The Lady of Lynn

"Oh, Ludovick! I forgive."

"And the jewels shall atone – the lovely jewels. You shall have them all."

"You will truly give me the jewels?"

"Truly, my Anastasia. After all, we are man and wife. Henceforth we shall only live for each other. Your happiness shall be mine. The jewels shall be yours."

She yielded; she fell into his arms. There was a complete, a touching reconciliation!

"I agree, then, Purdon," said his lordship. "We both agree. It remains only to choose the best time, the best place, the best manner."

"Let it be the boldest manner; the most public place; before the largest company. Let there be no mistake possible. Leave this to me, my lord. Twelve thousand pounds. Your ladyship will oblige me with pen, ink, and paper? I may point out" (he turned to his former pupil with an ugly grin) "that if this promise, or bond, or bill is not met I shall proclaim the whole business from the housetop."

In other words, Lord Fylingdale was going to declare that it was Molly, and none other, who was married that morning at six o'clock, and to assume the rights and powers of a husband. So that the news of his evil reputation came, after all, too late to be of any use. And as for explanations, who would have the right to ask any explanations of a married man on behalf of his wife.

CHAPTER XXXV
WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

Fortune was with the conspirators. Everything helped them. First of all, the dippers whispered the news as a profound secret. Then it was whispered about the pump room as a profound secret. Then it was carried to the confectioner's; to the book shop; to the coffee houses; to the taverns; to the gardens; and talked about as an event and not a secret at all. It was, indeed extraordinary that a nobleman of Lord Fylingdale's rank and fortune should stoop to marry the daughter of a plain merchant of Lynn; a homely creature, as the ladies declared; one who had no manners, and was actually ignorant of the polite world. It was said that she was rich. Could the Earl of Fylingdale stoop to pick up her paltry fortune? What was the attraction, then? A bouncing figure; big hands and strong arms; fine eyes, perhaps, and there an end; for the rest, a mere common girl, no better than dozens like herself. Some there were who whispered a word of ugly import in the country. "It must be witchcraft! Surely," they said, "this unfortunate young man has been bewitched. Some one, perhaps the negress, has exercised spells over him to his destruction. The pity of it! The pity of it! It will be three generations, at least, before the stain of this alliance can be wiped out of the family pedigree."

The vicar heard the rumour. He hastened at once to find out the truth from the person most certain, as he thought, to know the facts, viz, Molly herself.

"I am to congratulate you, Molly," he said, "or must I call you the Countess of Fylingdale?"

"I am certainly not a countess," she replied. "Why the horns came here at seven this morning and the butchers with them, all to congratulate me. What does it mean?"

"Then it is not true, Molly? Heavens, how glad I am!"

"Why, certainly not. I wrote to Lord Fylingdale last night. I told him I should not be at the church this morning, as I had promised."

"Then – is it not true? – may I contradict the report?"

"If you please, sir. Did you see Jack last night after he left me?"

"We did. And we learned your resolution. Therefore, I was the more astonished."

"Oh! sir. Pray do not think that I would marry a rake for a title which I do not want and should not adorn."

"Heavens! my dear Molly, what a load you lift from my heart!"

So he went away. Outside, in the streets, he met the clerk of St. Nicholas. "What is all this," he said, "about a marriage early this morning?"

"Why, sir, it is no secret, I believe. Miss Molly was married at six o'clock to Lord Fylingdale. I was present, and gave away the bride."

"Are we dreaming? Are we in our right senses? You say, man, that Miss Molly was married this morning – this very morning – to Lord Fylingdale. By whom?"

"By his reverence, Mr. Purdon."

"By Mr. Purdon? Was the marriage duly celebrated?"

"Surely, sir. They were married by licence; and the marriage is entered in the registers."

"Come to the church and show me the registers."

The clerk led the way to the vestry and opened the great trunk. There lay the books of the registers. He took them out and showed the entries. Yes; there was no doubt possible. There were the two signatures, "Fylingdale" and "Mary Miller," with the clerk as witness and the signature of "Benjamin Purdon, Clerk in Orders," as the officiating minister.

"Now," said the vicar, sitting down, "what does this mean?"

