Parson Kelly

by Andrew Lang

  CHAPTER VIII

  MR. KELLY HAS AN ADVENTURE AT A MASQUERADE BALL

  For the greater part of that year Mr. Kelly simply went about hisbusiness. He travelled backwards and forwards from General Dillon,Lord Lansdowne, the Duke of Mar, in Paris, to the Bishop of Rochester,in London, and from the Bishop to the others of the five whomismanaged the Chevalier's affairs in England, Lord Arran, LordStrafford, Lord North and Grey, Lord Orrery, and last, though notleast, the Earl of Oxford. Thus business brought him more than onceknocking again at the doors of Brampton Bryan Manor, though he did notalways find her ladyship at home to welcome him. On such occasions hefound the great house very desolate for the want of her footstep andher voice, and so would pull out his watch and fall to wondering whatat that precise moment she was engaged upon in town.

  Thus things dallied, then, until a warm wet night of summer in theyear 1720. Mr. Kelly was in London and betook himself to His Majesty'sTheatre in Drury Lane, where he witnessed a farce which was very muchto his taste. It was entitled 'South-Sea; or the Biter Bit,' and washappy not merely in its quips, but in the moment of its performance.For the King, or, as the honest party called him, the Elector, and hislords had sold out, and were off to Germany with their plunder, andthe stocks were falling by hundreds every week. Mr. Kelly might welllaugh at the sallies on the stage and the wry faces with which the pitand boxes received them. For he had recently sold out his actions inthe Mississippi scheme at a profit of 1,200 per cent., and had hismoney safe locked up at Mr. Child's, the goldsmith. Kelly's, however,was not a mere wanton pleasure. For the floating of the bubble out ofreach meant a very solid change in the Jacobite prospects. So long asthe South-Sea scheme prospered and all the town grew wealthy, therewould be no talk of changing kings and no chance for Mr. Kelly'sfriends. That great and patriotic bishop whom he served, my Lord ofRochester, had said to him this many a month past, 'Let 'em forgettheir politics, let 'em all run mad in Change Alley, and the madderthe better. For the funds will fall and be the ruin of thousands, andwhen England is sunk into a salutary wretchedness and discontent, thenour opportunity will come.'

  It was altogether, then, in a very good humour that Mr. Kelly left thetheatre. The night was young, and he disinclined for his lodgings. Hestrolled across to the Groom Porters, in White Hall, where his spiritswere mightily increased. For taking a hand there at Bassette, in threedeals he won nine rich septlevas, and, for once, did not need themoney, and when he left the Groom Porters his pockets were heavy withgold, and his head swimming with the fumes of punch.

  It is not to be wondered at that those same fumes of punch floatedLady Oxford into Mr. Kelly's mind. He swaggered up St. James's Streetwith her ladyship consequently riding atop of his bemused fancies. Itwas a gay hour in St. James's, being then about half past one of themorning. Music rippled out of windows open on the night. Kelly heardthe dice rattle within and the gold clink on the green cloth; loverswere whispering on the balconies; the world seemed to be going verywell for those who had not their money in the Bubble, and for no onebetter than for Mr. Kelly. He looked about him, if by chance he mightcatch a glimpse of his divinity among the ladies of fashion as hewatched them getting into their chairs, pushing their hoops sidelongbefore them, and the flambeaux flaring on their perfections. Heimagined himself a Paladin rescuing her from innumerable foes. She wasan angel, a sprite, a Hamadryad, in fact everything tender andimmaterial.

  He was roused from these dreams by an illumination of more thanordinary brilliancy, and looking up saw that he had wandered to thetheatre in the Haymarket. A ragged crowd of pickpockets and the likewas gathered about the portico. Carriages and chairs set down in quicksuccession, ladies in dominoes, gentlemen in masks. Mr. Kellyremembered that it was a night of the masquerades; all the world wouldbe gathered in the theatre, and why not Lady Oxford, who was herselfthe better half of it? Kelly had a ticket in his pocket, pushedthrough the loiterers, and stood on the inner rim of the crowdwatching the masqueraders arrive. Every carriage that drew up surelyconcealed her ladyship, every domino that passed up the steps hid herincomparable figure. Mr. Kelly had staked his soul with unruffledconfidence upon her identity with each of the first twelve women whothus descended before he realised that he was not the only one whowaited. From the spot where he stood he could see into the lobby ofthe theatre. Heidegger, M. le surintendant des plaisirs du Roi del'Angleterre,

  'With a hundred deep wrinkles impressed on his front, Like a map with a great many rivers upon 't,'

  was receiving the more important of his guests. The guests filed pasthim into the parterre, Heidegger remained. But another man loiteredever in the lobby too. He was evidently expecting someone, and thatwith impatience. For as each coach or chaise drew up he peered eagerlyforward; as it delivered its occupants he turned discontentedly away.It is perhaps doubtful whether Mr. Kelly would have paid him any greatattention but for his dress, which arrested all eyes and caused themore tender of the ladies who passed him to draw their cloaks closerabout them with a gesture of disgust. For he was attired to representa headsman, being from head to foot in black, with a crape mask uponhis face and a headsman's axe in his hand. He had carried hisintention out with such thoroughness, moreover, that he had daubed hisdoublet and hose with red.

