CHAPTER XIV
THE HOUSE IN LONDON
It stood about midway down an unusually narrow by-street off the Strand.
A tumble-down archway, leaning to one side like a lame hen, gave accessto a dark passage, dank with moisture, whereon the door of the housegave some eighteen feet up on the left.
The unpaved street, undrained and unutterably filthy, was ankle-deep inmud, even at the close of this hot August day. Down one side a longblank wall, stone-built and green with mildew, presented an unbrokenfrontage: on the other the row of houses with doors perpetually barred,and windows whereon dust and grit had formed effectual curtains againstprying eyes, added to the sense of loneliness, of insecurity, of unknowndangers lurking behind that crippled archway, or beneath the shadows ofthe projecting eaves, whence the perpetual drip-drip of soot water cameas a note of melancholy desolation.
From all the houses the plaster was peeling off in many places, a preyto the inclemencies of London winters; all presented gray facades, withan air of eeriness about their few windows, flush with the outsidewall--at one time painted white, no doubt, but now of uniform dinginesswith the rest of the plaster work.
There was a grim hint about the whole street of secret meetings, and ofunavowable deeds done under cover of isolation and of darkness, whilstthe great crooked mouth of the archway disclosing the blackness andgloom of the passage beyond, suggested the lair of human wild beasts whoonly went about in the night.
As a rule but few passers-by availed themselves of this short and narrowcut down to the river-side. Nathless, the unarmed citizen was scared bythese dank and dreary shadows, whilst the city watchman, mindful of hisown safety, was wont to pass the mean street by.
Only my Lord Protector's new police-patrol fresh to its onerous task,solemnly marched down it once in twenty-four hours, keeping shoulder toshoulder, looking neither to right nor left, thankful when either issuewas once more within sight.
But in this same evening in August, 1657, it seemed as if quite a numberof people had business in Bath Street off the Strand. At any rate thiswas specially noticeable after St. Mary's had struck the hour of nine,when several cloaked and hooded figures slipped, one after another, somesingly, others in groups of two or three, into the shadow of the narrowlane.
They all walked in silence, and did not greet one another as theypassed; some cast from time to time furtive looks behind them; butevery one of these evening prowlers seemed to have the same objective,for as soon as they reached the crippled archway, they disappearedwithin the gloom of its yawning mouth.
Anon when the police-patrol had gone by and was lost in the gloom therewhere Bath Street debouches on the river bank, two of these heavilycloaked figures walked rapidly down from the Strand, and like the othersslipped quickly under the archway, and made straight for the narrow dooron the left of the passage.
This door was provided with a heavy bronze knocker, but strangely enoughthe newcomers did not avail themselves of its use, but rapped on thewooden panels with their knuckles, giving three successive raps atregular intervals.
They were admitted almost immediately, the door seemingly opening ofitself, and they quickly stepped across the threshold.
Within the house was just as dark and gloomy as it was without, and asthe two visitors entered, a voice came from out the shadows, and said,in a curious monotone and with strange irrelevance:
"The hour is late!"
"And 'twill be later still," replied one of the newcomers.
"Yet the cuckoo hath not called," retorted the voice.
"Nor is the ferret on the prowl," was the enigmatic reply. Whereuponthe voice speaking in more natural tones added sententiously:
"Two flights of steps, and 'ware the seventeenth step on the firstflight. Door on the left, two raps, then three."
"Thank you, friend," rejoined one of the newcomers, "'tis pleasant tofeel that so faithful a watch guards the entrance of this palace ofpleasure."
Thereupon the two visitors, who of a truth must have been guided eitherby instinct or by intimate knowledge of the place, for not a gleam oflight illumined the entrance hall, groped their way to a flight of stonestairs which led in a steep curve to the upper floors of the house.
A rickety banister which gave ominously under the slightest pressurehelped to guide the visitors in this utter darkness: but obviously thewarning uttered by that mysterious challenging voice below was notsuperfluous, for having carefully counted sixteen steps in an upwarddirection, the newcomers came to a halt, and feeling their way forwardnow with uttermost caution, their feet met a yawning hole, which hadsoon caused a serious accident to a stranger who had ventured thus farin ignorance of pitfalls.
A grim laugh, echoed by a lighter one, showed that the visitors hadencountered only what they had expected, and after this brief episodethey continued their journey upwards with a firmer sense of security; asmoky oil lamp on the first floor landing guided their footsteps bycasting a flickering light on the narrow stairway, whereon slime andfilth crept unchecked through the broken crevices between the stones.
But now as they advanced, the silence seemed more broken: a distinct humas of many voices was soon perceptible, and anon a shrill laugh,followed by another more deep in tone, and echoed by others whichpresently died away in the distance.
By the time the two men had reached the second floor landing these manynoises had become more accentuated, also more distinct; still muffledand subdued as if proceeding from behind heavy doors, but neverthelessobvious as the voices of men and women in lively converse.
The newcomers gave the distinctive raps prescribed by their firstmentor, on the thick panels of a solid oak door on their left.
