Sophia: A Romance

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XI

  THE TUG OF WAR

  At the corner of Bolton Row Sir Hervey paused. He felt, to be candid,a trifle awkward in the _role_ of knight-errant, a part reserved inthose days for Lord Peterborough. The Northeys' heartless cynicism,and their instant and cruel desertion of the girl, had stirred thechivalry that underlay his cold exterior. But from the first he hadbeen aware that his status in the matter was ill-defined; he now beganto see it in a worse, an absurd light. He had taken the field in thebelief that Sophia had not stayed in Davies Street; that Hawkesworth,therefore, was beside the question; and that whatever folly she hadcommitted, she had not altogether compromised herself; he now foundthe data on which he had acted painfully erroneous. She had not stayedin Davies Street, because she had not gone to Davies Street. But shemight have joined Hawkesworth elsewhere; she might by this time be hiswife; she might be gone with him never to return!

  In that event Coke began to see that his part in the matter wouldprove to be worse than ridiculous; and he paused at the corner ofBolton Row, uncertain whether he should not go home and erase with asore heart a foolish child's face from his memory. His was a day ofcoarse things; of duchesses who talked as fishwives talk now, ofmadcap maids of honour, such as she--

  Who, as down the stairs she jumps, Sings over the hills and far away, Despising doleful dumps!

  of bishops seen at strange levees, of clergy bribed with livings totake strange wives; of hoyden lady Kitties, whose talk was a jumble ofhomely saws and taproom mock-modesties; of old men still swearing asthey had sworn in Flanders in their youth. At the best it was not anage of ideals; but neither was it an age of hypocrisy, and women wereplentiful. Why, then, all this trouble for one? And for one who hadshowed him plainly what she thought of him.

  For a moment, at the corner of Bolton Row, Sophia's fate hung in thebalance. Hung so nicely, that if Coke had not paused there, but hadproceeded straight through Bolton Street, to Piccadilly, and so toArlington Street, her lot would have been very different. But thedebate kept him standing long enough to bring to a point--not manyyards from the corner--two figures, which had just detached themselvesfrom the crowd about Shepherd's Market. In the act of stepping acrossthe gutter, he saw them, glanced carelessly at them, and stood. As thetwo, one behind the other, came up, almost brushing him, and turned toenter Clarges Row, he reached out his cane and touched the foremost.

  "Why, Tom!" he cried. "Is it you, lad? Well met!"

  HE STOOD, GRINNING IN HIS FINERY, UNABLE TO SAY A WORD]

  Tom--for it was he--turned at the sound of his name, and seeing who itwas recoiled, as if the cane that touched him had been red hot. Thecolour mounted to his wig; he stood, grinning in his finery, unable tosay a word. "Why, Tom!" Sir Hervey repeated, as he held out his hand,"What is it, lad? Have you bad news? You are on the same business as Iam, I take it?"

  Tom blushed redder and redder, and shifted his feet uneasily. "I don'tknow, Sir Hervey," he stammered. "I don't know what your business is,you see."

  "Well, you can easily guess," Coke answered, never doubting that Tomhad heard what was forward, and had posted from Cambridge in pursuitof his sister. "Have you news? That's the point."

  Tom had only his own affair in his mind. He wondered how much theother knew, and more than half suspected that he was being roasted. So"News?" he faltered. "What sort of news, sir?" He had known Sir Herveyall his life, and still felt for him the respect which a lad feels forthe man of experience and fashion.

  Coke stared at him. "What sort of news?" he exclaimed. "It isn'tpossible you don't know what has happened, boy?" Then, seeing that theperson who had come up with Tom was at his elbow, listening, "Is thisfellow with you?" he cried angrily. "If so, bid him stand back alittle."

  "Yes, he's with me," Tom answered, sheepishly; and turning to the lad,who was laden with a great nosegay of flowers as well as a paperparcel from which some white Spitalfields ribbons protruded, he badehim go on. "Go on," he said, "I'll follow you. The last house on theright."

  Sir Hervey heard, and stared afresh. "What?" he cried. "Grocott's?"

  Tom winced, and changed his feet uneasily, cursing his folly inletting out so much. "It's only something that--that he's takingthere," he muttered.

  "But you know about your sister?"

  "Sophia?" Tom blurted out. "Oh, she's all right. She's all right, Itell you. You need not trouble about her."

