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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
In "Lady Barbarity," J. C. Snaith crafts a rich tapestry of societal norms and the struggle for personal agency within the confines of early 20th-century England. This novel is marked by its sharp social commentary, blending elements of satire and realism to expose the absurdities of class and gender expectations. Snaith's narrative is both humorous and poignant, weaving a story that intricately examines the duality of refinement and barbarism within the human spirit, ultimately questioning the very fabric of civility itself. J. C. Snaith, a pivotal figure in the evolution of early modern British literature, is known for his keen insights into human nature and societal constructs. His upbringing in a middle-class milieu, coupled with his academic endeavors, fueled his fascination with the contrast between appearance and reality, which is central to "Lady Barbarity." Snaith'Äôs own experiences with the social elite provide a nuanced perspective, enriching his exploration of the protagonist's psychological journey. This novel is a must-read for those intrigued by the interplay of societal roles and individual desires. Readers who appreciate sharp wit and astute observation within their fiction will find Snaith's work both entertaining and thought-provoking, making "Lady Barbarity" a significant contribution to the canon of early 20th-century literature.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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Lady Barbarity
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I.DEPLORES THE SCARCITY OF MEN.
To deny that I am an absurdly handsome being would be an affectation. Besides, if I did deny it, my face and shape are always present to reprove me. Some women I know—we call each other friends—who happen to possess an eyebrow, an elbow, an impertinence, a simper, or any other thing that is observable, I have seen to cast their eyes down at the compliment, and try to look so modest too, that one could tell quite easily that this missish diffidence was a piece of art since it sat so consciously upon ’em, it could not possibly be nature. But furnished as I am with a whole artillery of charms, sure they need no adventitious blushes for their advertisement; indeed, they are so greatly and variously sung that it is quite a common thing for the poets to make an ode or sonnet of ’em every night, and a ballad every morning. The late poor little Mr. Pope was so occupied at times in comparing my eyes to Jupiter, or the evening star that I was fain to correct him for ’t, on the pretext that the heavenly bodies might not like it, they being such exalted things, whilst my Lady Barbarity was but a humble creature in a petticoat. Therefore if you would know the graces of my person I must refer you to the poets of the age; but if you would seek the graces of my mind, in this book you shall discover them, for I could not make it wittier if I tried. I have heard the young beaux speak of certain women of their acquaintancy as being as justly celebrated for their wit as for their beauty, but have yet to hear the old ones say this, since they know that wit and beauty is as rare a combination as is loveliness and modesty. This book will tell you, then, that my wit is in proportion to my modesty.
I returned from town with a hundred triumphs, but my heart intact. The whirl of fashion had palled upon me for a season. I was weary of the fume I had created in St. James’s and the Mall, and I retired to my northern home in the late January of ’46. Sweet High Cleeby, cradle of my joyous girlhood, home of romance and these strange events I now relate, let me mention you with reverence and love. Yet our ancestral seat is a cold and sombre place enough, wrapped in ivy and gray ghostliness. The manor is folded in on every side by a shivering gloom of woods, and in winter you can hear them cry in company with those uneasy souls that make our casements rattle. ’Tis dreary as November with its weed-grown moat; its cawing rooks; its quaint gables of Elizabeth; and its sixteenth-century countenance, crumbling and grim. Besides, it occupies a most solitary spot on the bare bosom of the moors, many a mile from human habitation, a forsaken house indeed where in the winter time rude blasts and the wind-beaten birds are its customary visitors. But the brisk north gales that fling the leaves about it, and scream among the chimneys late at night, had no sooner whipped my cheeks than my blood suddenly woke up and I began to rejoice in my return. The morning after my arrival, when I carried crumbs to the lawn in the hope of an early robin, a frost-breath stung my lips, and at the first bite of it, sure methinks I am tasting life at last. Ten months had I been regaled in town with the cream of everything that is; but it seemed that I must resort to my dear despised old Cleeby for those keen airs that keep the pulses vigorous. London is fine comedy, but in ten months the incomparable Mr. Congreve loses his savour, even for a sinner. Ombre was indeed a lively game; the play adorable; Vauxhall entertaining; wholesale conquest most appetising to feed one’s vanity upon, while to be the toast of the year was what not even the psalm-book of my dearest Prue would venture to disdain. To be courted, flattered, and applauded by every waistcoat west of Temple Bar, beginning with the K——g’s, was to become a mark for envy, and yet to stand superior to it in oneself. But now I was tiring of playing “Lady Barbarity” to coats and wigs, and silver-buckled shoes. This is the name the beaux had dubbed me, “Because” said they, “you are so cruel.”
