The clocks had gone midnight, when I parted from Mary at the door of the house and groped my way upstairs to my room; where, throwing off my clothes I lay down, not to sleep, but to resolve endlessly and futilely the plans we had made, and the risks we ran and the thousand issues that might come of either. Cogitation brought me no nearer to a knowledge of the event, but only heated my brain and increased my impatience; the latter to such a degree that with the first light I was up and moving, and had my trunk packed. Nor did I fail to note the strange and almost incredible turn which now led me to look for support in my flight to the very person whose ominous entrance twenty-four hours earlier had forced me to lay aside the thought.
Long before it could by any chance be necessary I opened my door, and softly carrying out my box, placed it in a dark corner on the landing. After this a great interval elapsed, during which I conjured up a hundred mischances. At length I heard someone afoot opposite; and then the stumbling tread of a porter carrying goods down the stairs. About eleven I ventured to peep out, and learned with satisfaction that the trunk had vanished; it remained therefore for me to do the same. Bestowing a last look on the little attic which had been my home so long, and until lately no unhappy home, I took up my hat and cloak; and making sure for the fiftieth time that I had my small stock of money, hidden in my clothes, I opened the door, and stealing out, stood a minute to listen before I descended.
I heard nothing to alarm me; yet a second later I shrieked in affright, and almost sank down under the sudden grip of a hand on my shoulder. The hand was Ferguson's; who listening, at my chamber door, had heard me move towards it, and flattened himself against the wall beside it; and so, being in the dark corner farthest from the staircase, had eluded my notice. He chuckled vastly, at his cunning, and the fright he had given me, and rocking me to and fro, asked me grimly what I had done with my fine clothes and my wig.
"Ay, and that is not all," he continued. "I shall want to know a little more about that matter, my friend. And mind you, Mr. Price, the truth! The truth, or I will wring this tender ear of yours from your head. For the present, however, that matter may wait. I shall have it, when I want it. Now I have other work for you. Come into my room."
"I am going to the tavern," I said desperately. And I hung back. "Afterwards, Mr. Ferguson, I will----"
"Oh, to the tavern," he answered, mimicking me. "And for what?"
"My dinner," I faltered.
He burst into a volley of oaths, and seizing me again by the shoulder ran me into his room. "Your dinner, indeed, you dirty, low-born pedlar," he cried in a fury. "Who are you to dine at taverns when the King's business wants you? Stand you there, and listen to me, or by the God above me, you shall never take meat or drink again. Do you see this, you craven?" and he plucked out his horrible horse pistol, and flourished the muzzle in my face. "Mark it, and remember that I am Ferguson, the famous Ferguson, Ferguson the plotter, and no little person to be thwarted! And now listen to me."
I could have wept with rage and despair, knowing that with every moment this wretch kept me, my chance of fulfilling the appointment at Clerkenwell Gate was passing; and that if he detained me only one half hour longer, I must be late. To the pistol, however, and his scowling, truculent, blotched face that lacking the wig, which hung on a chair beside him, was one degree more ugly than its wont, there was no answer; and I said sullenly that I would listen.
"You had better," he answered. "Mark you, there is a gentleman coming to see me; and to his coming and to what he says to me I will have a witness. You follow me?"
"Yes," I said, looking round, but in vain, for a way of escape.
"And you are the witness. You shall go into that room, mark you, and you shall be as mute as a mouse! I put this little cupboard open, the back is thin and there is a crack in it; set your eye to that and you will see him. And look you, listen to every word, and note it; and keep still--keep still, or it will be the worse for you, Mr. Price!"
"Very well," I said obediently; hope springing up, as I thought I saw a way of escape. "And what time must I be here?"
"You are here, and you will stay here," he answered dashing to the ground the scarce-born plan. "Why, man, he may come any minute."
"Still--if I could go out for--for two minutes," I persisted. "I should be easier."
"Go out! Go out!" he cried, interrupting me in a fury. "And dinners? And taverns? And you would be easier! D'ye know, Mr. Price, I have my doubts about you! Ay, I have!" he continued, leering at me with his big, cunning eyes; and now thrusting his face close to mine, now drawing it back again. "Are you for selling us, I wonder? Mind you, if that is your thought, two can play at that game, and I have writing of yours. Ay, I have writing of yours, Mr. Price, and for twopence I would send it where it will hang you. So be careful. Be careful or--give me that coat."
