CHAPTER VI
A CHAIR AND A COACH
The glasses of the chair, which had been standing some time at thedoor, were dimmed by moisture, and in the dusk of the evening itstrembling occupant had no cause to fear recognition. But as the menlifted and bore her from the door, every blurred light that peeped inon her, and in an instant was gone, every smoking shop-lamp thatglimmered a moment through the mist, and betrayed the moving formsthat walked the sideway, was, to Sophia, an eye noting and condemningher. As the chairmen swung into Portugal Street, and, turningeastwards, skirted the long stand of coaches and the group of link-menthat waited before Burlington House, she felt that all eyes were uponher, and she shrank farther and farther into the recesses of thechair.
A bare-footed orange girl, who ran beside the window waving ballads orbills of the play, a coach rattling up behind and bespattering theglass as it passed, a link-boy peering in and whining to be hired,caused her a succession of panics. On top of these, the flutteringalarms of the moment, pressed the consciousness of a step taken thatcould never be retraced; nor was it until the chairmen, leavingPiccadilly behind them, had entered the comparative quiet of AirStreet, and a real difficulty rose before her, that she rallied herfaculties.
The men were making for Soho, and if left to take their course, would,in a quarter of an hour set her down at the door of Lady Betty's homein King's Square. That would not do. But to stay them, and to vary theorder from "Home" to Mr. Wollenhope's house in Davies Street, whereher lover lodged, did not now seem the simple and easy step it hadappeared a few minutes earlier, when the immediate difficulty was toescape from the house. Lady Betty had said that the men knew her. Inthat case, as soon as Sophia spoke to them they would scent somethingwrong, and, apprised of the change of fares, might wish to know more.They might even decline to take her whither she bade them!
The difficulty was real, but for that very reason Sophia's couragerose to meet it. At present she knew where she was; a minute or twolater she might not know. The sooner she took the route into her ownhands, therefore, the better it would be; and as the men turned fromthe narrow street of Air into Brewer Street and swung to the righttowards Soho, she tapped the glass. The chair moved on. Withimpatience, natural in the circumstances, Sophia tapped again and moresharply. This time the front bearer heard, and gave the word. Thechair was set down, and the man, wiping his brow, raised the lid.
"What is it, my lady?" he said, with a rich Irish accent. "Shure, andisn't it right ye are? If we went by Windmill Street, which some wouldbe for going, there's a sight of coaches that way."
"I don't want to go to King's Square," Sophia answered firmly.
"Eh, my lady, no? But you said 'Home.'"
"I want to go to the West End again," Sophia said.
"I've remembered something; I want to go to Davies Street."
"Faith, but it's a fine trate your ladyship's had," the Irishmancried good-humouredly, "and finely I should be scolded if his noblelordship your father knew 'twas with us you went; but it's home nowyou must go; you've played truant long enough, my lady! And--holyMother!"--with a sudden exclamation--"'Tis not your ladyship! Oh, thesaints, Micky, she's changed!"
The second chairman came round the chair, stared, and rubbed his head;and the two gazed in perplexity at poor Sophia, whose face aloneappeared above the side of the conveyance. "Take me to Davies Streetby Berkeley Square," she commanded, tapping the front impatiently. "ToMr. Wollenhope's house. What does it matter to you where I go?"
"To Davies Street?"
"Yes; cannot you hear?"
"Faith, and I hear," the Irishman answered, staring. "But then, thesaints help us, 'tis not yourself. 'Twas her ladyship hired me to goto Arlington Street, and to take her home, and it's not leaving herI'll be!"
"But her ladyship lent me the chair!" Sophia cried desperately."She'll take another. Cannot you understand? She knows all about it.Now take me to Davies Street."
Her voice trembled with anxiety, for at any moment she might be seenand recognised. A lamp in an oilman's window, one of the few lightsthat at long intervals broke the dull gloom of Brewer Street, shone onthe group. Already a couple of chairs had swung by, the carrierscasting, as they passed, a curious look at the stationary chair; andnow a coach, approaching from the Soho direction, was near at hand.Every second she delayed there was a second on the rack. What wouldSir Hervey or Lord Lincoln, what would any of the hundredacquaintances she had made since she came to town say of a girl foundunprotected, after nightfall, astray in the public streets?
