Now mark! To be precise—Though
I say "lies," all these, at this first stage
'Tis but for science' sake.
—BROWNING.
In the meanwhile my lord of Stowmaries had been allowed to spend a happy hour in the tiny withdrawing room at Holborn Row, kneeling at Mistress Julia Peyton's feet.
He had been so excited, so full of Sir John's proposals and their more than probable success that like Michael Kestyon he had no desire for rest. He had soon wearied of the crowd in the coffee room, and presently had allowed Ayloffe to lead him out into the streets.
Instinctively his footsteps turned in the direction of Holborn Row, the while he lent a somewhat inattentive ear to what Sir John was saying to him. Ayloffe was talking of the details of his scheme; of the payment of the money to Michael on the morrow, if the latter finally pledged himself to the bargain; fifty thousand pounds then, and a further seventy on the day that the tailor's daughter left her home in her husband's company.
"We must be as good as our word, my lord," said the astute Sir John. "A word misplaced, the faintest suggestion of withdrawal on any point might upset Michael's curious temper and turn his acquiescence into obstinate refusal."
Ayloffe had no doubt of Stowmaries' integrity, only the sum was such a vast one—and the worthy baronet was so unaccustomed to the handling of thousands—that he could not help dreading the fact that the young man had mayhap overestimated his power of paying away such large sums at such short intervals, and that, when the time came for disbursement, a hitch might occur which would rouse Michael's antagonism and upset the perfectly-laid scheme once and for all.
Stowmaries, however, seemed to attach very slight importance to this question of money.
"I am a man of my word," he said curtly. "I have no wish to draw back. What I've said, I've said."
What cared he if it cost him twice one hundred thousand pounds, if indeed he were free to wed the beautiful Julia?
He was over-eager to be at her feet now and showed marked impatience to rid himself of Ayloffe's company.
"My hand on it, Sir John," he said, halting at the corner of Holborn Row, for he did not want the older man to see whither he was going, the while the latter was well aware that my lord was on his way to Mistress Peyton's house. "My hand on it; and to-morrow Michael Kestyon shall have his fifty thousand pounds, if he finally agrees to do what we want."
"This he must do in the presence of witnesses—my lord of Rochester or Sir Knaith Bullock would favour us as much. Yet have I no fear that the rogue will play us false, 'tis the money he wants, and fifty thousand were not enough to tempt him; 'tis that further seventy that he'll crave for most."
"I know, I know," said Stowmaries, impatiently anxious to get away, now that he had perceived—as he thought—a light in one of the windows of his fair Julia's house. "He shall have that, too. The money is at interest with Master Vivish the diamond merchant. I can get it at any time."
"We promised it to Michael on the day that the tailor's daughter leaves her father's home," urged the over-prudent Sir John.
"On that day he shall have it," rejoined the other.
"Then your lordship would have to journey to France in order to fulfil that promise."
"I'll to France then," retorted the young man who had come to the end of his tether, "an you'll go to Hell now and leave me in peace."
Ayloffe laughed good-humouredly. Usually prone to quarrel he was determined to keep his temper to-night; and as he felt that nothing further would be gained now by talking whilst Stowmaries was so obviously waiting to be rid of him, he said nothing more, but gave his friend a cordial Good-night and turned on his heel in the direction of Lincoln's Inn Fields.
Stowmaries—as soon as the other was out of sight—walked down Holborn Row, and had soon reached the familiar door.
In response to his loud knocking the East Anglian serving-man came to open it. With the stolidity peculiar to his race, he showed no surprise at the untimely visitor, and with solemn imperturbability held out his furrowed hand even before Stowmaries had produced the small piece of silver which alone would induce the old man to permit that visitor to enter.
The piece of silver being deemed sufficient to overcome the man's scruples, he shuffled along the flagged passage without uttering a word, leaving Stowmaries to follow as he liked, and presently he threw open the door which gave on the small parlour.
Though it was close on midnight, Mistress Peyton was not abed. She had been to the Playhouse, and was still attired in that beautiful cream-coloured brocade which had been the envy of the feminine portion of the audience there; but though she was tired after the many and varied emotions of that eventful day, yet she felt that she could not have slept. Her proposals to Sir John Ayloffe, the schemes which she well knew that the gambler would concoct, the possibility or probability of ultimate success, harassed her nerves and fired her brain.
She had spent the last two hours in that narrow room, now pacing up and down like a caged rodent, now throwing herself down in a chair in an agony of restlessness.
The advent of my lord Stowmaries occurred in the nick of time, for she was on the verge of hysterics.
