Madame Flirt
sword before the enemy could turn and defend himself.
With Dorrimore it was different. To do him justice, fop as he was, he
did not want for courage, and, moreover, he was a good swordsman. So
when Rofflash made out that he could bring Vane to Spring Gardens,
where Dorrimore could easily find an excuse for provoking his rival to a
duel, the Templar eagerly approved the idea.
It was to carry out this plan practically that Rofflash, after quitting
his patron in St. James's Park, made his way to Moorfields. Though he
knew that Sally had extracted a promise from Vane to meet her in Spring
Gardens, he was by no means certain that Vane would keep his word. But
Rofflash was never without resources, and he thought he could devise a
plan to bring the meeting about. His scheme proved easier to execute
than he expected. Vane unconsciously played into his hands.
After his bitter disappointment through not meeting Lavinia at
Rosamond's Pond, Vane walked back to his Grub Street lodgings plunged in
fits of melancholy, alternated with moralisings on the faithlessness of
women. He did not believe Lavinia had kept the appointment. As for Sally
Salisbury, well, it was unfortunate that he should run across her at a
wrong moment, but he never imagined that the meeting with her was one of
design and not of accident.
Vane had the poetic temperament. He was human and emotional and--he was
weak. Had he lived two centuries later he might have fancied, and may be
with truth, that he suffered from neurasthenia. In the full-blooded days
of the early Georges the complaint was "vapours," otherwise liver, but
no one troubled about nerves. The ghastly heads of Jacobite rebels stuck
on Temple Bar were looked upon with indifference by the passers-by. The
crowds which thronged to Tyburn to witness the half hangings and the
hideous disembowelling which followed, while the poor wretches, found
guilty of treason, were yet alive, had pretty much the sensation with
which a gathering nowadays sees a dangerous acrobatic performance.
Vane had none of this brutish callousness. He was more susceptible to
sex influences. Despite his worship of Lavinia, whom he elevated into a
sort of divinity, and who satisfied the more refined part of his nature
and his love of romance, he was not insensible to the animal charms of
Sally Salisbury. The cunning jade was familiar with all the arts of her
profession. She knew how to kiss, and the kiss she bestowed upon him in
the park haunted him just as did the kiss he had received whether he
would or not on the night when she sheltered him in her house.
Thus it came about that the despondent young man was torn between
varying emotions, and by the time he was within hail of Grub Street he
was without will of his own and at the mercy of any who chose to
exercise influence over him.
Chance led him to encounter a party of boon companions whose company he
had vowed to relinquish. One of these was in funds, having abandoned
political pamphleteering for the writing of biographies of notorious
personages, both men and women--the latter preferably--in which truth
and fiction were audaciously blended, and the whole dashed with
scandalous anecdotes which found for such stuff a ready sale.
Jarvis and his friends having had their fill of liquor at one tavern,
were proceeding to another when they met Lancelot Vane, and they bore
him away without much protest. It was by no means the first time that
Vane had drowned his sorrows in drink.
Meanwhile Rofflash was on the prowl. He was not unacquainted with some
of the Grub Street scribblers. One man he had employed three or four
years before, when Jacobitism was rampant, in running to earth the
writers of seditious pamphlets and broad sheets. The man was Tom Jarvis.
Rofflash knew Tom's favourite haunts, and after looking in at various
taverns, lighted upon him at the "Angel and Sun." He also lighted upon
Vane. Vane he could see was well on the way towards forgetfulness, but
Captain Jeremy wasn't one to run any risks, so he held aloof from the
party, and waited while the landlord went about his errand.
Presently Jarvis looked in the direction of the fireplace, and Rofflash
beckoned him and laid his fingers on his lip in token of silence. Jarvis
quietly slipped away and joined Rofflash.
"Devil take it, my gallant captain!" growled Jarvis, "but you look in
fine feather. Hang me if you haven't tumbled on your feet, and that's
more than Tom Jarvis can say. Since the Jacks have swallowed King George
and his Hanoverian progeny things have been precious dull for the likes
o' me."
"Aye, though it mayn't be for long. Meanwhile, I can put you in the way
of a guinea. Are you friendly with that young fool, Lancelot Vane?"
"Friendly? Why, to be sure. He's always good for a bottle if he chance
to have the wherewithal about him. And he's the best company in the
world when that comes about. A couple o' glasses knocks him over, and
you can finish the rest of the bottle at your ease."
"Gad! He's one of your feather-brained, lily-livered fellows, is he? So
much the better for my purpose. Look you here, Tom; bring Vane to-morrow
evening to Spring Gardens, and there's a guinea ready for you."
Jarvis looked down his long nose and frowned.
"Not so easy as you think, captain. I know Vane. To-morrow he'll be
chock full of repentance. He'll be calling himself all the fools he can
lay his tongue to. How am I to get him to Spring Gardens in that mood?"
"'Tis as easy as lying, Tom. When a man's down as Peter Grievous, he's
ready to get up if he have but a couple of hairs of the dog that bit
him."
"I grant you that, bully captain. But Vane's pocket's as empty as mine.
Where's the coin to come from?"
"You're a damned liar and an ingrained rogue by nature, Tom Jarvis, but
I'll have to trust you for once. Here's half a guinea. It should more
than pay for the wine and the wherry to Spring Gardens. Keep faith with
me, you rascal, or I'll half wring your head from your shoulders and
give you a free taste of what's bound to come to you some day--the rope
at Tyburn."
