CHAPTER II
AT VAUXHALL
In a year when all the world was flocking to the new Rotunda inRanelagh Gardens, Mrs. Northey would be particular, and have herevening party to Vauxhall. Open air was the fashion of the time, andit was from her seat at the open window in Arlington Street that shewelcomed her guests. Thence, as each new-comer appeared she shoutedher greeting, often in terms that convulsed the chairmen at thecorner; or now and again, hanging far out, she turned her attentionand wit to the carpenters working late on Sir Robert's house nextdoor, and stated in good round phrases her opinion of the noise theymade. When nearly all her company were assembled, and the room wasfull of women languishing and swimming, and of men mincing andprattling, and tapping their snuff-boxes, Sophia stole in, and,creeping into a corner, hid herself behind two jolly nymphs, who, withhoops six feet wide and cheeks as handsome as crimson could make them,were bandying jokes and horse-play with a tall admirer. In thisretreat Sophia fancied that she might hide her sad looks until theparty set out; and great was her dismay, when, venturing at last toraise her eyes, she discovered that she had placed herself beside,nay, almost touching the man whom of all others she wished to avoid,the detested Coke; who, singularly enough, had sought the sameretirement a few moments earlier.
In the confusion of the moment she recoiled a step; the events of theday had shaken her nerves. Then, "I beg your pardon, sir, I did notsee that you were there," she stammered.
"No," he said with a smile, "I know you did not, child. Or you wouldhave gone to the other end of the room. Now, confess. Is it not so?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "As you please, sir," she said, "I wouldnot venture to contradict you," and curtseying satirically she turnedaway her face. At any rate he should lie in no doubt of her feelings.
He did not answer. And, welcome as his silence was, something likecontempt of a suitor who aspired to have without daring to speak tookpossession of her. Under the influence of this feeling, embittered bythe rating she had received that morning, she fell to considering himout of the tail of her eye, but, in spite of herself, she could notdeny that he was personable; that his features, if a trifle set andlacking vivacity, were good, and his bearing that of a gentleman atease in his company. Before she had well weighed him, however, or donemore than compare him with the fop who stood before her, and whosemuff and quilted coat, long queue and black leather stock were in theextreme of the fashion, Sir Hervey spoke again.
"Why does it not please you?" he asked, almost listlessly.
"To do what, sir?"
"To be beside me."
"I did not say it did not," she answered, looking stiffly the otherway.
"But it does not," he persisted. "I suppose, child, your sister hastold you what my views are?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what do you say?" he murmured. "That--that I am much obliged toyou, but they are not mine!" Sophia answered, with a rush of words andcolour; and, punished as she had been that morning, it must beconfessed, she cruelly enjoyed the stroke.
For a moment only. Then to her astonishment and dismay Sir Herveylaughed. "That is what you say now," he answered lightly. "What willyou say if, by-and-by, when we know one another better, we get on aswell together as--as Lady Sophia there, and----"
"And Lord Lincoln?" she cried, seeing that he hesitated. "Never!"
"Indeed!" he retorted. "But, pray, what do you know about LordLincoln?"
"I suppose you think I know no scandal?" she cried.
"I would prefer you to know as little as possible," he answeredcoolly; in the tone she fancied which he would have used had she beenalready his property. "And there is another thing I would also preferyou did not know," he continued.
"Pray, what is that?" she cried, openly scornful; and she flirted herfan a little faster.
"Mr. Hawkesworth."
The blood rushed to her cheeks. This was too much. "Are you jealous?or only impertinent?" she asked, her voice not less furious because itwas low and guarded. "How noble, how chivalrous, to say behind agentleman's back what you would not dare to say to his face!"
Sir Hervey shrugged his shoulders. "He is not a gentleman," he said."He is not one of us, and he is not fit company for you. I do not knowwhat story he has told you, nor what cards he has played, but I knowthat what I say is true. Be advised, child," he continued earnestly,"and look on him coldly when you see him next. Be sure if you donot----"
"You will speak to my sister?" she cried. "If you have not done italready? Lord, sir, I congratulate you. I'm sure you have discoveredquite a new style of wooing. Next, I suppose, you will have me sent tomy room, and put on bread and water for a week? Or buried in aparsonage in the country with Tillotson's Sermons and the 'HolyLiving'?"
