There was a quick patter of feet, the rustle of a hooped petticoat, and
the lady was in the arms of my Lord Ostermore.
“Forgive me, my lord!” she was crying. “Oh, forgive me! I was a little
fool, and I have been punished enough already!”
To Mr. Caryll this was a surprising development. The earl, whose arms
seemed to have opened readily enough to receive her, was patting her
soothingly upon the shoulder. “Pish! What's this? What's this?” he
grumbled; yet his voice, Mr. Caryll noticed, was if anything kindly; but
it must be confessed that it was a dull, gruff voice, seldom indicating
any shade of emotion, unless--as sometimes happened--it was raised in
anger. He was frowning now upon his son over the girl's head, his bushy,
grizzled brows contracted.
Mr. Caryll observed--and with what interest you should well
imagine--that Lord Ostermore was still in a general way a handsome man.
Of a good height, but slightly excessive bulk, he had a face that still
retained a fair shape. Short-necked, florid and plethoric, he had the
air of the man who seldom makes a long illness at the end. His eyes were
very blue, and the lids were puffed and heavy, whilst the mouth, Mr.
Caryll remarked in a critical, detached spirit, was stupid rather than
sensuous. He made his survey swiftly, and the result left him wondering.
Meanwhile the earl was addressing his son, whose hand was being bandaged
by Gaskell. There was little variety in his invective. “You villain!”
he bawled at him. “You damned villain!” Then he patted the girl's head.
“You found the scoundrel out before you married him,” said he. “I am
glad on't; glad on't!”
“'Tis such a reversing of the usual order of things that it calls for
wonder,” said Mr. Caryll.
“Eh?” quoth his lordship. “Who the devil are you? One of his friends?”
“Your lordship overwhelms me,” said Mr. Caryll gravely, making a bow. He
observed the bewilderment in Ostermore's eyes, and began to realize at
that early stage of their acquaintance that to speak ironically to the
Earl of Ostermore was not to speak at all.
It was Hortensia--a very tearful Hortensia now who explained. “This
gentleman saved me, my lord,” she said.
“Saved you?” quoth he dully. “How did he come to save you?”
“He discovered the parson,” she explained.
The earl looked more and more bewildered. “Just so,” said Mr. Caryll.
“It was my privilege to discover that the parson is no parson.”
“The parson is no parson?” echoed his lordship, scowling more and more.
“Then what the devil is the parson?”
Hortensia freed herself from his protecting arms. “He is a villain,” she
said, “who was hired by my Lord Rotherby to come here and pretend to be
a parson.” Her eyes flamed, her cheeks were scarlet. “God help me for a
fool, my lord, to have put my faith in that man! Oh!” she choked. “The
shame--the burning shame of it! I would I had a brother to punish him!”
Lord Ostermore was crimson, too, with indignation. Mr. Caryll was
relieved to see that he was capable of so much emotion. “Did I not warn
you against him, Hortensia?” said he. “Could you not have trusted that
I knew him--I, his father, to my everlasting shame?” Then he swung
upon Rotherby. “You dog!” he began, and there--being a man of little
invention--words failed him, and wrath alone remained, very intense, but
entirely inarticulate.
Rotherby moved forward till he reached the table, then stood leaning
upon it, scowling at the company from under his black brows. “'Tis your
lordship alone is to blame for this,” he informed his father, with a
vain pretence at composure.
“I am to blame!” gurgled his lordship, veins swelling at his brow. “I
am to blame that you should have carried her off thus? And--by God!--had
you meant to marry her honestly and fittingly, I might find it in my
heart to forgive you. But to practice such villainy! To attempt to put
this foul trick upon the child!”
Mr. Caryll thought for an instant of another child whose child he was,
and a passion of angry mockery at the forgetfulness of age welled up
from the bitter soul of him. Outwardly he remained a very mirror for
placidity.
“Your lordship had threatened to disinherit me if I married her,” said
Rotherby.
“'Twas to save her from you,” Ostermore explained, entirely
unnecessarily. “And you thought to--to--By God! sir, I marvel you have
the courage to confront me. I marvel!”
“Take me away, my lord,” Hortensia begged him, touching his arm.
“Aye, we were best away,” said the earl, drawing her to him. Then he
flung a hand out at Rotherby in a gesture of repudiation, of anathema.
