Charlie was received with delight by his father, whom he had not
seen since the spring of the previous year.
"Then you got my letter, Charlie?" Sir Marmaduke asked, when the
first greetings were over. "And yet, I do not see how you could
have done so. It is little over a fortnight since I wrote, and I
had not looked for you for another month yet."
"I have certainly received no letter, father. A fortnight ago I was
in a Russian prison, and my arrival here, in so short a time, seems
to me almost miraculous;" and he then briefly related his singular
experiences.
"Now about the letter, father," he said, as he concluded. "I
suppose you must have written to ask me to get leave for a time, as
it seems that you were expecting me shortly. I suppose you felt
that you would like me with you, for a time."
"So I should, lad, of that you may be sure, but I should not have
called you away for that. No, I had this letter the other day from
old Banks. You know he writes to me once a year. His letters have
been only gossip so far, for you know my precious cousin kicked him
out of the house, as soon as he took possession; but this is a
different matter. Read it for yourself."
Charlie took the letter, and with some trouble spelt through the
crabbed handwriting.
It began:
"Honoured sir and master, I hope that this finds you and Captain
Charles both well in health. I have been laid up with rhematis in
the bones, having less comfort in my lodgings than I used to have
at Lynnwood. Your honour will have heard that King William has
fallen from his horse, and broken his collarbone, and died. May the
Lord forgive him for taking the place of better men. Anne has come
to the throne, and there were some hopes that she would, of
herself, step aside and let him to whom the throne rightly belongs
come to it. Such, however, has not been the case, and those who
know best think that things are no forwarder for William's death,
rather indeed the reverse, since the Princess Anne is better liked
by the people than was her sister's husband.
"There is no sure news from Lynnwood. None of the old servants are
there; and I have no one from whom I can learn anything for
certain. Things however are, I hear, much worse since young Mr.
Dormay was killed in the duel in London, of which I told you in my
last letter.
"Dame Celia and Mistress Ciceley go but seldom abroad, and when
seen they smile but little, but seem sad and downcast. The usurper
has but small dealing with any of the gentry. There are always men
staying there, fellows of a kind with whom no gentleman would
consort, and they say there is much drinking and wild going on. As
Captain Charles specially bade me, I have done all that I could to
gather news of Nicholson. Till of late I have heard nothing of him.
He disappeared altogether from these parts, just after your honour
went away. News once came here from one who knew him, and who had
gone up to London on a visit to a kinsman, that he had met him
there, dressed up in a garb in no way according with his former
position, but ruffling it at a tavern frequented by loose blades,
spending his money freely, and drinking and dicing with the best of
them.
"A week since he was seen down here, in a very sorry state, looking
as if luck had gone altogether against him. Benjamin Haddock, who
lives, as you know, close to the gate of Lynnwood, told me that he
saw one pass along the road, just as it was dusk, whom he could
swear was that varlet Nicholson. He went to the door and looked
after him to make sure, and saw him enter the gate. Next day
Nicholson was in Lancaster. He was spending money freely there, and
rode off on a good horse, which looked ill assorted with his
garments, though he purchased some of better fashion in the town.
It seemed to me likely that he must have got money from the
usurper. I do not know whether your honour will deem this news of
importance, but I thought it well to write to you at once. Any
further news I may gather, I will send without fail.
"Your humble servant,
"John Banks."
"There is no doubt that this is of importance," Charlie said, when
he had read the letter through. "It is only by getting hold of this
villain that there is any chance of our obtaining proof of the foul
treachery of which you were the victim. Hitherto, we have had no
clue whatever as to where he was to be looked for. Now, there can
be little doubt that he has returned to his haunts in London. I
understand now, father, why you wanted me to get leave. You mean
that I shall undertake this business."
