Читать книгу The Jade of Destiny - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 3

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The Captain gave his battered hat the true swashbuckling cock, cast his ragged cloak about him with superb, braggadocio flourish, clashed his rusty spurs and bowed. And his nose seemed arrogant, his mouth grim, his chin aggressive,—but his eyes, these wide-set, long-lashed, wistful grey eyes gave to all the lie direct,—or so it seemed to her who, seated in great elbow-chair, surveyed him with much interest and no little disdain.

And as she viewed him thus beneath pucker of slim brows, he, viewing her, mentally classified her as a glooming Juno.

“You are Captain Jocelyn Dinwiddie?” said she at last, her dark eyes still intent.

“That same, madam,” he answered, in voice to match his look, “and late of the English company of gentlemen volunteers in Flanders.”

“But later, sir, in the Fleet Prison, I believe.”

The Captain’s sallow cheek flushed, his moustachio quivered, but his grey eyes were serenely steady as he answered:

“Admitted, madam, and shame it is that such right body and high-vaulting soul should ha’ been so pent for base gold. But the most of my good comrades are heroically dead, the old company is disbanded and my steel lacks employ. Thus am I, that was of late the compeer of demigods, become poor squire of Alsatia. Here is eclipse methinks might shake the very firmament!”

“In fine, sir, you are a mere bravo open to hire.”

“Madam, your mistake, if allowable, is infinite. I am Dinwiddie! Poor gentleman and soldier o’ fortune I, yet verily of fortune none. Howbeit such as I seem to you, that will I be to your supremest content.”

“One that will fight, sir, and kill a man for sufficient pay?”

“With all my heart, gentle lady,—if I judge that man worthy death so honourable.”

“Here shall be no ‘ifs’, sir.”

“Ha, ’sdeath and zounds, madam, in any small, ordinary matter o’ blood your ladyship shall find me apt, instant and of charges reasonable. Thus can I blind you husband that seeth too much, maim you indifferent lover that seeth too little for consideration paltry and fee trifling,—then, if needs must and may, I shall slay you a man cheaply as any of the cutting, swashing fraternity.”

“Enough!” said she imperiously. “Be serious.”

“As owl, lady, as moping owl.”

“Captain Dinwiddie, you were recommended to me as desperate fellow, very resolute and hardy.”

Captain Jocelyn bowed and folded his arms.

“Lady,” said he with his most superb air, “think now of the victorious Achilles, the valiant Hector, of Ulysses that Jove’s thunder-bolts defied,—then look on me! I say no more.”

“O’ my conscience,” she cried, “you say overmuch, you babble, you clack,—you chatter and prate me deaf and dumb!”

“Then, lady, here’s chance for word more and of my hardiness, rest assured, madam, for I am one holdeth life ’twixt thumb and finger-tip, let snatch who may. And so, what would ye with such fellow adamantine?”

“Deeds, man, deeds.”

“They shall achieve. But what is your precise need?”

“An impossibility.”

“Name it, prithee.”

“I seek a paladin, sir, a knight chivalrous, a man of wit, of gentle birth, bold as lion, cunning as fox, guileful as serpent, a gentleman honourable but of such desperate fortune shall risk his life willingly and often.”

“Madam,” said the Captain bowing, “he salutes you! ’Tis evident you begin to discern me somewhat. So then I await your ladyship’s instructions as to——” But here she clapped her white hands, laughing so youthfully that Captain Jocelyn thought no more of glooming Juno but of blithe nymphs, and joyous, white-throated dryads that mocked secure amid sun-kissed leaves. But, even as he watched, the lovely face clouded again, and she sighed distressfully.

“Captain,” said she after a moment’s silence, “you are acquaint with Monsieur de Bergerac, the French maître d’armes?”

“Madam, I have discovered to him a volte and pass or so new in his curriculum.”

“You make an idle brag, sir, for Monsieur de Bergerac is esteemed the greatest swordsman in London, nay—in all England.”

“But then your ladyship must remember I have been in England scarce a month.”

“Faith, sir,” said she, faintly scornful, “yourself is vastly sure and mightily pleased with yourself!”

“Reasonably so, madam, since I have known myself achieve some notable exploits ere now and——”

“And yet,” cried she, curling red lip at him, “must lie in debtor’s prison!”

“Yet in spite of which I remain myself, madam, serene o’ soul and steadfast, heeding Fortune’s dastard ploys and buffets no whit.”

“And would you, sir, that I gather from yourself is manhood’s very perfection, nay, indeed, Dame Nature’s crowning achievement, stoop to my poor service—for payment sufficient?”

“I await your kind ladyship’s behest.”