It is true that I wore a claw. And if I occasionally used it, well, my endurance was abominably tried, and I will confess that mine is not the most patient temper in the world. The truth is that I was very bitter, having sought ten months in London for a Man, when the pink of England was assembled there, and had had to come away without having found so rare a creature. I had encountered princes, but the powder in their wigs, and buckles of their shoes were the most imposing parts of their individuality. I had looked on lesser gentlemen, but the correct manner in which they made a leg was the only test you might put upon their characters. I congratulate myself, however, that I made some little havoc with these suits of clothes. Therefore, Barbara became Barbarity, and I sustained this parody as fully as I could. They said I was born without a heart. Having gaily tried to prove to them how sound this theory was, I purchased the choicest string of pearls and the most delicate box of bonbons money could obtain, and returned to dear High Cleeby, January 22d, 1746, with my aunt, the dowager, in a yellow-coloured chaise.
The following morning I went to pay my devoir to my lord, who took his chocolate at eleven o’clock in his private chamber. Now I have always said that the Earl, my papa, was the very pattern of his age. He was polished to that degree that he seemed a mirror to reflect the graces of his person and his mind. Lord knows! in all his life ’twas little enough he said, and perhaps still less he did. There is not a deed of his that is important; nor hath he left a solitary phrase or sentiment in which his memory may be embalmed. ’Twas ill-bred, he used to say, for a man to endeavour to outshine his fellows, and to step out of the throng that is his equal in manners and in birth. And indeed he did not try; but, in spite of that, I am sure he was one of the most considerable persons of his time by virtue of the very things he did not do, and the speeches that he did not utter. It was his privilege, or his art perhaps, to win the reputation of a high intelligence, not because he had one, but because it was a point with him to keenly appreciate its exercise in those who were so liberally furnished. I found him this morning seated at the fire, sipping his chocolate from a low table at his side, and one foot was tucked up on a stool and bandaged for the gout as usual. On my entrance, though, and despite his complicated posture, he rose at once, and bowing as deeply as though I were the Queen, implored me to confer the honour of my person on his chair, and limped across the rug to procure another for himself. When we were seated and the Earl fixed his glasses on, for he was very near-sighted at this time, he quizzed me for at least a quarter of a minute, ere he said:
“Why, Bab, I think you are getting very handsome.”
I admitted that I was.
“And do you know that I have heard such a tale of you from town, my pretty lady? You have turned the heads of all the men, I understand.”
“Men!” said I, “suits of clothes, papa, and periwigs!”
“Well, well,” says he, in his tender tone, and bowing, “let us deal gently with their lapses. ’Tis a sufficient punishment for any man, I’m sure, to be stricken with your poor opinion. But listen, child, for I have something serious to say.”
Listen I did, you can be certain, for though I had known my papa, the Earl, for a considerable time, ’twas the first occasion that I had heard him mention serious matters. And as I pondered on the nature of the surprise he had in store, my eyes fell upon an open book, beside his tray of chocolate. It was a Bible. This caused me to look the more keenly at the Earl, and I saw that in ten months ten years had been laid upon his countenance. Even his powder could not hide its seams and wrinkles now. Crow’s feet had gathered underneath his eyes, and his padded shoulders were taken with a droop that left his stately coat in creases.
“If I exercise great care,” says he, with a bland deliberation, “old Paradise assures me that I yet have time to set my temporal affairs in order. And you, my dearest Bab, being chief part of ’em, I thought it well to mention this immediately to you. As for my spiritual affairs, old Paradise is positive that my soul is of so peculiar a colour that he recommends it to be scrubbed without delay. Thus I am taking the proper steps, you see.”
He laid his hand upon the Bible.
“’Tis no secret, my dearest Bab,” he said, “that Robert John, fifth Earl, your papa, never was an anchorite. He hath ta’en his fill of pleasure. He hath played his hazard, and with a zest both late and early; but now the candles sink, you see, and I believe they’ve called the carriage.” Again he laid his hand upon the Bible.
’Twas a very solemn moment, and his lordship’s words had plunged me in the deepest grief, but when he laid his hand upon that Testament a second time, it was as much as I could do to wear a decent gravity. For he was a very old barbarian.
