by Anthony Hope
CHAPTER V
I AM FORBIDDEN TO FORGET
It must be allowed that by no possible union of unlucky chances could I,desiring to appear as a staid, sober gentleman, and not as a ruffler ordebauched gallant, have had a worse introduction to my new life. Tostart with a duel would have hurt me little, but a duel on such a causeand on behalf of such a lady (for I should seem to be fighting thebattle of one whose name was past defending) would make my reputationridiculous to the gay, and offensive to all the more decent people ofthe town. I thought enough on this sad side of the matter that night atthe inn, and despair would have made a prey of me had I not hoped toclear myself in some degree by the step on which I had determined. For Iwas resolved to abandon the aid in my career that the King's unexpectedfavour had offered, and start afresh for myself, free from the illicitadvantage of a place gained undeservedly. Yet, amid my chagrin, and inspite of my virtuous intentions, I found myself wondering that Cydariahad remembered; I will not protest that I found no pleasure in thethought; a young man whose pride was not touched by it would havereached a higher summit of severity or a lower depth of insensibilitythan was mine. Yet here also I made vows of renunciation, concerningwhich there is nought to say but that, while very noble, they were inall likelihood most uncalled for. What would or could Cydaria be to menow? She flew at bigger game. She had flung me a kindly crumb ofremembrance; she would think that we were well quit; nay, that I wasoverpaid for my bruised heart and dissipated illusion.
It was a fine fresh morning when Mr Darrell and I set out for the placeof meeting, he carrying a pair of swords. Mr Jermyn had agreed tosupport my opponent; and I was glad to learn that the meeting was to berestricted to the principals, and not, as too often occurred, to embroilthe seconds also in a senseless quarrel. We walked briskly; and crossingthe Oxford Road at Holborn, struck into the fields beyond MontagueHouse. We were first at the rendezvous, but had not to wait long beforethree chairs appeared, containing Lord Carford, his second, and asurgeon. The chairmen, having set down their burdens, withdrew some wayoff, and we, being left to ourselves, made our preparations as quicklyas we could; Darrell, especially, urging speed; for it seemed that arumour of the affair had got about the town, and he had no desire forspectators.
Although I desire to write without malice and to render fullest justiceto those whom I have least cause to love, I am bound to say that my LordCarford seemed to be most bitterly incensed against me, whereas I was inno way incensed against him. In the first instance, he had offendedwithout premeditation, for he had not known who I was; his subsequentinsolence might find excuse in the peremptory phrasing of my demand forapology, too curt, perhaps, for a young and untried man. Honour forcedme to fight, but nothing forced me to hate, and I asked no better thanthat we should both escape with as little hurt as the laws of the gameallowed. His mood was different; he had been bearded, and was in a mindto give my beard a pull--I speak in a metaphor, for beard had Inone--and possessing some reputation as a swordsman, he could not wellafford to let me go untouched. An old sergeant of General Cromwell's,resident at Norwich, had instructed me in the use of the foils, but Iwas not my lord's equal, and I set it down to my good luck and his furythat I came off no worse than the event proved. For he made at me withgreat impetuosity, and from beginning to end of the affair I was whollyconcerned in defending myself; this much I achieved successfully forsome moments, and I heard Mr Jermyn say, "But he stands his groundwell"; then came a cunning feint followed by a fierce attack and a sharppang in my left arm near the shoulder, while the sleeve of my shirtwent red in a moment. The seconds darted in between us, and Darrellcaught me round the waist.
