Arrest him yourself!
Arrest him yourself!
The King stood at the door, thoughtfully reflecting on the temper of the departing Duchess. She was a maid of honour and, more than that, an emissary from his brother Louis of France. Gossip said he loved her, but it was not true, though he liked her company exceeding well when the mood suited. He regretted only the evening’s incident, with the harsher feeling it was sure to engender.
Nell stood by the fireplace, muttering French phrases in humorous imitation of her grace. Observing the King’s preoccupation, she tossed aserviettemerrily at his head.
This brought his Majesty to himself again. He turned, and laughed as he saw her; for his brain and heart delighted in her merry-making. He loved her.
“What means this vile French?” sheasked, with delicious suggestion of the shrug, accent and manner of her vanquished rival.
“The Duchess means,” explained the King, “that she gives a royal ball–”
“And invites me?” broke in Nell, quickly, placing her elbows upon a cask and looking over it impishly at Charles.
“And invites younot” said the King, “and so outwits you.”
“By her porters’ wits and not her own,” retorted Nell.
She threw herself into a chair and became oblivious for the moment of her surroundings.
“The French hussy! So she gives a ball?” she thought. “Well, well, I’ll be there! I’ll teach her much. Oh, I’ll be pretty, too, aye, very pretty. No fear yet of rivalry or harm for England.”
Charles watched her amusedly, earnestly, lovingly. The vixen had fallen unconsciously into imitating again the Duchess’s foreign ways, as an accompaniment even for her thoughts.
“Sans doute, we shall,madame” Nellmuttered audibly, with much gesticulating and a mocking accent. “À mon bal! Pas adieu, mais au revoir.”
The King came closer.
“Are you ill,” he asked, “that you do mutter so and wildly act?”
“I was only thinking that, if I were a man,” she said, turning toward him playfully, “I would love your Duchess to devotion. Her wit is so original, her repartee so sturdy. Your Majesty’s taste in horses–and some women–is excellent.”
She crossed the room gaily and threw herself laughing upon the bench. The King followed her.
“Heaven help the being, naughty Nell,” he said, “who offends thy merry tongue; but I love thee for it.” He sat down beside her in earnest adoration, then caught her lovingly in his arms.
“Love me?” sighed Nell, scarce mindful of the embrace. “Ah, Sire, I am but a plaything for the King at best, a caprice, a fancy–naught else.”
“Nay, sweet,” said Charles, “you have not read this heart.”
“I have read it too deeply,” replied Nell, with much meaning in her voice. “It is this one to-day, that one to-morrow, with King Charles. Ah, Sire, your love for the poor player-girl is summed up in three little words: ‘I amuse you!’”
“Amuse me!” exclaimed Charles, thoughtfully. “Hark ye, Nell! States may marry us; they cannot make us love. Ye Gods, the humblest peasant in my realm is monarch of a heart of his own choice. Would I were such a king!”
“What buxom country lass,” asked Nell, sadly but wistfully, “teaches your fancy to follow the plough, my truant master?”
“You forget: I too,” continued Charles, “have been an outcast, like Orange Nell, seeking a crust and bed.”
He arose and turned away sadly to suppress his emotion. He was not the King of England now: he was a man who had suffered; he was a man among men.
“Forgive me, Sire,” said Nell, tenderly, as a woman only can speak, “if I recall unhappy times.”
“Unhappy!” echoed Charles, while Fancy toyed with Recollection. “Nell, in those dark days, I learned to read the human heart. God taught me then the distinction ’twixt friend and enemy. When a misled rabble had dethroned my father, girl, and murdered him before our palace gate, and bequeathed the glorious arts and progressive sciences to religious bigots and fanatics, to trample under foot and burn–when, if a little bird sang overjoyously, they cut out his tongue for daring to be merry–in some lonely home by some stranger’s hearth, a banished prince, called Charles Stuart, oft found an asylum of plenty and repose; and in your eyes, my Nell, I read the self-same, loyal, English heart.”
There was all the sadness of great music in his speech. Nell fell upon her knee, and kissed his hand, reverently.
“My King!” she said; and her voice trembled with passionate love.
He raised her tenderly and kissed her upon the lips.
“My queen,” he said; and his voicetoo trembled with passionate love.
“And Milton says that Paradise is lost,” whispered Nell. Her head rested on the King’s shoulder. She looked up–the picture of perfect happiness–into his eyes.
“Not while Nell loves Charles,” he said.
“And Charles remembers Nell,” her voice answered, softly.