“You see, child,” he continued, “that many years ago I took a professional opinion on this point. The Reverend Joseph Tooley, chaplain to the late lord, your grandpapa (I never felt the need for one myself), was always confident that there was hope for a sinner who repented. He used to say that he considered this saving clause a very capital idea on the part of the Almighty, as it permitted a certain degree of license in our generous youth. In fact, I can safely say that in my case it has been a decided boon, for my blood appears to be of a quality that will not cool as readily as another’s; indeed, it hath retained its youthful ardours to quite a middle age. Highly inconvenient for Robert John, fifth Earl, I can assure you, child, but for this most admirable foresight on the part of heaven.” The faint smile that went curling round the condemned man’s mouth was delicious to perceive. “For my idea has ever been to run my course and then repent. Well, I have now run my course, therefore let us see about repentance. I am about to moderate my port, and resign the pleasures of the table. My best stories I shall refrain from telling, and confine myself to those that would regale a bishop’s lady. But I want you, my charming Bab, to be very affectionate and kind towards your poor old papa; be filial, my love—extremely filial, for I will dispense—I’ve sworn to do it—with the lavish favours your angelic sex have always been so eager to bestow upon me. Yes, for my soul’s sake I must forbid ’em. But lord, what a fortitude I shall require!” This ancient heathen lifted up his eyes and sighed most killingly. “I am reading two chapters of the Bible daily, and I have also engaged a private chaplain, who starts his duties here on Monday week. But I think I’d better tell your ladyship”—with a wicked twinkle—“that he is fifty if he’s a day, and with no personal graces to recommend him. I was very careful on those points. For a young and comely parson where there’s daughters means invariably mésalliance, and I prefer to risk a permanent derangement in my soul than a mésalliance in my family.”
“You appear, my lord,” says I, flashing at him, “to entertain a singularly high opinion of my pride, to say nothing of my sense.”
“Tut, my dear person, tut!” says his lordship, wagging a yellow finger at me. “I’ve made a lifetime’s study of you dear creatures, and I know. You can no more resist an unctuous and insidious boy in bands and cassock than your tender old papa can resist a pair of eyes. Oh, I’ve seen it, child, seen it in a dozen cases—damn fine women too! And their deterioration has been tragical. Faith, a parson where there’s women is a most demoralising thing in nature.”
“’Pon my soul, my lord,” says I, in my courtliest manner, and adroitly misreading the opinion he expressed, “your own case is quite sufficient to destroy that theory, for you, my lord, are not the least ecclesiastical.”
“Faith, that’s true,” says he, and the old dog positively blushed with pleasure; “but had it been necessary for me to earn a livelihood I should certainly have gone into the Church. And while we are on matters theological I might say that I do believe that these strict practices will cheat Monsieur le Diable of my soul, as was my hope from the beginning.”
At this my lord could say no more. He burst into such a peal of laughter at his lifelong agility in this affair that the tears stepped from his eyes and turned the powder on his cheeks to paste.
Now I ever had allowed that the Earl, my papa, was the greatest man of my acquaintance. But it was not until this hour that I gauged the whole force and tenacity of his character. That a man should accept the sentence of his death so calmly, and thereupon prepare so properly to utilise his few remaining days in correcting the errors of his life, showed the depth of wisdom that was in his spirit. For he whose worldly business had been diplomacy now placed its particular genius at the service of his soul, that he might strike a bargain, as it were, between Heaven and the Prince of Darkness as to its eternal dwelling place.
“Howbeit this is simply of myself,” says he, when recovered of his mirth, “and it is of you, child, that I desire to speak. Before I go I must see you reasonably wed; beauty and high blood should be broken in and harnessed early, else it is prone to flick its heels and run away. Now, Bab, you have all the kingdom at your feet, they tell me. ’Tis a propitious hour; seize it, therefore, and make yourself a duchess with a hundred thousand pound. And farther, you have ever been my constant care, my pretty Bab, and I shall not be content unless I leave you at your ease.”
This consideration touched me.
“My lord,” says I, “I thank you for these tender thoughts. I fear I must die a spinster, though. For I will not wed a clothes-pole, I will not wed a snuff-box. A Man is as scarce, I vow, as the Philosopher’s Stone. So you must picture me, papa, an old maid of vinegar aspect, whose life is compounded of the nursing of cats and the brewing of caudles. Conceive your brilliant Bab, the handsomest wretch in the realm, who hath all the kingdom kissing her satin shoe, reduced to this in her later years! For I’ll warrant me there is not a Man in London.”
“Why, what is this?” cries out my lord, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “Is there not the Duke of——, with his town and country houses? Is he not a Privy Councillor? Hath he not the Garter? Hath he not a rent-roll, and would he not make a duchess of you any day you please?”
“My lord,” I answered, sadly, “I am unhappily cursed with a keen nose for a fool.”
