Apples of Gold

by Warwick Deeping

  "What do you wish, March?"

  "Well, that you would tell me about it."

  Stamford smiled. He walked to the window, and then came back to where Jordan was standing.

  "I am afraid I have made a fool of myself, March, but it was one of those occasions when a man has to make a fool of himself. You agree?"

  "How did it happen?"

  "A man insulted my sister, and I smacked his cheek."

  Stamford's eyes were fixed on the buckles of Jordan's shoes, and he did not see what happened to Jordan's face.

  "Where did it occur, sir?"

  "In Vauxhall Gardens."

  "O, Vauxhall Gardens. Won't you sit down and tell me about it? Wait; let's go up to my room."

  Jordan took William Stamford up to his room and sat him down by the window in his Dutch armchair. He felt that Stamford was worried, not so much on his own account, but on account of his sister.

  "Will you take a glass of wine, sir?"

  "No, March, thanks all the same. You have a pleasant room here."

  "I am very fond of this room," said Jordan.

  He was waiting for Stamford to begin, and Stamford seemed in no hurry to unburden himself. He pulled out a case of little black cigars and offered one to Jordan. Jordan accepted it, and called down the stairs to Meg to bring a light.

  "Rather strong, sir, these?"

  "They look stronger than they are, March."

  "As a rule," said Jordan, "I never smoke till my work is over. Thanks, Meg; will you see that we are not disturbed."

  He sat down opposite Stamford, after holding the light for him.

  "Vauxhall can be a queer place, sir."

  "So it seems," said Stamford. "I'll tell you about it."

  He described the affair at The Gardens, and then went on to tell Jordan how two gentlemen had called on him at his house in Garter Street early that morning.

  "We fixed up all the formalities, March. I called in a colonial friend of mine. It is to be in Hyde Park to-morrow at six o'clock. But I must say I was rather puzzled this morning."

  "O! How?!"

  "These two fellows struck me as being rather seedy gentlemen, and they seemed to be driving at something that I did not catch. There was rather a lot of bluster. They actually hinted that their friend was one of the best swordsmen in London. I almost got the feeling that they were trying to frighten me, and at the same time to help me out of it."

  "By the way," said Jordan, "you have not yet told me the name of the man whose face you smacked."

  "Haven't I? A Captain Phipps."

  "Phipps!"

  "Yes."

  "A big, red-faced man with sore eyes?"

  "Yes, that about describes him."

  Jordan looked grim.

  "My dear Mr. Stamford, you can't fight this fellow."

  "Why not? He has been making himself offensive to my sister, ogling her and following her about."

  "The fellow is a notorious bully, a flash blackguard. It is all part of the game."

  "Do you mean to say that he insulted Mrs. Merris deliberately in order to get me to quarrel?"

  Jordan nodded.

  "I am sure of it. His game is to frighten people who are up from the country. If you had been a timid squire and had offered him ten guineas, you would have heard no more of Captain Phipps."

  "But, my dear March, he caught the wrong man. I'll give the scoundrel a lesson."

  Jordan knocked the ash from his cigar, and looked straight into the Virginian's eyes.

  "No, sir, you cannot. Nor can Mrs. Merris be made the cause of a quarrel with a common bully. That's impossible."

  Stamford sat and frowned.

  "But I can't play the coward, March, with a swaggering rogue like this. It has got to be settled."

  "I'll settle it," said Jordan.

  For the moment Stamford looked at him half-angrily.

  "I beg your pardon? I'm quite capable——"

  "Mr. Stamford," said Jordan very quietly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, "for your sister's sake you cannot do it. There is no honour involved here. There is only one way to deal with a common bully, and I have had to deal with one or two of them in my time. Have you this fellow's address?"

  Stamford hesitated.

  "But, look here, March, why should you——?"

  "Because I rather like spoiling a bully's game, sir," said Jordan; "leave me to deal with Captain Phipps."

  Stamford pulled a piece of paper out of his fob, and, unfolding it, handed it to Jordan.

  "I don't know the place. Do you?"

  Jordan smiled.

  "Some rookery," he said. "Fermor Street—off the Strand. It has the smell of old White Friars. I'll go and call on Captain Phipps—at once."

