THE HOUR
1
A quarter of an hour--perhaps less--later, we were speeding back, Mr.
Betterton and I, down Canon's Row on our way to Westminster Stairs,
intending to take boat for the City.
In the terrible mental upheaval which had followed on the renewed
Outrage that had been put upon my beloved Friend, I had well-nigh
forgotten that secret conspiracy which was even now threatening the
stability of our Country, and in which my former Employer and his Spouse
were so deeply involved.
The striking of Church Bells far and near, chiming the hour of eight,
recalled me to the danger which threatened Mr. Baggs along with his more
aristocratic co-traitors. And, strangely enough, Mr. Betterton thought
of this at the very same time. He had been sunk in moody Reverie ever
since my Silence had told him the grim tale of my unsuccessful Embassy
to the Earl of Stour, and through the darkness it was impossible even
for my devoted eyes to watch the Play of Emotions upon his tell-tale
face, or to read in his eyes the dark thoughts which I knew must be
coursing through his Brain.
In myself, I could not help but be satisfied at the turn of Events. The
Conspirators, denounced by me to the Countess of Castlemaine, would of a
certainty meet the Punishment which they so fully deserved. Lord Stour
was one of them, so was Lord Douglas Wychwoode. The Scaffold, or at
least, Banishment, would be their lot, and how could I grieve--I, who
hated them so!--that the Earth would presently be rid of two arrogant
and supercilious Coxcombs, Traitors to their King, vainglorious and
self-seeking. True, the Lady Barbara would weep. But when I remembered
the many bitter tears which you, dear Mistress, have shed these past
months because she had enchained the fancy of the Man whom you loved,
then had scorned his Ardour and left him a Prey to Humiliation and Shame
at the hands of Men unworthy to lick the dust at his feet; when I
remembered all that, I could find no Pity in my heart for the Lady
Barbara, but rather a Hope that one so exquisitely fair would pass
through Sorrow and Adversity the purer and softer for the Ordeal.
True again, that for some reason still unexplained Mr. Betterton
appeared to desire with an almost passionate intensity that his
successful Rival should escape the fate of his fellow-Conspirators.
Such Magnanimity was beyond my Comprehension, and I felt that the
Sentiment which engendered it could not be a lasting one. Mr. Betterton
was for the moment angry with me--very angry--for what I had done; but
his Anger I knew would soon melt in the Warmth of his own kindly Heart.
He would forgive me, and anon forget the insolent Enemy after the latter
had expiated his Treachery and his Arrogance upon the Scaffold. The
whole of this hideous past Episode would then become a mere Memory, like
unto a nightmare which the healthful freshness of the newly-born Day so
quickly dispels.
2
So on the whole it was with a lightened heart that I stepped into the
boat in the wake of Mr. Betterton. I thanked the Lord that the Rain had
ceased for the moment, for truly I was chilled to the Marrow and could
not have borne another wetting.
Every Angle and Stone and Stair and Landing Stage along the Embankment
was of course familiar to me; and I could not help falling into a
Reverie at sight of those great houses which were the City homes of some
of the noblest Families in the Land. How many of these stately walls,
thought I, sheltered a nest of Conspirators as vile and as disloyal as
were Lord Douglas Wychwoode and his friends? Suffolk House and Yorke
House, Salisbury House and Worster House, to mention but a few. How did
the mere honest Citizen know what went on behind their Portals, what
deadly secrets were whispered within their doors?
I had been taught all my life to respect those who are above me in
Station and to reverence our titled Nobility; but truly my short
Experience of these high-born Sparks was not calculated to enhance my
Respect for their Integrity or my Admiration for their Intellect. Some
older Gentlemen there were, such as the Lord Chancellor himself, who
were worthy of Everybody's regard; but I must confess that the Behaviour
of the younger Fops was oft blameworthy.
I might even instance our Experience this dark night after we had landed
at the Temple Stairs, and were hurrying along our way up Middle Temple
Lane in the wake of our linkmen. We were speeding on, treading
carefully so as to avoid as much as was possible the mud which lay
ankle-deep in the Lane, when we suddenly spied ahead of us a party of
"Scourers"--young Gentlemen of high Rank, very much the worse for drink,
who, being at their wits' end to know how to spend their evenings, did
it in prowling about the Streets, insulting or maltreating peaceable
Passers-by, molesting Women, breaking Tavern windows, stealing
Signboards and otherwise rendering themselves noxious to honest
Citizens, and helping to make the Streets of our great City an object of
terror by night, in emulation of highway Robbers and other foul
Marauders.
No doubt Mr. Betterton and I would--despite the aid of our two linkmen
and of their stout Cudgels--have fallen a victim to these odious
Miscreants, and the great Actor would of a surety have been very rudely
treated, since he had so often denounced these Mal-practices from the
Stage and held up to public Ridicule not only the young Rakes who took
part in the riotous Orgies, but also our Nightwatchmen, who were too
stupid or too cowardly to cope with them. But, knowing our danger, we
avoided it, and hearing the young Mohocks coming our way we slipped up
Hare Alley and bided our time until the noise of Revels and Riotings
were well behind us.
