Apples of Gold
Page 5
Nando found Bertrand polishing his foils after giving his last lesson.
"Where is Jordan?"
"He went out about an hour ago, sir."
"Do you know what took him abroad?"
"I don't, sir. A fellow came in and handed him a paper, and Mr. Jordan went out shortly afterwards."
Nando took two or three turns up and down the room and then walked towards the door, but before he reached it Jordan himself came in. He looked happy, grimly yet smilingly happy.
"Where have you been, lad?"
"O, nowhere in particular."
Nando had the eyes of a hawk.
"Nowhere seems to have taken the skin off your knuckles."
Jordan coloured up slightly, glanced casually at his right hand, and laughed.
"Perhaps I hit something."
"Jack Gavidge?"
They looked each other in the eyes.
"Then—you know, sir?"
"I do," and he pulled a piece of paper out of his fob.
"I did not want you to know," said Jordan; "I have made this my affair."
Nando's mouth gave an expressive twitch.
"What have you done, lad?"
"I found Gavidge at the Roebuck, and I stuffed that piece of paper down his throat."
He laughed; there was no swagger about him; he was happily and boyishly grim.
"What happened after that?"
"O, there was a bit of a scrimmage. He had Bummer the boxer with him, and I broke my knuckles on Bummer's teeth. He—broke a table. But we have arranged it all quite pleasantly."
"Where?"
"Cockburn's Cockpit, this day week."
"Swords?"
"No, cudgels, till one of us is knocked out."
Nando grimaced. Then he put his hands on Jordan's shoulders.
"Lad, this should have been my affair."
"What—let that fellow try to crack you over the head, and he twenty years younger! Why, this is my first chance of giving you something back——"
"Lad," said Nando, "I love you."
The news of the coming fight between John Gavidge and young March was soon spread abroad. It was gossiped about at "Tom's," and notices were posted in many of the coffee-houses. "At Cockburn's Cockpit, at three o'clock on Thursday, the 16th day of June, a bout with the cudgels between John Gavidge and Jordan March. The fight to go on till one or the other is on the floor." It became known that there was hot blood in the affair, and that play with the heavy single-sticks gave men more scope than with the sword. The polite world began to bet on the fight, and most of the wagers were in favour of John Gavidge. He was a tough fellow, big, broad, and slightly bowed in the legs, and was held to be the best man in London with the cudgels.
Cockburn's was crowded, and the petticoats were not absent from the benches. The Drury Lane gangs were with Gavidge and were ready to make trouble if things went ill for him, but Nando had foreseen this, and he had a following of his own. Captain Willoughby was in charge of the affair, a brisk and determined little man who would stand no nonsense.
"If there is any mob stuff here," he said to Nando, "we gentlemen will deal with it."
Jordan was the first to climb over the barrier into the pit. He wore his smile, and when some of the gentry saw the size of him they began to feel less sure of their money. A lady threw a bunch of blue ribbons into the pit.
"My colours for Mr. March."
Jordan glanced at her, and she smiled down from her seat on a raised bench. It was my Lady Marigold Bacchus, with white powder in her golden hair, and a green fan tapping her red lips. She had another and older woman beside her.
Jordan picked up the bunch of ribbons, bowed to her, and fastened the blue bunch under the basket guard of his cudgel.
Gavidge came climbing in with an ugly, menacing grin.
"Red's my colour," said he; "let some slut tear a piece off her petticoat."
A lady from Drury Lane obliged him, making an insolent face at my Lady Bacchus.
"I'll wager it's as clean as hers."
The lady with the fan smiled at her sweetly.
Men were offering and taking wagers, and their loud voices filled the building. Already two roughs were quarrelling and had to be pushed apart by their neighbours. Jordan stood and smiled, while Gavidge shuffled his feet in a heap of sawdust.
"Two guineas to one against Nando's brat," shouted a voice.
Jordan heard it, and the smile went out of his eyes. They hardened to cold grey. He seemed to have heard the voice before, but he could not place its owner.
Nando had posted himself beside Captain Willoughby, looking paler than usual and a little anxious, for he knew how much depended on the issue of this fight. At the last moment he beckoned to Jordan and whispered in his ear.
"Look at the old serpent," sneered Gavidge, "telling the pup how to bite."
Willoughby, very spruce in his red coat and white periwig, held up his hand.
"Gentlemen, silence, please. Mr. Gavidge—Mr. March. The fight is till one man cannot fight any longer."
"Yes, that's it," growled Gavidge with a fierce grin at Jordan.
There was much shouting and cursing while the fight lasted, and it lasted some twenty minutes, and there was much argument after it had ended. Men waxed hot and were ready to fight each other. The Drury Lane roughs were for making an Irish festival of it, but when a few determined gentlemen drew their swords the mob men thought better of it.
"'Twas his height that did it. Gavidge was the better man."
"Rot, sir! Gavidge was red pulp. I wonder he stood it after the first ten minutes."
"He was the better man when they began. That lucky clout half-way through——"
"Fudge! March kept his temper better. That was as pretty a blow as ever I saw. The big lad's a fine fighter."
