THE FIRST SEED OF DOUBT
ON Friday, two days after Roxhythe’s departure for France, Christopher
set out to visit his friend Harcourt at his house in Great Queen Street.
He was pleased to renew the acquaintance, but he could not help feeling
that he and Harcourt would now have very little in common. The Country
Party was always steadily opposed to the Court Party, and most of its
members held the Court and all its ways in abhorrence. Once Christopher
had held their views himself but since he had been with Roxhythe he had
changed his opinions. His father had always pulled a long face when
King Charles was mentioned. He had solemnly warned his sons to have
naught to do with the vicious Court and the dissolute King. Christopher
had never taken him very seriously; he had abundant trust in Charles’
integrity. He thought it impossible that a King should be worthy of
suspicion; he laughed at his father’s gloomy prognostications. Mr.
Dart had prophesied that the King would make a sorry substitute for
the Protector. He said over and over again that no Stuart could run
straight: they must always choose the crooked path. He warned his
sons to trust neither in the King nor in any of those around him.
Christopher saw now how wrong he had been; life with Roxhythe had
taught him that. He hoped that Harcourt would not inveigh against
the Court, for he felt that he could not discuss the matter calmly.
Since he had been at Bevan House he had become acquainted with so many
courtiers and liked most of them so much, that he could not bear to
hear ill spoken of them by the Country Party whose members he had come
to consider very worthy but very dull. He hoped, too, that Harcourt
would not advise him to quit Roxhythe. From his manner the other day he
thought that he would not, but since he had received so many sinister
warnings he was ever on his guard.
So he arrived at Great Queen Street. He was introduced to Madam
Harcourt. She came of an old Puritan stock, and she was very properly
grieved at the company that Christopher kept. Several times he caught
her eyeing him with a species of sad gravity that annoyed him beyond
words. He was thankful when dinner came to an end, and the lady left
her husband and his guest to their wine.
Harcourt pushed the decanter towards him.
“Fill up your glass, Chris, and tell me all that you have been doing
since I saw you!”
Christopher obeyed the first behest.
“I don’t think I have done anything,” he said. “My life is quite
uneventful. You will have more to tell me.”
“Oh, I...! No, I do my work, and for the rest there’s naught. Come!
Tell me about yourself!”
Christopher laughed.
“I do my work, and go out a little, and for the rest----”
“There’s something! Were you in Roxhythe’s service when you went to
Holland? Or was that before you joined him?”
Christopher tilted his glass so that the red wine caught the light, and
sparkled.
“I was in his service,” he answered.
“Strange! I had thought my lord would not have been absent from
Whitehall for so long.”
“If you cast your mind back,” said Christopher, slowly, “you will
remember that there was a slight difference--between His Majesty and my
master. Roxhythe found it expedient to go abroad for a while.”
“I do remember something of the sort,” frowned Harcourt. “I remember
London was a-hum with the news.”
“Yes?” said Christopher. “Well, that was why he went away.”
“To Holland.... Lord Roxhythe usually goes to Paris!” said Harcourt,
smiling.
“He has many friends in Holland whom he wished to visit,” replied
Christopher.
Harcourt drew him on to the subject of the Prince of Orange. He wanted
to know if Christopher had ever seen him. In fact, there was much that
he wanted to know. He insisted that Christopher should tell him of his
life with Roxhythe. At the end of the recital he regarded Christopher
rather strangely for a moment. Then he smiled.
“It seems you are very fortunate,” he said. “I’d give much to be in
your shoes!”
Christopher felt that this was not true.
“You would find my master a change from Lord Russell!” he said. “I do
not think you would like my life.”
“Perhaps not. By the way, I saw Lord Roxhythe at the play the other
night. What a comely man he is!”
Christopher warmed.
“He is very handsome,” he agreed. “And he is more than that. He is very
great.”
“Indeed, yes. He has much power.”
“I did not mean power. I mean he has a great nature.”
Harcourt pushed his chair back from the table, so that his face was
slightly in the shadow.
“Ah? I had not thought he had much depth of character, I confess....”
“You don’t know him!” said Christopher quickly. “He is brave and
upright, and clev----” He stopped.
“Clever?” ended Harcourt, smoothly. “He does not show it.”
Christopher recovered himself.
“Well--no!” he laughed. “Perhaps he is not clever! I am carried away by
my love for him. No, he is brave and honourable. I have never known him
perform a mean act. But I do not think he is clever.”
“He hath a very lively wit, if all I hear be true.”
“A ready tongue,” said Christopher. “He is very indolent.”
