Fallen Fortunes Read online

  *CHAPTER XVI.*

  *A NIGHT ADVENTURE.*

  The all-important Duchess of Marlborough had taken one of her sudden andsomewhat vehement and exacting likings for the Lady Geraldine. This wasa matter of no small gratification to Lord and Lady Romaine,notwithstanding the fact that the mother felt some jealousy and vexationthat her daughter should have been singled out for this distinguishedlady's favour, whilst she herself was entirely passed over. Still shewas woman of the world enough to accept the situation with philosophy.She always declared freely that the Duchess bored her to death, and thatshe would never be able to put up with her temper and her autocraticways. But she was glad enough to let Geraldine visit at MarlboroughHouse whenever an invitation (or rather summons) came for her; andGeraldine herself was glad and thankful to go, for here at least she wassafe from the unwelcome and ever more pressing attentions of LordSandford. And above and beyond this, her parents were disposed to treather with more respect since she had been "taken up" by the Queen'sfavourite. When she begged of her father not to make any promise toLord Sandford regarding the disposition of her hand, he laughinglyconsented to wait awhile; for in his heart he began to wonder whetherhis beautiful daughter might not do better for herself. Lord Sandford'sreckless expenditure was becoming the talk of the town, and unless hehad larger reserve funds to draw upon than were known, he might possiblyfind himself in awkward straits. In the house of the Duchess, Geraldinemight possibly meet admirers with more to recommend them or at leastwith prospects more sound and secure. It is true that Lady Romainestill upheld her favourite Sandford's suit as warmly as ever; but LordRomaine was quite willing to accede to his daughter's request, and tolet things take their own course without bringing matters at once to aclimax. Lord Sandford was not to be dismissed; but Geraldine was not tobe coerced.

  It was natural that the girl should welcome with pleasure and gratitudea friendship which brought her immunity from what promised to becomesomething very like persecution. Her occasional visits to MarlboroughHouse formed the brightest spots in her present life.

  If the Duchess were proud, capricious, autocratic, and uncertain intemper, as her detractors declared, at least she possessed warm and deepfeelings, and could be infinitely agreeable and kindly when she chose.To Geraldine she was uniformly gentle and sympathetic. Perhaps shealready felt that she had passed the meridian of her days of power. Thekinswoman, Abigail Hill (now Mrs. Masham), whom she had first introducedto the Queen, was rapidly rising in royal favour, and seemed likely toprove not only a rival, but a supplanter. It had not come to that yet;and the return of the Duke, covered with glory and honour, averted for awhile the calamity already overshadowing her. But so clever and astutea woman could not be altogether blind to the Queen's waning affection;and perhaps the consciousness of her own faults and shortcomings, andher unguarded temper, helped at this juncture to soften the asperitiesof this rough but sterling nature, and disposed her to take pleasure inthe sincere and undisguised affection and admiration of this beautifulgirl.

  Geraldine on her part took great pleasure in the society of one who heldin a semi-masculine contempt the follies, frivolities, and buffooneriesof the present day code of manners. Of men and women alike, the Duchessspoke with hearty scorn, her eyes flashing and her lips curling in afine contempt. Her influence at Court had always been on the side ofgravity, decorum, and what the fashionable dames and gallants called"dullness." She and the Queen were at one in all these matters, as theywere at one in their ideas of conjugal fidelity and the sacredness ofthe marriage bond. The Queen was as devoted to her weak-minded husbandas the Duchess to her victorious lord. Both held in detestation thelaxity which prevailed in the world of fashion, and neither cared forthe criticisms passed upon the dullness of the Court, so long as itsvirtue was preserved untainted.

  Geraldine, sickened by what she saw and heard at the gay routs to whichshe had been taken in her mother's train, felt the solemn statelygravity of the Duchess's house as a haven of rest. She spent her timeduring her visits in the private apartment of the great lady, where thelatter came and sat whenever she had leisure to do so, writing shortnotes to her husband, to be dispatched by special couriers, or talkingof him and his triumphs, or the prospects of the war or of parties athome, to one who was eager to learn and ready to take a keen andintelligent interest in all, and whose sincere admiration and affection,expressed rather in looks and little unconscious actions than in words,seemed to soothe and refresh her not a little, accustomed as she was tofull-mouthed flatteries to her face, and the scheming of jealousy behindher back.

