BUCKINGHAM DISPOSES
Colonel Holles hummed softly to himself as he dressed with care to
keep his momentous appointment at the Cockpit, and when his toilet
was completed you would scarcely have known him for the down-at-heel
adventurer of yesterday, so fine did he appear.
Early that morning he had emptied the contents of his purse upon the
bed, and counted up his fortune. It amounted to thirty-five pounds and
some shillings. And Albemarle had promised him that, together with his
commission, he should that morning receive an order on the Treasury
for thirty pounds to meet his disbursements on equipment and the rest.
He must, he considered, do credit to his patron. He argued that it
was a duty. To present himself again at Whitehall in his rags were to
disgrace the Duke of Albemarle; there might be introductions, and he
would not have his grace blush for the man he was protecting.
Therefore, immediately after an early breakfast--at which, for once, he
had been waited upon, not by Mrs. Quinn, but by Tim the drawer--he had
sallied forth and made his way to Paternoster Row. There, yielding to
the love of fine raiment inseparable from the adventurous temperament
and to the improvident disposition that accompanies it, and also having
regard to the officially military character he was about to assume, he
purchased a fine coat of red camlet laced with gold, and small-clothes,
stockings, and cravat in keeping. By the time he added a pair of boots
of fine Spanish leather, a black silk sash, a new, gold-broidered
baldric, and a black beaver with a trailing red plume, he found that
fully three quarters of his slender fortune was dissipated, and
there remained in his purse not above eight pounds. But that should
not trouble a man who within a couple of hours would have pocketed an
order upon the Treasury. He had merely anticipated the natural course
of events, and counted himself fortunate to be, despite his reduced
circumstances, still able to do so.
He had returned then with his bundle to the Paul’s Head, and, as he
surveyed himself now in his mirror, freshly shaven, his long thick
gold-brown hair elegantly curled, and a clump of its curls caught in a
ribbon on his left, the long pear-shaped ruby glowing in his ear, his
throat encased in a creaming froth of lace, and the fine red coat that
sat so admirably upon his shoulders, he smiled at the memory of the
scarecrow he had been as lately as yesterday, and assured himself that
he did not look a day over thirty.
He created something of a sensation when he appeared below in all this
finery, and, since it was unthinkable that he should tread the filth
of the streets with his new Spanish boots, Tim was dispatched for a
hackney-coach to convey the Colonel to Whitehall.
It still wanted an hour to noon, and this the Colonel considered the
earliest at which he could decently present himself. But early as it
was there was another who had been abroad and at the Cockpit even
earlier. This was His Grace of Buckingham, who, accompanied by his
friend Sir Harry Stanhope, had sought the Duke of Albemarle a full hour
before Colonel Holles had been ready to leave his lodging.
A gentleman of the Duke’s eminence was not to be kept waiting. He had
been instantly admitted to that pleasant wainscoted room overlooking
the Park in which His Grace of Albemarle transacted business. Wide as
the poles as were the two dukes asunder, the exquisite libertine and
the dour soldier, yet cordial relations prevailed between them. Whilst
correct and circumspect in his own ways of life, Monk was utterly
without bigotry and as utterly without prejudices on the score of
morals. Under his dour taciturnity, and for all that upon occasion he
could be as brave as a lion, yet normally he was of the meekness of a
lamb, combined with a courteous aloofness, which, if it earned him few
devoted friends, earned him still fewer enemies. As a man gives, so he
receives; and Monk, being very sparing both of his love and his hate,
rarely excited either passion in others. He was careful not to make
enemies, but never at pains to make friends.
“I desire your leave to present to your grace my very good friend Sir
Harry Stanhope, a deserving young soldier for whom I solicit your
grace’s good offices.”
Albemarle had heard of Sir Harry as one of the most dissolute
young profligates about the Court, and, observing him now, his
grace concluded that the gentleman’s appearance did justice to his
reputation. It was the first time that he had heard him described as
a soldier, and the description awakened his surprise. But of this he
betrayed nothing. Coldly he inclined his head in response to the diving
bow with which Sir Harry honoured him.
“There is no need to solicit my good offices for any friend of your
grace’s,” he answered, coldly courteous. “A chair, your grace. Sir
Harry!” He waved the fop to the second and lesser of the two chairs
that faced his writing-table, and when they were seated he resumed his
own place, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. “Will
your grace acquaint me how I may have the honour of being of service?”
“Sir Harry,” said Buckingham, leaning back in his armchair, and
throwing one faultlessly stockinged leg over the other, “desires, for
certain reasons of his own, to see the world.”
