Tom Tufton's Travels

"I have a few excellent rules of my own, Tom, and I have never been worsted once, and only once wounded. I neither drink, nor dice, nor dance, nor weary myself the previous day. I go overnight to the place of meeting, and I retire to bed early and sleep sound. I take a modest breakfast, without wine or spirit, an hour before the meeting; and I come to the ground with a head as cool and a hand as steady as though no such thing as danger or death existed in the world. Some men pride themselves on sitting up and dicing and drinking away the night, to show their own courage and their contempt for their adversary. I prefer to show mine by leaving him prostrate on the field!"

It certainly seemed as though Lord Claud's methods were good, for he slept like a child all night, better than Tom did, who had been greatly excited by the events of the day and the prospect of the morrow; and when he was dressed upon the following morning, still in his sober riding suit that became him so well, Tom thought he had never seen anybody looking so thoroughly master of himself and his circumstances. The very glance of the eye seemed to bespeak victory, as did the quiet resolution of the grave mouth.

Breakfast over-an early meal taken by the light of candles, yet excellent of its kind-and the pair went forth together, Tom carrying the two rapiers, as it was his duty to do.

The sun was just about to rise, and the mists lying over the river and fields were growing silver in the light, as they came in sight of the group of elms which had seen so many foolish and bloody contests between angry men, some of whom scarce knew why they fought at all, save that it was the fashion.

From the opposite direction three other figures were approaching-two tall men and one little one.

"They bring a surgeon," quoth Lord Claud, with a smile on his face; "perchance they are wise. For myself, I never trouble to do so. I count a leech a needless encumbrance."

Tom looked curiously at the two foremost men as they drew near. One of them struck him in particular. He was very tall and very strongly made, though clumsy in figure and swarthy in face. He had the look almost of a foreigner, Tom thought, with black eyes that twinkled with an evil and sinister expression, and never showed more than as a slit between half-shut lids. He was marked with smallpox, and had taken no pains, today at any rate, to disguise the ravages of that malady. He walked a little in advance of his companions, and when he got near to Lord Claud he stopped and made a sweeping bow, his eyes the while scanning Tom's face and figure most closely.

"This is not the gentleman who waited on me," he said in a rasping voice.

"No; that gentleman is laid up in his bed, and cannot keep his appointment; but this one will do the business equally well.

"Mr. Tufton of Gablehurst; let me present him to you, Sir James."

The swarthy man looked Tom over from head to foot with an insolent stare.

"A fine young cub," he said at length, "and well grown for his years. One of the gang, I suppose?" and there was an ugly sneer upon his thick lips.

Tom looked at Lord Claud, wondering what the meaning of those words could be; but the quiet face looked as if carved in marble, save only that the eyes glowed like fire in their sockets.

He signed to Tom to produce the rapiers; and the second man came forward and examined and tested them, selecting that which his principal should use. Then the ground was stepped, the most level place selected, and the two combatants stripped off coat and waistcoat, and prepared for the fray.

Tom drew his breath hard as he watched the commencement of the fight, and his face was full of anxiety, as he felt that the man addressed as Sir James had weight and length of reach beyond anything that Lord Claud could command. But for a while both the men fought warily and without attempting to get to close quarters, and Tom began to lose his first breathless excitement, and to watch the play of shining blades with more coolness and observation.

Two rounds had been fought, and neither man was wounded. But whilst Lord Claud looked just as cool and steady as at the start, the dark adversary was flushed and inclined to pant, and the beads of sweat stood upon his forehead notwithstanding the briskness of the morning air.

Then Tom began to understand where Lord Claud's advantage lay. If he could tire out his adversary by keeping on the defensive, then at the last he might get his chance, and lunge at him when he would scarce be able to parry the thrust.

It was easy to see that his weak point was slowness of recovery. His thrusts were quick and well planted, he had an excellent guard and mastery of the weapon; but he was slow in recovering after making a lunge, and the longer the fight continued the more evident did this defect become. And it was plain that he was aware of it, for though he pressed upon his antagonist with great determination and with much dexterity of sword play, he was afraid to take advantage of his longer reach and lunge at him boldly; for he knew that if Lord Claud avoided the thrust, he would almost certainly have at him with a counter lunge before he had time to parry.