I heard afterwards that those Abominable Debauchees--who surely should
have known better, seeing that they were all Scions of great and noble
Families--had indeed "scoured" that night with some purpose. They broke
into Simond's Inn in Fleet Street, smashed every Piece of Crockery they
could find there, assaulted the Landlord, beat the Customers about,
broke open the money-box, stole some five pounds in hard cash and
insulted the waiting-maids. Finally they set a seal to their Revels by
falling on the Nightwatchmen who had come to disperse them, beating them
with their own halberts and with sticks, and wounding one so severely
that he ultimately died in Hospital, while the Miscreants themselves got
off scot-free.
Truly a terrible state of Affairs in such a noble City as London!
3
As for Mr. Betterton and myself, we reached the corner of Chancery Lane
without serious Adventure. As we neared the house of Mr. Theophilus
Baggs, however, I felt my Courage oozing down into my shoes. Truly I
could not then have faced my former Employer, whom I had just betrayed,
and the mean side of my Action in the Matter came upon me with a shaming
force.
I begged Mr. Betterton, therefore, to go and speak with Mr. Baggs whilst
I remained waiting outside upon the doorstep.
Of all that miserable day, this was perhaps to me the most painful
moment. From the instant that Mr. Betterton was admitted into the house
until he returned to me some twenty minutes later, I was in a cold
sweat, devoured with Apprehension and fighting against Remorse. I could
not forget that Mr. Baggs had been my Master and Employer--if not too
kind an one--for years, and if he had been sent to the Tower and
accompanied his fellow Conspirators upon the Scaffold, I verily believe
that I should have felt like Judas Iscariot and, like him, would have
been unable to endure my life after such a base Betrayal.
Fortunately, however, Mr. Betterton was soon able to reassure me. He
had, he said, immediately warned Mr. Baggs that something of the Secret
of the Conspiracy had come to the ears of the Countess of Castlemaine,
and that all those who were in any way mixed up in the Affair would be
wise to lie low as far as possible, at any rate for a while.
Mr. Baggs, it seems, was at first terrified, and was on the point of
losing his Head and committing some act of Folly through sheer fright.
But Mr. Betterton's quieting Influence soon prevailed. The worthy
Attorney, on thinking the matter over, realized that if he destroyed
certain Documents which might prove incriminating to himself, he would
have little else to fear. He himself had never written a compromising
Letter--he was far too shrewd to have thus committed himself--and there
was not a scrap of paper in any one else's possession which bore his
Name or might mark his Identity, whilst he had not the slightest fear
that the other Conspirators--who were all of them Gentlemen--would
betray the Complicity of an humble Attorney who had rendered them loyal
Service.
Strangely enough, Mr. Baggs never suspected me of having betrayed the
whole thing; or, if he did, he never said so. So many People plotted
these days, so many Conspiracies were hatched then blown upon, that I
for one imagine that Mr. Baggs had a hand in several of these and was
paid high Fees for his share in them. Then, when anything untoward
happened, when mere Chance, or else a Traitor among the Traitors, caused
the Conspiracy to abort, the worthy Attorney would metaphorically shake
the dust of political Intrigue from his shabby shoes, and make a bonfire
of every compromising Document that might land him in the Tower and
further. After which, he was no doubt ready to begin all over again.
So it had occurred in this instance. Mr. Betterton did not wait to see
the bonfire, which was just beginning to blaze merrily in the
old-fashioned hearth. He told me all about it when he joined me once
more upon the doorstep, and for the first time that day I heard him
laugh quite naturally and spontaneously while he recounted to me Mr.
Baggs' Terrors and Mistress Euphrosine's dignified Fussiness.
"She would have liked to find some Pretext," he said quite gaily, "for
blaming me in the Matter. But on the whole, I think that they were both
thankful for my timely Warning."
4
But, as far as I was concerned, this ended once and for all my
Connection with the house of Mr. Theophilus Baggs, and since that
memorable night I have never once slept under his roof.
I went back with Mr. Betterton to his House in Tothill Street. By the
time we reached it, it was close on ten o'clock. Already he had
intimated to me that henceforth I was to make my home with him; and as
soon as we entered the House he ordered his Servant to make my room and
bed ready for me. My Heart was filled with inexpressible gratitude at
his Kindness. Though I had, in an altogether inexplicable manner, run
counter to his Plans, he was ready to forgive me and did not withdraw
his Friendship from me.
As time went on, I was able to tell him something of the Emotions which
coursed through my Heart in recognition of his measureless Kindness to
me; but on that first evening I could not speak of it. When I first
beheld the cosy room which he had assigned to me, with its clean and
comfortable bed and substantial furniture, I could only bow my Head,
take his Hand and kiss it reverently. He withdrew it as if he had been
stung.
"Keep such expressions of Respect," he said almost roughly, "for one who
is worthy."
"You," I riposted simply, "are infinitely worthy, because You are good."
