London Pride, Or, When the World Was Younger

by M. E. Braddon

  CHAPTER XVII.

  THE MOTIVE--MURDER.

  For Lady Fareham and her sister September and October made a blank intervalin the story of life--uneventful as the empty page at the end of a chapter.They spent those months at Fareham, a house which Hyacinth detested,a neighbourhood where she had never condescended to make friends. Shecondemned the local gentry as a collection of nobodies, and had never takenthe trouble to please the three or four great families within a twenty-miledrive, because, though they had rank and consequence, they had not fashion.The _haut gout_ of Paris and London was wanting to them.

  Lord Fareham had insisted upon leaving London on the third of September,and had, his wife declared, out of pure malignity, taken his family toFareham, a place she hated, rather than to Chilton, a place she loved,at least as much as any civilised mortal could love the country. Never,Hyacinth protested, had her husband been so sullen and ferocious.

  "He is not like an angry man," she told Angela, "but like a wounded lion;and yet, since your goodness took all the blame of my unlucky escapade uponyour shoulders, and he knows nothing of De Malfort's insolent attempt tocarry me off, I see no reason why he should have become such a gloomysavage."

  She accepted her sister's sacrifice with an amiable lightness. How couldit harm Angela to be thought to have run out at midnight for a frolicrendezvous? The maids of honour had some such adventure half a dozen timesin a season, and were found out, and laughed at, and laughed again, andwound up their tempestuous careers by marrying great noblemen.

  "If you can but get yourself talked about you may marry as high as youchoose," Lady Fareham told her sister.

  * * * * *

  Early in November they went back to London, and though all Hyacinth's finepeople protested that the town stank of burnt wood, smoked oil, and resin,and was altogether odious, they rejoiced not the less to be back again.Lady Fareham plunged with renewed eagerness into the whirlpool of pleasure,and tried to drag Angela with her; but it was a surprise to both, and toone a cause for uneasiness, when his lordship began to show himself inscenes which he had for the most part avoided as well as reviled. Forsome unexplained reason he became now a frequent attendant at the eveningfestivities at Whitehall, and without even the pretence of being interestedor amused there.

  Fareham's appearance at Court caused more surprise than pleasure in thatbrilliant circle. The statue of the Comandante would scarcely have seemeda grimmer guest. He was there in the midst of laughter and delight, withnever a smile upon his stern features. He was silent for the most part, orif badgered into talking by some of his more familiar acquaintances, wouldvent his spleen in a tirade that startled them, as the pleasant chirpingsof a poultry-yard are startled by the raid of a dog. They laughed at hisconversation behind his back; but in his presence, under the angry lightof those grey eyes, the gloom of those bent brows, they were chilled intosubmission and civility. He had a dignity which made his Puritanicalplainness more patrician than Rochester's finery, more impressive thanBuckingham's graceful splendour. The force and vigour of his countenancewere more striking than Sedley's beauty. The eyes of strangers singled himout in that gay throng, and people wanted to know who he was and what hehad done for fame.

  A soldier, yes, cela saute aux yeux. He could be nothing else than asoldier. A cavalier of the old school. Albeit younger by half a lifetimethan Southampton and Clarendon, and the other ghosts of the troubles.

  Charles treated him with chill civility.

  "Why does the man come here without his wife?" he asked De Malfort. "Thereis a sister, too, fresher and fairer than her ladyship. Why are we to havethe shadow without the sun? Yet it is as well, perhaps, they keep away;for I have heard of a visit which was not returned--a condescension from awoman of the highest rank slighted by a trumpery baron's wife--and after anoffence of that kind she could only have brought us trouble. Why do womenquarrel, Wilmot?"

  "Why are there any men in the world, sir? If there were none, women wouldlive together like lambs in a meadow. It is only about us they fight. Asfor Lady Fareham, she is adorable, though no longer young. I believe shewill be thirty on her next birthday."

  "And the sister? She had a wild-rose prettiness, I thought, when I saw herat Oxford. She looked like a lily till I spoke to her, and then flamedlike a red rose. So fresh, so easily startled. 'Tis pity that shynessof youthful purity wears off in a week. I dare swear by this time Mrs.Kirkland is as brazen as the boldest of our young houris yonder," witha glance in the direction of the maids of honour, the Queen's and theDuchess's, a bevy of chatterers, waving fans, giggling, whispering,shoulder to shoulder with the impudentest men in his Majesty's kingdom;the men who gave their mornings to writing comedies coarser than Dryden orEtherege, and their nights to cards, dice, and strong drink; roving thestreets half clad, dishevelled, wanton; beating the watch, and insultingdecent pedestrians; with occasional vicious outbreaks which would have beenrevolting in a company of inebriated coal-heavers, and which brought thesefine gentlemen before a too lenient magistrate. But were not these themanners of which St. Evremond lightly sang--

  "'La douce erreur ne s'appelait point crime; Les vices delicats se nommaient des plaisirs.'"

