“Dear....”

“They cannot believe--him guilty of--these monstrous charges!”

“They do not. But public feeling is too strong. My lord made an

excellent defence, but to no avail. The judges affected to believe

Tuberville’s lies. Tuberville swore that Stafford had engaged him to

murder the King, five years ago.”

Lady Frances tried to check her tears.

“The King--will not--intervene?”

“My dear, I have long since given up expecting aught but selfishness

from the King.”

She twisted her hands.

“It is death?”

“Yes. I’ll not revolt you with the details.”

She shuddered.

“He is--so old! They surely--cannot hang him--and--oh, it is too

awful!”

“It is believed that the King will refuse his consent to that. We can

only hope for decapitation.”

Lady Frances turned away, biting her lip.

“I knew him so well! Papa--was one of his--dearest friends. I--oh,

there’s naught but cruelty and--lowness in England!”

“We are indeed come to a pretty pass,” sighed Montgomery. “I never

heard palpable lies so easily swallowed. The whole affair was

disgraceful. The King was present, and the Duchess of Portsmouth. Her

Grace might have comported herself more decently, I thought.”

“I daresay.” Lady Frances picked up Christopher’s letter. Her voice

still trembled.

“Chris--seems more at ease. He--writes cheerfully. He is very busy.”

“I am glad he went away before all this trouble came to a head,” said

Montgomery. “I wonder what part Roxhythe plays?”

“I had rather--not know,” said his wife.

* * * * *

Bit by bit Shaftesbury’s adherents fell away from him. Roxhythe still

ostensibly helped on his cause, but the Earl neither trusted nor

mistrusted him. He believed that Roxhythe wanted the Exclusion but he

knew that he had intrigued with the Orangist faction. The Cause was

practically hopeless now, for the execution of Stafford had somewhat

appalled the mob. Monmouth still blazed through England, and James

clamoured for his arrest. It was Roxhythe who counselled the King to

hold his hand.

Divining the calming temper of the mob, Shaftesbury tried to revive the

terror of the Popish Plot. Roxhythe urged him to take action, knowing

that, as a result, more members would join the Crown.

Then came the Exclusion Bill again, and the King moved at last.

“David,” he said, “I shall now prorogue Parliament.”

“You could not do better, Sir,” agreed Roxhythe. “Your popularity with

the people is growing. They have begun to consider.”

“What do they consider?”

“Your attitude. They laud you for refusing to listen to Monmouth’s

claim. They see in it a just regard for your brother.”

“How do you know, David? ’Pon my soul, you are sublime!”

“I am indeed. I have done more work in these past months than I ever

thought to do in a lifetime. And I am a frequenter of taverns and

public meetings. It is most amusing.”

“No one suspects you?”

“On the contrary, everyone suspects me. Sunderland guesses that I

informed you of his duplicity; Halifax will no longer traffic with me;

Essex warns Shaftesbury to have no dealings with me. My day is nearly

done, but I know enough. Shaftesbury’s ruin is in sight, and it but

remains to snare the rest. One man alone trusts me.”

“Who is he?”

“Monmouth.”

The King recoiled a little.

“I don’t want him ruined, David! I love him.”

“Certainly, Sir. But through him I can catch at the rest.”

“I--cannot--believe that he is willingly against me!”

Roxhythe looked down at his hands for a moment.

“Why, Sir,” he said slowly, “do not distress yourself. Monmouth is

weak; he has been led away.”

“You say that to console me,” answered Charles. “I will not conceal

from you, David, that it has hurt me more than all else.”

“I repeat, Sir: he is weak. And very young.”

“Yes,” assented Charles. “He is young, of course....” He sighed. “Well,

David, repinings will not help me. I am minded to appeal to the nation.”

“A declaration.... Well, I think the nation will support you.”

“So do I,” nodded the King, more cheerfully.

He was right. The Declaration was the one thing needed to seal the

change in the people’s temper. The country was plunged into a sea of

loyalty, and Shaftesbury, almost despairing, withdrew to his house

in Aldersgate Street, where he proceeded to gather round him certain

citizens of London who, he boasted, would rise at a moment’s notice.

Then came a diversion in the shape of William Nassau, who visited

London again with Charles’ consent, although the Duke of York, already

wary of him, besought the King to forbid his coming.

William was as secret as ever, but his uncle could guess his

intentions. He wanted to bring England into league with him against

France. He wanted Charles to summon a new Parliament. During his stay

in London he very frequently visited the Duke of Monmouth and his

followers. Charles lifted his brows at that, confessing to Roxhythe

that he would give much for a peep into his nephew’s mind.

When William at length left England he had extracted a promise from the

King that he would call a new Parliament if Louis again invaded the Low

Countries.

“Sir,” said Bentinck. “Does Your Highness trust His Majesty at last?”

“I trust no Englishman,” answered William shortly. “But I think to see

upheavals in England.” More he would not vouchsafe.

“Sir,” said Roxhythe. “What of Louis?”

“Dear David,” replied Charles. “Am I a fool? I have placated M.

Barillon. Louis plans to attack Luxembourg.”

“Ah! And you?”

“I believe I shall be blind to it,” answered Charles placidly.

“I see,” said Roxhythe. “To what figure does he go?”

“He is very mean. Only a million livres,” sighed Charles. “I must

recall James once more. He grows a thought too violent in Scotland.”

Meanwhile Roxhythe was sowing hesitancy in Monmouth’s mind. The Young

Duke was planning a rising all over the country, but Roxhythe, by

some miraculous means or other, kept him uncertain, not daring to

move boldly in any one direction, ever procrastinating, and ploughing

through what seemed to him a bog of insurmountable difficulties.

Shaftesbury, already desperate, and fearing to be betrayed by the

Duke’s wavering spirit, found that his brave London citizens were not

to be relied on, and gave up the struggle, broken. He had reason to

think that he would be arrested again, and, this time, not released. He

feared Roxhythe, although he had no proof of my lord’s duplicity. Ill

bodily, and more ill in spirit, he left London hurriedly and arrived in

Holland in the middle of November, 1682.

He was suffering from an internal disease, and that, coupled with the

many worries gathered about his head, hastened on his end. Some few

weeks after his arrival in Amsterdam he died, broken-hearted, conscious

of utter failure.

“So I win,” remarked the King.

“I told you, Sir, that you should give him rope,” replied Roxhythe.

“I had not dared without you, Davy.”

“Oh, I think you would!” smiled my lord. “We can now almost touch the

end.”

“It is ended,” said Charles.

“Not while Russell and Essex are at large, Sir,” replied the favourite.

“Wait!”

CHAPTER V

PLOTS

“DAVID, ye are a rogue! We see you less and less at Whitehall!” said

Charles.

Roxhythe smiled.

“I crave your pardon, Sir. In truth, I am busied with Your Majesty’s

affairs.”

“Let be! They are very well.”

“Sir, they may be well for the moment, but as long as Russell and Essex

and Sydney are at large trouble will continue to brew.”

Charles waved his hand impatiently.

“How can you prevent their being at large? Let be!”

“Sire, one word I seem to have repeated a number of times: wait! I am

deep in plots.”

“I am tired of plots and plotters.”

“Why, so am I. So I seek to make an end.”

“Ye are very mysterious, Davy! Are you playing some deep game, I

wonder?”

“I am amusing myself, Sir.”

“That means that you will say no more. Well, well!”

My Lord Roxhythe accompanied His Majesty to Newmarket Races, as was his

wont. Five days before the appointed day of departure he had speech

with Charles.

“Sire, will you be advised by me?”

Charles, lolling on a couch, stretched out his long legs, yawning.

“Roxhythe, you have become as secret as the grave! What now?”

“I ask you to return to London in two days’ time.”

The sleepy eyes opened.

“Oho! More plots?”

“The strings of which I am gathering into my hands.”

“And you’ll tell me naught?”

“Not yet, Sir. I must first enmesh my victims.”

Charles yawned again.

“I am sick of plots.”

“So I shall not worry you with this. But return to London the day after

to-morrow, taking the Duke of York with you.”

“Very well, David. As you please.”

Thus it came about that the King and his brother drove quietly past Mr.

Rumbald’s house at Hoddesdon two days before the appointed time. And

Mr. Rumbald, who had arranged with one Goodenough and various others,

to lie in ambush till the coach passed and then to stop it, and to

murder the occupants, was justly incensed. He saw the coach go by, but

he was alone in the house, awaiting his fellow-conspirators who were to

arrive on the morrow, and he dared not attempt the deed.

Meanwhile, my Lord Roxhythe visited His Grace of Monmouth who was

living in seclusion.

Monmouth greeted him effusively.

“Dear Roxhythe! I have been expecting you.”

My lord disengaged himself.

“I have been at Newmarket, Sir, and could not come before.”

Monmouth drew him to a chair.

“Sit down, my lord! sit down! I think you know Mr. Ferguson?”

Roxhythe turned to look at the grim Scotsman.

“I have that honour,” he bowed.

“Yes, I have met his lordship,” said the pamphleteer harshly.

Roxhythe glanced round the room.

“I do not see Lord Russell?”

“He is away from town,” answered Grey, one of Monmouth’s staunchest

adherents. “He works to raise the West Country.”

“He is too finicking,” said Mr. Sydney suddenly. “Too cautious.”

Sydney was a very thorough Whig. In the past he had fought under

Cromwell.

“Oh!” protested Monmouth. “We have surely need of caution!”

Mr. Trenchard, rough and ready, uplifted his voice.

“He makes no progress. Taunton will rise at my call.”

Monmouth smiled.

“We are indeed pleased with you, Mr. Trenchard.”

Roxhythe bit back a smile.

“It seems we make very little progress in any way,” grumbled Sydney.

“We cannot rely on any part of the country to rise.”

“We must have patience,” said Monmouth vaguely.

“Patience will avail us naught! The longer we wait the more we lose!”

Someone argued this hotly. Others joined in.

“Peace, peace!” cried Armstrong. “Do ye quarrel in his Highness’

presence?”

“Ay,” nodded Monmouth. “I cannot have this babel.”

“Highness, all this dilly-dallying is a weakness!”

“Lord Grey is right!” Ferguson sat up. “We have to strike at the head!”

“That is right,” struck in Mr. Sydney. “The Duke should die.”

“How?” interposed Roxhythe. His soft voice easily made itself heard

above the bickering at one end of the room.

Ferguson glowered at him.

“There are many ways.”

“Yet one should be decided on.”

“He might be intercepted as he returns from the playhouse.”

