THE WAY TO KEEP HIM
I
Nay, sir," cried Mrs. Abington, with such a smile of infinite witcheryas she wore when Sir Joshua Reynolds painted her as 'Miss Prue;' I wouldnot have you make any stronger love to me than is absolutely necessaryto keep yourself in training for the love scenes in Dr. Goldsmith's newcomedy."
"Ah, you talk glibly of measuring out the exact portion of one's love,as if love were a physic to be doled out to the precise grain," criedLee Lewis, impatiently turning away from the fascinating lady who wassmiling archly at him over the back of her chair.
"By my faith, sir, you have e'en given the best description of love thatI have heard;'t is beyond doubt a physic, given to mankind to cure manyof the ills of life; but, la, sir! there are so many quacks about,'t iswell-nigh impossible to obtain the genuine thing."
And once more the actress smiled at her latest victim.
"I have often wondered if you ever knew what love means," said he.
"Indeed the same thought has frequently occurred to me, sir," said theactress. "When one has been offered the nostrums of quacks so often, onebegins to lose faith in the true prescription."
"You think that I am a quack, and therefore have no faith in me," saidLewis.
"I know that you are an excellent actor, Mr. Lewis."
"And therefore you suspect my truth?"
"Nay, I respect your art."
"Perish my art, so long as I gain the favour of the most adorable womanwho ever flitted like a vision of beauty--"
"Ah, sir, do not take advantage of my lack of memory; give me the titleof the comedy from which you quote, so that I may know my cue, and havemy reply ready."
Lewis flung himself across the room with an exclamation of impatience.
"You are the most cruel woman that lives," he cried. "I have often leftthis house vowing that I would never come nigh it again because of yourcruelty."
"What a terrible vengeance!" cried the actress, raising her hands, whilea mock expression of terror came over her face. "You would fain proveyourself the most cruel of men because you account me the most cruel ofwomen? Ah, sir, you are ungenerous; I am but a poor weak creature, whileyou--"
"I am weak enough to be your slave, but let me tell you, madam, I amquite strong enough to throw off your bonds should I fail to be treatedwith some consideration," said Lewis.
"Oh, so far as I am concerned you may take your freedom to-morrow,"laughed Mrs. Abington. "The fetters that I weave are of silken thread."
"I would rather wear your fetters, though they be of iron, than thoseof the next loveliest woman to you, though hers should be a chain ofroses," said the actor. "Come, now, my dear lady, listen to reason."
"Gladly; 't will be a change from your usual discourse, which is oflove--just the opposite, you know."
"Why will you not consent to come with me to Vauxhall once more?"
"La, sir, think of the scandal? Have not we been seen there togetherhalf a dozen times?"
"Scandal! Do you think that the scandal-mongers can add anything to whatthey have already said regarding us?"
"I place no limits on the imagination of the scandal-monger, sir, butI desire to assign a limit to my own indiscretions, which, I fear, haveset tongues wagging--"
"Pooh! my dear madam, cannot you see that tongues will wag all thefaster if I appear at the Gardens with some one else?"
"Say, with your wife. Surely you are not afraid of the tongue of slanderif you appear by the side of your wife, sir."
"'T is for you I fear."
"What! you fancy that people will slander me if you appear at Vauxhallwith your lawful wedded wife?"
"Even so, for they will say that you were not strong enough to keep mefaithful to you."
Mrs. Abington sprang to her feet.
"The wretches!" she cried. "I will show them that------psha! let themsay their worst. What care I what they say? I'll go or stay away, as thefancy seizes."
"You may take your choice, my dear madam," said Lewis: "Whether youwould rather be slandered for coming with me or for staying at home!"
"The terms are not the same in both cases," said she; "for if I go withyou I know that I shall have an excellent supper."
"So you 'll come! Ah, I knew that you would not forsake me!" he cried,catching her hand and kissing it.
"You foolish man! You take credit to yourself for a decision that is dueto the prospect of a supper!" said Mrs. Abington.
"Ah, I know what I know, my dear," cried he. "And so I will take myleave at once, lest you should change your mind."
"I protest, sir," said she, as he kissed her hand again. "I protest that't was the thought of the supper decided me."
He roared with laughter.
So did she when he had left her house.
"What fools these men are!" she cried, throwing herself back on hercouch with a very capacious yawn. "What fools! The idea of a poor womanbeing influenced by the thought of minced chicken in a decision thatinvolves being by their side seems preposterous to them! Oh, if they butknew all that such a woman as I am could tell them!"
She laughed softly--subtly--as certain recollections came to her, forMrs. Abington was a lady of many recollections.
After a space, she resumed her study of the part of Miss Hardcastle,for which she had been cast by Colman in Dr. Goldsmith's new comedy, butwhich, the following week, to her everlasting regret, she relinquishedin favor of Mrs. Bulkley.
Lee Lewis, who was studying the part of Young Marlow, had accompaniedher home after rehearsal. He had, during the previous month, shownhimself to be extremely polite in regard to her, for he had walked homewith her several times, and more than once he had been seen by her sideat Ranelagh and Vauxhall, as well as at the Pantheon in the Oxford Road.People about the theater were saying that the beautiful Mrs. Abingtonhad added to the number of her conquests, and Miss Catley, the mostimprudent of all the imprudent ladies in Colman's company, said somevery spiteful things regarding her. (It was understood that Miss Catleyhad angled for Lee Lewis herself, but without success.)
Before Mrs. Abington had been alone for half an hour, her maid enteredto tell her that a lady was inquiring for her at the hall door.
"Another of our stage-struck misses, Lucette?" said the actress,alluding to the three visits which she had had during the week fromyoung women who were desirous of obtaining a footing on the stage.
"Nay, madam, this lady seems somewhat different," replied the maid.
"Then let her be shown in at once, whoever she may be," said Mrs.Abington. "There can surely be no scandal in receiving a lady visitor."
She gave a glance at a mirror, and saw that her hair was in a propercondition for a visitor who was a lady. She knew that it did not matterso much when her visitors were of the other sex; and a moment afterwardsthere entered a graceful little woman, whom she could not recollecthaving ever seen before. She walked quickly to the centre of the room,and stood there, gazing with soft grey eyes at the actress, who hadrisen from her sofa, and was scrutinising her visitor.
There was a pause before Mrs. Abington, with a smile--the smile shereserved for women--quite different from that with which she wasaccustomed to greet men--said:
"Pray seat yourself, madam; and let me know to what I am indebted forthe honour of this visit."
But the lady made no move; she remained there, gazing at the actresswithout a word.
Mrs. Abington gave a laugh, saying, as she returned to her sofa:
"Do not let me hurry you, my dear lady; but I must ask your pardon if Iseat myself." Then the stranger spoke. "You are Mrs. Abington. I wishI had not come to you. Now that I find myself face to face with you, Iperceive that I have no chance. You are overwhelmingly beautiful."
"Did you come here only to tell me that? Faith, you might have savedyourself the trouble, my dear. I have known just how beautiful I am forthe past twenty years," laughed the actress.
"I did not come here to tell you that," said the visitor; "on thecontrary, I meant to
call you an ugly harridan--a vile witch, whoglories in seeing the ruin of good men; but now--well, now, I am dumb.I perceive you are so beautiful, it is only natural that all men--myhusband among the number--should worship you."
"You are so flattering, my dear madam, I can without difficulty perceivethat you have not lived long in the world of fashion--ay, or in theworld of play-houses," said the actress.
"I am Mrs. Lewis, madam," said the lady, and then dropping into a chairshe burst into tears.
Mrs. Abington went beside the unhappy woman, and patted her on theshoulder.
