The other laughed a noiseless laugh, peculiar to himself. "You owe me but little as yet," said he; "perhaps you may live to be deeper in my debt than for the healing of a scratch. Not that I mean to say the scratch was a trifling one. I tell you honestly, many a surgeon would have given your case up as hopeless; and you ought to be thankful, if you young men ever are thankful, that you fell into my hands. No; for a bold, enterprising fellow, in the prime of life and strength, whose fingers, as I guess, close round his hilt pretty readily, I might do something better than stop a hole in the side. There are paths to fortune, plenty of them, for men who look upward and onward, steep it may be, and leading through miry places, not seldom slippery with blood. To a bold spirit this is half the charm! You are lying here, unable to leave your bed to-day; but do you not long for the time when you shall be riding wild horses, pledging lawless healths, drinking, dicing, and brawling once more? When the frost is bitter, and the earth white with snow, and the robin hops to your window for crumbs, do you not look forward to the opening spring, the soft south wind, the coming of the blackbird at last?"
A look of intelligence passed between them, and the sick man's eye brightened. It was the pass-word of a losing, nay, of a ruined cause. The handful of Jacobites remaining in England had not yet relinquished all hope of his return, who had proved indeed a bird of ill-omen, blacker than night, to those whose loyalty waged life and lands on his behalf.
"Nay, Doctor," said the other, with a flush of pride on his face, "the blackbird's whistle has cost us simply all we had, but not one of us ever complained; we bought defeat too dear."
"I know you, John Garnet," answered Katerfelto. "You come of a trusty race."
"Know me!" repeated the other, "How did you find me out? I would have told you without hesitation, but you never asked my name—no more did Waif."
"I know a great many things," replied the charlatan. "In many ways you could not understand, unless you had studied, as I have, the hidden mysteries of Heaven and Earth, and of places under the Earth. I know that the Garnets lost titles and lands for the—for the Black-bird—we will say. I know that the last of them would leap from that bed, bandages and all, to burn powder and draw steel if the yellow beak did but so much as whistle from its garden in the South."
"You learned all that in the 'Annual Register' or the 'North Britain,'" said John Garnet, proudly, "but how did you guess I belonged to the family who have been so loyal, so constant, and proved themselves such—fools?"
Katerfelto smiled. "Fools," he replied, "are my special study. As the worm feeds the blackbird, so the fool feeds the philosopher. You are no fool notwithstanding, and yet I know all about you. There was a supper-party t'other night—a jest—an altercation—a duel—without witnesses—without witnesses, mark you. When a man is killed under those circumstances, the law sometimes brings it in—murder!"
John Garnet turned pale. The truth of his host's surmises affected him no less than the consideration of the danger he had incurred. It did not strike him that Katerfelto's guesses, however shrewd, were the mere offspring of analogy and observation. A wounded man at midnight inferred an after-supper brawl, while the fact of his staggering into Deadman's Alley faint from loss of blood, alone and unassisted, argued the absence of seconds, one of whom would doubtless have conveyed his principal to a place of safety, while the identity of that principal must long since have become the talk of this town.
"You know everything," he murmured. "Everything—I wish you could tell me whether the poor fellow I ran through the brisket is alive."
For reasons of his own the charlatan was anxious to impress his patient with a conviction of his powerful character and superior intelligence.
"Not so," said he, with an air of extreme frankness. "I have no knowledge, for I have taken no trouble to learn. If I can spare the time to-night, when the moon goes down, I will set those to work who shall bring me all the information I require in less than forty-eight hours."
John Garnet, though scarcely a model Christian, was a good Catholic. He crossed himself and faltered a feeble protest against the employment of evil spirits or unorthodox powers of the air.
"I had rather not get well at all," said he, "than be cured by magic or witchcraft! I would leave the house this minute if I believed you were more than a doctor! I'll wager a fair stake and risk my life any day, but I won't sit down to play for my soul!"
"Your soul!" echoed Katerfelto, with his characteristic laugh. "My young friend, what should I do with your soul if I won it? My concern is with men's bodies, their energies, their courage, and their intellect. I shall set you on your legs in a week, and you can carry your soul about with you, if you have one, wherever you like. In the meantime keep quiet, take your medicine, drugs of the veriest earth—earthy; eat your food and drink your posset, prepared by no fairy hands, but those of a woman, real flesh and blood, with a human temper, worse, I daresay, than that of many average fiends, and so get well. In a few days I will talk to you again on matters of business to our mutual advantage. Meantime I relegate you once more to the care of Waif."
His spirits rose at once, and he bade the charlatan good-night with an excess of cordiality not lost on that shrewd observer, who was as good as his word, for his voice could be heard in the passage bidding Waif hasten her house-work and watch by the patient till he slept, a mandate the gipsy-girl obeyed to the letter, returning without delay to her former post, but taking up a station in the obscurity where John Garnet could not see her face. Neither did she vouchsafe a syllable of greeting or explanation, so that the patient felt uncomfortably hurt and perplexed.
"Have I offended you?" he asked at length, in an humble tone, contrasting piteously with the coldness of that in which she replied.
"Who am I, to be offended? My only business is to obey. The Patron bids me watch here till you sleep."
So he shut his eyes, yet not too tight, and scanned her the while covertly beneath their lids, thus detecting on her face, when she turned it towards him, a look of tender wistful longing, that told only too plainly the secret of her love.
Then he drew a deep breath of relief and contentment, satisfied he would rise a winner from the unequal game and so fell sound asleep.
CHAPTER V.
A CHARLATAN.
In the surgery Katerfelto began to prepare for the reception of his visitors. Standing at a bright little mirror, he was soon immersed in the task. A spot of carmine on the cheek-bones, a line or two of paint round the mouth, about the eyes, and across the forehead added a score of years to his appearance and made him look a man of eighty. A flowing white beard, in which his own grey tresses mingled freely, and a black cloak bordered with crimson, drawn over the velvet gown, completed his equipment. Surveying the whole in his glass, he drew himself up, with something of the confidence a knight must have felt when armed from head to heel. "Come one, come all," he seemed to say, "I am a match for the best of you, and profitable as is the victory, I am not sure but the real pleasure consists in the strife!—"
The plot thickened with nightfall. He was hardly ready before a cautious tap made itself heard at the street door. Waif, watching her patient's slumbers, flew to admit the visitor, and was at her post again ere he had time to pay a single compliment on her good looks.
In his own opinion, this gentleman was a consummate judge of such matters. On the points of a horse, or a woman, he held no man so well qualified to give an opinion, and indeed had spent the greater part of his fortune in researches after speed and beauty. His accomplishments were those of his time and class. A better and bolder card-player than Lord Bellinger never held a trump. He cracked his bottle like an honest fellow without flinching, played tennis, danced a minuet to admiration, bowed and took snuff with inimitable grace, fenced beautifully, swore fearfully, and corrupted his mother tongue into a jargon only intelligible at Ranelagh or the Cocoa Tree.
