ARCHIBALD'S ESCAPE.
Fortune had, indeed, stood the friend of those three denounced men,
otherwise they must by now have been lying--as Fordingbridge had
said--in one of the many prisons of London awaiting their trial;
trials which--in the case of two at least--would have preceded by a
short time only their executions and deaths; deaths made doubly
horrible by that which accompanied them, by the cutting out and
casting into the fire of the still beating hearts of the victims, the
disembowelling and quartering and mangling.
Yet, if such was ever to be their fate--and they tempted such fate
terribly by their continued presence in London, or, indeed, in
England--it had not yet overtaken them; until now they were free. How
Douglas Sholto and Bertie Elphinston had escaped the snare you have
seen; how Archibald Sholto eluded those who sought him has now to be
told.
Kate had no sooner departed in a chariot, sent for her by Lady
Belrose, to take a dish of tea in company with the other members of
the proposed party before going on to Vauxhall, than Mr. Archibald,
who had a large room at the top of the house, was apprised by the
servant that a Scotch gentleman awaited him in the garden.[4] On
desiring to be informed what the gentleman's name and errand were--for
those engaged as the Jesuit now was omitted no precautions for their
safety--a message was brought back that the visitor was an old friend
of Mr. Archibald's, whom he would recognise on descending to the
garden, and that his business was very pressing. Now Archibald was a
man of great forethought--necessity had made him such--and therefore,
ere he descended to the garden, he thought it well to take an
observation of this mysterious caller, who might be, as he said, a
friend or, on the other hand, a representative of the law endeavouring
to take advantage of him.
The opportunity for this observation presented itself, however,
without any difficulty. On the backstairs of each flight in the houses
of Kensington-square there existed precisely what exists in the
present day in most houses, namely, windows half-way up each flight,
and, gazing out into the garden--up and down the gravel walks of which
the visitor was walking, sometimes stopping to inspect or to smell
some of the roses already in bloom, and sometimes casting glances of
impatience at the house--Archibald saw the man who, later on, was to
deliver Kate's message to Bertie.
"Why!" he exclaimed to himself, "as I live 'tis James McGlowrie.
Honest Jemmy! Indeed, he can come on no evil intent to me or to those
dear to me. Yet--yet--I fear. Even though he means no harm he may be
the bearer of bad news," and so saying he passed down the stairs and
to the man awaiting him.
"James," he said, addressing the other in their native brogue, "this
is a sight for sair een. Yet," he went on, "what brings you here?
First, how did you know I dwelt here, and next, what brings
you?--though right glad I am to see you once again."
"I have a wee bit message for ye, Archibald," said the other, shaking
him warmly by the hand, "that it behoves you vary weel to hear. And,"
dropping at once into the verbosity that was to so tease, while at the
same time it amused, Elphinston some hours later, "not only to hear,
but, so to speak, as it were, to ponder on, yet also to decide quickly
over and thereby to arrive at a good determination. D'ye take,
Archibald Sh----, I mean, so to speak, Mr. Archibald?"
"Why, no," said the other, with a faint smile, "I cannot in truth say
that I do. James McGlowrie, you can speak to the point when you
choose. Choose to do so now, I beg you."
"To the point is very well. And so I will speak. Now, Archie, old
friend, listen. Ye ken and weel remember, I doubt not, Geordie McNab,
erstwhile of Edinburgh."
"Indeed I do."
"So--so. Vary weel. Now Geordie McNab is come south and has gotten
himself into the Scotch Secretary of State's office, for Geordie is no
Jacobite!--and there he draws £200 a year sterling--not Scotch. Oh,
no. Geordie is now vary weel to do, and what with the little estate
his poor auld mother left him, which, so to speak, yields him thirty
bolls and firlots of barley, some peats at twopence per load, and many
pecks of mustard seed at a shilling, and----"
"Jemmy, Jemmy," said the other, reproachfully, "was this the important
errand you came here upon?"
"Nay, nay. My tongue runs away with me as ever. Yet, listen still.
Geordie is no Jacobite, yet, i'faith, there's a many he's overweel
disposed to, among others an old schoolfellow o' his, one Archibald."
