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_ Matters had come to a pretty pickle indeed. I was openly warned at
Brooks's and elsewhere to beware of the duke, who was said upon various
authority to be sulking in Hanover Square, his rage all the more
dangerous because it was smouldering. I saw Dolly only casually before
the party to Vauxhall. Needless to say, she flew in the face of Dr.
James's authority, and went everywhere. She was at Lady Bunbury's drum,
whither I had gone in another fruitless chase after Mr. Marmaduke.
Dr. Warner's verse was the laughter of the company. And, greatly to my
annoyance,--in the circumstances,--I was made a hero of, and showered
with three times as many invitations as I could accept.
The whole story got abroad, even to the awakening of the duke in Covent
Garden. And that clownish Mr. Foote, of the Haymarket, had added some
lines to a silly popular song entitled 'The Sights o' Lunnun', with which
I was hailed at Mrs. Betty's fruit-stall in St. James's Street. Here is
one of the verses:
"In Maryland, he hunts the Fox
From dewy Morn till Day grows dim;
At Home he finds a Paradox,
From Noon till Dawn the Fox hunts him."
Charles Fox laughed when he heard it. But he was serious when he came to
speak of Chartersea, and bade me look out for assassination. I had Banks
follow me abroad at night with a brace of pistols under his coat, albeit
I feared nothing save that I should not have an opportunity to meet the
duke in a fair fight. And I resolved at all hazards to run Mr. Marmaduke
down with despatch, if I had to waylay him.
Mr. Storer, who was forever giving parties, was responsible for this one
at Vauxhall. We went in three coaches, and besides Dorothy and Mr.
Marmaduke, the company included Lord and Lady Carlisle, Sir Charles and
Lady Sarah Bunbury, Lady Ossory and Lady Julia Howard, two Miss Stanleys
and Miss Poole, and Comyn, and Hare, and Price, and Fitzpatrick, the
latter feeling very glum over a sum he had dropped that afternoon to Lord
Harrington. Fox had been called to St. Stephen's on more printer's
business.
Dolly was in glowing pink, as I loved best to see her, and looked divine.
Comyn and I were in Mr. Manners's coach. The evening was fine and warm,
and my lady in very lively spirits. As we rattled over Westminster
Bridge, the music of the Vauxhall band came "throbbing through the still
night," and the sky was bright with the reflection of the lights. It was
the fashion with the quality to go late; and so eleven o'clock had struck
before we had pulled up between Vauxhall stairs, crowded with watermen
and rough mudlarks, and the very ordinary-looking house which forms the
entrance of the great garden. Leaving the servants outside, single-file
we trailed through the dark passage guarded by the wicketgate.
"Prepare to be ravished, Richard," said my lady, with fine sarcasm.
"You were yourself born in the colonies, miss," I retorted. "I confess
to a thrill, and will not pretend that I have seen such sights often
enough to be sated."
"La!" exclaimed Lady Sarah, who had overheard; "I vow this is refreshing.
Behold a new heaven and a new earth, Mr. Carvel?"
Indeed, much to the amusement of the company, I took no pains to hide my
enthusiasm at the brilliancy of the scene which burst upon me. A great
orchestra rose in the midst of a stately grove lined on all four sides
with supper-boxes of brave colours, which ran in straight tiers or swept
around in circles. These were filled with people of all sorts and
conditions, supping and making merry. Other people were sauntering under
the trees, keeping step with the music. Lamps of white and blue and red
and green hung like luminous fruit from the branches, or clustered in
stars and crescents upon the buildings.
"Why, Richard, you are as bad as Farmer Colin."
"'O Patty! Soft in feature,
I've been at dear Vauxhall;
No paradise is sweeter,
Not that they Eden call.'"
whispered Dolly, paraphrasing.
At that instant came hurrying Mr. Tom Tyers, who was one of the brothers,
proprietors of the gardens. He was a very lively young fellow who seemed
to know everybody, and he desired to know if we would walk about a little
before being shown to the boxes reserved for us.
"They are on the right side, Mr. Tyers?" demanded Mr. Storer.
"Oh, to be sure, sir. Your man was most particular to stipulate the pink
and blue flowered brocades, next the Prince of Wales's."
"But you must have the band stop that piece, Mr. Tyers," cried Lady
Sarah. "I declare, it is too much for my nerves. Let them play Dibbin's
Ephesian Matron."