  Mr. Kelly was in a mood to be charmed by everything strange andeccentric, and the presence of this bloodsmeared executioner at amasquerade seemed to him a piece of the most delicate drollery.Moreover, the executioner was waiting like Mr. Kelly, and with a likeanxiety. Mr. Kelly had a fellow-feeling for him in his impatiencewhich prompted him suddenly to run up the steps and accost him.

  'Like me, you are doubtless waiting for your aunt,' said the Parsoncourteously.

  The impulse, the movement, the words had all been the matter of asecond; but the executioner was more than naturally startled, as Mr.Kelly might have perceived had he possessed his five wits. For the manleaped rather than stepped back; he gave a gasp; his hand grippedtight about the handle of his axe. Then he stepped close to Kelly.

  'You know me?' he said. The voice was muffled, the accent one ofmenace. Kelly noticed neither the voice nor the menace. He bowed withceremony.

  'Without a doubt. You are M. de Strasbourg.'

  The headsman laughed abruptly like a man relieved.

  'You and I,' he returned, mimicking Kelly's politeness of manner,'will be better acquainted in the future.'

  Kelly was overjoyed with the rejoinder. 'Here's a devil of a fellowfor you,' he cried, and with his elbow nudged Heidegger in the ribs.Heidegger was at that moment bent to the ground before the Duchess ofWharton, and nearly stumbled over her Grace's train. He turned in apassion as soon as the Duchess had passed.

  'Vas you do dat for dam?' he said all in a breath. Kelly however wasengaged in contemplating the executioner. He ran his thumb along theedge of the axe.

  'It is cruelly blunt,' said he.

  'You need not fear,' returned the other. 'For your worship is onlyentitled to a cord.'

  'Oh, so you know me,' says Kelly, stepping close to the executioner.

  'Without a doubt,' replied the latter, stepping back, 'Monsieur leMarchand de dentelles.'

  It was Kelly's turn to be startled, and that he was effectually; hewas shocked into a complete recovery of his senses and an accurateestimation of his folly. He walked to the entrance and stood upon thesteps. The executioner knew him, knew something of his trade. Who,then, was M. de Strasbourg? Kelly recalled the tones of his voice,conned them over in his mind, and was not a penny the wiser. Heglanced backwards furtively across his shoulder and looked the manover from head to foot.

  At that moment a carriage drove up to the entrance. Mr. Kelly wasstanding on the top of the steps and the face of the coachman on thebox was just on a level with his own. He stared, in a word, right atit, and so took unconsciously an impression of it upon his mind, whilepondering how he should act with regard to M. de Strasbourg.Consequ
ently he did not notice that a woman stepped out of thecarriage and, without looking to the right or left, quickly mountedthe steps. His eyes, in fact, were still fixed upon the coachman'sface; and it needed the brushing of her cloak against his legs torouse him from his reflections.

  He turned about just as she disappeared at the far end of the lobby.He caught a glimpse of a white velvet cloak and an inch of blue satinpetticoat under a muffling domino. He also saw that M. de Strasbourgwas drawn close behind a pillar, as though he wished to avoid thelady. As soon, however, as she had vanished he came boldly out of hisconcealment and followed her into the theatre. Mr. Kelly beganinstantly to wonder whether a closer view of the domino would help himdiscover who M. de Strasbourg really was, and entering the theatre hewent up into the boxes.

  At first his eyes were bedazzled by the glitter of lights and jewelsand the motley throng which paraded the floor. There was the usualmedley of Chinese, Turks, and friars; here was a gentleman above sixfeet high dressed like a child in a white frock and leading stringsand attended by another of very low stature, who fed him from time totime with a papspoon; there was a soldier prancing a minuet upon ahobby horse to the infinite discomfort of his neighbours; and as forthe women--it seemed to Mr. Kelly that all the goddesses of theheathen mythology had come down from Olympia in their customaryneglige.

