“Pray be seated, Miss Scarve,” he said handing her a chair. “I would have shunned this interview if it had been in my power, but as it has been brought about, I will not shrink from it. How can I serve you?”
Hilda then proceeded to explain the object of her visit. Abel listened to her recital with a quivering lip and flashing eye, and at its close got up, and took a quick turn round the room.
“This is only what might be expected from him — scoundrel!” he ejaculated. “Sell his daughter! — but that is nothing, he would sell his soul for gold! I beg your pardon, Miss Scarve,” he added, checking himself, as he saw the pain his exclamations occasioned her, “but if you knew the deep and irremediable injury inflicted on me by your father, you would pardon this outbreak of passion. He has sacrificed others without scruple, but he shall not sacrifice you. You may count on my assistance, my protection, if you choose to confide in me.”
“I have my mother’s injunction to confide in you, sir,” she replied.
“Your mother!” exclaimed Abel, in a voice of agony. “Oh, Hilda! what a fearful spell is there in that word! — what a host of feelings does it not summon up! I see your mother again as I remember her in her youth, — beautiful as you are, more beautiful, if possible — certainly more blooming. I hear the music of her voice as I listen to your’s. I feel again the charm inspired by her presence. You shall learn my history one of these days, and you will then know why your mother addressed this letter to me — why it affects me thus.”
“I can partly guess the cause,” returned Hilda, mournfully; “but be it what it may, it is plain she felt she had a strong hold on your affections, — and that she thought she could rely on you, when she could rely on no one else.”
“If she thought so, she thought rightly,” replied Abel. “I consider her request as a sacred injunction, and will strive to comply with it. And now,” he added, changing his tone, “I must tell you that your name has been brought before me of late. My nephew, Randulph Crew, who visited your father the other night, has spoken of you to me.”
Hilda slightly coloured.
“He will regret much not being at home this morning,” pursued Abel, “as he might have had an opportunity of further cultivating his acquaintance with you. But he is gone out with my brother.”
“I hope it will not offend you to say I am glad of it,” replied Hilda; “I would not willingly have met him.”
“Why so?” asked Abel, who, however, looked somewhat relieved.
“Because, sir, I will be frank with you,” she replied, “and own that my father attributes my increased dislike of my cousin to a predilection for your nephew.”
“And may I expect equal frankness in the reply, if I ask whether there is any truth in your father’s supposition?” rejoined Abel.
“You may,” she answered. “Your nephew appears a very amiable and pleasing young man, but having seen him only for a few minutes, I cannot possibly feel any interest in him, beyond such as might be inspired by any stranger of equally prepossessing appearance and manners. My aversion to my cousin arises from various causes. I half suspect him of acting a very base part towards my father, who resolutely shuts his eyes to the deception.”
“I will not affect to deny that I am pleased with what you say of your indifference to my nephew, Hilda,” returned Abel, “because I have other views in reference to him. As to your cousin, Philip Frewin, I will make strict inquiries about him, and if your suspicions prove correct, I will myself unmask him to your father, which may perhaps put an end to the matter. He lives in Fenchurch-street, you say. It so happens that an old friend of mine, a widow lady, Mrs. Verral, — a friend of your mother’s, by the by, — resides in that street. She is an excellent woman, but a little of a busy-body and a gossip, and makes it her business to know her neighbours’ concerns better than her own. I’ll venture to say she is acquainted with your cousin’s affairs. I haven’t seen the old lady of late, because, as you may perhaps have heard, I have little intercourse with your sex — my habits and indeed feelings unfitting me for their society, — but I happen to know from my brother Trussell that she is well. You had better go to her yourself. I will give you a note of introduction — though, indeed, it is not needed, for, as I have told you, she is an old friend of your mother’s. In addition to gaining all the information you may require respecting your cousin, you will acquire a friend with whom you may take refuge, if matters — which we will not anticipate — should unhappily render such a step necessary.”
“I will do as you suggest, sir,” replied Hilda; “but suppose I should encounter my cousin?”
“Tell him where you are going,” replied Abel, “and depend upon it, if he is not what he represents himself to be, he will be the first to take alarm. I will myself institute inquiries about him in another quarter.”
