“You do not mean to molest us, I hope, gentlemen?” said Lady Muskerry.
“Molest you! not for worlds!” rejoined the stalwart personage. “I recognized your carriage the very instant it appeared, and could not neglect the opportunity of paying my respects to your ladyship and your lovely niece.”
“Your voice does not seem familiar to me,” replied Lady Muskerry; “but perhaps if you unmasked—”
“Your ladyship would not know me, for I have not had the honor of being presented to you. You must have heard Lord Muskerry speak of Captain Clotworthy. I am the captain, and your ladyship’s most humble servant. Without boasting, I may say that his lordship was extremely partial to me. In his good-natured, familiar way, he always called me Jack. “he said to me one day, when we were crushing a flask of Rhenish together in the Mulberry Garden,— “I am proud of my wife — excessively proud of her.’— ‘No wonder, my lord,’ I replied. “ladyship is the handsomest and best-dressed woman at court.’— ‘So she is, Jack,’ he said; “that’s not the reason I’m proud of her. Her ladyship dances better than any other woman in England. You ought to see her dance the gavotte. You’d never forget it.’”
“Did the poor, dear fellow say that?” cried Lady Muskerry, unable to conceal her delight.
“On my honor,” replied the captain. “But he said something more; and I hope I shan’t offend your ladyship by repeating it. Just before he sailed in that glorious expedition against the Dutch in’65, he shook hands with me at parting, and made me this farewell promise, which I feel sure he would have kept, if he could. “said he, “I come back safe and sound, you shall dance a gavotte with my lady.’”
“I declare, captain, you quite affect me,” said her ladyship, taking out her handkerchief. “Since my husband made you this promise, I am bound to fulfil it. You shall dance the gavotte with me whenever you please.”
“No time like the present,” cried Clotworthy. “Here is a piece of turf that a fairy might trip on, and it will just suit your ladyship, who is as lightfooted as a fairy.”
“A charming spot, indeed,” said Lady Muskerry, in a tone that implied assent.
“Surely, my dear aunt, you won’t do anything so absurd?” remonstrated Dorinda, in a low voice.
“My love, I owe it to your uncle’s memory,” replied her ladyship.
“Take the carriage somewhat nearer to yonder oak, coachman,” cried Clotworthy. “The ladies are about to alight.” The order was obeyed. Clotworthy and Claude Duval rode on either side of the carriage till it reached the spot indicated. They then dismounted, and gave their horses to Mandeville and Flodoard.
“By your leave,” said the captain, pushing the footmen aside, and assisting her ladyship to alight.
“Allow me to present Monsieur Claude Duval,” continued Clotworthy, as the young Frenchman, whose graceful deportment had already attracted the attention of both ladies, came towards them. “He does not speak our language very well; but he can make himself understood.”
“Have you been long in England, Monsieur Duval?” said Lady Muskerry, as the young Frenchman bowed to her.
“More than a year, miladi,” he replied; “and I mean to remain. I prefer London to Paris — les dames Anglaises sont si belles, si gracieuses, si aimables.”
“You have found them so, eh, Monsieur Duval? But you have lovely women in France. There is a charming specimen now at court — Mademoiselle de Quéroualle.”
“She is not to be compared to your ladyship’s lovely niece,” replied Duval, gallantly. “Will not Mademoiselle Neville alight?”
“Pray do, my love!” cried Lady Muskerry.
Duval flew to the carriage-door; and not wishing to disoblige her aunt, Dorinda alighted, though with evident reluctance. The little spaniel was confided to the care of one of the tall footmen.
Meanwhile, Clotworthy conducted her ladyship to a spot where the turf was smoothest, and called out to Montalt, who remained near the tree, to play a gavotte— “The quickest you can,” added the captain.
Lively notes from the mandolin were heard in immediate response to the order. Lady Muskerry summoned up all her airs and graces, and determined to astonish her partner.
“May I have the honor of dancing with mademoiselle?” said Duval, bowing respectfully. “It is a mere frolic, in which she can join without the slightest impropriety.”
Dorinda did not feel quite sure of that.
