Captain Ravenshaw; Or, The Maid of Cheapside. A Romance of Elizabethan London

by Robert Neilson Stephens

  CHAPTER VI.

  REVENGE UPON WOMANKIND.

  "Get me access to th' Lady Belvidere, But for a minute."--_Women Pleased._

  Among newcomers who at that moment pressed forward to see what wasthe matter, were Master Jerningham and Sir Clement Ermsby. Followedby Gregory and the page, they had but then entered the church uponthe quest we know of. By standing upon their toes, they got a view ofthe half-naked man. At the same time they heard the name, "RoaringRavenshaw," passed about.

  "Ravenshaw?" said Ermsby to his friend. "So 'tis. And your very man."

  "What, for such an affair? A swaggering cast soldier?"

  "Ay, indeed. The last man in the world to be suspected in yourparticular case."

  "But can he compass it?"

  "Trust these brawlers, these livers by their wits, for a thousandshifts. They get their bread by tricks."

  "But will he undertake it?"

  "For pay? Look at him."

  "But he was her champion that night."

  "A mere show, to cross us. Should they know each other again, 'twillgain him her confidence the sooner. Go; make use of his present need."

  "Shall you come with me?"

  "He might remember me as his adversary that night. He saw you not wellenough to recognise you. Better he shouldn't know you are my friend.I'll be gone, ere he see us together. Meet me at Horn's ordinary whenyou have done with him. To him straight."

  Beckoning his page, Sir Clement hastened from the church, whileJerningham, with Gregory at his heels, elbowed imperiously forward tillhe was face to face with the captain. Ravenshaw had, in the meantime,been bandying jests with the crowd, though inwardly wondering what heshould do next.

  "When a soldier of your ability comes to this plight," said Jerningham,in a courteous, kindly tone, "'tis plain the fault's not so much hisown as it is the world's."

  Ravenshaw gazed at the speaker; manifestly without recognition.

  "Sir," said the captain, "whatever faults the world hath done me, Idare yet put my dagger to the world's throat, and cry 'Deliver!'"

  "Still the swaggerer," quoth Jerningham, with his soft smile.

  "Ever the swaggerer," replied Ravenshaw. "'Tis my policy. This cravenworld will give nothing out of love or pity; 'twill give only out offear; and so I bully out of it a living."

  Jerningham went close to him, and spoke in tones not to be heard bythe crowd, which presently, seeing that no more amusement was to beafforded, began to melt into the usual stream of saunterers.

  "I take it," said Jerningham, "you are as good at cozening as atbullying."

  "I am not such a coward as to deny it. There be some so tame, the fiendcouldn't find it in his heart to bully them; at the same time, theirlack of wit must needs tempt me to cozen them."

  "You have a persuasive speech at will, too, I see."

  "Seest thou?"

  "Look you: I could mend your fortunes if you could persuade, or cozen,or bully, to a certain end for me."

  "Prove you'll mend my fortunes, and I'm your man," said the captain,jumping at the hope.

  Jerningham regarded him for a moment thoughtfully, then said:

  "Perhaps I'd best prove it first, ere I tell you what service Irequire."

  "I care not what the service is. Anything that a man can do, I can do."

  "And will do?"

  "And will do--if it be not too black. I'll not murder."

  "Oh, the business has no murder in it. Here's proof I'll mend yourfortune--all such proof that is in my purse, as you see. Meet me hereafter dinner, dressed so as not to draw everybody's eyes upon us as wetalk. You shall hear then what the service is. And there shall be morepay when it is done."

  The captain took the money with unconcealed avidity, betraying hisfeelings by the readiness with which he promised good faith andpromptitude. Seizing Holyday's arm, he then hastened off to Smithfield,reckless alike of the appearance he made in the streets, and of therisk of meeting sergeants. In the second-hand shops of Long Lane heremedied his nakedness at a price which left sufficient for his dinnerand the scholar's at Mother Walker's three-halfpenny ordinary. When hereappeared in St. Paul's, which was now comparatively empty betweenhours of resort, he wore a suit of faded maroon with orange-tawnystockings and a brown felt hat.