“But 'tis not the end on't for you, you knave! What I threatened, I will
perform. I'll disinherit you. Not a penny of mine shall come to you. Ye
shall starve for aught I care; starve, and--and--the world be well rid
of a villain. I--I disown you. Ye're no son of mine. I'll take oath
ye're no son of mine!”
Mr. Caryll thought that, on the contrary, Rotherby was very much his
father's son, and he added to his observations upon human nature the
reflection that sinners are oddly blessed with short memories. He was
entirely dispassionate again by now.
As for Rotherby, he received his father's anger with a scornful smile
and a curling lip. “You'll disinherit me?” quoth he in mockery. “And
of what, pray? If report speaks true, you'll be needing to inherit
something yourself to bear you through your present straitness.” He
shrugged and produced his snuff-box with an offensive simulation
of nonchalance. “Ye cannot cut the entail,” he reminded his almost
apoplectic sire, and took snuff delicately, sauntering windowwards.
“Cut the entail? The entail?” cried the earl, and laughed in a manner
that seemed to bode no good. “Have you ever troubled to ascertain what
it amounts to? You fool, it wouldn't keep you in--in--in snuff!”
Lord Rotherby halted in his stride, half-turned and looked at his father
over his shoulder. The sneering mask was wiped from his face, which
became blank. “My lord--” he began.
The earl waved a silencing hand, and turned with dignity to Hortensia.
“Come, child,” said he. Then he remembered something. “Gad!” he
exclaimed. “I had forgot the parson. I'll have him gaoled! I'll have him
hanged if the law will help me. Come forth, man!”
Ignoring the invitation, Mr. Jenkins scuttled, ratlike, across the
room, mounted the window-seat, and was gone in a flash through the open
window. He dropped plump upon Mr. Green, who was crouching underneath.
The pair rolled over together in the mould of a flowerbed; then Mr.
Green clutched Mr. Jenkins, and Mr. Jenkins squealed like a trapped
rabbit. Mr. Green thrust his fist carefully into the mockparson's mouth.
“Sh! You blubbering fool!” he snapped in his ear. “My business is not
with you. Lie still!”
Within the room all stood at gaze, following the sudden flight of Mr.
Jenkins. Then Lord Ostermore made as if to approach the winnow, but
Hortensia restrained him.
“Let the wretch go,” she said. “The blame is not his. What is he but my
lord's tool?” And her eyes scorched Rotherby with such a glance of
scorn as must have killed any but a shameless man. Then turning to the
demurely observant gentleman who had done her such good service, “Mr.
Caryll” she said, “I want to thank you. I want my lord, here, to thank
you.”
Mr. Caryll bowed to her. “I beg that you will not think of it,” said he.
“It is I who will remain in your debt.”
“Is your name Caryll, sir?” quoth the earl. He had a trick of fastening
upon the inconsequent, though that was scarcely the case now.
“That, my lord, is my name. I believe I have the honor of sharing it
with your lordship.”
“Ye'll belong to some younger branch of the family,” the earl supposed.
“Like enough--some outlying branch,” answered the imperturbable
Caryll--a jest which only himself could appreciate, and that bitterly.
“And how came you into this?”
Rotherby sneered audibly--in self-mockery, no doubt, as he came to
reflect that it was he, himself, had had him fetched.
“They needed another witness,” said Mr. Caryll, “and hearing there was
at the inn a gentleman newly crossed from France, his lordship no doubt
opined that a traveller, here to-day and gone for good tomorrow, would
be just the witness that he needed for the business he proposed. That
circumstance aroused my suspicions, and--”
But the earl, as usual, seemed to have fastened upon the minor point,
although again it was not so. “You are newly crossed from France?” said
he. “Ay, and your name is the same as mine. 'Twas what I was advised.”
Mr. Caryll flashed a sidelong glance at Rotherby, who had turned to
stare at his father, and in his heart he cursed the stupidity of my Lord
Ostermore. If this proposed to be a member of a conspiracy, Heaven help
that same conspiracy!
“Were you, by any chance, going to seek me in town, Mr. Caryll?”
Mr. Caryll suppressed a desire to laugh. Here was a way to deal with
State secrets. “I, my lord?” he inquired, with an assumed air of
surprise.
