Madame Flirt
"So it doesn't interest you now to know anything about poor Lance Vane?"
It was not the pale moonlight that made Lavinia's cheeks at that moment
look so white. Gay, who was gazing fixedly at her, saw her lips quiver.
"Poor Lance Vane? Why do you speak of him like that? Has he had his play
accepted and has it made his fortune?" she exclaimed ironically.
"Neither the one nor the other. Ill luck's dogged him. I fear he wasn't
born under a prosperous star."
"I'm sorry if he's been unfortunate. Perhaps though it was his own
fault."
A note of sadness had crept into her voice as Gay did not fail to note.
"Well, it's hard to say. To be sure, his tragedy would not have taken
the town--neither Rich nor Cibber would have aught to do with it, but he
had worse misfortunes than that. He was denounced as a traitorous
Jacobite and thrown into Newgate."
"That horrible place! Oh, I can't believe it," cried Lavinia, clasping
her hands. "Mr. Vane was no traitor, I'm sure--although----"
She paused. Politically Lancelot Vane might be incapable of treason, but
where love was concerned--well, had he not acted traitorously towards
her?
"That's true. Vane was no traitor. He was accused out of spite. I went
to see him in Newgate. They had thrust him in the 'lion's den,' the most
filthy and abominable of infernos, and he was loaded with fetters. That
was because he hadn't a penny to 'garnish' his sharks of gaolers. You
know what 'garnish' means, child?"
"Yes, indeed--money to bribe the gaolers with."
"Aye, from the Governor downward, and not forgetting the chaplain. I was
able by flinging about a few guineas to better his condition, and as the
gaol fever was creeping upon the poor fellow, they were glad enough to
get rid of him. While I was there, he told me the whole story. It began
like most other stories with a woman."
"Oh, I know," burst out Lavinia, "you needn't tell me. The woman was
that worthless creature, Sally Salisbury."
"You're wrong there," returned Gay gravely, "the woman's name was
Lavinia Fenton."
"That's not so. It couldn't be so. The newspaper said that Vane fought
with Archibald Dorrimore, and that the quarrel was about Sally
Salisbury."
"The quarrel was part of the plot. It was concocted to hold up Vane to
your scorn. Dorrimore wanted revenge because he thought Vane had
succeeded where he had failed. True, Sally was present when the quarrel
began, but that might have been an accident. Indeed, it's possible she
was in the plot. Vane doesn't know one way or t'other."
Lavinia was silent for a few moments. Then she said:
"And is Mr. Vane in Newgate now?"
"No. He was brought to trial after innumerable delays. The evidence
against him amounted to nothing. The witnesses--one of them a lying
wretch who ought to be whipped at the cart's tail from Newgate to
Charing Cross, by name Jeremy Rofflash--were scoundrelly common
informers of the lowest type. Lancelot's father, a Whig clergyman and
strong supporter of King George, appeared in court to speak on behalf of
his son's character, and the lad was acquitted. But I fear he's broken
in health, and I doubt if he'll be the man he was before."
Again Lavinia was silent. It was all very sad, and she felt full of pity
for Lance. But at the back of her thoughts lurked the remembrance of
Sally Salisbury's mocking face, of her vulgar spite. She was not
altogether convinced that Lancelot Vane was insensible to Sally's
undoubted attractions. She sighed.
"To-morrow, then," went on Gay, "I shall bring you the songs I want you
to learn."
They had now come in sight of Betty's cottage. Lavinia pointed it out to
her companion, and Gay, bidding her adieu, turned in the direction of
Hampstead village.
Pensively Lavinia walked towards the cottage. She had told herself over
and over again that she cared no more for Lancelot--that she had blotted
him out of her life--that she wanted neither to see him nor to hear of
him. Yet now that he had gone through so terrible an ordeal she had a
yearning to offer him her sympathy, if not to forgive him.
"No, I can't do that," she murmured. "Accident or not, that vile woman
was with him--his arms were round her. I'll swear my eyes didn't play me
false."
Suddenly she heard a halting step behind her. The heath at night was a
favourite haunt of questionable characters from dissolute men of fashion
to footpads, and a lone woman had need to dread one as much as the
other. Betty's cottage was but a few yards away, and Lavinia quickened
her pace.
"Miss Fenton--one moment, I entreat," came in a panting whisper. "I--I
am Lancelot Vane. I must speak with you."
CHAPTER XXIV
"FOR THE SECOND TIME VANE HAD RISKED HIS LIFE FOR HER"
Lavinia stopped and turned, not completely round but half way. She was
in a flutter, though outwardly calm. She made no attempt to recognise
Vane, and indeed had Lancelot not announced himself, recognition would
have been difficult, so greatly had he changed.
"You've forgotten me. You're right," he went on agitatedly. "I deserve
to be forgotten, though if you knew of the dastardly plot to crush me I
believe even _you_ would forgive me."
"Even _I_? Am I, then, so hard-hearted?"
"No, I don't believe you are, but everything looked so black against me
I could scarce hope that you would listen to what I have to say. And
there's so great a difference between our fortunes. Mine's blighted.
Yours--I heard you sing to-night. 'Twas ravishing. You're destined to be
famous. Mr. Gay confided to me his hopes about you. Did he say how good
he was to visit me in Newgate--that hell upon earth?"
"Yes, Mr. Gay is the best man living. I owe everything to him."
"I know--I know. He went over your story. You're wonderful. But I always
thought that, though I knew so little about you."
