pious brother; and he laughed as he continued: "Poor brother James and
his ostriches!"
He could almost touch Nell's finger-tips.
"Farewell, sweet," he said; "I must help them find his Majesty or they
will swarm here like bees. Yet I must see my Nell again to-night. You
have bewitched me, wench. Sup with me within the hour--at--Ye Blue Boar
Inn. Can you find the place?"
There was mischief in Nell's voice as she leaned upon the balustrade.
She dropped a flower; he caught it.
"Sire, I can always find a rendezvous," she answered.
"You're the biggest rogue in England," laughed Charles.
"Of a _subject_, perhaps, Sire," replied Nell, pointedly.
"That is treason, sly wench," rejoined the King; but his voice grew
tender as he added: "but treason of the tongue and not the heart. Adieu!
Let that seal thy lips, until we meet."
He threw a kiss to the waiting lips upon the balcony.
"Alack-a-day," sighed Nell, sadly, as she caught the kiss. "Some one may
break the seal, my liege; who knows?"
"How now?" questioned Charles, jealously.
Nell hugged herself as she saw his fitful mood; for beneath mock
jealousy she thought she saw the germ of true jealousy. She laughed
wistfully as she explained: "It were better to come up and seal them
tighter, Sire."
"Minx!" he chuckled, and tossed another kiss.
The horn again echoed through the woods. He started.
"Now we'll despatch the affairs of England, brother; then we'll sup with
pretty Nelly. Poor brother James! Heaven bless him and his ostriches."
He turned and strode quickly through the trees and down the path; but,
as he went, ever and anon he called: "Ye Blue Boar Inn, within the
hour!"
Each time from the balcony in Nell's sweet voice came back--"Ye Blue
Boar Inn, within the hour! I will not fail you, Sire!"
Then she too disappeared. There was again a slamming of doors and much
confusion within the house. There were calls and sounds of running feet.
The door below the terrace opened suddenly, and Nell appeared breathless
upon the lawn--at her heels the constant Moll. Nell ran some steps down
the path, peering vainly through the woods after the departing King. Her
bosom rose and fell in agitation.
"Oh, Moll, Moll, Moll!" she exclaimed, fearfully. "He has been at
Portsmouth's since high noon. I could see it in his eyes." Her own eyes
snapped as she thought of the hated French rival, whom she had not yet
seen, but whose relation to the royal household, as she thought, gave
her the King's ear almost at will.
She walked nervously back and forth, then turned quickly upon her
companion, asking her, who knew nothing, a hundred questions, all in one
little breath. "What is she? How looks she? What is her charm, her
fascination, the magic of her art? Is she short, tall, fat, lean, joyous
or sombre? I must know."
"Oh, Nell, what will you do?" cried Moll in fearful accents as she
watched her beautiful mistress standing passion-swayed before her like a
queen in the moonlight, the little toe of her slipper nervously beating
the sward as she general-like marshalled her wits for the battle.
"See her, see her,--from top to toe!" Nell at length exclaimed. "Oh,
there will be sport, sweet mouse. France again against England--the
stake, a King!"
She glanced in the direction of the house and cried joyously as she saw
Strings hobbling toward her.
"Heaven ever gave me a man in waiting," she said, gleefully. "Poor
fellow, he limps from youthful, war-met wounds. Comrade, are you still
strong enough for service?"
"To the death for you, Mistress Nell!" he faithfully replied.
"You know the Duchess of Portsmouth, and where she lives?" artfully
inquired Nell.
"Portsmouth!" he repeated, excitedly. "She was here but now, peeping at
your windows."
Nell stood aghast. Her face grew pale, and her lips trembled.
"Here, here!" she exclaimed, incredulously. "The imported hussy!"
She turned hotly upon Strings, as she had upon poor Moll, with an array
of questions which almost paralyzed the old fiddler's wits. "How looks
she? What colour eyes? Does her lip arch? How many inches span her
waist?"
Strings looked cautiously about, then whispered in Nell's ear. He might
as well have talked to all London; for Nell, in her excitement, repeated
his words at the top of her voice.
"You overheard? Great Heavens! Drug the King and win the rights of
England while he is in his cups? Bouillon--the army--Louis--the Dutch! A
conspiracy!"
"Oh, dear; oh, dear," came from Moll's trembling lips.
Nell's wits were like lightning playing with the clouds. Her plans were
formed at once.
"Fly, fly, comrade," she commanded Strings. "Overtake her chair. Tell
the Duchess that her beloved Charles--she will understand--entreats her
to sup at Ye Blue Boar Inn, within the hour. Nay, she will be glad
enough to come. Say he awaits her alone. Run, run, good Strings, and you
shall have a hospital to nurse these wounds, as big as Noah's ark; and
the King shall build it for the message."
Strings hastened down the path, fired by Nell's inspiration, with almost
the eagerness of a boy.
"Run, run!" cried Nell, in ecstasy, as she looked after him and dwelt
gleefully upon the outcome of her plans.
He disappeared through the trees.
"Heigh-ho!" she said, with a light-hearted step. "Now, Moll, we'll get
our first sight of the enemy."
She darted into the house, dragging poor Moll after her.
CHAPTER VIII
_"And the man that is drunk is as great as a king."_
An old English inn! What spot on earth is more hospitable, even though
its floor be bare and its tables wooden? There is a homely atmosphere
about it, with its cobwebbed rafters, its dingy windows, its big
fireplace, where the rough logs crackle, and its musty ale. It has ever
been a home for the belated traveller, where the viands, steaming hot,
have filled his soul with joy. Oh, the Southdown mutton and the roasts
of beef!
If England has given us naught else, she should be beloved for her
wealth of inns, with their jolly landlords and their pert bar-maids and
their lawns for the game of bowls. May our children's children find them
still unchanged.
In a quaint corner of London, there stood such an inn, in the days of
which we speak; and it lives in our story. When it was built, no one
knew and none cared. Tradition said that it had been a rendezvous for
convivial spirits for ages that had gone. A sign hung from the door, on
which was a boar's head; and under it, in Old English lettering, might
have been deciphered, if the reader had the wit to read, "Ye Blue Boar
Inn."
It was the evening of a certain day, known to us all, in the reign of
good King Charles. Three yesty spirits sat convivially enjoying the
warmth of the fire upon the huge hearth. A keg was braced in the centre
of the room. One of the merry crew--none other, indeed, than Swallow, a
constable to the King--sat astride the cask, Don Quixote-like. In place
of the dauntless lance, he was armed with a sturdy mug of good old ale.
He sang gaily to a tune of his own, turning ever and anon for
approbation to Buzzard, another spirit of like guild, who sat in a
semi-maudlin condition by the table, and also to the moon-faced landlord
of the inn, who encouraged the joviality of his guests--not forgetting
to count the cups which they demolished.
Swallow sang:
_"Here's a health unto his Majesty, with a fa, la, fa,
Conversion to his enemies with a fa, la, fa,
And he that will not pledge his health,
I wish him neither wit nor wealth,
Nor yet a rope to hang himself--
With a fa, la, fa,
With a fa, la, fa."_
The song ended in a triumphant wave of glory. The singer turned toward
the fellow, Buzzard, and demanded indignantly:
"Why don't ye sing, knave, to the tune of the spigot?"
"My gullet's dry, Master Constable," stupidly explained his companion,
as he too buried his face in the ale.
"Odsbud, thou knowest not the art, thou clod," retorted the constable,
wisely.
"Nay; I can sing as well as any man," answered Buzzard, indignantly, "an
I know when to go up and when to come down." He pointed stupidly,
contrary to the phrase, first to the floor and then to the ceiling.
The landlord chuckled merrily, imitating him. "When to go up and when to
come down!" he repeated with the same idiotic drawl and contradictory
gesture.
"Go to, simple," replied Swallow, with tremendous condescension of
manner. "Thy mother gave thee a gullet but no ear. Pass the schnapps."
He arose and staggered to the table.
"Good Master Constable, how singest thou?" sheepishly inquired Buzzard,
as he filled Swallow's tankard for the twentieth time.
"Marry, by main force, thou jack-pudding; how else?" demanded Swallow,
pompously. He reseated himself with much effort astride the cask. "Oh,
bury me here," he continued, looking into the foaming mug, and then
buried his face deep in the ale.
His companions were well pleased with the toast; for each repeated it
after him, each in his turn emphasizing the "me" and the "here"--"Oh,
bury _me here!"_ "Oh, bury _me here!_"--Buzzard in a voice
many tones deeper than that of Swallow and the landlord in a voice many
tones deeper than that of Buzzard. Indeed, the guttural tones of the
landlord bespoke the grave-yard.
The three faces were lost in the foam; the three sets of lips smacked in
unison; and the world might have wagged as it would for these three
jolly topers but for a woman's voice, calling sharply from the kitchen:
"Jenkins, love!"
"Body o' me!" exclaimed the landlord, almost dropping his empty tankard.
"Coming, coming, my dear!" and he departed hastily.
The constable poked Buzzard in the ribs; Buzzard poked the constable in
the ribs.
"Jenkins, love!" they exclaimed in one breath as the landlord returned,
much to his discomfiture; and their eyes twinkled and wrinkled as they
poked fun at the taverner.
"Body o' me! Thou sly dog!" said the constable, as he continued to twit
him. "Whence came the saucy wench in the kitchen, landlord? A dimpled
cook, eh?"
The landlord's face grew serious with offended dignity as he attempted
to explain.
"'Tis my wife, Master Constable," he said.
"Marry, the new one?" inquired Swallow.
"'Tis not the old one, Master Swallow," replied the old hypocrite,
wiping away a forced tear. "Poor soul, she's gone, I know not where."
"I' faith, I trow she's still cooking, landlord," consolingly replied
the constable, with tearful mien, pointing slyly downward for the
benefit of Buzzard and steadying himself with difficulty on the cask.
"Bless Matilde," said the landlord as he wiped his eyes again, "I had a
hard time to fill her place."
"Yea, truly," chuckled Swallow in Buzzard's ear, between draughts,
"three long months from grave to altar."
"A good soul, a good soul, Master Swallow," continued the landlord, with
the appearance of deep affliction.
"And a better cook, landlord," said Swallow, sadly. "Odsbud, she knew a
gooseberry tart. Patch your old wife's soul to your new wife's face, and
you'll be a happy man, landlord. Here's a drop to her."
"Thank ye, Master Constable," replied the landlord, much affected. He
looked well to the filling of the flagon in his hand, again wiped a tear
from his eye and took a deep draught to the pledge of
"The old one!"
Swallow, with equal reverence, and with some diplomacy, placed his
flagon to his lips with the pledge of
"The new one!"
Buzzard, who had not been heard from for some time, roused sufficiently
to realize the situation, and broke out noisily on his part with
"The next one!"
A startled expression pervaded the landlord's face as he realized the
meaning of Buzzard's words. He glanced woefully toward the kitchen-door,
lest the new wife might have overheard.
"Peace, Buzzard!" Swallow hastened to command, reprovingly. "Would ye
raise a man's dead wife? Learn discretion from thy elders, an thou
hop'st to be a married man."
"Marry, I do not hope," declared Buzzard, striking the table with his
clenched hand. He had no time for matrimony while the cups were
overflowing.
There was a quick, imperative knock at the door. The constable, Buzzard
and the landlord, all started up in confusion and fear.
"Thieves," stammered Swallow, faintly, from behind the cask, from which
he had dismounted at the first sign of danger. "They are making off with
thy tit-bit-of-a-wife, landlord."
"Be there thieves in the neighbourhood, Master Constable?" whispered the
landlord, in consternation.
"Why should his Majesty's constable be here else?" said Swallow,
reaching for a pike, which trembled in his hand as if he had the ague.
