said, taking a seat by a bureau where the single lamp was behind his
head. "You have something private for my ear? I must tell you, sir, I
have been plagued for many months by portentous secret emissaries.
There was my lord Clancarty, a Cyclops with one eye and a shocking
perruque, who seemed to me not wholly in possession of his wits. There
was a Scotch gentleman--Bahaldy--Bohaldy--whom I suspected of being a
liar. There was Traquair, whose speech rang false in every stutter.
They and their kind were full of swelling words, but they were most
indisputably fools. You are not of their breed, sir. From you I look
for candour and good sense. What have you to say to me?"
"One thing only, my lord. From me you will get no boasts or promises. I
bring you a summons."
Alastair took from his breast a letter. Lord Cornbury broke the seal
and revealed a page of sprawling irregular handwriting, signed at the
foot with the words "Charles P." He read it with attention, read it
again, and then looked at the messenger.
"His Royal Highness informs me that I will be 'inexcusable before God
and men' if I fail him. For him that is a natural opinion. Now, sir,
before answering this appeal, I have certain questions to ask you. You
come from the Prince's army, and you are in the secrets of his Cabinet.
You are also a soldier. I would hear from you the Prince's strength."
"He can cross the Border with not less than five thousand horse and
foot."
"Highlanders?"
"In the main, which means the best natural fighting stock in this land.
They have already shown their prowess against Cope's regulars. There
are bodies of Lowland horse with Elcho and Pitsligo."
"And your hopes of increment?"
"More than half the clans are still to raise. Of them we are certain.
There are accessions to be looked for from the Lowlands. In England we
have promises from every quarter--from Barrymore, Molyneux, Grosvenor,
Fenwick, Petre, Cholmondeley, Leigh, Curzon in the North; from the Duke
of Beaufort and Sir Watkin Wynn in the West. Likewise large sums of
money are warranted from the city of London."
"You speak not of sympathy only, but of troops? Many are no doubt
willing to drink His Royal Highness's health."
"I speak of troops. There is also the certain aid from France. In this
paper, my lord, you will find set down the numbers and dates of troops
to be dispatched before Christmas. Some are already on the way--Lord
John Drummond with his regiment of Royal Ecossais and certain Irish
companies from the French service."
"And you have against you?"
"In Scotland--nothing. In England at present not ten thousand men.
Doubtless they will make haste to bring back troops from abroad, but
before that we hope to conquer. His Royal Highness's plan is clear. He
seeks as soon as possible to win a victory in England. In his view the
land is for the first comer. The nation is indifferent and will yield
to boldness. I will be honest with you, my lord. He hopes also to
confirm the loyalty of France, for it is certain that if his arms
triumph but once on English soil, the troops of King Louis will take
the sea."
The other mused. "It is a bold policy, but it may be a wise one. I
would raise one difficulty. You have omitted from your calculation the
British Fleet."
Alastair shrugged his shoulders. "It is our prime danger, but we hope
with speed and secrecy to outwit it."
"I have another objection. You are proposing to conquer England with a
foreign army. I say not a word against the valour of your Highland
countrymen, but to English eyes they are barbarous strangers. And
France is the ancient enemy."
"Then, my lord, it is a strife of foreigner against foreigner. Are King
George's Dutch and Danes and Hessians better Englishmen than the
Prince's men? Let England abide the issue, and join the victor."
"You speak reasonably, I do not deny it. Let me ask further. Has any
man of note joined your standard?"
"Many Scots nobles, though not the greatest. But Hamilton favours us,
and there are grounds for thinking that even the Whig dukes, Argyll and
Montrose and Queensberry, are soured with the Government. It is so in
England, my lord. Bedford . . ."
"I know, I know. All are waiting on the tide. But meantime His Royal
Highness's Cabinet is a rabble of Irishmen. Is it not so? I do not like
to have Teague in the business, sir, and England does not like it."
"Then come yourself, my lord."
Lord Cornbury smiled. "I have not finished my questions. What of his
Royal Highness's religion? I take it that it is the same as your own."
"He has already given solemn pledges for liberty and toleration. Many
Presbyterians of the straitest sect are in his camp. Be sure, my lord,
that he will not be guilty of his grandfather's blunder."
Lord Cornbury rose and stood with his back to the fire.
"You are still in the military stage, where your first duty is a
victory in the field. What does His Royal Highness wish me to do? I am
no soldier, I could not raise a dozen grooms and foresters. I do not
live in Sir Watkin's county, where you can blow a horn and summon a
hundred rascals. Here in Oxfordshire we are peaceable folk."
