FLIGHT.
That Douglas had spoken out of the fury of his heart and,
consequently, without thought, was, however, very apparent at once;
for when Kate had quitted the room, leaving Fordingbridge free from
the grasp of the former--since Douglas, a second after he had seized
him, flung him trembling and shivering on the couch--Sir Charles Ames
spoke and said, as he drew Sholto aside to where the other would not
hear them:
"It would indeed serve the scoundrel right if he were treated as you
suggest. Only, unfortunately, it is not possible. First of all, I
believe this insinuation is a lie."
"I am sure of it. If he had ever been admitted a priest my brother
must have known of it, and, in any circumstances, the truth can soon
be proved by him. A letter to the head of the Jesuit College at Lisbon
from another Jesuit such as Archibald is will prove his statement to
be false."
"Yet even," said Sir Charles, "were he a Jesuit priest and so subject
to arrest and imprisonment in this country, you would stand in far too
much danger to bring it about. Also, he can tell too much, as he would
undoubtedly do if he was himself given up. Let us consider what is
best."
"I," replied Douglas, speaking in an even lower whisper, so that the
villain could not possibly hear him, "go to-night, as you know. Archie
probably to-morrow, or the next night, and Bertie is already gone.
Surely it might somehow be done."
"Impossible," replied Sir Charles, "impossible. Remember, we are in
Lady Belrose's house; we must bring no scandal upon her. No, that way
will not do."
"What then?" asked Douglas. "What then? For I am determined that his
power of doing any harm shall be forever quenched now. We have him in
our hands, and we will hold him fast."
As he spoke he glanced where the traitor sat glowering at them from
the sofa. He seemed now to be thoroughly cowed, thoroughly alarmed
also for his own safety, and his piercing black eyes scintillated and
twinkled more like the eyes of a hunted, timorous creature than those
of a man. Indeed, as Douglas looked at him, it seemed as though
Fordingbridge were really mad with terror. Yet, abject as he now was,
the other shuddered again, as he had more than once shuddered before
when speaking of or looking at the man.
"We must get him away from this house," said Sir Charles. "I will have
no disturbance here. Come, let us take him to the park. There we can
talk at freedom, and, I think, so persuade his lordship of our
intentions that henceforth he will be harmless. Do you agree?"
Douglas nodded, whereon Sir Charles, advancing into the room again,
addressed Lord Fordingbridge.
"My lord," he said, in his coldest, most freezing manner, "it were
best you sheathed that sword," and he pointed to it as it lay beside
him on the sofa. "Such weapons are unfitted to a lady's house, and you
may be at ease--no injury is intended you."
Fordingbridge gazed at him--still with the terror-stricken look in his
eyes, the glance almost of madness or, at best, of imbecility; yet he
did as the baronet bade him, and replaced his weapon. But he uttered
no word.
"We shall be obliged," continued Sir Charles, "if you will accompany
us to St. James's Park. We have something to say to you."
"If," said Fordingbridge, finding his voice at last, "you intend to
make me fight a duel with that man, I will not do it. He----
"There is," interrupted Douglas, "no thought of such a thing. My sword
is not made to cross one borne by you."
"Very well," replied the other meekly, "I will come." But, a moment
later, he burst out into one of his more natural methods of speaking,
and cried, "You have the whip hand of me for the moment, but we shall
see. We shall see."
"We shall," replied Sir Charles, calmly; "but if your lordship is now
ready we may as well depart. We have already encroached somewhat on
Lady Belrose's hospitality."
The grave manservant seemed somewhat astonished, when he opened the
street door at a summons from the bell, to observe the three gentlemen
go down the steps together and enter the hackney coach which was still
waiting for the viscount. Also he was surprised--since he and all the
other servants in the house had gathered a very accurate knowledge of
what had transpired in the small saloon--to witness the courteous
manner in which Sir Charles motioned to his lordship to enter the
vehicle before him, and then entered it himself, followed by Douglas.
