He was angry with me. Very angry. And I, as yet, was too ignorant, toounsophisticated, to know in what way I had injured him. God knows ithad been done unwittingly. And I could not understand what went on inthat noble and obviously tortured Brain. I could only sit there andgaze upon him in helpless Bewilderment, as he now started to pace up anddown the narrow room in very truth like a caged Lion that hath beenteased till it can endure the irritation no longer.
"You are angry with me?" I contrived to stammer at last; and indeed Ifound much difficulty in keeping the tears which were welling up to mineeyes.
But my timid query only appeared to have the effect of bringing hisExasperation to its highest pitch. He did in truth turn on me as if hewere ready to strike me, and I slid down on my Knees, for I felt nowreally frightened, as his fine voice smote mine ears in thunderousAccents of unbridled Wrath.
"Angry?" he exclaimed. "Angry...? I..."
Then he paused abruptly, for he had caught sight of me, kneeling there,an humble and, I doubt not, a pathetic Figure; and, as you know, Mr.Betterton's heart is ever full of Pity for the Lowly and the Weak. Bythe flickering candle light I could distinguish his noble Features, amoment ago almost distorted with Passion, but now, all of a sudden,illumined by tender Sympathy.
He pulled himself together. I almost could see the Effort of Willwherewith he curbed that turbulent Passion which had threatened toovermaster him. He passed his hand once or twice across his brow, as ifhe strove to chase away, by sheer physical Force, the last vestige ofhis own Anger.
"No--no----," he murmured gently, bent down to me and helped me to myfeet. "No, my dear Friend; I am not angry with You ... I--I forgotmyself just now ... something seemed to snap in my Brain when you toldme that ... When you told me that----" he reiterated slowly; then threwback his head and broke into a laugh. Oh! such a laugh as I never wishto hear again. It was not only mirthless, but the Sound of it did rendmy heart until the tears came back to mine eyes; but this time throughan overwhelming feeling of Pity.
And yet I did not understand. Neither his Anger nor his obvious Despairwere clear to my Comprehension. I hoped he would soon explain, feelingthat if he spoke of it, it would ease his heartache. Mine was almostunendurable. I felt that I could cry like a child, Remorse warring withAnxiety in my heart.
Then suddenly Mr. Betterton came close to me, sat down on the sofabeside me and said, with a Recrudescence of his former Vehemence:
"Friend Honeywood, you must go straightway back to my Lady Castlemaine."
"Yes," I replied meekly, for I was ready to do anything that he desired.
"Either to my Lady Castlemaine," he went on, his voice trembling withagitation, "or to her menial first, but ultimately to my LadyCastlemaine. Go on your hands and knees, Honeywood; crawl, supplicate,lick the dust, swear that the Conspiracy had no existence save in yourown disordered brain ... that the Manifesto is a forgery ... the list ofConspirators a fictitious one ... swear above all that my Lord Stour hadno part in the murderous Plot----"
I would, dear Lady, that mine was the pen of a ready Writer, so that Imight give you a clear idea of Mr. Betterton's strange aspect at thatmoment. His face was close to mine, yet he did not seem like himself.You know how serene and calm is the Glance of his Eyes as a rule. Well!just then they were strangely luminous and restless; there was a glitterin them, a weird, pale Light that I cannot describe, but which struck meas coming from a Brain that, for the moment, was almost bereft ofReason.
That he was not thinking coherently was obvious to me from what he said.I, who was ready and prepared to do anything that might atone for theInjury, as yet inexplicable, which I had so unwittingly done to him,felt, nevertheless, the entire Futility of his Suggestion. Indeed, wasit likely that my Lady Castlemaine's Suspicions, once roused, could soeasily be allayed? Whatever I told her now, she would of a surety warnthe King--had done so, no doubt, already. Measures would be taken--hadalready been taken--to trap the infamous Plotters, to catch themred-handed in the Act; if indeed they were guilty. Nay! I could notvery well imagine how such great Personages would act under theCircumstances that had come about. But this much I did know; that notone of them would be swayed by the Vagaries of a puny Clerk, who hadtaken it upon himself to denounce a number of noble Gentlemen forTreason one moment and endeavoured to exonerate them the next. So Icould only shake my head and murmur:
"Alas, Sir! all that now would be too late."
