Danger! and Other Stories

  IV. THE FALL OF LORD BARRYMORE

  These are few social historians of those days who have not told of thelong and fierce struggle between those two famous bucks, Sir CharlesTregellis and Lord Barrymore, for the Lordship of the Kingdom of St.James, a struggle which divided the whole of fashionable London into twoopposing camps. It has been chronicled also how the peer retiredsuddenly and the commoner resumed his great career without a rival. Onlyhere, however, one can read the real and remarkable reason for thissudden eclipse of a star.

  It was one morning in the days of this famous struggle that Sir CharlesTregellis was performing his very complicated toilet, and Ambrose, hisvalet, was helping him to attain that pitch of perfection which had longgained him the reputation of being the best-dressed man in town. SuddenlySir Charles paused, his _coup d'archet_ half-executed, the final beautyof his neck-cloth half-achieved, while he listened with surprise andindignation upon his large, comely, fresh-complexioned face. Below, thedecorous hum of Jermyn Street had been broken by the sharp, staccato,metallic beating of a doorknocker.

  "I begin to think that this uproar must be at our door," said SirCharles, as one who thinks aloud. "For five minutes it has come andgone; yet Perkins has his orders."

  At a gesture from his master Ambrose stepped out upon the balcony andcraned his discreet head over it. From the street below came a voice,drawling but clear.

  "You would oblige me vastly, fellow, if you would do me the favour toopen this door," said the voice.

  "Who is it? What is it?" asked the scandalised Sir Charles, with hisarrested elbow still pointing upwards.

  Ambrose had returned with as much surprise upon his dark face as theetiquette of his position would allow him to show.

  "It is a young gentleman, Sir Charles."

  "A young gentleman? There is no one in London who is not aware that I donot show before midday. Do you know the person? Have you seen himbefore?"

  "I have not seen him, sir, but he is very like some one I could name."

  "Like some one? Like whom?"

  "With all respect, Sir Charles, I could for a moment have believed thatit was yourself when I looked down. A smaller man, sir, and a youth; butthe voice, the face, the bearing--"

  "It must be that young cub Vereker, my brother's ne'er-do-weel," mutteredSir Charles, continuing his toilet. "I have heard that there are pointsin which he resembles me. He wrote from Oxford that he would come, and Ianswered that I would not see him. Yet he ventures to insist. Thefellow needs a lesson! Ambrose, ring for Perkins."

  A large footman entered with an outraged expression upon his face.

  "I cannot have this uproar at the door, Perkins!"

  "If you please, the young gentleman won't go away, sir."

  "Won't go away? It is your duty to see that he goes away. Have you notyour orders? Didn't you tell him that I am not seen before midday?"

  "I said so, sir. He would have pushed his way in, for all I could say,so I slammed the door in his face."

  "Very right, Perkins."

  "But now, sir, he is making such a din that all the folk are at thewindows. There is a crowd gathering in the street, sir."

  From below came the crack-crack-crack of the knocker, ever rising ininsistence, with a chorus of laughter and encouraging comments from thespectators. Sir Charles flushed with anger. There must be some limit tosuch impertinence.

  "My clouded amber cane is in the corner," said he. "Take it with you,Perkins. I give you a free hand. A stripe or two may bring the youngrascal to reason."

  The large Perkins smiled and departed. The door was heard to open belowand the knocker was at rest. A few moments later there followed aprolonged howl and a noise as of a beaten carpet. Sir Charles listenedwith a smile which gradually faded from his good-humoured face.

  "The fellow must not overdo it," he muttered. "I would not do the lad aninjury, whatever his deserts may be. Ambrose, run out on the balcony andcall him off. This has gone far enough."

  But before the valet could move there came the swift patter of agile feetupon the stairs, and a handsome youth, dressed in the height of fashion,was standing framed in the open doorway. The pose, the face, above allthe curious, mischievous, dancing light in the large blue eyes, all spokeof the famous Tregellis blood. Even such was Sir Charles when, twentyyears before, he had, by virtue of his spirit and audacity, in one shortseason taken a place in London from which Brummell himself had afterwardsvainly struggled to depose him. The youth faced the angry features ofhis uncle with an air of debonair amusement, and he held towards him,upon his outstretched palms, the broken fragments of an amber cane.

  "I much fear, sir," said he, "that in correcting your fellow I have hadthe misfortune to injure what can only have been your property. I amvastly concerned that it should have occurred."

  Sir Charles stared with intolerant eyes at this impertinent apparition.The other looked back in a laughable parody of his senior's manner. AsAmbrose had remarked after his inspection from the balcony, the two werevery alike, save that the younger was smaller, finer cut, and the morenervously alive of the two.