"The country about's o'er-run with them; and I warrant 'tis thy new
wife's blue eyes they are after." He steadied himself with the pike and
took a deep draught of ale to steady his courage as well.
Buzzard started to crawl beneath the table, but the wary constable
caught him by his belt and made a shield for the nonce of his trembling
body.
The landlord's eyes bulged from their sockets as if a spirit from the
nether regions had confronted him. The corners of his mouth, which
ascended in harmony with his moon-face, twitched nervously. "Mercy me,
sayest thou so?" he asked.
[Illustration: MISTRESS NELL FINDS HAPPINESS.]
"And in thine ear," continued Swallow, consolingly, "and if thou see'st
Old Rowley within a ten league, put thy new huswife's face under lock
and key and Constable Swallow on the door to guard thy treasure."
It was not quite clear, however, what the constable meant; for "Old
Rowley" was the name of the King's favourite racehorse, of Newmarket
fame, and had also come to be the nickname of the King himself. Charles
assumed it good-naturedly. Assuredly, neither might be expected as a
visitor to Ye Blue Boar.
There came a more spirited knock at the door. The constable sought a
niche in the fireplace, whence he endeavoured to exclude Buzzard, who
was loath to be excluded.
"Pass the Dutch-courage, good landlord," entreated Swallow, in a hoarse
whisper.
The landlord started boldly toward the door, but his courage failed him.
"Go thou, Master Constable," he exclaimed.
"Go thou thyself," wisely commanded Swallow, with the appearance of much
bravery, though one eye twitched nervously in the direction of the
kitchen-door in the rear, as a possible means of exit. "There's no need
of his Majesty's constable till the battery be complete. There must be
an action and intent, saith the law."
"Old Rowley!" muttered the landlord, fearfully. "Good Master
Constable--" he pleaded. His face, which was usually like a roast of
beef, grew livid with fear.
Swallow, however, gave him no encouragement, and the landlord once more
started for the door.
On the way his eye lighted on a full cask which was propped up in the
corner. Instinct was strong in him, even in death. It had been tapped,
and it would be unsafe to leave it even for an instant within reach of
such guests. He stopped and quickly replaced the spigot with a plug.
There was a third knock at the door--louder than before.
"Anon, anon!" he called, hastily turning and catching up the half-filled
flagon from the table. He disappeared in the entry-way.
The brave representatives of the King's law craned their necks, but they
could hear nothing. As the silence continued, courage was gradually
restored to them; and, with the return of courage, came the desire for
further drink.
Swallow again seized his pike and staggered toward the entry-way to
impress his companion with his bravery.
Buzzard caught the spirit of the action. "Marry, I'd be a constable,
too, an it were to sit by the fire and guard a pretty wench," he said.
His face glowed in anticipation of such happiness as he glanced through
the half-open door to the kitchen, where the landlord's wife reigned.
"Egad, thou a constable!" ejaculated Swallow, contemptuously, throwing a
withering glance in the direction of his comrade. "Thou ignoramamus! Old
Rowley wants naught but brave men and sober men like me to guard the
law. Thou art a drunken Roundhead. One of Old Noll's vile ruffians. I
can tell it by the wart on thy nose, knave."
"Nay, Master Constable," explained Buzzard, with an injured look at the
mention of the wart, "it will soon away. Mother says, when I was a rosy
babe, Master Wart was all in all; now I'm a man, Master Nose is crowding
Neighbour Wart."
Swallow put his hands on his knees and laughed deeply. He contemplated
the nose and person of his companion with a curious air and grew mellow
with patronage.
"Thy fool's pate is not so dull," he said, half aloud, as he lighted a
long pipe and puffed violently. "Thy wit would crack a quarter-staff.
'Sbud, would'st be my _posse?_
This was, indeed, a concession on the part of the constable, who was
over-weighted with the dignity of the law which he upheld.
"Would'st be at my command," he continued, "to execute the King's
_Statu quos_ on rogues?"
"Marry, Constable Buzzard!" exclaimed the toper, gleefully. "Nay, and I
would!"
"Marry, 'Constable' Buzzard!" replied Swallow, with tremendous
indignation at the assumption of the fellow. "Nay, and thou would'st
not, ass! By my patron saint--"
As the constable spoke, Buzzard's eye, with a leer, lighted on the cask
in the corner. He bethought him that it had a vent-hole even though the
landlord had removed the spigot. He tiptoed unsteadily across the room,
and proceeded with much difficulty to insert a straw in the small
opening. He had thus already added materially to his maudlin condition,
before Swallow discovered, with consternation and anger, the temporary
advantage which the newly appointed _posse_ had secured.
The cunning constable held carefully on to his tongue, however. He
quietly produced a knife and staggered in his turn to the cask,
unobserved by the unsuspecting Buzzard, whose eyes were tightly closed
in the realization of a dream of his highest earthly bliss.
In an instant, the straw was clipped mid-way and the constable was
enjoying the contents of the cask through the lower half, while Buzzard
slowly awakened to the fact that his dream of bliss had vanished and
that he was sucking a bit of straw which yielded naught.
"Here, knave," commanded Swallow, between breaths, pushing the other
roughly aside, "thou hast had enough for a _posse_. Fill my mug,
thou ignoranshibus."
Buzzard staggered toward the table to perform the bidding. "The flagon's
empty, Master Constable," he replied, and forthwith loudly called out,
"Landlord! Landlord!"
The constable dropped his straw and raised himself with difficulty to
his full height, one hand firmly resting on the cask.
"Silence, fool of a _posse_" he commanded, when he had poised
himself; "look ye, I have other eggs on the spit. To thy knee, sirrah;
to thy knee, knave!"
Buzzard with difficulty and with many groans unsuspectingly obeyed the
command. Swallow lifted the cask which not long since he had been riding
and which had not as yet been tapped upon the shoulder of his kneeling
companion. There was another groan.
"'Tis too heavy, good Master Constable," cried Buzzard, in sore
distress.
"Thou clodhopper'" yelled Swallow, unsympathetically. "An thou cannot
master a cask of wine, thou wilt never master the King's law. To the
kitchen with thee; and keep thy eyes shut, thou knave of a
_posse_." The constable made a dive for his pike and lantern, and
enforced his authority by punctuating his remarks with jabs of the pike
from behind at his powerless friend, who could scarce keep his legs
under the weight of the cask.
As Buzzard tottered through the kitchen-door and made his exit, the
constable, finding his orders faithfully obeyed, steadied himself with
the pike to secure a good start; and then, with long staggering strides,
he himself made his way after the _posse_, singing loudly to his
heart's content:
_"Good store of good claret supplies everything
And the man that is drunk is as great as a king."_
CHAPTER IX
_Three chickens!_
The door opened quickly, and in came King Charles; but who would have
known him? The royal monarch had assumed the mien and garb of a ragged
cavalier.
His eyes swept the inn quickly and approvingly. He turned upon the
landlord, who followed him with dubious glances.
"Cook the chickens to a turn; and, mark you, have the turbot and sauce
hot, and plenty of wine," he said. "Look to't; the vintage I named,
Master Landlord. I know the bouquet and sparkle and the ripple o'er the
palate."
"Who is to pay for all this, sir?" asked the landlord, aghast at the
order.
"Insolent!" replied Charles. "I command it, sirrah."
"Pardon, sir," humbly suggested the landlord; "guineas, and not words,
command here."
"Odso!" muttered the King, remembering his disguise. "My temper will
reveal me. Never fear, landlord," he boasted loudly. "You shall be paid,
amply paid. I will pledge myself you shall be paid."
"Pardon, sir," falteringly repeated the landlord, rubbing his hands
together graciously; "but the order is a costly one and you--"
"Do not look flourishing?" said Charles, as he laughingly finished the
sentence, glancing somewhat dubiously himself at his own dress. "Never
judge a man by his rags. Plague on't, though; I would not become my own
creditor upon inspection. Take courage, good Master Landlord; England's
debt is in my pocket."
"How many to supper, sir?" asked the landlord, fearful lest he might
offend.
"Two! Two! Only two!" decisively exclaimed Charles. "A man is an
extravagant fool who dines more. The third is expensive and in the way.
Eh, landlord?"
The King winked gaily at the landlord, who grinned in response and
dropped his eyes more respectfully.
"Two, sir," acquiesced the landlord.
"Aye, mine host, thou art favoured beyond thy kind," laughed Charles,
knowingly, as he dwelt upon the joys of a feast incognito alone with
Nell. "A belated goddess would sup at thy hostelry." The landlord's eyes
grew big with astonishment. "I will return. Obey her every wish, dost
hear, her every wish, and leave the bill religiously to me." Charles
swaggered gaily up the steps to the entry-way and out the door.
The moon-face of the inn-keeper grew slowly serious. He could not
reconcile the shabby, road-bespattered garments of the strange cavalier
with his princely commands.
"Body o' me!" he muttered, lighting one by one the candles in the room,
till the rafters fairly glowed in expectation of the feast.
"Roundhead-beggar, on my life! Turbot and capons and the best vintage!
The King could not have better than this rogue. Marry, he shall have the
best in the larder; but Constable Swallow shall toast his feet in the
kitchen, with a mug of musty ale to make him linger."
The corners of the mouth in the moon-face ascended in a chuckle.
"His ragged lordship'll settle the bill very religiously," he thought,
"or sleep off his swollen Roundhead behind the bars."
He passed into the kitchen and gave the order for the repast. As he
returned, there was a tap at the door; and he hastened to the window.
"Bless me, a petticoat!" he cried. "Well, he's told the truth for once.
She's veiled. Ashamed of her face or ashamed of him."
He opened the door and ushered in a lady dressed in white; across her
face and eyes was thrown a scarf of lace.
"Not here?" questioned the new-comer, glancing eagerly about the room and
peeping into every nook and corner without the asking, to the
astonishment of the inn-keeper.
"Not here?" she asked herself again, excitedly. "Tell me, tell me, is
this Ye Blue Boar Inn?"
"Yes, lady--" replied the landlord, graciously.
"Good, good! Has she been here? Have you seen her?"
"Who, the goddess?" asked the landlord, stupidly.
"The goddess!" retorted Nell, for it was none other, with humorous irony
of lip. "How can you so belie the Duchess?" She laughed merrily at the
thought.
There was a second knock; and the landlord again hastened to the window.
"'Tis she; 'tis she!" exclaimed Nell, excitedly. "Haste ye, man; I am in
waiting! What has she on? How is she dressed?"
"Body o' me!" exclaimed the landlord, in awe, as he craned his neck at
the sash. "'Tis a lady of quality."
"Bad quality," ejaculated Nell.
"She has come in a chair of silver," cried the landlord.
"My chair shall be of beaten gold, then," thought Nell, with a twinkle
of the eye. "Charles, you must raise the taxes."
"Mercy me, the great lady's coming in," continued the landlord, beside
himself in his excitement.
"She shall be welcome, most welcome, landlord," observed Nell promptly.
"Body o' me! What shall I say?" asked the landlord, in trembling
accents.
"Faith and troth," replied Nell, coming to his rescue, "I will do the
parlez-vousing with her ladyship. Haste thee, thou grinning fat man."
She glided quickly into a corner of the old fireplace, where she could
not be observed so readily.
The Duchess of Portsmouth entered, with all the haughty grandeur of a
queen. She glanced about contemptuously, and her lip could be seen to
curl, even through the veil which partially hid her face.
"This _bourgeois_ place," she said, "to sup with the King! It
cannot be! _Garcon!_"
"What a voice," reflected Nell, in her hiding-place, "in which to sigh,
'I love you.'"
