Why do you sleep in your clothes?
“Oh, a soldier often sleeps in his clothes.”
“But I don't think you're a soldier.”
“Why?”
“Where is your sword?”
“I'll get that by-and-by.”
“If I was a soldier I'd sleep with my sword.”
“Well, you'd find it a mighty uncomfortable bedfellow,” I answered, laughing. At which he laughed too, and we were fast becoming friends.
“Will you be a soldier?” I went on.
“I don't know. What's your name?”
“One moment, my young diplomat. Do you never answer a question but by asking another? Surely you're not a Scotchman?”
“I don't know.”
“Well, what do you think you are?”
“I think I'm a Methodist.”
“So you are. But that may be much the same thing, for aught I know. My name's Captain Geraldine. Now tell me yours.”
“Christopher. Can you sing?”
“I can sing, my boy, like a mavis, like a bird-of-paradise. Would you like to taste my quality?” and without more ado I sang to him.
“The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh,Nor deep eneugh the sea,Nor braid eneugh this weary warldTo part my Love frae me.”
“The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh,Nor deep eneugh the sea,Nor braid eneugh this weary warldTo part my Love frae me.”
“I like that,” he said, gravely, when I had made an end. “You sing well.”
“So I have been informed, sir; and I am most sensible of your confirmation of the favourable verdict, which is flattering beyond my poor deserts.”
But he did not find this at all to his taste, and I was sorry to see my untimely nonsense caused him to shrink somewhat from me, which hurt me to a degree I could not have believed possible.
But my embarrassment was relieved by his mother's voice calling us from the foot of the stairs, and hand in hand we went down together.
I looked at my hostess with much curiosity, and found her quiet and serene, though the traces of the anxiety of overnight were visible in her pale face and tired eyes.
“Good-morning, Mistress Routh.”
“Good-morning, Captain Geraldine. I see my boy has taken to you; it is a good sign.”
The words were like balm to me, and I looked at her searchingly to see expected signs of relenting, but I recognised only too clearly it was the kindly civility of an entire stranger, and I felt more strongly than at any moment before that the door of the past was irrevocably closed between us.
I sate down at the table, but she remained standing, and folding her hands, repeated a long grace. It was so utterly strange, so utterly foreign to all I had ever known of her, that it deepened the impression tenfold that I belonged to a world apart from hers. In a sense it shocked my feeling of what was proper. Her Protestantism had never been any barrier in our life together, for I have known too many different ways to happiness not to believe there may be more than one to heaven. I have known too many devout Protestants to have a shadow of doubt as to their sincerity; but I have always been a believer in the established order of things, and for a woman to take any part in matters religious, beyond teaching her children their hymns and prayers, was foreign to my experience.
We ate our breakfast to the accompaniment of the boy's chatter, and if there were any embarrassment, I am free to confess it was on my side alone. I could perfectly understand her courage and resolution of the night before, but this wonderful acting was simply marvellous; it was, as far as I knew, no more possible to the Lucy I had known than talking Castilian; but, upon my soul, I never admired her more in my life. This, however, I took good care not to shew in word or gesture: if she had so utterly renounced all vanities and pomps, why should she have the incense of admiration? She would probably consider it an offering to idols.
“Mistress Routh, if my presence will not discommode you, I purpose to lie quiet for a day or two, until I can get such clothes as may serve both as a change of character and a more fitting appearance for myself. Do you happen to know of so rare a bird as a periwig-maker who can keep his counsel? If I could have such an one attend me here, I could at least do away with this lanky hair and fit myself to a decent wig; then I could venture out under cover of a cloak, and find a tailor to complete the transformation. But I take it you may know but little of these manlike fripperies.”
“I do know a man who may be trusted, who, though a member of our Society, is forced to gain his living by like vanities,” she returned.
“Madam,” said I, “you evidently do not estimate the quality of vanity at its proper value. Now I hold it in reality to be the eighth of the Cardinal Virtues. I have known it to keep men from being slovenly through their regard for the outward respect of others, and cleanliness comes very near to godliness. I have known it to keep men out of low company through their desire to catch a reflected glory from their superiors, and company is an informant of character. I have even known it to make men open-handed through a dislike to appear niggardly in public, and—” But I saw a look of such evident distress on the face before me that I checked my flight in very pity. A man with any sensibility will find himself constantly curbed by his regard for the feelings of others.
When Mistress Routh's assistant appeared I took the opportunity of sending a note to Lady Jane, telling of my whereabouts, and that I would present myself in a day or two when I had effected sufficient change in my appearance.
This I was enabled to do by the help of the wig-maker—who was clever enough with what he put outside other men's heads, though I could not think so highly of what he had got into his own—and by a liberal supply of gold pieces to my tailor.
I was now dressed with some approach to my ideas of what was fitting, and my own satisfaction was only equalled by that of little Christopher.
“Ah, Kit, my boy,” I admonished him, for I felt it incumbent on me to contribute somewhat to the general morality of such a household, “I am no more Captain Geraldine in these fine feathers than I was in the scurvy black of the lawyer's clerk.”
“But you feel more like Captain Geraldine,” the boy said, pertinently enough.
“I do, my boy, I do, for I am still subject to the vanities of the flesh.”
“Don't say that!” the boy cried, half angrily—“that is like they talk at meeting,” and I felt ashamed I should have let slip anything before the child that could hurt his sense of my bearing towards what his mother respected, though I was puzzled to rightly estimate his own expression.
“I won't, my lad, but listen!” and I gave my sword a flourish and began the rattling air,
“Dans les gardes françaisesJ'avais un amoureux—”
“Dans les gardes françaisesJ'avais un amoureux—”
and then I suddenly reflected I had no right to sing these ribald songs before the boy, even though he might not understand a word, and again I was ashamed, so fell a-story-telling, and I told him tales that made even his favourites of Agag and Sisera seem pale, and the singing was forgotten.
