THE OUTRAGE
1
A great Sadness descends upon my Soul, dear Mistress, even as I write. Cold shivers course up and down the length of my spine and mine eyes feel hot with tears still unshed—tears of Sorrow and of Shame, aye! and of a just Anger that it should have been in the power of two empty-headed Coxcombs to wreak an irreparable Injury upon one who is as much above them as are the Stars above the grovelling Worms.
I use the words "irreparable Injury" advisedly, dear Lady, because what happened on that late September afternoon will for ever be graven upon the Heart and Memory of a great and noble Man, to the exclusion of many a gentle feeling which was wont to hold full sway over his Temperament before then. Time, mayhap, and the triumph of a great Soul over overwhelming temptation, have no doubt somewhat softened the tearing ache of that cruel brand; but only your Hand, fair Mistress, can complete the healing, only your Voice can, with its tender gentleness, drown the insistent call of Pride still smarting for further Revenge.
2
Lord Douglas Wychwoode did not speak to Mr. Betterton after her Ladyship and my Lord Stour had gone out of the room, but continued his restless pacing up and down. I thought his Silence ominous.
Half consciously, I kept my attention fixed upon the street below, and presently saw the Lady Barbara get into her chair and bid adieu to his Lordship, who remained standing on our doorstep until the Sedan was borne away up the street and out of sight. Then, to my astonishment, he walked down as far as the Spread Eagle tavern and disappeared within its doors.
The Silence in our parlour was getting on my nerves. I could not see Mr. Betterton, only Lord Douglas from time to time, when in his ceaseless tramping his short, burly figure crossed the line of my vision.
Anon I once more thought of my Work. There were a couple more copies of the Manifesto to be done, and I set to, determined to finish them. Time went on, and the afternoon light was now rapidly growing dim. Outside, the weather had not improved. A thin rain was coming down, which turned the traffic-way of our street to sticky mud. I remember, just after I had completed my Work and tidied up my papers, looking out of the window and seeing, in the now fast-gathering gloom, the young Lord of Stour on the doorstep of the Spread Eagle tavern, in close conversation with half a dozen ill-clad and ill-conditioned Ruffians. But I gave the matter no further thought just then, for my mind happened to be engrossed with doubts as to how I should convey the Copies I had made to my Employer without revealing my presence to Lord Douglas Wychwoode.
His Lordship himself, however, soon relieved me of this perplexity, for presently he came to a halt by the door which led to the inner office and quite unceremoniously pushed it open and walked through. I heard his peremptory demands for the Copies, and Mr. Baggs' muttered explanations. But I did not wait a moment longer. This was obviously my best opportunity for reappearing upon the Scene without his Lordship realizing that I had been in the parlour all the time. I slipped out from my hiding place and carefully rearranged the screen in its former position, then I tiptoed across the room.
In the gloom, I caught sight of Mr. Betterton standing in one of the Recesses, his slender white hands, which were so characteristic of his refined, artistic Personality, were clasped behind his back. I would have given a year or two of my humdrum life for the privilege of speaking to him then and of expressing to him some of that Sympathy with which my heart was overflowing. But no one knows better than I how proud a Man he is, and how he would have resented the thought that any one else had witnessed his Humiliation.
So I executed the Manoeuvre which I had in my mind without further delay. I opened the door which gave on the stairs noiselessly, then closed it again with a bang, as if I had just come in. Then I strode as heavily as I could across the room to the door of the inner office, against which I then rapped with my knuckles.
"Who's that?" Mr. Baggs' voice queried immediately.
"The Copies, Sir, which you ordered," I replied in a firm voice. "I have finished them."
"Come in! come in!" then broke in Lord Douglas impatiently. "I have waited in this accursed hole quite long enough."
The whole thing went off splendidly, and even Mr. Baggs did subsequently compliment me on my clever Ruse. Lord Douglas never suspected the fact that I had not been out of the Parlour for a moment, but had heard from the safe shelter of the window-recess everything that had been going on.
3
When, a few moments later, I returned to the Parlour, eager to have a few minutes' speech with Mr. Betterton, I saw that he had gone. Anon, Kathleen, the maid, brought in the candles and closed the shutters. I once more took my place at my desk, but this time made no use of the screen. After awhile, Lord Douglas came in, followed by the ever-obsequious Mr. Baggs, and almost directly after that, my Lord Stour came back.
His clothes were very wet and he shook the rain out from the brim of his hat.
"What a time You have been!" Lord Douglas said to him. "I was for going away without seeing You."
"I wanted to find out what had happened in here," my Lord Stour gave reply, speaking in a whisper.
"What do you mean?"
"The Fellow had the audacity to pay his addresses to Lady Barbara," my Lord Stour went on, still speaking below his breath. "I guessed as much, but wanted to make sure."