"That was my thought, Charlie. You are now well-nigh twenty, and
would scarce be recognized as the boy who left four years ago. The
fellow would know me at once, and I might be laid by the heels
again under the old warrant; besides being charged with breaking
away from the custody of the soldiers. Besides, in this business
youth and strength and vigour are requisite. I would gladly take
the matter in my own hands, but methinks you would have a better
chance of bringing it to a favourable issue. Now that Anne is on
the throne, she and her advisers will look leniently upon the men
whose only fault was devotion to her father; and if we can once get
this foul charge of assassination lifted from our shoulders, I and
Jervoise and the others who had to fly at the same time, may all be
permitted to return, and obtain a reversal of the decree of the Act
of Confiscation of our estates.
"I have no friends at court, but I know that Jervoise was a close
acquaintance, years ago, of John Churchill, who is now Duke of
Marlborough, and they say high in favour with Anne. I did not think
of it when I wrote to you, but a week later it came to my mind that
his intervention might be very useful, and I took advantage of an
officer, leaving here for the army, to send by him a letter to
Jervoise, telling him that there was now some hope of getting at
the traitor who served as John Dormay's instrument in his plot
against us. I said that I had sent for you, and thought it probable
you would take the matter in hand; and I prayed him to send me a
letter of introduction for you to the duke, so that, if you could
by any means obtain the proof of our innocence of this pretended
plot, he might help you to obtain a reversal of the Act of
Confiscation against us all. I have asked him to write at once, and
I will send the letter after you, as soon as I get it.
"I know nothing of London, but I have heard of the Bull's Head, in
Fenchurch Street, as being one frequented by travellers from the
country. You had best put up there, and thither I will forward the
note from Jervoise."
"The letter will be a useful one, indeed, father, when I have once
wrung the truth from that villain Nicholson. It will be an
expedition after my own heart. There is first the chance of
punishing the villain, and then the hope of restoring you to your
place at dear old Lynnwood."
"You must be careful, Charlie. Remember it would never do to kill
the rascal. That would be the greatest of misfortunes; for, with
his death, any chance of unmasking the greater villain would
disappear."
"I will be careful, father. I cannot say how I shall set about the
matter, yet. That must depend upon circumstances; but, as you say,
above all things I must be careful of the fellow's life. When is
there a ship sailing, father?"
"The day after tomorrow, Charlie. You will want that time for
getting clothes, suitable to a young gentleman of moderate
condition, up from the country on a visit to London. You must make
up your mind that it will be a long search before you light on the
fellow, for we have no clue as to the tavern he frequents. As a
roistering young squire, wanting to see London life, you could go
into taverns frequented by doubtful characters, for it is probably
in such a place that you will find him.
"However, all this I must leave to you. You showed yourself, in
that Polish business, well able to help yourself out of a scrape,
and if you could do that among people of whose tongues you were
ignorant, you ought to be able to manage on English soil."
"At any rate, I will do my best, father, of that you may be sure. I
have the advantage of knowing the fellow, and am pretty certain
that he will not know me."
"Not he, Charlie," his father said confidently. "Even in the last
two years, since you were here with Jervoise and the others, you
have changed so much that I, myself, might have passed you in the
street without knowing you.
"Now, you had better go off and see about your things. There is no
time to be lost. I have drawn out a hundred guineas of my money,
which will, I should say, serve you while you are away; but don't
stint it, lad. Let me know if it runs short, and I will send you
more."
"I have money, too, father. I have four months' pay due, besides
money I have in hand, for there was but little need for us to put
our hands in our pockets."
Ten days later, Charlie arrived in the Port of London, and took up
his abode at the Bull's Head, where he found the quarters
comfortable, indeed, after the rough work of campaigning. The next
morning he took a waiter into his confidence.
"I have come to London to see a little life," he said, "and I want
to be put into the way of doing it. I don't want to go to places
where young gallants assemble. My purse is not deep enough to stand
such society. I should like to go to places where I shall meet
hearty young fellows, and could have a throw of the dice, or see a
main fought by good cocks, or even sally out and have a little fun
with the watch. My purse is fairly lined, and I want some
amusement--something to look back upon when I go home again. What
is the best way to set about it?"