Though these constant talks with Kit, who would scarce be kept a moment from my side, were entertaining enough, and my heart warmed more and more to him as I saw his strong young feeling blossom out, I could not help the time dragging most wearisomely. The evenings were intolerable, and I felt the atmosphere absolutely suffocating at times. Mistress Routh was so completely Mistress Routh I soon realised that the Lucy in her was of a truth not only dead but buried out of my sight forever. Now if I have a failing, it is of too keen an enjoyment of the present, rather than an indulgence in unavailing regrets for the past, so that in a little I began to speculate if the Hugh Maxwell who was the Hugh Maxwell of this buried Lucy had not vanished also. Certainly I was not the Hugh Maxwell she knew. She said so herself; she showed only too plainly I had neither plot nor lot in her present life; and, after all, the life that is lived is the life that is dead. So I accepted what I had done my best to refuse, and turned again to the only life that was open before me—I went to Lady Jane's that very evening.
I ASSIST AT AN INTERVIEW WITH A GREAT MAN
I found the household in Essex Street in a state of perturbation which was soon explained. News had come that Margaret's brother Archibald had been arrested, as Lady Jane had foreseen, and was now confined in Fort William. Margaret, though distressed greatly, was such an ardent Jacobite that I verily believe she would rather have seen her brother in some danger of losing his head than have had him out of the business altogether.
She was neither so distressed nor elated, however, that she was oblivious to my altered appearance, and I could see Lady Jane herself was well pleased that her Hughie should cut somewhat of a figure in the eyes of her protégée. She had a natural desire to justify her affections.
But I simply mark this in passing; the real business in hand was to devise some means for young Nairn's safety. This was the less serious inasmuch as he certainly had never been in arms for the Prince, and had been prudent enough to destroy all evidence of his secret mission—in fact, his letter informed us that the one man capable of giving evidence against him was withheld by circumstances so disgraceful to himself there was no danger of any direct testimony on this point.
The position could not be more favourable, and it was only a question of the most judicious plan of succour.
The Vicomte, though desirous of alleviating Margaret's anxiety, was debarred by his position from taking any active part, a circumstance of which I was not backward in taking advantage; for though the late distressing revelation—I refer to my meeting with Mistress Routh—prevented my making any personal advances towards Margaret, common humanity prompted me to my utmost efforts for her relief.
Finally it was determined that Lady Jane should obtain a private interview with the Duke of Newcastle, and, accompanied by Margaret, make a personal appeal, which, from Lady Jane's connections, we flattered ourselves had some hopes of success.
“Cousin,” I said, “I have a proposal. Let me go with you. I am quite unknown, my accent at least is not that of a Scotchman, so I shall not in any way imperil your success, and I have had some small experience with my superiors which may not be without its use.”
“Well, Hughie, I may not have the same admiration as yourself for your accent, but I have the firmest belief in your confidence: that will not betray you in any strait. And I am as firm a believer in having a man about; they are bothersome creatures often, but have their uses at times. At all events, I feel safer in their company; they bring out the best in me. Yes, on the whole, I think you had better come.”
The following week, through the services of the Vicomte, we were enabled to arrange for a meeting with the Duke at his house, and accordingly one morning we took our way by coach to Lincoln's Inn Fields.
We were ushered into his presence with marvellously little ceremony, and found him seated at a desk covered with a litter of papers before a blazing fire, for it was early in January.
He did not pay the slightest attention to the announcement of our names, beyond raising his head and saying rapidly, without even returning our salutation, “Yes, yes, yes; be seated, be seated,” with such a hurried, stuttering stammer that I felt reassured at once, though I could see both my companions were somewhat overawed now they were in the presence of the Great Man.
As he kept shuffling over his papers, now reading a few words from one, then throwing it down, and mixing a dozen others up in hopeless confusion, now writing a bit, and then frowning and waving his pen, I felt still more assured, for it all went to show he was only an ordinary human creature under all his titles and dignities, and was no more free from little affectations than any other mortal might be.
At length he ceased his pretence of work, for it was nothing else, and took notice of us.
“Ladies, I ask your pardon—your pardon. Yes, yes, let me see, you have some appointment with me. Eh, what was it again? Oh, I remember, you are Lady Enderby. Yes, yes—”
“No, your Grace; I am Lady Jane Drummond; this is my ward, Miss Margaret Nairn, and this my cousin, Captain Geraldine; our business is to implore your Grace's assistance towards the release of her brother, Captain Nairn, arrested in error, and now confined in Fort William.”
“Awkward, eh? Mistakes like that might be very awkward—very awkward indeed. No doubt he is one of these pestilent rebels—eh?”
“Indeed, your Grace, he has never drawn sword in the matter at all; and what is more, he is an officer in the French service, holding his full commission therein.”
“Oh, I have no doubt he is the most innocent creature in the world! but will you explain, madam, what he was doing in Scotland just when the rebels happened to be in full swing—eh?”
“Indeed, your Grace, he never put foot in Scotland until this unhappy business was ended at Culloden.”
“That's a pity, now, a great pity. As the vulgar say, he came 'just a day too late for the fair.' Had he only come in time, his Majesty might have had one rebel less to deal with, and—”
But he was cut short by poor Margaret, who, unable to stand the torture any longer, wailed out: “Oh, your Grace, do not say that! My father was buried only a few months before my brother was arrested, and he is the only one near to me now left.”
Even the abominable flippancy of the man before us was arrested by the sight of the anguish of this dear soul, and with some approach to sensibility he said:
“There, there, my dear! We cannot mend matters now.” And for some minutes he heard and questioned Lady Jane with some shew of decency, but evidently with an effort, for it was not long before he broke out again: “How much simpler it would all be if you did not interfere, madam!”
