Sophia: A Romance

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER III

  THE CLOCK-MAKER

  It even seemed to Sophia that his face, as he stood watching her, tookon a smirk of satisfaction, faint, but odious; and in that moment, andfor the moment, she came near to hating him. She knew that in the setin which she moved much might be overlooked, and daily and hourly wasoverlooked, in the right people. But to be lost at Vauxhall atmidnight, in the company of an unauthorised lover--this had a horriblyclandestine sound; this should be sufficient to blacken the fame of apoor maid--or her country education was at fault. And knowing this,and hearing the confused sounds of departure rise each moment louderand more importunate, the girl grew frantic with impatience.

  "Which way? Which way?" she cried. "Do you hear me? Which way are theboxes, Mr. Hawkesworth? You know which way I came. Am I to think you adolt, sir, or--or what?"

  "Or what?" he repeated, grinning feebly. To be candid, the occasionhad not been foreseen, and the Irishman, though of readiest wit, couldnot on the instant make up his mind how he would act.

  "Or a villain?" she cried, with a furious glance. And in the effort tocontrol herself, the ivory fan-sticks snapped in her small fingers asif they had been of glass. "Take me back this instant, sir," shecontinued, her head high, "or never presume to speak to me again!"

  What he would have said to this is uncertain, for the good reason thatbefore he answered, two men appeared at the end of the alley. Catchingthe sheen of Sophia's hoop skirt, where it glimmered light against thedark of the trees, they espied the pair, took them for a pair oflovers, and with a whoop of drunken laughter came towards them. Onewas Lord P----, no soberer than before; the other a brother buckflushed with wine to the same pitch of insolence, and ready for anyfolly or mischief. Crying "So ho! A petticoat! A petticoat!" the twoMohocks joined hands, and with a tipsy view-halloa! swept down thegreen walk, expecting to carry all before them.

  But it was in such an emergency as this that the Irishman was at hisbest. Throwing himself between the shrinking, frightened girl and theonset of the drunken rakes, he raised his cane with an air sodetermined that the assailants thought better of their plan, and,pausing with a volley of drunken threats, parted hands and changedtheir scheme of attack. While one prepared to rush in and overturn theman, the other made a feint aside, and, thrusting himself through theshrubs, sprang on the girl. Sophia screamed, and tried to freeherself; but scream and effort were alike premature. With a rapidtwirl Hawkesworth avoided my lord's rush, caught him by the waist ashe blundered by, and, swinging him off his legs, flung him crashingamong the undergrowth. Then, whipping out his sword, he pricked theother who had seized Sophia, in the fleshy part of the shoulder, andforced him to release her; after which, plying his point before thebully's eyes, he drove him slowly back and back. Now the man shriekedand flinched as the glittering steel menaced his face; now he pouredforth a volley of threats and curses, as it was for a momentwithdrawn. But Hawkesworth was unmoved by either, and at length thefellow, seeing that he was not to be intimidated either by hislordship's name or his own menaces, thought better of it--as thesegentlemen commonly did when they were resisted; and springing backwith a parting oath, he took to his heels, and saved himself down abypath.

  The Irishman, a little breathed by his victory, wasted no time invaunting it. The girl had witnessed it with worshipping eyes; he couldtrust her to make the most of it. "Quick," he cried, "or we shall bein trouble!" And sheathing his sword, he caught the trembling Sophiaby the hand, and ran with her down the path. They turned a corner; alittle way before her she saw lights, and the open space near thebooths which she had seen her brother cross. But now Hawkesworthhalted; his purpose was still fluid and uncertain. But the next momenta shrill childish voice cried "Here she is; I've found her!" and LadyBetty Cochrane flew towards them. A little behind her, approaching ata more leisurely pace, was Sir Hervey Coke.

  Lady Betty stared at Hawkesworth with all her eyes, and giggled. "Oh,lord, a man!" she cried, and veiled her face, pretending to beovercome.

  "I saw my brother," Sophia faltered, covered with confusion, "and randown--ran down to--to meet him."

  "Just so! But see here, _brother!_" Lady Betty answered with a wink."Go's the word, now, if you are not a fool."

