THE
GREAT ROXHYTHE
THE
GREAT ROXHYTHE
BY
GEORGETTE HEYER
Author of
“The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century”
“_Under which King, Bezonian?_”
--_King Henry IV. Part II_
BOSTON
SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1923
BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
Printed in the United States of America
THE MURRAY PRINTING COMPANY
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
BOUND BY THE BOSTON BOOKBINDING COMPANY
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
TO
MY MOTHER AND FATHER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I--THE KING AND HIS FAVOURITE 1
II--THE KING HIS COUNCILLORS 10
III--CHRISTOPHER DART 19
IV--FLUSHING 30
V--MYNHEER DE STAAL 42
VI--RODERICK DART 51
VII--WILLIAM OF ORANGE 56
VIII--THE AMIABLE MR. MILWARD PERPLEXED 67
IX--THE KING OF ENGLAND 76
BOOK II--THE WAYS DIVERGE
I--JANUARY, 1669 85
II--THE OFFER 97
III--HER LADYSHIP 110
IV--HER LADYSHIP’S PERPLEXITY 116
V--LADY CREWE 120
VI--THE PRICE 126
VII--THE FIRST SEED OF DOUBT 132
VIII--MADAME 141
IX--THE GROWTH OF THE SEED 153
X--MAY, 1670 160
XI--UNREST 168
BOOK III--QUO VADIS?
I--WHITEHALL 177
II--THE HUSBAND 184
III--THE CHALLENGE 194
IV--PROGRESSION 202
V--THE MOST NOBLE THE MARQUIS 211
VI--THE KING HIS WILL 224
VII--THE HAND OF FATE 232
VIII--THE AMIABLE MR. MILWARD AGAIN 242
IX--DISILLUSIONMENT 252
X--THE BITTER HOUR 264
BOOK IV--THE ONE PART
I--THE NEW MASTER 275
II--THE COMING OF WILLIAM 285
III--LA KEROUALLE 296
IV--THE MEETING 304
V--DISCORD 310
VI--THE DECISION 320
VII--THE REVENGE 323
VIII--THE HAVEN 326
BOOK V--THE OTHER PART
I--THE TRIPLE GAME 339
II--THE SCHEMERS 347
III--AGITATIONS 353
IV--THE KING HIS TRIUMPH 360
V--PLOTS 365
VI--MONMOUTH 375
VII--FEBRUARY, 1685 383
VIII--THE LOSING GAME 392
IX--THE SUNDERLANDS 399
X--THE SHOT 407
XI--THE GREAT ROXHYTHE 412
THE
GREAT ROXHYTHE
CHAPTER I
THE KING AND HIS FAVOURITE
A LARGE gentleman was strolling from group to group in one of the great
galleries of Whitehall. He was very exquisite, this gentleman, adorned
with all the coloured silks, velvets and furbelows which that Year of
Grace, 1668, demanded. A great peruke was on his head, with flowing,
dark curls that reached over his breast and below his shoulders. He
carried his plumed hat in his hand, and at times he made great play
with it, as if to point some witty remark. At other times he opened his
jewelled comfit-box with a delicate flick of his wrist, and selected,
with some care, a tinted sweetmeat. Once or twice he swept a low bow to
some lady of his acquaintance, but for the most part he was occupied
with the courtiers who were present, always lazily smiling, and with
his brown eyes bored and expressionless. His height, and the breadth
of his shoulders made him easily distinguishable in the gay throng, so
that those who wished to speak to him soon found where he was standing,
and made their way towards him. He was the Most Noble the Marquis of
Roxhythe, the King’s favourite and the ladies’ darling, and his name
was on many lips.
No longer in his first youth, my lord had nothing to learn in the way
of polish. He was the perfect courtier, combining grace and insolence
even more successfully than his Grace of Buckingham. His brow was
incomparable; his air French; his wit spicy; his tailoring beyond
words, remarkable. Even in those days of splendour and unlimited
extravagance he was said to be fabulously wealthy.
All this was enough to gain him popularity, but yet another asset was
his. This was the ear of the King.
For no one did Charles cherish quite so warm a regard. He had never
been heard to speak harshly to the favourite, and the favourite had
never been heard to take a liberty with his good-natured master. He had
been with Charles on his travels; had fought at his side at Worcester,
had entered London in his train in 1660, and was now one of the most
influential men in town.
He was something of an enigma. As indolent and as licentious as his
royal master, possessing strong personal magnetism, many engaging
qualities, and excellent abilities, he never interested himself in
the affairs of the moment nor exercised his influence either for his
own ends or for those of some “party.” He belonged to none of the
factions; he was no statesman; his lazy unconcern was widely known.
He never plotted, and never worried himself over the affairs of the
State. He had few friends, and some enemies. The King’s brother, the
Duke of York, openly disliked him for the influence he held over
Charles; influence that his Grace did not possess; influence that
might be turned against him. Many of the courtiers covertly hated him
for this same reason, but no one, for some inexplicable reason, ever
intentionally annoyed him.
This afternoon, as he walked through the gallery, he found that the
conversation was more serious than was either seemly or usual. On all
sides was talk of the Triple Alliance with Holland and Spain which the
King had signed but a few weeks ago. No one could quite understand why
Charles had done this, but nearly everyone was pleased. Uneasy patriots
who feared the French King’s yoke saw in this new bond a safeguard
against France and a safeguard against the attacks of the Dutch; while
the fervent religious party who had murmured at the King’s marriage to
a Papist and at his good-humoured toleration of the Catholic religion
thought this Protestant alliance a proof of Charles’ good faith.
The King occupied himself so little with affairs that many of
the men who surrounded him came to the conclusion that he had had
no mind of his own in the matter, but had blindly followed his
ministers’ instructions. Others who had more insight into the King’s
nimble, competent brain confessed themselves at a loss to explain
his concurrence with a bond which must surely be disadvantageous to
himself. These were his intimates; men who had some conception of
the King’s friendship with his cousin Louis, and a knowledge of the
condition of his private purse. They wondered, and surmised, and
exchanged glances, but they were few in number, and the majority of
men thought the King an indolent prince with no head for business and
certainly no taste for intricate intrigue.
It seemed that the only man at Whitehall that afternoon who neither
wondered nor surmised but who was content to receive the news placidly
and without argument, was, as usual, Lord Roxhythe. He spent his time
turning aside solemn questions as to his opinion of the bond by a
series of flippant rejoiners. He grew weary at last of trying to turn
men’s thoughts into lighter and more congenial channels, and withdrew
to the side of Mrs. Chester, one of the Queen’s ladies. There he
remained, and was exchanging languid badinage with her when a page
broke in on the gathering about the lady’s couch and bowed low.
His Majesty desired my lord to go to him at once.
It was no unusual thing for Charles to summon his favourite to him
privately, and no one thought it a matter for suspicion; not even Sir
Thomas Killigrew who was unreasonably jealous of his rival.
My Lord Roxhythe cast an appealing glance at Mrs. Chester, and rose.
“Oh well, sir!” shrugged the lady with a little _moue_ of
pretended anger. “I know you will never stay by my side when His
Majesty calls!”
“Sweetheart,” retorted Roxhythe, audaciously, “I would stay by your
side as I could, but seeing that I may not, how can I?”
Mrs. Chester laughed immoderately at this, flirting her fan.
“You confound me with your woulds and coulds, sir! I know not the
answer to your riddle, yet if I command your company...?”
“Then on two sides my company is demanded, and on the both by Royalty.”
“How?” she dimpled.
“Why, Fairest, if His Majesty is King of England, you are the Queen of
Beauty, and I know not whose claim be the stronger.”
As Mrs. Chester was no more than ordinarily good looking, this fulsome
compliment pleased her very much.
“And so what would you do?”
“I would compromise, sweet.”
“Compromise! I do not think I like the word. But how?”
Roxhythe picked up his hat and gloves and bowed.
“I would take you with me to His Majesty so you might both have my
company.”
Her laughter followed him across the gallery as he walked in the wake
of the page to the King’s private closet.
Charles sat at his desk, his chin in his hand, but at Roxhythe’s entry
he rose and came forward, hands outstretched.
Roxhythe took them in his, carrying them to his lips.
“Ye are recovered from your indisposition, Davy?” asked the King
affectionately. “Do you know that ’tis five days since I have seen you?”
“Do I not, Sir!” smiled Roxhythe.
“And even now I have to send for you because you do not come! What ill
usage is this, David?”
“None, Sir,” was the prompt reply. “I have been a suppliant at your
door, and turned away because that Your Majesty was greatly occupied
with State affairs.”
“They had no orders to turn you away, David! Odds-life, but one would
think the business of more account than you!”
“One might,” conceded Roxhythe, and laughed. “They would have announced
me, but hearing of Your Majesty’s occupation, I forbad them.”
“You think so much of business!” sighed the King. “Well, I have been
with my nose to the grindstone all the morning and I am not finished
with it yet. Sit down, Davy!” He returned to the desk.
Roxhythe chose a seat opposite him and laid down his hat.
Charles’ heavy face was overcast. His melancholy eyes, resting on the
favourite’s face, were frowning. Roxhythe raised his brows, and leaned
back in his chair.
“David,” said the King, at last, “I am in something of a quandary.”
Roxhythe said nothing.
“If I do not obtain money soon I am like to be in a worse one. This
Dutch alliance is of no use to me.”
“Well, we always knew that, Sir. You’ve commands for me?”
“A request.”
“Name it, Sire.”
“Gently, Roxhythe! There is much ye must understand first.”
Roxhythe drew closer to the desk.
“This is a secret matter, Sir?”
“For the present, yes. David, the matter is this: very soon I must have
means, or I fall. The Commons will grant me nothing, nor will I ask
them. There is Louis....” He paused.
Roxhythe made a little gesture of distaste.
“You are adverse from dealing with the French King, ah? Well, so am I.
I’ve no mind to bear his yoke on my shoulders, for I believe it would
tax my ingenuity to its uttermost to out-wit him. That he would jump to
the movement of my finger I know. Yet ...” Again he paused.
“You do not wish to put England under his thumb, Sir?”
“I do not wish to put myself under his thumb, Roxhythe. His Christian
Majesty is very grasping. So I am forced to think of another
alternative.”
“Well, Sir?”
“My nephew.”
For an instant Roxhythe was puzzled. Then his eyes narrowed.
“William of Orange.”
Charles nodded.
“You see the possibilities of the idea?”
“I see a great many impossibilities, Sir.”
“You are not over encouraging, Roxhythe. You have not heard what is in
my mind as yet.”
Roxhythe bowed.
“I am waiting for Your Majesty to expound.”
“It is this. De Witt rules Holland, and he holds my nephew prisoner.
Yet I have good reason to believe that his position is none too safe.
Already there are murmurings among the people. Nassau is always
Nassau--in Holland. If William were to rise up ’gainst Their High
Mightinesses the mob would flock to his standard. The mob’s memory
is never of the longest. In the face of his present unpopularity, it
would forget the good De Witt wrought in Holland, and stand again for
the Orange. With an English army to back him William might very easily
overthrow De Witt and take his rightful place as Stadtholder. He might
even be made King.”
“And the price, Sir?”
“Tribute paid to me, yearly.”
“So you will hold the Provinces as a subsidiary state to England?”
“Ostensibly. Enough to satisfy Ashley.”
“Ashley. So he is in the plot?”
Charles shrugged.
“To some extent. He does not know my whole mind. He sees advancement
for himself in it. And the Country’s good. A patriot, this Ashley.”
“And who else knows of the thing, Sir?”
The King moved a little uneasily.
“Buckingham,” he answered shortly.
“Your Majesty trusts that man too much.”
The King’s eyes flashed.
“My Majesty does not brook correction, Roxhythe.”
“Your pardon, Sir.”
One of the dogs barked in its sleep and growled.
The King leant forward again.
“In Holland to-day there is a strong Orangist party. Influential men,
some of them ...” he mentioned names.... “And a few of the richer
tradesmen. Not so many of that class. ’Tis the noblemen and the mob
who are for the Orange, but the burghers stand by De Witt. If Louis
presently invades the Low Countries, as I believe he will do, De
Witt’s position becomes the more insecure. The mob will blame him for
the invasion, and turn to rend him. Then were the time to produce the
Prince, with a small force at his back. England would approve it, and
in such a way I might become independent of Louis.”
“It is a pretty scheme, Sir,” said Roxhythe slowly. “But one point Your
Majesty overlooks.”
“What is it?”
“The Prince himself, Sir.”
Charles brushed the objection aside.
“A mere boy. My bait should be tempting enough.”
“Have you considered that others may have dangled that same bait?”
“Louis. Assuredly. But on my side there is this: I am his uncle;
England is Protestant, as he is. Louis is Catholic, and the blood-tie
is not so close.”
“You are sure, too, that the Prince is amenable to bribes, Sir?”
The sombre look faded from the King’s face. He showed his teeth in a
smile of pure mischief.
“Roxhythe, Roxhythe, have ye forgot he is a Stuart?”
The favourite laughed.
“No, Sir. Nor that he is also a Nassau.”
“A proud race,” nodded the King. “Still, his youth stands me in good
stead.”
“He may have older and wiser councillors, Sir, not easy to dazzle.”
“I never yet met a statesman I could not bribe,” replied the King
cynically.
A smile flickered across Roxhythe’s mouth.
“What will you bribe them with, Sir? I thought ’twas Your Majesty who
required money.”
“I am prepared to spend some money that I may obtain more,” retorted
the King. “I believe the Commons would assist me for such a cause.”
“All things are possible, Sir,” said Roxhythe pessimistically.
“So I think. But first I must know my nephew his mind. From all I can
gather he is a youth of parts. I would lay my proposition before him,
for without his consent nothing is possible.”
Roxhythe twisted his rings.
“And so we come to the part I have to play.”
Charles glanced at him affectionately.
“I would not press you, David. I but request.”
My lord’s lips twitched.
“Your Majesty knows I can refuse you nothing,” he said.
The King put out his hand quickly.
“Ah, David! If I had more about me of your loyalty!”
“Then, Sir, were I not so favoured,” smiled Roxhythe. “I am to go to
the Hague?”
“Ay. You will bear a packet containing the--bribe--as writ by Ashley.
But you know my mind as he does not, and you will plead my cause with
the Prince yourself. Remember I am set on this thing if it may be
brought about.”
Roxhythe stood up.
“I will serve you to the best of my ability, Sir. My instructions, I
suppose, I receive from _Messieurs_ Ashley and Villiers?”
“They await you in the room opposite. Roxhythe, my displeasure will be
very great if you anger these men! Already they do not like it that I
have chosen you for messenger, and I will have no petty quarrelling!
Remember you are my friend!” He rose also, and extended his hand. He
was a very great Prince.
Roxhythe kissed his fingers.
“I will bear your words in mind, Sir. But I never quarrel.”
“No,” admitted the King, laughing. “But you have a damned annoying air
about you!”
“That is possible,” agreed my lord placidly, and left the presence.
Outside he paused, and glanced down the corridor. There was no one in
sight.
“Ashley and Villiers,” he murmured. “What ails my little master?”
CHAPTER II
THE KING HIS COUNCILLORS
BY the fireplace, lolling in one of the carven oak chairs, and from
time to time selecting comfits from a jewelled box, was a tall, fair
man rather florid of countenance, with very arched eyebrows, and an
enormous periwig. His dress and appointments were rich and heavily
perfumed; his face was painted and powdered; his air was blasé. He
wore salmon-pink with silver facings and silver ribands. His coat was
marvellously embroidered; its sleeves turned back from the elbow to
allow his fine cambric shirt to billow forth into foamy ruffles of
Mechlin. His person was lavishly besprinkled with jewels, and the hilt
of his sword was of wrought gold with rubies and diamonds scattered
over it.
In all a handsome, foppish gentleman, with just enough of dare-devilry
and charm in his manner to soften the slightly repellent insolence that
characterized him. His Grace of Buckingham.
Standing by the window was Lord Ashley-Cooper. His lordship laid no
claim to either personal beauty or charm. Even at that time his face
was lined and pinched, and his manner lacked the courtier’s polish.
His dress was plain, judged by the standards of the day, and something
careless in appearance. He neither toyed with comfits, nor hummed to
pass the time, as did His Grace of Buckingham, but signs of impatience
he showed in the way his foot tapped the ground, and in the twitching
of his thin lips.
Villiers studied him amusedly.
Then Roxhythe came into the room.
Both men turned, and Buckingham dragged himself from his chair, yawning
behind his scented handkerchief.
Ashley bowed stiffly. It struck Roxhythe that he was not at ease. He
wondered what the man really knew of the King’s designs: whether he
was playing into the King’s hands deliberately. Roxhythe was slightly
acquainted with him, but he saw that Ashley’s bow was not cordial. He
returned it, making great play with his plumed hat. Then he bowed to
His Grace.
And there they stood, Buckingham obviously amused; Roxhythe quite
impassive, sustaining his bow; and Ashley very uncomfortable. Yet it
was he who spoke the first word.
“My Lord Roxhythe, we are greatly honoured. Pray will you not be
seated?” His voice was harsh but not unsympathetic.
Roxhythe ended his bow with a flourish. He deposited his hat on a
chair, laid his gloves on the brim, and sat down at the table, making
a gesture with his hand to two other chairs. In that moment he became
master of the situation.
Buckingham stretched himself in his original place and ate another
comfit. Roxhythe caught the exasperated glance that Ashley flung at him
and chuckled inwardly. Charles had chosen an ill-matched couple for the
business.
“Gentlemen, I await your convenience,” he said.
Buckingham passed his comfit-box to Ashley, who sat nearest him.
“May I not tempt you, my lord? I assure--”
“I thank your Grace, no!” said Ashley, curtly.
“Then my Lord Roxhythe?”
Roxhythe accepted a violet-tinted sweetmeat, and handed the box back to
his Grace.
Villiers watched him anxiously.
“A delicate flavour, you’ll agree, my lord? I have scoured London and
not found another maker to rival this one.”
Roxhythe lifted his hand.