Albemarle had no illusions as to what those reasons were. It was
notorious that Harry Stanhope had not only gamed away the inheritance
upon which he had entered three years ago, but that he was colossally
in debt, and that, unless some one came to his rescue soon, his
creditors might render life exceedingly unpleasant for him. He would
not be the first gay butterfly of the Court to make the acquaintance of
a sponging house. But of that thought, as it flashed through the mind
of the Commander-in-Chief, no indication showed on his swart, set face
and expressionless dark eyes.
“But Sir Harry,” Buckingham was resuming after the slightest of pauses,
“is commendably moved by the wish to render his absence from England of
profit to His Majesty.”
“In short,” said Albemarle, translating brusquely, for he could not
repress a certain disdain, “Sir Harry desires an appointment overseas.”
Buckingham dabbed his lips with a lace handkerchief. “That, in short,”
he admitted, “is the situation. Sir Harry will, I trust, deserve well
in your grace’s eyes.”
His grace looked at Sir Harry, and found that he did nothing of the
kind. From his soul, unprejudiced as he was, Albemarle despised the
mincing fop whom he was desired to help to cheat his creditors.
“And the character of this appointment?” he inquired tonelessly.
“A military character would be best suited to Sir Harry’s tastes and
qualities. He has the advantage of some military experience. He held
for a time a commission in the Guards.”
“In the Guards!” thought Albemarle. “My God! What a recommendation!”
But his expression said nothing. His owlish eyes were levelled calmly
upon the young rake, who smiled ingratiatingly, and thereby, did he
but know it, provoked Albemarle’s disgust. Aloud, at length, he made
answer: “Very well. I will bear in mind your grace’s application on Sir
Harry’s behalf, and when a suitable position offers....”
“But it offers now,” Buckingham interjected languidly.
“Indeed?” The black brows went up, wrinkling the heavy forehead. “I am
not aware of it.”
“There is this command in Bombay, which has fallen vacant through the
death of poor Macartney. I heard of it last night at Court. You are
forgetting that, I think. It is an office eminently suitable to Sir
Harry here.”
Albemarle was frowning. He pondered a moment; but only because it was
ever his way to move slowly. Then he gently shook his head and pursed
his heavy lips.
“I have also to consider, your grace, whether Sir Harry is eminently
suitable to the office, and, to be quite frank, and with all
submission, I must say that I cannot think so.”
Buckingham was taken aback. He stared haughtily at Albemarle. “I don’t
think I understand,” he said.
Albemarle fetched a sigh, and proceeded to explain himself.
“For this office--one of considerable responsibility--we require a
soldier of tried experience and character. Sir Harry is no doubt
endowed with many commendable qualities, but at his age it is
impossible that he should have gained the experience without which he
could not possibly discharge to advantage the onerous duties which
would await him. Nor is that the only obstacle, your grace. I have not
only chosen my man--and such a man as I have described--but I have
already offered, and he has already accepted, the commission. So that
the post can no longer be considered vacant.”
“But the commission was signed only last night by His Majesty--signed
in blank, as I have reason to know.”
“True. But I am none the less pledged. I am expecting at any moment
now, the gentleman upon whom the appointment is already conferred.”
Buckingham did not dissemble his annoyance. “May one inquire his
name?” he asked, and the question was a demand.
Albemarle hesitated. He realized the danger to Holles in naming him at
this unfortunate juncture. Buckingham might go to any lengths to have
him removed, and there was that in Holles’s past, in his very name,
which would supply abundant grounds. “His name would not be known
to your grace. He is a comparatively obscure soldier, whose merits,
however, are fully known to me, and I am persuaded that a fitter man
for the office could not be found. But something else will, no doubt,
offer within a few days, and then....”
Buckingham interrupted him arrogantly.
“It is not a question of something else, your grace, but of this. I
have already obtained His Majesty’s sanction. It is at his suggestion
that I am here. It is fortunate that the person you had designated for
the command is obscure. He will have to give way, and you may console
him with the next vacant post. If your grace requires more explicit
instruction I shall be happy to obtain you His Majesty’s commands in
writing.”
Albemarle was checkmated. He sat there grim and impassive as if he were
carved of stone. But his mind was a seething cauldron of anger. It was
always thus. The places of trust, the positions demanding experienced
heads and able hands that England might be served to the best advantage
by her most meritorious sons, were constantly being flung away upon
the worthless parasites that flocked about Charles’s lecherous Court.