"Well, sir, if that is your humour, I have a brother who is one of
the mayor's tipstaffs. He knows the city well, ay, and Westminster,
too, and the purlieus of Saint James's, and whether you want to
meet young gallants or roistering blades, or to have a look in at
places where you can hire a man to cut another's throat for a few
crowns, he can show you them. He will be on duty now, but I will
send him a message to come round this evening, and I warrant me he
will be here. He has showed young squires from the country over the
town before this, and will guess what is on hand when he gets my
message."
Having nothing to do, Charlie sauntered about the town during the
day, looking into the shops, and keeping a keen eye on passers by,
with the vague hope that he might be lucky enough to come across
his man.
After he had finished his supper, the waiter came up and told him
that his brother was outside.
"I have spoken to him, sir, and he warrants that he can take you
into the sort of society you want to meet, whatever it may be."
Charlie followed him out. A man was standing under the lamp that
swung before the door.
"This is the gentleman I was speaking to you of, Tony."
As the man took off his cap, Charlie had a good view of his face.
It was shrewd and intelligent.
"You understand what I want?" he asked, as the waiter ran into the
house again, to attend to his duties.
"Yes, sir. So far as I understood him, you wish to go to taverns of
somewhat inferior reputations, and to see something of that side of
London life. If you will pardon my boldness, it is somewhat of a
dangerous venture. In such places brawls are frequent, and rapiers
soon out.
"You look to me like one who could hold his own in a fray," he
added, as his eye ran over the athletic figure before him, "but it
is not always fair fighting. These fellows hang together, and while
engaged with one, half a dozen might fall upon you. As to your
purse, sir, it is your own affair. You will assuredly lose your
money, if you play or wager with them. But that is no concern of
mine. Neither, you may say, is your life; but it seems to me that
it is. One young gentleman from the country, who wanted, like you,
to see life, was killed in a brawl, and I have never forgiven
myself for having taken him to the tavern where he lost his life.
Thus, I say that, though willing enough to earn a crown or two
outside my own work, I must decline to take you to places where, as
it seems to me, you are likely to get into trouble."
"You are an honest fellow, and I like you all the more, for
speaking out frankly to me," Charlie said, "and were I, as I told
your brother, thinking of going to such places solely for
amusement, what you say would have weight with me. But, as I see
that you are to be trusted, I will tell you more. I want to find a
man who did me and mine a grievous ill turn. I have no intention of
killing him, or anything of that sort, but it is a matter of great
importance to lay hand on him. All I know of him is that he is a
frequenter of taverns here, and those not of the first character.
Just at present he is, I have reason to believe, provided with
funds, and may push himself into places where he would not show
himself when he is out of luck. Still, it is more likely he is to
be found in the lowest dens, among rascals of his own kidney. I may
lose a little money, but I shall do so with my eyes open, and
solely to obtain a footing at the places where I am most likely to
meet him."
"That alters the affair," the man said gravely. "It will add to
your danger; for as you know him, I suppose he knows you, also."
"No. It is four years since we met, and I have so greatly changed,
in that time, that I have no fear he would recognize me. At any
rate, not here in London, which is the last place he would suspect
me of being in."
"That is better. Well, sir, if that be your object, I will do my
best to help you. What is the fellow's name and description?"
"He called himself Nicholson, when we last met; but like enough
that is not his real name, and if it is, he may be known by another
here. He is a lanky knave, of middle height; but more than that,
except that he has a shifty look about his eyes, I cannot tell
you."
"And his condition, you say, is changeable?"
"Very much so, I should say. I should fancy that, when in funds, he
would frequent places where he could prey on careless young fellows
from the country, like myself. When his pockets are empty, I should
say he would herd with the lowest rascals."
"Well, sir, as you say he is in funds at present, we will this
evening visit a tavern or two, frequented by young blades, some of
whom have more money than wit; and by men who live by their wits
and nothing else. But you must not be disappointed, if the search
prove a long one before you run your hare down, for the indications
you have given me are very doubtful. He may be living in Alsatia,
hard by the Temple, which, though not so bad as it used to be, is
still an abode of dangerous rogues. But more likely you may meet
him at the taverns in Westminster, or near Whitehall; for, if he
has means to dress himself bravely, it is there he will most
readily pick up gulls.