This angered her beyond control, and she replied: “Your Grace may have no feeling for the sorrow that breaks the hearts of others, but this is only a case for common justice.”
“You, you, you have a keen sense of justice, madam,” he stammered, much nettled. “You are not wanting in courage, either; 'tis a pity you could not have turned your talents to some account.”
Poor Margaret, seeing the turn things were taking, now advanced, and throwing herself at his feet, poured forth her heart to him in entreaties with the tears running down her lovely face. At first he seemed much moved, and shifted himself in his chair most uncomfortably, fairly squirming like a worm on a pin; but, to my disappointment, I soon saw he was coming back to his usual humour, even as she was entreating—“Oh, your Grace, your Grace, he is all I have left in the world! I have been a motherless girl since I can remember; I have been away from my father, at school for years; and my brother whom I played with, the one person whom I have prayed for more than all others, is now in danger of his life”—and she ended in a burst of sobs.
Oh, Your Grace, Your Grace, he is all I have left in the world.
For answer he merely yawned, and said, turning to me, “What did you say your name was—eh?”
“Geraldine, your Grace.”
“Oh! No particular family, I suppose?”
“No, your Grace, of no family in particular,” I answered.
“He! he! he!” cackled his Grace. “Oh, I can see farther than I get credit for! You, you, you'll remedy that some day—eh? Miss—Miss— What did you say your name was?”
“Nairn, your Grace,” answered poor Margaret, still sobbing, while Lady Jane stood glowering behind her. My gorge rose at his heartlessness.
“Nairn. Umph! That's an evil-smelling name these days for any such petition,” he grumbled.
Then suddenly turning to face me, “Now I suppose you had nothing to do with this barelegged rebellion?” he went on, to my dismay, but answered it himself with a self-satisfied chuckle: “But no, of course not. You never would have come here if you had. No, no! No man of sense would.”
“I should think not!” snorted Lady Jane, fairly beside herself.
“Quite right, madam, quite right. You are a woman, of perspicacity,” answered his lordship, without a ruffle. Then he turned to me again:
“And pray what did bring you here, sir?”
“Your Grace, it was at my earnest recommendation these ladies were moved to appear in person to lay their case before the most powerful nobleman in the Three Kingdoms. They come here, your Grace, not to plead, but to explain. Their explanation is now made, and they are satisfied it is in the hands of one who is ever ready to listen to the suit of innocence, whose whole life is a guarantee for the exercise of justice, and whose finger need but be lifted to relieve the unfortunate from unmerited disgrace.”
To my surprise, he did not seem so taken with my effort as I had hoped. Even as I was speaking he had thrown himself back in his chair, and sate resting his elbows on the arms, staring at me over his finger-tips in the most disconcerting fashion without moving a muscle of his face. I was positively afraid to venture a word more under the spell of that equivocal gaze.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he broke out, suddenly, drawing himself close up to his desk and seizing a pen, with which he began making slow notes on the paper before him.
“What did you say the young man's name was?” he muttered. “Oh, yes, Nairn—Archibald Nairn. Yes. Fort William—eh? French officer in active service. And you can give me your word he was not in arms— eh?”
“I can, your Grace, without hesitation.”
The moment I had spoken I saw my mistake. So did his Grace, who wheeled round on me like a flash.
“Then, sir, I take it you are in a position to know!”
My blood fairly ran cold, for I saw only too clearly his folly of manner was but a cloak, and that now it was quite as much a question of myself as of Nairn.
“I am, your Grace,” I answered, in my most assured tones.
“Perhaps you are able to produce a muster-roll of the rebel forces—eh, Captain Fitzgerald? That would be highly satisfactory in more ways than one.”
“Surely, your Grace, this is no laughing matter. Your Grace has my word of honour that Captain Nairn was not in Scotland until after Culloden was fought—”
“—And lost—Captain Fitzgerald? Surely that is not the way for a loyal subject to put it.”
“I cannot cross swords with your Grace,” I returned, with a low bow to cover my trepidation; “even if our positions did not make it an impossibility, it would be too unequal a contest.”
The flattery was gross, and only my apprehensions could excuse its clumsiness, but to my intense relief it availed, and he turned to his desk again, while I held my breath expectant of his next attack. But none came. He muttered and mumbled to himself, while we stood stock-still, scarce venturing to look at each other, for the fate of Nairn was hanging in the balance, and a straw might turn it either way. At length he picked up his pen and wrote rapidly for a few moments; then carefully sanding the paper he read it over slowly, still muttering and shaking his head; but at last, turning to Margaret, who all this time had remained on her knees, he handed it to her, saying:
“There, miss; take it, take it. Get married; get your brother married; but for Heaven's sake don't bring up any little rebels! And Captain Fitzgerald,” he added, meaningly, “don't imagine I can't see as far as other men! No thanks! No! I hate thanks, and tears—and—and—Good-morning, ladies, good-morning!” whereupon he rose and shuffled over in front of the fire, where he stood rubbing his hands, leaving us to bow ourselves out to a full view of his back, which, upon my soul, was a fairer landscape than his face—but with Margaret holding fast the order for her brother's release.
HOW I TAKE TO THE ROAD AGAIN, AND OF THE COMPANY I FALL IN WITH
I fully expected an outburst from Lady Jane the moment we were in the coach, but all she said was:
“Such a man! I have known women silly and vain; I have known women cruel and brainless; but such a combination of the qualities I never expected to meet in man; it makes me blush for the vices of my sex!”
“Do not scold him, dear, do not scold him!” cried Margaret, joyously. “My heart is too full of thankfulness to hear a word against him.”
“My dear Mistress—Margaret,” said I, “I would not for the world dash your joy, but there is still much to do, for I doubt if even the King could give a pardon off-hand in this fashion. Remember, England is not France.”
“Oh, do not say it is useless!” she cried, in sudden alarm.