  "You are my nephew, Vereker Tregellis?" asked Sir Charles.

  "Yours to command, sir."

  "I hear bad reports of you from Oxford."

  "Yes, sir, I understand that the reports _are_ bad."

  "Nothing could be worse."

  "So I have been told."

  "Why are you here, sir?"

  "That I might see my famous uncle."

  "So you made a tumult in his street, forced his door, and beat hisfootman?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You had my letter?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You were told that I was not receiving?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I can remember no such exhibition of impertinence."

  The young man smiled and rubbed his hands in satisfaction.

  "There is an impertinence which is redeemed by wit," said Sir Charles,severely. "There is another which is the mere boorishness of theclodhopper. As you grow older and wiser you may discern the difference."

  "You are very right, sir," said the young man, warmly. "The finer shadesof impertinence are infinitely subtle, and only experience and thesociety of one who is a recognised master"--here he bowed to hisuncle--"can enable one to excel."

  Sir Charles was notoriously touchy in temper for the first hour after hismorning chocolate. He allowed himself to show it.

  "I cannot congratulate my brother upon his son," said he. "I had hopedfor something more worthy of our traditions."

  "Perhaps, sir, upon a longer acquaintance--"

  "The chance is too small to justify the very irksome experience. I mustask you, sir, to bring to a close a visit which never should have beenmade."

  The young man smiled affably, but gave no sign of departure.

  "May I ask, sir," said he, in an easy conversational fashion, "whetheryou can recall Principal Munro, of my college?"

  "No, sir, I cannot," his uncle answered, sharply.

  "Naturally you would not burden your memory to such an extent, but hestill remembers you. In some conversation with him yesterday he did methe honour to say that I brought you back to his recollection by what hewas pleased to call the mingled levity and obstinacy of my character. Thelevity seems to have already impressed you. I am now reduced to showingyou the obstinacy." He sat down in a chair near the door and folded hisarms, still beaming pleasantly at his uncle.

  "Oh, you won't go?" asked Sir Charles, grimly.

  "No, sir; I will stay."

  "Ambrose, step down and call a couple of chairmen."

  "I should not advise it, sir. They will be hurt."

  "I will put you out with my own hands."

  "That, sir, you can always do. As my uncle, I could scarce resist you.But, short of throwing me down the stair, I do not see how you can avoidgiving me half an hour of your attention."

  Sir Charles smiled. He could not help it.
There was so much that wasreminiscent of his own arrogant and eventful youth in the bearing of thisyoungster. He was mollified, too, by the defiance of menials and quicksubmission to himself. He turned to the glass and signed to Ambrose tocontinue his duties.

  "I must ask you to await the conclusion of my toilet," said he. "Then weshall see how far you can justify such an intrusion."

  When the valet had at last left the room Sir Charles turned his attentiononce more to his scapegrace nephew, who had viewed the details of thefamous buck's toilet with the face of an acolyte assisting at a mystery.

  "Now, sir," said the older man, "speak, and speak to the point, for I canassure you that I have many more important matters which claim myattention. The Prince is waiting for me at the present instant atCarlton House. Be as brief as you can. What is it that you want?"

  "A thousand pounds."

  "Really! Nothing more?" Sir Charles had turned acid again.

  "Yes, sir; an introduction to Mr. Brinsley Sheridan, whom I know to beyour friend."

  "And why to him?"

  "Because I am told that he controls Drury Lane Theatre, and I have afancy to be an actor. My friends assure me that I have a pretty talentthat way."

  "I can see you clearly, sir, in Charles Surface, or any other part wherea foppish insolence is the essential. The less you acted, the better youwould be. But it is absurd to suppose that I could help you to such acareer. I could not justify it to your father. Return to Oxford atonce, and continue your studies."

  "Impossible!"

  "And pray, sir, what is the impediment?"

  "I think I may have mentioned to you that I had an interview yesterdaywith the Principal. He ended it by remarking that the authorities of theUniversity could tolerate me no more."

  "Sent down?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And this is the fruit, no doubt, of a long series of rascalities."

  "Something of the sort, sir, I admit."

  In spite of himself, Sir Charles began once more to relax in his severitytowards this handsome young scapegrace. His absolute frankness disarmedcriticism. It was in a more gracious voice that the older man continuedthe conversation.

  "Why do you want this large sum of money?" he asked.

  "To pay my college debts before I go, sir."

  "Your father is not a rich man."

  "No, sir. I could not apply to him for that reason."

  "So you come to me, who am a stranger!"