"He wants you in his Council. I am no lover of the Irish, and there is
sore need of statesmanship among us."
"Say you want me for an example."
"That is the truth, my lord."
"And, you would add, for statecraft. Then let us look at the matter
with a statesman's eye. You say truly that England does not love her
Government. She is weary of foreign wars, and an alien Royal house, and
gross taxes, and corruption in high places. She is weary, I say, but
she will not stir to shift the burden. You are right; she is for the
first comer. You bring a foreign army and it will fight what in the
main is a foreign army, so patriotic feeling is engaged on neither
side. If you win, the malcontents, who are the great majority, will
join you, and His Royal Highness will sit on the throne of his fathers.
If you fail, there is no loss except to yourselves, for the others are
not pledged. Statesmanship, sir, is an inglorious thing, for it must
consider first the fortunes of the common people. No statesman has a
right to risk these fortunes unless he be reasonably assured of
success. Therefore I say to you that England must wait, and statesmen
must wait with England, till the issue is decided. That issue still
lies with the soldiers. I cannot join His Royal Highness at this
juncture, for I could bring no aid to his cause and I might bring
needless ruin to those who depend on me. My answer might have been
otherwise had I been a soldier."
A certain quiet obstinacy had entered the face which was revealed in
profile by the lamp on the bureau. The voice had lost its gentle
indeterminateness and rang crisp and clear. Alastair had knowledge
enough of men to recognise finality. He made his last effort.
"Are considerations of policy the only ones? You and I share the same
creeds, my lord. Our loyalty is owed to the House which has the
rightful succession, and we cannot in our obedience to God serve what
He has not ordained. Is it not your duty to fling prudence to the winds
and make your election before the world, for right is right whether we
win or lose."
"For some men maybe," said the other sadly, "but not for me. I am in
that position that many eyes are turned on me and in my decision I must
consider them. If your venture fails, I desire that as few Englishmen
as possible suffer for it, it being premised that for the moment only
armed men can help it to success. Therefore I wait, and will counsel
waiting to all in like position. Beaufort can bring troops, and in
God's name I would urge him on, and from the bottom of my heart I pray
for the Prince's welfare."
"What will decide you, then?"
"A victory on English soil. Nay, I will go farther. So soon as His
Royal Highness is in the way of that victory, I will fly to his side."
"What proof will you require?"
"Ten thousand men south of Derby on the road to London, and the first
French contingent landed."
"That is your answer, my lord?"
"That is the answer which I would have you convey with my most humble
and affectionate duty to His Royal Highness. . . . And now, sir,
will you join me in a turn on the terrace, as the night is fine. It is
my habit before retiring."
The night was mild and very dark, and from the lake rose the honk of
wild fowl and from the woods the fitful hooting of owls. To Alastair
his failure was scarcely a disappointment, for he realised that all day
he had lived in expectation of it. Nay, inasmuch as it placed so solemn
a duty upon the soldiers of the Cause, it strung his nerves like a
challenge. Lord Cornbury put an arm in his, and the sign of friendship
moved the young man's affection. It was for youth and ardour such as
his to make clear the path for gentler souls.
They left the stones of the terrace and passed the lit window of the
dining-room, where it appeared that merriment had advanced, for Sir
Christopher Lacy was attempting a hunting-song.
"Such are the squires of England," whispered Cornbury. "They will drink
and dice and wench for the Prince, but not fight for him."
"Not yet," Alastair corrected. "But when your lordship joins us he will
not be unattended."
They reached the corner of the house from which in daylight the great
avenue could be seen, the spot where that morning Alastair had
delivered his credentials.
"I hear hooves," said Cornbury, with a hand to his ear. "Nay, it is
only the night wind."
"It is a horse," said the other. "I have heard it for the last minute.
Now it is entering the courtyard. See, there is a stable lantern."
A light swayed, and there was the sound of human speech.
"That is Kyd's Scotch servant," Cornbury said. "Let us inquire into the
errand of this night-rider."
As they moved towards the lantern a commotion began, and the light
wavered like a ship's lamp in a heavy sea.
"Haud up, sir," cried a voice. "Losh, the beast's foundered, and the
man's in a dwam."
_III In which Private Matters Cut Across Affairs of State_
In the circle of the lantern's light the horseman, a big shambling
fellow, stood swaying as if in extreme fatigue, now steadying himself
by a hand on the animal's neck, now using the support of the groom's
shoulder. His weak eyes peered and blinked, and at the sight of the
gentlemen he made an attempt at a bow.