Monmouth expostulated.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen! I’ll have no murder.”

“You cannot make war in gloves, sir,” retorted Lord Grey. “There must

be killing. If we strike at the root we shall avoid undue slaughter.”

“I cannot have murder,” reiterated Monmouth. To show his displeasure he

went aside with one Colonel Rumsey.

Ferguson drew his chair closer to Mr. Sydney’s.

“We want more than the Duke.”

Sydney shot him a warning glance. But Roxhythe was not attending; he

was holding a languid argument with Lord Grey.

“I’m with you there. While the King lives we shall have trouble.”

“Our rights he destroys, our religion he curbs!” Ferguson’s eyes were

fanatic.

“Monmouth would never consent.”

Ferguson lowered his eyes.

“If Monmouth is tiresome....” he left a pause. “What think you of him?”

By a faint movement of the head he indicated Roxhythe.

Sydney frowned.

“Untrustworthy. Too secret. But His Grace is blind to it.”

“I’d have no dealings with him.”

“Nor I. Except that he may prove useful.”

“How?”

“He could help to overthrow the guards at Whitehall. It is always well

to have one on the inside.”

“Ay, but he would not do it. He’ll stop short of killing Charles.”

“He need not know. He is agog for the Duke to be disposed of.”

“He is double-faced. I fear that he’ll betray us.”

“Not a whit. For his own safety he dare not. If the Duke succeeds his

day is o’er. And Rumsey vouches for him.”

Monmouth came back into the middle of the room.

“Gentlemen, it has come to my ears that there was lately a plot on foot

to murder His Majesty and the Duke of York on their way from Newmarket!”

Grey shrugged and said nothing. Armstrong glanced at Roxhythe.

“My lord, did this come within your ken?”

“I heard rumours,” admitted Roxhythe. “Whence comes Your Grace’s

knowledge?”

“From Wildman. He seemed to know much of the plot, and spoke of one

Rumbald. Understand me, gentlemen, I will not have it!”

Mr. Sydney was hurt.

“Does Your Highness insinuate that any of us were privy to it?”

Monmouth shrugged peevishly.

“I know that Wildman was, so why not more of you? I will not

countenance it!”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Should we not come to business, sir?” asked Grey.

“We cannot decide aught until we hear from Russell,” answered Monmouth.

“Then we are likely to remain inactive for some time!” Mr. Trenchard

snarled. “All this indecision is ruinous to the cause.”

“I would I had not lost Shaftesbury,” mourned the Duke.

“He acted the coward’s part! We were well rid of him!” snapped

Trenchard.

“Shaftesbury was a wise man,” murmured Sydney. “So, I think, is Lord

Essex.”

“By the way,” drawled Roxhythe. “Where is Essex?”

“He is not here,” sighed Monmouth.

“I had perceived it, sir,” said Roxhythe drily. “Is he ever here?”

“Seldom.” Monmouth was cast down for a moment. “But I doubt he is very

much in our interests,” he continued, more brightly.

Trenchard snorted.

“I cannot see that Russell and Essex their absence need hinder us from

deciding on a course of action!” cried Ferguson. “We remain inert from

week’s end to week’s end! Strike! Strike!”

“You speak like a fool!” Lord Grey was angry. “How can we move until we

are sure of the West Country’s support?”

“I disagree!” Sydney took up the cudgels. “This talk of rising is

impracticable! If we had the army with us it would be different, but

what are we?--A mere handful, with possibilities of some counties

behind us. Only fools count on possibilities!”

Armstrong joined in.

“Ye are insulting, Sydney! We must wait, and the possibilities will

turn to certainties.”

“Ay!” Mr. Sydney sneered. “Next century!”

“Sydney is right!” Up started Ferguson. “We must strike a decisive

blow at the root of the trouble! Kill the Papist James! I have three

hundred Scotsmen in London to-day, and they will rise at my call! Storm

Whitehall, and possess ourselves of the city! The other counties will

never rise for us until they see that we mean business.”

“Wild and impracticable,” declared Armstrong. “We must wait.”

Sydney thumped the table.

“Wait till we ruin all by our waiting! Oh, ay, Sir Thomas! Good advice!”

“Do you provoke me, Sir?” Armstrong’s hand went to his sword-hilt.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” implored Monmouth. “I must beg you to be

silent.”

“Highness, I’ll brook no insult from Mr. Sydney! He has sneered at my

advice. Then let him suggest better, or withdraw his words!”

“I have already voiced my suggestion! I’ll voice it no more! It is

meant for men who do not give way to squeamish, timorous doubts!”

Lord Grey arose.

“Mr. Sydney, you pass all bounds! Am I a timorous man? Your suggestions

are foolish, and thoughtless!”

“Meant for men!” cried Ferguson.

“Ay, meant for men!” said Sydney. “All you and Sir Thomas do, Grey, is

to counsel inaction! What good is there in that?”

“You had best have a care, sir! I do not stand criticism from you!”

“What’s that?” Mr. Sydney came to his feet. “You’ll answer for that,

Lord Grey!”

“Will no one stop me this babel?” cried Monmouth. “It is disgraceful!

I will not have it! Lord Grey, I beg you will not speak hastily! Mr.

Sydney--”

“Mr. Sydney has insulted me, sir!”

“Sydney speaks very truly! You waver and hesitate, and have not the

courage to strike a blow!”

“You had best guard your tongue, Mr. Ferguson!”

“Ay!” Armstrong was flushed. “An you dare--”

Roxhythe stood up. He seemed to tower above them. His lazy eyes

travelled slowly round the room from the angry, distracted Monmouth, to

the squabbling men by the table.

“An I dare?” cried Ferguson. “Dare? Dare? I’d have you know, sir, that

I dare all! and--”

“Thank you. That will do.” The calm, haughty voice penetrated the din.

There fell a sudden hush. All eyes were turned to the tall, graceful

figure standing by Monmouth, with one hand upraised.

Roxhythe indicated a chair.

“Mr. Sydney, resume your seat.”

Sydney’s eyes flashed.

“Sir!”

The cold voice grew yet more gentle.

“Mr. Sydney?”

“I’ll--I’ll not have this--tone--to me....” Mr. Sydney sat down, fuming.

Roxhythe turned to Grey.

“You too, my lord. Mr. Ferguson, you will please remember his Grace’s

presence. This childish quarrelling is both futile and unseemly.”

“I’ll have ye know, sir, that Ferguson takes orders from no man!”

The faintest suspicion of a smile crossed my lord’s eyes.

“Do ye seek to rouse mine ire, sir?”

The smile crept down to Roxhythe’s lips.

“You would do well to sit down, Mr. Ferguson,” said my lord softly.

Ferguson flung over to the window.

“Thank you. Allow me to say that while you are all at variance, action

is impossible.” He picked up his hat.

“Roxhythe hits the very root of the matter,” said Monmouth. “You are

all under my displeasure.”

“How are we to be assured of Lord Roxhythe his loyalty?” sneered Sydney.

“Any insult to Roxhythe I take to myself!” flashed Monmouth. “_Mort

de ma vie!_ To what are we coming? You may be silent, Mr. Sydney!”

“What advice has Roxhythe ever given?” answered Sydney, waxing hotter.

“What has he done to help us?”

“Lord Roxhythe has given me sager counsel than any of you!”

“I will give you one piece of advice, Sydney,” said my lord. “It is

that you have a care to that unruly tongue of yours. It is like to lead

you to disaster.”

“Do you threaten me, my lord?”

“I have never been known to do such a thing,” smiled my lord.

Mr. Sydney said nothing further. Roxhythe turned to Monmouth.

“Your Grace, I do counsel you to await Lord Russell his return. Be sure

of your supporters; do nothing rashly. When the time comes, strike

firm and true; above all, strike home. But do not endanger success by

precipitous action. Permit me to take my leave.”

Monmouth smiled graciously.

“You speak with great sense, my lord. I am entirely of your mind.”

Roxhythe bowed and walked out.

“I applaud Roxhythe,” said Grey. “He at least has a brain.”

* * * * *

Late that evening, Colonel Rumsey presented himself at Bevan House. He

was taken to Roxhythe’s private room.

My lord waved him to a chair.

“Sit down, sir. Did they continue to quarrel this morning?”

Rumsey chose the most uncomfortable chair in the room, and sat gingerly

on the edge.

“They did, my lord. They fell to arguing over your loyalty. Grey upheld

you; Armstrong of course deems you true. But Sydney and Ferguson

mistrust you.”

“It matters not in the least. I have learnt enough to hang every man

amongst them.”

Rumsey looked at him uneasily.

“My lord, I do not like the part I have to play.”

“No?” said Roxhythe. “I am sorry.”

Rumsey twisted his fingers.

“My lord, expose the plot yourself! Do not ask me to do so!”

“I do not ask,” said his lordship sweetly.

“You have me in a vice!” Rumsey flung out his hands.

“Yes,” agreed Roxhythe.

“If I refuse to betray these men, you will do it and betray me with

them. My lord, have a little pity!”

The scorn in Roxhythe’s eyes made Rumsey wince. The fine lips curled.

“I have no mercy for those who plot against His Majesty’s person,” said

my lord. His voice was like ice; but it was ice that concealed a fire.

“If I followed mine inclination I would have you strung up--ay, and

quartered. But as a price for your obedience I give you your life, such

as it is.”

Rumsey was white to the lips. Roxhythe fascinated him as a cat

fascinates a mouse. He could not look away from that disdainful face.

“My lord,” he stammered. “Have pity! To turn informer! I--” He

broke off hopelessly. Roxhythe was smiling. “I am afraid!” he cried

desperately.

“So I perceive. If you refuse to do my bidding you will have good cause

to be afraid.”

“My lord, my lord, why do you want me to do it? Why do you not do it

yourself?”

“It is not my will. If you disclose my hand in the matter you will know

what to expect.”

Rumsey passed his tongue between his dry lips.

“And if I do not? If I obey?”

“Have I not said? I give you your life.”

“How do I know that you will not hurl me to destruction when my work is

done?”

“It were not worth my while,” answered Roxhythe pleasantly.

“And Keyling? Is he in your power too?” asked Rumsey.

“Certainly.”

“You--you--devil!” said Rumsey, almost hysterically.

“I should advise you to be more civil,” said Roxhythe. “I am not the

man to be rude to.”

Rumsey bit his lip. Suddenly he looked up.

“My lord, have you not thought that I might implicate you? You have

been in this plot--” He stopped, stricken by the sight of that slow,

pitying smile.