"I'm glad it was no worse," I whispered to him with a smile; then Iturned very sick, and the meadow started to go round and round me. Forsome minutes I knew nothing more, but when I revived, the surgeon wasbusy in binding up my arm, while the three gentlemen stood together in agroup a little way apart. My legs shook under me, and doubtless I was aswhite as my mother's best linen, but I was well content, feeling that myhonour was safe, and that I had been as it were baptised of the companyof gentlemen. So Mr Jermyn seemed to think; for when my arm was dressed,and I had got my clothes on again with some pain, and a silken slingunder my elbow, he came and craved the surgeon's leave to carry me offto breakfast. The request was granted, on a promise that I would abstainfrom inflaming food and from all strong liquors. Accordingly we set out,I dissembling a certain surprise inspired in my countryman's mind by thediscovery that my late enemy proposed to be of the party. Having come toa tavern in Drury Lane, we were regaled very pleasantly; Mr Jermyn, who(although a small man, and not in my opinion well-shaped) might be seento hold himself in good esteem, recounting to us his adventures in loveand his exploits on the field of honour. Meanwhile, Lord Carfordtreated me with distinguished courtesy, and I was at a loss tounderstand his changed humour until it appeared that Darrell hadacquainted him with my resolution to surrender the commission that theKing had bestowed on me. As we grew more free with one another, hislordship referred plainly to the matter, declaring that my conductshowed the nicest honour, and praying me to allow his own surgeon tovisit me every day until my wound should be fully cured. His markedpoliteness, and the friendliness of the others, put me in better humourthan I had been since the discovery of the evening before, and when ourmeal was ended, about eleven o'clock, I was well-nigh reconciled to lifeagain. Yet it was not long before Carford and I were again good enemies,and crossed swords with no less zest, although on a different field.
I had been advised by Darrell to return at once to my inn, and thererest quietly until evening, leaving my journey to Whitehall for the nextday, lest too much exertion should induce a fever in me; and inobedience to his counsel I began to walk gently along Drury Lane on myway back to Covent Garden. My Lord Carford and Mr Jermyn had gone off toa cock-fight, where the King was to be, while Darrell had to wait uponthe Secretary at his offices; therefore I was alone, and, going easily,found fully enough to occupy my attention in the business and incrediblestir of the town. I thought then, and think still, that nowhere in theworld is there such a place for an idle man as London; where else has hespread for him so continual a banquet of contemplation, where else aresuch comedies played every hour for his eyes' delight? It is well enoughto look at a running river, or to gaze at such mighty mountains as I sawwhen I journeyed many years later into Italy; but the mountain movesnot, and the stream runs always with the same motion and in its wontedchannel. Give me these for my age, but to a young man a great city isqueen of all.
So I was thinking as I walked along; or so I think now that I must havethought; for in writing of his youth it is hard for a man to be surethat he does not transfer to that golden page some of the palercharacters which later years print on his mind. Perhaps I thought ofnothing at all, save that this man here was a fine fellow, that girlthere a pretty wench, that my coat became me well, and my wounded armgave me an interesting air. Be my meditations what they might, they weresuddenly interrupted by the sight of a crowd in the Lane near to theCock and Pie tavern. Here fifty or sixty men and women, decent folksome, others porters, flower-girls, and such like, were gathered in acircle round a man who was pouring out an oration or sermon with greatzeal and vehemence. Having drawn nearer, I paused out of a curiositywhich turned to amusement when I discovered in the preacher my goodfriend Phineas Tate, with whom I had talked the evening before. Itseemed that he had set about his task without delay, and if London werestill unmindful of its sins, the fault was not to lie at Mr Tate's door.On he plunged, sparing neither great nor small; if the Court weresinful, so was Drury Lane; if Castlemaine (he dealt freely in names, andmost sparingly in titles of courtesy) were what he roundly said she was,which of the women about him was not the same? How did they differ fromtheir betters, unless it were that their price was not so high, and inwhat, save audacity, were they behind Eleanor Gwyn? He hurled this lastname forth as though it marked a climax of iniquity, and a start ranthrough me as I heard it thus treated
. Strange to say, something of thesame effect seemed to be produced on his other hearers. Hitherto theyhad listened with good-natured tolerance, winking at one another,laughing when the preacher's finger pointed at a neighbour, shruggingcomfortable shoulders when it turned against themselves. They arelong-suffering under abuse, the folk of London; you may say much whatyou will, provided you allow them to do what they will, and they supportthe imputation of unrighteousness with marvellous composure, as long asno man takes it in hand to force them to righteousness. As they are now,they were then, though many changes have passed over the country andthe times; so will they be, although more transformations come.