Alas, the men still hesitated, and while they stood staring the coachcame up. Before Sophia could add reproaches to her commands, it waschecked opposite the group. The coachman leant down, and in a tone ofdisappointment--as if it were only then he saw that the chair wasoccupied--"You've a fare, have you?" he said. "You can't take a ladyto Crown Court, King Street?"
Before the Irishman could answer, "Here my man," a woman's voice criedfrom the coach, "I want to go to Crown Court, St. James's, and thecoach can't enter. Double fare if you are quick! Here, let me out!"
"But, faith, ma'am, I've a fare," Mick cried.
"They've a fare," the coachman explained, leaning down anew.
"The fare can take my coach," the voice answered imperiously; and in atwinkling, a smartly dressed woman, wearing red and white and plentyof both, yet handsome after a fashion, had pushed, first her hoop andthen herself out of the coach. "See here, ma'am," she cried, seeingSophia's scared face, "the coach is paid, and will take you anywherein reason. 'Twill make no difference to you and all to me, and a miteof good nature is never thrown away! I've to go where a coach cannotgo. Up a court, you understand."
Sophia hesitated. Why did not the lady, whose bold eyes did not muchcommend her, pursue her way to Portugal Street, and descend there,where chairs might be had in plenty? Or why, again, was she in such aclamorous hurry and so importunate? On the other hand, if all wereright, nothing could have fallen out more happily for herself; it wasno wonder that, after a momentary hesitation, she gave a grudgingassent. One of the chairmen, who seemed willing enough to make thechange, opened the door; she stepped out and mechanically climbed intothe coach. "To Davies Street, Mayfair," she said, sinking back. "ToMr. Wollenhope's, if you please."
Quickly as she took her part, the strange lady was quicker; in asecond she was in the chair and the chair was gone. It seemed tovanish. A moment and the coach also started, and lumbered westwardsalong Brewer Street. Now at last Sophia was at liberty toconsider--with no obstacle short of Mr. Wollenhope's door--how sheshould present herself to her lover, and how it behoved him to receiveher.
She found it more easy to answer the second question than the first.Well indeed she knew how it became him to receive her. If in mensurvived any delicacy, any reverence, any gratitude, these were herdue who came to him thus; these must appear in his greeting, or theworst guided, the most hapless of maids, was happy beside her. He mustshow himself lover, brother, parent, friend, in his one person; for hewas her all. The tenderest homage, the most delicate respect, a tactthat foreran offence, a punctilio that saw it everywhere, the devotionof a Craven, the gratitude of a Peterborough, were her right who cameto him thus, a maiden trusting in his honour. She was clear on this;and not once or twice, but many times, many times as she pressed onehand on the other and swallowed the tell-tale lump that rose and rosein her throat, she swore that if she did not meet with these, if hedid not greet her with them, plain in eye and lip--aye, and with athousand dainty flowers of love, a thousand tender thoughts andimaginings, not of her, but for her--she had better have been the mudthrough which the wheels of her coach rolled!
It was natural enough that, so near, so very near the crisis, sheshould feel misgiving. The halt in the dark street, the chill of thenight air, had left her shivering; had left her with an overwhelmingsense of loneliness and homelessness. The question was no longer howto escape from a prison, but how, having escaped,
she would bereceived by him, who must be her all. The dice were on the table, thethrow had been made, and made for life; it remained only to lift thebox. For a little, a very little while, since a matter of minutes onlydivided her from Davies Street, she hung between the old life and thenew, her heart panting vaguely for the sympathy that had been lackingin the old life, for the love that the new life had in store. Wouldshe find them? Child as she was, she trembled now that she stood onthe brink. A few minutes and she would know. A few minutes, and----
The coach stopped suddenly, with a jerk that flung her forward. Shelooked out, her heart beating. She was ready to descend. But surelythis was not Davies Street? The road was very dark. On the left, theside on which the door opened, a dead wall, overhung by high trees,confronted her.
"Where am I?" she cried, her hand on the fastening of the door, hervoice quivering with sudden fright. "We are not there?"