Next, he heard the direction given to the man to drive to St. James's
Park, and retired, wondering what it all meant. After the words he
had--by chance, of course--overheard in the room, he, too, naturally
supposed that a duel was about to be fought; but being a discreet man,
he only mentioned this surmise to his fellow-servants, and took care
not to alarm his mistress.
Arrived in the park and the coach discharged by Sir Charles, who even
took so much of the ordering of these proceedings upon himself as to
pay the man the hire demanded, the former, still with exquisite
politeness, requested Fordingbridge to avail himself of a vacant bench
close by, since he and his friend, Mr. Sholto, had a few words to say
to each other before they laid their deliberations before him. And
Fordingbridge, still with the terror-stricken look upon his face and
the vacillating glance in his eyes, obeyed without a word.
And now the others paced up and down the path at a short distance from
him, but always keeping him well in their view, and the deliberations
mentioned by Sir Charles took some time in arriving at. But they came
to an end at last, and the baronet, drawing near to the bench where
Fordingbridge was seated, proceeded to unfold them to him.
"My lord," he said, speaking with great clearness and cold
distinctness, "you may perhaps think that I should have no part in
whatever has transpired between you and others. Yet I think I have. It
fell to my lot--to my extreme good fortune--to be of assistance to the
Viscountess Fordingbridge, for so I shall continue to call her in
spite of your observations and disclosures this morning, which I do
not believe. It fell to my lot, I repeat, to be of some service to her
ladyship on a certain night a week or two ago. That service was
rendered necessary by your betrayal of a cause which you had once
espoused, of a man whom you had previously injured cruelly, and of
another man, Mr. Douglas, who had never injured you. Therefore, I was
of assistance to her ladyship, who was more or less under my charge
and protection that evening, and I am glad to have been able to do
so."
"I wish," muttered Fordingbridge hoarsely, glaring at him, "that you
had been at the devil before you did so."
"Doubtless. But I was not. That service, however, and your visit
to-day to the house of a lady who is shortly about to honour me by
becoming my wife, justifies me, I think, in taking some part in these
proceedings, though only as spokesman. In that character I now propose
to tell you what Mr. Sholto intends to do."
"What?" gasped Fordingbridge, moistening his lips.
"First," said Sir Charles, unsparingly, "when he has left the country,
which he will do almost immediately, to denounce you to His Majesty's
Government. You are pledged by every oath that can be regarded as
sacred in any cause to the House of Stuart----"
"No!" exclaimed Fordingbridge. "No. I am now an adherent of the House
of Hanover."
"I am afraid even that will be of little avail to you. For, if you
are, you are a double traitor. It was you who planned the attack on
the 'Fubbs,' which brought the King from Herrenhausen at the outbreak
of the Scotch Invasion; you who circulated the papers offering a large
reward for his assassination; you who, but a month or so ago, brought
over with you Father Sholto, the most notorious plotter among the
Jesuits."
"I denounced him," whined Fordingbridge. "I denounced him. That alone
will save me from the King's anger."
"That," replied Sir Charles, "is possible. I am willing to allow it.
But you are by your own confession a Jesuit priest, therefore you will
be subject to all the punishments and penalties now in force against
such persons. Also, you will have let loose against you the whole of
the anger of the Jesuits--should His Majesty be inclined to spare
you--when Mr. Sholto has informed them of your treachery. You, as one
yourself, can best imagine what form that anger is likely to take."
Fordingbridge gasped as he stared at the baronet; and now, indeed, it
seemed as if the light of idiocy alone shone in his eyes.
"But," went on Sir Charles, "you have also something else to reckon
with, namely, the punishment which your brother religionists may see
fit to accord to you for having, as a priest--as you suggest
yourself--gone through the form of matrimony. I have not the honour to
be of the Romanist religion myself, therefore I do not know what shape
that punishment may take, but, from what Mr. Sholto tells me, it is
for your own sake to be hoped that you have hinted a lie and are,
indeed, no priest."
"Let me go," said Fordingbridge, "let me go." Then he muttered,
"Curses on you all. If I could kill you both as you stand there, blast
you both to death before me, I would do it."
