“I do not,” said Lydia. “They are ruffians; and Cashel Byron is the most unmistakable ruffian of them all.”
Alice, awestruck, did not venture to speak again until they left the train at Victoria. There was a crowd outside the carriage in which Cashel had travelled. They hastened past; but Lydia asked a guard whether anything was the matter. He replied that a drunken man, alighting from the train, had fallen down upon the rails, and that, had the carriage been in motion, he would have been killed. Lydia thanked her informant, and, as she turned from him, found Bashville standing before her, touching his hat. She had given him no instructions to attend. However, she accepted his presence as a matter of course, and inquired whether the carriage was there.
“No, madam,” replied Bashville. “The coachman had no orders.”
“Quite right. A hansom, if you please.” When he was gone she said to Alice, “Did you tell Bashville to meet us?”
“Oh, DEAR, no,” said Alice. “I should not think of doing such a thing.”
“Strange! However, he knows his duties better than I do; so I have no doubt that he has acted properly. He has been waiting all the afternoon, I suppose, poor fellow.”
“He has nothing else to do,” said Alice, carelessly. “Here he is. He has picked out a capital horse for us, too.”
Meanwhile, Mellish had been dragged from beneath the train and seated on the knee of one of his companions. He was in a stupor, and had a large lump on his brow. His eye was almost closed. The man with the crushed nose now showed himself an expert surgeon. While Cashel supported the patient on the knee of another man, and the rest of the party kept off the crowd by mingled persuasion and violence, he produced a lancet and summarily reduced the swelling by lancing it. He then dressed the puncture neatly with appliances for that purpose which he carried about him, and shouted in Mellish’s ear to rouse him. But the trainer only groaned, and let his head drop inert on his breast. More shouting was resorted to, but in vain. Cashel impatiently expressed an opinion that Mellish was shamming, and declared that he would not stand there to be fooled with all the evening.
“If he was my pal ‘stead o’ yours,” said the man with the broken nose, “I’d wake him up fast enough.”
“I’ll save you the trouble,” said Cashel, coolly stooping and seizing between his teeth the cartilage of the trainer’s ear.
“That’s the way to do it,” said the other, approvingly, as Mellish screamed and started to his feet. “Now, then. Up with you.”
He took Mellish’s right arm, Cashel took the left, and they brought him away between them without paying the least heed to his tears, his protestations that he was hurt, his plea that he was an old man, or his bitter demand as to where Cashel would have been at that moment without his care.
Lord Worthington had taken advantage of this accident to slip away from his travelling companions and drive alone to his lodgings in Jermyn Street. He was still greatly excited; and when his valet, an old retainer with whom he was on familiar terms, brought him a letter that had arrived during his absence, he asked him four times whether any one had called, and four times interrupted him by scraps of information about the splendid day he had had and the luck he was in.
“I bet five hundred even that it would be over in a quarter of an hour; and then I bet Byron two hundred and fifty to one that it wouldn’t. That’s the way to doit; eh, Bedford? Catch Cashel letting two hundred and fifty slip through his fingers! By George, though, he’s an artful card. At the end of fourteen minutes I thought my five hundred was corpsed. The Dutchman was full of fight; and Cashel suddenly turned weak and tried to back out of the rally. You should have seen the gleam in the Dutchman’s eye when he rushed in after him. He made cocksure of finishing him straight off.”
“Indeed, my lord. Dear me!”
“I should think so: I was taken in by it myself. It was only done to draw the poor devil. By George, Bedford, you should have seen the way Cashel put in his right. But you couldn’t have seen it; it was too quick. The Dutchman was asleep on the grass before he knew he’d been hit. Byron had collected fifteen pounds for him before he came to. His jaw must feel devilish queer after it. By Jove, Bedford, Cashel is a perfect wonder. I’d back him for every cent I possess against any man alive. He makes you feel proud of being an Englishman.”
Bedford looked on with submissive wonder as his master, transfigured with enthusiasm, went hastily to and fro through the room, occasionally clinching his fist and smiting an imaginary Dutchman. The valet at last ventured to remind him that he had forgotten the letter.
“Oh, hang the letter!” said Lord Worthington. “It’s Mrs. Hoskyn’s writing — an invitation, or some such rot. Here; let’s see it.”
“Campden Hill Road, Saturday.
“My dear Lord Worthington, — I have not forgotten my promise to obtain for you a near view of the famous Mrs. Herbert— ‘Madame Simplicita,’ as you call her. She will be with us tomorrow evening; and we shall be very happy to see you then, if you care to come. At nine o’clock, Herr Abendgasse, a celebrated German art critic and a great friend of mine, will read us a paper on ‘The True in Art’; but I will not pay you the compliment of pretending to believe that that interests you, so you may come at ten or half-past, by which hour all the serious business of the evening will be over.”
“Well, there is nothing like cheek,” said Lord Worthington, breaking off in his perusal. “These women think that because I enjoy life in a rational way I don’t know the back of a picture from the front, or the inside of a book from the cover. I shall go at nine sharp.”
“If any of your acquaintances take an interest in art, I will gladly make them welcome. Could you not bring me a celebrity or two? I am very anxious to have as good an audience as possible for Herr Abendgasse. However, as it is, he shall have no reason to complain, as I flatter myself that I have already secured a very distinguished assembly. Still, if you can add a second illustrious name to my list, by all means do so.”
“Very good, Mrs. Hoskyn,” said Lord Worthington, looking cunningly at the bewildered Bedford. “You shall have a celebrity — a real one — none of your mouldy old Germans — if I can only get him to come. If any of her people don’t like him they can tell him so. Eh, Bedford?”
CHAPTER VI
Next evening, Lydia and Alice reached Mrs. Hoskyn’s house in Campden Hill Road a few minutes before ten o’clock. They found Lord Worthington in the front garden, smoking and chatting with Mr. Hoskyn. He threw away his cigar and returned to the house with the two ladies, who observed that he was somewhat flushed with wine. They went into a parlor to take off their wraps, leaving him at the foot of the stairs. Presently they heard some one come down and address him excitedly thus,
“Worthington. Worthington. He has begun making a speech before the whole room. He got up the moment old Abendgasse sat down. Why the deuce did you give him that glass of champagne?”
“Sh-sh-sh! You don’t say so! Come with me; and let us try to get him away quietly.”
“Did you hear that?” said Alice. “Something must have happened.”
“I hope so,” said Lydia. “Ordinarily, the fault in these receptions is that nothing happens. Do not announce us, if you please,” she added to the servant, as they ascended the stairs. “Since we have come late, let us spare the feelings of Herr Abendgasse by going in as quietly as possible.”
They had no difficulty in entering unnoticed, for Mrs. Hoskyn considered obscurity beautiful; and her rooms were but dimly lighted by two curious lanterns of pink glass, within which were