And, in fact, that was what did at the last happen, after the fight had lasted so long that Tom thought half an hour must surely have gone by. Both antagonists showed signs of weariness. It had even been suggested that enough had been done to satisfy the claims of honour; but to that suggestion neither principal would listen.

Sir James was much distressed. Sweat poured from his brow, his breath came in deep gasps, his face was growing purple. Lord Claud looked white, but otherwise had not changed in aspect, and the deadly battle light in his eyes was growing brighter and keener.

His heavy antagonist now saw that nothing could serve his purpose but an exercise of sheer weight and brute force, and he pressed on and on with such fury that Tom almost cried aloud in his fear. But Lord Claud was wary and watchful; he gave way for a while, only parrying the thrusts, and that with not so much force as before; then suddenly Sir James made a furious lunge, and calling out in a strangled voice, "Have at you now!" he all but buried his rapier in his adversary's body.

All but-yet not quite; for just at the moment when it seemed impossible to parry the furious stroke, Lord Claud made a curious upward twist of the wrist, caught his adversary's blade and turned it so that it glanced aside and passed him, whilst he sprang towards him at the same instant, and saying quite coolly, "Sir, methinks your physician would recommend blood letting in your heated condition," he thrust straight and true at his burly adversary, running the shining blade into his shoulder in such a fashion that the tip of the rapier reappeared red with blood behind him, and he fell forwards with a smothered bellow like that of a bull who is ringed, so that Lord Claud had need of all his quickness to withdraw his rapier in time.

Second and surgeon sprang to the side of the wounded man; but Lord Claud said quite quietly:

"'Tis no mortal wound. He has not got his deserts this time. Are you satisfied, gentlemen, or do you want more with us?"

The second looked up at Tom's stalwart figure, hesitated a moment, and then professed that he desired to carry matters no further.

Lord Claud handed the rapiers to Tom, coolly resumed his discarded garments, took off his hat with a courtly bow, and walked off with his customary air of easy grace.

"Come, Tom," he said, "we have managed that well. The brute will not die, but will only keep his bed a while, and doubtless rise to trouble us again in days to come. They say he has never felt a wound before, and boasts himself invulnerable. He will little relish the lesson he has had today. But he will never forget or forgive; so have a caution when he is your neighbour in any company. He will rail at his second for not pinking you; but 'twas his own words that daunted the man. He thought he saw in you a veritable son of the forest, terrible in wrath, invincible in skill-" and Lord Claud suddenly threw back his head and began to laugh unrestrainedly.

"I did not understand him," quoth Tom.

"Marry, no-and no need you should! You had better not understand too much of the things you see and hear in the world, honest Tom. And now let us to a more hearty breakfast, and back again to town. I must show myself today with a lordly grace, and prove to all the world that I need shrink from no man's gaze. As for yon black bull, be sure he will breathe no word of this thing. It would ill mate with his pride for the world to know that he had been spitted like a capon by one whom he has dared to gibe at as the white hind of the forest!"

Lord Claud's mood had completely changed. He was gay and merry, and eager after pleasure. He took Tom hither and thither to half a dozen fine houses, where the ladies gazed with a certain awestruck admiration at this "untamed son of the woods," as it pleased Lord Claud to call him, whilst they loaded with favours the brilliant young spark, who seemed, when in the mood, to have power to win all hearts.

He was a "dear tormenting devil," or a "mad fellow, but withal a true Prince Charming;" and just as he talked sound sense and politics with the poet yesterday, so now he beat even the finest of the ladies and their beaux at high-flown nonsense about goddesses and heroes, and the Arcadian bowers where they made a pretence of living and moving.

At the play, to which they went later, he moved from box to box, from tier to tier, taking snuff with the men, saying charming nothings to the ladies; the centre always of a laughing throng, whose proximity must surely have been distressful to any persons so unfashionable as to desire to listen to what the actors were saying. He even went behind and upon the stage, as spectators were still permitted to do, although there was less of this confusion than a few years before; and he was eagerly welcomed wherever he appeared.