“Then be seated, sir!” Captain Jocelyn bowed and sinking upon the nearest chair, sat wholly at his ease, looking through the open window at the pleasant prospect of blooming flowers, shaven lawns, trim-clipped hedges and the noble park beyond, while my lady regarded him frowningly,—his lean face that, despite prison pallor, showed so strangely at odds with his poverty of dress. And when she had viewed him thus and the Captain had gazed serenely out of the window for some while, she sighed and spoke:

“Captain Dinwiddie, I am troubled for my only brother, Lord Aldrington, and I grieve because I love him. Sir, he is very young and headstrong and is in London to the peril of his health and ... honourable name.” Here she paused to sigh again and the Captain, his gaze still averted, ventured a word of comfort:

“Youth is Folly’s season, madam. My lord shall doubtless amend with time, so have patience and——”

“Patience?” she cried, starting up from her chair. “Oh ’tis counsel of fools!” And now, watching as she paced tempestuous to and fro, the Captain bethought him of a baffled Pallas Athenae. “Patience forsooth!” she repeated. “And even as I stand here my poor Richard is sinking deeper to his destruction! A boy scarce nineteen turned! And left to my care! And I, dear heaven, so helpless!”

“Yet content you, lady, be largely comforted since at thy service is Jocelyn Dinwiddie!”

“You!” she cried, bitterly scornful and, turning on him, was dumb. He had risen also and thus, as she met his level gaze, the contemptuous words upon her lip died unuttered; for here was no mere bravo, no empty, swaggering braggart, but man of action, somewhat grim, very assured and infinitely capable, yet whose sad eyes held a sympathy very comforting. So she sat down again, motioning him to do the like.

“You know my name, I think?”

“Ione,” he answered, “Lady Fane.”

“And you are willing to serve me in this matter, Captain Jocelyn?”

“With all my heart.”

“Risking your blood ... wounds, perchance ... death?”

“Joyfully.”

“Then, sir, you shall bear me letter to my brother in London. You shall ... prevail on him to come back to me ... and his neglected tenantry,—you shall persuade him to do this whether he will or no.”

“He shall come, madam.”

“Richard, as I say, is but a boy,” she sighed, “all too young for such vast inheritance, yet ’twas my dear father’s will ... our mother died—too long ago, alas! So Richard’s curse is over-much money, his danger is evil companionship and—himself. Of his wicked friends the most evil and dangerous are Colonel Malone, Sir Walter Fearn and Lord Riderwood. It is of these three in especial I would have you deliver him ... by force an it prove needful, sir!”

“Madam, ’tis good as done!”

“Heaven’s light!” she cried, frowning on him, “such assurance is merest folly, these men are perilous all.”

“Neither am I a dove, lady.”

“These be notorious for deadly duellists all three, and you are but one.”

“Yet this same one is—Dinwiddie, madam! And so, having rid your ladyship’s brother of these three and hither conveyed him what——”

“Ah, think you this shall prove matter so simple?”

“I make no doubt on’t, madam.”

“Sir, these windy vaunts and boasts do but shake my so small faith in you.”

“Howbeit, madam, you may count the business good as determined and successfully accompt. And what then?”

Her ladyship sneered daintily:

“Why then, most infallible sir, you shall be duly fed and rewarded.” The Captain bowed:

“Your ladyship will admit that the labourer, even the humblest, is worthy his hire and thus I——”

“Ha, buzz not your pragmatisms at me, sir!” she cried. “But, and perpend, sir, and you be such can indeed save my brother from these so deadly, wicked men, you may perchance do yet greater thing and save him—from himself?”

“On two conditions, madam. First that I am given time sufficient thereto, and second—that I am nowise hampered therein.”

“Hampered, sir? As how?”

“By the pampering of doating sister.”

“Indeed,” cried she, “and do I seem such fool?”

“Lady, I said ‘sister’. These conditions agreed, I pledge myself to the venture.”

“And will doubtless need money?”

Here again the Captain flushed, while she watched him with a malicious joy.

“Alas, madam,” he sighed, “I cannot deny it.”

“Nay,” she mocked, “what need, since the labourer is worthy his hire, a bird i’ the hand worth two in a bush, a stitch in time—and the like ineptitudes?”

Rising with whisper of silks, she crossed to a tall press and took thence a bag that jingled pleasantly. “Here, sir, is your earnest-money, there shall be as much again when you bring me my Richard.”

Captain Jocelyn took the money, somewhat hastily, hid it upon his shabby person and bowed.

“Will you not count it, sir?”

“Not I, madam.”

“You will set out for London to-day?”

“This hour.”

“You have a horse?”

“ ’Tis so its mistaken owner describeth it.”

“Well, my stables be at your service.”

