THE CHARGE OF TREASON.
Peter Trevisa seemed much chagrined at the course events were taking.
Doubtless he would twist and turn like a fox before fulfilling his
promises; but the maid stood expectant by as the attorney took some
papers from a receptacle and laid them on the table.
"Everything is in order here," said the old man quietly. "Of course,
certain formalities will have to be complied with, but----"
"I will have none of it!" I cried; "none of it." So saying, I rose to
leave the room.
"Do you wish me to render you any further service, Mistress Molesworth?"
I continued hastily, "Have you any commands for me?"
"Do you mean to say," she asked quietly, "that you will not use to your
advantage the means you have obtained in order to----"
I interrupted her rudely, for truly I was sore distraught.
"Think not too badly of me," I cried. "I am mean enough, God knows; but
being in the company of a good woman has taught me what a man ought to
be. No, no. I am a beggar--a beggar I will remain until I win my fortune
honourably. Tell me what I can do to serve you?"
"Nothing," she replied, coldly, I thought.
"You will stay here, then?"
"Yes," she replied slowly; "seeing that Mr. Trevisa is so hospitably
inclined, I will remain during the night."
"Many nights, my fair lady," cried old Peter gaily. "Treviscoe is very
fair demesne, and when my son comes back to-morrow he will make it very
pleasant for you. Ah! Roger knows that it is our joy to help all those
who are sorrowful or oppressed."
"And is it your desire that I should leave you here?" I asked almost
bitterly.
"You are sure you will not claim what is your right?" she asked. "Sure
you will not allow Mr. Hendy to establish you at your old home?"
"I have no home," I cried. "If you do not wish me to stay and serve
you, I will ride back to the old place, and, having discharged the
servants, I will leave it forever."
"Nay, nay, Roger," cried old Peter, yet I saw that his eyes gleamed with
avarice.
Taking no notice of him I waited for the maid Nancy's answer. "Do you
wish me to remain near you?" I repeated.
"No," she answered; "but I should like Mr. Hendy to stay for an hour or
so if he will."
"Then I am dismissed?" I said rudely, for my heart was very sore; but
she made no answer, whereupon I turned on my heel, and a few minutes
later was riding towards my old home.
Old Daniel welcomed me with tearful eyes. I might have been away years
instead of a few days. And yet, as I considered what had happened since
I bade him good-bye, years seemed to have elapsed.
"Is all well, Daniel?" I asked, after many protestations of joy and
affection on his part.
"All well, Master Roger; all well. The attorney hath been here much, but
I have no complaints to make. The serving-maids will be rejoiced to see
'ee, sur. They say the 'ouse is so lonely as a church when you be out ov
et. Aw, sur, I be glad to see 'ee."
I had meant to tell the old man of my plans, but his joy at seeing me
tied my tongue. I did not think the servants cared so much for me, and
this revelation of their affection made it hard for me to tell them that
on the morrow they would have to leave my service and the house which
some of them had learnt to love. As a consequence, I determined to delay
the news until the following morning.
This set me thinking again upon all that had happened, and, as well as I
could, I tried to understand the whole bearing of the case. I had
successfully completed the work I had undertaken, but in so doing I had
changed the whole tenor of my life. I had gone to Endellion a woman
hater; on returning I knew that I had willingly laid my heart at a
woman's feet. I had, on discovering this, abandoned the idea of taking
the maid Nancy to Treviscoe, and she had insisted on going. Why? I
formed many surmises concerning this, but could think of nothing which
satisfied me. The great question, however, was what would become of her?
That she had a purpose in going to Trevisa's I did not doubt; but I
knew, too, that old Peter would not lightly let her leave his house.
Doubtless, also, young Peter had devised many plans for the purpose of
fulfilling his heart's desire. I knew he would seek to forge claims
whereby he would try and bind Nancy to him. And I had left her at
Treviscoe, unprotected and alone. True, I was confident that she could
hold her own against both father and son, nevertheless it was dangerous
for her to be there.
Then what purpose had she in speaking with the attorney? Why was she
anxious for me to leave her? For she was anxious. I called to mind the
conversation which took place at Treviscoe, and which I have but
meagrely described, and I was certain that she was relieved when I left
her. Did she loathe my presence? Did she scorn me for playing so unmanly
a part? Badly as I acted, I was less to be blamed than the men who had
employed me. Besides, I had refused to benefit by what I had done. After
much thinking, I determined not to leave the neighbourhood. I would
watch over her, I would be near to protect her in case of danger.