From the play they repaired to more gay houses, where Tom speedily lost his ten guineas at basset, but was too excited to care, and paid over his stakes with a lordly indifference that did credit to his powers of observation and imitation.

It was long past midnight ere they bent their steps homewards, and then, as it was far too late to seek the shelter of Master Cale's abode, Tom betook himself once more to Lord Claud's lodgings, and was speedily sound asleep in the most soft and sumptuous bed it had ever been his lot to lie upon.

CHAPTER VII. MASTER GALE'S DAUGHTER

It was Sunday morning, and Tom was making his way, towards the hour of noon, to the house of the perruquier, which he had quitted some four days past, with no intention of so long an absence.

The streets were unwontedly quiet, and the cries of the apprentices at the doors of the shops were pleasantly missed. The shops were most of them shuttered up, and the apprentices, clad in their best, were all away to some sport of their own selection in byways and alleys, or lingering about the parks with a knot of footmen and lackeys, watching the fine folk walk in and out. For the common sort were not admitted as yet within the precincts of the parks, and even the gentlefolks had to leave their servants behind; so that it may well be guessed there was plenty of gossiping and hustling to be had at the gates, if any had a taste for it.

Tom was a far finer figure coming home than he had been in going out. He wore a coat of azure velvet, and his vest was a perfect cataract of fine point de Venise. His shoes were of white leather with red heels, and his stockings of the finest white silk. He had felt ashamed of his plain claret cloth, which had seemed so fine at first, when taken to the houses of the fine hooped and powdered ladies; and Lord Claud had had him fitted with this suit at his own costumiers, bidding Tom regard it as a small token of friendship and gratitude.

Tom had delighted in his fine appearance as he was taken the round of the fashionable houses; but now, as he neared his former lodgings, he found himself wishing he had put on the more sober suit. He felt that Master Cale's eyes would rest upon him with a grave disapproval, and he had not yet grown indifferent to the opinion of the man who had so befriended him.

The perruquier's shop was close shut up, the sign swinging idly overhead. But the door in the rear stood ajar, and Tom softly pushed it open and entered.

He paused on the threshold, surprised by an unfamiliar sound-the sound of a fresh young voice singing a gay little snatch of song in some upper chamber. He mounted the stairs softly, the sound of the voice growing clearer, and at last he knew that the singer must be in the upper parlour, where, when the day's work was all finished, the perruquier and any lodger he might chance to have spent the evening hours if they did not go abroad.

This parlour was free to Tom, who, however, had not so far troubled it much with his presence; but now he pushed open the door with pardonable curiosity, and beheld at once the singer of the quaint little refrain.

A slim young maiden was standing at the window, looking down into the street below. She wore the simple dress of the citizen class, a rather full skirt of cloth-of a finer texture perhaps than some, and of a dark crimson colour which well became her-and the laced bodice and full sleeves of the day. Round her throat she had a fine white muslin kerchief edged with lace, and her apron was of the same. She had plainly been wearing a hood of cloth like her dress, but this was now lying on the table; and her pretty dark brown hair, rather ruffled, was bound by nothing save a snood of crimson riband. Her profile was turned to Tom, and he saw a sweet, little, merry face, with a nose a trifle tip-tilted, and a cheek the colour of a damask rose.

It seemed as though the opening of the door had been heard, for the maid exclaimed in a merry voice:

"O father dear, I do love your picture of Absalom and David! I think the king's great periwig is most beautifully depicted. But I would like a companion picture on the other side-the mule running away with Absalom, and the periwig left hanging on the tree!"

Then turning full round a laughing rosy face and a pair of roguish hazel eyes, the maid suddenly found herself face to face with this very fine young gentleman, and in a moment the smile died away, although there was no displeasure in the glance of curiosity and admiration which she bestowed upon him.