Wishing that I had the courage to strike him in the back, praying that the next word he said might choke him, hating him with a dumb hatred, the blacker for its impotence, and for the menial services he made me do him, I gave him the long-skirted plum-coloured coat to which he pointed, and saw him clothe his lank ungainly figure in it, and top all with his freshly curled wig. He bade me tie his points and fasten on his sword; and this being done to his liking--and he was not very easy to please--he pulled down his ruffles, and walked to and fro, preening himself and looking a hundred times more ugly and loathsome for the finery, with which, for the first time, I saw him bedizened.
Preparations so unusual, by awakening my curiosity as to the visitor in whose honour they were made, diverted me from my own troubles; to which I had done no more than return when a knock came at the outer door. Ferguson, in a flush of exultation that went far to show that he had entertained doubts of the visitor's coming, thrust me into the next room; a mere closet, ill-lighted by one small window, and bare, save for a bed-frame. Here he placed me beside the crack he had mentioned; and whispering in my ear the most fearful threats and objurgations in case I moved, or proved false to him, he cast a last look round to assure himself that all was right; then he went back into his own apartment, where through my Judas-hole I saw him pause. The girl's departure with the luggage had left the room but meagrely furnished; whether this and the effect it might have on his visitor's mind struck him, or he began at the last moment to doubt the prudence of his enterprise, he stood awhile in the middle of the floor gnawing his nails, and listening, or perhaps thinking. The drift of his reflections, however, was soon made clear; for on the visitor's impatiently repeating his summons, he moved stealthily to one of the windows--which being set in the mode of garret windows, deep in the slope of the roof, gave little light--and by piling his cloak in a heap on the sill, he contrived to obscure some of that little. This done, and crying softly "Coming! Coming!" he hastened to the door and opened it, bowing and scraping with an immense show of humility.
The man, who had knocked, and who walked in with an impatient step as if the waiting had been little to his taste, was tall and slight; for the rest, a cloak, and a hat flapping low over his face, hid both features and complexion. I noticed that Ferguson bowed again and humbly, but did not address him; and that the gentleman also kept silence until he had seen the door secured behind him. Then, and as his host with seeming clumsiness, brushed past him and so secured a position with his back to the light, he asked sharply, "Where is he?"
The plotter leant his hands on the back of the chair and paused an instant before he answered. When he did he spoke with less assurance than I had ever heard him speak before; he even stammered a little. "Your Grace," he said, "has come to see a person--who--who wrote to you? From this house?"
"I have. Where is he?"
"Here."
"Here? But where, man, where?" the newcomer replied, looking quickly round.
Still Ferguson did not move. "My lord Duke, you came here, in a word--to see Lord Middleton?" he said.
It was easy to see that the visitor's gorge rose at the other's manner, no less than at this naming of names. But with an effort he swallowed his chagrin. "If you know that, you know all," he answered with composure. "So without more, take me to him. But I may as well say, sir, since you seem to be in his confidence----"
"It was my hand wrote the letter."
"Was it so? Then you should know, sir, that a madder and more foolish thing was never done! If my Lord Middleton," the stranger continued coldly, his tone inclining to sarcasm rather than to feeling, "desired to ruin his best friend and the one most able to save him in a certain event--if he meant to requite, sir, one who has already suffered more than was reasonable in his service, by consigning him to his destruction, he did well. Otherwise he was mad. Mad, or worse, to send such a letter to a place where he must know of his own knowledge that nine letters out of ten are opened by others' hands!"
"Your Grace is right," Ferguson answered drily, and in his natural voice; at the sound of which, either because of its native harshness or because it touched some chord in his memory, the other started. "But the fact is," the plotter continued hardily, and with a smack of impertinence, "my Lord Middleton, so far as I know, is still with the King at St. Germain's."
"At St. Germain's?" the stranger cried. "With the King?"
"Yes, and to be candid," Ferguson answered, "I was not aware, my lord, that you had sent him a safe conduct."
"You villain!" the Duke cried, and stepped forward, his rage excited as much by the man's manner as by the trick which had been played him. "How dared you say, then, that he was here?" he continued. "Answer, fellow, or it will be the worse for you."
"I said only, your Grace," Ferguson replied, retreating a step, "that the writer of the letter was here."
For a moment the Duke, utterly dumfounded by this, stood looking at him. "And you are he?" he said at last, with chilling scorn, "and the author of this--plot!"
"And of many plots besides," my master answered jauntily. And then, "My lord, do you not know me yet?" he cried.
"Not I! Stand out, sir, and let me see your face. Then perhaps, if we have met before----"
"Oh, we have met before!" was the quick and impudent answer. "I am not ashamed of my face. It has been known in its time. But fair play is a jewel, my lord. It is eight years since I saw your Grace last, and I have a fancy to learn if you are changed. Will you oblige me? If you would see my face, show me yours!"