  "Mistress Kirkland has an inexorable modesty which would outlive even aweek at Whitehall, sir," answered Rochester. "If I did not adore the matronI should worship the maid. Happily for the wretch who loves her I amotherwise engaged!"

  "Thou insolent brat! To be eighteen years of age and think thyselfirresistible!"

  "Does your Majesty suppose I shall be more attractive at six and thirty?"

  "Yes, villain; for at my age thou wilt have experience."

  "And a reputation for incorrigible vice. No woman of taste can resistthat."

  "And pray who is Mrs. Kirkland's lover?"

  "A Puritan baronet. One Denzil Warner."

  "There was a Warner killed at Hoptown Heath."

  "His son, sir. A fellow who believes in extempore prayer and republicangovernment; and swears England was never so happy or prosperous as underCromwell."

  "And the lady favours this psalm-singing rebel?"

  "I know not. For all I have seen of the two she has been barely civil tohim. That he adores her is obvious; and I know Lady Fareham's heart is setupon the match."

  "Why did not Lady Fareham return the Countess's visit?"

  There was no need to ask what Countess.

  "Be sure, sir, the husband was to blame, if there was want of respect forthat lovely lady. I can answer for Lady Fareham's right feeling in thatmatter."

  "The husband takes a leaf out of Hyde's book, and forgets that what may bepassed over in the Lord Chancellor, and a man of prodigious usefulness, isintolerable in a person of Fareham's insignificance."

  "Nay, sir, insignificance is scarcely the word. I would as soon call athunderstorm insignificant. The man is a volcano, and may explode at anyprovocation."

  "We want no such suppressed fires at Whitehall. Nor do we want long faces;as Clarendon may discover some day, if his sermons grow too troublesome."

  "The Chancellor is a domestic man; as your Majesty may infer from the sizeand splendour of his new house."

  "He is an expensive man, Wilmot I believe he got more by the sale ofDunkirk than his master did."

  "In that case your Majesty cannot do better than shift all the disgrace ofthe transaction on to his shoulders. Dunkirk will be a sure card to playwhen Clarendon has to go overboard."

  That incivility of Lady Fareham's in the matter of an unreturned visit hadrankled deep in the bosom of the King's imperious mistress. To sin moreboldly than woman ever sinned, and yet to claim all the privileges andhonours due to virtue was but a trifling inconsistency in a mind sofortified by pride that it scarce knew how to reckon with shame. That she,in her supremacy of beauty and splendour, a fortune sparkling in eitherear, the price of a landed estate on her neck--that she, Barbara, Countessof Castlemaine, should have driven in a windowless coach through dustylanes, eatin
g dirt, as it were, with her train of court gallants onhorseback at her coach doors, her ladies in a carriage in the rear, tovisit a person of Lady Fareham's petty quality, a Buckinghamshire Knight'sdaughter married to a Baron of Henry the Eighth's creation! And thatthis amazing condescension--received with a smiling and curtsyingcivility--should have been unacknowledged by any reciprocal courtesy was anaffront that could hardly be wiped out with blood. Indeed, it could neverbe atoned for. The wound was poisoned, and would rankle and fester to theend of that proud life.

  Yet on Fareham's appearance at Whitehall Lady Castlemaine distinguishedwith a marked civility, and even condescended, smilingly, as if there wereno cause of quarrel, to inquire after his wife.

  "Her ladyship is as pretty as ever, though we are all growing old," shesaid. "We exchanged curtsies at Tunbridge Wells the other day. I wonder howit is we never get further than smiles and curtsies? I should like to showthe dear woman some more substantial civility. She is buried alive in yourstately house by the river, for the want of an influential friend to showher the world we live in."

  "Indeed, madam, my wife has all the pleasure she desires--her visiting-day,her friends."

  "And her admirers. Rochester is always hanging about your garden, orlanding from his wherry, when I go by; or, if he himself be not visible,there are a couple of his watermen on your steps."

  "My Lord Rochester has a precocious wit which amuses my wife and hersister."

  "And then there is De Malfort--an impertinent, second only to Gramont. Heand Lady Fareham are twin stars. I have seldom seen them apart."

  "Since De Malfort has the honour of being somewhat intimate with yourladyship, he has doubtless given you full particulars of his friendship formy wife. I assure you it will bear being talked about. There are no secretsin it."