"One Archibald! Ha! I take you. And, Jemmy, is he threatened; has he
aught to fear from the Scotch Secretary's office?"
"The warst that can befall. Ay, man, the very warst. So are also two
friends of his, late of--hem--a certain army that has of late made
excursions and alarums, as the bard hath it."
"So! I understand! We have been informed against, blown upon. Alas!
alas! We were free but for this--our names not even upon the list."
"Yet now," said McGlowrie, "are they there. Likewise also your
addresses and habitments--all are vary weel known. My laddie, ye must
flee out o' the land and awa' back to France, and go ye must at once.
There's no time to be lost."
"I cannot go without warning the others--without knowing they are
safe." Then, while a terribly stern look came into his face, he said,
"Who has done this thing, McGlowrie, who has done it?"
"Can ye not vary weel guess? 'Tis not far to seek."
"Ay," the Jesuit answered, "it needs no question. Oh! Simeon Larpent,
Simeon Larpent, if ever I have you to my hand again, beware. Oh! to
have you but for one hour in Paris and with the Holy Church to avenge
me, a priest, against you!" Then changing this tone to another more
suitable, perhaps, to the occasion and the danger in which he stood,
he asked:
"What do they mean to do? When will they proceed to the work, think
you?"
"At once; to-night, perhaps; to-morrow for certain. Go, Archie, go,
pack up your duds and flee, I say. Even now the Government may have
put the officers upon your hiding-place; have told the soldiers at
Kensington to surround the house. Lose no time."
"But the boys--the boys at Wandsworth. What of them?"
"They shall be warned, even though I do it myself. But now, Archie, up
to your room, bring with you--in a small compass, so to speak--your
necessaries, and come with me."
"But where to? Where to?"
"Hech! with me. I have a bit lodgment, as you will know vary weel
soon, in the Minories; 'tis near there poor Lady Balmerino
lodges--though they promise her that after her lord is condemned, as
he must be--as he must be!--she shall be lodged with him in the Tower
to the last; come with me, I say. For the love o' God, Archie,
hesitate no longer."
Then indeed, Archibald Sholto knew that, if he would save himself and
help the others, and--as he hoped--wreak his vengeance on the
treacherous adder that had stung them, he must follow honest James
McGlowrie's counsel. So, very swiftly he passed up to his room,
collected every paper he possessed, and carried away with him a small
valise, in which were a change of clothes, several bank bills and a
bag of guineas, Louis d'ors, and gold crowns. Then he returned to the
garden where McGlowrie was still walking up and down as before, and
announced that he was ready to follow him.
"Only," he said, "we will go as quietly as may be, and without a word.
I will not even tell the servants I am going, Heaven knows if they are
not spies themselves. I will just vanish away, and, as I hope, leave
no trace. Come, Jemmy, there is a door behind the herb-garden that
gives into the lane, and the lane itself leads to the West-road. If we
can cross that in safety we can pass by Lord Holland's--he is
Secretary of War now, and of the Privy Council--yet that matters not
to us; behind his leafy woods we shall come to the other road. Then
for a hackney or a passing coach to the city. Only, the boys, Jemmy,
the boys! What of them?"
"Have no fear. If they are not warned already by Geordie McNab 'twill
surprise me very much, and once I have seen ye off to the Minories
I'll be away to Wandsworth myself. Thereby I'll make sure. Come,
Archie, come. The evening draws in. Come, mon."
"I will. Only, Jemmy, stick your honest nose outside the garden gate
and see that neither soldiers, spies, nor men of the law are there. If
it is as you say, the house may even now be surrounded."
McGlowrie did as the other requested, going out and sauntering up and
down the lane, but seeing no signs of anyone about who might threaten
danger. To a maid-servant, drawing water from a well which served for
many of the gardens of the houses, he gave in his pleasant Scotch way
the "good e'en," and remarked that "the flowers were thirsty these
warm May nights, and required, so to speak as it were, a draught to
refresh 'em "; and to a boy birdnesting up tree he observed that it
was a cruel sport which would wring a poor mither's heart, even as his
own mither's would full surely be wrung should he be torn away from
her grasp, even as he was tearing the young from the nest. But, all
the time he was delivering these apothegms, his eye was glancing up
and down the lane, and searching for any sign of danger. And, seeing
none, he went back to Archibald Sholto and bade him follow since all
was clear.