When the cloak was thrown open in which this paragon was enveloped, Katerfelto did not fail to recognise in that worn, handsome face and attenuated form the most frequent and productive of his customers.
"Your lordship is welcome," said the Charlatan, with gracious dignity. "How liable is our poor glimmering of human science to error; the mistake of a decimal caused me to expect you nearly an hour ago."
"What? You knew it!" replied the other, not without an oath. "Why, Katerfelto, you know everything! Yes, here I am. It's not very difficult to guess why. Have you found out anything more? Who is she? And what is she? How much longer am I to go on toasting her without so much as knowing her name, haunted by those clear, cold eyes, that proud, delicate face, that queenly shape and air? Tell me all about her, now at once! Here! I've brought you the stuff in a bag. Look at it, man. Does it make your eyes shine and your mouth water? It cost me six hours' work to get that little purse together last night at the Cocoa Tree. Never were such cards! Never was such luck!"
"Fortune is a woman," answered the other. "Like all women, coy to be wooed, but grateful to be won."
"She hath played me more slippery tricks than I choose to count," laughed his lordship. "It may be that I solicit her too often, and trust her too fondly. Last night she did me a rare jade's turn! Look ye here, man; I had won a cool four thousand at picquet, and St. Leger wanted to leave off. I was always too strong for him at picquet. Well, sir, four thousand was no use to me, but eight would have taken my lady's diamonds out of pawn, and I offered him one more chance, double or quits."
"I know you did," observed Katerfelto with the utmost effrontery, "and left off quits; I wish I had been at your lordship's elbow."
"I wish you had!" replied the other; "for I believe you are the devil himself, or in close league with him. However, I did not come here to prate about my luck, and I have little time to waste; my lady thinks I am at Ranelagh. She's to meet me there later. Now business is business, my good friend; what have you done for me?"
"Little and yet enough," answered the other. "You will meet somebody at Ranelagh to-night; you are to be wary and cautious. Do not seem to recognise her till you find her unattended. You may then speak three words, no more. It is her express stipulation. They will be answered in due time. She goes to Ranelagh early and remains only an hour."
"Then I had better be off!" exclaimed his lordship, pressing a purse into Katerfelto's hand. "What? are you so ceremonious? Must you needs come to the door yourself? Where's the pretty gipsy lass? I saw her not ten minutes ago. I say, Katerfelto, if ever you sell her back into bondage, let me have the refusal. By Jupiter! if I was to put that girl into velvet and brocade I could take the town by storm."
"Your lordship does her too much honour," answered Katerfelto, bowing profoundly while he opened the door, but there was a malicious twinkle in his eye, and a curl of scorn about the corners of his mouth, to belie the outward show of deference with which he dismissed his visitor.
The latter had been gone but a few minutes ere a sedan-chair was set down at the end of Deadman's Alley, and a lady closely veiled, carrying a riding mask, not over her face, but in her hand, alighted with some trepidation, peering up and down the passage, as if fearful of being observed, while she made for the red lamp in Katerfelto's window. This visitor was also admitted after a little cautious tap, but, unlike her predecessor, looked with scorn rather than admiration on Waif's dark locks and flashing glances. "Tell the Doctor, child," said she, "that I am not to be disturbed while I consult him, and beware of eaves-dropping. I do not choose to share my secrets with a waiting-maid, for all her saucy looks and sallow skin!"
Waif scarcely heard and certainly did not heed, for her heart was in the sick-chamber with John Garnet, whither her agile body lost no time in following it.
"Your ladyship is early," said Katerfelto, with an obeisance courtly, but not subservient. "Ranelagh need wait the less impatiently for its fairest ornament."
"La, Doctor!" was the answer, "who could have told you I was going to Ranelagh? I protest you know everything. My lord thinks I am there now."
"My lord will be there as surely as my lady," answered the other. "But it was not to learn his lordship's movements that your ladyship came here!"
"Fie, Doctor!" she replied; "what woman of fashion cares to know the doings of a husband? I have a crow to pluck with you. Do you remember what you promised me the last time I was here?"
"Triumphs by the hundred," said he; "compliments by the thousand; conquests and flatteries innumerable. Better than these, a run of luck with the cards that should last a week."
"And I wore it out in a night," she complained. "Whist, ombre, picquet, and three-card loo, I have never risen a winner but once since I came here last. You dare not deceive me, Doctor; nay, you would not deceive a woman, I am sure. Can you—couldn't you put me in the way of winning a game or two? I protest I shall have to pawn my diamonds else."
No one knew better than the doctor that this expedient had been resorted to long ago, and her ladyship was at present wearing paste; but he did not say so.
"Are you willing to learn?" he asked, with his quiet sarcastic smile. "An hour's practice every day for ten days would make your ladyship independent of chance and all its fluctuations. Chance, forsooth! there's no such thing. Do you think I trust to chance when I direct your actions and forecaste read your future? Fate is the ruling power of the universe; but science and skill, the quick brain and the ready hand—these may control Fate."
On a weak mind so high-sounding a sentence, meaning nothing, took no small effect. She blushed, she simpered, she bit her lips, she hesitated.
"I should like it prodigiously," she said, with a nervous laugh, "if—if it wasn't dishonest, you know; and—and if it couldn't be found out!"
He took a pack of cards from a drawer. "Observe my fingers," he began, but she interrupted him with a faint scream.
"Not now!" she exclaimed; "some other time, Doctor. I'm so frightened! I'm sure I heard somebody at the door. It is cheating, you know. Besides, I must be at Ranelagh in an hour, and I have to dress, all but my head, that was done this morning. I wish I hadn't come. La! I know I could never find courage. Let me out, please. This is between ourselves, of course. Shall I find you to-morrow night at the same time?"
Assuring her that he never left his post, Katerfelto ushered her ladyship with much ceremony to the door, which was opened by Waif, on whom the departing visitor found nothing better to bestow than a look of supreme indifference and scorn.
Not so the next comer. Hardly had the chairmen, who winked at each other as they took up their precious burden, moved a dozen paces, when a heavy step was heard in Deadman's Alley, and a burly figure, that seemed to ignore all considerations of secrecy and disguise, stopped at Katerfelto's door to thump till it shook again.
Undoing the fastening, hastily as she might, Waif found herself confronted by a stout middle-aged person, in a rusty black riding suit, who looked as if he had been taking hasty refreshment, washed down by strong potations, as indeed was the case.
Parson Gale—for it was none other—had ridden post from Exmoor to London on receiving the news of his brother's death in a midnight brawl. Arrived in the metropolis, he lost no time in communicating with the officers of justice; and from the particulars thus furnished, satisfied himself that the affray took place without witnesses, and that the survivor had escaped. The Parson swore a great oath that he would avenge the crime, and if the perpetrator was above ground, hunt him down to death. His difficulty was to find out where John Garnet lay concealed. Every day, and all day long, he pursued his inquiries, without success. Tired and hungry, while sitting at his tavern supper he chanced to hear Katerfelto spoken of as a cunning man, for whom there were no secrets in this world or the next; and having ascertained the locality of Deadman's Alley, finished his bottle, and started without delay on his search.