"Barbarous place!" exclaimed Portsmouth. "His Majesty must have lost
his wits."
She smiled complacently, however, as she reflected that the King might
consent even within these walls and that his sign-manual, if so secured,
would be as binding as if given in a palace.
"_Garcon!_" again she called, irritably.
Nell was meanwhile inspecting her rival from top to toe. Nothing escaped
her quick eye. "I'll wager her complexion needs a veil," she muttered,
with vixenish glee. "That gown is an insult to her native France."
"_Garcon_; answer me," commanded Portsmouth, fretfully.
The landlord had danced about her grace in such anxiety to please that
he had displeased. He had not learned the courtier's art of being ever
present, yet never in the way.
"Yes, your ladyship," he stupidly repeated again and again. "What would
your ladyship?"
"Did a prince leave commands for supper?" she asked, impatiently.
"No, your ladyship," he replied, obsequiously. "A ragged rogue ordered a
banquet and then ran away, your ladyship."
"How, sirrah?" she questioned, angrily, though the poor landlord had
meant no discourtesy.
"If he knew his guests, he would ne'er return," softly laughed Nell.
"_Parbleu_," continued Portsmouth, in her French, impatient way,
now quite incensed by the stupidity of the landlord, "a cavalier would
meet me at Ye Blue Boar Inn; so said the messenger."
She suddenly caught sight of Nell, whose biting curiosity had led her
from her hiding-place. "This is not the rendezvous," she reflected
quickly. "We were to sup alone."
The landlord still bowed and still uttered the meaningless phrase: "Yes,
your ladyship."
The Duchess was at the end of her patience. "_Mon Dieu_," she
exclaimed, "do you know nothing, sirrah?"
The moon-face beamed. The head bowed and bowed and bowed; the hands were
rubbed together graciously.
"Good lack, I know not; a supper for a king was ordered by a ragged
Roundhead," he replied. "Here are two petticoats, your ladyship. When I
know which petticoat is which petticoat, your ladyship, I will serve the
dinner."
The tavern-keeper sidled toward the kitchen-door. As he went out, he
muttered, judiciously low: "I wouldn't give a ha'penny for the choice."
"Beggar!" snapped Portsmouth. "Musty place, musty furniture, musty
_garcon_, musty everything!"
She stood aloof in the centre of the room as if fearful lest she might
be contaminated by her surroundings.
Nell approached her respectfully.
"You may like it better after supper, madame," she suggested, mildly. "A
good spread, sparkling wine and most congenial company have cast a halo
o'er more time-begrimed rafters than these."
"Who are you, madame?" inquired the Duchess, haughtily.
"A fellow-passenger on the earth," gently replied Nell, "and a lover of
good company, and--some wine."
"Yes?" said the Duchess, in a way that only a woman can ask and answer a
question with a "yes" and with a look such as only a woman can give
another woman when she asks and answers that little question with a
"yes."
There was a moment's pause.
The Duchess continued: "Perhaps you have seen the cavalier I await."
"Marry, not I," replied Nell, promptly; and she bethought her that she
had kept a pretty sharp lookout for him, too.
"Is this a proper place for a lady to visit?" pompously inquired the
Duchess.
"You raise the first doubt," said Nell quickly.
"Madame!" exclaimed Portsmouth, interrupting her, with fiery
indignation.
"I say, you are the first to question the propriety of the place,"
explained Nell, apologetically, though she delighted inwardly at the
intended shot which she had given her grace.
"I came by appointment," continued the Duchess; "but it seems I was
misled. _Garcon_, my chair!"
The Duchess made a move toward the door, but Nell's words stopped her.
"Be patient, Duchess! He is too gallant to desert you."
"She knows me!" thought Portsmouth. She turned sharply upon the
stranger. "I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, madame."
"Such is my loss, not yours," replied Nell, suavely.
"Remove your veil," commanded the Duchess; and her eyes flashed through
her own.
"I dare not before the beauty of Versailles," continued Nell, sweetly.
"Remove yours first. Then I may take mine off unseen."
"Do I know you?" suspiciously inquired Portsmouth.
"I fear not," said Nell, meekly, and she courtesied low. "I am but an
humble player--called Nell Gwyn."
The Duchess raised herself to her full height.
"Nell Gwyn!" she hissed, and she fairly tore off her veil.
"Your grace's most humble servant," said Nell, again courtesying low and
gracefully removing her veil.
"This is a trap," exclaimed the Duchess, as she realized the situation.
"Heaven bless the brain that set it then," sweetly suggested Nell.
"Your own, minx," snapped Portsmouth. "I'll not look at the hussy!" she
muttered. She crossed the room and seated herself upon the bench, back
to Nell.
"Your grace would be more kind if you knew my joy at seeing you."
"And why?" asked the Duchess, ironically.
"I would emulate your warmth and amiability," tenderly responded Nell.
"Yes?" said Portsmouth; but how much again there was in her little
"yes," accented as it was with a French shrug.
"I adore a beautiful woman," continued Nell, "especially when I know her
to be--"
"A successful rival?" triumphantly asked the Duchess.
"A rival!" exclaimed Nell, in well-feigned astonishment, still toying
with the Duchess's temper. "Is the poor actress so honoured in a
duchess's thought? Your grace is generous."
If all the angels had united, they could not have made her speech more
sweet or her manner more enticing.
"I presumed you might conceive it so," replied Portsmouth, with mocking,
condescending mien.
Nell approached her timidly and spoke softly, lovingly, subserviently.
"A rival to the great Duchess of Portsmouth!" she said. "Perish the
thought! It is with trepidation I look upon your glorious face, madame;
a figure that would tempt St. Anthony; a foot so small it makes us swear
the gods have lent invisible wings to waft you to your conquest. Nay, do
not turn your rosy lip in scorn; I am in earnest, so in earnest, that,
were I but a man, I would bow me down your constant slave--unless
perchance you should grow fat."
The turn was delicious: Nell's face was a study; and so was
Portsmouth's.
The Duchess sprang to her feet, realizing fully for the first time that
she had been trapped and trifled with. "Hussy! Beware your own lacings,"
she angrily exclaimed, turning now full face upon her adversary.
Nell was leaning against the table across the room, quietly observing
Portsmouth upon the word-wrack. Her whole manner had changed. She
watched with evident delight the play of discomfiture, mingled with
contempt, upon the beautiful Duchess's face.
"_Me_ fat!" she derisively laughed. "Be sure I shall never grow too
much so. And have not the stars said I shall ne'er grow old?"
"Your stars are falser than yourself," tartly snapped the Duchess.
"Mayhap," said Nell, still gleeful; "but mark you this truth: I shall
reign queen of Love and Laughter while I live, and die with the first
wrinkle."
She was interrupted by his Majesty, who, unsuspecting, swaggered into
the room in buoyant spirits.
"The King!" exclaimed Nell, as she slyly glanced over her shoulder.
The King looked at one woman and then at the other in dismay and horror.
"Scylla and Charybdis!" he muttered, nervously, glancing about for means
of escape. "All my patron-saints protect me!"
Nell was by his side in an instant.
"Good even' to your Majesty," she roguishly exclaimed. "How can I ever
thank you, Sire, for inviting the Duchess to sup with me! I have been
eager to meet her ladyship."
"Ods-pitikins," he thought, "a loophole for me."
"Well,--you see--" he said, "a little surprise, Nelly,--a little
surprise--for me." The last two words were not audible to his hearers.
He looked at the beautiful rivals an instant, then ventured, "I hoped to
be in time to introduce you, ladies."
"Oh, your Majesty," asserted Nell, consolingly, "we are already quite
well acquainted. I knew her grace through her veil."
"No doubt on't," observed the King, knowingly.
"Yes, Sire," said the Duchess, haughtily, casting a frigid glance at
Nell, "I warrant we understand each other perfectly."
"Better and better," said Charles, with a sickly laugh.
His Majesty saw rocks and shoals ahead, and his wits could find no
channel of escape. He turned in dire distress upon Nell, who stood
aloof. She looked up into his face with the innocence of a babe in every
feature.
"Minx, this is your work!" he whispered.
"Yes, Sire!" she answered, mock-reprovingly, bending quite to the floor
as she courtesied low.
"'Yes, Sire.' Baggage!" he exclaimed good-naturedly despite himself.
As he turned away, praying Heaven to see him out of the difficulty, he
observed the landlord, who had just entered with bread and cups,
muttering some dubious invocations to himself. He clutched at this piece
of human stupidity--like a drowning man clutching at a straw: "Ah,
landlord, bring in what we live for; and haste ye, sirrah. The wine! The
wine!"
"It is ready, sir," obsequiously replied the landlord, who had just
sense enough in his dull cranium to reflect also, by way of complement,
"So is Constable Swallow."
"Good news, good news!" cried Charles; and he tossed his plumed hat upon
the sideboard, preparatory to the feast. "D'ye hear, my fair and loving
friends? Come, it is impolite to keep the capons waiting. My arms; my
arms!"
The King stepped gallantly between the ladies, making a bold play for
peace. The Duchess took one arm formally. Nell seized the remaining arm
and almost hugged his Majesty, nestling her head affectionately against
his shoulder. Charles observed the decorum of due dignity. He was
impartial to a fault; for he realized that there only lay his salvation.
The phalanx approached the feast in solemn march. The King tossed his
head proudly and observed: "Who would not play the thorn with two such
buds to blush on either side?"
There was a halt. The Duchess looked coldly at the table, then coldly at
the King, then more coldly at Nell. The King looked at each inquiringly.
"I thought your Majesty ordered supper for three," she said. "It is set
for two."
"Odsfish, for two!" cried Charles, glancing, anxiously, for the first
time at the collation.
Nell had taken her place at the feast, regardless of formality. She was
looking out for herself, irrespective of King or Duchess. She believed
that a dinner, like the grave, renders all equal.
"Egad!" she exclaimed, as she dwelt upon the force of the Duchess's
observation. "Our host is teaching us the virtues of economy."
The unsuspecting landlord re-entered at this moment, wine in hand, which
he proceeded to place upon the table.
"What do you mean, knave, by this treachery!" almost shrieked the King
at sight of him. "Another plate, dost hear; another plate, dog!"
"Bless me," explained the landlord, in confusion, "you said supper for
two, sir; that a man was a fool who dined more; that the third was
expensive and in the way."
"Villain!" cried Charles, in a hopeless effort to suppress the fellow,
"I said two-two--beside myself. I never count myself in the presence of
these ladies."
The landlord beat a hasty retreat.
The Duchess smiled a chilling smile, and asked complacently:
"Which one of us did you expect, Sire?"
"Yes, which did you expect, Sire?" laughed Nell.
"Oh, my head," groaned Charles; "well, well,--you see--Duchess, the
matter lies in this wise--"
"Let me help your Majesty," generously interrupted Nell. "Her ladyship
is ill at figures. You see, Charles and I are one, and you make two,
Duchess."
"I spoke to the King," haughtily replied the Duchess, not deigning to
glance at Nell.
The King placed his hands upon his forehead in bewilderment.
"This is a question for the Prime Minister and sages of the realm in
council."
"There are but two chairs, Sire," continued Portsmouth, coldly.
"Two chairs!" exclaimed the Merry Monarch, aghast, as he saw the breach
hopelessly widening. "I am lost."
"That is serious, Sire," said Nell, sadly; and then her eye twinkled as
she suggested, "but perhaps we might make out with one, for the
Duchess's sake. I am so little."
She turned her head and laughed gaily, while she watched the Duchess's
face out of the corner of her eye.
"'Sheart," sighed the King, "I have construed grave controversies of
state in my time, but ne'er drew the line yet betwixt black eyes and
blue, brunette and blonde, when both were present. Another chair,
landlord! Come, my sweethearts; eat, drink and forget."