  With the return of the Duke came a break in these pleasant visits. Butthe break was not final in any sense of the word, and Geraldine receivedmany little affectionate notes, expressing a hope of seeing more of herwhen they could escape from attendance at Court, and enjoy a season ofprivacy in their own house. At first it was necessary for the Duke tobe constant in his attendance at Whitehall or Kensington Palace, and theDuchess went with him. But a day came at last when Geraldine wassummoned to Marlborough House, to spend the afternoon with the Duke andDuchess, and to remain through the evening with the latter, as the Dukehad to attend a meeting of friends at Lord Halifax's house, and theDuchess desired to keep the girl, asking that her chair might not besent for her until eleven o'clock.

  Geraldine was pleased and excited by this prospect; for as yet she hadnever seen the Duke at close quarters, though from all she had heard ofhim from his wife and others she felt as though he were familiar to her,and her admiration for him was very great. She had heard of his weaknesswhere money was concerned, and she knew that he had more than oncechanged sides in his politics, and even in his loyalty. But those weredays of change and confusion, when it was often difficult to see the wayclear before one, and when the outlook varied so continually withchanges of dynasty and of foreign and domestic policy that a perfectlyconsistent and straightforward walk in life was a thing almostimpossible of achievement. The girl was not disposed to criticise him orsuspect him of overmuch self-seeking. Still less so when the charm ofhis personality was brought to bear upon her. She well understood allshe had heard respecting his powers of fascination, and felt that shecould have listened for ever to the music of his voice, watching thechanging expressions of his handsome, mobile features, and the gracefultelling gestures of his beautiful white hands.

  They enjoyed a little quiet dinner in their private apartments, almostunattended by servants. And it was as they sat with wine and driedfruits before them, awaiting the moment when the Duke must take hisleave, that he suddenly addressed his wife,--

  "Ha, Sarah! There is a question I have wanted to put a hundred times,but ever when it sprang to my lips the moment was not favourable. Tellme, has a young gentleman of prepossessing appearance ever presentedhimself to you with my amethyst ring as token of his good faith? I didsurely tell you of the narrow escape I had at the battle of Ramillies,and how that I was saved and helped by the timely assistance of agallant young English traveller."

  "You did, my good lord; and I have greatly desired myself to see and tothank this young gentleman for the service rendered. You did warn methat you had bidden him come to me, if in need of any favour orinfluence. A warm welcome should have been his at any time, but he hasnever presented himself."

  "Let us hope, then, that he has prospered without our aid," spoke theDuke. "He did tell me somewhat of himself, and I do remember how that Ithought his future something uncertain. But the details of his storyhave escaped my memory, and I fear even his name is not clearlyremembered. It was Grey--the Christian name--that do I recollect; forhe said it was that of a kinsman of his whom I had overthrown atSedgemoor in the days of the rebellion in the west. Grey, Grey--yes,that is clear; but for the rest--"

  "Could it have been Sir Grey Dumaresq?"

  Geraldine's was the voice which broke in here. They turned and looked ather. Her face was flushed: her eyes were bright. The Duk
e smiled as hemade instant reply.

  "Grey Dumaresq--that was the name. Say, fair lady, is this man known toyou? I would fain renew my acquaintance with him, and show him sometoken of gratitude."

  "I know not where he is now," answered Geraldine. "For a while he wasdwelling with Lord Sandford, as his friend and comrade. But they saythat they had some quarrel. Strange stories were told of them. And SirGrey disappeared--no man knows whither. Many whispers and rumours havegone forth concerning him, even to the one which said that he had takenthe part of the Youth in the representation you did witness, your Grace,at the theatre."

  "It was not Grey Dumaresq whom I did see afterwards," spoke Marlboroughquickly. "I do not forget faces. I should have known him instantly.That report could not be true."

  Geraldine's face was changing colour every moment; her breath came thickand fast. Heretofore she had spoken no word of this matter, which hadbeen on her mind night and day for long. Now an impulse of speech cameover her.

  "Ah, but the actors have changed," she said. "I did hear from ourservants that the old man who played Father Time was taken ill the verynight that they played at our house; and your Grace doth know," turningto the Duchess, "how that my dress caught fire, and how that the youngactor did spring down and extinguish the flames, escaping away ere wecould call him back to thank him. It was then that I made sure. I hadsuspected it before; but when I saw his face so near, I could not doubt.It was he."

  "Extraordinary!" exclaimed the Duke. "How could things have come tosuch a pass with him? Why had he not sought you out, and told of hisadversity? To be sure, many a gentleman born to fortune falls upon evildays, sometimes through no fault of his own. But with my token--well,there was no need for this. I must consider what should be done. Haveyou seen him since, Lady Geraldine?"

  "Nay; and he has not been acting of late. Two strangers, or rather twoother actors, have been playing the parts since that night. I did askof my mother leave to send and seek him out, that we might at least givehim thanks for the service rendered me; but she would not believe I hadrecognized him aright--she said it was but my fantasy; and for the rest,if the man wanted a guerdon, he had but to come and ask for it. Hence,nothing has been done."