“Do you think His Majesty is not aware of the part I play?” asked

Roxhythe.

CHAPTER VI

MONMOUTH

“ALL is meet for the sacrifice,” remarked Roxhythe.

Charles looked up, interested.

“Am I to know at last?”

Roxhythe smiled.

“In truth you have been very much in the dark, Sir. You are to know.”

“Then come and tell me! Are you about to deliver me from Russell and

Essex?”

“Also Grey, and Sydney, and Hampden. And Ferguson.”

“Good God, Roxhythe, you have done your work well! Are all these people

in league against me?”

“There are many more,” said Roxhythe calmly. “Those are the principals.”

Charles looked at him anxiously.

“What of Monmouth, David?”

“He plans a rising all over the country, but he resolutely refused to

listen to the idea of your assassination.”

The King started.

“I should be grateful, I suppose! Is there in very truth a plot to

murder me?”

“There are several, Sir. All equally wild, but equally dastardly.”

“God’s death! I had no notion ’twas so serious!”

“Nor is it, Sir. But by making it seem so we can ensnare your enemies.”

“Speak plainly, Roxhythe! Let me know all that there is to know.”

“Very well, Sir.” Roxhythe moved to a chair. “Some time ago I came

across one Keyling, a salter, and one who was embroiled in a certain

quarrel with the Lord Mayor some while back. He goes in fear of his

skin on account of it. He was also so unwise as to enter a plot

’gainst your life. He is a very thorough Whig, you see.”

“Wait, David! How in heaven’s name did you come to know him?”

“I have frequented a certain tavern in Aldgate where these gentlemen

meet from time to time. I observed them all very closely. The rest I

got from Rumsey.”

“Who is Rumsey?”

“We shall come to him, Sir. Well, this Keyling is not too scrupulous,

and not too loyal. A little bribery, and _voilà!_ he was my man.

He was more than ever my man when I hinted at the affair with the Lord

Mayor. He turned informer to save himself. From him I gathered that

there was a party of men engaged to dispose of Your Majesty and the

Duke of York. A certain fellow, Rumbald, headed them. They planned to

shoot you on your way from Newmarket. The appointed spot was Rye House,

near Hoddesdon, which is where Rumbald lives. I counselled you to leave

Newmarket two days before the appointed time, and the plot came to

naught. But they continue to scheme, and this time they seek to kill

you in London. They hold lengthy meetings at a certain Devil Tavern.

They are joined by Rumsey and Ferguson, possibly Sydney.”

“You’re very cool!” said Charles, half-laughing.

“It is so interesting. For this is where the two plots meet.”

“’Sblood! What is the other plot?”

“The Monmouth rising that I spoke of. Monmouth hath a large following:

Russell, Essex, Armstrong, Grey, Sydney, Trenchard and a score of

others. Monmouth, Russell and Essex seek only to rise and to force you

to declare Monmouth the heir, but Sydney and Ferguson wish to kill you.

Ferguson would murder Monmouth too if necessary. He is by no means a

pleasant character. They hold meetings at the house of one Shepherd.

Lord Russell has been there many times, and there has been much

treasonable talk. All this I have from Rumsey, whom I hold, as he puts

it, in a vice.”

Charles uncrossed his legs and sat upright.

“Who--is--Rumsey?”

Roxhythe opened his eyes rather wide.

“A creature of no account,” he said. “One of Monmouth’s followers.”

The King leaned back again with a sigh of relief.

“At last! Why have you him in a vice?”

“I know a waverer when I see one, Sir. I easily discovered him. I told

him that I had ample proofs of his meetings with Rumbald at the Devil

Tavern. I frightened him, and, perforce, he became my man. I have

promised him his life, as a price of which he will turn informer when I

tell him.”

“He will incriminate Russell?”

“He will incriminate anyone that I wish.”

Charles was openly admiring.

“You are wonderful, David!”

“It was really very easy,” disclaimed my lord. “But it will prove

useful. The plot can be used as Shaftesbury used the Popish plot. You

will gain power by it.”

“And be rid of those who seek to bring about the Exclusion. When do

these men lodge their information?”

“There are still one or two minor details that we must discover if we

are to trap Essex. In about a week.”

“Meanwhile I shall be murdered,” said Charles cheerfully.

“Not a whit, Sir. If you could but see these schemers you would laugh

at the thought of their ever moving either one way or another. They

fight amongst themselves; they waver, they hesitate. Monmouth is swayed

this way and that. They meet to decide on some sort of action, and

when they are assembled they bewail the fact that they cannot, after

all, come to a decision as one of their number is not present. If one

puts forward a scheme, the rest pounce on it and tear it to bits. Then

they come to blows--or would, if Monmouth did not intervene. It is the

wildest, silliest band of malcontents I ever was in.”

“It is because Monmouth is no leader of men. In battle, yes. But he has

no fixity of purpose. A pity.”

“In this case, Sir, a good thing.”

Charles rested his head in his hand.

“I wish he were not acting thus against me. It--hurts, David--though I

suppose I encourage him. I should never have accorded him the rights I

did. It put higher ideas into his pate.... Does he trust you?”

“Implicitly. I have given him a little obvious advice and he imagines

that I am wholly with him. Sydney mistrusts me, but Grey stands for me

because I studiously agree with what he says. Rumsey assures the rest

of my loyalty. They think to hold me in their hands on account of the

Duke of York his hatred for me. It never enters their heads that I work

for you alone.”

“I see. Does it irk you, I wonder?”

“Does what irk me, Sir?”

“The double part you play: delivering these men into my hands.”

Roxhythe’s eyes flashed suddenly.

“Sire, where you are concerned I have no pity.”

* * * * *

And so, at last Roxhythe having all the threads at his finger-tips,

started to pull them, so that the Great Whig Plot fell in ruins about

its makers. Roxhythe worked still in the shadows, and so deftly did

he play his part that his name was never mentioned. One by one he set

his hapless tools to do his bidding, secure in the knowledge that they

dared not refuse. Keyling and Rumsey disclosed all that they knew, but

they were carefully coached by Roxhythe, and on every occasion they

denied that Monmouth had ever countenanced the idea of assassinating

the King or the Duke. Very skilfully was the betrayal done, bit by bit,

till at last the network of information was complete, woven together by

a master-hand.

Proclamation was issued, ordering the arrest of Monmouth and his chief

followers: Grey, Russell, Ferguson and others. My lord’s work was

well done, and so thoroughly that no loop-hole was left through which

the incriminated men, save Monmouth, might creep. All that Roxhythe

had striven for since first he joined Shaftesbury and Holles was

accomplished. It had entailed endless toil, constant alertness of brain

and unfailing perseverance. And now it was finished, the task that

had been so colossal, and which, to any other man, would have seemed

impossible. Step by step my lord had entered into almost every plot for

over a year, and had gradually drawn those implicated into a cunning

net whose strings were held by a relentless, merciless hand. My lord’s

quick brain was moving all the time, linking each tiny plot into one

whole, leading on the men he was tricking, until, by their actions,

they gave him damning evidence against themselves. Not until the

evidence was complete did he draw the strings tight. To act too early

would have meant failure, to act too late might have meant disaster.

Coolly Roxhythe awaited the right moment, never losing patience, never

relaxing his vigilance. The moment had come, and at last his task was

over. The King’s enemies were smashed, and the King sat firm upon his

throne. Only one thing remained to be done. Because Charles wished it,

Monmouth must be saved.

Thus it was that my Lord Roxhythe went to wait upon His Grace of

Monmouth.

The young man was in a state of terror. He almost clung to Roxhythe.

“My lord, ye see how we have been betrayed!”

Roxhythe looked at him thoughtfully.

“What am I to do?” went on Monmouth. “Does the King suspect you?”

“No,” said Roxhythe, smiling. “He does not.”

Lord Grey had entered the room. He spoke now with suppressed fury.

“He has good reason not to suspect Lord Roxhythe!” he said.

Monmouth recoiled.

“What’s that? No, no! Roxhythe, you have not betrayed me?”

My lord ate a comfit.

“I could kill you where you stand, you lying devil!” said Grey.

“No, you could not,” replied his lordship tranquilly.

“Roxhythe, Roxhythe, it is not true! Good God, you could not have

betrayed me!”

“Could he not, sir? Do you forget Sydney’s warnings? Alas, that I

ignored them! Rumsey has turned informer, but who was behind Rumsey?

Who prompted him to tell such a careful mixture of truth and lies? He

had not the brain, I know!”

Monmouth clung to the table.

“Roxhythe, speak!” He was very near tears.

Roxhythe shut his comfit-box.

“Gently, sir. Do not agitate yourself. Lord Grey, either leave the room

or behave sanely.”

Grey had drawn his sword. Murder was in his eyes.

“Will you draw, sir?”

“Certainly not.”

Monmouth caught at Grey’s arm.

“Fool, fool! We are surely ruined if you kill Roxhythe! Put up your

sword! I command it!”

Reluctantly Grey obeyed. Monmouth sat down limply.

“Roxhythe--explain! Deny that you betrayed me!”

“I wonder that Your Grace ever believed I should do otherwise. I am the

King his man. You were all very guileless.”

“We were honest!” cried Grey. “We--foolishly--judged you by ourselves!”

“Then you were indeed foolish. You counted on my dislike for the Duke

of York. You forgot my love for the King.”

“Oh, my God!” choked Monmouth. “How could you do it? You have ruined

me!”

Roxhythe’s smile was sarcastic.

“I have prevented your ruin, Sir.”

“How can you say so? Don’t seek to excuse yourself!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, don’t seek to excuse yourself!”

Grey watched the smile come again, sick at heart.

“I most certainly shall not excuse myself,” said my lord haughtily.

“Had it been necessary I would have ruined Your Grace. As it is I have

saved you. It was not my deliberate intention.”

“You confound me with your riddles! What have you done to save me?”

“I have very effectually prevented your rising against King Charles. Is

it possible that you do not realize how futile such a rising would have

been? You would have caused a little trouble, your army would have been

disposed of, and you would have died a traitor’s death on Tower Hill.”

“I am like to do that now!” groaned the wretched young man.

“Not at all. That is why I have sought you out to-day. Because His

Majesty hath a great affection for you in spite of your conduct, I must

help you to evade justice.”

“Do not trust him, sir!” said Grey sharply.

“I shall not. I’ll listen to no more of his advice!”

Roxhythe bowed.

“In that case I’ll take my leave, sir.”

Up started Monmouth.