  Among them moved M. de Strasbourg like a black shadow, verydistinguishable. Kelly kept his eyes in the man's neighbourhood, andin a little perceived a masked lady with her hair dressed in the Greekfashion. What character she was intended to represent he could not forthe life of him determine. He learnt subsequently that she went asIphigeneia--Iphigeneia, if you please, in a blue satin petticoat. Tobe sure her bosom was bared for the sacrifice, but then all the ladiesin that assembly were in the like case. She had joined a party offriends, of whom M. de Strasbourg was not one. For though he kept herever within his sight, following her hither and thither, it was alwaysat a distance; and, so far as Kelly could see, and he did not take hiseyes from the pair, he never spoke to her so much as a single word. Onthe contrary he seemed rather to lurk behind and avoid her notice.Kelly's curiosity was the more provoked by this stealthy pursuit. Helost his sense of uneasiness in a wonder what the man designed againstthe woman. He determined to wait the upshot of the affair.

  The night wore away, the masqueraders thinned. The inch of blue satinpetticoat took her departure from the parterre. M. de Strasbourgfollowed her; Mr. Kelly followed M. de Strasbourg.

  The lobby was crowded. Kelly threaded his way through the crowd andcame out upon the steps. He saw the lady, close wrapped again in hervelvet cloak, descend to her carriage. The coachman gathered up hisreins and took his whip from its rest. The movement chanced to attractKelly's eyes. He looked at the coachman, at the first glanceindifferently, at the second with all his attention. For this was notthe same man who had driven the carriage to the masquerade. And thenthe coachman turned his full face towards Kelly and nodded. He noddedstraight towards him. But was the nod meant for him? No! Well, then,for someone just behind his shoulder.

  Kelly did not turn, but stepped quietly aside and saw M. de Strasbourgslip past him down the steps. So the nod was meant for him. M. deStrasbourg was still masked, but he had thrown a cloak about hisshoulders which in some measure disguised his dress. The mysteryseemed clear to Kelly; the lady was to be forcibly abducted unlesssomeone, say Mr. James Johnson, had a word to say upon the matter. Thecarriage turned and drove slowly through the press of chairs andshouting link-boys; M. de Strasbourg on the side-walk kept pace withthe carriage. Kelly immediately crossed the road, and, concealed bythe carriage, kept pace with M. de Strasbourg. Thus they went as faras the corner of the Haymarket, and then turned into Pall Mall.

  At this point Kelly, to be the more ready should the lady need hisassistance, stepped off the pavement and walked in the mud hard by thehind wheels of the carriage. It was now close upon four of themorning, but, fortunately, very dark, and only a sullen sort oftwilight about the south-eastern fringes of the sky.

  In Pall Mall the carriages were fewer, but the coachman did notquicken his pace, doubtless out of regard for M. de Strasbourg, and atthe corner of Pall Mall, where the road was quite empty, he jerked thehorses to a standstill. Instantly M. de Strasbourg ran across the roadto the carriage, the coachman bent over on that side to watch, and Mr.Kelly, on the other side, ran forward to the box. M. de Strasbourgwrenched open the door and jumped into the carriage. Mr. Kelly heard awoman's scream and sprang on to the box. The coachman turned with astart. Before he could shout, before he could speak, Kelly showed hima pistol (for he went armed) under the man's nose.

  'One word,' said Kelly, 'and I will break your ugly face in with thestock of that, my friend.'

  The woman screamed again; M. de Strasbourg thrust his head out of thewindow.

  'Go on,' he shouted with an oath, 'you know where. At a gallop! Killthe horses, they are not mine! Flog 'em to death so you go but fastenough.'

  'To the right,' said Kelly, quietly.

  The man whipped up the horses. They started at a gallop up St. James'sStreet.

  'To the right,' again whispered Kelly.

  The carriage turned into Ryder Street, rocking on its wheels. M. deStrasbourg's head was again thrust from the window.

  'That's not the way. Are you drunk, man?--are you drunk?' he cried.

  'To the left,' says Kelly, imperturbably, and fingered the lock of thepistol a little.

  The carriage swung into Bury Street.

  'Stop,' said Kelly.

  The coachman reined in his horses; the carriage stopped with a jerk.

  'Where in the devil's name have you taken us?' cried M. de Strasbourg,opening the door.

  Kelly sprang to the ground, ran round the carriage to the open door.

  'To the Marchand de dentelles, M. de Strasbourg,' said he with a bow.'I have some most elegant pieces of _point d'Alencon_ for the lady'sinspection.'

  M. de Strasbourg was utterly dumbfounded. He staggered back againstthe panels of the carriage; his mouth opened and shut; it seemed therewas no language sufficiently chaotic to express his discomposure. Atlast:

  'You are a damned impudent fellow,' he gasped out in a weak sort ofquaver.

  'Am I?' asked Kelly. 'Shall we ask the lady?'

  He peeped through the door. The lady was huddled up in a corner--anodd heap of laces, silks, and furbelows, but with never a voice in allthe confusion. It seemed she had fainted.

  Meanwhile M. de Strasbourg turned on the unfortunate coachman.