Meanwhile, the rotund landlord had entered unobserved; and a contrast he made, indeed, to the endearing words of the lovers as at this instant he unceremoniously burst forth in guttural accents with:
“The bill! The bill for supper, sir!”
Nell looked at the King and the King looked at Nell; then both looked at the landlord. The lovers’ sense of humour was boundless. That was their first tie; the second, their hearts.
“The bill!” repeated Nell, smothering a laugh. “Yes, we were just speaking of the bill.”
“How opportune!” exclaimed Charles,taking the cue. “We feared you would forget it, sirrah.”
“See that it is right,” ejaculated Nell.
The King glanced at the bill indifferently, but still could not fail to see “3 chickens” in unschooled hand. His eyes twinkled and he glanced at the landlord, but the latter avoided his look with a pretence of innocence.
“Gad,” said Charles, with a swagger, “what are a few extra shillings to Parliament? Here, my man.” He placed a hand in a pocket, but found it empty. “No; it is in the other pocket.” He placed his hand in another, only to find it also empty. Then he went through the remaining pockets, one by one, turning them each out for inspection–his face assuming an air of mirthful hopelessness as he proceeded. He had changed his garb for a merry lark, but had neglected to change his purse. “Devil on’t, I–have–forgotten–Odsfish, where is my treasurer?” he exclaimed at last.
THE DECEPTION.
THE DECEPTION.
“Your treasurer!” shrieked the landlord, who had watched Charles’s search, with twitching eyes. “Want your treasurer, do ye? Constable Swallow’ll find him for ye. Constable Swallow! I knew you were a rascal, by your face.”
Charles laughed.
This exasperated the landlord still further. He began to flutter about the room aimlessly, bill in hand. He presented it to Charles and he presented it to Nell, who would have none of it; while at intervals he called loudly for the constable.
“Peace, my man,” entreated Nell; “be still for mercy’s sake.”
“Good lack, my lady,” pleaded the landlord, in despair, “good lack, but you would not see a poor man robbed by a vagabond, would ye? Constable Swallow!”
The situation was growing serious indeed. The King was mirthful still, but Nell was fearful.
“Nell, have you no money to stop this heathen’s mouth?” he finally ejaculated, as he caught up his bonnet and tossed it jauntily upon his head.
“Not a farthing,” replied she, sharply. “I was invited to sup, not pay the bill.”
“If the King knew this rascal,” yelled the landlord at the top of his voice, pointing to Charles, “he would be behind the bars long ago.”
This was too much for his Majesty, who broke into the merriest of laughs.
“Verily, I believe you,” he admitted. Then he fell to laughing again, almost rolling off the bench in his glee.
“Master Constable,” wildly repeated the landlord, at the kitchen-door. “Let my new wife alone; they are making off with the house.”
Nell was filled with consternation.
“He’ll raise the neighbourhood, Sire,” she whispered to Charles. “Have you no money to stop this heathen’s mouth?”
“Not even holes in my pockets,” calmly replied the Merry Monarch.
“Odsfish, what company am I got into!” sighed Nell. She ran to the landlord and seized his arm in her endeavour to quiet him.
The landlord, however, was beside himself. He stood at the kitchen-door gesticulating ferociously and still shoutingat the top of his voice: “Constable Swallow! Help, help; thieves; Constable Swallow!”
Swallow staggered into the room with all his dignity aboard. Tankard in hand, he made a dive for the table, and catching it firmly, surveyed the scene.
Nell turned to her lover for protection.
“Murder, hic!” ejaculated the constable. “Thieves! What’s the row?–Hic!”
“Arrest this blackguard,” commanded the landlord, nervously, “this perfiler of honest men.”
“Arrest!–You drunken idiot!” indignantly exclaimed Charles; and his sword cut the air before the constable’s eyes.
Nell seized his arm. Her woman’s intuition showed her the better course.
“You will raise a nest of them,” she whispered. “You need your wits, Sire; not your sword.”
“Nay; come on, I say,” cried Charles, fearlessly. “We’ll see what his Majesty’s constables are made of.”
“You rogue–Posse!” exclaimed Swallow,starting boldly for the King, then making a brilliant retreat, calling loudly for help, as the rapier tickled him in the ribs.
“You ruffian–Posse!” he continued to call, alternately, first to one and then to the other; for his fear paralyzed all but his tongue. “You outlaw–Posse commi-ti-titous–hic!”
Buzzard also now entered from his warm nest in the kitchen, so intoxicated that he vented his enthusiasm in song, which in this case seemed apt:
“The man that is drunk is as great as a king.”
“The man that is drunk is as great as a king.”