“I seem to catch the name in the flavour, sir ... Champlin--no.... Ah!
Tonier!”
“You’re right,” nodded Buckingham. “Tonier. I set great store by my
comfits.”
Ashley interrupted at this, seeing that Roxhythe seemed disposed to
continue the subject.
“Gentlemen, we have met to discuss more important matters than your
sweetmeats!” he said quickly.
Haughtily Buckingham raised his eyebrows. Then he let them fall again,
and yawned.
“My Lord Roxhythe will forgive the abruptness,” he drawled. “I shall
hope to continue our little conversation another time, sir.”
“Your Grace still gives me something to live for,” replied Roxhythe
sweetly.
Ashley brought his clenched fist down on the table.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” he cried. “I must beseech your attention!”
Instantly Roxhythe turned to him.
“Your pardon, my lord! I stand rebuked. Well, I have had speech with
His Majesty.” He sat back, waiting for Ashley to speak.
“Oh, have you so?” asked Buckingham sleepily. “How doth His Majesty? I
have not seen him in these two days.”
“Very well, sir--considering....”
Ashley flashed angrily.
“Well, sirs! And is this the time or the place to bandy questions
concerning His Majesty’s health? We are here on business of great
importance----”
Buckingham was moved to sit up.
“My lord! His Majesty’s health----”
“Is of great moment, your Grace, as I am perfectly well aware! But
we have no time to waste now! We must come to our business at once!
Already we waste time with all this talk of sweetmeats and----”
“Gentlemen, I beg you not to quarrel here, in His Majesty’s
apartments,” interposed Roxhythe very coldly. “My lord, if you will
give me your attention for one moment!”
Before Ashley, indignant at the implied reproof, had time to do more
than open his mouth, Roxhythe had begun to speak, concisely, but with
the air of one bored beyond measure.
“His Majesty did me the honour of requesting my presence this morning,
when he did propound to me a scheme which he hath in mind. This I
need not speak of to you, gentlemen, for I know that you are party
to the intrigue.” Here he bowed. “His Majesty further honoured me
by commanding my services in the matter, desiring me to be his
messenger to his nephew, the Prince of Orange. This I did undertake,
and His Majesty at once commanded me to seek you out for the further
propounding of the matter. Allow me to say also, gentlemen, that I am
entirely at your disposal.”
“Very prettily said,” commented his Grace, opening one eye. “I swear I
could not reel it off so pat.”
“I gather, my lord, that His Majesty apprised you of our intentions?”
“His Majesty told me that Prince William was to be cozened to our side,
and the Provinces to pay yearly tribute to England.”
“That is so.”
Roxhythe felt Buckingham’s eyes upon him. He knew then that Charles had
made no secret of his intentions to the Duke. As yet he could not judge
of Ashley’s knowledge, but he thought it unlikely that this man should
be privy to the King’s aims.
“I see you know it all,” continued Ashley. “It but remains to arrange
that you depart in such a way that the French Ambassador’s spies shall
not suspect you; and to read you your instruction.”
Roxhythe bowed.
“His Majesty desires you to travel by sea to Flushing, where it is
believed your lordship has friends.”
Again Roxhythe bowed.
“You are to journey to the Hague, but in such a way as to excite
no suspicion. So the first day you will ride no further than
Bergen-op-Zoom; the second to Gertruydenberg; the third to Rotterdam,
and so to the Hague itself. We leave to your discretion the time you
spend in each of these towns. It is possible you may have to allay
suspicion by remaining in each some days. It is almost certain that
you will be spied upon. If the Duke of York, or the French Ambassador,
M. de Rouvigny, were to hear of the affair, they would do all in their
power to stop you gaining access to the Prince. When you are come at
length to the Hague you will in some way----”
“Which we leave to your discretion, knowing none ourselves,” put in
Buckingham.
“----in some way gain entrance to the palace. You must deliver the King
his packet into the Prince his hands, and bring back an answer. That is
the whole plan in rough, my lord.”
“Neat, eh, my lord?” said Buckingham lazily. “You must take care,
however, to allay the spies’ suspicion. In all probability they will be
with you on the boat, but no doubt you will contrive to shake them off
during the journey, even as they do arrive at the Hague to meet you.”
Ashley broke in.
“The other matter, which is of great importance, my lord, is the manner
of your departure.”
“Surely an escort as far as Harwich...?” asked Villiers, surprised. “He
cannot then come to much harm this side of the water.”
“Your Grace is pleased to make a mock of me,” retorted Ashley with
quiet dignity. “My Lord Roxhythe, you have no suggestion to put
forward?”
Roxhythe left off playing with the tassel of his glove and looked up.
“Why no, sir. Unless it might be that I should fall under the
displeasure of His Majesty and be forced to leave the country for a
spell.”
Ashley brought the knuckles of his right hand into the palm of his left.
“You have hit on it, sir! Why, it is the very thing! A public rebuff;
coldness from His Majesty! It lends verisimilitude to the affair at
once!”
Villiers looked curiously across at my lord.
“So you’ll do that, eh?”
“Why not, sir?” Roxhythe opened his eyes rather wide.
“Damme if I would!” remarked his Grace. “Well, well! what next?”
Ashley started to fidget with some papers lying on the table. His face
became more harassed than ever.
“There is one other matter which I hardly like to mention to your
lordship. And that is--plainly speaking--the--ah--in spite of His
Majesty’s--I may say--very straitened circumstances--it is the--er----”
Buckingham burst into a great laugh.
“Odd’s blood, but the man stumbles like a cat on hot bricks! ’Tis the
payment that he tries to speak of, Roxhythe!”
“We--leave it to your lordship’s discretion, of course.”
“You’ll need to have a vast amount of that discretion!” chuckled the
Duke.
“Your Grace!--to your lordship’s discretion--how much money you should
require for the expenses of the journey.” He stopped, and glanced with
some anxiety into my lord’s ironic eyes.
Buckingham drawled something about the King’s purse that made my lord’s
hand clench suddenly on the glove he held. Ashley’s discomfiture amused
him. He prolonged it for some moments. Then he began to speak, very
slowly.
“Set your minds at rest, gentlemen. His Majesty knows I shall not ask
him for money.” He paused, frowning. A little sneering laugh from
Villiers affected him not a whit. Ashley watched him closely. “One
thing, however, I must have.”
“Oho!” Buckingham flashed a look at Ashley.
“May we know what that is, sir?” asked Ashley.
Roxhythe toyed again with his glove.
“I require a gentleman to go with me.”
The relief on both men’s faces was ludicrous.
“Well, sir!” said Ashley briskly. “That is no such great matter!”
Roxhythe was pained.
“Pardon me, sir. I mean a man who may be to some extent cognizant
of the intrigue; who will be loyal to me; who will transact all the
business of transport for me; who will take orders from no one but me;
who will act in implicit obedience to me. In short, gentlemen, one who
is trustworthy and discreet.”
Buckingham stared at him gloomily.
“In these days!” he said, patiently exasperated. “Really, my lord!”
But Ashley had his finger to his teeth, biting the nail.
“You hear, sir?” asked Buckingham.
“Ay. I hear,” murmured Ashley, abstractedly. “Wait!”
“He knows of such a man!” breathed Buckingham. “Well, well!” He crossed
his legs, and surveyed his gay rosettes.
“You have no one in mind, Lord Roxhythe?” asked Ashley, suddenly.
“I? No.”
“How should he?” sneered the Duke.
“Then I believe I know the man you seek.”
“That is very good hearing, sir. Who is he?”
“He is by name Dart. Christopher Dart. He is little more than a boy,
it’s true, but I knew his father well, and I know his brother. I could
vouch for his character. They come of a very old Suffolk family, and
they are intensely patriotic. Chris came to my house only last week,
asking me if I had work for him. I did promise to keep him in mind. He
is the very man you want, my lord, and more than ever so as his brother
is in the Prince his service at the Hague.”
Even Buckingham was roused.
“Roxhythe his difficulties fade before this youth,” he remarked.
Roxhythe laid down his glove.
“Proceed, sir, I beg of you!”
“The boy will serve you faithfully enough; of that I am sure. As to his
brother, Roderick, he was placed with His Highness by De Witt himself,
so he is not suspected by the Prince his governors. Young Christopher
spoke of him when I saw him. He told me that Roderick has learnt to
worship the Prince, and would die for him, and much more heroic talk
beside. If you can use Christopher to gain his brother, half your
difficulty is gone!”
“Why, so it seems!” bowed Roxhythe. “I am indebted to you, sir.”
“I will send to Chris to come to see me to-morrow,” continued Ashley.
“Unless you yourself will see him, sir?”
“Where does the prodigal lodge?” inquired Roxhythe.
“In Milford Lane--Number seven.”
“I’ll visit him myself, then, sir, and learn his mind. I may use your
name?”
“Surely, my lord!”
“Then he will run to you to hear your advice, and, acting on it, accept
the post of secretary which I offer.”
Ashley saw the wisdom of this.
“Very well, sir. And for the rest?”
“I’ll wait on you,” said Roxhythe. He turned to Buckingham and bowed.
Then he bowed to Ashley. “There is nothing more you have to tell me?”
Ashley shook his head.
“At present, nothing, sir. If you will visit me later in the week I
will have everything clear.”
Roxhythe picked up his hat.
“Then, with your permission, gentlemen, I’ll leave you.”
“One moment, Roxhythe!” It was Buckingham who spoke. “We may leave to
you the task of informing His Majesty of your decision?”
“My decision?” interrogated Roxhythe.
“That blind to the French spies you spoke of. The public rebuff.” The
sneer was thinly veiled.
Roxhythe looked over his shoulder.
“Yes. You may leave that to me. I will speak to His Majesty.”
“I am relieved,” smiled the Duke. He watched my lord go out, and the
smile faded. He flung himself back in his chair with a short laugh.
“The fool!” he exclaimed. “The fond fool!”
“No, I do not think him that,” said Ashley. “But I wish it were any
other than he. I do not trust him; he is too secret. I would he were
more a fool; I should be more at ease.”
“Of course he is a fool! What sane man undertakes the King’s most
expensive tasks and asks no payment? A fond fool, I tell you!”
“I think he loves the King very dearly,” slowly remarked my lord. “Or
else he feigns well. Yet I do not trust him, for I think him selfish,
and I do not think he cares over-much for the country.”
“Oh, ye set too great store on the man, sir! A public rebuff! He who
has never endured a slight from the King! He is mad!”
“No, he loves the King. But I wish it were other than he.” He sighed,
and gathered together his papers. “I do not conceal from your Grace
that I have grave misgivings concerning this business.”
Buckingham chuckled.
CHAPTER III
CHRISTOPHER DART
ROXHYTHE made his way back to the gallery. He found it crowded, and
across the room caught sight of the King sitting with la belle Stewart,
and laughing boisterously at some witty shaft aimed by Killigrew,
standing near. Lady Castlemaine was by the door as he entered, in one
of her black moods. He addressed her lightly, bowing. She turned.
“Ah, Roxhythe!” The frown cleared somewhat. “You have not been at Court
these last few days. What ailed you?”
“A trifling indisposition, madame. I am flattered that you marked my
absence.”
“We missed you at the ball,” she answered. “It was a pretty evening.
You heard?”
“I heard that your ladyship was much admired. Sedley spoke of a yellow
gown, of blue ribands, of----”
“Yes. And what said Sir Charles of Miss Stewart?” She spat the words at
him.
“He did not speak of her,” said Roxhythe, calmly. “She was present?”
“Ay, the hussy!” Lady Castelmaine struck her fan into the palm of her
hand. “The minx! Flaunting her airs and her graces before mine eyes!
The bread-and-butter miss!”
Roxhythe shook with quiet laughter. Her ladyship flung him a wrathful
glance.
“Oh, laugh, Roxhythe, by all means! I make no doubt you are stricken
with the same madness! La belle Stewart! Tchah!” She moved angrily away.
Roxhythe felt the King’s eyes upon him. As soon as he could
conveniently do so, he made his way to where Charles was sitting, and
went to talk to Digby who stood behind the King’s chair with one or two
others.
Presently Charles rose and walked with his fair companion to the door.
He nodded carelessly to Roxhythe.
“Davy, be sure you visit me to-morrow.” It was affectionately said; the
Monarch conferring a favour on his courtier. Roxhythe bowed.
“I thank your Majesty.”
Charles passed on.
The audience next morning was short. Charles was in a flippant mood,
and although he at first objected to publicly snubbing his favourite,
he soon consented. He was more interested in Roxhythe’s account of
yesterday’s interview, and he laughed heartily at the description of
the ill-assorted pair. For a fleeting few moments he was inclined to
cancel his commands, reproaching himself for thinking to send Roxhythe
into danger. Then that inclination faded, and he fell to discussing
various minor details with Roxhythe.
In the evening Roxhythe went to visit Christopher Dart.
Christopher lived in a house looking out on to the river; a jeweller’s
shop, over which he rented rooms. On this particular evening he was on
the point of going to bed when the little serving-maid knocked on the
door, and shrilled through the key-hole that a gentleman wanted to see
Mr. Dart. Christopher had already snuffed two candles, and he paused
now in the act of pinching the third. He went to the door and opened it.
The maid did not know who the gentleman was.
Christopher looked at her surprisedly. His friends in London were few,
and they did not call on him at eleven at night.
The maid smoothed her dress with plump, red hands.
“I told the gentleman ye were like to be abed, sir,” she said, with
a pert toss of her head. She glanced at Christopher from beneath her
lashes. He was a comely boy.
“Well, I’m not abed, Lucy. But I was on the point of retiring when you
came.”
“Be I to send him about his business, sir?” Her tone implied that she
would find the task congenial.
“No,” said Christopher, slowly. “’Tis not so often that I have a
visitor that I can afford to deny myself.” His solemnity vanished in a
smile. “Will you show him upstairs, Lucy?”
“A great mill-post of a creature all wrapped up in a coat!” she
sniffed. “And not a mite of his face to be seen for his hat all down on
his nose!”
“A dangerous fellow,” agreed Christopher, twinkling. “But I have my
sword over in the corner there! Don’t keep him waiting, child.”
He tried to think who would be likely to come disguised to see him.
His friends were of a peaceable nature, nor had he one amongst them
who could be considered taller than the average. While the maid was
clattering down the stairs, he re-lit the two snuffed candles, and
stirred the dying fire to a blaze. He was youthful enough to cast
a glance into the mirror over the mantlepiece, and to straighten
his hair. It was his own, and he wore it in natural curls about his
shoulders.
The maid opened the door. She put her head into the room, announcing
resentfully: “The gentleman!” and vanished.
Roxhythe came forward, removing his hat.
Christopher gazed at him in perplexity. It must be remembered that he
was not long come from the country, and had seen very few notables of
the town. His visitor’s face was totally unfamiliar.
Roxhythe shed his heavy cloak. He was gorgeously dressed in rose velvet
and purple trimmings, for he had come straight from Whitehall. As he
dropped his cloak on to a chair he smiled at Christopher who stared the
harder.
“I must really apologize,” said Roxhythe, in his inimitable way. “It is
quite disgraceful of me to wait on you at this hour, Mr. Dart. But I
have been much occupied, believe me. I am relieved to find you not yet
asleep; much relieved.”
Christopher swallowed twice, and stammered something inane. The
deep brown eyes cast a spell over him which was strengthened by
his visitor’s strange manner. Feeling that his murmured remark was
inadequate, he bowed, and told Roxhythe that he was honoured. From
my lord’s attitude he supposed that he had met him somewhere and
forgotten him. He did not know the ways of Roxhythe.
My lord drew off his fringed gloves. Rings winked from his fingers.
“You are wondering what-a-plague I want with you,” he remarked.
Christopher spoke rather coldly.
“I confess, sir, I am at a loss.”
“Naturally. I shall have to explain, and I was ever a bad hand at that.
May I sit down?”
Christopher blushed. Roxhythe had made him feel a raw schoolboy. He put
forward a chair, not without resentment.
“Pray do, sir. I regret I have not better entertainment to offer you,
but, as you know, I was not expecting this visit.”
Roxhythe took the chair and leant back in it, looking up at the stiff
young figure with some amusement.
“My dear Mr. Dart, I can never explain my errand if you stand above me
so disapprovingly.”
In spite of his slightly offended self, Christopher went over to
another chair.
“I see, sir, that you know my name. May I not have the honour of yours?”
His lordship’s brows rose.
“I am Roxhythe,” he said, with faint surprise.
The naïve egotism passed over Christopher’s head. He stood transfixed
in an amazement that plainly showed itself on his face. He recovered,
and bowed again.
“I am indeed honoured,” he said.
Roxhythe’s lip quivered.
“On the contrary,” he replied. “The honour is mine. Yes, do sit
down. I cannot bear you on your feet any longer. And before
we proceed any further, permit me to say that that solemn
fellow--Cooper--Ashley-Cooper will hold himself responsible for me.”
Christopher conceived that he was being laughed at.
“Lord Ashley-Cooper is a great friend of mine, sir,” he said coldly.
“A most praiseworthy, energetic gentleman,” nodded Roxhythe. “He
recommended me to wait on you.”
Light began to dawn on Christopher.
“My lord has work for me?” he asked, forgetting his studied coldness.
“That is it, Mr. Dart. Work for--ah King and Country if you’ve a mind
to it.” He watched the young man’s eyes grow eager. “Work of a very
private nature.”
“I can be--discreet, sir!”
“So Ashley assures me. I stand in need of a secretary.”
For one moment Christopher looked blank. Then he flushed angrily.
“Sir--!”
“I am not making sport of you,” pleaded Roxhythe. “It is very serious,
urgent business.”
“I--”
“I could not trust my present secretary for the work I have to do.”
“Oh! Then it is not for you that I should have to work?”
“I am very sorry,” said Roxhythe. “I am afraid I should require you
to--”
“I meant--it is for some State business?”
“State business; yes, Mr. Dart, that is it. I work for my master, and
you work for me. That is the position.”
“Is your master the King, sir?”
Roxhythe was again surprised.
“Naturally.”
Christopher leaned forward.
“Will you not--propound, sir?”
