# Galloping Dick/Chapter 6

Of a Meeting near Fulham, and of a Remarkable Part I played.
Chapter VI
Of a Meeting near Fulham, and of a Remarkable Part I played
It has many times fallen to my good-fortune, in the exercise of my calling, to have encountered persons of high distinction, picked out for cynosures of the public gaze, and marked and predestined to fill a great part in the history of our times. There was his lordship, the Earl of Shaftesbury for one, a Minister of the Cabal, and a cock of the game to boot; and I could tell, if I were minded, of my meeting with Bloody Jeffreys, and of the trick I put upon him; while, to name no other, I had a mighty queer adventure in communion with that dirty toad, Titus Oates. But the sally that best pleased ​my whimsy, and for which, as it chance, I was the least fore-armed, was taken in more exalted company, and when I was yet green on the pad. And I here set my pen to the narrative with the more zest, that the man himself being now dead, and passed into sour disrepute, I am enabled to show him forth for what he was—a sovereign fellow, incomparable with a whole line of high-nosed Dutchmen. Maybe ’twas owing to my very rawness that the escapade took so full a flavour and developed so roundly, for, an’ my wits had been a trifle brisker at the outset, and my eyes had plied smarter than my tongue, I might ha’ stopped short, for sure, upon the threshold of the emprise, that, as it was, I slipped into the affair with a plunge, and for all the world like any micher of ten years old; and this was how it came about.
Having gotten into bad odour upon the North Road, and finding the jannizaries peppered about the posting-stages, I rode into London Town upon the seventh of May, armed with fat pockets, and distended, maybe, with a com​placent satisfaction in myself. I was fair bubbling over the brim with spirits, and ready for to cock a barker or flash an iron at General Monk himself, if so be the occasion should throw me across him. But after a day or so with other roysterers, and my temper still serving, out I flung upon an excursion towards Fulham, for mere devilment, and by no means because my purse was running low. Half-way to the village, and within cry of a tavern, I fell across a carriage, dancing along at a rare pace, richly caparisoned, and with out-riders and all the privileges of wealth. Nothing must suit me then but, like a lusty young fool, to drive myself square across the way, and despatch the horses back upon their prats, setting the coachman and the post-boys yelling in a terrified ubbaboo. And next I popped up to the window, and thrusting my pistol forward, exacted my demands of the occupant, ere ever he guessed what was afoot.
He was mightily perturbed and also inordinately savage, being as I could perceive, a nobleman of mark upon his road to some great house. To ​be rumpadded there, almost within the precincts of London, and upon a night of stark moonlight, and with a score of people within call, could not have been greatly to his taste. But his fuming served him little, for I relieved him of what he had, which, to say the truth, was not very much. I cared not a doit for that, but the distemper with which he took his predicament, together with my own giddy head, set me in a roar, and there I stood in the road, watching the carriage roll away, with my hands to my hips, cackling out of mere levity.
And with that, quite suddenly, a voice says by my side, “Faith, ’twas a very neat piece of horsemanship; and I’ve no wish to see a better.”
You may guess that I started about sharp enough, and there in the moonlight, but his face obscured in the shadow, was a man astride of a big Flanders mare, coolly contemplating the vanishing coach.
“Who the devil may you be?” says I, very much set aback by this apparition, and fingering my pistol uneasily.
​His gaze shifted to me slowly, and he regarded me with a silent scrutiny. I was in the full light, and he might observe every galoon and buckle upon me. But, calm as he was, I was not to be browbeat by his insolence, and so, without further ado, I jogged the nag a step nearer, and says I, drawing my hanger—
“Well,” I says, “an’ you have observed my horsemanship with so much commendation, “Sink me, but you shall have the occasion to test my passados also.”
“Nay, nay,” he says, laughing a little, “but I will take the rest of your reputation on trust, and without any test. ’Tis a point with me to trespass on no man’s calling.”
I looked at him in suspicion, but somehow the humour of his voice assuaged me. Yet I was not going to yield upon the impulse to any current stranger that might punch a hole through me when my back was turned; and so I came still a step nearer, and,
“So be you are honest,” said I. “Let us see old Oliver on your face.”
There was a moment’s hesitation ere he ​moved, but then, with another gentle laugh to himself, he pulled round his mare, and backed into the moonlight, where he remained, regarding me with a catching smile. He was a man of good presence, somewhere about fifty, as I conjectured, with a big nether lip, and a swarthy face, harsh-featured, yet moulded in good humour. I liked the fancy of him, and seeing that I was in a merry mood myself, was for hob-a-nobbing with him at once, an’ he would. But ere I could speak he interposed on my observation of him.
“I trust,” says he demurely, “that you will keep me no longer under old Oliver’s scrutiny than may serve your need, for, to say the truth, I hold something of a traditional antipathy to the name.”
“Zooks!” I said laughing, “and so do I—a scurvy, ranting Anabaptist—a coystril as knew nothing of good liquor and good women.”
“You express the feelings of my family to daintiness,” he returned with his smile, “and I would that my poor father were alive to hear you.”
“You speak well,” says I, “and there’s many ​that would take a journey even out of Hell to spit upon old Noll’s bones.”