The earl looked at him, and from him to Rotherby, bethought himself, and
started so overtly that Rotherby's eyes grew narrow, the lines of his
mouth tightened. “Nay, of course not; of course not,” he blustered
clumsily.
But Rotherby laughed aloud. “Now what a plague is all this mystery?” he
inquired.
“Mystery?” quoth my lord. “What mystery should there be?”
“'Tis what I would fain be informed,” he answered in a voice that showed
he meant to gain the information. He sauntered forward towards Caryll,
his eye playing mockingly over this gentleman from France. “Now, sir,”
said he, “whose messenger may you be, eh? What's all this--”
“Rotherby!” the earl interrupted in a voice intended to be compelling.
“Come away, Mr. Caryll,” he added quickly. “I'll not have any gentleman
who has shown himself a friend to my ward, here, affronted by that
rascal. Come away, sir!”
“Not so fast! Not so fast, ecod!”
It was another voice that broke in upon them. Rotherby started round.
Gaskell, in the shadows of the cowled fireplace jumped in sheer alarm.
All stared at the window whence the voice proceeded.
They beheld a plump, chubby-faced little man, astride the sill, a pistol
displayed with ostentation in his hand.
Mr. Caryll was the only one with the presence of mind to welcome him.
“Ha!” said he, smiling engagingly. “My little friend, the brewer of
ale.”
“Let no one leave this room,” said Mr. Green with a great dignity. Then,
with rather less dignity, he whistled shrilly through his fingers, and
got down lightly into the room.
“Sir,” blustered the earl, “this is an intrusion; an impertinence. What
do you want?”
“The papers this gentleman carries,” said Mr. Green, indicating Caryll
with the hand that held the pistol. The earl looked alarmed, which was
foolish in him, thought Mr. Caryll. Rotherby covered his mouth with his
hand, after the fashion of one who masks a smile.
“Ye're rightly served for meddling,” said he with relish.
“Out with them,” the chubby man demanded. “Ye'll gain nothing by
resistance. So don't be obstinate, now.”
“I could be nothing so discourteous,” said Mr. Caryll. “Would it be
prying on my part to inquire what may be your interest in my papers?”
His serenity lessened the earl's anxieties, but bewildered him; and it
took the edge off the malicious pleasure which Rotherby was beginning to
experience.
“I am obeying the orders of my Lord Carteret, the Secretary of State,”
said Mr. Green. “I was to watch for a gentleman from France with letters
for my Lord Ostermore. He had a messenger a week ago to tell him to look
for such a visitor. He took the messenger, if you must know, and--well,
we induced him to tell us what was the message he had carried. There is
so much mystery in all this that my Lord Carteret desires more knowledge
on the subject. I think you are the gentleman I am looking for.”
Mr. Caryll looked him over with an amused eye, and laughed. “It
distresses me,” said he, “to see so much good thought wasted.”
Mr. Green was abashed a moment. But he recovered quickly; no doubt he
had met the cool type before. “Come, come!” said he. “No blustering. Out
with your papers, my fine fellow.”
The door opened, and a couple of men came in; over their shoulders, ere
the door closed again, Mr. Caryll had a glimpse of the landlady's rosy
face, alarm in her glance. The newcomers were dirty rogues; tipstaves,
recognizable at a glance. One of them wore a ragged bob-wig--the
cast-off, no doubt, of some gentleman's gentleman, fished out of the
sixpenny tub in Rosemary Lane; it was ill-fitting, and wisps of the
fellow's own unkempt hair hung out in places. The other wore no wig at
all; his yellow thatch fell in streaks from under his shabby hat, which
he had the ill-manners to retain until Lord Ostermore knocked it from
his head with a blow of his cane. Both were fierily bottle-nosed, and
neither appeared to have shaved for a week or so.
“Now,” quoth Mr. Green, “will you hand them over of your own accord, or
must I have you searched?” And a wave of the hand towards the advancing
myrmidons indicated the searchers.
“You go too far, sir,” blustered the earl.
“Ay, surely,” put in Mr. Caryll. “You are mad to think a gentleman is
to submit to being searched by any knave that comes to him with a
cock-and-bull tale about the Secretary of State.”
Mr. Green leered again, and produced a paper. “There,” said he, “is my
Lord Carteret's warrant, signed and sealed.”
Mr. Caryll glanced over it with a disdainful eye. “It is in blank,” said
he.
