Mr. Wilding's appearance produced as many different emotions as there
were individuals present. He made the company a sweeping bow on his
admission by Albemarle's orders, a bow which was returned by a stare
from one and all. Diana eyed him in amazement, Ruth in hope; Richard
averted his glance from that of his brother-in-law, whilst Sir Rowland
met it with a scowl of enmity--they had not come face to face since the
occasion of that encounter in which Sir Rowland's self-love had been so
rudely handled. Albemarle's face expressed a sort of satisfaction,
which was reflected on the countenances of Phelips and Luttrell; whilst
Trenchard never thought of attempting to dissemble his profound dismay.
And this dismay was shared, though not in so deep a measure, by Wilding
himself. Trenchard's presence gave him pause; for he had been far,
indeed, from dreaming that his friend had a hand in this affair. At
sight of him all was made clear to Mr. Wilding. At once he saw the role
which Trenchard had assumed on this occasion, saw to the bottom of the
motives that had inspired him to take the bull by the horns and level
against Richard and Blake this accusation before they had leisure to
level it against himself.
His quick wits having fathomed Trenchard's motive, Mr. Wilding was
deeply touched by this proof of friendship, and for a second, as deeply
nonplussed, at loss now how to discharge the task on which he came.
“You are very choicely come, Mr. Wilding,” said Albemarle. “You will be
able to resolve me certain doubts which have been set on foot by these
traitors.”
“That,” said Mr. Wilding, “is the purpose for which I am here. News
reached me of the arrest that had been made. May I beg that Your Grace
will place me in possession of the facts that have so far transpired.”
It was one of his secretaries who, at Albemarle's bidding, gave Wilding
the information that he craved. He listened gravely; then, before
Albemarle had time to question him on the score of the name that might
have been upon the enfolding wrapper of the letter, he begged that he
might confer apart a moment with Mr. Trenchard.
“But Mr. Wilding,” said Colonel Luttrell, surprised not to hear the
immediate denial of the imputation they had expected, “we should first
like to hear...”
“By your leave, sirs,” Wilding interrupted, “I should prefer that
you ask me nothing until I have consulted with Mr. Trenchard.” He saw
Luttrell's frown, observed Sir Edward shift his wig to scratch his head
in sheer perplexity, and caught the fore-shadowing of denial on the
Duke's face. So, without giving any of them time to say him nay, he
added quickly and very seriously, “I am begging this in the interests of
justice. Your Grace has told me that some lingering doubt still haunts
your mind upon the subject of this letter--the other charges can matter
little, apart from that treasonable document. It lies within my power to
resolve such doubts most clearly and finally. But I warn you, sirs, that
not one word will I utter in this connection until I have had speech
with Mr. Trenchard.”
There was about his mien and voice a firmness that forewarned Albemarle
that to insist would be worse than idle. A slight pause followed his
words, and Luttrell leaned across to whisper in His Grace's ear; from
the Duke's other side Sir Edward bent his head forward till it almost
touched those of his companions. Blake watched, and was most foolishly
impatient.
“Your Grace will never allow this!” he cried.
“Eh?” said Albemarle, scowling at him.
“If you allow those two villains to consort together we are all undone,”
the baronet protested, and ruined what chance there was of Albemarle's
not consenting.
It was the one thing needed to determine Albemarle. Like the stubborn
man he was, there was naught he detested so much as to have his course
dictated to him. More than that, in Sir Rowland's anxiety that Wilding
and Trenchard should not be allowed to confer apart, he smoked a fear
on Sir Rowland's part, based upon the baronet's consciousness of his own
guilt. He turned from him with a sneering smile, and without so much
as consulting his associates he glanced at Wilding and waved his hand
towards the door.
“Pray do as you suggest, Mr. Wilding,” said he. “But I depend upon you
not to tax our patience.”
“I shall not keep Mr. Trenchard a moment longer than is necessary,” said
Wilding, giving no hint of the second meaning in his words.
He stepped to the door, opened it himself, and signed to Trenchard to
pass out. The old player obeyed him readily, if in silence. An usher
closed the door after them, and in silence they walked together to the
end of the passage.
“Where is your horse, Nick?” quoth Wilding abruptly.
“What a plague do you mean, where is my horse?” flashed Trenchard. “What
midsummer frenzy is this? Damn you for a marplot, Anthony! What a pox
are you thinking of to thrust yourself in here at such a time?”