He paused. His glistening eyes scanned her face eagerly. He would have
given worlds to know what was in her mind and heart. But she gave him no
chance. She remained impassive.
"You've been very unfortunate, Mr. Vane. I'm truly sorry for you."
"That's something," said he gratefully. "It consoles me for what I've
gone through. The lies told by Rofflash and Jarvis, who I thought was my
friend, nearly sent me to Tyburn."
"And Mistress Salisbury?"
Lavinia's manner was as cold as ice. It was only by a great effort that
she forced her lips to utter Sally's name. She knew it meant a deadly
thrust for Vane, but a woman has no mercy where another woman is
concerned.
Vane hung his head.
"I don't know what to think about her," said he huskily. "I can hardly
believe she was in the conspiracy to consign me to the gallows."
"Why not? Is she in love with you?"
"How can I tell? I--I--well, I suppose I may say in justice to her that
she did her best to nurse me through the fever that followed my wound."
"Then she does love you," cried Lavinia roused out of her coldness. "I
can't imagine the creature doing a good action without a strong motive."
"I've heard say she's generous and is always ready to put her hand in
her pocket to help anybody in distress."
"Very likely. It's easy to be generous with money that comes so lightly.
Every guinea she spends is tainted," exclaimed Lavinia passionately.
"And so you accepted her help?"
"Not in money. She found me grievously ill at Dr. Mountchance's on
London Bridge. Mountchance is a quack and a charlatan, and she had me
carried to her own lodgings else I must have died. I'd scarce recovered
from my wound when I was arrested at Rofflash's instigation and thrown
into Newgate."
"I suppose she did right and you, too, Mr. Vane," rejoined Lavinia with
a toss of her head. "It is naught to do with me. Let us talk of other
matters. Mr. Gay tells me your father's a clergyman."
"Yes. He would have had me be one too, but I hated everything to do with
the Church. We parted in anger, and I went my own way. Ill luck followed
me. I've made a mess of my life. Everything went wrong. I thought
Fortune was coming my way when I met you, but she turned her back."
"That wasn't my fault, Mr. Vane."
"Great heaven, no! 'Twas entirely my own folly and accursed fate. I've
no one to blame but myself. Wine was an easy way of drowning my
troubles."
"You've no need to remind me of that, Mr. Vane," put in Lavinia hastily.
"I beg your pardon for going over my sins, but open confession's good
for the soul, they say."
"I'd rather not hear about your sins, Mr. Vane. I don't want to listen
when you talk like that. Tell me something of the other side."
"I doubt if there is another side," he rejoined in deep dejection. "I've
had to come back to my father. He's vicar of a parish not far from here.
You see my stay in Newgate and my trial ruined me. The publishers
refused me employment and even my old companions turned their backs upon
me."
"That was no loss."
"Perhaps not, but it convinced me I was done for in London."
"What do you intend to do, then?"
"I can't tell. Nothing, I suppose. I had my tragedy returned, and I've
no heart to write another--except, maybe, my own, and that will have to
be the task of somebody else."
"What do you mean? You're talking in riddles. How can anybody else write
your tragedy?"
"Anybody who knew the facts could do it. You could. No one better. The
end's the difficulty--for you, not for me. But sooner or later you'd
hear what the end was."
Lavinia grasped his wrist tightly, and looking into his face, saw his
lips twitching convulsively.
"I understand," she burst out, "you mean to take your own life. Oh...."
"A tragedy must have a tragic finish or it isn't a tragedy. What have I
left but for the curtain to come down?"
"You're talking nonsense. Think of your father--your mother, if you have
one."
"The best in the world, poor soul."
"Very well, that settles it. You're more fortunate than I am. My
mother's about the worst."
"Anyhow, one must die sooner or later. I was within an ace of death two
months ago. The gallows wouldn't have been worse than a Hampstead pond."
"You're more foolish than ever. I won't listen to you. Swear to be
sensible and think no longer of the miserables. I don't believe you're
much more than a year older than me. Life's all before you."
"Life? A very little bit of it, and what a life! Waiting for death.
Shall I tell you what Dr. Mead, the great physician, told my father who
asked him to see me? 'That young man hasn't long to live. I give him a
year. Killed by the Newgate pestilence.' Now, what do you say, Miss
Fenton?"
"Don't call me Miss Fenton," cried Lavinia, her voice quivering. "It
makes us seem miles apart. You poor fellow! But doctors aren't always
right."
"This one is. I feel it. But I don't care so long as you forgive me and
make me believe I'm no longer a stranger. You do pardon me, don't you,
Lavinia?"
"Oh, yes--yes--let us forget everything but our two selves," she cried
impulsively. Her heart was overflowing with pity. She held out both her
hands. He seized them and raised them to his lips.
"May I meet you to-morrow?" he whispered. "The only thing I would live
for is the joy of seeing you, of hearing your voice. It will be but for
a short time."
"Oh, you mustn't say that. You don't know," she cried tremulously.
A wistful smile stole over his wan face. Silently he held her hands for
a few seconds, pressed them spasmodically and the next moment they were
free. He had crept away.
A wave of emotion swept over Lavinia. Her temples throbbed. A lump rose
in her throat. Her eyes were streaming. She was inexpressibly sad.
Jealousy, resentment, every harsh feeling had disappeared. Though she
had tried to combat Vane's dismal forebodings a conviction was gradually
forcing itself upon her that he was right. He was a doomed man.