"I will, with your permission, take you to the better sort to begin
with, and then, when you have got more accustomed to the ways of
these places, you can go to those a step lower, where, I should
think, he is more likely to be found; for such fellows spend their
money freely, when they get it, and unless they manage to fleece
some young lamb from the country, they soon find themselves unable
to keep pace with the society of places where play runs high, and
men call for their bottles freely. Besides, in such places, when
they become unable to spend money freely, they soon get the cold
shoulder from the host, who cares not to see the money that should
be spent on feasting and wine diverted into the pockets of others.
"I shall leave you at the door of these places. I am too well known
to enter. I put my hand on the shoulder of too many men, during the
year, for me to go into any society without the risk of someone
knowing me again."
They accordingly made their way down to Westminster, and Charlie
visited several taverns. At each he called for wine, and was
speedily accosted by one or more men, who perceived that he was a
stranger, and scented booty. He stated freely that he had just come
up to town, and intended to stay some short time there. He allowed
himself to be persuaded to enter the room where play was going on,
but declined to join, saying that, as yet, he was ignorant of the
ways of town, and must see a little more of them before he ventured
his money, but that, when he felt more at home, he should be ready
enough to join in a game of dice or cards, being considered a good
hand at both.
After staying at each place about half an hour, he made his way
out, getting rid of his would-be friends with some little
difficulty, and with a promise that he would come again, ere long.
For six days he continued his inquiries, going out every evening
with his guide, and taking his meals, for the most part, at one or
other of the taverns, in hopes that he might happen upon the man of
whom he was in search. At the end of that time, he had a great
surprise. As he entered the hotel to take supper, the waiter said
to him:
"There is a gentleman who has been asking for you, in the public
room. He arrived an hour ago, and has hired a chamber."
"Asking for me?" Charlie repeated in astonishment. "You must be
mistaken."
"Not at all, sir. He asked for Mr. Charles Conway, and that is the
name you wrote down in the hotel book, when you came."
"That must be me, sure enough, but who can be asking for me I
cannot imagine. However, I shall soon know."
And, in a state of utter bewilderment as to who could have learnt
his name and address, he went into the coffee room. There happened,
at the moment, to be but one person there, and as he rose and
turned towards him, Charlie exclaimed in astonishment and delight:
"Why, Harry, what on earth brings you here? I am glad to see you,
indeed, but you are the last person in the world I should have
thought of meeting here in London."
"You thought I was in a hut, made as wind tight as possible, before
the cold set in, in earnest. So I should have been, with six months
of a dull life before me, if it had not been for Sir Marmaduke's
letter. Directly my father read it through to me he said:
"'Get your valises packed at once, Harry. I will go to the colonel
and get your leave granted. Charlie may have to go into all sorts
of dens, in search of this scoundrel, and it is better to have two
swords than one in such places. Besides, as you know the fellow's
face you can aid in the search, and are as likely to run against
him as he is. His discovery is as important to us as it is to him,
and it may be the duke will be more disposed to interest himself,
when he sees the son of his old friend, than upon the strength of a
letter only.'
"You may imagine I did not lose much time. But I did not start,
after all, until the next morning, for when the colonel talked it
over with my father, he said:
"'Let Harry wait till tomorrow. I shall be seeing the king this
evening. He is always interested in adventure, and I will tell him
the whole story, and ask him to write a few lines, saying that
Harry and Carstairs are young officers who have borne themselves
bravely, and to his satisfaction. It may help with the duke, and
will show, at any rate, that you have both been out here, and not
intriguing at Saint Germains.'
"The colonel came in, late in the evening, with a paper, which the
king had told Count Piper to write and sign, and had himself put
his signature to it. I have got it sewn up in my doublet, with my
father's letter to Marlborough. They are too precious to lose, but
I can tell you what it is, word for word:
"'By order of King Charles the Twelfth of Sweden. This is to
testify, to all whom it may concern, that Captain Charles
Carstairs, and Captain Harry Jervoise--'"
"Oh, I am glad, Harry!" Charlie interrupted. "It was horrid that I
should have been a captain, for the last year, and you a
lieutenant. I am glad, indeed."