  "I'm coming with you, March."

  "No; that's impossible, sir."

  "But, man, this bully and his friends might set on you."

  "No, I think not," said Jordan. "I can look after myself too well, and most of these rogues know it."

  Stamford jumped up and held out his hand.

  "Look here, why should you do it? I'm quite ready to go on with the game."

  Jordan took his outstretched hand.

  "My dear Mr. Stamford, I am going to enjoy myself. Go home, order your horse, and have a good gallop. I'll bring you the fellow's apology this afternoon."

  So Jordan sent William Stamford home, telling him to reassure his sister, while he set out to deal with the man who had dared to insult Mariana Merris. He fastened on his sword, and put a pistol in his pocket, knowing that if he found Captain Phipps and some of his blackguards together he might have trouble with them, for three blackguards may fight where one would snivel.

  Fermor Street was a shabby street of high old houses long since destroyed. A slut of an Irishwoman opened the door to Jordan, and had she known who he was she might have tried to shut the door in his face. Jordan was polite to her, for the gentlemanly small-sword is superior to the bludgeon.

  "Is Captain Phipps within, ma'am?"

  The Irishwoman thought that he was, and if the gentleman chose he could go up and see. The fact was that the noble captain was awaiting an embassy of peace from Garter Street, and a solatium in the form of guineas, and he had warned the woman that he was expecting a visitor.

  "Third floor back, yer honour."

  "Is anybody with him?"

  "Mr. Bunce, yer honour, but he won't inconvenience ye at all, at all."

  Jordan climbed the stairs; they were rickety and creaked complainingly under his weight, so much so that when he reached the landing outside Captain Phipps's room two voices that had been carrying on an argument suddenly became mute. Jordan set his hand on the latch, and, flinging the door open, walked into the room.

  Captain Phipps and his friend were playing cards at a table by the window. They had turned their faces simultaneously towards him like two dolls jerked by a string, and Jordan saw the bending of their knees as they made as though to rise from the table. The captain's hat and sword hung from a peg in a corner, and he had discarded his wig, a stubble of red hair standing up all over his big and brutal head. Bunce was a little man with evil, furtive eyes. They looked like a rat and a bulldog.

  "Please don't rise, gentlemen; keep your seats," said Jordan, closing the door and setting his back against it.

  Phipps turned in his chair.

  "Who the devil are you, sir?"

  "My name is March," said Jordan. "Jordan March. I think I have met you before, Captain Phipps."

  Phipps tried an easy grin.

  "It is possible, sir, it is possible. Glad to see you, Mr. March. Bunce, get Mr. March a chair."

  Mr. Bunce got up, urged to some piece of subtlety by a wink from the captain.

  "Mr. Bunce will keep his chair," said Jordan.

  Mr. Bunce sat down again.

  The three men looked at each other. The captain's face had a mottled tint; he moistened his lips with his tongue.

  "Sit down," said Jordan
.

  Captain Phipps sat down with an evil glance at the man by the door.

  "Did you speak to me, sir?"

  "I did."

  Captain Phipps glowered at him.

  Jordan drew his sword and looked steadily at the captain.

  "Yours is hanging there, sir, I think."

  "What the devil are you playing at?" blustered the captain.

  "Mr. Bunce, fetch Captain Phipps's sword for him."

  "Stay where you are, Bunce."

  "Get it," said Jordan with sudden fierceness, and Mr. Bunce obeyed him.

  But he could not persuade his friend to own the sword, for Phipps began to swear and to tremble.

  "What the hell is your game, sir? I have no quarrel with you. Do you think I am going to stand up in my own room to be spitted by a fencing-master? You are nothing but a bully, sir. What the devil d'you want?"

  Jordan smiled at him.

  "I thought so," he said; "Captain Phipps can insult a lady and try to bully the lady's brother."

  "Ha! that's it—is it; they have hired a fencing-master to try and frighten me out of my rights."

  "Phipps," said Jordan, "stand up; come here."

  "I'm damned if I——"

  "Come here."

  The man rose and came heavily across the room. He was nearly as big as Jordan, but his eyes were the eyes of a cur.