Roxhythe drew his gloves lazily through his fingers. He did not look at
Christopher. Briefly he outlined as much of the plot as was meet for
the other to hear, ending with the part Christopher was to play. He
had apologized for being unversed in the art of speaking, but it was a
very concise and unfaltering tale that he unfolded. He explained the
whole affair in a rather bored manner, and as if it were the most usual
thing in the world for a King and his minister to go behind the backs
of other ministers to form secret treaties with prisoner princes. But
so well did he tell it that this aspect of the situation never struck
young Dart at all. When Roxhythe had finished he drew a deep breath.
His eyes shone.
Roxhythe ate a sweet meat.
For a moment Christopher remained silent. Then he rose abruptly, and
walked to the window, opening it and looking out over the river to the
houses beyond. The night air blew in at the casement, stirring his fair
curls as it passed him, and spread coldly over the room. Somewhere
below a bargeman called to his fellow, but the sound of his voice came
muffled to the quiet room. Christopher spoke with suppressed excitement.
“I--am very sensible--of the great honour--you do me in confiding in
me, sir.”
“Yes,” agreed Roxhythe. “But will you take the post I offer?”
Youthful impetuosity cried yes! Native caution hesitated. Native
caution won.
“If I might--think on it,” ventured Christopher, half-ashamed at what
he felt to be sheer timorousness.
“I will give you--” Roxhythe glanced at the clock, “--fourteen hours.”
Christopher shut the window.
“Thank you, sir. I shall know my mind by then.”
“You know it now,” answered Roxhythe languidly. “But by all means ask
his advice.”
“Sir!” Christopher was taken aback. For a moment he looked foolish,
then his boyish smile appeared. “Well, yes, sir; I could consult Lord
Ashley. He was an old friend of my father’s, and as my brother is
away--”
“Don’t apologize. Of course consult him. Your brother is in the Prince
of Orange’s service, I believe?”
“Yes, sir. He writes very warmly of the Prince. Mayhap he might be of
use to you in the enterprise?”
“It seems quite likely,” said Roxhythe. He rose. “You know my house?”
“No, sir.”
“Really? Bevan House in the Strand.”
“Oh, yes, sir! By Charing Cross.”
“That is right. I may expect to hear from you no later than four
o’clock to-morrow?”
“I will be there at that hour,” promised Christopher. He watched
Roxhythe pick up his hat, and became suddenly aware that he had offered
no refreshment.
“My lord, you will stay to take a glass of wine with me? I have been
sadly lacking in manners to forget. Pray forgive--”
The keen eyes rested kindly on his face.
“I am sure you will excuse me, Mr. Dart. Already it is late and I would
not put you to any further inconvenience.”
“It’s no such thing, sir! If you will be seat--”
“Why, it is very kind of you, sir, but you must forgive me that I do
not stay another minute. To-morrow we will attend to the matter!” He
pulled his cloak about him. Then he smiled.
In that moment Christopher was first conscious of his fascination. He
bowed.
“I will not press you, sir, but I have been most remiss.”
“My dear boy,” replied his lordship, “I have occupied all your thoughts
for the past hour. No, don’t come down with me; I shall find my way
very well.”
“Indeed, sir, I shall!”
Again Roxhythe smiled.
When Christopher re-entered the room, alone, he bethought himself
that Roxhythe had neither sworn him to secrecy, nor adjured him to
be discreet. He puzzled over this curious omission for some time. If
it was not carelessness, it must mean that Roxhythe deemed him above
suspicion. He lifted his chin a little.
He lay awake long that night, recalling all that had passed. As he
turned from side to side in the great four-poster, he tried to argue
the matter reasonably. Roxhythe had been right when he remarked that
Christopher had already made up his mind, but the boy was young,
he felt himself to be inexperienced, and he wanted older and wiser
counsel.
The romantic side of the affair appealed to him strongly. Roxhythe had
spoken of spies and possible danger: Christopher asked nothing better.
That was not what made him hesitate. He hardly admitted to himself what
it was that caused him to draw back. It was Roxhythe.
Without knowing why, Christopher felt that he disliked him. He
questioned whether such a nonchalant _flâneur_ was the man for
this task. Had it been some creature of Ashley’s who had visited him,
or a sober-minded individual, he would not have hesitated. But this
foppish court-darling with his affectations and his langour treated the
whole affair as if it were of very little importance. At the same time
his personality held Christopher. The boy admitted that he had allowed
himself to become a little dazzled towards the end of the interview,
but now that he was alone he had thrown off the spell, and could take a
sane, unbiassed view of the situation.
When he at length fell asleep the clocks were striking three, and the
grey light of dawn was already stealing through the window. He did not
wake until nine, and then only because Lucy was thumping on the door,
and demanding to know if he were ready for his breakfast, which, she
informed him, had been ready for him this hour and more.
At eleven o’clock that morning, Christopher waited on Lord
Ashley-Cooper, and was lucky enough to find him at home. He was ushered
into a severely furnished apartment where Ashley was dictating to his
secretary, and motioned briefly to a chair.
Ashley finished his dictation, and sent the secretary into an adjoining
room.
“Well, Chris? You want my help?”
Christopher took his outstretched hand.
“I think you know on what errand I am come, sir,” he said. “Yesterday
evening my Lord Roxhythe honoured me.”
Ashley nodded. He sat down again at his desk, watching Christopher draw
up a chair for himself.
“And you want my advice?”
“I do, my lord.”
“The thing is genuine enough.”
“Why, I had not doubted that, sir!”
“Oh? The venture is precarious, and the result most uncertain. Yet if
the Prince might be won over, it would be a great thing for England.
We do not stand to gain much by the Triple Alliance alone, and if King
Louis also has it in mind to coax the Prince, our cause is but the more
urgent. Well, well; what is your own opinion?”
“I think the same as you, sir. ’Tis not for that that I hesitate. It
is--it is--I cannot think my Lord Roxhythe a very--fitting messenger.”
He looked up a little anxiously as he spoke, but Ashley straightened in
his chair and his face was in many worried creases.
“If it were any other man!” he said. “But the King is blinded by his
love for Roxhythe. To send that man on State business! Why, it is
madness!” He broke off, remembering to whom he spoke. “This must go no
further, Chris!” he said sharply. “After all, the King himself knows
that I mistrust Roxhythe. But he was determined, and swore that there
was no other man he would send.”
Christopher, who had come into the room with just these sentiments
in his mind, was now moved to expostulate on behalf of Roxhythe. He
realized that he was showing great inconsistency, and wondered at his
own perversity.
Ashley grunted.
“Oh, he has cast his net over you! I expected nothing better. Well,
what shall you do?”
“I shall go with him, sir.”
“I suppose so. Keep a clear head, Chris, and above all, do not allow
yourself to fall under Roxhythe’s influence. Damme, I’m not sure that
I did right to mention your name to him! Mayhap your poor father would
have--”
“My father, sir, would have been anxious for me to serve the Country as
best I might.”
“Maybe, maybe. Come and see me again before you go, Chris.”
Christopher rose.
“Of course, sir. I owe you a debt of thanks for remembering me in this
matter.”
“We shall see,” was all that Ashley vouchsafed.
On his way through the hall, Christopher met Mr. Hyde whom he had
seen once or twice before at Ashley’s house. He bowed and went on to
the front door. Hyde’s horse stood waiting in charge of his servant.
Christopher glanced at the man idly. Then he walked on down the street.
That afternoon, punctual to the minute, he arrived at Bevan House, and
was ushered into the library. A spacious room, this, with oriel windows
to the south, and a wide fireplace with an oaken mantel-shelf, very
cunningly carved. A writing-table stood at one end of the room near
a door, other than the one at which he had entered. He sat down near
this, and waited.
The minutes ticked by; he grew impatient. Roxhythe had bidden him to
come not later than four o’clock; he had obeyed, and behold! there
was no Roxhythe. His foot tapped the ground angrily. When Roxhythe at
length came into the room, he rose and bowed stiffly.
“I came as you desired me, sir, at four o’clock,” he said. He glanced
at the timepiece a trifle pointedly.
“Yes?” said Roxhythe. “I remember now; I did ask you to come then. Pray
be seated!”
“Thank you,” answered Christopher. He remained standing. Roxhythe’s
manner was insufferable, he decided.
My lord walked to the table where lay a sheaf of papers. One of these
he picked up, and folded into three.
“Well, Mr. Dart?”
“I have thought over the matter, sir, and I have spoken to Lord Ashley,
it but remains to inform you of my decision.” He spoke very coldly. In
that moment he knew that he was going to refuse the post offered to
him. Then Roxhythe looked up and across at him, smiling.
“But will you not sit down, Mr. Dart?”
Christopher sat down.
“I had--thought to--accept your offer, Lord Roxhythe.”
The quizzical brown eyes held his.
“But since you have seen me again you realize that it were impossible
to work with one so utterly distasteful to you as myself.”
For a moment Christopher stared.
“I confess, sir, that was in my mind. However, I trust I put my Country
before my personal feelings. I will accompany you to Holland.” He had
not intended to say that. Even as the words left his mouth he regretted
them.
“Why, that is very well,” nodded his lordship. “But are you quite sure
that you mean it?”
There was another silence.
“Yes, sir,” said Christopher meekly.
CHAPTER IV
FLUSHING
THUS did Christopher enter the service of Roxhythe against his
will, against his inner promptings. When once the step was taken,
he resolutely choked the warning voice within him, and refused to
re-consider his decision.
He took up his position as secretary within the week, and busied
himself most conscientiously with his master’s private affairs. For the
most part they were trivial enough, leaving him plenty of time in which
to amuse himself.
He observed Roxhythe closely during those days, but he always found
that my lord baffled him. He was by turns charming and insufferable.
There were moments when Christopher’s dislike for him became acute;
moments when his lordship was curt, or distrait to the point of
rudeness; but just as Christopher’s anger could not longer be
controlled, Roxhythe would disperse it with some look, or remark that
Christopher could not withstand. Gradually dislike gave place to
amusement, and ripened then into liking.
Beyond outlining the steps of the journey, Roxhythe had not mentioned
their mission to Holland since the evening when he first met Dart. He
appeared to give no further thought to the matter, and his indifference
added fuel to Christopher’s enthusiasm.
In one short week the boy saw more of town and its ways than in all the
time that he had previously spent in London. He met men who had been
hitherto but names to him; he grew accustomed to receiving courtier,
politician and poet, whom a month ago he would have been elated to set
eyes on. His head was turned a little, but not unpleasantly so. There
was never anything of the coxcomb about Christopher.
He learnt with amazement that Roxhythe was in disgrace at Court. He
heard the tale through various sources and hardly credited it at
first. Fashionable London hummed with the news. It appeared that
Roxhythe had taken some liberty with the King, for which he had
received not only a public rebuff but afterwards a cold shoulder.
Christopher laughed at the tale. Ignorant of Court life he might be,
but he was not so ignorant that he did not know of Roxhythe’s almost
life-long devotion to Charles. Never had my lord received a snub. Then
came the rumour that Roxhythe deemed it advisable to leave England for
a spell. This set Christopher’s brain to work. Perhaps the rebuff was a
blind for spies. He determined to ask Roxhythe.
Outwardly my lord remained impassive; Christopher tried to imagine what
must be his real feelings. He could conceive the galling degradation of
it, and he felt slightly nervous of speaking to Roxhythe on the subject.
It was one morning as he sat writing in the library that he at last
ventured to broach the question. My lord had entered the room with
several papers which he laid on the desk beside Dart. He turned to go,
and as he did so, Christopher rose.
“May I--ask you--something, sir?”
Roxhythe paused.
“Perhaps you will think me impertinent, sir,” went on Christopher,
stammering. “I hardly--like to--”
Roxhythe sat down.
“Of course ask me what you will.”
Christopher took heart.
“It--concerns this--affair at Court, sir.”
“My dear boy, I shall not be offended if you say exactly what you mean.
’Tis my disgrace, eh?”
“Ay, sir. At first I was perplexed; then I thought a little. It is a
blind for spies?”
“For everyone. I wondered if you would have the wit to perceive it.”
Christopher flushed, and laughed.
“’Tis not so very subtle after all!”
“But neat, I flatter myself,” said Roxhythe.
Christopher’s eyes widened.
“The plan was yours, sir?” His voice was incredulous.
“Whose else?”
“I thought--His Majesty--”
“Oh, lud, no! Now confess, Chris, you did not think I had it in me?”
“’Tis not the wit I marvel at,” said Christopher. “I think it was a
brave thing to do.”
“But then you are not acquainted with His Majesty,” said Roxhythe.
There the matter ended, but it left a great impression on Christopher’s
mind. It was from that moment that his everlasting love for Roxhythe
had birth.
A week later they were aboard a sailing ship bound for Flushing.
Nothing could have been more devoid of interest than their passage.
At Flushing they stayed at the Sceptre Inn, and Christopher, once
recovered from his sea-sickness, resumed his effervescent _joie de
vivre_ and started to look about him. He had little or nothing to
do, as Roxhythe hardly ever desired his company, so when he met Mr.
Edward Milward he was pleased.
He stepped on his toe as he passed him in the coffee-room and
apologized in excruciating Dutch. Whereupon Mr. Milward fell into his
arms, metaphorically speaking, and called him friend. It appeared that
Mr. Milward had not seen a fellow-countryman for months; naturally he
was delighted to meet Christopher. They partook of sack together.
Mr. Milward was a great traveller. He was even now on his way to the
Hague, where he intended to stay for an indefinite period. He had
lately been in Italy. Altogether he had much to tell Christopher. In
fact he was a remarkably pleasant companion and Christopher liked him.
Roxhythe returned next day from Middleburgh, where he had been visiting
friends, to find his secretary full of his new-found acquaintance.
Christopher confided that Mr. Milward was a remarkably interesting man
who had seen much, and who had much to say.
“Ask him to honour us at dinner,” suggested Roxhythe good-naturedly.
So it came about that Mr. Milward supped in my Lord Roxhythe’s private
parlour and enjoyed himself exceedingly.
It seemed to Christopher that Roxhythe was not himself. He was, if
possible, even more languid than usual, and once or twice he rested
his head in his hand as though it ached intolerably. Taxed with it, he
roused himself with an effort, denying that he was at all unwell.
“I do trust you have not caught some low fever, sir!” exclaimed Dart
anxiously.
Roxhythe laughed the idea to scorn, but he excused himself at an early
hour, leaving his secretary to entertain the guest.
“Lord Roxhythe hath the air of a sick man,” remarked Milward, and
nodded wisely.
Christopher strove to conceal his anxiety.
“We had intended to ride to Bergen to-morrow,” he said. “But I fear my
lord will not be well enough to sit the saddle.”
“To Bergen? Why, I was to have ridden there to-day but that my horse
cast a shoe! I had decided to remain here some few days, but if you go
to-morrow, why--!” He left the sentence unfinished.
Christopher was polite, but not enthusiastic.
Later he visited Roxhythe, and found him in bed. He stood looking at
him, full of concern, until my lord begged him to be seated. He could
never bear an unrestful companion.
Christopher sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I doubt you’ll not sit the saddle to-morrow, sir,” he said gravely.
“Art a pessimist,” was the lazy response. “What of your friend Milward?”
“’Tis of him that I wish to speak.” Christopher wrinkled his brow in
perplexity. “He--he wants to ride with us to-morrow.”
The brown eyes opened.
“Does he so? Well ... we shall not be lonely.”
“I did not know--that is, I rather thought you would prefer to ride
alone, sir.”
The eyes closed again.
“By all means let the man come. What of it?”
“Naught, sir. I only thought--”
“Oh, ay, ay! God’s Body, but my head’s a-fire! Go you to bed,
Christopher!”
Christopher rose reluctantly.
“There’s nothing I can do for you, sir?”
His fine white hand was across Roxhythe’s forehead, shading the upper
part of his face, but Christopher saw his lips curve.
“Poor Chris! You shall not be called upon to play body-servant as well
as secretary!”
“I would do aught I could for you, sir!”
The hand moved away. Christopher looked straight into my lord’s eyes.
“Then go to bed,” said that sleepy voice. “And Christopher!”
Christopher paused. He was drawing the curtains about the bed.
“Well?” he smiled.
“Don’t worry your head over me!”
Outside the room Dart met Roxhythe’s servant.
“I fear his lordship is a sick man, John,” he said. “And he will not
own it.”
The man looked at him curiously for a moment. Then he grunted.
Rather to Christopher’s surprise he found Roxhythe already dressed next
morning when he went to his room. My lord was in the act of fastening a
diamond pin in his cravat when the tap fell on the door, and his glance
as he met Christopher’s eyes in the mirror was one of pure amusement.
“You thought to find me abed, my friend,” he remarked.
“Yes,” admitted Christopher. “But I rejoice to find you up. You are
better, sir?”
“I am well enough,” shrugged his lordship. He gave a final touch to
his ribands, and turned. “Well, to breakfast--and the amiable Mr.
Milward.”
“You had rather he did not ride with us?” asked Christopher quickly.
“On the contrary,” smiled Roxhythe.
Thus it came to pass that Mr. Milward joined the little cavalcade
and did much to beguile the tedium of the journey with his sparkling
conversation. He had a fair knowledge of the country and he spoke Dutch
perfectly, so Roxhythe, whose Dutch was fluent enough but hopelessly
marred by his English accent, allowed him to parley with the landlords
of the inns at which they halted.
Christopher, whose first visit abroad this was, greatly enjoyed the
ride. He drank in every fresh sight and sound with avidity; nothing
escaped his notice; his eyes were on everything. Roxhythe regarded him
thoughtfully.
Now and again Christopher glanced at his lordship with a worried eye.
He saw how he flagged, how weary were his movements, but guessing that
Roxhythe did not wish him to call attention to his indisposition, he
held his peace.
For some time Roxhythe talked inanities to Mr. Milward. Christopher
wished that he need not appear so foolish, and fretted. The lazy eyes
never looked his way.