"As your Ladyship wishes," responded the obliging Mr. Tyers, and sent off
an uniformed warder to the band-master.
As he led us into the Rotunda, my Lady Dolly, being in one of her
whimsical humours, began to recite in the manner of the guide-book, to
the vast diversion of our party and the honest citizens gaping at us.
"This, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen," says the minx, "is that
marvellous Rotunda commonly known as the 'umbrella,' where the music
plays on wet nights, and where we have our masquerades and ridottos.
Their Royal Highnesses are very commonly seen here on such occasions.
As you see, it is decorated with mirrors and scenes and busts, and with
gilded festoons. That picture was painted by the famous Hogarth. The
organ in the orchestra cost--you must supply the figure, Mr. Tyers,--and
the ceiling is at least two hundred feet high. Gentlemen from the
colonies and the country take notice."
By this time we were surrounded. Mr. Marmaduke was scandalized and
crushed, but Mr. Tyers, used to the vagaries of his fashionable patrons,
was wholly convulsed.
"Faith, Miss Manners, and you would consent to do this two nights more,
we should have to open another gate," he declared. Followed by the mob,
which it seems was part of the excitement, he led us out of the building
into the Grand Walk; and offered to turn on the waterfall and mill, which
(so Lady Sarah explained to me) the farmers and merchants fell down and
worshipped every night at nine, to the tinkling of bells. She told Mr.
Tyers there was diversion enough without "tin cascades." When we got to
the Grand Cross Walk he pointed out the black "Wilderness" of tall elms
and cedars looming ahead of us. And--so we came to the South Walk, with
its three triumphal arches framing a noble view of architecture at the
far end. Our gentlemen sauntered ahead, with their spy-glasses, staring
the citizens' pretty daughters out of countenance, and making cynical
remarks.
"Why, egad!" I heard Sir Charles say, "the wig-makers have no cause to
petition his Majesty for work. I'll be sworn the false hair this good
staymaker has on cost a guinea."
A remark which caused the staymaker (if such he was) such huge discomfort
that he made off with his wife in the opposite direction, to the time of
jeers and cock-crows from the bevy of Vauxhall bucks walking abreast.
"You must show us the famous 'dark walks,' Mr. Tyers," says Dorothy.
"Surely you will not care to see those, Miss Manners."
"O lud, of course you must," chimed in the Miss Stanleys; "there is no
spice in these flaps and flies."
He led us accordingly into Druid's Walk, overarched with elms, and dark
as the shades, our gentlemen singing, "'Ods! Lovers will contrive,'" in
chorus, the ladies exclaiming and drawing together. Then I felt a soft,
restraining hold on my arm, and fell back instinctively, vibrating to the
touch.
"Could you not see that I have been trying to get a word with you for
ever so long?"
"I trust you to find a way, Dolly, if you but wish," I replied, admiring
her stratagem.
"I am serious to-night." Indeed, her voice betrayed as much. How well I
recall those rich and low tones! "I said I wished you shut up in the
Marshalsea, and I meant it. I have been worrying about you."
"You make me very happy," said I; which was no lie.
"Richard, you are every bit as reckless and indifferent of danger as they
say your father was. And I am afraid--"
"Of what?" I asked quickly.
"You once mentioned a name to me--"
"Yes?" I was breathing deep.
"I have forgiven you," she said gently. "I never meant to have referred
to that incident more. You will understand whom I mean. You must know
that he is a dangerous man, and a treacherous. Oh!" she exclaimed,
"I have been in hourly terror ever since you rode against him in Hyde
Park. There! I have said it."
The tense sweetness of that moment none will ever know.
"But you have more reason to fear him than I, Dorothy."
"Hush!" she whispered, catching her breath; "what are you saying?"
"That he has more cause to fear me than I to dread him."
She came a little closer.
"You stayed in London for me, Richard. Why did you? There was no need,"
she exclaimed; "there was no need, do you hear? Oh, I shall never
forgive Comyn for his meddling! I am sure 'twas he who told you some
ridiculous story. He had no foundation for it."
"Dorothy," I demanded, my voice shaking with earnestness, "will you tell
me honestly there is no foundation for the report that the duke is
intriguing to marry you?"
