CHAPTER VI.
_Moll is cast to play the part of a fine lady; doubtful promise for thisundertaking._
On our way back to Greenwich we stayed at an inn by the road to refreshourselves, and there, having a snug parlour to ourselves, and beingseated about a fine cheese with each a full measure of ale, Don Sanchezasks us if we are satisfied with our undertaking.
"Aye, that we are," replies Dawson, mightily pleased as usual to bea-feasting. "We desire nothing better than to serve your honourfaithfully in all ways, and are ready to put our hands to any bond youmay choose to draw up."
"Can you show me the man," asks the Don, lifting his eyebrowscontemptuously, "who ever kept a treaty he was minded to break? Men arehonest enough when nought's to be gained by breaking faith. Are you bothagreed to this course?"
"Yes, Senor," says I, "and my only compunction now is that I can do solittle to forward this business."
"Why, so far as I can see into it," says Dawson, "one of us must be castfor old Mrs. Godwin, if Moll is to be her daughter, and you're fitter toplay the part than I, for I take it this old gentlewoman should be of amore delicate, sickly composition than mine."
"We will suppose that Mrs. Godwin is dead," says the Don, gravely.
"Aye, to be sure; that simplifies the thing mightily. But pray, Senor,what parts are we to play?"
"The parts you have played to-day. You go with me to fetch Judith Godwinfrom Barbary."
"This hangs together and ought to play well; eh, Kit?"
I asked Don Sanchez how long, in the ordinary course of things anexpedition of this kind would take.
"That depends upon accidents of many kinds," answers he. "We may verywell stretch it out best part of a year."
"A year," says Jack, scratching his ear ruefully, for I believe he hadcounted upon coming to live like a lord in a few weeks. "And what onearth are we to do in the meanwhile?"
"Teach Moll," answers the Don.
"She can read anything print or scrip," says Jack, proudly, "and writeher own name."
"Judith Godwin," says the Don, reflectively, "lived two years in Italy.She would certainly remember some words of Italian. Consider this: it isnot sufficient merely to obtain possession of the Godwin estate; it mustbe held against the jealous opposition of that shrewd steward and of thepresumptive heir, Mr. Richard Godwin, who may come forward at any time."
"You're in the right, Senor. Well, there's Kit knows the language andcan teach her a smattering of the Italian, I warrant, in no time."
"Judith would probably know something of music," pursues the Don.
"Why, Moll can play Kit's fiddle as well as he."
"But, above all," continues the Don, as taking no heed of this tributeto Moll's abilities, "Judith Godwin must be able to read and write theMoorish character and speak the tongue readily, answer aptly as to theirways and habits, and to do these things beyond suspect. Moll must livewith these people for some months."
"God have mercy on us!" cries Jack. "Your honour is not for taking us toBarbary."
"No," answers the Don, dryly, passing his long fingers with somesignificance over the many seams in his long face, "but we must go wherethe Moors are to be found, on the hither side of the straits."
"Well," says Dawson, "all's as one whither we go in safety if we're tobe out of our fortune for a year. There's nothing more for our Moll tolearn, I suppose, senor."
"It will not be amiss to teach her the manners of a lady," replies theDon, rising and knitting his brows together unpleasantly, "andespecially to keep her feet under her chair at table."
With this he rings the bell for our reckoning, and so ends ourdiscussion, neither Dawson nor I having a word to say in answer to thislast hit, which showed us pretty plainly that in reaching round with herlong leg for our shins, Moll had caught the Don's shanks a kick thatnight she was seized with a cough.
So to horse again and a long jog back to Greenwich, where Dawson and Iwould fain have rested the night (being unused to the saddle and veryraw with our journey), but the Don would not for prudence, andtherefore, after changing our clothes, we make a shift to mount oncemore, and thence another long horrid jolt to Edmonton very painfully.
Coming to the Bell (more dead than alive) about eight, and pitch dark,we were greatly surprised that we could make no one hear to take ourhorses, and further, having turned the brutes into the stable ourselves,to find never a soul in the common room or parlour, so that the placeseemed quite forsaken. But hearing a loud guffaw of laughter from below,we go downstairs to the kitchen, which we could scarce enter for thecrowd in the doorway. And here all darkness, save for a sheet hung atthe further end, and lit from behind, on which a kind of phantasmagoryplay of Jack and the Giant was being acted by shadow characters cut outof paper, the performer being hid by a board that served as a stage forthe puppets. And who should this performer be but our Moll, as we knewby her voice, and most admirably she did it, setting all in a roar oneminute with some merry joke, and enchanting 'em the next with a prettysong for the maid in distress.
We learnt afterwards that Moll, who could never rest still two minutestogether, but must for ever be a-doing something new, had cut out herimages and devised the show to entertain the servants in the kitchen,and that the guests above hearing their merriment had come down in timeto get the fag end, which pleased them so vastly that they would haveher play it all over again.
"This may undo us," says Don Sanchez, in a low voice of displeasure,drawing us away. "Here are a dozen visitors who will presently beexamining Moll as a marvel. Who can say but that one of them may knowher again hereafter to our confusion? We must be seen together no morethan is necessary, until we are out of this country. I shall leave herein the morning, and you will meet me next at the Turk, in GraciousStreet, to-morrow afternoon." Therewith he goes up to his room, leavingus to shift for ourselves; and we into the parlour to warm our feet atthe fire till we may be served with some victuals, both very silent andsurly, being still sore, and as tired as any dogs with our day'sjolting.
While we are in this mood, Moll, having finished her play, comes to usin amazing high spirits, and all aglow with pleasure shows us a handfulof silver given her by the gentry; then, pulling up a chair betwixt us,she asks us a dozen questions of a string as to where we have been, whatwe have done, etc., since we left her. Getting no answer, she presentlystops, looks first at one, then at the other, and bursting into a fit oflaughter, cries: "Why, what ails you both to be so grumpy?"
"In the first place, Moll," says Jack, "I'll have you to know that I amyour father, and will not be spoken to save with becoming respect."
"Why, I did but ask you where you have been."
"Children of your age should not ask questions, but do as they're bid,and there's an end of it."
"La, I'm not to ask any questions. Is there nothing else I am not todo?"
"Yes; I'll not have you playing of Galimaufray to cook wenches and suchstuff. I'll have you behave with more decency. Take your feet off thehearth, and put 'em under your chair. Let me have no more of thesegalanty-shows. Why, 'twill be said I cannot give you a basin ofporridge, that you must go a-begging of sixpences like this!"
"Oh, if you begrudge me a little pocket-money," cries she, springing upwith the tears in her eyes, "I'll have none of it."
And with that she empties her pocket on the chair, and out roll hersixpences together with a couple of silver spoons.
"What," cries Jack, after glancing round to see we were alone. "You havefilched a couple of spoons, Moll?"
"And why not?" asks she, her little nose turning quite white withpassion. "If I am to ask no questions, how shall I know but we may havenever a spoon to-morrow for your precious basin of porridge?"