Presently Roxhythe spoke of his disgrace at Court. Mr. Milward’s tact
was most praiseworthy. Roxhythe explained that he must needs absent
himself from Whitehall till the storm should have blown over. He told
Mr. Milward that he was desirous of pressing on to the Hague where he
intended to visit all his old friends. Mr. Milward was all interest.
Friends made, no doubt, during the period of his exile with the King?
Roxhythe nodded pensively, and proceeded to expatiate on the subject.
Christopher saw the half-veiled scorn on Milward’s face and fumed
inwardly. Roxhythe continued to talk.
And so at length they arrived at Bergen-op-Zoom. Roxhythe was worn out
and he excused himself from appearing at the supper-table.
Milward and Christopher dined alone. Christopher thought that he
detected a patronizing note in Mr. Milward’s voice when he spoke of
Roxhythe. He decided that he no longer liked Mr. Milward. As soon as he
could he left him and went upstairs to Roxhythe’s room.
My lord was seated before the fire, wrapped in a gorgeous
dressing-gown. The remains of supper stood at his elbow.
“Sir, you cannot ride to-morrow,” said Christopher firmly.
The arched brows rose.
“So!” said Roxhythe politely.
“You may say what you will, sir, but I know you have the fever, and I
will not let you ride until you are well.”
“Why, that is very entertaining--Mr. Dart.”
Christopher reddened.
“You think me impertinent, sir, but--”
“No. Over-zealous, and--importunate.”
“Nevertheless, sir, you do not travel to-morrow.”
My lord fingered his peruke, his eyes grown hard as steel.
“I see you will have it, Mr. Dart. You force me to remind you that you
are here to obey without question.”
Christopher had much ado to choke back his anger.
“But, sir, I cannot see that our hurry is so--”
“I think there is no need to pursue the subject,” said Roxhythe.
Christopher drew himself up.
“You are right, Lord Roxhythe; there is no need. You will not find me
over-solicitous again.”
“It is outside your part,” agreed Roxhythe. He leant back in his chair,
closing his eyes.
Christopher seethed inwardly.
“Then, if you have no commands for me, sir, I’ll retire.” Nothing could
have been colder than that hurt young voice. My lord said nothing.
Christopher was very youthful; it was all he could do to refrain from
slamming the door as he went out. He was furious that Roxhythe should
treat him thus. He told himself that he had been right when he dubbed
his lordship insufferable; not easily would he be won over again.
Relations were strained between them next morning. Christopher
treated Roxhythe with punctilious politeness, and addressed all his
conversation to Milward. Surreptitiously he watched my lord, and more
than once he wondered whether he would last the journey. Roxhythe rode
in silence, looking straight between his horse’s ears. They halted very
few times upon the way, and dismounted not at all, so Christopher was
not surprised when, at Gertruydenberg, which was their destination,
Roxhythe, having dismounted, reeled, and would have fallen but for his
prompt assistance. He helped him into the inn and gave him into John’s
care. When he had arranged for the stabling of the horses, and changed
his boots, he visited my lord in bed and spoke with ill-concealed
triumph.
“Do you wish me to fetch an apothecary, sir, or shall you ride
to-morrow?”
“Neither,” said Roxhythe, his handkerchief to his mouth. “You’ll--make
my--apologies to the--amiable Mr. Milward--and say that I shall--hope
to meet him--at the Poisson d’Or Inn at the Hague. Odd rot! my head is
like to split!”
“I am grieved, sir,” said Christopher primly.
Milward awaited him downstairs.
“My lord is worse?”
Christopher shook his head.
“He’ll not ride to-morrow, nor yet the next day. He is a sick man.”
“Oh!” said Milward uncertainly. His eyes searched Christopher’s face.
“He bids me tell you that he is sorry to break up our party, but he
hopes to see you at the Poisson d’Or at the Hague.”
“Oh!” said Milward again. “I hope so too.”
So Mr. Milward departed next day in solitary state, very loth to leave
his travelling companions, but looking forward to seeing them at the
Hague.
Watching him ride away, Christopher felt suddenly very lonely. He
wished that he had not fallen out with Roxhythe. He walked slowly back
into the house.
As he passed through the crowded coffee-room, he paused to survey the
occupants. For the most part they were dull-looking burghers, and did
not interest him, but in one corner, by the window, sat two men who
attracted his attention. They were playing dominoes, and at first,
Christopher watched out of idle curiosity. Then he studied the men’s
faces. It struck him that the one nearest the window was vaguely
familiar. He racked his brains in the effort to remember where he had
seen him before, but with no success. He concluded that he must be
mistaken when the man called an order to the landlord in excellent
Dutch.
He went upstairs, feeling very depressed.
Instead of finding Roxhythe in bed as he had expected, he found him in
his dressing-gown, writing. He stared in amazement, for Roxhythe had no
longer the air of a sick man. His person had lost its languor, his eyes
their sleepiness. Roxhythe raised them as he entered, and the boy was
startled by their unaccustomed keenness.
“John!” Roxhythe addressed his servant curtly.
The man came forward, holding one of his master’s perukes in his hand.
Roxhythe’s head was bent over his work.
“I wish to be private with Mr. Dart.”
Christopher watched John go out, marvelling at this change in Roxhythe.
As the door closed, my lord glanced up quickly.
“Sit down, Christopher.”
So he was restored to favour? Christopher drew up a chair, reflecting
that if anyone had the right to be magnanimous over the late
_contretemps_ it was himself. However, he was growing accustomed
to the ways of Roxhythe, and he was not so indignant as he would once
have been.
For a few moments Roxhythe’s hand continued to travel to and fro across
the parchment, but he was only a short while finishing. He pushed the
paper away, and leaned back in his seat.
“Poor Chris! I owe you an explanation, eh?” The tone was so winning
that the remaining shreds of Christopher’s rancour fled.
“I do confess, sir--I am at a loss.”
“Of course you are. Has Milward departed?”
“Ay, sir. I sped him on his way just before I came to you.”
“And you gave him my message?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you showed him your concern for my health?”
“I thought it best to counterfeit unconcern, sir.”
Roxhythe’s eyelids drooped suddenly. His mouth twitched.
“Very good, Chris. What of the other guests?”
Christopher looked up, bewildered.
“What of them, sir?”
“Describe them.”
Understanding dawned on the boy. He described the people he had seen in
the coffee-room very readily. Then he remembered the man by the window,
playing dominoes. He paused, cudgelling his brains anew. Roxhythe sat
still watching him.
Suddenly Christopher started up.
“Odd’s body! Of course I know!”
“Well?” Roxhythe had fallen back into his old drawl.
“At Ashley’s that day! Outside with the horse!”
“My dear Chris!” expostulated Roxhythe.
Christopher sat down again, laughing a little.
“I had forgotten you did not know! It was the day I--you engaged me. I
had been to see Lord Ashley, and as I came out I met Mr. Hyde in the
hall. I thought nothing of it at the time but I remarked his servant,
outside. He was holding Mr. Hyde’s horse and ’tis he downstairs!”
“You infer--”
“Why, sir, Mr. Hyde is the Duke of York’s brother-in-law! The man is a
spy!”
Roxhythe nodded casually.
“Is he of medium height with a bulbous nose and light eyebrows?”
“Well, yes!” admitted Christopher, smiling.
“Ah! I wondered.”
“When have you seen him, sir?”
“At Flushing the other day.”
Christopher stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Yet I did not!”
“No? But you were not on the look-out.”
“I--I hardly thought that you were!” Christopher blurted out.
“I am old in intrigue, my child,” said Roxhythe. “So he is a creature
of Hyde’s? Well. Milward, then, is probably in French pay.”
“Milward!” Up started Christopher again. “I--never--thought--of--that!
Why--why what a dolt I am! Of course Milward is a spy! Why did you not
tell me, sir? Warn me?”
“You would have been less useful,” explained Roxhythe.
“But I might have let fall anything! Had you told me I had been on my
guard.”
“Precisely,” nodded his lordship. “And you are young in intrigue.”
“Oh!” said Christopher rather blankly. He thought for a moment. “Did
you but feign sickness, sir?”
“To shake him off; ay.”
“Then why did you not remain at Bergen yesterday? Why come here? He
would not have suspected, for indeed you had the look of a sick man.”
“Because I had laid my plans otherwise--which plans you, my young
hothead, did your utmost to o’erset.”
The ready colour rose to Christopher’s cheeks.
“I am sorry, sir. But I did not know. Is it possible that you foresaw
all this?”
“It was so obvious,” sighed his lordship.
“Was it, sir?” asked Christopher admiringly. “And what now? Or--or am I
to be kept in the dark?” He spoke deferentially.
“No, I am going to expound.” My lord lifted up a quill, and surveyed
it idly. “To-morrow I keep my room; on Wednesday we travel by coach
to Rotterdam. I am afraid I shall be ill again, Chris. You will be
suitably perturbed, and you will fetch a certain Mynheer de Staal,
an apothecary, and a friend of mine. He will give it out that I am
suffering from a low fever and must not be disturbed. I shall make my
escape by way of the window at night and proceed to de Staal’s house
where I shall wait till morning. Then I shall ride to the Hague,
leaving you and John to trick the spy into thinking me abed. De Staal
will come every day; I can trust him. At the Hague, I shall stay at
the Three Fishers, and, with the aid of your brother, gain access to
the Prince, when I shall lay His Majesty’s proposition before him.
That done, and the Prince his answer given, I return to Rotterdam, and
recover from the fever. For the rest it is easy. We proceed to the
Hague; we meet our friend Milward. Presently, behold! His Majesty has
forgiven me! We return to London. I think the amiable Mr. Milward will
be perplexed.”
Christopher’s eyes glowed.
“It is a marvellously well thought-out scheme, sir. But I am afraid.”
“On what score?”
“You may be discovered. The French spies may have orders to prevent
your gaining access to the Prince at any cost.”
Roxhythe’s lips curved haughtily.
“They dare not.”
“Dare not?”
“I am Roxhythe.”
“Then you think they would not murder you?”
“I know it. They dare not touch me. They are not certain on any point
concerning this expedition. They suspect, but they cannot molest me on
their suspicions. Had it been a lesser man, they might have dared. But
I--I am Roxhythe.”
“I see,” said Christopher, abashed.
CHAPTER V
MYNHEER DE STAAL
DURING the coach journey to Rotterdam, Christopher suffered from
suppressed excitement, much to Roxhythe’s amusement.
As soon as they arrived at the inn Roxhythe retired to his room,
leaving Christopher to explain to mine host that his lordship was most
unwell and must be kept very quiet. At first the landlord was not
desirous of having a sick man in his house, but when it was clearly
borne in upon him that Roxhythe was an English milor’ and would pay
lavishly, his objections faded.
Christopher repaired to Roxhythe’s room, and found him in the act of
writing to de Staal.
My lord refused his proffered services, and finished the letter with a
flourish.
“Tell the landlord to have it conveyed to 19, Prinsen Straat, Chris.”
“I will take it, sir.”
“My dear boy, do as I bid you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Christopher, chastened, and bore it off.
“Has M. the Spy arrived?” asked Roxhythe on his return.
“Not yet, sir.” Christopher shook his head. “I can see him nowhere.”
“I should be sorry if de Staal arrived before him,” remarked my lord.
Presently Christopher went downstairs again, on some pretext or other,
and took a casual survey of the coffee-room. The spy was not there, but
as Christopher turned to go, horses’ hoofs sounded on the cobble-stones
without. Feeling that he was very deep in intrigue, Christopher
affected to take no notice and strolled towards the stairs.
“Party o’ three,” rumbled the landlord, coming out of an inner room.
“Plague take them, we’re nearly full already.”
He waddled away to the door and set it wide. Through it Christopher
caught a glimpse of the new arrivals. Two of them had their backs to
him, the third came forward to speak with mine host. He was plainly
dressed and eminently respectable. Christopher did not know him at all.
Then one of the other men turned, and he saw that it was the spy. He
went upstairs with forced calmness, but his heart was bounding within
him, and his eyes, when he burst in upon Roxhythe, sparkled and glowed
with excitement.
“Fiend seize you, Christopher! What now?” protested Roxhythe, opening
one heavy eyelid.
“He hath arrived!”
The other eye opened with an effort.
“Hath he indeed?” mocked Roxhythe. “What shall we do?”
“Nay!” blushed Christopher. “But you must admit that ’tis monstrous
exciting, sir!”
My lord yawned and prepared to go asleep again.
“’Tis all a damned plaguey nuisance,” he murmured. “And I would I were
at home.”
“So do not I,” retorted Christopher. “I swear I am enjoying myself as
I have never done before. I marvel that you can go to sleep in this
fashion!”
“I cannot with so much chatter in my ear,” complained his lordship. He
opened his eyes to watch Christopher laugh. He always averred that to
see Chris laugh afforded him much pleasure.
“Well, may I go out, sir?” asked Dart impatiently.
“By all means. You’ll find Rotterdam dull and unprofitable, but don’t
let that dissuade you.”
“I’m not so blind that I cannot see from the window what a quaint place
it is,” answered Christopher. He walked to the door. “I wish you might
come with me, sir.”
“Go away!” begged Roxhythe.
Christopher found Rotterdam a prosperous town. He walked about its
streets for some time, and in the course of his peregrinations, met
a fat tradesman with whom he had speech. He wanted to hear the
tradesman’s views on State Affairs, and what his feelings were towards
the Prince of Orange. It seemed that the man was a butcher. He gave
Christopher a long account of the price of meat. He deplored the
fact that three of his bullocks, all very fine and in their prime,
had lately sickened and died of a mysterious disease. He had dark
suspicions that this was the work of a certain enemy of his who lived
at the other end of the town and boasted that his custom was far
greater than Mynheer Dagvelt’s. Christopher, only half comprehending,
tried in broken Dutch to bring the conversation round to the Prince.
Mynheer Dagvelt told him that his neighbour had had a spite against him
from the day that two of his customers left him to deal with the far
superior Dagvelt. Disgruntled, Christopher passed on his way.
He returned to the Flaming Sun shortly after sundown. Roxhythe had
shaken off some of his sleepiness and was studying a map of Holland. He
had changed his clothes and his nails had been carefully polished. He
looked up as Christopher entered, and smiled.
“Well, what of the town?”
Christopher did not tell him of his encounter with Mynheer Dagvelt.
John put his head in at the door with the news that Mynheer de Staal
was below. Roxhythe nodded.
“At once, John.”
Christopher rose to depart.
“Don’t go, Chris,” said my lord languidly. “You’ll like de Staal.”
The door opened again in a minute, and a small, white-haired gentleman
came hesitatingly into the room, hat in hand.
Christopher was between him and Roxhythe, obscuring the latter. A pair
of gentle blue eyes looked up into his face, and the finely cut lips
smiled doubtfully.
“Milor’--Roxhyt’e?” said de Staal.
Roxhythe had pulled himself out of his chair, and now he came forward,
hands outstretched.
“De Staal!”
“Milor’!” The sweet voice trembled. Before Roxhythe could prevent him,
de Staal had carried both hands to his lips. “Milor’! Ah, milor’...! To
see you again after all these years!” He spoke in Dutch.
“And you, de Staal! You are well?” Roxhythe’s English accent had
disappeared.
“I grow old,” answered the other. “Yes, I am well. The sight of you
would refresh a dying man, milor’.”
Roxhythe led him to a chair.
“You missed us, de Staal? Well, we’ve missed you, and all the old
friends. Sometimes we pine for the sight of the old haunts--my little
master and I.”
“Ah, the Prince! He is well? He is happy in his England?”
“Yes, he’s happy, de Staal.”
“And you?”
“Oh, I! But of course!”
De Staal regarded him wistfully.
“We heard how great you are in England, milor’; how powerful; what a
courtier. Eh, eh! And it likes you, that life?”
“It likes me very well, de Staal. I am as my master--I’ve no mind to
set out on my travels again.”
De Staal nodded slowly. His eyes never left Roxhythe’s face.
“You find me changed?” asked my lord.
“A little,” admitted de Staal. “There are lines where there were not,
and your eyes have grown not so bright.”
“That is age,” smiled Roxhythe.
“It is the soft living,” replied de Staal. “I do not see the soldier,
milor’.”
My lord gave a strange little sigh.
“He hath gone long since, my friend.” He sighed again.
“You almost make me wish I was a wanderer once more.” His smile was
rather crooked. “You were surprised to get my letter?”
“I could not believe mine eyes! The sight of ‘Roxhyt’e’ across the page
stunned me. I came as soon as I could leave the house. You want my
help?”
“You guessed that?”
“You would not else have sent for me, milor’.”
Christopher cleared his throat. De Staal was a pathetic figure, and
these calm words, spoken entirely without bitterness, made his eyelids
smart suddenly.
Roxhythe did not expostulate.
“I am here on the King’s business, de Staal; business of a very private
nature, and I am spied upon.”
“You have been spied upon before,” smiled de Staal. They both laughed.
“Ay, but this is more serious.”
“Your life is in danger?”
“Not a whit. But I must shake off the importunate gentleman. He is
downstairs now, thinking me in bed with a low fever. I must ride to the
Hague no later than to-morrow night and I do not desire the company of
my friend.”
“Ah! You kill him?”
Roxhythe bit his lip.
“There are three of them or I might be tempted. No, I leave him here.
De Staal, I want you to give it out downstairs that I am indeed
ill--remember you have never seen me before--and that I must not be
disturbed. Only Chris here, and my servant are to be allowed into my
room, and you will come every day until I return from the Hague. That I
hope to do in three or four days’ time. Will you do it?”
“Milor’!” De Staal looked his reproach. “You ask me _will_ I do
it?”
“You will. Another thing. I want you to procure me a horse, and to
stall it for me until I come to fetch it. You’ll do that too?”
“Assuredly. So you escape by night, _hein_?”
“By way of the window. With your permission I’ll spend the rest of the
night with you.”
De Staal nodded.
“I wish I were coming!” said Christopher suddenly.
Roxhythe shook his head.
“You would greatly complicate matters, my dear Chris.”
De Staal looked enquiringly from one to the other. Roxhythe translated.
“Aha! De adventure appeal to you, _hein_?”