He looked at me and smiled.
“He is a duke, my dear. But madam is a woman, therefore let me not attempt to understand her. But there is the Earl of H——, and the Hon. A——, and Mr. W——; indeed, every bachelor of station, lands, and pedigree in town.”
“Of which I am bitterly aware,” I sighed. “But I require a man, my lord, not a name and a suit of clothes.”
The delightful old barbarian did not apprehend my meaning, I am sure, but the secret of his reputation lay in the fact that he never let the world know that there was a subject in earth or heaven that he did not understand. When a topic travelled beyond the dominion of his mind, he preserved a melancholy silence, and contrived to appear as though the thing was too trivial to occupy his thoughts. But he changed the conversation at the earliest opportunity. The word “love” was to him the most mysterious monosyllable in the world. Wherefore he proceeded to speak about my bills, and said, in his charming way, that he did not mind how much they did amount to if I exhibited a mastery in the art of spending with grace and elegance.
“Now I see there is a yellow chaise,” said he, “and a yellow chaise I consider a trifle bourgeois, although my taste is perhaps a thought severe. A purple chaise, or vermilion even, hath a certain reticence and dignity, but yellow is enough to startle all the town.”
“True, papa,” says I with animation, “and I chose it for that purpose. I adore display; I must be looked at twice; I must perish, I suppose, if the fops did not quiz me in the most monstrous manner every time I took the Mall. When I die, let it be done to slow music, and I mean to have a funeral at the Abbey if I can. Why, do you know, sir, that the first country town I entered in this wondrous chaise, a tale was got about that the Empress of All the Russias had arrived? ’Twas a moment in my life I can assure you when I danced lightly from that vehicle, and threw smiles to the mob that kept the entrance to the inn. Pomp and circumstance are the blood of me. Dress me in ermine that I may become a show, and provoke huzzahs in every city! And if I must have a man, my lord, let him be a person of character and ideas to cheer me when I’m weary.” I ended in a peal of mirth.
“Hum! character and ideas.” My lord scratched his chin with a face of comical perplexity. “Would not position and a reasonable pin-money be still more apposite to your case, my dearest person? And anyway,” says he, “may I be in my grave ere my daughter Bab marries anywise beneath her. Character and ideas!”
“Amen to that, my lord!” cries I, with a deal of fervour.
Thereupon I left the Earl to his light reflection and his piety. My heart was heavy with the knowledge of his approaching end; but there was still a period in which I might enjoy the inimitable charm of his society. Passing from his chamber, I encountered my aunt upon the stairs. The briskness of her step, and the animation of her face, alike surprised me, as the dowager usually required nothing short of a cow, a mouse, or a suspicion of unorthodoxy to arouse her.
“Do not delay me, Barbara,” she said, brushing past me. “I must see the Earl immediately.”
I did not venture to impede her with my curiosity, for my aunt is a dreadful engine when once she is set in motion.
Coming to the foot of the stairs, however, I chanced to stray into the reception parlour to find a comfit box I had mislaid.
“My dear Lady Barbara!” a great voice hailed me, as soon as my face had appeared within the door.
Raising my eyes I saw that I was in the presence of a town acquaintance, Captain Grantley. A look assured me that he was here, not in the social capacity of a friend, but in pursuance of his military duties, inasmuch that he wore the red coat of his regiment, and was furnished with a full accoutrement. Greetings exchanged, he said: “Lady Barbara, I am here to interview the Earl on a matter of some gravity. Nothing less, in fact, than that the Marshal at Newcastle is transmitting one of the prisoners lately ta’en, and a very dangerous and important rebel, to Newgate, and as the straightest way is across your moors, I am come here to gain the Earl’s permission to billet eight men and horses on him for this evening.”
“I have no doubt he will grant it readily,” says I, “for are we not aware, my dear Captain, that my papa, the Earl, is the most hopeless Hanoverian in the world?”
“Yet permit me to say, madam,” says the Captain, “that a lady of your sense and penetration I should judge to be quite as hopelessly correct as is her father.”
’Twas a soldier’s way of turning compliments, you will observe, and of so coarse and ill-contrived a nature that I could not resist a reprimand.
“’Tis the most palpable mistake, sir,” I replied; “for utterly as Captain Grantley and my father are in the right, I, sir, am as utterly in error. For, Captain, I would have you know that I am a very rebel, and have shed many a tear for Charlie.”
