Part 2
"In very truth, your ladyship’s penetration is marvelous!" cried Prue eagerly. "Her Majesty most graciously bade Lady Limerick inquire the latest news of ’the dear countess’ gout’—and also, if my duties at your bedside left me leisure to attend the court."
"And, pray, what answer did you make?" Lady Drumloch inquired suspiciously.
"In good faith, I was put to it for excuses, since I had admitted the favorable change in your symptoms, and received the congratulations of many anxious friends," returned Prue pathetically. "’Tis true I have no heart for frivolous pleasures while my dear grandmother is ill—but the court is another thing, and people begin to wonder at my absence."
"Well, what is the matter? Why make excuses at all? I am not aware that I have imposed any restrictions upon you," said the old lady crisply. "Lowton has taken very good care of me for a year, and you may still venture to trust me to her for a few hours. ’Tis news to me that you should be so averse to ’frivolous pleasures’ that you need make _me_ an excuse for giving them up."
"Indeed, dear Grandmother, it was no vain excuse—’twas the truth," Prue protested. "Yet not the whole truth, for my baggage is still at Bleakmoor, whence we fled in such a hurry that we brought naught away with us but what we traveled in!"
"Well? Are there no milliners and mantua-makers in London?" inquired the countess, with an air of surprise.
"Several hundred, I should think—and every one of them threatening me with the law’s worst penalties for debt! The wretches! they were eager enough to fling their wares under my feet, when they believed me rich—or likely to be. But now—never a mercer or tailor will trust me for a gown!"
"What! not with the prospect of a husband in Parliament?" cried her grandmother, laughing maliciously.
"Indeed no, Grannie," sighed Prue piteously; "not unless I pay, at least, for what I order now."
"They have learned wisdom at last," retorted Lady Drumloch coldly, "and that is more than can be said of you, who during four or five years of widowhood have jilted half the peerage, made yourself the byword of the court, and now go in fear of the debtors’ prison!"
"There was no talk of a debtors’ prison for me when I was Queen Anne’s favorite lady-in-waiting," said Prue, with a touch of arrogance, "but now they only remember that I was banished from court—"
"And that the rich lovers you jilted have married other women, while you are still ’the Widow Brooke,’" Lady Drumloch interrupted.
"But they will change their tone when they find that the queen has forgiven me," said Prue, ignoring her grandmother’s last thrust, "and now she has sent me such a gracious message by Lady Limerick—but, alack the day!—what am I saying? How can I present myself before Her Majesty without a decent gown to my back? Oh, Grandmother—" She fell on her knees, and would have clasped the pale, slender hand that lay on the coverlet. But Lady Drumloch drew back out of her reach and regarded her with resentful eyes.
"Well?" she queried in her driest voice. "What do you propose to do? You have a plan, no doubt, to accomplish what you have set your heart upon."
"No—I have no plan," cried Prudence despairingly, "but surely you, dear Grandmother, will not let your little Prue lose her last chance of winning back the queen’s favor, for lack of a few guineas to buy a gown!" and once more she tried to get possession of the reluctant hand.
But Lady Drumloch pushed her away with such force, in her anger, that she almost overturned her on the floor. "I thought I should soon come at the cause of all your pretty speeches, you false jade!" she shrieked. "Is it not enough that I give you shelter in the home you have disgraced with your reckless follies, that I have to admit your wanton companions—only Mary Warburton and Lady Limerick, forsooth! Do you think I am so deaf as not to have heard the voices of half a dozen men, and your dear friend, Barbara Sweeting, sharer and inspirer of half the mad frolics that have made you notorious?—but I must pay your debts and give you money, when I’m so poor I can only afford one woman to wait on me, and can not go out for an airing because a carriage is too great a luxury for me—even a hired one! _C’est honteux—c’est infame_"—and the angry old woman, who seldom lapsed into French, except in moments of great agitation, burst into hysteric cries and weeping, at which Lowton hurried in, and the girls, with scared faces, fled.
"She is much worse than she used to be," whispered Peggie. "Formerly, when you asked for money, she used to tell you to go to the devil, and scold you roundly—but she gave it after all. And now—I do not think she will."
"If she waits until I ask her, she certainly never will," said Prudence proudly. "To-morrow I will go to old Aarons—though I vowed the last time should be the very last."