“I should like to be there, to help Lord Roxhythe.”
De Staal smiled approvingly.
“You should take heem, milor’.”
“_Sacré nom!_ I think not.”
“If only you would, sir!” Christopher looked appealingly across at him.
“De Staal, why must you put such ideas into the child’s head? No,
Chris, it’s impossible.”
“I am not a child.”
“I crave your pardon. An I thought you one, I should not leave you to
dupe Mynheer Spy during my absence.”
Christopher was not appeased.
“It is so little to do, sir!”
“Chris, this is your first intrigue, and you expect to play the leading
part! I have given you an all too difficult task as it is. Be assured
that it is of great importance.”
Christopher was silent. He escorted de Staal part of the way home, and
again he broached the subject.
“I would I might prevail upon my lord to take me with him, mynheer.”
“He tell me you are of grit use to heem here,” replied the Dutchman.
“Did he? I was afraid--I mean I do so little--I did not think I was of
any use.”
“But yes. He t’ink a grit deal of you, Mynheer Dart.”
“Oh, is that true?”
De Staal cast him a shrewd glance.
“I should not say it eef eet were not. He tell me you are a ver’ prince
of secretaries. Eet ees not often t’at milor’ t’ink a grit deal of a
man.... You like heem, yes?”
“Yes,” said Christopher. “But I do not understand him.”
“No one understands heem,” answered de Staal placidly. “He ees what you
English call--enigma. He ees a ver’ grit man. He throw a spell over
you, hein? He make you do what he say?”
“He has great fascination,” admitted Christopher.
“He make all men love heem eef he like. Only he not like ver’ often.”
“No. He is sometimes very--very--”
“He make you angry, _hein_?”
“Yes, very.”
“I know. Eet ees hees way. You must always do what he say, nevair--what
you call eet?--dispute with heem.”
“I am learning that!” grimaced Christopher.
“T’at ees well. You will love heem ver’ mooch one day, only, I warn
you, do not love heem too mooch, for he ees Roxhyt’e, and he not care
for any one save heemself and hees Prince.”
“Oh,” protested Christopher.
“You not belief me. You t’ink heem onselfish, and ver’ good. Well, I
warn you, eet ees not so. You remember t’at always and you not get
hurt.”
“But, mynheer, why should I get hurt?”
“Eef you love a man ver’ deeply, t’at man he have de power to hurt
you ver’ mooch. Me, I love heem ver’ gritly, but I know t’at he
ees--Roxhyt’e. One day perhaps he hurt you ver’ mooch eef you not take
care. So I warn you.”
“Thank you very much, mynheer. But--oh, I feel sure that he is not like
that!”
“You will see. You not belief me now, but one day you will remember
what I say to-night, _hein_?”
“I hope not,” said Christopher gravely.
On his way back to the Flaming Sun, he decided that de Staal was very
charming, but very morbid. He gave not another thought to the evening’s
conversation.
De Staal visited my lord just before noon next day and Christopher saw
him off the premises. For the benefit of all who might chance to be
within earshot, de Staal gave him minute instructions concerning his
“patient’s” treatment. Christopher hoped that the spy was near at hand.
He could hardly possess his soul in patience during the rest of the
day, and Roxhythe’s placidity was a source of wonderment to him.
“One would think you were trying to get out of the way,” my lord
twitted him. “I only hope you will not run your head into a noose while
I am gone, in your lust for adventure. Sit down and write to your
brother.”
“Why?” asked Christopher.
“How argumentative you are! Tell him that you are coming to the Hague,
with a certain Mr. Curtis, and have rooms at the Three Fishers. Tell
him to visit you at six in the evening to-morrow. And tell him to ask
for Curtis. Say naught that spies might not read with impunity.”
Christopher looked up.
“Oh, Roderick is not suspect, sir! He was engaged by De Witt himself.”
“Yet he is the Prince, his man?”
“He is now.”
“Ah!” said Roxhythe.
Christopher scratched away at the parchment.
“Seal and address it,” ordered Roxhythe.
Christopher obeyed, and handed it over to him.
“There’s naught else, sir?”
“I think not. You know all that you have to do. Keep Mynheer Spy
content, and listen every night for the hoot of an owl, twice repeated.”
“I do trust you will come to no harm, sir,” said Christopher anxiously.
“You had best wish success to my mission,” was the gloomy response.
“God knows, it needs it,” he added beneath his breath.
At half-past ten he was ready to start. A voluminous cloak concealed
his rich riding dress, and heavy top boots were on his feet. He thrust
his gloves into his belt and donned his beaver.
“So it is fare ye well, Chris! You took that package to de Staal?”
“For your journey? Yes, sir.”
Roxhythe opened the window softly, and looked out. It was very dark.
“None too vigilant a spy,” he remarked. “Did you say he was playing at
picquet?”
“Five minutes ago he was. But you had best hasten.”
“Oh, I am going, I am going! Lud, how anxious you are to be rid of me!”
He held out his hand. “Good-bye, Chris; have a care to yourself, and
remember that John may be trusted implicitly.”
“Yes, sir. And, oh! pray, be careful.”
“There’s naught to fear on my account.” He looked at Christopher for a
moment. “I could not have accomplished this without you, child.”
The two hands gripped. Then Roxhythe swung one leg over the sill.
“Quickly, Chris! The rope.”
Two minutes later he was on the ground outside, and blackness had
enveloped him.
Christopher shut the window. He felt strangely forlorn and alone.
Downstairs the spy continued to play picquet.
CHAPTER VI
RODERICK DART
ROXHYTHE clattered through the streets of Delft until he came to a
likely inn. There he drew rein, and there he lunched. In spite of his
air of leisure he was well on his way again within the hour. By three
in the afternoon he was at the Hague.
The Three Fishers was an insignificant little inn on the outskirts of
the town, not frequented by the quality, so Roxhythe’s lack of baggage
excited no suspicion. A slight sensation was caused by my lord’s
request for a private parlour, but when he explained that he was to
have a friend to dine with him whom he had not seen for years, it died
down. The landlord was impressed when he learnt that the friend was of
the Prince’s household and he readily undertook to have Christopher’s
note delivered to Mr. Dart.
Roxhythe was prepared to be very much on his guard with Roderick.
Christopher had told him that he had been specially engaged by De
Witt, but had since become a devoted adherent to William. Roxhythe was
a cynic; he had lifted his eyebrows at that. Christopher had assured
him that his brother might be trusted with Ashley’s packet; Roxhythe
preferred to take no risks. He fully expected to find Mr. Dart an
informer, feigning love for the young Prince as a means whereby to worm
himself into whatever Orangist plot might be afoot. Roxhythe knew that
William was very closely guarded; he also knew that De Witt chose his
attendants carefully, and paid them well. He mistrusted Mr. Dart.
Without Roderick’s aid he could not hope to gain entrance to the
palace, yet with his aid he might easily walk into some trap. He cast a
loving glance at his pistols.
Punctually at seven Mr. Dart was announced. My lord rose at his entry,
scanning him closely from beneath drooping lids.
The door closed behind Roderick. He took a quick step into the room,
looking all round. Then he stared at Roxhythe and his lips tightened.
He was not very like his brother, except for his eyes which were grey,
and as honest as Christopher’s. His mouth was thin and straight;
his expression cold and watchful. He was dressed in a plain dark
suit, wearing none of the furbelows that were in fashion. His whole
appearance was severe.
“Have I the honour of addressing--Mr. Curtis?” His voice was crisp.
“The name will serve,” answered his lordship. “You are Mr. Dart, I
think?”
Roderick bowed.
“I am come at my brother’s request, sir, but I do not see him.”
Roxhythe ignored the hostility of his tone.
“Christopher is at Rotterdam, Mr. Dart. ’Tis I who requested your
company.”
Roderick’s hand went to his belt.
“Oh, no!” drawled my lord. “It is no shooting matter. Pray, will you
not be seated? Dinner will be served in a moment.”
Roderick swung his cloak from his shoulders and laid down his hat.
“I thank you. I take it you have not desired my company for the mere
pleasure of seeing me. You are come on business, my Lord Roxhythe?”
My lord opened his eyes admiringly.
“I felicitate you,” he said.
Roderick’s lip curled scornfully.
“On my perspicacity, sir?”
“On your power of recognition, Mr. Dart.”
Roderick brushed that aside.
“I have seen you many times, my lord.” The words bit.
* * * * *
“... One would almost have inferred that I did not find favour in his
august eyes,” afterwards remarked Roxhythe.
“I am delighted,” sighed his lordship. “It greatly facilitates matters.
Did you know that Christopher is my secretary?”
“I did not. Since when is this, sir?”
“Nigh on a month ago, I suppose. He is not very like you.”
“Christopher is easily led--easily influenced!” said Roderick.
Roxhythe conceived that the news of his brother’s latest venture did
not meet with Roderick’s approval.
“Just so,” he agreed. “A most useful boy.”
At this moment the one maid that the inn boasted entered the room with
a tray. When she had gone:
“I must apologise for such poor hospitality,” said Roxhythe. “It is the
best the inn can afford.”
Roderick seated himself at the table. He unbent slightly.
Until the maid had finally withdrawn, leaving the men to their wine,
they spoke of Christopher, the atrocious condition of the roads, or
London gossip. It was then that Roxhythe inwardly dubbed Roderick a
strait-laced Puritan. His disapproval of his host was very apparent,
as was his disapproval of King Charles and his Court. Roxhythe was
consumed with amusement.
“I suppose you have moderately good entertainment at the Palace, Mr.
Dart?” he asked indolently. “But no doubt you miss the London life.”
“No,” said Roderick. “Whitehall and its customs do not appeal to me. We
of the Prince’s household live very quietly. We observe Whitehall and
the Louvre from afar, and we do not desire to emulate them.”
“Dear me!” said Roxhythe. “The Prince, then, has no taste for Court
life?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Heaven forfend I find not a psalm-singing Quaker for Prince!” thought
Roxhythe. Aloud he said: “Why, you surprise me, sir! I had thought so
young a boy--and a Stuart--had had some taste for gaiety. Well, well!”
“His Highness, sir, looks with disgust on the ways of his uncle’s
Court,” said Roderick deliberately.
“Good luck to my mission!” thought Roxhythe.
“He cannot see that King Charles has any man about him--with one or two
exceptions--” he bowed, “--whom he can trust.”
Roxhythe stared at him over the rim of his wine-glass.
“Is His Highness then surrounded by men whom he can trust?”
“The Prince his servants are faithful unto death,” was the proud answer.
“His Highness is singularly fortunate,” said Roxhythe drily.
Roderick pushed his chair back from the table.
“Have we dilly-dallied long enough, sir? You have business with my
master?”
For a moment Roxhythe did not answer. Then he spoke slowly, his eyes on
Dart’s.
“Why, I do not know, sir. It depends.”
“On what?”
“On who your master is,” said my lord.
Roderick looked puzzled. He flushed angrily as Roxhythe’s meaning
dawned on him, and half rose in his chair.
“Do you insult me, my lord?”
“By no means,” replied that imperturbable voice. “I was told that De
Witt chose you to be one of the Prince his gentlemen. You speak of
yourself as the Prince his faithful servant. What am I to understand?”
“I am the Prince his servant.”
“Yet you are not suspect by De Witt?”
“No.”
“You are lucky,” smiled his lordship.
“There is no reason why I should give you an explanation, sir, but you
may know that I was engaged not as an informer, but as one not likely
to be won over by His Highness. So Mynheer De Witt said.”
“I take it Mynheer De Witt was wrong?”
“Ay. You do not know His Highness or you might understand.”
Roxhythe bowed.
“I am looking forward to making the acquaintance of this Prince.”
“You are a messenger?” Roderick surveyed him critically. “An envoy from
King Charles?”
“I have that honour.”
“You want me to bear a packet to His Highness?”
“No,” said Roxhythe. “I want you to help me to gain access to the
Prince.”
Roderick gasped at his audacity.
“Impossible!”
“A word I do not know,” drawled his lordship.
“The Prince will not receive you!”
“I think he will.”
“He will require proof of your identity!”
“He shall have it,” Roxhythe drew a heavy signet ring from his finger,
and laid it before his guest.
Roderick stared down at the magic initials: C.R. There was no mistaking
the ring. For a minute he sat thinking. Roxhythe polished his
thumb-nail.
“I may take this to His Highness?” asked Roderick, at last.
“You may.”
“And there is no packet to be conveyed?”
“None that I cannot convey myself.”
“I think His Highness will require you to send it!” flashed Roderick.
“Alas! My orders are to deliver it into his hands myself.”
“In that case there is no more to be said. You seem to think it is an
easy matter to gain access to the Prince. Pray have you thought how you
will do it?”
“No,” said Roxhythe. “I never worry myself unnecessarily.”
“Unnecessarily!”
“You see, I leave it to you,” said my lord sweetly.
“Indeed! Remember, I hold out no hope.”
“I am dismayed,” said Roxhythe placidly.
CHAPTER VII
WILLIAM OF ORANGE
ROXHYTHE had scarcely finished his breakfast next morning when once
again Mr. Dart was announced.
Roderick was colder than ever. He returned King Charles’ ring to my
lord.
“His Highness commands me to say that he will receive you this evening,
sir.”
“Yes?” said Roxhythe. He drew forward a chair. “Can I offer you
breakfast?”
“Thank you, I breakfasted two hours since,” said Roderick.
“Then you must be very hungry,” sympathised my lord. “Allow me to cut
you some of this quite excellent bacon!”
“Thank you, no.”
Roxhythe sighed.
“You must know, sir, that His Highness has been suffering from a slight
indisposition these last few days which has compelled him to keep his
room.”
“I did not know.” Roxhythe was gravely concerned. “I am grieved to hear
it.”
“You misunderstand me, sir. The Prince had intended to leave his room
to-day, but since you are to have audience with him he deems it more
prudent to allow De Witt’s spies to think him still unwell. If you
will come to the Palace to-night at eight and ask for me, you will be
taken to my rooms which are at some distance from the Prince’s. You
understand that I am not suspect, so my guests may come unchallenged.
I have already spoken of you to the Governor, Mynheer Van Ghent, and
he is satisfied. You may trust me to smuggle you to the Prince his
apartments.”
“Very neat,” approved Roxhythe. “Be assured that I shall be punctual.”
“If you please,” bowed Roderick, and took his leave.
“If the Prince his manners are like those of his servants, I am like to
enjoy myself,” reflected Roxhythe. “Odd’s blood, but the young cockerel
might be equerry to His Most Christian Majesty from the airs that he
affects.... A damned Puritan lot,” he added gloomily.
In spite of this nonchalance, Roxhythe was curious to see Prince
William. He had always heard that he was a youth of parts, and he
thought now that he must be a youth of very forceful parts if all he
had gathered from Roderick’s conversation were true.
At eight o’clock he presented himself at the Palace. He was conducted
through the great hall, up the stairs, and along a corridor to a small,
sparsely-furnished room.
Roderick rose and came forward, hands outstretched.
“Ah, Curtis! So you have come!” In Dutch he addressed the servant.
“Bring glasses, Hans.”
The man withdrew.
“I must ask you to await his return,” said Roderick stiffly.
Roxhythe was shaken with silent laughter. Mr. Dart’s cordiality had
dropped from him so suddenly.
Roderick eyed him with cold hostility.
“I think, too, that you had best retain your hat, sir, or stand with
your back to the door.”
My lord bent over the fire, warming his hands.
“I trust your face has not been too closely observed,” continued
Roderick.
Roxhythe always complained that Mr. Dart thought him a fool.
The servant re-appeared. He set glasses on the table, drew corks, and
retired.
“I do not wish to be disturbed, Hans,” warned Roderick.
“No, Mynheer.” The door closed softly.
Roxhythe picked up his hat and gloves. Roderick nodded.
“If you will follow me, please.”
The mocking light had gone out of my lord’s eyes. Roderick looked into
the barrel of a small, gold-mounted pistol.
“I deplore the seeming churlishness of my behaviour,” said Roxhythe,
“but if there should be foul play, Mr. Dart, you will suffer for it.”
Roderick was scornful.
“You may put that plaything away, my lord. There will be no treachery.”
“You relieve me,” said his lordship, still holding the pistol. “Lead
on!”
Roderick shrugged. He went to a door at the opposite end of the room.
“This way, sir.”
They passed into a narrow corridor, faintly lighted by an oil-lamp at
one end. Roderick led the way along it, and up the flight of winding
stairs that branched off from it. They came out on to a broad landing
which was dark except for the light streaming from an open door.
Someone came out of that door, and turned to look at them.
Roderick seemed not to see. He spoke crossly to Roxhythe in Dutch.
“You should not have left it until this late hour, Franz. If His
Highness is asleep I cannot get the gloves for you, and I think it
probable that he is asleep. He will be most displeased when he finds
them still unmended.... Good-evening, Van Druyslet!”
A good-natured voice laughed:
“Those gloves again, Dart!”
“There has been enough bother about them already,” said Dart, walking
on.
“Ay. Good-night.”
They went on down another passage, better-lighted, and not so narrow. A
man was standing by a low couch outside one of the doors that flanked
the corridor. Roxhythe took a firm hold on his pistol.
The man came forward, eyeing Roxhythe curiously. He addressed himself
to Dart.
“In the Prince his study, Roderick.” He spoke in English.
“Thank you, Heenvliet. The Governor has visited His Highness?”
“Half an hour ago. His Highness feigned the migraine. It is quite safe,
but in case of accidents I will cough outside the door, and you, my
lord,” he turned to Roxhythe, “will secrete yourself in the cupboard by
the fireplace.”
Roxhythe bowed. Roderick opened the door, and they entered a large,
well-lighted room. It was empty, and, like the rest of the Palace,
richly, but severely furnished.
Roderick held out his hand.
“That pistol, if you please, my lord.”
Roxhythe handed it over, smiling.
“Did you think I meant to assassinate the Prince?”
“I take no risks, sir,” said Roderick quietly. He went to where a heavy
curtain hung, and pulled it back. “His Highness will be with you almost
at once.” He disappeared.