This was the last thought in my mind before I fell asleep, and all
through the night I dreamed I was defending her from powerful enemies,
and rescuing her from dire perils.
I was awoke by Daniel knocking at my door.
"You be wanted down-stairs, sur."
"Wanted by whom, Daniel?"
"Some gen'lemen; I doan't knaw who they be. But they say tes very
important, sur."
I hastily dressed, and made my way into the library where Daniel at my
request had shown my visitors. The moment I entered the room a tall man
came towards me, and placing his hand on my shoulder said quietly:
"Roger Trevanion, you are a prisoner."
"A prisoner!" I cried; "for what?"
"Treason."
"Treason! You must be mad!"
"That remains to be proved."
"But at least you can state in something like detail what you mean. What
have I done? Wherein have I acted wrongly?"
"It is not for me to answer. I have simply to do my duty. I am
instructed to arrest you, and that is my purpose in being here.
Doubtless you will be allowed every opportunity of defending
yourself--but with that I have nothing to do. My commands are to take
you to Viscount Falmouth in a way befitting your station. Consequently,
if you give me your word that you will offer no resistance, you may
accompany us to Tregothnan as though you were simply going there on some
private business."
I looked around the room, and saw three other men. Evidently the
spokesman had brought them for the purpose of taking me by force in case
of necessity.
As may be imagined, I was for a few minutes stunned by the course events
had taken. I had never dreamed that I was in the slightest danger; I had
no idea that I had by any action placed myself under suspicion.
Presently, however, I thought I saw Otho Killigrew's hands at work; I
imagined I saw evidence of his busy brain; I became more self-possessed
after this, and although I was in sore straits at the thought of leaving
Nancy at Treviscoe, I tried to regard the whole matter as a joke.
"Gentlemen," I said, "what grounds there are for apprehending me I have
not the ghost of an idea. I, as all my fathers were, am a true supporter
of both crown and church. But, of course, you have done right in obeying
orders, and I will be ready to go with you in a few minutes. In the mean
time I hope you will join me at breakfast."
They willingly fell in with this proposal, but although I tried hard, I
could get no information from them beyond what I have here set down. An
hour later I was on my way to Tregothnan, where I was presently informed
Hugh Boscawen (Viscount Falmouth) awaited me.
Perhaps there is no lovelier spot anywhere between the Tamar and
Land's-end than Tregothnan. It overlooks the Truro River, and all that
vast stretch of woodland which surrounds it. Around the house, which is
an ancient pile, are rare gardens and parks, where old trees grow, the
like of which is not to be found in the fairest county in England. The
house was in many parts becoming decayed, and I had heard reports that
Hugh Boscawen hoped one day to replace it by a more commodious dwelling.
But I suspect that, like his father, he was too busy with political
schemes to care much for a place justly renowned for many miles around.
I was shown into the library where Hugh Boscawen and three other
gentlemen sat. Two of these I knew slightly. One was Sir John Grenville
and another John Rosecorroch, the forefathers of both of whom fought
against Cromwell nearly a century before. My attention, however, was
more particularly drawn to Hugh Boscawen, before whom I was especially
brought. As I looked at his face I was somewhat reminded of his father,
who had died eleven years before, and whom I had twice seen. It called
to my mind, also, the stories I had heard about the first viscount. So
great was the old man's political zeal that he had caused the arrest of
many who held high monarchical principles. Even Sir Richard Vyvian or
Trelowaren, and Mr. Tremain, two of the most renowned and highly
respected gentlemen for miles around, did not escape his vigilance. They
were friends of his too, but, as he declared, "friendship had nought to
do with principles."
The son, however, was not so great a man as his father. He had not the
same commanding countenance, neither did his eyes flash forth the same
light. On the other hand, the man before whom I stood seemed to be aware
that he did not possess a keen, penetrating intellect, and as a
consequence was suspicious and very cautious. Report had it, too, that
he was very zealous in his service for the King, and would leave no
stone unturned in order to carry out his designs. In proof of this, he
had, as I have already stated, been engaged in raising an army to resist
any forces which the Young Pretender might be able to command.
"Roger Trevanion," he said slowly, "I am sorry to see you here."