  "Well, 'tis a strange story; and yet, as I saw that representation atthe theatre, I did say within myself that some eye-witness of the battleof Ramillies must have planned and written it. We will think and speakmore of it anon. Stranger things have befallen ere this. It wouldplease me well to befriend a gallant and chivalrous youth, too proud ortoo noble to ask favours for himself. I told him he had something ofthe poet in him. He may have a career before him yet. Well,sweetheart, I must needs be going now; but I will return ere midnight,and Lady Geraldine will beguile the hours of my absence."

  He rose, and kissed his wife with a lover-like devotion which satgracefully upon him, and which to Geraldine seemed in no wiseridiculous, notwithstanding the fact that this couple had grown-upchildren, married themselves. It was a beautiful thing, she thought, tosee how their love survived, and grew in depth and intensity. She wasable to speak of the Duke, when he had gone, in terms which broughtsmiles of pleasure to the wife's face.

  It was a happy evening for Geraldine; for the flame of hope leaped up inher heart, and she felt as though something bright and beautiful hadcome into her life. The Duke had shown interest in the subject of theyoung actor, who had saved her from injury on the night of theperformance at their house. He did not gibe at her half-formed fancy.On the contrary, he seemed disposed to examine for himself the possibletruth of the tale. He would seek out Grey--for Grey, she knew, it was.He would raise him out of obscurity and poverty into the position towhich he was born. There seemed no end to the possibilities of goodfortune which might come to him with the favour and gratitude of theDuke. The girl passed a happy, dreamy evening, these fancies weavingthemselves into a background for her thoughts, whilst she talked withthe Duchess of the Duke's magnificent reception, of the palace ofBlenheim being erected at the cost of the nation for a residence forhim, and of the honours to which he was likely to attain through hisgenius and the favour of her Majesty.

  She was in the same happy frame of mind when she got into her chairshortly before midnight; for the Duchess kept her talking till past thetime arranged, and it never occurred to her to be afraid of the darknessof the ill-lighted streets. She had her bearers--her father's liveriedservants. And, after all, the distance to traverse was not so verygreat.

  She had not proceeded far, however, before she was aroused from herpleasant reverie by the sounds of shouts, yells, and hurrying steps.She felt her own bearers break into a run, and the chair swayed fromside to side in a fashion that was alarming. Something struck sharplyagainst the panels, then a shower of missiles seemed to rattle againstits side. Her own men yelled aloud in fear or pain, and next moment thechair seemed to be heavily dropped, and the air was rent with sounds ofstrife, the fall of weapons, and cries of pain and terror. There was nomistaking what had happened. She was the object of some attack from thestreet bullies; but whether by a luckless chance or by premeditation anddesign, the frightened girl could not guess. The thought of LordSandford and his unscrupulous ways flashed into her mind, and a shudderran through her frame. She could see little or nothing of what was goingon without. Her breath had dimmed the window-panes; there was scarcelyany light in the streets. Never was any creature more helpless than alady shut into one of the cumbersome chairs of the period. She could byno means get out, or even let down a window from within; and before manyminutes had elapsed, the girl was perfectly certain that her bearers hadrun wildly away to save their own skins, and that she was left to themercy of one of the lawless bands of street marauders, the terror of thehelpless old watchmen, powerless to cope with them, the scandal of thewhole town.

  For a moment it seemed as though pursuers and pursued had alike left heralone, and she made at that juncture a frantic but useless effort toescape from her prison. Then roars of laughter and the trampling offeet assured her that her foes were coming back, and she closed her eyesand set her teeth, and, clasping her hands, tried to frame a few wordsof prayer, for she knew not what next would betide her. A hand seemedfumbling with the chair. In another moment it would be thrown open. Butere that moment had arrived a new sound arose. More footsteps cametearing along--a fierce voice--shouts of derision--more blows--moreoaths--cries of pain and anger--fierce threats--savage recriminations.What was going on? Had some one flown to the rescue? Oh, when wouldthe horrid scene end? These men were capable of doing to death anysingle or unarmed man who tried to stand between them and their brutalpastimes.

  But what was this? Another sound! The roll of wheels--a commandingvoice that she knew ringing through the darkness of the night,dominating all other sounds.

  "It is the Duke--the Duke himself!" cried Geraldine, falling back almostfainting on the cushions; but the next minute lights were flashing roundher, then the head of the chair was lifted off, and she saw the Dukehimself bending towards her, his face full of concern and anxiety.

  "What! The Lady Geraldine! Then, indeed, I come in good time. Are youhurt, sweet lady? Answer quick! For these villains shall not escape soeasily, if you are."