Jordan, after kissing a certain lady's hand, and being made much of by a new world of admirers, walked home arm in arm with Tom Nando, to be embraced by Mrs. Mary.
"O, my dear, I haven't been able to keep still a single minute. Mercy—you have got a great cut on your head! Tom, send Meg for Surgeon Barter."
"It can't be a very big cut, mother."
"It is. Your hair's all clotted."
Nando looked amused.
"She never made such a fuss over me, my son."
"O, Tom, how can you! Don't you remember how I sat up half one night——?"
"I think I do remember it, my dear, though I have an idea that I was asleep all the time after the strong drink you gave me!"
"O, Tom, that's gratitude!"
"Bless your dear soul, a man can't help teasing you."
One young gentleman who had been present at the fight went home in a very bad temper. Douce saw him come in at the gate, and knowing where he had been, she watched his face with quiet shrewdness. He had lost money and the price of his malice, and he was annoyed by the look in his sister's eyes.
"What are you staring at?"
"Was Mr. Jordan very much hurt, Maurice?"
Maurice presented her with his hat and cane. He became the very superior person, the man of the world.
"Such things aren't for little girls' ears."
She knew at once that Jordan had beaten his man, and the knowledge showed in her eyes. Her brother did not miss the shine of a secret exultation in them, and he remembered something which might damp her pleasure.
"Oh, our friend Jordan has good luck. His lady-love was there to throw him a bunch of ribbons. A very great lady, too, my dear."
"Indeed!" said Douce quietly, "but if she brought him good luck.... Besides, if she is such a very great lady, surely——"
Her brother broke in with a laugh.
"Tut, tut," he said, "I can't talk scandal to a girl of your age. Little girls are not supposed to know about such things."
VII
A girl in a green hood left a letter at Nando's in Spaniards Court. It was a very pretty letter, perfumed, sealed with pink wax, and addressed to Mr. Jordan March.
Meg received it, scrutinized it, smelt it, and took it to Mrs. Mary, who went through much the same performance as Meg had done. Mrs. Mary produced the letter to her husband, and her kind brown eyes were uneasy.
"It smells wicked, Tom," she said.
"Hum," quoth Nando, sniffing it, "I don't know about that! It looks a pretty thing."
"Ought—ought he to have it, Tom?"
"Bless my soul, he is out of baby clothes, surely!"
"Tom, you don't understand."
"Dear heart, didn't I have pretty things like this in my young days? If you want to keep a boy from the strawberry bed, give him the run of it; if he is a healthy boy he will be sick of strawberries in a fortnight."
"But, Tom, supposing——"
"Supposing what, sweetheart?"
"Some bad woman, some nasty woman, should get hold of him?"
"I don't think she will, my dear, or not for long. The lad has seen a picture of what a woman should be?"
"Whose picture?"
Nando tweaked her chin.
"Don't pretend you don't know!"
Jordan had his letter. It told him that a certain lady would be at the masquerade at the Opera House in the Haymarket, and that if Mr. March danced as well as he fought she would be glad to have him as a partner. The lady did not give her name, but warned him that she would be wearing a black vizard and a green domino with a black death's-head embroidered on the back of the hood.
Jordan showed the letter to Nando.
"What would you do about it?"
Nando raised his eyebrows.
"When I was your age, Dan, I was always ready for an adventure. Who is the lady?"
"I haven't the faintest notion."
"Well, that adds to the spice of it. A man should learn to use his wits as well as to use a sword. But one word of warning, my son; never take up with a strange woman in the dark. Make her show her face to you in the daylight."
Jordan laughed.
"If a woman has a face worth showing, surely——"
"But, maybe, my lad, she hasn't. I was caught once that way when I was very green, and when madam got me home and I found what I had been kissing! Faugh! Dan, always keep to the daylight, and see your woman's eyes and mouth."
"I suppose it is like fencing," said Jordan.
"Much the same—with that sort of woman; her wits against yours."
"I think I'll try it," said Jordan thoughtfully, and his seriousness made Nando smile.
"It's a game, like all other games, Dan; keep it at that; never forget that it's a game, especially when the woman wants to make you play it too seriously. That's a trick of theirs. Bless you, this isn't the last letter of the kind you'll get."
Jordan's grey eyes were a little incredulous.
"Why?"
"Why! Damn it, because...! O, well, you wait and see, my son."
Dawn in the country, night in the city, these are the times for the setting out upon adventure, and Jordan went out when dusk and darkness met. Mary Nando, standing at the window, saw him go across the court with a black domino over his arm, and his wig freshly powdered. He was wearing the new suit which Mr. Holland, the tailor, had sent home three days before. He had money in his pocket, money of his own making, and he had hurried out of the house without wishing Mrs. Mary good-bye.
She was unhappy, rebelling against the old inevitable breaking of the woman's tyranny of tenderness. She wanted to follow him, to watch over him as though he were still a toddler, and when Tom Nando came in he found her in tears.
"Why—mother!"
"He's gone," she said, "and he never said good-bye. I know what that means, Tom. He has gone to meet a woman."