  Meanwhile, Jerningham, glad to have committed the swaggerer to thebusiness before the latter knew its nature, had told the news to SirClement at dinner, and was already back in the church. The faithfulGregory still attended him, more disgruntled than ever, for heconsidered that he might have had some of the money his master hadbestowed, and would yet bestow, upon this swaggering captain. Gregoryregarded the captain blackly; he viewed this new engagement as a thingmost unnecessary, most injurious to himself; and he found his wrathincrease each time he looked upon the interloper. Jerningham bade himwait out of hearing, and beckoned the captain into a darkish corner ofthe church, whither Master Holyday did not follow.

  "Well," said Ravenshaw, with after-dinner joviality, "what's thebusiness? What is it you would have me bully, or cozen, or persuade foryou?"

  "In plain words, a certain wench's consent to a meeting," was the reply.

  "What the devil!" cried the captain, aflame. "Do you take me for aring-carrier?"

  Jerningham was silent a moment; then said:

  "I take you for no better--and no worse--than any disbanded soldierthat lives upon his wits about the town here."

  "What others do, is not for me to be judged by. I am Ravenshaw."

  "I never heard any reason why Ravenshaw should be thought more tenderof women than his comrades are."

  "Tender of women! A plague on 'em! I owe them nothing but injuries.'Tis not that."

  "What is it, then, offends you?"

  "'Tis that you should think me a scurvy fellow that you dare affrontwith the offer of such an errand."

  "Why, 'tis no scurvy errand. I only ask you to persuade her to meet me.I would approach her myself, but I am suspected and cannot come at herwithout her connivance. I need one whom her people have not marked,to speak to her for me. I take it you have the wit to reach her ear.I would have you carry her my praises, and vows, and solicitationsfor a meeting; and describe me to her as you see me, as a liberal,well-inclined gentleman."

  "Ay, in short, you ask me to play the go-between."

  "Oh, pshaw, man! stumble not at mere names."

  "The names for such business are none too sweet, in troth!"

  "They are but names. And sweet names may be coined for it. Love'sambassador, Cupid's orator, heart's emissary,--call yourself so, andthe business becomes honourable."

  "Faith, I have long known things are odious or honourable in accordancewith the names they're called by. But I am not for your business."

  "Why, you have no choice. You are bound to it by the clothes you wear,bought with my money--"

  "I can e'en doff these clothes, as I have doffed others," said thecaptain, though somewhat disconsolately.

  "By the very dinner you have eaten," went on Jerningham.

  "I can scratch up the money to pay you for that."

  "And by the further service I intend for you. Beshrew me, man, you mayfind yourself nested for life if you keep my favour. No more nakednessand starvation." Jerningham, on the eve of his long voyage, couldafford any promise; besides, 'twas not impossible this redoubtablefellow might really be useful to him indefinitely, one way or another.

  Ravenshaw glared at him with the tortured look of a man sorely tempted.

  "Moreover," added Jerningham, "what profit can you have in any kind ofvirtue, when your reputation is so villainous?"

  "Hang my reputation! I'll not be taken for a love-messenger. I'll helpno man to any woman."

  "You are an ass, then. For aught you know, my love may be honestenough."

  "If it were, you would go about it otherwise."

  "You know not the world, to say so. Does honest love always workopenly? Hath not every case its peculiar circumstances? Because youfear, without known grou
nds, that you may be a means of harm to awench, will you go hungry to-morrow? You are fed now, but will you befed then? Troth, I ne'er knew a craving stomach to have nice scruples."

  "Oh, faith, I know that want is an evil counsellor."

  "Evil or not, it speaks so loud as to silence all others. Is it not so?Come, captain, be not a fool. If I mean no harm to the girl, 'tis noharm in your bringing us together."

  "But if you do mean harm?"

  "Can I do her harm against her will? She shall name the place andtime of meeting. Is it for grown men to be qualmish merely because apetticoat is concerned?"

  "Petticoats to the devil! I owe no kindness to women, I say. 'Twas awoman's wiles upon my father robbed me of my patrimony. 'Twas a woman'streason to my love poisoned my heart, deprived me of my friend, changedthe course of my fortunes, and made me what I am. Calamities fall uponthe whole she-tribe, say I!"

  "Why, then, if at the worst chance I should be the cause of harm tothis one, 'twould be so much amends to you on the part of the sex."

  A sudden baleful light gleamed in Ravenshaw's eyes.

  "By God, that were some revenge!" he muttered. "Who is the woman?"

