About ten on the morning of the 3rd of November of that year eight
gentlemen of the first rank in England were assembled in the gallery
at Kensington, awaiting a summons to the King's closet. With the
exception of Lord Godolphin, who had resigned his office three days
earlier, all belonged to the party in power, notwithstanding which, a
curious observer might have detected in their manner and intercourse
an air of reserve and constraint, unusual among men at once so highly
placed, and of the same opinions. A little thought, however, and a
knowledge of the business which brought them together, would have
explained the cause of this.
While the Duke of Devonshire, the Marquis of Dorset, and Lord Portland
formed a group apart, it was to be noticed that Lords Marlborough and
Godolphin and Admiral Russell, who seemed to fall naturally into a
second group--and though the movements of the company constantly left
them together--never suffered this arrangement to last; but either
effected a temporary change, by accosting the Lord Keeper or Mr.
Secretary Trumball, or through the medium of Sir Edward Russell's loud
voice and boisterous manners, wrought a momentary fusion of the
company.
"By the Eternal, I am the most unlucky fellow," the Admiral cried,
addressing the whole company, on one of these occasions. "If Sir John
had lied about me only, I should have given it him back in his teeth,
and so fair and square; it is a poor cook does not know his own batch.
But because he drags in the Duke, and the Duke chooses to get the
fantods, and shirks him, I stand the worse!"
"Sir Edward," said Lord Dorset, speaking gravely and in a tone of
rebuke, "No one supposes that the Duke of Shrewsbury is aught but ill.
And, allow me to say that under the circumstances you are unwise to
put it on him."
"But d----n me, he has no right to be ill!" cried the seaman, whose
turbulent spirit was not easily put down. "If he were here, I would
say the same to his face. And that is flat!"
He was proceeding with more, but at that moment the door of the Royal
closet was thrown open, and a gentleman usher appeared, inviting them
to enter. "My lords and gentlemen," he said, "His Majesty desires you
to be seated, as at the Council. He will be presently here."
The movement into the next room being made, the conversation took a
lower tone, each speaking only to his neighbour; one, discussing the
King's crossing and the speed of his new yacht, another the excellent
health and spirits in which His Majesty had returned; until a door at
the lower end of the room being opened, a murmur of voices, and stir
of feet were heard, and after a moment's delay. Sir John Fenwick
entered, a prisoner, and with a somewhat dazed air advanced to the
foot of the table.
The Lord Steward rose and gravely bowed to him; and this courtesy, in
which he was followed by all except the Admiral, was returned by the
prisoner.
"Sir John," said the Duke of Devonshire, "the King will be presently
here."
"I am obliged to your Grace," Fenwick answered, and stood waiting.
His gaunt form, clothed in black, his face always stern and now
haggard, his eyes--in which pride and fanaticism, at one moment
overcame and at another gave place to the look of a hunted
beast--these things would have made him a pathetic figure at any time
and under any circumstances. How much more when those who gazed on him
knew that he stood on the brink of death! and knew, too, that within a
few moments he must meet the prince who for years he had insulted and
defied, and in whose hands his fate now lay!
That some, less interested in the matter than others, harboured such
thoughts, the looks of grave compassion which Lords Devonshire and
Dorset cast on him seemed to prove. But their reflections--which,
doubtless, carried them back to a time when the most brilliant and
cynical of courtiers played the foremost part in the Whitehall of the
Restoration--these, no less than the mutterings and restless movements
of Russell, who, in his enemy's presence, could scarcely control
himself, were cut short by the King's entrance.
He came in unannounced, and very quietly, at a door behind the Lord
Steward; and all rising to their feet, he bade them in a foreign
accent, "Good-day," adding immediately, "Be seated, my lords. My Lord
Steward, we will proceed."
