[Illustration: WITH 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
denouements, 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."