I smartly beat the carpet with my boot, and gave my head its most indignant altitude. This exhibition of sentiment was but the fruit of my natural contrariety however, as I certainly never had shed a tear for Charlie, and was not likely to. Indeed, I had not a care for politics whatever, and for my life could not have said whether Sir Robert Walpole was a Tory or a Whig. But it amused me mightily to see the deep dismay that overtook the Captain, while he tried to gauge the magnitude of the error of which I had attainted him so falsely. And observing how tenderly my rebuke was felt, I was led to recall some town matters in connection with this gentleman. And considering all things appertaining to the Captain’s case, it was not remarkable that I should arrive at the conclusion that though it might be true enough that he was ostensibly arranging for the billets of men and horses for the night, he had also made this business the occasion of a visit to Barbara Gossiter, to whom he had been upon his knees in a London drawing-room.
CHAPTER II.THE REBEL APPEARS.
We continued to talk with aimless propriety, until the Captain fetched suddenly so huge a sigh out of the recesses of his waistcoat that it called for an heroic repression of myself to wear a proper gravity of countenance.
“Sir, you are not unwell, I hope,” says I, with perturbation.
He saw at once the chance provided for him, and laying his hand profoundly on his heart, was on the point, I do not doubt, of making one more declaration of his undying passion, when the entrance of my aunt curtailed the scene abruptly, and robbed me of the entertainment I had planned.
My aunt conducted the Captain to the Earl, and an hour later that officer went forth to his commander with the permission of my father to lodge the soldiers at Cleeby for a night. It was in the evening at seven o’clock that the prisoner was brought. I did not witness his arrival, as I happened to be dressing at that time, yet none the less I felt an interest in it, for, to say the least, a real live rebel savours of adventures, and those are what the tame life of woman seldom can provide. The Captain having installed his men in the servants’ part, was good enough to come and sup with us, and was able in a measure to enliven the tedium of that meal. The gentlemen talked politics, of course, and I was able to gather from their words that the Pretender Charles was already in full retreat, and that his army was like to be presently scattered on the earth.
“He’ll be flying for his precious life, sir, over hill and moor with our redcoats on his heels,” the Captain says, with an enthusiasm that made his face sparkle in the candle light. And I thought this ardour so well adorned him that he appeared to a prettier advantage as a soldier than as a man of fashion.
Somehow I could not dismiss a certain interest that their military conversation had aroused. Besides, the present circumstances had a novelty, as to-night we were actually involved in the stress of war.
“A rebel must be a very dangerous person, I should fear,” I said; “even the sound of rebel hath a spice of daring and the devil in it.”
“Highly dangerous,” says the Captain.
“Captain, do you know,” I said, seized with a desire, “that as I have never seen a rebel I should dearly like to have a peep at one of these desperate creatures. ’Twould be an experience, you know; besides, when a fresh species of wild animal is caught, all the town is attracted to its cage.”
“Madam, I would not deny you anything,” the Captain bowed, “but you have only to look into the mirror to behold a rebel of the deepest dye.”
“But not a dangerous one,” I smiled.
“Ah, dear lady,” says the Captain, with one hand straying to his heart, “’tis only for us men to say how dangerous you are.”
“Grantley,” says the Earl, my papa—and I wish this generation could have seen how elegant he was, even in his age—“if every rebel was as dangerous a one as madam is, there would be a change of dynasty mighty soon.”
Afterwards we had piquet together, but wearying of the game, I reminded the Captain of my wish. Without more ado he put me in a hood and cloak, the night being dark and keen, and threatening to snow, and took me to the prisoner on his arm. We bore a lantern with us, otherwise nothing had been visible, for the moon had not appeared yet. The poor rebel we found reposing on straw in one of the stables, but with even less of comfort than is allowed to horses. One of the troopers had mounted guard outside the door, his bayonet fixed, and himself leaning on the panel. He saluted us, and looked as cordial as his rank allowed; but his strict figure, with grim night and naked steel about it, sent a shiver through my wraps. You read of war in histories, and think it adventurous and fine, but when cold bayonet looks upon you from the dark, and you know that it is there to hold some defenceless person to his doom, the reality is nothing like so happy as the dream.
The Captain set back the wooden shutter, and held the light up high enough for me to peer within. There the rebel was, with gyves upon his wrists; whilst a rope was passed through the manger-ring, and also through his manacles. Thus he was secured strictly in his prison, but his fetters had length enough to permit him to stretch his miserable body on the straw that was mercifully provided. He had availed himself of this, and now lay in a huddle in it, fast asleep. At the first glance I took him to be precisely what he was, a young and handsome lad, moulded slightly with an almost girlish tenderness of figure, his countenance of a most smooth and fair complexion, without a hair upon it, while to read the kind expression of his mien, he was, I’m sure, as gentle as a cherubim.