  "Really; I thought I had heard something about a sedan which took the wrongroad after Killigrew's play. But that was the night before the fire. GoodGod! my lord, your face darkens as if a man had struck you. Whateverhappened before the fire should have been burnt out of our memories by thistime."

  "I see his Majesty looking this way, madam, and I have not yet paid myrespects to him," Fareham said, moving away, but a dazzling hand on hissleeve arrested him.

  "Oh, your respects will keep; he has Miss Stewart giggling at his elbow.Strange, is it not, that a woman with as much brain as a pigeon can amuse aman who reckons himself both wise and witty?"

  "It is not the lady who amuses the gentleman, madam. She has the good senseto pretend that he amuses her."

  "And no more understands a jest than she does Hebrew."

  "She is conscious of pretty teeth and an enchanting smile. Wit orunderstanding would be superfluous," answered Fareham, bowing his adieu tothe Sultana in chief.

  There was a great assembly, with music and dancing, on the Queen'sbirthday, to which Lord and Lady Fareham and Mistress Kirkland wereinvited; and again Angela saw and wondered at the splendid scene, andat this brilliant world, which calamity could not touch. Pestilence hadravaged the city, flames had devoured it--yet here there were only smilingpeople, gorgeous dress, incomparable jewels. The plague had not touchedthem, and the fire had not reached them. Such afflictions are forthe common herd. Angela promenaded with De Malfort in the spaciousbanqueting-hall, with its ceiling of such prodigious height that theapotheosis of King James, and all the emblematical figures, triumphal cars,lions, bears and rams, corn-sheaves and baskets of fruit, which filledthe panels, might as well have been executed by a sign-painter'srough-and-ready brush, as by the pencil of the great Fleming.

  "We are a little kinder to Rubens at the Louvre," said De Malfort, notingher upward gaze; "for we allow his elaborate glorification of his Majesty'sgrandfather and grandmother about half a mile of wall. But I forgot, youhave not seen Paris, nor those acres of gaudy colouring which Henri'svanity inflicted upon us. Florentine Marie, with her carnation cheeks andopulent shoulders--the Roman-nosed Bearnais, with his pointed beard andstiff ruff. Mon Dieu, how the world has changed since Ravaillac's knifesnapped that valiant life! And you have never seen Paris? You look aboutyou with wide-open eyes, and take this crowd, this ceiling, those candlebrafor splendour."

  "Can there be a scene more splendid?" asked Angela, pleased to keep him byher side, rather than see him devote himself to her sister; grateful forhis attention in that crowd where most people were strangers, and whereLord Fareham had not vouchsafed the slightest notice of her.

  "When you have seen the Louvre, you will wonder that any King, with asense of his own consequence in the world, can inhabit such a hovel asWhitehall--this congeries of shabby apartments, the offices of servants,the lodgings of followers and dependents, soldiers and civilians--huddledin a confused labyrinth of brick and stone--redeemed from squalor only byone fine room. Could you see the grand proportions, the colossal majestyof the great Henri's palace--that palace whose costly completion sat heavyupon Sully's careful soul! Henri loved to build--and his grandson, Louis,inherits that Augustan taste."

  "You were telling us of a new palace at Versailles----"

  "A royal city in stone--white--dazzling--grandiose. The mortar was scarcelydry when I was there in March; but you should have seen the mi-careme ball.The finest masquerade that was ever beheld in Europe. All Paris came inmasks to see that magnificent spectacle. His Majesty allowed entrance toall--and those who came were feasted at a banquet which only Rabelaiscould fairly describe. And then with our splendour there is an elegantrestraint--a decency unknown here. Compare these women--Lady Shrewsburyyonder, Lady Chesterfield, the fat woman in sea-green and silver--LadyCastlemaine, brazen in orange velvet and emeralds--compare them withConde's sister, with the Duchesse de Bouillon, the Princess Palatine----"

  "Are those such good women?"

  "Humph! They are ladies. These are the kind of women King Charles admires.They are as distinct a race as the dogs that lie in his bed-chamber, andfollow him in his walks, a species of his own creation. They do not evenaffect modesty. But I am turning preacher, like Fareham. Come, there is tobe an entertainment in the theatre. Roxalana has returned to the stage--andJacob Hall, the rope-dancer, is to perform."

  They followed the crowd, and De Malfort remained at Angela's side till theend of the performance, and attended her to the supper-table afterwards.Fareham watched them from his place in the background. He stood ever alooffrom the royal focus, the beauty, and the wit, the most dazzling jewels,the most splendid raiment. He was amidst the Court, but not of it.

