Madame Flirt
This was a shot for Mrs. Fenton. Hannah rarely sought to have words with
her mistress, but when she did she stood up to her boldly. Mrs. Fenton
was discomfited and Hannah, snatching the dish Betty handed to her,
vanished to appease the hungry customer, leaving the angry woman to chew
over her wrath as best she might.
Mrs. Fenton gradually cooled down. In half an hour's time the market
would be in full swing and most of her customers would be gone. Though
she was dying to know what had brought her daughter home, the story
would not spoil by keeping. Besides, though she was in a pet with
Dobson, she did not want to give him offence and she tried to make
amends for her angry outburst by bestowing upon him extra graciousness.
Before long Hannah was quite able to attend single-handed to the few
lingerers, and Mrs. Fenton went upstairs, eager to empty her vial of
suppressed temper on "that chit," as she generally called Lavinia.
She entered her own bedroom expecting to find the girl there, but
Lavinia had no fancy for invading her mother's domains and had gone into
the garret where Hannah slept. Dead with fatigue, mentally and bodily,
she had thrown herself dressed as she was on Hannah's bed and in a few
minutes was in a heavy sleep. But before doing so she slipped under the
bolster something she was holding in her left hand. It was the purse
forced upon her by Lancelot Vane.
Mrs. Fenton stood for a minute or so looking at her daughter. She could
not deny that the girl was very pretty, but that prettiness gave her no
satisfaction. She felt instinctively that Lavinia was her rival.
"The baggage is handsomer than I was at her age, and I wasn't a fright
either or the men wouldn't ha' been always dangling after me. With that
face she ought to get a rich husband, but I'll warrant she's a silly
little fool and doesn't know her value," muttered the lady, her hands on
her hips.
Then her eyes travelled over the picturesque figure on the bed, noting
everything--the shoeless foot, the stockings wet to some inches above
the small ankles, the mud-stained skirt, the bedraggled cloak saturated
for quite a foot of its length. Her hair had lost its comb and had
fallen about her shoulders. Mrs. Fenton frowned as she saw these signs
of disorder.
Then she caught sight of a piece of paper peeping from the bosom of the
girl's dress. The next instant she had gently drawn it out and was
reading it. The paper was Dorrimore's letter.
"Of course, I knew there was a man at the bottom of the business. And a
marriage too. Hoity toity, that's another pair of shoes."
She threw back a fold of the cloak, and scrutinised Lavinia's left hand.
"No wedding ring!" she gasped. "I might ha' guessed as much. Oh, the
little fool! Why, she's worse than I was. _I_ wasn't to be taken in by
soft whispers and kisses--well--well--_well_!"
The lady bumped herself into the nearest chair, breathed heavily and
smoothed her apron distractedly. Then she looked at the letter again.
Her glance went to the top of the sheet.
"So, no address. That looks bad. Who's Archibald Dorrimore? May be that
isn't his right name. He's some worthless spark who's got hold of her
for his own amusement. Oh, the silly hussy! What could that prim
Mistress Pinwell have been about? A fine boarding school indeed! She
can't go back. But I won't have her here turning the heads of the men.
That dull lout, Bob Dobson, 'ud as lieve throw his money into her lap as
he'd swallow a mug of ale. What'll her fine friends do for her now?
Nothing. She's ruined herself. Well, I won't have her ruin me."
Mrs. Fenton worked her fury to such a height that she could no longer
contain herself, and seizing her daughter's shoulder she shook her
violently. The girl's tired eyelids slowly lifted and she looked
vaguely into the angry face bending over her.
"Tell me what all this means, you jade. What have you been up to? How is
it you're in such a state? Who's been making a fool of you? Who's this
Dorrimore? Are you married to him or not?"
The good lady might have spared herself the trouble of pouring out this
torrent of questions. The last was really the only one that mattered.
"Married? No, I'm not," said Lavinia drowsily. "Don't bother me, mother.
Let me sleep. I'll tell you everything, but not--not now. I'm too
tired."
"Tell me everything? I should think you will or I'll know the reason
why. And it'll have to be the truth or I'll beat it out of you. Get up."
There was no help for it. Lavinia knew her mother's temper when it was
roused. Slowly rubbing her eyes she sat up, a rueful and repentant
little beauty, but having withal an expression in her eyes which seemed
to suggest that she wasn't going to be brow-beaten without a struggle.
"I ran away from school to be married," said she with a little pause
between each word. "I thought I was being taken to the Fleet, but when I
saw the coach wasn't going the right way I knew I was being tricked. On
London Bridge I broke the coach window, opened the door and escaped."
"A parcel of lies! I don't believe one of 'em," interjected the irate
dame.
"I can't help that. It's the truth all the same. I cut my arm with the
broken glass. Perhaps that'll convince you."
Lavinia held out her bandaged arm.
"No, it won't. What's become of your shoe?"
"I took it off to break the window with the heel and afterwards lost
it."
Mrs. Fenton was silent. If Lavinia were telling false-hoods she told
them remarkably well. She spoke without the slightest hesitation and the
story certainly hung together.
"After I jumped from the coach I ran to the river, down the stairs at
the foot of the bridge. The water was low and I stood under the bridge
afraid to move. A terrible fight was going on above me. I don't know
what it was about. The shooting and yelling went on for a long time and
I dursn't stir. I would have taken a wherry but no waterman came near.