But youth stoops to the lure of the thing which has never happened. It glimpses a face half-seen behind a curtain, the curve of a neck and head at a window, the hills on the other side of the sunset or of the dawn. Adventure! Mystery! So a young man goes to his first adventure as in the secret stillness of a summer daybreak, with the dew upon the grass and a little whimper of exultation in his heart. Woman! The mystery of her, the perfume, the strangeness, the laughter, the half mischievous tenderness, the hesitations, the sudden surrenders! Jordan smelt night in the darkening streets; and the lights in the windows were stars in the sky of romance. Lanterns were swaying. In the Piazza chairmen waiting dimly by their dim chairs hailed him as he passed. "Chair, sir; chair, your honour?" He smiled. He was conscious of his fine, rich, stalwart self, of the good blood in him, yet the pride of his youth did not swagger. It showed a generous colour. Always, his bigness had a streak of gentleness, the mark of Mrs. Mary with the thrush-like eyes. If he made other men take the posts, he left the wall to old men and the women.
Going down into the crowded Strand, and liking the confused, dim hubbub of it, he passed up Cockspur Street and came to that conflux of coaches, chairs, footmen and runners, link boys, gentlemen, and thieves. Mr. Heidegger's world was in the full glare. Maskers, like moths or mice, fluttered and twittered into it out of the darkness.
The stairs were like life, everybody trying to climb, and at the top of them Jordan found a little room where gentlemen where putting on their masks and dominoes. The thing amused him. What a game and what players! He stood three inches taller than a duke. He assisted a peevish old rake who was in trouble with his silk gown.
"Thank you, sir."
He leered up humorously into Jordan's April face.
"Why do I do it—hee—hee? In your case it is understandable. Good luck to you, sir."
Jordan sailed in on the adventure. The place was one vast eye; it was all eyes, eyes that twinkled and questioned and stared, or threw a challenge or were blind to one, hundreds of little windows, wicked or mischievous or greedy, shining in black velvet or crape. A coloured confusion, a storm of chatter! Mr. Heidegger had thought of everything, and if he had not thought of it, other people thought of it for him. The world here could dance, gamble, make love, quarrel, pick pockets, and flirt with a lady who might be a mere nobody or a learned judge's wife.
Jordan was nudged in the first half-minute. He found himself looking into the eyes of a lady in red.
"Good evening, big boy."
"Good evening, madam," said he.
"What a crush! Sure, someone pushed me against you. If one could find a seat...."
He found her a seat, bowed, and excused himself.
"I have a friend here."
"La," said she, "what a pity! But she might be able to see you even if you don't see her."
Jordan moved slowly about like a big dog, till someone tapped him on the shoulder with a fan.
"You are like a lighthouse looking for a fish," said a voice.
He turned and saw a green domino. He smiled. She pivoted slowly, gracefully, her hoop like the overturned cup of a flower, and he saw the mark on her hood.
"I owe you a forfeit, madam. How did you pick me out?"
"Why, you big thing. I measured heads. I looked about for something like a giant."
He could see nothing of her save her eyes and chin, and her eyes had a greenish tinge and her chin was soft and white. A moment later he noticed her hands and the rings on them. He thought them the hands of a lady. As for her voice, he believed that he had heard it before, and it aroused strange conjectures.
His curiosity was obvious, and it amused her.
"Puzzled?" she laughed, and her eyes made a little glittering in the holes of the mask.
"I am, madam," he said.
"Isn't that the spice of the game? But a man might guess!"
"I have heard your voice before."
"Well—who does it suggest?"
"I cannot remember."
She tapped his arm with her fan.
"A man should—always—remember. Now, sir, what are we going to do with ourselves in this crush? Are you a gambler?"
He shook his head.
"Not with money, perhaps! But we can dance, and we can amuse each other, and we can laugh at all these other foolish people."
"Come. Let us go to the music."
He gave her his arm, and as she slipped her hand under it she was pressed against him by the crowd. The soft pressure of her body and the scent of the perfume which she used made the man in him realize the thrill of adventure. Whoever she was, he felt gentle towards her, protective.
"I hope the crowd is not too great for you?"
Her quick ear caught the new note in his voice. There was little in a man's voice that she did not know and all that its varying cadences suggested, and she put herself in tune with it. A man must be allowed to play his part, to take the bait in his own way. She was amazingly quick in her reactions. In five minutes she had sensed more of Jordan and knew more about his inwardness than he did himself.
"I wish you could carry me," she said; "someone has just taken the skin off my heel."
She liked him, she whose life had been a series of adventures, and there was one moment during the evening when she liked him so well that some elemental part of her was touched beneath her glowing cynicism, and she was very near to sending him home. Some fool, rather overmerry, blundered against her, and grabbed familiarly at her dress.
"Hallo, you sweet slut!"
Jordan dealt with the fool in a way that surprised her. It was the sheer rightness of his instinct which took her unawares, and paid her a homage which all women claim and few deserve. He was very quiet about it, grimly good-tempered, and where nine men out of ten would have involved her in a quarrel, he suppressed the drunken gentleman in a way that caught her admiration.
"Where did you learn that?" she wondered; "you, a big boy, the half-son of a fencing-master?"
She heard him apologizing to her for what had happened.