“Another champion of the King’s law!” ejaculated Charles, not without a shadow of contempt in his voice, once more assuming an attitude of defence.
“Oh, Charles!” pleaded Nell, again catching his arm.
“Posse, arrest that vagabond,” commanded the constable, from a point of safety behind the table.
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the obedient Buzzard. “On what charge–hic?”
“He’s a law-breaker and a robber!” yelled the watchful landlord.
“He called the law a drunken idiot. Hic–hic!” woefully wailed Swallow. “Odsbud, that’s treason! Arrest him,posse–hic!”
“Knave, I arrest–hic!” asserted Buzzard.
Thepossestarted boldly enough for his game, but was suddenly brought to a stand-still in his reeling course by the sharp point of the rapier playing about his legs. He made several indignant efforts to overcome the obstacle. The point of the blade was none too gentle with him, even as he beat a retreat; and his enthusiasm waned.
“Arrest him yourself–hic!” he exclaimed.
Swallow’s face grew red with rage. To have his orders disobeyed fired him with much more indignation of soul than the escape of the ruffian, who was simply defrauding the landlord of a dinner. He turned hotly upon the insubordinateposse, crying:
“I’ll arrest you, you Buzzard–hic!”
“I’ll arrest you, you Swallow–hic!” with equal dignity retorted Buzzard.
“I’m his Majesty’s constable–hic!” hissed Swallow, from lips charged with air, bellows-like.
“I’m his Majesty’sposse–hic!” hissed Buzzard in reply.
The two drunken representatives of the law seized each other angrily. The landlord, in despair, endeavoured hopelessly to separate them.
“A wrangle of the generals,” laughed Charles. “Now is our time.” He looked about quickly for an exit.
“Body o’ me! The vagabonds’ll escape,” shouted the landlord.
“Fly, fly!” said Nell. “This way, Charles.”
She ran hastily toward the steps leading to the entry-way; the King assisted her.
“Stop, thief! Stop, thief!” screamed the landlord. “The bill! The bill!”
“Send it to the Duchess!” replied Nell, gaily, as she and the Merry Monarch darted into the night.
The landlord turned in despair, to find the drunken champions of the King’s law in a struggling heap upon the floor. He raised his foot and took out vengeance where vengeance could be found.
In the field, men; at court, women!
In the field, men; at court, women!
It was the evening of Portsmouth’s long-awaitedbal masqué. Music filled her palace with rhythmic sound. In the gardens, its mellowing strains died away among the shrubs and over-hanging boughs. In every nook and corner wandered at will the nobility–the richest–the greatest–in the land.
None entertain like the French; and the Duchess had, indeed, exhausted French art in turning the grand old place into a land of ravishing enchantment, with its many lights, its flowers, its works of art. Her abode was truly an enlivening scene, with its variety of maskers, bright dominoes and vizards.
The King was there and took a merry part in all the sport, although, beneath his swaggering abandon, there lurked a vein of sadness. He laughed heartily, hedanced gaily, he jested with one and all; but his manner was assumed. The shrewdest woman’s eye could not have seen it; though she might have felt it. Brother James too enjoyed the dance, despite his piety; and Buckingham, Rochester and a score of courtiers beloved by the King entered mirthfully into the scene, applauding the Duchess’s entertainment heartily.
As the evening wore apace, the merry maskers grew merrier and merrier. In a drawing-room adjoining the great ball-room, a robber-band, none other than several gallants, whose identity was concealed by silken vizards, created huge amusement by endeavouring to steal a kiss from Lady Hamilton. She feigned shyness, then haughtiness, then anger; then she ran. They were after her and about her in an instant. There were cries of “A kiss!” “A kiss!” “This way!” “Make a circle or she’ll escape us!”
A dozen kisses so were stolen by the eager gallants before my lady broke away, stamping her foot in indignation, as she exclaimed:
“Nay, I am very angry, very–”
“That there were no more, wench!” laughed Buckingham. “Marry, ’tis a merry night when Portsmouth reigns. Long live the Duchess in the King’s heart!”
“So you may capture its fairer favourite, friend Buckingham?” suggested the King, softly; and there was no hidden meaning in his speech, for the King suspected that Buckingham’s heart as well was not at Portsmouth’s and Buckingham knew that the King suspected it.
Buckingham was the prince of courtiers; he bowed low and, saying much without saying anything, replied respectfully:
“So I may console her, Sire, that she is out-beautied by France to-night.”
“Out-beautied! Not bidden, thou mean’st,” exclaimed the King, his thoughts roving toward Nelly’s terrace. Ah, how he longed to be there! “The room is close,” he fretted. “Come, gallants, to the promenade!”