"I spoke to you as I should speak to my sister," Sir Hervey said, withsomething akin to apology in his tone.
"Say, rather, as you would speak to your daughter!" she replied, quickas lightning; and, trembling with rage, she drove home the shaft witha low curtsey. "To be sure, sir, now I think of it, the distancebetween us justifies you in giving me what advice you please."
He winced at last, and was even a trifle out of countenance. But hedid not answer, and she, furiously angry, turned her back on him, andlooked the other way. Young as she was, all the woman in her rose inrevolt against the humiliation of being advised in such a matter by aman. She could have struck him. She hated him. And they were all inthe same story. They were all against her and her dear Irishman, whoalone understood her. Tears rose in Sophia's eyes as she pictured herpresent loneliness and her happiness in the past; as she recalled theold home looking down the long avenue of chestnut trees, the dogs, thehorses, the boisterous twin brother, and the father who by turns hadcoarsely chidden and fondly indulged her. In her loss of all this, ina change of life as complete as it was sudden, she had found one onlyto comfort her, one only who had not thought the whirl of strangepleasures a sufficient compensation for a home and a father. One onlywho had read her silence, and pitied her inexperience. And him theywould snatch from her! Him they would----
But at this point her thoughts were interrupted by a general movementtowards the door. Bent on an evening's frolic the party issued intoArlington Street with loud laughter and louder voices, and in a momentwere gaily descending St. James's Street. One or two of the elderladies took chairs, but the greater part walked, the gentlemen withhats under their arms and canes dangling from their wrists, the morefoppish with muffs. Passing down St. James's, where Betty, the fruitwoman, with a couple of baskets of fruit, was added to the company,they crossed the end of Pall Mall, now inviting a recruit, after theeasy fashion of the day, and now hailing a friend on the farther sideof the street. Thence, by the Mall and the Horse Guards, and so to theWhitehall Stairs, where boats were waiting for them on the greyevening surface of the broad river.
Sophia found herself compelled to go in the same boat with Sir Hervey,but she took good heed to ensconce herself at a distance from him;and, successful in this, sat at her end, moody, and careless ofappearances. There was singing and a little romping in the stern ofthe boat, where the ladies principally sat, and where their hoopscalled for some arrangement. Presently a pert girl, Lady BettyCochrane, out at sixteen, and bent on a husband before she wasseventeen, marked Sophia's silence, nudged those about her, and tookon herself to rally the girl.
"La, miss, you must have been at a Quakers' meeting!" she cried,simpering. "It is easy to see where your thoughts are."
"Where?" Sophia murmured, abashed by this public notice.
"I believe there is very good acting in--_Doblin!_" the provokingcreature answered, with her head on one side, and a sentimental air;and the ladies tittered and the gentlemen smiled. "Have you ever beento--Doblin, miss?" she continued, with a look that winged theinnuendo.
Sophia, her face on fire, did not answer.
"Oh, la, miss, you are not offended, I hope!" the tormentor criedpolitely. "Sure, I thou
ght the gentleman had spoken, and all wasarranged. To be sure--
"O'Rourke's noble fare Will ne'er be forgot By those who were there, And those who were not!
_And those who were not!_" she hummed again, with a wink that drovethe ladies to hide their mirth in their handkerchiefs. "A fine man,O'Rourke, and I have heard that he was an actor in--Doblin!" thelittle tease continued.
Sophia, choking with rage, and no match for her town-bred antagonist,could find not a word to answer; and worse still, she knew not whereto look. Another moment and she might even have burst into tears, amishap which would have disgraced her for ever in that company. But atthe critical instant a quiet voice at the stern was heard, quoting--
"Whom Simplicetta loves the town would know, Mark well her knots, and name the happy beau!"
On which it was seen that it is one thing to tease and another to beteased. Lady Betty swung round in a rage, and without a word attackedSir Hervey with her fan with a violence that came very near toupsetting the boat. "How dare you, you horrid man?" she cried, whenshe thought she had beaten him enough. "I wish there were no men inthe world, I declare I do! It's a great story, you ugly thing! If Mr.Hesketh says I gave him a knot, he is just a----"
A shout of laughter cut her short. Too late she saw that she hadbetrayed herself, and she stamped furiously on the bottom of the boat."He cut it off!" she shrieked, raising her voice above the laughter."He cut it off! He would cut it off! 'Tis a shame you will not believeme. I say----"
A fresh peal of laughter drowned her voice, and brought the boat tothe landing-place.