With a gesture between contempt and impatience the Duke removed the hat, which at his entrance he had merely touched; and hastily lowering the cloak from his neck, confronted his opponent.
p179WITH A GESTURE BETWEEN CONTEMPT AND IMPATIENCE THE DUKE REMOVED HIS HAT
It cannot at this time of day be needful for me to describe in detail the aspect of those features which the action disclosed, since they are as well remembered by many still living as they are faithfully preserved for posterity--lacking some of the glow and passion which then animated them--on the canvas by Sir Peter Lely, which hangs in the Charterhouse. The Duke of Shrewsbury--to set concealment aside--was then in his thirty-sixth year, in the prime and bloom of manhood, of a fair complexion and regular features; over which the habitude of high rank and the possession of unrivalled parts threw a cast of reserve and stateliness, not unbecoming. As he was by nature so sensitive that on this side alone his enemies found him vulnerable, so his face in repose, if it had any blemish at all, had the fault of bordering on the womanish, the lines of his mouth following those of the choicest models of antiquity. But this blemish--if that which bore witness to the most affectionate disposition in the world could be called by that name--was little marked in public life, the awe which his eyes, alike firm and penetrating, inspired in the vulgar, rendering most people blind to it. To sum up, his face gave a just idea of his character; for though indolent, he was of such a temper that the greatest dared take no liberty with him; and though proud he gave the meanest his rights and a place.
Such, in fine, was the man who now confronted Ferguson, and with a stern light in his eye bade the schemer stand out. That the latter from the first had intended to declare himself, was as certain as that, now the time had come, he hesitated; awed by the mere power of worth, as I have heard that wicked men calling up spirits from the deep have stood affrighted before the very beings they have summoned. Yet his hesitation was for a moment only; after which, rallying the native audacity of a temperament which rejoiced in these intrigues and dénouements, he stepped jauntily forward, and assuming such a parody of dignity as likened his clumsy figure and sneaking face to nothing so much as an ape decked out in man's clothes, he allowed the light to fall on his features.
The Duke looked, and even where I stood behind the lath and plaster partition I heard him catch his breath. "You are Robert Ferguson!" he said.
"Well guessed!" the plotter answered, with a harsh discordant laugh. "Your Grace has not forgotten '88. Believe me, if the Prince of Orange had kept as good a memory, I should not have been in this garret, nor need I have troubled your lordship to visit me in it."
"It would have been better for you, sir, had you still refrained," the Duke answered with severity. "Mr. Ferguson, I tell you at once that I do not bear his Majesty's Commission in vain, and my first proceeding on leaving this house will be to sign a warrant for your apprehension, and direct the officers where it can be executed."
"And I, my lord," Ferguson answered with an impudent attempt at pleasantry, "have a very good mind to take you at your word, and let you go to do it. For when your officers arrived they would not find me, while your Grace would go hence to fall into as pretty a trap as was ever laid for a man."
"Doubtless, then, of your laying!" my lord cried, with a gesture of contempt.
"On the contrary. Until I saw you, I knew of the trap indeed, but not for whom it was intended. Since I have seen you, however--and how greatly you have improved since '88, when we last met"--Ferguson added, impertinently,--"my eyes are opened, and I feel a very sincere pity for your lordship."
"I am obliged to you for your warning," the Duke answered, drily, "and will endeavour to take care of myself. If that be all, therefore, that you have to say to me--and I assume that the letter in Lord Middleton's name was no more than a ruse--I will say good-day."
"But that is not all, nor a part!" Ferguson replied. "I have a bargain to propose, and information"--this sullenly and with lowered eyes--"to give."
"As usual!" my lord answered, shrugging his shoulders, and speaking with the most cutting scorn. "But permit me to say that you have made a mistake, Mr. Ferguson, in sending for me. You should know by this time, being versed in these affairs, that I leave such bargains to underlings."
"Nevertheless, to this bargain you must be a party," the other answered violently. "Nay, my lord, I can make you a party, I have only to tell you a thing I know; and whether you will or no, for your own safety you must do what I ask."
"For my own safety, Mr. Ferguson, I am not in the habit of doing anything I would not do for other reasons," the Duke answered coldly. "For the rest, if you have anything to tell me that concerns the King's service----"
"Which King's?" the plotter cried, with a sneer.
"I acknowledge one only--then, I say, I will hear it. But I will neither do nor promise anything in return."
"You talk finely," Ferguson cried, "yet you cannot deny that before this I have told things that were worth knowing."