He knelt at her feet, adoring and excited. He told her all that had occurred during that momentous evening, humbly begging her pardon for having betrayed the secret of their mutual love, his own passion and his despair, to some of his most intimate friends.
Mistress Julia whose flushed face when my lord entered might have been caused by shyness at his stormy entrance, or by anger at the untimeliness of his visit, looked adorable in her obvious agitation. She chided him gently for his impetuosity, and for disclosing her tender secret to those who mayhap would sneer at her hopeless love.
Then my lord told her of Sir John Ayloffe's scheme, the proposed public disgrace of the tailor's daughter which would render the dissolution of the child-marriage not only probable but certain. Mistress Julia looked quite sad and shed sympathetic tears; she was so sorry, so very sorry for the poor dear child.
But when she heard that my lord had actually promised one hundred and twenty thousand pounds to his cousin Michael Kestyon for rendering him this service, the fair Julia frowned and checked an angry exclamation which had risen to her lips.
"The sum seems overvast," she remarked with affected indifference.
"The bribe had to be heavy, Mistress," replied my lord. "Michael was the only man who could help us. He might have refused for less. It had to be a fortune worth a gentleman's while to accept. Michael is a gentleman despite his roguery, and we were asking him to do a mighty villainous action. He had to be well paid for it," repeated the young man decisively, "methinks that for less he would have refused."
Mistress Peyton allowed the subject to drop for the moment and her lover to wander back into the realms of dithyrambic utterances, of vows and of sighs. But anon she recurred to the question of the money, showing a desire to know how and when it would be paid over.
"To-morrow when we have Michael's final acquiescence," said Stowmaries, eager to dismiss this question, "I will hand over fifty thousand pounds to him, and another seventy thousand the day on which Rose Marie Legros leaves her father's shop in company with mine adventurous cousin."
"You talk lightly of such vast sums, my lord," said Julia.
"Would I not give my fortune to win you?" he rejoined.
She continued for a long time afterwards to listen shyly and adorably to my lord's continued protestations, and when these became too violent, she rang for her tiring-wench and with many charmingly-timid blushes dismissed her adorer, promising to receive him again on the morrow.
He went away quite happy, vowing that he would gladly have given not only his entire fortune, but also his family estates and titles to Michael for enabling him to regain his freedom and to marry the most adorable woman in the whole world.
But Mistress Julia Peyton was not quite so content as all that. After my lord's departure, she went up to her sleeping room and exchanging her stiff brocade for a loose and easy wrap, she sat down in order to think various matters out.
Agitation and restlessness had gone from her, but not the frown of disapproval.
Her impetuous lover had been a fool, and Sir John a traitor to have allowed such monstrous promises to be made to Michael Kestyon. Surely her own kinsman should have known that her ardent love for my lord of Stowmaries consisted in the main of an overmastering desire to become a countess. Now with one hundred and twenty thousand pounds in Michael's hands and given that claimant's obstinate temperament and determination to carry his cause through, was there not a grave danger that the wretch would win his case after all and that my lord would presently have to yield his title and estates to the cousin whom he had so needlessly rendered rich?
It was monstrous, silly and childish! Sir John of course must have been well under the influence of liquor ere he allowed such a bargain, without realising the danger which threatened his kinswoman's ambitious desires.
She was mightily angry with Sir John, who should have been more shrewd, and could not understand how it was that so astute and so unscrupulous a schemer had overlooked the eventuality which she herself had foreseen in a flash.
The first fifty thousand, well and good!—Julia supposed that so vast a sum would certainly be required to bribe even a broken-down gentleman to enter into Ayloffe's dishonourable schemes.
But the further seventy thousand, was unnecessary, she felt sure of that and moreover it was dangerous.
Would it not be the most bitter irony of which Fate was capable if the tailor's daughter became Countess of Stowmaries after all?
Such a thing had become possible now, nay, probable, thanks to the blunder made by Sir John. As for my lord, he seemed unaware of the danger—he was too fond of laughing at Michael Kestyon's pretensions, and was ever inclined to dismiss them as puerile and beneath contempt; mayhap, too, that he was fatuous enough to think that even without wealth or title his adored one would become his.
But the adored one had no such intention.
Like unto the adventurer himself up in that squalid garret above the roofs of London, Mistress Peyton could not rest that night. Her active mind was troubled with plans of how to undo the blunders of the past hour.
And whilst Michael dreamed of future glory, of power and of wealth, Julia racked her woman's brain to find a means to bring him back to the dust.