But, as I say, this last name stirred the group to a new mood. FriendPhineas perceived the effect that he had made, but set a wrong meaningon it. Taking it as a ground for encouragement, he loosed his tongue yetmore outrageously, and so battered the unhappy subject of his censuresthat my ears tingled, and suddenly I strode quickly up to the group,intent on silencing him; but a great brawny porter, with a dirty redface, was beforehand with me. Elbowing his way irresistibly through theranks, he set himself squarely before Phineas, and, wagging his headsignificantly enough, growled out:
"Say what you will of Castlemaine and the rest, Master Ranter, but keepyour tongue off Nelly."
A murmur of applause ran round. They knew Nelly: here in the Lane washer kingdom.
"Let Nelly alone," said the porter, "if you value whole bones, master."
Phineas was no coward, and threats served only to fan the flame of hiszeal. I had started to stop his mouth; it seemed likely that I mustemploy myself in saving his head. His lean frame would crack and breakin the grasp of his mighty assailant, and I was loth that the foolshould come to harm; so I began to push my way through towards the pair,and arrived just as Phineas, having shot a most pointed dart, was aboutto pay for his too great skill with a blow from the porter'smutton-fist. I caught the fellow's arm as he raised it, and he turnedfiercely on me, growling, "Are you his friend, then?"
"Not I," I answered. "But you'd kill him, man."
"Let him heed what he says, then. Kill him! Ay, and spare him readily!"
The affair looked awkward enough, for the feeling was all one way, and Icould do little to hinder any violence. A girl in the crowd reminded meof my helplessness, touching my wounded arm lightly, and saying, "Areyou hungry for more fighting, sir?"
"He's a madman," said I. "Let him alone; who heeds what he says?"
Friend Phineas did not take my defence in good part.
"Mad, am I?" he roared, beating with his fist on his Bible. "You'll knowwho was mad when you lie howling in hell fire. And with you that----"And on he went again at poor Nell.
The great porter could endure no more. With a seemingly gentle motion ofhis hand he thrust me aside, pushing me on to the bosom of a buxomflower-girl who, laughing boisterously, wound a pair of sturdy red armsround me. Then he stepped forward, and seizing Phineas by the scruff ofthe neck shook him as a dog shakes a rat. To what more violence he wouldhave proceeded I do not know; for suddenly from above us, out of awindow of the Cock and Pie, came a voice which sent a stir through myveins.
"Good people, good people," said the voice, "what with preaching andbrawling, a body can get no sleep in the Lane. Pray go and work, or ifyou've no work, go and drink. Here are the means." And a shower of smallcoins came flying down on our heads, causing an immediate wild scramble.My flower-girl loosed me that she might take her part in this fray; theporter stood motionless, still holding poor Phineas, limp and lank, inhis hand; and I turned my eyes upwards to the window of the Cock andPie.
I looked up, and I saw her. Her sunny brown hair was about hershoulders, her knuckles rubbed her sleepy eyes to brightness, and aloose white bodice, none too high nor too carefully buttoned about theneck, showed that her dressing was not done. Indeed, she made a prettypicture, as she leant out, laughing softly, and now shading her facefrom the sun with one hand, while she raised the other in mockingreproof of the preacher.
"Fie, sir, fie," she said. "Why fall on a poor girl who earns an honestliving, gives to the needy, and is withal a good Protestant?" Then shecalled to the porter, "Let him go with what life you've left in him. Lethim go."
"You heard what he said of you----" began the fellow sullenly.
"Ay, I hear what everybody says of me," she answered carelessly. "Lethim go."
The porter sulkily released his prey, and Phineas, set free, began togasp and shake himself. Another coin whistled down to the porter, who,picking it up, shambled off with a last oath of warning to his enemy.Then, and then only, did she look at me, who had never ceased to look ather. When she saw me, her smile grew broader, and her eyes twinkled insurprise and delight.
"A happy morning!" she said, clasping her little hands. "Ah, a happymorning! Why, 'tis Simon, my Simon, my little Simon from the country.Come up to me, Simon. No, no, your pardon; I'll come down to you, Simon.In the parlour, in the parlour. Quick! I'll be down in an instant."
The vision vanished, but my gaze dwelt on the window where it had been,and I needed Phineas Tate's harsh voice to rouse me from my stupor.
"Who is the woman?" he demanded.
