Rochester, who was practical, and who had oft suffered because of his gallant adventures.
"There are no risks, gentlemen," quoth Sir John Ayloffe, "not to us at any rate, nor yet to my lord Stowmaries. As for the tailor and his family, believe me they will be so covered with ridicule, that they will not cause his lordship a moment's anxiety. Just think on it! To give away one's daughter to a man who is not her husband! to greet him with festivities and merrimaking, to kill the fatted calf in honour of the man who brings dishonour into one's home! Nay! Nay! The breeches-maker of Paris will have cause to keep silent after the adventure. The maid perchance will retire into a convent, and the gallant adventurer can brave the world in comfort with seventy thousand pounds in his pocket."
"Bravo! Well said!—But the details?—how will you work, it, Ayloffe?"
Obviously the scheme was commending itself more and more to these over-heated brains. There were no shame-faced looks round the table now. Stowmaries did not speak; his excitement was too keen to find vent in words, and he was shrewd enough to realise at once that Ayloffe did not mean to give away the details of his plans to this trio of young addle-pated rakes.
But cries of "The details, man, the details!" became more and more insistent. Sir John, glass in hand, at last rose in response.
"The details are simple enough, gentlemen, and now that I have your approbation, I will be quick enough in working them out. In the meanwhile let us drink to the gallant adventurer who must help us in our scheme. We do not yet know his name, who he is or whence he comes; the fairy Prince who will free my lord Stowmaries from irksome bondage and the tailor's daughter from the fetters of a respectable home. What we do know is that this Prince must be young, else he could not pass for milor of Stowmaries, he must be well-favoured, else the lady might fight shy of him; but he may be as poor as the proverbial church mouse, since seventy thousand pounds, and the fortune of the richest tailor in Paris are jointly to be his. Come, gentlemen, will you take my toast?"
Loud banging of pewter mugs against the deal table greeted this merry sally. The young men jumped to their feet.
"To him! To the unknown!" they shouted laughing with one accord. There were loud calls for Master Foorde, and confused orders for more Spanish wine. Sir John called for brandy, and anon when the worthy hosteler filled the bumpers all round the table, Ayloffe followed him adding brandy here and there to the wine, laughingly insistent, praising the quality of the liquor for inducing to gaiety and all the elegant qualities of amiable drunkenness so fashionable in a gentleman of the period.
He was quite clever enough not to make any further direct allusions to the scheme, the realisation of which meant the transference of twelve thousand pounds from Mistress Julia Peyton's pocket into his own. So far he had gained the first stake in the game which he had set himself to play, and was content for the moment merely to addle still further the heads of these young reprobates by wild talks of adventure, and sly allusions to the delights of coming scandal, mixed with sweeping sarcasm directed at feminine virtue in general and the morals of the Paris bourgeoisie in particular.
He knew well enough that Stowmaries was at one with him by now, but that he never would have succeeded in persuading the young man to enter into such villainous schemes, if he had been alone with him.
Away from the glamour of his rakish friends, of the atmosphere of the tavern, of the smell of wine and tobacco, Stowmaries' better nature and the inherited instincts of honour would have rebelled against the roguery. Any of these young men here present would individually have repudiated the monstrous proposal whilst collectively they were over-ready to trample on any nascent idea of chivalry, each one ashamed to be called squeamish or Puritanical by the other. There was nothing really depraved in these young men, only a desire to outdo each other in profligacy, in a show of anti-Puritanism, the immediate outcome of the enforced restraint of the past generation.
Ayloffe knew this, and, therefore, he had chosen the supper hour, and the presence of a select number of the worst rakes in London—Rochester and Bullock—for testing Stowmaries' willingness to enter into his own villainous scheme. He wanted the support of confused brains, of rowdy excitement, of shouts and of laughter to drown the preliminary call of conscience. This once smothered, would probably never lift a warning voice again, and details could be comfortably settled in private later on.
"Believe me, gentlemen," he said gaily, "that that tailor's minx will thank us all on her knees for the entertainment which we will provide for her. Odd's fish and I mistake not she hath but little stomach for becoming an honourable British matron, and you may be sure that 'tis only her parents who force her into an unwelcome marriage. We shall be the rescuers of beauty in distress, and will provide the wench with such an adventure as will draw the eyes of half Europe upon her and give her that notoriety which all women prize far beyond those virtues which are only vaunted by the old and ugly ones of their own sex. A bumper on it, gentlemen! I pledge the tailor's minx, ill-favoured though she be—my word on that! she'll become the talk of London—I drink to her adventure—and to the bold man who will share in it—By my halidame, were I but twenty years younger, I'd apply for the post myself."
Ayloffe's irresponsible talk, and the heady wines mixed with alcohol completed the work of destruction. Lord Stowmaries and his friends contrived within the next hour or so to lose more self-respect than their fathers had gained in a lifetime through sublime adherence to a forlorn cause.
CHAPTER X
But indeed words are very rascals since bonds disgrace them.
—Twelfth Night III. 1.
I think that we shall have to accept Sir Anthony Wykeham's account of how the proceedings finally terminated. He avers that by the time the church clock of St. Clement's had struck the hour of ten, Sir John Ayloffe was the only man present in that small private room who could at all be called sober.
At that hour my lord of Rochester it seems lay right across the table with flushed face hidden in the bend of the elbow, snoring lustily at intervals and at others lifting a heavy head in order to hurl a bibulous remark at impassive Sir John or over-excited Stowmaries: Sir Knaith Bullock had quite frankly exchanged the rickety incertitude of Master Foorde's chairs for the more solid level of the floor, where after sundry struggles with a tiresome cravat and a persistently wry perruque he lay amidst the straw and the unsavoury postprandial debris that littered it, in comfort and security.
Wykeham, according to his own account, had lapsed into somnolent sulkiness, vaguely listening to the ribald jests and coarse oaths uttered by the others, and to the monotonous murmur of Sir John's voice as he explained the details of his scheme to Stowmaries.
The latter had certainly drunk more brandy than was good for the clearness of his brain. Excitement, too, had wrought upon his blood, with the result that the events of this night took on the garb of some over-vivid dream: but, as soon as he realised that his perceptions were becoming too confused to take in Ayloffe's varied suggestions, he made a vigorous effort to regain possession of himself. He called for a bowl of iced water, and dashed its contents into his face and across his eyes. After that he steadily refused to drink any more, nor did Sir John press him any further.
The insinuating poison had done its work: there was no fear now that Stowmaries would wish to draw back.
"I pray you draw your chair nearer, my lord," said Ayloffe after awhile when of a truth he saw that the rest of the company was quite helpless, "these gentlemen are not like to disturb us now."
With unaccountable reluctance Stowmaries did as the older man bade him, and presently the two men withdrew altogether from out the circle of dim light thrown by the guttering tallow candles.
"Your lordship, I take it then, agrees with the broad basis of my scheme," said Ayloffe, speaking quite low, only just above a whisper. "You are anxious to free yourself from this undesired marriage, and you think that my suggestion is one which will most easily help you to accomplish this purpose?"
"That is so," assented Stowmaries readily.
"On