“Yes.” Harcourt peeled a nut abstractedly. “I suppose it is for that
reason that he doth not meddle in intrigue.”
“He has no taste for plotting,” replied Christopher, in all good faith.
“Indeed he laughs at intrigue.”
“Very wise,” said Harcourt, still busy with his nut. “And what does he
to-night?”
“I do not know,” answered Christopher. “He is away from home.”
The shrewd eyes looked up for a moment and fell once more.
“Again?” asked Harcourt. “I fear your master is of a very gay
disposition, Chris! Paris, I suppose?”
Christopher sipped his wine.
“Yes, Paris. I believe he has met a very fair lady whom he adores for
the moment. It is his way.”
“Oh! In the household of Madame, eh? We hear tales of it even in this
quiet house. Some say it is Madame herself.”
“Maybe.” Christopher was not interested. He had had enough of the
subject. Evidently Harcourt had not.
“She must be very fascinating, whoe’er she be,” he remarked. “My
lord has been to France so much during the past year. We thought it
impossible that it should be for a woman and naught else. He must have
business there, surely?”
Christopher’s brows drew perceptively nearer.
“No, he has not. It is nothing for my lord to go often to Paris! You
take a great interest in his affairs!”
Harcourt ate his nut.
“Forgive my impertinence! I am interested in all that concerns you,
Chris. Let us talk of something else!”
Christopher went home, thinking hard. Unperceptive he might be, but
he was wise enough to see that Harcourt had been more than casually
curious about his affairs. He went over the evening in his mind. First
the questions concerning the journey to Holland; then the questions
concerning my lord’s French journeys. Christopher remembered that Lady
Frances had talked to him on that subject. She had wanted to know what
it was that drew my lord to Paris. Well, he had not known. He still did
not know. He guessed that it was some woman for it was always that. He
had not puzzled over the matter at all. It was not unusual for Roxhythe
to journey to Paris; no one, save Lady Frances and Harcourt, had
thought it unusual. Why should these two strive to draw explanations
from him? What did they suspect? Why did they suspect? He resolved to
speak to Roxhythe himself. If he had aught to confide, surely my lord
would tell it to him?
Christopher went into the library and lighted candles. He found an
invitation from Lady Frances to wait on her one day. She chided him for
what she termed his neglect. She believed he had tired of her already!
It was a letter such as his mother might have written. Christopher
folded it carefully and put it away.
Next day he went to her house, and was admitted into my lady’s private
parlour. It was a tastefully furnished room, hung in blue and gold to
suit my lady’s colouring. It looked south on to the gardens.
Frances came to him, wonderfully dressed and coiffed.
“You wicked boy! To think I had to send for you!” She allowed him to
kiss her hand. “Confess! You’ve no excuse?”
“I did not like to plague you too often, Lady Frances!” stammered
Christopher.
“What nonsense!” She sat down. “Did you not know that I like young
things about me?”
“It is very kind of you,” said Christopher. “I love to come.”
“That is very well,” nodded her ladyship. “But this time I want you for
a purpose.”
“If there is aught I may do----”
“Well, there is, but don’t make a speech about it, dear boy. I am past
the age of such vanities. Reserve them for your sweetheart.”
“I have none!”
“Then it is time you had! No matter; you are young yet. Best keep away
from such things....” She sighed. “These are sad times, Chris, and I’ve
led a wicked life! So I know all about it! Unless you find a very nice
girl, I shall not allow you a sweetheart!”
“Indeed, I do not want one!”
“Ungrateful boy! But listen! I contemplate a masquerade down at
Hatchley, when the warmer weather comes. Of course it must excel all
others in brilliance.”
“Of course it will if you are there!” answered Christopher.
“Naturally I shall be there. You are not to make me pretty speeches!
Well, as I say, it must be a very great success. For I intend to ask
His Majesty to grace it with his presence.”
“Will he?” asked Christopher, wide-eyed.
“Why, yes! His Majesty has a fondness for me, even though I have mended
my ways. He will come. Therefore, Chris, I must have Roxhythe. You see?”
“Is he so needful to your party’s success?” smiled Christopher.
“You know he is! No one would dream of entertaining Royalty if they
could not be assured of Roxhythe’s presence. So I must be assured of
it. There’s the difficulty. One cannot rely on David. One thinks one is
safe until the last minute, when lo, and behold! there is no Roxhythe!”
“He would never serve you so.” Christopher shook his head. “You have
only to ask him.”
“Indeed he would! He has done it before! Oh, la--la! what a state I
was in! I vowed I would never forgive the wretch--no, nor receive
him neither. And then he appeared one day to dinner, and I had not
the heart to chide him.” She sighed. “’Tis always the same. You may
be never so angry with him when he is absent, but the moment you see
him--pouf! The anger is gone! But I deviate, I deviate. My husband
tells me that I can never walk straight to my point. Is he not rude?