He was dressed in white and gold; anda princely prince he looked, indeed, as the courtiers separated for him to pass out between them.
All followed save Buckingham, whom Portsmouth’s eye detained.
She broke into a joyous laugh as she turned from the tapestry-curtains, through which she could see his Majesty–the centre of a mirthful scene without.
“What say you now, my lord?” she asked, triumphantly, of Buckingham. “I am half avenged already, and the articles half signed. The King is here despite his Madame Gwyn, and in a playful mood that may be tuned to love.”
Buckingham’s ardour did not kindle as she hoped.
“Merriment is oft but Sadness’s mask, Louise,” he replied, thoughtfully.
“What meanest thou?” she asked, in her nervous, Gallic way, and as quickly, her mind anticipating, answered: “This trifle of the gossips that Charles advances the player’s whim to found a hospital at Chelsea, for broken-down old soldiers?Ce n’est rien!”
She broke into a mocking laugh.
“Aye!” replied Buckingham, quietly but significantly. “The orders are issued for its building and the people are cheering Nell throughout the realm.”
“Ma foi!” came from the Duchess’s contemptuous lips. “And what say the rabble of Portsmouth?”
“That she is Louis’s pensioner sent here from France–a spy!” he answered, quickly and forcefully too. “The hawkers cry it in the streets.”
“Fools! Fools!” she mused. Then, making sure that no arras had ears, she continued: “Before the night is done, thou shalt hear that Luxembourg has fallen to the French–Mark!–Luxembourg! Feed the rabble on that, my lord. Heaven preserve King Louis!”
The Duke started incredulously. When had Portsmouth seen the King? and by what arts had she won the royal consent? A score of questions trembled on his lips–and yet were checked before the utterance. Not an intimation before of her success had reached his ear, though he hadadvised with the Duchess almost daily since their accidental meeting below Nell’s terrace. Indeed, in his heart, he had never believed that she would be able so to dupe the King. The shadow from the axe which fell upon Charles I. still cast its warning gloom athwart the walls of Whitehall; and, in the face of the temper of the English people and of well-known treaties, the acquiescence of Charles II. in Louis’s project would be but madness. Luxembourg was the key strategetically to the Netherlands and the states beyond. Its fall meant the augmentation of the Empire of Louis, the personal ignominy of Charles!
“Luxembourg!” He repeated the word cautiously. “King Charles did not consent–”
“Nay,” replied the Duchess, in her sweetest way, “but I knew he would; and so I sent the message in advance.”
“Forgery! ’Twas boldly done, Louise,” cried Buckingham, in tones of admiration mixed with fear.
“I knew my power, my lord,” she saidconfidently; and her eyes glistened with womanly pride as she added: “The consent will come.”
Buckingham’s eyes–usually so frank–fell; and, for some seconds, he stood seemingly lost in abstraction over the revelations made by the Duchess. He was, however, playing a deeper game than he appeared to play. Apparently in thoughtlessness, he began to toy with a ring which hung upon a ribbon about his neck and which till then had been cautiously concealed.
“Nay, what have you there?” questioned Portsmouth.
Buckingham’s face assumed an expression of surprise. He pretended not to comprehend the import of her words.
She pointed to the ring.
He glanced at it as though he regretted it had been seen, then added carelessly, apparently to appease but really to whet the Duchess’s curiosity:
“Merely a ring the King gave Nell.”
There was more than curiosity now in Portsmouth’s eyes.
“I borrowed it to show it you,” continued Buckingham, indifferently, then asked, with tantalizing calmness: “Is your mission quite complete?”
With difficulty, the Duchess mastered herself. Without replying, she walked slowly toward the table, in troubled thought. The mask of crime revealed itself in her beautiful features, as she said, half to herself:
“I have a potion I brought from France.”
She was of the Latin race and poison was a heritage.
Buckingham caught the words not meant for him, and realized too well their sinister meaning. Poison Nell! His eyes swept the room fearfully and he shuddered. He hastened to Portsmouth’s side, and in cold whispers importuned her:
“For Heaven’s mercy, woman, as you love yourself and me–poison is an unhealthy diet to administer in England.”
The Duchess turned upon him impatiently. The black lines faded slowly fromher face; but they still were there, beneath the beauty-lines.
“My servants have watched her house without avail,” she sneered. “Your plan is useless; my plan will work.”
“Stay!” pleaded Buckingham, still fearful. “We can ourselves entice some adventurous spirit up Nell’s terrace, then trap him. So our end is reached.”