That question was not answered, and regret came the instant it had left
my lips--regret and conviction both. Dorothy joined Lady Carlisle before
our absence had been noted, and began to banter Fitzpatrick upon his
losings.
We were in the lighted Grove again, and sitting down to a supper of
Vauxhall fare: transparent slices of ham (which had been a Vauxhall joke
for ages), and chickens and cheese cakes and champagne and claret, and
arrack punch. Mr. Tyers extended the concert in our favour. Mrs.
Weichsell and the beautiful Baddeley trilled sentimental ballads which
our ladies chose; and Mr. Vernon, the celebrated tenor, sang Cupid's
Recruiting Sergeant so happily that Storer sent him a bottle of
champagne. After which we amused ourselves with catches until the space
between our boxes and the orchestra was filled. In the midst of this
Comyn came quietly in from the other box and took a seat beside me.
"Chartersea is here to-night," said he.
I started. "How do you know?"
"Tyers told me he turned up half an hour since. Tom asked his Grace to
join our party," his Lordship laughed. "Duke said no--he was to be here
only half an hour, and Tom did not push him. He told me as a joke, and
thinks Chartersea came to meet some petite."
"Any one with him?" I asked.
"Yes. Tall, dark man, one eye cast,--that's Lewis. They have come on
some dirty work, Richard. Watch little Marmaduke. He has been fidgety
as a cat all night."
"That's true," said I. Looking up, I caught Dorothy's eyes upon us, her
lips parted, uneasiness and apprehension plain upon her face. Comyn
dropped his voice still lower.
"I believe she suspects something," he said, rising. "Chartersea is
gone off toward the Wilderness, so Tom says. You must not let little
Marmaduke see him. If Manners gets up to go, I will tune up Black-eked
Susan, and do you follow on some pretext. If you are not back in a
reasonable time, I'll after you."
He had been gone scant three minutes before I heard his clear voice
singing, "in the Downs", and up I got, with a precipitation far from
politic, and stepped out of the box. Our company stared in surprise.
But Dorothy rose clear from her chair. The terror I saw stamped upon her
face haunts me yet, and I heard her call my name.
I waited for nothing. Gaining the Grand Walk, I saw Mr. Marmaduke's
insignificant figure dodging fearfully among the roughs, whose hour it
was. He traversed the Cross Walk, and twenty yards farther on dived into
an opening in the high hedge bounding the Wilderness. Before he had made
six paces I had him by the shoulder, and he let out a shriek of fright
like a woman's.
"It is I, Richard Carvel, Mr. Manners," I said shortly. I could not keep
out the contempt from my tone. "I beg a word with you."
In his condition then words were impossible. His teeth rattled again,
and he trembled like a hare caught alive. I kept my hold of him, and
employed the time until he should be more composed peering into the
darkness. For all I knew Chartersea might be within ear-shot. But I
could see nothing but black trunks of trees.
"What is it, Richard?"
"You are going to meet Chartersea," I said.
He must have seen the futility of a lie, or else was scared out of all
contrivance. "Yes," he said weakly.
"You have allowed it to become the talk of London that this filthy
nobleman is blackmailing you for your daughter," I went on, without
wasting words. "Tell me, is it, or is it not, true?"
As he did not answer, I retained a handful of the grained silk on his
shoulder as a measure of precaution.
"Is this so?" I repeated.
"You must know, I suppose," he said, under his breath, and with a note of
sullenness.
"I must," I said firmly. "The knowledge is the weapon need, for I, too,
am going to meet Chartersea."
He ceased quivering all at once.
"You are going to meet him!" he cried, in another voice. "Yes, yes, it
is so,--it is so. I will tell you all."
"Keep it to yourself, Mr. Manners," I replied, with repugnance, "I have
heard all I wish. Where is he?" I demanded.
"Hold the path until you come to him. And God bless--"
I shook my head.
"No, not that! Do you go back to the company and make some excuse for
me. Do not alarm them. And if you get the chance, tell Lord Comyn where
to come."
I waited until I saw him under the lights of the Grand Walk, and fairly
running. Then I swung on my heel. I was of two minds whether to wait
for Comyn, by far the wiser course. The unthinking recklessness I had
inherited drove me on. _
Read next: VOLUME 6: CHAPTER XLI. The Wilderness
Read previous: VOLUME 6: CHAPTER XXXIX. Holland House
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