The King threw himself carelessly into a chair in the hope that, in meat
and drink, he might find peace.
"Aye," acquiesced Nell, who was already at work, irrespective of
ceremony, "eat, drink and forget! I prefer to quarrel after supper."
"I do not," said the Duchess, who still stood indignant in the centre of
the room.
Nell could scarce speak, for her mouthful; but she replied gaily, with a
French shrug, in imitation of the Duchess:
"Oh, very well! I have a solution. Let's play sphinx, Sire."
Charles looked up hopefully.
"Anything for peace," he exclaimed. "How is't?"
"Why," explained Nell, with the philosophical air of a learned doctor,
"some years before you and I thought much about the ways and means of
this wicked world, your Majesty, the Sphinx spent her leisure asking
people riddles; and if they could not answer, she ate them alive. Give
me some of that turbot. Don't stand on ceremony, Sire; for the Duchess
is waiting."
The King hastened to refill Nell's plate.
"Thank you," laughed the vixen; "that will do for now. Let the Duchess
propound a riddle from the depths of her subtle brain; and if I do not
fathom it upon the instant, Sire, 't is the Duchess's--not
Nell's--evening with the King."
"Odsfish, a great stake!" cried Charles. He arose with a serio-comic
air, much pleased at the turn things were taking.
"Don't be too confident, madame," ironically suggested the Duchess; "you
are cleverer in making riddles than in solving them."
As she spoke, the room was suddenly filled with savoury odour. The
moon-faced landlord had again appeared, flourishing a platter containing
two finely roasted chickens. His face glowed with pride and ale.
"The court's famished," exclaimed Charles, as he greeted the inn-keeper;
"proceed!"
"Two capons! I have it," triumphantly thought Portsmouth, as she
reflected upon a riddle she had once heard in far-off France. It could
not be known in England. Nothing so clever could be known in England.
She looked contemptuously at Nell, and then at the two chickens, as she
propounded it.
"Let your wits find then three capons on this plate."
"Three chickens!" cried Charles, in wonderment, closely scrutinizing the
two fowl upon the plate and then looking up inquiringly at the Duchess.
"There are but two."
Nell only gurgled.
"Another glass, landlord, and I'll see four," she said. "Here's to you
two, and to me too." She drank gaily to her toast.
"That is not the answer, madame," coldly retorted the Duchess.
"Are we come to blows over two innocent chickens?" asked Charles,
somewhat concerned still for the outcome. "Bring on your witnesses."
"This is one chicken, your Majesty," declared the Duchess. "Another's
two; and two and one make three."
With much formality and something of the air of a conjurer, she counted
the first chicken and the second chicken and then recounted the first
chicken, in such a way as to make it appear that there were three birds
in all.
The King, who was ill at figures, like all true spendthrifts, sat
confused by her speech. Nell laughed again. The landlord, who was in and
out, stopped long enough to enter upon his bill, in rambling characters,
"3 chickens." This was all his dull ear had comprehended. He then
piously proceeded on his way.
"Gadso!" exclaimed the King, woefully. "It is too much for me."
"Pooh, pooh, 'tis too simple for you, Sire," laughed Nell. "I solved it
when a child. Here is my bird; and here is your bird; and our dearest
Duchess shall sup on her third bird!"
Nell quickly spitted one chicken upon a huge fork and so removed it to
her own plate. The second chicken, she likewise conveyed to his
Majesty's. Then, with all the politeness which she only could summon,
she bowed low and offered the empty platter to the Duchess.
Portsmouth struck it to the board angrily with her gloved hand and
steadied herself against the table.
"Hussy!" she hissed, and forthwith pretended to grow faint.
Charles was at her elbow in an instant, supporting her.
"Oh,--Sire, I--" she continued, in her efforts to speak.
"What is it?" cried Charles, seriously, endeavouring to assist her. "You
are pale, Louise."
"I am faint," replied she, with much difficulty. "Pardon my longer
audience, Sire; I am not well. _Garcon_, my chair. Assist me to the
door."
The fat landlord made a hasty exit, for him, toward the street, in his
desire to help the great lady. Charles supported her to the threshold.
"Call a leech, Sire," cried Nell after them, with mock sympathy. "Her
grace has choked on a chicken-bone."
"Be still, wench," commanded the King. "Do not leave us, Louise; it
breaks the sport."
"Nay," pleaded Nell also, "do not go because of this little
merry-making, Duchess. I desire we may become better friends."
Her voice revived the Duchess.
"_Sans doute_, we shall, madame," Portsmouth replied, coldly. "_A
mon bal! Pas adieu, mais au revoir_."
The great Duchess courtesied low, kissed the King's hand, arose to her
full height and, with an eye-shot at Nell, took her departure.
CHAPTER X
_Arrest him yourself!_
The King stood at the door, thoughtfully reflecting on the temper of the
departing Duchess. She was a maid of honour and, more than that, an
emissary from his brother Louis of France. Gossip said he loved her, but
it was not true, though he liked her company exceeding well when the
mood suited. He regretted only the evening's incident, with the harsher
feeling it was sure to engender.
Nell stood by the fireplace, muttering French phrases in humorous
imitation of her grace. Observing the King's preoccupation, she tossed a
_serviette_ merrily at his head.
This brought his Majesty to himself again. He turned, and laughed as he
saw her; for his brain and heart delighted in her merry-making. He loved
her.
"What means this vile French?" she asked, with delicious suggestion of
the shrug, accent and manner of her vanquished rival.
"The Duchess means," explained the King, "that she gives a royal ball--"
"And invites me?" broke in Nell, quickly, placing her elbows upon a cask
and looking over it impishly at Charles.
"And invites you _not_" said the King, "and so outwits you."
"By her porters' wits and not her own," retorted Nell.
She threw herself into a chair and became oblivious for the moment of
her surroundings.
"The French hussy! So she gives a ball?" she thought. "Well, well, I'll
be there! I'll teach her much. Oh, I'll be pretty, too, aye, very
pretty. No fear yet of rivalry or harm for England."
Charles watched her amusedly, earnestly, lovingly. The vixen had fallen
unconsciously into imitating again the Duchess's foreign ways, as an
accompaniment even for her thoughts.
"_Sans doute_, we shall, _madame_" Nell muttered audibly, with
much gesticulating and a mocking accent. "_A mon bal! Pas adieu, mais
au revoir_."
The King came closer.
"Are you ill," he asked, "that you do mutter so and wildly act?"
"I was only thinking that, if I were a man," she said, turning toward
him playfully, "I would love your Duchess to devotion. Her wit is so
original, her repartee so sturdy. Your Majesty's taste in horses--and
some women--is excellent."
She crossed the room gaily and threw herself laughing upon the bench.
The King followed her.
"Heaven help the being, naughty Nell," he said, "who offends thy merry
tongue; but I love thee for it." He sat down beside her in earnest
adoration, then caught her lovingly in his arms.
"Love me?" sighed Nell, scarce mindful of the embrace. "Ah, Sire, I am
but a plaything for the King at best, a caprice, a fancy--naught else."
"Nay, sweet," said Charles, "you have not read this heart."
"I have read it too deeply," replied Nell, with much meaning in her
voice. "It is this one to-day, that one to-morrow, with King Charles.
Ah, Sire, your love for the poor player-girl is summed up in three
little words: 'I amuse you!'"
"Amuse me!" exclaimed Charles, thoughtfully. "Hark ye, Nell! States may
marry us; they cannot make us love. Ye Gods, the humblest peasant in my
realm is monarch of a heart of his own choice. Would I were such a
king!"
"What buxom country lass," asked Nell, sadly but wistfully, "teaches
your fancy to follow the plough, my truant master?"
"You forget: I too," continued Charles, "have been an outcast, like
Orange Nell, seeking a crust and bed."
He arose and turned away sadly to suppress his emotion. He was not the
King of England now: he was a man who had suffered; he was a man among
men.
"Forgive me, Sire," said Nell, tenderly, as a woman only can speak, "if
I recall unhappy times."
"Unhappy!" echoed Charles, while Fancy toyed with Recollection. "Nell,
in those dark days, I learned to read the human heart. God taught me
then the distinction 'twixt friend and enemy. When a misled rabble had
dethroned my father, girl, and murdered him before our palace gate, and
bequeathed the glorious arts and progressive sciences to religious
bigots and fanatics, to trample under foot and burn--when, if a little
bird sang overjoyously, they cut out his tongue for daring to be
merry--in some lonely home by some stranger's hearth, a banished prince,
called Charles Stuart, oft found an asylum of plenty and repose; and in
your eyes, my Nell, I read the self-same, loyal, English heart."
There was all the sadness of great music in his speech. Nell fell upon
her knee, and kissed his hand, reverently.
"My King!" she said; and her voice trembled with passionate love.
He raised her tenderly and kissed her upon the lips.
"My queen," he said; and his voice too trembled with passionate love.
"And Milton says that Paradise is lost," whispered Nell. Her head rested
on the King's shoulder. She looked up--the picture of perfect
happiness--into his eyes.
"Not while Nell loves Charles," he said.
"And Charles remembers Nell," her voice answered, softly.
Meanwhile, the rotund landlord had entered unobserved; and a contrast he
made, indeed, to the endearing words of the lovers as at this instant he
unceremoniously burst forth in guttural accents with:
"The bill! The bill for supper, sir!"
Nell looked at the King and the King looked at Nell; then both looked at
the landlord. The lovers' sense of humour was boundless. That was their
first tie; the second, their hearts.
"The bill!" repeated Nell, smothering a laugh. "Yes, we were just
speaking of the bill."
"How opportune!" exclaimed Charles, taking the cue. "We feared you would
forget it, sirrah."
"See that it is right," ejaculated Nell.
The King glanced at the bill indifferently, but still could not fail to
see "3 chickens" in unschooled hand. His eyes twinkled and he glanced at
the landlord, but the latter avoided his look with a pretence of
innocence.
[Illustration: THE DECEPTION.]
"Gad," said Charles, with a swagger, "what are a few extra shillings to
Parliament? Here, my man." He placed a hand in a pocket, but found it
empty. "No; it is in the other pocket." He placed his hand in another,
only to find it also empty. Then he went through the remaining pockets,
one by one, turning them each out for inspection--his face assuming an
air of mirthful hopelessness as he proceeded. He had changed his garb
for a merry lark, but had neglected to change his purse. "Devil on't,
I--have--forgotten--Odsfish, where is my treasurer?" he exclaimed at
last.
"Your treasurer!" shrieked the landlord, who had watched Charles's
search, with twitching eyes. "Want your treasurer, do ye? Constable
Swallow'll find him for ye. Constable Swallow! I knew you were a rascal,
by your face."
Charles laughed.
This exasperated the landlord still further. He began to flutter about
the room aimlessly, bill in hand. He presented it to Charles and he
presented it to Nell, who would have none of it; while at intervals he
called loudly for the constable.
"Peace, my man," entreated Nell; "be still for mercy's sake."
"Good lack, my lady," pleaded the landlord, in despair, "good lack, but
you would not see a poor man robbed by a vagabond, would ye? Constable
Swallow!"
The situation was growing serious indeed. The King was mirthful still,
but Nell was fearful.
"Nell, have you no money to stop this heathen's mouth?" he finally
ejaculated, as he caught up his bonnet and tossed it jauntily upon his
head.
"Not a farthing," replied she, sharply. "I was invited to sup, not pay
the bill."
"If the King knew this rascal," yelled the landlord at the top of his
voice, pointing to Charles, "he would be behind the bars long ago."