When the Captain laid the keen light fully on him, he was smiling gently in his sleep, and, I doubt not, he was dreaming of his mother or his lady.
“Why, Captain!” I exclaimed, with an indignant heat that made my companion laugh, “call you this a dangerous rebel? Why, this is but a child, and a pretty child withal. ’Tis monstrous, Captain, to thus maltreat a boy. And surely, sir, you may release the poor lad of these horrid manacles?”
My voice thus incautiously employed aroused the sleeper so immediately that I believe he almost caught the import of my speech. At least, he suddenly shook his chains and turned his head to face the thread of lantern-light. Our eyes encountered, and such a power of honest beauty prevailed in his that my brain thrilled with joy and pity for their loveliness, and here, for the first time in my all-conquering career, my own gaze quailed and drooped before another’s. Its owner was but a dirty, chained, and tattered rebel, whose throat rose bare above his ragged shirt, and whose mop of hair seemed never to have known a law for the best part of its years; a vagabond, in fact, of no refinement or propriety, yet when his bright, brave eyes leapt into mine like flame, the sympathetic tears gushed from me, and I was fain to turn away. The Captain divined my agitation, perhaps because my shoulders shook, or perchance he saw my cheeks a-glistening, for he let the lantern down and led me to the house in a most respectful silence. Yet every step we traversed in the darkness, the star-like look of that unhappy lad was making havoc of my heart.
When we were returned to the brightness of the candles, and I had thrown aside my cloak and hood and had recommenced the game, I turned towards the Captain to enquire:
“Captain, I suppose there will be many years of prison for that poor lad?”
“Dear me, no!” the Captain said; “he is to be interrogated at the Tower, which will merely take a day or two, and then it’s Tyburn Tree.”
“What, they mean to hang him?” says I, in horror.
“Yes, to hang him,” says the Captain.
“But he’s so young,” I said, “and he looks so harmless and so innocent. They will never hang him, Captain, surely.”
“I think they will,” the Captain said; “and wherefore should they not? He is a very arrant rebel; he has conducted the business of the Prince in a most intrepid manner, and he further holds a deal of knowledge that the Government have determined to wring from him if they can.”
“Ah me!” I sighed, “it is a very cruel thing.”
For here his lovely glance returned upon me, and it made me sad to think of it and his bitter doom. And, at least, this lad, even in ignominious tatters and captivity, contrived to appear both handsome and impressive, which is a point beyond all the fops of London, despite their silks and laces and their eternal artifice.
“Anyway,” I said, “this rebel interests me, Captain. Come, tell me all about him now. Has he a birth, sir?”
“Not he,” the Captain said; “merely the son of a Glasgow baker, or some person of that character.”
The Captain, who had, of course, been born, said this with a half triumphant air, as though this was a coup-de-grâce, and had, therefore, killed the matter. And I will confess that here was a shock to the web of romance I was weaving about this charming, melancholy lad. Even I, that had a more romantic temper than the silliest miss at an academy, felt bound to draw the line at the sons of bakers.
“But at least, Captain,” I persisted with, I suppose, the tenacity of my sex, “you can recall some purple thread in his disposition or behaviour that shall consort with the poetic colour in which my mind hath painted him? He must be brave, I’m sure? Or virtuous? Or wise? But bravery for choice, Captain, for a deed of courage or a noble enterprise speaks to the spirit of us women like a song. Come, Captain, tell me, he is brave?”
“He is a baker’s son, my Lady Barbara.”
“I heard once of a chimney sweeper who embraced death in preference to dishonour,” was my rejoinder. “Must I command you, Captain?”
“The whim of madam is the law of every man that breathes,” says the soldier, with a not discreditable agility. “And as for the courage of your rebel, the worst I can say of it is this: he hath been told to choose between death and the betrayal of his friends. He hath chosen death.”
“Bravo!” was the applause I gave the boy; “and now that you have proved this pretty lad to be worthy of a thought, I should like his name.”
“He is called Anthony Dare,” the Captain said.
“A good name, a brave name, and far too good to perish at Tyburn in the cart,” says I, whilst I am sure my eyes were warmly sparkling.
The Captain and his lordship laughed at this fervour in my face, and were good enough to toast the dazzling light that was come into it.