  "No, sir, no! You are my uncle, and, if I may say so, my ideal and mymodel."

  "You flatter me, my good Vereker. But if you think you can flatter meout of a thousand pounds, you mistake your man. I will give you nomoney."

  "Of course, sir, if you can't--"

  "I did not say I can't. I say I won't."

  "If you can, sir, I think you will."

  Sir Charles smiled, and flicked his sleeve with his lace handkerchief.

  "I find you vastly entertaining," said he. "Pray continue yourconversation. Why do you think that I will give you so large a sum ofmoney?"

  "The reason that I think so," continued the younger man, "is that I cando you a service which will seem to you worth a thousand pounds."

  Sir Charles raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  "Is this blackmail?" he inquired.

  Vereker Tregellis flushed.

  "Sir," said he, with a pleasing sternness, "you surprise me. You shouldknow the blood of which I come too well to suppose that I would attemptsuch a thing."

  "I am relieved to hear that there are limits to what you consider to bejustifiable. I must confess that I had seen none in your conduct up tonow. But you say that you can do me a service which will be worth athousand pounds to me?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And pray, sir, what may this service be?"

  "To make Lord Barrymore the laughing-stock of the town."

  Sir Charles, in spite of himself, lost for an instant the absoluteserenity of his self-control. He started, and his face expressed hissurprise. By what devilish instinct did this raw undergraduate find theone chink in his armour? Deep in his heart, unacknowledged to any one,there was the will to pay many a thousand pounds to the man who wouldbring ridicule upon this his most dangerous rival, who was challenginghis supremacy in fashionable London.

  "Did you come from Oxford with this precious project?" he asked, after apause.

  "No, sir. I chanced to see the man himself last night, and I conceivedan ill-will to him, and would do him a mischief."

  "Where did you see him?"

  "I spent the evening, sir, at the Vauxhall Gardens."

  "No doubt you would," interpolated his uncle.

  "My Lord Barrymore was there. He was attended by one who was dressed asa clergyman, but who was, as I am told, none other than Hooper theTinman, who acts as his bully and thrashes all who may offend him.Together they passed down the central path, insulting the women andbrowbeating the men. They actually hustled me. I was offended, sir--somuch so that I nearly took the matter in hand then and there."

  "It is as well that you did not. The prizefighter would have beatenyou."

  "Perhaps so, sir--and also, perhaps not."

  "Ah, you add pugilism to your elegant accomplishments?"

  The young man laughed pleasantly.

  "William Ball is the only professor of my Alma Mater who has ever hadoccasion to compliment me, sir. He is better known as the Oxford Pet. Ithink, with all modesty, that I could hold him for a dozen rounds. Butlast night I suffered the annoyance without protest, for since it is saidthat the same scene is enacted every evening, there is always time toact."

  "And how would you act, may I ask?"

  "That, sir, I should prefer to keep to myself; but my aim, as I say,would be to make Lord Barrymore a laughing-stock to all London."

  Sir Charles cogitated for a moment.

  "Pray, sir," said he, "why did you imagine that any humiliation to LordBarrymore would be pleasing to me?"

  "Even in the provinces we know something of what passes in politecircles. Your antagonism to this man is to be found in every column offashionable gossip. The town is divided between you. It is impossiblethat any public slight upon him should be unpleasing to you."

  Sir Charles smiled.

  "You are a shrewd reasoner," said he. "We will suppose for the instantthat you are right. Can you give me no hint what means you would adoptto attain this very desirable end?"

  "I would merely make the remark, sir, that many women have been wrongedby this fellow. That is a matter of common knowledge. If one of thesedamsels were to upbraid him in public in such a fashion that the sympathyof the bystanders should be with her, then I can imagine, if she weresufficiently persistent, that his lordship's position might become anunenviable one."

  "And you know such a woman?"

  "I think, sir, that I do."

  "Well, my good Vereker, if any such attempt is in your mind, I see noreason why I should stand between Lord Barrymore and the angry fair. Asto whether the result is worth a thousand pounds, I can make no promise."

  "You shall yourself be the judge, sir."

  "I will be an exacting judge, nephew."

  "Very good, sir; I should not desire otherwise. If things go as I hope,his lordship will not show face in St. James's Street for a year to come.I will now, if I may, give you your instructions."

  "My instructions! What do you mean? I have nothing to do with thematter."

  "You are the judge, sir, and therefore must be present."

  "I can play no part."

  "No, sir. I would not ask you to do more than be a witness."

  "What, then, are my instructions, as you are pleased to call them?"

