MY LORD GOES OUT OF TOWN.
On the day after Bertie Elphinston received the letter from his lost
love, Lady Fordingbridge, his lordship himself set out from London to
journey into Cheshire, there to visit his estate in that county. He
had previously intimated to his wife--who had told Father Sholto of
the fact--that he intended being absent from London for some weeks;
indeed, had asked her whether it was her desire to accompany him. To
this question or invitation her ladyship had, however, returned the
usual monosyllabic answer which she generally accorded him, and had
briefly replied "No." Then being pressed by him to give some reason
for her refusal to so accompany him, she had turned round with that
bright blaze in her blue eyes which he had learnt to dread, and had
exclaimed:
"Why pester me--especially when we are alone--with these useless
questions and formalities? We have arranged, decided the mode in which
our existences are to be passed, if passed together--it is enough. We
remain together ostensibly on the condition that I share this house
with you--I will have no other part in your false life. And if you
cannot conform to this arrangement, then even this appearance of union
can--had best be--severed."
The viscount bit his lips after her cold contemptuous tones, yet, with
that strange power which he possessed, he overmastered the burning
rage that rose up in his heart against her. Only he asked himself now,
as often before he had asked himself, would he always be able to
exercise such control--able to refrain from bursting forth against
her, and by so doing put an end to the artificial existence they were
living?
But now the morning had come for him to depart for the country;
outside in the square he could hear the horses shaking their harness
while his carriage waited for him; it was time for him to go.
Therefore he went to his wife's morning-room and found her ladyship
taking her chocolate.
"I come, madam," he said, with that usual assumption of courtliness
which he always treated her to since they had become estranged, "to
bid you farewell for some few weeks. I will notify you by the post of
my proposed return. Meanwhile your ladyship need not be dull. You have
the entry now to the Court circles, you have also your respected
father with you in this house. And there are many friends of your
younger days in London"--he shot an evil, oblique glance at her out of
the corner of his eye as he said this, which was not lost on her--"to
wit, Mr. Archibald and--and--others. Doubtless ere I return you may
have renewed some of your earlier acquaintanceships. They should be
agreeable."
For answer she gave him never a word, but, stirring her cup of
chocolate leisurely, looked him straight in the face; then she let her
eyes fall on the journal she had been perusing and again commenced to
do so as though he were not in the room.
"Curse her," muttered her husband to himself as her indifference stung
him to the quick, "curse her, ere long the bolt shall be sped." After
which he exclaimed:
"My lady, as is ever the case, I perceive my presence is unwelcome.
Once more I bid you adieu," and took himself out of the room and also
out of the house. And so he set forth upon his journey.
For a young man on the road to his old family seat, Lord Fordingbridge
was that morning strangely preoccupied and indifferent to the events
around him, and sat in his carriage huddled up in one corner of it
more like an elderly sick man than aught else. The cheerful bustle of
the village of Islington, the pretty country villas at Highgate, the
larks singing over Finchley Common and Hadley Green, had no power to
rouse him from his stupor--if stupor it was--nor either had the bright
sun and the warm balmy spring air that came in at the open windows. A
strange way for an English nobleman to set out upon his journey to the
place where his forefathers had dwelt for ages! A strange way, indeed,
considering that he might be regarded as an extremely fortunate man.
The head of a family with strong Stuart tendencies, and suspected of
himself participating in those tendencies, he had yet been at once
received into favour by the King on returning to London. This alone
should have made his heart light within him, for he had but now to
conform to that King's demands to pass the rest of his existence in
peace and full enjoyment of his comfortable means--to feel that his
father's and his family's Jacobitism was forgotten, that all was well
with him. George was now welcoming to his fold every exiled Jacobite
who had not openly fought or plotted and schemed against him in the
recent invasion, and many peers and gentlemen who had long lived
abroad in exile were hastening to tender their adherence to the German
king, feeling perfectly sure that, after the events of the past three
months, the day of the Stuarts was past and gone for ever.
Why, therefore, could not Simeon Larpent look forward as hopefully to
the future as all his brother exiles who had returned were doing? Why!
Was it because of the enmity of his wife to him, an enmity which he
knew could never slacken; or was it because of his fear of that other
man whom he had so deeply wronged; or because of what his scheming
mind was now fashioning? This we shall see.