"My lord!" he gasped with a dry mouth. "Do I address my lord Cornbury?"
He did not wait for an answer. "I am from Chastlecote, my lord. I
beg--I supplicate--a word with your lordship."
"Now?"
"Now, if it please you. My business is most urgent. It is life or
death, my lord, the happiness or despair of an immortal soul."
"You are the tutor from Chastlecote, I think. You appear to have been
trying your beast high."
"I have ridden to Weston and to Heythrop since midday."
"Have you eaten?"
"Not since breakfast, my lord." The man's eyes were wolfish with hunger
and weariness.
"Then you shall eat, for there can be no business between a full man
and a fasting. The groom will see to your horse. Follow me."
Lord Cornbury led the way past the angle of the house to where the lit
windows of the dining-room made a glow in the dark.
"'Tis a night of queer doings," he whispered to Alastair, as they heard
the heavy feet of the stranger stumbling behind them. "We will surprise
Kit Lacy in his cups, but there will be some remnants of supper for
this fellow. 'Pon my soul, I am curious to know what has shifted such a
gravity out of bed."
He unlocked the garden-door and led the way through the great hall to
the dining-room. Sir Christopher, mellow but still sober, was
interrupted in a song, and, with admirable presence of mind, cut it
short in a view holloa. Mr Kyd, rosy as the dawn, hastened to place
chairs.
"Your pardon, gentlemen, but I bring you a famished traveller. Sit
down, sir, and have at that pie. There is claret at your elbow."
The newcomer muttered thanks and dropped heavily into a chair. Under
the bright candelabrum, among crystal and silver and shining fruit and
the gay clothes of the others, he cut an outrageous figure. He might
have been in years about the age of Lord Cornbury, but disease and
rough usage had wiped every sign of youth from his face. That face was
large, heavily-featured and pitted deep with the scars of scrofula. The
skin was puffy and grey, the eyes beneath the prominent forehead were
pale and weak, the mouth was cast in hard lines as if from suffering.
His immense frame was incredibly lean and bony, and yet from his slouch
seemed unwholesomely weighted with flesh. He wore his own hair,
straight and lank and tied with a dusty ribbon. His clothes were of
some coarse grey stuff and much worn, and, though on a journey, he had
no boots, but instead clumsy unbuckled shoes and black worsted
stockings. His cuffs and neckband were soiled, and overcrowded pockets
made his coat hang on him like a sack. Such an apparition could not but
affect the best-bred gentleman. Kit Lacy's mouth was drawn into a
whistle, Mr Kyd sat in smiling contemplation. Alastair thought of Simon
Lovat as he had last seen that vast wallowing chieftain, and then
reflected that Simon carried off his oddity by his air of arrogant
command. This fellow looked as harassed as a mongrel that boys have
chivvied into a corner. He cut himself a wedge of pie and ate
gobblingly. He poured out a tankard of claret and swallowed most of it
at a gulp. Then he grew nervous, choked on a crumb, gulped more claret
and coughed till his pale face grew crimson.
The worst pangs of hunger allayed, he seemed to recollect his errand.
His lips began to mutter as if he were preparing a speech. His tired
eyes rested in turn on each member of the company, on Lacy and Kyd
lounging at the other side of the table, on Cornbury's decorous figure
at the head, on Alastair wrapped in his own thoughts at the foot. This
was not the private conference he had asked for, but it would appear
that the urgency of his need must override discretion. A spasm of pain
distorted the huge face, and he brought his left hand down violently on
the table, so that the glasses shivered.
"My lord," he said, "she is gone."
The company stared, and Sir Christopher tittered.
"Who is your 'she,' sir?" he asked as he helped himself to wine.
"Miss Grevel . . . Miss Claudia."
The young baronet's face changed.
"The devil! Gone! Explain yourself, sir."
The man had swung round so that he faced Lord Cornbury, with his head
screwed oddly over his right shoulder. As he spoke it bobbed in a kind
of palsied eagerness.
"You know her, my lord. Miss Claudia Grevel; the cousin and housemate
of the young heir of Chastlecote, who has been committed to my charge.
Three days ago she was of age and the controller of her fortune. This
morning the maids found her bed unslept in, and the lady flown."
Lord Cornbury exclaimed. "Did she leave no word?" he asked.
"Only a letter to her cousin, bidding him farewell."
"Nothing to you?"
"To me nothing. She was a high lady and to her I was only the boy's
instructor. But I had marked for some weeks a restlessness in her
deportment and, fearing some rash step, I had kept an eye on her
doings."