  "You will come to the Gardens to-night, uncle, at nine o'clock precisely.You will walk down the centre path, and you will seat yourself upon oneof the rustic seats which are beside the statue of Aphrodite. You willwait and you will observe."

  "Very good; I will do so. I
begin to perceive, nephew, that the breed ofTregellis has not yet lost some of the points which have made it famous."

  It was at the stroke of nine that night when Sir Charles, throwing hisreins to the groom, descended from his high yellow phaeton, whichforthwith turned to take its place in the long line of fashionablecarriages waiting for their owners. As he entered the gate of theGardens, the centre at that time of the dissipation and revelry ofLondon, he turned up the collar of his driving-cape and drew his hat overhis eyes, for he had no desire to be personally associated with whatmight well prove to be a public scandal. In spite of his attempteddisguise, however, there was that in his walk and his carriage whichcaused many an eye to be turned after him as he passed and many a hand tobe raised in salute. Sir Charles walked on, and, seating himself uponthe rustic bench in front of the famous statue, which was in the verymiddle of the Gardens, he waited in amused suspense to see the next actin this comedy.

  From the pavilion, whence the paths radiated, there came the strains ofthe band of the Foot Guards, and by the many-coloured lamps twinklingfrom every tree Sir Charles could see the confused whirl of the dancers.Suddenly the music stopped. The quadrilles were at an end.

  An instant afterwards the central path by which he sat was thronged bythe revellers. In a many-coloured crowd, stocked and cravated with allthe bravery of buff and plum-colour and blue, the bucks of the townpassed and repassed with their high-waisted, straight-skirted,be-bonneted ladies upon their arms.

  It was not a decorous assembly. Many of the men, flushed and noisy, hadcome straight from their potations. The women, too, were loud andaggressive. Now and then, with a rush and a swirl, amid a chorus ofscreams from the girls and good-humoured laughter from their escorts,some band of high-blooded, noisy youths would break their way across themoving throng. It was no place for the prim or demure, and there was aspirit of good-nature and merriment among the crowd which condoned thewildest liberty.

  And yet there were some limits to what could be tolerated even by soBohemian an assembly. A murmur of anger followed in the wake of tworoisterers who were making their way down the path. It would, perhaps,be fairer to say one roisterer; for of the two it was only the first whocarried himself with such insolence, although it was the second whoensured that he could do it with impunity.

  The leader was a very tall, hatchet-faced man, dressed in the very heightof fashion, whose evil, handsome features were flushed with wine andarrogance. He shouldered his way roughly through the crowd, peering withan abominable smile into the faces of the women, and occasionally, wherethe weakness of the escort invited an insult, stretching out his hand andcaressing the cheek or neck of some passing girl, laughing loudly as shewinced away from his touch.

  Close at his heels walked his hired attendant, whom, out of insolentcaprice and with a desire to show his contempt for the prejudices ofothers, he had dressed as a rough country clergyman. This fellowslouched along with frowning brows and surly, challenging eyes, like somefaithful, hideous human bulldog, his knotted hands protruding from hisrusty cassock, his great underhung jaw turning slowly from right to leftas he menaced the crowd with his sinister gaze. Already a close observermight have marked upon his face a heaviness and looseness of feature, thefirst signs of that physical decay which in a very few years was tostretch him, a helpless wreck, too weak to utter his own name, upon thecauseway of the London streets. At present, however, he was still anunbeaten man, the terror of the Ring, and as his ill-omened face was seenbehind his infamous master many a half-raised cane was lowered and many ahot word was checked, while the whisper of "Hooper! 'Ware Bully Hooper!"warned all who were aggrieved that it might be best to pocket theirinjuries lest some even worse thing should befall them. Many a maimedand disfigured man had carried away from Vauxhall the handiwork of theTinman and his patron.

  Moving in insolent slowness through the crowd, the bully and his masterhad just come opposite to the bench upon which sat Sir Charles Tregellis.At this place the path opened up into a circular space, brilliantlyilluminated and surrounded by rustic seats. From one of these anelderly, ringleted woman, deeply veiled, rose suddenly and barred thepath of the swaggering nobleman. Her voice sounded clear and stridentabove the babel of tongues, which hushed suddenly that their owners mighthear it.

  "Marry her, my lord! I entreat you to marry her! Oh, surely you willmarry my poor Amelia!" said the voice.

  Lord Barrymore stood aghast. From all sides folk were closing in andheads were peering over shoulders. He tried to push on, but the ladybarred his way and two palms pressed upon his beruffled front.

  "Surely, surely you would not desert her! Take the advice of that good,kind clergyman behind you!" wailed the voice. "Oh, be a man of honourand marry her!"