The roads were heavy with the recent spring showers so that the four
horses of his coach could drag it but tediously along them, and it was
nightfall ere South Mimms was reached, and night itself ere they
arrived at St. Albans, and Lord Fordingbridge descended at the Angel.
To the bowing landlord he gave his name, and stated that he wished a
bedroom and a parlour for himself, and a room for his men; and then,
as he was about to follow his obsequious host up the broad staircase,
he said, pulling out his watch:
"It is now after seven. At nine I expect to be visited by a gentleman
whom I have appointed to meet me here. His name is Captain Morris. You
will please entertain him at my cost to-night, and do so at your best.
On his arrival, if he hath not supped, ask him to do so; if he hath,
show him in at once to me. Now I will prepare for my own meal."
Again Boniface bowed low--lower even than before, after he had become
acquainted with his visitor's rank and position--and escorted him to a
large, comfortable bedroom on the first floor, in which a cheerful
fire burnt in the grate. And throwing open two heavy folding-doors, he
showed next a bright sitting-room, also with a fire, and well lit.
"This will do very well," said his lordship. "Now send my servant to
me with my valise. And let him wait on me at table."
All through the repast he partook of the viscount meditated gloomily
and gravely, eating but little of the substantial meal provided by the
landlord, drinking sparingly, and addressing no remark to his servant.
Then when he had finished, he had his chair drawn up before the fire,
a bottle of wine and another of brandy placed on the table, and,
bidding the servant withdraw and bring Captain Morris to him when he
should arrive, he again fell to meditating and musing, speaking
sometimes aloud to himself.
"It is the only way," he muttered, in disconnected sentences,
"the only way. And it must be done at one swoop; otherwise it is
useless. So long as one of them is free I am fettered. The only way!
And--then--when that is accomplished--to deal with you, my lady. Let
me see." He began counting on his fingers and tapping the tips as
still he pondered, touching first his forefinger, then the second and
third, and once or twice nodding his head as though well satisfied
with himself.
"As for Fane," he muttered next, "he scarce counts. Yet he, too, must
be taken care of. But of that later. Doubtless when I begin with my
lady--Vengeance confound her!--he will become revengeful, but before
he can do so--well, he will be harmless. So, so. It should work."
The clock struck nine as he spoke, and he compared it with his great
tortoiseshell watch, and then sat listening. The inn was very quiet,
he doubted if any other travellers were staying in it, especially as
the coach from London passed through early in the day, but outside in
the street there were signs of life. The rustics bade each other
good-night as they passed; a woman's laugh broke the air now and
again; sometimes a dog barked. And at last, above these sounds, he
heard a horse's hoofs clattering along the street as though ridden
fast.
"That," said his lordship, "may be he. 'Tis very possible. For one of
his Majesty's servants, he is none too punctual."
As he spoke the horse drew up with still more clatter at the porch
below his window, and he heard a clear, firm voice ask if Lord
Fordingbridge had that day arrived from London. And two or three
moments later his servant knocked at the door, and, entering, said
that Captain Morris was come.
"Has he supped?"
"He says he requires nothing, my lord, but desires to see you at once.
He rides to Hertford to-night, he bid the landlord say, and has but
little time at his disposal."
"So be it. Show him in," and a moment later Captain Morris entered the
room.
A man of something more than middle age, this gentleman's features,
aquiline and clear cut, presented the appearance of belonging to one
in whom great ability as well as shrewdness and common sense were
combined. Tall and extremely thin, his undress riding-habit of dark
blue embroidered with gold lace set off his figure to extreme
advantage, while the light sword he carried by his side, his
gold-trimmed three-cornered hat with its black cockade, and his long
riding boots all served to give him the appearance of an extremely
gentlemanly and elegant man.
"Welcome, sir," said Lord Fordingbridge, advancing to meet him with
extended hand, while at the same time he noticed--and took account
of--the clear grey eyes, the thin lips, and aquiline nose of his
visitor. "Welcome, sir. I am glad you have been able to reach here
to-night. To-morrow I must resume my journey. Be seated, I beg."
"The orders which I received from London," replied Captain Morris, in
a clear, refined voice that corresponded perfectly with his
appearance, "made it imperative that I should call on you to-night. As
your lordship may be aware, in this locality I have certain duties to
perform which can be entrusted to no one else."
"I am aware of it," Fordingbridge replied. Then he said, "Before we
commence our conversation, let me offer you a glass of wine or brandy.
The night is raw, and you have doubtless ridden long."
