I heard him shout to them to stop their coward play. They were about to
look inside the chair, but they all turned upon him with shouts of
derision and fury. I trow he gave them blow for blow, for I heard them
yell and swear the fiend was in him. Oh, I fear me they must have been
too many for him, and that he has been injured in my defence. Pray,
your Grace, let your people see to it. I might have been grossly
ill-treated but for his opportune arrival."
"There is a young man lying in the roadway here, your Grace," spoke one
of the servants, "his clothes half torn from his back, his head
bleeding, and his arm broken. I think he is not of that band we
dispersed, for I saw one of them deal him a kick and swear a lusty oath
at him as they ran off."
"Oh, it is my preserver--I know it is!" cried Geraldine, with tears in
her eyes. "Ah, your Grace will know what to do."
"Why, put him into the coach, and take him home," spoke Marlborough at
once, his well-known humanity towards his wounded soldiers extending
instantly to this injured citizen, who had risked perhaps life itself on
behalf of law and order, and in defence of some unknown victim. "And as
for you, Lady Geraldine, you must likewise return with me. I cannot
suffer you to be abroad with these bands of ruffians prowling the
streets. I will send a message to your father's house, and your
dispersed servants will doubtless find their way home in time. Lord
Romaine shall know you safe; but you must return with me to-night."
Geraldine was only too thankful to do so. The very presence of the
great Duke, calm and fearless, dissipated her fears and gave her
confidence. She saw him superintend the lifting of the injured and
unconscious man into the coach, heard him give directions to the
servants to drive direct to Marlborough House, and then he himself took
up his position beside her chair, and walked with it till they entered
the hall of his great house, where she was suffered to alight, to be met
by the Duchess (to whom a messenger had been hastily dispatched), and
embraced by her with a motherly solicitude of which Lady Romaine would
have been quite incapable.
"My dearest girl, what a terrible fright has been yours! Oh, how I
rejoice that no hurt has come to you! I should never have forgiven
myself for detaining you so long. Ah! and what have we here? Poor
creature! he surely is not dead! What a ghastly object! Come away,
dearest; it is no sight for you. What? He came to your rescue? One
against a band? No wonder he has been roughly handled. Oh, he shall be
well tended; I warrant you that. Yes, let him be carried into yonder
ante-room. He shall have his wounds washed and dressed, and we will hear
his story later. Geraldine, my love, what ails you? What do you see
that you should look like that?"
For Geraldine's eyes, fixed upon the face of the wounded man being
carried into the hall under the personal direction of the humane Duke,
had grown fixed and glassy, and every drop of blood had ebbed from her
face, leaving it of a marble hue.
As the sense of the Duchess's questions penetrated to her senses, the
girl grasped her by the hand and whispered in tones of unrestrainable
emotion,--
"It is he! it is he! And he has laid down his life for me!"
"It is who? What mean you, child? Do you know the--the gentleman?"
asked the Duchess, perplexed and bewildered in her turn.
Geraldine's grip on her hands was firmer and faster.
"It is he of whom we were speaking but this evening. It is Sir Grey
Dumaresq himself."
With an exclamation of amaze, the Duchess stepped forward to get a
better view of the white and blood-stained face. She saw now that,
despite his torn and muddy garments, his lack of all the fine adjuncts
of the man of fashion, even to the falling wig, so essential to the
equipment of the "gentleman" of the day, it was no low-born personage
who had been carried into their stately house. Something of the
refinement of the young man's face and features could be distinguished
even in the midst of the disfiguring wounds and bruises and mire stains.
She grasped her husband by the arm, and whispered in his ear,--
"Husband, look well at yonder man, for Geraldine declares it to be Sir
Grey Dumaresq, of whom we were speaking but a few hours back. What a
strange thing, if it be!"
Marlborough bent over the young man, less with the intent of identifying
him at the present moment as of ascertaining the extent of his injuries,
and whether life yet remained whole in him. Experience on the
battlefield had given him considerable powers of discerning these
things, and he knew that the bludgeons and rapiers of the young bloods
of London streets could do as deadly work as the bullets and
sword-thrusts of actual battle.