My lord was again shaken with laughter.
“Oddsfish! ’tis as good as Etheridge his best!” he told himself. “The
little princeling!... But he would appear to have good servants,” he
added, thinking of the man on the passage.
The Palace was very silent. A cinder falling on to the hearth caused
his lordship to start as at an explosion. The candles were burning
steadily; not even the wind moaned.
“A damned gloomy place,” said Roxhythe. He drew a bulky package from
his breast, and laid it on the carven table.
There was not a sound anywhere; no movement, no sign of life;
everything was eerily silent. Roxhythe shivered.
“William of Orange has my sympathy,” he murmured.
The heavy curtains swung noiselessly back. A slight youth, with great
eyes burning in an unnaturally pale face, came quickly into the room.
Dart followed him, and the curtain fell back into place.
The boy was dressed as plainly as Dart. Light curls fell to his
shoulders and framed his hawk-face. His eyes were hazel, cold and keen,
the nose aquiline; the mouth thin. He gave Roxhythe the impression of
one much repressed, and old beyond his eighteen years.
My lord swept a low, court bow.
“Your Highness!”
William spoke haltingly. His voice, even then, had a harsh timbre.
“Mi--lor’--Roxhyt’e?”
My lord bowed again.
“I have to thank Your Highness for receiving me at this hour. I am very
sensible of the honour you do me.”
William inclined his head gravely. He spoke over his shoulder to Dart.
“Rodrigue, you may leave me.”
Roderick frowned quickly.
“Will Your Highness not permit me to remain?”
“It is not necessary. Heenvliet will show Milor’ Roxhyt’e back to your
room. I wish you to go.”
“Very well, Sir.” Roderick went out.
William brought his eyes back to Roxhythe. He continued to speak Dutch.
“Well, milor’? You bring me a message from my uncle?”
“Yes, Highness. I have a proposition to lay before you on behalf of His
Majesty,” said Roxhythe, also in Dutch.
“It is here?” William stepped to the table where lay Ashley’s packet.
His hand closed over it.
“That contains the proposition, Sir, as writ by Lord Ashley.”
The Prince looked up quickly.
“So? Ashley.” He sat down at the table, and broke open the seals. “Be
seated, milor’.” He spread the close-written sheets out before him, and
resting his head in his hand, started to read.
Nothing broke the stillness save the crackling of the parchment, and
occasionally a cough from the Prince.
While he read, Roxhythe studied the boy’s face, waiting for him to
betray his feelings by some change of expression.
William read on steadily. Not an eyelid flickered.
Roxhythe marvelled more and more at this extraordinary youth. He
realised that here was a personality as strong as, or even stronger
than his own master’s, and at the same time, totally dissimilar.
William’s manner was almost repellent; he employed no wiles to
attract; he rarely smiled. To Roxhythe he had been brusque to the
point of rudeness, yet his lordship was conscious of an overwhelming
magnetism. He could understand now how it was that William was so
well served. Instinctively he felt that William had the strength of
character that his uncle lacked. He felt, too, that William could
inspire unlimited confidence, and he knew, without knowing why, that
even he, cynic that he was, would trust him implicitly.
William put the sheets together, and rested his hand lightly on them.
For some time he did not speak, but sat looking straight before him,
eyebrows drawn close across his forehead. His tapering fingers drummed
on the folded parchment; a ruby ring caught the light of the candles,
and winked sagely. It was the only ornament he wore.
“So this is Ashley’s proposition....” he said slowly. “What has my
uncle to say?”
“His Majesty but endorses what you have read, Highness,” answered
Roxhythe.
William looked at him thoughtfully.
“I do not see what King Charles stands to gain by this,” he flicked the
parchment.
Roxhythe was taken aback. He was not prepared for such ruthless
perspicacity.
“Your Highness has a knowledge of men,” he said.
“Is it likely that King Charles would offer this----” again he flicked
the parchment--“and demand naught in exchange?”
“No, Highness, it is not likely. Yet King Charles stands to get the
worst of the bargain.”
For the first time William smiled.
“I cannot credit it, milor’.”
“Nevertheless, it is so, Sir. Have I your leave to speak?”
William nodded. His eyes never left my lord’s face.
“The matter is this, Highness: King Charles is desirous of seeing his
nephew in his rightful place, and not a State prisoner. He hath no love
for De Witt, and he thinks that the people of Holland have none either.
He will aid you to overthrow their High Mightinesses, and he will make
you Stadtholder--even King, if the thing were possible. It should
not be difficult. You know, Sir, that the people grow tired of the
Pensionary, and murmur your name again. At Rotterdam, at Middleburgh,
at Amsterdam, and a score of other towns I could mention, feeling is
very strong in your favour. King Louis is an all too powerful enemy and
the Provinces require a leader. It is thought that you, Sir, inherit
your great-grandfather’s genius. Were you to break free from De Witt
and raise your banner at the right moment, crowds would flock to it.
The nobles are on your side and the middle-classes will follow when
they realize that in you lies salvation. King Charles will help you to
drive out the French, and the combination will surely prove too strong
for Louis.”
“Yes,” interrupted the Prince. “And the price?”
“You have read it, Sir.”
William moved impatiently.
“I have read many meaningless words and vague terms, milor’.”
“Briefly, Highness, it is this: In return for setting you in your
rightful place, His Majesty requires the State to pay him a certain sum
yearly, to be afterwards decided on. There would be some compact, of
course.”
“I think that is not all,” said William. “What of that compact of which
you spoke?”
“An alliance between the two countries, similar to the existing bond.”
Roxhythe looked up. “That should benefit you, Sir.”
“It should also benefit King Charles,” said William drily. “And your
English Parliament? They would like this?”
“Your Highness has read Lord Ashley’s letter.”
“Lord Ashley stands by the King.... Strange! Or does Lord Ashley
work in the dark? He says nothing of this tribute to be paid to King
Charles.”
Roxhythe’s brain worked swiftly. It was very evident that William
was no fool. He saw through the offer and he would see through all
subterfuges, however glib. The only course was to be frank.
“Highness, King Charles is in need of money. You know enough of the
relations between King and Commons in England to see that he must look
abroad for it. Two ways he may look: to France, or to you. France will
ask too much in return; she would want to hold England ’neath her
thumb----”
“Much as King Charles wants to hold me,” nodded the Prince.
“By no means, Sir. His Majesty wants to help you to the
Stadtholdership. He will benefit by the compact; you will benefit still
more, and the Commons will think they benefit.”
“His Majesty’s scruples are very nice,” said William. “He will not make
England a catspaw of France, but he would like to make the Provinces a
catspaw of England. A subtle distinction, milor’.”
“Your Highness hardly states the case,” said Roxhythe gently. “There is
no question of catspaw.”
“No? Then I have greatly misunderstood you, sir!”
“Your Highness has said so.”
William looked down at the paper beneath his tightly-clenched hand. All
at once he grew rigid and his eyes flashed. He began to speak, quickly,
and with suppressed feeling.
“King Charles his offer is no less than an insult! He seeks to bribe me
to sell my country to him--to barter mine honour! He has made a great
mistake, sir! He thinks to frighten me, Nassau! with his evasive talk
of Louis. Oh, ay! I have seen very clearly what he means! He is very
sure that I may be bribed, and bought, and tricked! He thinks to dupe
me with these vague promises”--he struck the parchment--“But I know
him! These armies he will put at my disposal--this King Louis whom he
will drive from my country! Does he think me such a fool that I do not
know he will never offend the French King? Bah! ’Tis I who am to fight!
I who must provide the money wherewith to equip mine army! I who must
lead them! I who must do all, while he stands by, encouraging me, and
tricking me with his subtleties, and his empty promises! The compact?
I can imagine it very easily, milor’! A string of evasions with but
one clear clause amongst them! And that that I should pay him tribute
yearly! He thinks me a child not to be reckoned with. He does not know
Nassau! You spoke of my great-grandfather’s spirit which my good uncle
thinks I inherit. Tell him that he spoke sooth, and that William of
Nassau treats his offer thus, and thus!” William tore the parchment
sheets across and across.
“Highness, you misjudge His Majesty very grievously----”
“Do I so? Bah! He is afraid! He fears that Louis may be making me this
same offer, and he cannot afford to have France and the Provinces
united. His good intentions!” He laughed shortly, furiously. “He does
not like to see me a prisoner! Yet he has seen me thus all these years,
and raised but the feeblest finger in protest. He is slow to decide,
your King! Well, there is mine answer!” He pointed to the scattered
pieces of paper on the floor. “And further tell him that William of
Orange will not stoop to intrigue behind the back of the State, nor
will he sell his people for his own advancement!” He paused and pressed
his handkerchief to his mouth. A violent fit of coughing tore and
racked his slender body.
Roxhythe waited for him to cease. When the Prince leaned back in his
chair, quiet now, and with exhaustion written about his eyes, he
answered him.
“Your Highness would do well to consider. Have you bethought yourself
that it is not wise to offend the King of England?”
The pale lips parted.
“While I remain a prisoner King Charles cannot harm me. When I am
Stadtholder he will not dare. There is Louis.”
“Your Highness is very sanguine. If you will not sell your country, as
you call it, by whose help do you hope to overthrow the Oligarchy?”
“Have I said that I hoped to overthrow them? I desire to hold my
rightful office, but I will raise no hand against a Government that I
fully acknowledge. It will be by the people’s will alone that I become
Stadtholder.”
“And if the people will it not?”
William’s eyes flashed again.
“Did you not assure me that they were ripe for my standard?”
“For your standard, Sir, yes. But if you raise it not they cannot stand
by it. They will not rise for Prince William alone. Prince William with
a force to back him, yes. It is a very different matter.”
“I do not fear.” The Prince spoke calmly now.
“Your Highness is young. You do not know the temper of a mob.”
“Then I shall learn, milor’.”
“By bitter experience.”
“Perhaps even that.”
There fell a long silence. It was useless to attempt further argument.
The Prince meant what he said, and he knew what he was saying. Yet my
lord tried to reason with him once more.
“Highness, I counsel you most sincerely not to reject my master’s offer
thus lightly. You must realize what an impossible task it is that you
set yourself. You will have your country divided against itself, some
standing for you, others for the Pensionary. Also you will have a
French army marching upon you; perhaps, too, an English army. You would
do well to consider.”
“I have considered. What King Charles asks is impossible. I am not a
Stuart--I cannot so unconcernedly sell my country. Milor’ Roxhythe, I
beg you will not waste your breath seeking to persuade me. Do you think
I have not had just such an offer before? I have considered well, and
there lies my answer.”
Roxhythe rose.
“Then there is no more to be said, Highness. I trust you will not
regret this day’s work. Again I implore you to consider well. I shall
return to the Hague in a few days’ time, staying at the Poisson
d’Or. A message will bring me very swiftly. Think it over carefully,
Highness, and remember that together England and the Provinces would
be very powerful.” He picked up his hat. “I have to thank you for this
audience, Sir. I fear it has tired you.”
“No, milor’.” William pressed his handkerchief to his lips again. “I am
sorry that you should have been put to this unnecessary trouble. Your
King has sent you on a fool’s errand. My answer is final.”
“Nevertheless, Highness, I shall be at the Poisson d’Or for ten days.”
William shook his head. He struck the hand-bell at his side.
Heenvliet appeared.
“Conduct milor’ to Mynheer Dart,” ordered William. “Milor’”--he moved
his head wearily--“I will not detain you longer. I thank you for your
patience.”
Roxhythe bowed as he would have bowed to the King, his master.
“I do not despair, Highness. Permit me to compliment you on your
integrity.”
So he left William, Prince of Orange, seated in the high-backed chair,
with the scattered scraps of parchment at his feet, a solitary figure,
bodily frail, but with the light of indomitable courage shining in his
dark eyes, and a steadfast purpose before him.
He knew that he had failed; he knew that the little princeling whom he
had pitied--whom he still pitied--was one of the world’s great men; a
prince who, one day, would have to be reckoned with; a prince who was
not to be bought; a prince who was also an honest man.
CHAPTER VIII
THE AMIABLE MR. MILWARD PERPLEXED
TO Christopher, waiting by the window, came the hoot of an owl, twice
repeated. In an instant he was on his feet, and had leant out of the
casement. Roxhythe’s voice reached him.
“That rope, Chris! ’Tis plaguily damp out here.”
Christopher vanished. When he re-appeared it was with the rope, one end
of which he secured to the stout hook in the wall. The other end he
cautiously let down.
Roxhythe swung gracefully up. He climbed over the sill into the room,
and threw off his hat and cloak. Christopher drew in the rope, and
watched my lord go to the fire. He saw how grim were the lines about
his mouth.
“You’d no trouble, sir? No mishaps?”
“None,” said Roxhythe curtly. “And you?”
“Everything has gone very well, though I fear the spies grow anxious.
They removed to the inn across the road the day after you left me.” He
poured out a glass of wine and handed it to my lord.
“You saw the Prince, sir?”
Roxhythe sank into the nearest chair. He gave vent to a prodigious yawn.
“Yes, I saw him.” He volunteered no further information, and
Christopher did not like to question him. Instead he told him all that
had passed during the last few days.
“... So Mynheer de Staal gave it out to-day that you were better, and
he thought it possible that you might be up to-morrow.”
“Very good,” said Roxhythe. “Your suggestion?”
“Yes,” admitted Christopher. “I thought you could not well be later
than to-morrow, and it seemed a pity to waste time.”
“You are invaluable,” sighed my lord.
Presently Christopher felt that he could no longer curb his curiosity.
“Was your mission successful, sir?” he ventured.
“It failed,” answered Roxhythe. “A novel experience. I shall go to bed.”
He appeared downstairs next morning for a short space and spent the
rest of the day, sleeping in his chair. He complained that he was bored.
After three days he announced that he was tired of Rotterdam and should
go to the Hague.
Christopher was surprised.
“I had imagined that we were to return to London,” he said.
“Had you? But then you are so impetuous. You forget our amiable friend.”
“Milward? Does he matter?”
“He would think so,” said my lord, and would vouchsafe no more.
They said farewell to de Staal that afternoon. The old man was
distressed. Christopher left him alone with Roxhythe.
_En route_ for the Hague he spoke of him to my lord.
“Mynheer de Staal hath a great regard for you, sir.”
“Yes,” replied Roxhythe, unmoved.
They found Mr. Milward at the Poisson d’Or. He seemed relieved to see
them. Roxhythe invited him to dinner and Christopher went forth to meet
his brother.
He and Roderick dined at a little inn not far from the Palace. They had
not met for two years, and there was much to be said on both sides.
Not until dinner was over did Roderick speak of Roxhythe. Then he went
straight to the point.
“Christopher, what induced you to enter the service of that man?”
“That man?” interrogated Christopher with uplifted brows.
“Lord Roxhythe.”
“He was in need of a secretary; I, of work.”
“There are a score of better men in need of secretaries!”
“Indeed?”
“Don’t speak like that, child! You should have consulted me. I might
have known you would act foolishly when my father died.”
“I am perfectly well able to care for myself! And I resent--your tone!”
Roderick ignored this.
“Were my father alive he would be more than displeased to see you in
such company.”
“Roderick, what do you mean? What have you against my lord?”
“What every sane man has against him. He is a libertine--a rake-helly
fellow, with no morals, and less honour.”
“How dare you say that? He is no more rake-hell than the others at
Whitehall! And as to honour!--You speak of what you do not know!”
“Do I so? Even an what you say is true, which it is not--that he is no
more rake-hell than the rest of that licentious circle, it is no excuse
for entering his service. I would not have my brother in the company of
one of them.”
Christopher essayed a sneer.
“Why, are you turned Puritan?”
“I am no more Puritan than ever I was, as you very well know. Had I
been in England a month ago I would have prevented you taking this
disastrous step.”
“And I tell you that you would not! My Lord Roxhythe is a very
honourable, brave gentleman, and I am proud to be in his service!”
“A patriotic gentleman also, I suppose?”
“Yes!”
“You are infatuated.”
“Then so are you! What induced you to enter the Prince of Orange his
service? I would not work for a foreigner!”
Roderick gripped his wrist, shaking him.
“You young fool, be silent!”
“Why?” Christopher stared.
“Do you think no Dutchman understands English that you shout what might
be mine undoing in an inn parlour?”
“Your pardon!” ... Christopher rolled the words out caressingly. “I had
forgot you played a double part. Odds-life, Roderick! I would not serve
two men as you do. To my mind it is no gentlemanly thing to do.”
Roderick coloured angrily.
“You do not understand. I serve the Prince and no other!”
“Who is imprudent now?” jeered Christopher. “I thought you served
De Witt once? Your devotion to the Orange smacks somewhat of
double-dealing.”
“I am not going to quarrel with you, Christopher.”
“Then do not seek to malign my master to me! I know him as you do not,
and I tell you he is the soul of honour!”
“You fool,” said Dart quietly. “Do you believe that? I warn you that
one day you will be disillusioned. Roxhythe works for himself alone.
He would dupe you did the need arise, or crush you beneath his heel.
You think him a man of scruples, but I tell you--and I know--that he is
without heart and without honour. Chris, you are very young, be advised
by me and quit his service. He only wants you for a tool.”
“’Tis you who are the fool! My Lord wants me for a secretary! There is
no question of duping, or tools.”
“Do you deny then that you are with him solely for the purpose of
bringing King Charles his message to the Prince?”
Christopher was silent.
“Roxhythe hath it in mind to use you in his machinations for his
master. And if you are over-nice in your scruples, he’ll trick you. Be
warned, Chris, I implore you!”
“You are undoubtedly mad,” said Christopher with conviction. “If I were
required to work for His Majesty there would be no need of trickery. I
would die for His Majesty and the Country.”
“You cannot die twice!” snapped Roderick.
“The King and his Country are one, as you should know.”
“Are they?” said Roderick heavily. “Not your King and his Country.”
“You are disloyal! My King? He is also yours!”
“Alas, yes!”
Christopher betrayed anxiety.
“Roderick, consorting with these stiff-necked Dutchmen has affected
your brain. I do not pretend to understand this strange talk of yours.