His entrance and words, abrupt, if not awkward, lacked alike the grace
which all remembered in Charles, and the gloomy majesty which the
second James had at his command. And men felt the lack. Yet, as he
took his stand, one hand lightly resting on the back of the Lord
Steward's chair, the stooping sombre figure and sallow, withered face
staring out of its great peruque, had a dignity of their own. For it
could not be forgotten that he was that which no Stuart King of
England had ever been--a soldier and a commander from boyhood, at home
in all the camps of Flanders and the Rhine, familiar with every peril
of battle and breach; at his ease anywhere, where other men blenched
and drew back. And the knowledge that this was so invested him with a
certain awe and grandeur even in the eyes of courtiers. On this day he
wore a black suit, relieved only by the ribbon of the Garter; and as
he stood he let his chin sink so low on his breast, that his eyes,
which could on occasion shine with a keen and almost baleful light,
were hidden.
The Lord Steward, in obedience to his command, was about to address
Sir John, when the King, with a brusqueness characteristic of him,
intervened. "Sir John," he said, in a harsh, dry voice, and speaking
partly in French, partly in English, "your papers are altogether
unsatisfactory. Instead of giving us an account of the plots formed by
you and your accomplices, plots of which all the details must be
exactly known to you, you tell us stories without authority, without
date, without place, about noblemen and gentlemen, with whom you do
not pretend to have had any intercourse. In short, your confession
appears to be a contrivance, intended to screen those who are really
engaged in designs against us, and to make me suspect and discard
those in whom I have good reason to place confidence. If you look for
any favour from me, therefore, you will give me this moment, and on
this spot, a full and straightforward account of what you know of your
own knowledge. And--but do you tell him the rest, my lord."
"Sir John," said the Lord Steward in a tone serious and compassionate,
"His Majesty invites your confidence, and will for good reasons show
you his favour. But you must deserve it. And it is his particular
desire that you conclude nothing from the fact that you are admitted
to see him."
"On the contrary," said the King, dryly, "I see you, sir, for the sake
of my friends. If, therefore, you can substantiate the charges you
have made, it behoves you to do it. Otherwise, to make a full and free
confession of what you do know."
"Sir," said Sir John hoarsely, speaking for the first time, "I stand
here worse placed than any man ever was. For I am tried by those whom
I accuse."
The King slightly shrugged his shoulders. "_Fallait penser la_, when
you accused them," he muttered.
Sir John cast a fierce despairing glance along the table, and seemed
to control himself with difficulty. At length, "I can substantiate
nothing against three of those persons," he said; whereon some of
those who listened breathed more freely.
"And that is all, sir, that you have to say?" said the King,
ungraciously; and as if he desired only to cut short the scene.
"All," said Sir John firmly, "against those three persons. But as to
the fourth, the Duke of Shrewsbury, who is not here----"
The King could not suppress an exclamation of contempt. "You may spare
us that fable, sir," he said. "It would not deceive a child, much less
one who holds the Duke high in his esteem."
Sir John drew himself to his full height, and looked along the table,
his gloomy eyes threatening. "And yet that fable I can prove, sir," he
said. "That I can substantiate, sir. To that I have a witness, and a
witness above suspicion! If I prove that, sir, shall I have your
Majesty's favour?"
"Perfectly," said the King, shrugging his shoulders, amid a general
thrill and movement; for though rumours had gone abroad, by no means
the whole of Sir John's case was known, even to some at the table.
"Prove it! Prove that, sir, and not a hair of your head shall fall.
You have my promise."
However, before Sir John could answer, Mr. Secretary Trumball rose in
his place and intervened. "I crave your indulgence, sir," he said,
"while, with your Majesty's permission, I call in the Duke of
Shrewsbury, who is in waiting."
"In waiting," said the King, in a voice of surprise; nor was the
surprise confined to him. "I thought that he was ill, Mr. Secretary."
"He is so ill, sir, as to be very unfit to be abroad," the Secretary
answered. "Yet he came to be in readiness, if your Majesty needed him.