“I thank your ladyship but the Bucephalus that hither bore me hath legs, indifferent, four, yet sufficient to my need. And now if your ladyship hath the letter to your brother——”

“It is here, sir, and unsealed for your perusal. Nay, you shall hear it,” and unfolding the letter, she read thus:

“ ‘Dearest Richard, the bearer of this is the redoubtable Captain Jocelyn Dinwiddie, a veteran officer of the Spanish Wars, and gentleman of very many notable achievements. He is also one very well able to speak for himself. I yearn for sight of thee, dear Richard. Also, my lord, there be many of your people do look to see you home for the harvest, next month. Our dear father, as you’ll mind, ever made this a season of gladness and rejoicing to his tenantry the rich and poor. Indeed, our father was a great and noble gentleman. God send we, each of us, prove worthy of him and the unblemished name he left to you my lord.’

“ ‘My dear love to thee, Richard. I pray thee come home soon. So I rest thy ever-loving sister, Ione.’

“ ‘Post Scriptum. I learn, with a qualm, that Captain Dinwiddie is gentleman something bloodily minded, a rapier and dagger gallant very instant in quarrel. Therefore, beseech thee dear Richard be warned for thine own sake and mine.’ ”

“Well, sir?” she demanded, for the Captain was staring out of the window again, “you frown, I think?”

“Faith, now,” he questioned, sombre gaze still averted, “seem I indeed so bloodily disposed, lady?”

“Beyond expression!” she answered, folding the letter.

“But you know me not!”

“But I know my brother, sir, and for such wild, young hot-head he’ll be for clashing steel with you to prove my words.”

“Zounds!” murmured the Captain. “And, o’ your grace, what must I do?”

“As his sister’s envoy, sir, you ha’ one of three courses. You may suffer him to wound you and earn his instant pity, for he is of tender heart. You may permit him to disarm you and earn golden sop, for he is madly generous. Third, you may out-fence him, winning his instant hate, for, alas, he is sadly passionate. Of these three courses I permit you the choice, sir.”

“Your ladyship overwhelms me!” he murmured.

“And lo here the letter, sir!” Captain Jocelyn took it, frowned at it, shook his head at it, thrust it into the bosom of his faded doublet and bowed; quoth he:

“So much for your Letter Number Two, madam. Now for Number One.” My lady widened haughty eyes on him.

“Troth, sir,” she retorted, “your meaning passeth my poor wit, prithee stoop to my sluggish intelligence, be plain.”

“Your letter, madam, is sufficiently well expressed yet goeth wide o’ the mark, ’tis so many words to no purpose——”

“And now, Sir Captain, I think you become impertinent.”

“Impossible, madam, I am Dinwiddie! I dare suggest, and with all submission, ’tis yourself is poor in strategy and——”

“Ha!” she exclaimed angrily. “And am I so indeed?”

“Madam, beyond expression!” he murmured with gracious inclination of dark head. Whereat my lady eyed him askance, biting a finger quite viciously.

“Oh peerless gentleman,” said she scornfully, yet cherishing her ill-used finger against soft cheek, “I cry you grace and—a mercy’s name, show me, good Sir Wisdom, wherein I err.”

“With joy, madam! Thus—you err in every word that pertaineth to my humble self. ’Stead o’ roaring lion you must show me for meekest of mild lambs. ’Stead of painting me in my true colours as heroic gentleman of fame redoubtable, wise in humanity and worldly chicane, I must seem a gentle innocent a-gape on life and all agog for ventures dubious.”

Her ladyship frowned, pouted, pinched tenderly at dimpled chin and laughed.

“But couldst twist that grim visage to look of meek innocence, indeed?”

“Indeed, madam, for I am——”

“Oh, verily, sir, you are Dinwiddie. I become aware o’ this.”

“Captain, lady. Jocelyn, madam! Humbly at your ladyship’s command.”

“For payment sufficient!” she jibed.

The Captain winced, scowled down at his worn and dusty boots, felt for his moustachio, twisted it and spoke:

“Admitted, lady. Creature for hire I, by reason o’ base Fortune’s shrewish dealings, for—remark this, madam, despite noble pride and a lofty soul, e’en the Dinwiddie must eat now and then, detestable yet true, alas!” Here her ladyship made to bite her finger again but remembering in time, kissed it instead and spake in voice so sweetly kind that he in turn viewed her askance.

“Then, sir, of your wiles and strategies I would have you instruct poor me how I must write your letter Number One.”

“Briefly, your ladyship, something on this wise——”

“Nay, wait!” cried she, and seating herself gracefully mid billowing silks, took up her quill and to his dictation wrote this:

“ ‘Dear my Richard and lordly brother, I implore your patronage on a worthy, country gentleman new to town, one Master Jocelyn Dinwiddie. He cometh to thee by my goodwill, seeking instruction how to carry himself towards gentlemen, thy friends, in the great world of London. Induct him, prithee, into all such gentle sophisms and arts punctilious that unto gentlehood pertaineth——’

“Oh nay!” cried she, with bubble of laughter. “Here speaketh Master Euphues, ’tis none o’ me ... ‘Induct him,’ forsooth! Thus shall it go!