"All the same, Lady Betty," the nearest girl said as they prepared tostep out, "you'd better not let your mother hear, or you'll go milkcows, my dear, in the country! Lord, you little fool, the boy's notworth a groat, and should be at school by rights!"
Miss Betty did not answer, but cocking her chin with disdain, whichmade her look prettier than ever, stepped out, sulking. Sophiafollowed, her cheeks a trifle cooler than they had been; and theparty, once more united, proceeded on foot from the river to themuch-praised groves of Pleasure; where ten thousand lamps twinkled andglanced among the trees, or outlined the narrowing avenue that led tothe glittering pavilion. In the wide and open space before this Palaceof Aladdin a hundred gay and lively groups were moving to and fro tothe strains of the band, or were standing to gaze at the occupants ofthe boxes; who, sheltered from the elements, and divided from thehumbler visitors by little gardens, supped _al fresco_, their earscharmed by music, and their eyes entertained by the ever-changingcrowd that moved below them.
Two of the best boxes had been retained for Mrs. Northey's party, butbefore they proceeded to them her company chose to stroll up and downa time or two, diverting themselves with the humours of the place andthe evening. More than once Sophia's heart stood still as they walked.She fancied that she saw Hawkesworth approaching, that shedistinguished his form, his height, his face amid the crowd; andconscious of the observant eyes around her, as well as of her sister'sdispleasure, she knew not where to look for embarrassment. On eachoccasion it turned out that she was mistaken, and to delicious tremorssucceeded the chill of a disappointment almost worse to bear. Afterall, she reflected, if she must dismiss him, here were a hundredopportunities of doing so in greater freedom than she could commandelsewhere. The turmoil of the press through which they moved, now inlight and now in shadow, now on the skirts of the romantic, twilitgrove, and now under the blaze of the pavilion lamps, favoured thestolen word, the kind glance, the quick-breathed sigh. But though heknew that she was to be there, though of late he had seldom failed herin such public resorts as this, he did not appear; and by-and-by hercompany left the parade, and, entering the boxes, fell to mincingchickens in china bowls, and cooking them with butter and water over alamp, all with much romping and scolding, and some kissing andsnatching of white fingers, and such a fire of jests and laughter assoon drew a crowd to the front of the box, and filled the littlegardens on either side of them with staring groups.
Gayest, pertest, most reckless of all, Lady Betty was in her glory.Never was such a rattle as she showed herself. Her childish treble andshrill laugh, her pretty flushed face and tumbled hair wereeverywhere. Apparently bent on punishing Coke for his interference shenever let him rest, with the result that Sophia, whose resentmentstill smouldered, was free to withdraw to the back of the box, andwitness rather than share the sport that went forward. To this a newzest was given when Lord P----, who had been dining at a tavern on theriver, arrived very drunk, and proceeded to harangue the crowd fromthe front of the box.
Sophia's seat at the back was beside the head of the half-dozen stairsthat descended to the gardens. The door at her elbow was open. On asudden, while the hubbub was at its height, and a good half of theparty were on their feet before her--some encouraging his lordship tofresh vagaries, and others striving to soothe him--she heard astealthy hist! hist! in the doorway beside her, as if some one soughtto gain her attention. With Hawkesworth in her mind she peered thatway in trembling apprehension; immediately a little white note droppedlightly at her feet, and she had a glimpse of a head and shoulders,withdrawn as soon as seen.
With a tumultuous feeling between shame and joy, Sophia, who, up tothis moment, had had nothing clandestine on her conscience, slippedher foot over the note? and glanced round to see if any one had seenher. That moment an eager childish voice cried in her ear, "Give methat! Give it me!" And then, more urgently, "Do you hear? It is mine!Please give it me!"
The voice was Lady Betty's; and her flushed pleading face backed theappeal. At which, and all it meant, it is not to be denied that alittle malice stirred in Sophia's breast. The chit had so tormentedher an hour earlier, had so held her up to ridicule, so shamed her. Itwas no wonder she was inclined to punish her now. "Yours, child," shesaid, looking coldly at her. "Impossible."
"Yes, miss. Please--please give it me--at once, please, before it istoo late."
