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Her eyes fell before the look in his. ‘You have earned it. From the bottom of my heart I thank you.’
‘I want more than gratitude,’ he said, holding her fast. ‘Tell me, may I hope? I dare not press you; you have seemed to show me that you do not wish me to speak, and yet I must! Only assure me that I may hope – I ask no more!’
She was most strangely moved, and knew not how to answer him. Her hand trembled; he bent and kissed it. She murmured: ‘I do not know. I – I have not thought of marriage. I wish you would not ask me yet. What can I answer?’
‘At least tell me that there is no one else?’
‘There is no one, cousin,’ she said.
He continued to hold her hand a minute, and when she made a movement to disengage herself pressed it slightly, and released it. ‘I am content. We will go and look for Mrs Scattergood.’
In another part of the town, Mr Farnaby was still talking the affair over with his second, who was by this time heartily sick of the subject. His principal seemed to him so much put out over it that he presently said: ‘What’s your game, Ned? There’s more to it than you’ve told me, eh? Who wants that young sprig put away? You’re being paid, and paid handsomely for the task, ain’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Farnaby. ‘Taverner hit me in the face.’
‘I can see he did,’ said his friend, interestedly surveying the contusion that marred Mr Farnaby’s countenance.
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nbsp; Farnaby flushed. ‘You should know I am not the man to stomach an insult!’ he declared.
‘Not unless you were paid to,’ agreed Captain Crake.
Mr Farnaby said with dignity that the Captain forgot himself.
‘I don’t forget myself, but it seems to me that you have,’ said the Captain frankly. ‘If there was money in this, where was my share? Tell me that!’
‘There is no money,’ said Mr Farnaby, and closed the interview.
He spent the rest of the day in a mood of bitter discontent, and betook himself in the evening to the King’s Arms, at the corner of Duke Street and King Street, to solace himself with gin and the company of such of his cronies as he might find there.
The King’s Arms was owned by Thomas Cribb, champion heavyweight of England. All sorts and conditions of men, from titled gentlemen to coal-heavers, frequented it, but it was not every visitor’s fortune to be admitted into the famous parlour. Mr Farnaby for one did not rank amongst the privileged. Since gin and not boxing-talk was what he came for, this did not trouble him, and he was quite content to ensconce himself in a cosy corner of the tap-room and watch the prize-fighters and the Corinthians drift past him to the inner sanctum.The tavern was always crowded; every young buck came to it, every prizefighter of note, and it was not unusual for some ambitious person to walk in and pick a quarrel with the genial host for the privilege of being able to boast afterwards that he had exchanged blows with the Champion. This practice had of late become less popular, as Cribb had formed a disappointing habit of hailing his would-be assailants straight before a magistrate, on the score that if he obliged every man who wanted to be knocked down by him he would have no peace at all.
Mr Farnaby found a nook in the tap-room on this particular evening, and settled down to his glass of daffy, keeping a lookout for any acquaintance who might come in.
Plenty of people did come in, but although he might nod to some of them, or exchange a brief greeting, his particular friends were not amongst them. Tom Belcher, the great Jem’s brother, strolled in arm in arm with old Bill Gibbons; Warr stood chatting awhile with Cribb before he went through into the parlour; Gentleman Jackson arrived with a party of Corinthians whom he was amusing with one of his stories. Mr Farnaby watched them all without envy, and called for another glass of daffy.
The tap-room was full almost to overflowing when the door was pushed open and the Earl of Worth walked in. He stood on the threshold for a moment, looking round through the smoke of a score of pipes, and Tom Cribb, who had just come out of the parlour, saw him, and crossed the room to his side. ‘Good evening, my lord,’ he said. ‘Glad to see your lordship. You’ll find a snug little gathering in the parlour to-night. Lord Yarmouth’s there, Colonel Aston, Sir Henry Smyth, Mr Jackson, and I don’t know who besides. Will you go through, my lord?’
‘Presently,’ said the Earl. ‘I see someone here I want a word with first.’
‘Here, my lord?’ said Cribb, looking round at the company with a wrinkled brow.
‘Yes, here,’ said the Earl, and went past him with a swing of his caped driving-coat straight up to the table at which Mr Farnaby was sitting.
Mr Farnaby, who was idly watching a couple of men throwing dice at a neighbouring table, did not see the Earl until he stood right over him. He looked up then, and came to his feet in a hurry.
‘Good evening,’ said the Earl politely.
Farnaby made him a bow. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he returned, looking sideways at the Earl.
Worth laid his cane on the table and began to draw off his gloves. ‘You were expecting me, no doubt,’ he said.
‘Oh no, hardly!’ replied Farnaby, with a sneer. ‘I know your lordship is in the habit of frequenting Cribb’s Parlour, but I had no expectation of being recognised by you.’
The Earl drew out a chair on the opposite side of the table and sat down. From under the shade of his curly-brimmed hat, which he wore tilted rather over his face, his eyes mocked unpleasantly. ‘You think I might be chary of being seen in your company?Very true, but I believe my credit with the world to be fairly good. My reputation may yet survive. You may sit down.’
‘I have every intention of so doing,’ retorted Farnaby, suiting the action to the word and tossing off what remained of his second glass of daffy. ‘I am sure I am highly honoured to have your lordship’s company.’