You had best quit Holland and come home!”
“My dear brother, living as I do, I have had opportunities of studying
politics, and of viewing politicians and Princes that you have not. I
have seen the intrigues within intrigues that are always afoot--the
treachery, the lying! More I cannot say, but rest assured that I
speak the truth. I have seen what manner of men live in England and
in France, and I know that amongst them all there is not one who is
honest. There is only one man to be trusted. Him, I serve.”
“You have become bigoted, Dick, and hard. What you say is utterly
false. Is it possible that you think your master the one honest man?
Why, even I, whom you so freely call fool, am not so mad!”
Roderick sighed.
“I see you will go your own wilful way, Chris. You have fallen a victim
to Roxhythe’s notorious charm, and I suppose you will follow him
headlong to destruction.”
Christopher leaned his head in his hands and gave way to helpless
laughter. When he had recovered, Roderick started to talk on some other
topic. They spoke no more of Roxhythe that evening.
My lord was in his dressing-gown when Christopher came back to the inn.
He gave his secretary one shrewd, calculating glance.
“You look heated, Chris. You have been quarrelling with your brother.”
“Nearly,” said Christopher. “I fear for his sanity. He speaks so
wildly, and so foolishly.”
“In fact he disapproves of my Lord Roxhythe most sincerely,” nodded his
lordship. “Does he seek to remove you from my evil influence?”
“Oh, yes, sir! I think he seeks to put me in a glass case, for he avows
that there is but one honest man alive to-day, and he will not have me
serve under any other!”
“Lud! Does he expect you to enroll yourself under the Prince’s banner?
Don’t do it, Chris! ’Tis a gloomy youth.”
“Not I, sir!” said Christopher flippantly. “I had sooner tread the path
to destruction in your company.”
“So ho!” said Roxhythe to his reflection in the mirror. He was seated
before his dressing-table. “Is that the way the wind blows? Be warned,
Chris! I am an unscrupulous fellow.”
“I know,” said Christopher, smiling. “He told me so.”
“Well, it’s true enough.”
“Is it, sir?” Christopher’s voice vibrated with indignation. “Do you
seek to warn me ’gainst yourself?”
“It would appear so,” said Roxhythe.
Three days later my lord entered their private parlour, and sat down at
the table. He dipped a quill in the ink, and drew a sheet of parchment
towards him.
“Milward sticks like a leech. I feel it behooves me to write to my
little master.” He bent over the parchment.
Christopher assented vaguely.
The quill scratched tranquilly along. Presently Roxhythe sat back, and
dusted the sheet. He folded, addressed, and sealed it.
“That will go by special courier. It should interest Mynheer Spy.”
“If it goes by courier, how should Milward see it,” asked Christopher.
“There are ways,” placidly replied his lordship.
“But he would scarce dare to steal a letter from you to His Majesty,
sir!”
“No,” agreed Roxhythe. “He would very easily dare to borrow it for some
few minutes, however.”
“To read the contents? He hopes to learn the result of your
mission--or--or whether you have been on a mission at all--so that
Louis might make an outcry?”
“Something like that, no doubt.”
“I see,” said Christopher profoundly. “Yet how dare he break the seal?”
“You do not realize that I have been so considerate as to place the
seal on the wafer,” said Roxhythe, pained. “He will not break it.”
“Were you born in intrigue, sir?” asked Christopher.
“I believe I must have been,” said his lordship.
Thus it came to pass that when the not incorruptible courier slept off
his doctored potations at Delft, his late host, accredited agent to his
Most Christian Majesty, removed a certain document from his wallet, and
in the deserted coffee-room, carefully slit open the wafer that sealed
it. He was well versed in cyphers but he found a cypher unnecessary.
The letter was short, and was written in English.
“YR. MAJESTY,--Has Yr. Majesty punished His Servant enough,
or must Roxhythe Remain a Wanderer? If he might Crave Yr. Pardon
againe, he Does so, Still more Humbly and Contritely than Before. Yet
more earnestly Does he Implore Yr. Majesty to Allow him to Return,
when he will Endeavoure To Showe Yr. Majesty How Great is his Remorse
for that Unpardonable Offence which he Committed.
“He is Yr. Majesty’s most Devoted, Humble Servant, ROXHYTHE.”
His Most Christian Majesty’s accredited agent was annoyed and
perplexed. Deftly he re-stuck the wafer, and restored the packet to the
courier’s wallet. Then he rode back to the Hague.
The amiable Mr. Milward when apprised of the contents of the letter
wrinkled his brow uncertainly.
“It seems we are come on a fruitless errand, Dupont. Roxhythe has not
the wit to write such a plausible blind. King Charles is not a fool,
and only a fool sends a fool to work his intrigues.”
“You are assured that milor’ is a fool, then?”
“He is a brainless court-darling. Yet.... It was strange that he
should fall into such sudden disgrace. I had thought him too perfect a
courtier to offend as he did. I confess I am at a loss. He has not had
word with the Prince, nor any of his servants, unless it be Mr. Dart
who is De Witt’s man. I have dogged his steps, and he suspects naught!”
He laughed contemptuously. “I believe we are on a fool’s errand!”
“Maybe, _m’sieu’_. But I do not think that milor’ is quite the
brainless nincompoop he pretends to be. I would I had been at Rotterdam
in place of Grant. I am uneasy.”
“He is either a fool or a marvellously astute man. In any case, what
more can be done?”
“Naught,” said Dupont sadly. “But I mistrust him.”
In due time came a letter for Roxhythe. It was brought to him as he sat
at dinner with Christopher and Mr. Milward.
“From my master,” he said. “You will excuse me?” He tore open the seals
and read. Then he gave a relieved laugh, and laid the sheet down in
such a way that Mr. Milward might easily read what was written there.
“His Majesty is pleased to forgive me! So it’s boot and saddle for us,
Chris, as soon as may be.”
King Charles’ letter ran:
MY LITTLE DAVY,--My Majesty must needs Forgive you, for I
cannot Live Without You. I am Surrounded by Dolts and Sycophants; I
must have My Roxhythe. Return at once.--CHARLES R.
Mr. Milward tried to drown his fears.
Before they left the Hague, Roderick had speech with Roxhythe again.
“His Highness desires me to say, sir, that his answer is final.”
“That is his last word?”
Roderick bowed.
“I am sorry,” said Roxhythe.
The brothers parted on quite cordial terms. Roderick, seeing that it
was useless, did not again press Christopher to leave my lord’s service.
Mr. Milward bade the travellers a touching farewell. Roxhythe addressed
him mournfully.
“I shall miss your pleasant companionship, Mr. Milward. We have seen
much of each other of late.”
Mr. Milward watched the little cavalcade depart. He became aware of
Dupont at his elbow.
“He laughs at us,” said the Frenchman gloomily. “He slips through
our fingers like water. Me, I have had dealings with him before. I
suspected, but evidence? Pouf!”
“Nonsense!” said Milward uneasily. “I have scarce left his side since
he has been at the Hague!”
“It would not worry him. I tell you, he is a devil. You might be bound
to him with chains, and he would give you the slip. He is not a man. He
is a devil.” He walked away, depressed.
Four days later, on board ship, Roxhythe broached a subject that had
been weighing heavily on Christopher’s mind. He laid his hand on the
young man’s shoulder, and spoke with some affection.
“Well, Chris, so the journey is at an end. In a few hours’ time we
shall be in London. What then?”
Christopher looked at him.
“You will be no longer in need of a secretary, sir?”
“I? Oh, I must have a secretary, of course.”
Christopher became still more crestfallen.
“I--you--that is, you wish me to leave you now, sir?”
“No. But I think you would be wise to be counselled by that excellent
brother of yours.”
“Oh, sir, never give him a thought!” cried Christopher. “If I might
stay with you, I will serve you--unquestioningly.”
“Very well,” said Roxhythe. “You shall stay.”
CHAPTER IX
THE KING OF ENGLAND
GORGEOUS in a pale-blue velvet suit with crimson facings and ribands,
and much rich lace, the Most Noble the Marquis of Roxhythe entered the
doors of Whitehall. He carried his gloves and his cane in one hand
and in the other he held his comfit box. The page at the door cast
one glance at the handsome face beneath the wide brimmed hat with its
drooping feather, and straightened in every line of his body.
Roxhythe’s slumbrous eyes travelled over him.
“His Majesty?” he said.
The page bowed.
“I think His Majesty is in his closet, sir. Shall I send Master
Hutchins to announce you?”
“Do,” said Roxhythe.
An elegant gentleman crossed the hall towards him.
“I protest ’tis a joy to see you again, Roxhythe,” he simpered. “You
had a fair crossing?”
“I believe I did,” assented my lord. “How doth her ladyship?”
“Very well, very well,” said the elegant gentleman. “His Majesty is all
a-fret to see you. He will be delighted. He had not expected you so
soon.”
On his way up the Grand Staircase, Roxhythe met some half a dozen
gentlemen, who were all duly enthusiastic over his return. He reflected
that his was something of a triumphal entry.
As he neared the King’s closet he spoke to the page beside him.
“Is His Majesty disengaged?”
“I think Lord Lauderdale is with him, my lord.”
“In that case you may announce me,” said Roxhythe.
“Yes, my lord. His Majesty gave orders that you were to be taken to him
at once.” He knocked on the door of the closet.
Charles’ voice bade him enter. It held a peevish note.
The page opened wide the door.
“The Most Noble the Marquis of Roxhythe!”
Hat in hand Roxhythe walked into the room.
Charles was seated at the table, opposite Lord Lauderdale, but at the
favourite’s entrance, he pushed back his chair and rose quickly to his
feet.
“David! Already!” He embraced Roxhythe before my lord had time to make
his bow. He held him by the shoulders, scanning his face.
“Zoons, Davy! how I have waited for this moment!”
“Not so impatiently as have I, Sir.” Roxhythe smiled back into his eyes.
My Lord Lauderdale rose, a red spot on either cheek.
“I take it Your Majesty has no further use for me,” he grated.
“None whatsoever, my lord,” answered Charles gaily. “Some other
time....”
Lauderdale jerked a bow to him, and another to Roxhythe. He went
angrily out of the room.
“A good riddance to his dourness,” said Charles. “Davy, Davy, I have
missed you so sorely I swear I’ll never send you from me again!”
“I am glad you have missed me, Sir,” said Roxhythe. “So you may have
some conception of my poor feelings. These weeks have seemed months!”
Charles drew him to a couch.
“I vow you have had the best of it, David. I have been harassed and
over-run with petitions, and what not, and empty-headed dolts beside.
You would not believe the number that have tried to take your place!
But there is only one Roxhythe. How have you fared?”
Roxhythe grew solemn.
“Very badly, Sir.”
“What’s that? You have been in trouble?--danger?”
“Not I, Sir. ’Twas my errand that I spoke of.”
Charles showed surprise.
“Did you fail, David?”
“Ay, Sir. There was no hope for success.”
The King laughed a little ruefully.
“Well, well! And so you failed! Has such a thing ever before come to
pass?”
“Seldom,” said his lordship. “But this time I was very grievously
beaten.”
The King settled himself against the cushions.
“If ’twere not so damned annoying, ’twould be most diverting,” he said.
“Tell me, David.”
Roxhythe proceeded to relate his adventures up to the point of
Roderick’s appearance on the scene.
“I would Your Majesty could have seen that man!” he sighed. “He gave
himself the airs of a duke, and he paraded his Puritan views for my
edification. I do assure you, Sir; that I have never been so set at
naught in my life. He spoke of the Prince as though he were Master of
the Universe, and his whole manner was as formal as your father his
courtiers never were. He came the second day with the news that the
Prince would grant me an audience, as though ’twere some giant favour
he were bestowing. I went to the Palace at eight in the evening--I
should tell you, Sir, that I was requested to be punctual--and taken
to Dart’s room. He led me out by another door, along countless gloomy
vaults, each darker than the last, until we came to a hall. Then we met
one of the Prince’s not so faithful gentlemen and I became a lackey,
and was severely reprimanded. We shook off the man, and proceeded to
the Prince’s apartments. Outside one of the doors was yet another man.
He, though, was one of the Prince’s faithful ones. He sped us on our
way. Dart ushered me into the room with all solemnity. Then he took my
pistol from me. I suppose he thought I might assassinate His Highness
in a fit of depression. At all events he took it, and left me to kick
my heels, awaiting the Prince. And all as though I were in very sooth a
lackey! I, Roxhythe, the King’s envoy!
“Then came William of Orange ...” he paused.
Charles, who had been shaken with suppressed laughter, sat up.
“I’ faith, Davy, I’d give much to have been with you! So you were
pushed from pillar to post, my poor Marquis? Oh, lud!” Again he shook.
“But what of my nephew?”
Roxhythe spoke gravely.
“Sir, he is a remarkable youth. In appearance he is slight, with a hook
nose, and eyes that see everything at a glance. His manner is cold,
brusque, repressed. His personality is overwhelming.”
“So?” said Charles, interested. “As great as mine?”
“In its way, Sir, greater. He has none of Your Majesty’s charm, but he
forces himself into one’s memory. He attracts, and he repels. In spite
of his youth, and his lack of polish, he holds the stage.”
“Why, Roxhythe, this is marvellous! Proceed!”
“He received me with as much ceremony as I had by that time learnt
to expect. He had the air of an Emperor giving audience to one poor
subject. He read Ashley’s packet. Then he asked me what Your Majesty
hoped to gain by the bargain.”
Charles burst out laughing again.
“That I should have missed all this!”
“I do confess, Sir, I was taken aback. In a very short time he showed
me that if he was young in years, he was old in wisdom. He perceived
that Ashley was little more than a catspaw; he sneered at the idea of
your helping him to his rightful place. In fact, Sir, he desires to
know why you have not come to his aid before now.”
“The impudent young cockerel!”
“You would not think so did you but see and hear him, Sir. He asked
me what was to be the price of all you offered. I told him--glibly
enough, and evasively. He caught me up, and told me all too rightly
what I meant. He saw through and through that proposition, Sir, and at
last I was frank with him. I explained Your Majesty’s attitude--with
reservations. Then the storm burst. Odds body, Sir, but when the Prince
loses his temper, one shivers in one’s shoes. He hailed words about me.
He cried that Your Majesty was asking him to barter his Country and
his honour for his own advancement. He bade me tell you that he was not
a Stuart. He said he saw very clearly how you were seeking to trick him
into an alliance by which only you would profit. Finally he tore the
packet into shreds and bade me tell you that that was his answer. Then
he fell to coughing, and I tried to collect my wits. Sir, I argued with
that boy until my throat was parched, and always he had a ready answer
wherewith to dumbfound me. He gave away naught without meaning to,
and I could not gather what were his intentions. But he has evidently
received advances from King Louis, and I think he hopes to frighten
you by holding that over your head. That he will ally himself with any
foreign power to gain the Stadtholdership, I do not think for a moment.
He is as honest as the day, and as astute as old Nick himself. He
thinks to rise without foreign aid, but he told me he would not seek to
overthrow a Government that he fully acknowledged. He is to be feared,
Sir.”
“My dear David, I must make his further acquaintance. Did he send any
more insulting messages to me?”
“A score. He does not trust you or anyone else, Sir, and he told me so
in good round terms. He bade me tell you you that Nassau does not stoop
to intrigue behind the backs of his ministers. I think already he has
quite a little Court.”
Charles was deeply interested.
“And you think him one to be reckoned with?”
“More than that, Sir. I think him a great man; one to be propitiated at
all costs. I foresee that he will rise suddenly, and at no very distant
date.”
“We must invite him to England,” said the King. “I am agog to see him.”
“I doubt he would not come. He holds England and the English in
contempt. Also King Louis. All this he told me. I spent a pleasant
evening, Sir.”
Charles rocked with laughter.
“And I thought I could twist him round my finger! Zounds, why was I not
there to see?”
“It is no laughing matter, Sir. I am too old to be ordered about by
petty princelings and their servants.”
Charles sobered suddenly.
“But, Roxhythe, it is a plaguey nuisance. This means I must turn to
France.” He bit his finger-nail, frowning. Then he smiled again. “So
you came away with a flea in your ear, my poor Roxhythe? God’s Body,
how I have ill-used you! But tell me more of William. You say he has
personality; he attracts. But does he inspire his followers with
confidence?”
“Judging from Dart’s airs, yes, Sir. He is very well served. It seems
his servants would undergo any torture ever invented sooner than betray
him.”
Charles made a rueful grimace.
“And,” continued Roxhythe, “he says himself that he will not have any
man about him whom he could not trust implicitly.”
“If I said that, I had only you left,” remarked Charles.
“Precisely. And he seems to allow no familiarity--no license. He lives
in an atmosphere of gloom and depression.” Roxhythe looked round the
luxurious room. “Thank God for Whitehall, and mine own Prince!” he said
devoutly.
Charles smiled.
“He is more kingly than I am, eh?”
“No,” said Roxhythe instantly. “He is too young to unbend. But in
intrigue, Sir, you have met your match in William of Nassau.”
“I must have a care,” laughed the King.
“Indeed yes, Sir. Remember, the Orange is a man, and one who must not
be forgotten. I foresee trouble. Guard against him.”
“I will,” promised the King. “And now, David, we must look to France.”
BOOK II
THE WAYS DIVERGE
CHAPTER I
JANUARY, 1669
CHRISTOPHER settled down very quickly on his return from Holland
and took up his abode at Bevan House, Charing Cross. His duties
as secretary were not arduous, and consisted for the most part of
attending to the affairs of Roxhythe’s country estate, and answering
the many invitations that flocked in.
He was supremely happy. In spite of all Roderick’s gloomy
prognostications his love for Roxhythe grew steadily. True, he had to
some extent re-adjusted his ideas. He no longer held my lord up as a
model of good behaviour; he knew that Roxhythe was careless, frivolous,
sometimes ruthless. A year ago these facts would have been enough to
damn my lord in his eyes, but now he flattered himself that he was
broader-minded. He no longer condemned the immoral lives that were led
by Roxhythe and his associates. Their frivolity and their rakishness
were at times to be deplored, but Christopher could not see that they
were without honour. Roderick had insinuated that those who frequented
Whitehall were entirely lacking in morals. He had said that each one
would barter away his honour for position or money. He had even hinted
that there were few who would scruple to betray their country.
