There was no time for reflection. Dr. Pepusch had gone into the house and the thin but sweet tones of a harpsichord were floating through the open window. He was striking a few preliminary chords and indulging in an extemporised prelude. A pause, and then he commenced Purcell's song.

The plaintive melody with its well balanced phrasing took Lavinia's fancy, and absorbed in the music she forgot her audience. She saw how the words were wedded to the notes and watched where the trills and graces came in. Pepusch played the air right through; waited a minute or so and recommenced.

Lavinia began. She sang like one inspired. Her pure and limpid tones gave fresh charm to the melody. She never had had any difficulty with the trill, so flexible was her voice naturally, and the graces which Purcell had introduced after the fashion of the day were given with perfect ease. As the final cadence died away the little audience loudly applauded. Pepusch came out of the house and wagged his head as he crossed the lawn. His somewhat sour look had vanished. He went up to Lavinia and patted her shoulder.

"Dat vas goot, young laty--ver goot," he growled.

"What did I tell you doctor?" cried Gay exultantly. "Why, she can sing everything set down for Polly--I pray you don't forget it is to be Polly--Peachum. She _is_ Polly Peachum. What do you think, Mr. Pope?"

"Polly Peachum by all means since you will have it so. If an author has a right to anything it is surely the right to name his offspring as he will. He need not even consult his wife--if he have one. But though you call your work an opera Mr. Gay, it is also a play. The songs are not everything--indeed, Mr. Rich would say they're nothing. Can the girl act?"

"She can be taught and I'll swear she'll prove an apt pupil. 'Twill, I fear, be many months before it is staged. Rich has not made up his mind.

I hear Mr. Huddy who was dispossessed of the Duke's Theatre contemplates the New Theatre in the Haymarket. I must talk to him. He hasn't yet found his new company. An indifferent lot of strolling players I'm told was his old one. Polly probably won't have a singing part but that's of no great matter just now."

"You're bound to build castles in the air Mr. Gay," said Dr. Arbuthnot, taking his churchwarden from his lips. "Suppose you come down to _terra firma_ for a brief s.p.a.ce. The girl is a singer--that cannot be gainsaid.

She may become an actress--good. But now--who is she? Her father--her mother----"

"They can hardly be said to exist," broke in Gay. "I will tell you the story later on. 'Twould but embarra.s.s her to relate it now. The d.u.c.h.ess has been good enough to charge herself with the cost of her keeping--her schooling and the rest."

"Oh, that alters the case. If she is a protegee of her grace I need not say more. Her future is provided for."

"Why, yes," but Gay spoke in anything but a confident tone. Inwardly he was troubled at what view Mat Prior's "Kitty" might take of Polly's escapade. The d.u.c.h.ess might be as wayward as she pleased, but it did not follow that she would excuse waywardness in another woman.

Gay turned to Pepusch and the two conversed for some little time, the upshot of the talk being that Pepusch promised, when the proper time came, to say to John Rich all he could in favour of Lavinia, always supposing she had acquired sufficient stage experience.

This settled, the poet drew near Lavinia who all this time was waiting and wondering what this new adventure of hers would end in.

"Now Polly, my dear," said Gay, "if you behave yourself and don't have any more love affairs----"

"But did I not tell you, sir, I'd had none," interrupted Lavinia.

"Yes--yes, I remember quite well. We won't go into the subject again or we shall never finish. The varieties and nice distinctions of love are endless. A much more pressing question is nearer to hand--where are you going to live?"

"Hannah, my mother's servant--a dear good kind creature--it was through her I was able to come here--will find me a lodging. I can trust her but--but----"

She stopped and much embarra.s.sed, twisted her fingers nervously.

"I understand. You've but little money."

"I have none, sir, unfortunately."

"Well--well--never mind. Here's a guinea."

"Oh, you're too generous, sir. But I shall pay you back."

"Don't worry about that. Now go into the house. I will ask Mr. Pope to tell his housekeeper to give you a dish of tea or a cup of cocoa.

