Madame Flirt Part 24

springy as could be, could clear a pike gate like a wild cat I'll bet. I didn't like the scoundrel's phizog and I'll swear he didn't want to know for naught what time the London coach pa.s.sed the George. I wouldn't wonder if he was hanging about Smallbury Green at this 'ere very minute.

But don't 'ee let the young leddy know this. She might be afeared, an'

after all I may be wrong."

Stephen nodded.

"The High Toby gen'elmen are gettin' monstrous darin'. I'm told as they've been stickin' up bills on the park gates of the Quality a-warnin' their lords.h.i.+ps not to travel with less than ten guineas in their pocket an' a gold watch an' chain, on pain o' death. What think 'ee o' that for downright brazenness?"

Stephen could only raise his hands deprecatingly, but as Lavinia was drawing near him he made no reply.

"I've booked my seat," said she, "so please don't stay any longer. I'm quite safe now and all I have to do is to wait for the coach. Thank you kindly for coming with me."

"Ye're quite welcome, miss. I don't know as I can be of more sarvice, so I'll get back to Twitenham. I wish 'ee a pleasant journey to London."

Lavinia again thanked him, Stephen departed and Lavinia prepared herself to exercise what patience she possessed. And well she needed patience for it was past eight and quite dark before the coach appeared at little more than a walking pace. Then the horses had to be changed, the coachman roundly anathematising the sinning jibber as the brute was led in disgrace to the stables; the pa.s.sengers descended to refresh themselves and so nearly another hour was wasted.

At last all was ready. Lavinia had booked an inside place and found that her only fellow pa.s.senger was a gouty old gentleman who had been taking the waters at Bath. The outside pa.s.sengers were but few, a woman and a couple of men.

Hounslow was left behind and in due time they entered the road across Smallbury Green, beyond which was Brentford. The travelling was very bad and the coach on its leather hangings swung about in all directions. The conversation--if conversation it could be called--consisted of fragmentary e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of mingled pain and annoyance from the old gentleman when his gouty foot was jerked against some part of the coach.

They had not pa.s.sed over the Green when the clatter of a galloping horse was heard and almost immediately the coach was pulled up.

"Body o' me," cried the old gentleman in dismay. "What's happened?"

He had an answer in a very few seconds. A big pistol, its barrel gleaming in the moonlight, was thrust through the coach window and behind the pistol was a masked horseman.

"A thousand apologies for putting your lords.h.i.+p to such inconvenience,"

growled the highwayman with affected humility. "I'm sure your lords.h.i.+p has too much sense not to perceive the force of an argument which you will own is entirely on my side."

And he advanced the muzzle of the pistol a little nearer the head of the old gentleman and then came an unpleasant click.

"What d'ye want, you scoundrel?" stammered the victim.

"Nay, a little more politeness, if you please. I simply want your watch and chain, the rings on your fingers and any money you may chance to have about you--gold in preference. Permit me to add that if you don't turn out your pockets before I count ten I shall put a bullet in your skull first and do the searching myself afterwards."

This command, uttered in fierce threatening tones, brought the unlucky gentleman from Bath to book at once. Trembling, he turned out his pockets and a number of guineas fell beside him on the seat. The highwayman grabbed them at once.

"Your lords.h.i.+p is most generous and complaisant. Now for your trinkets.

Quick! Time is of great importance."

All the valuables the old gentleman possessed were yielded and pocketted rapidly by the highwayman.

"Thanks, my lord, for a most agreeable interview. I trust your lords.h.i.+p will reach your journey's end without further mishap."

Then to Lavinia's terror the highwayman turned towards her. She shrank into her corner of the coach.

"Pray don't be alarmed, madam. I never rob women unless they tempt me very much. Some are so foolish as to wear all the gewgaws they possess.

But you have more sense I see. Yet a diamond would vastly set off the whiteness of that pretty little hand. Your gallant must be very dull not to have ornamented your charming fingers."