  Hawkesworth hesitated an instant, looking from Sophia to Sir HerveyCoke; but he saw that nothing more could be done on the occasion, andmuttering "Another time," he turned away, and in a moment was lost inthe grove.

  "She was with her brother," Lady Betty cried, turning, andbreathlessly explaining the matter to Coke, who had seen all. "Thinkof that! She saw him, and followed him. That's all. Lord, I wonder,"she continued, with a loud giggle, "if they would make such a fuss ifI were missing. I declare to goodness I'll try." And, leaving Sophiato follow with Sir Hervey, she danced on in front until they met Mrs.Northey, who, with her husband and several of her party, was followingin search of the culprit. Seeing she was found, the gentlemen winkedat one another behind backs, while the ladies drew down the corners oftheir mouths. One of the latter laughed, maliciously expecting thescene that would follow.

  But Lady Betty had the first word, and kept it. "Lord, ma'am, whatninnies we are!" she cried. "She was with her brother. That's all!"

  "Hee, hee!" the lady tittered who had laughed before. "That's good!Her brother!"

  "Yes, she was!" Betty cried, turning on her, a very spitfire. "Isuppose seeing's believing, ma'am, though one is only fifteen, and notforty. She saw her brother going by the--the corner there, and ranafter him while we were watching--watching the---- But oh, I beg yourpardon, ma'am, you were otherwise engaged, I think!" with a derisivecurtsey.

  Unfortunately the lady who had laughed had a weakness for one of thegentlemen in company; which was so notorious that on this even herfriends sniggered. With Mrs. Northey, however, Lady Betty's advocacywas less effective. That pattern sister, from the moment shediscovered Sophia's absence, and divined the cause of it, had been fitto burst with spleen. Fortunately, the coarse rating which she hadprepared, and from which neither policy nor mercy could have persuadedher to refrain, died on her shrewish lips at the word "brother."

  "Her brother?" she repeated mechanically, as she glowered at LadyBetty. "Her brother here? What do you mean?"

  "To be sure, ma'am, what I say. She saw him."

  "But how did she know--that he was in London?" Mrs. Northey stammered,forgetting herself for the moment.

  "She didn't know! That's the strange part of it!" Lady Betty repliedvolubly. "She saw him, ma'am, and ran after him."

  "Well, anyway, you have given us enough trouble!" Mrs. Northeyretorted, addressing her sister; who stood before them trembling withexcitement, and overcome by the varied emotions of the scene throughwhich she had passed in the alley. "Thank you for nothing, and MasterTom, too! Perhaps if you have quite done you'll come home. Sir Hervey,I'll trust her to you, if you'll be troubled with her. Now, if yourladyship will lead the way? I declare it's wondrous dark of a sudden."

  The party, taking the hint, turned, and quickly made its way along thedeserted paths towards the entrance. As they trooped by twos andthrees down the Avenue of Delight many of the lamps had flickered out,and others were guttering in the sockets, fit images of wit andmerriment that had lost their sparkle, and fell dull on jaded ears.Coke walked in silence beside his companion until a little intervalseparated them from the others. Then, "Child," he said in a tone graveand almost severe, "are you fixed to take no warning? Are youdetermined to throw away your life?"

  It was his misfortune--and hers--that he chose his seasons ill. Atthat moment her heart was filled to overflowing with her lover, andher danger; his prowess, and his brave defence of her. Her eyes werehot with joyful, happy tears hardly pent back. Her limbs trembled witha delicious agitation; all within her was a tumult of warm feelings,of throbbing sensibilities.

  For Sir Hervey to oppose himself to her in that mood was to courtdefeat; it was to associate himself with the worldliness that
to herin her rapture was the most hateful thing on earth; and he had hisreward. "Throw away my life," she cried, curtly and contemptuously,"'tis just that, sir, I am determined not to do!"

  "You are going the way to do it," he retorted.

  "I should be going the way--were I to entertain the suit of a spy!"she cried, her voice trembling as she hurled the insult at him. "WereI to become the wife of a man who, even before he has a claim on me,dogs my footsteps, watches my actions, defames my friends! Believe me,sir, I thank you for nothing so much as for opening my eyes to yourmerits."

  "Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed in despair almost comic.