“Just so,” agreed Mr. Green. “Carte blanche, as you say over the water.
If you insist,” he offered obligingly, “I'll fill in your name before we
proceed.”
Mr. Caryll shrugged his shoulders. “It might be well,” said he, “if you
are to search me at all.”
Mr. Green advanced to the table. The writing implements provided for the
wedding were still there. He took up a pen, scrawled a name across the
blank, dusted it with sand, and presented it again to Mr. Caryll. The
latter nodded.
“I'll not trouble you to search me,” said he. “I would as soon not have
these noblemen of yours for my valets.” He thrust his hands into the
pockets of his fine coat, and brought forth several papers. These
he proffered to Mr. Green, who took them between satisfaction and
amazement. Ostermore stared, too stricken for words at this meek
surrender; and well was it for Mr. Caryll that he was so stricken, for
had he spoken he had assuredly betrayed himself.
Hortensia, Mr. Caryll observed, watched his cowardly yielding with an
eye of stern contempt. Rotherby looked on with a dark face that betrayed
nothing.
Meanwhile Mr. Green was running through the papers, and as fast as he
ran through them he permitted himself certain comments that passed for
humor with his followers. There could be no doubt that in his own social
stratum Mr. Green must have been accounted something of a wag.
“Ha! What's this? A bill! A bill for snuff! My Lord Carteret'll snuff
you, sir. He'll tobacco you, ecod! He'll smoke you first, and snuff you
afterwards.” He flung the bill aside. “Phew!” he whistled. “Verses! 'To
Theocritus upon sailing for Albion.' That's mighty choice! D'ye write
verses, sir?”
“Heyday! 'Tis an occupation to which I have succumbed in moments of
weakness. I crave your indulgence, Mr. Green.”
Mr. Green perceived that here was a weak attempt at irony, and went on
with his investigations. He came to the last of the papers Mr. Caryll
had handed him, glanced at it, swore coarsely, and dropped it.
“D'ye think ye can bubble me?'” he cried, red in the face.
Lord Ostermore heaved a sigh of relief; the hard look had faded from
Hortensia's eyes.
“What is't ye mean, giving me this rubbish?”
“I offer you my excuses for the contents of my pockets,” said Mr.
Caryll. “Ye see, I did not expect to be honored by your inquisition. Had
I but known--”
Mr. Green struck an attitude. “Now attend to me, sir! I am a servant of
His Majesty's Government.”
“His Majesty's Government cannot be sufficiently congratulated,” said
Mr. Caryll, the irrepressible.
Mr. Green banged the table. “Are ye rallying me, ecod!”
“You have upset the ink,” Mr. Caryll pointed out to him.
“Damn the ink!” swore the spy. “And damn you for a Tom o' Bedlam! I ask
you again--what d'ye mean, giving me this rubbish?”
“You asked me to turn out my pockets.”
“I asked you for the letter ye have brought Lord Ostermore.”
“I am sorry,” said Mr. Caryll, and eyed the other sympathetically. “I
am sorry to disappoint you. But, then, you assumed too much when you
assumed that I had such a letter. I have obliged you to the fullest
extent in my power. I do not think you show a becoming gratitude.”
Mr. Green eyed him blankly a moment; then exploded. “Ecod, sir! You are
cool.”
“It is a condition we do not appear to share.”
“D'ye say ye've brought his lordship no letter from France?” thundered
the spy. “What else ha' ye come to England for?”
“To study manners, sir,” said Mr. Caryll, bowing.
That was the last drop in the cup of Mr. Green's endurance. He waved his
men towards the gentleman from France. “Find it,” he bade them shortly.
Mr. Caryll drew himself up with a great dignity, and waved the bailiffs
back, his white face set, an unpleasant glimmer in his eyes. “A moment!”
he cried. “You have no authority to go to such extremes. I make no
objection to being searched; but every objection to being soiled, and
I'll not have the fingers of these scavengers about my person.”
“And you are right, egad!” cried Lord Ostermore, advancing. “Harkee, you
dirty spy, this is no way to deal with gentlemen. Be off, now, and take
your carrion-crows with you, or I'll have my grooms in with their whips
to you.”
“To me?” roared Green. “I represent the Secretary of State.”