The apparition of Waif, in answer to his summons, may have surprised him a little; but when a pretty lass was in question, Parson Gale was never at a loss; he recovered his astonishment in time to chuck her under the chin, and bestow on her a most unwelcome caress. The girl's eyes glittered, and her lithe fingers stole to the knife at her girdle. He caught her by the wrist, and kissed her again. She disengaged herself, with one dexterous twirl, and pushed rather than ushered this unwelcome admirer into the presence of Katerfelto; muttering, in her own outlandish tongue, something that sounded less like a blessing than a curse.
When roused to wrath, it was her nature to resent an insult or an injury on the spot; but if immediate retaliation seemed impossible, to wait for an opportunity with untiring patience, not to be diverted from its purpose by any considerations of clemency or forgiveness.
"If I can learn something about you," she thought, "I shall know when and where to strike. Before our reckoning is over, you will wish your lips had been seared with a red-hot iron, rather than laid to mine against my will!" Then, casting one loving look towards the chamber in which John Garnet was sleeping, she took up her post at the door of the surgery, and listened eagerly to the conversation within.
"I'm a plain man, Doctor," began Parson Gale, in his rough, frank tones. "I speak the truth mostly myself, and expect others will speak it to me. Now I am told that you know more, good and bad, than ever another person in this great wicked town. That's what brought me here."
Katerfelto nodded gravely. "Good and bad," said he, "are relative terms. Knowledge cannot of itself be evil, whether it be gleaned from the crowded footway or the solitary moor. Wisdom crieth aloud, could we but hear her, from the dome of St. Paul's, no less than from the purple outline of the Quantock Hills and the brown ridge under Dunkerry Beacon."
The mention of these familiar places startled his listener; and Katerfelto, who had already detected the kindly West-country accent, did not fail to notice his surprise.
"I believe you are a conjuror," said the Parson, "as sure as I am not! Well—if you can tell me where I came from, perhaps you will tell me what I came for."
The charlatan smiled. "You wish to learn something very near your heart," said he, watching the other's countenance.
"Not quite the nearest and dearest of all! yet a matter of great importance. A matter of life and death."
For a bow drawn at a venture, it was a good shot, and the arrow reached its mark.
"That's enough!" exclaimed the Parson. "You're the man to tell me what I want. Name your price. 'Tis blood-money, and I'm not going to stand for a guinea one way or the other!"
"Justice must be done first!" said Katerfelto with exceeding gravity. "Let me hear your own tale in your own words, and rely on my help."
Thus encouraged, the Parson embarked on a narrative of his brother's duel, but little exaggerated, nor indeed very different from the facts set forth above, interspersing his account with dire threats of vengeance and solemn oaths, whereat Waif's blood ran cold, that he would take no rest till he had discovered and hunted down the perpetrator of this murder, as he persisted in calling it, to the death!
Listening at the keyhole, she lost not a syllable of their conversation, and the gipsy-girl vowed in her heart to come between the avenger and his victim, aye, even though she must steep her hands in blood, and swing for it on Tyburn-tree.
Little by little Katerfelto gathered enough from Parson Gale's repetitions, threats, and assertions, to feel sure that his patient in the next room was the individual whom the visitor wished to identify and bring to justice. In his plotting brain such a complication was simply a problem to be solved, a sum to be worked out, a plot to be elaborated for his own advantage. With a gravity not lost on the West-country parson, who, for all his mother wit, felt overawed by the other's assumption of superior intelligence, he promised to furnish the information required, as soon as he should himself have consulted those spiritual intelligences he held at command.
"You shall come again when the moon is full," said he, accepting the broad pieces which his visitor thrust on him clumsily enough. "Ere then I shall discover his hiding-place, though he have taken refuge forty fathoms deep, below the sea. But, mark you—I am not a man of blood, and I make no promise to deliver him into your hand."
Again Waif's fingers stole to her knife, while the Parson's savage laugh grated on her ear.
"Show me where the deer is harboured," said he, passing into the street. "I can do all the rest myself. The Lord have mercy on him, for I will not, when once I set him up to bay!"
CHAPTER VI.
MY LORD AND MY LADY.
They occupied separate apartments now. There had been a time indeed when Lord and Lady Bellinger might have competed for the flitch of bacon at Dunmow, so well satisfied was each with the other, for weeks, nay months, after a marriage of vanity, with some little inclination. Was not my lord the best-dressed man at court? Had not my lady the finest hand, the tightest waist, the loftiest head-gear in London? Did not both exist only in the atmosphere of the great world, sacrificing to the airs and graces time, health, money, and reputation? Many tastes had they in common, some vices, not a few follies, prejudices, and frivolities; yet they soon began to differ, and after passing through the customary phases of disappointment, pique, resentment, and disgust, subsided into a sullen, stony indifference that was perhaps the most hopeless condition of all. Rarely meeting, except at meals, or in the presence of others, they had few opportunities for quarrelling; when they did fall out, it is only fair to say that her ladyship usually took the initiative. Let us give her precedence, therefore, now.
She is seldom stirring before noon. The sun is already at mid-heaven when she rings for her chocolate, sighs, yawns, thrusts on her small feet her smaller slippers, wriggles into a much-embroidered morning gown, and totters across the room to look at herself in the glass. The face she sees therein reflected affords, alas! a history and a moral.
Its features are delicate, and the smile that has now become rigid from force of habit was once very flexible and sweet, but late hours and false excitement have scored premature wrinkles round the eyes, and the free use of paint has served to deaden, and, as it were, rough-cast the surface of the skin. Lady Bellinger was never quite a pretty woman, though with the advantages of dress, manner, and candle-light she could hold her own in general society against many a professed beauty, and counted her ball-room conquests in numbers that, if they did not satisfy her rapacity, were quite enough for her reputation. This border-land between good looks and an ordinary exterior is, perhaps, the most dangerous ground of all. Vanity is excited, but not gratified. Wit, vivacity, freedom of gesture and conversation are called in to supplement the charms that nature has left imperfect. The player grows more reckless as the game goes on, and at last no stake is thought too high to risk on a winning card.
The face she is studying wears a mournful expression to-day. Weary, perhaps, rather than dissatisfied, for she won twenty guineas last night at ombre, and overheard Sir Hector Bellairs ask who she was; that refined young gentleman, a rising light at Newmarket and the Cocoa Tree, adding with an oath, "She has a game look about her, like a wild, thoroughbred mare!"