With this he proceeded to a table, on which writing materials were placed, and hastily penned a note, and gave it to Hilda.
“And now, God bless you! my dear child,” he said, affectionately,— “if called upon by circumstances, you shall never want a father or protector in me.”
He then rang the bell, and Mr. Jukes presently appeared, who informed him that Jacob had just sat down to dinner with the other servants.
“I think, sir,” he added, in a low tone, “it is the first good meal he has made for many a day, and it would be a pity to call him from it, if Miss Scarve is not in a great hurry.”
Abel appealed to Hilda, and as she raised no objection, he proposed to her to take a turn in the garden till he had finished his meal, and accordingly opened the window and led her forth.
By this time Hilda had become more composed, and being quite easy with the old man, for whom indeed she felt a growing regard, she entered readily into conversation with him; and thus more than half an hour flew by, almost without their being aware of its flight. At the end of that time, Mr. Jukes made his appearance, and informed them that Jacob was ready.
Abel attended his fair visitor to the door.
“If you do not find Mrs. Verral at home,” he said, “or if anything should occur to make you wish to see me again, do not hesitate to come back. But in any event you shall hear from me — perhaps see me, to-morrow. God bless you! my child.” And taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips, and when Hilda withdrew it, she found it wet with his tears.
While this was passing, Jacob shook the hospitable butler, for whom he had conceived a great liking, warmly by the hand, and then strode on before his young mistress, towards the stairs where he had left the boat. Having placed her within it, and divested himself of his coat, cravat, and hat, as before, he enquired where she meant to go, and being told to London Bridge, pulled off with vigorous strokes in that direction.
* * *
CHAPTER XIII.
The Folly on the Thames — Kitty Conway — Randulph Placed in an Awkward Situation by Philip Frewin.
The Folly on the Thames, whither Beau Villiers and his party were steering their course, was a large floating house of entertainment moored in the centre of the stream, immediately opposite Old Somerset House. It was constructed in the latter part of the reign of Charles the Second; and thither the Merry Monarch, who was excessively fond of aquatic amusements of all kinds, would frequently repair with his courtiers and frolic dames. Thither also Queen Mary, the consort of William the Third, repaired on the occasion of a grand musical entertainment; and the place continued in vogue for many years, until at length, degenerating in its character, it became the haunt of a very disreputable part of the community. The Folly resembled a large one-storied house, very long in proportion to its width, built upon an immense barge. There was a platform at the top, defended by a strong wooden balustrade, and flanked at each corner by a little wooden turret, with a pointed top, surmounted by a small streamer. These turrets constituted small drinking and smoking rooms, and were fitted up with seats and tables. In the centre of the structure was a sort of open belvidere, covering the main staircase leading to
the roof. On this a large flag was planted. The Folly was approached from the water by steps on three sides. It was lighted by a range of large and handsome windows, and entered by two doors, one at the end, and the other at the side. Within, it contained a long music-hall, with a frescoed ceiling, gilded and painted walls, an orchestra, and the necessary complement of benches, chairs, and small tables. There was, moreover, a bar, where all sorts of liquors, materials for smoking, and other tavern luxuries were dispensed. The rest of the structure was divided into a number of small apartments for private parties, and in short, boasted every sort of accommodation afforded by a similar place of entertainment on shore. In summer it was delightful — the view of the Thames from its summit being enchanting. The coolness and freshness, combined with the enlivening influences of beauty, wine, and music, must have made it, on its first establishment, a charming place of recreation; and it cannot be wondered that the Merry Monarch and his merrier court, found it so much to their taste.
As the party approached the aquatic hotel, they perceived a number of persons of both sexes, seated on the roof, and in the little turret parlours, smoking, drinking, or otherwise amusing themselves, while lively strains proceeded from within. Several small craft were landing their passengers, and from one, a tilt boat, there issued a very pretty young woman, though of rather bold appearance, who, as she took the hand of a young man, in her ascent of the steps, displayed a remarkably neat foot and ankle. On reaching the deck, she turned for a moment to survey the scene, and her eye alighting on Randulph, his good looks appeared to rivet her attention.