"Yes, it is grand, isn't it, and very good of the king to do it
like that. Now, I will go on--
"'Have both served me well and faithfully during the war, showing
great valour, and proving themselves to be brave and honourable
gentlemen, as may be seen, indeed, from the rank that they, though
young in years, have both attained, and which is due solely to
their deserts.'
"What do you think of that?"
"Nothing could be better, Harry. Did you see my father at
Gottenburg?"
"Yes. The ship I sailed by went to Stockholm, and I was lucky
enough to find there another, starting for England in a few hours.
She touched at Gottenburg to take in some cargo, and I had time to
see Sir Marmaduke, who was good enough to express himself as
greatly pleased that I was coming over to join you."
"Well, Harry, I am glad, indeed. Before we talk, let us go in and
have supper, that is, if you have not already had yours. If you
have, I can wait a bit."
"No; they told me you had ordered your supper at six, so I told
them I would take mine at the same time; and, indeed, I can tell
you that I am ready for it."
After the meal, Charlie told his friend the steps he was taking to
discover Nicholson.
"Do you feel sure that you would know him again, Harry?"
"Quite sure. Why, I saw him dozens of times at Lynnwood."
"Then we shall now be able to hunt for him separately, Harry. Going
to two or three places, of an evening, I always fear that he may
come in after I have gone away. Now one of us can wait till the
hour for closing, while the other goes elsewhere."
For another fortnight, they frequented all the places where they
thought Nicholson would be most likely to show himself; then, after
a consultation with their guide, they agreed that they must look
for him at lower places.
"Like enough," the tipstaff said, "he may have run through his
money the first night or two after coming up to town. That is the
way with these fellows. As long as they have money they gamble.
When they have none, they cheat or turn to other evil courses. Now
that there are two of you together, there is less danger in going
to such places; for, though these rascals may be ready to pick a
quarrel with a single man, they know that it is a dangerous game to
play with two, who look perfectly capable of defending themselves."
For a month, they frequented low taverns. They dressed themselves
plainly now, and assumed the character of young fellows who had
come up to town, and had fallen into bad company, and lost what
little money they had brought with them, and were now ready for any
desperate enterprise. Still, no success attended their search.
"I can do no more for you," their guide said. "I have taken you to
every house that such a man would be likely to use. Of course,
there are many houses near the river frequented by bad characters.
But here you would chiefly meet men connected, in some way, with
the sea, and you would be hardly likely to find your man there."
"We shall keep on searching," Charlie said. "He may have gone out
of town for some reason, and may return any day. We shall not give
it up till spring."
"Well, at any rate, sirs, I will take your money no longer. You
know your way thoroughly about now, and, if at any time you should
want me, you know where to find me. It might be worth your while to
pay a visit to Islington, or even to go as far as Barnet. The
fellow may have done something, and may think it safer to keep in
hiding, and in that case Islington and Barnet are as likely to suit
him as anywhere."
The young men had, some time before, left the inn and taken a
lodging. This they found much cheaper, and, as they were away from
breakfast until midnight, it mattered little where they slept. They
took the advice of their guide, stayed a couple of nights at
Islington, and then went to Barnet. In these places there was no
occasion to visit the taverns, as, being comparatively small, they
would, either in the daytime or after dark, have an opportunity of
meeting most of those living there.
Finding the search ineffectual, Charlie proposed that they should
go for a long walk along the north road.
"I am tired of staring every man I meet in the face, Harry. And I
should like, for once, to be able to throw it all off and take a
good walk together, as we used to do in the old days. We will go
eight or ten miles out, stop at some wayside inn for refreshments,
and then come back here for the night, and start back again for
town tomorrow."
Harry at once agreed, and, taking their hats, they started.
They did not hurry themselves, and, carefully avoiding all mention
of the subject that had occupied their thoughts for weeks, they
chatted over their last campaign, their friends in the Swedish
camp, and the course that affairs were likely to take. After four
hours' walking they came to a small wayside inn, standing back
twenty or thirty yards from the road.