And yet, was it worth while, she pondered lazily, to tremble half an hour over the cards for twenty guineas? Were the pains lavished on dress and toilet to yield no higher triumph than Sir Hector's silly comparison, or the sneer with which it was received by the man he addressed? Harry St. Leger used to admire her once, at least he told her so, and now—he only smiled at Sir Hector's idle talk, and turned away to a little bread-and-butter miss, whose round blue eyes were becoming the rage of the town. What could men see to rave about in such chits as these? Why, the little creature was not even well-dressed, and had hardly so much as learned to ogle and handle a fan! Was it possible that innocence, simplicity, natural red and white, could presume to contend with such a position, such millinery, and such experiences as hers? Lady Bellinger sighed to think how she was thrown away. What depths there were in her loving heart that had never been fathomed; what passions in her mature womanhood that had never been aroused. Alas! those depths could have been baled out with a thimble; those passions, affections, caprices, call them what you will, were three parts simulated, and the fourth only skin-deep. Nevertheless, she esteemed herself a lovable woman, wasted and misunderstood. She had a headache, she had the spleen, the vapours. Ranelagh was very tiresome last night. The lights still danced before her eyes, the hum of conversation still vibrated in her ears. Resting her heavy head on the dressing-table, she seemed to live the whole scene over again.
What a medley and confusion it was! Women with enormous head-dresses, wide hoops and high-heeled shoes, patched, powdered, painted, courtesying, smirking, and grimacing. "Your ladyship is vastly kind. Shall wait on you with pleasure. Not real di'monds, ma'am? I protest. I have it from the best authority. Fie! my lord, I thought you were more gallant. The Earl, as I live. Come back from the grand tour with a wife! Whose wife? La! Sir Marmaduke, I vow you make me blush. The king hath had another interview with the favourite. Angry words, and post-horses ordered on the north road. Too good news to be true. Mrs. Betty, you look charmingly. What conquests you must have made at the Bath. Here's the bishop! Madam, your humble servant;" and so on till the stream of nothings swelled into an unintelligible babble. And out of this concourse of so-called friends, this turmoil of so-called conversation, was there one form amongst the throng that could call the blood to her cheek, the light to her eye? One voice that fell sweetly on her ear, that woke an echo responsive in her heart? Yes, on reflection there was one—nay, there were two or three—half-a-dozen—a score—but it seemed that, of late, her charms had ceased to work, her glances to fascinate. Ten compliments—she counted them on her fingers—made the sum total of her triumphs last night. Harry St. Leger devoted himself to the bread-and-butter hoyden. The handsome colonel had drunk too freely of claret to be available. The marquis was wholly taken up with Mistress Masters (who, and what, she was nobody knew!) Two or three snuff-taking admirers simpered, but did not commit themselves. The duke passed her with a bow, and it was a weary world!
As she came to this conclusion, a tap at the door announced the arrival of her waiting-maid with the daily dish of chocolate. Contrary to custom, that demure person did not depart after she set it down.
"What is it, child?" asked Lady Bellinger, not very good-humouredly, because of her reflections. "Speak up, and don't stand staring there as if you'd seen a ghost!"
"It's my lord," answered the waiting-maid, tossing her head, in imitation of her mistress. "My lord bade me ask your ladyship if you were up, and if you could see him now directly, before he gets into his coach."
"My lord!" repeated his wife, in a tone of surprise, that sufficiently attested the infrequency of such visits, "what can my lord want with me at this early hour? How am I looking, child? Quick! Give me those drops off the chimney-piece—a clean cap, the one trimmed with pink, you fool!—Put a touch of colour in my cheeks; I declare my face is like death! Draw that window-curtain. Now you may tell him he can come in."
Lord Bellinger entered accordingly, dressed in great splendour, with cane, hat, and snuff-box in hand. Thus encumbered, he made shift, nevertheless, to take the tips of his wife's fingers and carry them to his lips, inquiring at the same time how her ladyship did, and whether she had slept well.
Her ladyship had not closed an eye, of course. She was feverish, poorly, and far from strong! Thus establishing a position of defence from the first.
"Zounds! madam," exclaimed he, "so much the better—you will the more readily hear what I have to say."
My lord, to do him justice, was a good-tempered man enough, but this morning found him, for many reasons, in the worst of humours. Last night's gathering to him, no less than to his lady, had been replete with disappointment and vexation. Like many others, he attended Ranelagh with a variety of motives, among which, pleasure, even in his own sense of the term, was perhaps the least engrossing. In the first place, he desired to show himself before the world accompanied by her ladyship, scandal having been busy with both their names of late, and "the town" telling each other significantly that "there must soon be a break-up in that establishment. My lady's goings on, madam, I protest, are inexcusable, and my lord's extravagance, I have it from the best authority, really beyond belief!" Therefore he thought well to appear in this public place prosperous, smiling, debonair, and on the best of terms with his wife.
Their exit, however, like their entrance, had been badly timed. They neither came nor went away together; and his own staunch ally, Harry St. Leger, who was also a professed admirer of Lady Bellinger, thought well to whisper in his ear, "Look ye, Fred, I never turn my back on a friend. If it must come to a smash, or a split, remember I stand fast by your lordship, sink or swim!" This was failure the first.
Then a great man, one of his Majesty's ministers, had informed him pretty roundly that the appointment he held at Court was not wholly a sinecure, and the time had come at which he must prove his loyalty by activity in the service of his king. That he was expected, in short, to proceed without delay to his own western county, of which he held the lieutenancy, there to carry out certain instructions which he would receive next day at the minister's private residence, in time to commence his journey the same afternoon. To a man for whom the pleasures of London were as the air he breathed, such a notification was like a sentence of death. Yet he dared not and could not refuse. This was trouble the second.
Many minor matters helped to swell the list of his annoyances. Bellairs gave him the latest news from Newmarket, to the effect that his own horse had been beaten in the great race by a head. Sir Horace had it from the best authority that his nominee would lose his election. One neighbouring landowner in the West took him by the button-hole, to impart grievous suspicions of his lordship's steward, and another announced threatenings of disease amongst the sheep. Altogether, had it not been for the interview with his unknown charmer, promised by Katerfelto, he would have passed a sadly uncomfortable evening. This anticipation, however, was the drop that sweetened the whole cup, and when amongst the crowd he caught a glimpse of her graceful head and white shoulders, the world's malice, the minister's injunctions, the lost race, the dishonest steward, and the foot-rot in West Somerset, were alike obliterated and forgotten.
He waited for some time, as directed, to accost her when alone. At last, her cavalier crossed the room on some errand of his own, and he found his opportunity. "Madam," he whispered, "this is the moment for which I have languished ever since I had the privilege of beholding your face. Do not deny me now the happiness of hearing your voice."
She looked at him over her fan, with large eyes of astonishment, in which, nevertheless, his experience detected a gleam of gratified vanity and amusement.
The fan was not withdrawn; the gloved-hand that held it was taper and well-shaped—the rounded arm, white and beautiful. For the hundredth time Lord Bellinger believed that for the first time he was in love. Still she spoke not, and the moments were precious. Her cavalier would surely return without delay.