"Dear child," she said, "the thought that you are Mr. Lewis's wifeshould not cause you to shed a tear. You should be glad rather thansorry that you are married to a gentleman who is so highly esteemed.Your husband, Mrs. Lewis, is a great friend of mine, and I hope that hiswife may become even a greater."
"Ah--ah!" moaned the lady. "A friend? a friend? Oh, give me back myhusband, woman--give me back my husband, whom you stole from me!"
She had sprung to her feet as she spoke her passionate words, and nowstood with quivering, clenched hands in front of the actress.
"My good woman," said Mrs. Abington, "you have need to calm yourself.I can assure you that I have not your husband in my keeping. Would youlike to search the room? Look under the sofa--into all the cupboards."
"I know that he left here half an hour ago--I watched him," said Mrs.Lewis. "You watched him? Oh, fie!"
"You may make a mock of me, if you please; I expected that you would;but he is my husband, and I love him--I believe that he loved me untilyour witchery came over him and--oh, I am a most unhappy woman! But youwill give him back to me; you have many admirers, madam; one poor man isnothing here or there to you."
"Listen to me, my poor child." Mrs. Abington had led her to the sofa,and sat down beside her, still holding her hand. "You have spoken somevery foolish words since you came into this room. From whom have youheard that your husband was--well, was ensnared by me?"
"From whom? Why, every one knows it!" cried Mrs. Lewis. "And besides, Igot a letter that told me--"
"A letter from whom?"
"From--I suppose she was a lady; at any rate she said that shesympathised with me, and I'm certain that she did."
"Ah, the letter was not signed by her real name, and yet you believedthe slanders that you knew came from a jealous woman? Oh, Mrs. Lewis,I'm ashamed of you."
"Nay, I did not need to receive any letter; my husband's neglect ofme made me aware of the truth--it is the truth, whether you deny it ornot."
"You are a silly goose, and I have half a mind to take your husband fromyou, as mothers deprive their children of a toy when they injure it.You do n't know how to treat a husband, madam, and you do n't deserveto have one. Think how many girls, prettier and cleverer than you, areobliged to go without husbands all their lives, poor things!"
"It is enough for me to think of those women who are never satisfiedunless they have other women's husbands in their train, madam."
"Look you, my dear ill-treated creature, I do assure you that I have nodesigns upon your husband. I do not care if I never see him again excepton the stage."
"Is that the truth? Ah, no, everybody says that Mrs. Abington is onlyhappy when--"
"Then leave Mrs. Abington's room if you believe the statements of thatvague everybody."
The actress had risen, and was pointing in fine tragic style to thedoor.
Mrs. Lewis rose also, but slowly; her eyes fell beneath the flashingeyes of Mrs. Abington. Suddenly she raised her head, and put out atrembling hand.
"I will not believe what I have heard," she said. "And yet--yet--you areso very beautiful."
"That you think it impossible I should have any good in me?" laughedthe actress. "Well, I do believe that I have some good in me--not much,perhaps, but enough to make me wish to do you a friendly turn in spiteof your impudence. Listen to me, you little goose. Why have you allowedyour husband to neglect you, and to come here asking me to sup with himat Vauxhall?"
"Ah, then,'t is true!" cried the wife. "You have gone with him--you aregoing with him?"
"'Tis true that I went with him, and that he left me just now believingthat I would accompany him to the Gardens on Monday next. Well, whatI want you to explain is how you have neglected your duty toward yourhusband so that he should stray into such evil ways as supping withactresses at Vauxhall."
"What! would you make out that his neglect of his duty is my fault?"
"Great heavens, child, whose fault is it, if it is not yours? That iswhat I say, you do n't deserve to have a toy if you let some strangechild snatch it away from you."
"I protest, Mrs. Abington, that I scarce take your meaning. I havenothing to reproach myself with. I have ever been the best of wives.I have never gone gadding about to balls and routs as some wives do; Ihave remained at home with my baby."
"Exactly, and so your poor husband has been forced to ask certainactresses to bear him company at those innocent pleasures, which he, incommon with most gentlemen of distinction, enjoy. Ah,'t is you domesticwives that will have to answer for your husbands' backslidings."
"Is it possible that--why, madam, you bewilder me. You think that Ishould--I do n't know what you think--oh, I'm quite bewildered!"
"Why, child, have you not seen enough of the world to learn that a womanis most attractive to a man when he perceives that she is admired byother men? Have you not seen that a man seeks to marry a particularwoman, not because he cares so greatly for her himself, but because hebelieves that other men care greatly for her? Your good husband is, Idoubt not, fond enough of you; but when he perceives that you think muchmore of your baby than you do of him--when he perceives that the menwhom he considered his rivals before he carried you _off_ from them, nolonger follow in your train, is he to be blamed if he finds you a trifleinsipid? Ah, let me tell you, my sweet young wife, a husband is a horsethat requires the touch of a spur now and again. A jog-trot is not whatsuits a spirited creature."
"Heavens, madam! You mean that he--my husband--would be true to me if Ionly I--I--"
"If only you were not too anxious that he should keep pace with thejog-trot into which you have fallen, my dear. Do you not fancy that Iknow he wishes me to sup with him only because he is well aware thata dozen men will be longing to mince him when they see him mincing mychicken for me?"
"But I would go with him to the Gardens if he would ask me, only--ah, noone would want to mince him on my account."
"You silly one! Cannot you see that you must place him in the positionof wanting to mince the other man?"
"How? I protest that I am bewildered."
"Dear child, go to the Gardens, not with your husband, but with anotherman, and you will soon see him return to you with all the ardour of alover with a rival in view. Jealousy is the spur which a husband needsto recall him to a sense of his duty, now and again."
"I will never consent to adopt such a course, madam. In the first place,I cannot force myself upon any gentleman of my acquaintance."
"Then the sooner you find one on whom you can force yourself, the betterchance you will have of bringing your husband to your side."
"In the second place, I respect my husband too highly--"
"Too highly to win him back to you, though not too highly to come to mewith a story of the wrongs he has done to you? Oh, go away now; you don't deserve your toy."
Mrs. Lewis did not respond to the laughter of the actress. She remainedstanding in the centre of the room with her head down. Fresh tears werewelling up to her eyes.
"I have given you my advice--and it is the advice of one who knows agood deal of men and their manners," resumed Mrs. Abington. "If youcannot see your way to follow it there is nothing more to be said."
"I may be foolish; but I cannot bring myself to go alone with any man tothe Gardens," said her visitor in a low tone.
"Then good-bye to you!" cried the actress, with a wave of her hand.
The little lady went slowly to the do
or; when there she cast anappealing glance at Mrs. Abington; but the latter had picked up her copyof the new comedy, and was apparently studying the contents. With a sighMrs. Lewis opened the door and went out.
"Foolish child! She will have to buy her experience of men, as hersisters buy theirs," cried Mrs. Abington, throwing away the book.
She rose from her seat and yawned, stretching out her arms. As sherecovered herself, her eyes rested on a charcoal sketch of herself inthe character Sir Harry Wildair, in "The Constant Couple," done by SirJoshua Reynolds' pupil, Northcote. She gave a little start, then ran tothe door, and called out to Mrs. Lewis, who had not had time to get tothe foot of the stairs.
"Come back for one moment, madam," cried Mrs. Abington over thebanisters, and when Mrs. Lewis returned, she said: "I called you back totell you to be ready dressed for the Gardens on Monday night. I willaccompany you thither in my coach."
"You mean that you will--"
"Go away now, like a good child. Ask no more questions till Mondaynight."