As for myself, I also heard the news. It was brought on board by Captain Jaggard. "I could have wished," he said, "that Captain Crowle had seen his way to marry the girl to some honest man of the place – to you, Jack, or some other. I suppose she is too rich for a merchant or a simple sailor. Pity! Pity! This noble lord will take her away, and we shall see her no more."

I did not think it necessary to tell him that I was myself an eyewitness of the wedding, but, as soon as I could get away, I went ashore to learn what was said and reported.

At my father's house behind the school I found the vicar in a strangely bewildered mind. "Molly," he said, "flatly denies the marriage."

"Molly denies?" I was amazed.

"And the clerk swears that he gave her away; the registers are duly entered. What does this mean? What does this mean?"

I stared, and for a time made no reply. Molly to utter a falsehood? The thing was incredible. Yet, what was I to think?

"Sir," I said, "I remembered, early this morning, that I had forgotten Molly's letter to Lord Fylingdale. I hastened ashore, hoping to be in time to stop his going to the church. I was too late. I hurried on to the church. To my amazement the wedding service was at this moment being read by Mr. Purdon, and I saw, with my own eyes, Molly, wrapped in her pink cloak, the hood over her head, married to Lord Fylingdale. You cannot think that I was deceived."

"Why, the thing grows more and more mysterious. Given the fact that Lord Fylingdale is a reprobate, with no principle and no religion, yet he would not pass off another woman as Molly. She would have to be a woman of the vilest character. I do not think there is a woman in Lynn who could be persuaded to such an act of villainy. No, it is impossible; the clerk could not be deceived; the clergyman – to be sure he is a fit companion for the bridegroom – would not – could not – stoop so low. Think, Jack. Molly stoutly declares that she has not left the house for any purpose whatever. That is a plain assertion. Then we have the evidence of yourself, of the clerk, of the registers, and of the two whose evidence might not be considered trustworthy – the bridegroom and the minister. I do not understand. You say that Molly was dressed in a cloak that you recognised?"

"In her pink silk cloak, such as she throws over her shoulders at the assembly."

"There is no escape, I fear, no escape, that I can see. What does it mean? Why does Molly make this assertion? She must know that it cannot undo the wedding."

"I cannot so much as guess. Molly is the most candid and the most truthful of women. She cannot lie. It is impossible. There must be some dreadful mistake."

"She is, as you say, of a most truthful nature. Yet – how to explain? What does it mean?"

"I saw her hand placed in the bridegroom's, and I heard the words. Then, for my heart sank, I came away."

"Tell me again. When you left her last night, she was fully resolved not to keep her promise."

"She was fully resolved, I say. I have her letter – the letter which she wrote with my help, the letter which I ought to have sent to his lordship."

I lugged it out of my pocket; the vicar read it. "Humph," he said, "it is written as if by a supercargo – but that matters nothing. The meaning of it is plain. Her resolution is fixed. She was agitated, Jack."

"Naturally she was agitated at finding the man, whom she was to marry out of respect and not for love, was unworthy of the least respect."

"She was agitated. That was, as you say, natural. She had in her mind, at the same time, the promise to meet her accepted lover at the church at six in the morning. We must remember that. Now it is difficult to understand a more serious blow to the mind of a young girl than to be told suddenly, without the least preparation for it, that the man she is to marry is not what she believed him to be; not, that is, a man of honour, not a man of virtue, not a man whose conduct is governed by principle. I say that this knowledge may fall upon a woman in such a manner as to distract her for a time."

"But Molly was not in the least distracted."

"Not in your judgment. Could you have followed her to the lonely chamber, Jack, you might have witnessed a scene of strange distraction in which contempt took the place of respect; loathing of love; and enmity in place of gratitude. In a word, you would have seen a transformation of the girl. Had you watched her through the night you would have seen the sleeplessness and the restlessness caused by these emotions; you would have seen, perhaps, with the early morning nature asserting herself and the girl dropping asleep. After an hour or two she awakes, her mind not yet recovered; she remembers her promise, but not her refusal to keep it; she dresses mechanically; she steps out of the house unseen; she meets the man – he had not received your letter – she goes through the ceremony with him. She returns home, mounts to her room still without being observed, and again falls asleep. When she awakes there is no memory in her mind of the wedding service, nor any recollection of what had taken place. There would be left nothing but the memory of last night's revelations."