“No, no! Come back, Roxhythe! Come back! What is it I must do?”

“Highness, pray do not--”

“Silence, Grey! Roxhythe, help me!”

“A warrant is out for your arrest, sir--”

“Curse you! Do I not know it?”

“--for your arrest. So I counsel you to go into hiding, not in London.

When this storm has abated, surrender yourself to His Majesty, and

implore his mercy.”

“I shall surrender myself now! at once!”

“You will be very ill-advised, sir. Evidence is too strong against

you. Much of it will be withdrawn in a while and you can with safety

surrender. For the present, go.”

Monmouth stood irresolute.

“How do I know that you are not trying to ruin me entirely? I--”

“You do not know. But Lord Grey will tell you that I am speaking with

my accustomed good-sense.”

Monmouth looked helplessly at Grey who shrugged.

“Is it a message from the King?” asked the Duke, of a sudden eager.

Roxhythe looked at his hands.

“I must say no,” he replied.

“That is a curious way of saying it! Are you--bidden to--say no?”

“Is it likely that I shall tell you, sir? You have my advice. Act on it

or not, as you will. It makes no odds to me. What should I gain by your

ruin?” He went out.

“I shall go, Grey.”

“Shall you, sir?” Grey smiled wanly. “I suppose you will. And we--shall

stay.”

CHAPTER VII

FEBRUARY, 1685

LADY Frances regarded her cousin thoughtfully.

“I often wonder, David, how you triumphed.”

Roxhythe showed signs of interest.

“When? And how?”

“When Russell died, and Essex killed himself.”

Roxhythe relapsed into boredom.

“Old history, my dear.”

“But none the less puzzling. At the time you would say naught. Now it

should be different. All those enemies to the King are gone; there is

no danger of Exclusion. How did you do it?”

“It was the King his triumph.”

“Undoubtedly. But also yours.”

“I am gratified, of course. But why was it my triumph?”

“Roxhythe, am I a fool?”

“You are wiser than the most of your sex, my dear.”

She made a little grimace.

“You are more than kind! Well, I am not a fool. Never have you

succeeded in deceiving me, less than ever now. Why does Halifax become

as stone when one speaks your name? Why does Sunderland grind his

teeth? Why do Howard’s cheeks grow red?”

“Do they?” asked Roxhythe. “How amusing!”

“No. Why do all these things happen?”

“In truth, I am too powerful.”

“Why are you too powerful? What have you done to cause their enmity?

You put a spoke in their wheels.”

“Several spokes.”

“You helped to overthrow Shaftesbury, you overthrew the Exclusion, you

ruined Monmouth.”

“It seems I am omnipotent. But I did not ruin Monmouth.”

“Oh, I know he was forgiven, but he had to leave the country for all

that.”

“It was the King his will.”

“Roxhythe, tell me plainly: were you one of Monmouth’s band?”

“Is it likely?”

“It is more than likely that you counterfeited the better to undo him.”

“Dear, dear!” said Roxhythe.

“David, I know that it must have been so. Every man mistrusts you, yet

dare not cross you. You have tricked and betrayed; I am sure of it.”

“In that case there is no more to be said.”

“You admit it?”

“I admit nothing.”

“Neither do you deny. That tells me all I want to know. I am fearful

for you, David.”

“Odds life! Why?”

“There is no one will uphold you save the King.”

“Am I like to require upholding?”

Lady Fanny did not smile.

“I think so. Roxhythe, you have sacrificed all for Charles. It was

weak.”

My lord was genuinely astonished.

“Weak? What next?”

“I know ’tis a surprising thought. Christopher was stronger than are

you.”

“_Cordieu_, why am I weak?”

“David, when you were young, and I was a child, you were a soldier.

You fought at Worcester. You were honest then, and you played one game

alone. Gradually you dabbled in intrigue; at last you quitted the army.

From that moment you changed. You forgot the soldier in yourself,

overcome by your love for Charles. You put honour and good faith behind

you. You sank yourself for Charles.”

“This is enthralling! Proceed!”

“In ’60 you came with him to England. Since that day you have never

once played an honest game.”

“One moment! I have played a consistent game.”

“Consistent in that it was always for one man. Never a straightforward

game. You intrigued with Louis--led him to think that you worked in

his interest. You are no longer received at the Louvre because Louis

discovered that your fair promises were empty, that you were not to be

trusted. You betrayed Shaftesbury; you betrayed Monmouth, Russell and

all those others. All for one man. I do admit that you have ever worked

for Charles, and for that much will doubtless be forgiven hereafter.

But, David! You have sacrificed truth, honour, patriotism for man.

You may look at it in what light you will, but always it will be a

weakness--a shame!”

“Will it?” said Roxhythe, unperturbed. “It is very sad.”

“You will regret it, David.”

“If you think that, Fanny, you do not know me.”

She shrugged.

“Perhaps I do not. Will it not prey on your mind that you brought about

the deaths of men who were innocent--just to gratify the whim of your

master?”

“Not in the least. Who are these innocent men?”

“Russell and Essex. Do you think I did not know them? I knew them

well. In Monmouth’s cause they may have been, but in a plot to murder

Charles, never! All that lying, worthless evidence ... who helped to

concoct it? Methinks I descry your hand. And Stafford; could you not

have induced Charles to save him?”

“No.”

She shrugged again.

“It may be so. But could you not have saved Russell?”

“Perhaps.”

“And yet you did not. I can find it in my heart to pity you, David.”

“Then I beg you will not. I regret nothing. My whole life has been at

the disposal of the King. Am I to regret that?”

“It is for you to say. I had thought so, certainly. I tell you, David,

Christopher chose the better part.”

“And what is he now?”

“He is an honest man. He fought against losing his honour, his

manhood, even as you must have fought, long, long ago. You gave way

to inclination; Chris won his battle. He would not sacrifice all that

was right and true for one man. Don’t think that it was easy for him

to leave you! I watched that struggle, and I know. Now he has found

happiness. He is with his regiment; he works openly, honestly. I don’t

say that he has ever regained the same bliss that he once knew, but he

is at peace, because he knows that he chose rightly. He may not have

won power, but he has friends--and trust. You have power, but for how

long will it last? No man trusts you.”

Roxhythe turned his head to look at her. He was faintly amused.

“Quite a homily. Yet if I had to choose again I would choose the same

path.”

“Would you, David? Are you not lonely?”

“I am not.”

“Then I can say nothing more. I suppose you think me very officious.”

“My dear, you are at liberty to say what you will to me, but don’t seek

to reform my ways. Do you expect me to repent my evil life and weep?”

At last she smiled.

“You would not be Roxhythe an you did,” she said.

“And you would thoroughly despise me.”

“I suppose I should. I cannot help liking you--perhaps because I too

have lived in intrigue. In truth, David, we are old and wicked.”

“My sweet Fanny, I am not yet fifty, and you--”

“Don’t! I cannot bear to think how old I am!”

“--are not yet forty-five. We are in our prime.”

“Are we? Roxhythe, do you ever hear from Chris?”

“At rare intervals. Our interests lie apart.”

“Do--you ever--miss him?”

“I really have not given the matter a thought,” said Roxhythe, suddenly

languid. He rose. “I must go. I have to visit Lord Wildmay. Have you

observed his wife?”

“No,” she said. “But I can see that you have.”

The door flew open. An agitated gentleman came in. He did not heed

Lady Frances who stared at him in great hauteur. He went straight to

Roxhythe, breathless.

“My lord--I have searched for you everywhere!” He paused, and spoke

lower. “You must come to the palace at once!”

Roxhythe’s hand tightened slowly on his comfit-box.

“What is it, Chiffinch?”

Lady Frances drew nearer.

“What is the matter? Why is my lord so instantly required?”

Chiffinch hesitated.

“Madam--I trust to your discretion--the King--is ill.”

Roxhythe picked up his hat.

“You’ll excuse me, Frances. I will come, Chiffinch.”

“Make haste, sir! They--they fear--he cannot--live!” He turned away,

hiding his grief.

Lady Frances went very white.

“Oh--! Mr. Chiffinch! Roxhythe, go quickly!” She turned towards him and

found that she was addressing space. Roxhythe had gone.

* * * * *

The room was full of people. The physicians were consulting together by

the window; James stood by the fireplace with the Earl of Feversham.

When Roxhythe entered he turned, frowning. My lord did not glance in

his direction. He went quietly to the great bed where lay his master.

Charles’ eyes were closed; his face was ghastly; one hand lay on the

sheet. Roxhythe lifted that hand tenderly and kissed it.

The King’s eyes opened. With an effort he smiled.

“This is the end, Davy.” He spoke feebly, little above a whisper.

“Have courage, Sir. This is not the end.”

The smile lingered.

“I shall not be sorry, Davy. In--truth, my spirit has--not been at

rest--this many a day. Stay by me.” His eyes closed.

The day wore on. One after another the surgeons attended him. He was

unconscious, but towards evening he came to himself and seemed better.

Several divines sat with him during the night; the Duke of York

scarcely left the bedchamber. Roxhythe sat beside the bed, watchful,

immovable.

Charles hardly opened his eyes. He was suffering great pain, but no

complaint passed his lips.

On the second day news came of the nation’s grief. During these last

years Charles had regained all his old popularity. The people were

filled with dismay at his illness; prayers were read for him in every

church.

On the fourth day of his illness it was thought that the King would

recover, and London rejoiced. Suddenly there was a relapse and the

physicians knew that they could not save him.

At sight of her husband’s sufferings, the Queen had fainted and had

been forced to retire.

When the news came that the King was dying, the Duchess of Portsmouth

had an interview with M. Barillon, as a result of which M. Barillon

spoke long and earnestly to the Duke of York.

The Archbishop of Canterbury had urged the King to receive the

Sacrament. Charles seemed sunk in apathy.

Thomas Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, fared no better.

Then came James to the bedside, and ordered everyone to stand back. He

spoke quietly to his brother.

“Yes--yes! with all my heart!” gasped Charles.

The Duke whispered again. The King’s answer could not be heard.

My Lord Roxhythe was speaking to M. Barillon when James approached. He

turned to the Duke.

“Your Grace should seek out the Count of Castel Melhor.”

James frowned.

“There should be some Englishman.”

“There is not!” interposed Barillon eagerly. “The Count will find a

confessor.”

“One who cannot speak English. To what avail?”

“It is almost the only chance,” said Roxhythe. “Where will you find a

priest these days?”

James hurried out. Roxhythe went out also.