Opening the young man's vest to ascertain whether the heart still beat,
he saw something sparkling lying within, and the next moment had uttered
a quick, sharp exclamation of astonishment.
Beckoning to his wife to approach, he held up the token--the amethyst
ring which he himself had given to the stranger who had risked so much
for him upon the field of Ramillies.
"Then Geraldine is right!" cried the Duchess in great excitement. "It
is Grey Dumaresq; he is found at last."
*CHAPTER XVII.*
*IN THE HOUSE OF THE DUKE.*
When Grey became next aware of any sensation, it was of a throbbing pain
in his head, which gradually asserted itself and dissipated the black
cloud of unconsciousness which had blotted out for the moment time and
space and memory itself. He had no desire to open his eyes; but in a
faint and feeble fashion he began to wonder what it was that had
happened, and what was the cause of this pain. Gradually he felt also a
strange powerless numbness in one of his arms, which he was unable to
move. Also he felt that he was reposing on something very soft, with a
scent of lavender in his nostrils, and a warmth and comfort to his body
that went far to atone for pain in some of his members.
He heard the fall of coals in the grate; he knew that he was lying
between smooth linen sheets; his soothed senses seemed to take in an
atmosphere other than that of the attic which had so long been his home.
He thought of Hartsbourne; it almost seemed as though he were back there
once more. He decided that either this was a dream, or else that all
which had gone before was one. Perhaps he was, in truth, a boy, and had
been dreaming of manhood's struggles, manhood's crosses. Perhaps when
he awoke, it would be to find his mother bending over him, and to hear
of some boyish escapade in which he had hurt himself. Such things had
been in the past, and might be again; but sleep overtook his drowsy
brain ere he had reasoned matters out.
How long he slept he knew not; but suddenly he woke with a mind more
clear. The events of the previous evening came back to him sharply
defined--the emptiness of their treasury; the urgent need upon him to
obtain food and money; the shifts to which he had been reduced in so
doing; and last of all, that race towards some lady's chair, attacked by
street ruffians; the short, sharp tussle round it, and the rain of blows
which had stretched him senseless in the gutter.
Yes, he remembered it all now, and could account for the pain in his
head and arm. But what had befallen him since, and where was he now?
As these questions asserted themselves, Grey opened his eyes; and what
did he see?
He was lying in one of those huge canopied beds in which our ancestors
delighted. He lay deep in a nest of down, fair linen sheets and silken
coverlets were spread over him, and crimson curtains were drawn round
three sides of the bed. He saw lace ruffles upon the night-robe in
which he lay, and the air was charged with an aromatic fragrance which
might haply proceed from a mixture of drugs and perfumes. But it was
not upon these matters that Grey's attention was concentrated, but upon
a quiet figure seated at a small table beside a brightly-blazing fire,
his eyes bent fixedly upon the pages of a roll of manuscript spread open
before him, and illumined by the soft radiance of a cluster of wax
tapers set in a rich silver candlestick of many branches. This man was
attired in a flowing dressing-gown (as we now call such a garment) of
richly-embroidered silk, fastened at the throat with a jewelled clasp,
and bound at the waist by a girdle of golden cord. The falling hair
from the ponderous wig served in part to veil the face, which was turned
slightly away from the bed; but as the reader moved to turn the page,
and to trim one of the candles with the silver snuffers, his face was
fully revealed to Grey, and the young man uttered an exclamation of
astonishment, striving to start up in bed as he did so.
"The Duke himself!"
The words were scarcely articulate, for his tongue was dry and his voice
sounded hoarse and strange in his own ears; but at the sound of it the
Duke rose quickly from his seat, and came forward towards the bed with a
pleasant smile upon his face.
"Ah, my young friend, so you have come to your senses. That is
well--that is very well. Nay, nay; seek not to move. You must needs
remain quiet awhile, to mend you of your hurts; but I trust they are of
no very serious nature, and that you will soon be sound and whole."
"But, your Grace, how come I here? What means it that I find myself in
such a place as this? I surely am not dreaming. It can be none other
but the great Duke of Marlborough himself!"