"Why--why--Mistress Gwyn herself," I stammered.
"Herself--the woman, herself?" he asked eagerly. Then he suddenly drewhimself up and, baring his head, said solemnly, "Thanks be to God,thanks be to God, for it may be His will that this brand should beplucked from the burning." And before I could speak or attempt to hinderhim he stepped swiftly across the pathway and entered the tavern. I,seeing nothing else that I could do, followed him straightway and asfast as I could.
I was in a maze of feeling. The night before I had reasoned with myselfand schooled my wayward passion to a resolve neither to see nor to speakwith her. Resentment at the shame she had brought on me aided mystubbornness, and helped me to forget that I had been shamed because shehad remembered me. But now I followed Phineas Tate. For be memory everso keen and clear, yes, though it seem able to bring every feature,every shade, and every pose before a man's eyes in absolute fidelity,yet how poor and weak a thing it is beside the vivid sight of bodilyeyes; that paints the faded picture all afresh in hot and glowingcolours, and the man who bade defiance to the persuasions of hisrecollection falls beaten down by the fierce force of a present vision.I followed Phineas Tate, perhaps using some excuse with myself--indeed,I feared that he would attack her rudely and be cruelly plain withher--yet knowing in my heart that I went because I could do nothingelse, and that when she called, every atom of life in me answered to hersummons. So in I went, to find Phineas standing bolt upright in theparlour of the tavern, turning the leaves of his book with eagerfingers, as though he sought some text that was in his mind. I passed byhim and leant against the wall by the window; so we awaited her, eachof us eager, but with passions most unlike.
She came, daintily dressed now, although still negligently. She put herhead round the corner of the door, radiant with smiles, and with no moreshame or embarrassment than if our meeting in this way were the mostordinary thing. Then she caught sight of Phineas Tate and cried,pouting, "But I wanted to be alone with my Simon, my dear Simon."
Phineas caught the clue her words gave him with perverse readiness.
"Alone with him, yes!" he cried. "But what of the time when you must bealone with God?"
"Alas," said she, coming in, and seating herself at the table, "is theremore still? Indeed, I thought you had said all your say outside. I amvery wicked; let that end it."
He advanced to the table and stood directly opposite to her, stretchinghis arm towards her, while she sat with her chin on her hands, watchinghim with eyes half-amused, half-apprehensive.
"You who live in open sin----" he began; before he could say more I wasby his elbow.
"Hold your tongue," I said. "What is it to you?"
"Let him go on, Simon," said she.
And go on he did, telling all--as I prayed, more than all--the truth,while she heard him patiently. Yet now
and then she gave herself alittle shake, as though to get rid of something that threatened tostick. Then he fell on his knees and prayed fervently, she still sittingquiet and I standing awkwardly near. He finished his prayer, and, risingagain, looked earnestly at her. Her eyes met his in good nature, almostin friendliness. He stretched out his hand to her again, saying,
"Child, cannot you understand? Alas, your heart is hardened! I prayChrist our Lord to open your eyes and change your heart, that at thelast your soul may be saved."
Nelly examined the pink nails of her right hand with curious attention.
"I don't know that I'm more of a sinner than many others," said she. "Goto Court and preach, sir."
A sudden fury seemed to come over him, and he lost the gentleness withwhich he had last addressed her.
"The Word shall be heard at the Court," he cried, "in louder accentsthan mine. Their cup is full, the measure of their iniquity is presseddown and running over. All who live shall see."
"Like enough," said Nell, as though the matter were grown very tedious,and she yawned just a little; but, as she glanced at me, a merry lightgleamed in her eyes. "And what is to befall Simon here?" she asked.
He turned on me with a start, seeming to have forgotten my presence.
"This young man?" he asked, looking full in my face. "Why, his face ishonest; if he choose his friends well, he may do well."
"I am of his friends," said Nell, and I defy any man on earth to havegiven the lie to such a claim so made.
"And for you, may the Lord soften your heart," said Phineas to her.
"Some say it's too soft already," said Nell.
"You will see me again," said he to her, and moved towards the door. Butonce more he faced me before he went, and looked very intently at me.Then he passed out, leaving us alone.