  "A goldsmith's daughter, in Cheapside."

  "A goldsmith's daughter--some vain minx, no doubt; deserving no betterfate, and desiring no better. As for the goldsmith--they are cheatersall, these citizens that keep shops; overchargers, falsifiers ofaccounts; they rob by ways that are most despicable because leastdangerous. And they call _me_ knave! And their women, that flauntin silks and jewels bought with their cheatings--'twas such a womancozened me! 'Twas such that made a rogue of me; if I were e'en to payback my roguery upon such!--I'll do it! By my faith, I'll do it! I'llbe your knave in this, your rascal; I take it, a knave is better than astarveling, a rascal is choicer company than a famished man. And 'tistime I settled scores with the race of wenches! Let's hear the fullbusiness."

  Jerningham set forth exactly the situation. He laid stress on hisrequirement that the meeting should occur within the next two days.But he said nothing of the projected voyage; nor did he mention thecircumstances in which he had first seen the girl. When he told hername and abode, he looked for any possible sign of recognition on thecaptain's part. But none came; Ravenshaw had never learned who was theheroine of that February night's incident.

  When Jerningham took his departure, the captain strode over to whereHolyday awaited him.

  "Rogue's work," said Ravenshaw; "but a rogue am I, and there's an end.I must get access to a rich man's house, and to the private ear of awench; and move her to meet secretly a gentleman she knows not; and allwithin two days. How is it to be done?"

  "Is the rich man a gentleman--of the true gentry, I mean--or is he acitizen here, a man of trade?" queried Holyday. "If a man of trade, theway to his house, or his anything, is to make him think there's moneyto be got out of you."

  "He is a goldsmith in Cheapside."

  "Why, then, let me see. There is a goldsmith lives there, somewhere,knows my father. They were friends together in their youth, in Kent.I haven't met him since I was a small lad; but I might go to him asstraight from my father; and then introduce you as a country gentleman;and so he might be got to commend you to the goldsmith you seek."

  "There's no time for roundabout ways. Yet your father's friend mayserve us one way or another. What's his name?"

  "Thomas Etheridge. As I remember, my father--"

  "What? Why, death of my life! 'tis my very goldsmith; the one whosedaughter I must have speech with. Faith, here's a miracle to help us--of the devil's working, no doubt. This Etheridge knows not you are atodds with your father?"

  "'Tis hardly possible he should. I have never sought him since I cameto town. He never would go back to Kent, and so he could not see myfather. He has an elder brother lives near my father; but 'twixt thatbrother and the goldsmith there was an old quarrel, which kept thegoldsmith from coming to visit our part of the country; 'twould keepthe brothers from communicating, as well."

  "Have you means of assuring him you are your father's son? Can hedoubt?"

  "He would believe me for my likeness to my mother. He knew her."

  "Then you shall carry him your father's good words this hour; and youshall commend me to him as--but I must change my looks first. I'll tothe barber's, and cast my beard, all but a small wit-tuft under thelip; and have my moustaches pointed toward the sky. This goldsmith mayhave seen Roaring Ravenshaw in his time; I'll be another man then."

  "But the daughter--it must be managed so I shall not have to meether--or any women o' the family."

  "Oh, the devil, man! if you be not introduced to the ladies, how shallyour mere friend be? But stay; at best, will the friend be? Thesecitizens are wary with their hospitality. The son of your father mightbe invited to the table, the son's friend bowed out with a cool 'God bewi' ye, sir!' 'Tis all too roundabout still. Body o' Jupiter, I haveit! He hath not seen you since you were a lad, say you?"

  "Not since a day my water-spaniel bit him in the calf o' the leg, thelast time he came to see my father. I was twelve years old or so."

  "Good. I shall remember the water-spaniel; and as we go to thebarber's, you shall tell me other things I may recall to his mind;things none but you and your father could have known."

  "Certainly; but how shall these serve you?"

  "Why, I have neither letters nor likeness, to bear out my word.But the barber shall make me look the right age; and these oldremembrances, with some further knowledge of matters at your home, andmy assurance,--all these shall make me pass with Master Etheridge asRalph Holyday, son of his old friend; and you need take no hand in thebusiness--that is, if you'll allow this."

  "With all my heart," said Holyday, glad to escape the risk of meetingwomen.