The girls were still lingering upon the staircase, listening to the soothing murmurs of Mrs. Lowton and the outcries of the invalid, gradually sinking into whimpers, when a loud knocking announced the arrival of a visitor of importance, and James presently came up with a petition from Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert for a few words with the Lady Prudence, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour.
"The lateness of the hour! Why, ’tis barely nine o’clock," cried Prue, blushing and sparkling with delight. "Go, James, and tell Sir Geoffrey I will be with him immediately. Come, Peggie."
And away she flew to reassure herself, by a glance at her mirror, that her scene with Lady Drumloch had not dishevelled her luxuriant curls, and to disguise the shabbiness of her gown with a lace kerchief and a knot of ribbon.
"A plague on all milliners and tailors," she pouted; "to think that I should have to receive my betrothed after three weeks’ separation, looking more like my lady’s scullery-maid than her granddaughter."
"Sir Geoffrey will never know what you wear, if you sit away from the lamp, where he can just see your eyes by the firelight," counseled Margaret. "No man cares to look at your gown, who can see your face."
"Flatterer!" cried Prue; but she kissed her cousin on both cheeks, and certainly gave no sign of doubting her veracity.
Sir Geoffrey was impatiently waiting in the dim drawing-room, where James had reluctantly lighted a pair of candles in an ancient silver sconce that Benvenuto Cellini himself may have chiseled. The two ladies swept the most ceremonious of curtseys, but at the sight of Prue’s radiant loveliness, her visitor dropped on one knee, and taking both her little hands in his, kissed first one and then the other with unaffected ardor.
"How have I lived all these centuries?" he cried—"they can not have been merely weeks—without my Goddess, my Star—" and so on, after the highflown fashion of the days of Pope and Dryden. To which Prue was well accustomed, and did not find any too fantastic for her highly cultivated vanity.
"Rise, Sir Geoffrey," she said very graciously, and when he obeyed, offered him her glowing cheek, upon which, one may be sure, he made haste to imprint more than one or two impassioned kisses. Then Margaret, who at first kept discreetly in the background, came forward and presented her hand, contenting herself with a salute of a more perfunctory nature.
"When did you return to town, Sir Geoffrey?" Prue inquired.
"Can you ask?" he said reproachfully. "You may be sure I have only waited to shake off the dust of travel, before hastening to throw myself at your feet."
"And how did you leave Bleakmoor?" she went on, "and have you seen our host and his friends since we left them?"
"Bleakmoor, deprived of the sunshine," said Sir Geoffrey, including the two girls in a low bow, "has by now been given over to the bats and owls. Brooke hath betaken himself to Malvern, and his friends are scattered to their own homes. The hunting is better since the thaw, but I have lost all taste for the field when Prue no longer leads the hunt."
"We scarcely expected that you would follow us so soon," remarked Peggie.
"Was I in too great haste?" he demanded. "Had I been warned of your sudden journey, I might, perhaps, have offended by offering my escort."
"You would have had a chance of playing the knight-errant," said Prue, "and coming to the rescue of two forlorn damsels set upon by footpads and forced to resort to all kinds of feminine wiles to protect their jewels."
The baronet rapped out an oath. "The fellows attacked you and I was not there to make mincemeat of them!" he exclaimed. "By Jove, these rascals become more and more audacious every day. A band of them attacked Will Battersea and myself on the North Road, where we had the good fortune to capture the ringleader and hand him over to the officers of justice."
"Bravo!" cried Margaret, clapping her hands. "Tell us all about it, Sir Geoffrey."
"Oh! ’twas the usual thing," he began. "We were on a lonely road, not far from Willesden—Will and I riding in front, with our fellows close behind—when several masked horsemen appeared from behind a clump of bushes, and covering us with their firearms, demanded our money or our lives—"
("Stand and deliver—" murmured Peggie, with a covert glance at her cousin.)—"We proceeded to argue the matter," Sir Geoffrey continued, "and either by accident or to intimidate us, one of the rascals let fly and hit my man Brown in the shoulder. Instantly, there was a mêlée, in the midst of which approaching shouts were heard and the highwaymen, at the word of command, dashed off, pursued by Will Battersea and myself. A parting shot, fired at random, brought down the horse of one of the highwaymen, who threw his rider into a ditch and rolled over him. There we found him with a broken collarbone, and handed him over to the mounted constabulary, who had arrived so opportunely."