Now in the matter of this rebel certain odd passages befell, and I am about to retail the inception of them to you. One thing is certain in reviewing these very strange affairs from the distance years have given them. It is that in 1746, in the full meridian of my beauty and renown, my lively spirit was in such excess that ’twas out of all proportion to my wisdom. A creature whose life is a succession of huzzahs hath never a reverend head nor one capable of appreciating consequences. Therefore you are not to betray surprise when you are told that I had no sooner bade my aunt and the gentlemen good evening, towards eleven of the clock, than I gave the rein to mischief, and set about to have a little sport. Every step I ascended to my chamber my mind was on that condemned rebel in the stable with the gyves upon his wrists. I felt myself utterly unable to dismiss the look he had given me, and yet was inclined to be piqued about it too. For you must understand that his eyes had infringed a right possessed by those of Barbara Gossiter alone. But the more I thought about this lad the less I could endure the idea of what his doom must be. Might not an effort be put forth on his behalf? To make one might be to extend the life of a fellow creature, and also to colour the dull hues of mine own with a brisk adventure, for, lord, what a weary existence is a woman’s! In the act of turning the lamp up in my bedroom I came to a decision, and half a minute afterwards, when my maid, Mrs. Polly Emblem, appeared to unrobe me and to dress my hair, she found me dancing round the chamber in pure cheerfulness of heart, and rippling with laughter also, to consider how I proposed to cheat and to befool half a score right worthy persons, amongst whom were Captain Grantley and the Earl, my father.
“Let me kiss you, my Emblem of lightness and dispatch,” I cried to the mistress of the robes; “for to-night I am as joyous as a blackbird in a cherry tree that hath no business to be there. I am going to be in mischief, Emblem,” and to relieve my merry feelings I went dancing round the room again.
Happily or unhappily, sure I know not which, this maid of mine was not one of those staid and well-trained owls whose years are great allies to their virtue, whom so many of my friends affect. One of these would perhaps have managed to restrain me from so hazardous a deed. Still, I’m not too positive of that, for I have an idea that when my Lady Barbarity was giddy with her triumphs and good blood few considerations could have held her from an act which she at all desired to perform. Certainly Mrs. Polly Emblem was not the person to impose restraints upon her mistress in the most devious employ, being herself the liveliest soubrette you would discover this side of the Channel, with a laugh that was made of levity, and who was as ripe for an adventure as the best.
The first thing I did was to post Emblem on the landing, that she might bring me word as soon as the candles were out below, and the gentlemen retired. Meanwhile I made some preparation. I stirred the waning fire up, and then went in stealth to an adjoining room and procured from a cupboard there a kettleful of water, some coffee, and a pot wherein to brew it. The water had just begun to hiss upon the blaze when Emblem reappeared with the information that the lights were out at last, and that the gentlemen had ascended to their chambers. I bade her brew a good decoction, while I rummaged several of the drawers in my wardrobe to discover a few articles highly imperative to my scheme. To begin with I took forth a potion in a packet, a powerful sedative that was warranted to send anything to sleep; the others consisted of a vizard, a hooded cloak, and last, if you please, a pistol, balls, and powder. These latter articles I know do not usually repose in a lady’s chamber, but then my tastes always were of the quaintest character, and often formerly, when my life had been so tame that its weariness grew almost unendurable, I have taken a ridiculous delight in cleaning and priming this dread weapon with my own hands, and speculating on its power with a foolish but a fearful joy. Verily idleness is full of strange devices.
“Now, Emblem,” says I, when the coffee was prepared, “let me see you put this powder in the pot, and as you always were an absent-minded sort of wench, ’twere best that you forgot that you had done so.”
“Very good, my lady,” Emblem says, with a wonderfully sagacious look. And immediately she had poured the contents of the packet in the coffee. I took up the pot and said, with an air of notable severity:
“Of course, this coffee is as pure as possible, and could not be doctored any way? I think that is so, Emblem?”
“Oh! lord yes, ma’am; it is indeed,” cries Emblem the immaculate.
“Well,” says I, “so soon as we can be positive that the gentlemen are abed, and at their ease in slumber’s lap, the fun shall get afoot.”
We sat down by the hearth for the thereabouts of half an hour, that they might have ample time to attain this Elysian state. Later I wrapped the admirable Emblem up the very model of a plotter, and despatched her to the sentry on guard at the stable door, with the compliments of her mistress and a pot of coffee, to keep the cold out.
“For I’m sure, poor man,” I piously observed, “it must be perishing out there in a frosty, wintry night of this sort.”
