THE GROWTH OF THE SEED
LORD Ashley-Cooper desired to see Mr. Dart. Lord Ashley-Cooper was
conducted to the library. Christopher was not there, so my lord was
requested to wait. My lord sat down. He surveyed his surroundings,
which were very handsome. The room was hung in brown and gold; the
chairs were leather-seated, with carved wooden backs; the table was of
solid oak. Over by the window stood Christopher’s desk. The room gave
on to the gardens.
Presently Christopher came quickly into the room.
“My lord! This is indeed an honour!”
Ashley took his hands, looking at him gloomily. It was a different
Christopher from the boy who had visited him two years ago. Christopher
had now an ease of manner; a presence. He dressed well, and with none
of his former sobriety. He still wore his own fair hair, but he had
taken to dressing it very carefully, and it hung in ordered curls
about his shoulders. Ashley had watched the gradual change from afar
but he had rarely seen Christopher for any length of time alone. Hence
Christopher’s surprise.
He pulled forward a more comfortable chair.
“Pray sit down, sir! I am delighted to see you. Have you commands for
me, I wonder?”
“No.” Ashley watched one of my lord’s liveried servants place wine and
glasses on the table. “This is purely a friendly call.”
Christopher nodded to the servant.
“You may go, Roger. I am out to all other visitors.”
The man bowed and departed. Christopher busied himself with the glasses.
“Some canary, my lord? Yes?” He handed him the glass and poured out
another for himself. Then he sat down.
“Well, it is a very long while since I have had any private
conversation with you, sir. This is very pleasant.”
“Indeed, yes. I do not think I have really talked to you since you
returned from Holland.”
Christopher frowned a little. On that occasion, Ashley had been moved
to adjure him to leave Roxhythe’s service, now that his work was done.
After that there had been a slight estrangement between them.
“No, I think not,” said Christopher. “Do you hear from Roderick at all,
sir?”
“Very seldom,” replied Ashley. “Have you any news of him?”
For a while they talked of Roderick and trivialities. Then Ashley took
advantage of a pause to change the subject.
“Lord Roxhythe is still away?”
Christopher sighed inwardly.
“Yes,” he replied, on guard.
“Indeed? He is often abroad, is he not? I suppose you manage his
affairs?”
“I have that honour,” said Christopher. He filled up the glasses.
“Christopher, have you yet discovered that Lord Roxhythe is a--very
complex character?”
“No,” said Christopher. “Have you?”
“I suspect it,” said Ashley. “I fear it. In fact, I fear Roxhythe.”
Christopher was silent. He was tired of discussing Roxhythe with all
and sundry.
“I fear he is not so indolent as he would have us believe.” Ashley
ground the knuckles of one hand into the palm of the other. “I mistrust
him. I always have mistrusted him. I may say I am a judge of character.”
“Oh!” said Christopher.
Ashley slewed round in his chair so that he faced him.
“Why is he in Paris?” he asked abruptly.
Christopher set down his glass.
“He is in Paris because he is in love with Madame. What else would you
like to know?”
Some of the worried lines were smoothed from Ashley’s forehead.
“Is that true?”
The colour was mounting to Christopher’s cheeks. His eyes sparkled
dangerously.
“I am not in the habit of lying, my lord.”
“No, no,” soothed Ashley. “I know you at least are honest. And I know
you are no plotter. Well, well! You then can vouch for what you tell
me?”
“Yes, I can!” cried Christopher, carried away. “My lord is at Madame’s
feet! That is his reason for going so frequently to Paris! None other!”
“I may have been wrong.”
“Do you suspect everyone of plotting, sir?”
“Everyone!” replied Ashley, quickly. “Everyone!”
“Even Roxhythe!” Christopher laughed derisively. “Why, I tell you no
thought is farther from his head!” He spoke with unbounded confidence.
Ashley read the transparent honesty in his eyes, and leant back in his
chair.
“And you know him as well as anyone, I suppose. Oh, do not be angry,
Chris! It is part of my office to guard against possible intrigue. You
say Roxhythe is in love with Madame. I had not thought of that. Yes, it
is very likely. He must ever be in love with some woman.” He sneered.
“Suppose we talk of something else?” suggested Christopher, controlling
the fury in his voice.
Ashley leant forward.
“Ah, Chris! Don’t speak like that! I had no thought to offend you. I
wish you so well.”
Christopher was mollified.
“I am not offended, my lord. Indeed, I am sorry if I spoke rudely. But
I do not relish adverse criticism of my Lord Roxhythe.”
“Then we are friends, Chris?”
Christopher took his outstretched hand.
“Of course, my lord!”
The heavy curtain hanging across the open doorway parted noiselessly.
A tall figure stood there, all in black and gold, with thick chestnut
curls framing his face. One white hand rested on his sword-hilt; the
other fingered the lace at his throat. Calm brown eyes surveyed the two
by the fire.
The Most Noble the Marquis of Roxhythe swept a bow to Lord
Ashley-Cooper.
Christopher was on his feet in a flash.
“My lord!” he cried joyfully, and hurried forward.
Roxhythe held out his hand. He spoke to Ashley.
“I intrude. I apologize. I thought Chris was alone.”
Ashley watched Christopher kiss my lord’s fingers and saw the quick
pressure of Roxhythe’s hand on his. He too rose.
“I think ’tis I who am the intruder,” he said. “I have been visiting
Christopher, whom I have not seen for some time. I will now withdraw.”
Roxhythe disengaged his hand.