  The elderly lady thrust out her hand and drew forward a lumpish-lookingyoung woman, who sobbed and mopped her eyes with her handkerchief.

  "The plague take you!" roared his lordship, in a fury. "Who is thewench? I vow that I never clapped eyes on either of you in my life!"

  "It is my niece Amelia," cried the lady, "your own loving Amelia! Oh, mylord, can you pretend that you have forgotten poor, trusting Amelia, ofWoodbine Cottage at Lichfield."

  "I never set foot in Lichfield in my life!" cried the peer. "You are twoimpostors who should be whipped at the cart's tail."

  "Oh, wicked! Oh, Amelia!" screamed the lady, in a voice that resoundedthrough the Gardens. "Oh, my darling, try to soften his hard heart; prayhim that he make an honest woman of you at last."

  With a lurch the stout young woman fell forward and embraced LordBarrymore with the hug of a bear. He would have raised his cane, but hisarms were pinned to his sides.

  "Hooper! Hooper!" screamed the furious peer, craning his neck in horror,for the girl seemed to be trying to kiss him.

  But the bruiser, as he ran forward, found himself entangled with the oldlady.

  "Out o' the way, marm!" he cried. "Out o' the way, I say!" and pushedher violently aside.

  "Oh, you rude, rude man!" she shrieked, springing back in front of him."He hustled me, good people; you saw him hustle me! A clergyman, but nogentleman! What! you would treat a lady so--you would do it again? Oh,I could slap, slap, slap you!"

  And with each repetition of the word, with extraordinary swiftness, heropen palm rang upon the prizefighter's cheek.

  The crowd buzzed with amazement and delight.

  "Hooper! Hooper!" cried Lord Barrymore once more, for he was stillstruggling in the ever-closer embrace of the unwieldy and amorous Amelia.

  The bully again pushed forward to the aid of his patron, but again theelderly lady confronted him, her head back, her left arm extended, herwhole attitude, to his amazement, that of an expert boxer.

  The prizefighter's brutal nature was roused. Woman or no woman, he wouldshow the murmuring crowd what it meant to cross the path of the Tinman.She had struck him. She must take the consequence. No one should squareup to him with impunity. He swung his right with a curse. The bonnetinstantly ducked under his arm, and a line of razor-like knuckles left anopen cut under his eye.

  Amid wild cries of delight and encouragement from the dense circle ofspectators, the lady danced round the sham clergyman, dodging hisponderous blows, slipping under his arms, and smacking back at him mostsuccessfully. Once she tripped and fell over her own skirt, but was upand at him again in an instant.

  "You vulgar fellow!" she shrieked. "Would you strike a helpless woman!Take that! Oh, you rude and ill-bred man!"

  Bully Hooper was cowed for the first time in his life by theextraordinary thing that he was fighting. The creature was as elusive asa shadow, and yet the blood was dripping down his chin from the effectsof the blows. He shrank back with an amazed face from so uncanny anantagonist. And in the moment that he did so his spell was for everbroken. Only success could hold it. A check was fatal. In all thecrowd there was scarce one who was not nursing some grievance againstmaster or man, and waiting for that moment of wea
kness in which torevenge it.

  With a growl of rage the circle closed in. There was an eddy of furious,struggling men, with Lord Barrymore's thin, flushed face and Hooper'sbulldog jowl in the centre of it. A moment after they were both upon theground, and a dozen sticks were rising and falling above them.

  "Let me up! You're killing me! For God's sake let me up!" cried acrackling voice.

  Hooper fought mute, like the bulldog he was, till his senses were beatenout of him.

  Bruised, kicked, and mauled, never did their worst victim come so badlyfrom the Gardens as the bully and his patron that night. But worse thanthe ache of wounds for Lord Barrymore was the smart of the mind as hethought how every club and drawing-room in London would laugh for a weekto come at the tale of his Amelia and her aunt.

  Sir Charles had stood, rocking with laughter, upon the bench whichoverlooked the scene. When at last he made his way back through thecrowds to his yellow phaeton, he was not entirely surprised to find thatthe back seat was already occupied by two giggling females, who wereexchanging most unladylike repartees with the attendant grooms.

  "You young rascals!" he remarked, over his shoulder, as he gathered uphis reins.

  The two females tittered loudly.

  "Uncle Charles!" cried the elder, "may I present Mr. Jack Jarvis, ofBrasenose College? I think, uncle, you should take us somewhere to sup,for it has been a vastly fatiguing performance. To-morrow I will domyself the honour to call, at your convenience, and will venture to bringwith me the receipt for one thousand pounds."