Yes. Well, I must have Roxhythe. That is why I wanted to see you.”
“How can I help you?” wondered Christopher.
“Dull boy! For one thing you can see that he accepts no other
invitation for that night. Oh yes, that has been known to happen,
Chris. Roxhythe accepts all invitations haphazard, and finds that he
has as many as six for the same night. So he throws them all away and
goes to the one house to which he was not invited. Now don’t laugh!
It’s very serious. Do you give me your word you will prevent this
happening?”
“I promise it shall not happen!” chuckled Christopher. “But what am I
to do if your invitation comes not first?”
“Oh, you must destroy the first in that case!” said her ladyship
airily. “He will never remember. Not that he would care a fig for’t an
he did. The other thing that you must do, Chris, is to see that he does
not go to Paris or what not on the day. You must make him come to me.
_C’est entendu?_”
“I’ll try,” promised Christopher. “But one does not ‘make’ my lord do
anything.”
“He’ll do what you ask, never fear! I really believe he hath some sort
of an affection for you.”
Christopher flushed.
“Some sort...?” he interrogated.
Lady Frances looked at him for a moment. Her bright eyes softened.
“Chris, dear, don’t love Roxhythe too greatly,” she said. The laughter
had gone from her voice.
Christopher’s thoughts leapt back two years. He saw himself walking
with de Staal in Rotterdam, and heard de Staal’s warning:
“... You will love heem ver’ mooch one day, only--I warn you--do not
love heem too mooch for he is Roxhyt’e, and he not care for anyone but
heemself, and hees Prince....”
“Lady Frances, why do you say that?” he asked quickly. “Why should I
not love my lord?”
Lady Frances stared down at her rings.
“I like you, Chris. I--don’t want you to--get hurt.”
“... One day, per’aps, he hurt you ver’ mooch, eef you not take care.
So I warn you....”
“Please tell me why you say that!” begged Christopher. “Why should he
hurt me? What reason have you for misjudging him so?”
“I can’t tell you, Chris. I do not know. But Roxhythe--is Roxhythe, and
I think one day you will be disappointed. You think him very great,
very good; suppose it were not so? Suppose he were not so true?”
“It is impossible! When have you found him untrue? What right have you
to warn me against him?”
She laid an impulsive hand on his arm.
“None--none! Indeed it may be impossible! But--oh, he would never
return your regard! He cares for no one save himself! I don’t want you
to think him perfect--to reverence him so greatly! I don’t want you to
be so much under his influence!”
Christopher’s eyes were flashing.
“Perhaps you would advise me to quit his service, Lady Frances? It
would not be the first time I have received such advice!”
“I fear it were useless,” she said. “I only beg you not to trust in him
too much. He is utterly, utterly selfish.”
“He loves his King--his Country!”
“Don’t let us speak of it any more! You are greatly offended with me, I
know! But--remember, Chris!”
The angry look died out of his eyes.
“Forgive me if I have been rude, Lady Frances! I did not mean to be,
but I cannot bear to hear ill of my lord! Because he is indolent, and
does not interest himself in affairs, people dub him untrustworthy.
It is unjust! Even you think it impossible that a man should be above
suspicion! I--well let us talk of something else!” His boyish smile
peeped out.
Lady Frances nodded.
“What we really want to discuss is how to bring him to my masquerade,”
she said. “Only I deviated again.”
“I’ll send him to you,” promised Christopher. “I think he will be only
too honoured.”
“Pho!” My lady snapped her fingers. “So much for that! And you are to
bring him. Of course I am inviting you.”
“How--how very kind you are!” exclaimed Christopher. “Thank you very
much, but do you think you want me?”
“I had not asked you otherwise. Now, listen, Chris! I have decided that
masquerade had best be in June, so unless I change my mind, June it
will be. I shall not send out the invitations for some time yet, but
you may tell Roxhythe. Tell him, too, that the success of my party
depends on his being present. ’Twill flatter his vanity.”
“I will. I’ll tell him as soon as he comes home.” The words were hardly
out of his mouth before he had regretted them.
Lady Frances looked up sharply.
“Home? Where then is he?”
“I think--in Paris,” said Christopher uncomfortably.
“Again! Then--” she stopped. “Yes. He is very much in love with Madame,
is he not?”
“I--I believe so!” said Christopher, who was sick of the sound of the
Duchess d’Orléans’ sobriquet. He prepared to make good his escape.