The Count promised to find a confessor, but not one was forthcoming who

could speak enough English or French. James was distracted. Then came

Roxhythe.

“Do you remember Huddleston, sir?”

“No!” snapped James. “I want no riddles now!”

Roxhythe looked his scorn.

“I offer you none. I speak of the man who saved the King’s life after

Worcester.”

“That man!” James started. “Is he a priest?”

“Something approaching it. I have taken him to Castel Melhor who will

see that he is well instructed. He is willing to shrive the King.” He

went back to the bedside.

“He is very cold,” remarked M. Barillon. “_Ma foi!_ I do not

understand you Englishmen.”

“I thank God we are not all like Roxhythe,” answered James curtly. He

left the room.

Later the room was cleared, only Feversham and Granville remaining, and

Chiffinch brought Huddleston, disguised, by a back way.

For nearly an hour the door to the King’s chamber remained inexorably

closed. Glances were exchanged in the outer room, full of significance.

Then again the door was opened and everyone was allowed to enter.

The King’s children were brought to receive his blessing, but the

absent Monmouth’s name never once passed his lips.

During the night Charles regained some of his old urbanity. He sent

messages to the Queen, and recommended several people to his brother’s

care. He even contrived to crack a joke.

The dawn came. Roxhythe was kneeling by the bed, the King’s hand in

his. His face was a mask; he seemed not to notice anyone in the room

save his master. During the night Charles had spoken with him in

broken, laboured whispering. No one knew what he had said. His feeble

voice reached the favourite’s ears alone, and not even James, watching

jealously, could catch a syllable. He had only seen Roxhythe kiss the

King’s hand again and again.

The light crept in at the windows. Charles ordered that the curtains

should be drawn apart that he might see the day once more. Very shortly

after, speech left him.

The slow hours crept on. Once the King’s eyelids flickered, and

Roxhythe felt the faint pressure of his hand. He bent over it, his face

hidden.

Charles became unconscious. It was now only a matter of hours.

The Duke of York came and went; from time to time the physicians took

the King’s pulse. Nothing further could be done for him.

Drearily the moments ticked away. Except for the whispering of the men

by the fireplace there was no sound.

M. Barillon jerked his head towards the still, kneeling figure by the

bed.

“I think he feels it.”

Feversham sneered.

“As much as he feels anything. It means his downfall.”

“Perhaps,” said Barillon. “Perhaps.”

It was nearly noon. Dr. Shortt drew near the bed, bending over the

King. He straightened himself and looked across at the other surgeons.

They came to his side....

Dr. Shortt came away from the bed.

“Gentlemen!”

Everyone turned anxiously. The Duke was with the other physicians.

“Gentlemen, the King is dead.” Shortt walked away to the window,

blowing his nose.

There was a long silence. The Duke came away from the great

four-poster, his face set. He went out quickly.

Roxhythe held the cold hand still. He had made no movement all through;

it was doubtful if he had heard the sentence. Barillon looked at him

curiously for a moment. Then he went to him and laid a hand on his

shoulder.

“Milor’....” He spoke gently.

Roxhythe looked up. His face was drawn and grey.

“Milor’ ... you heard?”

Roxhythe stared before him.

“Ay. I heard.” The level voice did not tremble.

“_Eh, bien!_” Before this coldness M. Barillon’s gentleness fled.

He withdrew.

Once more my lord bent over the lifeless hand, raising it to his lips.

There was no answering pressure now. For a long while he held it there,

taking his last farewell. Then he rose and looked into the beloved

composed features.

He turned, and faced the room. No one spoke. Even Feversham could not

sneer.

The hard eyes travelled slowly round the room. Without a word my lord

went to the door.

So he left Whitehall, which had been almost his home for so many years.

Never again would he willingly cross its threshold. The King was dead.

CHAPTER VIII

THE LOSING GAME

“MADAM, my lord sees no one.”

Lady Frances stamped.

“I tell you I am his cousin! I will enter!”

The footman held his ground.

“I crave your ladyship’s pardon, but I dare not admit you.”

Lady Frances compressed her lips.

“I will enter.”

“My lady--”

“Stand aside. I must see John.”

The footman’s face cleared. He conducted Lady Frances to a great empty

room at the back of the house. Presently Roxhythe’s old servant came to

her. Lady Frances sprang up.

“John, how is he?”

“Well, your ladyship, but sick at heart.”

“He--he does not--seek to--take his life?”

John read her fear.

“That is not my lord’s way, madam.”

“I have been so afraid.... May I see him?”

“I think he will not receive you, madam.”

“Ah, but ask him! Tell him ’tis I, Lady Fanny, who begs he will let me

speak with him.”

John was irresolute.

“I hardly dare, madam--”

“Yes, yes!”

John bowed.

“I will ask him, madam.”

When he had gone Lady Frances paced up and down the room, gripping her

fingers nervously.

Roxhythe entered quietly. He was dressed all in black; his face was

very pale, but his eyes were the same as ever, soft and hard by turns,

always inscrutable.

“I am indeed honoured, Fanny.” He bowed. “Do you need my services?”

Frances went to him and took his hands.

“David--my poor David--”

“No,” said Roxhythe, passionless. “Not that.” He withdrew his hands.

“David, may not I--even I, who have ever been your friend--may not

I--try to comfort you?”

“I want no pity. You cannot comfort me.”

“Dear, won’t you trust me? Can’t you let me see your real self?”

Roxhythe kissed her finger-tips.

“You are very kind, my dear. No.”

Lady Frances was silent. She realized that that impenetrable mask would

not be dropped for her.

“I am sorry, David. What are you going to do?”

“In what way?” asked Roxhythe.

“Come and sit down!” she commanded. “I know that you will not be

received at Whitehall. James hates you.”

Roxhythe smiled.

“My dear, if I chose I could hold James ’neath my thumb.”

“How?” she asked, incredulous.

“James is weak,” said Roxhythe. “In time I could be as great under him

as I was under--His Majesty.”

“It would mean truckling to him.”

“No.”

“You know best. So you’ll do that?”

“Oh, no!” he replied. “I shall not do that.”

“It were a losing game,” she said.

“Any game I choose to play now is that. I desire to have naught to do

with Whitehall.”

Lady Frances hesitated. Then she turned to him.

“David, you must know that your day is over. I have come partly to warn

you. I believe James will strike you.”

“Probably,” said Roxhythe. “On what score?”

“Your share in the Monmouth plot.”

“I am expecting that.”

“You are armed?”

“I am still Roxhythe,” said my lord.

* * * * *

Hardly a fortnight after the King’s death, my Lord Sunderland waited

on Lord Roxhythe at Bevan House. He was conducted to the library, and

there Roxhythe joined him, a sombre figure in black and silver.

He swept Sunderland a deep bow.

“I am honoured,” he drawled.

Sunderland returned the bow stiffly.

“My lord, I am come on an unpleasant errand.”

“I thought it could not be solely for the pleasure of seeing me. Pray

be seated!”

Sunderland remained on his feet.

“I am come at the command of His Majesty who bids me--advise you--to

leave the country.”

Roxhythe laughed gently.

Sunderland’s sharp face crimsoned.

“It is no laughing matter, my lord! King James knows how deeply you

were implicated in the Monmouth plot.”

“Then why does he not arrest me?” asked Roxhythe.

“He wishes to be lenient. So he advises you to leave the country.”

“Very kind. Pray thank him for me.”

“And you will go?”

“Not at all.”

Sunderland stared.

“You are very cool, sir!”

“I see nothing to be hot about.”

“Do you realize that you stand in danger of imprisonment?”

“No,” said Roxhythe.

Sunderland sat down.

“I assure you that you do.” He met his lordship’s enigmatical smile

challengingly. But his eyes betrayed uneasiness.

“It’s very interesting,” said Roxhythe. “You may be sure that I shall

not seek to evade arrest.”

Sunderland fidgeted.

“You would do well to leave the country,” he repeated.

The smile grew more amused.

“My Lord Sunderland, you have ever commanded mine admiration. Your

astuteness is quite astonishing. I would advise you to employ it now.”

Sunderland rose.

“I fail to understand you, sir.”

“Yes?” said Roxhythe, always polite. “A pity.”

“I can only repeat my message:--you would do well to leave the

country.” He walked to the door.

“Your solicitude is charming, but it so happens that I should do better

to await arrest.”

My Lord Sunderland departed in high dudgeon. He held a consultation

with my lady.

“That man is dangerous.”

My lady studied herself in a silver-backed hand mirror.

“Roxhythe. Have you but just discovered it?”

“He knows too much. He laughs at my warnings.”

The Countess laughed long and low.

“My good Sunderland, he holds you in the hollow of his hand!”

“Because of my share in the Orange business. Curse the man, I never

trusted him!”

“It was a pity that you ever took such an interest in the Orange cause.

The time was not then. You had best have a care. My lord knows that

your position is precarious since you voted for the Exclusion.”

Sunderland was plunged in thought.

“If James had him arrested for the part he played in the Monmouth

affair, he will accuse me of trafficking with the Orange. There are

many who would support him.”

“Therefore he must not be arrested,” said my lady. She re-arranged the

laces at her bosom.

“He must be very sure of his position to refuse to quit the country,”

mused the Earl. “I wonder, has he written authority from Charles for

his dealings in the plot? We know that it was by Charles his wish that

he joined Monmouth.”

“Did Roxhythe hint at that?”

“It may have been. He was very secret.”

“Then I do not think he has authority,” said the Countess.

“But it might be well to tell the King that he has.”

“So I think. And yet--we do not want him in England.”

“My dear Sunderland, the man could ruin you. It would never do to

arrest him.”

“He may ruin me in any case. He was deep in Halifax his confidence at

first.”

“If he discloses that he ruins himself. He would only do it if he were

accused of the Monmouth plot.”

“In fact, it is a threat.”

“A powerful one,” smiled my lady. “He is a great man still. Placate

him.”

“God’s life, I want no dealings with him!”

“You are sometimes a fool, Robert. He would be useful.”

“Tchah! In what way?”

“In many ways.” Her ladyship yawned delicately. “If he chose, he could

ingratiate himself with James, who is swayed this way and that. With

his help you could gain the power you lack.”

“I can gain it myself in time. James will forget the Exclusion. When

has Roxhythe ever worked with any man?”

“But the King is dead now,” said her ladyship gently.

* * * * *

An invitation came from the Countess of Sunderland to the Marquis of

Roxhythe. Would he wait on her at his convenience?

Roxhythe laid the note down.