"I do not know that I shall," Sophia answered virtuously, from theheight of her eighteen years. "Children have no right to receivenotes. I ought to give it to your mother." Then, with an unexpectedmovement, she stooped and possessed herself of the folded scrap ofpaper. "I am not sure that I shall not," she continued.
Lady Betty's face was piteous. "If you do, I--I shall be sent into thecountry," she panted. "I--I don't know what they'll do to me. Oh,please, please, will you give it me!"
Sophia had a kindly nature, and the girl's distress appealed to her.But it appealed in two ways.
"No, I shall not give it you," she answered firmly. "But I shall nottell your mother, either. I shall tear it up. You are too young, youlittle baby, to do this!" And suiting the action to the word, she torethe note into a dozen pieces and dropped them.
Lady Betty glared at her between relief and rage. At last "Cat! Cat!"she whispered with childish spite. "Thank you for nothing, ma'am. I'llpay you by-and-by, see if I don't!" And with a spring, she was back atthe front of the box, her laugh the loudest, her voice the freshest,her wit the boldest and most impertinent of all. Sophia, who fanciedthat she had made an enemy, did not notice that more than once thismadcap looked her way; nor that in the midst of the wildest outburstsshe had an eye for what happened in her direction.
Sophia, indeed, had food for thought more important than Lady Betty,for the girl had scarcely left her side when Mrs. Northey came to her,shook her roughly by the shoulder--they had direct ways in thosedays--and asked her in a fierce whisper if she were going to sulkthere all the evening. Thus adjured, Sophia moved reluctantly to afront seat at the right-hand corner of the box. Lord P---- had beensuppressed, but broken knots of people still lingered before thegarden of the box expecting a new escapade. To the right, in the open,fireworks were being let off, and the grounds in that direction wereas light as in the day. Suddenly, Sophia's eyes, roving moodily hitherand thither, became fixed. She rose to her feet with a cr
y ofsurprise, which must have been heard by her companions had they notbeen taken up at that moment with the arrest of a cutpurse by twothief-takers, a drama which was going forward on the left.
"There's--there's Tom!" she cried, her astonishment extreme, since Tomshould have been at Cambridge. And raising her voice she shouted "Tom!Tom!"
Her brother did not hear. He was moving across the open lighted space,some fifteen paces from the box; a handsome boy, foppishly dressed,moving with the affected indifference of a very young dandy. Sophiaglanced round in an agony of impatience, and found that no one waspaying any attention to her; there was no one she could send to callhim. She saw that in a twinkling he would be lost in the crowd, and,acting on the impulse of the moment, she darted to the stairs, whichwere only two paces from her, and flew down them to overtake him.Unfortunately, she tripped at the bottom and almost fell, lost aprecious instant, and lost Tom. When she reached the spot where shehad last seen him, and looked round, her brother was not to be seen.
Or yes, there he was, in the act of vanishing down one of the dimalleys that led into the grove. Half laughing, half crying, innocentlyanticipating his surprise when he should see her, Sophia sped afterhim. He turned a corner--the place was a maze and dimly lighted--shefollowed him; she thought he met some one, she hurried on, and thenext moment was all but in the arms of Hawkesworth.
"Sophia!" the Irishman cried, pressing his hat to his heart as hebowed before her. "Oh, my angel, that I should be so blest! This isindeed a happy meeting."
But she was far at the moment from thinking of him. Her brotheroccupied her whole mind. "Where is he," she cried, looking every way."Where is Tom? Mr. Hawkesworth, you must have seen him. He must havepassed you."
"Seen whom, ma'am?" her admirer asked with eager devotion. He wastall, with a certain florid grace of carriage; and ready, for his handwas on his heart, and his eyes expressed the joy he felt, almostbefore she knew who stood before her. "If it is any one I know, makeme happy by commanding me. If he be at the ends of the earth, I willbring him back."
"It is my brother!"
"Your brother?"
"Yes--but you would not know him," she cried, stamping her foot withimpatience. "How annoying!"
"Not know him?" he answered gallantly. "Oh, ma'am, how little you knowme!" And Hawkesworth extended his arm with a gesture half despairing,half reproachful. "How little you enter into my feelings if you thinkthat I should not know _your_ brother! My tongue I know is clumsy, andsays little, but my eyes"--and certainly they dwelt boldly enough onher blushing face, "my eyes must inform you more correctly of myfeelings."
