DENOUNCED.
To put the river between them and their late antagonists and would-be
captors naturally occurred to the young men as their wisest plan,
although as, urged by Douglas, the other strode towards it, he more
than once reproached himself for coming away and leaving Lady
Fordingbridge behind. Nor could any words uttered by his friend
persuade him to regard his departure as anything else than
pusillanimous.
"She went there to meet me; to see me once again," he repeated, "and I
have left her to Heaven knows what peril. These men know me--know
us--well enough for what we are. 'Tis not difficult to guess whence
comes their knowledge! They may accuse her of being a rebel, too. Oh!
Kate, Kate! what will be the end of it all; what the finish of our
wrecked and ruined lives?"
"No harm can come to her, I tell you," replied his comrade. "Why, man,
heart up! Has not the fox, Fordingbridge, made his peace with George;
how shall they arrest his wife or her father as rebels? Tush! 'tis not
to be thought on. Come, fling away as much of this disguise as
possible. We near the end of the lane, and I can hear the shouts of
the watermen to their fares; and still we must go a mile or two higher
up and take boat ourselves."
As he spoke he discarded his own woollen cloak, and tossed it over a
high fence into the grounds of a country house by which they were now
passing, while, slowly enough, for his heart was sore within him,
Bertie imitated his actions. The axe (which, like the principal part
of his dress, had been hired from a costumer or fashioner--a class of
tradesmen more common even in those days than these, since fancy
dresses were greatly in demand for the masques, _ridottos al fresco_,
and fancy dress balls which took place so frequently) had been lost in
the latter part of the riot, and now he discarded also the peculiar
mask he had worn, producing from his pocket the ordinary vizard used
at such entertainments, and which the forethought of Douglas had
induced him to bring. For the rest, his clothes would attract no
attention. They were suitable either to a man whose circumstances did
not permit of his wearing velvet, silk, or fine broadcloth, or to one
who had assumed the simple disguise of a superior workingman. The
headsman's knife, however, he did not discard, but slipped up his
sleeve, and Douglas retained his sword.
And now they drew near to the end of the lane, when, to their
satisfaction, they perceived an alley running out of it and parallel
to the course of the river, as they supposed, by the aid of which they
might be enabled to follow its course for some distance without coming
out on to the bank where, at this moment, there would be many persons
from the garden taking boat to the other side.
"Fortune favours us up to now," exclaimed Sholto to his moody
companion, as they turned into this smaller lane; "Heaven grant it may
continue to do so!" Then, changing the subject, he said, "Bertie, lad,
who do you think set those bloodhounds on us? 'Twas some one who knew
of our hiding-hole. As we remarked, we were followed from Wandsworth."
"Who!" said Elphinston, stopping to look in his friend's face and
peering at him under the light of the stars, "who, but one? The man
whom I have to kill; whom I am ordained to kill sooner or later."
"You will kill him?" the other asked, stopping also.
"As a dog, when next I see him--or, no, not as a dog, for that is a
creature faithful and true, and cannot conceive treachery--but as some
poisonous, devilish thing, adder or snake, that stings us to the death
when least we expect the blow. Why," he asked, pausing, "do you
shudder?"
"I know not," replied Douglas; "yet I have done so more than once when
his name has been mentioned. I know not why," he repeated, "unless I
am fey."
"Fey! fey!" echoed Elphinston. "Let him be fey! He should be! It is
predestined; his fate at my hands is near. He cannot avoid it."
As they ceased speaking they continued on their way until, at last,
the lane opened on to a dreary waste of fields and marshes which
stretched towards the very places which they most desired to avoid,
Battersea and Wandsworth; while opposite to them, on the other side of
the river, were the equally dreary marshes known as Tothill and
Pimlico Fields.
"I' faith," said Douglas, as his eye roamed over all this extent of
barrenness, which was more apparent than it would otherwise have been
owing to the late rising of the moon, now near its full, "I' faith,
we're atwixt the devil and the deep sea--or, so to speak, the river.
How are we to cross; or shall we go back and over the bridge at
Westminster?"
"Nay," replied Bertie; "as we came down the lane I saw a house to the
right of us; doubtless 'tis to that the lane belongs. Now, 'tis
certain there must be boats somewhere. Let us down to the shore and
see. Hark! there is the clock of Chelsea Church striking. The west
wind brings the sound across the marshes. Ha! 'tis eleven of the
clock. Come, let us waste no time."