"You are as far as you'll go, mistress," a rough voice answered fromthe darkness. "Sorry to alter your plans. A fine long chase you'vegiven us." And from the gloom at the horses' heads, two men advancedto the door of the coach.
She took them for footpads. The dead wall had much the appearance ofthe wall of Burlington Gardens, where it bounds Glasshouse Street; atthat spot, she remembered, a coach had been robbed the week before.She prepared to give up her money, and was groping with a tremblinghand for a little knitted purse, when the men, still grumbling, openedthe door.
"I suppose you know what's what," the foremost said. "At suit ofMargott's of Paul's Churchyard. You'll go to my house, I take it?You'll be more genteel there."
"I don't understand," Sophia muttered, her heart sinking.
"Oh, don't come the innocent over us!" the man answered coarsely."Here's the _capias_. Forty-eight, seven, six, debt and costs. It's myhouse or the Marshalsea. One or the other, and be quick about it. Ifyou've the cash you'd better come to me."
"There's some mistake," Sophia gasped, involuntarily retreating intothe furthest corner of the coach. "You take me for some one else."
The bailiffs--for such they were--laughed at the joke. "I take you forMrs. Clark, alias Grocott, alias anything else you please," thespokesman answered. "Come, no nonsense, mistress; it's not the firsttime you've been behind bars. I warrant with that face you'll soonfind some one to open the door for you."
"But I'm not Mrs. Clark," Sophia protested. "I'm not indeed."
"Pooh, pooh!"
"I tell you I am not Mrs. Clark!" she cried. "Indeed, indeed, I amnot! It has nothing to do with me," she continued desperately. "Pleaselet me go on." And in great distress she tried to close the door onthem.
The bailiff prevented her. "Come, no nonsense, mistress," he repeated."These tricks won't serve you. We were waiting for you at the Ipswichstage; you got the start there, and very cleverly, I will allow. Butmy mate got the number of the coach, and if we had not overtaken youhere we'd have nabbed you in Davies Street. You see we know all aboutyou, and where you were bound. Now where's it to be?"
Sophia, at the mention of Davies Street, began to doubt her ownidentity; but still repeated, with the fierceness of despair, that shewas not the person they sought. "I am not Mrs. Clark!" she cried. "Ionly took this coach in Brewer Street. You can ask the coachman."
"Ah, I might, but I shouldn't get the truth!"
"But it is the truth!" Sophia cried piteously; truly punishment hadfallen on her quickly! "It is the truth! It is indeed!"
The bailiff seemed to be a little shaken by her earnestness. Heexchanged a few words with his fellow. Then, "We'll take the risk," hesaid. "Will you come out, ma'am, or shall I come in?"
Sophia trembled. "Where are you going to take me?" she faltered.
"To my house, where it's ten shillings a day and as genteel company asyou'd find in St. James's!" the fellow answered. "S'help me, you'll beat home in an hour! I've known many go in all of a shake, that with aglass of mulled wine and cheerful company were as jolly by nightfallas Miss at a fair!" And without waiting for more, the man climbed intothe coach and plumped down beside her.
Sophia recoiled with a cry of alarm. "La!" he said, with clumsy goodnature, "you need not be afraid. I'm a married man. You sit in yourcorner, ma'am, and I'll sit in mine. Bless you, I'm sworn to do myduty. Up you get, Trigg!"
The second bailiff mounted beside the coachman, the coach was turned,and in a trice Sophia was once more trundling eastwards through thestreets. But in what a condition!
In the power of a vulgar catchpoll, on her way to a low sponginghouse, she saw herself borne helpless past the house that, untilto-day, she had called her home! True, she had only to prove who shewas in order to be released. She had only to bid them turn aside andstop at Mr. Northey's mansion, and a single question and answer wouldset her free. But at what a cost! Overwhelmed and terrified, at herwits' end how to bear herself, she yet shrank from such a return asthat!
Gladly would she have covered her face with her hands and wept tearsof bitter mortification. But the crisis was too sharp, the difficultytoo urgent for tears. What was she to do? Allow herself to be carriedto her destination, and there incarcerated with vile persons in aprison which her ignorance painted in the darkest colours? Or avow thetruth, bid them take her to her brother-in-law's, and there drain thecup of ignominy to the dregs? In either case decision must be speedy.Already Arlington Street lay behind them; they were approaching St.James's Church. They were passing it. Another minute and they wouldreach the end of the Haymarket.