"Then it is a pity I should have been brought here, my lord," I said a
little hotly, for it went sore against the grain to be brought a
prisoner before a man whose family was no nobler than my own.
"Neither would you have been brought here," he replied, "had not the
country been threatened by danger, and some, about whose loyalty there
should be no doubt, have become renegades."
"You may have received information which has no foundation in fact, my
lord," was my reply. "Nevertheless I should like to ask two questions.
First, what right have you to have me brought here a prisoner? and
second (providing you can prove your right to arrest whom you please),
what are the charges laid against me?"
"Although you have asked your questions with but little respect for my
position," he replied hotly, and I saw that his vanity was touched, "I
may inform you that by the gracious commands of His Majesty, King George
II., it is my duty not only to raise an army in Cornwall wherewith to
fight any rebels who may take up arms on the side of the young
Pretender, but also to arrest any who give evidence of plotting against
the peace of the country, or who in any way favor the claims of the
descendants of the Stuarts."
"Admitting that you are commissioned to arrest traitors," I said, "I
wish to know why I am included in such a category. This is the first
time a Trevanion was ever degraded in such a way, and if I speak hotly,
I think there is but little wonder."
"I have treated you leniently, Roger Trevanion," he replied.
"Remembering the house to which you belong, I ordered that your arrest
should not be made public, and that every consideration should be shown
you. Have not my commands been obeyed?"
"As to that," I replied, "I have no complaints to offer. My grievance is
that I have been brought here at all; for truly I know of nothing in the
nature of treason that can be laid to my charge."
In reply to this Sir John Grenville handed Hugh Boscawen papers which
he had been scanning, and on which I gathered the charge against me had
been written.
"You shall yourself be the judge whether I, holding the commission I do,
have not acted rightly in bringing you here; and I here repeat that
nothing but respect for your name has kept me from making the matter
public and treating you as others, acting as you have acted, have been
treated all over the country. Indeed, I doubt whether I have done right
in using the discretionary powers invested in me in such a way as to
shield you from public calumny. If your conduct were bruited abroad, the
brave fellows who have voluntarily armed themselves to fight for the
King all up and down the country would without hesitation throw you into
the deepest dungeon beneath Pendennis Castle, even if they did not at
once kill you." This he said with, I thought, a sort of peacock pride,
which made me, short of temper as I was, itch to make him swallow his
words.
"It ill becomes one possessing your powers to condemn a man unheard," I
cried hotly. "What is written on that paper I know not; this I know, if
there is anything alleged against my loyalty, I will proclaim the man
who wrote it a liar."
Hugh Boscawen seemed about to lose his temper, but he was restrained by
Sir John Grenville, who seemed to regard me more favorably.
"Very well," he said at length, "I will relate the charges made against
you. If you can clear yourself, well and good; if not, you must prepare
for the consequences."
Knowing not what might be written, and fearing Otho Killigrew's cunning
(for I felt sure I saw his hand in all this), I foolishly called out for
a public trial.
"There is no need at present for a public trial," said Hugh Boscawen,
who I could see was prejudged against me. "I am especially commissioned
to deal with such as you."
"Up to about fourteen days ago," he continued, "you were known to live a
useless and dissolute life. Instead of taking your part in the service
of the country, your time was spent in gaming, drinking, and such like
foolish pursuits. Do you deny this?"
"I do not," I replied. "I acted as many others are acting. Perchance
some of the many sons of your late father behave little differently even
to-day. But is there aught that smacks of treason in this?"
"No; but even while living this life, you often let hints drop
concerning the danger of our gracious King, and the coming of the young
Pretender."
"But never to favour his coming," I replied.
"This taken by itself would have but little meaning," he went on; "but
subsequent events cause your words to have grave import."
"What subsequent events, my lord?" I asked hotly.
"About fourteen days ago you left your home, and rode away alone. Will
you tell me the object of your journey?"
I was silent, for in truth I cared not to tell this man about the
flight of the maid Nancy.
"You are silent. If your journey was honourable, what need is there for
seeking to hide it?"
"My lord," I said, "most of us have our secrets. They may be innocent
enough, but still we do not care to have them made public property."
"Ordinarily that may be true," he replied; "but remembering the charge
against you, I shall require you to state why you left Trevanion."
"For no traitorous purpose, my lord, that I will swear. My reason for
leaving home had nothing whatever to do with the coming of the
Pretender."