  Yes; the passion which these two entertained for each other was patent toevery eye; but had it been an honourable attachment upon De Malfort's side,he would have declared himself before now. He would not have abandoned thefield to such a sober suitor as Denzil. Henri de Malfort loved her, and shefed his passion with her sweetest smiles, the low and tender tones of themost musical voice Fareham had ever listened to.

  "The voice that came to me in my desolation--the sweetest sound that everfell on a dying man's ear," he thought, recalling those solitary days andnights in the plague year, recalling those vanished hours with a fondlonging, "that arm which shows dazzling white against the purple velvet ofhis sleeve is the arm that held up my aching head, in the dawn of returningreason; those are the eyes that looked down upon mine, so pitiful, soanxious for my recovery. Oh, lovely angel, I would be a leper again,a plague-stricken wretch, only to drink a cup of water from that dearhand--only to feel the touch of those light fingers on my forehead! Therewas a magic in that touch that surpassed the healing powers of kings. Therewas a light as of heaven in those benignant eyes. But, oh, she is changedsince then. She is plague-stricken with the contagion of a profligate age.Her wings are scorched by the fire of this modish Tophet She has beentaught to dress and look like the women around her--a little moremodest--but after the same fashion. The nun I worshipped is no more."

  Some one tapped him on the shoulder with an ostrich fan. He turned, and sawLady Castlemaine close at his elbow.

  "Image of gloom, will you lead me
to my rooms?" she asked, in a curiousvoice, her dark blue eyes deepened by the pallor that showed through herrouge.

  "I shall esteem myself too much honoured by that office," he answered, asshe took his arm and moved quickly, with hurried footsteps, through thelessening throng.

  "Oh, there is no one to dispute the honour with you. Sometimes I have amob to hustle me to my lodgings, borne on the current of theiradulation--sometimes I move through a desert, as I do to-night. Your faceattracted me--for I believe it is the only one at Whitehall as gloomy asmy own--unless there are some of my creditors, men to whom I owe gamingdebts."

  It was curious to note that subtle change in the faces of those theypassed, which Barbara Palmer knew so well--faces that changed, obedient tothe weathercock of royal caprice--the countenances of courtiers whoeven yet had not learnt justly to weigh the influence of that imperialfavourite, or to understand that she ruled their King with a power which notransient fancy for newer faces could undermine. A day or two in the sulks,frowns and mournful looks for gossip Pepys to jot down in his diary, andthe next day the sun would be shining again, and the King would be atsupper with "the lady."

  Perhaps Lady Castlemaine knew that her empire was secure; but she tookthese transient fancies _moult serieusement_. Her jealous soul couldtolerate no rival--or it may be that she really loved the King. He hadgiven himself to her in the flush of his triumphant return, while he wasstill young enough to feel a genuine passion. For her sake he had been acruel husband, an insolent tyrant to an inoffensive wife; for her sake hehad squandered his people's money, and outraged every moral law; and it maybe that she remembered these things, and hated him the more fiercely forthem when he was inconstant. She was a woman of extremes, in whose tropicaltemperament there was no medium between hatred and love.

  "You will sup with me, Fareham?" she said, as he waited on the threshold ofher lodgings, which were in a detached pile of buildings, near the HolbeinGateway, and looking upon an enclosed and somewhat gloomy garden.

  "Your ladyship will excuse me. I am expected at home."

  "What devil! Perhaps you think I am inviting you to a _tete-a-tete_. Ishall have some company, though the drove have gone to the Stewarts' in ahope of getting asked to supper--which but a few of them can realise inher mean lodgings. You had better stay. I may have Buckhurst, Sedley, DeMalfort, and a few more of the pretty fellows--enough to empty your pocketsat basset."

  "Your ladyship is all goodness," said Fareham, quickly.

  De Malfort's name had decided him. He followed his hostess through a crowdof lackeys, a splendour of wax candles, to her saloon, where she turned andflashed upon him a glorious picture of mature loveliness, her complexionthe peach in its ripest bloom, the orange sheen of her velvet mantuashining out against a background of purple damask curtains embroidered withgold.

  The logs blazed and roared in the wide chimney. Warmth, opulence,hospitality, were all expressed in the brilliantly lighted room, whereluxurious fauteuils, after the new French fashion, stood about, ready toreceive her ladyship's guests.

  These were not long waited for. There was no crowd. Less than twenty men,and about a dozen women, were enough to add an air of living gaiety to thebrilliancy of light and colour. De Malfort was the last who entered. Hekissed her ladyship's hand, looked about him, and recognised Fareham withopen wonder.

  "An Israelite in the house of Dagon!" he said, _sotto voce_, as heapproached him. "What, Fareham, have you given your neck to the yoke?Do you yield to the charm which has subjugated such lighter natures asVilliers and Buckhurst?"