Suddenly she clapped her hands. "Stop!" she cried. "Tell them to stop!There's Lane's. They know me there. They'll tell you that I am not theperson you think. Please stop!"
The bailiff nodded, put out his head, and gave the order. Then, as thecoach drew up to the shop, he opened the door, "Now, no tricks!ma'am," he said. "If you go a yard from me I nab you. Smooth's my namewhen I'm well treated; but if Mr. Lane knows you I'll take his word,and ask your pardon. I'm not unreasonable."
Sophia did not pause to reply, but descended, and with hot cheekshurried across the roadway into the well-known silk-mercer's.Fortunately, the shop, at certain times of the day the resort ofPiccadilly bloods, was deserted at this late hour. All the lamps butone were extinguished, and by the light of this one, Mr. Lane and twoapprentices were stowing goods under the counter. A third young manstood looking on and idly swinging a cane; but to Sophia's relief heretired through the open door at the back, which revealed the cosylights of a comfortable parlour.
The tradesman advanced, bowing and rubbing his hands. "Dear me," hesaid, "you are rather late, ma'am, but anything we can do--William,relight the lamps."
"No," Sophia cried. "I do not want anything. I only--Mr. Lane," shecontinued, blushing deeply, "will you be good enough to tell thisperson who I am."
"Dear, dear, my lady," Mr. Lane exclaimed, becoming in a moment a veryHector, "you don't mean that--what is this, my man, what does it mean?Let me tell you I've several stout fellows on the premises, and----"
"No need," the bailiff answered gruffly. "I only want to know whothe--who the lady is." He looked crestfallen already. He saw by thelamp-light that his prisoner was too young; a mere girl in her teens.And his heart misgave him.
"This is Miss Maitland, sister-in-law to the honourable Mr. Northey,of Arlington Street, and the House," the tradesman answeredmajestically. "Now, my man, what is it?"
"You are sure that she is not a--a Mrs. Oriana Clark?" the bailiffasked, consulting his writ for the name.
"No more than I am!" Mr. Lane retorted, sniffing contemptuously. "Whatdo you mean by such nonsense?"
"Nothing now," the discomfited bailiff answered; and muttering "I amsure I beg her ladyship's pardon! Beg her pardon! No offence!" he benthis head with ready presence of mind and hurried out of the shop; hisretreat facilitated by the fact that Sophia, overcome by her suddenrelease, was seized with a fit of giddiness, which compelled her tocling to the shop-board.
In a moment the good Lane was all solicitude. He placed a chair forher, called f
or volatile salts, and bade them close the door into thestreet. Sending the staring apprentices about their business, hehustled out to procure some water; but in this he was anticipated bythe young man whom she had seen in the shop when she entered. Toofaint at the moment to remark from what hand she took it, Sophiadrank, and returned the glass. Then, a little revived by the draught,and sensible of the absurdity of the position, she tried to rise, witha smile at her weakness. But the young man who had brought the water,and who had something of the air of a gentleman, foppishly andeffeminately dressed, implored her to sit awhile.
"Sure, ma'am, you can't be rested yet!" he cried, hanging over herwith a solicitude that seemed a little excessive. "Such an outrage ondivine beauty merits--stap me! the severest punishment. I shall notfail, ma'am, to seek out the low beast and chastise him as hedeserves."
"There is no need," Sophia answered, looking at the spark with mildsurprise: she was still too faint to resent his manner. "I am betternow, I thank you, sir. I will be going."
"Stap me, not yet!" he cried effusively. "A little air, ma'am?" and hefell to fanning her with his hat, while his black eyes languished onhers. "'Twill bring back the colour, ma'am. Has your ladyship evertried Florence water in these attacks? It is a monstrous finespecific, I am told."