"I shudder to think what might have happened," said Prue gravely, "had their arrival been less well-timed."
"Spare your tremors, my dearest," replied Sir Geoffrey, rather nettled by her tone. "You surely do not think that Will and I were in any peril from half-a-dozen highwaymen? To say nothing of our men, who were both sturdy rustics and had served in the West-Riding Yeomanry. I vow I was disappointed at the interruption, and would rather have taken Robin Freemantle with my pistol at his ear, than pulled him out of a ditch with the help of a constable."
"Robin Freemantle!" the two ladies exclaimed simultaneously. Then the blood rushed so tumultuously to Prue’s face, that she was thankful for the dim light that hid her confusion.
"What! was it he that assailed you on Bleakmoor? The fellow is ubiquitous!" cried Sir Geoffrey. "I will not forget to add this to his other crimes, when I am witness on his trial. The man who has dared to attack the fairest lady in England—the protégée of her Grace of Marlborough—should be drawn and quartered; hanging is too good for him."
"Sir Geoffrey! I forbid you to mention my name!" she exclaimed, in a great flutter. "It may not be the same man—besides, he took nothing from us, did he, Peggie? Nothing, that is to say of any—any—"
"My dear Prudence—the mere fact of his attacking you would rouse the country," cried her lover, rather pompously. "It would have more effect upon the jury than a dozen ordinary highway robberies—"
"I do not wish to rouse the country," interrupted Prue. "What! am I to be discussed by lawyers and jurymen, and lampooned, forsooth, in the Flying Post! My grandmother would never forgive it—"
"Dearest Prue, pardon me for suggesting anything that could for one moment distress you; it was but my eagerness to punish the scoundrel for his crimes. Let us relegate him to oblivion. Such subjects are not for the lips and ears of Beauty. Tell me, sweet Prue, when may I hope to see Lady Drumloch and implore her sanction to my suit?"
"I have already broken the matter to her," replied Prue, "but, as we anticipated, without any great success, at present. She is, as you know, an ardent Jacobite and can not be expected to approve your politics, which are considerably more important to her than my happiness. Mayhap, when she becomes acquainted with you she may blame me less. You must exercise your eloquence on her as you did on me," she added, with a coquettish smile, "and then I think I can safely leave our cause in your hands. My prayers shall accompany you, and if necessary we will kneel side by side and implore the ancestral benediction."
*CHAPTER IV*
*THE MONEY-LENDER INTERVENES*
Either her hysterics or her gout kept my Lady Drumloch in her chamber long enough to try the brief patience of Prudence Brooke. Sir Geoffrey, secure of his bride, was less impatient, for after all, the grandmother’s consent was a mere matter of form, although he had reasons—upon which he did not care to dilate—for wishing to propitiate the old lady, and secure her good graces.
He came to Mayfair as frequently as his parliamentary duties permitted, and never without sending up to the sick-room the most sympathetic messages, accompanied by bouquets of rare flowers, baskets of hothouse fruit and dainty porcelain or enameled boxes of French bonbons, and his gifts to Lowton were as lavish, though of a different character.
Finding no abatement in her grandmother’s austerity, about a week after Sir Geoffrey’s arrival, Lady Prudence ordered a chair, and concealing as many of her charms as could be hidden by a cloak and hood, made a pilgrimage to the city.
Almost under the shadow of Aldgate Church, at the entrance of a narrow court, of quiet appearance but sinister reputation, lived a certain Mr. Moses Aarons, reputed fabulously wealthy. Few were the gay inheritors of paternal acres to whom the little office in Aldgate was unfamiliar, and in the safes and deed-boxes that encumbered the upper floors of the dingy house many a bond and mortgage told a history of vast estates held by a hair, and noble fortunes of which little remained but the name.
Mr. Aarons was a man of unpretending appearance, with very little about him to suggest the Jew money-lender. Immaculately dressed, in a suit of fine plum-colored cloth, with silk stockings of the same hue, and wearing his own iron-gray hair slightly powdered, and gathered in a black ribbon, he might have passed for a respectable lawyer or merchant, had not some suggestion of power in his smooth voice and heavy-lidded eye, belied the modesty of his appearance.
