Madame Flirt
difference. Lavinia, Sally decided, was in a fair way to earn her
living, much as Sally herself did--the toy of the bloods of fashion one
day, the companions of highwaymen and bullies the next.
"Where did the impertinent young madam get her fine clothes and her
quality air if not?" Sally asked herself, and the question was a
reasonable one.
"Have you brought me ought that I care to look at, Mistress Salisbury?"
broke in the old man impatiently. "You haven't come to buy that paltry
trinket, I'll swear."
"How do you knew? It takes my fancy. Where did you get it?"
"I've had it but five minutes. You passed the girl who sold it me as you
came in. A pretty coaxing wench. She'd make a man pour out his gold at
her feet if she cared to try."
Sally's lips went pallid with passion and her white nostrils quivered.
"A common little trull," she burst out. "She should be sent to Bridewell
and soundly whipped. 'Tis little more than six months she was a street
squaller cadging for pence round the boozing kens of St. Giles and Clare
Market. And now--pah! it makes me sick."
Sally flung the brooch upon the table with such violence it bounced a
foot in the air.
"Gently--gently, my good Sally," remonstrated Mountchance, "if you must
vent your fury upon anything choose your own property, not mine."
It was doubtful if the virago heard the request. She was not given to
curbing her temper, and leaning back in the chair, her body rigid, she
beat a tattoo with her high-heeled shoes and clenched her fists till
the knuckles whitened.
Mountchance had seen hysterical women oft times and was not troubled. He
opened a stoppered bottle and held its rim to the lady's nose. The
moment was well chosen, Sally was in the act of drawing a deep breath,
probably with the intention of relieving her feelings by shrieking
aloud. The ammonia was strong and she inhaled a full dose. She gasped,
she coughed, her eyes streamed, the current of her thoughts changed, she
poured a torrent of unadulterated Billingsgate upon the imperturbable
doctor who busied himself about other matters until Sally should think
fit to regain her senses.
That time came when after a brief interval of sullenness, accompanied by
much heaving of the bosom and biting of lips she deigned to produce the
pearl necklace, the spoil of Rofflash's highway robbery on the Bath
Road.
Mountchance looked at the pearls closely and his face became very
serious.
"The High Toby game I'll take my oath," said he in a low voice. "Such a
bit of plunder as this must be sent abroad. I dursn't attempt to get rid
of it here."
"That's _your_ business. My business is how much'll you give."
Dr. Mountchance named a sum ridiculously low so Sally thought. Then
ensued a long haggle which was settled at last by a compromise and Sally
departed.
As she hurried back to her lodgings in the Borough, Sally was quite
unaware that Rofflash, disguised as a beggar with a black patch over his
eye and a dirty red handkerchief tied over his head in place of his wig,
was stealthily shadowing her.
CHAPTER IX
"YOU WERE BRAVE AND FOUGHT FOR ME"
Meanwhile Lavinia was hastening to Grub Street. On her way she bought a
pair of shoes which if not quite in the _mode_ were at least fellows.
She also cleverly talked the shopkeeper into allowing her something on
the discarded odd ones and thereby saved a shilling.
The girl's old life in roaming about the streets had sharpened her wits.
Adversity had taught her much. It had given her a knowledge of persons
and things denied to those to whom life had always been made easy. She
had had sundry acquaintances among the pretty orange girls who plied
their trade at Drury Lane and the Duke's theatres and had got to know
how useful Dr. Mountchance was in buying presents bestowed upon them by
young bloods flushed with wine, and in other ways. Hence when in want of
money she looked upon her brooch she at once thought of the old man's
shop on London Bridge.
The taverns in those days were real houses of refreshment. Food could be
had at most of them as well as drink. Still a girl needed some courage
to enter. The men she might meet were ready to make free in far too
familiar a fashion. Lavinia stopped in front of the "Green Dragon" near
the Cripples Gate, but hesitated. Many months had passed since the time
when she would have boldly walked into the galleried inn-yard and asked
for what she wanted. The refining influence of Miss Pinwell's genteel
establishment had made her loathe the low life in which her early years
had been passed.
"They can't eat me," she thought. "Besides, the poor fellow is
starving."
The place was fairly quiet. One or two men of a group drinking and
gossipping winked at each other when they caught sight of her pretty
face, but they said nothing and she got what she asked for, a cold
chicken, bread and a bottle of wine.
Lavinia hastened to Grub Street. She ran up the dirty narrow ricketty
stairs, her heart palpitating with excitement, and she knocked at the
garret door. It was opened immediately, Lancelot Vane stood in the
doorway, his fine eyes beaming. He looked very handsome, Lavinia
thought, and she blushed under his ardent gaze.
He had washed, he had shaved, he had put on his best suit and his wig
concealed the cut on his forehead. He was altogether a different
Lancelot from the bedraggled, woe-begone, haggard young man whom she had
found in the last stage of misery two hours ago. He had moreover,
enlisted the help of the old woman whom Lavinia had met on the stairs at
her first visit and the place was swept and tidied. The room as well as
its occupant was now quite presentable.
"I've brought you something to eat," stammered Lavinia quite shyly to
her own surprise. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Not if you'll do me the honour to share it with me."
"Oh, but it will give you so much trouble. And I'm not hungry. I bought
it all for you."
