MOWBRAY'S FOLLY AT CHELSEA.
The situation was becoming critical for poor O'Flannigan and his companion, when an unexpected ally appeared upon the field of battle, in the person of the majestic Oriental who had served as the elephant driver.
"Look here!" he cried. "This is a shameful farce. This gentleman is innocent; I'll go bond for him! And as for this brown-skinned Jezebel, do you not recognize her as the gypsy who told fortunes at Saint Bartholomew fair, and who has so often been hauled up before the magistrates in Bow Street?"
"It's a fact!" explained some one. "It is Rahab, the gypsy queen!"
"Call the watchmen and let the beggar be taken to prison!"
From all sides resounded groans of disapproval. "No, no! no police! This is a joke. Don't do her any harm!"
But at the words "watchmen" and "prison" the gypsy had folded her tent and silently stolen away.
Assisted by his generous auxiliary, O'Flannigan conducted Mrs. Marsham, suffocating with mortification and rage, to a retired seat in an almost deserted side-room. There a footman brought her a glass of water, of which she swallowed half and then proceeded to take a survey of her surroundings.
"I shall remember this evening!" she remarked. "The Lord has punished me for my curiosity as he chastised our mother Eve before me. However," added the good woman, relieving her mind with a fib, "I wished to give my niece the pleasure."
The words suggested the girl.
"But where is Esther?" she exclaimed.
"Sure enough!" said O'Flannigan. "What has become of Miss Woodville?"
Different suppositions were offered. She must have become frightened; she must have been separated from them by the crowd.
"But she must be sought! She must be found!" cried Mrs. Marsham.
"How was she dressed?" inquired the man in the turban.
Mrs. Marsham described her niece's costume.
"Useless to search for her. Miss Woodville has been carried off, or, rather, she has followed her abductor of her own free will. I divined that all this ridiculous rumpus had but one object,—to daze you and distract your attention. At the moment that I came to your relief I saw with my own eyes a brown domino with blue ribbons going towards one of the doors on the arm of a masked gentleman."
"Esther! It is impossible, sir!"
"I beg your pardon, madam. And I can go further: I can give you the name of her abductor."
"Who was it?"
"Lord Mowbray."
"As you seem to know so much," said O'Flannigan, "pray who are you yourself? A sorcerer or the devil himself?"
By way of answer the Oriental removed his false beard.
"Mr. Fisher!" exclaimed the Quakeress and her cavalier in the same breath.
"At your service. This is Prospero's beard in the 'Tempest.'"
"Well done!" said O'Flannigan. "The Shakespeare accessories have been largely plundered this evening! But tell us, Fisher, what leads you to suppose that Lord Mowbray has designs upon Miss Woodville?"
"I have had proofs enough," replied Fisher mysteriously; "all the proofs I want, you may believe me."
The hairdresser considered it unnecessary to say more, or to add that the proofs in question bore the effigy of his Majesty.
"Merciful Heaven! what shall I do?" cried Mrs. Marsham wringing her hands.
"You had better warn your son," suggested the Irishman.
The Quakeress quaked with terror.
"Reuben! He will overwhelm me with reproaches!"
"Never mind what he says. He is the betrothed of his cousin; he is energetic and courageous; if any one is capable of snatching the girl from impending doom, it is he. There is not a moment to be lost."
"But where shall we find him?"
"As to that," replied Fisher, "nothing is easier. All day long he has been at the head of the papal enemies. I must be greatly mistaken if he is not at this moment engaged in setting fire to the Sardinian chapel."
It was thereupon decided to place Mrs. Marsham in safety in Fisher's house, which was near Oxford Road, while the two men went in search of Reuben.
The hairdresser had friends everywhere. At the door he received fresh tidings which confirmed his suppositions. Capt. Hackman, Lord Mowbray's inseparable companion, had been seen in Oxford Road with a pistol under each arm. A carriage without armorial bearings, with neutral colored livery, had been stationed at a short distance. A masked gentleman with a brown and blue domino upon his arm had come out of the Pantheon. He had signalled the carriage, which had approached, and the man and woman had entered it. Thereupon Hackman sprang upon the box, saying to the coachman, "To Chelsea!" Then the horses set off at full speed towards the left, narrowly escaping running over people. There was still another version which a page had to tell. It was the same masked man and the domino in the same colors; only the affair had taken place at one of the little side-doors of the Pantheon. Instead of the coach a sedan-chair had carried off the fugitive towards the right, in the direction of the city. In affairs of the kind there are always points of difference among the witnesses. Who was to be believed? Evidently those who had recognized Hackman and heard the address given to the coachman. It was towards the "Folly" at Chelsea that Mowbray had undoubtedly taken his victim. Fisher was an alert and intelligent man. Some minutes later, divested of his turban, his Persian robe, and his beard, he joined Reuben in Duke Street. The vandals had achieved their work, and the crowd of by-standers, lit up by the flames, gloated over the spectacle. The blazing pile, formed of the ornaments of the chapel, was beginning to flag for lack of combustibles.