Captain Morris bowed, said he would drink a glass of wine, and, when
he had poured it out of the decanter, let it stand by his side
untouched for the moment. After which he remarked:
"I understand, my lord, that I am to receive from your lips to-night
some information of considerable importance to his Majesty, touching
those who have been engaged in plotting against his security. May I
ask you to proceed at once with what you have to tell me? I have still
some distance to ride to-night, and also other work to do."
"Yes," answered Fordingbridge, "you have been exactly informed.
Yet--how to tell--how to begin, I scarcely know. My object is to put
in the King's hands--without, of course, letting it be known that the
information comes from me--some facts relating to several notorious
Jacobites now sheltering in London. Men who are," he continued,
speaking rapidly, "inimical to his Majesty's peace and security,
hostile to his rule, and, if I mistake not, bent at the present moment
in endeavouring in some way to effect a rescue of the Scotch lords now
in confinement at the Tower."
A slight smile rose upon his visitor's face as he uttered these last
words; then Captain Morris said quietly:
"That is hardly likely to come to pass, I should imagine. The Tower
does not disgorge its victims freely, certainly not by force. As for
the Scotch lords, I am afraid they will only quit the place for their
trials and afterwards for Tower Hill."
"Yet," remarked Lord Fordingbridge, "the attempt may be made. Of the
men I speak of, two are desperate, and both fought at Culloden and the
battles that took place during the Pretender's march into England.
They will stop at nothing if," with a quick glance at the other, "they
are not themselves first stopped."
"Give me their names, if you please," said Morris, with military
precision, as he produced from his pocket a notebook, "and where they
are to be found."
"Their names are Bertie Elphinston and Douglas Sholto--the former a
kinsman of the Lord Balmarino. Both have lived in exile in France,
serving in the French King's army, one in the _Garde du Roi_ at first,
and then in the Regiment of Picardy. The other, Sholto, has served in
the Mousquetaires."
"Their names," said Captain Morris, "are not in the list," and he
turned over the leaves of his notebook carefully as he spoke. "But for
you, my lord, these men might have escaped justice. 'Tis strange
nothing was known of them."
"They crossed from France with Charles Edward. Many names of those who
accompanied him are probably not known. You may rely on my
information. I myself returned but from France some weeks ago. I know
them well."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Captain Morris. "Indeed! Your lordship doubtless
came to support his Majesty shortly after so many of his enemies
crossed over."
"Precisely. But I will be frank. I should tell you I am myself a
converted--perverted, some would say--Jacobite. My father, the late
lord, died one, I do not espouse his political faith."
Captain Morris bowed gravely; then he said:
"And you know, therefore, these gentlemen--these Scotch rebels."
"I know them very well. Shall I furnish you with a description of
their persons?"
"If you please;" and as the captain replied to the question,
he--perhaps unwittingly--pushed the untasted glass of wine farther
away from him into the middle of the large table, where it remained
undrunk.
After the appearance of Elphinston and Sholto had been fully given and
noted in the captain's book, he asked:
"And where are these men to be found, Lord Fordingbridge?"
"They shelter themselves in the village of Wandsworth, near London, in
an old house on the Waterside, as the strand there is called. It is
the first reached from the village."
Again this was written down, after which Captain Morris rose to take
his departure, but my lord's tale was not yet told. Pointing to the
chair the other had risen from, he said:
"I beg you to be seated a moment longer. There is still another--the
worst rebel of all--of whom I wish to apprise you. A priest."
"A priest! You speak truly; they are, indeed, his Majesty's worst
enemies. A Jesuit, of course?"
"Of course. With him it will be necessary to use the most astute means
in the Government's power to first entrap him, and then to deal with
him afterwards. He should, indeed, be confined in total solitude,
forbidden, above all things else, to hold any communication with other
rebels."
"You may depend, Lord Fordingbridge, on all being done that is
necessary, short of execution."
"Short of execution!" interrupted the other. "Short of execution! Why
do not the scheming Jesuits--the mainspring of all, the cause of the
very rebellion but now crushed out--merit execution as well as those
who routed Cope's forces and hewed down Cumberland's men? _Grand
Dieu!_ I should have thought they would have been the first to taste
the halter."
"Possibly," replied the captain in passionless tones, and with an
almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, "but at present no Jesuit
priests have been executed. I doubt if any will be. The Government
have other punishments for them--exile to the American colonies, and
so forth. Now, my lord, this priest's name and abode."