And he was the more angered here, because his hands were tied against
resistance by the very identity of the man he was appointing. Had it
been a question of any other man of Holles’s soldierly merit, but of
such antecedents as would permit the disclosure of his name, he would
clap on his hat and step across to the palace to argue the matter with
the King. And he would know how to conduct the argument so as to
prevail against the place-seeking insolence of Buckingham. But, as it
was, he was forced to realize that he could do none of this without
perhaps dooming Holles and bringing heavy censure fruitlessly upon
himself. “Oddsfish!” the King would cry. “Do you tell me to my face
that you prefer the son of a regicide to the friend of my friend?” And
what should he answer then?
He lowered his eyes. The commission which was the subject of this
discussion lay there on the table before him, the space which the name
of Randal Holles was intended to occupy still standing blank. He was
defeated, and he had best, for the sake of Holles as much as for his
own, accept the situation without further argument.
He took up a pen, dipped it, and drew the document to him.
“Since you have His Majesty’s authority, there can be, of course, no
further question.”
Rapidly, his quill scratching and spluttering across the sheet, he
filled in the name of Sir Harry Stanhope, bitterly considering that he
might as profitably have filled in Nell Gwynn’s. He dusted the thick
writing with pounce, and proffered it without another word. But his
looks were heavy.
Buckingham rose, smiling, and Sir Harry bounced up with him, smiling
also. For the first and last time in the course of that short interview
Sir Harry spoke.
“Your grace’s devoted servant,” he professed himself, bowing and
smirking. “I shall study to discharge my office creditably, and to
allay any qualms my youth may leave in your grace’s mind.”
“And youth,” said Buckingham, smiling, to reassure Albemarle, “is a
fault that time invariably corrects.”
Albemarle rose slowly to his feet, and the others bowed themselves out
of his presence.
Then he sat down again heavily, took his head in his hands, and softly
loosed an oath.
Holles came an hour later, radiant with expectation, a gay,
youthful-looking, commanding figure in his splendid red coat, to be
crushed by the news that proved him Fortune’s fool again, as ever.
But he bore it well on the face of him, however deeply the iron was
thrust into his soul. It was Albemarle who for once showed excitement,
Albemarle who inveighed in most unmeasured terms against the corrupt
influence of the Court and the havoc it was working.
“It needed a man for this office and they have constrained me to give
it to a fribble, a dolly in breeches, a painted dawcock.”
Holles remembered Tucker’s denunciations of the present government and
began to realize at last how right he was and how justified he and his
associates might be of their conviction that the people were ready to
rise and sweep this Augean stable clean.
Albemarle was seeking to comfort him with fresh hope. No doubt
something else would offer soon.
“To be snatched up again by some debt-ridden pimp who wants to escape
his creditors,” said Holles, his tone betraying at last some of the
bitterness fermenting in his soul.
Albemarle stood sorrowfully regarding him. “This hits you hard, Randal,
I know.”
The Colonel recovered and forced a laugh.
“Pooh! Hard hits have mostly been my portion.”
“I know.” Albemarle paced to the window and back, his head sunk between
his shoulders. Then he came to a halt before the Colonel. “Keep me
informed of where you are lodged, and look to hear from me again as
soon as may be. Be sure that I will do my best.”
The Colonel’s glance kindled again. It was a flicker of the expiring
flame of hope.
“You really think that something else will offer?”
His grace paused before answering, and, in the pause, the sorrowful
gravity of his face increased.
“To be frank with you, Randal, I hardly dare to _think_ it. Chances
for such as you are, as you understand, not ... frequent. But the
unexpected may happen sooner than we dare to hope. If it does, be sure
I’ll not forget you. Be sure of that.”
Holles thanked him steadily, and rose to depart, his radiance quenched,
despondency in every line of him.
Albemarle watched from under furrowed brows. As he reached the door the
Duke detained him.
“Randal! A moment.”
The Colonel turned and waited whilst slowly Albemarle approached him.
His grace was deep in thought, and he hesitated before speaking.
“You ... you are not urgently in need of money, I trust?” he said at
last.
The Colonel’s gesture and laugh conveyed a shamefaced admission that he
was.
Albemarle’s eyes considered him a moment still. Then, slowly, he drew a
purse from his pocket. It was apparently a light purse. He unfastened
it.
“If a loan will help you until....”
“No, no!” cried Holles, his pride aroused against accepting what
amounted almost to alms.
Even so the repudiation was no more than half-hearted. But there was
no attempt from Albemarle to combat it. He did not press the offer. He
drew the purse-strings tight again, and his expression was almost one
of relief.