CHAPTER XXIII. LONDON TOWN
But he had not risen when we set out, nor would the illnatured landlordreveal his name. It mattered little to me, since I desired to forget himas quickly as possible. For here was one of my own people of quality, agentleman who professed to believe what I told him, and yet would dono more for me than recommend me an inn and a tailor; while a poorsea-captain, driven from his employment and his home, with no betterreason to put faith in my story, was sharing with me his last penny.Goble, in truth, had made us pay dearly for our fun with him, and thehum of the vast unknown fell upon our ears with the question of lodgingstill unsettled. The captain was for going to the Star and Garter,the inn the gentleman had mentioned. I was in favour of seeking a moremodest and less fashionable hostelry.
"Remember that you must keep up your condition, Richard," said JohnPaul.
"And if all English gentlemen are like our late friend," I said, "Iwould rather stay in a city coffee-house. Remember that you have onlytwo guineas left after paying for the chaise, and that Mr. Dix may beout of town."
"And your friends in Arlington Street?" said he.
"May be back in Maryland," said I; and added inwardly,
"God forbid!"
"We shall have twice the chance at the Star and Garter. They will wanta show of gold at a humbler place, and at the Star we may carry matterswith a high hand. Pick out the biggest frigate," he cried, for the tenthtime, at least, "or the most beautiful lady, and it will surprise you,my lad, to find out how many times you will win."
I know of no feeling of awe to equal that of a stranger approaching forthe first time a huge city. The thought of a human multitude is everappalling as that of infinity itself, a human multitude with itsinfinity of despairs and joys, disgraces and honours, each small unitwith all the world in its own brain, and all the world out of it! Eachintent upon his own business or pleasure, and striving the while by hookor crook to keep the ground from slipping beneath his feet. For, if hefalls, God help him!
Yes, here was London, great and pitiless, and the fear of it was uponour souls as we rode into it that day.
Holland House with its shaded gardens, Kensington Palace with the broadgreen acres of parks in front of it stitched by the silver Serpentine,and Buckingham House, which lay to the south over the hill,--all wereone to us in wonder as they loomed through the glittering mist thatsoftened all. We met with a stream of countless wagons that spoke ofa trade beyond knowledge, sprinkled with the equipages of the gentryfloating upon it; coach and chaise, cabriolet and chariot, gorgeouslybedecked with heraldry and wreaths; their numbers astonished me, forto my mind the best of them were no better than we could boast inAnnapolis. One matter, which brings a laugh as I recall it, was theoddity to me of seeing white coachmen and footmen.
We clattered down St. James's Street, of which I had often heard mygrandfather speak, and at length we drew up before the Star and Garterin Pall Mall, over against the palace. The servants came hurrying out,headed by a chamberlain clad in magnificent livery, a functionary we hadnot before encountered. John Paul alighted to face this personage, who,the moment he perceived us, shifted his welcoming look to one of suchwithering scorn as would have daunted a more timid man than the captain.Without the formality of a sir he demanded our business, which startedthe inn people and our own boy to snickering, and made the passers-bypause and stare. Dandies who were taking the air stopped to ogle us withtheir spying-glasses and to offer quips, and behind them gatheredthe flunkies and chairmen awaiting their masters at the clubs andcoffee-houses near by. What was my astonishment, therefore, to see achange in the captain's demeanour. Truly for quick learning and theapplication of it I have never known his equal. His air became the oneof careless ease habitual to the little gentleman we had met at Windsor,and he drew from his pocket one of his guineas, which he tossed in theman's palm.
"Here, my man," said he, snapping his fingers; "an apartment at once, oryou shall pay for this nonsense, I promise you." And walked in with hischin in the air, so grandly as to dissolve ridicule into speculation.
For an instant the chamberlain wavered, and I trembled, for I dreaded adisgrace in Pall Mall, where the Manners might hear of it. Then fear, orhope of gain, or something else got the better of him, for he led usto a snug, well-furnished suite of a parlour and bedroom on thefirst floor, and stood bowing in the doorway for his honour's furthercommands. They were of a sort to bring the sweat to my forehead.
