Chapter IV The Money-Lender Intervenes
Either her hysterics or her gout kept my Lady Drumloch in her chamber long enough to try the brief patience of Prudence Brooke. Sir Geoffrey, secure of his bride, was less impatient, for after all, the grandmother’s consent was a mere matter of form, although he had reasons—upon which he did not care to dilate—for wishing to propitiate the old lady, and secure her good graces.
He came to Mayfair as frequently as his parliamentary duties permitted, and never without sending up to the sick-room the most sympathetic messages, accompanied by bouquets of rare flowers, baskets of hothouse fruit and dainty porcelain or enameled boxes of French bonbons, and his gifts to Lowton were as lavish, though of a different character.
Finding no abatement in her grandmother’s austerity, about a week after Sir Geoffrey’s arrival, Lady Prudence ordered a chair, and concealing as many of her charms as could be hidden by a cloak and hood, made a pilgrimage to the city.
Almost under the shadow of Aldgate Church, at the entrance of a narrow court, of quiet appearance but sinister reputation, lived a certain Mr. Moses Aarons, reputed fabulously wealthy. Few were the gay inheritors of paternal acres to whom the little office in Aldgate was unfamiliar, and in the safes and deed-boxes that encumbered the upper floors of the dingy house many a bond and mortgage told a history of vast estates held by a hair, and noble fortunes of which little remained but the name.
Mr. Aarons was a man of unpretending appearance, with very little about him to suggest the Jew money-lender. Immaculately dressed, in a suit of fine plum-colored cloth, with silk stockings of the same hue, and wearing his own iron-gray hair slightly powdered, and gathered in a black ribbon, he might have passed for a respectable lawyer or merchant, had not some suggestion of power in his smooth voice and heavy-lidded eye, belied the modesty of his appearance.
The chair of a fine lady was no unaccustomed object at his door—nor, indeed, was the Viscountess Brooke a stranger. When his clerk bowed the lady into Mr. Aarons’ sanctum, he rose to greet her, and returned her sweeping curtsey with a bow as ceremonious.
“My Lady Brooke! This is, indeed, a condescension,” he said. “My poor place is not adapted for the entertainment of such fashion and beauty.”
“Most excellent Aarons,” cried Prue, a little haughtily, “a truce to your compliments, which are only meant in ridicule, I fear.” She threw back her hood, however, not disdaining to try the full effect of her charms upon this Jew, from whom she had come to cajole a few hundred pounds, if possible, without security.
“Your ladyship’s long absence from London hath surely been to some magic spring,” said the usurer, with an exaggerated deference that bordered on insolence. “We heard you were breaking squires’ hearts in Yorkshire, but sure ’twas some southern sun that has been ripening the peaches on your cheeks.”
Prue burst out laughing. “Are you turning poet, Mr. Aarons?” she inquired flippantly. “Take my advice, and keep to your own trade; no one will ever read the verse of Shakespeare or Milton with half as much interest as the magic prose that can turn a scrap of dirty paper into golden guineas.”
“Your ladyship is tired of poetry, and wishes for a little prose by way of change, no doubt,” suggested the money-lender.
“Change, forsooth! That is just what I am perishing for,” cried Prue. “Fate has been dealing me the scurviest tricks, and now the chance of my life has come, and I tremble lest I lose it for want of a few pounds. The queen has bidden me to court, and I hope the best from Her Majesty’s condescension. But, alas! I can not make a fitting appearance at court, for I am—as usual—penniless. You must help me out of my troubles, good Mr. Aarons, and this time I shall pay you principal and interest, and recover the diamond necklace that has been so long in your care.”
“If the security you offer is no better than last time, my lady Viscountess—” the money-lender began.
“Alack! this time I have nothing at all to offer as security,” she interrupted. “You know where most of my jewels are, and on my way from Yorkshire, I was set upon by Robin Freemantle, the highwayman, and robbed of everything he could lay his hands on!”
“The outrageous villain! Did your ladyship lose much?” asked the Jew, with ill-concealed sarcasm.