“Not useless, certainly. I doubt, however, if the presentation of that scrap of paper before the gates of Fort William would reward you with anything more than the most bitter of disappointments and a broken heart. It was an easy way enough for his Grace to rid himself of our importunities, but we'll make it more effective than he guesses. Now is the time for the Vicomte to play his part. He is in a position where, with many anxious to do him favours, he can readily place this in the proper channel where it will go through the necessary hands, of which we know nothing, and could not reach if we did; he can so place it without reflection on his position, without suspicion of his motive, and I'm certain you can count upon his best efforts in your service.”
“Come, come, Hughie!” broke in Lady Jane; “you needn't be trying to take credit to yourself for what Gaston is only too ready to do. That your flattering and ready tongue stood us in good stead with this silly noddy I'll not dispute, but I can readily see as clearly as he says he can; and though your suggestion is good, it should end there. Let Gaston make his offers himself.”
So I laughed, and at once abandoned that line of approach. Lady Jane might not always have control of her temper, but she knew every move a man might make, even before he realised it himself, as in the present instance; possibly this was the reason she was so tolerant of my sex.
However, I had but little time for such reflections. The more I thought over the end of our interview with the Duke the less I liked it, and on comparing impressions with Lady Jane on our arrival at Essex Street, she quite agreed that I was in a ticklish position. London was then infested with spies, most of whom had a keen scent for what the failure of our late enterprise had now fixed as treason, and despite my precaution in keeping out of questionable resorts and company, I knew that in my case 'twas little more difficult to smoke the Jacobite, than the gentleman, in whatever disguise I might assume.
“Hughie, I'm not one for silly alarms,” said Lady Jane, “but I mistrust that doddering old pantaloon, and 'you must build a high wall to keep out fear.' You've done all you can here, and I doubt but you've got yourself in a rare coil in the doing of it. Now to undo it as best we may.”
“I'll not deny that things look 'unchancy,' as we say in the North, Cousin Jane; but, for the life of me, I don't see how they are to be bettered by anything I can do now.”
“My heart! But men are slow to see ahead! We will be away out of this the moment we are assured of this young callant's safety, in a week or so at most, I hope. I will take ship from Harwich, and you shall journey with us as my servant, my courier.”
“Do you think that is absolutely necessary, cousin?”
“Hughie, Hughie, how long will you continue to walk with Vanity?”
“Just so long as I must lie down with Adversity, cousin. Cannot you understand it is humiliating for a man of my condition to go masquerading about the country as a lackey?”
“Not so readily as I can understand the awkwardness of being laid by the heels, Master Hughie. Now don't have any more nonsense! Do you start off this very night for Huntingdon, and lie at the Bell Inn there, until you hear from me. It will not be for more than a week. Let me see, yes, 'Simpkin' will be a good name for you.”
“Do I look like Simpkin?” I returned, indignantly.
“My certes, no! You look more like the Grand Turk at the moment,” she answered, laughing. “But you must conceal your rank, my lord, by your modesty and 'Mr. Simpkin,' until I can offer it a more effective covering in a suit of bottle-green livery.”
“I trust your ladyship will not require any reference as to character?”
“It is written on your face, sir. There! I will countersign it for you,” whereat she put her two hands on my cheeks and kissed me.
“'Pon my soul, Cousin Jane, I don't wonder the men raved over you!” I said, in admiration.
“No, poor things, it doesn't take much to set them off at the best of times. But do not begin your flatteries, Hughie; even age is no warrant for common-sense when it meets with old gratifications. Be off, now, and get back here for supper, ready for your travels.”
I hurried off to my old lodgings, and soon made such preparation for my journey as was necessary.
When I parted from Mistress Routh I said: “I have learned during the time spent under your roof how irrevocable your resolve is, and have accepted it as absolutely as yourself, but now that I am going away from England, which I shall probably never set foot in again, and it is still more probable that we may never meet, I have one promise to exact which you cannot refuse. It is presumable my way in life will be in some degree successful, and that my son may some day need such aid as I may be able to give him; he is yours while you live, but promise me when your time comes you will tell him who his father is. Because you have chosen a different way of life from mine, do not be tempted to allow the boy to go to strangers when you know he has a heart waiting to love and cherish him. I have never done a dishonourable action in my life, so far as I can judge, and, if only for his sake, I will always try and keep my conscience free to make the same affirmation. A message to Mr. Drummond, the banker, in Charing Cross, will always find me. Can you refuse?”
“No; it is only justice. Your claim comes after mine. I promise I will not die without telling the boy who you are.”
For herself she resolutely refused to take a shilling more than was due for my lodging, but I succeeded in forcing her acceptance of a matter of twenty pounds, the last of my own money, not Lady Jane's, to be used for the boy. She stood beside me silent and unmoved while I kissed him in his sleep, and when I parted from her she said, “Good-bye, Captain Geraldine,” with a composure I fain would have assumed myself, but it was impossible.
The supper at Lady Jane's was gay enough, even the Vicomte contributing his modicum of entertainment, no doubt stimulated thereto by the thought of my near departure, and surely, when a man may give pleasure by his goings as well as by his comings, he is in a position to be envied. I sang Jacobite songs that evening with an expression that would have carried conviction to the Duke of Cumberland himself, and when I took my departure with the Vicomte after midnight, I left a veritable hot-bed of sedition behind.
My companion, though outwardly civil, took my little pleasantries with so ill a grace that I was in a measure prepared for his words at our parting before the coach-office.
“Chevalier, you are a man of many charming parts; I trust you will long be spared to exercise them in quarters where they may fail to give offence to any one.”