"Please, please do not talk like that!" she cried in a low voice, andshe wrung her hands in distress. "I saw my brother, and I came down toovertake him, and--and somehow I have missed him."
"But I thought that he was at Cambridge?" he said.
"He should be," she replied. "But it was he. It was he indeed. I ranto catch him, and I have missed him, and I must go back at once. Ifyou please, I must go back at once."
"In one moment you shall!" he cried, barring the road, but with soeloquent a look and a tone so full of admiration that she could notresent the movement. "In one moment you shall. But, my angel, heavenhas sent you to my side, heaven has taken pity on my passion, andgiven me this moment of delight--will you be more cruel and snatch itfrom me? Nay, but, sweet," he continued with ardour, making as if hewould kneel, and take possession of her hand, "sweetest one, say thatyou, too, are glad! Say----"
"Mr. Hawkesworth, I am glad," she murmured, trembling; while her faceburned with blushes. "For it gives me an opportunity I might otherwisehave lacked of--of--oh, I don't know how I can say it!"
"Say what, madam?"
"How I can take--take leave of you," she murmured, turning away herhead.
"Take leave of me?" he cried. "Take leave of me?"
"Yes, oh, yes! Believe me, Mr. Hawkesworth," Sophia continued,beginning to stammer in her confusion, "I am not ungrateful for yourattentions, I am not, indeed, ungrateful, but we--we must part."
"Never!" he cried, rising and looking down at her. "Never! It is notyour heart that speaks now, or it speaks but a lesson it has learned."
Sophia was silent.
"It is your friends who would part us," he continued, with stern andbitter emphasis. "It is your cold-blooded, politic brother-in-law; itis your proud sister----"
"Stay, sir," Sophia said unsteadily. "She _is_ my sister."
"She is; but she would part us!" he retorted. "Do you think that I donot understand that? Do you think that I do not know why, too? Theysee in me only a poor gentleman. I cannot go to them, and tell themwhat I have told you! I cannot," he continued, with a gesture that inthe daylight might have seemed a little theatrical, but in the dusk ofthe alley and to a girl's romantic perceptions commended itselfgallantly enough, "put my life in their hands as I have put it inyours! I cannot tell them that the day will come when PlomerHawkesworth will stand on the steps of a throne and enjoy all that aking's gratitude can confer. When he who now runs daily, nightly,hourly the risk of Layer's fate, whose head may any morning rot onTemple Bar and his limbs on York Gates----"
Sophia interrupted him; she could bear no more. "Oh, no, no!" shecried, shuddering and covering her eyes. "God forbid! God forbid, sir!Rather----"
"Rather what, sweet?" he cried, and he caught her hand in rapture.
"Rather give up this--this dangerous life," she sobbed, overcome bythe horror of the things his words had conjured up. "Let others treadsuch dangerous ways and run such risks. Give up the Jacobite cause,Mr. Hawkesworth, if you love me as you say you do, and I----"
"Yes? Yes?" he cried; and across his handsome face, momentarily turnedfrom her as if he would resist her pleading, there crept a look halfof derision, half of triumph. "What of you, sweet?"
But her reply was never spoken, for as he uttered the word thefireworks died down with startling abruptness, plunging the alley inwhich they stood into gloom. The change recalled the girl to a fulland sudden sense of her position; to its risks and to itsconsequences, should her absence, even for a moment, be discovered.Wringing her hands in distress, in place of the words that had been onher lips, "Oh, I must go!" she cried. "I must get back at once!" Andshe looked for help to her lover.
He did not answer her, and she turned from him, fearing he might tryto detain her. But she had not taken three steps before she paused inagitation, uncertain in the darkness which way she had come. Agiggling, squealing girl ran by her into the grove, followed by a man;at the same moment a distant fanfare of French horns, with theconfused noise of a multitude of feet trampling the earth at once,announced that the entertainment was over, and that the assembly wasbeginning to leave the gardens.
Sophia's heart stood still. What if she were missed? Worse still, whatif she were left behind? "Oh," she cried, turning again to him, herhands outstretched, "which is the way? Mr. Hawkesworth, please, pleaseshow me the way! Please take me to them!"
But the Irishman did not move.
Sophia: A Romance Page 4