"Have a fellow run to bid Davenport, the tailor, come hither as fastas his legs will carry him. And you may make it known that this younggentleman desires a servant, a good man, mind you, with references, whoknows a gentleman's wants. He will be well paid."
That name of Davenport was a charm,--the mention of a servant wasits finishing touch. The chamberlain bent almost double, and retired,closing the door softly behind him. And so great had been my surpriseover these last acquirements of the captain that until now I had had nobreath to expostulate.
"I must have my fling, Richard," he answered, laughing; "I shall not bea gentleman long. I must know how it feels to take your ease, and strokeyour velvet, and order lackeys about. And when my money is gone I shallbe content to go to sea again, and think about it o' stormy nights."
This feeling was so far beyond my intelligence that I made no comment.And I could not for the life of me chide him, but prayed that all wouldcome right in the end.
In less than an hour Davenport himself arrived, bristling withimportance, followed by his man carrying such a variety of silks andsatins, flowered and plain, and broadcloths and velvets, to fill thefurniture. And close behind the tailor came a tall haberdasher fromBond Street, who had got wind of a customer, with a bewildering lot ofruffles and handkerchiefs and neckerchiefs, and bows of lawn and lacewhich (so he informed us) gentlemen now wore in the place of solitaires.Then came a hosier and a bootmaker and a hatter; nay, I was forgettinga jeweller from Temple Bar. And so imposing a front did the captain wearas he picked this and recommended the other that he got credit forme for all he chose, and might have had more besides. For himself heordered merely a modest street suit of purple, the sword to be thrustthrough the pocket, Davenport promising it with mine for the nextafternoon. For so much discredit had been cast upon his taste on theroad to London that he was resolved to remain indoors until he couldappear with decency. He learned quickly, as I have said.
By the time we had done with these matters, which I wished to perdition,some score of applicants was in waiting for me. And out of them Ihired one who had been valet to the young Lord Rereby, and whoserecommendation was excellent. His name was Banks, his face open andingenuous, his stature a little above the ordinary, and his mannerrespectful. I had Davenport measure him at once for a suit of the Carvellivery, and bade him report on the morrow.
All this while, my dears, I was aching to be off to Arlington Street,but a foolish pride held me back. I had heard so much of the fashionin which the Manners moved that I feared to bring ridicule upon them inpoor MacMuir's clothes. But presently the desire to see Dolly tooksuch hold upon me that I set out before dinner, fought my way past thechairmen and chaisemen at the door, and asked my way of the first civilperson I encountered. 'Twas only a little rise up the steps of St.James's Street, Arlington Street being but a small pocket of Piccadilly,but it seemed a dull English mile; and my heart thumped when I reachedthe corner, and the houses danced before my eyes. I steadied myself by apost and looked again. At last, after a thousand leagues of wandering,I was near her! But how to choose between fifty severe and imposingmansions? I walked on toward that endless race of affairs and fashion,Piccadilly, scanning every door, nay, every window, in the hope that Imight behold my lady's face framed therein. Here a chair was set down,there a chariot or a coach pulled up, and a clocked flunky bowing alady in. But no Dorothy. Finally, when I had near made the round ofeach side, I summoned courage and asked a butcher's lad, whistling as hepassed me, whether he could point out the residence of Mr. Manners.
"Ay," he
replied, looking me over out of the corner of his eye, "that Ican. But y'ell not get a glimpse o' the beauty this day, for she's butjust off to Kensington with a coachful o' quality."
And he led me, all in a tremble over his answer, to a large stonedwelling with arched windows, and pillared portico with lanthornsand link extinguishers, an area and railing beside it. The flavour ofgenerations of aristocracy hung about the place, and the big knocker onthe carved door seemed to regard with such a forbidding frown my shabbyclothes that I took but the one glance (enough to fix it forever in mymemory), and hurried on. Alas, what hope had I of Dorothy now!
"What cheer, Richard?" cried the captain when I returned; "have you seenyour friends?"