“Is it worth while?” he pondered.

Power was within his grasp. And yet.... What did he want with it? He

had no wish to serve James. All these years he had plotted and worked

for Charles. Now Charles was dead, and life held nothing more for him.

In fact, he was tired of life. Why not go into exile? Why remain in

this accursed land of memories? He was Roxhythe.... All these men

wanted to see him fall. Well ... they should not have that pleasure.

He had never played the coward’s part.... Yet what did he want with

Sunderland? He had no desire to meddle in politics. James could go to

destruction in his own way. There was Monmouth.... By God, what could

he not make of Monmouth if he chose! Monmouth was weak; he could be

influenced. My lord fully believed that he could bring Monmouth to the

throne. To what avail? He had no interest in the Duke--no interest

anywhere. Why trouble to intrigue for that puny youth? It would mean

work, hard work. And his master had not wished Monmouth to come to the

throne.

There was the Orange.... No, by heaven! William mistrusted him. And

William wanted no help. William was a man, even as he was. A man who

stood alone. Alone!... Well--why not? Why not use Sunderland to raise

himself to his former level? Return to Whitehall.... Why not? Was he to

turn sentimental now, after all these years?

Whitehall ... packed with bitter-sweet memories. Whitehall.... The

King’s closet.... No.

Suddenly he rose. God, why not submit to arrest? Why defend himself? It

were an easy way out, after all.... Too easy. And they would not arrest

him. They dared not.

He picked up Lady Sunderland’s letter. Little less than a summons.

_Mordieu_, who were the Sunderlands to condescend to him? He flung

the letter into the fire. He would ignore it.

’Twere amusing to hold Sunderland in fear. And if they chose to make

away with him, so much the better. For the present he would continue as

he had always done. They should not see his misery.

What was there to-morrow? A supper-party at Buckhurst’s. He would go.

Buckhurst was not his enemy. And Sedley. And Digby. And Fortescue.

There were a score of men who liked him for his easy wit; a score of

men whom he had not harmed.

He looked round the quiet room. Memories, naught but memories. Where

was Christopher? If only Christopher were there to-day, seated in his

old place.... He bit his lip. Christopher had chosen the better part.

The better part.... The better part...?

His eyes grew less hard. Had Christopher chosen the better part?

“No! _Mordieu_, no!”

CHAPTER IX

THE SUNDERLANDS

MY Lord Sunderland spoke humbly.

“Sire, I think it were best to leave Roxhythe.”

James’ eyes flashed.

“What now? Does he refuse to leave the country?”

“He hinted, Sir, that it would serve him better to remain in London.”

James pulled at his lip.

“What means he?”

“I think, Sir, that he counts himself safe.”

“How? What do you know of him? I can convict him of his guilt in

dealing with Monmouth!”

“Sire, he dealt with Monmouth that he might the better serve King

Charles.”

“Who will believe that?” James was scowling.

Sunderland looked at him significantly.

“It may be, Sir, that he hath that which will prove it.”

James’ brow grew yet more black.

“Explain yourself!”

“Sir, almost he told me that he had written authority from King

Charles.”

There was a pause.

“So I am to allow him to plot and work against me?” A peevish note

sounded in the King’s voice.

Sunderland was deprecating.

“I hardly like to advise Your Majesty....”

“What is your advice?”

“Your Majesty has doubtless considered that Roxhythe makes a powerful

ally.”

“Do you dare to insinuate that I should placate the man?” cried James,

wrathfully.

My lord was shocked.

“Sir! Such a course were unworthy of you. Roxhythe may seek to placate

you.”

“I want no dealings with him!”

“Then of course Your Majesty must have none. Roxhythe is a clever man.”

“An untrustworthy man!”

“Your Majesty says very truly. Nevertheless Your Majesty might make use

of him.”

“I dislike him!”

“In that case....” Sunderland spread out his hands. “Why trouble to

notice his existence?” He watched the King’s face covertly, and noted

with satisfaction that this seed promised to take root. James said no

more.

The weeks passed slowly by. It was one day in March that Lady

Sunderland met Roxhythe.

She went to Lady Duncannon’s _soirée_. Lady Duncannon welcomed

Whigs and Tories alike, so Wharton met Halifax, and the Sunderlands,

true Tories, rubbed shoulders with every Whig who came. To wit, Lady

Sunderland, who sat in close conversation with Lord Macclesfield,

lately concerned in the Monmouth plot.

A little stir was caused by the entrance of Lord Roxhythe. Lady

Sunderland gripped Macclesfield’s arm.

“La! Roxhythe!”

Macclesfield nodded.

“He goes everywhere.”

“What effrontery!” Her ladyship eyed Macclesfield over the top of her

fan.

“He is brave,” admitted my lord grudgingly. “Hostesses still welcome

him.”

“Well, well!” sighed the Countess. “Gracious! Do I see Trenchard?”

“He is newly arrived in town. It is unwise, of course.”

“Dogged man! I admire such courage. Trenchard!”

Trenchard came up to her.

“Do I see your ladyship, or do mine eyes deceive me?”

“You see me. What do you in town?”

“Perhaps I wanted to meet you.”

“Perhaps you did. Yet it was foolhardy to come.”

“The risk was worth the issue.”

Lady Sunderland toyed with her fan.

“What is the issue?”

“How can I say, madam? It is for you to prompt me.”

She laid a finger on her lips.

“You’re over-bold, sir. I can give no promises.”

“If I am over-bold, madam, you are over-cautious.”

“Maybe. I am but the mouthpiece of my lord.”

“Then your lord is over-cautious. Will he come to no decision?”

She looked down at her white hands.

“He waits. Who shall say which way the wind will blow?”

“You mean?”

“No more than I say. You ask us to risk all for--it may be nothing. We

wish to know what we are like to gain.”

“He whom we will not name comes soon.”

“Why, we will wait till then!”

“And after?”

“Who knows?” she smiled. “Must I promise?”

“You will not. But do you hold out--hope?”

“There is always hope,” she parried. “Have you seen who is here

to-night?”

He frowned.

“Ay. Once bit, twice shy.”

“But the King is dead,” said my lady.

“I’d have no dealings in that quarter. Unhappily I am otherwise

commanded.”

She leaned towards him.

“Mark my words, Trenchard. In Roxhythe you gain a powerful ally.”

“I know it. But who shall trust him after what he did?”

“Have I not said?--The King is dead.”

He shrugged.

Later in the evening Roxhythe passed Lady Sunderland’s couch. She

beckoned to him, and he had, perforce, to go to her.

“Come and talk to me,” she invited. “I am very forgiving, am I not?”

“Are you?” said Roxhythe. He sat down. “Why?”

“You did not answer my note.”

“Did I not?”

“You’ll say you had forgot that I had written! I was minded to be

honest with you. Alack, the time has passed!”

He regarded her languidly.

“Honesty is a virtue which becomes not your sex, my dear.”

“True!” She cast up her eyes. “’Tis our sweet deception that attracts.

Heigh-ho! Have you been to Whitehall, my lord?”

Up went his brows.

“Lady Sunderland feigns ignorance. Why?”

She bit her lip.

“You have not. Have you seen Mr. Trenchard?”

“He obtrudes himself on one’s notice. A plain man.”

“I had perceived it. But he has conversation. You should speak with

him; he would surprise you.”

“Very little surprises me, madam.”

“Except me?” She ogled him.

He looked at her gravely.

“In truth, madam, I am accustomed to woman’s vagaries.”

“Aha! Yet in some ways I differ from the rest of my sex.”

“In many. So few women have the brain for affairs.”

She cast down her eyes.

“Is it a compliment, my lord?”

“I wonder,” said my lord.

At that she raised her eyes, deep wells of innocence.

“Let us be honest!”

“I thought we had decided that it was not becoming, madam?”

“But let us essay it. Do you dislike my poor Sunderland?”

Roxhythe bowed.

“I have a great admiration for Lord Sunderland’s cunning.”

“Perhaps that feeling is reciprocated,” she answered. “You should have

speech with my lord.”

“Why, then, there are two whose acquaintance you bid me cultivate. Your

lord, and Trenchard. A strange couple.”

She laughed.

“Are they not? But I do not think I bade you speak with both at once.”

“To speak with them separately were too tedious, madam.”

“Tedious?”

“I weary of the same subject.”

“Would both say the same things, think you?”

“Since you advise me to speak with both it seems likely, madam.”

“So you will eschew their company?”

“I shall not seek them out.”

“Ah! And if they seek you out?”

“I shall count myself singularly honoured, no doubt.”

“I wonder what you mean by that?” she said.

“So do I,” smiled Roxhythe, and left her.

My lady was thoughtful. She went home early to meet her lord.

Sunderland entered her boudoir.

“You are very opportune,” said my lady. “I want you.”

“Good lack!” exclaimed Sunderland. “What ails you?”

She curled her lip at him.

“I am not grown maudlin of a sudden, Spencer, rest assured. I have

worked to-night.”

He sat down.

“Let’s hear it, my dear.”

“I have had speech with Roxhythe. Also with Trenchard.”

“Oddsbody! Is Trenchard in town?”

“Ay, and wants an answer.”

“What said you?”

“I told him that we should wait until we might clearly see the result.

He asked for hope. I gave him that.” She smiled slowly. “Monmouth

desires to treat with Roxhythe.”

“It was to be expected. What is Roxhythe’s attitude?”

“I cannot tell. He is to be feared, Sunderland.”

“Ay. I’d think seriously of Monmouth if Roxhythe were to take charge of

his affairs.”

“So would a-many others. Roxhythe has the cool sagacity that Monmouth

lacks. He would change the whole complexion of the matter.”

Sunderland tapped his teeth with one finger-nail.

“H’m. I do not think he will join Monmouth.”

“No, but have you thought what else he might do?”

“Warn James? Ay.”

My lady rose, drawing her wrapper about her.

“I’ve given you something to rack your brains over,” she said, and

laughed. “You would not be the man you are if you had not me to wife.”

“I don’t deny your intelligence,” he retorted.

* * * * *

When Mr. Trenchard waited on Lord Roxhythe he went straight to the

point.

“My lord, once you betrayed us.”

Roxhythe paused. He was in the act of pouring out a glass of wine.

“I did not know you had come to indulge in reminiscences,” he remarked.

“Nor have I. You betrayed us to your master. Perhaps I do not blame

you.”

“How magnanimous!” Roxhythe handed him the glass.