He looked at me searchingly for a second or two. The strange glitterdied out from his eyes, and he gave a deep sigh of weariness and ofdisappointment.
"Aye!" he said. "True! true! It is all too late!"
Imagine, dear Mistress, how puzzled I was. What would You have thoughtof it all, yourself, had your sweet Spirit been present then at thathour, when a truly good, yet deeply injured Man bared his Soul beforehis Friend?
Just for a second or two the Suspicion flashed through my mind that Mr.Betterton himself was in some secret and unaccountable manner mixed upwith the abominable Conspiracy. But almost at once my saner Judgmentrejected this villainous Suggestion; for of a truth it had no foundationsave in Foolishness engendered by a bewildered brain. In truth, I hadnever seen Mr. Betterton in the Company of any of those Traitors whosenames were indelibly graven upon the tablets of my Memory, save on thatone occasion--that unforgettable afternoon in September, when he enteredthe house of Mr. Theophilus Baggs at the hour when Lord DouglasWychwoode had just entrusted his Manifesto to me. What was said thenand what happened afterwards should, God help me! have convinced me thatno sort of intimate Connection, political or otherwise, could ever existbetween my Lord Stour, Lord Douglas Wychwoode or their Friends, and Mr.Betterton.
4
Even while all these Thoughts and Conjectures were coursing through mybrain, my innermost Consciousness kept my attention fixed upon myfriend.
He had once more resumed his restless pacing up and down the narrowroom. His slender hands were closely linked together behind his back,and at times he strode quite close to me, so close that the skirts ofhis fashionably cut coat brushed against my knee. From time to timedisconnected Phrases came to his lips. He was talking to himself, athing which I had never known him do before.
"I, who wished to return Taunt for Taunt and Infamy for Infamy!" he saidat one time. And at another: "To-day ... in a few hours perhaps, thatyoung Coxcomb will be in the Tower ... and then the Scaffold!"
I listened as attentively as I could, without seeming to do so, thinkingthat, if I only caught more of these confused Mutterings, the Puzzle,such as it was, would become more clear to me. Picture the two of usthen, dear Mistress, in the semi-darkness, with only fitful candle lightto bring into occasional bold relief the fine Figure of the great Actorpacing up and down like a restless and tortured Beast; and mine ownmeagre Form cowering in an angle of the sofa, straining mine ears tocatch every syllable that came from my Friend's lips, and mine eyes tonote every Change of his Countenance.
"She will think 'twas I who spied upon him," I heard him say quitedistinctly through his clenched teeth. "I who betrayed him, herFriends, her Brother."
"He will die a Martyr to the cause she loves," he murmured a few momentslater. "A Hero to his friends--to _her_ a demi-god whose Memory shewill worship."
Then he paused, and added in a loud and firm voice, apostrophizing, Godknows what Spirits of Hate and of Vengeance whom he had summoned:
"And _that_ is to be my Revenge for the deadliest Insult Man ever putupon Man! ... Ha! ha! ha! ha!" he laughed, with weird Incontinence."God above us, save me from my Friends and let me deal alone with mineEnemies!"
He fell back into the nearest chair and, resting his elbows on hisknees, he pressed his forehead against his clenched fists. I stared athim, mute, dumbfounded. For now I understood. I knew what I had done,knew what he desired, what he had striven for and planned all these pastweary weeks. His Hopes, his Desires, I had frustrated. I, his Friend,who would hav
e given my Life for his welfare!
I had been heart-broken before. I was doubly so now. I slid from thesofa once more on my knees and, not daring to touch him, I just remainedthere, sobbing and moaning in helpless Dejection and Remorse.
"What can I do?--what can I do?"
He looked at me, obviously dazed, had apparently become quite obliviousof my presence. Once more that look of tender Commiseration came intohis eyes, and he said with a gently ironical smile:
"You? Poor little, feeble Mouse, who has gnawed at the Giant'sprey--what can you do? ... Why, nothing. Go back to our mutual Friend,Mr. Theophilus Baggs, and tell him to make his way--and quickly too--tosome obscure corner of the Country, for he also is up to the neck inthat damnable Conspiracy."