  "It is only human to love variety. You have discovered the charm of youthand innocence."

  "Do you think it needs a modish Columbus to discover that? We all worshipinnocence, were it but for its rarity, as we esteem a black pearl or ayellow diamond above a white one. Jarni, but I am pleased to see you here!It is the most human thing I have known of you since you recovered of thecontagion; for you have been a gloomier man from that time."

  "Be assured I am altogether human--at least upon the worser side ofhumanity."

  "How dismal you look! Upon my soul, Fareham, you should fight against thatmelancholic habit. Her ladyship is in the black sulks. We are in fora pleasant evening. Yet, if we were to go away, she would storm at usto-morrow; call us sycophants and time-servers, swear she would hold nofurther commerce with any manjack among our detestable crew. Well, she isa magnificent termagant. If Cleopatra was half as handsome, I can forgiveAntony for following her to ruin at Actium."

  "There is supper in the music-room, gentlemen," said Lady Castlemaine, whowas standing near the fire in the midst of a knot of whispering women.

  They had been abusing the fair Frances, and ridiculing old Rowley, togratify their hostess. She knew them by heart--their falsehood andhollowness. She knew that they were ready, every one of them, to steal herroyal lover, had they but the chance of such a conquest; yet it solaced hersoreness to hear Miss Stewart depreciated even by those false lips--"Shewas too tall." "Her Britannia profile looked as if it was cut out of wood.""She was bold, bad, designing." "It was she who would have the King, notthe King who would have her."

  "You are too malicious, my dearest Price," said Lady Castlemaine, with moregood humour than had been seen in her countenance that evening. "Buckhurst,will you take Mrs. Price to supper? There are cards in the gallery. Prayamuse yourselves."

  "But will your ladyship neither sup nor play?" asked Sedley.

  "My ladyship has a raging headache. What devil! Did I not lose enough tosome of you blackguards last night? Do you want to rook me again? Prayamuse yourselves, friends. No doubt his Majesty is being exquisitelyentertained where he is; but I doubt if he will get as good a supper as youwill find in the next room."

  The significant laugh which concluded her speech was too angry for mirth,and the blackness of her brow forbade questioning. All the town knew nextday that she had contrived to get the royal supper intercepted and carriedoff, on its way from the King's kitchen to Miss Stewart's lodgings, andthat his Majesty had a Barmecide feast at the table of beauty. It was ajoke quite in the humour of the age.

  The company melted out of the room; all but Fareham, who watched LadyCastlemaine as she stood by the hearth in an attitude of hopelessself-forgetfulness, leaning against the lofty sculptured chimney-piece, oneslender foot in gold-embroidered slipper and transparent stocking poised onthe brazen fender, and her proud eyelids lowered as if there was nothingin this world worth looking at but the pile of ship's timber, burning withmany-coloured flames upon the silver andirons.

  In spite of that sullen downward gaze she was conscious of Fareham'slingering.

  "Why do you stay, my lord?" she asked, without looking up. "If your purseis heavy there are friends of mine yonder who will lighten it for you,fairly or foully. I have never made up my mind how far a gentleman may be arogue with impunity. If you don't love losing money you had best eat a goodsupper and begone."

  "I thank you, madam. I am more in the mood for cards than for feasting."

  She did not answer him, but clasped her hands suddenly before her face andgave a heart-breaking sigh. Fareham paused on the threshold of the gallery,watching her, and then went slowly back, bent down to take the handthat had dropped at her side, and pressed his lips upon it, silently,respectfully, with a kind of homage that had become strange of late yearsto Barbara Palmer. Adorers she had and to spare, toadeaters and flatterers,a regiment of mercenaries; but these all wanted something of her--kisses,smiles, influence, money. Disinterested respect was new.

  "I thought you were a Puritan, Lord Fareham."

  "I am a man; and I know what it is to suffer the hell-fire of jealousy."

  "Jealousy, yes! I never was good at hiding my feelings. He treats meshamefully. Come, now, you take me for an abandoned profligate woman, acallous wanton. That is what the world takes me for; and, perhaps, I havedeserved no better of the world. But whatever I am 'twas he made me so.If he had been true, I could have been constant. It is the insol
ence ofabandonment that stings; the careless slights, scarce conscious that hewounds. Before the eyes of the world, too, before wretches that grin andwhisper, and prophesy the day when my pride shall be in the dust. It istreat ment such as this that makes women desperate; and if we cannot keephim we love, we make believe to love some one else, and flaunt our fancy inthe deceiver's face. Do you think I cared for Buckingham, with his heartof ice; or for such a snipe as Jermyn; or for a low-born rope-dancer?No, Fareham; there has been more of rage and hate than of passion in mycaprices. And he is with Frances Stewart to-night. She sets up for a modelof chastity, and is to marry Richmond next month. But we know, Fareham, weknow. Women who ride in glass coaches should not throw stones. I will haveCharles at my feet again. I will have my foot upon his neck again. I cannotuse him too ill for the pain he gives me. There, go--go! Why did you temptme to lay my heart bare?"

