I suppose there must have been a nice tone of verisimilitude in this tissue of lies, or a ring of truth in my tone, or an expression of perfect veracity in my eyes, for the landlord put never another question to us upon that matter, but accepted my heart-moving tale with a mien of deep solicitude. I think I must be unusually gifted in this particular, since this bold story worked on his credulity to such a remarkable degree. And either our supposed misadventures or my command of great oaths must have invested us in the landlord's mind with the indisputable evidences of high quality, for his obeisances grew profounder for the recital, and though by our own confession we had not a penny about us with which to requite him, he proposed to entertain us to the utmost of his capacity.
"Your lordship and your ladyship will doubtless prefer an entirely private apartment in which to sup," says he. "If you will very kindly bear with this one while a fire is lighted in another, I will go about it at once, and also prepare you as good a meal as it is in the power of this poor place to furnish."
However, as I was rather taken than otherwise with the appearance of the solitary occupant of this room, and even more so by the rare warmth and comfort of it, I was fain to suggest that if our company was not disagreeable to the present occupant, we should be well content to stay where we were, and take our supper in his society. And, indeed, the frank, amused, wonderfully naïve countenance he turned on the innkeeper, and the air of perfect good-breeding with which he asked the honour of our company at his table, promised excellent companionship to follow. I having gratefully accepted his offer, he very politely insisted that I should choose the wine, adding that our host kept a very tolerable cellar, and paid a particular compliment to the Burgundy.
In a variety of amiable ways we were very well advanced in a companionship long before supper was served. Our friend, in addition to his handsome looks and elegant manners, appeared to have a good deal of knowledge of the world. His tastes, too, seemed extremely refined. He was well versed in Dryden, Virgil, and Shakespeare, and passed the highest encomiums on the genius of Mr. Henry Fielding. He contributed some excellently apposite remarks to the long-standing controversy respecting the merits of the author of Tom Jones in comparison with those of the author of Clarissa. To my extreme gratification he declared strongly for the former, whereon Mrs. Cynthia, following the fashion of her sex, took up the cudgels very warmly for the latter.
"My dear madam," says our friend, laughing in his musical tones, "the difference between those two authors is that between honest, searching brandy punch and tea twice watered with a good deal of sugar in it."
"That is doubtless the case," says Cynthia. "But whereas the one may degrade a man to the level of a beast," – I will do her the justice of saying she laid no particular stress on this simile, neither did she look at me, greatly to my relief – "the other is perfectly harmless, wholesome and stimulating. Mr. Richardson's morality hath never been impeached, but Mr. Fielding's hath never been defended."
"It is not always the person who lifts up his voice the loudest, madam, who is the most worthy to be heard," says our friend gravely. "Nor is it he who makes the best parade of his virtue who is invariably the most valuable member of society. I dare say Mr. Fielding would blush as much to be found out in a good act as Mr. Richardson would to be caught in a bad one; but for all that I would prefer to recommend myself to the author of the so-called loose and scandalous Tom Jones, than he of the so-called high-toned Clarissa, were I in need of a dinner and a guinea."
"Sir," says I, "you have put the gist of the matter excellently. You are one of the very few persons I have met who hath had the wit to draw this essential distinction between the characters of two such diverse writers. What the world is for ever failing to apprehend is that true morality, like true religion, has nothing to do with the profession of it; and that man who as often as not best serves his species is he who least pretends to do so."
Yet no sooner had I ventured to confirm the wisdom of my friend with my own opinion, than my dear Mrs. Cynthia began to take my interference as a personal matter aimed at her rather than at the argument. Thus in a truly feminine fashion she got upon her dignity and invested her championship of Mr. Richardson, and more especially her animadversion of Mr. Fielding, with several palpable references to my recent behaviour in his company. At least the unease of my conscience put this construction upon her replies, although when I reflected upon the matter afterwards I could find no grounds except those of my own guilty knowledge for supposing that she was at all acquainted with our meeting.
It was a real relief none the less when our heated discourse on morality was at last interrupted by the arrival of the first dish, a highly delectable loin of pork flanked with sage and onions. We sat down in much comfort and did ample justice to the fare. Our friend's manners at the table had all the elegance of good-breeding, whilst his conversation under the benign influences of excellent dishes and good wine was as entertaining and various as any one need listen to. He was at a loss on no subject whatever; and there was such an easy air of gallantry about him, too, as commended him extremely to the susceptible Cynthia, however they might differ in their opinions on the subject of morality. Indeed his mien was so winning and so perfectly acceptable withal to her ladyship, that I could have wished he had less of those graces to recommend him. For I'll swear that her eyes shone to his speeches, and there was a fine colour in her cheeks, however indignantly she may be moved to deny it. There was a sly humour in the fellow too, which as the meal wore on and the excellence of the fare warmed his heart, he manifested in various ways. To start with, he made more than one allusion to our supposed misfortune. What kind of a person was the highwayman, he asked in a tone equally pregnant with mischief and concern.
"Oh, pretty tallish," says I, with admirable vagueness and promptitude.
Thereupon he put a vast number of questions all bearing on the appearance of our assailant. Had he a cast in his eye? a scar on his lip? Did he speak with a west country burr? and so forth. These were but a few. For strive as we would to turn the topic towards something that might disconcert us less, he persisted in returning again and again to our supposed adventure on the road. The theme seemed to have a kind of fascination for him. At last it grew too plain that his pertinacity had serious purpose behind it. Either my fencing grew too obvious or his queries grew too direct, for I was presently led to see that he had formed his own opinion on the matter, and that he proposed to convict us out of our own mouths. It was with an effort therefore that I retained my politeness, since the deeper one is in the wrong the more is one inclined to resent its being proved against one.
"I should be obliged, sir," says I, "if you will do us the favour of forgetting this unfortunate circumstance. We have already come to regard our property as lost, and having made up our minds upon that we cease to regret it. Indeed, we had already dismissed so trivial a matter from our minds, and should not have thought fit to recall it, had not the predicament of our penury, and the obstinate importunities of this fellow the landlord, compelled us to allude to it again. You will vastly oblige me, sir, by ceasing to mention it."
"You are very well schooled in the art of evasion, sir," says the other. "But I am much too greatly interested in this affair to consent to its stopping at this. The manner of the appearance of your adorable companion and yourself here in this place this evening perplexes and surprises me beyond measure. I humbly crave your pardon if I may seem to transgress the bounds of good taste, sir, but might I venture to ask whether you were coming from London or were you going there?"
"Going there," says I incautiously.
"Then I confess," says he smoothly, "my perplexity increases. If you were going to London, how could it happen that you were descending, instead of mounting Marling Hill?"
I plainly saw that the fellow had lured me into a trap.
"Really, sir," says I, with some show of heat, "I am sorry that you cannot see fit to respect my protests. You will do me a real service, sir, if you will cease to pursue this disagreeable subject."
"I do not doubt you on that last point, sir," says the other. "And I wonder if I might make so bold as to inquire how it befalls that two persons who are presumably of the first quality, or at least of great gentility, are to be found travelling the country in an attire that the meanest of their servants would think twice before they affected?"
"This is insufferable, this is intolerable," says I. "I decline peremptorily to answer such questions. They are impertinent, sir, impertinent; and it grieves me to think that a gentleman of your taste and discretion could have thought fit to put them."
However, my annoyance could restrain him no better than my persuasion. He laughed openly, and then suddenly cast off the veil. With a curl at his lips, and an unmistakable impudence in his eyes, says he:
"I think the time is come, sir, when we might with profit understand one another a little better. Might we not deal a little more frankly with one another, do you not think? For instance, if you are prepared to confess that you have been beset by no highwayman whatever, and the whole invention of him, the coach, the valuables, the servants, and the horses is a cock-and-bull story intended to divert the attention of our honest host from your destitute condition, I am just as prepared to accept that statement."
"Sir," says I, "I fear that you forget yourself. You insult me wantonly."
However difficult it may be to condone the truth when it is so unblushingly expressed, I was hardly in a position to punish him for the publication of it. Not that it was any sneaking respect for the truth that restrained me. It was rather that I had arrived at years of a certain discretion. Was there not everything in the world to lose and nothing whatever to gain by indulging in open passages with a total stranger? Cynthia was at my side, and wholly dependent upon me. And it was her presence and that thought which enabled me to keep so tight a rein on my furious inclination. Meanwhile this person had turned such a cool impudent scrutiny upon me that it seemed as though he calmly spelt out every phase of thought through which I was at that moment passing.
CHAPTER XVII
WE MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH A PERSON OF DISTINCTION
I was by now worked up to a pretty rage. The stranger regarded it, however, with perfect calmness, not to say enjoyment.
"In your own particular branch of the profession, sir," says he, laughing, "I am the first to admit that you do remarkably well. A good carriage, a refined appearance, an excellent address, and a quite singular degree of assurance, there is but little wanting to your success. The lady, your fair companion, is wholly admirable. She hath the very look and air of a gentlewoman. She is vastly engaging too, and hath some sweet looks of her own; and I am prepared to say that she would reassure the most suspicious of landlords and the most incredulous of travellers."
"I protest, sir," says I, "that I do not follow you in the least."
"I think between friends, sir," says the other, "you might reasonably drop the high tone. I am not at all imposed on by it. Besides, where is the need? Believe me, I am the last man in the world to betray a brother in the pursuit of his calling. I have some few gifts myself, and my name for some years past hath been considered an ornament to the profession; but whatever my vanity, I am ever foremost in recognizing true merit in others. I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, sir, but the very real talent you have already evinced will make William Sadler proud to be numbered among your friends."
Although Mr. William Sadler, whoever he might be, pronounced his name in the manner of one who is accustomed to have it greeted with flattering recognition, as this was the first time I had happened to hear of so exalted a personage, I was unable to pay it the homage I think he expected from me.
"You must really pardon me, sir," says I, "but who you are or what your name is does not particularly interest me. I do not remember to have heard it before, and certainly as you appear to entertain such strange views as to the manner in which friendship is to be conducted, I have no very burning desire to hear it again."
At last it seemed I had found in him a tender spot. The purple deepened in his cheeks, and there was a brightness of anger in his eyes. It was plain that to be ignorant of the name of Mr. William Sadler was to be guilty of a grave solecism. But his chagrin was only momentary, for he had an admirable command of himself, and at once resumed the control of his feelings.
"It strikes me as something of an affectation, sir," says he, "that one who practises a very similar calling should yet profess an ignorance of a name, which I may say, without making a boast of it, stands foremost in a kindred profession, and hath ever been reckoned an honour and an embellishment to it. The name of William Sadler, sir, is known and reverenced wherever gentlemen of the pad of all shades and degrees do congregate or hold their intercourse. It grieves me, sir, that such a fine example of our calling at its best, as is to be seen in the person of yourself, sir, and in that of your fair companion, should yet deny the smallest recognition to one who hath been allowed by the ablest practitioners of the time, and by publick opinion also, to be worthy of his meed of praise."
I confess I was getting out of my depth. My companion was wholly unintelligible to me. What he meant by his allusions to our kindred professions, his own celebrity, and my own skill in an art of which I did not even know the name, gravelled me completely. In his smooth, even tones, it was impossible not to find a genuine regret. But methought there was even more of irony in it too, a very delicate irony that seemed entirely to consist with his cultivated and polished character. Indeed the man was an enigma altogether. His manner, his appearance, his address were those of a gentleman. He was an elegant, well-informed, well-equipped man of the world, capable of exciting the admiration of a lady of quality, as many a time I have been fain to acquaint Mrs. Cynthia subsequently. But who he might be passed me altogether. He could not be a great author like Mr. Fielding. In that case I should have been more familiar with his name. He could not be a man of the first fashion, for the same reason. Neither was he foremost in Parliament, in the King's service, in the Queen's favour, nor was he a virtuoso in the arts. In what manner was he celebrated then? I could not forbear from putting the question to him. As it happened, our host was fussing about the supper-table at that moment with the pudding.
"I refer you, sir," says he, "to our worthy Boniface, our excellent Mr. Jim Grundy, for the panegyric of my character."
Upon this the innkeeper looked from one to the other of us with a great deal of unction, and involved his rosy countenance in such a number of nods and winks as conferred a great air of mystery on a simple question.
"Come, my good Grundy," says our companion, "inform the lady and gentleman who Mr. William Sadler is."
"They don't know who Mr. William Sadler is," says the landlord. "Who ever heard the like of it! He, he, he!"
Instead of giving us any precise information on this point, the landlord laughed and laughed again. Once or twice he seemed to brace himself to break the important news to us, yet on each occasion as he was about to open his mouth to do so, a fresh gust of mirth nearly choked him into a fit. Indeed, he was wholly incapable of getting farther than:
"Not know who Mr. Will Sadler is; well, I call that a good 'un."
And I suppose we might have still remained in ignorance of the identity of our companion to this hour, for apparently Mr. William Sadler was too proud to exhibit his claims to notoriety, and the innkeeper was physically incapable of doing so, had it not been for a whimsical occurrence that presently befell. Amity had been in a great measure restored, and we had nearly finished our supper in peace, having at the same time behaved very creditably by the wine and the victuals, when the landlord suddenly burst in upon us again with a very agitated face. "Oh, Mr. William," cries he to our friend, "whatever shall we do? A sheriff's posse is coming along, and I fear it is you they are seeking hot-foot. They will be here in a minute, and I do not see that you can possibly get out in time."
Words of this nature vastly interested us, you may be sure. We noted that despite the shaken condition of the landlord, Mr. Sadler was perfectly cool.
"Hold 'em as long as you can in talk," says he, "and I will play 'em my old trick. But, my dear fellow, let me beg of you to compose yourself a little. Such a face as you are wearing is enough to betray the cunningest knight in the country, and I must also crave the indulgence of my two friends here. I am sure their true sporting instincts, to say nothing of a professional fellow-feeling, will enable them to give me any small assistance I may be in need of."
While he was speaking in this singular manner, he was occupying himself in one no less remarkable. He casually produced a fresh wig from one of the huge pockets of the riding-coat that hung on the back of a chair near his elbow, and having shook it out, discarded the modest tie wig he was wearing in favour of this much grander one, which he placed on his head with absolute nicety and correctness. Having got as far as this, the landlord apprehended which line he was going to take. Armed with that knowledge, the host accordingly moved to the threshold to greet the sheriff's posse, whilst Mr. Sadler went on with his toilet. This consisted in attaching a grey beard to his chin, a pair of moustachios to his upper lip, and a formidable pair of horn spectacles to his eyes. All of these he produced from the same pocket as the wig. The consequence was a complete and effectual transformation; and had we not been witnesses of the process itself, we could not possibly have identified our companion of the previous moment in this venerable sage.
This strange play which was passing in front of our eyes was so bewildering that at first we could hardly realize what was taking place, or gauge the singular situation in which we found ourselves. But hearing the lusty demanding voices of the persons who even at that moment were at the threshold of the inn, the whole meaning of this odd matter suddenly flashed into my mind. Our elegant companion was a professional breaker of laws, a highwayman most probably, and the sheriff's men were hot on his track. Yet as I looked at the venerable figure before me, the embodiment of stately grace and honoured age, I could not forbear from laughing at him.
"An excellent jest," says he, in a voice that so utterly differed from his natural one as to bestow the last and crowning touch to his altered character. "But it is one that I have played so often in one form or another upon these and similar people that I begin to fear it may grow a little worn-out. However, I must trust to my proverbial luck, and your kind co-operation."
He had no time to say anything more before these unwelcome visitors came into the room with the landlord at their head.
"You can really take my word for it, gentlemen I assure you," he said positively, protesting, "I have seen no such person as you describe. Nor is it at all likely that my house, which has ever been famous for its high respectability, would harbour such a desperate ruffian. You say that His Majesty's mail has been stopped and tried this evening by Will Sadler not five miles off, and that booty exceeding four thousand pounds hath been taken. Lord defend us, gentlemen, whoever heard the like! It is incredible; can this be the eighteenth century?"
By this about half a-dozen dirty, rain-soaked ruffians, comprising the sheriff's posse, had come into the room. And at the head of them, if you please, was that very despotic justice, the squire of the neighbouring parish, who that afternoon had clapt us in the stocks. His appearance certainly complicated matters a good deal, and was like to make them vastly more awkward for us. Yet the fellow at this time was in such an excited state of mind, due to the recent terrible event and his high sense of what he was pleased to call his public duty, that he gave neither Cynthia nor myself the slightest recognition. Indeed, he had most probably forgotten our recent encounter.
I had hardly on my side recognized the justice ere my decision was taken. It may be to my lasting discredit as a good citizen and true subject that I hardly so much as gave a thought to betraying the desperate fellow who was so completely delivered into our hands. One word from either of us, and his last exploit would have been perpetrated. But it would have called for a greater humanity or a less, sure I know not which, and a deeper instinct of the public weal than either of us appeared to possess, to deliver up Mr. Sadler in cold blood to the tender mercies of the law. Accordingly I took a bold course, perhaps as much to assist the disguise of our companion as to preserve our own impunity.
Swinging round on the justice and the inn-keeper, I exhibited a degree of excitement at the news by no means inferior to their own.
"Zounds!" I cried, "what are you saying, landlord? King's mail, four thousand pounds, villain escaped. Whenever did I hear the like? He must be pursued; we must leave no stone unturned. Do I understand that he is on these premises?"
The stress of my concern and the degree of authority I contrived to insinuate into it, stood me in good stead with the squire, who saw in me a person as law-abiding as himself. Indeed, the number of breathless questions I pestered him with concerning how the matter happened, when it happened, who could be made responsible for it, and what steps could be taken to prevent it happening again, all of which were so futile and worth so little, as presently suggested to the squire that he might conceivably be in the company of a brother justice.
"Are you in the commission, may I ask, sir?" says he.
"Aye, that I am, sir," says I, "for the county of Wilts. I never was more distressed by anything than the news of this grievous affair."
"Very pleased to meet you, sir," says the squire. "I am in the commission too, sir, and I quite agree with every word you have thought fit to utter. Every word, I do upon my word, sir."
It was remarkable how the fact that I was a justice of the peace as well as himself affected his demeanour. He developed a sudden affability towards me, and used a special tone in which to address me. He discovered such a respect for my opinion, showed so many marks of his consideration for me, and generally endeavoured to ingratiate himself into my esteem in a way that allowed it to be clearly understood that to his mind the office of a magistrate had lifted me at once out of the ruck of common men. I was one who, like himself, had been as it were initiated into the Eleusinian mysteries. My look, my lightest word, was to him of vastly more importance than even the business he had come upon. Indeed he was quite overjoyed to find himself in the society of a person who was of his own rank in life, and one with whom he might converse without imperilling his own uneasy dignity. It was delightful to observe how my presence unfitted him to pay the slightest attention to any one other than myself. He could hardly bring himself to address the innkeeper or his attendants in the presence of a brother magistrate. And to such an extent was he worked upon that even the business that had brought him thither paled into insignificance before so felicitous a meeting.
After a full five minutes had been spent on his affable reception of me, and he had repeated again and again how pleased and honoured he was to meet me; and he had asked me how long I had been in the commission, and had told me how long he had been in it, and how long his father had been in it before him; with other matters of the first importance, and all mightily pertinent to the robbery of the royal mail, one of his men had the temerity to make a suggestion.
"Begging your honour's pardon," says he, politely touching his hat, "but what does your honour think we had better do, seeing as how the man don't seem to be here?"
"Do," says the squire, taking him up angrily. "Burn me, was there ever such insolence? Are you not aware that I am at present engaged with your betters, and yet you have the damnable impertinence to ask me what you shall do."
"But the highwayman, if you please, your honour," says the other, who was rather a stubborn fellow.
"Oh, the highwayman," says the squire. "How dare you intrude a person of that low character when I am engaged with a brother magistrate? Let the highwayman go to the devil too."
"In short," says I, reading the squire's disposition, "you can all go to the devil, the sooner the better. Do you think the meeting of two gentlemen can be disturbed by such a petty matter? I am about to ask the honour of the company of my brother justice over a bottle. Landlord, have the goodness to bring up some more of your excellent Burgundy, and also do us the service of sending these dirty rascals about their business. There are no highwaymen here, and if there were, do you suppose that gentlemen are to be put to inconvenience by them?"
Hereupon the squire, finding himself received in such high favour, hastened to second my proposal. The posse was sent packing into the wind and rain to continue the pursuit of Mr. William Sadler, although they evidently had not the least idea as to which direction he might be in; whilst the magistrate proposed to take his ease in his inn, in the society of the very rogue his men had gone forth to seek.
The host soon returned with the wine, and we settled ourselves to good-fellowship. To judge by the sly satisfaction that appeared at intervals in Mr. Sadler's venerable countenance, he was very well pleased with the arrangement; whilst I am sure the squire was vastly so. As for Cynthia and myself, I think we both had some share in this satisfaction also. We figured to ourselves the eventuality of being able to repay this numscull fellow in his own coin, by putting upon him some of the indignity he had been so prompt to put upon us that afternoon.
In a person of a better capacity it might have been a matter of surprise that we should have gone unrecognized. But this squire was but a poor apology of a fellow, with probably as many wits as a rabbit, and as great a discernment as a mole. And in my case there may have been some little excuse, for after all one man is very much like another, and differs not so much in his appearance as in his circumstances. In the parlour of a tavern it is as easy to pass for a justice of the peace as it is in the stocks to pass for a rogue. Perhaps in Cynthia's case an even better excuse could be found for him. Instead of a dejected and bedraggled creature (madam hath twice already blotted this sentence out!) trudging at the side of a forlorn musicianer that blew the flute, here was a very different person. Her muddy cloak had been discarded to disclose a very tolerable travelling attire beneath, which, laced as it was, could pass very well in the country for the first fashion. Besides, in some impalpable feminine way, by some cunning trick of the sex, she had added here and there a touch to her hair and her person, till she shone forth as fair and trim in the glow of the fire and the candles as Herrick's Julia. She was no longer the wandering female (saving her presence!), but the lady of quality, holding her court of three. The brightness of the place was communicated to her cheeks and her eyes. The dainty malice, the grave insolence, the superb disdain, the assurance and yet the solicitude of fashion wedded to beauty, youth to breeding, was a sufficient masque to the draggle-tailed little creature of the afternoon. If it may be said of men that they are the victims of their circumstances, and cut their figure in the world according to them, how much more truly may the same be said of women, for are they not chameleons that receive their hue from their surroundings?
Being completely confident that we ran no risk of discovery from any exercise the squire might make of his natural faculties, I had no compunction about introducing Mrs. Cynthia and Mr. Sadler, that the feast of reason and the flow of soul might be unimpeded. Thoroughly alive to the whimsicality of the passages that were like to ensue from such ill-assorted company sitting down together, I mischievously determined to give the thing a more extravagant touch if possible, by sailing as near to the truth as I could. Therefore, fully aware of the delicious savour of the whole affair, Mrs. Cynthia was presented as my wife, the Countess of Tiverton, and our friend Mr. Sadler, the highwayman and lord knows what besides, as her ladyship's choleric papa, his grace of Salop.
Never, I vow, was a man so overcome with the society in which he found himself as this rustical clown of a justice. Having plainly been used to no better all his life than that of his pigs, his sheep, his cows, his horses, the village beadle, and the worthies of the village ale-house, he had no higher sense of rendering what he conceived was due to our superior dignity, than they had in rendering the same to his. His bows, his smirks, his grimaces, his gross flatteries, would have excited our pity had he deserved any. They were so grotesque that even Mr. Sadler grinned through his great beard.