From Aix to Ramilly and Geneva was all safe enough. From Geneva through
Franche-Comté, as I have before explained, had no perils; but a small
piece of country in Lorraine and Bar, where the road ran along the
frontier of France, and, as some statesmen and geographers asserted,
actually crossed it and passed through French territory for at least
three miles, was in reality the perilous part of Lord Montagu's journey.
That nobleman, however, seemed to consider himself very secure. He had
so recently almost bearded the lion in his den with impunity, he had
with such reckless freedom gone from one part of France itself to
another without being stopped, that he thought there would be little
risk in approaching a remote and somewhat poorly-peopled frontier or
passing over a small space of debatable ground. He did not know, or he
forgot, that the keen eyes of the fearless and unscrupulous French
minister had been opened to his proceedings; that Richelieu had assumed
a more bold and stern course of policy than ever; that personal
hatred--perhaps, as some assert, personal rivalry--rendered it necessary
for the cardinal to know in order to frustrate the efforts of his
magnificent though very inferior adversary on the British side of the
channel; and that no price, no labor, no violence even, would be
considered too much which would place the designs and operations of
Buckingham before the cabinet of France. He rode gayly, therefore, on
his way,--though, in order not to attract too much attention, he sent
forward several of his English attendants by a different road to meet
him at Metz, and kept with him only Mr. Oakingham, Edward Langdale, a
valet, and the two blacksmiths, with an ordinary groom.
This little party, on the evening of a beautiful autumnal day, rode
along with tired horses through the little wood of Mirecourt, issued
forth upon the side of the dry calcareous hill to the west, and looked
anxiously for some place of rest. No one was well acquainted with the
road; the horses were heavy-laden, for each besides his rider carried a
heavy valise and two bags in front; and the whole morning had been
passed in going up and down hill through an arid and almost deserted
country. Some scattered houses, and then a nice clean village and a
small but neat country inn, all gathered together in a little dell
shaded with trees, at length gladdened the eyes of the weary travellers;
and Lord Montagu, as was his custom, applied himself to make his sojourn
comfortable for the hour, leaving his followers to enjoy themselves as
best they could. He laughed and joked with the pretty Lorrainese
landlady as with her own hands she laid the table for his dinner; he
took out a book from his valise, and, with his feet upon one chair and
his body on another, rejoiced in the ease of a new position, and, when
his dinner at last came, ate with moderation but good appetite, and
called a glow of satisfaction into the cheek of his hostess by
pronouncing it the best meal he had ever tasted.
In the mean time, Mr. Oakingham had taken some refreshments and gone to
bed; the valet had remained in the room with his lord, to serve him at
table; the blacksmiths and the groom had gone to the stable; and Edward
Langdale seemed the only unquiet spirit of the party. He ate but little;
he drank less; he sat down; he rose up; he went out several times,
either to the front of the house or the back; he visited the stable
three times; he made many inquiries of the people of the house regarding
the neighborhood and its inhabitants; and at length, instead of
retiring to bed, he leaned his arms upon a table and his head upon his
arms, and apparently went to sleep. People came and went, but he did not
move; one of the girls of the inn spoke to him, but he did not answer;
and it was near eleven o'clock before he changed his position. At that
hour he rose and walked quietly to the back door of the inn, which
looked into the stable-yard. The moon was shining near the full, and two
men were standing near the stables talking together earnestly. As soon
as he appeared at the door, they went round to the back of the low
wooden building; but Edward had caught sight of them, and he walked
straight to the stable and looked in. Most of the tired horses were
resting quietly in the stables; but one, though disencumbered of packs
and burdens, was saddled and bridled and tied up to a pillar.
Edward examined the animal well, to make sure of whom it belonged to,
then quietly re-entered the inn and went straight to the room of Lord
Montagu. He knocked at the door, and Montagu's voice told him to come
in.
"Ah, Ned!" said his lord, "I have not seen you to-night."
"No, my lord," replied the youth: "I have been watching some things
which I dislike."