He went on to fortify his theory with an abundance of examples taken from antiquity, and from books in which persons have been known to do strange things while seemingly broad awake and in their senses, who, afterwards, remembered nothing. "I can even understand," he said, "a man committing a crime in this unconscious manner, who, in his sane moments, would be incapable of any wickedness. Is this what was formerly called demoniac possession? If so, it is a truly dreadful thing, and one against which we ought to pray."

The explanation seemed, at least, one that accounted for the strange denial of a simple fact.

"We will leave it so," he said. "I will go and talk to Captain Crowle about it, though I doubt whether the captain can be made to understand these nice distinctions between things as they are and things as they seem. It is, from every point of view, most unfortunate. The poor girl is now the wife of a villain. What will happen to her nobody knows as yet. Nor do I see how we can protect her."

Accordingly, he laid the matter before the captain, but failed in persuading him.

"No, sir," he said; "there is villainy abroad. I know not of what kind. There is villainy, and there are villains. Molly is not married. She was not out of the house this morning at all. She was with her mother in the stillroom. Besides, do you believe it possible for a woman not to know whether she is married or not?"

"Captain, I cannot understand it, except by my theory that – "

"He shan't have her, whatever he says. What? Should I suffer my girl – my ward – to go to him, and that unmarried? Say no more, vicar – say no more."

Thinking over the vicar's distinctions about things as they are and things as they seem, a sudden objection occurred to me.

"If Molly was actually married, whether she remembered it afterwards or not, what became of the wedding ring?" To this objection I could find no reply. And so the vicar's explanation, in my mind, fell to the ground, and I was as much at sea as ever. For Molly, who was always as true and candid as a mirror, was now … but I could not put the thing into words.

CHAPTER XXXVI
A DAY OF FATE

This was the day when all the villainy came to a head and did its worst and met with the first instalment of exposure. I have told you what was done at the church and what was our own bewilderment, not knowing what to believe or how to explain things. For my own part, though I might have guessed, because I had discovered the jealousy of Lady Anastasia; yet the truth, even the possibility of the truth, never came into my head. I had no manner of doubt, in my own mind, that it was Molly herself, and none other, whom I saw standing as a bride at the altar rails with Lord Fylingdale for a bridegroom. The fact, I say, admitted of no dispute. Yet, why should Molly change her mind? And why should she deny the fact?

I sought her at the house. I begged her to come into the garden and to talk with me privately. Then I asked those two questions. Her answer to both of them was most amazing.

"Jack," she said, "I know not what you mean. I have not changed my mind. It is impossible for me to marry a man of whom such things can be said unless he can prove that they are false. How can you think that I have changed my mind? As regards this talk about an early wedding, what do I know about it? At six o'clock I was in the kitchen with my mother and Nigra. I have not been out of the house at all."

Then I persisted. I asked her if she could have gone out and had perhaps forgotten.

"Forgotten!" she repeated, scornfully. "Do you suppose that a woman could by any possibility forget her own wedding? But what is it, Jack? What is in your mind?"

Then I told her. "Molly," I said, "last night I forgot your letter. There was so much to think and talk about with these disclosures that I forgot. This morning I remembered. Then I hurried ashore. I ran to the 'Crown'; it was just upon six. I was too late. His lordship had gone out in a chair. I ran to the church. It was just after six. The doors were open; I heard voices. I went in, Molly – do not say that I am dreaming – I saw you – you I say – you, yourself – with your pink silk cloak, the hood pulled over your head, a domino to hide your face – just as had been arranged."

"You saw me, Jack? You saw me? How could you see me?"

"And your hand was in Lord Fylingdale's, and Mr. Purdon was pronouncing the words which made you his wife. 'Whom God hath joined together let not man put asunder.'"

She stared at me with blank amazement.

"In my pink silk cloak? Jack, are you in your right mind or is it I myself who am gone distraught?"

"Indeed, I know not which."

"Did you speak to me? Did you congratulate the bride, Jack?"

"No; I was sick and sorry, Molly. I went out of the church. The clerk, however, has been telling the story of this private marriage all over the town. Everybody knows it. The marriage is duly entered in the registers. It was a marriage by the archbishop's licence. The man Purdon may be all that the vicar's letter exposed, but the marriage was in order."

Molly said nothing for a while. Then she said gently: "The letter from the bookseller, your cousin, spoke of Lord Fylingdale as ruined. If he were to marry a woman with money it would become his own."