“I had no knowledge you were in the affair,” said Wilding. “You should
have told me.” His manner was brisk to the point of dryness. “However,
there is still time to get you out of it. Where is your horse?”
“Damn my horse!” answered Trenchard in a passion. “You have spoiled
everything!”
“On the contrary,” said Mr. Wilding tartly, “it seems you had done that
very thoroughly before I arrived. Whilst I am touched by the regard for
me which has misled you into turning the tables on Blake and Westmacott,
yet I do blame you for this betrayal of the Cause.”
“There was no help for it.”
“Why, no; and that is why you should have left matters where they
stood.”
Trenchard stamped his foot; indeed, he almost danced in the excess of
his vexation. “Left them where they stood!” he echoed. “Body o' me!
Where are your wits? Left them where they stood! And at any moment you
might have been taken unawares as a consequence of this accusation being
lodged against you by Richard or by Blake. Then the Cause would have
been betrayed, indeed.”
“Not more so than it is now.”
“Not less, at least,” snapped the player. “You give me credit for no
more wit than yourself. Do you think that I am the man to do things by
halves? I have betrayed the plot to Albemarle; but do you imagine I have
made no provision for what must follow?”
“Provision?” echoed Wilding, staring.
“Aye, provision. God lack! What do you suppose Albemarle will do?”
“Dispatch a messenger to Whitehall with the letter within an hour.”
“You perceive it, do you? And where the plague do you think Nick
Trenchard'll be what time that messenger rides?”
Mr. Wilding understood. “Aye, you may stare,” sneered Trenchard. “A
letter that has once been stolen may be stolen again. The courier must
go by way of Walford. I had in my mind arranged the spot, close by the
ford, where I should fall upon him, rob him of his dispatches, and take
him--bound hand and foot if necessary--to Vallancey's, who lives close
by; and there I'd leave him until word came that the Duke had landed.”
“That the Duke had landed?” cried Wilding. “You talk as though the thing
were imminent.”
“And imminent it is. For aught we know he may be in England already.”
Mr. Wilding laughed impatiently. “You must forever be building on these
crack-brained rumours, Nick,” said he.
“Rumours!” roared the other. “Rumours? Ha!” He checked his wild scorn,
and proceeded in a different key. “I was forgetting. You do not know the
Contents of that stolen letter.”
Wilding started. Underlying his disbelief in the talk of the
countryside, and even in the military measures which by the King's
orders were being taken in the West, was an uneasy dread lest they
should prove to be well founded, lest Argyle's operations in Scotland
should be but the forerunner of a rash and premature invasion by
Monmouth. He knew the Duke was surrounded by such reckless, foolhardy
counsellors as Grey and Ferguson--and yet he could not think the Duke
would ruin all by coming before he had definite word that his friends
were ready. He looked at Trenchard now with anxious eyes.
“Have you seen the letter, Nick?” he asked, and almost dreaded the
reply.
“Albemarle showed it me an hour ago,” said Trenchard.
“And it contains?”
“The news we fear. It is in the Duke's own hand, and intimates that he
will follow it in a few days--in a few days, man in person.”
Mr. Wilding clenched teeth and hands. “God help us all, then!” he
muttered grimly.
“Meanwhile,” quoth Trenchard, bringing him back to the point, “there is
this precious business here. I had as choice a plan as could have been
devised, and it must have succeeded, had you not come blundering into it
to mar it all at the last moment. That fat fool Albemarle had swallowed
my impeachment like a draught of muscadine. Do you hear me?” he ended
sharply, for Mr. Wilding stood bemused, his thoughts plainly wandering.
He let his hand fall upon Trenchard's shoulder. “No,” said he, “I wasn't
listening. No matter; for even had I known the full extent of your
scheme I still must have interfered.”
“For the sake of Mistress Westmacott's blue eyes, no doubt,” sneered
Trenchard. “Pah! Wherever there's a woman there's the loss of a man.”
“For the sake of Mistress Wilding's blue eyes,” his friend corrected
him. “I'll allow no brother of hers to hang in my place.”
“It will be interesting to see how you will rescue him.”
“By telling the truth to Albemarle.”
“He'll not believe it.”
“I shall prove it,” said Wilding quietly. Trenchard swung round upon him
in mingled anger and alarm for him. “You shall not do it!” he snarled.
“It is nothing short of treason to the Duke to get yourself laid by the
heels at such a time as this.”
“I hope to avoid it,” answered Wilding confidently.
“Avoid it? How?”
“Not by staying longer here in talk. That will ruin all. Away with you,
Trenchard!”