In spite of the man's fair words Lavinia's terror was not diminished.

His eyes glinted savagely through the holes of his mask and a mocking note in his raucous voice plainly sounded an insincerity. Apart from this there was something in his voice which was strangely, disagreeably familiar, but she was too agitated just then to try to trace the a.s.sociation.

The highwayman stared at her for some few seconds without speaking, then his coa.r.s.e, wide lips, which the mask did not come low enough to conceal, parted in a grin showing big yellow, uneven teeth and an ugly gap in the lower jaw where two of the front teeth had once been.

"Adieu, madam. Let us hope we shall meet again under happier circ.u.mstances."

And wheeling round his horse he took off his hat with a sweeping bow.

Then he set out at a gallop and did not draw rein until he reached the "Red Cow" at Hammersmith. Apparently he was well-known, for in response to his shout an ostler ran from the yard and at his imperious order took his horse to the stables. Then the highwayman strode into the bar parlour.

His mask, of course, was now removed, and the features were revealed of Captain Jeremy Rofflash.

Here he sat drinking until the rumble of the London coach was heard.

Then he quitted the bar and went to the stable, where he remained during the stay of the coach which occupied some little time, for the story of the highway robbery had to be told.

No one about the inn was in the least surprised. Highwaymen haunted Hammersmith and Turnham Green, and had the landlord of the "Red Cow"

chosen to open his mouth he might have thrown a little light upon the man who had stopped the Bath coach.

Once more the coach was on its way and following it went Captain Rofflash, d.o.g.g.i.ng it to its destination at the Belle Savage. He watched Lavinia alight and wherever she went he went too. Could she have listened to what he was saying she would have heard the words:--

"By gad, it's the very wench. I'll swear 'tis. Perish me if this isn't the best day's work I've done for many a day. If I don't make Mr.

Archibald Dorrimore fork out fifty guineas my name isn't Jeremy Rofflash."

Shortly after Lavinia set out on her way to Grub Street. Lancelot Vane was pacing Moor Fields--a depressing tract of land, the gra.s.s trodden down here and there into bare patches, thanks to the games of the London 'prentices and gambols of children--in company with Edmund Curll, the most scurrilous and audacious of writers and booksellers who looked upon standing on the pillory, which he had had to do more than once, more as a splendid form of advertis.e.m.e.nt than as a degradation.

"You can write what I want if you chose--no man better," he was saying.

Vane was listening not altogether attentively. His thoughts were elsewhere.

"And supposing I don't choose."

"Then you'll be an arrant fool," sneered Curll angrily. "You're out at elbows. You haven't a penny to bless yourself with. You don't eat, but you can always drink provided you run across a friend who by chance has some money in his pocket. What'll be the end of it all? You'll go down--down among the dregs of Grub Street and you'll never rise again."

"Not so, Mr. Curll," cried Vane hotly. "I've great hopes. I've a tragedy----"

"A tragedy! _That_ for your tragedy."

Curll snapped his fingers scornfully.

"Why, my young friend, supposing you get your tragedy staged, it will be played one night--if extraordinarily successful two nights, or three at the most. What do you think you will get out of it? Nothing. But perhaps you fancy yourself a Congreve or a Farquhar?"

"Neither Congreve nor Farquhar wrote tragedies, sir," retorted Vane stiffly.

"Indeed! What about Mr. Congreve's 'Mourning Bride?'"

"I prefer his comedies, sir."

"And so do I, but that's nothing to the point. May be you consider that you're equal to Mr. Otway or even Mr. Cibber, I leave Mr. Gay out of the count. He's written nothing that's likely to live and never will. He's too lazy."

"You dislike Mr. Gay, 'tis well known, because he's Mr. Pope's friend. I do not and that's my objection to writing for you. I doubt not you would ask me to attack the most talented men of the age simply because you hate them or you want to air some grievance."

"You're wrong. I do it to sell my books and put money in my pocket. If you write for me you won't be called upon to express your own opinions.