"And wherefore not," questioned the Duke, smiling, "since it was hard by
my house that you were felled by ruffians, and in defence of a lady who
had but lately left my doors? So now the mystery is explained; and we
meet again, Grey Dumaresq, not on the field of battle this time, albeit
you, who escaped without a scar or scratch at Ramillies, lie wounded
here at Marlborough House. And right glad am I to welcome you within my
doors; for it was but a few hours earlier that I was speaking of you
with my wife, and wishing that I might meet you once more."
"Your Grace does me too much honour," spoke Grey in bewildered accents,
"to bring me to your house, to sit up by my side--"
"Tush! That is but the habit of an old campaigner. My couch wooes me
not as it does other men. I am used to little sleep and hard days. I
live something too soft when I reach this land. Besides, yonder scroll
absorbed me. For that you are responsible, my friend. Did I not tell
you when first we met that you had the face of a poet? And for me there
is stronger attraction in the poetry of prose than in that which
expresses itself in rhyme and metre, which has a fashion of halting,
like a horse whose legs begin to fail him, and who changes his feet or
stumbles ever and anon."
The colour swept over Grey's pale face. He remembered now that the
packet containing his romance was buttoned up tightly in the breast
pocket of the outer coat which he wore that day. Doubtless, it had
fallen out when they took off his clothes, and there it lay spread out
upon, the table, more than three parts read by the Duke himself.
"I ask no pardon for my boldness in thus scanning your romance,"
proceeded the great man kindly, "albeit I did open the packet with
intent to discover if it might contain your place of abode, so that I
might send word to your friend where you were and what had befallen you.
Now wherefore this start and upraising? Did I not tell you it behoved
you to lie still? Must I call the physician from his slumbers to repeat
his orders himself?"
"I crave your Grace's pardon," answered Grey, sinking back upon his
pillows; "but your words did bring back to me the remembrance of a sick
old man, dependent upon me for tendance and care. When I left him, I
knew that for many hours he had all that he did need beside him. But if
I am long detained from his side, he must needs suffer lack and hurt."
"Nay; but I will see that he does neither. Tell me only where he may be
found, and I will send a trusty messenger to do all that is needful, and
make arrangements for his comfort during the time which may elapse
before you can return."
So Grey gave the needful information, and the Duke issued some orders to
his servants in the outer room, returning to the bedside with a face
expressive of a kindly curiosity and wonder.
Sitting down at the bedside, and entering into friendly talk with the
young man, it was not difficult to draw from him a full and detailed
account of all that had betided since they first met upon the field of
Ramillies, and Grey had gone back to his native land to see what fortune
had in store for him there.
The Duke made an excellent and sympathetic listener. He was sincerely
interested in this young man. He owed him a personal debt of gratitude.
Both he and his wife suspected that Lady Geraldine Adair, her favourite,
was more than a little attracted by young Sir Grey Dumaresq, whom she
had admitted to have met more than once during his brief career as a
gentleman of fashion and the friend of Lord Sandford. They had seen
self-betrayal in her face last night when he was carried in senseless,
and she knew that he was her unknown preserver, who had diverted the
attack of the young street ruffians from her chair, and had thus given
time for the Duke's carriage to come up; and it had recalled to their
minds and hearts the memory of their own young courting days, when John
Churchill was paying his addresses to Sarah Jennings, and they could see
and think of nothing but each other and their love. That Grey Dumaresq
had fallen upon evil times there could be no manner of doubt, and that
his fortunes were at the lowest ebb was manifest; yet the Duke, as he
listened to the tale, was revolving many matters in his mind, and only
spoke to lead the young man on by some well-timed question to express
himself with more freedom and detail.
As for Grey, when once the ice had been broken, he had no desire for
reserve. There was a strange sense of comfort and relief in pouring out
his tale into sympathetic ears. The only matters he held back were his
suspicions of others--firstly, those respecting his kinsman, and any
possible hand he might have had in hastening his father's death; and
secondly, those concerning Lord Sandford and his possible treachery
towards himself. It seemed to him unfair to speak of unproven
suspicions of crime or evil plotting to one so high in station as the
Duke of Marlborough, whose smile or frown might mean so much to those
who merited it. But of all else he spoke with frank freedom and
unreserve; and at the last, when his tale was told, he saw the kindly
gaze of the Duke bent upon him with shrewd searching inquiry.