"You spied on her?" said Kyd sweetly. "Is that part of an usher's
duties?"
The man was too earnest to feel the rudeness of the question.
"She was but a child, sir," he said. "She had neither father nor
mother, and she was about to be sole mistress of a rich estate. I
pitied her, and, though she in no way condescended to me, I loved her
youth and beauty."
"You did right," Lord Cornbury said. "Have your observations given you
no clue to the secret of her flight?"
"In some measure, my lord. You must know that Miss Grevel is ardent in
politics, and, like many gentlewomen, has a strong sentiment for the
young Prince now in Scotland. She has often declared that if she had
been a man she would long ago have hastened to his standard, and she
was wont to rage against the apathy of the Oxfordshire squires. A scrap
of news from the North would put her into a fury or an exaltation.
There was one gentleman of the neighbourhood who was not apathetic and
who was accordingly most welcome at Chastlecote. From him she had her
news of the Prince, and it was clear by his manner towards her that he
valued her person as well as shared her opinions. I have been this day
to that gentleman's house and found that at an early hour he started on
a journey. I was ill received there and told little, but I ascertained
that he had departed with a coach and led horses. My lord, I am
convinced that the unhappy girl is his companion."
"The man's name?" Lord Cornbury asked sharply.
"Sir John Norreys of Weston."
The name told nothing to two of the company, but it had a surprising
effect on Sir Christopher Lacy. He sprang to his feet, and began to
stride up and down the room, his chin on his breast.
"I knew his father," said Lord Cornbury, "but the young man I have
rarely seen. 'Tis a runaway match doubtless; but such marriages are not
always tragical. Miss Grevel is too highly placed and well dowered for
misadventure. Let us hope for the best, sir. She will return presently
a sober bride."
"I am of your lordship's opinion," Mr Kyd observed with a jolly laugh.
"Let a romantic maid indulge her fancy and choose her own way of
wedlock, for if she get not romance at the start she will not find it
in the dreich business of matrimony. But you and me, my lord, are
bachelors and speak only from hearsay."
The tutor from Chastlecote seemed to be astounded at the reception of
his news.
"You do not know the man," he cried. "It is no case of a youthful
escapade. I have made inquiries, and learned that he is no better than
a knave. If he is a Jacobite it is for gain, if he weds Miss Grevel it
is for her estate."
"Now what the devil should a dominie like you know about the character
of a gentleman of family?"
The words were harsh, but, as delivered by Mr Kyd with a merry voice
and a twinkle of the eye, they might have passed as a robust
pleasantry. But the tutor was not in the mood for them. Anger flushed
his face, and he blew out his breath like a bull about to charge.
Before he could reply, however, he found an ally in Sir Christopher.
The baronet flung himself again into his chair and stuck both elbows on
the table.
"The fellow is right all the same," he said. "Jack Norreys is a low
hound, and I'll take my oath on it. No scamp is Jack, for his head is
always cool and he has a heart like a codfish. He has a mighty good
gift for liquor--I say that for him--but the damnable fellow profits by
the generous frailties of his betters. He is mad for play, but he loves
the cards like an attorney, not like a gentleman, and he makes a fat
thing out of them. No, damme! Jack's no true man. If he wants the girl
'tis for her fortune, and if he sings Jacobite, 'tis because he sees
some scoundrelly profit for himself. I hate the long nose and the mean
eyes of him."
"You hear?" cried the tutor who had half risen from his seat in his
excitement. "You hear the verdict of an honest man!"
"You seem to know him well, Kit," said Lord Cornbury, smiling.
"Know him! Gad, I have had some chances. We were birched together at
Eton, and dwelt in the same stairway at Christ Church. I once rode a
match with him on the Port Meadow and bled him for a hundred guineas,
but he has avenged himself a thousandfold since then at the Bibury
meetings. He may be Lord High Chancellor when I am in the Fleet, but
the Devil will get him safe enough at the end."
Lord Cornbury looked grave, Mr Kyd wagged a moralising head.
"The thing has gone too far to stop," said the former. Then to the
tutor: "What would you have me do?"
The visitor's uncouth hands were twisting themselves in a frenzy of
appeal.
"My mistress at Chastlecote is old and bedridden, my charge is but a
boy, and Miss Grevel has no relatives nearer than Dorset. I come to you
as the leading gentleman in this shire and an upright and
public-spirited nobleman, and I implore you to save that poor pretty
child from her folly. They have gone north, so let us follow. It may
not be too late to prevent the marriage."