  "Indeed? Then where is she? Where is she, man? Out with it."

  "She's with me."

  "With you?" Sir Hervey cried, his cynicism quite gone. "With you?"

  "Yes."

  "Was it you who--who took her from Davies Street, then?"

  "To be sure," Tom said. In his preoccupation with his own affairs hissister's position had been forgotten. Now he began to recover himself;he began, too, to see that he had done rather a clever thing. "Yes, Iwas there when she met that fellow," he continued. "Hawkesworth, youknow, and I brought her away. I tell you what, Sir Hervey, thatfellow's low. He should be in the Clink. She found him out sharp,before he had time to sit down, and it's lucky I was there to bringher away, or Lord knows what would have happened. For he's a monstrousrascal, and the people of the house are none too good!"

  "Last night was it?"

  "Yes."

  "And you took her to Grocott's?" Sir Hervey could not make the talesagree.

  "Ye--es," Tom faltered; but the word died on his lips, and he grew hotagain. He saw too late that he had put his foot in a hobble from whichhe would find it hard to extricate himself, with all his skill. For itwanted only a few minutes of noon, and at Grocott's, a hundred pacesaway, his bride was expecting him. Presently Keith, the Mayfairparson, from whom he had just come after making the last arrangements,would be expecting both! Even now he ought to be at Grocott's; evennow he ought to be on his way to the chapel in Curzon Street. AndGrocott's was in sight; from where he stood he could see the boy withthe flowers and wedding favours waiting at the door. But Coke--Cokethe inopportune--had hold of his elbow, and if he went to Grocott's,would wish to go with him--would wish to see his sister, and from herwould hear all about the marriage. Aye, and hearing, would interfere!

  The cup of Tantalus was a little thing beside this, and Tom's cheeksburned; the wildest projects flashed through his brain. Should he takeSir Hervey to Grocott's, inveigle him into a bedroom and lock him uptill the wedding was over? Or should he turn that instant, and take tohis heels like any common pickpocket, without word or explanation, andso lead him from the place? He might do that, and return by coachhimself, and----

  Coke broke the tangled thread of thought. "There is something amiss,here," he said with decision. "She is not at Grocott's. Or they liedto me."

  "She's not?" Tom cried, with a sigh of relief. "You've been there?Then you may be sure she has gone to Arlington Street. That is it, youmay be sure!"

  "Aye, but they said at Grocott's that she had not been there," Cokeretorted, looking more closely at Tom, and beginning to discernsomething odd in his manner. "If she's been there at all, how do youexplain that, my boy?"

  "She's been there all right," Tom answered eagerly. "I'm bail she has!I tell you it is so! And you may be sure she has gone to ArlingtonStreet. Go there and you'll find her."

  "I don't know about that. You don't think that when your back wasturned----"

  "What?"

  "She went off again!"

  "With Hawkesworth?" Tom cried impatiently. "I tell you she's found himout! He's poison to her! She's there I tell you. Or she was."

  "But Grocott denied her!"

  "Oh, nonsense!" Tom said--he was as red as fire with asking himselfwhom Sir Hervey had seen. "Oh, nonsense," he repeated, hurriedly; hefelt he could bear it no longer. "She was there, and she has gone toArlington Street."

  "Very good," Sir Hervey replied. "Then we'll ask again. The manat the house lied to me, and I'll have an explanation, or I'll laymy cane
across his shoulders, old as he is! There was some one I didsee---- But come along! Come along. We'll look into this, Tom."

  It was in vain Tom hung back, feebly protesting that she hadgone--there was no doubt that she had gone to Arlington Street.Will-he, nill-he, he was dragged along. A moment and the two, Cokeswinging his cane ominously, were half-way up the Row. In the midst ofhis agony Tom got a notion that his companion was taking sidelonglooks at his clothes; and he grew hot and hotter, fearing what was tocome. When they were within a few yards of the door, a hackney coachpassed them, and, turning, came to a stand before the house.

  "There! What did I say?" Sir Hervey muttered. "I take it, we are onlyjust in time."

  "Perhaps it's the coach that took her away," Tom suggested, trying torestrain his companion. "Shall I go in--I know the people--and--andinquire? Yes, you'd better let me do that," he continued eagerly,buttonholing Sir Hervey, "perhaps they did not know you. I reallythink you had better leave it to me, Sir Hervey. I----"

  "No, thank you," Coke answered drily. "There's a shorter way. Are youhere to take up, my man?"