She went away, and on the Monday night she was dressed to go toVauxhall, when the room in which she was waiting was entered by anextremely handsome and splendidly dressed young gentleman, who had allthe swagger of one of the beaux of the period, as he advanced to hersmirking.
"I protest, sir," cried Mrs. Lewis, starting up; "you have made amistake. I have not the honour of your acquaintance."
"'Fore Gad, my charmer, you assume the airs of an innocent miss withamazing ability," smirked her visitor. "My name, madam, is Wildair, atyour service, and I would fain hope that you will accept my poor escortto the Gardens."
A puzzled look was on Mrs. Lewis's face as the gallant began to speak,but gradually this expression disappeared. She clapped her handstogether girlishly, and then threw herself back on a chair, roaring withlaughter.
II.
The next day at the playhouse Mrs. Abington met Lee Lewis with areproachful look. She had written to him on the Saturday, expressing herregret that she could not go with him to the Gardens, but assuring himthat she would be there, and charging him to look for her.
"I thought you would believe it worth your while to keep an eye open forme last night, sir," she now said. "But I dare say you found some metalmore attractive elsewhere."
"By heavens! I waited for you for an hour on the lantern walk, but youdid not appear," cried Lewis.
"An hour? only an hour?" said the lady. "And pray how did you pass therest of the time?"
"A strange thing happened," said Lewis, after a pause. "I was amazed tosee my wife there--or one whom I took to be my wife."
"Ah, sir, these mistakes are of common occurrence," laughed Mrs.Abington. "Was she, like her husband, alone?"
"No, that's the worst of it; she was by the side of a handsome youngfellow in a pink coat embroidered with silver."
"Oh, Mrs. Lewis would seem to have borrowed a leaf from her husband'sbook; that is, if it was Mrs. Lewis. Have you asked her if she was atthe Gardens?"
"How could I ask her that when I had told her that I was going to theplayhouse? I was struck with amazement when I saw her in the distancewith that man--did I mention that he was a particularly good-lookingrascal?"
"You did; but why you should have been amazed I am at a loss to know.Mrs. Lewis is a very charming lady, I know."
"You have seen her?"
"She was pointed out to me last night."
"Heavens! then it was she whom I saw in the Gardens? I would not havebelieved it."
"What, are you so unreasonable as to think that 't is a wife's duty toremain at home while her husband amuses himself at Vauxhall?"
"Nay, but my wife--"
"Is a vastly pretty young creature, sir, whom a hundred men as exactingas her husband, would think it a pleasure to attend at the Gardens orthe Pantheon."
"She is, beyond doubt a sweet young creature; but Lord, madam, she is sobound up in her baby that she can give no thought to her husband; and asfor other men--did you see the youth who was beside her?"
"To be sure I did. He was devoted to her--and so good looking! I giveyou my word, sir, I never saw anyone with whose looks I was betterpleased."
"Zounds, madam, if I had got near him I would have spoilt his goodlooks, I promise you. Good Lord! to think that my wife--I tried to getclose to her, but the pair seemed to vanish mysteriously." "You wouldhave been better employed looking for me. But we will arrange foranother evening, you and I, Mr. Lewis."
"Yes, we will--we will."
There was not much heartiness in the way Mr. Lewis assented; and whenthe lady tried to get him to fix upon an evening, he excused himself ina feeble way.
The day following he walked with her to her house after rehearsal, buthe did not think it necessary to make use of any of those phrases ofgallantry in which he had previously indulged. He talked a good dealof his wife and her attractions. He had bought her a new gown, he said,and, beyond a doubt, it would be difficult to find a match for her ingrace and sweetness. He declined Mrs. Abington's invitation to enter thehouse. He had to hurry home, he said, having promised to take his wifeby water to Greenwich Park.
The actress burst into a merry laugh as she stood before the drawing ofSir Harry Wildair.
"All men are alike," she cried. "And all women, too, for that matter.Psha, there are only two people in the world; the name of one is Adam,the name of the other is Eve."
In the course of the afternoon a letter was brought to her. It was fromMrs. Lewis, and it stated that the writer was so much overcome with therecent kindness and attention which her husband had been showing her,she had resolved to confess that she had played a trick upon him, andbegged Mrs. Abington's leave to do so.
Mrs. Abington immediately sat down and wrote a line to her.
"Do n't be a little fool," she wrote. "Are you so anxious to undo allthat we have done between us? If you pursue that course, I swear to youthat he will be at my feet the next day. No, dear child, leave me totell him all that there is to be told."
Two days afterwards Lee Lewis said to her:
"I wonder if 't is true that my wife has an admirer."
"Why should it not be true, sir? Everything that is admirable has anadmirer," said Mrs. Abington.
"She is not quite the same as she used to be," said he. "I half suspectthat she has something on her mind. Can it be possible that--"
"Psha, sir, why not put her to the test?" cried Mrs. Abington.
"The test? How?"
"Why, sir, give her a chance of going again to the Gardens. Tell herthat you are going to the playhouse on Thursday night, and then do asyou did before, only keep a better look-out for her, and--well you mustpromise me that if you find her with that handsome young spark you willnot run him through the body."
"You seem to take a great interest in this same young spark," saidLewis.
"And so I do, sir! Lord, sir, are you jealous of me as well as yourwife?"
"Jealous? By my soul, madam, I desire nothing more heartily than to hearof your taking him from my wife."
"Then carry out my plan, and perhaps I shall be able to oblige you. Puther to the test on Thursday."
"You will be there?"
"I will be there, I promise you."
"Then I agree."
"You promise further not to run him through the body?"
"I promise. Yes, you will have more than a corpse to console you."
He walked off looking somewhat glum, and in another half hour she hadsent a letter to his wife asking her to be dressed for Vauxhall onThursday night.
The Gardens were flooded with light--except in certain occasionalnooks--and with music everywhere. (It is scarcely necessary to say thatthe few dimly-lighted nooks were the most popular in the Gardens.)
As Mrs. Lewis, accompanied by her dashing escort, descended from thecoach and walked up the long avenue toward the tea-house, many eyes werefocussed upon her, for all the town seemed to be at Vauxhall that night.But only the quick eyes of Mrs. Abington perceived the face o
f Lee Lewisat the outskirts of the crowd. Mrs. Abington smiled; she knew perfectlywell that her disguise was so complete as to remain impenetrable, evento her most familiar friends, and she had a voice to suit the costume ofthe beau, so that, upon previous occasions, she had, when in a similardress, escaped all recognition, even at one of the balls at the littleplayhouse in the Haymarket.
She now swaggered through the crowds, rallying, after the most approvedstyle of the modish young spark, her somewhat timid companion, andpointing out to her the various celebrities who were strolling aboutunder the coloured lamps. She pointed out the lively little lady, whowas clearly delighted at being the centre of a circle of admirers,as Mrs. Thrale, the wife of the great brewer. Around her were GeneralPaoli, the Corsican refugee; the great Dr. Samuel Johnson; Dr. Burney,the musician; and Richard Burke, just home from Grenada.
Some distance further on stood Oliver Goldsmith, the author of the newcomedy, in which Lee Lewis was cast for the part of Young Marlow, andMrs. Abington for the part of Miss Hardcastle. Dr. Goldsmith wore apeach-bloom velvet coat and a waistcoat covered with silver. He wasmaking the beautiful Miss Horneck and her sister, Mrs. Bunbury, laughheartily at some of his witty sayings, which were too subtle to beunderstood by such people as James Boswell and Miss Reynolds, but whichwere thoroughly relished by the two girls who loved him so well. Inanother part of the grounds, Sir Joshua Reynolds walked with his friendDavid Garrick; and when she caught sight of the latter, Mrs. Abingtonhurried her companion down a side walk, saying:
"David Garrick is the only one in the Gardens whom I fear; he would seethrough my disguise in a moment."