“My dear Vicomte,” I replied, “Providence has bestowed on me only my poor talents, but has not granted me the power to provide appreciation in others. Still, if you should feel at any time that I am answerable for your personal short-comings, do not, I pray, let any false delicacy stand in your way. I should be complimented in sustaining such an argument.” At which he only bowed in his stateliest manner, and wishing me a safe journey, bent his steps towards St. James's Street.
I must confess such a quarrel would have been infinitely to my taste, but unfortunately there would have been no satisfaction to me, even had I pushed it to a successful issue. My way towards Margaret was stopped by a much more serious obstacle than any man who ever drew sword. Did the Vicomte but know this, possibly my connection with Lady Jane might not have appeared to him so radical a reason for keeping the peace between us. With these thoughts and others germane to them I whiled away the time until the coach was ready, and at the dead hour of two in the morning we rolled out of London on our way to Huntingdon, where we arrived at eight the following evening.
I put up at the Bell, which was comfortable enough, and made shift to employ my time through the long week before me in some manner that would reasonably account for my stay in a dull country town which offered no attractions to a man of fashion.
At length my letters reached me, and my gorge rose at the address:
Mr. Simpkin,Lying at the Bell Inn,Huntingdon.
Now it had never cost me a second thought to travel as a pedlar when making my escape from Scotland, but this wishy-washy nonentity of a name annoyed me beyond measure. Think you, did ever “Mr. Simpkin” salute at Fontenoy, or make a leg at Marly? I doubt it. Nor is it strange that a man, with no more vanity than myself, should find some little vexation at the perversity of Lady Jane in fastening this ridicule upon me. That it was intentional I could not doubt from her letter, for she rallied me upon it at every turn she could drag in. However, I had the consolation that I was to join her forthwith at Harwich, and my journey across the country over bad roads with a pair of wretched nags gave me more material discomforts to rail at, and by these means I brought myself to a frame of mind that I could at least imagine Lady Jane's enjoyment of her childish jest.
When I reached Newmarket, I found, to my disgust, it was impossible to go forward again that night, but was on the road bright and early the next morning; however, it was evening before I was set down at a decent-looking inn beside an arm of the sea, across which I saw the spires of Harwich twinkling a welcome to me in the setting sun.
Having settled with the post-boys, I desired the land-lord to attend me within.
“I see you have boats there, which is fortunate, for I wish to be set across the water at once,” I said, on his entry.
“That is impossible, your honour; it is too late.”
“Nonsense, my man. There is for a bottle of your best, and enough to make up to you my not remaining overnight. I must set off at once!”
“But, your honour, it can't be done. No boat is allowed to cross after sunset. The frigate lying there is for no other purpose than to prevent it. 'Tis on account of the smuggling.”
“Don't talk such rank nonsense to me, sir. Do I look like a smuggler?”
“No, your honour, you do not, so far as I can judge.”
“Then come, my man, I must be put across.”
“Oh, sir, 'tis of no use; I should be a ruined man,” cried the poor-spirited creature, almost snivelling.
Seeing this, I tried him on a new tack. “You scoundrel!” said I, laying my hand on my sword and advancing towards him threateningly, “if you fail to have me on my way before half an hour is over, I'll pink the soul out of you.”
“Oh Lord, sir, have a care what you do!” he shrieked in terror, and before I could intercept him he had thrown open the door into the adjoining room, where three officers sat at their wine before the fire.
“Captain Galway! Your honour! I am undone for upholding the law! Save me! Save me!”
“Damn you for a whining hound! What do you mean by rushing in like this?” roared the officer addressed, who I marked wore a naval uniform.
During the babel of explanations which followed from the terrified creature, I was by no means easy in my mind, for I could not but think the frigate was stationed there for a purpose that touched me more nearly than smuggling, and certainly King's officers were not the company I should have chosen. But hesitation would have been the height of folly. I advanced assuredly, and addressing the company, said:
“Gentlemen, your pardon, for I am afraid that I am really more to blame than this poor man, who it appears was only preventing an unintentional breach of the law on my part. The truth is, I am most anxious to cross over to Harwich to-night, and had no thought to meet with any obstacle in my design, least of all that I should be taken for a smuggler.”
There was a laugh at this, and he whom the inn-keeper had addressed as Captain Galway said, roundly enough:
“Thank God, sir, his Majesty's officers have still something above the excise to look after!”
“Then, sir,” I replied, though his words confirmed me in my suspicion, “I have but this moment paid for a bottle of our host's best; we can discuss it with your leave, and it may serve as footing for my interruption.”
There were bows on all sides at this, and my gentleman introduced himself as Captain Galway, commanding theTriumphant, now riding at anchor in the bay, and his friends as Major Greenway and Captain Hargreaves, of the 32d Regiment. In turn I introduced myself as Mr. Johnstone, for I was determined to have done with Mr. Simpkin, come what might.
“Ah!” drawled Captain Hargreaves, “one of the Johnsons of Worcester?”
“No,” I answered, shortly; “mine is the Border family, but I come direct from London.”
Much to my relief, our host now made his appearance with the wine, and put an end to this uncomfortable questioning. His sample proved excellent; so good that I doubted if even the smuggling story might not have some foundation, and so exact was it to Captain Galway's palate that before we had made an end of the second bottle he swore by all his gods, whose seats appeared to be chiefly in those parts which served for his most important corporate functions, that I should be put across the water though he had to do it himself.
So far everything seemed to run exactly to my liking; but when at his invitation I took my place in the stern-sheets of his boat, it was not without uneasiness I observed Captain Hargreaves draw him aside and whisper to him earnestly, and on his taking his place I saw his humour was altered.
He ordered his men to give way in a voice that suggested the clap of a prison door, and his first words to me were scarce reassuring:
“You are from the Border, you say, Mr. Johnstone? Possibly from the northern side?”
He ordered his men to give way in a voice that suggested the clap of a prison door.