“I misdoubt,” he says, reflecting, “if my father had designed that precise abode for himself. But it may well be he was wrong. For my own part I find, no doubt with yourself, this present world a sufficient exercise for my thoughts—the more so that it has sometimes used me shabbily.”
“What calling may you follow?” I asked. “Well,” he says, with a sly look at me, “’tis scarce one for pride, but an’ you press me I must confess that I have the repute of being a somewhat importunate beggar.”
“What!” says I in an amaze, “are you a wheedler?”
“Ah,” he says thoughtfully, “I believe even that term has been put upon me, but the word has an ugly sound, now I hear it.”
“But,” said I, for his appearance set the lie on his statement, “You speak like a man of quality. I’ll warrant you are no common canter.”
“True,” he said suavely. “I am glad that you have observed that. I endeavour to be ​proportionate to my breeding; for, according to the acceptance of my friends, I derive from excellent parentage, though, it is obvious a man may not vouch for so much in his own person.”
“What then?” said I.
“Well,” said he, smiling, “I find my wits use me better than my birth; that is all.”
“Ho! Ho!” I cried, for he spoke with such plain modesty that I could not but give him credence, “I wager you are a man of parts, then, to fig yourself out in this spruce fashion. It serves you very well, I dare swear. And now I am come to think on it you have the cut of a wheedler, and I doubt not also the maw;” and I fell to laughing.
But he made no remark, merely smiling very sedately, and when I was done I addressed him more confidential. “To be frank,” said I, “I took you at the first, seeing that you were not in league with the Old Antick, for one of the lay. But I see you are not the bantam for that. Your face and your paunch betray you,” says I.
“How is that?” he asked, looking at me dubiously.
​“Oh well,” says I, “you were featured and figured for an Adonis. That’s your trade,” I says, “and I’ll warrant I could pin it to you an’ I poked a little closer.”
He smiled broadly, and then putting back his head went off into a gentle inward laugh very joyously.
“My friend,” says he, when he had come to himself, but still chuckling, “you strike home. In sooth I had resolved to keep the matter private, but, egad, there’s no deceiving your eyes,” and he blinked at me humorously.
But meeting his gaze I could not refrain on my part, and off I went into a peal. When I looked at him again he had took his reins in hand, but, leaning forward quickly, I seized the bridle at the mare’s mouth.
“Come, come,” says I, with an oath, “I will have you know, wheedler or applesquire, that you are not your own master while Dick Ryder is in need of you, and since you have sought my company, by God, but you shall keep it until I choose.”
A slight frown contracted his forehead, but ​immediately his eyes lit up with that choice smile of his, and says he—
“My good man,” he says, “I had not presumed to quite such hospitable acquaintance, for in truth I am too little used to such fellowship as yours to desire to lose it hastily.”
“And what the devil,” I cried with asperity, for his tone was something superior, “do you with your ‘good man’? I’ll have you remember that I am any man’s equal, to say nothing of a damned Cupid’s.”
“As for good man,” he replied suavely, “I will not defend the adjective; and in respect of equality—why, I daresay you make a better thing of it than I.”
“Faith,” says I, seeing he spoke so humbly, “maybe I do. But an’ you take my full pockets to heart, there’s stranger things have happened than that I should put you on the road to fortune yourself. I ha’ caged a deal more goldfinches in a week than your kidney would gather in a twelvemonth. In a way I have ta’en a sort of liking to you.”
“You are very good,” says he, as humbly ​as ever, “I should be pleased to learn of you.”
“Oh, damme,” says I, “I’ll teach you a proper trade. ’Tis better than to cozen old madams of their jewels, and to snip the fallals off young punks. Sure, that is a sorry business for a Quaker-bodied respectable old gentleman like you.”
I thought he winced ever so slightly at that, but then, sending me one of his sly and smiling glances, he remarked—
“Captain Ryder, if you can teach me a profession proper to my years, I can promise you the gratitude of my friends;” and, making me a polite bow, he sat in his saddle, as though awaiting orders with docile attention.
But somehow (I could not say why), the terms of his reply deranged me. There was an air about him that was new to me, and I was bewildered whether he was mocking at me, or merely sitting at my feet like an ignoramus. I cast him up with as shrewd a gaze as I might, measuring him from his silver spurs to his big black wig which he wore in the ​last buckle. But soon he interposed in my inspection.
“Captain Ryder,” he said, gravely, “I am awaiting instructions of you.”
I laughed a little at that, being still in my perplexity, but he threw me a glance of reproach.
“I had scarce expected, Captain,” says he, “of one of your acknowledged and well-merited repute to mock at honest enthusiasm, however raw. Humble as I sit, I would scorn to put a slight upon any ardent heart.”
But I was none the more settled for this same speech, which appeared to me to have a savour of the ironic; and yet I could pick no fault in his demeanour. For all that, I was uneasy that he must be laughing at me, and so when he says more gaily—
“Come, Ryder, what say you? Shall we take the road?” I broke out in a blast of irritation.
“Damn you,” I said. “Do you think I have no better use for my limbs than to risk ’em upon a noddy that has lived to fifty years with​out having gotten even a hornbook knowledge of life?”
“The reproach, Ryder,” says he, with an appearance of consideration, “is too cutting. I know women very well, as you must admit.”
“And a fine field that is to grub in,” I says with a sneer.