Tom made his best bow, and the maiden dropped him a pretty courtesy, saying with frank fearlessness:

"You are surely my father's lodger, of whom he spoke to me. I crave your pardon for not sooner seeing you. But I knew not that you were in the house, and thought it must needs be my father at the door."

Tom advanced and stood beside her in the window. The pair regarded each other with a frank and friendly curiosity.

"Are you Master Cale's daughter, pretty maiden?" asked Tom.

She nodded her head archly, whilst Tom hastened to ask:

"But how comes it then that I have never seen you before? I thought he lived alone, with only his housekeeper, shopman, and apprentice in the house."

"And so he does," answered the maid. "He will not have me to dwell here. As soon as my mother died, when I was but eight years old, he sent me away to my aunt in Highgate, with whom I have remained ever since. Fain would I come back and keep house for him, but he will none of it. He says that his house is no place for me, and he will never let me visit him even of a week day. But upon most Sundays he either comes forth to fetch me, or my aunt brings me hither to him. Last Sunday the rain poured down so lustily that we were e'en forced to bide at home; but whenever it is possible we spend the day together, and I love to come into the town and walk abroad with him there, and see such sights as may be seen upon the Sabbath day."

"And is your aunt with you today?" asked Tom.

"She brought me hither after we had attended service at St. Paul's, which I love to do. But now she has gone to visit some gossip of her own. Father and I will have the afternoon together and alone, and this we love best of all. He always gives holiday to apprentice and shopman, so that we can have the house to ourselves, and enjoy ourselves after our own fashion."

"I trust I shall not mar your happiness if I ask to share your noontide meal," said Tom humbly.

"Oh no, sir, we shall be proud of your company," answered the girl; "if you are not too fine a gentleman to sit at board with humble citizens.

"Ah, there is my father's step! Doubtless he comes to say that dinner is ready. He will not let me soil my fingers with cooking when I come; but I can cook right well for all that-" and there she stopped short, for Cale was already entering, and he gave quite a start as his glance fell upon the resplendent figure standing beside his daughter, though his face cleared and put on a slightly quizzical look as he recognized who the young spark was.

"Ho! ho! my young friend, so I see you back at last! It is plain that you have been with mighty fine company since you left my humble roof. I almost marvel that Curley Cale's lodging is accounted fine enough to hold your worshipful self longer!"

Tom suddenly felt a qualm of shame and disgust at his finery. It was all very well for men like Lord Claud, but he felt that it made him ridiculous to be tricked out like a peacock, in lieu of wearing the more sober and becoming raiment chosen for him with such care by Master Cale himself. His cheek glowed as he made reply:

"It is but a suit that was given me to appear at the house of some fine lady last evening. I would gladly be rid of it now, and, with your leave, will don more sober raiment. I love not to be pranked out like this; but what would you, when all the world does the like?"

Cale smiled his shrewd little smile, the maiden's eyes expressed open admiration for the costly frippery, but Tom hastened away and chose for himself one of the seemly but well-cut and fashionable suits that had been left for him since he quitted the house a few days before; and when he descended to join the party of two at the board, as he had been invited, he felt much more like himself, and looked much more suited to his surroundings, than he had done when he first appeared there.

Father and daughter received him kindly, and Rosamund's eyes were full of eagerness as she turned them upon him. He had learned by this time that her name was Rosamund, though her father generally called her Rosy.

"I pray you, fair sir," she said, with a pretty imperiousness of manner, "tell us some of the things that you have seen and heard these last days. My father says you have been keeping fine company, and I would learn what that is like; for I am but a humble citizen's daughter, and I live my life away in the country, so all I know of the gay doings in the town I must needs hear from my father, who tells me as little as ever he can!"

And she looked towards him with a charming pout upon her lips, though her eyes were full of love beneath their merry sparkle.

"I am but a country-bred youth myself, Mistress Rosamund," answered Tom, who had laid aside all his fine gentleman airs, and felt a deal more comfortable in consequence, "and this town and its gay doings are as strange to me as they can be to you. I am all agape at what I see and hear; but a man must needs keep his astonishment to himself, else he becomes the butt and the gibe of all the company."