"Only tell me, I implore you," continued his lordship, "when we shall meet again—where can I see you? Where can I write to you? In what way can I prove how ardently I long to cast myself at your feet—to serve you as the humblest of your slaves?"
He spoke in an agitated whisper; not without its effect—a softer expression shone in her eyes, and she lowered her fan to reply. Alas, for the disillusion! instantaneous as it was complete!
The beautiful face might only be beautiful while the lips were closed; when they parted for speech they discovered black and unsightly teeth, separated by gaps and cavities neither few nor far between.
Quick as Lord Bellinger had been to fall in love, he was yet quicker to fall out. Ere a word could escape the lady, his cure had been effected, and with a dexterity that nothing but long practice could have ensured, he effected his retreat after a profound bow, a devoted glance, and a deep sigh.
"You are watched," he whispered, "so I will take my leave. Do not forget me. Soon we shall meet again."
Nevertheless he went home from Ranelagh feeling strongly at variance with the world in general, and himself in particular.
Therefore his mood, notwithstanding his courteous entrance, was none of the most amiable when he paid this morning visit to her ladyship; therefore the tone in which he couched it was little calculated to sweeten the unpalatable communication he had to make.
"Zounds! madam," said his lordship, "you will the more readily hear what I have to say."
"Sure you need not swear," she replied, with frigid dignity. "No gentleman swears so early in the day."
He laughed, and continued more good-humouredly, "Your ladyship is very happy in town, are you not?"
"Your lordship must be a fool to ask such a question," she returned sharply. "If you neglected me less, you would know that in my position, and with my health, it is ridiculous to talk of being happy anywhere!"
"And yet you look charmingly," continued her husband, scanning his own handsome person in the glass.
"Compared to faces which your lordship is in the habit of studying, mine is perhaps tolerably well-favoured," said she; "but nothing is so deceptive as one's appearance, and the air of this town is simply killing me by inches."
"Then it shall do murder no longer," he answered kindly; "I must leave for the West this very afternoon. My coach is waiting at the door to take me to the minister's. There is not a moment to be lost. It is the king's business; I suppose I ought to say, God bless him!"
"Well?" she asked coldly, "what concern is that of mine?"
"Will you not come with me?" was his reply. "We have been living separate lives too long. Perhaps each of us is better than the other thinks. Let us give it a trial and see if we cannot be happy together for a few weeks. We have been very uncomfortable apart for a good many years."
The tears were rising to her eyes. A kind word or a caress might have turned the balance even now; but it was his lordship's habit to assume carelessness of manner at the moment he was most interested, and instead of putting his arm round her waist, he busied himself adjusting cravat and ruffles in the glass. She felt and showed she was annoyed.
"I cannot leave town," she objected, "at a moment's notice. I wonder you can ask such a thing."
He looked in her face disappointed, and perhaps a little hurt.
"My lady," said he, "you're a puzzle!"
"My lord," said she, "you're a brute!"
CHAPTER VII.
READY AND WILLING.
They left town together notwithstanding; and although my lady altered her mind with every mile, now extolling her own sense of wifely duty, now bewailing her want of firmness and consistency, yet by the time she arrived at Hounslow, where they were to sleep, she had become reconciled to the society of her husband and her enforced journey to the West.
Such impressionable natures, from which emotion so easily passes away, enjoy at least this advantage—that one swallow makes for them an immediate summer, one glimpse of sunshine absorbs the memory of a month of storms.
Lord Bellinger, too, seemed in the highest spirits. Though his back must be turned on London and all its pleasures, his inconstant nature could nevertheless find enjoyment in the mere act of change. Moreover, an hour before departure, he had effected a loan of ready-money from the accommodating Katerfelto, who waited on him at his residence in Leicester Square, so completely disguised that Waif herself could hardly have recognised the respectable-looking citizen, in a brown suit and tie-wig, with ample cambric neckerchief concealing his long beard, who was ushered into his lordship's own apartment the moment he entered the house.
Lord Bellinger prided himself on the rapidity with which he transacted affairs of moment. No doubt his method was peculiar to himself.
"Katerfelto," said he, surveying the brown suit and tie-wig with grave curiosity, "I must have five hundred guineas in gold—now, in half an hour."
"Impossible, my lord," answered his visitor. "The time is too short; but you can have it in three-quarters."
"I like doing business with you," rejoined his lordship. "I never knew you make difficulties, nor found you unable to overcome them. I want the money directly, because I leave for the West this afternoon; but I consent to give you another quarter of an hour."
"Your lordship is vastly obliging," replied Katerfelto, with his peculiar smile. "I must trouble you to sign this little acknowledgment of the debt."
He drew a sheet of paper from his pocket, filled in certain blank spaces at the writing-table, and spread it before his lordship, with an air of excusing himself for the liberty he was obliged to take.
It was Lord Bellinger's boast that he never refused to draw his sword, drink his bottle, stake his money, or sign his name; yet he made a wry face, and threw his pen into the inkstand with a curse, after it had performed its office.
"I'm in a corner," said he, "or you would never have had me on such exorbitant terms. The king's business must not stand to cool. Hang it, man! if it had been my own, not a usurer in the town should have bit me like this!"
"Your lordship is in haste," answered Katerfelto; "and his Majesty's commands cannot be too speedily obeyed. I trust," he added, carelessly, "there is no fear of disaffection in the West."
"State secrets!" answered Bellinger, with a laugh. "How can I tell? I have not yet seen the minister. I go to him in an hour for final instructions."
Though Katerfelto was pondering deeply, his tone seemed lighter than usual, while he asked how the other had been amused the night before at Ranelagh; observing, "It is not your lordship's custom to leave an adventure half accomplished."
"No more of that!" exclaimed Lord Bellinger. "These are but the pastimes of a man who has little serious business on hand. Ambition, you know, is a specific for love. If I play my part well, Katerfelto, I have reason to believe that the next time I borrow your money it will be for an earl!"
"Good luck attend your lordship," answered the other, turning to depart. "As you are strong, be merciful."
My lord laughed, and snapped his fingers. "In half an hour," said he, "I shall have the lives and estates of some half-dozen gentlemen in my pocket. Intrigue, my good friend, is all very well; but for real sport, give me the great game. If your spiritual informants can travel so far, they will shortly bring you stirring news from the West."
"The vicissitudes of this material world affect me but little," answered Katerfelto, "save in so far as they aid my researches among the boundless regions of science and futurity. I am but a man of thought, while your lordship is a man of action. If, in my humble capacity, I can serve you, command me; and so I take my leave."
"He's an honest fellow enough, I protest," thought his lordship, as the door closed, "though his terms are confoundedly high! Money seems like everything else; if you want it, you must pay for it—through the nose too! But he's an honest fellow, no doubt."