“By my soul, no!” answered Trenchard. “I'll not leave you. If I have got
you into this, I'll help to get you out again, or stay in it with you.”
“Bethink you of Monmouth?” Wilding admonished him.
“Damn Monmouth!” was the vicious answer. “I am here, and here I stay.”
“Get to horse, you fool, and ride to Walford as you proposed, there to
ambush the messenger. The letter will go to Whitehall none the less in
spite of what I shall tell Albemarle. If things go well with me, I shall
join you at Vallancey's before long.”
“Why, if that is your intention,” said Trenchard, “I had better stay,
and we can ride together. It will make it less uncertain for you.”
“But less certain for you.”
“The more reason why I should remain.”
The door of the hall was suddenly flung open at the far end of the
corridor, and Albemarle's booming voice, impatiently raised, reached
them where they stood.
“In any case,” added Trenchard, “it seems there is no help for it now.”
Mr. Wilding shrugged his shoulders, but otherwise dissembled his
vexation. Up the passage floated the constable's voice calling them.
Side by side they moved down, and side by side they stepped once more
into the presence of Christopher Monk and his associates.
“Sirs, you have not been in haste,” was the Duke's ill-humoured
greeting.
“We have tarried a little that we might make an end the sooner,”
answered Trenchard dryly, and this was the first indication he gave Mr.
Wilding of how naturally--like the inimitable actor that he was--he had
slipped into his new role.
Albemarle waved the frivolous rejoinder aside. “Come, Mr. Wilding,” said
he, “let us hear what you may have to say. You are not, I take it, about
to urge any reasons why these rogues should not be committed?”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Wilding, “that is what I am about to urge.”
Blake and Richard looked at him suddenly, and from him to Trenchard; but
it was only Ruth whose eyes were shrewd enough to observe the altered
demeanour of the latter. Her hopes rose, founded upon this oddly
assorted pair. Already in anticipation she was stirred by gratitude
towards Wilding, and it was in impatient and almost wondering awe that
she waited for him to proceed.
“I take it, sir,” he said, without waiting for Albemarle to express
any of the fresh astonishment his countenance manifested, “that the
accusation against these gentlemen rests entirely upon the letter which
you have been led to believe was addressed to Mr. Westmacott.”
The Duke scowled a moment before replying. “Why,” said he, “if it could
be shown--irrefutably shown--that the letter was not addressed to either
of them, that would no doubt establish the truth of what they say--that
they possessed themselves of the letter in the interests of His
Majesty.” He turned to Luttrell and Phelips, and they nodded their
concurrence with his view of the matter. “But,” he continued, “if
you are proposing to prove any such thing, I think you will find it
difficult.”
Mr. Wilding drew a crumpled paper from his pocket. “When the courier
whom they robbed, as they have correctly informed you,” said he quietly,
“suspected their design upon the contents of his wallet, he bethought
him of removing the wrapper from the letter, so that in case the
letter were seized by them it should prove nothing against any man
in particular. He stuffed the wrapper into the lining of his hat,
preserving it as a proof of his good faith against the time when he
should bring the letter to its destination, or come to confess that it
had been taken from him. That wrapper the courier brought to me, and I
have it here. The evidence it will give should be more than sufficient
to warrant your restoring these unjustly accused gentlemen their
liberty.”
“The courier took it to you?” echoed Albemarle, stupefaction in his
glance. “But why to you?”
“Because,” said Wilding, and with his left hand he placed the wrapper
before Albemarle, whilst his right dropped again to his pocket, “the
letter, as you may see, was addressed to me.”
The quiet manner in which he made the announcement conveyed almost as
great a shock as the announcement itself.
Albemarle took up the wrapper; Luttrell and Phelips craned forward to
join him in his scrutiny of it. They compared the two, paper with paper,
writing with writing. Then Monk flung one and the other down in front of
him.
“What lies have I been hearing, then?” he demanded furiously of
Trenchard. “'Slife I'll make an example of you. Arrest me that
rogue--arrest them both,” and he half rose from his seat, his trembling
hand pointing to Wilding and Trenchard.
Two of the tything-men stirred to do his bidding, but in the same
instant Albemarle found himself looking into the round nozzle of a
pistol.
“If,” said Mr. Wilding, “a finger is laid upon Mr. Trenchard or me I
shall have the extreme mortification of being compelled to shoot Your
Grace.”