"My husband is not here, after all, for I have been looking for him,"said Mrs. Lewis. "You see he does not always speak an untruth when hetells me he is going to the playhouse on the nights he is not acting."
"Nothing could be clearer, my dear," said her companion. "Oh, yes, mendo speak the truth--yes, sometimes."
Mrs. Lewis was anxious to return to her home as soon as she had walkedonce through the Gardens, but Mrs. Abington declared that to go awaywithout having supper would make her so ashamed of her impersonationof the reckless young gallant, she would never again be able to facean audience in the playhouse; so supper they had together in one of theraised boxes, Mrs. Abington swearing at the waiters in the truest styleof the man of fashion.
And all the time they were at supper she could see Lee Lewis furtivelywatching them.
Another hour the actress and her companion remained in the Gardens, andwhen at last they returned to the hackney coach, the former did not failto see that Lewis was still watching them and following them, though hiswife, all the time the coach was being driven homeward, chattered abouther husband's fidelity. "He will most likely be at home when I arrive,"she said; "and in that case I will tell him all."
"For fear of any mistake I will enter the house with you," said Mrs.Abington. "I have heard before now of husbands casting doubt upon eventhe most plausible stories their wives invented to account for theirabsence."
"My husband will believe me," said Mrs. Lewis coldly.
"I shall take very good care that he does," said her companion.
When they reached the house, they learnt that Mr. Lewis had not yet comeback, and so Mrs. Abington went upstairs and seated herself by the sideof her friend in her parlour.
Not many minutes had passed before her quick ears became aware of theopening of the hall-door, and of the stealthy steps of a man upon thestairs. The steps paused outside the room door, and then putting on hermasculine voice, the actress suddenly cried:
"Ah, my beloved creature! why will you remain with a husband who cannotlove you as I swear I do? Why not fly with me to happiness?"
Mrs. Lewis gave a laugh, while her cheek was being kissed--very audiblykissed--by her companion.
The next moment the door was flung open so suddenly that Mrs. Lewis wasstartled, and gave a cry; but before her husband had time to take a stepinto the room, Mrs. Abington had blown out the lamp, leaving the room incomplete darkness.
"Stand where you are," cried the actress, in her assumed voice; "Stand,or by the Lord Harry, I'll run you through the vitals!"
The sound of the whisking of her sword from its sheath followed.
"Who are you, fellow, and what do you want here?" she continued.
"The rascal's impudence confounds me," said Lewis. "Infamous scoundrel!I have had my eye on you all night; I am the husband of the lady whomyou lured from her home to be your companion."
"Oh, then you are Mr. Lee Lewis, the actor," said Mrs. Abington. "Pray,how does it come, sir, that you were at Vauxhall when you assured yourpoor wife that you were going to the playhouse?"
"What! the rascal has the audacity--"
"Husband--husband--a moment will explain all!" cried Mrs. Lewis, acrossthe table.
"Silence, woman!" shouted the man.
"She had better remain silent," said the actress. "Look you, sir, howoften have you not deceived that poor young thing, whose only fault isloving you too well? What, sir, have you the effrontery to accuse her?Does your own conscience acquit you of every attempt to deceive her,that you can throw a stone at her? You blame her for going with me tothe Gardens--can you say that you have never made an appointment with alady to meet you at the same Gardens? What truth is there in thereport which is in everyone's mouth, that you are in the train of Mrs.Abington's admirers?"
"'Tis false, sir! I love my wife--alas, I should say that I love herbetter than a score of Mrs. Abingtons," cried Lewis.
"Ah, husband, dear husband," began his wife, when Mrs. Abingtoninterrupted her.
"Hush, child," she cried. "Let me ask him if he never implored thatwoman, Abington, to accompany him to Vauxhall while he told you he wasgoing to the playhouse? Let me ask him how often he has whiled away thehours in Mrs. Abington's house, assuring his wife that he was detainedat the play-house. He is silent, you perceive. That means that he hasstill a remnant of what once was a conscience. Mr. Lewis, were it lightenough to see you, I am sure that we should find that you were hangingyour head. What! are you surprised that any one should admire the wifewhom you neglected? You are enraged because you saw me by her side atthe Gardens. You have played the spy on us, sir, and in doing so youhave played the fool, and you will acknowledge it and ask your wife'spardon and mine before five minutes have passed. Call for a light, sir;we do not expect you to apologise in the dark."
"The fellow's impudence astounds me," muttered Lewis. He then threw openthe door and shouted down the stairs for a light.
Mrs. Lewis, while the light was being brought, made another attempt toexplain matters, but Mrs. Abington commanded her to be silent.
"Everything will be explained when the light comes," said she.
"Yes," said the man, grimly, "for men cannot cross swords in the dark."
"There will be no crossing swords here," said Mrs. Abington.
"Coward--Scoundrel! Now we shall see what you are made of," said theman, as a servant appeared on the landing with a lighted lamp.
"Yes; that's just what you will see," said Mrs. Abington in her naturalvoice, as the light flooded the room.
"Great powers!" whispered Lewis, as he found himself confronted by thefascinating face that he knew so well.
Mrs. Abington had thrown off her wig in the darkness, and now her ownhair was flowing over her shoulders.
"Great powers! Mrs. Abington!"
"Yes, Mr. Lewis, Mrs. Abington, who only waits to hear a very foolishfellow confess that he has been a fool in letting a thought of any otherwoman come into his mind, when he is the husband of so charming a ladyas took supper with me to-night."
Lee Lewis bowed his head, and, kneeling before his wife, pressed herhand to his lips.
THE CAPTURE OF THE DUKE
I
As all hearts are captivated by the most charming Mistress Barry, so itis my hope that all souls will be captivated by her picture," cried SirGodfrey, bowing low between his palette which he held in one ha
nd andhis sheaf of brushes which he held in the other. His pronunciation ofthe word charming--he said "sharmink"--had a suggestion of his nativeLuebeck about it; but his courtliness was beyond suspicion. None of hisdistinguished sitters could complain of his having failed to representthem on his canvases with dignity and refinement, whatever their candidfriends might think of the accuracy of the portraitures.
"I only ask to be painted as I am, Sir Godfrey," said Mrs. Barry, whenshe had risen after her courtesy in acknowledgment of Sir Godfrey'sgallant compliment.
"As you are, madam? Ah, your ladyship is the most exacting of mysitters. As you are? Ah, my dear lady, you must modify your conditions;my art has its limitations."
"Your art, but not your arts, sir. I protest that I am overwhelmed bythe latter, as I am lost in admiration of the former," said the actress,adopting a pose which she knew the painter would appreciate. "Alas,Sir Godfrey," she added, "you do not well to talk to an actress of thelimitations of art. What a paltry aim has our art compared with yours! Ihave had cravings after immortality--that is why I am here to-day."
"'T is surely, then, the future of the painter that you have had atheart, my dear madam; you come with immortality shining in your face."
"Nay, sir; Sir Godfrey Kneller will live forevermore in his long line oflegitimate monarchs--ay, and others, perhaps not quite--"
"For God's sake, Mistress Barry! These are dangerous days; pray rememberthat I am the queen's limner."
Sir Godfrey Kneller spoke in a whisper, touching her arm with thehandles of his brushes as he glanced apprehensively around thepainting-room of his house in Great Queen Street.
Mrs. Barry looked at him with a reckless gaiety in her eyes.
"What, have I said anything treasonable, anything to compromise theCourt painter?" she cried.
"Walls have ears, my dear," whispered the painter.