Sir John Fenwick persisting, I ask your Majesty's indulgence while I
fetch him."
The King nodded, but with a pinched and dissatisfied face; and Sir
William retiring, in a moment returned with the Duke. At his entrance.
His Majesty greeted him dryly, and with a hint of displeasure in his
manner; thinking probably that this savoured too much of a _coup de
theater_, a thing he hated. But seeing the next instant, and before
the Secretary took his seat, how ill the Duke looked, his face
betrayed signs of disturbance; after which, his eyelids drooping, it
fell into the dull and Sphinx-like mould which it assumed when he did
not wish his thoughts to be read by those about him.
That the Duke's pallor and wretched appearance gave rise to suspicion
in other minds is equally certain; the more hardy of those present,
such as my Lord Marlborough and the Admiral, being aware that nothing
short of guilt, and the immediate prospect of detection, could so
change themselves. And while some felt a kind of admiration, as they
conned and measured the stupendous edifice of skilful deceit, which my
lord had so long and perfectly concealed behind a front of brass, as
to take in all the world, others were already busied with the effect
it would have on the party, and how this might be softened, and that
explained, and in a word another man substituted with as little shock
as possible for this man. Nor were these emotions at all weakened when
my lord, after saluting the King, took his seat, without speaking or
meeting the general gaze.
"Now, sir," said the King impatiently, when all was quiet again, "the
Duke is here. Proceed."
"I will," Sir John answered with greater hardiness than he had yet
used, "I have simply to repeat to his face what I have said behind his
back: that on the 10th of last June, in the evening, he met me at
Ashford, in Kent, and gave me a ring and a message, bidding me carry
both with me to St. Germain's."
My lord looked slowly round the table; then at Sir John. And it
startled some to see that he had compassion in his face.
"Sir John," he said--after, as it seemed, weighing the words he was
about to speak, "you are in such a position, it were barbarous to
insult you. But you must needs, as you have accused me before His
Majesty and these gentlemen, hear me state, also before them, that
there is not a word of truth in what you say."
Sir John stared at him and breathed hard. "_Mon dieu!_" he exclaimed
at length. And his voice sounded sincere.
"I was not at Ashford on the 10th of June," the Duke continued with
dignity, "or on any day in that month. I never saw you there, and I
gave you no ring."
"_Mon Dieu!_" Sir John muttered again; and, his gaze fallen, he seemed
to be unable to take his eyes off the other.
Now it is certain that whatever the majority of those present thought
of this--and the demeanour of the two men was so steadfast that even
Lord Marlborough's acumen was at fault--the King's main anxiety was to
be rid of the matter, and with some impatience he tried to put a stop
to it at this point. "Is it worth while to carry this farther, my
lords?" he said, fretfully. "We know our friends. We know our enemies
also. This is a story _pour rire_, and deserving only of contempt."
But Sir John at that cried out, protesting bitterly and fiercely,
and recalling the King's promise, and the Duke being no less
urgent--though as some thought a little unseasonably for his own
interests--that the matter be sifted to the bottom, the King had no
option but to let it go on. "Very well," he said ungraciously, "if he
will have his witness let him." And then, with one of those spirits of
peevishness, which stood in strange contrast with his wonted
magnanimity, he added, to the Duke of Shrewsbury, "It is your own
choice, my lord. Don't blame me."
The querulous words bore a meaning which all recognised; and some at
the table started, and resumed the calculation how they should trim
their sails in a certain event. But nothing ever became the Duke
better than the manner in which he received that insinuation. "Be it
so, sir," he said with spirit, "My choice and desire is that Sir John
have as full a share of justice as I claim for myself, and as fair a
hearing. Less than that were inconsistent with your Majesty's
prerogative, and my honour."
The King's only answer was a sulky and careless nod. On which Sir
William Trumball, after whispering to the prisoner, went out, and
after a brief delay, which seemed to many at the table long enough,
returned with Matthew Smith.