The "honest fellow," meantime, plodding thoughtfully home to Deadman's Alley, busied himself in elaborate calculations of time, distance, expense, and other matters tending to subvert the minister's intention, and render nugatory Lord Bellinger's mission to the West.
He lost not a moment in visiting John Garnet, whom he found sitting up in an easy-chair, half-dressed, but so swathed in bandages that he could hardly move.
Dismissing Waif, who was in attendance as usual, he laid a finger on his patient's wrist, and marked the strong full beat of the pulse in grave approval.
"How much longer are you going to keep me here?" exclaimed John Garnet, with some impatience. "I've been telling Waif, for the last three days, I am as strong as I ever was in my life."
"Get up," replied the doctor, "and lift that chair from the floor. So. Do you feel as if a dog were licking a raw place in your side?"
"I feel that I ought to be in the saddle," replied the other, "a hundred miles from your close, smoky town. If it wasn't for these cursed bandages, I should never know that I had a side at all."
"Off with them, then!" said Katerfelto, suiting the action to the word by unwinding their folds. "See now the fruits of a little knowledge and a little patience. These wounds have healed, as we call it, at the first intention. Do not be so ready with bare steel again; or, if you must needs brawl, keep your sword-arm bent, and your point moving in a narrower circle."
John Garnet's eyes brightened with pleasure, but his face fell a moment afterwards.
"You have restored me to life," said he, "and I cannot even pay you a surgeon's fee. I tell you plainly, I have not ten guineas in the world."
"We are comrades in the same service," answered the Doctor, quietly. "There is no question of guineas between you and me. Will you ride a hundred miles on an errand, in which we are equally interested, and cry quits?"
"To the end of the world!" answered John Garnet; "only I have not a horse to my name."
There was a simple earnestness in his tone that sufficiently vouched for his fidelity. Katerfelto, scanning narrowly the resolute countenance and strong active frame, smiled to think that here was a tool shaped expressly for his purpose.
"I might find horseflesh," said he, "if you can find spurs. Will you be ready to mount to-night on my errand, if it should be necessary? My errand," he repeated, in a low, impressive whisper, "and the king's!"
"God bless him!" answered Garnet, while each looked meaningly in the other's face. "I have those in my interest," continued the Charlatan, "aye, at the very council table, who keep me well informed from hour to hour. You will dine as usual. You will crack a bottle of our best, to the king's health. Before sunset, I will tell you when to pull on your boots."
While he spoke a knock was heard at the door, and Waif, glancing softly at John Garnet, brought the Patron a letter left by a man who looked like the light-porter of some city warehouse. It contained these lines:
"The invoices are already forwarded. Prices ruling high; hemp likely to rise. Realise at once, not a moment to be lost."
Twice Katerfelto perused it with an anxious brow, then he turned to John Garnet, and observed, carelessly:
"A stroll before dinner will do you no harm. Come with me to the next street, I want your opinion of a horse I keep there."
So congenial a request met with an eager affirmative. In the flush of returning health, John Garnet longed keenly for the fresh outward air. And to see a horse again, even in another man's stable, was a return to life and all that made life enjoyable once more.
The Doctor wrapped himself, though it was summer, in a long black cloak and drew a square cap down to his very eyebrows, before he crossed the threshold, precautions which seemed scarcely necessary for purposes of concealment, inasmuch as he led his visitor along two or three unfrequented bye-lanes, to an old tumble-down building, that looked more like a dilapidated pigeon-house, than the dwelling of so noble an animal as the horse.
"Enter," said he, unlocking the door. "The husk looks of the roughest, but there is a kernel within."
John Garnet was surprised to find the stable roomy, commodious, well ventilated, and amply supplied with all necessaries for the comfort of its inmate. "If the casket is mean," said he, "at least it seems well lined, and water-tight. Let us open that shutter, Doctor, for a glimpse at the jewel it contains."
It was a jewel! An exclamation of wonder and admiration escaped the visitor's lips, as daylight, thus admitted, revealed to him the beauty and symmetry of the animal he came to inspect. From boyhood he had spent much of his time in the saddle, found a store of pleasure and legitimate excitement in the companionship of his horse, and here seemed the very flower and perfection of the whole equine race.
It was not that the sloping shoulders, the deep girth, the flat legs, the round firm feet, the full, well-turned back, and lengthy quarters denoted strength and speed unequalled, but there was also that proportion and harmony of all the parts, which Nature is careful to preserve when she means to turn out some masterpiece of her craft. John Garnet said as much; and Katerfelto, man of science though he was, could not conceal a certain prim satisfaction, which every man alive betrays when congratulated on the superiority of his steed.
"I am a poor judge," observed the Charlatan, whom no earthly consideration would have induced to bestride the paragon before them; "but I imagine the creature is as good as it looks."
"That I'll swear he is!" replied John Garnet, fairly putting his arm round the taper muzzle, that nestled kindly to his embrace. "If I had seen nothing but this beautiful little head, with its full bright eyes, and fine transparent ears, I would have backed him against any horse in England for all I am worth in the world. Not much to be sure," he added, with a laugh, "but you should have carried it for me, old man; and I don't think the additional weight would have caused you to falter at the post."
He patted the hard, smooth neck, and strong, firm crest while he spoke; and the animal, though an entire horse, in the full vigour of good food and high condition, responded lovingly and gently to his caress.
"He knows you already," said Katerfelto; "he will know you better before you have done with him. Listen, John Garnet: what would you give me for that grey horse as he stands?"
"Five hundred guineas!" answered John Garnet, laughing, "if I had them. Ten years of my life, as I haven't five hundred pence in the world!"
"He is yours!" replied the other. "You shall ride him out of London to-night."
John Garnet's eyes brightened. "I do not know who and what you are even now," said he, "but you seem the best friend I ever had. Frankly, Doctor, I already owe you more than I can hope to pay. In my opinion, you have bought me, body and bones, at a high price; and I am ready to do your bidding, be it what it will."
"You speak like a man of sense," answered Katerfelto. "Come back to the house, Waif shall find us some dinner, with a bottle of good old Burgundy, and I will give you instructions at once."
They returned, therefore, to Deadman's Alley, threading the bye-streets with the same secrecy as before. Katerfelto informed his companion, as they walked, how he became the owner of so matchless an animal—the last possession, it must be admitted, with which John Garnet would have credited his physician. "I obtained him," said the latter, "even as I obtained Waif, and from the same people. Only, I paid hard gold for the child; whereas, they let me have the horse for nothing."
"And yet, they may have stolen both," observed his listener.
The other shook his head. "Waif is a gipsy," said he, "pure bred, or I should never have encumbered myself with her. No; they are a strange people. Their honesty is not like our honesty, neither, indeed, is their fraud; but they have their notions of fair dealing too. They brought me the horse to pay a debt of honour."
John Garnet opened his eyes. "A debt of honour!" repeated the Charlatan.