“Mademoiselle cannot hesitate to follow the example of her aunt, who is a model of discretion,” continued Duval.
“Well, I don’t think there can be any great harm in a dance,” said Dorinda.
So she gave him her hand. With what secret triumph he took it!
Seeing that all was arranged to his comrade’s satisfaction, Clotworthy clapped his hands, and the dance commenced.
Rarely has such a dance been witnessed. Lady Muskerry surpassed all her previous performances in extravagance and absurdity. How she skipped and bounded! — displaying an agility perfectly marvellous in a person of her years and figure. The captain found he had undertaken no light task; but he was obliged to go through with it.
Montalt, who entered into the fun of the scene, played as fast as he could. His companions were ready to split their sides with laughter. The two tall footmen had enough to do to contain their merriment, and the fat coachman chuckled internally.
Dorinda spread her fan before her face. Claude Duval’s mask effectually concealed his laughter. Her ladyship would have gone on forever, but the captain gave in at last.
“Lord Muskerry was right!” he cried, panting with the exertion. “I challenge all England to produce such another dancer as your ladyship.”
“You may challenge all France as well, mon cher!” added Claude Duval. “But let us finish with a pavane and gaillarde.”
Lady Muskerry was quite ready — quite eager, indeed, to recommence; but the captain did not feel equal to further effort.
The field was, therefore, left to Duval and his fair partner. Dorinda required little persuasion to go on; she excelled in the pavane.
Montalt changed the measure, and the slow and stately dance began. Laughter was now changed to admiration. Dorinda never looked so well — never danced so gracefully. How proudly she advanced towards her partner; and, with a courtly air, he received her. It was a charming sight to watch them. Lady Muskerry was a little mortified at being left out, but she could not withhold her tribute of admiration.
Again the measure changed, and the movements of the dancers became brisk and rapid. The gaillarde was Duval’s triumph. The spectators were in ecstasies as the lively dance proceeded.
No ballet ever offered a prettier tableau than the scene now presented. What with the two graceful central figures, the groups around them, the richly-gilt coach, the horses of the troopers, and the old oak tree in the background, the picture was perfect.
Amid the applause of the beholders, the gaillarde came to an end.
Thanking her ladyship for the honor she had done him, Captain Clotworthy ceremoniously conducted her to her carriage.
Lady Muskerry would fain have remained a little longer to dance a couranto with Monsieur Duval, with whom she was charmed; but the captain, who had other business in hand, as the reader is aware, and feared interruption, gave her no encouragement.
Most assiduous was the captain in seeing that her ladyship was comfortably seated; he arranged her dress, and placed the little spaniel on her lap. On Dorinda’s approach, he made way for her, of course; and Duval noticed that his left arm was carefully covered by his mantle.
Dorinda’s curiosity was aroused to know something more of her partner. There was a mystery about him that perplexed her. Throughout the dance he had kept on his mask, and even now he did not seem inclined to remove it.
“Do you always wear a mask, Monsieur Duval?” she inquired, gaily.
“Always, mademoiselle,” he replied. “I have the misfortune to be very ugly, so I hide my countenance as much as possi
ble.”
“Perhaps you do yourself an injustice. At least, allow us to judge.”
“Excuse me, mademoiselle; I would not shock you.”
“Then I shall not know you, if we meet again.”
“We are not likely to meet again,” he rejoined, with a sigh. “I do not belong to the court; but I never shall forget this occurrence. It is the most agreeable event of my life!”
He handed her to the carriage, bade her adieu, bowed gracefully to Lady Muskerry, and hastened to rejoin his companions, who were all mounted and ready for departure.
Springing into his saddle, he again took off his feathered cap, and waved it to those within the carriage.
In another instant the whole troop had disappeared, as, if by magic.
CHAPTER VII
THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND’S FARM
“What an amusing incident! — quite like a scene in a play!” exclaimed Lady Muskerry. “It will divert his majesty prodigiously, though he will think I have invented it, for it does seem highly improbable that we should have met with such a charming dancer as this Monsieur Duval. What spirit he threw into the gaillarde! Never did I see a pirouette turned so prettily. He rivals, if he does not surpass, the Count de Bellegarde.”