This was too much for his Majesty, who broke into the merriest of
laughs.
"Verily, I believe you," he admitted. Then he fell to laughing again,
almost rolling off the bench in his glee.
"Master Constable," wildly repeated the landlord, at the kitchen-door.
"Let my new wife alone; they are making off with the house."
Nell was filled with consternation.
"He'll raise the neighbourhood, Sire," she whispered to Charles. "Have
you no money to stop this heathen's mouth?"
"Not even holes in my pockets," calmly replied the Merry Monarch.
"Odsfish, what company am I got into!" sighed Nell. She ran to the
landlord and seized his arm in her endeavour to quiet him.
The landlord, however, was beside himself. He stood at the kitchen-door
gesticulating ferociously and still shouting at the top of his voice:
"Constable Swallow! Help, help; thieves; Constable Swallow!"
Swallow staggered into the room with all his dignity aboard. Tankard in
hand, he made a dive for the table, and catching it firmly, surveyed the
scene.
Nell turned to her lover for protection.
"Murder, hic!" ejaculated the constable. "Thieves! What's the
row?--Hic!"
"Arrest this blackguard," commanded the landlord, nervously, "this
perfiler of honest men."
"Arrest!--You drunken idiot!" indignantly exclaimed Charles; and his
sword cut the air before the constable's eyes.
Nell seized his arm. Her woman's intuition showed her the better course.
"You will raise a nest of them," she whispered. "You need your wits,
Sire; not your sword."
"Nay; come on, I say," cried Charles, fearlessly. "We'll see what his
Majesty's constables are made of."
"You rogue--_Posse!_" exclaimed Swallow, starting boldly for the
King, then making a brilliant retreat, calling loudly for help, as the
rapier tickled him in the ribs.
"You ruffian--_Posse!_" he continued to call, alternately, first to
one and then to the other; for his fear paralyzed all but his tongue.
"You outlaw--_Posse commi-ti-titous_--hic!"
Buzzard also now entered from his warm nest in the kitchen, so
intoxicated that he vented his enthusiasm in song, which in this case
seemed apt:
_"The man that is drunk is as great as a king."_
"Another champion of the King's law!" ejaculated Charles, not without a
shadow of contempt in his voice, once more assuming an attitude of
defence.
"Oh, Charles!" pleaded Nell, again catching his arm.
"_Posse_, arrest that vagabond," commanded the constable, from a
point of safety behind the table.
"Aye, aye, sir," replied the obedient Buzzard. "On what charge--hic?"
"He's a law-breaker and a robber!" yelled the watchful landlord.
"He called the law a drunken idiot. Hic--hic!" woefully wailed Swallow.
"Odsbud, that's treason! Arrest him, _posse_--hic!"
"Knave, I arrest--hic!" asserted Buzzard.
The _posse_ started boldly enough for his game, but was suddenly
brought to a stand-still in his reeling course by the sharp point of the
rapier playing about his legs. He made several indignant efforts to
overcome the obstacle. The point of the blade was none too gentle with
him, even as he beat a retreat; and his enthusiasm waned.
"Arrest him yourself--hic!" he exclaimed.
Swallow's face grew red with rage. To have his orders disobeyed fired
him with much more indignation of soul than the escape of the ruffian,
who was simply defrauding the landlord of a dinner. He turned hotly upon
the insubordinate _posse_, crying:
"I'll arrest you, you Buzzard--hic!"
"I'll arrest you, you Swallow--hic!" with equal dignity retorted
Buzzard.
"I'm his Majesty's constable--hic!" hissed Swallow, from lips charged
with air, bellows-like.
"I'm his Majesty's _posse_--hic!" hissed Buzzard in reply.
The two drunken representatives of the law seized each other angrily.
The landlord, in despair, endeavoured hopelessly to separate them.
"A wrangle of the generals," laughed Charles. "Now is our time." He
looked about quickly for an exit.
"Body o' me! The vagabonds'll escape," shouted the landlord.
"Fly, fly!" said Nell. "This way, Charles."
She ran hastily toward the steps leading to the entry-way; the King
assisted her.
"Stop, thief! Stop, thief!" screamed the landlord. "The bill! The bill!"
"Send it to the Duchess!" replied Nell, gaily, as she and the Merry
Monarch darted into the night.
The landlord turned in despair, to find the drunken champions of the
King's law in a struggling heap upon the floor. He raised his foot and
took out vengeance where vengeance could be found.
CHAPTER XI
_In the field, men; at court, women!_
It was the evening of Portsmouth's long-awaited _bal masque_. Music
filled her palace with rhythmic sound. In the gardens, its mellowing
strains died away among the shrubs and over-hanging boughs. In every
nook and corner wandered at will the nobility--the richest--the
greatest--in the land.
None entertain like the French; and the Duchess had, indeed, exhausted
French art in turning the grand old place into a land of ravishing
enchantment, with its many lights, its flowers, its works of art. Her
abode was truly an enlivening scene, with its variety of maskers, bright
dominoes and vizards.
The King was there and took a merry part in all the sport, although,
beneath his swaggering abandon, there lurked a vein of sadness. He
laughed heartily, he danced gaily, he jested with one and all; but his
manner was assumed. The shrewdest woman's eye could not have seen it;
though she might have felt it. Brother James too enjoyed the dance,
despite his piety; and Buckingham, Rochester and a score of courtiers
beloved by the King entered mirthfully into the scene, applauding the
Duchess's entertainment heartily.
As the evening wore apace, the merry maskers grew merrier and merrier.
In a drawing-room adjoining the great ball-room, a robber-band, none
other than several gallants, whose identity was concealed by silken
vizards, created huge amusement by endeavouring to steal a kiss from
Lady Hamilton. She feigned shyness, then haughtiness, then anger; then
she ran. They were after her and about her in an instant. There were
cries of "A kiss!" "A kiss!" "This way!" "Make a circle or she'll escape
us!"
A dozen kisses so were stolen by the eager gallants before my lady broke
away, stamping her foot in indignation, as she exclaimed:
"Nay, I am very angry, very--"
"That there were no more, wench!" laughed Buckingham. "Marry, 'tis a
merry night when Portsmouth reigns. Long live the Duchess in the King's
heart!"
"So you may capture its fairer favourite, friend Buckingham?" suggested
the King, softly; and there was no hidden meaning in his speech, for the
King suspected that Buckingham's heart as well was not at Portsmouth's
and Buckingham knew that the King suspected it.
Buckingham was the prince of courtiers; he bowed low and, saying much
without saying anything, replied respectfully:
"So I may console her, Sire, that she is out-beautied by France
to-night."
"Out-beautied! Not bidden, thou mean'st," exclaimed the King, his
thoughts roving toward Nelly's terrace. Ah, how he longed to be there!
"The room is close," he fretted. "Come, gallants, to the promenade!"
He was dressed in white and gold; and a princely prince he looked,
indeed, as the courtiers separated for him to pass out between them.
All followed save Buckingham, whom Portsmouth's eye detained.
She broke into a joyous laugh as she turned from the tapestry-curtains,
through which she could see his Majesty--the centre of a mirthful scene
without.
"What say you now, my lord?" she asked, triumphantly, of Buckingham. "I
am half avenged already, and the articles half signed. The King is here
despite his Madame Gwyn, and in a playful mood that may be tuned to
love."
Buckingham's ardour did not kindle as she hoped.
"Merriment is oft but Sadness's mask, Louise," he replied, thoughtfully.
"What meanest thou?" she asked, in her nervous, Gallic way, and as
quickly, her mind anticipating, answered: "This trifle of the gossips
that Charles advances the player's whim to found a hospital at Chelsea,
for broken-down old soldiers? _Ce n'est rien!"_
She broke into a mocking laugh.
"Aye!" replied Buckingham, quietly but significantly. "The orders are
issued for its building and the people are cheering Nell throughout the
realm."
"_Ma foi!_" came from the Duchess's contemptuous lips. "And what
say the rabble of Portsmouth?"
"That she is Louis's pensioner sent here from France--a spy!" he
answered, quickly and forcefully too. "The hawkers cry it in the
streets."
"Fools! Fools!" she mused. Then, making sure that no arras had ears, she
continued: "Before the night is done, thou shalt hear that Luxembourg
has fallen to the French--Mark!--Luxembourg! Feed the rabble on that, my
lord. Heaven preserve King Louis!"
The Duke started incredulously. When had Portsmouth seen the King? and
by what arts had she won the royal consent? A score of questions
trembled on his lips--and yet were checked before the utterance. Not an
intimation before of her success had reached his ear, though he had
advised with the Duchess almost daily since their accidental meeting
below Nell's terrace. Indeed, in his heart, he had never believed that
she would be able so to dupe the King. The shadow from the axe which
fell upon Charles I. still cast its warning gloom athwart the walls of
Whitehall; and, in the face of the temper of the English people and of
well-known treaties, the acquiescence of Charles II. in Louis's project
would be but madness. Luxembourg was the key strategetically to the
Netherlands and the states beyond. Its fall meant the augmentation of
the Empire of Louis, the personal ignominy of Charles!
"Luxembourg!" He repeated the word cautiously. "King Charles did not
consent--"
"Nay," replied the Duchess, in her sweetest way, "but I knew he would;
and so I sent the message in advance."
"Forgery! 'Twas boldly done, Louise," cried Buckingham, in tones of
admiration mixed with fear.
"I knew my power, my lord," she said confidently; and her eyes glistened
with womanly pride as she added: "The consent will come."
Buckingham's eyes--usually so frank--fell; and, for some seconds, he
stood seemingly lost in abstraction over the revelations made by the
Duchess. He was, however, playing a deeper game than he appeared to
play. Apparently in thoughtlessness, he began to toy with a ring which
hung upon a ribbon about his neck and which till then had been
cautiously concealed.
"Nay, what have you there?" questioned Portsmouth.
Buckingham's face assumed an expression of surprise. He pretended not to
comprehend the import of her words.
She pointed to the ring.
He glanced at it as though he regretted it had been seen, then added
carelessly, apparently to appease but really to whet the Duchess's
curiosity:
"Merely a ring the King gave Nell."
There was more than curiosity now in Portsmouth's eyes.
"I borrowed it to show it you," continued Buckingham, indifferently,
then asked, with tantalizing calmness: "Is your mission quite complete?"
With difficulty, the Duchess mastered herself. Without replying, she
walked slowly toward the table, in troubled thought. The mask of crime
revealed itself in her beautiful features, as she said, half to herself:
"I have a potion I brought from France."
She was of the Latin race and poison was a heritage.
Buckingham caught the words not meant for him, and realized too well
their sinister meaning. Poison Nell! His eyes swept the room fearfully
and he shuddered. He hastened to Portsmouth's side, and in cold whispers
importuned her:
"For Heaven's mercy, woman, as you love yourself and me--poison is an
unhealthy diet to administer in England."
The Duchess turned upon him impatiently. The black lines faded slowly
from her face; but they still were there, beneath the beauty-lines.
"My servants have watched her house without avail," she sneered. "Your
plan is useless; my plan will work."
"Stay!" pleaded Buckingham, still fearful. "We can ourselves entice some
adventurous spirit up Nell's terrace, then trap him. So our end is
reached."
"Aye," replied the Duchess, in milder mood, realizing that she had been
over-hasty at least in speech, "the minx presumes to love the King, and
so is honest! But of her later. The treaties! He shall sign
to-night--to-night, I say."
With a triumphant air, she pointed to the quills and sand upon a table
in readiness for his signing.
Buckingham smiled approvingly; and in his smile lurked flattery so
adroit that it pleased the Duchess despite herself.
"Lord Hyde, St. Albans and the rest," said he, "are here to aid the
cause."