They turned therefore down to the river's bank, walking as quietly as
possible so that their feet should make no more noise than necessary
on the stones and shingle, for it was now low tide; and then, to their
great joy, they saw drawn up by the water's edge a small wherry in
which sat a man, and by his side he had a lantern that glimmered
brightly in the night.
"Friend," said Elphinston, "we have missed our way after leaving the
Spring Gardens; can you put across the river? We will pay you for your
trouble."
The fellow looked at them civilly enough, then he said, "Yes, so that
you waste no time. I have business here which I may not leave for more
than a quarter of an hour. Wilt give me a crown to ferry you across?"
"The price is somewhat high," said Douglas. "Yet, since we would not
sleep in these marshes all night, nor retrace our steps to Westminster
Bridge, we'll do it."
"In with you, then," replied the man, "yet, first give me the crown; I
have been deceived by dissolute maskers ere now." Then, when he had
received the money, he said he supposed Ranelagh or the New Chelsea
Waterworks[3] would do very well. "Aye," said Douglas, "they will do,"
whereupon, having taken their seats, the man briskly ferried them
across.
Yet, as they traversed the river, the fear sprang into their hearts
that they had been tracked from Vauxhall, that even yet they were not
safe from pursuit. For scarcely were they half way across the stream
when the man's lantern, which he had left on the bank--perhaps as a
signal--was violently waved about in the air by some hand, while a
couple of torches were also seen flickering near it and voices were
heard calling to him.
"Ay! ay!" the man bellowed back; "ay! ay! What! may I not earn a crown
while you do your dirty work? In good time. In good time," he roared
still louder, in response to further calls from the bank, while he
pulled more lustily than before towards the north shore.
"What is it?" asked Elphinston. "Who are they who seem so impatient
for your services?"
"A pack of fools," the man replied. "Young sprigs of fashion who have
been quarrelling there," nodding towards Ranelagh Gardens, to which
they were now close, "quarrelling over their wine and their women, I
do guess, and two of them have crossed over to measure the length of
their swords. Well, well; if one's left on the grass I'll be there
pretty soon to see what pickings there are in his pockets. 'Tis the
fools that provide the wise men's feasts," whereon this philosopher
pulled his boat to the bank, set the young men ashore, and, a moment
later, was quickly pulling away back to the duelling party.
Ranelagh itself was shut up as they stepped ashore, all its lights
were out and the hackney coachmen and chairmen gone with their last
fares; and of that night's entertainment--which was sure to have
been a great one in rivalry to its neighbour and opponent at
Vauxhall--nothing was left but the shouting figures of those on the
other bank, and, perhaps, a dead man on the grass of the marshes, with
a sword-thrust through his lungs and his wide-staring eyes gazing up
at the moon. It seemed, therefore, that they must walk to Kensington,
since no conveyance was to be found here.
"Not that the distance is much," said Bertie Elphinston, who had
before now walked at nights from Wandsworth and Chelsea to the Square,
simply to gaze on the house that enshrined the woman he had loved so
much; perhaps also to see the place where the man dwelt whom he meant
to kill when the opportunity should arise--"but 'tis the hour that
grows so late. If they have gone home at once from the gardens without
being disturbed by any of the police agents, she must be housed by
now--and--and--I cannot see her again."
"At least you can wait. If not to-day, then to-morrow you can meet,
surely. All trace of us is lost now, we shall never go back to
Wandsworth--we must send the landlady our debt by some sure hand--a
change of clothes and hiding place will put us in safety again. And as
for messages, why, Archibald will convey them."
"Archibald!" exclaimed the other with a start. "Archibald! Heavens! we
had forgotten!--what have we been thinking of? He may be taken too."
"Taken! Archibald taken! Oh, Bertie, why should that be?"
"Why should it be! Rather ask, why should it not be? Do you think that
tiger's whelp who has set the law on us will spare him? No, Simeon
Larpent means to make a clean sweep of all at once; his wife's old
lover, that lover's friend, and the priest who knows so much of his
early life and all his secrets, plots and intrigues against first one
and then the other, Jacobite and Hanoverian alike. I tell you,
Archibald is in as great a danger as we are!" and he strode on
determinately as he spoke.
