There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man. —I Henry IV. II. 4.
Mistress Julia Peyton waited for a few moments until the opening and shutting of the outer door proclaimed the fact that young Lord Stowmaries had really and definitely gone.
 
Then she went to the little secrétaire which stood in an angle of the room, drew forth a sheet of paper, took a heavy quill pen in her hand, and feverishly—though very laboriously—began to write.
 
It was a difficult task which the fair lady had set herself to do, for neither writing nor spelling were among her accomplishments, being deemed unnecessary and not pertaining to the arts of pleasing. But still she worked away, with hand cramped round the rebellious quill, dainty fingers stained with the evil-smelling black liquid, and her brow puckered with the intensity of mental effort, until she had succeeded in putting on paper just what she wished to say:
 
"To siR john Ayloff at His resedence in lincoln's inn Filds.
 
"Honord Sir cosin: This to Tell yo That i wish to speke with yo This da and At ons opon a Matter of life and Deth.
 
"yr obedt Servt
 
"Julia Peyton."
 
A goodly number of blots appeared upon this missive as well as upon Mistress Julia's brocaded kirtle, before she had[45] finished. But once the letter duly signed, she folded and sealed it, then once more rang the bell.
 
"Take this to the house of Sir John Ayloffe at once," she said peremptorily to her serving man who appeared at the door, "and if he be within bring him hither without delay. If he be from home, seek him at the Coffee Tavern in Holborn Bars, or at the sign of the Three Bears in the Strand. But do not come back until you've found Sir John."
 
She gave the letter to the man, and, as the latter with a brief word indicative of obedience and understanding prepared to go, she added curtly:
 
"And if you do not find Sir John and bring him hither within half an hour, you may leave my service without notice or character, but with twenty blows of the stick across your back. You understand? Now you may go."
 
Then—as the man finally retired—Mistress Julia was left alone to face the problem as to how best she could curb her impatience until the arrival of Sir John.
 
Her threat would lend wings to her messenger's feet, for her service was reckoned a good one, owing to the many lavish gifts and unconsidered trifles which fell from the liberal hands of Mistress Julia's courtiers, whilst her old henchman—a burly East Anglian relict of former days in Norfolk—loved to wield a heavy stick over the backs of his younger subordinates.
 
If Sir John Ayloffe was at home, he could be here in ten minutes; if he had gone to the Coffee Tavern in Holborn Bars, then in twenty; but if the messenger had to push on as far as the Strand, then the full half-hour must elapse ere the arrival of Sir John.
 
And if he came, what should she say to him? Of all her many adorers, Sir John was the only one who had never[46] spoken of matrimony. A distant connection of the late Squire Peyton's, he it was who had launched the young widow on her social career in London and thus enabled her to enter on her great matrimonial venture.
 
Sir John Ayloffe, who in his early youth had been vastly busy in dissipating the fortune left to him by a thrifty father, was chiefly occupied now that he had reached middle age in finding the means to live with outward decency, if not always with strict honesty. Among these means gambling and betting were of course in the forefront. These vices were not only avowable, they were thought gentlemanly and altogether elegant.
 
But how to gamble and bet without cheating is a difficult problem which Sir John Ayloffe never really succeeded in solving. So far chance had favoured him. His various little transactions at the hazard tables or betting rings had gone off with a certain amount of luck and not too much publicity.
 
He had managed to keep up his membership at Culpeper's and other fashionable clubs, and had not up to the present been threatened with expulsion from Newmarket. He was still a welcome guest at the Coffee Taverns where the young bloods congregated, and at the Three Bears in the Strand, the resort of the most fashionable young rakes of the day.
 
But one or two dark, ugly-looking clouds began to hover on his financial horizon, and there was a time—some eighteen months ago—when Sir John Ayloffe had serious thoughts of a long voyage abroad for the benefit of his health.
 
This was just before he received the intimation that his cousin—old Squire Peyton—had left a young and pretty widow, who was burning with the desire not to allow her[47] many charms to be buried in oblivion in a tumble-down Norfolk manor.
 
Although Mistress Julia Peyton knew little if anything of spelling and other book lore, her knowledge of human—or rather masculine—nature was vast and accurate. After half an hour's conversation with her newly-found kinsman, she had gauged the use which she could make of him and of his impecuniousness to a nicety.
 
He was over-ready, on the other hand, to respond to her wishes. The bargain was quickly struck, with cards on the table, and the calling of a spade by its own proper appellation.
 
Mistress Julia Peyton was calculated to do credit to any London kinsman who chose to introduce his most aristocratic friends into her house. And remember, Sir John Ayloffe had plenty of these, and was to receive a goodly sum from the young widow for every such introduction. Such matters were not difficult to arrange at a time when money was scarce and love of display great. The fair Julia lost nothing by the business. Her house, thanks to Sir John, was well frequented by the pleasure-loving set of London.
 
Then there loomed ahead the final and great project: the marriage of Mistress Julia! and herein Sir John's cooperation was indeed to be well paid. From one thousand pounds, up to five, was to be his guerdon, according as his fair kinswoman's second husband was a wealthy baronet, a newly-created peer, or the bearer of one of those ancient names and high dignities or titles which gave him entrées at Court, privileges of every sort and kind, which his wife would naturally share with him.
 
When the brigantine Speedwell went down off the Spanish coast with all on board, the late Earl of Stowmaries lost at one fell swoop his only son and heir, and the latter's three[48] young boys, who were all on a pleasure cruise on the ill-fated vessel. The old man did not survive the terrible shock of that appalling catastrophe. He died within six months of the memorable tragedy, and Rupert Kestyon—the son of the impecunious spendthrift who was lying forgotten in a far-off grave in a distant colony—became Earl of Stowmaries, one of the wealthiest peers in England.
 
In a moment he became the most noted young buck of the Court of the Restoration, the cynosure of every feminine eye. He was young, well looking, and his romantic upbringing in the far-off colony founded by his co-religionists, made him a vastly interesting personality.
 
Mistress Julia, as soon as she heard his name, his prestige, and his history, began to dream of him—and of herself as Countess of Stowmaries. Once more Cousin John was appealed to.
 
"Six thousand pounds for you, Cousin, the day on which I become Countess of Stowmaries."
 
Only the introduction was needed. Mistress Julia, past-mistress by now in the art of pleasing, would undertake to do the rest.
 
Young Lord Stowmaries was a member of Culpeper's. Sir John Ayloffe contrived to attract his attention, and one day to bring him to the house of the fascinating widow.
 
Sir John had done his work. So had the beautiful Julia. It was Chance who had played an uneven game, wherein the two gamblers, handicapped by their ignorance of past events, had lost the winning hand.
 
And it was because she felt that Cousin John had almost as much at stake in the game as she had, that Mistress Julia Peyton sent for her partner, when Chance dealt what seemed a mortal blow to her dearest hope and scheme.