The next moment the door itself was thrown open from within; a flood oflight burst forth upon the gloomy landing from the room beyond, thebabel of many voices became loud and clear, and as the two men stood fora moment beneath the lintel a veritable chorus of many exclamationsgreeted them from every side.
"Walterton! begad!"
"And Overbury, too!"
"How late ye come!"
"We thought ye'd fallen a victim to Noll's myrmidons!"
It was of a truth a gay and merry company that stood, and moved,chatted and laughed, within the narrow confines of that smallsecond-floor room in the gloomy house in Bath Street.
The walls themselves were dingy and bare, washed down with some grayishcolor, which had long since been defaced by the grime and dust ofLondon. Thick curtains of a nondescript hue fell in straight foldsbefore each window, and facing these there was another door--doublepaneled--which apparently led to an inner room.
But the place itself was brilliantly illuminated with many wax candlesset in chandeliers. These stood on the several small tables which weredotted about the room.
These tables--covered with green baize, and a number of chairs ofvarious shapes and doubtful solidity were the only furniture of theroom, but in an arched recess in the wall a plaster figure holding acornucopia, from whence fell in thick profusion the plaster presentmentsof the fruits of this earth, stood on an elevated pedestal, which hadbeen draped with crimson velvet.
The goddess of Fortune, with a broken nose and a paucity of fingers,dominated the brilliant assembly, from the height of her crimson throne.Her head had been crowned with a tall peaked modish beaver hat, fromwhich a purple feather rakishly swept over the goddess's left ear. Anardent devotee had deposited a copper coin in her extended, thumblesshand, whilst another had fixed a row of candle stumps at her feet.
There was nothing visible in this brilliantly lighted room of the sobermodes to which the eye of late had become so accustomed. Silken doubletsof bright and even garish colors stood out in bold contrast against thegray monotone of the walls and hangings. Fantastic buttons, tags andlaces, gorgeously embroidered cuffs and collars edged with pricelessMechlin or d'Alencon, bunches of ribands at knee and wrists, fullperiwigs and over-wide boot-hose tops were everywhere to be seen, whilstthe clink of swords against the wooden
boards and frequent volleys ofloudly spoken French oaths, testified to the absence of those Puritanicfashions and customs which had become the general rule even in London.
Some of the company sat in groups round the green-topped tables whereoncards or dice and heaps of gold and smaller coins lay in profusion.Others stood about watching the games or chatting to one another. Mostlymen they were, some old, some young--but there were women too, women inshowy kirtles, with bare shoulders showing well above the colverteenkerchief and faces wherein every line had been obliterated by plentifuldaubs of cosmetics. They moved about the room from table to table,laughing, talking, making comments on the games as these proceeded.
The men apparently were all intent--either as actual participants ormerely as spectators--upon a form of amusement which His Highness theLord Protector had condemned as wanton and contrary to law.
The newcomers soon divested themselves of their immense dark cloaks,and they, too, appeared in showy apparel of silk and satin, with tinybows of ribands at the ends of the long curls which fell both sides oftheir faces, and with enormous frills of lace inside the turned-overtops of their boots.
Lord Walterton quite straddled in his gait, so wide were his boot tops,and there was an extraordinary maze of tags and ribands round the edgeof Sir James Overbury's breeches.
"Make your game, gentlemen, make your game," said the latter as headvanced further into the room. And his tired, sleepy eyes brightened atsight of the several tables covered with cards and dice, the gutteringcandles, the mountains of gold and small coin scattered on the greenbaize tops.
"Par Dieu! but 'tis a sight worth seeing after the ugly sour faces onemeets in town these days!" he added, gleefully rubbing his beringedhands one against the other.
"But where is our gracious hostess?" added Lord Walterton, amelancholy-looking young man with pale-colored eyes and lashes, and anarrow chest.
"You are thrice welcome, my lord!" said Editha de Chavasse, whoseelegant figure now detached itself from amongst her guests.
She looked very handsome in her silken kirtle of a brilliant greenishhue, lace primer, and high-heeled shoes--relics of her theatrical days;her head was adorned with the bunches of false curls which the modishhairdressers were trying to introduce. The plentiful use of cosmeticshad obliterated the ravages of time and imparted a youthful appearanceto her face, whilst excitement not unmixed with apprehension lent abright glitter to her dark eyes.
Lord Walterton and Sir James Overbury lightly touched with their lipsthe hand which she extended to them. Their bow, too, was slight, thoughthey tossed their curls as they bent their heads in the most approvedFrench fashion. But there was a distinct note of insolence, notaltogether unmixed with irony, in the freedom with which they hadgreeted her.
"I met de Chavasse in town to-day," said Lord Walterton, over hisshoulder before he mixed with the crowd.
"Yes! he will be here to-night," she rejoined. Sir James Overbury alsomade a casual remark, but it was evident that the intention and purposeof these gay gentlemen was not the courteous entertainment of theirhostess. Like so many men of all times and all nations in this world,they were ready enough to enjoy what she provided for them--the illicitpastime which they could not get elsewhere--but they despised her forgiving it them, and cared naught for the heavy risks she ran in keepingup this house for their pleasure.
The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century Page 14