"And now," said he, as they passed to the left of Holland House and so
reached Kensington Gravel Pits, "let us form our plans. First, there
are the two young men, who must of a surety have been warned by
Geordie, yet, supposing he should have failed, must yet be warned, so
to speak. Now, shall I get me away----"
"Alas!" said Sholto, "I have just recalled to mind that, if they are
not already on their guard, 'tis now too late. They were to go to the
masquerade at Vauxhall; are there by now. 'Tis certain. One of them
had an appointment with--with the wife of the double-dyed scoundrel
who owns the house we have but just now quitted."
"Hoot! Ma conscience! With his enemy's wife. Vary good! Vary good!
Perhaps 'tis not so strange the man is his enemy. Weel, weel, 'tis no
affair of mine, yet I like not this trafficking wi' other men's goods.
But since they are away on this quest they need no warning. Now for
yourself, Archie. Get you away to the Minories--here is the precise
address," and he slipped a piece of paper into his hand, "go there,
lie perdu, and await my return."
"But Kate! Lady Fordingbridge! I must let her know of my absence; what
will she think when she returns home and finds me gone? And the
others--they may be taken when they also return to their homes."
"Leave't to me. I will await my lady's return from these worldly
doings--ma word! a married woman and meeting other men in such sinfu'
places!--even though she comes not till the break o' day--as is very
likely, I fear, under the circumstances! And, meanwhile, for the
others we must trust to Geordie."
"No," said Archibald Sholto, "we will not trust to Geordie, true as I
believe him to be. This is the best plan. If you will wait--as I know
you will--until her ladyship returns, though it will not be for some
hours yet, I apprehend, I will make my way to Wandsworth, find out if
they are warned, and, if not, will myself wait their return. Then I
will accept your shelter in the Minories for a time until we can all
three get safe back to France. For France is now our only refuge
again, as it has so often and so long been before."
"Humph!" said McGlowrie, "perhaps so 'tis best. None know you at
Wandsworth?"
"None. No living soul except the woman of the house--a true one. Her
father fell in the Cause in the '15' at Sherriffmuir. She is safe."
"So be it. Then away with you to yon village, and trust me to manage
things in this one. Now, off wi' you, Archie, but first make some
change in your clothing."
"But how? I have no other clothes but those I wear."
"Hoot! a small changement is easy, and sometimes, so to speak as it
were, effectual. Off with that hat and wig." And as he spoke he took
off each of his.
"You will lose by the exchange, Jemmy," said Archibald. "Mine is but a
rusty bob and a poor hat; both yours are very good."
"No matter. To-morrow at the lodgment we will change again."
Therefore, with his appearance considerably altered, Archibald Sholto
prepared now to set out for Wandsworth. But ere he did so he said one
word to honest James McGlowrie.
"Jemmy," he remarked, "make no mistake about Ka--Lady Fordingbridge
and this meeting with Bertie Elphinston to which she has gone. She is
as good and pure a woman as ever lived and suffered. I have known her
from a child, gave her her first communion; there is no speck of ill
in her."
"Lived and suffered, eh?" repeated the other.
"Ay, lived and suffered! The man she has gone to meet was to have been
her husband; they loved each other with all their hearts and souls;
and by foul treachery she was stolen from him by that most
unparalleled scoundrel, Fordingbridge. Remember that, Jemmy, when you
see her to-night; remember she is as pure a woman as your mother was,
and respect her for all that she has endured."
"Have no fear," said Jemmy, manfully, "have no fear. Although ye are a
Papist, Archie, and a priest at that, I'll e'en take your word for
it."
So, with a light laugh from the Jesuit at the rigid and plain-spoken
Presbyterianism of his old schoolfellow and whilom fag, they parted
with a grasp of the hand, each to what he had to do. That James
McGlowrie carried out his portion of the undertaking has been already
told, as well as how, after the information he gave Lady
Fordingbridge, she decided to accept Lady Belrose's offer of her house
as a refuge, if only temporarily; and how he afterwards became a
messenger from her to Bertie Elphinston.