And forthwith, by no means reluctantly, Master Tom began to give account of his doings of the past days, only keeping quite silent on the subject of the duel, for he had learned that that was a matter which Lord Claud wished to remain secret.

Rosamund listened as Desdemona might have done to Othello, and Cale himself was considerably interested, though he shook his head when he heard that already Tom had lost all the money he had about him, and was even in debt to Lord Claud for losses he had been unable to meet at the moment, and which his patron had settled for him.

"Keep away from the gaming tables, Tom; keep away from the gaming tables," he said. "Did I not warn you that you would be fleeced and rooked if you tried that sort of thing on?"

Tom laughed a little, and said he knew beforehand he should lose, as though that were an excuse. But Cale only shook his head; and Rosamund asked eagerly:

"But who is this great Lord Claud, fair sir? He seems a wonderful person, and fain would I see him with mine own eyes. He seems a kind and generous man, and wondrous clever and beautiful. Pray tell me who he is?"

Tom looked across at Cale, and made answer:

"I' sooth, Mistress Rosamund, I know not. Perchance your father may be better instructed."

Cale shook his head. His face was very grave.

"That is a question which I doubt if any man in London town can answer. Every man knows Lord Claud by name and fame, but none can tell who he is, nor whence come his wealth and power. Mark me, Tom, it behoves you to have a care how you fall beneath the spell of his beauty and his kindliness. He has made friends before this of handsome, powerful lads, not long from the country, and amongst these many have disappeared and never been heard of more, whilst others have fallen into crime, and have languished in Newgate, or paid the forfeit of their lives upon the gallows."

Rosamund shrank and grew pale; whilst Tom looked the perruquier full in the face, and said:

"Truly I can believe that many men who plunge into dissipation and vice may come in time to a bad end. But why charge that upon Lord Claud? He can only be held responsible for his own life, and he lives and thrives in favour with all."

"Like a green bay tree," answered the perruquier thoughtfully. "I have often seen the wicked in great prosperity; but their downfall comes at last."

"Do you call Lord Claud wicked?" asked Tom rather hotly.

"No," was the quiet reply; "I judge no man; but I do say that worldly prosperity is no test of true merit. The wicked may be fat and flourishing for long; but the Lord will avenge at the last."

"But, father," cried pretty Rosamund eagerly, "for what crimes were the poor young men hanged of whom you spoke just now?"

"Most of them suffered for the crime of robbery on the king's highway."

Tom again flushed rather deeply. He had heard hints and innuendoes before this, and his wits were beginning now to piece things together. He was angry, yet he scarce knew why.

"Do you mean to say, Master Cale," he asked, "that men accuse Lord Claud of being the accomplice of highwaymen and footpads?"

And then he himself remembered the words of the message with which Captain Jack had entrusted him, and a strange thrill seemed to run down his spine.

"Men say nought of him openly," answered Cale, "but they whisper among themselves. For my part, I know nothing of Lord Claud and his doings. But I know that there have been marvellous clever and daring deeds done upon the road; that the king's money chests have been rifled again and again of gold, transmitted by the Treasury for the pay of the soldiers in foreign lands, and that none of the gold has ever been recovered. Now and again an obscure person has been captured, and has suffered death for complicity in such a crime; and it has been told me that several of such have been stalwart and stanch youths, who had at one time been seen frequenting Lord Claud's lodgings, much noticed and petted by him. What truth there be in such talk I know not. Nor have I any desire to know. A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing; and the voice of rumour is but little to be trusted."

"Very little, I should think," answered Tom quickly; for he had already conceived a great attachment towards Lord Claud, and it irked him to think that men should speak of him as one who was a false friend, and the accomplice in crimes for which others suffered whilst he reaped the spoil.

A man, especially in his hot-headed youth, seldom believes what he has no mind to; and Tom certainly had no disposition to believe any harm of Lord Claud.

So the talk drifted to other channels, and when presently Rosamund declared with pretty insistence that she must not be cheated of her walk abroad in the streets. Tom asked if he might make one of the party without intruding; and the bright eyes of the girl gave eloquent answer.