Then once again his harsh, mirthless Laugh--so unlike his usual
light-hearted Merriment--grated upon mine ear.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "Nay, friend Honeywood, You are not, meseems, a
master of intuition. Few Hearts in London this night," he added
earnestly, "harbour such evil Desires as mine."
But in spite of what he said, in spite of that strange look in his eyes,
that Laugh which proclaimed a perturbed Soul, I could not bring myself
to believe that his noble Heart was a Prey to aught but noble Desires,
and that those awful and subtle Schemes of deadly Revenge which have
subsequently threatened to ruin his own Life were even now seething in
his Brain.
For the moment, I only remembered that when first he had requested me to
accompany him on his evening Peregrinations, it had been with a view to
visiting the Countess of Castlemaine, and I now reminded him of his
Purpose, thinking that his desire had been to beg for my Lord Stour's
pardon. I did so, still insisting upon her Ladyship's avowed
Predilection for himself, and I noticed that while I spoke thus he
smiled grimly to himself and presently said with slow Deliberation:
"Aye! Her Ladyship hath vowed that out of Gratitude for his public
Eulogy of her Virtue and her Beauty, she would grant Mr. Thomas
Betterton any Favour he might ask of her."
"Aye! and her Ladyship is not like to go back on her word," I assented
eagerly.
"Therefore," he continued, not heeding me, "the Countess of Castlemaine,
who in her turn can obtain any Favour she desires from His Majesty the
King, will at my request obtain a full and gracious Pardon for the Earl
of Stour."
"She will indeed!" I exclaimed, puzzled once more at this strange trait
of Magnanimity--Weakness, I called it--on the part of a Man who had on
two occasions been so monstrously outraged. "You are a hero, Sir," I
added in an awed whisper, "to think of a pardon for your most deadly
Enemy."
He turned and looked me full in the eyes. I could scarce bear his
Glance, for there seemed to dwell within its glowing depths such a World
of Misery, of Hatred and of thwarted Passion, that my Soul was filled
with dread at the sight. And he said very slowly:
"You are wrong there, my Friend. I was not thinking of a pardon for
mine Enemy, but of Revenge for a deadly Insult, which it seems cannot be
wiped out in Blood."
5
I would have said something more after that, for in truth my Heart was
full of Sympathy and of Love for my Friend and I longed to soothe and
console him, as I felt I could do, humble and unsophisticated though I
was. Thoughts of You, dear Mistress, were running riot in my Brain. I
longed at this momentous hour, when the Fate of many Men whom I knew was
trembling in the balance, to throw myself at Mr. Betterton's feet and to
conjure him in the name of all his most noble Instincts to give up all
thoughts of the proud Lady who had disdained him and spurned his
Affections, and to turn once more to the early and pure Love of his
Life--to You, dear Mistress, whose Devotion had been so severely tried
and yet had not been found wanting, and whose influence had always been
one of Gentleness and of Purity.
But, seeing him sitting there brooding, obviously a Prey to Thoughts
both deep and dark, I did not dare speak, and remained silent in the
hope that, now that I was settled under his roof, an Opportunity would
occur for me to tell him what weighed so heavily on my Heart.
Presently the Servant came in and brought Supper, and Mr. Betterton sat
down to it, bidding me with perfect Grace and Hospitality to sit
opposite to him. But we neither of us felt greatly inclined to eat. I
was hungry, it is true; yet every Morsel which I conveyed to my mouth
cost me an effort to swallow. This was all the more remarkable as at
the moment my whole Being was revelling in the Succulence of the fare
spread out before me, the Excellence of the Wine, the snowy Whiteness of
the Cloths, the Beauty of Crystal and of Silver, all of which bore
testimony to the fastidious Taste and the Refinement of the great
Artist.
Of the great Events which were even then shaping themselves in White
Hall, we did not speak. We each knew that the Other's mind was full of
what might be going on even at this hour. But Mr. Betterton made not a
single Reference to it, and I too, therefore, held my tongue. In fact,
we spoke but little during Supper, and as I watched my dearly loved
Friend toying with his food, and I myself felt as if the next mouthful
would choke me, I knew his Mind was far away.
It was fixed upon White Hall and its stately Purlieus and upon the house
of the Countess of Castlemaine, which overlooked the Privy Gardens, and
of His Majesty the King. His senses, I knew, were strained to catch the
sound of distant Murmurs, of running Footsteps, of the grinding of Arms
or of pistol shots.
But not a Sound came to disturb the peaceful Silence of this comfortable
Abode. The Servant came and went, bringing food, then clearing it away,
pouring Wine into our glasses, setting and removing the silver Utensils.
Anon Mr. Betterton and I both started and furtively caught one another's
Glance. The tower clock of Westminster was striking eleven.
"For Good or for Evil, all is over by now," Mr. Betterton said quietly.
"Come, friend Honeywood; let's to bed."
I went to bed, but not to sleep. For hours I lay awake, wondering what
had happened. Had the Conspirators succeeded and was His Majesty a
Prisoner in their hands? or were they themselves Captives in that
frowning Edifice by the Water, which had witnessed so many Deaths and
such grim Tragedies, and from which the only Egress led straight to the
Scaffold?