  "No, no, I am not hurt; but I fear me some one is who came to my rescue.I heard him shout to them to stop their coward play. They were about tolook inside the chair, but they all turned upon him with shouts ofderision and fury. I trow he gave them blow for blow, for I heard themyell and swear the fiend was in him. Oh, I fear me they must have beentoo many for him, and that he has been injured in my defence. Pray,your Grace, let your people see to it. I might have been grosslyill-treated but for his opportune arrival."

  "There is a young man lying in the roadway here, your Grace," spoke oneof the servants, "his clothes half torn from his back, his headbleeding, and his arm broken. I think he is not of that band wedispersed, for I saw one of them deal him a kick and swear a lusty oathat him as they ran off.
"

  "Oh, it is my preserver--I know it is!" cried Geraldine, with tears inher eyes. "Ah, your Grace will know what to do."

  "Why, put him into the coach, and take him home," spoke Marlborough atonce, his well-known humanity towards his wounded soldiers extendinginstantly to this injured citizen, who had risked perhaps life itself onbehalf of law and order, and in defence of some unknown victim. "And asfor you, Lady Geraldine, you must likewise return with me. I cannotsuffer you to be abroad with these bands of ruffians prowling thestreets. I will send a message to your father's house, and yourdispersed servants will doubtless find their way home in time. LordRomaine shall know you safe; but you must return with me to-night."

  Geraldine was only too thankful to do so. The very presence of thegreat Duke, calm and fearless, dissipated her fears and gave herconfidence. She saw him superintend the lifting of the injured andunconscious man into the coach, heard him give directions to theservants to drive direct to Marlborough House, and then he himself tookup his position beside her chair, and walked with it till they enteredthe hall of his great house, where she was suffered to alight, to be metby the Duchess (to whom a messenger had been hastily dispatched), andembraced by her with a motherly solicitude of which Lady Romaine wouldhave been quite incapable.

  "My dearest girl, what a terrible fright has been yours! Oh, how Irejoice that no hurt has come to you! I should never have forgivenmyself for detaining you so long. Ah! and what have we here? Poorcreature! he surely is not dead! What a ghastly object! Come away,dearest; it is no sight for you. What? He came to your rescue? Oneagainst a band? No wonder he has been roughly handled. Oh, he shall bewell tended; I warrant you that. Yes, let him be carried into yonderante-room. He shall have his wounds washed and dressed, and we will hearhis story later. Geraldine, my love, what ails you? What do you seethat you should look like that?"

  For Geraldine's eyes, fixed upon the face of the wounded man beingcarried into the hall under the personal direction of the humane Duke,had grown fixed and glassy, and every drop of blood had ebbed from herface, leaving it of a marble hue.

  As the sense of the Duchess's questions penetrated to her senses, thegirl grasped her by the hand and whispered in tones of unrestrainableemotion,--

  "It is he! it is he! And he has laid down his life for me!"

  "It is who? What mean you, child? Do you know the--the gentleman?"asked the Duchess, perplexed and bewildered in her turn.

  Geraldine's grip on her hands was firmer and faster.

  "It is he of whom we were speaking but this evening. It is Sir GreyDumaresq himself."

  With an exclamation of amaze, the Duchess stepped forward to get abetter view of the white and blood-stained face. She saw now that,despite his torn and muddy garments, his lack of all the fine adjunctsof the man of fashion, even to the falling wig, so essential to theequipment of the "gentleman" of the day, it was no low-born personagewho had been carried into their stately house. Something of therefinement of the young man's face and features could be distinguishedeven in the midst of the disfiguring wounds and bruises and mire stains.She grasped her husband by the arm, and whispered in his ear,--

  "Husband, look well at yonder man, for Geraldine declares it to be SirGrey Dumaresq, of whom we were speaking but a few hours back. What astrange thing, if it be!"

  Marlborough bent over the young man, less with the intent of identifyinghim at the present moment as of ascertaining the extent of his injuries,and whether life yet remained whole in him. Experience on thebattlefield had given him considerable powers of discerning thesethings, and he knew that the bludgeons and rapiers of the young bloodsof London streets could do as deadly work as the bullets andsword-thrusts of actual battle.

  Opening the young man's vest to ascertain whether the heart still beat,he saw something sparkling lying within, and the next moment had uttereda quick, sharp exclamation of astonishment.

  Beckoning to his wife to approach, he held up the token--the amethystring which he himself had given to the stranger who had risked so muchfor him upon the field of Ramillies.

  "Then Geraldine is right!" cried the Duchess in great excitement. "Itis Grey Dumaresq; he is found at last."