  "I would hit you," said Jordan, "if you were worth it, or if it would make you fight like a decent man. Now, go and sit down again. Have you a pen and paper in this rat-hole?"

  But Captain Phipps was not a man of the pen. When he wanted a letter written, he either got someone to write it for him or scrawled it himself in some coffee-house. There was neither pen nor paper in the room, and when Mr. Bunce suggested that he should go below and borrow writing materials from the landlady, Jordan smiled at him, the smile of a sceptic.

  "No, I think not. Captain Phipps will have to accompany me to the nearest coffee-house and write his apology there. Put on your wig and your hat, captain; no, you can leave your sword behind!"

  Phipps, sullen and cowed, set about obeying him.

  "Take notice, sir, I do this under protest."

  "Does it matter?" said Jordan. "A man will hardly write himself down coward and blackguard of his own free will."

  Mr. Bunce was ordered to stay in the room, and Jordan turned the key on him and conducted Captain Phipps downstairs at the point of his sword.

  "If you try to play any tricks with me, my friend, it will be the last trick you will try to play in this world."

  He got Captain Phipps safely put of the house and marched him to the Half-Moon coffee-house in the Strand. The public room was nearly empty, and Jordan sat the bully down at a table, ordered a cup of coffee for himself and writing materials for the captain. He stood behind Phipps's chair, sipping his coffee, and looking down over the other man's shoulder.

  "Take up your pen, captain. I will dictate your letter for you."

  "I'll be damned, sir——"

  "You will. Pick up that pen."

  Jordan dictated the letter, watching to see that Captain Phipps took it down correctly.

  "Madam, I am unworthy to address you, but I hereby beg to tender my most humble and abject apologies to you and to Mr. William Stamford, for my gross and insolent behaviour of the previous night. I am a scoundrel, a coward and a bully——"

  "No, damn it," said Phipps, "I'll not write that!"

  "Set it down," quoth Jordan; "it's the truth. Be quick."

  "I tell you, sir——"

  "Write," said Jordan, "or—by God—I'll make you fight."

  Captain Phipps resumed the writing of his letter.

  "I am a scoundrel, a coward and a bully. My trade is frightening people into giving me money. If ever I should dare to raise my eyes to your face, madam, may I be lodged in Newgate, where I have been before now. Madam, I remain your most humble and contemptible servant,

  "Peter Phipps."

  He had jibbed over the signing of it, protesting that the letter might be used against him, until Jordan asked him whether he thought that men of honour would trouble to persecute such a sodden, cowardly wretch as he was.

  "Now go," he said, taking the letter, "but if ever I catch you at this game again, I will take you by the ear to the nearest Justice. Remember!"

  He stood sipping the last of his coffee while Captain Phipps took up his hat and vanished.

  XXII

  Jordan walked to Garter Street in a very happy mood, for though Captain Phipps was a poor grindstone upon which to sharpen one's reputation, Jordan had enjoyed the chastening of him. He had rather hoped that the fellow would show fight, for he had had a great desire to thrash the man who had dared to use his evil eyes upon Mrs. Mariana Merris.

  Will Stamford's black servant opened the door to Jordan.

  "No, sah—Mr. Stamford is out riding, sah, but my lady expects you."

  Jordan was aware of a little spasm of exultation. She expected him! Her brother had told her the news, and he was to have the supreme happiness of presenting this letter to her.

  "Will you tell your lady, Sam, that I wait her pleasure?"

  The black conducted him up the stairs to Mrs. Mariana's drawing-room, that long and pleasant room which ran from the front to the back of the house, with its two windows, the one filled with the red of the brickwork of the houses opposite, the other with the greenness of old trees. The room was panelled and painted white. The furniture was of the period of the late Queen, very handsome and solid and homely. The curtains were of rose-coloured damask, and a French carpet covered the floor.

  Sambo announced him.

  "Mr. March, my lady."

  She was seated in her favourite chair by the window overlooking the garden, but when Jordan entered she rose and, coming a few steps to meet him, extended her hand. He bent and kissed it. He may have lingered a little over the kissing of it, for its perfume and its softness would leave him an exquisite memory. He was a little flushed, and his eyes were bright, but he did not know it.