The chair of a fine lady was no unaccustomed object at his door—nor, indeed, was the Viscountess Brooke a stranger. When his clerk bowed the lady into Mr. Aarons’ sanctum, he rose to greet her, and returned her sweeping curtsey with a bow as ceremonious.
"My Lady Brooke! This is, indeed, a condescension," he said. "My poor place is not adapted for the entertainment of such fashion and beauty."
"Most excellent Aarons," cried Prue, a little haughtily, "a truce to your compliments, which are only meant in ridicule, I fear." She threw back her hood, however, not disdaining to try the full effect of her charms upon this Jew, from whom she had come to cajole a few hundred pounds, if possible, without security.
"Your ladyship’s long absence from London hath surely been to some magic spring," said the usurer, with an exaggerated deference that bordered on insolence. "We heard you were breaking squires’ hearts in Yorkshire, but sure ’twas some southern sun that has been ripening the peaches on your cheeks."
Prue burst out laughing. "Are you turning poet, Mr. Aarons?" she inquired flippantly. "Take my advice, and keep to your own trade; no one will ever read the verse of Shakespeare or Milton with half as much interest as the magic prose that can turn a scrap of dirty paper into golden guineas."
"Your ladyship is tired of poetry, and wishes for a little prose by way of change, no doubt," suggested the money-lender.
"Change, forsooth! That is just what I am perishing for," cried Prue. "Fate has been dealing me the scurviest tricks, and now the chance of my life has come, and I tremble lest I lose it for want of a few pounds. The queen has bidden me to court, and I hope the best from Her Majesty’s condescension. But, alas! I can not make a fitting appearance at court, for I am—as usual—penniless. You must help me out of my troubles, good Mr. Aarons, and this time I shall pay you principal and interest, and recover the diamond necklace that has been so long in your care."
"If the security you offer is no better than last time, my lady Viscountess—" the money-lender began.
"Alack! this time I have nothing at all to offer as security," she interrupted. "You know where most of my jewels are, and on my way from Yorkshire, I was set upon by Robin Freemantle, the highwayman, and robbed of everything he could lay his hands on!"
"The outrageous villain! Did your ladyship lose much?" asked the Jew, with ill-concealed sarcasm.
"I scarce remember how much, but he left me with nothing but a few worthless trinkets I had concealed in my cousin’s jewel-casket, which fortunately escaped. So I arrived in London destitute. My grandmother is too ill to think of aught but prayers and potions, and I am most anxious to return to the court, where, doubtless, her Grace of Marlborough will do something for me—she loves me like a daughter—but I can not wait on her grace without a gown and a carriage."
"The milliner will, no doubt, be enchanted to provide the one, and the liveryman the other," said Aarons suavely.
"True, but every one knows I was banished from court, and nothing will satisfy them that I am in favor again but to see my name in the _Court News’_ account of the queen’s levee. I can not get there without money, and for that I look to you, who have stood my friend before. Now listen," she went on quickly, laying her little dimpled hand on his arm, in her eagerness to interrupt the impending expostulation. "I am going to be married—oh, yes, I know what you would say—’tis not the first time by several, and I am still the Widow Brooke! This time, however, you may consider it final; within a month, I wed Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert."
The money-lender started. "Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert!" he exclaimed. "Your creditors, my lady Viscountess, will scarce be pleased at this hearing, and may find cause to remind you that there are lodgings for ladies in the Fleet and Queen’s Bench. Sir Geoffrey is a member of Parliament, and can not be arrested for his own debts, let alone his wife’s."
"Arrested! Do you mean to suggest that Sir Geoffrey can not, or will not, pay my debts?" she cried angrily.
"He may be willing; indeed, who could doubt that any man would esteem it an honor to pay the debts of Lady Prudence Brooke? But that he is able, is quite another matter, and you may take my word for it, that Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert couldn’t pay his own debts, if every acre he owned was free, instead of mortgaged, lock, stock and barrel."