“Ye'll represent a side of raw venison if you tarry here,” the earl
promised him. “D'ye dare look me in the eye? D'ye dare, ye rogue? D'ye
know who I am? And don't wag that pistol, my fine fellow! Be off, now!
Away with you!”
Mr. Green looked his name. The rosiness was all departed from his
cheeks; he quivered with suppressed wrath. “If I go--giving way to
constraint--what shall you say to my Lord Carteret?” he asked.
“What concern may that be of yours, sirrah?''
“It will be some concern of yours, my lord.”
Mr. Caryll interposed. “The knave is right,” said he. “It were to
implicate your lordship. It were to give color to his silly suspicions.
Let him make his search. But be so good as to summon my valet. He shall
hand you my garments that you may do your will upon them. But unless you
justify yourself by finding the letter you are seeking, you shall have
to reckon with the consequences of discomposing a gentleman for nothing.
Now, sir! Is it a bargain?” Mr. Green looked him over, and if he
was shaken by the calm assurance of Mr. Caryll's tone and manner, he
concealed it very effectively. “We'll make no bargains,” said he.
“I have my duty to do.” He signed to one of the bailiffs. “Fetch the
gentleman's servant,” said he.
“So be it,” said Mr. Caryll. “But you take too much upon yourself, sir.
Your duty, I think, would have been to arrest me and carry me to
Lord Carteret's, there to be searched if his lordship considered it
necessary.”
“I have no cause to arrest you until I find it,” Mr. Green snapped
impatiently.
“Your logic is faultless.”
“I am following my Lord Carteret's orders to the letter. I am to effect
no arrest until I have positive evidence.”
“Yet you are detaining me. What does this amount to but an arrest?”
Mr. Green disdained to answer. Leduc entered, and Mr. Caryll turned to
Lord Ostermore.
“There is no reason why I should detain your lordship,” said he, “and
these operations--The lady--” He waved an expressive hand, bent an
expressive eye upon the earl.
Lord Ostermore seemed to waver. He was not--he had never been--a man to
think for others. But Hortensia cut in before he could reply.
“We will wait,” she said. “Since you are travelling to town, I am sure
his lordship will be glad of your company, sir.”
Mr. Caryll looked deep into those great brown eyes, and bowed his
thanks. “If it will not discompose your lordship--”
“No, no,” said Ostermore, gruff of voice and manner. “We will wait. I
shall be honored, sir, if you will journey with us afterwards.”
Mr. Caryll bowed again, and went to hold the door for them, Mr. Green's
eyes keenly alert for an attempt at evasion. But there was none. When
his lordship and his ward had departed, Mr. Caryll turned to Rotherby,
who had taken a chair, his man Gaskell behind him. He looked from the
viscount to Mr. Green.
“Do we require this gentleman?” he asked the spy.
A smile broke over Rotherby's swam face. “By your leave, sir, I'll
remain to see fair play. You may find me useful, Mr. Green. I have no
cause to wish this marplot well,” he explained.
Mr. Caryll turned his back upon him, took off his coat and waistcoat. He
sat down while Mr. Green spread the garments upon the table, emptied out
the pockets, turned down the cuffs, ripped up the satin linings. He did
it in a consummate fashion, very thoroughly. Yet, though he parted
the linings from the cloth, he did so in such a manner as to leave the
garments easily repairable.
Mr. Caryll watched him with interest and appreciation, and what time he
watched he was wondering might it not be better straightway to place
the spy in possession of the letter, and thus destroy himself and Lord
Ostermore, at the same time--and have done with the task on which he
was come to England. It seemed almost an easy way out of the affair. His
betrayal of the earl would be less ugly if he, himself, were to share
the consequences of that betrayal.
Then he checked his thoughts. What manner of mood was this? Besides,
his inclination was all to become better acquainted with this odd family
upon which he had stumbled in so extraordinary a manner. Down in his
heart of hearts he had a feeling that the thing he was come to do would
never be done--leastways, not by him. It was in vain that he might
attempt to steel himself to the task. It repelled him. It went not with
a nature such as his.
He thought of Everard, afire with the idea of vengence and to such an
extent that he had succeeded in infecting Justin himself with a spark
of it. He thought of him with pity almost; pity that a man should obsess
his life by such a phantasm as this same vengeance must have been to
him. Was it worth while? Was anything worth while, he wondered.