"That were worth men's lives!" my lord answered, speaking in a low stern voice, and looking at him with a strange abhorrence. "Yes, Mr. Ferguson, I acknowledge that. That were worth men's lives. And it reminds me that you are growing old, and have blood on your hands; you only and God know how much. But some I know; the proof of it lies in my office. If you will take my advice, therefore, you will think rather of quitting the world and making your peace with heaven--if by any means it can be done--than of digging pits for better men than yourself. Man," he continued, looking fixedly at him, "do you never think of Ayloffe and Sidney? And Russell? And Monmouth? And Cornish? Of the men you have egged on to death, and the men you have--sold! God forgive you! God forgive you, for man never will!"
I should fail, and lamentably, were I to try to describe either the stern feeling with which my lord uttered this solemn address--the more solemn as it came from a young man to an old one--or the horrid passion born of rage, fear, and remorse commingled, with which the intriguer received it. When my lord had ceased to speak, Ferguson broke into the most fearful imprecations; calling down vengeance not only on others for wrongs done to him, but on his own head if he had ever done aught but what was right; and this rant he so sprinkled with texts of scripture and scraps of the old Covenanters' language that for profanity and blasphemy I never heard the like. The Duke, after watching the exhibition for a time with eyes of pity and reprobation, ended by setting on his hat and turning to the door. This sufficed--as nothing else would have--to bring the conspirator to his senses. With a hideous chuckle, which brought his tirade to a fitting conclusion, "Not so fast, my lord! Not so fast," he cried, slapping his pocket. "The key is here. I have something to say before you go."
"In God's name say it then!" the Duke cried, his face sick with disgust.
"I will!" Ferguson answered hoarsely, leaning on the table which stood between them and thrusting forward his chin, his face still suffused with rage. "And see you how I will confound you! The Duke of Berwick is in England. The Duke of Berwick is in London. And what is worse for you, my lord, he lies to-night at Dr. Lloyd's in Hogsden Gardens. So take that information to yourself, my Lord Secretary, and make what you can of it--not forgetting the King's interest! Ha! ha! I have you tight there, I think."
His triumph, extreme and offensive as it was, seemed to be justified by the consternation--I can call it by no other name--which darkened the Duke's countenance as he listened, and held him a moment speechless and motionless, glaring at the other. At last, "And you sent to me to tell me this?" he cried.
"I did! I did! There is no other living man would have thought of it or done it. And why? Because there is no man can play my cards but myself."
"You devil!" my lord cried; and was silent.
Seeing that I knew little more of this of which they spoke than that the Duke of Berwick was King James' natural son and favourite, I was at a loss to comprehend, either the Duke's chagrin or Ferguson's very evident triumph. The latter's next words, however, went far towards explaining his jubilation; and if they did not perfectly clear up my lord's position--fully to enter into which required a nobility of sentiment and a nicety of honour on a par with his own--they enabled me to guess where the shoe pinched.
"D'ye take me now, my lord?" the plotter cried, with a savage grimace. "That concerns the King's service I think; and yet--I dare you to make use of it. Ay, my Lord Secretary, I dare you to make use of it!" he repeated, his unwholesome face deep red with excitement. "For why? Because you know that there will be a day of reckoning presently--and sooner, mayhap, than some think. You know that. Sooner or later it will come--it will come, and then 'Touch not mine anointed!' Or rather, touch but a hair of his Jamie's head, and his Majesty'll no forgive! He'll no forgive! There will be mercy for my Lord Devonshire, and my Lord Admiral, ay, and for that incarnate liar and devil, John Churchill! Ay, even for him, for he has made all safe both sides and so have the others. But do you touch the King's blood, though it be bastard--do you send to-night to the Bishop's and take him, and go on to what follows--and you may kneel like Monmouth, and plead like my Lady Russell, and you'll to the axe and the sawdust, when the time comes! Ay, you will! you will! you will!"
Though his harsh voice rose almost to a shriek with the last words, and the room rang with them, the Duke stood mutely regarding him, and made no answer. After an interval, Ferguson himself went on, but in a lower tone. "That is the one course you may take, my lord," he said, "and the result of it! If you follow my advice, however, you will not adopt that course. Instead you will let FitzJames be. You will act as if you had not seen me to-day, nor heard that he was in London. You'll wipe this meeting from your memory and live as if it had not been. And so, at the Restoration, you will have nothing to fear on that head. But--but in the meantime," Ferguson continued with an ugly grin, "it may be the worse for your Grace if the truth, and your knowledge of the truth, come to the Prince's ears, whose Minister you are; and worse again if it comes to Bentinck's, who, I am told, is some trouble to your Grace already."