“ ‘Learn him, dear Richard, by thine own noble carriage, how to bear himself ’mong gentlemen less noble than thy dear self.’ ”

“ ’Twill serve!” murmured the Captain.

“Oh, sir,” she mocked, “your so kind commendation touches me sensibly! Must I write more, sir?” The Captain bowed and dictated thus:

“ ‘Cherish him, my Richard and love him right heartily for thy dear sister’s sake.’ ”

“Oh?” quoth she, quill arrested. “But wherefore, sir, for his sister’s sake?”

“For that I must seem his sister’s very dear and well-loved friend, madam.”

“ ’Tis lie outrageous, sir!”

“But ’tis lie diplomatic, madam!” So, my lady, having frowned at him, wrote it down with loud, protesting squeak of rapid and indignant pen; whereafter the Captain continued his dictation, thus:

“ ‘Show him the modeful diversions of the town but, oh dear brother, look he be not lured from thine own so virtuous rectitude, guide his untutored steps that he may o’er-leap the thousand pit-falls, sloughs and quags of soul-seducing, sin-smirching Babylon——’ ”

“Oh Heaven aid me!” cried Ione, and leaned back in her chair the better to laugh, and thus meeting his look of grave surprise, laughed the more. “Oh, Captain Jocelyn—sir! Here’s wordy exaltation beyond poor Dick and me, needs must we modify, as thus:

“ ‘Shield him by thine own good sense and worldly knowledge that he commit no follies, or few as be manly possible. So God keep thee, dear brother, and come soon home again to thy loving sister,

Ione.’ ”

“There!” sighed she, sanding the letter. “Here is your letter Number One, sir.”

“It should suffice,” he answered, dubiously, “though i’ faith, ‘soul-seducing, sin-smirched Babylon’ is sounding phrase and likes me well.”

“Alack, Sir Captain,” she laughed, folding the missive, “thou art, in very sooth, so Dinwiddie-ish, the poor, mere world shall never attain unto thee.”

Captain Jocelyn accepted the letter, saluted her with the stately arrogance of a grand seigneur and turned to the door; but there she stayed him.

“Tell me,” she demanded, “how shall you go about winning brother Richard back to me?”

“This lieth i’ the lap o’ Chance, madam.”

Swift and light-footed she was beside him, slim hand on his frayed sleeve, her dark eyes uplifted and widening to his.

“You will not harm him!” she commanded in quick anxiety. “Not so much as a scratch, I charge you.”

“My lady,” he answered, gently removing that arresting hand, “I do not harm or scratch children.” So saying, he stepped from the room and across a wide hall splendid with rich arras and burnished armour, yet, when he reached the terrace he found her still beside him:

“Captain Dinwiddie,” said she, her imperiousness tempered now with something of humility, “ ’tis very like I am sending you to death.”

“Why ’tis no stranger, lady.”

“You may have to fight ... there be many shall be fierce to hinder your winning Richard from London town.”

“Well, madam, your labourer shall prove worthy his hire and——”

“Ah fleer not, sir. There be men, as well I know, alas, do kill wantonly and laugh to do it,—Lord Riderwood killed poor, young gentleman scarce a month since and ... smiled as he stabbed!”

“I shall be the happier to meet my lord Riderwood.”

“Sir, this gentleman he slew was well beknown to me and so ... I do confess ... ’tis not alone on Richard’s account I send you.”

“Loved you this unfortunate gentleman, madam?”

“Nay, indeed, I love no man save Richard, and do begin to think I never shall,—but this same gentleman was my childhood’s friend and—young.”

“I shall take pains to meet my lord Riderwood.”

Now at this she clasped her hands and looked from the speaker’s grim visage to the peaceful countryside and back again and thus seeing how his sinewy hand was dropped instinctive to the hilt of his long rapier, she recoiled and shook her head.

“Ah no!” she murmured, “I would be no man’s death,—not even his!”

“Then I shall permit him to survive, madam.”

“But you’ll bring Richard away from them all, safe back to me?”

“Your ladyship may rest assured on’t.”

“Then I pray God speed thee, Captain Jocelyn.” He eyed her askance, smiling a little bitterly.

“For my lord your brother’s sake?” he questioned.

“And for your own!” she answered, and meeting his quizzical gaze, flushed hotly, frowned darkly, yet returned his look with eyes unwavering. “And for you!”

“I’ faith,” said he with gentle laugh, “now might the choiring cherubim twang their harps, the seraphim puff their clarions for very wonder, since thine are the first woman’s lips ha’ blessed me so with prayer since I donned sword. Sweet heaven bless your ladyship. So till we meet again, your devoted, humble servant giveth you farewell.” Then, clapping on his shabby hat Captain Jocelyn Dinwiddie went his way and she standing there very thoughtful, long after he was out of sight.