As far as Christopher could see there was no question of such a
contingency. It might be true of some, but of others it was manifestly
untrue. With regard to Roxhythe it was ridiculous. He had no interest
in politics; he laughed at intrigue. His whole life was spent in
waiting on the King, and amusing himself either at Whitehall or at the
Louvre. He was above the petty machinations of the day; he belonged to
no party; he never schemed for his own ends.
Christopher did not pretend to understand him. It almost seemed as
though his was a dual personality, yet the second side of him had
appeared for so short a space that Christopher half doubted whether he
had not been suffering from an illusion.
In Holland Roxhythe had shown himself to be cool-headed, energetic,
astute. Above all he had proved an expert plotter. He had dropped much
of his lazy cynicism; his languor had mysteriously vanished. But when
the intrigue was at an end back had come the old Roxhythe, just as
languid, just as indifferent. No word of politics ever passed his lips;
no suspicion of plotting was evident.
Christopher was nonplussed. Eventually he came to the conclusion that
Roxhythe was not an intriguer from choice. It was only when commanded
by His Majesty that he roused himself.
Roderick had inferred that Roxhythe worked not for England but for his
own ends. The idea was beneath contempt. Roxhythe had shown clearly
that he worked for the King alone. The King, of course, worked for the
Country. It was all one.
Christopher understood that Roxhythe did not wish his powers as an
intriguer to be known. That was natural. Once discovered, he could
not act with the same freedom. At first Christopher had thought his
habitual indifference a mask, but as time went on he decided that it
was as real as the other half of him. He realized that he could never
hope to fathom the depths of my lord’s nature; perhaps he did not wish
to try. He was content to love an enigma. He knew that Roxhythe could
be astute; he knew that he was mostly obtuse; he could be ruthless, or
he could be kindness personified. To Christopher he had been kind. He
seemed to take an amused pleasure in fathering him; he introduced him
at Jeremy’s, one of the great coffee-houses; he took him to routs and
to balls. In all matters of dress and fashion he advised him; his house
and servants were at Christopher’s disposal.
It was a curious friendship. On the one side was boundless affection
and unlimited confidence; on the other a casual liking and absolute
reticence. Partly it was accounted for by the difference in age.
Roxhythe was more than twenty years Christopher’s senior and it was not
to be expected that he should confide in the younger man to any great
extent. But Christopher knew nothing of Roxhythe’s life. The surface
was free for inspection. There were countless _amours_, countless
trivialities, but of what lay beneath the boy had been allowed only
a glimpse. Never again had he seen it; all that met his eyes was a
cynical _roué_, fascinating and repellent by turns. He loved this
_roué_ as he had never loved before. There had been no woman in
his short life, there still was not. Roxhythe possessed his whole
heart. Whatever Roderick might say to the contrary, Christopher knew
that Roxhythe would always possess it. It was to no avail to analyse
the why and wherefore of his love; there was no reason for it but that
subtle attraction which my lord held for him. He was content to love,
secure in the belief that his love would never be betrayed. He wanted
nothing in return; he asked no confidences and was not disappointed
that he received none. He gave the very best that was in him, happy
that this should be so.
Before he had entered Roxhythe’s service his life had been singularly
devoid of colour. His mother died when he was a child, and his father
had had Roderick’s cold nature. They came of old Puritan stock; they
were very godly, and also very repressed. Madam Dart, who was not of
her husband’s persuasions, had bequeathed her sunny personality to
Christopher. She had nothing else to give him. On account of this
bequest there had been no understanding between Christopher and his
father, and very little between Christopher and his brother. Both Mr.
Dart and Roderick felt that he was not akin to them; they feared that
he was weak and easily led astray. They deplored his early craving for
excitement, and they did their uttermost to quench the craving. Then,
shortly after Roderick’s departure for Holland, Mr. Dart died. At first
Christopher felt lost and vaguely frightened, but the feeling had faded
and given place to a glorious sensation of freedom. Then Roxhythe had
blazed into his life, shocking him. Disapproval had, in its turn, given
way to love. His mind had broadened; he lost the shreds of intolerance
that had been instilled into him. One thing he retained: love for
Country counted above all else. His father’s creed as Christopher’s
also. Nothing mattered as much as England. Her honour and welfare must
stand first.
Roderick had conceived that they did not stand first with either
Roxhythe or the King. He was undoubtedly crazed. The King was naturally
above reproach. Equally above reproach was Roxhythe. Christopher cast
his brother’s warnings to the four winds.
He was interested in politics and listened closely to all the arguments
that took place at Jeremy’s. There was usually some conversation
concerning Home Affairs and the King’s intentions. It was well known
that Charles squandered away more money than he possessed, and men
wondered how he would contrive to pay off his load of debts.
Foreign Affairs were also discussed, especially the menace of France to
Holland. Everyone knew that Louis would never rest until he had annexed
those Provinces which he claimed, and everyone hoped that England would
throw herself seriously into the conflict. Such a contingency would
surely turn the scale against Louis. King Louis was universally feared;
he was growing too powerful, and too belligerent. It was known, too,
that he coveted the throne of Spain for one of his own children. If the
ailing young Spanish King died, matters would become serious. On no
account must Louis be allowed to seize Spain.
Christopher was deeply interested. He had the hatred of the average
Englishman of the time for France. He wished that Roxhythe would
discuss these matters with him, but Roxhythe only laughed and protested
that such conversation was too deep for him.
At the present moment my lord was in Paris. He had been away a week,
and on Christopher’s shoulders had fallen the strenuous task of making
his excuses to the various people whose invitations to routs and
dinners he had ignored.
These visits to France were always unexpected. Suddenly my lord would
remark that he could bear London no longer. He would depart with
perhaps a day’s warning. More suddenly would he return, with no warning
at all. Christopher supposed that he went because of some Frenchwoman.
Gossip said so, and he, knowing Roxhythe, believed Gossip.
He was seated in the library one morning, sorting out my lord’s
correspondence, when he heard a leisurely footfall without. He lifted
his head, listening, for the step was familiar.
The curtains over the doorway parted. Roxhythe came into the room.
Accustomed as he was to my lord’s ways, Christopher was still
surprised. He sprang up.
“Sir! I had no idea you were in town!”
Roxhythe smiled at him.
“Nor was I until an hour ago.” He went to the table and turned over his
letters. “You are well, Chris?”
“Very well. And you? You had a pleasant visit?”
“Quite amusing,” nodded Roxhythe. “Need I look at all these?” He
flipped a pile of letters with his finger.
Christopher glanced through them.
“There are one or two letters from Lady Flora, sir,” he said.
“They will keep. She is becoming wearisome.” He sat down. “Have you any
news, Chris?”
Christopher put the letters in the drawer.
“Nothing of great import, sir. Lord Buckhurst requests the pleasure of
your company at a supper-party he is giving on Wednesday. I accepted
for you. Sir Malcom Digby begs you will honour him on Friday at Shawn
House. Mr. Carver gives a dance for Miss Rosiland next month. I have
not answered that.”
“Carver? I do not think I have the honour....”
“You have forgotten, sir. He is the man who gave us shelter the night
we rode to Bevan in the storm.”
“That wealthy tradesman?” asked his lordship. “What impudence!”
“I am to refuse?”
“Naturally. Stay--this Rosiland--have you seen her?”
“She’s young and shy, sir.”
“Oh, refuse, refuse!” said Roxhythe impatiently. “Odds-life, what is
the world coming to that that upstart should invite me to his house?
Naught else?”
“Naught else, sir, unless it be my Lord Arlington’s invitation to
supper and cards. I accepted.”
“Well I need not go,” remarked my lord.
“Then I think you will greatly offend Lord Arlington, sir.”
One haughty eyebrow rose the fraction of an inch.
“Oh? What maggot has Bennett in his head now?”
“He seemed anxious that you should go. And--and he has influence. He
was not pleased that you refused his last invitation.”
“Oho! You think I should do well not to offend his lordship?”
“Well, sir, he would make a powerful enemy.”
“But not, I think, so powerful an enemy as Roxhythe.” My lord rose and
stretched himself. “I suppose I must to Whitehall.” He lounged out.
An hour later, his dress changed, his person powdered and perfumed, he
walked into the King’s presence.
Charles was in the midst of his Court, talking to Lady Castlemaine.
Way was made for my lord to pass up to his couch. He went forward
gracefully, bowing to right and left in answer to the many nods and
smiles.
“Why, here is our good Roxhythe!” cried her ladyship, welcoming him.
“See, Sir!”
“I see a base deserter,” said Charles. He held out his hand. “I believe
you love his French Majesty more than me, David.”
Roxhythe bent over it.
“No,” he said, inimitably. “His French Majesty was an interlude, no
more.”
Charles joined in the general laugh.
“How doth His Majesty?” he asked.
“Very well,” said Roxhythe. “Very expensively.”
“Surely that’s Roxhythe?” came a voice from behind. “I thought so!
Well, my lord? So you’ve returned to us?”
Roxhythe bowed to the slim, graceful youth who came up to the group
about the King.
“As your Grace sees,” he said.
Monmouth leant on the back of the couch, above Charles, smiling,
debonair.
“I thought I could not be mistaken. I would swear to your presence in a
room of a thousand people!”
“You are a flatterer,” Roxhythe shook his head. “You had best visit
Versailles.”
Monmouth sighed. He put back his curls with one delicate, white hand.
“I have a mind to. I have a great desire to visit the French Court.”
“Ah, no!” said Charles, quickly, raising his hand. He laid it
affectionately on his son’s arm. “I cannot spare you, James.”
“You spared Roxhythe,” shrugged Monmouth. There was a suspicion of
triumph in the glance he shot at my lord.
“Needs must,” quoth Charles, ruefully. “Roxhythe stays for no man.”
“Not even for Your Majesty?” asked Lady Castlemaine.
Charles smiled.
“I wonder?” he said. “Can one catch a star?”
“I take it ’tis a question of holding a star,” remarked Killigrew,
coming up to them. “’Twould be interesting to test Lord Roxhythe his
devotion.” He spoke lightly, jestingly, but there was too much of the
sneer in his voice for Charles’ liking. The look he gave him was cold.
“See the wretch now!” exclaimed Lady Castlemaine. She was in great good
humour to-day. “I’ll swear he is searching for his lady-love! Are you
not, Roxhythe?”
Roxhythe turned his head.
“Which one, Lady Castlemaine?”
She spread out her hands in mock protest.
“The latest; the dearest!” smiled Monmouth.
“Alas! There is no dearest.”
“What! Dead, my lord?”
“No.” Roxhythe sat down. “Faded, sir.”
“Already? I thought the little Crosby woman--”
“But I tire so easily,” complained his lordship.
“You are a scoundrel, Roxhythe.” It was the King who spoke. “I vow I do
not know why I keep you near me!”
“Oh, I can give Your Majesty the answer to that!” replied Roxhythe,
placidly.
“Give it then!” Charles turned, ready to be amused.
Roxhythe’s eyes travelled slowly round the room.
“Amongst so much virtue....” he began, and got no further. Protesting,
laughing voices chided him.
Charles rose.
“Ye all appear horrified at the idea of any virtue being found amongst
you,” he sighed, his eyes alight with laughter. “Well, I’ll set your
minds at rest. Without doubt ye are the most outrageous subjects in
Christendom. David, I want you! I have it in mind to give a ball which
shall excel all others ever held between these walls. I must have
your sage counsel.” He linked his arm through Roxhythe’s, and shook a
reproving finger at his small court. “I’ll leave you to your various
wickednesses,” he said. “God wot, ye are not fit company for me!”
A slight stir by the door announced the entrance of the Queen. She
came slowly across the room on her way to her apartments, a short,
insignificant figure, primly garbed in riding-dress.
Charles withdrew his arm and went to meet her.
Her dark eyes with their vague unhappiness scanned him a thought
anxiously as he bent over her hand.
“Well, madam? You have been riding?” The King spoke kindly, as one
speaks to a child.
Katherine inclined her head.
“Yes, Sir.” Some of the apathy went out of her voice. “The daffodils
are already blooming in the Park.”
“Are they so? It was a pleasant ride, sweet?”
“Not very, Sir. I wished you had been with me.” She looked up at him
sadly. “The people would have cheered.”
“Why, madam, they cheer for you!” said Charles, patting her hand.
“No,” said the Queen. “No.” She looked round the room. Lady Castlemaine
curtseyed as the lack-lustre eyes passed her. Katherine made no sign.
Then she saw Roxhythe, and smiled. The smile changed her whole face. It
held appeal, shy coquetry; it dispersed some of her stiffness.
“I did not know you were in London, my lord,” she said.
Roxhythe came forward at once, and kissed her hand.
“I hope Your Majesty is better than when I left you?” His tone held
something near warmth.
“I am very well,” answered Katherine. “We have missed you, my lord.”
“Your Majesty is too kind,” he said gravely.
“You should have been with us to-day,” she continued. “The spring has
come so early this year! The flowers are all opening in the Park. It
was very pretty.” Her eyes went back to the King, wistfully. Charles
had no interest in flowers; he was not attending. Roxhythe it was who
answered.
“I shall beg you to let me come in your train again one day, madam,” he
said. “You have not asked me of late.”
“Because I thought you would not care to,” she replied. “I do wish,
though, that you might accompany me.”
“I should be very greatly honoured, madam,” he bowed. “I shall await
your commands.”
“One would almost imagine that he wanted to ride with her!” murmured
Killigrew in Buckingham’s ear. “Is it possible that the fastidious
Roxhythe is _épris_ in that direction?”
Buckingham shook his head.
“No. He has always been the same with her. I suppose he seeks to curry
favour!” He sneered.
Roxhythe followed Charles to his closet. There the King flung himself
down on the luxuriously cushioned window-seat.
“I doubt the Queen is not happy,” he remarked, frowning. “She takes no
interest in our pleasures and she hath always the air of one moped to
death.”
“The Queen hath a great regard for Your Majesty,” said Roxhythe
deliberately.
Charles jerked an impatient shoulder.
“Oh, ay! Ye think I do not notice her enough. She should be more
cheerful. She wearies me--poor woman,” he added. “Ye heard to-day; the
people do not like her nor cheer when she passes. Well, ’tis not my
fault.”
“If Your Majesty went with the Queen, the people would cheer,” answered
my lord.
“Roxhythe, I will not be taken to task like this!” said Charles
pettishly. “You had best accompany her! The people do always cheer when
you ride out. Mayhap she will think ’tis for her.”
“You make a mistake, Sir, when you dub Her Majesty a fool.”
Charles stared at him.
“Are you an admirer?” he asked.
“I admire, and have always admired Her Majesty’s brave spirit,” said
Roxhythe.
Charles was silent. Presently he changed the subject, speaking coldly.
“Well, did you ascertain Louis his attitude?”
Roxhythe shrugged.
“He realizes that he must come to the movement of your finger, Sir.”
Charles’ brow cleared as if by magic.
“I always thought he would! He may rest assured that I shall move that
finger to some purpose. I tell you, Roxhythe, I must have money, or I
fall. What is Louis his figure?”
“I do not know, Sir.”
“Arundell said two million.”
“I am sorry to have to disagree with my Lord Arundell, but it is too
much.”
“Are you sure, David?”
“As sure as I am over anything, Sir.”
“A pity.” Charles rested his chin in his hand. “Ye think Arundell a
fool?”
“No. I do not think he understands the French mind.”
“Nor I. ’Tis for that reason that I want you to help me. Colbert has
proposals to put before me.”
M. Colbert de Croissy was the French ambassador, brother to the great
Colbert, Minister of Finance in France.
Roxhythe was amused.
“It should be interesting to hear what he says,” he remarked.
“So I think. Roxhythe, I have seen that Clifford may be won over.”
“Our incorruptible Chancellor!” said Roxhythe. “Well, well!”
“Not at all. He hath great faith in mine integrity. From what he said I
gather that Colbert means to put the matter very plausibly. Arlington
is, of course, my man; Arundell also. I propose to summon Clifford to
my chamber next week when I shall also receive M. Colbert. Then we
shall see how the matter strikes Clifford.”
Roxhythe nodded.
“And what of His Grace of York, Sir?”
“James is mad for the promotion of the Catholic faith in the country.
All else will fade before that.”
“It seems very well,” said Roxhythe. He sighed.
Charles heard the sigh.
“You do not like it, Roxhythe?”
There was a pause.
“No, Sir, I do not.”
“You do not like that I should make an alliance with France?”
“I would it might have been otherwise.”
“But it cannot be otherwise,” fretted the King.
“No, Sir?”
“You know it cannot! I tried to avoid it by an alliance with Nassau,
but he’d have none of it. What else can I do? I must have means or I
shall be entirely dependent on Parliament. I am sore beset! And now if
you turn against me--”
“I shall never do that, Sir.” The answer came quietly, but very
emphatically. “If you want a compact with France you must have it. It
matters nothing to me. Only one thing do I consider and that is your
pleasure.”
Charles put out his hand.
“Ah, David! And yet you dislike it?”
“I dislike it--yes.”
“Because you think I am planning to sell England to Louis?”
His smile crept into Roxhythe’s eyes.
“Now you are ridiculous, Sir.”
Charles’ hand gripped his.
“You believe in me?”
“I believe that you will contrive to out-wit Louis.”
“That is evasive. You think I am not acting for England?”
“I know you are not.”
Charles laughed.
“I suppose you are right. But I do not think I shall harm her.”
“Nor I, Sir. And I do not think you will do her any good.”
Charles looked at him curiously.
“Roxhythe--you care for England?”
“I used to, Sir.”
“And now?”
“Nothing counts save your pleasure. I stand or fall with you.”
Brown eyes met brown.
“And naught else counts ... not even the Country?” said Charles slowly.
Roxhythe carried the hand that lay in his to his lips.
“Since your ways diverge, Sir, no.”