The Duke's face was a picture. "You villain!" he said again. "What do you want?"
"For my silence?"
"For your silence? No. What is your aim? What is your object? You betray one and the other. The son of your King to prison and death. Me, if you can, to ruin and shame. And why? Why, man? What do you?"
"What do I gain? What shall I gain, you mean," Ferguson answered, smiling cunningly. "Only your Grace's signature to a scrap of paper--give me that, and I am mum, and neither Berwick nor you will be a penny the worse."
"What, money?" cried my lord, surprised, I think.
"Oh, no, not money," said the plotter coolly. "And yet--it may be money's worth to me over there."
"It is this way, my lord," he continued after a pause. "Lord Middleton said some things over there in your Grace's name--that would be four years back; but you never acted on them, though it was whispered you paid dearly for them here. In the interval it has been the aim of a good many to get something more definite from your Grace; the rather as you stand almost alone, the main part of the Court, and more than you know, having made their peace. But the efforts of those persons failed with your Grace because they went about it in the wrong way. Now, I, Robert Ferguson," the plotter continued, patting himself on the chest, and bowing with grotesque conceit, "have gone about it in the right way; and I shall not fail. The position is this. You must either arrest the Duke of Berwick, or you must let him go. That is clear. If you do the former, you offend beyond pardon, and your head will fall at the Restoration, whoever goes clear. On the other hand, if you let the Duke escape and it comes to the Prince of Orange's ears that you knew of his presence, you will be ruined with your present party. The only course left to you, therefore, is to let him go, but to purchase my silence--that it may not reach the Prince's ears--by signing a few words on a paper, which shall be sealed here, and opened only by His Majesty in his closet. Now, my lord, what do you say to that?"
"That you are a fool as well as a knave!" was the Duke's unexpected reply. He had recovered his equanimity, and took a pinch of snuff as he spoke.
The plotter's eyes sparkled. "Why?" he cried with an oath. "And is that language for a gentleman?"
"A gentleman? Faugh!" cried my lord. "And why? Because you suppose your word to be of value. Whereas you should know that were you to go to Kensington and tell the King that you had informed me of this or that or the other, and were I to deny it, you would to Newgate for certain, and to the pillory perhaps--but I should be not a penny the worse. Your word forsooth! Why, man, you are crazed!"
"Ay, but if I had you followed here?" the other answered savagely. "If I can produce three witnesses to prove that you were with me to-day, and by stealth! And by stealth, my lord? What then?"
"Why, then this!" the Duke answered with composure. "And it is my answer. I shall go hence to the King and tell him all; and on your information, Mr. Ferguson, the Duke of Berwick will be arrested. Whatever my fate or his after that, I shall have done my duty and kept my oath as a privy-councillor, and the rest I leave to God! But for you," he continued, slowly and with solemnity, "who to gain a hold on me have betrayed the son of your King, your fate be on your own head!"
The plotter, who, I think, had expected any answer but this, and, it may be, had never considered his own position, should the Duke stand firm, roared out a furious "You lie!" And then again in a frenzy, as the consequences rose more clearly before him, "You lie!" he cried, striking his hand on the table. "You will not do it! You will not dare to do it!"
"Mr. Ferguson," the Duke answered haughtily, "I do not suffer persons of your condition to tell me what I dare, or do not dare; or persons of any condition to give me the lie. Be good enough to open the door!"
"Sign the paper!" the conspirator hissed. His face, at no time sightly, was now distorted by fear and the rage of defeat; while the chair on the back of which he leaned his left hand, jerked this way and that as if the palsy had him. "Sign the paper, will you? Or your blood be on your own head!"
The Duke's only answer was to point to the door with his cane. "Open it!" he said, his breath coming a little quickly, but his manner otherwise unmoved. "Do you hear me?"
But either Ferguson's rage had so much the mastery of him that he could no longer control himself, or he was desperate, seeing into what an abyss the other's firmness was pushing him; or from the first he had determined on this course in the last resort. At any rate at that word, and instead of complying, he fell back a step and with a dark face drew a pistol from the pocket of his long coat. "Sign!" he cried, his voice whistling in his throat, as he levelled the arm at my lord's head. "Sign, you Roman spawn, or I'll spill your brains! Sign, or you don't go out of this room alive! Has the Lord's foot been put on the neck of his enemies that such as you should divide the spoil!"