“Aye,” replied the Duchess, in milder mood, realizing that she had been over-hasty at least in speech, “the minx presumes to love the King, and so is honest! But of her later. The treaties! He shall sign to-night–to-night, I say.”
With a triumphant air, she pointed to the quills and sand upon a table in readiness for his signing.
Buckingham smiled approvingly; and in his smile lurked flattery so adroit that it pleased the Duchess despite herself.
“Lord Hyde, St. Albans and the rest,” said he, “are here to aid the cause.”
“Bah!” answered Portsmouth, with a shrug. “In the field, men; at court, women! This girl has outwitted you all.I must accomplish my mission alone. Charles must be Louis’s pensioner in full; England the slave of France! My fortune–Le Grand Roi’sregard–hang upon it.”
Buckingham cautioned her with a startled gesture.
“Nay,” smiled Portsmouth, complacently, “I may speak frankly, my lord; for your head is on the same block still with mine.”
“And my heart, Louise,” he said, in admiration. “Back to the King! Do nothing rash. We will banish thy rival, dear hostess.”
He did not add, save in thought, that Nell’s banishment, if left to him, would be to his own country estate.
There was almost a touch of affection in the Duchess’s voice as she prepared to join the King.
“Leave all to me, my lord,” she said, then courtesied low.
“Yea, all but Nell!” reflected his lordship, as he watched her depart. “With this ring, I’ll keep thee wedded to jealousinterest, and so enrich my purse and power. Thou art a great woman, fair France; I half love thee myself. But thou knowest only a moiety of my purpose. The other half is Nell!”
He stood absorbed in his own thoughts.
The draperies at the further doorway, on which was worked in Gobelin tapestry a forest with its grand, imposing oaks, were pushed nervously aside. Jack Hart entered, mask in hand, and scanned the room with skeptic eye.
“A happy meeting,” mused Buckingham, reflecting upon Hart’s one-time ardour for Mistress Nell and upon the possibility that that ardour, if directed by himself, might yet compromise Nell in the King’s eyes and lead to the realization of his own fond dreams of greater wealth and power and, still more sweet, to the possession of his choice among all the beauties of the realm.
“It is a sad hour,” thought Hart, glancing at the merry dancers through the arch, “when all the world, like players, wear masks.”
Buckingham assumed an air of bonhomie.
“Whither away, Master Hart?” he called after the player, who started perceptibly at his voice. “Let not thy fancy play truant to this gay assemblage, to mope in St. James’s Park.”
“My lord!” exclaimed Hart, hotly. The fire, however, was gone in an instant; and he added, evidently under strong constraint: “Pardon; but we prefer to change the subject.”
“The drift’s the same,” chuckled the shrewd Buckingham; “we may turn it to advantage.” He approached the player in a friendly manner. “Be not angry,” he exclaimed soothingly; “for there’s a rift even in the clouds of love. Brighter, man; for King Charles was seeking your wits but now.”
“He’d have me play court-fool for him?” asked the melancholy mime, who had in his nature somewhat of the cynicism of Jaques, without his grand imaginings of soul. “There are many off the stage, my lord, in better practice.”“True, most true,” acquiesced Buckingham; “I could point them out.”
He would have continued in this vein but beyond the door, whence Hart had just appeared, leading by a stair-way of cupids to the entrance to the palace, arose the sound of many voices in noisy altercation.
“Hark ye, hark!” he exclaimed, in an alarmed tone. “What is’t? Confusion in the great hallway below. We’ll see to’t.”
He had assumed a certain supervision of the palace for the night. With the player as a body-guard, he accordingly made a hasty exit.
Beau Adair is my name.
Beau Adair is my name.
The room was not long vacant. The hostess herself returned. She was radiant.
As she crossed the threshold, she glanced back proudly at the revellers, who, led by his Majesty, were turning night into day with their merry-making. She had the right, indeed, to be proud; for the evening, though scarce half spent, bespoke a complete triumph for her entertainment. This was the more gratifying too, in that she knew that there were many at court who did not wish the “imported” Duchess, as they called her, or her function well, though they always smiled sweetly at each meeting and at each parting and deigned now to feast beyond the limit of gentility upon her rich wines and collations.
Thebal masqué, however, as we have seen, was with the Duchess but a meansto an end. She took from the hand of a pretty page the treaties, lately re-drawn by Bouillon, and glanced hastily over the parchments to see that her instructions from Louis were covered by their words. A smile played on her arching lips as she read and re-read and realized how near she was to victory.
“’Tis Portsmouth’s night to-night!” she mused. “My great mission to England is nearly ended. Dear France, I feel that I was born for thy advancement.”