"Bah!" answered Portsmouth, with a shrug. "In the field, men; at court,
women! This girl has outwitted you all. I must accomplish my mission
alone. Charles must be Louis's pensioner in full; England the slave of
France! My fortune--_Le Grand Roi's_ regard--hang upon it."
Buckingham cautioned her with a startled gesture.
"Nay," smiled Portsmouth, complacently, "I may speak frankly, my lord;
for your head is on the same block still with mine."
"And my heart, Louise," he said, in admiration. "Back to the King! Do
nothing rash. We will banish thy rival, dear hostess."
He did not add, save in thought, that Nell's banishment, if left to him,
would be to his own country estate.
There was almost a touch of affection in the Duchess's voice as she
prepared to join the King.
"Leave all to me, my lord," she said, then courtesied low.
"Yea, all but Nell!" reflected his lordship, as he watched her depart.
"With this ring, I'll keep thee wedded to jealous interest, and so
enrich my purse and power. Thou art a great woman, fair France; I half
love thee myself. But thou knowest only a moiety of my purpose. The
other half is Nell!"
He stood absorbed in his own thoughts.
The draperies at the further doorway, on which was worked in Gobelin
tapestry a forest with its grand, imposing oaks, were pushed nervously
aside. Jack Hart entered, mask in hand, and scanned the room with
skeptic eye.
"A happy meeting," mused Buckingham, reflecting upon Hart's one-time
ardour for Mistress Nell and upon the possibility that that ardour, if
directed by himself, might yet compromise Nell in the King's eyes and
lead to the realization of his own fond dreams of greater wealth and
power and, still more sweet, to the possession of his choice among all
the beauties of the realm.
"It is a sad hour," thought Hart, glancing at the merry dancers through
the arch, "when all the world, like players, wear masks."
Buckingham assumed an air of bonhomie.
"Whither away, Master Hart?" he called after the player, who started
perceptibly at his voice. "Let not thy fancy play truant to this gay
assemblage, to mope in St. James's Park."
"My lord!" exclaimed Hart, hotly. The fire, however, was gone in an
instant; and he added, evidently under strong constraint: "Pardon; but
we prefer to change the subject."
"The drift's the same," chuckled the shrewd Buckingham; "we may turn it
to advantage." He approached the player in a friendly manner. "Be not
angry," he exclaimed soothingly; "for there's a rift even in the clouds
of love. Brighter, man; for King Charles was seeking your wits but now."
"He'd have me play court-fool for him?" asked the melancholy mime, who
had in his nature somewhat of the cynicism of Jaques, without his grand
imaginings of soul. "There are many off the stage, my lord, in better
practice." "True, most true," acquiesced Buckingham; "I could point them
out."
He would have continued in this vein but beyond the door, whence Hart
had just appeared, leading by a stair-way of cupids to the entrance to
the palace, arose the sound of many voices in noisy altercation.
"Hark ye, hark!" he exclaimed, in an alarmed tone. "What is't? Confusion
in the great hallway below. We'll see to't."
He had assumed a certain supervision of the palace for the night. With
the player as a body-guard, he accordingly made a hasty exit.
CHAPTER XII
_Beau Adair is my name._
The room was not long vacant. The hostess herself returned. She was
radiant.
As she crossed the threshold, she glanced back proudly at the revellers,
who, led by his Majesty, were turning night into day with their
merry-making. She had the right, indeed, to be proud; for the evening,
though scarce half spent, bespoke a complete triumph for her
entertainment. This was the more gratifying too, in that she knew that
there were many at court who did not wish the "imported" Duchess, as
they called her, or her function well, though they always smiled sweetly
at each meeting and at each parting and deigned now to feast beyond the
limit of gentility upon her rich wines and collations.
The _bal masque_, however, as we have seen, was with the Duchess
but a means to an end. She took from the hand of a pretty page the
treaties, lately re-drawn by Bouillon, and glanced hastily over the
parchments to see that her instructions from Louis were covered by their
words. A smile played on her arching lips as she read and re-read and
realized how near she was to victory.
"'Tis Portsmouth's night to-night!" she mused. "My great mission to
England is nearly ended. Dear France, I feel that I was born for thy
advancement."
She seated herself by the table, where the materials for writing had
been placed, and further dwelt upon the outcome of the royal agreements,
their contingencies and triumphs. She could write Charles Rex almost as
well as the King, she thought, as her eye caught the places left for his
signature.
"Bouillon never fails me," she muttered. "Drawn by King Charles's
consent, except perchance some trifling articles which I have had
interlined for Louis's sake. We need not speak of them. It would be
troublesome to Charles. A little name and seal will make these papers
history."
Her reflections were interrupted by the return of Buckingham, who was
laughing so that he could scarcely speak.
"What is 't?" she asked, petulantly.
"The guard have stayed but now a gallant, Irish youth," replied he, as
best he could for laughter, "who swore that he had letters to your
highness. Oh, he swore, indeed; then pleaded; then threatened that he
would fight them all with single hand. Of course, he won the ladies'
hearts, as they entered the great hall, by his boyish swagger; but not
the guards. Your orders were imperative--that none unbidden to the ball
could enter."
"'Tis well," cried Portsmouth. "None, none! Letters to me! Did he say
from whom?"
"He said," continued Buckingham, still laughing, "that he was under
orders of his master to place them only in the Duchess's hands. Oh, he
is a very lordly youth."
The Duke throughout made a sad attempt at amusing imitations of the
brogue of the strange, youthful, Irish visitor who, with so much
importunity, sought a hearing.
Portsmouth reflected a moment and then said: "I will see him,
Buckingham, but briefly."
Buckingham, not a little surprised, bowed and departed graciously to
convey the bidding.
The Duchess lost herself again in thought. "His message may have
import," she reflected. "Louis sends strange messengers ofttimes."
In the midst of her reverie, the tapestry at the door was again pushed
back, cautiously this time, then eagerly. There entered the prettiest
spark that ever graced a kingdom or trod a measure.
It was Nell, accoutred as a youth; and a bold play truly she was making.
Her face revealed that she herself was none too sure of the outcome.
"By my troth," she thought, as she glanced uncomfortably about the great
room, "I feel as though I were all breeches." She shivered. "It is such
a little way through these braveries to me."
Her eyes turned involuntarily to the corner where Portsmouth sat, now
dreaming of far-off France.
"The Duchess!" her lips breathed, almost aloud, in her excitement. "So
you'd play hostess to his Majesty," she thought, "give a royal ball and
leave poor Nelly home, would you?"
The Duchess was conscious only of a presence.
"_Garcon!_" she called, without looking up.
Nell jumped a foot.
"That shook me to the boots," she ejaculated, softly.
"_Garcon!_" again called the impatient Duchess.
"Madame," answered Nell, fearfully, the words seeming to stick in her
fair throat, as she hastily removed her hat and bethought her that she
must have a care or she would lose her head as well, by forgetting that
she was an Irishman with a brogue.
"Who are you?" asked Portsmouth, haughtily, as, rising, with surprised
eyes, she became aware of the presence of a stranger.
Indeed, it is not strange that she was surprised. The youth who stood
before her was dressed from top to toe in gray--the silver-gray which
lends a colour to the cheek and piquancy to the form. The dress was of
the latest cut. The hat had the longest plume. The cloak hung gracefully
save where the glistening sword broke its falling lines. The boots were
neat, well rounded and well cut, encasing a jaunty leg. The dress was
edged with silver.
Ah, the strange youth was a love, indeed, with his bright, sparkling
eyes, his lips radiant with smiles, his curls falling to his shoulders.
"Well," stammered Nell, in awkward hesitation but in the richest brogue,
as the Duchess repeated her inquiry, "I'm just I, madame."
The Duchess smiled despite herself.
"You're just you," she said. "That's very clear."
"Yes, that's very clear," reiterated Nell, still fearful of her ground.
"A modest masker, possibly," suggested Portsmouth, observing the youth's
embarrassment and wishing to assist him.
"Yea, very modest," replied Nell, her speech still stumbling, "almost
ashamed."
Portsmouth's eyes looked sharply at her.
"She suspects me," thought Nell, and her heart leaped into her throat.
"I am lost--boots and all."
"Your name?" demanded the Duchess again, impatiently.
For the life of her Nell could not think of it.
"You see," she replied evasively, "I'm in London for the first time in
my present self, madame, and--"
"Your name and mission, sir?" The tone was imperative.
Nell's wits returned to her.
"Beau Adair is my name," she stammered, "and your service my mission."
It was out, though it had like to have choked her, and Nell was more
herself again. The worst she had feared was that the Duchess might
discover her identity and so turn the tables and make her the
laughing-stock at court. She grew, indeed, quite hopeful as she observed
a kindly smile play upon the Duchess's lips and caught the observation:
"Beau Adair! A pretty name, and quite a pretty fellow."
A smile of self-satisfaction and a low bow were Nell's reply.
"Vain coxcomb!" cried Portsmouth, reprovingly, though she was highly
amused and even pleased with the strange youth's conceit.
"Nay; if I admire not myself," wistfully suggested Nell, in reply, with
pretence of much modesty, "who will praise poor me in this great
palace?"
"You are new at court?" asked Portsmouth, doubtingly.
"Quite new," asserted Nell, gaining confidence with each speech. "My
London tailor made a man of me only to-day."
"A man of you only to-day!" cried the Duchess, in wonderment.
"He assured me, madame," Nell hastened to explain, "that the fashion
makes the man. He did not like my former fashion. It hid too much that
was good, he said. I am the bearer of this letter to the great Duchess
of Portsmouth; that you are she, I know by your royalty."
She bowed with a jaunty, boyish bow, sweeping the floor with her plumed
hat, as she offered the letter.
"Oh, you are the gentleman," said Portsmouth, recalling her request to
Buckingham, which for the instant had quite escaped her. She took the
letter and broke the seal eagerly.
"She does not suspect," thought Nell; and she crossed quickly to the
curtained arch, leading to the music and the dancing, in the hope that
she might see the King.
Portsmouth, who was absorbed in the letter, did not observe her.
"From Rochet! Dear Rochet!" mused the Duchess, as she read aloud the
lines: "'The bearer of this letter is a young gallant, very modest and
very little versed in the sins of court.'"
"Very little," muttered Nell, with a mischievous wink, still intent upon
the whereabouts and doings of the King.
"'He is of excellent birth,'" continued the Duchess, reading, "'brave,
young and to be trusted--_to be trusted_. I commend him to your
kindness, protection and service, during his stay in town.'"
She reflected a moment intently upon the letter, then looked up quickly.
Nell returned, somewhat confused, to her side.
"This is a very strong letter, sir," said Portsmouth, with an inquiring
look.
"Yes, very strong," promptly acquiesced Nell; and she chuckled as she
recalled that she had written it herself, taking near a fortnight in the
composition. Her fingers ached at the memory.
"Where did you leave Rochet?" inquired the Duchess, almost
incredulously.
"Leave Rochet?" thought Nell, aghast. "I knew she would ask me something
like that."
There was a moment's awkwardness--Nell was on difficult ground. She
feared lest she might make a misstep which would reveal her identity.
The Duchess grew impatient. Finally, Nell mustered courage and made a
bold play for it, as ever true to her brogue.
"Where did I leave Rochet?" she said, as if she had but then realized
the Duchess's meaning, then boldly answered: "In Cork."
"In Cork!" cried Portsmouth, in blank surprise. "I thought his mission
took him to Dublin." She eyed the youth closely and wondered if he
really knew the mission.
"Nay; Cork!" firmly repeated Nell; for she dared not retract, lest she
awaken suspicion. "I am quite sure it was Cork I left him in."