There was nothing to sign, for he had not produced the paper. But in the delirium of fear and excitement into which he had fallen, he was unconscious of this, and of all except that he was in danger of falling into the pit he had digged for another. His hand shook so violently that every moment I expected the pistol to explode, with his will or without it; his fears no less than his despair putting my lord in danger. What he, who stood thus exposed to naked death thought in his heart while his existence hung on a shaking finger, I can not say, nor if he prayed; for no man talked less of religion, to be, as I trust he was, a believer; while the pride which supported him in that crisis was as powerful to close his lips after the event. "Put that down!" was all he said; and met the other's eyes without blenching, though I think that he was a trifle paler than he had been.
"Sign!" answered the madman with an oath.
"Put it down!" repeated the Duke; and doubtless his courage by imposing a restraint on the other's headiness postponed, though it could not avert, the catastrophe.
For, every second they stood thus fronting one another, Ferguson grinning and gibbering to him to sign, I looked to see the pistol explode, and my lord fall lifeless. My knees shook under me; horrified at this murder to be committed under my eyes, scarce conscious what I did or would do, I fumbled for the handle of the door--which luckily was beside me; and found it precisely as the Duke, with a twirl of his cane, as swift as it was unexpected, knocked the pistol aside and sprang bodily on the villain, striving to bear him down. He had no time to draw his sword.
He was the younger man by twenty years and the more active, if not the more powerful; so that for an instant it seemed to me that the danger was over. But I counted without Ferguson; who leaping back before the other could grapple with him, with a nimbleness beyond his years put the table between them, and levelling the pistol afresh with a snarl of rage, pulled the trigger. The flint snapped harmlessly!
More than that I could not bear, and, by heaven's mercy, the movement had brought the wretch close to the door at which I stood, and which I had that moment opened. As he aimed the pistol a second time, and with a fresh execration, I flung my arms round him from behind, and with my right hand jerked up the pistol; which exploded, bringing down a rush of plaster, and filling the room with smoke and brimstone.
p191I FLUNG MY ARMS ROUND HIM FROM BEHIND, AND WITH MY RIGHT HAND JERKED UP THE PISTOL
An interposition so sudden and timely must have been no less a surprise to the Duke than to Ferguson. Nevertheless, the former, without the loss of a moment, flung himself on his antagonist; and seizing the pistol, while I clung to him behind, in a twinkling he had him disarmed. Yet, even when this was done, so furious were the man's struggles, and so inhuman the strength he displayed (even to biting and foaming in a fury that could only be called maniacal) that it was as much as we could both do to conquer him; though we were two to one, and younger. Nor would he be quiet or resign himself to defeat until we had him down on his back, with my lord's sword-point at his throat.
Then it was that while we stood over him, panting and trembling with the exertions we had made, my lord turned his eyes on me. "My friend," he said, "who are you?"
I could not speak for emotion; and though he was calmer, I could see that he was deeply stirred, both by the risk he had run, and the narrowness of his escape. "My lord," I cried, at last, "take me away."
"From here?" he said.
"Yes," I said, "for God's sake, for God's sake, take me away," and I burst into an uncontrollable fit of sobbing; so overcome was I by what had happened, and what had almost happened.
He looked at me, his lip twitching a little, and his breast heaving. "Be easy, man," he said. "Were you set to watch me?"
"Yes," I said.
"And you heard all?"
"All."
"Who are you?" he said again.
"Two months ago I was an honest man," I answered bitterly, "and then I got intohisclutches. And he has ridden me. Ah, how he has ridden me!"
"I see," he said, nodding gravely. "Well, his riding days are over. Hark you, Mr. Ferguson," he continued, turning to the prostrate man, who, grovelling before us--I had taken the precaution of tying his hands with my garters--acknowledged his attention by a hollow groan, "I am no thief-taker, and I shall not soil my hands with you. But within an hour the messengers will be here; and if they find you, look to yourself; for I think that in that case you will indubitably hang. In the meantime I will take your pistol." Then to me, "Come, my man," he said, "if you wish to go with me."
"I do," I cried.
"Well, I owe you more than that," he answered kindly. "And I need you, besides. Mr. Ferguson, I bid you farewell. You have proved yourself a more foolish man than I thought you. A worse you could not. The best I can wish you is that you may never see my face again."
My lord, I found, had a coach, without arms or insignia, waiting for him at the Great Turnstile in Holborn; where, if persons recognised him as he alighted, he would be taken to have business with the lawyers in Lincoln's Inn, or at my Lord Somers's in the Fields. Following him to the coach on foot, I never saw a man walk in more deep or anxious thought. He took no heed of me, after bidding me by a gesture to attend him; but twice he stood in doubt, and once he made as if he would return whence he had come, and once as if he would cross the Fields--I think to Powis House. In the end he went on, and arriving at the coach, the door of which was opened for him by a footman in a plain livery, he bade me by a sign to follow him into it. This I was not for doing, thinking it too great an honour; but on his crying impatiently, "Man, how do you think I am to talk to you if you ride outside?" I hastened to enter, in equal confusion and humility.