“Since you have mentioned him, aunt, I must tell you that a suspicion once crossed me that it might be the count himself.”
“Ridiculous! Had he been the Count de Bellegarde, I should have recognized him immediately.”
“But the mask, aunt?”
“Bah! his voice would have betrayed him.”
They had emerged from the wood, and were approaching the Duchess of Cleveland’s farm which was beautifully situated on the slope of a hill.
Suddenly, Lady Muskerry made a discovery, and called out to the coachman to stop.
“What’s the matter, aunt?” asked Dorinda.
“I have been robbed!” rejoined her ladyship, in distraction. “The bag of money is gone!”
“Heavens! I hope not,” cried Dorinda.
Just then, one of the footmen appeared at the door, to learn her ladyship’s commands.
“I have been robbed, Kynaston — robbed of four thousand pistoles.’’
“Is it possible, my lady?” cried Kynaston, aghast. “Who would have believed that such fine gentlemen could be robbers?”
“Bid the coachman turn back. I shall never be able to face the duchess. She won’t credit the story.”
“Begging your ladyship’s pardon, don’t you think we had better go on to the farm, and send some of the duchess’s men in pursuit of the robbers?”
Lady Muskerry agreed, and the carriage went on.
The Duchess of Cleveland was in the garden when they arrived, and on hearing what had occurred, gave instant orders that several of her servants should mount as quickly as they could, and scour the country round. Though naturally much disappointed, her grace was consoled by Lady Muskerry’s promise that she should have the money, whether the robbers were captured or not. She laughed heartily at the adventure, and said it was almost worth while to be robbed by such a gallant as Claude Duval.
“He had quite the air of a gentleman, I can assure your grace,” said Lady Muskerry. “And his dancing of the gaillarde was inimitable.”
“In my opinion, it will turn out a mere piece of pleasantry,” remarked the duchess. “We shall hear something more of the beau Duval, ere long.”
Lady Muskerry and Dorinda had been about half an hour with the duchess, when Lord Buckhurst and Talbot Harland rode up to the gate. Who should be with them but the Count de Bellegarde!
The three gentlemen tied their horses to the rails, and joined the ladies in the garden.
Any suspicions that Dorinda might still entertain as to the count’s identity with Claude Duval were now dissipated.
They were both about the same height, certainly, and both slightly but gracefully proportioned; but Bellegarde’s costume was totally different from that of the gallant robber. He wore 3 a green velvet riding-dress, richly embroidered with silver lace, while Claude Duval was attired in scarlet. Duval’s peruke was black — the count’s, on the contrary, light and powdered. Lastly, and most convincing of all, his voice, when he addressed the duchess, who received him graciously, was totally unlike Duval’s. The robber had a marked peculiarity of accent, that proclaimed him a Gascon.
“Your grace will be surprised to see me,” said Bellegarde, in his airy manner, to the duchess; “Lord Dorset would bring me on with him. He picked me up at the bowling-green on Rusthall Common, where I had been playing for some time, with very bad luck. Je suis tres mauvais joueur a la boule. On our way to your grace’s farm — which I have never seen before, and which I find charming — une campagne dllicieuse dans un pays ravissant — we overtook Mr. Talbot Harland, who, I rejoice to say, has quite forgotten our little quarrel of last night. We are now the best friends possible. Is it not so?”
Talbot bowed in assent.
“You could not have come more apropos, count,” rejoined the duchess. “Possibly, you can give us some information respecting a countryman of yours — a certain Claude Duval.”
“Claude Duval!” exclaimed the count. “I regret that I cannot help your grace. I never heard of him. What has he done?”
“Robbed Lady Muskerry of four thousand pistoles in the wood, close to this place, not an hour ago.”
“Is it possible, miladi?” cried Bellegarde, turning to Lady Muskerry.
And she hastened to recount the adventure, describing it in a manner that provoked the merriment of all her hearers, except Talbot Harland, who felt excessively annoyed that Dorinda should have danced with a robber.