  "Thank you," she said. "I see your conduct is of a piece, sir. Fromthe first you treated me as a child; a chattel to be conveyed to youby my friends, with the least trouble to yourself. You scarcelystooped to speak to me until you found another in the field, and then'twas only to backbite a gentleman whom you dared not accuse to hisface?"

  As she grew hotter he grew cool. "Well, well," he said, tapping hissnuff-box, "be easy; I sha'n't carry you off against your will."

  "No, you will not!" she cried. "You will not! Don't think, if youplease, that I am afraid of you. I am afraid of no one!"

  And in the fervour of her love she felt that she spoke the truth. Atthat moment she was afraid of no one.

  "'Tis a happy state; I hope it may continue," Coke answered placidly."You never had cause to fear me. After this you shall have no cause toreproach me. I ask only one thing in return."

  "You will have nothing," she said rudely.

  "You will grant me this, whether you will or no!"

  "Never!"

  "Yes," he said, "for it is but this, and you cannot help yourself.When you have been married to that man a month think of this momentand of me, and remember that I warned you."

  He spoke soberly, but he might have spoken to the winds for all thegood he did. She was in air, picturing her lover's strength andprowess, his devotion, his gallantry. Once again she saw the drunkenlord lifted and flung among the shrubs, and Hawkesworth's figure as hestood like Hector above his fallen foe. Again she saw the other bullyflinching before his steel, cursing, reviling and hiccoughing byturns, and Hawkesworth silent, inexorable, pressing on him. She forgotthe preceding moment of dismay when she had turned to her lover forhelp, and read something less than respect in his eyes; that shortmoment during which he had hung in the wind uncertain what course hewould take with her. She forgot this, for she was only eighteen, andthe scene in which he had championed her had cast its glamour overher, distorting all that had gone before. He had defended her; he washer hero, she was his chosen. What girl of sensibility could doubt it?

  Coke, who left them at the door of the house in Arlington Street,finished the evening at White's, where, playing deep for him, he wonthree hundred at hazard without speaking three unnecessary words.Returning home with the milk in the morning, he rubbed his eyes,surprised to find himself following Hawkesworth along Piccadilly. TheIrishman had a companion, a young lad who reeled and hiccoughed in thecool morning air; who sung snatches of tipsy songs, and at the cornerof Berkeley Street would have fought with a night chairman if theelder man had not dragged him on by force. The two turned up DoverStreet and Sir Hervey, after following them with his eyes, lost sightof them, and went on, wondering why a drunken boy's voice, heard athaphazard in the street, reminded him of Sophia.

  He would have wondered less and known more had he followed themfarther. At the bottom of Hay Hill the lad freed himself from hiscompanion's arm, propped his shoulders against the wall of BerkeleyGardens, and with drunken solemnity proceeded to argue a point. "Idon't understand," he said. "Why shouldn't I speak to S'phia, if Iplease. Eh? S'phia's devilish good girl, why do you go and drag heroff? That's what I want to know."

  "My dear lad," Hawkesworth answered with patience, "if she saw youshe'd blow the whole thing."

  "Not she!" the lad hiccoughed obstinately. "She's a good little girl.She's my twin, I tell you."

  "But the others were with her."

  "What others?"

  "Northey."

  "I shall kick Northey, when I am married," the lad proclaimed withdrunken solemnity. "That's all."

  "Well, you'll be married to-morrow."

  "Why not to-day? That's what I want to know. Eh? Why not to-day?"

  "Because the fair Oriana is at Ipswich, and you are here," theIrishman answered with a trace of impatience in his tone. Then underhis breath he added, "D--n the jade! This is one of her tricks. She'snever where she is wanted."

  In the meantime the lad had been set in motion again, and the two hadreached the end of Davies Street at the north-west corner of thesquare. Here, perceiving the other mutter, Tom--for Sophia's brother,Tom, it was--stopped anew. "Eh? What's that?" he said. "What's thatyou are saying, old tulip?"

  "I was saying you were a monstrous clever fellow to win her--to-day orto-morrow," Hawkesworth answered coolly. "And I am hanged if I knowhow you did it. I can tell you a hundred gay fellows in the town aredying to marry her. And no flinchers, either."

  "'Pon honour?"