“I scarce remember how much, but he left me with nothing but a few worthless trinkets I had concealed in my cousin’s jewel-casket, which fortunately escaped. So I arrived in London destitute. My grandmother is too ill to think of aught but prayers and potions, and I am most anxious to return to the court, where, doubtless, her Grace of Marlborough will do something for me—she loves me like a daughter—but I can not wait on her grace without a gown and a carriage.”
“The milliner will, no doubt, be enchanted to provide the one, and the liveryman the other,” said Aarons suavely.
“True, but every one knows I was banished from court, and nothing will satisfy them that I am in favor again but to see my name in the Court News’ account of the queen’s levee. I can not get there without money, and for that I look to you, who have stood my friend before. Now listen,” she went on quickly, laying her little dimpled hand on his arm, in her eagerness to interrupt the impending expostulation. “I am going to be married—oh, yes, I know what you would say—’tis not the first time by several, and I am still the Widow Brooke! This time, however, you may consider it final; within a month, I wed Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert.”
The money-lender started. “Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert!” he exclaimed. “Your creditors, my lady Viscountess, will scarce be pleased at this hearing, and may find cause to remind you that there are lodgings for ladies in the Fleet and Queen’s Bench. Sir Geoffrey is a member of Parliament, and can not be arrested for his own debts, let alone his wife’s.”
“Arrested! Do you mean to suggest that Sir Geoffrey can not, or will not, pay my debts?” she cried angrily.
“He may be willing; indeed, who could doubt that any man would esteem it an honor to pay the debts of Lady Prudence Brooke? But that he is able, is quite another matter, and you may take my word for it, that Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert couldn’t pay his own debts, if every acre he owned was free, instead of mortgaged, lock, stock and barrel.”
“You are maligning a gentleman, sir!” she exclaimed, losing all control of her temper. “I will tell him how you have lied to me, and he will have his servants beat you within an inch of your life! Sir Geoffrey a bankrupt!—his estates mortgaged!—was ever such a slander? He is a man of substance, I tell you. I have visited him in his ancestral domain, where he entertained me royally. He is lord of the manor, and has the retinue of a duke—no man in Yorkshire is more highly respected—he is M.F.H. and might be Sheriff of his Riding an’ he chose!” She began to subside a little, though still angry, and looking, it must be owned, transcendently lovely in her excitement, with cheeks like damask roses, and flashing sapphire eyes. “Good Mr. Aarons, why did you give me such a scare?” she went on, with a ring of almost entreaty in her tone. “Tell me you were joking. What can you know about Sir Geoffrey’s estate? He hath borrowed of you, mayhap; who has not? But since he has come into his patrimony—”
“His patrimony, Lady Prudence? His father was one of King James’ most devoted followers, and one of the most lavish while a guinea could be raised to prove his loyalty. Sir Geoffrey can not cut a tree in his ‘ancestral domain,’ and you may be sure there was a bailiff or two wearing his livery among the ducal retinue that dazzled your ladyship.”
“Mr. Aarons, you must be mistaken,” she persisted stubbornly. “If his fortunes are so low, why does he seek to join them to those of a portionless widow? Sure, there are heiresses a-plenty who would gladly buy his title with their dowries!”
“Oh! your ladyship has but to look in your mirror to answer that question,” cried the usurer, with a low bow and a look of open admiration. “There are also men of wealth and substance who would gladly pay the debts of Lady Prudence Brooke, and settle such a fortune upon her as would keep her busy in the spending.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” said Lady Prudence hastily, “but I am betrothed to Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert, and these benevolent persons do not greatly interest me. Let us quit the subject of the fortunes Sir Geoffrey and I are throwing away, and return to business.”
“Yet believe me, Lady Prudence,” he insisted, “you will never wed Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert.”
She rose with great haughtiness. “I decline to dispute the subject with you, Mr. Aarons—” she began.
“You will not marry Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert,” he repeated. “If you do not refuse the match, he will find some way to release himself; ’tis his misfortune more than his fault. Mark me, Lady Prudence, and do not let him place you in a false position. You want to be a rich woman as well as a great lady. You can marry a man who will give you the finest house in town, the most splendid establishment, the choice of a dozen country seats, and more money to spend than you have ever dreamed of, and who asks nothing in return but to see you queen it at his expense.”