"He is brother to Douglas Sholto, an elder brother by another mother,
yet they have ever gone hand in hand together. Named Archibald, of
from thirty-eight to forty years of age. Crafty, dissimulating,
and----"
"That is of course," said Captain Morris. "Now, tell me, if you
please, where this man is to be found. Is he also in hiding at
Wandsworth?"
"Nay," replied the other--and for the first time the informer seemed
to hesitate in his answer. Yet for a moment only, since again he
proceeded with his story. "He is disguised, of course; passes as a
Scotch merchant having business between London and Paris, and is known
as Mr. Archibald." He paused again, and Captain Morris's clear eyes
rested on him as, interrogatively, he said:
"Yes? And his abode?"
"Is my own house. In Kensington-square."
This time the officer started perceptibly, and fixed an even more
penetrating glance upon the other than before. Indeed, so apparent
were both the start and look of surprise on his face that the traitor
before him deemed it necessary to offer some excuse for his strange
revelation.
"Yes," he said, "in my own house. It has been necessary for me to let
him hide there awhile the better to--to entrap--to deliver him to
justice."
"Your lordship is indeed an ardent partisan," coldly replied Captain
Morris; "the King is much to be congratulated on so good a convert."
"The King will, I trust, reward my devotion. The Stuarts have never
shown any gratitude for all that has been done for them--by my family
as much as any. Now, Captain Morris," he went on, "I have told you all
that I have to tell. I have simply to ask that in no way shall it be
divulged--as, indeed, I have the promise of his Majesty's Ministers
that nothing shall be divulged--as to the source whence this
information is derived. It is absolutely necessary that I appear not
at all in the matter."
"That is understood. The Secretary of State for Scotch affairs, from
whom I receive my instructions, knows your lordship's desire, without
a doubt."
"Precisely. It is with him I have been in communication. Yet, still, I
would make one other request. It is that Father Sholto may not be
arrested in my house. That would be painful to--to--Lady
Fordingbridge, a young and delicate woman. He can easily be taken
outside, since he quits the house fearlessly each day."
"That too," replied Morris, "I will make a note of for the Secretary's
consideration. I wish you now, my lord, good evening," saying which he
bowed and went toward the door.
"If I could possibly prevail on you to refresh yourself," said
Fordingbridge, as he followed him to it, "I should be happy," and he
held out his hand as he spoke.
But the captain, who seemed busy with his sash, or sword belt, did not
perhaps see the extended hand, and muttering that he required no
refreshment, withdrew from the room.
Nevertheless, when he reached the bar in the passage below he asked
the smiling landlady if she could give him a glass of cordial to keep
out the rawness of the night air, and to fortify him for his ride.
Also he asked, in so polite a manner as to gratify the good woman's
heart, if he might scrawl a line at her table whereat she sat sewing
and surrounded by her bottles and glasses. Buxom landladies rarely
refuse politenesses to persons of Captain Morris's position,
especially when so captivatingly arrayed as he was in his undress
bravery, and as he wrote his message and sealed it she thought how
gallant a gentleman he was.
Then he looked up and enquired if there was any ostler or idle postboy
about the place who could ride for him with a letter to-morrow morning
to Dunstable, and receiving a reply in the affirmative, paid for his
cordial, the hire of the next morning messenger and his horse's feed,
and so bade her a cheerful good-night.
In the yard, while his animal was being brought out, he looked with
some little interest at his lordship's travelling carriage, inspected
the crest upon its panels and the motto, and, tossing the fellow who
brought the nag a shilling, and seeing carefully to his holsters, rode
away into the night.
Upstairs, my lord, standing before the fire, noticed the unemptied
glass of wine, and, remembering that the captain had not chosen to see
his outstretched hand, cursed him for an ill-conditioned Hanoverian
cur. Downstairs, the hostess, being a daughter of Eve, turned over the
captain's letter addressed to "Josias Brandon, Esq., Justice of the
Peace," and would have given her ears, or at least a set of earrings,
to know what its contents were. Had she been able to see them they
probably would have given her food for gossip for a twelvemonth, brief
as they were. They ran:
"The Viscount Fordingbridge passes through Dunstable to-morrow in his
coach on his road to Cheshire. From the time he does so until he
returns through your town to London, he is to be followed and watched
and never lost sight of. Let me be kept acquainted with all his
movements--by special courier, if needful.--Noel Morris, Captain."