"Without doubt," replied Sir Charles; "but if you will pardon my
saying it, your schemes for injuring others seem to fall most
extraordinarily harmless. And I trust your aspirations for our ill
will not take effect until, at least, we have had time to put some
leading Jesuits in France--if not here--in possession of your true
character."
"Curse you both, curse you all," again muttered Fordingbridge
impotently.
"Now," continued Sir Charles, "I propose to accompany your lordship as
far as the door of your own house. Once I have seen you safe there,
care will be taken that you shall find no means of communicating in
any way with those who have it in their power to injure our friends.
When, however, they are beyond your reach you will be free from
observation, and will be quite at liberty to devote yourself to making
another peace with the Government and with the--Order of the Jesuits.
My lord, shall we now proceed to Kensington-square?"
"Have a care," said Fordingbridge, with an evil droop of his eye at
him, "have a care, however, for yourself. If they escape me, you may
not. A harbourer of Jacobites, an abettor in their escape from England
and from justice, I may yet do you an evil turn, Sir Charles Ames."
"I do not doubt it if you have the power. But, Lord Fordingbridge, you
have so much to think of on your own behalf, you will be so very much
occupied in you own affairs shortly--what with the State on one side
and the Church (your Church) on the other--that I am afraid you will
have but little time to devote to me. And I think, my lord, I can hold
my own against you. Now, come."
Douglas shook hands with Sir Charles as they stood apart once more
from the wretched man, and after one hearty grasp strode away through
the park, leaving the other two alone. Yet he did not hesitate to
acknowledge the truth of the baronet's last whispered words to him.
"Lose no time," that gentleman said as they parted, "in putting the
sea between you and England. Also induce your brother to go at once. I
have frightened the craven cur sufficiently to keep him quiet for a
day or so--alas! mine are but idle threats. The Government must find
out his villainies for themselves, while for his Church you must put
them on the scent, but afterwards I cannot answer for what he may do.
Once he finds that they are but idle threats he may go to work again.
Begone, therefore, both of you, and let me hear when you are safe in
France."
"Have no fear," Douglas replied; "by to-morrow, if all is well, we may
be in Calais. McGlowrie sends another vessel to-night. If possible,
Archie and I, Kate and her father, may be in it. But the day grows
late, there is much to do. Again farewell, and thanks, thanks, thanks
for all."
"He is safe from you," said the baronet, turning, after Douglas was
gone, to Fordingbridge. "Now, my lord, I am ready."
"I will not go with you," replied the other, some spark of manliness,
or perhaps shame, rising in his breast at the manner in which he was
dominated by this man whom, until to-day, he had never seen nor heard
of. "I will not go with you."
And he drew back from him and laid his hand upon the hilt of his
sword.
"No?" inquired Sir Charles, with his most polished air. Then he
continued: "I am sorry my enforced society should be so unwelcome." As
he spoke he glanced his eye round the grassy slopes of the park and
across the low brick wall which at that time separated it from
Piccadilly. "I regret it very much. But, my lord, I must not force
myself where I am disliked. Therefore, since I see a watchman outside
who appears to have little to occupy him, I will, with your lordship's
permission, ask him to accompany you and see you safely home. Or,
stay," and again his eye roved over the grass, "there is a sergeant's
guard passing towards Buckingham House--your lordship can see their
conical caps over the bushes--I will summon them and relieve you of my
presence, since it is so distasteful."
"Oh!" exclaimed Fordingbridge, "if ever the time should come--if ever
the chance is mine!"
"It is not at present," replied the baronet. Then, with an air of
determination which until now he had not assumed, he stamped his foot
angrily and exclaimed: "Come, sir, I will be trifled with no longer.
Either with me, or the watch, or the soldiers. But at once. At once, I
say!"
And Fordingbridge, knowing he was beaten, went with him.