  "Ay, and a hundred more would give their ears for a kiss. But lord,out of all she must needs choose you! I vow, lad," Hawkesworthcontinued with enthusiasm, "it is the most extraordinary thing thatever was. The finest shape this side of Paris, eyes that would melt astone, ankles like a gossamer, a toast wherever she goes, and theprettiest wit in the world; sink me, lad, she might have had therichest buck in town, and she chooses you."

  "Might she really? Honest now, might she?"

  "That she might!"

  Tom was so moved by this picture of his mistress's devotion and hisown bliss that he found it necessary to weep a little, supportinghimself by the huge link-extinguisher at the corner of Davies Street.His wig awry, and his hat clapped on the back of it, he looked asabandoned a young rake as the five o'clock sun ever shone upon; andyet under his maudlin tears lay a real if passing passion. "She's anangel!" he sobbed presently. "I shall never forget it! Never! And tothink that but for you, if your chaise had not broken down at myelbow, just when you had picked her up after the accident atTrumpington, I should never have known her! And--and I might have beensmugging at Cambridge now, instead of waiting to be made the happiestof men. Oriana," he continued, clinging to the railings in a tipsyrhapsody, "most beautiful of your sex, I vow----"

  A couple of chairmen and a milk-girl were looking on grinning. "There,bed's the word now!" Hawkesworth cried, seizing him and dragging himon. "Bed's the word! I said we would make a night of it, and we have.What's more, my lad," he continued in a tone too low for Tom's ear,"if you're not so cut to-morrow, you're glad to keep the house--I'm aDutchman!"

  This time his efforts were successful. His lodging, taken a weekbefore in the name of Plomer, was only a few doors distant. In twominutes he had got Tom thither; in three, the lad, divested of hiscoat, boots and neckcloth, was snoring heavily on the bed; while theIrishman, from an armchair on the hearth, kept dark watch over him. Atlength he too fell asleep, and slumbered as soundly as an innocentchild, until a muffled hammering in the parlour roused him, and hestood up yawning and looked about him. The room, stiflingly close, layin semi-darkness; on the bed sprawled the young runagate, dead asleep,his arms tossed wide. Hawkesworth stared awhile, still half asleep; atlast, thirsting for small beer, he opened the door and went into theparlour. Here the windows were open: it was high noon. The noise theIrishman had heard was made by a man whose head and, shoulders wereplunged in a tall clock that stood in one corner. The man was kneelingat his task mending something in the works of the clock. The Irishmantouched him roughly with his foot.

  "Sink that coffin-making!" he cried coarsely. "Do you hear? Get up!"

  The clock-maker withdrew his head, looked up meekly to see whodisturbed him, and--and swore. Simultaneously Hawkesworth drew backwith a cry, and the two glared at one another. Then the man on thefloor--he wore a paper cap, and below it his fat elderly face shonewith sweat--rose quickly to his feet. "You vil
lain!" he cried, in avoice tremulous and scarcely articulate, so great was his passion. "Ihave found you at last, have I? Where's my daughter?" and he stretchedout his open hands, crook-fingered, and shook them in the youngerman's face. "Where is my daughter?"

  "Lord, man, how do I know?" Hawkesworth answered. He tried to speaklightly, but with all his impudence he was taken aback, and showed it.

  "How do you know?" the clock-maker retorted, again shaking his handsin his face. "If you don't know, who should? Who should? By heaven, ifyou don't tell me, and truly, I'll rouse the house on you. Do youhear! I'll make you known here, you scoundrel, for what you are. Thisis a respectable house, and they'll have none of you. I'll so cry you,you shall trick no man of his daughter again. No, for I'll set thecrowd on you, and mark you."

  "Hush, man, hush!" Hawkesworth answered, with an anxious glance at thedoor of the chamber he had left. "You do yourself no good by this."

  "No; but by heaven I can do you harm!" the other replied, and nimblystepping to the door that led to the stairs, he opened it, and held itajar. "I can do you harm! A silver tankard and twenty-seven guineasshe took with her, and I'll swear them to you. By God, I will!"

  Hawkesworth's face turned a dull white. Unwelcome as the meeting andthe recognition were, he had not realised his danger until now. Theawkward circumstances connected with the tankard and the guineas hadescaped his memory. Now it was clear he must temporise. "You need notthreaten," he said doggedly. "I'll tell you all I know. She's--she'snot with me; she is on the stage. She's not in London."