This fascinating creature seemed to be about twenty, had auburn hair, very regular features, a brilliant complexion — whether wholly indebted to art might be questioned — but there could be no question as to the natural brilliancy of her hazel eyes, and wore a pink silk hooped gown, made very low in front, so as to display her beautifully formed and radiantly white neck and shoulders. Her sleeves were very short, probably so contrived with a view of exhibiting her rounded arms, and edged with lace. A white silk apron, embroidered with silver, a pretty fly cap, and a necklace of precious stones, from which depended a diamond cross, completed her attire. The young man by whom she was attended had a slight thin figure, and sharp disagreeable features, with rather an apish expression. He was dressed with much smartness, but had by no means the air of a gentleman, and seemed to be regarded with indifference, almost amounting to contempt, by his female companion.
“Who is that young lady?” asked Randulph of Sir Singleton, who happened to sit next him.
“Let me see,” exclaimed the old beau, placing his glass to his eye. “Ah! gadzooks! ’tis the delicious creature I mentioned to you, — the little Haymarket actress, Kitty Conway!”
“Kitty Conway! where is she?” cried Trussell, who heard the remark, but whose back was towards the object of their admiration.
Sir Singleton pointed her out, and upon the instant every eye was directed towards her. Whether unable to stand so fierce a fire, or whether, as is more probable, dragged away by her companion, who did not appear to relish the notice she attracted, it is needless to inquire, but Kitty suddenly vanished from their sight.
“Well, isn’t she delicious?” cried the old beau to Randulph. “Egad! you have made a conquest of pretty Kitty, my boy. I saw the parting glance she gave you over her shoulder as she whisked through the door. Don’t lose sight of her. You can soon put the city beau by whom she is attended hors-de-combat.”
Further remarks were interrupted by the arrival of the boat at the steps. A strange, black-muzzled fellow, in a Guernsey shirt, with bare arms and bare legs, and who was a regular attendant at the Folly, helped them to disembark; and his request to ‘be remembered’ by the Beau being met with a very munificent rejoinder, he well-nigh lost his balance in his glee, and got a tumble into the water.
The party then entered the music-hall, and just as they passed through the door, Randulph chancing to look behind him, perceived that the stranger had likewise landed, and was mounting the steps. The novel scene, however, before him so completely engrossed his attention, that he could think of little else. Upwards of a hundred persons of both sexes thronged the room; many of the ladies were masked, and a good deal of freedom marked their conduct. They talked and laughed loudly and recklessly. At one end of the hall the benches were taken aside to allow Kitty Conway and her companion, with some other couples, to perform the cushion dance. At the upper end of the room stood the musicians. The party made their way towards the dancers, and the Beau and Sir Singleton praised Kitty’s beauty in tones so loud, and in terms of admiration so strong, as would have occasioned confusion to any young lady troubled with a more oppressive sense of bashfulness than she was. Her partner did not know whether to look pleased or annoyed. He was evidently overpowered by the presence of Beau Villiers, whom he regarded with a species of awe; and as these applauses of Kitty gave a fancied consequence to himself, he was weak enough to be gratified by them. Towards the close of the figure, a particular step, executed by the pretty actress, elicited more than usual rapture from Sir Singleton, and he called to Randulph— “Look at her, Mr. Randulph Crew. Is it not delicious?”
At the sound of this name, Kitty’s partner stared so hard at Randulph, that he could scarcely finish the dance.
“Upon my word, Philip Frewin, you are a very stupid partner,” said the actress to him. “If you do not exert yourself more, I shall ask that pretty young fellow, who is ogling me there, to take my hand in the next set.”
“I am quite fatigued, Kitty,” replied Philip, confusedly; “let us have refreshment — a little ‘rack punch, or a glass of champagne.”
Kitty Conway consented, and they moved off to one of the side tables, where a waiter speedily placed glasses before them, and opened a bottle of champagne. It must be confessed — unwilling as we are to admit it — that Randulph was not altogether proof against the undisguised admiration of the pretty actress, and that he could not help returning the tender glances she shot towards him.