  "Dearest lady, believe me, I respect your candour. My heart bleeds for yourwrongs. So beautiful, so high above all other women in the capacity tocharm! Ah, be sure such loveliness has its responsibilities. It is a giftfrom Heaven, and to hold it cheap is a sin."

  "There is nothing in this life can be held too cheap. Beauty, love--alltrumpery! You would make life a tragedy. It is a farce, Fareham, a farce;and all our pleasures and diversions only serve to make us forget whatworms we are. There, go--to cards--to supper--as you please. I am going tomy bed-chamber to rest this throbbing head. I may return and take a hand atcards by-and-by, perhaps. Those fellows will game and booze till daylight."

  Fareham opened the door for her, as she went out, regal in port and air.She had moved him to compassion, even while she owned herself a wanton. Tolove passionately--and to see another preferred! There is a brotherhood inagony, that brings even opposite natures into sympathy. He passed into thegallery, a long low room, hung with modern tapestries, richly coloured,voluptuous in design. Clusters of wax tapers in gilded sconces lit up thosePaphian pictures. There were several tables, at which the mixed companywere sitting. Piles of the new guineas, fresh from his Majesty's Mint,shone in the candle-light. At some tables there was a silent absorption inthe game, which argued high play, and the true gambler's spirit; at othersmirth reigned--talk, laughter, animated looks. One of the noisiest was thetable at which De Malfort was the most conspicuous figure; his periwig thehighest, his dress the most sumptuous, his breast glittering with orders.His companions were Sir Ralph Masaroon, Colonel Dangerfield, an oldMalignant, who had hibernated during the Protectorate, and had never lefthis own country, and Lady Lucretia Topham, a visiting acquaintance ofHyacinth's.

  "Come here, Fareham," cried De Malfort; "there is plenty of room for you.I'll wager Lady Lucretia will pass you her hand, and thank you for takingit."

  "Lady Lucretia is glad to be quit of such dishonest company," said thelady, tossing her cards upon the table, and rising in a cloud of powder andperfume, and a flutter of lace and brocade. "If I were ill-humoured I wouldsay you marked the cards! but as I'm the soul of good nature, I'll onlyswear you are the luckiest dog in London."

  "You are the soul of good nature, and I am the luckiest dog in the universewhen you smile upon me," answered De Malfort, without looking up from hiscards, as the lady posed herself gracefully at the back of his chair,leaning over his shoulder to watch his play. "I would not limit the area toany city, however big."

  Fareham seated himself in the chair the lady had vacated, and gathered upthe cards she had abandoned. He took a handful of gold from his pocket, andput it on the table at his elbow, all with a somewhat churlish silence,that escaped notice where everybody was loquacious. De Malfort went onfooling with Lady Lucretia, whose lovely hand and arm, her strongest point,descended upon a card now and then, to indicate the play she deemed wisest.

  Once he caught the hand and kissed it in transit.

  "Wert thou as wise as this hand is fair it should direct my play; but it isonly a woman's hand, and points the way to perdition."

  Fareham had been losing steadily from the moment he took up Lady Lucretia'scards; and his pile of jacobuses had been gradually passed over to DeMalfort's side of the table. He had emptied his pockets, and had scrawledtwo or three I.O.U.'s upon scraps of paper torn from a note-book. Yet hewent on playing, with the same immovable countenance. The room had emptieditself, the rest of the visitors leaving earlier than their usual hour inthat hospitable house. Perhaps because the hostess was missing; perhapsbecause the royal sun was shining elsewhere.

  Lackeys handed their salvers of Burgundy and Bordeaux, and the playersrefreshed themselves occasionally with a brimmer of clary; but no winebrightened Fareham's scowling brow, or changed the glooiay intensity of hisoutlook.

  "My cards have brought your lordship bad luck," said Lady Lucretia, whowatched De Malfort's winnings with an air of personal interest.

  "I knew my risk before I took them, madam. When an Englishman plays againsta Frenchman he is a fool if he is not prepared to be rooked."

  "Fareham, are you mad?" cried De Malfort, starting to his feet. "To insultyour friend's country, and, by basest implication, your friend."