Good-bye. You must let me know where you are living. I may have good news for you within a few days."

Lavinia between smiles and tears hurried off after curtseying to the gentlemen under the cedar tree and on her way across the lawn was met by the man-servant who took her to the housekeeper's room. The woman had heard the singing and was full of admiration. She wanted to hear more, she said, so while the tea was being got ready Lavinia sent her into thrills of delight by warbling the universal favourite "Cold and Raw."

After a time came the question of returning to London and how. Lavinia could have crossed the ferry and so to Richmond and Mortlake, but that would not help her on the journey unless Giles was going to market, which was hardly likely. Besides she did not wish to burden him. And then--there was Lancelot Vane.

Lancelot, she thought, must be anxious to know the result of her mission. That result was not so encouraging as she had hoped. True, Mr.

Gay had the precious tragedy in his pocket and had promised to read it, but his opinion of dramatists generally and his hints concerning Lancelot Vane's weakness had considerably damped her ardour. In spite of this, she determined to get to London as quickly as possible and to hasten to Grub Street that same night.

"You can catch the Bath coach at Hounslow," said the housekeeper. "It's but just gone five and the coach be timed to stop at the 'George' at six, but it's late more often than not."

"And how far is it to Hounslow?"

"May be a couple o' miles or so, but it's a bit of a cross road--say two mile an' a half. Stephen'll put you in the right way."

"Oh thank you--thank you kindly," cried Lavinia. "But it will be giving Stephen a deal of trouble. I dare say I can find my way by myself."

"Oh, you may do that. I should think you were sharp enough, but there are no end of beggars and rapscallions of all sorts on the Bath road and some of 'em are bound to wander into the by-ways on the look out for what they can steal. No, Stephen must see you through the lonely parts."

CHAPTER XIV

"I WISH YOU GOOD NIGHT AND MORE SENSE"

Lavinia and her protector set out. Stephen was inclined to be garrulous and Lavinia had not much occasion to put in a word. He entertained her with choice bits of information, such as how he remembered when the coach ran between Bath and London only three times a week.

"But that was nigh twenty years ago. It were Mr. Baldwin as keeps a inn at Salthill as started to run 'em daily. The coach stops at the Belle Savage, Ludgate. Be that near where you want to go, miss?"

"Ludgate Hill? Oh, yes."

Hounslow in Stephen's opinion was getting to be quite a big place.

"When I was a boy it hadn't more'n a hundred houses--it's double or treble that now, but they're pretty well all inns an' ale houses an'

mighty queer ones, some of em are. Hand in glove with highway robbers an' footpads. Not much good a-tryin' to catch a highwayman if he once gets to Hounslow. He's only got to run in one of the houses where's he known an' you might as well try to foller a fox as has darted into a drain. Some o' them ale houses an' boozin' kens has got pa.s.sages a-runnin' one into the other."

"That's very terrible Mr. Stephen. You quite alarm me," cried Lavinia.

But she was not so alarmed as she would have been had she been brought up a fine lady. She had had highwaymen pointed out to her in Drury Lane and Dyott Street and knew that the majority were boasting, bragging fellows and cowards at heart. But there were others of a different quality who did their robberies with quite a gentlemanly air.

They took the way through Whitton Park. As the housekeeper said, the journey was cross-country so far as roads were concerned, but Stephen knew the short cuts and they reached the long, straggling, mean-looking Hounslow High Street--the future town was at that time little more than a street--at about a quarter to six.

They entered the "George"--a house of greater pretensions than the rest--and Lavinia found she was in plenty of time for the London coach.

"She'll be late," said the landlord. "A chap as just come in says he rode past her t'other side o' the heath an' she was stuck fast on a nasty bit o' boggy road and one o' the leaders--a jibber--wouldn't stir a step for whip or curses."

"That's bad," said Stephen. "Still it would ha' been far worse if some o' them High Toby gentry had stopped the coach."

"Aye," rejoined the landlord dropping his voice. "We had a fellow o'

that sort in about half an hour ago. He was on a mare as wiry an'