“’Tis very pleasant,” says he impartially; and at the words spoken very takingly and with such an absence of offence, my dudgeon vanished and I broke into laughter again.
“Damme,” I says, “you’re the man for me, in whatever gutter you make your livelihood; and you shall drink me fair at the “World’s End” to it, or by the Almighty, I’ll batoon your fat paunch.”
The invitation was bluff enough in all conscience, but I suppose he accepted the spirit of it, for he replied, with a glance at his belly—
“Indeed, it is none so monstrous, Ryder, when all’s said. But I will confess that it has outstripped my ambition by several inches. Yet do my friends assure me that it is in no ​wise out of keeping, but rather, if I am to believe them, of quite an elegant distinction. In truth, in my own little circle I am considered for something of a fine gentleman, and ’tis the fashion to aim at my precise girth.”
“A plague on you,” says I, laughing, “you round-bellied old hackney! You need rowels upon you for to keep you trotting, and a fortnight of Little-ease would best meet your case.”
“I may come to that,” says he placidly, “I may come to that, an’ I keep such company.”
It was a merry jest, and not for me to take offence at; indeed I liked him the better for his humour; and pretty soon we were seated in the tavern to ourselves, my lacemonger with a stiff brew of French brandy and me with a quartern of ripe ale. He pulled a sour face over his glass, for the liquor was not to his palate, but I jibed him on his dainty stomach.
“Faugh!” says I, “those light o’ loves spoil you. ’Tis well enough. I know the stuff, as like as not the best brandy ever fetched out of France under His Majesty’s nose. I would ​think shame to live so maudlin as yourself, and you with the makings of a man in you!”
“I must apologise,” he says politely, “for my seeming discourtesy, for the feast is yours. And I have no doubt you are right as to the quality, but I fear me that my taste has been distorted by the stuff {SIC|}} off upon me by my cousin in France.”
“Maybe he is in the trade?” I inquired.
“Oh,” says he, smiling, “a good many hogs-heads pass through his fingers in the year.”
“Ah!” says I with a wink, “and I misdoubt if it pays a farthing to His Majesty.”
“You are right,” said he, with a laugh, “But in truth I have no grudge against His Majesty, so be that I pay nothing.”
“You say well,” says I. “He’s not a bad sort, Old Rowley, but a lazy chicken-spirited dog. ’Twould do him good were someone to fetch him a toe in the hinder-parts upon occasion.”
“Ah!” says he, contemplating my boots with some interest, and then meeting my eyes, “Is he worth it?” he asked smiling.
​“Damme,” says I, echoing his smile, “I don’t know that he is. Let him go to the Devil his own way.”
“You speak my sentiments,” says he.
But soon, what between the drink and the incitement of our talk, and my own new-found liking for the cully, my tongue began to clap merrily. To say the truth, I had purposed to press him upon his name and style, for I felt sure he came of some position, though probably lapsed in fortune; but, like the vain oaf I was, I fell to chattering more of myself than of him, lecturing him like a schoolmaster, and informing him upon the Art of Life.
“Now yours,” I said, “to my thinking is a dirty trade. To dangle at a petticoat, and to be kept in leash like a monkey,—’tis mean-hearted conduct, not to be assumed by a fellow of spunk. Not but what,” I says, “I cannot put a proper value upon a wench. Tame or wild cat, swart or red, Joan or My Lady, so be she have colour to her flesh and marrow to her bones, I’ll play the Spaniard with the best of them. But to stand for ever mak​ing lays against her humour, Lord, ’tis quite another matter, and worth no man’s respectability.”
He had listened to me very seriously, though I thought that his mouth twitched at times, and when I was done he observed with a deprecating manner,
“I fear you would put me to too rigorous a service, Captain Ryder. At my age——”
“Zounds, man,” I interrupted on him, “You may be no green goose, but you’ve the vitals of a man in you yet.”
“’Tis very courteous in you so to reassure me,” he returned with a bow, “But indeed you yourself have reminded me of my habit,” and he glanced at his stomach.
“Gad!” says I, “a week on the Toby will melt that suet.”
He rose, laughing good-humorously, and with an air on him that somehow seemed to dismiss me: but I rose too.
“Faith,” I says, “you are not for horseback yet. The ladies, sure, are not so exigent of your company. I promise you they will not ​grow stale for the lack of the likes of you.”
“Tut, tut!” he cries with acerbity, “you ride a jest to death. I like a man that plays upon more strings than one,” and then, “Come, Ryder, you will observe that I do not twit you with the Road.”
“Oh, damn the Road,” I retorted in a roystering way. “I am in the mind to expend the night after quite another fashion; and had you the spirit of a louse, ’twould be to one of them same ladies you would offer to present me.”
At that his mouth suddenly quivered, and, his eyes sparkling, he laughed faintly.
“But,” says he, “you should consider my profession. Where is my livelihood, should I loose you on my private liberties?”
“Maybe,” said I, smacking my pockets, “we can arrange that atween us.”
“Ah,” said he, turning grave of a sudden, “here’s sense and a commendable business habit?”
I winked at him, “Said is done,” says I, and ​leaning forward, very facetious, dug my knuckles at his waistband.