"A very unsatisfactory employment," said Lord Montagu. "But what is it,
good youth? You look gloomy, and your face is full of meaning. Are the
Philistines upon us?"
"I do not know, my lord," replied Edward; "but I fear they soon will be.
I do not like those two blacksmiths, my lord. They are bent upon some
mischief, depend upon it."
"Oh, the old story!" said Montagu. "What is it now, Ned? Do they squint
the other way, perchance?"
Edward was mortified; but he answered, respectfully, "No, my noble lord,
but the same way as ever. I feel sure they are spies upon you and intend
to betray you the very first opportunity."
"Indeed!" said Montagu, now somewhat roused. "But the proofs, Master
Ned,--the proofs."
"Absolute proofs I cannot give," said Edward; "but their conduct is so
suspicious that I cannot believe them honest. I beg your lordship's
excuse while I detail what I have observed during the last ten days.
You can then judge for yourself. These men affect to speak a _patois_
almost incomprehensible; but I have detected them speaking as good
French as you or I more than once. Together they talk a language I do
not at all understand; but good Jacques Beaupré says it is Basque. I am
certain it is not Savoyard. At Geneva, one of them wrote a letter and
sent it off by a courier who was going to France. During the last two
days' journey they have been making as diligent inquiries at every inn,
as to the neighborhood, as if they had to direct the march."
"Pooh! that is all nothing," answered Montagu: "don't you think a
blacksmith may have a sweetheart to write to, as well as yourself, Ned?
And the poor devils, who have to find their way back, may well inquire
about the roads."
"Well, my lord, I have but little more to say," replied Edward. "All day
they have been looking curiously at every chateau we passed, even at
five miles' distance; they have lagged behind all along the road, and
stopped more than once to talk with the peasantry they met; and two
hours before we arrived here I saw one of them give a piece of money to
a lad, who set out incontinently over the fields."
"Ha! that was strange," said Montagu, thoughtfully. "What more?"
"Some three or four hours ago," continued the young man, "the taller of
the two despatched the hostler somewhere. I could not learn where; but I
heard him say, distinctly, 'Remember, tell him at eleven o'clock; not
before eleven!' I have waited and watched ever since, and the scoundrel
is now in close conference with a man who has come to see him, while his
horse is standing saddled in the stable."
"This looks serious," said Montagu, rising. "Have you remarked any thing
further?"
"Yes," answered Edward: "I have remarked that, though they pretend never
to have been in this part of the country before, they know every inch of
the road and have some acquaintance in every town."
"Let us go to the stable," said Lord Montagu: "I will know more of this
before I sleep."
Quietly opening the door, he passed through a sort of dining-room and
the kitchen into the court-yard; but at the moment he opened the outer
door the sound of horses' feet was heard, and one of the stalls in the
stable was found vacant. "Too late!" said Lord Montagu, calmly: "let us
go back, Ned, and consult what is to be done."
Perhaps, where one person alone has power to decide, all consultation is
useless,--more than useless,--only a waste of time. Who ever takes
another man's advice unless he wishes to shuffle off a responsibility to
which he feels himself unequal? Give me an obstinate general, if he have
but a brain as big as a walnut. As far as success goes, it is better to
be bravely wrong than timidly right.
Now, though Lord Montagu had a very great opinion of Edward Langdale's
good sense, he had a much better opinion of his own; but councils of war
had not then fallen into the state of disrepute to which they have sunk
in our days; and therefore he returned to his room, and, having seen the
door closely shut, asked, in a grave tone, "Now, Ned, what is to be
done?"
"Why, my lord, you are the best judge; but if I were you I would go back
to the road we left ten miles behind and go straight to Nancy. You are
here on the very frontier of France, surrounded by French towns and
castles: there are disputes about the exact bounds, and the cardinal, I
should suppose, would not be very particular if he thought he could get
possession of your lordship and your papers by a _coup-de-main_."
"You are a geographer, Ned," said Montagu. "Have you calculated how much
time that detour would cost?"
"A day and a half," answered Edward, "if we ride hard."