I told him that I had feared to disgrace them, and so refrained fromknocking--a decision which he commended as the very essence of wisdom.Though a desire to meet and talk with quality pushed him hard, he wouldnot go a step to the ordinary, and gave orders to be served in our room,thus fostering the mystery which had enveloped us since our arrival.Dinner at the Star and Garter being at the fashionable hour of halfafter four, I was forced to give over for that day the task of findingMr. Dix.
That evening--shall I confess it?--I spent between the Green Park andArlington Street, hoping for a glimpse of Miss Dolly returning fromKensington.
The next morning I proclaimed my intention of going to Mr. Dix.
"Send for him," said the captain. "Gentlemen never seek their men ofaffairs."
"No," I cried; "I can contain myself in this place no longer. I must bemoving."
"As you will, Richard," he replied, and giving me a queer, puzzled lookhe settled himself between the Morning Post and the Chronicle.
As I passed the servants in the lower hall, I could not but remark analtered treatment. My friend the chamberlain, more pompous than ever,stood erect in the door with a stony stare, which melted the moment heperceived a young gentleman who descended behind me. I heard him cry out"A chaise for his Lordship!" at which command two of his assistantsran out together. Suspicion had plainly gripped his soul overnight, andthis, added to mortified vanity at having been duped, was sufficient forhim to allow me to leave the inn unattended. Nor could I greatly blamehim, for you must know, my dears, that at that time London was filledwith adventurers of all types.
I felt a deal like an impostor, in truth, as I stepped into the street,disdaining to inquire of any of the people of the Star and Garter wherean American agent might be found. The day was gray and cheerless, thecolour of my own spirits as I walked toward the east, knowing that thecity lay that way. But I soon found plenty to distract me.
To a lad such as I, bred in a quiet tho' prosperous colonial town, awalk through London was a revelation. Here in the Pall Mall the day wasnot yet begun, tho' for some scarce ended. I had not gone fifty pacesfrom the hotel before I came upon a stout gentleman with twelve hoursof claret inside him, brought out of a coffee-house and put with vastdifficulty into his chair; and I stopped to watch the men stagger offwith their load to St. James's Street. Next I met a squad of redcoatedguards going to the palace, and after them a grand coach and six rattledover the Scotch granite, swaying to a degree that threatened to shakeoff the footmen clinging behind. Within, a man with an eagle nose satimpassive, and I set him down for one of the king's ministers.
Presently I came out into a wide space, which I knew to be Charing Crossby the statue of Charles the First which stood in the centre of it, andthe throat of a street which was just in front of me must be the Strand.Here all was life and bustle. On one hand was Golden's Hotel, and acrowded mail-coach was dashing out from the arch beneath it, the hornblowing merrily; on the other hand, so I was told by a friendly man inbrown, was Northumberland House, the gloomy grandeur whereof held myeyes for a time. And I made bold to ask in what district were those whohad dealings with the colonies. He scanned me with a puzzling look ofcommiseration.
"Ye're not a-going to sell yereself for seven year, my lad?" said he. "Iwas near that myself when I was young, and I thank God' to this day thatI talked first to an honest man, even as you are doing. They'll giveye a pretty tale,--the factors,--of a land of milk and honey, when it'snaught but stripes and curses yell get."
And he was about to rebuke me hotly, when I told him I had come fromMaryland, where I was born.
"Why, ye speak like a gentleman!" he exclaimed. "I was informed that alltalk like naygurs over there. And is it not so of your redemptioners?"
I said that depended upon the master they got.
"Then I take it ye are looking for the lawyers, who mostly represent theplanters. And y e'll find them at the Temple or Lincoln's Inn."
I replied that he I sought was not an attorney, but a man of business.Whereupon he said that I should find all those in a batch about theNorth and South American Coffee House, in Threadneedle Street. And hepointed me into the Strand, adding that I had but to follow my nose toSt. Paul's, and there inquire.