Their way lay now towards Knightsbridge by a fair, broad road through
the fields, and between some isolated houses and villas that were
dotted about; and as by this time the moon was well up, everything
they passed could be seen distinctly. Of people, they met or passed
scarcely any; the road that, an hour or so before, had been covered
with revellers of all degrees wending their way back from Ranelagh to
the suburbs of Chelsea, Kensington, and Knightsbridge, or to what had,
even in those days, been already called "The Great City," was now,
with midnight at hand, as deserted as a country lane. Yet one sign
they did see of the debaucheries that took place in Ranelagh as well
as in the Spring Gardens; a sign of the drunkenness and depravities
that prevailed terribly in those days among almost all classes. Lying
at the side of the road, where, doubtless, they had fallen together as
they reeled away from the night's orgie, they perceived two young men
and a young woman--masked, and presenting a weird appearance as they
lay on their backs, their flushed faces turned up to the moon, yet
with the upper part hidden by the black vizard. It was easy to
perceive that all had fallen together and been afterwards unable to
rise--as they lay side by side they were still arm in arm, and,
doubtless, the first who had fallen had dragged the others after him.
The two young men seemed from their apparel to be of a respectable
class, perhaps clerks or scriveners, their clothes being of good
cloth, though not at all belaced; as for their companion, the
bacchante by their sides, she might have been anything from shopgirl
or boothdancer down to demirep.
"Now," said Douglas, "here is our chance for disguise. These fellows
have good enough coats and hats--see, too, they sport the black
cockade. Well, 'twill not hurt them to sell us some apparel."
Wherewith he proceeded to lift the nearest sot up and relieve him of
his coat, waistcoat, and hat. Apparently the fellow thought he was
being put to bed by some one, as he muttered indistinctly, "Hang coat
over chair--shan't wear it 'gain till Sunday"--but as Douglas slipped
a couple of guineas into his breeches pocket he went to sleep
peacefully enough once more. As for the other young man, he never
stirred at all while Bertie removed his garments, nor when he put into
his pocket a similar sum of two guineas, and also his copper-cased
watch, which had slipped from out his fob.
"They are somewhat tight and pinching," remarked Douglas as he and his
friend donned their new disguise, "even though we are now as lean as
rats after our Scotch campaign."
Yet, tight as their new clothes were, they answered, at least, a good
purpose. It would have taken a shrewd eye to recognise in these two
respectably clad men--in spite of their coats being somewhat dusty
from having lain in the road while on the backs of their late masters,
the headsman and the Highlander who, a few hours before, had walked
round and round the orchestra pavilion at Vauxhall.
After this they went forward briskly towards Kensington-square,
attracting no attention from anyone indeed meeting few people, for at
this distance from the heart of the town there was scarcely anyone
ever stirring after midnight, and it was somewhat past that time now.
As they neared Kensington, it is true, they were passed by a troop of
the Queen's Guards (as the 2nd Life Guards were then called)
returning, probably, from some duty at St. James's Palace, but
otherwise they encountered none whom they need consider hostile to
them.
In the square there was, when they reached it at last, no sign of
life. The watchman in his box slumbered peacefully, his dog at his
feet, and in the windows of the houses scarcely a light was to be
seen. Nor was there any appearance of activity in the house belonging
to Fordingbridge, though Bertie thought he should have at least seen
some light in the room which he knew, from enquiry of Sholto, to be
Kate's.
"'Tis strange," he said, "strange. Surely they must have returned
from the masquerade by now. After crossing the water a coach would
have brought them here in less than an hour. 'Tis passing strange!"
"They may have got back so early," hazarded Douglas, "that already
all are abed. Or they may have gone on to Lady Belrose's, in
Hanover-square. A hundred things may have happened. And where, I
wonder, is Archie? He surely will be in bed."
"Can he be arrested? It may be so."
"God forbid! Yet this darkness and silence seem to me ominous. What
shall we do?"
"Heaven knows. Hist! Who comes here?" and as he spoke, from out
of one of the doorways over which was, as may still be seen, a huge
scallop-shell, there stepped forth a man. Enveloped in one of the long
cloaks, or roquelaures, still worn at the period, and with the tip of
a sword's scabbard sticking out beneath it, the man sauntered
leisurely away from where they were standing, yet as he went they
could hear him humming to himself an air they both knew well. It was
that old tune "The Restoration"--which they had heard once before this
evening!--to which the Highland army marched after it had crossed the
border.