"And what matters that, so long as they have not tongues?" laughed thelady. "Ah, my dear Sir Godfrey, you do your art an injustice to fancythat any one could utter a word of treason in this room surrounded by somany living faces." She pointed to the easels on which were hung severalportraits approaching completion. "They are all living, my friend. I vowthat when I entered here just now I felt inclined to sink in a courtesybefore Her Grace of Marlborough." She indicated the portrait of theduchess which Sir Godfrey had all but finished--one of the finest of allhis works.
Sir Godfrey smiled.
"Ah, who, indeed, could talk treason in the presence of Her Grace?" hesaid.
"None, save His Grace, I suppose," said the actress. "And now I am readyto sit to you--unless you have any further courtly compliments to passon me. Only, by my faith, I do not choose to place myself nigh to HerGrace. Those eyes of hers make me feel uneasy. Prithee, Sir Godfrey,permit me to turn my back upon the duchess; the act will, I protest,give me a feeling of pride which will speedily betray itself on myface. People will say, 'Only an actress, yet she turned her back upona duchess'--ay, and such a duchess! They say their Graces have lostnothing by their adherence to the Queen."
Mrs. Barry had now posed herself, flinging back her hair from herforehead, so that her broad, massive brow was fully shown, and thepainter had begun to work upon her picture.
"Ah, people say that? And what reason have they for saying it, Iwonder?" remarked Sir Godfrey.
"The best of reasons, my good friend. They say that their Graces havelost nothing by standing by the Queen, because if they ran a chance oflosing anything they would quickly stand by the King--His Majesty overthe water."
Sir Godfrey laughed. "I vow, Mistress Barry, that your gossips havefailed to interpret as I would the expression upon the face of Her Graceof Marlborough," said he. "Great heaven, madam, cannot one perceive apensiveness upon that face of hers?--nay, prithee, do not turn your headto look for the expression. I want not to lose your expression while youare endeavoring to catch that of Her Grace."
"The Sad Sarah! And you mean to reproduce the sadness, Sir Godfrey?"
"Not sadness--only pensiveness."
"The one is the same as t' other. Then you will cause posterity toaffirm that Sarah was sad to find that she had not become so rich inadhering to the Queen as she might have if she had sent her pensiveglances across to France?"
"Then posterity will do her wrong. Her Grace is truly attached to theQueen--so truly attached that she becomes melancholic at the thought ofnot being completely trusted by Her Majesty."
Sir Godfrey's voice had sunk to a whisper as he made this revelation;and when he had spoken he glanced once more round the room as if toassure himself that he had no listeners beside Mrs. Barry.
"And the Queen does not trust her?" cried the actress. "Ah, well, Isuppose 't is impossible even for a Queen to be for so many years in hercompany without understanding her. Ah, the poor Duke! Prithee continueyour story, Sir Godfrey. I perceive that you would fain lead one up tothe scandalous part."
"Scandalous part, madam? Nay, if you discern not a deep pathos in thesad look of Her Grace, the Duchess, after the key which I have given youto her expression, no rehearsal of scandal would awake your interest inthe subject of yonder portrait."
"Nay, sir, if you refuse to tell me further, you will have to bear withthe mockery of posterity for depicting me with a melancholic visage, aswell as your Duchess. Pray tell me the scandal, or I vow I shall have afit of the vapours all the time you are painting my portrait."
"My dear lady, there is no scandal to rehearse, I pledge you my word,"said the painter. "'T is only said that Her Majesty--"
"Is blest by heaven with excellent eyesight? Well, yes; I dare swearthat your Duchess is strongly of that opinion--that is what adds to hermelancholy. But I vow 't is most scandalous that there's no scandal. Wemust try and repair this, you and I, Sir Godfrey."
"What, does the woman fancy that all lives should be regulated on thelines set down by the poets who write for your playhouses?"
"And why not? If our poets will not be true to nature, is it not ourduty to try to make nature true to the poets?"
"Faith, madam, that were to put an outrage upon nature, if I grasp yourmeaning aright."
"Nay, sir, 'tis no great outrage. If our writers treat of the humoursof an intrigue in high places, and if we find, on climbing to these highplaces, that no scandal is to be found there but only humdrum existence,is it not our duty to foster a scandal for the justification of ourwriters?"
"_Mille tonnerres!_ Have I been cherishing a fiery flying serpent allthis time? Have I been playing with a firebrand? Why, 't is in theaspect of Medusa I should be painting you, Mistress Barry; you shouldhave ringletted snakes entwined among your hair. I' faith, madam, thatis a pretty theory to propound in an honest man's house. We must becomescandalous in order to save a playhouse poet from being accounted untrueto life?"
"And why not? Ah, Sir Godfrey, I greatly fear that you have no truefeeling for art."
The actress spoke sadly and shook her head with such exquisitesimulation of melancholy as caused the painter to lay down his paletteand roar with laughter.
"You have a true feeling for art, beyond doubt, my Barry," he cried."You have no room to reproach yourself, I dare swear. You have all themen in town at your feet, and all their wives ready to scratch out youreyes--and all for the advancement of art, you say. You are ready tojeopardise your own reputation in order to save that of your poets! Ah,what a kind heart hath the Barry!"
"Faith, Sir Godfrey, if I did not make a wife or two jealous, how couldI know what a jealous woman looks like, and if I did not know what ajealous woman looks like, how could I act the part of a jealous woman inthe playhouse?"
"Ah, how indeed? The play-goers worship you if their wives long forthose ringlets that ensnare their husbands in their meshes. What is awedding-ring against a wanton ringlet?"
"'T is my duty as an actress that compels me to seek for examples of thestrongest emotions, Sir Godfrey--you perceive that that is so?"
"Ah, beyond doubt--beyond doubt, madam."
"That rejoices me. And now touching this Duchess of Marlborough--"
"You will have to seek your examples of strong emotion outside my house,my friend. Do you fancy that Her Grace--"
"Is a woman? Nay, she is a very woman, so far as my poor observation,supplemented by a small trifle of experience, is permitted to judge.Think you that her sadness of visage is due to mortification that herspouse is still faithful to her?"
"Surely such a reflection should call for an expression of satisfaction,my fair observer."
"Nay, Sir Godfrey; that were to take a view of the matter in nowise deep. Would you not have Her Grace to think as other women lessformidable think, in this wise: 'what fate is mine to be wed to a manwhom no woman thinks worth the tempting'?"
"Zounds, my Barry, that were the strangest way recorded to account for awife's sadness. How know you that His Grace has not been tempted?"
"I make no such charge against him, Sir Godfrey; I think not such evilof him as that he hath not been tempted. I make but a humble attempt tothink as Her Grace may think when she has her moods."
"That were a presumption for such as you, madam. What! you an actress,and she a duchess, and yet you would venture--"
The laugh which illuminated the face of Sir Godfrey had scarcely passedaway before his servant entered the painting room in haste, announcingthat the coach of the Duchess of Marlborough was at the door, and thatHer Grace was in the act of dismounting.
"That means that my sitting is at an end," said Mrs. Barry.
"And I must e'en hustle you out of the room, my dear," said the painter."Her Grace is not the most patient of dames when it comes to waiting ona painter."
"Or on a painter's sitter, particularly when that sitter is only anactress. Ah, Sir Godfrey, you might permit me to remain in secret that Imay know how a Duchess conducts herself upon occasions."
"Tut--tut! Would you play a comedy in my house, you baggage?" cried thepainter, pushing her playfully to the door. "Fly--fly--before it is toolate."
"Ah, Sir Godfrey, you are indeed unkind. Prithee how may I hope to enactthe part of a duchess in the playhouse if I am not permitted to witnessone in the life?"