A coach was found at the park wicket, into which they entered and
proceeded to Kensington, no word being uttered by either during the
drive. Then, when they had arrived outside Fordingbridge's house, Sir
Charles, with a relaxation of the courteous manner that he had
previously treated the other to, said, coldly and briefly:
"Remember, for two days you will have no opportunity of injuring
anyone. That I shall take steps to prevent. Afterwards, you will have
sufficient occupation in consulting your own welfare," and, raising
his three-cornered hat an inch, he entered the coach again. Only, he
thought it well to say to the driver in a clear, audible voice which
the other could not fail to hear:
"Drive to Kensington Palace now; I have business with the officer of
the guard."
With those terrifying words ringing in his ears--for Fordingbridge
knew how, at that time, soldiers quartered in the neighbourhood of
suspected persons acted as police act in these days, and were employed
often to make arrests of persons implicated with the State--he entered
his house, locking himself in with a key he carried. Then he proceeded
at once to ring the bells and shout for the deaf old servitor, Luke,
but without effect. There was no response to the noise he made, no
sound of the old man's heavy, shuffling feet, and he began to wonder
if he, too, had taken flight like the rest of the servants. Yet, even
if he had, his master meditated, it would matter very little now. He
was himself about to take flight. London was too hot to hold him.
A coward ever from his infancy, there could have been no better plan
devised to frighten this man from doing more harm to those whom he
wished to injure than the one adopted by Sir Charles Ames; while the
latter's statement that he had business with the officer of the guard
at Kensington Palace was the culminating point to the other's fears.
Moreover--although his mind appeared to him to be strangely hazy and
distraught now, and unable to retain the sequence of that day's
events--he recognised the fearful weapon he had drawn against himself
in suggesting that he was a Jesuit priest. Upon that statement,
testified to by Sir Charles, a man of responsible position, he would
certainly be arrested at once; while, if proof could be obtained that
he was in truth a priest, or had ever been trained to be one, the most
terrible future would lie before him.
As he thought of all this in a wandering, semi-vacant manner, he set
about doing that which, since the interview in the park, he had made
up his mind to do. He would fly from England, he would return to
France. Yet, he reflected, if in France, Paris would still be closed
to him. There the Jesuits were in possession of terrible authority,
although an authority not recognised by the Government; if they knew
what he had done, even in only betraying Archibald Sholto to the
English authorities, their vengeance on him would be sharp, swift,
terrible. And in Paris also--he could not doubt it--would soon be
Bertie Elphinston and Douglas, even Archibald himself. No, it must not
be Paris. Not yet at least!
But he must be somewhere out of London, out of England, and he set to
work--still in a dazed, stupefied manner--to make his plans.
He went first to his own bedroom, to which was attached a small toilet
or dressing-room, and, unlocking an iron-bound strong box, took from
it some money--a small casket of Louis d'ors and English guineas, a
leather case stuffed full of bills of exchange and several notes,
among them a large one drawn by a Parisian money-lender on a London
goldsmith. Then, next, he opened a false tray, or bottom, in the
strong box, and from it took out several shagreen cases which he
slipped into his pocket. These contained all his family jewels.
Yet the man's fear was so great that he might even by now have been
denounced by Sir Charles Ames to the officer of the guard at
Kensington Palace, that more than once he rose from the box and, on
hearing any slight noise in the square, ran to the window and peered
out of it and down into the road, and then came back to his task of
packing up his valuables. And all the while as he did so he muttered
to himself continually:
"The notary must see to all--I will write to him from France. He had
best sell all and remit the money. England is done with! Neither
Hanoverian nor Jacobite now. Curse them both and all." Then he
laughed, a little sniggering, feeble laugh--it was wondrous that, in
the state his mind was and with the ruin which was upon him, he could
have been moved by such a trifle!--and chuckled to himself and said:
"If Luke comes back now he will find the door barred forever. A
faithful servant! A faithful servant! Well, his home is gone. Let him
go drown himself."
He fetched next all the silver which he could find about the house,
and which had been brought forth on his return from the coffers
where it had lain since his father's flight into France years
ago--candelabras, old dishes and baskets and a coffee pot, with a
tankard or so--and hurled them into the strong box and locked it
securely.
Then, after once more peering into the square and seeing that all was
clear, he descended to the hall, opened the door an inch or two and
again glanced his eye round, and, a moment later, drew the door to and
went forth into the night.