Nevertheless, some time elapsed, and we had travelled the length of Holborn before he spoke. Then rousing himself on a sudden from his preoccupation, he looked at me. "Do you know a man called Barclay?" said he.
"No, your Grace," I answered.
"Sir George Barclay?"
"No, your Grace."
"Or Porter? Or Charnock? Or King?"
"No, your Grace."
"Umph!" said he, seeming to be disappointed; and for a time he looked out of the window. Presently, however, he glanced at me again, and so sharply that I dropped my eyes, out of respect. "I have seen you before," he said, at last.
Surprised beyond measure that he remembered me, so many years having elapsed, I confessed with emotion that he had.
"Where?" he asked plainly. "I see many people. And I have not old Rowley's memory."
I told him. "Your Grace may not remember it," I said, greatly moved, "but many years ago at Abbot's Stanstead, at Sir Baldwin Winston's----"
"What?" he exclaimed, cutting me short, with a flicker of laughter in his grave eyes. And he looked me over. "Did I flesh my maiden justice-sword on you? Were you the lad who ran away?"
"Yes, my lord--the lad whose life you saved," I answered.
"Well, then we are quits," he had the kindness to answer; and asked me how I had lived since those days.
I told him, naming Mr. Timothy Brome, and saying that he would give me a character. The mention of the news-writer, however, had a different effect from that I expected; his Grace conceiving a hasty idea that he also was concerned with Ferguson, and muttering under this impression that if such men were turning, it was vain to fight against the stream. I hastened to disabuse him of the notion by explaining how I came to fall into Ferguson's hands. On which he asked me what I had done for the plotter, and how he had employed me.
"He would send me on errands," I answered, "and to fetch papers from the printers, and to carry his messages."
"To coffee-houses?"
"Often, your Grace."
"Did he ever send you to Covent Garden?" he asked, looking fixedly at me.
"Yes, your Grace, to a gentleman with a white handkerchief hanging from his pocket."
"Ha!" said he; and with an eager light in his face he bade me tell him all I knew of that man. This giving me the cue, I detailed what I had seen and heard at the Seven Stars the previous evening, the toast of the Squeezing of the Rotten Orange, the hints which had escaped the drunken conspirator, not forgetting his references to the Hunting Party, and the date, Saturday or Saturday week. I added also what I had learned from the girl, but mentioned for this no authority. To all my lord listened attentively, nodding from moment to moment, and at last, "Then Porter is not lying this time," he said, drawing a deep breath. "I feared--but here we are. Follow me, my friend, and keep close to me."
Engrossed in my story, and the attention that was due to his rank, I had paid no heed either to the way we had come, or to our gradual passage from the smoke and babble of London to country air and stillness. A vague notion that we were still travelling the Oxford Road was all I retained: and this was rudely shaken when, recalled to the present by his words, I looked out, and discovered that the coach was bowling along an avenue of lofty trees, with park-like pastures stretched on either hand. I had no more than time to note so much and that the horses were slackening their pace, before we rumbled under an archway, and drew up in a spacious courtyard shut in on four sides by warm-looking red-brick buildings, whereof the wing under which we had driven was surmounted by a quaintly-shaded bell-turret.
Ignorant where my lord lived, and little acquainted with the villages which lie around London, I supposed that he had brought me to his house. The sight of a couple of sentries, who walked with arms ported before a wide, low flight of steps leading to the principal door, should have enlightened me; but a flock of pigeons, that, disturbed by our entrance, were now settling down, and beginning to strut the gravel with the most absurd air of possession, caught my attention, and diverted me from this mark of State. Nor did a knot of servants, lounging silently under a portico, or two or three sedans which I espied waiting a little apart, go far to detract from the general air of peace and quietude which prevailed in the place. Other observations I had no time to make; for my lord, mounting the steps, bade me follow him.
I did so, across a spacious hall floored with shining wood laid in strange patterns. Here were three or four servants, who stood at attention, but did not approach; and passing them without notice, we had reached the foot of a wide and handsome staircase before a person dressed plainly in black and carrying a tall slender wand came forward, and with a low bow interposed himself.
"Your Grace's pardon," he said, "the Council has broken up."
"How long?"
"About half an hour."
"Ah! And Lord Somers? Did he go back to town?"
"Yes, your Grace, immediately."