"Quite sure?" exclaimed the Duchess, her astonishment increasing with
each confused reply.
"Well, you see, Duchess," said Nell, "we had an adventure. It was dark;
and we were more solicitous to know whither the way than whence."
The Duchess broke into a merry laugh. The youth had captured her, with
his wistful, Irish eyes, his brogue and his roguish ways.
"We give a ball to-night," she said, gaily. "You shall stay and see the
King."
"The King!" cried Nell, feigning fright. "I should tremble so to see the
King."
"You need not fear," laughed the hostess. "He will not know you."
"I trust not, truly," sighed Nell, with much meaning, as she scanned her
scanty masculine attire.
"Take my mask," said the Duchess, graciously. "As hostess, I cannot wear
it."
Nell seized it eagerly. She would be safe with this little band of black
across her eyes. Even the King would not know her.
"I shall feel more comfortable behind this," she said, naively.
"Did you ever mask?" inquired Portsmouth, gaily.
[Illustration: AS A CAVALIER MISTRESS NELL DECEIVES EVEN THE KING.]
"Nay, I am too honest to deceive," answered Nell; and her eyes grew so
round and so big, who would not believe her?
"But you are at court now," laughed the Duchess, patronizingly. "Masking
is the first sin at court."
"Then I'll begin with the first sin," said Nell, slyly, raising the
Duchess's fingers to her lips, "and run the gamut."
They passed together into the great ball-room, Nell exercising all her
arts of fascination--and they were many. The music ceased as they
entered. The dancers, and more especially the ladies, eyed curiously the
jaunty figure of the new-comer. There were merry whisperings among them.
"Who can he be?" asked one, eagerly. "What a pretty fellow!" exclaimed a
second, in admiration. "I've been eying him," said a third,
complacently.
The men too caught the infection.
"Who can he be?" inquired Rochester.
"Marry, I'll find out," said Lady Hamilton, with an air of confidence,
having recovered by this time from the kisses which had been thrust upon
her and being now ready for a new flirtation.
She approached Adair, artfully, and inquired: "Who art thou, my
butterfly? Tell me now, e'er I die." Her attitude was a credit to the
extremes of euphuism.
There was general laughter at her presumptuous and effete pose and
phrase.
The ladies had gathered about the new hero, like bees about new clover.
The gallants stood, or sat as wall-flowers in a row, deserted. The King
too had been abandoned for the lion of the hour and sat disconsolate.
"Peace, jealous ones!" cried Lady Hamilton, reprovingly, then continued,
with a winning way: "I know thou art Apollo himself, good sir."
Nell smiled complacently, though she felt her mask, to assure herself
that it was firm.
"Apollo, truly," she said, jauntily, "if thou art his lyre, sweet lady."
Lady Hamilton turned to the Duchess.
"Oh, your grace," she asked, languishingly, "tell us in a breath, tell
us, who is this dainty beau of the ball?"
"How am I to know my guests," answered Portsmouth, feigning innocence,
"with their vizors down? Nay, sweet sir, unmask and please the ladies.
I'faith, who art thou?"
The hostess was delighted. The popularity of the new-comer was lending a
unique novelty to her entertainment. She was well pleased that she had
detained Monsieur Adair. She thought she saw a jealous look in the
King's usually carelessly indifferent gaze when she encouraged the
affectionate glances of the Irish youth.
"I'faith," laughed Nell, in reply, "I know not, Duchess."
"D'ye hear?" said Portsmouth. "He knows not himself."
"But I have a suspicion, Duchess," sighed Nell.
"Hark ye," laughed Portsmouth, with a very pretty pout, "he has a
suspicion, ladies."
"Nay, you will tell?" protested Nell, as the ladies gathered closer
about her in eager expectation.
There was a unison of voices to the contrary.
"Trust us, fair sir," said one. "Oh, we are good at keeping secrets."
"Then, 'twixt you and me, I am--" began Nell; and she hesitated,
teasingly.
The group about grew more eager, more wild with curiosity.
"Yes, yes--" they exclaimed together.
"I am," said Nell, "the Pied Piper of Hamlin Town."
"The rat-catcher," cried Portsmouth. "Oh, oh, oh!"
There was a lifting of skirts, revealing many high-born insteps, and a
scramble for chairs, as the ladies reflected upon the long lines of rats
in the train of the mesmeric Pied Piper.
"Flee, flee!" screamed Lady Hamilton, playfully. "He may pipe us into
the mountains after the children."
"You fill me with laughter, ladies," said Portsmouth to her guests. "The
man does not live who can entrap me."
"The woman does," thought Nell, as, mock-heroically, she placed near her
lips a reed-pipe which she had snatched from a musician in the midst of
the fun; and, whistling a merry tune which the pipe took no part in, she
circled about the room, making quite a wizard's exit.
The ladies, heart and soul in the fun, fell into line and followed, as
if spell-bound by the magic of the Piper.
Charles, James, Rochester and the gallants, who remained, each of whom
had been in turn deserted by his fair lady, unmasked and looked at one
another in wonderment. Of one accord, they burst into a peal of
laughter.
"Sublime audacity," exclaimed Charles. "Who is this curled darling--this
ball-room Adonis? Ods-pitikins, we are in the sear and yellow leaf."
"Truly, Sire," said James, dryly, "I myself prefer a gathering of men
only."
"Brother James," forthwith importuned the King, waggishly, "will you
favour me with your lily-white hand for the next dance? I am driven to
extremity."
"Pardon, Sire," replied James, quite humorously for him, "I am engaged
to a handsomer man."
"Odsfish," laughed Charles, "King Charles of England a wall-flower.
Come, Rochester, my epitaph."
The King threw himself into a chair, in an attitude of hopeless
resignation, quite delicious.
Rochester perked up with the conceit and humour of the situation. With
the utmost dignity, and with the quizzical, pinched brow of the
labouring muse, halting at each line, he said:
_"Here lies our sovereign lord, the King,
Whose word no man relies on;
Who never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one!"_
The post-mortem verse was sufficiently subtle and clever to revive the
King's drooping spirits; and he joined heartily in the applause.
"The matter," he said, approvingly, "is easily accounted for--my
discourse is my own, my actions are my Ministry's."
There was a _frou-frou_ of petticoats. The hostess entered gaily.
"The King! The courtiers! Unmasked!" she exclaimed, in coy reproof. "Fy,
fy, your Majesty! For shame! Gallants! Are you children that I must pair
you off?"
"We are seeking consolation," suggested Charles, dryly; "for modest
souls have small chance to-night, Louise."
He nodded significantly in the direction of the great ball-room, where
the chatter of women's voices betokened the unrivalled popularity of
Nell.
"When did you turn modest, Sire?" slyly inquired Portsmouth, with a look
of love.
"When I was out-stripped in audacity by yon Hibernian youth," replied
the King, seriously. "Who is this peacock you are introducing?"
A peal of laughter from without punctuated the King's speech. It was the
reward of a wit-thrust from Nell.
"The Piper the maids would now unmask?" queried Portsmouth, rapturously.
"Marry, 'tis the fascinating Beau Adair of Cork, entertaining the
ladies. Oh, he is a love, Sire; he does not sulk in corners. See! See!"
She pointed toward the archway, through which Nell was plainly visible.
She was strutting jauntily back and forth upon the promenade. It is
unnecessary to say that she was escorted by the assembled fair ones.
As Nell caught the eye of the hostess in the distance, she gaily tossed
a kiss to her.
"'Sdeath, that I were a woman to hope for one of his languishing
smiles," observed Buckingham.
"Even the old hens run at his call," sneered the pious James, in
discontent; for he too had been deserted by his ladylove and even before
the others.
The King looked at his brother with an air of bantering seriousness, to
the delight of all assembled.
"Brother James is jealous of the old ones only," he observed. "You know
his favourites are given him by his priests for penance."
A merry ripple ran through the group.
The hostess took advantage of the King's speech to make a point.
"And you are jealous of the young ones only," she said, slyly, quickly
adding as a bid for jealousy: "Pooh, pooh! _Le Beau_ had letters to
me, Sire. Nay, we do not love him very much. We have not as yet had
time."
"Alas, alas," sighed Charles, with drooping countenance, "that it should
come to this."
"My liege, I protest--" cried Portsmouth, hastily, fearful lest she
might have gone too far. "To-night is the first I ever saw the youth. I
adore you, Sire."
"Not a word!" commanded Charles, with mock-heroic mien. He waved his
hand imperatively to his followers. "Friends," he continued, "we will
mix masks and dominoes and to't again to drown our sorrow."
"In the Thames?" inquired James, facetiously for him.
"Tush! In the punch-bowl, pious brother!" protested the Merry Monarch,
with great dignity. "You know, a very little water will drown even a
king."
The gallants mixed masks and dominoes in obedience to the royal wish.
The King, sighing deeply, cast a hopeless glance at Portsmouth, not
without its tinge of humour. He then sauntered slowly toward the windows
of the great ball-room, followed subserviently by all the courtiers,
save Buckingham, who was lost in converse with player Hart.
"Hark ye," suddenly broke off Buckingham, observing the approach of
Adair and his adorers, "here come again the merry maskers. By Bacchus,
the little bantam still reigns supreme. The King and his gallants in
tears. Let us join the mourners, Master Hart."
As the Duke and the player, the former assuming a fraternal air for an
end of his own, joined the royal group, Nell re-entered gaily, every
inch the man. She was still surrounded by the ladies, who, fluttering,
flattering and chattering, hung upon her every word. With one hand she
toyed with her mask, which she had good-naturedly dropped as none were
about who knew her. She clapped it, however, quickly to her eyes at
sight of the King.
"You overwhelm me, my fair ones," she said, with spirit, as she held
court in the centre of the room. "I assure you, I am not used to such
attention--from the ladies."
"Our hospitality is beggarly to your deserts," sighed Portsmouth, who
had joined the bevy, but loud enough for the King to hear.
"You quite o'erpower me, Duchess," answered Nell, modestly, adding for
the satisfaction of her own sense of humour: "No wonder we men are
fools, if you women talk like this."
While she was speaking, Lady Hamilton whispered facetiously in
Portsmouth's ear.
"Beau Adair married!" exclaimed the Duchess, in response. "It cannot be.
He looks too gay for a married man."
"No confidences, my pretty ones," observed Nell, reprovingly.
The hostess hesitated; then she out with it in a merry strain.
"Lady Hamilton asks after the wife you left at home."
"My wife!" cried Nell, in astonishment; for this phase of her
masquerading had not presented itself to her before. "Great Heavens, I
have no wife--I assure you, ladies!"
"So?" observed Portsmouth, her curiosity awakened. "Modest--for a
bachelor."
"A bachelor!" exclaimed Nell, now fully _en rapport_ with the
spirit of the situation. "Well,--not exactly a bachelor
either,--ladies."
"Alack-a-day," sighed Lady Hamilton, with a knowing glance at her
companions, "neither a bachelor nor a married man!"
"Well, you see--" explained Nell, adroitly, "that might seem a trifle
queer, but--I'm in mourning--deeply in mourning, ladies."
She drew a kerchief from her dress and feigned bitter tears.
"A widower!" tittered Lady Hamilton, heartlessly. "Our united
congratulations, sir."
The other ladies one by one sobbed with affected sympathy, wiping their
eyes tenderly, however, lest they might remove the rich colour from
their cheeks.
"Mesdames," said Nell, reprovingly, "the memory is sacred. Believe me,
very sacred."
She fell apparently once again to weeping bitterly.
"The memory is always sacred--with men," observed Portsmouth, for the
benefit of her guests, not excepting the Irish youth. "Nay, tell us the
name of the fair one who left you so young. My heart goes out to you,
dear Beau."