  "To be sure, your honour," the coachman answered readily. "And longlife to her!"

  "Eh?"

  "Long life to the bride, your honour!"

  "Ah!" Sir Hervey said, his face growing dark. "I thought so. I think,my lad," he continued to Tom, as he knocked at the door, "she andsomebody have made a fool of you!"

  "No, no," Tom said, distractedly. "It's--it's not for her."

  "We shall soon learn!" Coke answered. And he rapped againimperatively.

  Tom tried to tell him the facts; but his throat was dry, his headwhirled, he could not get out a word. And by-and-by Grocott's draggingsteps were heard in the passage, the latch was raised, and the dooropened.

  "Now, sir!" Coke cried, addressing him sharply. "What did you mean bylying to me just now? Here is the gentleman who brought Miss Maitlandto your house. And if you don't tell me, and tell me quickly, whereshe is, I'll--I'll send for the constable!"

  Grocott was pale, but his face did not lose its sneering expression."She's gone," he said.

  "You said she had not been here."

  "Well, it was her order. I suppose," with a touch of insolence, "alady can be private, sir, if she chooses."

  "What time did she go?"

  "Ten minutes gone."

  Tom heaved a sigh of relief. "I told you so," he muttered. "She's goneto Arlington Street. It's what I told you."

  "I don't believe it," Coke answered. "This coach is for her. It ishere to take her to the rascal we know of; and I'll not leave tillI've seen her. Why, man," he continued, incensed as well as perplexedby Tom's easiness, "have you no blood in your body that you're readyto stand by while your sister's fooled by a scoundrel?"

  Tom smiled pitifully, and passed his tongue over his lips; he lookedguiltily at Grocott, and Grocott at him. The lad's face was on fire,the sweat stood in beads on Grocott's forehead. Neither knew withprecision the other's position nor how much he had told. And while thetwo stood thus, Sir Hervey looking suspiciously from one to the other,the same dull sound Coke had heard before--a sound as of the drummingof heels on the floor--continued in the upper part of the house. Thehackney coachman, an interested spectator of the scene, heard it, andlooked at the higher windows in annoyance. The sound drowned thespeaker's words.

  "Are you going to let me search?" Coke said at last.

  Grocott shook his head. He could not speak. He was wondering what theywould call the offence at the Old Bailey or Hicks's Hall. He sawhimself in the dock, with the tall spikes and bunches of herbs beforehim, and the gross crimson face of the Red Judge glowering at himthrough horn-rimmed spectacles--glowering death. Should he confess andbring her down, and with that put an end to his daughter's hopes? Orshould he stand it out, defy them all, gain time, perhaps go scot freeat last?

  "Well?" Coke repeated sternly; "have you made up your mind? Am I tosend for the constable?"

  Still Grocott found no answer. His wits were so jumbled by fear andthe predicament in which he found himself, that he could not decidewhat to do. And while he hesitated, gaping, the matter was taken outof his hands. The door behind him opened, and the lady whom Sir Herveyhad seen before came out of the room.

  She looked at the group with a mixture of weariness and impatience."Is the gentleman not satisfied yet?" she said. "What is all this?"

  "I am satisfied, madam," Sir Hervey retorted, "that I did not hear thetruth before."

  "Well, you are too late now," she answered, "for she's gone. Shedidn't wish to see you, and there's an end."

  "I shall not believe, ma'am----"

  "Not believe?" she cried, opening her eyes with sudden fire. "Ithought you were a gentleman, sir. I suppose you will take a lady'sword?"

  "If the lady will tell me for whom the coach at the door is waiting,"Sir Hervey answered quietly; and as he spoke he made good his footingby crossing the threshold. He could not see the hot, foolish face thatfollowed him in to the passage, or he might have been enlightenedsooner.

  "The coach?" she said. "It is for me."

  "It is for a bride."

  "I am the bride."

  "And the bridegroom?"

  Her eyes sparkled. "Come!" she cried. "How is that your affair? Wepoor women have impertinences enough to suffer on these occasions; butit is new to me that the questions of chance visitors are part ofthem! Room's more than company, sometimes," she added, tossing herhead, her accent not quite so genteel as it had been, when she wasless moved. "And I'll be glad to see your back."