Lavinia was busy emptying the contents of a rush basket which the
good-natured landlord of the "Green Dragon" had given her.
"Have you a plate and a knife and fork? You can't eat with your fingers,
you know."
"I've two plates and two knives and forks, but the knives are not pairs.
I apologise humbly for my poverty stricken household."
"That doesn't matter. I'm not going to touch a morsel."
"Neither am I then. And it isn't my hospitality, remember, but yours.
Why are you such a good Samaritan?"
"You were brave and fought for me. I shall never forget last
night--never."
"It will always be in my memory too, and I want our first meal together
to be in my memory also. Alas! I have no tablecloth."
"But you have plenty of paper," Lavinia laughingly said. "That will do
as well."
Lancelot laughed in unison and seizing a couple of sheets of foolscap he
opened and spread them on the table.
"One for you and one for me, but you see I've put them together," said
he with a roguish gleam in his eye.
"No, they must be separate."
But he had his way.
Soon the banquet was ready and it delighted Lavinia to see how
ravenously the young man ate. At the same time it pained her for it told
of days of privation. Before long they were perfectly at ease and
merrily chatting about nothing in particular, under some circumstances
the best kind of talk. Suddenly he said:
"I'm wondering where my next meal is to come from. I can't expect an
angel to visit me every day."
"Perhaps it will be a raven. Didn't ravens feed Elijah?" said Lavinia
mockingly.
"I believe so, but I'm not Elijah. I'm not even a prophet. I'm only a
poor scribbler."
"You write plays, don't you?"
"I've written one but I'm afraid it's poor stuff. I meant to show it to
Mr. Gay the great poet. I was told he was often to be found at the
Maiden Head in St. Giles, but unluckily I was persuaded by some friends
to see Jack Sheppard's last exploit at Tyburn. I drank too much--I own
it to my shame--and when I reached the inn where I hoped to see Mr. Gay
I fell dead asleep and never saw him. He had gone when I awoke."
Lavinia clasped her hands. A shadow passed over her bright face leaving
it sad and pensive. The red mobile lips were tremulous and the eyes
moist and shining. She now knew why Lancelot Vane's features had seemed
so familiar to her. But not for worlds would she let him know she had
seen him in his degradation.
Besides she too had memories of that day she would like to forget--save
the remembrance of her meeting with Gay and his kindness to her, a
kindness which she felt she had repaid with folly and ingratitude.
"Then you know Mr. Gay?" said she presently.
"I was introduced to him by Spiller the actor one night at the Lamb and
Flag, Clare Market--I'll warrant you don't know Clare Market; 'tis a
dirty greasy ill-smelling place where everyone seems to be a
butcher----"
Lavinia said nothing. She knew Clare Market perfectly well.
"Mr. Gay was good enough to look at some poems I had with me. He praised
them and I told him I'd written a play and he said he would like to see
it. And then--but you know what happened. I feel I daren't face him
again after disgracing myself so. What must he think of me?"
"He'll forgive you," cried Lavinia enthusiastically. "He's the dearest,
the kindest, the most generous hearted man in the world. He is my best
friend and----"
She stopped. She was on the point of plunging into her history and there
was no necessity for doing this. She had not said a word to Lancelot
Vane about herself and she did not intend to do so. He must think what
he pleased about the adventure which had brought them together. He must
have seen her leap from Dorrimore's carriage--nay, he may have caught
sight of Dorrimore himself. Then there was the ruffian of a coachman who
had pursued her. The reason of the fellow's anxiety to capture her must
have puzzled Vane. Well, it must continue to puzzle him.
"Mr. Gay your friend?" returned Vane with a pang of envy. "Ah, then,
you're indeed fortunate. I--you've been such a benefactor to me, madam,
that I hesitate to ask another favour of you."
All familiarity had fled from him. He seemed to be no longer on an
equality with her. He was diffident, he was respectful. If this girl was
a friend of Mr. Gay the distinguished poet and dramatist whose latest
work, "The Fables," was being talked about at Button's, at Wills', at
every coffee-house where the wits gathered, she must be somebody in the
world of fashion and letters. Perhaps she was an actress. She had the
assured manner of one, he thought.
"What is it you want? If it's anything in my power I'd like to help
you," said Lavinia with an air of gracious condescension. The young
man's sudden deference amused her highly. It also pleased her.
"Thank you," he exclaimed eagerly. "I would ask you if you have
sufficient acquaintance to show him my play? I'm sure he would refuse
you nothing. Nobody could."
"Oh, this is very sad," said Lavinia shaking her head. "I'm afraid, Mr.
Vane, you're trying to bribe me with flattery. I warn you it will be of
no avail. All the same I'll take your play to Mr. Gay if you care to
trust it to me."
"Trust, madam, I'd trust you with anything."
"You shouldn't be so ready to believe in people you know nothing of.
But--where's this play of yours? May I look at it?"
"It would be the greatest honour you could confer upon me. I would
dearly love to have your opinion," he cried, his face flushing.
"My opinion isn't worth a button, but all the same the play would
interest me I'm sure."
He went to a bureau and took from one of the drawers a manuscript neatly
stitched together.
"I've copied it out fairly and I don't think you'll have much difficulty
in deciphering the writing."