"And so, Grey Dumaresq, you came actually to know the lack of food; and
yet you bore upon your person all the while the token I had given you,
telling you that you had but to show the same to my wife, and she would
find means of rewarding you for the service done to her husband."
"I had had my reward in your Grace's favour and kindness," answered Grey
with quiet dignity; "I prized that token as a thing most precious. Yet
I never desired to use it as a means of gain. I will not say I never
thought of it," he added, after a moment's pause, his colour slightly
rising as he spoke; "and perchance had matters gone so with my old
friend Jonathan Wylde that privation or starvation nearly threatened
him, I might e'en have swallowed my pride, and become a suppliant for
favour. But I should have fallen in my own esteem had I been forced to
such a step. It may be pride--false pride--haughtiness of spirit--I
know not; but in the days of my prosperity I would not seek to curry
favour by making capital out of something which I desired to retain as a
pleasant memory. And when poverty had fallen upon me, and I had dropped
my name and my title, and was known only as a poor actor, living in
obscurity and poverty, how could I hope to be admitted to the presence
of the Duchess? How could I desire to parade my fallen fortunes before
the eyes of her train of servants? Your Grace had called me
friend--that was my reward."
With a smile the great man slowly shook his head. Although a love for
money amounting to greed was his own besetting sin, he could admire
disinterestedness and honourable pride in others. He knew that had Grey
played his cards well, seeking only personal advancement and place, he
might by this time have risen, through the influence of the Duchess,
into some position which would have secured him ease and affluence. He
knew that in his place he would not have scrupled to do this, nor would
nine-tenths of the men of the day. Although he smiled at the romantic
folly and chivalrous scruples of the youth of poetical temperament, he
could yet admire those highly unpractical qualities which had gone near
to bring him to ruin.
"Well, my young friend," he said at last, "there must be an end of this
masquerading in rags and tatters. I shall make it my business to bring
your case before the Queen herself. I trow that you have been scurvily
treated by your kinsman, and that that matter requires investigation.
In addition to this, no man with that book in his hands," and he pointed
to the roll upon the table, "should lack for daily bread. There should
be a fortune in it, or in the hands of the man who owns the brain that
conceived and the hand that penned it. See here, Sir Grey. The Queen
is not exactly a critic of literature or a patron of all genius, but she
has a love for what is pure and beautiful and simply true. I warrant
that yonder romance will go home to her heart. My wife shall take it
and read it to her this very afternoon, when she is to be in attendance
upon her Majesty. When that has been done, take my word for it, you
will have half the publishers of the town crowding cap in hand to crave
the favour of bringing it out for the world to read. Oh, you need not
blush, like a young mother when her firstborn babe is praised! I trow I
know a good book when I see it; and that is one which will mightily
please her Majesty, since it sings the praise of pure love and
chivalrous fidelity, and all those virtues which seem well-nigh out of
date, but which the Queen would fain see restored as in the bygone days
of knights-errant and King Arthur's Round Table."
"I was told that there was no sale nowadays for aught but scurrilous
libels and bitter lampoons, or at best for political pamphlets treating
of subjects of which I know naught."
"Ay, men love garbage, when they can get it; and the strife of bitter
tongues is entertaining to those who would fain believe all that is bad
of their fellows. Yet are there enough pure and loving souls left in
this great Babylon to appreciate such work as yonder; and when once her
Majesty's favour has been shown to it and its writer, you will see how
these same publishers will change their tone. Every aspirant to
literary fame needs a patron, and your patron shall be the Queen."
It was almost too wonderful for belief. Grey was not sure still that he
did not dream. And after he had swallowed the draught which his host
mixed and held to his lips, he quickly fell into a sound slumber from
which even dreams were banished. But when he woke again the sun must
long have been up, and surely he was again dreaming; for here was Dick
himself, clad once more in the livery of a well-to-do servant, standing
at his bedside with a tray containing a light but savoury breakfast.
"Dicon! Why, will wonders never cease? Man alive, how came you here?"