Upon my motion, and very instantaneously, he withdrew his body out of range, and, his whole face changing, directed on me a short imperious gaze that stayed me in the act. Now I was fairly loosed by the liquor I had boused, to say nothing of the issues of my previous flights, and I could not conjecture to this day what inspired me with the recognition, specially in that bibulous state. But the fact was that throughout our intercourse I had had a growing uncertainty of him, and now, with that flash of his eyes, the discovery came upon me like a thunder-clap, and I fell aback, dazed and disordered, with the knowledge that here was His Gracious Majesty himself that had been my companion!
The revelation abashed me outright, and I stood staring on him, with all my wits aflow, the similitude of his features to the effigies I had seen of him gathering clearer with each moment.
But I suppose he referred my embarrassment ​to his smart rebuke, or to some drunken witlessness, for he smiled at last, and says he, “Well, shall we conclude the bargain?”
But with his speaking consideration came to me and I jumped up, feigning an eagerness, but still very damnably mazed.
“Sink me,” I said, “for sure, and no time will better this.” But all the while my brains were busy with the discovery, and ’tween that and the horsing I had opportunity sufficient to dispose my mind. And first it appeared to me that if it ’twas Old Rowley for certain, it would ill become Dick Ryder to subvert the entertainment he had chosen for himself; and that for so long as he was for being interpreted as a common Adonis, for such I would use him in conduct. Whereas, for a second deduction, seeing that he had put a subterfuge on me so far, damn it, ’twas my privilege to put another upon him, an’ I might. With which determination my thoughts came to a conclusion; and presently, as we were jogging along flank to flank, I says, counterfeiting my former demeanour as near as may be—
​“What style do they put upon this cockatrice, you old satyr?” I says.
If he had taken any suspicions that I had unmasked him this must have settled them, and he replied sedately—“Faith, among so many I can scarce—but yes,” he says, “this must be Mistress Barbara.”
“Barbara,” says I, smacking my lips, “An’ I like the wench as well as her name, I’ll warrant Mistress Barbara and I should be capital company together.”
“Ah,” says he, showing his teeth in a soft smile. “But I would have you warned that this same Barbara hath a spirit. She is particular to the point of phantasy. I have remonstrated more times than I can remember upon her whimsies, but she will aye fly out. They will bear no remedy.”
“As for that,” I said briskly, “I like ’em best with the diabolic. A stark woman and a fist o’ nails for me! ’Tis a welcome diversion for a fellow of mettle.”
But all this time I was casting about to nominate the wench congruous to the rumours ​of the Town, and then the remembrance comes to me, and I knew ’twas the Duchess of Cleveland as he spoke of. And if I was in any doubt before, that resolved me upon the identity of my companion. But I said very little more, though screwed to the pitch of a high sensation, until we drew up before a house near by the village of Kensington. Here Old Rowley jumps to the ground.
“I had forgot to tell you,” says he, turning to me suavely, “that there is a disagreement ’twixt the lady and myself, and it is odds that we shall meet a hot reception.”
But I merely grinned, and presently, the preliminaries being arranged, we were admitted by a foot-boy, and found ourselves set in an ample room, enriched with many pleasant pictures and sumptuously ordered.
“Rip me,” says I, staring about the chamber, “you are a prince among wheedlers to have the freedom of this palace.”
“Oh, I do very well,” he returned affably, and commands me some wine. But just as we were sipping of our glasses comes me in ​a strapping madam, robed in a magnificent gown, and her eyes like the lights in a black pool.
“You rogue,” says I to Old Rowley, “what an admirable taste you show, for sure.”
“I was in hopes,” says he in the same whisper, “that you would have attributed the taste to the lady. ’Tis a compliment they expect.”
But she then, coming forward very rapidly, started aback slightly, on seeing me and drew herself up, questioning His Majesty with her eyes.
“Madam,” says Old Rowley, bowing very gravely, “’Tis a friend of mine—this good gentleman, to whom your name being used with all admiration, he conceived a warm desire to be presented to you; the which, as one acquainted with your catholicity, I have made bold to grant. Like myself, he stands without the Law, following an illicit calling.”
Her brow darkened, and I could perceive at once from various ensigns that she owned ​the temper of a shrew; and says she very coldly, and with an angry look at Old Rowley,
“I am honoured indeed by this gentleman’s admiration,” and then flinging herself into a chair, she cries petulantly, “Lard, what whimsy would you be at now?”
But Old Rowley starts as with surprise, and speaking in a pained voice—“When I tell you, Madam,” he says, “that Captain Ryder has kindly offered to instruct me in the delights of the King’s highway, you will see how much we should be indebted to him for the opportunity to add to our humble fortunes.”
But Madam shrugged her shoulders, and gave vent to a sigh of weariness—seeing which, I presumed to speak up for myself.
“’Tis true enough, Madam,” I says, stepping a pace forward, “what this old humourist says, but sure, he has put it so ceremonious that I scarce recognise the bargain. For ’twas concluded atween us both that, if so be yourself, as was like, being out of stomach with him, should be agog for a new ligby, why here’s ​a claimant for the honour,” with which I flings my glove to the floor.
Her ladyship burst out laughing very sourly, and turning to Old Rowley—
“Is this true?” she asked.
Now I had thought to see him wince at my impudent suggestion, but, Lord, nothing of the kind.