“It must, indeed, my lady,” Emblem says, with the gravity of a church; “and had I not better wait while he drinks it, ma’am, and bring the empty pot back? And had I not better put my carpet slippers on, and steal out carefully and without committing the faintest sound when I unbolt the kitchen door?”
“Emblem,” cries I, dealing her a light box on the ears, “to-night I will discard this darling of a gown I’m wearing. To-morrow it is yours.”
Faith, my Emblem ever was a treasure, if only because she was not subject ever to any bother in her soul. But when she had gone upon her errand to the soldier at the stable door, and I was left alone with my designs, for the first time meditation came, and a most unwelcome feeling of uneasiness crept on me. There was a certain danger in the thing I was determined to attempt; but then, I argued, the pleasure that any sport affords must primarily spring from the risks involved in its pursuit. That is unless one is a Puritan. Her greatest enemy has never accused my Lady Barbarity of that, however. Yet my mind still ran upon that grim guardian of the tight-kept rebel, and again I saw the night about him, and his fixed bayonet glaring at me through the gloom. Then for the second time that evening did I convince myself that adventure in the fairy-books and Mr. Daniel Defoe is one thing, but that at twelve o’clock of a winter’s night their cold and black reality is quite another. But here the imps of mirth woke up and tickled me, till again I fell a-rippling with glee. They proudly showed me half-a-score right worthy men nonplussed and mocked by the wit of woman. ’Twould make a pretty story for the town; and my faith! that was a true presentiment. But the long chapter that was in the end excited to my dear friends of St. James’s I would a’ paid a thousand pounds to have remained untold. But just now the mirth of the affair was too irresistible, and I laughed all cowardice to scorn. Besides, I remembered the wondrous gaze of poor Mr. Anthony Dare, that sweetly handsome youth, that desperate rebel, that chained and tattered captive, whose fate was to be a dreadful death upon the Tree. I remembered him, and although pity is the name that I resolutely refuse to have writ down as the motive for this merry plot, as all the world knows that I never had a heart in which to kindle it; but remembering that lad, I say, straight had I done with indecision, for I sprang up smartly, with a rude word for the King. And I make bold to declare that she who pulled the blinds aside an instant later to gaze into the night was the most determined rebel that ever grinned through hemp.
CHAPTER III.THE REBEL DISAPPEARS.
I saw at once that the moon was come, but for my enterprise’s sake I wished it absent. Here she was, however, framed in cloud, with a star or two about her, and a very tell-tale eye. The roof of the woods freezing across the park was a mass of dusky silver that her beams had thrown, and so bold and sharp her glow was on every twig that slept that individual things stood forth and stared at me, and seemed endowed with the hue of noon in the middle of the night. And I am sure the hour was laid for an adventure, and crying for a deed. The light of the moon was made of pale romance, and bade the princess bare her casement, and the minstrel on the sward to sing. This was the disposition of my thoughts as I looked out of the window, and I was so captive to their poetry that a soft touch upon my shoulder startled me as greatly as a blow. I glanced round quickly and found Emblem at my side.
“He hath drained it to the dregs, my lady,” says she, brandishing the coffee-pot.
“Faith! you startled me,” says I. “Emblem, your foot is lighter than a cat’s.”
“’Tis almighty cold under the moon, ma’am,” says the maid, “and you would be well advised, I think, to put a stouter garment on.”
“Ha! sly minx,” says I, “you fear that my employment will be the enemy of soft, white satin, and that it may take a soil or two.”
I followed her advice, however, and got into a winter dress, and sent her meanwhile to seek a file in the region of the kitchen. This was a tool I had forgot, but highly necessary, you will believe, when a pair of stout handcuffs are to be encountered. I dressed and cloaked myself with care, and pulled two pairs of stockings on, for slippers on a frosty night are the tenderest protection. I had just perched the vizard on my nose when Emblem brought the file. I picked the pistol up, set it at her head, and made her deliver up that file with a degree of instancy which hath not been excelled by the famous Jerry Jones, of Bagshot. Thereupon I loaded that dark weapon, pocketed its adjuncts, and, leaving the faithful Emblem white and trembling with the excitement of the hour, set out upon a deed whose inception was so simple, yet whose complex development was destined to commit a great havoc in the lives of several, and to change entirely the current of my own.
Had I foreseen these ultimate occurrences, I should not have set out at one o’clock of winter moonlight in the spirit of an urchin on a holiday. Should I have set out at all? Faith! I cannot say, for the more beautiful a woman is the less restraint hath reason on her. But this I’m sure of: had my Lady Barbarity only known the strange form the business of that night was to take for herself and others, she had certainly said her prayers before she embarked upon it.