"Out of your own mouth I will convict you," he replied. "Did you not
tell Colman Killigrew, of Endellion, that you came to see him for the
very purpose of seeking to help the enemy of the King?"
The words came upon me like a thunderbolt. I saw now that my position
was more dangerous than I had conceived.
"Believe me, my lord," I cried, "I had another purpose in going to
Endellion. I, hearing that Killigrew favored Charles Stuart, used that
as a means whereby I might enter his house."
"You told him a lie."
"It was necessary in order to accomplish that on which I had set my
mind."
"You admit telling a lie to him. How do I know you would not tell a lie
to me?"
"But it is well known that the Killigrews are enemies of George II.," I
cried.
Hugh Boscawen smiled scornfully. Not great of intellect, he
nevertheless sought to impress me with his erudition.
"I know that the Killigrews pretend this," he replied, "but only for the
purpose of serving the King. It is true that the family hath nearly died
out, and beyond this one branch there are no representatives; but they
have always supported king and crown."
"Tom Killigrew was Master of Revels of Charles II.," I replied hotly,
"and the family have always sworn allegiance to the Stuart race."
"I am not here to bandy words with you, Roger Trevanion," he said; "the
question is, Did you or did you not offer your services to Colman
Killigrew? Did you not offer to help to raise an army against the king?
Did you not say that the people called Methodists were papists in
disguise, and desired to bring back the Catholic religion, and again
establish high monarchical powers?"
Again I was silent, for in truth I had no answer to give.
"I am waiting for you to speak," he continued presently.
"I have no answer to make beyond again saying that this was a mere
subterfuge on my part to establish a footing in the house."
"Why wished you to establish a footing in the house?"
"This also must remain my secret for the present," was my answer.
"I tell you you are making a rope for your own neck," said Sir John
Grenville. "Tell the truth, lad; we are not thine enemies."
"I will give you one more chance," said Hugh Boscawen. "You have refused
to answer the other questions I have asked, will you answer this? There
is a man known to hate the house of Hanover, who wanders up and down the
country in many disguises. Yesterday he was a priest of the Catholic
order, to-day he is a hermit living in cells, to-morrow he will be a
wandering minstrel and tale-teller; the day after he will meet with men
of high degree and converse with them as with equals. He is known as
Uncle Anthony, as Father Anthony, as Sir Anthony Tregarrick. Ah! I see
your lips tremble! Well, this man is one of the most dangerous men in
the country; he has gone to France, and has had secret converse with him
who is desirous of leading the rebels to battle; he is commissioned to
arouse a rebellious feeling in Cornwall, and he hath been doing this by
many underhanded means. Answer me this: Have you met this man disguised
as a traveling tale-teller? Have you allowed him to ride on your horse?
Have you had secret converse with him in one of his many hiding-places?"
"For no seditious purpose, my lord."
"But you have had converse with him?"
"Yes, but my conversation hath had naught to do with the coming of
Charles."
"That may be proved. For a week past I have used many means to discover
this man's whereabouts. If he is taken he will assuredly die. You were
in his company not many days ago. Do you know where he is now?"
It seemed as though the fates were against me. Truth was, I had, in
spite of everything, learned to love this lonely old man. If I told all
the truth I should be the means of his death, so I again held my peace.
"You know where he is," said Sir John Grenville, who had several times
advised Hugh Boscawen as to the questions he should ask me. "Tell us
where you saw him last and it shall be well for you."
"Never have I spoken one word with the travelling droll about the
affairs of the nation," I replied; "and I defy any man to prove that I
have used any endeavours to injure my king."
"But we have witnesses!"
"Then let your witnesses appear!" I cried hotly, for I thought I was
safe in saying this.
"They shall appear, Roger Trevanion," said Hugh Boscawen; "they shall
appear," whereupon he signaled for a serving-man to attend him. When the
man came, Hugh Boscawen spoke to him in low tones, and immediately after
we were left alone again.
"You say no man hath heard you proclaim against our gracious king?" said
Hugh Boscawen to me.
"No man," I replied.
No sooner had I spoken than the door opened, and Otho Killigrew and his
brother Clement entered the room. Upon this my heart fluttered much, for
I knew Otho to be as cunning as the devil, and as merciless. All the
same I met his gaze boldly, for I determined now we had met in this way
that it should go hard with him. But I did not know then the man with
whom I had to deal.