  "I see no friend here. I say that you Frenchmen cheat at cards--onprinciple--and are proud of being cheats! I have heard De Gramont brag ofhaving lured a man to his tent, and fed him, and wined him, and fleeced himwhile he was drunk." He took a goblet of claret from the lackey who broughthis salver, emptied it, and went on, hoarse with passion. "To the marrow ofyour bones you are false, all of you! You do not cog your dice, perhaps,but you bubble your friends with finesses, and are as much sharpers atheart as the lowest tat-mongers in Alsatia. You empty our purses, andcozen our women with twanging guitars and jingling rhymes, and laugh at usbecause we are honest and trust you. Seducers, tricksters, poltroons!"

  The footman was at De Malfort's elbow now. He snatched a tankard from thesalver, and flung the contents across the table, straight at Fareham'sface.

  "This bully forces me to spoil his Point de Venise," he said coolly, as heset down the tankard. "There should be a law for chaining up rabid cursthat have run mad without provocation."

  Fareham sprang to his feet, black and terrible, but with a savageexultation in his countenance. The wine poured in a red stream from hispoint-lace cravat, but had not touched his face.

  "There shall be something redder than Burgundy spilt before we have done!"he said.

  "Sacre nom, nous sommes tombes dans un antre de betes sauvages!" exclaimedMasaroon, starting up, and anxiously examining the skirts of his brocadecoat, lest that sudden deluge had caught him.

  "None of your ---- French to show your fine breeding!" growled the oldcavalier. "Fareham, you deserved the insult; but one red will wash outanother. I'm with your lordship."

  "And I'm with De Malfort," said Masaroon. "He had more than enoughprovocation."

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen, no bloodshed!" cried Lady Lucretia; "or, if you aregoing to be uncivil to each other, for God's sake get me to my chair. Ihave a husband who would never forgive me if it were said you fought for mysake."

  "We will see you safely disposed of, madam, before we begin our business,"said Colonel Dangerfield, bluntly. "Fareham, you can take the lady to herchair, while Masaroon and I discuss particulars."

  "There is no need of a discussion," interrupted Fareham, hotly. "We havenothing to arrange--nothing to wait for. Time, the present; place, thegarden, under these windows; weapons, the swords we wear. We shall have nowitnesses but the moon and stars. It is the dead middle of the night, andwe have the world all to ourselves."

  "Give me your rapier, then, that I may compare it with the Count's. You aresatisfied, monsieur? 'Tis you that are the offender, and Lord Fareham hasthe choice of weapons."

  "Let him choose. I will fight him with cannon--or with soap-bubbles,"answered De Malfort, lolling back in his chair, tilted at an angle offorty-five, and drumming a gay dance tune with his finger-tips on thetable. "'Tis a foolish imbroglio from first to last: and only his lordshipand I know how foolish. He came here to provoke a quarrel
, and I mustindulge him. Come, Lady Lucretia"--he turned to his fair friend, as heunbuckled his sword and flung it on the table--"it is my place to lead youto your chair. Colonel, you and your friend will find me below stairs infront of the Holbein Gate."

  "You are forgetting your winnings," remonstrated the lady, pointing to thepile of gold.

  "The lackeys will not forget them when they clear the room," answered DeMalfort, putting her hand through his arm, and leaving the money on thetable.

  Ten minutes later Fareham and De Malfort were standing front to front inthe glare of four torches, held by a brace of her ladyship's lackeys whohad been impressed into the service, and the colder light of a moon thatrode high in the blue-black of a wintry heaven. There was not a sound butthe ripple of the unseen river, and the distant cry of a watchman in PettyFrance, till the clash of swords began.

  It was decided after a brief parley that the principals only should fight.The quarrel was private. The seconds placed their men on a piece of levelturf, five paces apart. They were bare-headed, and without coat or vest,the lace ruffles of their shirt-sleeves rolled back to the elbow, theirnaked arms ghastly white, their faces suggesting ghost or devil as thespectral moonlight or the flame of the flambeaux shone upon them.

  "You mean business, so we may sink the parade of the fencing saloon," saidDangerfield. "Advance, gentlemen."

  "A pity," murmured Masaroon, "there is nothing prettier than the salute _ala Francaise_."

  Dangerfield handed the men their swords. They were nearly similar infashion, both flat-grooved blades, with needle points, and no cutting edge,furnished with shell-guards and cross-bars in the Italian style, and wereabout of a length.

  The word was given, and the business of engagement proceeded slowly andwarily, for a few moments that seemed minutes; and then the blades werefirmly joined in carte, and a series of rapid feints began, De Malforthaving a slight advantage in the neatness of his circles, and the swiftnessof his wrist play. But in these preliminary lounges and parries, he soonfound he needed all his skill to dodge his opponent's point; for Fareham'sblade followed his own, steadily and strongly, through every turn.