  "I beg your pardon a thousand times, ma'am," Coke replied unmoved."But I see no impertinence in my question--unless, indeed, you areashamed of your bridegroom."

  "That I'm not!" she cried. "That I'm not! And"--snapping her fingersin his face--"that for you. You are impertinent! Ashamed? No, sir, Iam not!"

  "And God forbid I should be ashamed of my bride!" cried a husky voicebehind Sir Hervey; who turned as if he had been pinched. "No, I'll besilent no longer," Tom continued, his face the colour of a beet,albeit his eyes overflowed with honest devotion. "I've played cowardtoo long!" he went on, stretching out his arms as if he were throwingoff a weight. "Let go, man"--this to Grocott, as the latter stealthilyplucked his sleeve. "Sir Hervey, I didn't tell you before, but itwasn't because I was ashamed of my bride. Not I!" poor Tom criedbravely. "It was because I--I thought you might do something to thwartme. This lady has done me the honour of entrusting her happiness tome, and before one o'clock we shall be married. Now you know."

  "Indeed!" Sir Hervey said. And great as was his amazement, he managedto cloak it after a fashion. In the first burst of Tom's confession hehad glanced from him to the lady, and had surprised a black--a veryblack look. That same look he caught on Grocott's face; and in awonderfully short space of time he had drawn his conclusions."Indeed!" he repeated. "And whom have I--perhaps we might step intothis room, we shall be more of a family party, eh?--whom have I tofelicitate on the possession of Sir Thomas Maitland's heart?"

  He bowed so low before madam that she was almost deceived; but notquite. She did not answer.

  "Oriana, tell him," Tom cried humbly. He was deceived. His eyes wereshining with honest pride.

  Coke caught at the name. "Oriana!" he repeated, bowing still lower."Mistress Oriana----"

  "Clark," she said drily. And then, "You are not much wiser now."

  "My loss, ma'am," Sir Hervey answered politely. "One of Sir RobertClark of Snailwell's charming daughters, perhaps? Until now I had onlythe pleasure of knowing the elder, but----"

  "You know no more now," she retorted, with an air of low breeding thatmust have opened any eyes but a lover's. "I don't know your SirRobert."

  "Indeed!" Sir Hervey said. "One of the Leicestershire Clarks, of LawndAbbey, perhaps?"

  "No," madam answered sullenly, hating him more and more, yet notdaring to show it. How she cursed her booby for his indiscretion!

  "Surely not a daughter of my old friend, Dean Clark of Sa
lisbury? Youdon't say so?"

  She bit her lip with mortification. "No," she said, "I don't say so. Iain't that either."

  Tom intervened hurriedly. "You are under a misapprehension, SirHervey," he said. "Clark was Oriana's--her husband's name. CaptainClark, of Sabine's Foot. He did not treat her well," poor Tomcontinued, leaning forward, his hands resting on the table--they wereall in the room now. "But I hope to make the rest of her life morehappy than the early part."

  "Oh, I beg pardon," Sir Hervey said, a trifle drily. "A widow! Yourhumble servant, ma'am, to command. You will excuse me, I am sure. Youare waiting for Mrs. Northey, I suppose?" he continued, looking fromone to the other in seeming innocence.

  Tom's face flamed. It was in vain Grocott from the doorway made signsto him to be silent. "They don't know," he blurted out.

  Sir Hervey looked grave. "I am sorry for that," he said. "I am surethis lady would not wish you, Sir Tom, to do anything--anythingunderhand. You have your guardians' consent, of course?"

  "No," Tom said flatly; "and I am not going to ask for it."

  Outwardly, Sir Hervey raised his eyebrows in protest; inwardly, he sawthat argument would be thrown away, and wondered what on earth heshould do. He had no authority over the boy, and it was not likelythat Dr. Keith, an irregular parson, would pay heed to him.

  Madam Oriana, scared for a moment, discerned that he was at a loss,and smiled in triumph.

  "Well, sir, have you anything more to say?" she cried.

  "Not to Tom," Sir Hervey answered.

  "And to me?"

  "Only, ma'am, that a marriage is not valid if a false name be used."

  The shot was not fired quite at large, for he had surprised Grocottcalling her not Oriana, but Sallie. And, fired at large or not, herface showed that it reached the mark. Whether Captain Clark ofSabine's Foot still lived, or there had never been a Clark; whethershe had foreseen the difficulty and made up her mind to run the risk,or had not thought of it at all, her scowling, beautiful face betrayeddismay as well as rage.