  "My brother is out riding—but he should be back very soon. I believe that we are in your debt, Mr. Jordan."

  She smiled at him. She seemed to him so very stately and gracious that it was his natural impulse to make light of anything that he had done.

  "I have a letter for you, madam."

  He handed her Phipps's letter, and after a questioning glance at him she sat down to read it—while Jordan remained standing. He had no thought of sitting down in her presence unless she told him to do so. He watched her shapely head, with the dark hair wreathed about it, her fine hands, the sweep of her lowered lashes.

  Suddenly she looked up at him. Her lips quivered; her eyes filled with flickers of light. She was on the edge of laughter, and presently it came, soft and delicious and mischievous, and Jordan had to laugh with her.

  "A most quaint letter, Mr. March. Was it written of the man's own free will?"

  "No, not exactly," said Jordan.

  "I think you must have had a hand in it."

  "I was there when he wrote it, madam."

  "How near?"

  "O, standing behind his chair."

  Her laughter changed to something that was more serious. Jordan was naturalness itself. He stood there, smiling down at her like a big boy, quite unaffected, with no suggestion of swagger. It was obvious to her that he had enjoyed the adventure, but beneath the quiet surface she felt that a deeper inspiration moved him.

  "Won't you tell me about it?" she said.

  He answered that there was not much to tell, but she questioned the truth of this, and made him sit down opposite her by the window.

  "You called on the bold captain?"

  "If the fellow was ever a King's officer, madam, he has long left the service. He is just a common bully, with three or four rogues to back his bluster. I called on him in his lodgings."

  "Was he alone?"

  "He only had one little fellow with him. I had no trouble."r />
  "And he sat down at your orders and wrote that letter?"

  "Many of these fellows are cowards, madam. Besides, they know me, and I am not worth quarrelling with. The man had no fight in him. I took him across to a coffee-house and made him write that letter. He will never be insolent to you again."

  She saw the faint gleam in his eyes, the glitter of an inexorable sword, the quiet anger of the man, anger that had flashed for her. She knew its inspiration, though Jordan would have sworn that he had never betrayed himself.

  "Mr. March, I am very grateful to you."

  He smiled at her.

  "I assure you, madam, I enjoyed myself. I would not have let such an insult to you pass. Besides, I look on Mr. Stamford as a friend."

  "And you," she said, "you are a friend."

  He coloured up and sat looking out of the window, and if she appeared to him as a creature of mystery and stateliness, she on her part felt that he was not what he seemed. Everything about him spoke of the aristocrat, his skin, his big, well-shaped hands, his easy simplicity, the cut of his mouth and nostrils, the way he carried his head, his very movements. True, there were clumsy, oafish lords, and well-knit watermen, but Jordan had that something which no common man ever has, an atmosphere, a polish, a tightness, a repose. He was not restless, or newly self-conscious; he was not like the raw man or the raw small boy, always wondering what other people thought of him, and how best he could flummox their criticism. Your raw new man is apt to be aggressive, because in his heart of hearts he may suspect himself to be the poor, cheap thing he is.

  "I hear that you are a great swordsman, Mr. March."

  "It is my business, madam. I was bred to it."

  "But being bred to things does not always make us clever at them!"

  He smiled shyly at her.

  "No. I had a small-sword in my hand when I was five. You see, Mr. Nando taught me as though I had been his own son, and he was a very fine swordsman in his day."

  She had a question on the tip of her tongue, but she did not ask it, but substituted another question for it.

  "You are fond of your work, Mr. Jordan?"

  "I love it, madam; after all, it is my work. Is not that sound sense?"

  "Admirable sense."

  She asked him to bring her her fan, which lay on a far table. The fan was made of peacock feathers, and Jordan watched her spread the beautiful, rich colours of it and fan herself. She began to apologize to him that he should be kept waiting for her brother, and he was moved to wonder whether he was wearying her, for he fancied that her expressive mouth drooped a little, and her eyes had a veiled look. He felt that it was an exquisite thing for him to be in the same room with her, this pleasant, mellow room with its soft lights and delicate colours. It occurred to him that the house of Thomas and Mary Nando ought to have a room such as this.