"Off--off--I say! You will have to trust to your own instinct, which Itake to be a faithful enough guide in your case, my dear Barry. Andso farewell to you." Still protesting, and very prettily pouting, theactress suffered herself to be gently forced from the room into thesquare, inner hall, which was lighted by a dome of coloured glass. SirGodfrey, kissing the tip of one of his fingers, bowed her an adieu, butwithout speaking, as he held up the tapestry _portiere_.
0278]
Mrs. Barry replied with a modified courtesy, and turned as if to makeher way to the outer hall; but the moment Sir Godfrey let fall thetapestry, she returned on tiptoe, and moving it an inch to one side,peered through into the studio. She saw the painter hurrying from thelarge apartment into the small retiring-room at the farther end, and themoment that he disappeared she was back like a flash into the studio andin hiding behind a full-length canvas that leant against an easel in adark corner.
Five seconds were sufficient to carry out the plan which she hadconceived on the impulse of the moment. Had it occupied seven she wouldhave been discovered, for Sir Godfrey had merely entered his wardrobeto throw off one coat and put on another. He returned to the studio, andimmediately rang his bell. When the servant entered, he said:
"When Her Grace is ready, lead her hither."
The servant bowed and left the studio, while Sir Godfrey arranged thechair on the dais for his new sitter, and placed the half-finishedportrait of the Duchess on his easel. He had scarcely done so before therings of the _portiere_ were rattling, and the Duchess of Marlboroughentered, attired for the sitting. How she looked on that day, thepainter has by his art enabled all succeeding generations to learn.Sir Godfrey Kneller's portrait of the Duchess is, perhaps, his mostcharacteristic work. If the distinction which it possesses in everyfeature was scarcely shared by the original in the same degree, therewas still sufficient character in the face of the great lady to makeit profoundly interesting, especially to so close an observer as SirGodfrey Kneller.
"Ah, my dear Kneller," cried Her Grace, as the painter advanced to greether with bowed head, "I am even before my appointed hour to-day. Thatglance of sad reproach which you cast at your timepiece when I last camehither--though only half an hour late, I swear--had its effect upon me."
"Her Grace of Marlborough is one of those rare ones for whom it mightreasonably be expected that the sun would stand still," said thepainter.
"As it did once at the command of the Hebrew general? Ah, my Kneller,what a pity it is that a certain great General of the moderns cannotmake his commands respected in the same direction."
"His Grace has no need to supplement his own generalship by--by--"
"By the aid of heaven, you would say? By the Lord, Sir Godfrey,'t israther the aid of the opposite power our generalissimo would invoke, iftaken at a disadvantage."
"It would be impossible to conceive an incident so remarkable as HisGrace taken at a disadvantage."
"I would fain believe you to be right, friend Kneller. Yes, I have notonce caught him tripping. But that, you may say, is not so much becauseHis Grace does not trip, as because his generalship is too subtle forsuch an one as I."
"Nay, nay, madam; so ungenteel a thought could never be entertainedby one who has the privilege of knowing the Duke and of seeing theDuchess."
"Vastly prettily spoken, Sir Godfrey; and with the air of a courtier,too; but, unlike t' other things of the Court, there is truth in yourwords. Look you, Kneller, there's the slut who calls herself MistressBarry--she carries half the town away captive at her chariot-wheels--"she pointed to the portrait of Mrs. Barry. "But think you that herfascinations would have power to prevail against my lord the Duke? Nay,adamant is as snow compared to his demeanour when the wretch is movingall hearts within the playhouse. Have not I found him sitting withclosed eyes while the woman was flaunting it about the stage, and men'sswords were ready to fly from their scabbards at the throats of themthat had got a soft look from her?"
"Is 't possible?"
"Ay, sir; 't is more than possible. The insolent hussy has oft cast upher eyes at our box in the playhouse, ogling His Grace, if you please.The fool little knew that she was ogling a slumbering man. Nay, SirGodfrey, if I were as sure of my ground in other directions as I am ofHis Grace, I were a happy woman."
She took her place on the dais, and the expression of pensiveness whichappears on the face of the portrait became intensified. This fact,however, did not prevent a dainty little fist from quivering in herdirection from the side of the full-length picture in the corner. TheDuchess had her back turned to that particular corner.
"Your Grace deserves to be the happiest of women," said the painter.
"If only to give so admirable a limner an opportunity of depicting asmiling face," said the Duchess.
"Nay, madam, a smile doth not make a picture," replied Sir Godfrey. "Onthe contrary, it oft destroys one. Your painter of smirking goddessesfinds his vocation at the Fair of St. Bartolemy. I would fain hope thatI am not such." There was a silence, during which Sir Godfrey paintedthe hair upon his canvas with his usual dexterity. Then Her Gracesighed.
"Know you the best means of bringing back an errant confidence, SirGodfrey?" she asked after another long pause.
"An errant confidence, madam?"
"The confidence of one whom I love, and who I think would fain love mestill, were it not for the tongue of slander."
"Nay, your Grace, I am but a painter; no Rubens am I in the skill thatpertains to an envoy. Still, it occurs to me that the rendering of somesignal service to the one whose mood your Grace describes should bringyou to her heart again."
The Duchess sprang from her chair and began pacing the narrow limits ofthe dais, her hands clenched, and the expression on her face becomingone of passion solely.
"Some signal service--some signal service!"
she cried. "Man, have I notgrown aged in her service? Who among those around her hath shown her andhers such service as ours has been--my husband's and mine? And yet whenshe hears the rumour of a plot she taunts me that I was not the firstto warn her. Heavens! Does it rest with me to see the word 'conspirator'branded on the flesh of one who may hap to wear a cuirass? Is thereany skill that will enable mine eyes to perceive in a man's bearingan adherent to the family at St. Germains? By the Lord, Sir GodfreyKneller, I may be tried too much. Think you that if we were to turn oureyes in the direction of St. Germains there would not be a goodly numberof persons in this realm who would turn their eyes and their coats withus?"
"For God's sake, madam--"
"Nay, 't is but an abstract proposition, friend Kneller. I have witenough to perceive that the atmosphere of France suiteth best thehealth of some folk. For mine own part, I like best our English air; butif--ah, continue your painting, Sir Godfrey, and see that you make mineeyes the eyes of one who looks not overseas for succour."
Her Grace threw herself once more into the chair, and the painterresumed his work in silence. He could not but reproduce the pensiveexpression that once more was worn by the face of the Duchess.
At the end of half an hour she rose, complaining that she was tired. Shesmiled, giving her hand to Sir Godfrey, as she said.
"I know, my good friend, that it is safe to rage in your presence; youare discretion itself."
"Your Grace hath never put my discretion to the test," said the Courtpainter, with a low bow.
"The Duke will mayhap visit you to inspect the portrait, Sir Godfrey,"said the Duchess when at the door. "Pray let him know that I await himat St. James's."
"I shall not fail, madam," said the painter. "And I will not ask yourGrace to sit to me until Friday. I have to be in Richmond on Thursday."
He held back the _portiere_ for her exit, and then followed her throughthe domed hall to the apartment where her maid awaited her.
On his return to the studio he found himself face to face with Mrs.Barry. For an instant he stood speechless. Then, with a glance behindhim, he whispered:
"How did you come hither, in the name of heaven?"
"In a name which you are bound to respect--the name of art," shereplied.
"I sought but a lesson, and I have not sought in vain. A duchess! GoodLord! These be your duchesses! The manners of a kitchen wench allied tothe language of a waterman. A duchess!"