"Why, if you will but sit up, and let me give you of this broth which
has been specially prepared for you, I will gladly tell you all.
Master, my dear master, I trow that all our troubles are ended now!"
"If I could be sure I were not dreaming, good Dicon, belike I might say
the same; but my head is so bewildered, I know not what to believe. Yet
it is good to see your honest face again, even in a dream."
"Faith, I am no dream, master, and my tale can soon be told. I came
into the town soon after dawn, to tell you I had discovered Don Carlos
in Lord Sandford's stables at St. Albans, where he keeps the beasts he
uses for racing and such like. And no sooner had I stepped into a
tavern not so far from here for a pot of ale and crust of bread, when I
did hear that all the town was ringing with the tale of how young Sir
Grey Dumaresq, who had disappeared mysteriously not long since had
risked his life not far from Marlborough House in beating off a gang of
Mohawks from besetting and perhaps injuring the Lady Geraldine Adair,
who was returning homewards after an evening spent with the Duchess.
Nay, master, what ails you? You are white as a ghost. Lie down again,
and let me fetch the leech."
"Nay, nay, good Dicon; 'tis but a passing qualm. Heed it not. So it was
the Lady Geraldine who was in that chair?"
"Yes; and there is no knowing what might have befallen her, but for the
timely arrival of Sir Grey. That is what all the town is buzzing about.
Well, when I heard that, I thought I would make bold to present myself
here, and lay claim to be your servant. And who should come to speak
with me but the Duke himself, who even remembered having seen my face
that day at Ramillies! I vow he did talk with me for hard upon an hour;
and I did tell him--oh, I told him everything that I could think
of--things I have not yet dared to speak to you, my master. I have told
him what Jock Jarvis and I do think of old Barty at Hartsbourne, and
what I think of my Lord Sandford, and how he did first seek to cause you
to break your neck, and then robbed you by foul means of your horse--the
horse that carried his Grace so bravely through the battle of Ramillies.
Oh, I saw how his eyes flashed. I trow he will have a rod in pickle for
my Lord Sandford yet! He is a noble and knightly gentleman; and when he
had heard all I had to say, he did call me an honest fellow; and he gave
me some gold pieces, and sent me out with one of his servants to get me
a livery such as it became Sir Grey's servant to wear. And he told me
to come back to wait upon you, my master, for that he and her Grace were
about to go to Whitehall to attend upon the Queen this afternoon and
evening; and I warrant they will tell a tale to her Majesty which will
put a spoke in some fine gentleman's wheel."
Grey lay back upon his pillows breathless with wonder and excitement;
but it was excitement of that joyful kind which acts rather as a tonic
upon the system than as a deterrent to recovery. He sent Dick away to
make inquiries about the Old Lion; and as the man went out, the Duke's
physician entered and examined the wound upon Grey's head and the
condition of the broken arm, which he had skilfully set, and ended by
permitting his patient, after other two hours of quiet rest, to leave
his bed for a few hours to sit in the adjoining room for a while under
the care of his servant.
"Had you been like too many of our young gallants, full-blooded, heated
with wine, softened by gluttony and rich living, these injuries might
have involved blood-letting and other severe remedies. But your
temperate life and meagre living of late tell in your favour now. You
need heartening up and strengthening by good food and a little old wine
carefully administered, and you will soon cease to feel any ill effects.
I congratulate you heartily on the occasion which has brought you once
again into the notice of the Duke, who can be a stanch and true friend,
as I have reason to know."
When Dick returned to him he was laden with fine clothing, such as Grey
had been wont to wear, and which the man spread out with an air of pride
and delight that was good to see.
"See there! The Duke's own clothes--those he wore some few years since,
when he was something slimmer than now. He bade his man look them out
for you, seeing that your own garments were all torn and
mud-bespattered--"
"Ay, and of fustian, in lieu of cloth, and silk, and velvet," added
Grey, as he looked smilingly at the rich clothing before him. "Well,
well, Dicon, when one comes suddenly into the midst of an enchanted
palace, one must take the good the gods provide. But tell me of Mr.
Wylde. Have you learned aught concerning him?"