Then the tide turned; the water came about my feet and I crept up the
stairs. I was in the Borough, but I dursn't go far. The street was full
of drunken people and I crept into a doorway and hid there. I suppose I
looked like a beggar, for no one noticed me. Then when the streets were
quieter I came here."
It will be noticed that Lavinia did not think it necessary to mention
the handsome young man who had rescued her.
While she was recounting her adventures her mother, though listening
attentively, was also pondering over the possible consequences. The
story might be true or it might not, whichever it was did not matter. It
was good enough for the purpose she had in her mind.
"Why didn't you go back to Miss Pinwell's?" Mrs. Fenton demanded
sharply. "I see by this scrawl that it isn't the first time you've
stolen out to meet this precious gallant of yours."
And Mrs. Fenton, suddenly producing the letter which she had hitherto
concealed, waved it in her daughter's face. Lavinia flushed angrily and
burst out:--
"You'd no right to read that letter any more than you had to steal it."
"Steal it? Tillyvalley! It's my duty to look after you and I'm going to
do it. Why didn't you go back to the school as you seem to have done
before?"
"Because the key of the front door was in my reticule, and that was
snatched from me or it slipped from my wrist in the scuffle on the
bridge."
"A pretty how de do, my young madam, upon my word. Miss Pinwell'll
never take you back. Goodness knows what may happen. What'll Mr. Gay,
who's been so good to you, think of your base ingratitude?"
Lavinia's eyes filled with tears. She broke down when she thought of the
gentle, good-natured poet. She could only weep silently.
Mrs. Fenton saw the sign of penitence with much satisfaction and while
twirling her wedding ring to assist her thoughts, suddenly said:--
"You haven't told me a word about this spark of yours. Who is he? What
is he? Some draper's 'prentice, I suppose, or footman, may be out of a
place for robbing his master and thinking of turning highwayman."
"Nothing of the kind," cried Lavinia, furious that her mother should
think she would so bemean herself. "I hate him for his falseness, but
he's a born gentleman all the same."
"Oh, is he? Let's hear all about him. There's no address on his letter.
Where does he live?"
"I shan't tell you."
"Because you're ashamed. I shouldn't wonder if he wasn't a trull's bully
from Lewknor's Lane or Whetstone Park. The rascals pass themselves off
as sparks of fashion at ridottos, masquerades and what not and live by
robbery and blood money. I warrant I'll soon run your fine gentleman to
earth. He talks about telling his father. Pooh! That was but to bait the
trap and you walked into it nicely."
Her mother's insinuations maddened poor Lavinia. The mention of
Lewknor's Lane and Whetstone Park, two of the most infamous places in
London, was amply sufficient to break her spirit, which indeed was Mrs.
Fenton's intention. The worst of it was that after what had happened she
had in her secret heart come round to the same opinion so far as the
baiting of the trap was concerned. She was far too cast down to make
any reply and wept copiously, purely through injured pride and
humiliation.
"You must leave me to deal with this business, child," said Mrs. Fenton
loftily. "If the young man really belongs to the quality and what he
writes about his father is true, then his father must be made to pay for
the injury his son's done you. I suppose he's told you who his father is
and where he lives, and _I_ want to know too. If I'm to get you out of
the mess you're in you must help me."
"I won't," gasped Lavinia between her sobs. "I don't want to hear
anything more about him or his father either. I wish to forget both of
them."
"Humph! That won't be so easy as you'll find, you stubborn little fool.
Keep your mouth shut if you like. I'll ferret out the truth without
you."
And stuffing the letter into her capacious pocket, Mrs. Fenton stalked
out of the room and directly she was outside she turned the key in the
lock. Lavinia, too exhausted in body and too depressed in mind to think,
sobbed herself to sleep.
CHAPTER VII
"I WISH I WERE A RICH LADY FOR YOUR SAKE"
Lavina awoke to find Hannah in the room. The maid had brought in a cup
of chocolate and something to eat.
"I'm a dreadful sight, Hannah," said she dolefully.
"You'll be better when you've had a wash and done your hair. Your
cloak's spoilt. What a pity! Take it off and let me brush away the mud
and see if I can smooth out the creases."
Lavinia stretched herself, yawned and slowly pulled herself up, sitting
on the side of the bed for a minute or two before she commenced her
toilette. Hannah helped her to dress to the accompaniment of a running
commentary on the state of her clothing.
"What am I to do about shoes?" asked Lavinia, when this part of her
wearing apparel was reached.
"You won't be wanting any for a time I'm thinking, Miss Lavvy."
"Not wanting any shoes? Whatever do you mean?"
"Your mother means to lock you in this room for a while. She was for
keeping you for a day or two on bread and water, but I talked her out of
it."
Lavinia started in dismay. Then she burst out:--
"I won't endure such treatment. I won't, Hannah! You'll help me to run
away, won't you?"
"Not till I know what's going to become of you."
"But if I'm a prisoner you're my gaoler and you can let me out whenever
you choose."
"No I can't. I've to hand over the key to your mother."
"So you can after I'm gone."
"And what do you suppose I'm to say to her when that happens?"
"Oh, what you like, Hannah. I don't believe you're afraid of anybody.
You're so brave," said Lavinia, coaxingly.
"Well, well, we'll see. But I warn you, child, I'm not going to let you
come to harm."