  De Malfort had begun the fight with an insolent smile upon his lips, thesmile of a man who believes himself invincible, while Fareham's countenancenever changed from the black anger that had darkened it all that night. Itwas a face that meant death. A man who had never been a duellist, who hadraised his voice sternly against the practice of duelling, stood thereintent upon bloodshed. There could be no mistake as to his purpose. Thequarrel was an artificial quarrel--the object was murder.

  De Malfort, provoked at the unexpected strength of Fareham's fence,attempted a partial disarmament, after the deadly Continental method.Joining his opponent's blade near the point, from a wide circular parry,he made a rapid thrust in seconde, carrying his forte the entire length ofFareham's blade, almost wrenching the sword from his grasp; and then, inthe next instant, reaching forward to his fullest stretch, he lunged at hisenemy's breast, aiming at the vital region of the heart; a thrust that musthave proved fatal had not Fareham sprung aside, and so received the blowwhere the sword only grazed his ribs, inflicting a flesh-wound that showedred upon the whiteness of his shirt. Dangerfield tore off his cravat, andwanted to bind it round his principal's waist; but Fareham repulsed him,and lashed into hot fury by the Frenchman's uncavalier-like ruse, methis adversary's thrusts with a deadly purpose, which drove De Malfort toreckless lunging and riposting, and the play grew fast and fierce, whilethe rattle of steel seemed never likely to end. Suddenly, timing his attackto the fraction of a second, Fareham dropped on his left knee, and plantinghis left hand upon the ground, sent a murderous thrust home under DeMalfort's guard, whose blade passed harmlessly over his adversary's head ashe crouched on the sward.

  De Malfort fell heavily in the arms of the two seconds, who both sprang tohis assistance.

  "Is it fatal?" asked Fareham, standing motionless as stone, while the othermen knelt on either side of De Malfort.

  "I'll run for a surgeon," said Masaroon. "There's a fellow I know of thisside the Abbey--mends bloody noses and paints black eyes," and he was off,running across the grass to the nearest gate.

  "It looks plaguily like a coffin," Dangerfield answered, with his hand onthe wounded man's breast. "There's throbbing here yet; but he may bleed todeath, like poor Lindsey, before surgery can help him. You had better run,Fareham. Take horse to Dover, and get across to Calais or Ostend. You weredevilish provoking. It might go hard with you if he was to die."

  "I shall not budge, Dangerfield. Didn't you hear me say I wanted to killhim? You might guess I didn't care a cast of the dice for my life when Isaid as much. Let them find it murder, and hang me. I wanted him out of theworld, and don't care how soon I follow."

  "You are mad--stark, staring mad!"

  The wounded man raised himself on his elbow, groaning aloud in the agony ofmovement, and beckoned Fareham, who knelt down beside him, all of a piece,like a stone figure.

  "Fareham, you had better run; I have powerful friends. There'll be an uglystir if I die of this bout. Kiss me, mon ami. I forgive you. I know whatwound rankled; 'twas for your wife's sister you fought--not the cards."

  He sank into Dangerfield's arms, swooning from loss of blood, as Masarooncame back at a run, bringing a surgeon, an elderly man of that Alsatianclass which is to be found out of bed in the small hours. He broughtstyptics and bandages, and at once set about staunching the wound.

  While this was happening a curtain had been suddenly pulled aside at anupper window in Lady Castlemaine's lodgings, showing a light within. Thewindow was thrown open, and a figure appeared, clad in a white satinnight-gown that glistened in the moonlight, with a deep collar of ermine,from which the handsomest face in London looked across the garden, to thespot where Fareham, the seconds, and the surgeon were grouped about DeMalfort.

  It was Lady Castlemaine. She leant out of the window and called to them.

  "What has happened? Is any one hurt? I'll wager a thousand pounds youdevils have been fighting."

  "De Malfort is stabbed!" Masaroon answered.

  "Not dead?" she shrieked, leaning farther out of the window.

  "No; but it looks dangerous."

  "Bring him into my house this instant! I'll send my fellows to help. Haveyou sent for a surgeon?"

  "The surgeon is here."

  The radiant figure vanished like a vision in the skies; and in threeminutes a door was heard opening, and a voice calling, "John, William,Hugh, Peter, every manjack of you. Lazy devils! There's been no time foryou to fall asleep since the company left. Stir yourselves, vermin, and outwith you!"

  "We had best levant, Fareham," muttered Dangerfield, and drew away hisprincipal, who went with him, silent and unresisting, having no more to dothere; not to fly the country, however, but to walk quietly home to FarehamHouse, and to let himself in at the garden door, known to the household ashis lordship's.