  'Get down, you rascal,' he cried; 'you have been bribed, you're in thefellow's pay. Get down! Not a farthing will you get from me, but onlya thrashing that will make your bones ache this month to come.'

  'Your honour,' replied the coachman piteously, 'it was not my fault.He offered to kill me unless I drove you here.'

  M. de Strasbourg in a rage flung back to Kelly. He clapped a hand onhis shoulder and plucked him from the carriage door.

  'So you offered to kill him, did you?' he said. 'Perhaps you will makea like offer to me. But I'll not wait for the offer.'

  He unclasped his cloak, drew his sword (happily not his axe) anddelivered his thrust with that rapidity it seemed all one motion. Mr.Kelly jumped on one side, and the sword just gleamed against hissleeve. M. de Strasbourg overbalanced himself and stumbled a foot ortwo forwards. Kelly had whipped out his sword by the time that M. deStrasbourg had recovered, and a battle began which was whimsicalenough. A quiet narrow street, misty with the grey morning, thecarriage lamps throwing here a doubtful shadow, a masked headsmanleaping, swearing, thrusting in an extreme passion, and, to crown thebusiness, the coachman lamenting on the box that whichever honourablegentleman was killed he would most surely go wanting his hire, he thathad a woeful starving family! Mr. Kelly, indeed, felt the strongestinclination to laugh, but dared not, so hotly was he pressed. Theattack, however, he did not return, but contented himself withparrying the thrusts. His design, indeed, reached at no mor
e than themere disarming of M. de Strasbourg. M. de Strasbourg, however, losteven his last remnants of patience.

  'Rascal!' he cried. 'Scullion! Grasshopper!'

  Then he threw his hat at Kelly and missed, and at last flung hisperiwig full in Kelly's face, accompanying the present with a thrusthome which his opponent barely parried.

  It was this particular action which brought the contest to a grotesqueconclusion quite in keeping with its beginnings. For the periwigtumbled in the mud, and the coachman, assured that he would get nostiver of his hire, scrambled down from his box, rushed at a prize ofso many pounds in value, picked it up and took to his heels.

  M. de Strasbourg uttered a cry and leaped backwards out of reach.

  'Stop!' he bawled to the coachman. The coachman only ran the quicker.M. de Strasbourg passed his hand over his shaven crown and looked atthe carriage. It was quite impossible to abduct a lady without aperiwig to his head. He swore, he stamped, he shouted 'Stop!' oncemore, and then dashed at full speed past Kelly in pursuit.

  Kelly made no effort to prevent him, but gave way to his inclinationand laughed. The coachman threw a startled glance over his shoulderand, seeing that M. de Strasbourg pressed after him, quickened hispace; behind him rushed a baldheaded executioner hurling imprecations.The pair fled, one after the other, to the top of Bury Street, turnedthe corner and disappeared. Kelly laughed till the tears ran down hischeeks, and leaned against the carriage.

  The touch of the panels recalled him to the lady's presence. Thestreet was now fairly roused by the clamour. Night-capped heads peepedfrom the windows; an indignant burgher in a dressing-gown eventhreatened Mr. Kelly with a blunderbuss; and, as he turned to the doorof the carriage, he saw Mrs. Barnes at a window on the second floorlooking at him with an air of the gravest discontent.

  'Take me into shelter, good sir, at once, at once,' cried the ladyfrom out the confusion of her laces, in a feigned tone of themasquerade.

  'With all my heart, madam,' said Kelly. 'This is my door, and mylodging is at your disposal. Only the street is fairly awake, andshould you prefer, I will most readily drive you to your own house.'

  The lady looked out of the window. She was still masked so that Kellycould see nothing of her face, and she hesitated for a little, as ifin doubt what answer she should make.

  'You may make yourself at ease, madam,' said Kelly, believing that shewas not yet relieved of fear; 'you are in perfect safety. Our worthyfriend had to choose between your ladyship and his periwig, of whichhe has gone in chase. And, indeed, while I deplore his taste, I cannotbut commend his discretion.'

  'Very well,' she replied faintly. 'I owe you great thanks already,Mr.--' she paused.

  'Johnson,' said Kelly.

  'Mr. Johnson,' she replied; 'and I shall owe you yet more if you willdrive me to my home.'

  She gave him the address of a house in Queen's Square, Westminster.Kelly mounted on the box, took up the reins, and drove off. He lookedup, as he turned the carriage in the narrow street, towards the secondfloor of his lodging. Mrs. Barnes shook her head at him in a terribleconcern.

  'I shall write and tell Mr. Wogan,' she bawled out.

  'Hush, Mrs. Barnes, have you no sense?' cried Kelly, and he thoughtthat from within the carriage he heard a stifled peal of laughter.'Poor woman,' thought he, ''tis the hysterics,' and he drove toQueen's Square, Westminster, at a gallop.