“Parbleu! a most extraordinary affair!” exclaimed the count, when her ladyship had finished. “This Duval is a reproach to my country.”
“The thing has been so cleverly executed, that I almost hope the rascal may escape,” laughed Lord Buckhurst.
“He must not be allowed to escape!” cried Talbot. “Success will embolden him to attempt further audacious exploits of a like character.”
“He will rob all the court ladies,” said the duchess.
“And dance with them afterwards,” added Lord Dorset.
“Diantre! s’il fait ca il doit payer bien les violons,” said Bellegarde.
“One would almost think you are jealous of his success, count,” observed the duchess.
“Can I be otherwise, after what has happened?” he rejoined. “Miss Neville refused to dance with me, but has honored the drole with her hand.”
“It was monstrous presumption on the rascal’s part to ask her!” cried Talbot. “And I almost wonder Miss Neville condescended—”
“My niece danced with him to oblige me,” interrupted Lady Muskerry, sharply.
“Well, it appears that he acquitted himself very satisfactorily,” said Lord Buckhurst, laughing.
“He acquitted himself admirably,” rejoined her ladyship. “He was politeness itself.”
“Ha! ha! charming!” exclaimed Lord Buckhurst.
“As to taking him for a robber,” pursued Lady Muskerry, “I should as soon take the Count de Bellegarde for one.”
“I appreciate the compliment,” said the count, bowing.
At this juncture, the duchess’s servants were seen returning from their ineffectual quest.
Presently, one of them came to inform the duchess that they could discover no traces whatever of the robbers. Apparently, no one had seen them.
“This is very strange!” remarked Lord Buckhurst. “How the deuce can they have got off?”
“That remains to be explained,” said Talbot.
Lady Muskerry now took leave of the duchess, and observed in an undertone, “As I have said, your grace shall be no loser by this occurrence. I will send you the money.”
“Pray don’t trouble yourself to do that,” rejoined the duchess. “I shall be at your second ball to-morrow night. If your ladyship will oblige me with it then, I can bring it away with me.�
�
“It shall be ready for your grace; but you may be robbed.”
“No fear of that,” laughed the duchess. “No one will think I have so much money with me.”
“That’s what puzzles me!” said her ladyship. “How did Monsieur Claude Duval, or his associate, Captain Clotworthy, know that I had four thousand pistoles in the carriage?”
“Perhaps one of your footmen is in league with them,” replied the duchess.
We almost fancy that this brief colloquy — though conducted, as we have said, in a low tone — was overheard by Bellegarde.
Lady Muskerry and her niece then re-entered the carriage, and the three gentlemen escorted them through the wood.
A short halt took place on the scene of the recent adventure, and her ladyship again described some of the principal incidents.
“I would give worlds to have seen it,” laughed Lord Buckhurst.
“And I would give worlds for the chance of shooting the impudent rascal!” cried Talbot.
CHAPTER VIII
THE KING TAKES AN EARLY WALK, AND MEETS WITH A PLEASANT ADVENTURE
Charles the Second was fond of all kinds of exercise, and all sorts of country sports. He did not hunt so much as his brother, the Duke of York; but he liked coursing, hawking, and angling. His favorite games were tennis and bowls. At Whitehall, he had a splendid bowling-green and a large tennis-court. His majesty preferred walking to riding, because he thought foot exercise kept him in health; and he walked so fast that few of his courtiers could keep up with him. When he was staying at Tunbridge Wells, he always rose very early, and rambled for miles over the heaths and commons in that pleasant region, wholly unattended, returning to drink the waters at the salubrious spring.
On the second morning after his arrival at the Wells, he was astir at his usual early hour, and awoke Chiffinch, his confidential valet, who slept in the ante-chamber. Having assisted his royal master to make his toilet, Chiffinch went to bed again.
According to his wont, Charles, who did not desire to be recognized in his walks, had put on very plain apparel, such as might become a very plain country gentleman. Sometimes he took with him three or four little spaniels; but on this occasion they were left behind.
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