A horde of children of fourteen or fifteen years of age, having taken the places of the men, danced about the charred remains, uttering cries and causing a flame to spring up here and there by administering a kick to the embers. A transient glow illumined the street, revealing the faces of terrified women at the windows, and in an obscure corner a group of the rioters with their hats drawn down over their eyes. Among them stood Reuben, coldly implacable, watching lest any one should approach the fire to save or steal anything.
It was at this moment that Fisher approached him and whispered a few words in his ear. Reuben started in surprise and rage.
"Esther carried off by Lord Mowbray! Taken to Chelsea!" he gasped.
However, he quickly regained his composure and reflected for a moment.
"Friends," he said in a loud but firm voice, in order to make himself heard by the thirty or forty men grouped about him, "there is nothing more to be done here. If we remain longer we shall be hunted down by the soldiers, of whose approach we have already been warned. Let us disperse, to meet again within the hour at Chelsea, near the Bun-house. Thence I will lead you to the assault of a house, the master of which secretly favors the papists."
For the time being Reuben was falsifying; but examples in Holy Scriptures which authorized a pious lie crowded his memory. He also added in an assured tone, casting an expressive glance upon the band of pillagers who had given some sign of discontent,—
"This house is full of riches. It also contains a young girl prisoner, one of our own set, whom this villain has seized to make her the toy of his pleasure. Let us hasten if we hope to arrive in time to save her!"
These words were received with murmurs of adhesion. The little legion of disorder divided into groups, set off through the streets that led westward, and gained the place of rendezvous by different ways. Reuben accompanied Fisher, who recounted the details of the adventure as they went along.
The Bun-house was celebrated at the period for the fabrication of those somewhat heavy and substantial cakes which still form the traditional family diet on Good Fridays. In fine weather a goodly company was wont to wend its way thither for the purpose of eating buns and washing them down with port. When George III. passed that way, on his way from Kew to Saint James's, he did not disdain to stop and chat familiarly with Mistress Hand, the pastry-cook. She must have slept like a log that night not to have heard the strange assemblage which formed under the walls of her garden. Reuben found but a few of the fanatical sectarians whom he had led to Parliament. Weary with the fatigues of the day, content with having intimidated the representatives of the nation, as they flattered themselves, and destroyed two of the lairs of idolatry, they had undoubtedly gone home and to bed. One phrase only in Reuben's brief harangue had carried the day,—"This house is full of riches!" Well might he be astonished, for the words had fallen unintentionally from his lips. But if Reuben remained unmoved, Fisher trembled at sight of the bandit faces which surrounded him. Seeing them thus, no one would have suspected that these shady cavaliers were marching to the defence of menaced innocence.
All told, they were some forty men armed with pistols, clubs, and knives. Truly formidable, resolute, ready for anything, accustomed, as it appeared, to such nocturnal escapades, they marched silently, and obeyed promptly with some show of discipline.
"Yonder is the house," said Reuben, "behind those trees. It is best to form a ring about it so that no one shall escape us."
"I have been hostler at the Folly," said a red-headed fellow with a hang-dog look, advancing as he spoke; "there is a breach on the north side of the wall through which I used to slip every night to join my sweetheart Peg, who was maid at the Nell Gwynne. If it be your will, I will conduct you."
"Lead on!" answered Reuben laconically.
A few minutes later the troop penetrated the little park and crept softly in the shadow of the great trees, avoiding the gravelled paths. The thick sward muffled their footfalls, while a high, warm wind, which had arisen, rustled the foliage, thus favoring them by masking still more such sounds as they did make. Occasionally a pebble crackled or a dead twig snapped beneath their feet, but that was all. For the space of fifty yards about the house extended an open space.
"Halt!" whispered Reuben in a prudent tone.
The house was in complete darkness; it seemed either uninhabited or wrapped in sleep; however, upon examination Reuben and Fisher discovered a ray of light which filtered between the closed blinds upon the second floor.
"They are there!" thought Reuben, quivering with rage; while aloud he cried,—
"Forward!"