The Duke at that asked a question which I, standing back a little out of respect, and being awed besides by the grandeur of the place and the silence, did not catch. The answer, however, "Only Lord Portland and Mr. Sewell," I heard; and likewise the Duke's rejoinder, "I am going up."
"You will permit me to announce your Grace," the other answered quickly. He seemed to be something between a gentleman and a servant.
"No," my lord said. "I am in haste, and I have that will be my warranty. This person goes with me."
"I hope your Grace--will answer for it then," the man in black replied respectfully, but with a little hesitation in his tone.
"I will answer for it that you are not blamed, Nash," the Duke rejoined, with good nature. "Yes, yes. And now let us up."
On that the man with the wand stood aside--still a little doubtfully I thought--and let us pass: and my patron preceding me, we went up a wide staircase and along a silent corridor, and through one or two swing doors, the Duke seeming to be conversant with the house. It was impossible not to admire the sombre richness of the carved furniture, which stood here and there in the corridor; or the grotesque designs and eastern colouring of the China ware and Mogul idols that peered from the corners, or rose boldly on brackets. Such a mode of furnishing was new to me, but neither its novelty nor the evidences of wealth and taste which abundantly met the eye, impressed me so deeply as the stillness which everywhere prevailed; and which seemed so much a part of the place, that when his Grace opened the second swing door, and the shrill piping voice of a child, crowing and laughing in an ecstasy of infantile pleasure, came forth and met us, I started as if a gun had exploded.
I know now that the sound, by giving my patron assurance that he whom he sought was not there, but in his closet, led to my admission; and that without that assurance my lord would have left me to wait at the door. As it was, he said nothing to me, but went on; and I following him in my innocence through the doorway, came, at the same moment he did, on a scene as rare as it is by me well remembered.
p199A SLIGHT GENTLEMAN AMBLED AND PACED IN FRONT OF A CHILD
We stood on the threshold of a wide and splendid gallery, set here and there with huge china vases, and hung with pictures; which even then I discerned to be of great beauty, and afterwards learned were of no less value. Letting my eyes travel down this vista, they paused naturally on a spot under one of the windows; where with his back to us and ribbons in his hands, a slight gentleman, who stooped somewhat and was dressed in black, ambled and paced in front of a child of four or five years old. The wintry sunlight which fell in cold bars on the floor, proved his progress to be more showy than real; nevertheless the child shrieked in its joy, and dancing, jerked the ribbons and waved a tiny whip. In answer, the gentleman whose long curled periwig bobbed oddly on his shoulders--he had his back to us--pranced more and more stoutly; though on legs a little thin and bent.
A long moment I stared at this picture, little thinking on what I gazed; nor was it until a gentleman seated at a side table not far from the pair, rose hurriedly from his chair and with a guttural exclamation came towards us, that I remarked this third occupant of the gallery. When I did so, it was to discern that he was angry, and that my lord was taken aback and disturbed. It even seemed to me that my patron made a hasty movement to withdraw. Before he could do so, however, or I who, behind him barred the way, could take the hint, the gentleman in black, warned of our presence by the other's exclamation, turned to us, and still standing and holding the ribbons in his hands looked at us.
He had a long sallow face, which seemed the sallower for the dark heavy wig that fell round it; a large hooked nose and full peevish lips; with eyes both bright and morose. I am told that he seldom smiled, and never laughed, and that while the best tales of King Charles's Court passed round him, he would stand abstracted, or on occasion wither the teller by a silent nod. The Court wits who dubbed my Lord Nottingham, Don Dismallo, could find no worse title for him. Yet that he had a well of humour, deeply hidden and rarely drawn upon, no one could doubt who saw him approach us, a flicker of dry amusement in his eyes giving the lie to his pursed-up lips and the grimness of his visage.
"Your Grace is always welcome," he said, speaking in English a little broken and guttural. "And yet you might have come moreà propos, I confess."
"A thousand pardons, sir," my lord answered, bowing until his knee well-nigh touched the ground. "I thought that you were in your closet, sir, or I should have taken your pleasure before I intruded."
"But you have news?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ha! And this person"--he looked fixedly at me--"is concerned."
"Yes, sir."
"Then, my Lord Buck--" and with that he turned and addressed the child who was still tugging at the ribbons, "Il faut partir!Do you hear me, you must go? Go,petit vaurien!I have business."
The child looked at him boldly. "Faut il?" said he.
"Oui! oui!Saymerci, and go."
"Merci, Monsieur," the boy answered. And then to us with a solemn nod. "J'ai eu sa Majesté for my chevaux!"
"Cheval! Cheval!" corrected the gentleman in black. "And be off."