  "She's not with you?"

  "No."

  "You're a liar!" the clock-maker cried, brutally.

  "I swear it is true!" Hawkesworth protested.

  "She is not living with you?"

  "No."

  "Did you marry her?"

  "Ye--ye--No!" Hawkesworth answered, uncertain for a moment which replywould be the better taken. "No; I--she left me, I tell you," hecontinued hurriedly, "and went on the stage against my will."

  The clock-maker laughed cunningly, and his face was not pleasant tosee. "She's not with you," he said, "she's not married to you, andshe's not in London? You deceived her, my fine fellow, and left her.That's the story, is it? That's the story I've waited two years tohear."

  "She left me," Hawkesworth answered. "Against my will, I tell you."

  "Anyway she's gone, and 'twill make no difference to her what happensto you. So I'll hang you, you devil," the old man continued, with acold chuckling determination, that chilled Hawkesworth's blood. "No,you don't," he continued, withdrawing one half of his body through thedoorway, as Hawkesworth took a step towards him. "You don't pinch methat way! Another step, and I give the alarm."

  Hawkesworth recalled the opinion he had held of this grasping oldcurmudgeon, his former landlord--who had loved his gay, flirtydaughter a little, and his paltry savings more; and his heart misgavehim. The alarm once given, the neighbourhood roused, at the best, andif no worse thing befel him, he would be arrested. Arrest meant theruin of his present schemes. "Oh, come, Mr. Grocott," he faltered."You will not do it. You'll not be so foolish."

  "Why not?" the other snarled, in cruel enjoyment of his fears. "Eh!Tell me that. Why not?"

  But even as he spoke Hawkesworth saw the way out of his dilemma."Because you'll not do a thing you will repent all your life," hesaid, his brazen assurance returning as quickly as it had departed."Because you'll not ruin your daughter. Have done, hold your hand,man, and in two days I'll make her a grand lady."

  "You'll marry her, I suppose," old Grocott answered with a savagesneer.

  "Yes, to a man of title and property."

  "You're a great liar."

  Hawkesworth spread out his hands in remonstrance. "Judge foryourself," he said. "Have a little patience. Listen to me two minutes,my good fellow; and then say if you'll stand in your daughter'slight."

  "Hang the drab! She's no daughter of mine," the old man criedfiercely. Nevertheless he listened, and Hawkesworth, sinking hisvoice, proceeded to tell in tones, always earnest, and at timesappealing, a story that little by little won the hearer's attention.First Grocott, albeit he listened with the same apparent incredulity,closed the door. Later, his interest growing, he advanced into theroom. Then he began to breathe more quickly; at length, with an oath,he struck his hand on the table beside him.

  "And you say the lad is here?" he cried.

  "He is here."

  "Where?"

  "In that room."

  "By gole, let me see him!"

  "If he is asleep," Hawkesworth answered, assenting with reluctance. Hecrossed the room and cautiously opened the door of the chamber inwhich Tom lay snoring. Beckoning the old man to be wary, he allowedhim to peer in. Grocott looked and listened, stole forward, and, likesome pale-faced ghoul, leant over the flushed features of theunconscious lad. Then he stealthily returned to the parlour, and thedoor between the two rooms was shut.

  "Well," the Irishman asked, "are you satisfied?"

  "What do you say his name is?"

  "Maitland--Sir Thomas Maitland of Cuckfield."

  "She'll be Lady Maitland?"

  "To be sure."

  "And what do you call--her now?" the clock-maker asked. He seemed tofind a difficulty in pronouncing the last words.

  "Clark--Mistress Oriana Clark," Hawkesworth answered. "She's atIpswich, or was, and should be here to-morrow."

  Grocott's nose curled at the name. "And what are you going to get outof this?" he continued, eyeing the other with intense suspicion.

  The Irishman hesitated, but in the end determined to tell the truth,and trust to the other's self-interest. "A wife, and a plum," he saidjauntily. "There's a girl, his sister, I'm going to marry; she takesten thousand out of his share if he marries without his guardians'consent. That's it."