They obeyed the command with a rush; but undoubtedly some one had been watching, some one whom they had not perceived. The alarm had been given, and the heavy oaken door, swinging upon its well-oiled hinges, closed in their faces. Then from within followed the sound of bolts being shot into place and of the adjusting of bars.
A pause ensued, a moment of amazement, and then an outcry of rage mingled with at least forty oaths. The man who had spoken before, the former hostler, again ventured to the rescue.
"Behind the laundry," said he, "there is a pile of lumber, placed there for the building of a summer house. With one of the rafters we could force the door."
Reuben approved the scheme. A few moments later an improvised battering-ram, borne upon twenty shoulders and skilfully balanced, at the word of command went crashing against the solid woodwork. At the third blow a splitting sound was heard.
"Listen!" cried Fisher. "Some one above is speaking."
The men, panting, and bathed in perspiration, paused.
In fact, a window upon the second floor had been suddenly thrown open, and a man—probably Lord Mowbray—had appeared upon the balcony. Every eye was raised to him and every tongue hurled some insult at him in the same breath. With a calm curiosity he regarded the crowd swarming and howling in the darkness beneath him.
"Gentlemen," he said, "we are at least a dozen strong here, well armed and determined to defend ourselves. The first man who sets foot within this house will pay dearly for his imprudence; but before we resort to bloodshed, suppose we hold a parley. What is your will with me? Do you fancy, perhaps, that I am a papist? According to my nurse I am a member of the Church of England, and I am ready to pronounce in your presence the test oath or any other oath, to swear by the body of Christ, the belly of Mahomet, by Belial or Beelzebub."
This harangue scandalized Reuben's virtuous friends, while it set their rowdy escort in a roar of laughter. Young Marsham was not slow to appreciate the prestige which such jocose coolness in the hour of his peril was giving Mowbray,—a supreme quality in the eyes of an English mob; therefore he hastened to interpose.
"You are detaining a young girl here whom you have abducted from her family," he declared.
"It is true," answered Lord Mowbray; "there is a young lady here. Do you wish to see her?"
"At once! I insist upon it!"
"I do not understand your last words, but I willingly yield to your request. Madam, be good enough to show yourself to these gentlemen, who are nervous about you."
He turned towards the interior of the chamber and bowing respectfully, with much grace extended his hand to a woman who stood there, and assisted her to step out upon the balcony. At the same time he added,—
"Hackman, my good fellow, give us some light."
Capt. Hackman, with a blazing torch in each hand, appeared upon the balcony in his turn.
"It is she!" cried Fisher. "I recognize the brown domino and the blue ribbons! I can swear that it was I who furnished that mask!"
"Madam," said Mowbray with renewed demonstrations of respect, "are you here of your own free will?"
The masked woman gave an affirmative sign.
"Has any one molested or offended you in any way?"
She answered by a negative gesture.
"Esther," cried Reuben, "can it be that you have forgotten—"
Mowbray quickly interrupted him.
"Come, come, sir! Is it in so numerous a company as this that one proceeds to indulge in a family explanation, or gives a curtain lecture to a young girl? Be good enough to come up here. You will find my house open to you, but to you alone. I give you my word that if, after some moments of conversation, you still persist in claiming this young lady, she shall follow you. On the other hand you must swear to me—"
"I never swear," said Reuben rudely.
"There you are wrong," retorted Mowbray courteously; "an oath frequently eases matters."
"It is written, 'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord, thy God, in vain.'"
"Very well. But promise me at least that, during the time, your men shall not move or commit any folly."
"So be it."
And turning to his companions Reuben added, "If in the space of a quarter of an hour I do not come out of this house, enter and cut down with your swords whomsoever you may meet!"
"An admirable plan," concluded Mowbray, always ironical.
When Reuben, having been introduced into the enemy's camp under a flag of truce, had at last reached the apartment upon the second floor, Mowbray remarked:—
"Now, madam, you may unmask."
The young woman loosened the strings of her mask, and Reuben found himself in the presence of Bella, Lady Vereker, whose black eyes regarded him with a singular expression of mingled curiosity and amusement.
"You are surprised, sir," resumed Lord Mowbray, "as I was myself an hour ago. Heaven is my witness that it was not her ladyship whom I supposed I had carried off; but after all, as the French proverb has it, Quand le vin est tiré, il faut le boire, and an old sweetheart, like old wine, is best."
"Insolent fellow!" murmured Lady Vereker, toying with her fan.
Still Reuben remained sombre and defiant.
"What assurance have I," he demanded, "that this lady is not your accomplice?"
Then her ladyship with feigned anger mingled with raillery, exclaimed:—
"I! when I have wished my reputation to protect that of my young friend!"
Without pausing to consider this important sacrifice, Marsham continued:—
"And what assurance have I that my cousin is not concealed in some corner of this accursed house, for it is certain that she has disappeared?"
"If she has been carried off, it must have been by the devil," said Mowbray, "and unfortunately I cannot be held responsible. I freely consent to your searching the house. I can refuse nothing to so amiable a man."
Conducted by Hackman, and accompanied by Fisher and the former hostler, who knew all the ins and outs of the place, young Marsham visited every recess of the "Folly." Carrying to a grotesque degree the affected civility of his patron, the captain preceded them, opening all the cabinets, the wardrobes and the closets, and even inviting them to examine nooks scarcely large enough to stow away a hare in. Quite unmoved by his impertinence, Reuben and his companions sounded the walls with their sticks.
"Esther! Esther!" cried Reuben in a loud voice. But there was never a reply.
The officious Hackman, who stood aside at every door according to the rigid rules of French courtesy, showed them the kitchens, the offices, in fact everything, sparing no detail. He insisted that they should explore the entire length of the two subterranean passages, one of which led to the open country, the other to the river bank.
"Now," he remarked, "you know the house as well as its architect."
"Well?" inquired Mowbray of young Marsham when he returned from his fruitless exploration.
"I have found nothing, my lord," answered Reuben with a tinge of embarrassment.
"Then undoubtedly you divine what I expect of you."
"That I dismiss the men? I was about to do so." He stepped out upon the balcony and addressed his companions.
"The young girl whom I sought is not here; at least she is no longer here. Consequently your presence is no longer required and you may retire."
A muttering of evil augury arose from the ranks of the little group.
"These gentlemen will not go," suggested Mowbray, "until my butler has given each of them a half-guinea with which to drink my health. It would be a pity to give such brave fellows so much trouble for nothing."
A general cheer and cry of "Long live Lord Mowbray!" responded to this largesse.
"I knew," continued the young nobleman, "that we should understand each other. The manner in which you have split my door has given me a high opinion of your ability in case of an emergency, and it appears that we should accomplish great results, were I your leader.—Stay! There is, hard by, the residence of a papist, which ought to be sacked. I have a mind to lead you thither myself. It is not that I owe the papists any particular grudge, but I am ready to labor for honor's sake, and for the love of the art."
The enthusiastic cries burst forth anew. Reuben could not but feel that his day was over, and that henceforth Lord Mowbray was the true master of his men. With a haughty, sullen air he turned towards the door.
"I reserve my suspicions," he said. "We shall meet again, Lord Mowbray."
"One moment, if you please. I reproach myself with having concealed something from you. There is a chamber in this house which has escaped your examination."
Saying which, he moved a small picture and pressed an invisible button. One of the panels in the wainscoting shot upward without a sound, like the curtain of a theatre, revealing a narrow passage. Mowbray led the way, Reuben following him. After a few steps he found himself in a circular apartment furnished with extraordinary richness and taste. From the ceiling fell a rosy radiance, soft, tender, and faint, vaguely illumining the tapestries with which the walls were draped, upon which were represented rare subjects derived from Boccaccio. The feet sank into a rich carpet as into the sward of glades which no human step has ever pressed. The low rounded furniture seemed fashioned to render the fall of a body insensible and silent.
Ere Reuben had had time to cast his glance about the apartment the panel had fallen into place, leaving no more suggestion of a door than a wall of polished steel. Mowbray had vanished, and Marsham was alone. In an excess of rage he flung himself against the wall with all his might, he scratched it with his nails and beat upon it with his clinched fists.
Ten feet above his head a peephole opened, in which was framed the mocking face of Mowbray.
"You are giving yourself needless exertion," he remarked. "The panel will defy all your efforts. No one can hear you, and no one will release you before to-morrow morning. A night of seclusion in so charming a place is scarcely cruel chastisement enough for your insolence, more especially as this prison saves you from another. At this moment they are searching for Reuben Marsham high and low, but truly such a boudoir as this is preferable to a cell in Newgate. Therefore be resigned, and seek some means of passing the time. Ah, I forgot. You will find a venison pie and a bottle of Canary wine upon the table at your left.—And now, good night!"
And the peephole closed.
There was no timepiece in that strange boudoir to mark the flight of the hours. Naught disturbed the profound silence of the night save the cracking of the crystal sconces as one after another the candles expired. At last a feeble ray of the crescent dawn descended from the vaulted ceiling. In the numerous mirrors, which had reflected many a festal scene, Reuben caught a glimpse of his own haggard, watchful face.