“Why,” he says, with a pretty smile, “’tis set somewhat coarsely, but—” and then, after a show of confusion—“Captain Ryder, you will perceive, would leave you every liberty of selection.”
“I should be accustomed,” says she scornfully, “to be subjected to your vagaries;” and stopped abruptly, seeming to reflect.
Presently she looked up at me with a different face.
“Captain Ryder,” she says with a smile, “you will doubtless pardon my seeming rudeness, but this news has fallen of the suddenest. I make no doubt but we shall be better acquainted presently.”
“Indeed,” I replied grandly. “Better ac​quainted is a phrase that, with your ladyship’s permission, shall be invested with a private meaning.”
“So it shall,” she says quite softly, and looking at me with enticing eyes.
Though it is not my part to brag of my person, I have lived too long not to know the value of a smart coat and a pair of eyes, and I will confess that her ardent glances stung me to the midriff; more particularly as she next turned towards His Majesty, and with a dainty gesture of her arm, addressed me thus—
“Maybe,” she says, “you can persuade your friend, Captain, not to obtrude himself upon us in this unseemly fashion.”
“Why,” says I promptly. “Now his duty is over, he may go to the Devil for me,” and I took a step or so towards Old Rowley.
He seemed a trifle disconcerted, for I reckon ’twas scarce the deportment he had expected in her ladyship; but this was only for a second, and then he bowed very gravely.
“I feared, Madam,” he said, shaking his head, “that this would be my reception, once ​you were seised of a fine bird like this; and so I warned our Captain here.” And then to me—“Ah, Ryder, ’tis a heavy price to pay for your good offices upon the Road,” and feigned to look chapfallen.
“Maybe,” says I, in a huffing way, “But ’twas a fair bargain, and what would you? Should a stalwart, full-bodied piece like Madam here be pulled off with a cockchafer like you? Sink me, you rate yourself too high.”
“In truth,” he murmured, seeming despondent, “you are right. I have but a poor notion of my own pretensions, and yet I will confess it has sharply vexed me to be so discountenanced.”
There he sat, the rogue, leaning easily in his chair, and with a lugubrious expression on his phiz, but his eyes, as I might perceive, very demure and luminous, shooting glances under his brows at Madam. But she avoided him coldly, and turning to me murmured some fancy jape against him under her breath, and went off into a giggle of satiric laughter. ’Twas nothing to the point, indeed, but I slapped my thighs and feigned to roar with her, while I was ​puzzling my brains to know what she was at. Old Rowley directed a quizzical look on us, and crossed his legs calmly. I make no doubt but he was diverting himself hugely, but so was I, for the matter of that, and the more so that I was resolute to turn the tables upon him. So,
“Look on him!” says I, going off again. “A muck-rake like that, as ought, from his investiture, to be a godly sanctimonious saint—to think of him philandering in the courts of Love!”
“Nay,” says Madam, ironically, “you must not be too hard on him. He is as God made him.”
“May He make no such other!” I exclaimed.
“Amen!” says she, with a vicious snap of her teeth.
Suddenly she bent forward to me, where I was seated and put her white hand gently on my shoulder.
“Captain,” she whispered in a cooing voice, “I will be plain with you. This man hath outlasted my endurance, and that’s the fact. ​Lord, what I have stood from him would amaze ye.”
“You shall stand no more,” says I fiercely, but wondering what mischief she was conceiving.
“Indeed,” she says, very softly, “I am beholden to you for your offices. ’Tis he himself that has brought deliverance to me.”
“That is so,” said I, grimly, “I will quit you no more.”
She sighed, and lifting her eyes to mine, thinks to befool me with her blandishments.
“And there is one service you shall do me,” she says very low.
“What is that?” I asked.
“You must know,” she answers, dropping her voice still lower, “that this same fellow has upon him a valuable necklet of mine, the which he has appropriated for himself. Wrest it from him,” she whispers eagerly, “wrest it from him, and let us be done with him for ever.”
At once I got a notion of what lay between them, and the origin of this disagreement. The necklace, I guessed, must ha’ been destined for ​some other light-skirts, and my lady being of a jealous disposition, was in the mind to capture it; while I was the catspaw, was I, to serve her ends. Oh well, thinks I, here’s a new face to the adventure, at the least; and assuming a stern frown, I leaped quickly to my feet and made for Old Rowley, where he sat, very much exercised, I daresay, upon what we were exchanging.
“Hark’ee,” says I, “Master What-be-your-name.” He put his head to one side and regarded me whimsically. “If ’twere not for your years I would learn you smartly to thieve a lady’s goods—and as it is, and to avoid delay, I will have you disgorge me a certain necklace as belongs to Madam here.”
Old Rowley started slightly, and a frown settled on his forehead. He had not anticipated this, I could see, and for a moment he sent a sharp look at her ladyship. But she leaned back and disregarded him.
“What do you mean?” he asked, somewhat
“Oh,” says I, mockingly, “I reckon you are ​aware of my meaning. He that steals from his mistress is a black thief, and you may be thankful if I do not prove that on your jacket.”
He sat still, appearing to think, but manifestly perplexed.
“Come, vomit,” says I, and I raised my hand.
