winked again.

"I seen what you was after from the first," he said.

"The devil you did!" I said, and stared at him.

He dug his thumb into me again. "Ten guineas for her!" he said with a knowing air.

"Well?" said I, for I guessed what the fool was after.

"Well," says he in his fat whisper, "you ain't no haberdasher. I seen through you from the first."

"Look you," said I sharply, "get on with your supper and keep your foul fingers off me, or I will choke your weasand for you."

That, as I conceive, startled him, for he fell away, looking at me mighty anxiously, but said no more. Moreover, I was not for turning the party into pepper and mustard, so I took another glass, and the vintner at t'other end of the table nodded at me in a friendly way.

"'Tis a good bottle," says he knowingly, "and not every man's liquor."