Presently the man turned and came towards them slowly, then as he
passed by he looked straight in their faces, and, seeming satisfied by
what he saw, he muttered, "A fine spring night, gentlemen. Ay, and so
it is. A fine night for the young lambs outside the town and for the
hawks within--though the hawks get not always their beaks into the
lambs too easily; in fact, I may give myself classical license and say
they are _non semper triumphans_."
"In very truth," replied Bertie, "some--though 'tis not always the
hawks--are _nunquam triumphans_. That is, if I apprehend your
meaning."
"Ay, sir," said the man, dropping his classics and changing his manner
instantly. "You apprehend me very well. Sir, I am here with a message
for you from a certain Scotch trader, one Mr. Archibald; also from a
certain fair lady----"
"Ah!"
"Or rather, let me say, without beating about the bush, I brought to a
certain fair lady, to-night, a message from Mr. Archibald, while she,
considering it possible that a certain, or two certain brave gentlemen
might appear in this square to-night, did beg me to remain in this sad
square to deliver the message."
"Sir," said Elphinston, teased by the man's quaint phraseology, yet
anxious to know what the message really was that had been sent from
Father Sholto to Kate, and on from her to him, "sir, we thank you very
much. Will you now please to deliver to us that message?"
"Sir, I will. It is for that I am here." Then without more ado he said
hastily, "The worthy trader has been warned from a friend, a
countryman of ours, who is connected, or attached, so to speak, to the
Scotch Secretary of State's Orifice, that he may very possibly be cast
into durance should he remain there," and he jerked his thumb at Lord
Fordingbridge's house as he spoke; "whereon, seeing that precaution is
the better part of valour, the worthy trader has removed himself from
the hospitable roof there," upon which he this time jerked his head
instead of his thumb towards the house, "and has sought another
shelter which, so to speak as it were, is not in this part of the
town, but more removed. But, being a man of foresight and precaution,
also hath he gone to warn two gallant gentlemen residing at a sweet
and secluded village on the river to be careful to themselves
remove----"
"That," said Douglas, "we have already done. Yet his warning must have
got there too late."
"And," continued their garrulous and perspicacious friend, "also did
he request and desire me to attend here in the square until a certain
fair lady should return from the gallimanteries and _ridottos al
fresco_ to which she had that evening been."
"And did the certain fair lady return?" asked Elphinston, unable to
repress a smile at his stilted verbiage.
"Return she did. In gay company! Two sparks with her, dressed in the
best, though somewhat dishevelled as though with profane dancings and
junketings--one had his coat ripped from lapel to skirt--and an
elderly man--I fear me also a wassailer!--with a fierce eye. Then I up
and delivered the worthy--hem!--trader's message, when, lo! as flame
to torch-wood, there burst forth from all a tremendous clamjamfry such
as might have been heard up there," and this time he jerked his head
towards where Kensington Palace lay.
"As how?" asked the young men together. "Why should they make a
clamjamfry?"
"Hech!" answered their eccentric countryman, "'tis very plain ye ken
not women--nor, for that matter, the young sparks of London! This is
how it went. One certain fair lady--from whom I bring you a wee bit
message--wrung her hands and wept, saying, 'Betrayed, betrayed again!
The veellain! the veellain!' whereby I think she meant not you; the
other fair lady, who is maybe an hour or so older, stormed and scolded
and screeched about unutterable scoundrels, yet bade the other cease
weeping and seek her house, to which she was very welcome; while the
two young men uttered words more befitting their braw though unholy
dishevelled apparel, and spake of him," and here the nodding head was
wagged over to Fordingbridge's house again, "as though he were Lucifer
incarnate--though that was not the name, so to speak as it were. And
for the old man with the fierce eye, hech! mon, his language was
unbefitting a Christian."
"And the message the lady scrawled. What is it?"
"'Tis here," the other replied. "You must just excuse the hasty
writing--" but ere he could finish his remark Bertie had taken a piece
of paper from his hand which he brought out from under his cloak, and,
striding to where an oil lamp glimmered over a doorway, read what it
contained. The few lines ran as follows:
"We are once more betrayed. He has, I know, done this. I leave his
house and him for ever from to-night. I pray God you may yet escape.
If you ever loved me, fly--fly at once. Lose no moment.--Katherine."