Meanwhile, the performances went forward; an Irish jig followed, in which Randulph and Sir Singleton joined; this was succeeded by some comic songs; and Mr. Villiers, who did not altogether relish the entertainment, walked forth, and was soon after followed by the others. As they all stood leaning over the sides of the bark, laughing at what had occurred, and admiring the gaiety of the scene, a wherry, impelled by a vigorous rower, as was evident by the progress it made, and containing a young female, wrapped in a black silk scarf, and with raven tresses, scarcely covered by the small bonnet, floating in the breeze, rapidly neared them. Various speculations were put forth as to whether this young female would prove as pretty on a nearer inspection as she looked at a distance; but in these Randulph took little part. To speak truth, his thoughts were running upon the fair syren within, and happening to cast his eyes towards the platform above, he perceived, leaning over the balustrade and gazing at him, the stranger!
At this juncture, Philip Frewin came forth to see whether his boat was in readiness, and admonished the watermen, one of whom was philandering with a buxom damsel, who was leaning over the side of the deck, that he should start immediately. He had scarcely, however, issued the order than his eye fell upon the boat containing the young female before mentioned, and which was now close at hand. He started as if an apparition had met his gaze, ducked down, and would have made his escape into the music-hall, if Kitty Conway had not placed herself in his way. Retreat was now impossible, and Philip’s distress was heightened by the fair actress, who exclaimed, somewhat pettishly, “Why do you leave me here, sir? Why don’t you hand me to the boat?”
Philip was almost at his wits’ end. The boat containing Hilda and Jacob, both of whom he had too clearly recognised, though he could not account for their appearance, unless it were a trick of the fiend to convict him, was so near, that if he complied with Kitty’s request, discovery would be inevitable. A plan suddenly occurred to him, by which he hoped to free
himself from risk, and place Randulph, whom he had reason to regard as a rival, in an awkward dilemma. Without apprising her of his intention, he drew the pretty actress forward, and bending down as low as he could, to elude observation, said to Randulph— “Will you have the kindness, sir, to hand this lady into her boat? You will do me an infinite favour, I have dropped a pocket-book in the music-hall, and must go back to search for it.”
Randulph was a good deal surprised by the proposal, but he unhesitatingly assented; and taking Kitty’s hand, which she very graciously accorded, rewarding his attention by a slight squeeze, led her down the steps. All this occurred to the infinite amusement of Trussell, who stood a little back near the door, ogling a rather pretty damsel, and to the no slight chagrin of Sir Singleton, who, guessing the intention of Philip Frewin, had pushed forward to offer his services, but found himself supplanted. But these were not the only witnesses of the scene. By this time, the boat, containing Hilda, had come up, and with a pang of jealous feeling, neither to be accounted for, nor controlled, she beheld Randulph handing the pretty actress, whose character she could scarcely mistake, down the steps. Jacob saw what was passing as well as herself, but, having no jealousy to divert his attention from other matters, he detected Philip Frewin even in his disguise, and, resting on his oars, exclaimed, “Look! miss, look! — there is your cousin Philip. Is that the dress he wore yesterday? I told master he wasn’t what he seemed. Look at him, I say.”
But Hilda was too much agitated to heed these exclamations. She could see nothing but Randulph and the pretty actress. Nor was she without embarrassment on her own account; for Mr. Cripps, having recognised her, pointed her out to his master, and the Beau, being much struck with her beauty, favored her with a very insolent stare. But if Randulph had been guilty of disloyalty towards the object of his affections, his punishment was not long delayed; for, as he handed Kitty into the boat, which was steadied by the black-muzzled Jack, before mentioned, his gaze encountered that of Hilda, and he was instantly filled with confusion. He tried to disengage himself from the actress, who, however, sportively detained him, and, unable to retreat, he cut a most ridiculous figure. Indeed, he was not a little relieved, though he felt how much he should sink in her esteem, when he saw Hilda bend forward, and ordered Jacob, who continued resting on his oars, to pass on. He continued gazing after the boat till it was out of sight; but Hilda did not look back.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 297