She seated herself by the table, where the materials for writing had been placed, and further dwelt upon the outcome of the royal agreements, their contingencies and triumphs. She could write Charles Rex almost as well as the King, she thought, as her eye caught the places left for his signature.
“Bouillon never fails me,” she muttered. “Drawn by King Charles’s consent, except perchance some trifling articles which I have had interlined for Louis’s sake. We need not speak of them. It would be troublesome to Charles. Alittle name and seal will make these papers history.”
Her reflections were interrupted by the return of Buckingham, who was laughing so that he could scarcely speak.
“What is ’t?” she asked, petulantly.
“The guard have stayed but now a gallant, Irish youth,” replied he, as best he could for laughter, “who swore that he had letters to your highness. Oh, he swore, indeed; then pleaded; then threatened that he would fight them all with single hand. Of course, he won the ladies’ hearts, as they entered the great hall, by his boyish swagger; but not the guards. Your orders were imperative–that none unbidden to the ball could enter.”
“’Tis well,” cried Portsmouth. “None, none! Letters to me! Did he say from whom?”
“He said,” continued Buckingham, still laughing, “that he was under orders of his master to place them only in the Duchess’s hands. Oh, he is a very lordly youth.”
The Duke throughout made a sadattempt at amusing imitations of the brogue of the strange, youthful, Irish visitor who, with so much importunity, sought a hearing.
Portsmouth reflected a moment and then said: “I will see him, Buckingham, but briefly.”
Buckingham, not a little surprised, bowed and departed graciously to convey the bidding.
The Duchess lost herself again in thought. “His message may have import,” she reflected. “Louis sends strange messengers ofttimes.”
In the midst of her reverie, the tapestry at the door was again pushed back, cautiously this time, then eagerly. There entered the prettiest spark that ever graced a kingdom or trod a measure.
It was Nell, accoutred as a youth; and a bold play truly she was making. Her face revealed that she herself was none too sure of the outcome.
“By my troth,” she thought, as she glanced uncomfortably about the great room, “I feel as though I were allbreeches.” She shivered. “It is such a little way through these braveries to me.”
Her eyes turned involuntarily to the corner where Portsmouth sat, now dreaming of far-off France.
“The Duchess!” her lips breathed, almost aloud, in her excitement. “So you’d play hostess to his Majesty,” she thought, “give a royal ball and leave poor Nelly home, would you?”
The Duchess was conscious only of a presence.
“Garçon!” she called, without looking up.
Nell jumped a foot.
“That shook me to the boots,” she ejaculated, softly.
“Garçon!” again called the impatient Duchess.
“Madame,” answered Nell, fearfully, the words seeming to stick in her fair throat, as she hastily removed her hat and bethought her that she must have a care or she would lose her head as well, by forgetting that she was an Irishman with a brogue.
“Who are you?” asked Portsmouth, haughtily, as, rising, with surprised eyes, she became aware of the presence of a stranger.
Indeed, it is not strange that she was surprised. The youth who stood before her was dressed from top to toe in gray–the silver-gray which lends a colour to the cheek and piquancy to the form. The dress was of the latest cut. The hat had the longest plume. The cloak hung gracefully save where the glistening sword broke its falling lines. The boots were neat, well rounded and well cut, encasing a jaunty leg. The dress was edged with silver.
Ah, the strange youth was a love, indeed, with his bright, sparkling eyes, his lips radiant with smiles, his curls falling to his shoulders.
“Well,” stammered Nell, in awkward hesitation but in the richest brogue, as the Duchess repeated her inquiry, “I’m just I, madame.”
The Duchess smiled despite herself.
“You’re just you,” she said. “That’s very clear.”
“Yes, that’s very clear,” reiterated Nell, still fearful of her ground.
“A modest masker, possibly,” suggested Portsmouth, observing the youth’s embarrassment and wishing to assist him.
“Yea, very modest,” replied Nell, her speech still stumbling, “almost ashamed.”
Portsmouth’s eyes looked sharply at her.
“She suspects me,” thought Nell, and her heart leaped into her throat. “I am lost–boots and all.”
“Your name?” demanded the Duchess again, impatiently.
For the life of her Nell could not think of it.
“You see,” she replied evasively, “I’m in London for the first time in my present self, madame, and–”
“Your name and mission, sir?” The tone was imperative.
Nell’s wits returned to her.
“Beau Adair is my name,” she stammered, “and your service my mission.”