“I beg you will not!” He went to the door.
Ashley stayed him with a gesture.
“I was on the point of taking my leave,” he assured him. “I have been
here too long already. I am a busy man, Lord Roxhythe. Chris!”
Christopher accompanied him out.
When he came back, Roxhythe had shed his long gold-lined cloak, and was
seated on the edge of the table, swinging one booted leg.
“Well, Chris? Everything is as it should be?”
“Yes, sir. There are one or two letters from the bailiff at Bevan. I do
not think him honest. Will you see them?”
Roxhythe nodded.
“And for the rest?”
“Nothing untoward has happened, sir. You are returned sooner than I
expected.” He turned over a pile of papers, searching for the letters.
“Sooner than I expected myself. I found I was tired of Paris.” He took
two sheets of parchment from Christopher, and started to read. “I did
not know you were on speaking terms with Ashley,” he remarked, not
lifting his eyes from the paper. “A reconciliation?”
“Something of the sort,” acknowledged Christopher. “I have barely
spoken to him since he counselled me to leave your service. To-day he
came to visit me. A kindly intention, but he contrived to ruffle me the
more.”
“Oh?” Roxhythe turned the sheet over, and went on reading.
“Yes.” Christopher knitted his brows. “He wanted to know why you were
in Paris; why you went so often, and a lot more beside. I am sick to
death of being questioned concerning your movements!”
Roxhythe stopped swinging his leg. Still he did not raise his eyes.
“I hope you satisfied him?”
“Well--yes! I think now that I spoke hastily, and had no right to say
what I did. But I was angered, and the words slipped out.”
Roxhythe laid down the paper.
“What did you say?”
“I confirmed the popular tale, sir. Ashley had some fool’s notion of
intrigue. I told him you were at the feet of Madame.” He spoke rather
nervously.
Roxhythe picked the paper up again.
“Truthful boy,” he said.
Christopher was silent for a moment, still frowning.
“My lord,” he said, at last. “Ashley is not the first who has sought
to suck me of news concerning you. I dined with Harcourt the other
night, and he talked of you until I had perforce to snub him. Everyone
wants to know what you do, and why you do it. Even Lady Frances has
questioned me! And I do not know! I--I can only fall back on gossip,
and I have been so harried and worried that I too am beginning to
wonder: why did you go to Paris?”
Roxhythe went on reading.
“You told me yourself a moment ago.”
“I only told you what gossip says. You have never confided in
me--indeed, I did not expect it. I thought nothing of these sudden
comings and goings. But other people seem suspicious. Why are they
suspicious? Why do they think you--are not what you seem to be?”
“Heaven knows!”
Christopher moved an agitated hand.
“My lord, you know I am not inquisitive. But--but--is there any truth
in Ashley’s suspicions?”
At last my lord looked up.
“What precisely are his suspicions?”
“He told me he mistrusted you; he said you were a complex character. He
hinted at intrigue. I know--I thought I knew--that such a thing would
never enter your head. I said so; I laughed the idea to scorn. He was
reassured, but between them all, I have been set thinking. Is there any
truth in their suspicions?”
“None whatever,” said Roxhythe. He folded up the letters.
Christopher heaved a sigh of relief.
“I knew it!” he said. “But when next you go away I wish you would leave
me some explanation to give these people!”
“You gave them the right one,” answered Roxhythe.
“Yes, but I did not know if it was right or wrong. I had to say
something, and oh lud! the good advice I have received!” He laughed
ruefully. “Everyone advises me to quit your service at once, and why
God alone knows! I have been so infuriated, sir!”
“Poor Chris! You can quit my service if you will.”
“Sir! Have I shown myself so lacking in affection to you that you
should think that possible? I do not want ever to do that. I--I am so
relieved to know that you are not leading--well, a double life! Of
course I did not really think it, but when several people all show
suspicions one cannot help wondering. And then there was the Dutch
affair. You plotted then, but it was for the King, and the King was
plotting for the country, so it’s all one. You would never plot against
the country, I know. I do not think, either, that you are in the habit
of taking part in intrigue.”
“You know me rather well, don’t you?” smiled Roxhythe.
“Better than do these--mischief-makers,” replied Christopher. “I am
wise enough to trust in you implicitly.”
Roxhythe regarded him curiously.
“Are you? I am flattered.” He glanced down at his letters. His face was
quite impassive.
“It is strange that so many people should warn me ’gainst you,”
continued Christopher, airily. “First there was de Staal....”
The brown eyes lifted, and fell again.
“... Then Roderick, then Ashley, then Lady Frances. Are they all
crazed?”
“It seems so. Christopher, I think you must go to Bevan and attend to
this matter.” Roxhythe tapped the parchment with his finger. “I mislike
the tone of the man’s letter. I’ll have you keep a watchful eye on his
doings, and, if need be, dismiss him and engage another in his place.”
Christopher’s face fell a little.
“Very well, sir. I suppose I shall be there some weeks?”
“I am afraid so. I shall miss you sadly here, but it cannot be helped.”
“When do you wish me to go, sir?”
“As soon as possible.” Roxhythe stood up. “I’ll look more closely into
this presently.” He tossed the letters on to the table. “What am I
doing to-night?”
Christopher referred to a tablet.
“You are going to Lady Caroline Sowerby’s rout, sir.”
Roxhythe shook his head.
“What induced you to accept that? Sowerby, forsooth! No, that is too
much to expect of me. I shall wait on Lady Crewe.” He went out.