“Yes,” I answered, seeing what was before me, and cursing the ill luck that had drawn me into such a trap, but determined to put a bold face on it. “Yes, I am from Kirksmuir, beyond Lanark.”
“Then you may know my midshipman here, Mr. Lockhart, of Carnwath?” and he indicated a lad about eighteen beside me.
My heart sank within me, for this very boy's elder brother had unfortunately been drawn into this unhappy rebellion, and with him I had been intimate. I had been a constant guest at his father's house, and it was impossible to tell what this youngster might have heard.
“Mr. Lockhart's family is honourably known, sir, throughout our country, and I doubt not he can speak equally well of my own,” I returned, in my best manner, and fortunately for me the lad was either so bashful, or so busily employed in racking his brain to puzzle out what family mine was, that he could make no reply, and I went on, with my most careless air:
“Surely, Captain Galway, it is unnecessary to keep so far down with the tide as it sets. I would not take you out of your way for the world.”
“Oh, nonsense!” he cried, with a poor attempt at heartiness. “You shall come on board. We too seldom meet with one of your quality to part so easily. You must make your excuses to your friends. Say you were kept a prisoner.” And he laughed loudly at his wit.
Good heavens! how I despised the man who could make a jest of a fellow-creature in such a strait! Had I been a swimmer, I would have taken the chance of a plunge over the side; but in my case that would have been little short of suicide.
“Come, sir, come! You make a poor return for my offer of hospitality,” he continued, banteringly; “you are not at all the same man I took you for at the inn.”
“Pardon me,” I returned, quickly, for his last remark spurred me to my utmost effort, “you gentlemen who go down to the sea in ships forget that we landsmen find even the wobble of a boat discommoding. No man is the same with an uneasy stomach.”
“Next thing to an uneasy conscience—eh, Mr. Johnstone?”
“Worse, sir, far worse. You may forget the one at times, but the other is never at rest.”
“Oh, well, we are for a time now, at all events!” he cried, with a ring of triumph in his voice, as we slowed up alongside the great ship, and the sailors made us fast by the ladder.
“After you, sir,” said my tormentor, as he pointed upward, and, willy-nilly, I mounted the shaking steps with the horrid thought that perhaps it was the last ladder I should mount save one that would lead to a platform whence I would make my last bow to a howling mob at Tyburn.
“It is fast growing dark, sir; we will not stand on ceremony,” said the captain, leading to the cabin.
“Do not, I pray,” I answered, with some firmness, for now I was only anxious for the last act of the ghastly farce to end; the suspense was growing intolerable.
When wine and glasses were placed before us, the captain filled them both and raised his.
“'Pon my soul, Mr. Johnstone, I am sorry to lose so good a companion, but we must not put your landsman's endurance to too hard a proof. I wish you a safe arrival with all my heart! My men will put you ashore at once.”
I was so fluttered by the unexpected turn and the honest heartiness he threw into his words that I could scarce reply, but in some way I made my acknowledgments. In a few moments I was over the side and speeding towards the Harwich shore with all the force of six oars pulled by six impatient men, and I'll wager none among them was so impatient as the passenger they carried.
HOW I COME TO TAKE A GREAT RESOLVE
I rewarded the men handsomely enough to call forth their approval, and made my compliments so fully to Mr. Lockhart, with so many messages to his family, that I left him more puzzled than ever as to who Mr. Johnstone of Kirksmuir might be; and then picking up my portmanteau, made as though I would enter the town.
Once the boat was safely out of sight, I looked about for a quiet spot, and proceeded to effect a transformation in my outward appearance more in keeping with my new rôle of courier. Removing my wig, I smoothed my hair back, and fastened it with a plain riband. I undid my sword, and snapping the blade, put the hilt, which was handsomely mounted in silver, to one side, and then stripping the lace and silver braid off my hat, I bound wig and blade together and flung them into the sea. From my portmanteau I took a pair of stout black hose which I drew over the more modish ones I wore, removed the buckles from my shoes, and placing them with the sword-hilt in the portmanteau, muffled myself carefully in my cloak, and, taking up my burden, trudged towards the town.
I found the inn where Lady Jane and Margaret lodged without difficulty, and on my inquiry for them the land-lord said:
“If you are the servant my lady has been expecting, let me tell you you have been within an ace of losing your place, for you are a day late, and but for the wind she would have sailed this morning. You are to go to your room at once, and then you wait on her, and I, for one, don't envy you your reception! Take your things and come this way.”
The thought of being so near friends banished any petty annoyance I might have felt at this treatment; indeed I could but so admire Lady Jane's cleverness that I entered into the jest, and inquired what manner of person my new mistress might be.
“Masterful, masterful. 'Tis a God's mercy she was not born a man, or it might have been ill holding with her!” the honest creature returned, with much decision, and I at once placed him as a man of fair judgment.
In my room I found the suit of bottle-green livery Lady Jane had promised laid out for me, so I soon made my transformation complete, and presented myself at the door my guide had pointed out.
My cousin's voice, in answer to my discreet signal on the panel, bade me enter, and my welcome was a merry one. How I made them laugh over my appearance! With what satisfaction did I turn the tables on Lady Jane by the landlord's estimate of her character, when she attempted to resume her quizzing over “Mr. Simpkin”! But it was when I came to the relation of my adventure with Captain Galway that I met a veritable triumph. To Lady Jane it afforded a new mark for her wit, and she professed to be vastly amused at my groundless alarm; but to Margaret, who was much distressed by Lady Jane's levity, 'twas all tragedy of the most serious description.
How I made them laugh over my appearance!
The measures taken for her brother's safety had proved entirely effectual, and it was clear that Margaret credited me solely with his release, which was now assured, though I honestly believe the Duke's signature would have been only so much worthless paper had I not suggested the Vicomte's services. Be this as it may, I did not hold I was bound to combat with her sense of gratitude, for Heaven knows I have so often suffered under an over-sufficiency of undeserved censure that a little overflowing of approbation was most welcome.