  "What have you to do with my name?" she hissed.

  "Nothing," he said politely. "But my friend here, much. I hope heknows it, and knows it correctly. That is all."

  But Tom was at the end of his patience.

  "I do," he cried hotly, "I do know it! And I'll trouble you, SirHervey, to let it alone. Oriana, don't think that anything he can saycan move me. I see, Sir Hervey, that you are no true friend to us. Imight have known it," he continued bitterly. "You have lived all yourlife where--where marriage is a bargain, and women are sold, and--youdon't believe in anything else. You can't; you can't believe inanything else. But I am only sorry for you! Only--only you'll pleaseto remember that this lady is as good as my wife, and I expect her tobe treated as such. She'll not need a defender as long as I live,"poor Tom continued, gallantly, though his voice shook. "Come, Oriana,the coach is waiting. In a few minutes I shall have a better right toprotect you; and then let any one say a word!"

  "Tom," Sir Hervey said gravely, "don't do this."

  Madam marked his altered tone, and laughed derisively. "Now he's inhis true colours!" she cried. "What will you do, Sir Thomas? La! theyshall never say that I dragged a man to church against his will. I'vemore pride than that, though I may not be a dean's daughter."

  Tom raised her hand and kissed it, his boyish face aglow with love."Come, dear," he said. "What is his opinion to us? A little room, ifyou please, Sir Hervey. We are going."

  "No," Coke answered. "You are not going! I'll not have this on myhead. Hear sense, boy. If this lady be one whom you may honestly makeyour wife, you cannot lose, and she must gain, by waiting to bemarried in a proper fashion."

  "And at a nice expense, too!" she cried, with a sneer.

  "She is right," Tom said manfully. "I'm not going to waste my lifewaiting on the pleasure of a set of old fogies. Make way, Sir Hervey."

  "I shall not," Coke returned, maintaining his position between the twoand the door. "And if you come near me, boy----"

  "Don't push me too far," Tom cried. From no one else in the worldwould he have endured so much. "Sir Hervey, make way!"

  "If he does not, we will have him put out!" madam cried, pale withrage. "This is my room, sir! and I order you to leave it. If you are agentleman you will go."

  "I shall not," Coke said. He was really at his wits' end to know whatto do. "And if the boy comes near me," he continued, "I will knock himdown and hold him. He's only fit for Bedlam!"

  Tom would have flown at his throat, but madam restrained him."Grocott," she cried, "call in a couple of chairmen, and put thisperson out. Give them a guinea apiece, and let them throw him into thestreet."

  Grocott hung a moment in the doorway, pale, perspiring, irresolute. Hecould not see the end of this.

  "Do you hear, man?" madam repeated, and stamped her foot on the floor."Call in two men. A guinea apiece if they turn him out. Go at once.I'll know whether the room is mine or his," she continued, in a fury.

  "Yours, ma'am," Sir Hervey answered coolly, as Grocott shambled out."I ask nothing better than to leave it, if Sir Thomas Maitland goeswith me."

  "You'll leave it without him!" she retorted contemptuously. And, asTom made a forward movement, "Sir Thomas, you'll not interfere inthis. I've had to do with nasty rogues like him before," shecontinued, with growing excitement and freedom, "and know the way.You're mighty fine, sir, and think to tread on me. Oh, for all yourbowing, I saw you look at me when you came in as if I was so muchdirt! But I'll not be put upon, and I'll let you know it. You are ajackanapes and a finicky fool, that's what you are! Aye, you are! Buthere they come. Now we'll see. Grocott!"

  "They are coming," the clock-maker muttered, cringing in the doorway.The fine of action adopted was too violent for his taste. "But I hopethe gentleman will go out quietly," he rejoined. "He must see he hasno right here."

  It was no question of courage; Sir Hervey had plenty of that. But hehad no stomach for a low brawl; and at this moment he wished veryheartily that he had let the young scapegrace go his own way. He hadput his foot down, however, wisely or unwisely; and he could not nowretreat.

  "I shall not go," he said firmly. And as heavy, lumbering footstepswere heard coming along the passage, he turned to face the door.

  "We'll see about that," Mrs. Clark cried spitefully. "Come in, men;come in! This is your gentleman."