"Ah, but it will be," said Mr Kyd. "They can find a hedge-parson any
hour of the day to do the job for a guinea and a pot of ale."
"There is a chance, a hope, and, oh sir, I beseech you to pursue it."
"Would you have me mount and ride on the track of the fugitives?" Lord
Cornbury asked.
"Yes, my lord, and without delay. Grant me a chair to sleep an hour in,
and I am ready for any labour. We can take the road before daybreak. It
would facilitate our task if your lordship would lend me a horse better
fitted for my weight."
The naiveness of the request made a momentary silence. Then in spite of
himself Alastair laughed. This importunate usher was on the same
mission as himself, that mission which an hour earlier had conclusively
failed. To force their host into activity was the aim of both, but one
whom a summons from a Prince had not moved was not likely to yield to
an invitation to pursue a brace of green lovers. Yet he respected the
man's ardour, though he had set him down from his looks as a boor and
an oddity; and regretted his laugh, when a distraught face was turned
towards him, solemn and reproachful like a persecuted dog's.
Lord Cornbury's eyes were troubled and his hands fidgeted with a dish
of filberts. He seemed divided between irritation at a preposterous
demand and his natural kindliness.
"You are a faithful if importunate friend, sir. By the way, I have not
your name."
"Johnson, my lord--Samuel Johnson. But my name matters nothing."
"I have heard it before. . . . Nay, I remember. . . . Was it Mr
Murray who spoke of it? Tell me, sir, have you not published certain
writings?"
"Sir, I have made a living by scribbling."
"Poetry, I think. Was there not a piece on the morals of Town--in the
manner of Juvenal?"
"Bawdy, I'll be bound," put in Mr Kyd. He seemed suddenly to have grown
rather drunk and spoke with a hiccough.
The tutor looked so uncouth a figure for a poet that Alastair laughed
again. But the poor man's mind was far from humour, for his earnestness
increased with his hearers' cynicism.
"Oh, my lord," he cried, "what does it matter what I am or what
wretched books I have fathered? I urge you to a most instant duty--to
save a noble young lady from a degrading marriage. I press for your
decision, for the need is desperate."
"But what can I do, Mr Johnson? She is of age, and they have broken no
law. I cannot issue a warrant and hale them back to Oxfordshire. If
they are not yet wed I have no authority to dissuade, for I am not a
kinsman, not even a friend. I cannot forbid the banns, for I have no
certain knowledge of any misdeeds of this Sir John. I have no _locus_,
as the lawyers say, for my meddling. But in any case the errand must be
futile, for if you are right and she has fled with him, they will be
married long ere we can overtake them. What you ask from me is folly."
The tutor's face changed from lumpish eagerness to a lumpish gloom.
"There is a chance," he muttered. "And in the matter of saving souls a
chance is enough for a Christian."
"Then my Christianity falls short of yours, sir," replied Lord Cornbury
sharply.
The tutor let his dismal eyes dwell on the others. They soon left Mr
Kyd's face, stayed longer on Alastair's and came to rest on Sir
Christopher's, which was little less gloomy than his own.
"You, sir," he said, "you know the would-be bridegroom. Will you assist
me to rescue the bride?"
The baronet for a moment did not reply and hope flickered in the
other's eyes. Then it died, for the young man brought down his fist on
the table with an oath.
"No, by God. If my lord thinks the business not for him, 'tis a million
times too delicate for me. You're an honest man, Mr usher, and shall
hear my reason. I loved Miss Grevel, and for two years I dared to hope.
Last April she dismissed me and I had the wit to see that 'twas final.
What kind of figure would I cut galloping the shires after a scornful
mistress who has chosen another? I'd ride a hundred miles to see Jack
Norreys' neck wrung, but you will not catch me fluttering near the
honeypot of his lady."
"You think only of your pride, sir, and not of the poor girl."
The tutor, realising the futility of his mission, rose to his feet,
upsetting a decanter with an awkward elbow. The misadventure, which at
an earlier stage would have acutely embarrassed him, now passed
unnoticed. He seemed absorbed in his own reflections, and had suddenly
won a kind of rude dignity. As he stood among them Alastair was amazed
alike at his shabbiness and his self-possession.
"You will stay the night here, sir? The hour is late and a bed is at
your disposal."
"I thank you, my lord, but my duties do not permit of sleep. I return
to Chastlecote, and if I can get no helpers I must e'en seek for the
lady alone. I am debtor to your lordship for a hospitality upon which I
will not further encroach. May I beg the favour of a light to the
stable?"