“What is this?” cries she, emptying the contents upon the table. “’Tis nothing. Here is barely sufficient to pay for our accommodation in this inn. Where is the money to discharge my debt to these friends who have lost all in saving me? You were given timely notice of their purpose.”
“Prithee, be patient with me, gentle mistress. ’Tis true, I knew of their intent, but they were to have returned in six months, and when they came not at the end of the year I did truly give up all for lost; and so I made a fresh investment of thy fortune, laying it out all in life bonds and houses, to great worldly advantage, as thou shalt see in good time. Ere long I may get in some rents—”
“And in the meanwhile are we to stay in this plight—to beg for charity?” asks Moll, indignantly. “Nay, mistress. Doubtless for your present wants this kind merchant friend—”
“We have lost all,” says I, “Evans his ship, and I the lading in which all my capital was embarked.”
“And I every maravedi I possessed,” adds the Don.
“And had they not,” cries Moll, “were they possessed now of all they had, think you that I with an estate, as I am told, of sixty thousand pounds would add to the debt I owe them by one single penny!”
“If I may speak in your steward’s defence, Madam,” says I, humbly, “I would point out that the richest estate is not always readily converted into money. ’Tis like a rich jewel which the owner, though he be starving, must hold till he find a market.”
“Thee hearest him, mistress,” cries Simon, in delight. “A man of business—a merchant who knows these things. Explain it further, friend, for thine are words of precious wisdom.”
“With landed property the case is even more difficult. Tenants cannot be forced to pay rent before it is due, nor can their messuages be sold over their heads. And possibly all your capital is invested in land—”
“Every farthing that could be scraped together,” says Simon, “and not a rood of it but is leased to substantial men. Oh! what excellent discourse! Proceed further, friend.”
“Nevertheless,” says I, “there are means of raising money upon credit. If he live there still, there is a worthy Jew in St. Mary Axe, who upon certain considerations of interest—”
“Hold, friend,” cries Simon. “What art thee thinking of? Wouldst deliver my simple mistress into the hands of Jew usurers?”
“Not without proper covenants made out by lawyers and attorneys.”
“Lawyers, attorneys, and usurers! Heaven have mercy upon us! Verily, thee wouldst infest us with a pest, and bleed us to death for our cure.”
“I will have such relief as I may,” says Moll; “so pray, sir, do send for these lawyers and Jews at once, and the quicker, since my servant seems more disposed to hinder than to help me.”
“Forbear, mistress; for the love of God, forbear!” cries Simon, in an agony, clasping his hands. “Be not misguided by this foolish merchant, who hath all to gain and nought to lose by this proceeding. Give me but a little space, and their claims shall be met, thy desires shall be satisfied, and yet half of thy estate be saved, which else must be all devoured betwixt these ruthless money-lenders and lawyers. I can make a covenant more binding than any attorney, as I have proved again and again, and” (with a gulp) “if money must be raised at once, I know an honest, a fairly honest, goldsmith in Lombard Street who will lend at the market rate.”
“These gentlemen,” answers Moll, turning to us, “may not choose to wait, and I will not incommode them for my own convenience.”
“Something for our present need we must have, Madam,” says the Don, with a significant glance at his outlandish dress; “but those wants supplied, I am content to wait.”
“And you, sir?” says Moll to me.
“With a hundred or two,” says I, taking Don Sanchez’s hint, “we may do very well till Michaelmas.”
“Be reasonable, gentlemen,” implores Simon, mopping his eyes, which ran afresh at this demand. “’Tis but some five or six weeks to Michaelmas; surely fifty pounds—”
“Silence!” cries Moll, with an angry tap of her foot. “Will three hundred content you, gentlemen? Consider, the wants of our good friend, Captain Evans, may be more pressing than yours.”
“He is a good, honest, simple man, and I think we may answer for his accepting the conditions we make for ourselves. Then, with some reasonable guarantee for our future payment—”
“That may be contrived to our common satisfaction, I hope,” says Moll, with a gracious smile. “I owe you half my estate; share my house at Chislehurst with me till the rest is forthcoming. That will give me yet a little longer the pleasure of your company. And there, sir,” turning to me, “you can examine my steward’s accounts for your own satisfaction, and counsel me, mayhap, upon the conduct of my affairs, knowing so much upon matters of business that are incomprehensible to a simple, inexperienced maid. Then, should you find aught amiss in my steward’s books, anything to shake your confidence in his management, you will, in justice to your friends, in kindness to me, speak your mind openly, that instant reformation may be made.”
Don Sanchez and I expressed our agreement to this proposal, and Moll, turning to the poor, unhappy steward, says in her high tone of authority:
“You hear how this matter is ordered, Simon. Take up that purse for your own uses. Go into the town and send such tradesmen hither as may supply us with proper clothing. Then to your goldsmith in Lombard Street and bring me back six hundred pounds.”
“Six—hundred—pounds!” cries he, hardly above his breath, and with a pause between each word as if to gain strength to speak ’em.
“Six hundred. Three for these gentlemen and three for my own needs; when that is done, hasten to Chislehurst and prepare my house; and, as you value my favour, see that nothing is wanting when I come there.”
And here, lest it should be thought that Moll could not possibly play her part so admirably in this business, despite the many secret instructions given by the longheaded Don, I do protest that I have set down no more than I recollect, and that without exaggeration. Further, it must be observed that in our common experience many things happen which would seem incredible but for the evidence of our senses, and which no poet would have the hardihood to represent. ’Tis true that in this, as in other more surprising particulars to follow, Moll did surpass all common women; but ’tis only such extraordinary persons that furnish material for any history. And I will add that anything is possible to one who hath the element of greatness in her composition, and that it depends merely on the accident of circumstances whether a Moll Dawson becomes a great saint or a great sinner—a blessing or a curse to humanity.
CHAPTER XV.
Lay our hands on six hundred pounds and quarter ourselves in Hurst Court, but stand in a fair way to be undone by Dawson, his folly.
The next day comes Simon with a bag of six hundred pounds, which he tells over with infinite care, groaning and mopping his eyes betwixt each four or five pieces with a most rueful visage, so that it seemed he was weeping over this great expenditure, and then he goes to prepare the Court and get servants against Moll’s arrival. By the end of the week, being furnished with suitable clothing and equipment, Moll and Don Sanchez leave us, though Dawson was now as hale and hearty as ever he had been, we being persuaded to rest at Chatham yet another week, to give countenance to Jack’s late distemper, and also that we might appear less like a gang of thieves.
Before going, Don Sanchez warned us that very likely Simon would pay us a visit suddenly, to satisfy any doubts that might yet crop up in his suspicious mind; and so, to be prepared for him, I got in a good store of paper and books, such as a merchant might require in seeking to reestablish himself in business, and Dawson held himself in readiness to do his share of this knavish business.
Sure enough,