"I am not subject to them," Sophia answered, forced to avert her eyes.This movement, as it happened, brought her gaze to the open door ofthe parlour; where, to her astonishment, she espied Mr. Lane,standing, as it were, in ambush, dwelling on the scene in the shopwith a face of childish pleasure. Now he softly rubbed his hands; nowhe nodded his head in an ecstasy. A moment Sophia watched him, her ownface in shadow; then she rose a little displeased, and more puzzled.
"I must go now," she said, bowing stiffly. "Be good enough to see ifmy coach is there."
The beau, taken aback by her manner, turned to the silk mercer, whocame slowly forward. "Is her ladyship's coach there?" the younggentleman cried with great stateliness.
Mr. Lane hurried obsequiously to the door, looked out, and returned."Dear, dear, ma'am," he said, "I fear those wretches took it. But Ican send for a chair."
"Call one, call one!" the gentleman commanded. "I shall see the ladyto her door."
"Oh, no, no!" Sophia answered quickly. "It is not necessary."
"It is very necessary at this hour," Mr. Lane interposed; and thenapologised for his intervention by rubbing his hands. "I could notthink of--of letting you go from here, ma'am, without an escort!" hecontinued, with another low bow. "And this gentleman, Mr.----"
"Fanshaw, man, Fanshaw," the young spark said, stroking his cravat andturning his head with an absurd air of importance. "Your humbleservant to command, ma'am. Richard Fanshaw, Esquire, of Warwickshire.'Tis certain I must attend you so far; and--and oh, hang this!" hecontinued, breaking off in a sudden fit of rage. For in the act ofbowing to her, he had entangled his sword in a roll of Lyons thatstood behind him. "Fellow, what the deuce do you mean by leavingrubbish in a gentleman's way?" and he struggled furiously with it.
Sophia could scarcely forbear a smile as Mr. Lane ran to the rescue.Yet with all his efforts
The bold knight was red And the good stuff was shred
before the little beau was freed. He cursed all tailors, and, to hidehis confusion, hastened rather clumsily to hand her to the chair.
She was now in a new difficulty. Lane would give the order "ArlingtonStreet"; Mr. Fanshaw, smirking and tip-tapping at the side, wouldinsist on seeing her home. And she herself for an instant, as the coldnight air met her on the threshold of the oil-lit street, and sheshivered under its touch, hesitated. For an instant her fears pleadedwith her, bade her take warning from the thing that had alreadybefallen her, whispered "Home!" At that hour the future, mirrored onthe gloomy surface of the night-street, on the brink of which shestood, seemed dark, forlorn, uncertain.
But her pride was not yet conquered; and without a vast sacrifice ofpride she could not return. Her escapade would be remembered againsther; she would be condemned for the attempt, and despised for itsfailure. Home, in her case, meant no loving mother longing to forgive,no fond tears, no kisses mingled with reproaches; but sneers andstinging words, disgrace and exile, a child's punishment. Littlewonder that she grew hard again, since, on the other side, a girl'sfirst fancy beckoned roseate; or that, when she announced with an easyair that she had to go to Davies Street, Mr. Lane detected nothingsuspicious in her tone.
"Dear, dear, ma'am, it's rather late," he said. "And the streets nottoo secure. But Rich--Mr. Fanshaw will see you safe. Much honoured.Oh, much honoured, I am sure, ma'am. Delighted to be of service. Myhumble obedience to your sister and Mr. Northey."
A last backward glance as she was lifted and borne from the doorshowed her Mr. Lane standing in his shop-entrance. He was lookingafter her with the same face of foolish admiration which she hadbefore surprised; and she wondered afresh what it meant. Soon,however, her thoughts passed from him to the over-dressed little fopwho had added himself to her train, and whose absurd attempts tocommunicate with her as he strutted beside the glass, his sword underhis arm and his laced hat cocked, were almost as amusing as the air ofsuperb protection which he assumed when he caught her eye. Really, hewas too ridiculous. Moreover, she did not want him. His presence wasuncalled for now; and when she reached Davies Street, might involveher in new embarrassment. She would have dismissed him, but shedoubted if he would go; and to open the glass and make the attemptmight only incite him to greater freedoms. Sophia bit her lip torepress a smile; the little beau took the smile for encouragement, andkissed his hand through the glass.
Sophia: A Romance Page 9