“Sirrah”—he begins quite fiercely, and surveys me. Then all of a sudden he changes, and producing a packet from his pocket, hands it to me with a slight bow, but gnawing his lip all the while. “I acknowledge my fault,” he says. “But indeed ’twas a present of mine to the lady, with a stone for every year of her life.”
As he spoke I was dangling the toy in my finger, and her ladyship’s face, which had been gleaming with satisfaction, flamed suddenly from her natural colour, and she cried out some sharp exclamation—for indeed there were nearer forty jewels in the string than thirty. But the possession of Old Rowley, together with the pat rejoinder which so put her ladyship about, tickled me so, that I could scarce forbear from laughter. And, sooth to ​say, as ’twas the first occasion on which I had confused him, I was mightily pleased with myself; and none the less that I was to upset her ladyship still more plumply. So dropping the trinket in my pocket, I went back to her.
“I have it safe,” says I.
“Give it me,” cries she, all excitement.
“Nay, nay,” says I, “but you shall wear it upon our wedding-night, I vow, not afore.”
For a moment her eyes were shot with fury, and then apparently upon reflection she used another voice.
“You dear villain,” she says in a coaxing tone. “How you would torment me! I fear you are a tantalising rogue.”
“Oh no,” I says, with a cunning look, “but ’tis my usage to drive a proper bargain.”
“Oh fie!” says she, “you misbeliever! Come, let me see an’ it be truly mine.”
I shook my head, sticking my tongue in my cheek. “Never a blink,” said I, “afore that hour you wot of.”
Her eyebrows came down sudden. “Troth,” she says, with a toss of her head, a ’tis not ​gallant to make such terms. Love hath no conditions. I am used to be trusted, Ryder dear.”
And with that Old Rowley, who was seated very inperturbable, and patting a puppy-dog that was in the room, glanced up at me.
“That’s true enough, Ryder,” he says comically, and goes on with his fondling.
“There are times for trusting,” I answered, “and there are times also for caution, but maybe this is time for neither. I will not be hard on ye. You shall exchange this pretty plaything against a veritable number of kisses—a buss for each pearl,” I says.
“How dare you?” she cried imperiously.
“Hoity-toity!” says I, lifting my brows at her, and mimicking her voice. “No one says ‘dare’ to me; and ’tis but to anticipate the event by an hour or so, as you will agree.”
“Sir—” she began, very still, and then she turned quickly upon Old Rowley, who, stooping over his dog, was softly chuckling to himself.
“’Tis you have done this,” she cried angrily. ​“’Tis your device to have instructed this varlet so to insult me.”
He turns a whimsical face on her. “Faith, not I,” he says. “’Tis your own doing, Barbara. You made love to him. Sure, I have never seen a woman court a lover so warmly.”
But here I broke in, counterfeiting a fury. “Varlet,” says I. “And who the Devil gave you leave to put that phrase on me? I will take no such words from no man, and from no woman neither.”
“Leave this room, fellow,” says she haughtily.
“Sink me, if I do,” I says. “Here I have come and here I stay; and what is more, I design to taste those pretty lips on this instant”—with which I made as if to approach her.
But she started away with an evil countenance on her, and Old Rowley sat in his seat, balancing a crown upon the spaniel’s nose, and paying no heed to us. But, presently, her ladyship’s face changed very smartly, when she saw me advance, and she called to old Rowley.
“Will ye witness this?” she says with some agitation.
​But he, looking up, and appearing to notice us for the first time, started to his feet hastily.
“Faith, I beg your pardon,” he says very suavely. “But I am fallen very forgetful. Sure, of course, I will not be trespassing upon two such billing doves,” and marched at once for the door.
But at this intimation her ladyship turned pale, and cried out for him to help her, retreating in his direction, and keeping a fearful eye on me. I was vastly entertained to see the jade’s consternation, for she was well paid for the strategy she used on Old Rowley. He came to a pause by the door, assuming an air of perplexity, and then, when she invoked him once more, feeling, I conceive, that the jest had run far enough, he came up to me, and tapped me on the arm.
“Ryder,” said he, pretending to whisper, but in a voice very audible. “You press her too closely. God forbid that you should fling her back on me. ’Twixt ourselves, I am well quit of her arrant temper. But serve her more gently, and with a proper approach.”
​But I waved my arm impatiently at him. “Stand aside,” says I “for I will buss this recalcitrant Orinda or be damned,” and I reached out my hand as if to seize her.
“You ruffian you!” she cried, stimulated back into her haughtiness by Old Rowley’s intervention. “I will have you whipped at the cart’s tail. I will put my mark on you.”
“Why, for that matter,” I says with a laugh, “and I upon you.”
But she gave a little scream, and Old Rowley stood by, seeming somewhat embarrassed, for it was plain what I was minded to do, and, sooth to say, my blood was hot enough for the job. But upon my venturing another movement she stamped her foot in a frenzy.
“Do you know who I am, fool?” she said. “I am the Duchess of Cleveland, I will learn you to use your hands on persons of quality.”
“Oh, ho,” says I with a boisterous laugh, “’tis high company we enjoy, for sure. Well,” I says, “and I make no doubt that I am the Great Mogul, and this here will be His Gracious Majesty himself.”