"Madam--Mistress Barry--"
"Oh, the poor Duke! How oft have not I heard that His Grace looksforward to the hottest campaign with joy? Oh, I can well believe it. Andthe look of pensiveness on Her Grace's face--observe it, most faithfulof limners."
She stood pointing to the portrait of the Duchess in a stage attitudeof scorn. Sir Godfrey, as he looked at her, felt that he should like topaint her in that attitude for the benefit of posterity. Then she burstinto a scornful laugh, at which he became more serious than ever. Inanother moment, however, she had introduced a note of merriment into herlaughter, and in spite of the fact that he had been extremely angry onfinding that she had been in hiding he could not help joining in herlaughter.
"The pensive Duchess!" she cried. "Nay, rather, the pensive Duke, myfriend. Paint him as 'Il Penseroso'--the Duke who had eyes only forthe graces of Her Grace--who had ears only for her dulcet phrases--whosnored in the face of the actress who was ogling him from the stage.Grant me patience, heaven! If I fail to bring him to my feet in thesight of that woman, may I never tread the stage more! I have a scheme,Sir Godfrey, which only needs your help to--"
"My help! _Gott in Himmel!_ You shall not have my help! What! do youfancy that you may turn my painting-room into a playhouse stage, and actyour farces--"
"His Grace the Duke of Marlborough."
The servant had thrown open the door as he made the announcement.
"Ah! Heaven is on my side! I need not your help," cried the actress, inan aside, as she turned to a mirror to still further dishevel her hair.
The Duke of Marlborough, entering the studio, found himself confrontedby a lovely woman visibly fluttered, and apparently anxious to preventthe lace upon her shoulders from revealing even so much of her bosom asthe painter had thought necessary for artistic purposes.
"Ha! Kneller!" cried the Duke, "I find that I am an intruder. How isthis, sir? Your fellow said that you were alone."
"It is only my friend, Mistress Barry, your Grace, whose portrait hasbecome my pastime," said Sir Godfrey.
"And Mistress Barry is of no account," said the actress, sinking in acourtesy. "Ah, your Grace, Sir Godfrey forces me to excuse both his ownimprudence and my impudence. When I learned that the Duke of Marlboroughwas to come hither I implored him to permit me to remain in order thatthe dream of my poor life might be realised."
"The dream of your life, madam?" said the Duke.
"I dare say 't is the dream of many lives," said the lady in a lowvoice, somewhat broken by an emotion she could not repress, even thoughshe took one hand away from her lace to still the beating of her heart."And now that I find myself face to face with the one who has saved ourcountry's honour in an hundred fights, I protest that I am overcome withthe result of my boldness. Oh, your Grace, forgive the weakness of apoor weak woman."
"Madam," said the Duke, "this moment repays me for whatever triflinghardship I have undergone in my campaigns. To find that all the charmsof Mistress Barry on the stage are but feeble compared with those giftsof nature with which she had been endowed, were sure an astonishment toone who had seen her only when she was the centre of a thousand eyes."
"Oh, your Grace is determined to overwhelm your friends with yourcompliments as you do your enemies with your culverins. But I vow I amtoo forward. I am presuming to include my poor self among your Grace'sfriends."
"Then think of a sweeter name, my dear lady, and I shall agree to itwithout demur."
The Duke was beyond doubt not insensible to the charms of the beautifulactress. She had apparently quite forgotten that the drapery about hershoulders had fallen away more freely even than was permissible inthe exigencies of the classical art affected by the eighteenth centurypainters.
"Ah, Your Grace leaves me without a voice even of protest," murmured theactress, glancing modestly at the floor.
"Nay, Mistress Barry has need only to protest against the limitationsof speech," said the Duke, facing her and offering her his hand, which,after a moment's hesitation, she took with the homage that she wouldhave given to the hand of a monarch. Then she dropped it with a halfstifled sigh, and turned to the door without a word.
"Wherefore fly?" said the Duke, raising the side of the _portiere_ whileshe made a courtesy.
"'T were better so, though I know your Grace cannot understand howflight should ever be linked with discretion."
"At least, let me conduct you to your chair, madam. Nay, I insist."
They had scarcely got beneath the glass dome before she had laid herhand upon his arm.
"I was determined to see you face to face," she said in a rapid whisper."I have something of the greatest gravity that is for your ear alone.You would step between the Queen and disaster?"
"I have done so before now," said the Duke. "Heaven may be equally kindto me again. Come with me in my coach now; it is already dusk."
"No--no--that would be fatal to both of us," she whispered. "We aresurrounded by enemies--spies--purveyors of treason--the very life of theQueen is in danger."
"You speak sincerely," said the Duke. "Come to my house after the play."
"Impossible! Your Grace little knows in what quarter the danger lies. Ilit upon it by accident myself. Let me see. Ah, I have it: Sir Godfrey'spainting room at a quarter after four on Thursday--this is Tuesday--yes,in secret--and in the mean time, not a word to living man or woman--noteven Her Grace."
"Why not take your seat in my coach; it has curtains."
"Impossible! Ah, trust me to know wherein lieth safety and prudence.Hasten back. Good Sir Godfrey must not suspect
."
"Heavens! You do not say that he is--"
"He is true; but he talks. We need those who are dumb. Not a word inhuman ear."
He looked into her face--eagerly--searchingly. She never winced. Hepressed her hand and returned to the studio.
She was halfway down the street in her chair before she burst into amerry laugh.
"Her Grace shall have enough of plots to last her for awhile atany rate. Our painter goes to Richmond on Thursday; he said so. Oh,Lud--Lud! how quick the notion came to me when His Grace appeared. Ah,Mistress Barry, thou hast not read in vain all that the poets havewrit for the playhouse. I can see that they are both wild to show theirdevotion to Her Majesty. They would fain discover plots growing alongthe hedgerows of St. James's Park. They will be as easily trapped astame pigeons."
"What," cried Mistress Barry on Thursday afternoon, to the servant whoopened the door for her at Sir Godfrey Kneller's house, "what! gone toRichmond? Nay,'t is not possible. I sit to him at four."
"My master said it would be five ere he returned from her ladyship's,madam."
"Oh, Lud, surely he made a mistake; or you have misheard him, sirrah. Hewill be back at four, and I'll e'n wait for him in the painting-room. Ifhe have not returned by the half hour I will tarry no longer."
She walked past the servant--he made no demur--and entered the studio.Sauntering about for a few moments, she then went to the door and lockedit. She hastened to a shelf on which lay some broken chalks. In a fewmoments, standing before the tall mirror, she had completely altered herface; she had "made up" her features and complexion as those of an oldwoman.
Then from apparently capacious pockets in the cloak which she woreshe brought forth a grey wig of many curls, which she put over her ownchestnut hair; and a servant's apron which completely hid her gown.A few adroit touches transformed her into a venerable person of muchrespectability--one whose appearance suggested that of an aged retainerin a family where her services were properly valued. She surveyedherself in the glass, saying, "Her Grace will, I can swear, recognisethe good woman whose sense of duty compelled her to address so mightya lady touching the vile conspiracy to which Her Grace is to be madeprivy."
While she was standing back from the glass, laughing as she kissedthe tips of her fingers to the figure who responded in like fashion,a gentle knock sounded on the small side door that led into the archedpassage to the garden--the door by which the painter's models wereadmitted to the studio without passing through the house. The actress,giving a final smooth to her apron, hastened to open the door, but onlyto the extent of an inch or two.
"What's your business, madam?" she inquired, in the quavering accents ofage, through the opening.
"I have come hither for Mrs. Freeman's frock," was the reply in a lowvoice.
"It will be ready for you in half an hour, my good woman," said theactress. "Meantime, enter and wait."