"You are maligning a gentleman, sir!" she exclaimed, losing all control of her temper. "I will tell him how you have lied to me, and he will have his servants beat you within an inch of your life! Sir Geoffrey a bankrupt!—his estates mortgaged!—was ever such a slander? He is a man of substance, I tell you. I have visited him in his ancestral domain, where he entertained me royally. He is lord of the manor, and has the retinue of a duke—no man in Yorkshire is more highly respected—he is M.F.H. and might be Sheriff of his Riding an’ he chose!" She began to subside a little, though still angry, and looking, it must be owned, transcendently lovely in her excitement, with cheeks like damask roses, and flashing sapphire eyes. "Good Mr. Aarons, why did you give me such a scare?" she went on, with a ring of almost entreaty in her tone. "Tell me you were joking. What can you know about Sir Geoffrey’s estate? He hath borrowed of you, mayhap; who has not? But since he has come into his patrimony—"
"His patrimony, Lady Prudence? His father was one of King James’ most devoted followers, and one of the most lavish while a guinea could be raised to prove his loyalty. Sir Geoffrey can not cut a tree in his ’ancestral domain,’ and you may be sure there was a bailiff or two wearing his livery among the ducal retinue that dazzled your ladyship."
"Mr. Aarons, you must be mistaken," she persisted stubbornly. "If his fortunes are so low, why does he seek to join them to those of a portionless widow? Sure, there are heiresses a-plenty who would gladly buy his title with their dowries!"
"Oh! your ladyship has but to look in your mirror to answer that question," cried the usurer, with a low bow and a look of open admiration. "There are also men of wealth and substance who would gladly pay the debts of Lady Prudence Brooke, and settle such a fortune upon her as would keep her busy in the spending."
"No doubt, no doubt," said Lady Prudence hastily, "but I am betrothed to Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert, and these benevolent persons do not greatly interest me. Let us quit the subject of the fortunes Sir Geoffrey and I are throwing away, and return to business."
"Yet believe me, Lady Prudence," he insisted, "you will never wed Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert."
She rose with great haughtiness. "I decline to dispute the subject with you, Mr. Aarons—" she began.
"You will not marry Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert," he repeated. "If you do not refuse the match, he will find some way to release himself; ’tis his misfortune more than his fault. Mark me, Lady Prudence, and do not let him place you in a false position. You want to be a rich woman as well as a great lady. You can marry a man who will give you the finest house in town, the most splendid establishment, the choice of a dozen country seats, and more money to spend than you have ever dreamed of, and who asks nothing in return but to see you queen it at his expense."
She smiled a little, and met his glance with a most deceptive air of innocent curiosity.
"And who is the _gentleman_, Mr. Aarons?" she inquired, in her sweetest tone, with but the hint of an emphasis.
"Can you not guess?" he replied more boldly.
"Faith, I came hither seeking a money-broker, and was not prepared to find a marriage-broker instead!" she said, shrugging her pretty shoulders. "Do not keep me in suspense, good Aarons; I am dying to know the name of the admirable creature who desires to rescue me from poverty—and Sir Geoffrey—and confer so many benefits upon my unworthiness."
He placed his hand upon his breast, and bowed deeply.
"You see him here, fair Lady Prudence," he said. "The humblest of slaves, the most ardent of admirers and, if you will, the most devoted and indulgent of husbands."
She burst into a peal of laughter, but the faint note of bitterness that permeated the charming music was not lost upon the money-lender’s sharp ear.
"Truly, Mr. Aarons, your jest is subtle and well-conceived, and a fitting rebuke to my silly vanity," she began. But he interrupted her, "In truth, Madam, ’tis no jest, but a serious offer. I have always admired your ladyship, and a year ago, endeavored to give fitting expression—"
A knock on the door interrupted his flow of eloquence, and the clerk, from without, announced that Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert’s chariot had just driven to the door, and that "his Ludship" was in the act of alighting.
"Great Heaven!" cried Prue, turning scarlet and then pale. "How shall I escape? I would not be found here by him for a thousand pounds! Do not admit him, good Mr. Aarons, I beseech you—"
"Take Sir Geoffrey up-stairs, Jacob, and tell him I am engaged, but will wait on him anon," said the Jew. Then turning to his fair client with an insinuating smile, he added, "Now, if your ladyship chooses, you may have an opportunity of judging between my statement of this gentleman’s finances and his own—"
He indicated, by a gesture, a door in an obscure corner of the room.