It was out, though it had like to have choked her, and Nell was more herselfagain. The worst she had feared was that the Duchess might discover her identity and so turn the tables and make her the laughing-stock at court. She grew, indeed, quite hopeful as she observed a kindly smile play upon the Duchess’s lips and caught the observation: “Beau Adair! A pretty name, and quite a pretty fellow.”
A smile of self-satisfaction and a low bow were Nell’s reply.
“Vain coxcomb!” cried Portsmouth, reprovingly, though she was highly amused and even pleased with the strange youth’s conceit.
“Nay; if I admire not myself,” wistfully suggested Nell, in reply, with pretence of much modesty, “who will praise poor me in this great palace?”
“You are new at court?” asked Portsmouth, doubtingly.
“Quite new,” asserted Nell, gaining confidence with each speech. “My London tailor made a man of me only to-day.”
“A man of you only to-day!” cried the Duchess, in wonderment.
“He assured me, madame,” Nell hastenedto explain, “that the fashion makes the man. He did not like my former fashion. It hid too much that was good, he said. I am the bearer of this letter to the great Duchess of Portsmouth; that you are she, I know by your royalty.”
She bowed with a jaunty, boyish bow, sweeping the floor with her plumed hat, as she offered the letter.
“Oh, you are the gentleman,” said Portsmouth, recalling her request to Buckingham, which for the instant had quite escaped her. She took the letter and broke the seal eagerly.
“She does not suspect,” thought Nell; and she crossed quickly to the curtained arch, leading to the music and the dancing, in the hope that she might see the King.
Portsmouth, who was absorbed in the letter, did not observe her.
“From Rochet! Dear Rochet!” mused the Duchess, as she read aloud the lines: “‘The bearer of this letter is a young gallant, very modest and very little versed in the sins of court.’”
“Very little,” muttered Nell, with a mischievous wink, still intent upon the whereabouts and doings of the King.
“‘He is of excellent birth,’” continued the Duchess, reading, “‘brave, young and to be trusted–to be trusted. I commend him to your kindness, protection and service, during his stay in town.’”
She reflected a moment intently upon the letter, then looked up quickly. Nell returned, somewhat confused, to her side.
“This is a very strong letter, sir,” said Portsmouth, with an inquiring look.
“Yes, very strong,” promptly acquiesced Nell; and she chuckled as she recalled that she had written it herself, taking near a fortnight in the composition. Her fingers ached at the memory.
“Where did you leave Rochet?” inquired the Duchess, almost incredulously.
“Leave Rochet?” thought Nell, aghast. “I knew she would ask me something like that.”
There was a moment’s awkwardness–Nell was on difficult ground. She feared lest she might make a misstep whichwould reveal her identity. The Duchess grew impatient. Finally, Nell mustered courage and made a bold play for it, as ever true to her brogue.
“Where did I leave Rochet?” she said, as if she had but then realized the Duchess’s meaning, then boldly answered: “In Cork.”
“In Cork!” cried Portsmouth, in blank surprise. “I thought his mission took him to Dublin.” She eyed the youth closely and wondered if he really knew the mission.
“Nay; Cork!” firmly repeated Nell; for she dared not retract, lest she awaken suspicion. “I am quite sure it was Cork I left him in.”
“Quite sure?” exclaimed the Duchess, her astonishment increasing with each confused reply.
“Well, you see, Duchess,” said Nell, “we had an adventure. It was dark; and we were more solicitous to know whither the way than whence.”
The Duchess broke into a merry laugh. The youth had captured her, with hiswistful, Irish eyes, his brogue and his roguish ways.
“We give a ball to-night,” she said, gaily. “You shall stay and see the King.”
“The King!” cried Nell, feigning fright. “I should tremble so to see the King.”
“You need not fear,” laughed the hostess. “He will not know you.”
“I trust not, truly,” sighed Nell, with much meaning, as she scanned her scanty masculine attire.
“Take my mask,” said the Duchess, graciously. “As hostess, I cannot wear it.”
Nell seized it eagerly. She would be safe with this little band of black across her eyes. Even the King would not know her.
“I shall feel more comfortable behind this,” she said, naïvely.
“Did you ever mask?” inquired Portsmouth, gaily.
“Nay, I am too honest to deceive,” answered Nell; and her eyes grew so round and so big, who would not believe her?
AS A CAVALIER MISTRESS NELL DECEIVES EVEN THE KING.
AS A CAVALIER MISTRESS NELL DECEIVES EVEN THE KING.
“But you are at court now,” laughed the Duchess, patronizingly. “Masking is the first sin at court.”
“Then I’ll begin with the first sin,” said Nell, slyly, raising the Duchess’s fingers to her lips, “and run the gamut.”