We hoped to be off early the next morning, but, alas, on our awakening the wind was as unfavourable as before, and there were no signs of a change. It was an anxious day for all of us. It was clear enough the Duke of Newcastle had suspected me, and though it was possible he did not realise my importance, it was quite probable he would have Lady Jane's following closely watched for the presence of Captain “Fitzgerald,” as he chose to style me. The proximity of theTriumphantand her over-hospitable commander, with his prying friend Mr. Hargreaves, was never out of my mind, and it was with no small uneasiness I learned the Governor of the town had been unceasing in his attentions to the two ladies. True, this may have meant nothing but pure civility, but the purest civility may prove as embarrassing as the commonest intrusion when one has anything to conceal. Confound the man! He pressed his ill-timed courtesies upon us twenty times a day, and I could not but grow apprehensive when I marked the scarce-concealed curiosity with which he regarded me. Had I been a slave in a barracoon, my points could not have been gone over more carefully; and had I been both deaf and dumb, my qualities could not have been discussed with more openness. Never before had I realised that even a lackey might resent hearing himself discussed like an animal at a fair, and Lady Jane took a perverse delight in provoking the Governor's critiques when I was within earshot. Our morning walk in his garden will serve as an ensample.
“Has your fellow any experience of travel,” the Governor would ask, stopping in his walk and eyeing me as if he were at a court-martial, “or is he as useless as the rest of his kind?”
“I've no doubt hell prove stupid enough when we get where we really need him,” she would answer, coolly, bending over some favourite flower. “'Tis really shameful the lying recommendation one's friends give servants nowadays.”
“He looks stupid enough to prove honest,” growled the Governor, “but if he were put through a few weeks' drill, with my sergeant's cane behind those fat calves of his, 'twould smarten him up a bit.”
“What lovely Gueldre roses!” exclaimed Margaret, enthusiastically, and straightway fell to praising one flower after another with such rapidity and success that even Lady Jane's ingenuity could find no opportunity to lead the Governor back to the torture again.
However, I had my revenge, for Lady Jane herself was unpleasantly startled that same day as we sate at dinner in our room, and the Governor chose to pay us another visit without warning.
There was a frantic scurry for a few moments as we removed all traces of my place, and his Excellency must have had a suspicious train of thought running through his head as he waited for me to unlock the door. This I did with unmoved countenance, and Lady Jane made the excuse of being somewhat en déshabillé, as the room was over-warm with the fire, and it passed without further remark, though I could see he eyed me from time to time as I stood behind her chair. I waited on them, I flatter myself, quite as perfectly as the most highly trained servant—for the table is a point to which I have always devoted much attention, and my knowledge stood me in good stead now.
Whatever his suspicions were, he did not dare to make them known; Lady Jane was a person of too recognised a position not to make it highly inconvenient for any one who might interfere with her without due justification; and the next day we sailed without hinderance.
Upon our arrival at the Hague, the first letter we received was one from the Vicomte to Margaret, assuring her of her brother's safety, and informing her it was commonly reported in London that Prince Charles had escaped to the continent in the train of Lady Jane Drummond, so we knew to a certainty the Governor had mistaken me for the Prince, and informed the Court of his suspicions.
Whether the mistake was flattering to me or not, I cannot fairly judge. So far as the Prince stood morally or intellectually, he was beneath my contempt, but physically, my impression is that he was handsome—at least he had a fine carriage and bearing. It is most difficult to judge any man in his position; all my training and education, and that of my ancestors for generations before me, had been such that I have scarce been able to look on a king save with a feeling close akin to reverence. So with these reservations I allow the dubious compliment to pass. But whatever I might think, there was no doubt but the circumstance had raised me many degrees in Margaret's estimation. And this also I owed to the unwitting services of the Vicomte, who had successively helped me on to nearly every advance in her affections.
From the Hague we journeyed by easy stages to Paris, where Lady Jane found suitable lodgings for herself and Margaret in the rue Dauphine, while I found a humble one, better fitted to my purse, in the rue du Petit-Bourbon.
I at once made application to join my old regiment, but to my chagrin I was only put off from month to month, and, insisting on an answer, I was curtly informed there was no captaincy vacant, and I must remain satisfied with the small pension the king was pleased to give me as officer in the Scottish expedition, or accept a subaltern's position.
When the Vicomte arrived, by the end of May, he resumed his position in the Royal Guard, and his evening visits to Lady Jane, or rather to Margaret. About the middle of the summer he succeeded in obtaining an authentic copy of the Act of Indemnity, which was studied with the greatest interest by us all. The terms were fair, even generous, but I was not astonished to find my name among those excluded from its favour. It mattered little to me that I was henceforward a marked man, with a price on my head, doomed to perpetual banishment; for, being in no sense an Englishman, and a Scot only by descent, exclusion from the Three Kingdoms meant little to me; blood and training had made me an alien in feeling, and fate had ever thrown me and mine on the side of the unfortunate; Maxwells and Geraldines, we had always been on the losing side; it had become second nature. But with Margaret it was far different. Her generous soul was in arms at once; my exclusion from the Act had raised me to the niche of a hero in her temple, and again it was the Vicomte who had contributed to this elevation.
Margaret now began to grow anxious again concerning her brother. Why did he not join us? Could any new complication have arisen to cause his re-arrest? These and a thousand other disturbing speculations troubled her unceasingly, until they were put beyond all doubt by a letter, which fell upon us like a bomb:
“January19, 1748.
“My dearest Peggy,—I have resolved on a step which I can scarce expect you to approve, perhaps not even to understand at present, though I have every hope that some day you will do both.