"It is a quiet-looking little place," Charlie said, "and does but a
small trade, I should say. However, no doubt they can give us some
bread and cheese, and a mug of ale, which will last us well enough
till we get back to Barnet."
The landlord placed what they demanded before them, and then left
the room again, replying by a short word or two to their remarks on
the weather.
"A surly ill-conditioned sort of fellow," Harry said.
"It may be, Harry, that badness of trade has spoiled his temper.
However, so long as his beer is good, it matters little about his
mood."
They had finished their bread and cheese, and were sitting idly,
being in no hurry to start on their way back, when a man on
horseback turned off from the road and came up the narrow lane in
which the house stood. As Charlie, who was facing that way, looked
at him he started, and grasped Harry's arm.
"It is our man," he said. "It is Nicholson himself! To think of our
searching all London, these weeks past, and stumbling upon him
here."
The man stopped at the door, which was at once opened by the
landlord.
"All right, I suppose, landlord?" the man said, as he swung himself
from his horse.
"There is no one here except two young fellows, who look to me as
if they had spent their last penny in London, and were travelling
down home again."
He spoke in a lowered voice, but the words came plainly enough to
the ears of the listeners within. Another word or two was spoken,
and then the landlord took the horse and led it round to a stable
behind, while its rider entered the room. He stopped for a moment
at the open door of the taproom, and stared at the two young men,
who had just put on their hats again. They looked up carelessly,
and Harry said:
"Fine weather for this time of year."
The man replied by a grunt, and then passed on into the landlord's
private room.
"That is the fellow, sure enough, Charlie," Harry said, in a low
tone. "I thought your eyes might have deceived you, but I remember
his face well. Now what is to be done?"
"We won't lose sight of him again," Charlie said. "Though, if we
do, we shall know where to pick up his traces, for he evidently
frequents this place. I should say he has taken to the road. There
were a brace of pistols in the holsters. That is how it is that we
have not found him before. Well, at any rate, there is no use
trying to make his acquaintance here. The first question is, will
he stay here for the night or not--and if he does not, which way
will he go?"
"He came from the north," Harry said. "So if he goes, it will be
towards town."
"That is so. Our best plan will be to pay our reckoning and start.
We will go a hundred yards or so down the road, and then lie down
behind a hedge, so as to see if he passes. If he does not leave
before nightfall, we will come up to the house and reconnoitre. If
he does not leave by ten, he is here for the night, and we must
make ourselves as snug as we can under a stack. The nights are
getting cold, but we have slept out in a deal colder weather than
this. However, I fancy he will go on. It is early for a man to
finish a journey. If he does, we must follow him, and keep him in
sight, if possible."
Two hours later they saw, from their hiding place, Nicholson ride
out from the lane. He turned his horse's head in their direction.
"That is good," Charlie said. "If he is bound for London, we shall
be able to get into his company somehow; but if he had gone up to
some quiet place north, we might have had a lot of difficulty in
getting acquainted with him."
As soon as the man had ridden past they leapt to their feet, and,
at a run, kept along the hedge. He had started at a brisk trot, but
when, a quarter of a mile on, they reached a gate, and looked up
the road after him, they saw to their satisfaction that the horse
had already fallen into a walk.
"He does not mean to go far from Barnet," Charlie exclaimed. "If he
had been bound farther, he would have kept on at a trot. We will
keep on behind the hedges as long as we can. If he were to look
back and see us always behind him, he might become suspicious."
They had no difficulty in keeping up with the horseman. Sometimes,
when they looked out, he was a considerable distance ahead, having
quickened his pace; but he never kept that up long, and by brisk
running, and dashing recklessly through the hedges running at right
angles to that they were following, they soon came up to him again.
Once, he had gone so far ahead that they took to the road, and
followed it until he again slackened his speed. They thus kept him
in sight till they neared Barnet.
"We can take to the road now," Harry said. "Even if he should look
round, he will think nothing of seeing two men behind him. We might
have turned into it from some by-lane. At any rate, we must chance
it. We must find where he puts up for the night."