​Old Rowley, I saw, looked somewhat disconcerted, and, eyeing me sharply, he says,
“Come, come, Captain, do you not see that you have excited her so far, that she will seek refuge from you in any fiction.”
That turned me on him, for I was tired of the silly wench, and “Who the Devil are you,” I said, “to interfere atween a gentleman and his mistress? I will take it on me to teach you manners,” and forthwith I drew on him.
He was not at all put about by this, but smiled in his soothing fashion.
“No doubt,” he says, looking at my weapon, “’tis the ardent spirit proper to a lover, Captain, but you will perceive that you have drawn upon an unarmed man.”
“Well,” says I, “an’ I may not slice you with the point, I will e’en trounce you with the flat,” and I stepped to him, iron in hand.
And now for the second time Old Rowley’s face fell, and he withdrew a pace, while Madam cried out in an alarm for me to stay my hand, as I knew not what I was doing. But he, ​sending her a command out of his eyes, made me a pretty bow.
“Captain Ryder,” says he, with a rare mastery of himself. “I am in the wrong, for to lack a weapon is no excuse for a gentleman of honour. But an’ I may, I will remedy the want, and we may meet upon any terms you choose.”
“What would you?” I asked.
“I will send a foot-boy for my weapon, and a friend to serve us,” he replied suavely.
I considered, and then, “So be it,” said I, “an’ you bring no bullies of your own kidney upon me.”
“Yourself shall see the letter, Captain,” he says courteously; with which he got him swiftly to the table, and seizing a pen, scribbled me off a note, the which he handed for my inspection.
The epistle was innocent enough, and contained no hint of the circumstances, and moreover, I could ha’ fastened my faith on Old Rowley, that he would not employ treachery against me. But, all the same, and after the ​foot-boy was despatched, I passed the half-hour that ensued in a sweat of conjecture as to what was to fall out. It seemed that I, maybe, must presently cross swords with His Majesty’s own self, the which, as you may imagine, I was in no haste to do. But then I considered that, with the introduction of this friend, the affair might dispose itself suddenly in a new way, and that it was this appearance that was to procure Old Rowley out of his predicament. And yet again, if that were so, I could not but wonder why he did not reveal himself on the moment. In fine I could not bottom his design, which, whatever it was, seemed comfortable enough to him, for he expended his time quite easily, frolicking with the dog, and conducting a casual conversation upon indifferent topics with Madam and me. To see him so urbane and unruffled you might ha’ supposed he was the host enlivening his guests. But Madam had obviously passed into a state of despair, and bit her lips and looked frightened; and once she spoke, appealing to him.
“May not this farce end?” she says. Old ​Rowley looked at her with a polite expression of surprise.
“Farce!” quoth he, as in mild reproach. “You take lightly what may well be a tragedy for me, Barbara. I wish I could simulate your deportment,” and resumed his antics in the coolest manner.
Just upon that there comes me the foot-boy to the door, with the news that a gentleman was waiting upon us below; and then I turned to Old Rowley.
“This is not to betray me?” I says very suspicious.
“I give you my word, Ryder,” he returned heartily. “I will hold no communion with him, and you shall explain the situation yourself.”
At that I ordered the lackey to bring up t’other, and soon there sounds a jangle of spurs in the doorway, and enters a tall fellow, very elegantly dressed. Directly his face was to me, rip me but I could ha’ cried out in chagrin on myself, for ’twas the face, as you will believe me, of no other than the cully that ​I had rumpadded that evening! In a twinkling I had the notion of that old rogue’s manœuvre, but I made no exclamation, holding back as sober as a judge. The newcomer bowed politely to her ladyship and Old Rowley, who, on his part, answering the congee with ceremony, addressed him gravely.
“I am so unfortunate as to pick a quarrel with this gentleman, who will, on his own request, explain your errand,” he says, looking at me without a sign.
T’other turns to me, with a little frown, for he was a staid pompous creature, and maybe did not fancy such escapades; and then his brows contracted, and he scowled very black at me.
“I think, Sir,” he says stiffly, “that I have a little business with this gentleman that must take precedence even of yours.”
“Indeed!” says Old Rowley, with an affable look of surprise; and then, seating himself comfortably, “Pray do not let me interrupt you then.”
“Sirrah,” says my Hector brusquely, “I see you recognise me.”
​Now all this time I was cudgelling of my wits to hit upon a plan of conduct. For the matter of that I should not have minded to try a pass with the solemn ninny on the spot; but I knew that His Majesty was seated as spectator to the play, and it would divert him which way soever the affair went; and I was resolved to derange his enjoyment an’ I might. So, putting on a dumb expression of bewilderment, I stared on the fellow without any intelligence.
“Faith, you have me at a disadvantage,” I says. “I misremember to have met you.”
But he had grown very choleric. “I fancy,” he rejoined grimly, “that I may spur your memory.”
“You will be no bum-bailiff?” I asked innocently. He flew scarlet, laying his fingers on his sword.
“Let me recall you,” he says sharply, “a certain encounter nigh Fulham at eight of the clock this evening—when I had the privilege of meeting with a sturdy rascal, as like yourself as need be.”
​I put up my head haughtily. “Sink me, do you insinuate ’twas I?” I cried.
“You have been long in taking my meaning,” he returned sardonically.