Lord Douglas uttered an angry Oath, and Lord Stour continued hurriedly:
"Such Insolence had to be severely punished, of course; and I saw to it."
"How?" queried the other eagerly.
"I have hired half a dozen Ruffians from the tavern yonder, to waylay him with sticks on his way from here, and to give him the sound thrashing he deserves."
It was with the most terrific effort at self-control that I succeeded in smothering the Cry of Horror which had risen to my lips. As it was, I jumped to my feet and both my chair and the candle from my desk fell with a clatter to the floor. I think that Mr. Baggs hurled a Volley of abuse upon me for my clumsiness and chided me in that the grease from the candle was getting wasted by dripping on the floor. But the Gentlemen paid no heed to me. They were still engaged in their abominable conversation. While I stooped to pick up the chair and the candle, I heard my Lord Stour saying to his Friend:
"Come with me and see the Deed accomplished. The Mountebank must be made to know whose Hand is dealing him the well-merited punishment. My Hirelings meant to waylay him at the corner of Spreadeagle Court, a quiet place which is not far from here, and which leads into a blind Alley. Quickly, now," he added; "or we shall be too late."
More I did not hear; for, believe me, dear Mistress, I felt like one possessed. For the nonce, I did not care whether I was seen or not, whether Mr. Baggs guessed my purpose or not. I did not care if he abused me or even punished me later for my strange behaviour. All that I knew and felt just then was that I must run to the corner of Spreadeagle Court, where one of the most abominable Outrages ever devised by one Man against Another was even then being perpetrated. I tore across the room, through the door and down the stairs, hatless, my coat tails flying behind me, like some Maniac escaping from his Warders.
I ran up Chancery Lane faster, I think, than any man ever ran before. Already my ears were ringing with the sound of distant shouts and scuffling. My God! grant that I may not come too late. I, poor, weak, feeble of body, could of course do nothing against six paid and armed Ruffians; but at least I could be there to ward off or receive some of the blows which the arms of the sacrilegious Miscreants were dealing, at the instance of miserable Coxcombs, to a man whose Genius and Glory should have rendered him almost sacred in their sight.
4
As long as I live will that awful picture haunt me as I saw it then.
You know the Blind Alley on the left-hand side of Spreadeagle Court, with, at the end of it, the great double doorway which gives on the back premises of Mr. Brooks' silk warehouse. It was against that doorway that Mr. Betterton had apparently sought some semblance of refuge when first he was set upon by the Ruffians. By the time that I reached the corner of the Blind Alley, he had fallen against the door; for at first I could not see him. All that I saw was a group of burly backs, and arms waving sticks about in the air. All that I heard, oh, my God! were ribald cries and laughter, and sounds such as wild animals must make when they fall, hungry, upon their Prey. The Ruffians, I make no doubt, had no grudge against their Victim; but they had been well instructed and would be well paid if their foul deed was conscientiously accomplished.
My Wrath and Anxiety gave me the strength which I otherwise lack. Pushing, jostling, crawling, I contrived to work my way through the hideous Barrier which seethed and moved and shouted betwixt me and the Man whom I love.
When I at last kneeled beside him, I saw and heard nothing more. I did not feel the blows which one or two of the Ruffians thought fit to deal to Me. I only saw him, lying there against the door, panting, bleeding from forehead and hands, his clothes torn, his noble Face of a deathly Pallor. I drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket and staunched the wounds upon his face; I pillowed his head against my Shoulder; I helped him to struggle to his feet. He was in mortal pain and too weak to speak; but a ray of kindliness and of gratitude flashed through his eyes when he recognised me.
The Ruffians were apparently satisfied with their hideous work; but they still stood about at the top of the Alley, laughing and talking, waiting no doubt for their Blood Money. Oh! if wishes could have struck those Miscreants dumb or blind or palsied, my feeble voice would have been raised to Heaven, crying for Vengeance on such an infamous Deed. Hot tears came coursing down my cheeks, my temples throbbed with pain and Misery, as my arm stole round the trembling figure of my Friend.
Then all at once those tears were dried, the throbbing of my temples was stilled. I felt no longer like a Man, but like a petrified Statue of Indignation and of Hate. The sound of my Lord Stour's Voice had just struck upon mine ear. Vaguely through the gloom I could see him and Lord Douglas Wychwoode parleying with those abominable Ruffians.... I heard the jingle of Money ... Blood Money ... the ring of ribald laughter, snatches of a bibulous song.
These sounds and the clang of the Gentlemen's footsteps upon the cobble-stones also reached Mr. Betterton's fast-fading Senses. I felt a tremor coursing right through his limbs. With an almost superhuman Effort, he pulled himself together and drew himself erect, still clinging with both hands to my arms. By the time that the two young Cavaliers had reached the end of the blind Alley, the outraged Man was ready to confront them. Their presence there, those sounds of jingling money and of laughter, had told him the whole abominable tale. He fought against his Weakness, against Pain and against an impending Swoon. He was still livid, but it was with Rage. His eyes had assumed an unnatural Fire; his whole appearance as he stood there against the solid background of the massive door, was sublime in its forceful Expression of towering Wrath and of bitter, deadly Humiliation.