"Kind hostess," replied Nell, assuming her tenderest tones, "the name of
my departed self is--Nell!"
Hart caught the word. The player was standing near, reflecting on the
scene and on the honeyed words of the Duke of Buckingham, who was
preparing the way that he might use him.
"Nell!" he muttered. "Who spoke that name?"
The hostess too was startled.
"Nell!" she exclaimed, with contending emotions. "Strange! Another
cavalier who graces _mon bal masque_ to-night has lost a loved one
whose name is Nell. Ah, but she was unworthy of his noble love."
She spoke pointedly at the masked King, who started perceptibly.
"Yes," he thought; for his conscience smote him, "unworthy--he of her."
"Unworthy, truly, if he dances so soon and his own Nell dead," added
Nell, reflectively, but so that all might hear, more especially Charles.
"Perchance Nell too thinks so," thought he, as he restlessly walked
away, sighing: "I wish I were with her on the terrace."
"'Sdeath, Duchess," continued Nell abruptly, in assumed horror at the
sudden thought, "the lady's spirit may visit the ball, to the confusion
of us all. Such things have been."
"The Nell I mean," said Portsmouth, with a confident smile, "will not
venture here, e'en in spirit."
Nell assumed a baby-innocence of face.
"She has not been bidden, I presume?" she queried.
"The vixen would not stop for asking," declared Portsmouth, almost
fiercely.
"Come without asking?" cried Nell, as if she could not believe that
there could be such people upon the earth. "How ill-bred! Thine ear,
loved one. My Nell revisits the world again at midnight. The
rendezvous--St. James's Park."
Hart brushed close enough to the group, in his biting curiosity, to
catch her half-whisper to Portsmouth. He at once sought a window and
fresh air, chafing with surprise and indignation at what he had
overheard.
"St. James's at midnight," he muttered. "'Tis my Nell's abode."
The Duchess herself stood stunned at what appeared to her a possible
revelation of great import.
"St. James's!" she thought. "Can he mean Madame Gwyn? No, no!"
The look of suspicion which for an instant had clouded her face changed
to one of merriment, under Adair's magic glance.
"And you would desert me for such a fleshless sprite?" she asked.
"Not so," said Nell, with a winning look; "but, when my better-half
returns to life, I surely cannot refuse an interview--especially an she
come from afar."
Nell's eyes arose with an expression of sadness, while her finger
pointed down--ward in the direction of what she deemed the probable
abode of her departed "Nell." Her lips twitched in merriment, however,
despite her efforts to the contrary; and the hostess fell a-laughing.
"Ladies," she cried, as she appealed to one and all, "is not _le
Beau_ a delight--so different from ordinary men?"
"I am not an ordinary man, I assure you," Nell hastened to declare.
This assertion was acquiesced in by a buzz of pretty compliments from
the entire bevy of ladies. "Positively charming!" exclaimed one. "A
perfect love!" said another.
Nell listened resignedly.
"'Sheart," she said, at length, with an air of _ennui_, "I cannot
help it. 'Tis all part of being a man, you know."
"Would that all men were like you, _le Beau_!" sighed the hostess,
not forgetting to glance at the King, who again sat disconsolate, in the
midst of his attendant courtiers, drawn up, as in line of battle,
against the wall.
"Heaven help us if they were!" slyly suggested Nell.
Rochester, who had been watching the scene in his mischievous, artistic
way, drew from Portsmouth's compliment to Adair another meaning. He was
a mixture 'twixt a man of arts and letters and Satan's own--a man after
the King's own heart. Turning to the King, with no desire to appease the
mischief done, he said, banteringly:
"Egad, there's a rap at you, Sire. France would make you jealous."
The Duke of Buckingham too, though he appeared asleep, had seen it all.
"And succeeds, methinks," he reflected, glancing approvingly in the
direction of the Irish youth. "A good ally, i'faith."
Nell, indeed, was using all her arts of fascination to ingratiate
herself with the Duchess, and making progress, too.
"Your eyes are glorious, fair hostess," she said, in her most gallant
love-tones, "did I not see my rival in them."
She could not, however, look at Portsmouth for laughter, as she thought:
"I believe lying goes with the breeches; I never was so proficient
before."
The compliment aroused the King's sluggish nature.
"I can endure no more, gallants," cried he, with some pretence of anger,
rising abruptly, followed, of course, in each move and grimace by his
courtier-apes, in their desire to please. "Are we to be out-done in our
own realm by this usurper with a brogue? Ha! The fiddlers! Madame, I
claim the honour of this fair hand for the dance."
At the sound of the music, he had stepped gallantly forward, taking the
hostess's hand.
"My thanks, gallant masker," replied the Duchess, pretending not to know
him for flattery's sake, "but I am--"
To her surprise, she had no opportunity to complete the sentence.
"Engaged! Engaged!" interposed Nell, coming unceremoniously between
them, with swaggering assumption and an eye-shot at the King through the
portal of her mask. "Forsooth, some other time, strange sir."
The hostess stood horrified.
"Pardon, Sir Masker," she hastened to explain; "but the dance was
pledged--"
"No apologies, Duchess," replied the King, as he turned away,
carelessly, with the reflection: "All's one to me at this assemblage."
He crossed the room, turning an instant to look, with a humorous,
quizzical glance, at Portsmouth. Nell mistook the glance for a jealous
one and, perking up quickly, caught the royal eye with a challenging
eye, tapping her sword-hilt meaningly. Had the masks been off, the
situation would have differed. As it was, the King smiled indifferently.
The episode did not affect him further than to touch his sense of
humour. Nell turned triumphantly to her partner.
"Odsbud," she exclaimed, with a delicious, youthful swagger, "we may
have to measure swords in your behalf, dear hostess. I trow the fellow
loves you."
"Have a care," whispered the Duchess, nervously. "It is the King."
"What care I for a king?" saucily replied Nell, with a finger-snap. She
had taken good care, however, to speak very low. "My arm, my arm,
Duchess!" she continued, with a gallant step. "Places, places; or the
music will outstrip us."
"Strut on, my pretty bantam," thought Buckingham, whose eyes lost little
that might be turned to his own advantage; "I like you well."
There was no mending things at this stage by an apology. The Duchess,
therefore, tactfully turned the affair into one of mirth, in which she
was quickly joined by her guests. With a merry laugh, she took the Irish
gallant's proffered arm, and together they led the dance. The King
picked a lady indifferently from among the maskers.
It was a graceful old English measure. Nell's roguish wits, as well as
her feet, kept pace with the music. She assured her partner that she had
never loved a woman in all her life before and followed this with a
hundred merry jests and sallies, keyed to the merry fiddles, so full of
blarney that all were set a-laughing. Anon, the gallants drew their
swords and crossed them in the air, while the ladies tiptoed in and out.
Nell's blade touched the King's blade. When all was ended the swords
saluted with a knightly flourish, then tapped the floor.
There was an exultant laugh from one and all, and the dance was done.
Nell hastened to her partner's side. She caught the Duchess's hand and
kissed it.
"You dance divinely, your grace," she said. "A goddess on tiptoe."
"Oh, Beau Adair!" replied the Duchess, courtseying low; and her eyes
showed that she was not wholly displeased at the warmth of his youthful
adoration.
"Oh, Duchess!" said Nell, fondly, acknowledging the salute.
The Duchess hastened to join his Majesty and together they threaded
their way through many groups.
Nell tossed her head.
"How I love her!" she muttered, veiling the sarcasm under her breath.
She crossed the great room, her head erect. Her confidence was quite
restored. This had been the most difficult bit of acting she had ever
done; and how well it had been done!
The other dancers in twos and threes passed from the room in search of
quiet corners, in which to whisper nothings.
Nell's eyes fell upon Strings, who had had a slight turn for the better
in the world and who now, in a dress of somewhat substantial green, was
one of the fiddlers at the Duchess's ball.
"How now, sirrah!" she said, sharply, as she planted herself firmly
before him to his complete surprise. "I knew you were here."
She placed one of her feet in a devil-may-care fashion upon a
convenient chair in manly contempt of its upholstery and peeped amusedly
through her mask at her old friend. He looked at her in blank amazement.
"Gads-bobbs," he exclaimed, in confusion, "the Irish gentleman knows
me!"
"There's nothing like your old fiddle, Strings," continued Nell, still
playing with delight upon his consternation. "It fills me with forty
dancing devils. If you were to play at my wake, I would pick up my
shroud, and dance my way into Paradise."
"Your lordship has danced to my fiddling before?" he gasped, in utter
amazement.
"Danced!" gleefully cried Nell. "I have followed your bow through a
thousand jigs. To the devil with these court-steps. I'm for a jig, jig,
jig, jig, jig! Oh, I'm for a jig! Tune up, tune up, comrade; and we'll
have a touch of the old days at the King's House."
"The King's House! Jigs!" exclaimed the fiddler, now beside himself.
"Jigs!" chuckled Nell. "Jigs are my line of business."
_Oranges, will you have my oranges?
Sweet as love-lips, dearest mine,
Picked by Spanish maids divine,--_
The room had now quite cleared; and, protected by a friendly alcove,
Nell punctuated the old song with a few happily turned jig-steps.
Strings looked at her a moment in bewilderment: then his face grew warm
with smiles; the mystery was explained.
"Mistress Nell, as I live," he cried, joyously, "turned boy!"
"The devil fly away with you, you old idiot! Boy, indeed!" replied Nell,
indignantly. "I'm a full-grown widower!"
She had removed her mask and was dancing about Strings gleefully.
There was the sound of returning voices.
"Oons, you will be discovered," exclaimed Strings, cautiously.
"Marry, I forgot," whispered Nell, glancing over her shoulder. "You may
have to help me out o' this scrape, Strings, before the night is done."
"You can count on me, Mistress Nell, with life," he replied, earnestly.
"I believe you!" said Nell, in her sympathetic, hearty way. Her mind
reverted to the old days when Strings and she were at the King's. "Oh,
for just one jig with no petticoats to hinder."
Nell, despite herself, had fallen into an old-time jig, with much gusto,
for her heart was for a frolic always, when Strings, seized her arm in
consternation, pointing through the archway.
"The King!" she exclaimed.
She clapped her mask to her eyes and near tumbled through the nearest
arras out of the room in her eagerness to escape, dragging her
ever-faithful comrade with her.
CHAPTER XIII
_For the glory of England?_
The King entered the room with his historic stride. His brow was clouded;
but it was all humorous pretence, for trifles were not wont to weigh
heavily upon his Majesty. With him came Portsmouth.
"Can you forgive me, Sire?" she asked. "I had promised the dance to Beau
Adair. I did not know you, Sire; you masked so cleverly."
"'Sdeath, fair flatterer!" replied the King. "I have lived too long to
worry o'er the freaks of women."
"The youth knew not to whom he spoke," still pleaded Portsmouth. "His
introduction here bespeaks his pardon, Sire."
The King looked sardonic, but his laugh had a human ring.
"He is too pretty to kill," he declared, dramatically. "We'll forgive
him for your sake. And now good night."
"So soon?" asked Portsmouth, anxiously.
"It is late," he replied.
"Not while the King is here," she sighed. "Night comes only when he
departs."
"Your words are sweet," said Charles, thoughtfully observing her.
She sighed again.
"My thoughts stumble in your speech," she said. "I regret I have not
English blood within my veins."
"And why?"
"The King would trust and love me then. He does not now. I am French and
powerless to do him good."
There was a touch of honest sadness in her speech which awakened the
King's sympathy.
"Nay," he said hastily, to comfort her; "'tis thy fancy. Thy
entertainment hath made me grateful--to Louis and Louise."