I would I might give you some notion of the great artery of London inthose days, for it has changed much since I went down it that heavymorning in April, 1770, fighting my way. Ay, truly, fighting my way, forthe street then was no place for the weak and timid, when bullocks ranthrough it in droves on the way to market, when it was often jammed fromwall to wall with wagons, and carmen and truckmen and coachmen swungtheir whips and cursed one another to the extent of their lungs. NearSt. Clement Danes I was packed in a crowd for ten minutes while two ofthese fellows formed a ring and fought for the right of way, stoppingthe traffic as far as I could see. Dustmen, and sweeps, and evenbeggars, jostled you on the corners, bullies tried to push you againstthe posts or into the kennels; and once, in Butchers' Row, I was stoppedby a flashy, soft-tongued fellow who would have lured me into a tavernnear by.
The noises were bedlam ten times over. Shopmen stood at their doors andcried, "Rally up, rally up, buy, buy, buy!" venders shouted saloopand barley, furmity, Shrewsbury cakes and hot peascods, rosemaryand lavender, small coal and sealing-wax, and others bawled "Pots tosolder!" and "Knives to grind!" Then there was the incessant roar ofthe heavy wheels over the rough stones, and the rasp and shriek of thebrewers' sledges as they moved clumsily along. As for the odours, fromthat of the roasted coffee and food of the taverns, to the stale fish onthe stalls, and worse, I can say nothing. They surpassed imagination.
At length, upon emerging from Butchers' Row, I came upon some stocksstanding in the street, and beheld ahead of me a great gatewaystretching across the Strand from house to house.
Its stone was stained with age, and the stern front of it seemed to mockthe unseemly and impetuous haste of the tide rushing through its arches.I stood and gazed, nor needed one to tell me that those two grinningskulls above it, swinging to the wind on the pikes, were rebel heads.Bare and bleached now, and exposed to a cruel view, but once caressedby loving hands, was the last of those whose devotion to the house ofStuart had brought from their homes to Temple Bar.
I halted by the Fleet Market, nor could I resist the desire to go intoSt. Paul's, to feel like a pebble in a bell under its mighty dome; andit lacked but half an hour of noon when I had come out at the Poultryand finished gaping at the Mansion House. I missed Threadneedle Streetand went down Cornhill, in my ignorance mistaking the Royal Exchange,with its long piazza and high tower, for the coffeehouse I sought: inthe great hall I begged a gentleman to direct me to Mr. Dix, if he knewsuch a person. He shrugged his shoulders, which mystified me somewhat,but answered with a ready good-nature that he was likely to be found atthat time at Tom's Coffee House, in Birchin Lane near by, whither I wentwith him. He climbed the stairs ahead of me and directed me, puffing, tothe news room, which I found filled with men, some writing, some talkingeagerly, and others turning over newspapers. The servant there looked meover with no great favour, but on telling him my business he went off,and returned with a young man of a pink and white complexion, in a greenriding-frock, leather breeches, and top boots, who said:
"Well, my man, I am Mr. Dix."
There was a look about him, added to his tone and manner, set me strongagainst him. I knew his father had not been of this stamp.
"And I am Mr. Richard Carvel, grandson to Mr. Lionel Carvel, of CarvelHall, in Maryland," I replied, much in the same way.
He thrust his hands into his breeches and stared very hard.
"You?" he said finally, with something very near a laugh.
"Sir, a gentleman's word usually suffices!" I cried.
He changed his tone a little.
"Your pardon, Mr. Carvel," he said, "but we men of business have needto be careful. Let us sit, and I will examine your letters. Yourdetermination must have been suddenly taken," he added, "for I havenothing from Mr. Carvel on the subject of your coming."
"Letters! You have heard nothing!" I gasped, and there stopped shortand clinched the table. "Has not my grandfather written of mydisappearance?"
Immediately his expression went back to the one he had met me with."Pardon me," he said again.
I composed myself as best I could in the face of his incredulity,swallowing with an effort the aversion I felt to giving him my story.
"I think it strange he has not informed you," I said; "I was kidnappednear Annapolis last Christmas-time, and put on board of a slaver, fromwhich I was rescued by great good fortune, and brought to Scotland. AndI have but just made my way to London."
"The thing is not likely, Mr.--, Mr.--," he said, drumming impatientlyon the board.
Then I lost control of myself.