They passed together into the great ball-room, Nell exercising all her arts of fascination–and they were many. The music ceased as they entered. The dancers, and more especially the ladies, eyed curiously the jaunty figure of the new-comer. There were merry whisperings among them.
“Who can he be?” asked one, eagerly. “What a pretty fellow!” exclaimed a second, in admiration. “I’ve been eying him,” said a third, complacently.
The men too caught the infection.
“Who can he be?” inquired Rochester.
“Marry, I’ll find out,” said Lady Hamilton, with an air of confidence, having recovered by this time from the kisses which had been thrust upon her and being now ready for a new flirtation.
She approached Adair, artfully, andinquired: “Who art thou, my butterfly? Tell me now, e’er I die.” Her attitude was a credit to the extremes of euphuism.
There was general laughter at her presumptuous and effete pose and phrase.
The ladies had gathered about the new hero, like bees about new clover. The gallants stood, or sat as wall-flowers in a row, deserted. The King too had been abandoned for the lion of the hour and sat disconsolate.
“Peace, jealous ones!” cried Lady Hamilton, reprovingly, then continued, with a winning way: “I know thou art Apollo himself, good sir.”
Nell smiled complacently, though she felt her mask, to assure herself that it was firm.
“Apollo, truly,” she said, jauntily, “if thou art his lyre, sweet lady.”
Lady Hamilton turned to the Duchess.
“Oh, your grace,” she asked, languishingly, “tell us in a breath, tell us, who is this dainty beau of the ball?”
“How am I to know my guests,” answered Portsmouth, feigning innocence,“with their vizors down? Nay, sweet sir, unmask and please the ladies. I’faith, who art thou?”
The hostess was delighted. The popularity of the new-comer was lending a unique novelty to her entertainment. She was well pleased that she had detained Monsieur Adair. She thought she saw a jealous look in the King’s usually carelessly indifferent gaze when she encouraged the affectionate glances of the Irish youth.
“I’faith,” laughed Nell, in reply, “I know not, Duchess.”
“D’ye hear?” said Portsmouth. “He knows not himself.”
“But I have a suspicion, Duchess,” sighed Nell.
“Hark ye,” laughed Portsmouth, with a very pretty pout, “he has a suspicion, ladies.”
“Nay, you will tell?” protested Nell, as the ladies gathered closer about her in eager expectation.
There was a unison of voices to the contrary.
“Trust us, fair sir,” said one. “Oh, we are good at keeping secrets.”
“Then, ’twixt you and me, I am–” began Nell; and she hesitated, teasingly.
The group about grew more eager, more wild with curiosity.
“Yes, yes–” they exclaimed together.
“I am,” said Nell, “the Pied Piper of Hamlin Town.”
“The rat-catcher,” cried Portsmouth. “Oh, oh, oh!”
There was a lifting of skirts, revealing many high-born insteps, and a scramble for chairs, as the ladies reflected upon the long lines of rats in the train of the mesmeric Pied Piper.
“Flee, flee!” screamed Lady Hamilton, playfully. “He may pipe us into the mountains after the children.”
“You fill me with laughter, ladies,” said Portsmouth to her guests. “The man does not live who can entrap me.”
“The woman does,” thought Nell, as, mock-heroically, she placed near her lips a reed-pipe which she had snatched from a musician in the midst of the fun; and,whistling a merry tune which the pipe took no part in, she circled about the room, making quite a wizard’s exit.
The ladies, heart and soul in the fun, fell into line and followed, as if spell-bound by the magic of the Piper.
Charles, James, Rochester and the gallants, who remained, each of whom had been in turn deserted by his fair lady, unmasked and looked at one another in wonderment. Of one accord, they burst into a peal of laughter.
“Sublime audacity,” exclaimed Charles. “Who is this curled darling–this ball-room Adonis? Ods-pitikins, we are in the sear and yellow leaf.”
“Truly, Sire,” said James, dryly, “I myself prefer a gathering of men only.”
“Brother James,” forthwith importuned the King, waggishly, “will you favour me with your lily-white hand for the next dance? I am driven to extremity.”
“Pardon, Sire,” replied James, quite humorously for him, “I am engaged to a handsomer man.”
“Odsfish,” laughed Charles, “KingCharles of England a wall-flower. Come, Rochester, my epitaph.”
The King threw himself into a chair, in an attitude of hopeless resignation, quite delicious.
Rochester perked up with the conceit and humour of the situation. With the utmost dignity, and with the quizzical, pinched brow of the labouring muse, halting at each line, he said: