Looking dumbfoundered, the musician obeyed. He appeared on closer acquaintance a much younger man than the other had suspected, which was all in his favour as a prodigy. The offer, nevertheless, had been a quite disinterested one—a point to the fine gentleman’s credit; for in truth he was not above expecting commissions on occasion. But in the question of music he was always at his most altruistic. Now he conducted his discovery into the court of the Admiralty House, the better to shake off the throng which followed, and there put to him the few inquiries which came uppermost in his mind—as to the stranger’s genesis, to wit, his social standing, his calling, the circumstances which had thrown him, thus gifted and unpatronized, upon London streets, and so on. But he learned little to satisfy his curiosity. The man was reticent, awkward of speech, proud perhaps; and, beyond the facts that he was self-taught, had been a pedagogue in a country school, and had voluntarily abandoned an uncongenial task for one more to his fancy and potential well-being, the listener was able to glean little. But one thing stood out clear, and that was the genius which proclaimed this oddity as exalted a natural musician as any that had ever captured the heart of the world, and on that assurance Mr. Pepys proceeded. The upshot of this interview was that he came to introduce him, having a pretty wide acquaintance in professional quarters, among the right influential people, with the result that “Sad Jack,” from being a wandering street performer, became presently one of the most fashionable soloists in the town, with the command of a salary in proportion, and engagements covering the most popular resorts from Spring Gardens to the new Spa at Islington.
And with that we will leave him for the time being; while as to Mr. Pepys, having served his purpose, he must walk here and now out of the picture.
CHAPTER V
The Earl of Chesterfield, entering his apartments one afternoon, was informed by the porter that a young person, lately arrived, waited on his convenience in the audience-room, to which she had been shown—not ushered. Thus Mrs. Moll, to the menial instinct, be it observed, was still subtly, and in spite of all her fine new trappings, the unclassified “young person.” She might impose on the master, but never on the man.
His lordship demanded tartly why his lady had not been informed. He was told that she was out. The stranger, it appeared, had entered with an assured air, stating that she was expected on a visit. Expected by whom? She had bridled, but in a manner twinkling-like, to the question. By whom did he, the porter, suppose? By one of the servants, curse his impudence? And so he had admitted her, with her smart baggage, assuming that, if she was the invited guest of either his master or mistress, it must be of the former. Why? O! for only the reason that she looked most like a gentleman’s lady.
“A gentleman’s lady”! My lord grinned, then looked serious.
“Did she give no name?”
“The name of Davis, please your lordship. Mrs. Moll Davis she called herself.”
Chesterfield’s brow went up; he whistled. Of course, now, he remembered, this must be Kate’s young country friend of whom he had been advised, and her manners, no doubt, were to be accounted to mere rustic gaucherie. He had better see her at once in his wife’s absence, and judge of her suitability, from his point of view, for the part for which Hamilton had cast her. She might prove, after all, an impossible instrument to play on. And yet the rogue had seemed confident.
He turned on the porter harshly. “Why did you not say so before? Mrs. Davis is her ladyship’s friend and guest, and as such is to be lodged fitly. See to it, fellow, and that you keep that free tongue of yours out of your cheek.”