"The rogues had robbed me of some valuable jewels while I was sojourning in their tents during the illness of an old reprobate, whom they called their duke, and whom I attended without demanding a fee. Repenting of such ingratitude too late, for the jewels were beyond recovery, they sent me the highest-priced article they could lay hands on, and it proved to be the very horse you are to ride out of London to-night. How they came by him, it was useless to inquire; but they assured me—and I have no reason to doubt their word—that the owner would never cause inconvenience by appearing to assert his claim."
"Do you think, then, they murdered him?" exclaimed John Garnet, in an accent of dismay.
"Very probably!" replied the other. "But I had little curiosity on the subject; it was no affair of mine."
The silence that ensued, lasted to the door of the surgery, and, indeed, with small interruption during the progress of dinner. When that meal was taken away, and Waif, with many a backward glance, had departed and shut the door, Katerfelto filled the glasses, smacked his lips over the Burgundy, and thus delivered himself:
"They would hang you, my good sir, if they could catch you; and this I consider a sufficient reason for your leaving London to-night."
John Garnet gasped, and set his wine down untasted. For some time he had entertained uncomfortable misgivings to this effect. It was not reassuring to hear them corroborated by so sagacious a person as his host. "Chance-medley is not a hanging matter," said he, in a shaking voice.
"But murder is," answered Katerfelto; "and murder I fear they would bring it in. Why, in the name of all that is hasty, my young friend, did you not take a couple of gentlemen into that dark room, and exchange a pass or two in the presence of witnesses? See how the matter stands as it would be submitted to a jury. An altercation, brooded over for more than an hour; a quarrel, not in hot blood, but on reflection; and the company gone. The lights out; the younger man escapes, and the elder is found stabbed to death on the floor! It looks ugly, you must confess."
"I have thought so more than once," replied John Garnet, much disturbed. "Do you mean they will try me for—for—my life?" He got the question out with difficulty, and swallowing a mouthful of wine fancied it tasted like blood.
"I mean nothing of the kind," said the other. "I mean you never to be placed in such a position. I mean you to be a score of miles away to-night. I mean to rescue your name, to save your life, and to make your fortune."
"How so?" asked John Garnet, taking comfort while he emptied his glass.
For answer, Katerfelto made an almost imperceptible sign with one of his fingers, to which the other responded by a word, whispered so low that its import was to be gathered less by the sound than the movement of his lips.
"I was sure of it!" exclaimed the Charlatan. "I could have sworn from the first you were one of us. I may speak freely now. John Garnet, I call upon you this day to ride for the king!"
"To the gates of hell!" was the reckless answer. "And as much farther as your good horse will carry me. I am ready to start this minute."
"Softly," said the other. "I neither require so prompt a departure, nor so long a journey. You need not mount for another hour. You need not ride so far as the Land's End. The business I shall entrust you with demands courage, secrecy, and some little ingenuity. I believe you possess all. To win, opens a path to rank, fortune, and the choicest honours royal gratitude can bestow. To lose, leaves you no worse than you are now, for at least you will have a fair chance of escape."
"I ask for nothing better," replied the young man. "Only tell me what to do, and how to do it."
Katerfelto pushed the bottle to his guest. "You will need a good horse," said he, "and good pistols. These I can supply. You have a good sword and a good mother-wit of your own. It may be you will want them all to carry out our plans. Success is a peerage at least. Failure means high treason, so you know what you undertake."
"I never shrank from a large stake," replied John Garnet, excitedly. "Deal out the cards, and leave me to play the hand!"
"This then is the game," continued his host. "Lord Bellinger took coach to-day for his lieutenancy in the West, carrying with him certain warrants from the Secretary of State, which must never reach their destination. You understand. His lordship travels with his own horses, and can scarce perform the journey in less than a week. Her ladyship accompanies her husband, and they sleep to-night at Hounslow, fourteen miles from here at the farthest. Such, my young friend, is the alacrity with which his servants obey the commands of King George. Without a boast, I think our side could give them a lesson in promptitude. I myself knew all about those warrants before the ink was dry. I could tell you now every word that passed between Lord Bellinger and the minister, far more accurately than my lord himself, who, to do him justice, has a retentive memory for trifles, but entertains the profoundest aversion to every kind of business. Briefly, these warrants must be destroyed before the end of the week, and I look to you for a speedy completion of the job."
John Garnet pondered. Pledged as he had been from boyhood, to the losing cause, compromised, by the fatal termination of his late brawl, with the laws of his country, and indebted for life, no less than the means of living, to this strange practitioner of many mysterious arts, the thought of shrinking from the task, thus thrust upon him, never entered his mind; but he could not conceal from himself that the undertaking was one of life and death, to be accepted resolutely indeed, but not without every precaution to ensure success.
"My lord travels in his own coach, you say," he observed, thoughtfully. "How many servants does he take, and are they well armed?"
"Three or four at most," replied Katerfelto, "without counting her ladyship's waiting-maid, and one of these rides on ahead to prepare for his reception, stage by stage, during the journey. They carry a blunderbuss and two brace of pistols among them, no more."
"How far will he proceed in a day?" asked the other. "The roads are at their best just now and the nights at their shortest."
"From twenty to thirty miles," answered Katerfelto. "His lordship travels in a light coach with six good horses. You had better not overtake him till to-morrow night. But these details I confide to your own wisdom and discernment. In this purse are a hundred guineas. In that cupboard a saddle, bridle, and brace of pistols. Spend the money, founder the horse, use the weapons at your discretion, but the warrants must be in the fire before his lordship crosses the borders of Somerset, and the gentlemen named in them must be warned, at all risks of life and death."
"I understand," said John Garnet, "though I do not yet see how to set about the job."
"It can be done in three ways," observed Katerfelto. "The warrants will be carefully looked after. To put them in your own pocket, you must corrupt the servants, make love to my lady, or rob my lord."
John Garnet considered a moment before he answered. "I think the best plan will be to rob my lord."
CHAPTER VIII.
A HEAVY STAKE.
The travellers spent their first night agreeably enough. The weather was fine, the inn at Hounslow roomy and luxurious. My lady seemed pleased with the fresh eggs, the country cream. My lord found amusement in the airs and graces of his hostess, who was more than flattered by the notice of so fine a gentleman. Even the servants were good enough to express approval of the ale, the lodging, and the change. Our whole party started next morning in good humour, and the very waiting-maid, who had been in tears for the first six miles out of London, protested that under certain conditions the country might be almost tolerable.
My lord's first footman, a stout high-coloured personage in charge of the blunderbuss, was unremitting in his attentions, and Mistress Rachel, as she was called, in the absence of higher game, condescended to receive his homage with the favour five-and-forty shows to five-and-twenty. At a subsequent period indeed she declared "he hadn't the heart of a hen!" but for the present seemed satisfied to accept him as he was.
Such a favourable state of things could not be expected to last four-and-twenty hours. At noon of the second day it began to rain, a trace broke, a horse cast a shoe, the man with the blunderbuss proved useless in a difficulty, Mistress Rachel grew despondent, my lady sulked, my lord swore, the unwieldy vehicle creaked, groaned, swung, and finally stopped in the middle of a hill.