At his going Nell sighed for relief, stretched out her arms, and letthem fall on the table in front of her; then she sprang up and ran tome, catching hold of my hands.
"And how goes all at pretty Hatchstead?" she asked.
I drew back, releasing my hands from hers, and I spoke to her stiffly.
"Madame," said I, "this is not Hatchstead, nor do you seem the lady whomI knew at Hatchstead."
"Indeed, you seem very like the gentleman I knew, and knew well, there,"she retorted.
"And you, very unlike the lady."
"Nay, not so unlike as you think. But are you also going to preach tome?"
"Madame," said I in cold courtesy, "I have to thank you for a goodremembrance of me, and for your kindness in doing me a service; I assureyou I prize it none the less, because I may not accept it."
"You may not accept it?" she cried. "What? You may not accept thecommission?"
"No, madame," said I, bowing low.
Her face was like a pretty child's in disappointment.
"And your arm? How come you to be wounded? Have you been quarrellingalready?"
"Already, madame."
"But with whom, and why?"
"With my Lord Carford. The reason I need not weary you with."
"But I desire to know it."
"Because my lord said that Mistress Gwyn had obtained me my commission."
"But it was true."
"Doubtless; yet I fought."
"Why, if it were true?"
I made her no answer. She went and seated herself again at the table,looking up at me with eyes in which I seemed to read pain and puzzle.
"I thought it would please you, Simon," she said, with a coaxing glancethat at least feigned timidity.
"Never have I been so proud as on the day I received it," said I; "andnever, I think, so happy, unless, may be, when you and I walked in theManor park."
"Nay, Simon, but you will be glad to have it, even though I obtained itfor you."
"I shall not have it. I go to Whitehall to-morrow to surrender it."
She sprang up in wonder, and anger also showed in her eyes.
"To surrender it? You mean in truth to surrender it? And because it camefrom me?"
Again I could do nothing but bow. That I did with the best air I couldmuster, although I had no love for my part in this scene. Alas for a manwho, being with her, must spend his time in chiding!
"Well, I wish I hadn't remembered you," she said resentfully.
"Indeed, madame, I also wish that I had forgotten."
"You have, or you would never use me so."
"It is my memory that makes me rough, madame. Indeed, how should I haveforgotten?"
"You hadn't?" she asked, advancing nearer to me. "No, in truth I believeyou hadn't! And, Simon, listen!" Now she stood with her face but a yardfrom mine, and again her lips were curved with mirth and malice."Listen, Simon," she said, "you had not forgotten; and you shall notforget."
"It is very likely," said I simply; and I took up my hat from the table.
"How fares Mistress Barbara?" asked Nell suddenly.
"I have not waited on her," I answered.
"Then indeed I am honoured, although our meeting was somewhat by chance.Ah, Simon, I want to be so angry with you. But how can I be angry? I cannever be angry. Why" (and here she came even a little closer, and nowshe was smiling most damnably--nay, I mean most delightfully; but it isoften much the same), "I was not very angry even when you kissed me,Simon."
It is not for me to say what answer to that speech she looked toreceive. Mine was no more than a repetition of my bow.
"You'll keep the commission, Simon?" she whispered, standing on tiptoe,as though she would reach my ear.
"I can't," said I, bowing no more, and losing, I fear, the air of gravecomposure that I had striven to maintain. I saw what seemed a light oftriumph in her eyes. Yet that mood passed quickly from her. She grewpensive and drew away from me. I stepped towards the door, but a handlaid on my arm arrested me.
"Simon," she asked, "have you sweet memories of Hatchstead?"
"God forgive me," said I confusedly, "sweeter than my hopes of heaven."
She looked at me gravely for an instant. Then, sighing, she said,
"Then I wish you had not come to town, but stayed there with yourmemories. They were of me?"
"Of Cydaria."
"Ah, of Cydaria," she echoed, with a little smile.
But a moment later the full merriment of laughter broke out again on herface, and, drawing her hand away, she let me go, crying after me,
"But you shall not forget, Simon. No, you shall not forget."
There I left her, standing in the doorway of the inn, daring me toforget. And my brain seemed all whirling and swirling as I walked downthe Lane.