"I believe that there are sometimes letters – bills of lading, or whatever they are called – which gives the wife the control of her own property; otherwise, everything becomes her husband's."

"Why did he wish to marry me? There was never a gleam of love in his eye – nor a note of love in his voice. Why – except that he might get my money?"

"That is, I am convinced, the reason."

"Villainy – villainy – villainy. Jack, this is a conspiracy. Some woman has been made to play my part. Then he will claim me as his wife, and lay hands upon all that I have."

"No, Molly, he shall not while you have friends."

"Friends cannot help where the law orders otherwise. So much I know, Jack. Yet you can do one thing for me, you can protect me from the man. He must not take me away."

"All Lynn will fight for you."

"Jack, I want more; I want all Lynn to believe me. You have known me all my life. Am I capable of such a change of mind? Am I capable of so monstrous a falsehood as to steal out to marry this man and then to declare that I have never left the house? Oh, the villain! the villain!" Her cheek was aflame; her eyes flashed.

I seized her hand. "Molly," I cried, "they shall all believe you. I will tell the truth everywhere."

Just then the garden door was thrown open and Sam Semple appeared. With a smiling face and a bending knee he advanced bowing low.

"Permit me to offer congratulations to the Countess of Fylingdale."

"I am not a countess. I am plain Molly Miller."

Sam looked disconcerted and puzzled. I perceived that, plot or no plot, he had no hand in it.

"I am come," he said, "from his lordship – "

"I have nothing to do with his lordship."

"Surely, madam – surely, my lady – there is some misunderstanding. I am sent by his lordship with his compliments to ask when it will be convenient for the countess to receive him."

"You have been informed, I suppose, that I was married to him this morning."

"Certainly, my lady."

"Then go back to Lord Fylingdale and tell him that he is a villain and a liar; that I have learned his true character; that I am not married to him; and that if he ventures to molest me my friends will protect me. Give him that message, sir, word for word."

"I believe, Sam," I said, for his discomfiture and bewilderment made him reel and stagger, "that you have no hand in this new villainy. It was you, however, who brought that man to Lynn, knowing his true character and his antecedents. Let us never see your face here again. Go; if I thought you were in this new plot I would serve you again as the captain served you three years ago."

He went away without another word.

Then the captain came home, his face troubled.

"I know not," he said, "what has happened in this place. I have seen Lord Fylingdale. I told him of the charges and accusations."

"Well? Did he deny them?"

"He denied nothing, and he admitted nothing. He says that you married him this morning, Molly."

"I know. He has sent Sam Semple here with the same story. Captain, you believe me, do you not?"

"Believe you, Molly? Why, if I did not believe you, I should believe nothing. Believe you? My dear, I would as soon doubt the prayer book." He laid his hand upon her arm and the tears came into his eyes. "My dear, I have been an old fool. But I did it for the best. He says that you are his wife. Let him come and take you – if he can!"

"It is not Molly that he would take, it is Molly's fortune."

"Why, sir," she said, "if he takes the whole and wastes and dissipates it, so long as he does not take me, what does it matter?"

Then the vicar came again, and the whole of the business had to be discussed again. At first, he adhered to his theory of unconscious action, because a scholar always likes to explain every theory by examples chosen from Latin and Greek authors. He had looked up several more stories of the kind from I know not what folio volumes in his library, and came prepared to defend his opinion. But the absolute certainty of Molly's assertion; the evidence of her mother, who declared that Molly had been working with her since half-past five; the firm belief of the captain; and my own change of opinion and the possibility of deception shook him. Finally, he abandoned his learned view, and adopted our more modern explanation of the case, viz, that the marriage was a sham, and that the woman was some creature suborned to personate Molly.

"But what woman can she be?" asked the vicar. "She can write. I have seen the registers; she has signed in a full, round hand, without bad spelling. The woman, therefore, is educated. My dear, we may perhaps find the woman. My worthy and pious brother in Orders is most certainly in the conspiracy. Where there are three one is generally a traitor. To begin with, the scheme is both bold and dangerous. It is the first step towards obtaining a large sum of money under false pretences. Their necks are in danger, even the neck of a noble earl.

"It is inconceivable," he went on, after a little reflection, "how a woman could be found to play such a part. She must be the mistress of the earl; no other could be trusted."

"What should be done meantime?"

"We must meet the enemy on his own ground. He spreads abroad the report that he married Molly this morning. We must publicly and openly deny the fact. Captain, there will be a large company at the assembly this evening. You will take Molly there. I will go with you. Jack shall put on his Sunday best, and shall also go with us. We must be prepared for an impudent claim, and we must be ready with a prompt denial. Let us court publicity."

This was clearly the best advice possible. We were left unmolested all the afternoon, though the captain made me stay as a kind of garrison in case of any attempt at abduction being made.

In the evening, Molly, in her chair and dressed in her finery, was carried to the gardens, while the captain, the vicar, and myself formed a bodyguard.

We arrived after the dancing had begun. Lady Anastasia was looking on, but her court of ladies and young men, for some reason, seemed to have melted away. She stood almost alone, save for the support of the old beau Sir Harry. The colonel was also with her. And the Reverend Benjamin Purdon stood behind her.

The music was in the gallery at the end of the long room; the dancing was carried on in the middle. Lady Anastasia was standing on the right of the gallery; most of the company on the left. Molly with the captain and followed by the vicar and myself turned to the left.

On her entrance all eyes were fixed upon the newly made countess. She had come without her lord. Was this part of the secret – a secret known to all the world? Or was his lordship before the whole company about to lead his bride to the first place as became her newly acquired rank? Some of the ladies regarded her with looks of hatred, the successors of the looks of scorn with which they had at first welcomed her. Most of them, however, were kindly; a tale of love always meets with a friendly reception; not a woman in the place but would have taken her place with joy unmeasured; as no other woman could, they were ready to accept their fate and to make friends with the successful and the fortunate winner of so great a prize.

It was a great prize, indeed, if they only knew!

The minuets were over and the country dances were about to begin when Lord Fylingdale arrived, followed, as usual, by his secretary. He stood at the door, he looked around; then, with the cold pride which never failed him, he stepped across the room and bowed low to Molly. "Madam," he said, "with your permission, we will dance this country dance together before I take you away with me."

"My lord," replied Molly aloud, so that the whole company heard and trembled, "I shall not dance with you this evening, nor on any other evening."

"She will never again dance with you, my lord; nor will she hold any discourse with you; nor will she willingly admit you to her presence." It was the vicar who spoke, because the man and the occasion proved too much for the good old captain, who could only roll thunderously between his teeth things more fitted for the quelling of a mutiny than for dealing with such a man as his lordship.

"Pray, sir," said Lord Fylingdale, stepping back, "what is the meaning of this? Pray, madam," he turned to Molly, "what is the meaning of this sudden change? Captain Crowle, have I, or have I not, the right to claim my wife?"

The vicar stepped forward and confronted him. His tall, thin figure, his long cassock, his thin and ascetic face contrasted with the over-haughtiness of his adversary.

"My lord," he asked, "how long has this lady been your wife?"

"We were married," he said, "at six o'clock this morning, by the Rev. Mr. Benjamin Purdon, who is here to bear witness to the fact. The wedding was private at my request, because, as you may perhaps believe, I was not anxious to join in the wedding feast with a company of boors, bumpkins, and sailors."

"Ladies and gentlemen," – the vicar raised his voice and by a gesture silenced the orchestra – "I have to lay before you a conspiracy which I believe is unparalleled in any history. You are aware that Lord Fylingdale, who stands before you, came to the spa a few weeks ago for purposes best known to himself. You will also doubtless remember that certain persons, who arrived before him, were loud in his praises. He was said by them to be a model of all the virtues. I will not repeat the things that were said…"

"All this," said Lord Fylingdale, "is beside the mark. I come to claim my wife."

"Among those who accepted these statements for gospel was Captain Crowle, the guardian of the young lady beside me. It was to him a great honour to be admitted to converse with so distinguished a nobleman and to be permitted to consult with him as to the affairs of his ward. He even informed his lordship of the extent of the lady's fortune, which is far greater than was generally understood. Thereupon his lordship began to pay attention of a marked character. You have all, I believe, remarked these attentions. Then came the attempted abduction and the lady's rescue by Lord Fylingdale. After this he formally offered his hand and his rank to the lady. The honour seemed very great. He was accepted. He then engaged the lady to undertake a private marriage without festivities, to which she consented. She promised, in fact, to be married at St. Nicholas Church this very morning, at six o'clock."

"All this," said Lord Fylingdale, coldly, "is quite true. Yet why you detain the company by the narrative I do not understand. The lady kept her promise. I met her at the place and time appointed. We were married. Once more, Captain Crowle, I claim my wife."

"Ladies and gentlemen," the vicar continued, "there is but one reply to the last statement, for the lady did not keep her engagement."

"Sir," his lordship advanced a step, "are you aware of the meaning of words? Do you assert that I was not married at that time and in that place?"

The Reverend Benjamin Purdon advanced. "Sir," he addressed the vicar, "like his lordship, I am amazed at these words. Why, sir, I myself, at six o'clock this morning, performed the marriage service, as prescribed by the Church, for the Right Honourable the Earl of Fylingdale and Miss Mary Miller."

By this time the company were crowding round eagerly listening. No one could understand what had happened. The bridegroom claimed his bride; the bride's friends denied that she was married.

"Yesterday," the vicar went on, "there arrived, simultaneously, three letters; one of them, an anonymous letter, was addressed to Captain Crowle; one from a respectable bookseller in London was addressed to Mr. Pentecrosse, master of the grammar school; and one from a certain fellow of his college at Cambridge was addressed to me. All these letters, together, contained charges which show how deeply we have been deceived."

"Have a care! Have a care!" said Lord Fylingdale.

At that moment another arrival took place. It was Tom Rising, the wounded man. He was pale and weak; he leaned upon the arms of two gentlemen; he was followed by a figure, strange, indeed, in a polite assembly.

"By these letters and other sources," the vicar continued, "I learn first as to the noble lord's friends – the following particulars. Pray give me your attention.

"I find that the Lady Anastasia Langston hath been lately presented by the grand jury of Middlesex for keeping a house riotous, of great extravagance, luxury, idleness, and ill fame. She is the third on the list. The first," the vicar read from a paper, "is the Lady Mordington and her gaming house in Covent Garden; the second is the Lady Castle and her gaming house, also in Covent Garden; and the third is the Lady Anastasia Langston and her gaming house, in or near Hanover Square, all in this county.

"I am informed that Lady Anastasia hath held a bank every night in this place to the hurt and loss of many.

"I turn next to the case of the Rev. Benjamin Purdon, who stands before you. He was the tutor of Lord Fylingdale; he is described as the companion of his vices; he was the cause last year of a grievous scandal at Bath; he is the author of a ribald piece of verse by which he has corrupted many. No bishop would sanction his acceptance of the smallest preferment."

"This is very surprising," said Mr. Purdon, shaking his big head. "But we shall see, we shall see, immediately."

"There are next, the two gentlemen known as Sir Harry Malyns and Colonel Lanyon. Their occupation is to act as decoy ducks; to lure young men to the gaming table, and to plunder them when they are caught."

Both these gentlemen started, but neither replied.

"I now come to the noble lord before me. He is a most notorious profligate; he shares in Lady Anastasia's gaming house; he has long since been refused admittance into the houses of persons of honour; he is an inveterate gambler; he has ruined his own estate – sold the family plate and pictures, library, everything; he is, at this moment, unable to borrow or to raise the smallest sum of money. The fleet and the King's Bench Prisons are full of the unfortunate tradesmen who trusted him and the young rakes whom he has ruined.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this was the story which reached us yesterday, fortunately, in time. Miss Molly broke off her promise, and wrote to his lordship for explanations. Captain Crowle called upon his lordship this morning for explanations. He was met with derision; he was told that he was too late, the young lady was already married – there was no necessity for any explanations."

The company murmured. Voices were raised demanding explanations.

Said his lordship, coldly, "These inventions need no reply. I claim my wife."

"She is not your wife," said the vicar. "We are ready to prove that at six o'clock the young lady was already engaged with her mother in the stillroom, or in some other occupations. Of that there is no doubt possible. But" – and here he lifted a warning finger, but his lordship paid no attention – "there was a wedding early this morning. His reverence Mr. Purdon performed the service; the wedding was in the name of Mary Miller as bride; the registers are signed 'Mary Miller.' This is, therefore, a conspiracy."