Even those two miserable Coxcombs paused for an instant, silenced and awed by what they saw. The laughter died upon their lips; the studied sneer upon their Face gave place to a transient expression of fear.
Mr. Betterton's arm was now extended and with trembling hand he pointed at Lord Stour.
"'Tis You——" he murmured hoarsely. "You—who have done—this thing?"
"At your service," replied the young Man, with a lightness of manner which was obviously forced and a great show of Haughtiness and of Insolence. "My friend Lord Douglas here, has allowed me the privilege of chastising a common Mountebank for daring to raise his eyes to the Lady Barbara Wychwoode——"
At mention of the Lady's name, I felt Mr. Betterton's clutch on my arm tighten convulsively.
"Does she——" he queried, "does she—know?"
"I forbid You," interposed Lord Douglas curtly, "to mention my Sister's name in the matter."
"'Tis to my Lord Stour I am speaking," rejoined Mr. Betterton more firmly. Then he added: "You will give me satisfaction for this outrage, my Lord——"
"Satisfaction?" riposted his Lordship coolly. "What do you mean?"
"One of us has got to die because of this," Mr. Betterton said loudly.
Whereupon my Lord Stour burst into a fit of hilarious laughter, which sounded as callous as it was forced.
"A Duel?" he almost shrieked, in a rasping voice. "Ha! ha! ha! a Duel!!!—a duel with You? ... With Tom Betterton, the Son of a Scullion.... By my faith! 'tis the best joke you ever made, Sir Actor ... 'tis worth repeating upon the Stage!"
But the injured Man waited unmoved until his Lordship's laughter died down in a savage Oath. Then he said calmly:
"The day and hour, my Lord Stour?"
"This is folly, Sir," rejoined the young Cavalier coldly. "The Earl of Stour can only cross swords with an Equal."
"In that case, my lord," was Mr. Betterton's calm reply, "you can only cross swords henceforth with a Coward and a Liar."
"Damned, insolent cur!" cried Lord Stour, maddened with rage no doubt at the other's calm contempt. He advanced towards us with arm uplifted—then perhaps felt ashamed, or frightened—I know not which. Certain it is that Lord Douglas succeeded in dragging him back a step or two, whilst he said with well-studied contempt:
"Pay no further heed to the fellow, my Friend. He has had his Punishment—do not bandy further Words with him."
He was for dragging Lord Stour away quickly now. I do believe that he was ashamed of the abominable Deed. At any rate, he could not bear to look upon the Man who had been so diabolically wronged.
"Come away, Man!" he kept reiterating at intervals. "Leave him alone!"
"One moment, my Lord," Mr. Betterton called out in a strangely powerful tone of Voice. "I wish to hear your last Word."
By now we could hardly see one another. The Blind Alley was in almost total gloom. Only against the fast-gathering dusk I could still see the hated figures of the two young Cavaliers, their outlines blurred by the evening haze. Lord Stour was certainly on the point of going; but at Mr. Betterton's loudly spoken Challenge, he paused once more, then came a step or two back towards us.
"My last Word?" he said coldly. Then he looked Mr. Betterton up and down, his every Movement, his whole Attitude, a deadly Insult. "One does not fight with such as You," he said, laughed, and would have turned away immediately, only that Mr. Betterton, with a quick and unforeseen Movement, suddenly reached forward and gripped him by the Wrist.
"Insolent puppy!" he said in a whisper, so hoarse and yet so distinct that not an Intonation, not a syllable of it was lost, "that knows not the Giant it has awakened by its puny bark. You refuse to cross swords with Tom Betterton, the son of a Menial, as you choose to say? Very well, then, 'tis Thomas Betterton, the Artist of undying renown, who now declares war against You. For every Jeer to-day, for every Insult and for every Blow, he will be even with You; for he will launch against You the irresistible Thunderbolt that kills worse than death and which is called Dishonour! ... Aye! I will fight You, my Lord; not to your death, but to your undying Shame. And now," he added more feebly, as he threw his Lordship's arm away from him with a gesture of supreme contempt, "go, I pray You, go! I'll not detain You any longer. You and your friend are free to laugh for the last time to-day at the name which I, with my Genius, have rendered immortal. Beware, my Lord! The Ridicule that kills, the Obloquy which smirches worse than the impious hands of paid Lacqueys. This is the Word of Tom Betterton, my Lord; the first of his name, as you, please God, will be the last of yours!"
Then, without a groan, he fell, swooning, upon my shoulder. When consciousness of my surroundings once more returned to me, I realized that the two Gentlemen had gone.