"Let me out!" screamed Lady Bellinger, whose nervous system was of the weakest, and on whose temper fear had an exasperating effect. "I'd rather walk. I will get out, I'll go back,—Richard!—Robin! open the door."
"Don't be a fool!" exclaimed my lord, as the carriage got into motion once more. "How can you go back, Ellen? You're forty miles from London if you're a yard."
My lady's head-dress vibrated with anger. "I am a fool indeed," she replied, "or I shouldn't be here! And this is the reward of my devotion as a wife. This is your return for my accompanying you into exile. Lord Bellinger, I will speak. Indifference I am accustomed to. Unkindness I have put up with for many a long day, patient, and forbearing, while my heart was broke, but I have a spirit ("you have indeed," muttered his lordship), though you try your best to crush it, and ill-usage I will submit to no longer."
It is possible her husband might have entered a more energetic protest than the "d—d nonsense" he whispered under his breath, but that his attention was diverted at this juncture to the beauty and action of a horse passing at a gallop, ridden by a young man whose seat and bearing did justice to the animal he bestrode. When Lord Bellinger, who thrust himself half out of the carriage to follow the pair with his eyes, subsided into his seat, he had forgotten all about their dispute in this new excitement; my lady, however, with her face buried in a handkerchief, continued to sob at intervals, till they reached their destination for the night.
This was a comfortable hostelry enough, yet lacking many of the luxuries that rendered the inn at Hounslow so agreeable a resting-place. Mistress Rachel, alighting with a hand on the shoulder of her admirer, expressed alarm lest it might be tenanted by ghosts; whereat the latter's comely cheek turned pale, while he resolved incontinently to fortify his courage with beer. The new arrivals had no reason to complain of their reception. The servants were amply regaled in the kitchen, a good supper was served for my lord and my lady in the parlour. The choicer meal vanished in profound silence, which Lord Bellinger tried more than once to break; but, finding his efforts ineffectual, and knowing by experience the obstinacy of his wife's reserve when she was "out of spirits," he gave up the attempt, and applied himself to the Burgundy his host brought in person. He finished the bottle as her ladyship, in dignified silence, retired to bed; and ringing the bell for another, felt creeping over him the accustomed longing for cards, dice, company—some excitement in which to spend the evening.
"Landlord," said he, as that stout and stolid personage entered the room with a cobwebbed bottle and a corkscrew, "can you play picquet?"
The landlord smiled foolishly. He did not know what his lordship was driving at.
"Fetch a pack of cards," continued my lord, "and I will teach you."
The landlord excused himself in considerable alarm. "It was too much honour," he said; "he doubted he was too old to learn. Would his lordship like a toast of bread and an olive with his wine?"
"I had rather deal than drink," answered Lord Bellinger, "though I'm in the humour for both. If there's nobody in the house to play a game at whist or ombre, send round to the stable, and tell the ostler I will try my luck with him at all-fours."
The landlord stared; but a bright thought struck him, and he observed: "There's a gentleman in the Sunflower who arrived this afternoon. He looks like a gentleman who wouldn't object to a game of cards, or anything in that way."
"Bravo, Boniface," was the answer. "Carry him my respects—Lord Bellinger's respects—with a bottle of your best, and say, if he is at leisure I shall be happy to wait on him at once."
The landlord delivered his message with alacrity, and in less than five minutes John Garnet answered it in person at his lordship's door. He had come to this hostelry for the very purpose of obtaining the introduction he now found so easy; and rather regretted the amount of thought he had wasted after supper in considering how he should make Lord Bellinger's acquaintance, and gain his confidence sufficiently to betray it. With his best bow and pleasantest smile, "plain John Garnet" stood on the threshold, and assured the other that no consideration would have induced him to permit his lordship to ascend to the Sunflower till he had himself come down to conduct him upstairs, if he would so far honour his humble apartment, where he would at once direct preparations to be made for the reception of his noble visitor.
"Zounds, man!" answered the other, who at this period of the evening was seldom disposed to stand on ceremony, "we want nothing but a bottle of Burgundy and a pack of cards. They are both on that table. Let us sit down at once and make the most of our time."
"Agreed," replied his guest; "and your lordship shall choose the game and the stakes."
"What say you to picquet?" asked the nobleman, opening the Burgundy, "Ten guineas a game. Twenty—fifty, if you like?"
John Garnet, reflecting that he knew nothing of his adversary's force, and was himself no great performer, modestly chose the lowest stake, and proceeded to play his hand with as much care as his own preoccupation and the strange position in which he found himself permitted. Picquet is a game requiring, no less than skill and practice, undivided attention. John Garnet could not forbear glancing about the room for some symptoms of the documents he desired to make his own; wondering if they were kept in his lordship's pockets, in her ladyship's baggage, under charge of the servants. It is not surprising that at the end of the first game he found himself the better by two glasses of moderate Burgundy, and the worse by ten golden pieces stamped with the image of King George. He ventured a second game, and with the same result.
To do Lord Bellinger justice, he was not a rapacious gambler. He loved winning well enough, but would rather lose heavily than not play at all. "I am too strong for you," said he; "I ought to have told you picquet is my especial game."
But when did a loser ever admit the superiority of an adversary's skill?
"Your lordship held good cards," answered John Garnet; "my luck is the likelier to turn. I call for a fresh pack."
So the waiter was summoned, and more cards, with another bottle of wine, were brought in. Lord Bellinger began to feel the old wild impulses rising in his heart; and John Garnet, a desperate man, bound on a desperate errand, had no disinclination to venture Katerfelto's money in an undertaking that compromised his own head.
After two more games, Lord Bellinger had won a hundred guineas; and John Garnet was at the end of his resources.
"My lord," said he, "a man does not journey a-horseback with the Bank of England in his pocket. I have lost to your lordship as much as I can afford to pay."
He spoke with some ill-humour, and rose from the table as though to take his leave.
"One more game," pleaded Lord Bellinger, who would have paid his last guinea rather than go to bed before midnight. "Sit down again, my good sir; if we cannot play for money, we can play for money's worth."
John Garnet obeyed, with a forced smile. To be a good loser was considered one of the essentials in the character of a gentleman; and he would have sunk in his own, no less than in his companion's esteem, had he declined the unequal contest for so paltry an excuse as want of means.
"That is a fine horse you rode here," continued his lordship, shuffling the cards. "If you like to put a price on him, I will stake the sum named against the animal."
"Five hundred!" answered John Garnet.
"Agreed," said the other, though the five hundred guineas he had borrowed from Katerfelto constituted all the funds he possessed in the world.
So they played one more game, and again Fortune smiled on Lord Bellinger, who emptied his glass with a smack, having despoiled his adversary of the grey horse and one hundred guineas in gold.