"The roads are bad,--very hilly," said Montagu: "the beasts are tired
now. It would cost two days and a half, at a moderate calculation; and I
have not two days and a half to spare. I have promised to meet the Duke
of Lorraine on Wednesday at Metz. We have ample time to do it if I ride
straight on, but not more; and, if I do not come, he will not and cannot
wait."
"Send him a messenger, my lord," said Edward: "I will undertake to carry
him any message from your lordship before Tuesday night, to appoint a
meeting at Pont à Mousson, or anywhere you like. Better kill a horse by
hard riding than have you taken prisoner."
Montagu thought in silence for a few moments, and then said, in a
meditative tone, "Do you know, Ned, I do not think there is so much
danger as you imagine? The man's conduct is suspicious, I admit; but it
is no more than suspicious. How do we know he has any thing to do with
Richelieu? But even suppose he has: he can have no means of
communicating with his sweet Eminence between this night and to-morrow
morning. No governor of a castle or commander of troops would venture to
violate a neutral territory without an express order; and it was
impossible for the cardinal to know that I should pass by this road, so
as to give his orders beforehand. I think we are quite safe, my good
youth."
Montagu spoke in that cool sort of indifferent tone which almost
implied--at least, so Edward construed it--that his page had been
magnifying dangers. The young man bit his lip and for a moment remained
silent; but then a sense of duty made him answer, "I cannot but think
that by following the direct road your lordship will place yourself in
extreme peril."
"Why, you are not afraid, Edward?" said Lord Montagu, laughing. "You
little fire-devouring Turk, I never saw you afraid of any thing before."
The young man's cheek reddened. "I am not afraid of any thing, my lord,"
he answered, "but of seeing your lordship a prisoner in the hands of
your enemies. If they once get you into the Bastille, what becomes of
all the results of your lordship's negotiations?"
"True," answered Montagu, "the stakes we play for are great ones; but in
playing for great stakes one must risk boldly wherever there is a chance
of success. I think we can pass, Edward; and I will try it. But I will
take precaution to make our passage sure. An hour and a half will carry
us over all immediate danger; for the road, I find, bends back deeper
into Bar, and it is only on the very frontier that there is any risk. No
French force will venture more than a mile at the most into the Duke of
Lorraine's territory."
"But what precaution can you take, my lord?" asked Edward, in some
surprise. "Doubtless his Highness would grant you an escort; but he has
no troops near. We are amidst peasants."
"No, no! I seek no escort," said Montagu: "we will pass alone if we pass
at all. But you heard me on our arrival give the order to set out at
seven. We will change the hour, Ned, and begin our march at five. Say
not a word to any one to-night. I will trust only to you. At four let us
all be called. Call Oakingham a quarter of an hour earlier, and Abbot
too, for they are slow. Let the groom and the laquais get the horses
ready by five; but, above all, say not a word to the Savoyard who is
left, or his companion, if he returns, and keep a watch upon them."
"A sure watch," said Edward, with a grim smile. "All shall be ready, my
lord; but yet----"
"Nay, nay," said Montagu, waving his hand; "no more objections, Ned. Now
send the lackey to me: I will go to bed as if I had no alteration of
last night's arrangements in my mind. You had better go to your room,
too, and obtain a little sleep. I know you can wake when you like."
"I will go to my room," said Edward; "but I do not close my eyes
to-night, my lord. I am not fond of leaving any thing to chance."
"You must have another word," said Montagu, laughing. "Pooh! pooh! We
shall pass, my boy. Now, good-night."
Edward left him, sent the lackey to his room, went to the kitchen, where
two of the stable-men were sleeping by the fire, roused one of them to
give him a lamp, and retired to the chamber where young Abbot was
snoring powerfully. But Edward was ill at ease. He thought that the
precautions Lord Montagu had spoken of and ordered were not sufficient:
he thought--as all men think, and young men especially--that his own
plan was the best. However, he drew the charges of his pistols, loaded
and primed them afresh; and then, sitting down at the window, where he
had a view of the court-yard on one side and on the other a glance into
the passage through the door which he left ajar, he waited, without
moving a limb, for the coming of morning.