“My situation briefly is this: I have no hope whatever of another effectual attempt on the part of the Prince, and I have set my face against foreign service. Still, I was bred to the sword, and so must bide by it. As I have neither the means nor the inclination for an idle existence, and it has pleased the King to grant me my pardon without exacting any terms, I am resolved to offer him my sword and duty without reserve.
“Let no one persuade you into thinking that I am playing a part, or have been won over by new friends or promises. I have won myself over from empty plots and idle dreams to an honourable career, and I have put the past from me without a regret, save that my decision will cause you pain, my dear and only sister.
“Whether you write me in anger or write not at all, you cannot in any way lessen the affection in which I will always cherish you.
“Your loving brother,
“Archd. Nairn.”
“A most sensible determination,” I thought, “and does much credit both to his sense of honour and his judgment,” but I need hardly say I took care not to air my appreciations of his course before Lady Jane, and still less before Mistress Margaret, who was little short of distracted.
The poor girl had swooned on receiving the news, and for two days was utterly overwhelmed by what she held to be the disgrace of his desertion.
The Vicomte was singularly unfortunate in his attempt at consolation.
“Marguerite, mon amie,” he said one evening, before us all, “your brother should lose no claim to your esteem. Remember, the cause of the Prince Charles is lost beyond all redemption. Your brother is under the greatest of all obligations to his legal King; he owes him his life. If my humble opinion be of value, I conceive he has acted strictly within the laws which govern the conscience of a gentleman and a man of honour.”
“Gaston! How dare you? I am not a child; I am a woman loyal to my heart's core! I know nothing of your fine distinctions which constitute 'a gentleman and a man of honour,' But I do know the feeling which made men charge almost single-handed on the English line at Culloden. I know, too, the feeling which made the humblest Highland mother give up the child of her heart, and wish she had twenty more, to die for her King and her Prince. Better—far, far better that my brother had died unpardoned but loyal! He died for me the day his hand signed that traitorous compact. God pity me! I have neither father, mother, nor brother left. I have naught but you,” she cried, as she buried her face on Lady Jane's shoulder, and shook with the storm of grief that swept over her. Lady Jane motioned us to leave, and we withdrew sorrowfully enough.
It was weeks before the poor girl recovered her old liveliness; but she could not combat against the natural elasticity of youth, though the struggle left its trace in a sudden maturity quite unlooked for. Her relation towards the Vicomte became visibly colder; and he, simple soul, instead of being spurred to greater effort, went blundering on in his direct childlike way, with but small effect, though warmly reinforced by Lady Jane.
All this time His Royal Highness Prince Charles was making no slight stir in Paris. He was in deep disgrace with the King, whom he treated with the most studied discourtesy. An unwelcome and dangerous intruder, he paid not the slightest attention to the repeated requests that he should leave the capital; he kept open house in his hotel on the Quai des Théatins, and appeared nightly at the Opera despite every consideration of good taste and breeding. And yet one-half Paris looked on and applauded, blaming the King for his inhospitality to this hero of a hundred flights.
I did my own prospects of advancement no small harm by allowing myself to accompany Margaret and Lady Jane to one of his levees, where he bestowed much fulsome flattery on me, though he took good care it should reflect on himself, for he never could pass over an occasion to shine before a woman—one of the weakest vanities that ever inflated the soul of man.
The Vicomte was much chagrined over our going, and inclined to lay the blame upon me.
“M. de Kirkconnel,” said he, addressing Margaret, “should know that such a proceeding is extremely injudicious when the Prince stands in such ambiguous relations towards the Court; especially when aware of my position towards you and my official duty in the present difficult negotiations with the Prince.”
“'M. de Kirkconnel,' as you style him,” retorted Margaret, with great spirit, “has only done his duty, M. le Vicomte, as 'a gentleman and a man of honour,' in accompanying two ladies to pay their respects to the son of their King—whatever may be his relations towards a time-serving government.”
“Tut, tut, Margaret!” broke in Lady Jane, “none of your hoity-toity airs? Gaston is perfectly right. I blame myself for not having thought of his position in the matter. We'll keep ourselves outside these delicate questions, for which women have too hot heads, until wiser ones settle them, one way or another.”
That Lady Jane was much displeased was evidenced by the strenuous efforts to procure me a captaincy which she put on foot again with renewed vigour, and, to tell the truth, I was not sorry, for I was beginning to find no little embarrassment in Margaret's unconscious revelation of her feelings towards me, and I was heartily sorry for the Vicomte as well.
Nothing came of Lady Jane's efforts, and now we all began to live a life of much discomfort. That the Vicomte disliked me was patent, and yet he would make no effective efforts to better his own position with Margaret; that Lady Jane was troubled at my presence was writ large on her expressive countenance, and yet she could not bear me to leave unless fittingly provided; and that Margaret, our Pearl of Great Price, was as cold to the Vicomte as she was affectionate to me I could not greatly, and all this to our common disquiet. The Vicomte sighed for possession, Lady Jane for the fulfilment of her plans, and I for the end of a situation that had become wellnigh impossible.
At length the explosion came.
It was an open secret that the Prince would be removed by force, as he had obstinately refused to listen to either proposals, entreaties, or commands, and in short was courting disgrace, for Heaven only knows what, unless perchance he hoped to rise only by his failures and reverses. At all events, preparations were made without concealment for his arrest on the evening of the 10th of December, as he drove to the Opera, and the Vicomte, from his position in the Household Troops, had charge of the arrangements.
Margaret had heard the rumour that very day, and had sent the Vicomte peremptory word to come to the rue Dauphine; but no doubt it was his duties, certainly not any hesitation at facing the interview, which prevented his complying with her command.
The next day, when he presented himself, the news of the arrest was all over Paris, with every absurd exaggeration of detail.
He entered admirably composed, though knowing a painful scene was before him, and after saluting Lady Jane, he advanced towards Margaret, holding out his hand.
She stood erect, her face white with emotion.