She smiled a little, and met his glance with a most deceptive air of innocent curiosity.
“And who is the gentleman, Mr. Aarons?” she inquired, in her sweetest tone, with but the hint of an emphasis.
“Can you not guess?” he replied more boldly.
“Faith, I came hither seeking a money-broker, and was not prepared to find a marriage-broker instead!” she said, shrugging her pretty shoulders. “Do not keep me in suspense, good Aarons; I am dying to know the name of the admirable creature who desires to rescue me from poverty—and Sir Geoffrey—and confer so many benefits upon my unworthiness.”
He placed his hand upon his breast, and bowed deeply.
“You see him here, fair Lady Prudence,” he said. “The humblest of slaves, the most ardent of admirers and, if you will, the most devoted and indulgent of husbands.”
She burst into a peal of laughter, but the faint note of bitterness that permeated the charming music was not lost upon the money-lender’s sharp ear.
“Truly, Mr. Aarons, your jest is subtle and well-conceived, and a fitting rebuke to my silly vanity,” she began. But he interrupted her, “In truth, Madam, ’tis no jest, but a serious offer. I have always admired your ladyship, and a year ago, endeavored to give fitting expression—”
A knock on the door interrupted his flow of eloquence, and the clerk, from without, announced that Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert’s chariot had just driven to the door, and that “his Ludship” was in the act of alighting.
“Great Heaven!” cried Prue, turning scarlet and then pale. “How shall I escape? I would not be found here by him for a thousand pounds! Do not admit him, good Mr. Aarons, I beseech you—”
“Take Sir Geoffrey up-stairs, Jacob, and tell him I am engaged, but will wait on him anon,” said the Jew. Then turning to his fair client with an insinuating smile, he added, “Now, if your ladyship chooses, you may have an opportunity of judging between my statement of this gentleman’s finances and his own—”
He indicated, by a gesture, a door in an obscure corner of the room.
“What! play the spy upon my betrothed husband? Never, never!” exclaimed Prue indignantly. Yet she did not go away, and her pliant form seemed to sway toward the little dark door, as though a stronger will than her own controlled her muscles.
“’Tis no harm,” said the Jew, in his silkiest tones, as he opened the door leading into a room scarcely bigger than a closet, but light, and furnished with a single chair, and a table littered with papers and thick with dust.
Half-involuntarily, Prue yielded, and the door closed upon her. “I need not listen,” she said, half-apologizing to herself for an action she disdained. But the room was small, and that, perhaps, was why she did not think it worth while to move away from the door.
The blood rushed to her head when she heard Sir Geoffrey’s voice, and for some moments she was conscious of nothing but a confused murmur, out of which, at last, her own name rang sharp and clear.
“The Lady Prudence Brooke has honored me by accepting my hand,” she heard Sir Geoffrey say, in a tone that was evidently intended to discourage adverse comment.
“I congratulate your Honor,” said Aarons politely. “The lady’s charms do credit to your choice. But such luxuries are costly, and I am not surprised that you need money. It is unfortunate that times are so hard and money so scarce. I have just suffered a terrible loss. The death of Lord Boscommon, whose father survives him, has turned ten thousand pounds’ worth of post-obits into waste paper, and the failure of Johnson and—but this does not interest your Honor. Beset as I am, I shall be able to accommodate an old and valued client like yourself, no doubt, if the security is satisfactory. You have good security to offer, of course?”
“Oh! it is no use beating about the bush with you, Aarons. I have no fresh security, but you can surely let me have a couple of thousand more on the Yorkshire estate.”
“Not a stiver,” said the money-lender firmly. “Even the entailed property is encumbered beyond its utmost value. Had you come to announce your marriage with Miss Cheeseman, the Alderman’s daughter, or Mrs. Goldthwaite, the banker’s widow, I do not say I would have refused the necessary funds for the courtship and wedding on your note-of-hand. But the Viscountess Brooke is dowerless—over head and ears in debt, and without a penny of expectations.”