Here was the point for the diversion I had contrived, and so says I, suddenly changing my tone to sullenness, “You cannot prove it.”
“I think,” he says with a laugh, “my word will serve with the justices against a common scampsman.”
“You will not prosecute?” I asked in a cringing note, and Old Rowley pricked up his ears.
“Troth, and I will even now have you charged and clapped in Newgate,” says he angrily.
“What you may do, you may do,” says I very surly, “but I can prove an alibi”
“That,” he says with a sneer, “you shall have the opportunity of doing in the dock.”
“I can bring a witness to support it beyond dispute,” I says.
“Indeed,” he replied ironic, “and who may that be?”
​“Why,” says I, “at eight o’clock I was in the company of His Most Gracious Majesty, King Charles the Second of that name, himself.”
Even as the words were off my tongue I looked at Old Rowley, but to my desperate chagrin he makes never a motion, and not an eyelash budges on him. ’Tis true that Madam gave vent to a little cry, but His Majesty himself sat as still and unconcerned as the dead.
“What is this?” cries Gold-lace, looking from me to Old Rowley in some perplexity, and as though uncertain of his cue.
“I fear, Captain,” says Old Rowley smoothly, “that here is some mistake; for, if you will recollect, ’twas I that had the privilege of your company at the hour you name.”
“Faith, and I made bold to recognise your Majesty,” said I, but feeling something abashed.
“What!” says he, opening nis eyes, and then went off into laughter. “Indeed, Captain, you have honoured me very greatly. But now I ​come to think on it, if you supposed me so, you have used me pretty scurvily for a prince.”
“Are you not the King?” says I, feeling very sheepish, and somehow staggered in my confidence by his demeanour.
“Why, yes,” says he waggishly, “and you are the Great Mogul, as we agreed.”
I stood then, as you may fancy, much dumbfounded, and for the moment at a loss for words, but my Gold-lace friend fetched me to my senses; for says he in his turn—
“Come, come, my good scoundrel, you forget that we have not discharged our business. These shifts will not serve you.”
At that I turned on him very savagely, for I knew ’twas Old Rowley himself, now that the first surprise was over; only I saw no way to deliver myself, and it made me mad to consider that he had been tickled to see me befool myself for Heaven knows how long.
“Damn you,” says I. “An’ this be not His Majesty, why, then, I will claim a prior settlement with him, afore I deal with you.”
​My gentleman said nothing, but glanced at the King, a little startled; and he on his part showed a few signals of embarrassment.
“Come,” says I, encouraged by this success. “An’ I may not cross swords with His Majesty, I may with a plain Master Rowley, shall we say?”
Hereupon His Majesty’s eyes lit up slowly, and the smile broadening on his face, he burst out into merriment.
“On my soul, Captain Ryder,” says he, “I vow you would make a very good Indian Emperor.”
“And you, Mr Rowley,” says I, as quick as himself, “would become a very proper king.”
“Nay, Ryder,” says he, subduing his laughter, but still gaily, “then, I believe that you and I are the only two people in the realm that think so.”
But the other two, both my lady and my lord, stared upon us, for their wits, I reckon, were scarce nimble enough for the change, and they looked astounded to see us conversing as if upon a mutual understanding. Indeed the fellow seemed puzzled to determine if I knew ​’twas the king, and if the king were willing that he should be himself. And he stood like an owl, pursing his lips, till Old Rowley turned to him.
“I fear, Danby,” says he demurely, “that the rogue is right, and that he will escape justice this time. You see, if he were to call upon me I must testify to the truth.”
“As for the matter of my Lord Danby’s purse,” said I, stepping forward, “If your Majesty will recall, it was none so fat, and I misdoubt but we have expended all upon our revels. But an’ I may make restitution in another way, maybe this trinket will suffice for its value;” and down I flung the necklet on the table.
My Lord Danby gaped in an amaze, and Old Rowley, lifting his eyebrows, humorously glanced upon it with a rueful air, and surveyed Madam out of the tail of his eyes.
“Take it, Danby,” says he, “and forgive the varlet.”
But my lord, who was regaining his composure, raised the jewels gingerly on his finger, ​and then, with a sudden assumption of gallantry, very ludicrous to witness in him,
“Nay,” he says, “Here is no trinket for a man,” and with a bow presents it to my lady.
She was hugely delighted, and looked triumphantly at Old Rowley; but he followed the gawd with a quizzical look of dismay.
“Oddsfish,” says he. “Had I bent to the inevitable earlier, we had been saved all this ado.”
“I would not have missed it for a fortune, your Majesty,” says I warmly.
“Ah,” says he, “I daresay not, Captain. But then you come off better than I, by my poor Danby’s purse.”
“Your Majesty had your share,” said I demurely.
“Why, so I did,” says he with a smile; and then suddenly he pulls out a watch from his fob, and regards it contemplatively, and says he, very serious, but inexpressibly comical,
“His Excellency, the French Ambassador, has now been waiting for me one hour and three quarters upon urgent business,” and covering ​a tiny yawn, he threw me a genial nod and passed out of the room.
But as for me, I got forth in high feather, and mounting the nag (it was afore Calypso’s time) rode for the “Bull’s Head,” mighty full of my adventure, as you will believe.
Turnbull & Spears , Printers, Edinburgh