Lord Rotherby approached the table, and took up the garments upon which
Mr. Green had finished. He turned them over and supplemented Mr. Green's
search.
“Ye're welcome to all that ye can find,” sneered Mr. Green, and turned
to Mr. Caryll. “Let us have your shoes, sir.”
Mr. Caryll removed his shoes, in silence, and Mr. Green proceeded to
examine them in a manner that provoked Mr. Caryll's profound admiration.
He separated the lining from the Spanish leather, and probed slowly
and carefully in the space between. He examined the heels very closely,
going over to the window for the purpose. That done, he dropped them.
“Your breeches now,” said he laconically.
Meanwhile Leduc had taken up the coat, and with a needle and thread
wherewith he had equipped himself he was industriously restoring the
stitches that Mr. Green had taken out.
Mr. Caryll surrendered his breeches. His fine Holland shirt went next,
his stockings and what other trifles he wore, until he stood as naked as
Adam before the fall. Yet all in vain.
His garments were restored to him, one by one, and one by one, with
Leduc's aid, he resumed them. Mr. Green was looking crestfallen.
“Are you satisfied?” inquired Mr. Caryll pleasantly, his good temper
inexhaustible.
The spy looked at him with a moody eye, plucking thoughtfully at his lip
with thumb and forefinger. Then he brightened suddenly. “There's your
man,” said he, flashing a quick eye upon Leduc, who looked up with a
quiet smile.
“True,” said Mr. Caryll, “and there's my portmantle above-stairs, and
my saddle on my horse in the stables. It is even possible, for aught you
know, that there may be a hollow tooth or two in my head. Pray let your
search be thorough.”
Mr. Green considered him again. “If you had it, it would be upon your
person.”
“Yet consider,” Mr. Caryll begged him, holding out his foot that Leduc
might put on his shoe again, “I might have supposed that you would
suppose that, and disposed accordingly. You had better investigate to
the bitter end.”
Mr. Green's small eyes continued to scrutinize Leduc at intervals. The
valet was a silent, serious-faced fellow. “I'll search your servant,
leastways,” the spy announced.
“By all means. Leduc, I beg that you will place yourself at this
interesting gentleman's disposal.”
What time Mr. Caryll, unaided now, completed the resumption of his
garments, Leduc, silent and expressionless, submitted to being searched.
“You will observe, Leduc,” said Mr. Caryll, “that we have not come
to this country in vain. We are undergoing experiences that would be
interesting if they were not quite so dull, amusing if they entailed
less discomfort to ourselves. Assuredly, it was worth while to cross
to England to study manners. And there are sights for you that you
will never see in France. You would not, for instance, had you not come
hither, have had an opportunity of observing a member of the noblesse
seconding and assisting a tipstaff in the discharge of his duty. And
doing it just as a hog wallows in foulness--for the love of it.
“The gentlemen in your country, Leduc, are too fastidious to enjoy life
as it should be enjoyed; they are too prone to adhere to the amusements
of their class. You have here an opportunity of perceiving how deeply
they are mistaken, what relish may lie in setting one's rank on one
side, in forgetting at times that by an accident--a sheer, incredible
accident, I assure you, Leduc--one may have been born to a gentleman's
estate.”
Rotherby had drawn himself up, his dark face crimsoning.
“D'ye talk at me, sir?” he demanded. “D'ye dare discuss me with your
lackey?”
“But why not, since you search me with my tipstaff! If you can perceive
a difference, you are too subtle for me, sir.”
Rotherby advanced a step; then checked. He inherited mental sluggishness
from his father. “You are insolent!” he charged Caryll. “You insult me.”
“Indeed! Ha! I am working miracles.”
Rotherby governed his anger by an effort. “There was enough between us
without this,” said he.
“There could not be too much between us--too much space, I mean.”
The viscount looked at him furiously. “I shall discuss this further with
you,” said he. “The present is not the time nor place. But I shall know
where to look for you.”
“Leduc, I am sure, will always be pleased to see you. He, too, is
studying manners.”
Rotherby ignored the insult. “We shall see, then, whether you can do
anything more than talk.”
“I hope that your lordship, too, is master of other accomplishments. As
a talker, I do not find you very gifted. But perhaps Leduc will be less
exigent than I.”
“Bah!” his lordship flung at him, and went out, cursing him profusely,
Gaskell following at his master's heels.