"As sure as I am heir to Carvel Hall, Mr. Dix," I cried, rising, "youshall pay for your insolence by forfeiting your agency!"
Now the roan was a natural coward, with a sneer for some and a smirk forothers. He went to the smirk.
"I am but looking to Mr. Carvel's interests the best I know how," hereplied; "and if indeed you be Mr. Richard Carvel, then you must applaudmy caution, sir, in seeking proofs."
"Proofs I have none," I cried; "the very clothes on my back are borrowedfrom a Scotch seaman. My God, Mr. Dix, do I look like a rogue?"
"Were I to advance money upon appearances, sir, I should be insolventin a fortnight. But stay," he cried uneasily, as I flung back my chair,"stay, sir. Is there no one of your province in the town to attest youridentity?"
"Ay, that there is," I said bitterly; "you shall hear from Mr. Mannerssoon, I promise you."
"Pray, Mr. Carvel," he said, overtaking me on the stairs, "you willsurely allow the situation to be--extraordinary, you will surely commendmy discretion. Permit me, sir, to go with you to Arlington Street." Andhe sent a lad in haste to the Exchange for a hackney-chaise, which wassoon brought around.
I got in, somewhat mollified, and ashamed of my heat: still dislikingthe man, but acknowledging he had the better right on his side. Trueto his kind he gave me every mark of politeness now, asked particularlyafter Mr. Carvel's health, and encouraged me to give him as much of myadventure as I thought proper. But what with the rattle of the carriageand the street noises and my disgust, I did not care to talk, andpresently told him as much very curtly. He persisted, how: ever, inpointing out the sights, the Fleet prison, and where the Ludgate stoodsix years gone; and the Devil's Tavern, of old Ben Jonson's time, andthe Mitre and the Cheshire Cheese and the Cock, where Dr. Johnson mightbe found near the end of the week at his dinner. He showed me the King'sMews above Charing Cross, and the famous theatre in the Haymarket, andwe had but turned the corner into Piccadilly when he cried excitedly ata passing chariot:
"There, Mr. Carvel, there go my Lord North and Mr. Rigby!"
"The devil take them, Mr. Dix!" I exclaimed.
He was silent after that, glancing at me covertly from while to whileuntil we swung into Arlington Street. Before I knew we were stoppedin front of the house, but as I set foot on the step I found myselfconfronted by a footman in the Manners livery, who cried out angrily toour man: "Make way, make way for his Grace of Chartersea!" Turning, Isaw a coach behind, the horses dancing at the rear wheels of the chaise.We alighted hastily, and I stood motionless, my heart jumping quick andhard in the hope and fear that Dorothy was within, my eye fixed on thecoach door. But when the footman pulled it open and lowered the step,out lolled a very broad man with a bloated face and little, beady eyeswithout a spark of meaning, and something very like a hump was on thetop of his back. He wore a yellow top-coat, and red-heeled shoes of thelatest fashion, and I settled at once he was the Duke of Chartersea.
Next came little Mr. Manners, stepping daintily as ever; and then,as the door closed with a bang, I remembered my errand. They had gothalfway to the portico.
"Mr. Manners!" I cried.
He faced about, and his Grace also, and both stared in wellbredsurprise. As I live, Mr. Manners looked into my face, into my veryeyes, and gave no sign of recognition. And what between astonishment andanger, and a contempt that arose within me, I could not speak.
"Give the man a shilling, Manners," said his Grace; "we can't stay hereforever."
"Ay, give the man a shilling," lisped Mr. Manners to the footman. Andthey passed into the house, and the door eras shut.
Then I heard Mr. Dix at my elbow, saying in a soft voice: "Now, myfine gentleman, is there any good reason why you should not ride to BowStreet with me?"
"As there is a God in heaven. Mr. Dix," I answered, very low, "if youattempt to lay hands on me, you shall answer for it! And you shall hearfrom me yet, at the Star and Garter hotel."
I spun on my heel and left him, nor did he follow; and a great lump wasin my throat and tears welling in my eyes.
What would John Paul say?
Richard Carvel — Complete Page 24