“Miserable little Jew,” muttered the fair dame he so pitilessly anatomized; “Geoffrey will kill him.”
“Dowerless, yes; over head and ears in debt, possibly; but not without expectations,” said Sir Geoffrey, displaying none of the anticipated fury. “You overlook the fact that she is the favorite granddaughter of Lady Drumloch, who, for all her miserly ways, I am credibly informed, is enormously wealthy.”
“Oho!” cried the Jew, maliciously enjoying this display of a motive not altogether flattering to the unsuspected listener. “Your Honor is not quite so simple as I began to fear.”
“Did you really think I was fool enough to leap before looking?” retorted Sir Geoffrey, with a fatuous laugh that set Prue’s ears tingling. “To be sure, the wealth of Golconda could not add to the Lady Prue’s charms, but in this wicked world one can not live on love, and as I have little else to offer, I rejoice, for her sake as well as my own, that she has a rich grandmother, who can not, it is to be hoped—I should say, lamented—live long to enjoy her hoards. They will, I am convinced, be put to excellent use by Lady Prudence Beaudesert.”
“But how, if I could prove to you, Sir Geoffrey, that Lady Drumloch, instead of being a rich miser, is a very poor old woman, whose kinsman loans her a house to live in, and whose sole income is an annuity, from which she has—perhaps—saved enough to bury her? I know not who may have told you of this fabled wealth, but I am pretty sure it is not either of her granddaughters.”
“Indeed, no,” said Sir Geoffrey reflectively. “No such sordid subject has ever been broached between us. Yet I had it from a reliable source.”
“Well, I advise you to make very sure of it, Sir Geoffrey; it will be no kindness, either to yourself or the Lady Prudence, to marry her without either of you having anything you can call your own—except your debts.”
“’Tis true,” muttered the baronet. “If I can not raise a thousand pounds—are Lady Prudence’s debts so very great?”
“I do not betray the secrets of one client to another,” said Aarons, with a sinister smile. “Even now I have acted against my own interests in my desire to befriend two headstrong young people. Nay, I would gladly go further, and find a rich wife for your Honor and a rich husband for the viscountess, if you would both listen to reason.”
“Thanks, good Aarons,” said Sir Geoffrey, moving toward the door; “I appreciate your good will at its full value. A rich wife—of your providing—to pay my debts, and a rich husband, on the same terms, for Lady Prudence, would make four fools for the benefit of one wise man.”
“Your Honor flatters me!” said Aarons obsequiously. They passed out of the room together, and as he closed the door behind him, the money-lender remarked, in the most casual manner, “I had a visit from the lady but an hour agone, praying me for a loan of a few hundred pounds, at any interest, on the strength of her approaching marriage with your Honor.”
Sir Geoffrey started, and a curious light came into his cold, handsome eyes.
“‘Sdeath!” he ejaculated, “the lady doth me too much honor!”
“I was most reluctantly compelled to refuse the loan, for the same reason that she gave for requesting it,” said the usurer, as he respectfully bowed his visitor out. “But in the meantime, if I can serve you in any other direction, pray command me.”
When he returned alone, he found Lady Prudence arranging her hood with a weary air.
“Prithee, Mr. Aarons, is my chair at the door?” she demanded, cutting short his apologies for detaining her. “You and your client have well-nigh sent me to sleep with your long conference. Sure, you have kept me shut up in the cupboard, while you transacted the business of a dozen petitioners.”
“Your ladyship was probably unable to overhear our conversation?” he retorted, with a shrewd smile. “’Tis a pity, for it would have interested you vastly.”
“Did you, indeed, think I would condescend to listen at the keyhole?” cried Prue, with a superb air of disdain. “Believe me, I do not take quite so much interest in the clients of Mr. Aarons! Is my chair at the door? Then let me begone. My grandmother will marvel at my absence, and ask more questions than I shall be able to invent answers to.”
The Jew accompanied her out to her chair, bare-headed, and as he handed her in, said, in his voice of curiously blended humility and power, “I shall hear from your ladyship again, when you and Sir Geoffrey have had time for reflection.”