Jarvis grinned in sickly fashion and swore by all that was unholy to
carry out his orders strictly. Rofflash then strode away.
How Jarvis contrived to lure Vane to Spring Gardens is not of much
consequence. The fellow had a soft, slimy tongue and an oily manner.
Moreover, Rofflash's shrewd guess at Vane's absence of will power after
a drinking bout was verified to the letter.
The passage up the river from St. Paul's Stairs was pleasant enough. The
wherry made its way through a crowd of boats bound for the Gardens,
though the season had hardly begun. Not a few of the craft had for their
passengers fashionable ladies masked and unmasked, with their cavaliers
more or less noisy with wine. Numberless and not particularly refined
were the jests exchanged between the occupants of the various boats.
Sometimes the watermen struck in and masters of slang and coarse wit as
they were, and possessed of infinite impudence, the journey was marked
by plenty of liveliness.
Well did Spring Gardens--afterwards known as Vauxhall, or Fauxhall,
years later--deserve the patronage bestowed upon them. Delightful
groves, cosy little arbours, lawns like velvet, rippling fountains were
among its attractions, music albeit it was confined to the limited
instruments of the day--singing came about afterwards--aided the
enchantment.
A dose of hot brandy and water before starting had renewed Vane's
drooping spirits and had dissipated his headache and nausea. A glass of
punch prescribed by Jarvis when inside the Gardens sent him into a mood
of recklessness which made him ready for any adventure amorous or
otherwise. He looked upon Lavinia as lost to him. He would like to kill
his remembrance of her. What better way than by thoughts of some other
woman? His brain had become so bemused by his potations of the previous
night that he had at first only vague recollections of Sally Salisbury
and how he had engaged to meet her. But now that he was in the Gardens
association of ideas brought her handsome, enticing face to his mind.
She would do as well as another to entertain him for the moment, and his
eyes roved restlessly towards every woman he passed.
The orchestra was playing a dance tune, and Vane eagerly scanned the
dancers, but saw no woman resembling Sally Salisbury. Meanwhile Jarvis
had left him with a parting drink, which by no means helped to clear his
muddled brain. Then suddenly Sally stood before him, unmasked and
looking more fascinating than ever.
"You wicked man," said she with reproachful eyes, the dark silky lashes
drooping momentarily on her painted cheeks. "I've been searching for you
everywhere. But my heart told me you would come, and my heart rarely
deceives me."
Sally spoke in a tone of sincerity, and maybe for once she was sincere.
Vane did not trouble one way or the other. He was in that condition of
nervous excitement to be strongly affected by her sensuous beauty. He
was stammering something in reply when a man in a puce satin coat and a
flowered brocaded waistcoat thrust himself rudely between them.
"I fear, sir, you don't know all the transcendent virtues of this
_lady_. Permit me to enlighten you."
He spoke in an insolent tone, and Sally turned upon him in fury and bade
him begone.
"Mind your own business, Mr. Dorrimore, and don't thrust your nose into
what doesn't concern you," she cried, her eyes blazing with wrath.
"Oh, I've no quarrel with you, madam. I only wish to warn your poor
dupe----"
He wasn't able to finish the sentence. Vane had struck him a violent
blow in the face.
Vane's sudden attack fairly took Dorrimore by surprise. He stared
blankly at Vane, and then apparently seized by some ludicrous idea, he
burst into a sarcastic laugh.
"Faith, sir--you must excuse me--you really must. Ha--ha--ha! The idea
of your championing this wanton jade! It's too good a joke--'pon honour,
it is--but since you will have it so--why----"
His hand went to his side, and the next moment his sword flashed in the
crimson light of the coloured lamps. Just then Jarvis and another man
interposed, and the latter caught Dorrimore's sword arm.
"Forbear, gentlemen!" cried Jarvis. "If you must fight, don't let it be
here. In public 'twould be little better than a vulgar brawl."
"Let me alone," shouted Dorrimore. "He struck me and in the devil's name
he shall answer it."
"Whenever you please. I did but defend the lady whom this coward
insulted," said Vane, pale, and speaking in a voice low and vibrating
with passion.
He felt a pressure on his arm and heard in soft tones:
"Thank you, but you mustn't risk your life for me. Come away."
"What, and leave the fellow's challenge unanswered. Never! Sir, I am at
your command. When and where you please."
"Don't be a fool, Vane--Sally's not worth it," whispered Jarvis. "Don't
you know she's any man's money?"
For a moment Vane wavered as though Jarvis had convinced him. In the
meantime Dorrimore had sheathed his sword and stepping close to Vane in
front of Sally Salisbury, he said, dropping his voice so that Sally
should not hear:
"Your friend's right. If we fight it should be over somebody better than
a common trull. What say you to Lavinia Fenton?"
Vane staggered as though Dorrimore had struck him.
"Lavinia Fenton?" he faltered. "What--what do you know--about her? What
is she to you?"
"Simply this--she's mine, and I'll have the blood of any man who
attempts to rob me of her. You tried once, and this follows."
Dorrimore tapped the hilt of his sword.
"I never saw you before, sir, but I take you at your word. I can see now
you've forced this quarrel on me, and for aught I know Mistress