“Thank you. Well, now you have no master. Things have changed. Papist

James was never to your taste.” He paused. Roxhythe was sipping his

wine, and did not speak. “Things have changed. His Highness remembers

that you aided him to escape when our plot was exploded. Have you still

a fondness for him?”

“Had I ever?” asked Roxhythe, mildly surprised.

“It is for you to say. Have you ever considered that His Highness

might--plot again?”

“I never consider the obvious,” said my lord.

“Then have you considered that it might be to your advantage to--plot

with him?”

“I have not,” said Roxhythe rather drily.

“But then you do not consider the obvious, do you?”

“No more than I consider the impossible.”

“Is this impossible?”

“Say, rather, ludicrous.”

Trenchard flushed.

“His Highness offers you--a place of command if you will join him.”

“Delightfully vague,” commented my lord.

“Prove yourself, sir, and I may safely promise a high place.”

“It seems that His Grace is afraid of me,” murmured Roxhythe.

“What is there to be afraid of?” sneered Trenchard.

“Why does he want me so urgently?”

“He wants all men.”

“Oh? You take quite the wrong tone with me, you know. I do not like the

offer.”

“You like the offer but not the way in which I make it?”

“Perhaps even that.”

“I thought so. Let me tell you that His Highness begs you will join him

in Holland.”

“I think the climate would not agree with me.”

“Does the English climate suit you so well?”

“I think it will.” Roxhythe played with his rings.

Trenchard curbed his impatience.

“What is your objection to my offer?”

“It is altogether too vague. What prospects has His Grace?”

“Do you expect me to tell you that?”

“Do you expect me to join you in the dark? If Sunderland would not, how

should I?”

The chance shot found its mark. Trenchard sprang up.

“What do you know of Sunderland?”

My lord smiled.

“What more do you know?” cried Trenchard.

Again my lord smiled. If the weight within him were less he could enjoy

this game. He essayed another shot.

“I might mention the name of a Scotsman,” he said.

“If you know that Argyle is with us, what more do you want?”

“Nothing,” yawned my lord. “So I’ll give you good-day.”

“You will not join us?”

“It is too much trouble,” apologized his lordship. “Convey my respects

to His Grace of Monmouth.”

He bowed his guest out and returned to the library.

He had flung away that last chance; his master had not wished Monmouth

to come to the throne. As to Sunderland--pah! He wanted no power under

any man; his day was done. He was only waiting now until he could join

his King.

His glance fell on his gold comfit-box, given him by Charles. In

diamonds was written on the lid:--

“Roxhythe: C.R.”

He picked it up, a smile that was more terrible than tears upon his

lips. Slowly his hand clenched on it; his face had grown very grey.

He sat down, resting his arms on the table, gazing dry-eyed at the

jewelled box in his hand, He was still smiling, looking back across the

years.

“... So we are linked together, Davy, you and I.”

“Always, Sir. I stand or fall with you.”

“And always you had my love, David....”

* * * * *

There was a long, long silence. The proud head sank over my lord’s

hands; the comfit-box was pressed to his lips.

“Ah, Sire ... Sire...!” whispered Roxhythe.

CHAPTER X

THE SHOT

LADY Fanny turned the page.

“... My Heart bleeds for my deare Master. Give him Love, and Tell him

howe Grately I do feel for him. The Newes of King Charles His Deathe

shocked me beyond Measure. I dare not think what must be my Lord His

Feelings. Howe I wish thatt I might be with Him nowe! Alas, it cannot

be, but I am looking forward eagerly to the Day when I may once againe

press His Hand. I do hope to come to England soone for a shortt Time.

I cannot tell you howe I am longing to see You once more. I thank

Heaven I came to Holland, for I have found Peace, and, in a Measure,

Happiness. But after these Many Yeares my whole being is crying out to

see You againe, and my deare Lord. I live for the Moment when I shall

once more hear His Beloved Voice....”

“I wish he might come now,” sighed Frances. “Indeed, indeed, Roxhythe

needs him.”

* * * * *

Mr. Trenchard held counsel with Mr. Wildmay.

“Roxhythe knows too much. He will not join us.”

“And Sunderland?”

“Wavers. I think he will always play for safety. He will hazard naught.

But Roxhythe....” He paused, pursing his lips. “He knows too much.”

“What does he know?”

“That Argyle is coming, and that Sunderland is irresolute.”

“Gad, Trenchard! If he splits----!”

“He will. Somehow he must worm himself back into favour at Court. What

surer way than to warn James ’gainst us? Since he refuses to join us

that must be his intention.”

“Unless he is with Sunderland, and waits.”

“He is not with Sunderland; I know that. And I misliked his bearing:

’twas a thought too sinister.”

Wildmay was dismayed.

“What then is to be done?”

Trenchard drew his chair a little closer.

* * * * *

Across the ballroom Lady Frances espied her cousin. She beckoned him.

“You, David?”

“Why not?” he asked.

“No reason. I am very glad to see you. I have a message for you.”

“From Chris.... What does he say?”

“Yes, from Chris. How did you know?”

“I suppose I was thinking of him. How is he?”

“Very well. He sends his dear love to you and wishes he might be at

your side during this--unhappy time.”

Roxhythe shook his head.

“Too late,” he said.

“Yes. He hopes to come to England soon, though, and bids me tell you

that--well, I’ll give you his own words--that he is living for the

moment when he may once more hear your beloved voice.”

Roxhythe’s eyes softened.

“Does he say that? And is he coming soon?”

“So he says. You--you will like to see him, David?”

“Can you ask? After seven years.... And he still loves me. He is very

faithful.”

“Dear Chris! Yes, he’s faithful. He left his whole heart with you.”

“I had thought he would have recalled it long since--for little

Hook-nose.”

“He writes admiringly of William, but I think he does not love him.”

“Foolish. William would make a fine heroic figure.”

Fanny drew him closer.

“Do you think William--will strike at the King?”

“You are growing treasonable, Fanny. It seems possible. But he will

only strike at the right moment. There is nothing foolhardy about the

Orange.”

“No. I don’t like James. I think that there will be trouble.”

“You are really most unwise, my dear. You will find yourself clapped

up in the Tower if you speak these shocking sentiments aloud,” said

Roxhythe.

“Jasper is most annoyed. I think he hopes for William.”

Roxhythe was amused.

“I shall enjoy seeing Jasper turned intriguer. But tell him to leave

Monmouth alone.”

Frances started.

“Heavens! Is Monmouth to rise?”

“I should not be surprised. He planned once--why not again?”

“He could never be King!”

“Of course he could not. He has not the head.”

“And Jasper would never support him.”

“Then all is well.” Roxhythe glanced round the room. “I counsel you,

Fanny, to remark Mrs. Challis. The fair woman with the roguish smile.

Yes, with Birchwood.”

Lady Frances looked, obediently.

“What of her?”

“She is rather _piquante_, is she not?”

“Am I to believe that you are once again in love?”

“Oh, no! She serves to distract me for the time.”

Frances tapped his arm with her fan.

“David, I am sure you have some dark scheme in mind! What do you

purpose doing?” She found it quite impossible to read his face.

“You are so inquisitive,” sighed Roxhythe.

“Belike I am. Do you intend to win James his favour?”

“If you were a man, my dear, I should offer you my comfit-box.”

She stared.

“What am I to understand by that?”

“I forgot. You do not know. It was an old joke of Saint-Aignan’s. He

used to aver that when I wished to turn the subject I offered him a

sweetmeat.” He smiled a little, remembering. She pouted.

“Then I am snubbed. How hateful of you! I don’t want you to go over to

James.”

“Tut-tut! I suppose you would like me to join the Orange?”

“Well!... Why not?”

“_Cordieu_, I could name an hundred reasons! Have you ever spoken

with him?”

“No. What is he like?”

“He resembles nothing so much as an iceberg. And his Court is composed

of Puritanical gentlemen who give themselves the airs of small sultans.

I wish you had met him; it would have amused you.”

Fanny laughed.

“I think it would have depressed me! I was never Puritanical, David!”

“No,” he said. “Certainly not that. Do you remember the little Vicomte,

I wonder?”

Fanny was not yet too old to blush.

“David, how dare you? I’ll not be reminded of my youthful

indiscretions! How frightened I was to be sure! Papa was so strict for

all his wickedness.”

“You were perturbed. So was the Vicomte.”

She chuckled behind her fan.

“Luckily you were in Paris at the time. I was so thankful!”

“So was not the Vicomte.”

“No. Dear me, how long ago it is! I cried when I heard that you had

wounded him.”

“Did you? But then, you were young and foolish.”

“So I was. And now I am old and foolish. Very virtuous, however.”

Roxhythe nodded.

“Strange....” he pondered. “I never thought Jasper would have held any

fascination for you.”

“Like to unlike,” she retorted. “We are prosaically blissful.”

“You are. Quite depressing, in fact. Had you married me--pouf!” he

snapped his fingers.

“Oh, I was never as foolish as that!” she said.

“Say rather that we were neither of us as foolish as that.”

“You are most objectionable,” she dimpled, and beckoned to Sedley who

was passing.

* * * * *

My lord descended the steps of Lady Mitcham’s house, drawing on his

gloves. As was always his custom, he was leaving the ball early. His

coach awaited him.

It was a fine moonlight night, very still and beautiful. My lord stood

for a moment on the steps, looking round. The door closed behind him.

He walked to where his coach stood, and there he paused again, looking

into the shadows by the wall. A little smile that was almost triumphant

curved his lips. He turned his head.

“Shoot, my friend.”

The footman stared at him in amazement. My lord stood still.

Something moved in the shadows. There was a flash, a roar, and then

smoke.

The Most Noble the Marquis of Roxhythe fell back into the footman’s

arms.

“_Touché!_” he gasped. “No! Let him--go!”

The other footman stopped in his pursuit.

“Let--him go, my lord?” he asked, stupidly.

“What else, fool?” My lord’s hand was pressed to his side. “Take me

home!”

“Sir, you are hurt! I’ll carry you into the house!” said William

distractedly.

“No.” Roxhythe held fast to his consciousness. “I

command--you--take--me--home!”

CHAPTER XI

THE GREAT ROXHYTHE

“MY lady, there is a lackey from Bevan House who desires speech with

you.”

Lady Frances was surprised.

“So? I’ll come.” She went downstairs. When she saw John she smiled.

“Well John? You’ve a mess--” She stopped short, staring at him. “John!

What is it?”

The man’s face worked.

“My lady--my master--” he choked.

Lady Frances drew nearer.

“Quickly, John! What--what is it?”