His pleasantly modulated voice was as deliberate and calm as if he were
offering the Bench a pinch of snuff. Albemarle's dark visage crimsoned;
his eyes became at once wicked and afraid. Sir Edward's cheeks turned
pale, his glance grew startled. Luttrell alone, vigilant and dangerous,
preserved his calm. But the situation baffled even him.
Behind the two friends the tything-men had come to a terror-stricken
halt. Diana had risen from her chair in the excitement of the moment and
had drawn close to Ruth, who looked on with parted lips and bosom
that rose and fell. Even Blake could not stifle his admiration of
Mr. Wilding's coolness and address. Richard, on the other hand, was
concerned only with thoughts for himself, wondering how it would fare
with him if Wilding and Trenchard succeeded in getting away.
“Nick,” said Mr. Wilding, “will you desire those catchpolls behind us
to stand aside? If Your Grace raises your voice to call for help, if,
indeed, any measures are taken calculated to lead to our capture, I
can promise Your Grace--notwithstanding my profound reluctance to use
violence--that they will be the last measures you will take in life. Be
good enough to open the door, Nick, and to see that the key is on the
outside.”
Trenchard, who was by way of enjoying himself now, stepped briskly
down the hall to do as his friend bade him, with a wary eye on the
tything-men. But never so much as a finger did they dare to lift. Mr.
Wilding's calm was too deadly; they had seen a man in earnest before
this, and they knew his appearance now. From the doorway Trenchard
called Mr. Wilding.
“I must be going, Your Grace,” said the latter very courteously, “but
I shall not be so wanting in deference to His Majesty's august
representatives as to turn my back upon you.” Saying which, he walked
backwards, holding his pistol level, until he had reached Trenchard and
the door. There he paused and made them a deep bow, his manner the more
mocking in that there was no tinge of mockery perceptible. “Your very
obedient servant,” said he, and stepped outside. Trenchard turned the
key, withdrew it from the lock, and, standing on tiptoe, thrust it upon
the ledge of the lintel.
Instantly a clamour arose within the chamber. But the two friends never
stayed to listen. Down the passage they sped at the double, and out
into the courtyard. Here Ruth's groom, mounted himself, was walking his
mistress's and Diana's horses up and down whilst he waited; yonder one
of Sir Edward's stable-boys was holding Mr. Wilding's roan. Two or three
men of the Somerset militia, in their red and yellow liveries, lounged
by the gates, and turned uninterested eyes upon these newcomers.
Wilding approached his wife's groom. “Get down,” he said, “I need your
horse--on the King's business. Get down, I say,” he added impatiently,
upon noting the fellow's stare, and, seizing his leg, he helped him to
dismount by almost dragging him from the saddle. “Up with you, Nick,”
said he, and Nick very promptly mounted. “Your mistress will be here
presently,” Wilding told the groom, and, turning on his heel, strode
to his own mare. A moment later Trenchard and he vanished through the
gateway with a tremendous clatter, just as the Lord-Lieutenant, Colonel
Luttrell, Sir Edward Phelips, the constable, the tything-men, Sir
Rowland, Richard, and the ladies made their appearance.
Ruth pushed her way quickly to the front. She feared lest her horse
and her cousin's being at hand might be used for the pursuit; so urging
Diana to do the same, she snatched her reins from the hands of the
dumbfounded groom and leapt nimbly to the saddle.
“After them!” roared Albemarle, and the constable with two of his
men made a dash for the gateway to raise the hue and cry, whilst
the militiamen watched them in stupid, inactive wonder. “Damnation,
mistress!” thundered the Duke in ever-increasing passion, “hold your
nag! Hold your nag, woman!” For Ruth's horse had become unmanageable,
and was caracoling about the yard between the men and the gateway in
such a manner that they dared not attempt to win past her.
“You have scared him with your bellowing,” she panted, tugging at the
bridle, and all but backed into the constable who had been endeavouring
to get round behind her. The beast continued its wild prancing, and the
Duke abated nothing in his furious profanity, until suddenly the groom,
having relinquished to Diana the reins of the other horse, sprang to
Ruth's assistance and caught her bridle in a firm grasp which brought
the animal to a standstill.
“You fool!” she hissed at him, and half raised her whip to strike, but
checked on the impulse, bethinking her in time that, after all, what the
poor lad had done he had done thinking her distressed.
The constable and a couple of his fellows won through; others were
rousing the stable and getting to horse, and in the courtyard all was
bustle and commotion. Meanwhile, however, Mr. Wilding and Trenchard had
made the most of their start, and were thundering through the town.