As for Archibald Sholto, he, too, did that which he had said would be
best. He made his way from Kensington to Chelsea and so to Wandsworth,
only to find when he had arrived there that his brother and friend had
long since--for it was by then nine o'clock--departed for Vauxhall.
Therefore he said a few words to the landlady--herself an adherent of
the Stuarts, as she, whose father had fallen at Sherriffmuir, was
certain to be--telling her that it was doubtful if they would ever
return to their lodgings, but that, if they did, she must manage to
send them off at once. He told her, too, the address of the Minories
where he could be communicated with, under cover to McGlowrie, and,
since he it was who had sent them as lodgers to her house, he gave her
some money on their account. Then he left her and, thorough and
indomitable in all he did, made his way to the Spring Gardens.
"If they are there," he thought, as he waited outside the inn in
Wandsworth--an old one, known then, as now, as the Spread Eagle, while
the horse was being put into the shafts of the hackney coach he had
hired, "I may see them in time to warn them. Dressed as the
executioner, the woman said of Bertie and Douglas, without any
disguise, though in a garb that will be supposed to be one in that
place; there should be no difficulty in finding them if they are still
there. Thank God, they were not caught in their lodgings."
He did not know, nor could the landlady have told him--not knowing
herself--of how they had been watched and followed from the village to
Vauxhall; so he passed his time on the lonely drive through the
Battersea marshes in meditating how this last act of treachery of Lord
Fordingbridge was to be repaid. For that it should be so repaid, and
with interest, Archibald Sholto had already determined. "Though not
for his baseness to me so much," he muttered, "as to those whom I
love. For since to me, a priest, there can be no home, no wife, no
children, I have centred all my heart upon those three--my brother,
our friend Bertie, and poor, bonnie Kate. And those it is against whom
he has struck. May God forget me if I strike not equally, ay! and with
more certainty than he has done, when my hour comes."
A good friend was Archibald Sholto, Jesuit though he was, but a
terrible foe. As you shall see.
On his way to the garden he passed half a dozen young men of fashion
who, from their talk and actions, he knew to be about to assist at a
duel, and, forgetting that he was in secular garb, he could not
forbear from addressing them in his priestly character and begging
them to desist from the sin they contemplated. But they bade him pass
on and not interfere in what concerned him not, while one, striking at
the horse with his clouded cane, caused the animal to dash off upon
the uneven road or track. These, doubtless, were the men for whom the
boatmen who ferried Bertie and Douglas across later on were waiting.
So he reached the gardens, but only to find that most of the company
was already gone, and that, with the exception of a few revellers who
would keep the night up so long as it were possible, none of the
masqueraders remained. Yet, even from these he gathered enough to set
his mind fairly at rest; for, happening to hear one of them speak of
the "merry disturbance" which had taken place that night, and also
boast somewhat loudly of how he had assisted the Jacobites in
resisting the limbs of the law, he, by great suavity and apparent
admiration of the speaker's prowess, managed to extract from him a
more or less accurate account of what had taken place.
Thus he learned that, in some way, his brother and friend had made
their escape--aided, of course, by the pot-valiant hero to whom he was
listening--and also that the "ladies of fashion" and the gentlemen by
whom they were accompanied had also departed without molestation.
"Though," continued the narrator, as he swallowed the last drop of
brandy in his glass and then looked ruefully at the empty vessel, "I
know not if they would have been allowed to go so freely had not I and
my friend assisted in protecting them."
After that Archibald withdrew, and, on foot, made his way to the City,
while as he crossed London Bridge nearly two hours later--for he was
weary with all that had happened that day--the sun came up and lighted
with a rosy hue the Tower lying on his right hand.
"Ay," he muttered. "Ay, many's the poor aching heart within your
walls this morning besides the doomed Balmerino, Cromartie, and
Kilmarnock--for nought can save them; thank God that some at least are
free at present. But how long will they be so? How long? How long?"