She admitted a muffled and closely-veiled figure, and, when she hadclosed the door, made an old-fashioned curtesy.
"You are Mrs. Smollett?" said the figure, in a low voice, after glancinground the studio.
"Elizabeth Smollett, your Grace, is my name," quavered Mrs. Barry. "Ah,madam, you have had the courage to come hither."
"Courage?" said the Duchess. "It needed none. If what your letter toldme be true, it is time that some true friend of the Queen's came hither.Is it possible that your master, Sir Godfrey, knoweth naught of theplot?"
"He knoweth naught, madam. The head and front of the wicked businesscame to him as his _valet de chambre_ with the best recommendations. Itwas only by accident that I discovered the fellow's motives. He was forthree years at St. Germains."
"At St. Germains! The wretch! Mrs. Smollett, your devotion to HerMajesty in this matter shall not go unrewarded. I can promise you that.They hope to seize the Queen! Merciful heaven! Are they fools enough tofancy that that act would further their ends? Ah, shall I now be avengedupon mine enemies who whisper to Her Majesty! And you, Smollett--youwill bless the day you wrote to me."
"Not so loud, your Grace," whispered the actress. "There may be those athand that we know not of. This is where your grace must be in hiding."She led the Duchess up the studio to the curtain that hung across theretiring room. "Your Grace will be entirely hid in the recess of thedoor, and unless I am far mistaken you shall hear more than you everexpected. Now, madam, for God's sake remain fast hid behind the curtain.I shall return to my household duties lest I should be suspected."
"You will bless this day," whispered Her Grace from behind the_portiere_.
Mrs. Barry put her finger to her lips as she noiselessly unlocked thedoor leading to the domed hall and then passed through.
She hastily removed all traces of her disguise, placing the wig andapron behind a marble pedestal that bore a reproduction of the flyingMercury. She paused at the door for some time before returning to thestudio, and when at last she opened it she did so very cautiously,putting her head just beyond the _portiere_ at first. Then she closedthe door behind her and advanced. She did not fail to notice the littlemovement of the curtain at the farther end of the studio. Then she gavea fine sigh and threw herself into a chair.
"Heigh ho!" she said, in a tone that she meant to be audible in everypart of the room. "Heigh ho! 't is weary waiting for one's love. But mylove--my hero--is worthy to be waited for by empresses. Yet, if I hadnot his picture to look upon now I vow I should feel melancholic. Ah,Sir Godfrey. He has dealt as harshly with the face of my Duke as hehath dealt gently with that ancient harridan, the Duchess." (She saw thedistant _portiere_ quiver.) "Great heavens!" she continued, rising andstanding in front of the portrait of the Duchess. "Great heavens! is ita matter of wonder that His Grace should be sick unto death of that faceof hers? All the flattery of the painter cannot hide the malevolence ofher countenance. The Queen perceived it long ago, and yet they say thatshe hopes to regain the favour of her royal mistress!
"Poor creature! But indeed she is to be pitied. She hath lost the favourof her Queen and the heart of her spouse. Ah, my hero--my beloved--yourheart is mine--all mine. How oft have I not heard your sweet wordstelling me that--how oft? But why are you not here to tell it to me now?Why--ah, at last--at last!"
A knock had sounded at the side door in the midst of her passionateinquiries, and she almost flew to the door, "Ah, at last--at last youhave come!" she said in a fervent whisper as the Duke entered.
"I have come," he replied, still holding her hand. He had no choice leftin the matter. She did not withdraw her hand after she had given it tohim. It would scarcely have done for him to cast it from him. "You aresure that Sir Godfrey has not yet returned?"
"I am sure of it," said she. "Would I be here with you alone if he hadreturned?"
"No, no; of course not," said the Duke. "But would I not come far ifonly to press this little hand?"
His experience of women had taught him that a little flattery is neverout of place with them. He supposed it was out of sheer nervousness thatMrs. Barry had failed to withdraw her hand.
She did not withdraw it even now, however. It was only when they hadwalked side by side half way across the room that she withdrew herhand. She saw that a large picture on an easel was between them and thedistant _portiere_.
"You have come--you have trusted me," she murmured, with her eyes castdown.
He looked at her. He began to fear that she was faltering. She neededencouragement to make her revelation to him.
"I have trusted you, dear one; ah, you know not to what extent I wouldtrust you. I would go to the ends of the earth to hear what you have totell me."
"That is what I wish," she cried. "Could we not meet at some distantspot where all that my heart contains might be yours? Ah, let us flythither without delay! Delay may make havoc of our future."
"Pray, calm yourself," said the Duke. He perceived that his companionwas of an hysterical type. She would need to be treated with great tactbefore she could be brought to communicate anything that she knew.
"Ah, 't is easy for a soldier to be calm," she cried. "'T is not soeasy for a poor woman who is by nature trustful and yet by experiencedistrustful."
"You may trust me, my sweet creature," he said.
"May I? May I?" she whispered, looking into his face. "Ah, no, no; leaveme--leave me alone to die here! Mine was the fault--mine alone."
She had put her hands before her face and gone excitedly halfway downthe apartment.
"You shall not die!" he cried, following her. "Just heaven, child, am Inobody? Is my protection worth nothing, that you should be afraid?"
"Your protection?" She had removed her hands from her face. "What! youwill let me be under your protection?"
"I swear to you."
"Ah, then I will trust you--forever--for ever," cried the actress,flinging herself into the arms of the astonished Duke and laying herhead on his shoulder.
He was much more astonished when a voice rang through the studio:
"Wretch! Infamous wretches both!"
"Oh, Lud!" cried Mrs. Barry, forsaking her resting place and standing ayard or two apart. "Oh, Lud, who is the plain little woman that has beeneavesdropping? I vow, Duke, she was not invited to our meeting."
"Infamous creature! I am the Duchess of Marlborough!"
"Nay, that were impossible. I happen to know that the Duchess has alimitless faith in the Duke, especially in regard to so plain a creatureas Mistress Barry, and you have the face and bearing of a jealous woman.Her Grace of Marlborough would not be jealous, my good creature."
"Madam," said the Duke, turning to his wife, "madam, you have played anunworthy part--spying--"
"Silence, libertine!" thundered the Duchess, looking like a fury.
0309]
"Faith, 't is the Duchess, after all," said the actress. "Ah, SirGodfrey has returned in good time." Sir Godfrey was standing at thedoor. "Dear Sir Godfrey, Her Grace is anxious for you to paint her inher true character--that of the jealous wife; and so I leave her inyour good hands. Adieu, your Grace. Oh, fie, to be jealous of so poor acreature as an actress!"
She stood for a moment by the side of the painter, turning half round asshe raised the tapestry hanging. Her laughter when she had passed intothe hall, rang through the studio.
Sir Godfrey began to speak.
"I fear greatly that in my absence--"
"Sir, in your absence your house has been turned into a lover'srendezvous!" cried the Duchess. "Your aged domestic, Mrs. Smollett,wrote to me a confidential letter--"
"Madam, I have no aged domestic, and I know no one of the name ofSmollett," said Sir Godfrey.
"What! Oh, the man is in the plot also! It were beneath my dignity toconverse further with him. Shame, sir--shame on both of you!"
She flung herself through the _portiere_ and disappeared in a billow oftapestry.
The Duke and Sir Godfrey stood side by side in silence in the studio. Atlast the former spoke.
"Faith, Kneller, I think I begin to see how we have all been tricked.That play-actress hath made fools of us all for her own sport."
"I begin to fear that that is so," said Sir Godfrey.
"Ay, sir; she hath fooled us," said the Duke. "Methinks it will be somespace of time before the wrath of Her Grace will be appeased."
And so it was.
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