“He is--dying!” John’s voice trembled. “He--desires to see you.”

All the colour ebbed slowly from her face.

“Good--God! No, no!”

“He was--shot--last night.” John’s head was bowed. “I cannot tell you,

madam. He wishes you to come.”

“Shot! Oh, heaven, ’twas that we heard, then! Yes, yes, I’ll come at

once! Only wait one moment!” She turned, and flew upstairs.

In three minutes she was back again, seated in the coach. She had

commanded John to sit with her. Her eyes were wide.

“It was last night? When he left the ball?”

“Yes, my lady. They--brought him home--unconscious.”

“Dolts! Fools! Why did they not take him back to the house?”

John brushed his hand across his eyes.

“It--was not--my lord’s will, madam,” he said simply.

Lady Frances burst into tears.

“Can’t they--save him? Surely, surely, it is not mortal?”

“Dr. Burnest was with him through the night, madam. Nothing--can be

done.”

Lady Frances wept.

Outside the door of my lord’s room she met the surgeon. Eagerly she

caught at his arm.

“Tell me he will live! Oh, he cannot die! He cannot!”

Burnest took her hand.

“I beg you will be calm, Lady Frances. The bullet entered a vital part.

Don’t grieve my lord!”

She wiped her eyes.

“I will be calm. Is he--is he conscious?”

“Yes, madam, but very weak. He commanded that you should be sent for.

You’ll not excite him?”

She drew herself up.

“Of course I shall not.”

Burnest opened the door for her.

My lord lay in bed, raised slightly on pillows. He was wrapped in an

elegant bed-gown, and he wore his wig. His eyes were closed, but he

opened them as Frances entered.

He smiled.

“My dear Fanny--all my difficulties are solved.”

She bent over him.

“Dear, wicked Roxhythe!” In spite of herself, tears stole down her

cheeks.

Up went his brows.

“I thought you knew that I could not bear a weeping woman?” His voice

was full of mockery.

“Since you cannot weep for yourself, David....” she whispered, and

flicked away the tear-drops.

“Weep? I?” The faint voice was disdainful. “I am only too well

satisfied.”

John put a chair for her ladyship. Frances sat down.

Roxhythe allowed her to take his hand. He was staring before him.

“The ... welcome end. Gad, but I was glad to see the fellow ... lurking

in the shadows!... He little knew ... little knew....”

“Who was it, David?” Lady Frances was surprised at her own calm.

“Trenchard. He thought ... I should betray him.... Sapient man.”

Suddenly Roxhythe chuckled. “I told him ... to shoot. He was ... so

surprised ... he--” He broke off, coughing.

Burnest was at his side in a moment. The handkerchief that came away

from my lord’s lips was stained red.

“Sir, I beg you will keep quiet.”

“No doubt. You want ... to prolong ... life. Unfortunately ... I

want ... to end it.”

“Sir--”

“My ... dear Burnest ... we have dealt with ... one another ... before.

Don’t ... you realize ... the futility of ... argument?”

“You were always very stubborn, sir.” Burnest put a spoon to his lips,

smiling.

Roxhythe took the restorative. His eyes closed.

For a long time there was absolute silence. My lord lay in a kind of

stupor. Presently a deep furrow appeared between his brows. He began to

speak, muttering.

“... vain ... regrets!... Not I, sir. There was ... never a question ... of

it. If you ... think that ... Fanny ... you do not ... know me.

Always I am Roxhythe. Roxhythe ... C.R. ... linked together.... Sire,

all my ... life....” His voice died away. He moved uneasily; his hand

was very hot.

“My dear ... Saint-Aignan! ... a maker of ... gloves. Blue ...

entwined. Did ... Colbert tell you, Madame?” His eyes opened. They were

shining with a strange, feverish light. “When ... you ... are gone ...

nothing matters. The ... better ... part. Fools! ... fools! ... Someone

said ... that. The better ... part!... Always your ... faithful ...

servant, Sir.” He struggled up on his elbow. “It is ... Cromwell’s

lucky day! How ... could we ... hope to win? Courage, Sir! This is ...

not the end!”

Burnest put him back on his pillows.

“Hush, sir! Be still.”

He was shaken off.

“Gentlemen ... the King ... is dead!... Who was it ... uttered the

accursed ... words? His hand ... is cold ... Sire ... Sire!”

“Give me that bottle!”

John put it into his hands, weeping. Burnest measured out a spoonful.

The mixture trickled between my lord’s parted lips. Frances watched in

silent agony.

The brown eyes opened.

“Fanny ... why weep? Do you ... think I ... mind?”

“My lord, I beg you will not talk!”

“You ... intrude ... Burnest.” The eyes were haughty.

“I am sorry, sir. I am responsible for you, you see.”

The fine lips curled.

“No one is responsible ... for Roxhythe ... save himself. You would ...

oblige me ... by retiring.”

Lady Frances laid her hand on the surgeon’s.

“Mr. Burnest, let him have his way. You cannot help now.”

“Madam, I cannot allow him to----”

“_Mordieu!_ Am ... I to be set ... at naught?”

“You only excite him. Please, please stand back!”

Burnest shrugged and walked away.

“Another ... of those ... who dislike me. I have ... inspired ... great

love, or great ... hatred ... never a ... luke-warm ... liking, I thank

God!”

Frances stroked his hand.

“In truth, you are Roxhythe,” she smiled.

“Always. They ... would have liked ... to see me ... fall. Had I

lived ... I would have shown them that Roxhythe ... can stand ... alone!

But it is ... better so. I am ... going ... to my master.” Again his eyes

closed. After perhaps ten minutes they opened. They did not see Lady

Frances.

“It is ... no laughing matter, Sir!... I am ... too old to be ...

ordered ... by petty princelings ... Thank God ... for Whitehall ...

and my ... own master. Curse ... the dolt! Why ... must he sit ... in

your place?... So you will leave ... me, Chris? After all these ...

years. Did you bring my mask?... You know me ... very well ... don’t

you? You will ... not stay with me? You make too much ... out of ...

too little. I regret ... nothing.... The better ... part ... the

better ... part.... _Cor_ ... _dieu!_ I would choose the

same ... the same....” The brown eyes were frowning. “Why ... must

you sit ... in his place? Memories ... only ... memories.... What if I

did ... lose all? The ... one friend ... the one friend.... Nothing

matters ... save your pleasure, Sir. I am ... busied with ... your

affairs.” Suddenly he laughed. “They ... remind me of ... cabbages!... a

fruitful topic!” He drew his hand away, passing it across his eyes. “You

remember ... the green hangings ... don’t you, Chris?” His hand fell

away. He looked at Lady Frances’ bowed head. “I ... have been ... dreaming.

I thought Chris was ... here. Fanny?”

“Dear David?” Lady Frances tried to choke the sobs that rose to her

lips.

Roxhythe was smiling now.

“You ... remember how Chris ... laughed? It always ... pleased me. He

laughed ... because I objected ... to the green ... hangings. They are

gone ... now. I had them ... changed. It is ... eight years. A ... long

time, my ... dear.”

“Yes, David. You still have--me.”

“Of course. You ... could never ... quite ... disown me ... could you?”

“I am always--your friend, David. We understand one another.”

The smile grew.

“But then you ... are not ... impenetrable, you know!”

“Am I not? How--you love to--tease me, David!”

“_Vraiment_ ... I am a trial. Don’t let Jasper meddle ... in

Monmouth’s cause!”

“I will not.”

“I ... ought to send ... some farewell ... messages. I always ...

disliked ... the heroic pose ... off the stage. Do you ... remember

Crewe?”

“And the silly wife! That was unlucky, David.”

“A ... mistake ... I admit. Give ... my love ... to Chris. I would

I ... had seen him ... just once ... again. You ... won’t believe me ...

but I cared ... for him.”

“I know that you did, dear. I always knew it. If I said hard things I

am very sorry!”

“My dear ... according ... to your lights ... you spoke ... rightly.

You ... could not ... understand.”

She shook her head.

“We won’t speak of it, David.”

“We might ... quarrel ... an we did. I regret ... I cannot ... repent,

weeping. It ... is not in ... the part.” He paused, and his hand

tightened on hers. “I could have ... regained ... all my lost ...

power. It was ... within my grasp. But it ... was not ... worth it.

You ... understand?”

“Perfectly, David.”

“Your chief ... attraction. What ... is the ... time?”

She glanced at the clock.

“Just after three, dear.”

“Ah!... _He_ died ... at noon. I shall not wait ... much longer. I

am ... very content.” The weary lids drooped. “I have to ... thank

you ... for your ... kindness. I knew ... that you would ... come.”

“I would have come from the ends of the earth, David.”

“Happily ... you were ... nearer. I should have been ... loth to put

you ... to such ... inconvenience. It is ... very dark. Draw the

curtains ... further apart! No ... matter....” The whisper ceased.

Burnest tiptoed to the bed.

“It is nearly the end,” he murmured in Lady Fanny’s ear. “Just sit

where you are.”

She nodded. Her face was drawn.

John crept up to the bed and knelt beside it, his head buried in the

coverlet. Lady Frances laid her hand on his shoulder.

“Do not grieve, John,” she said pitifully. “You know he would not wish

it.”

Only a strangled sob answered her. Roxhythe moved his hand.

“Devil ... take you ... John! What now?”

John carried the hand to his lips, smothering it with kisses.

“My lord! My dear lord!”

“Chut!” Roxhythe pressed his fingers feebly. “Have ... a care to

him ... Fanny.”

“I promise.”

There was a long, long silence. Nothing broke it save the laboured

breathing. John was quiet now, clasping my lord’s hand. Lady Fanny sat

very still.

Over by the fire was the surgeon, staring into the red embers. He did

not move.

Half an hour crept by; yet another. Somewhere outside a clock chimed

mournfully.

My lord’s eyes opened. There was a far-away look in them not of this

world.

“I must ... to Whitehall. To ... my little ... master.” Faintly, very

faintly came the whisper. His beautiful smile curved my lord’s lips.

“Sire ... Sire....”

The eyelids fluttered, closed. My lord’s hand quivered. He gave a deep

sigh, full of peace.

“Only ... your ... pleasure ... Sir....”

His head fell sideways a little on the pillow. The smile was still on

his lips, but the light had gone out.

THE END

=TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES=

Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced

quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and

otherwise left unbalanced.

Punctuation, hyphenation, spelling and ligatures were made consistent

when a predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise

they were not changed.

A Table of Contents has been added.