This set my mind to a fresh train of thought.
"Shall I to my Lord Stour by the same token?" I asked eagerly.
"To my Lord Stour?" he queried, with a puzzled frown. "What for?"
"To warn him," I replied. "Give him a chance of escape. I could tellhim you sent me," I added tentatively.
He laughed.
"No, no, my Friend," he said drily. "We'll not quite go to that length.Give him a chance of Escape?" he reiterated. "And tell him I sent You?No, no! He would only look upon my supposed Magnanimity as a sign ofcringing Humility, Obsequiousness and Terror of further Reprisals. No,no, my Friend; I'll not give the gay young Spark another chance ofinsulting me.... But let me think ... let me think ... Oh, if only Ihad a few days before me, instead of a mere few hours! ... And if onlymy Lady Castlemaine..."
He paused, and I broke in on the impulse of the moment.
"Oh, Sir! hath not the Countess of Castlemaine vowed often of late thatshe would grant any Favour that the great Mr. Betterton would ask ofher?"
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I regretted them. It musthave been Instinct, for they seemed innocent enough at the time. Myonly thought in uttering them was to suggest that at Mr. Betterton'srequest the Traitors would be pardoned. My Lady Castlemaine in thosedays held the King wholly under her Domination. And I still believedthat my Friend desired nothing so much at this moment than that my LordStour should not die a Hero's death--a Martyr to the cause which thebeautiful Lady Barbara had at heart.
But since that hour, whenever I have looked back upon the Sequence ofEvents which followed on my impulsive Utterance, I could not help butthink that Destiny had put the words into my mouth. She had need of meas her tool. What had to be, had to be. You, dear Mistress, can nowjudge whether Mr. Betterton is still worthy of your Love, whether he isstill worthy to be taken back into your heart. For verily my words didmake the turning point in the workings of his Soul. But I should neverhave dared to tell you all that happened, face to face, and I desired tospeak of the matter impartially. Therefore I chose the medium of a pen,so that I might make You understand and, understanding, be ready toforgive.
CHAPTER IX
A LAST CHANCE
1
Of course, what happened subsequently, I can only tell for the most partfrom what Mr. Betterton told me himself, and also from one or two factsrevealed to me by Mistress Floid.
At the moment, Mr. Betterton commended me for my Suggestion, rested hishand with all his former affectionate Manner upon my shoulder, and saidquite simply:
"I thank you, friend, for reminding me of this. My Lady Castlemaine didindeed last night intimate to me that she felt ready to grant any FavourI might ask of her. Well! I will not put her Magnanimity to an oversevere test. Come with me, friend Honeywood. We'll to her Ladyship.There will be plenty of time after that to go and warn that worthy Mr.Baggs and my equally worthy Sister. I should not like them to end theirdays upon the Scaffold. So heroic an ending doth not seem suitable totheir drabby Existence, and would war with all preconceived DramaticValues."
He then called to his man and ordered a couple of linkmen to be inreadiness to guide us through the Streets, as these were far from safefor peaceful Pedestrians after dark! Then he demanded his hat andcloak, and a minute or so later he bade me follow him, and together wewent out of the house.
2
It was now raining heavily, and we wrapped our Cloaks tightly round ourShoulders, speeding along as fast as we could. The streets were almostdeserted and as dreary as London streets alone can be on a Novemberevening. Only from the closed Windows of an occasional Tavern orCoffee-house did a few rays of bright light fall across the road,throwing a vivid bar of brilliance athwart our way, and turning thehundreds of Puddles into shining reflections, like so many glimmeringStars.
For the rest, we were dependent on the linkmen, who walked ahead of us,swinging their Lanterns for Guidance on our path. Being somewhat timidby nature, I had noted with satisfaction that they both carried stoutCudgels, for of a truth there were many Marauders about on dark nightssuch as this, Footpads and Highway Robbers, not to mention those bandsof young Rakes, who found pleasure in "scouring" the streets o' nightsand molesting the belated Wayfarer.
Mr. Betterton, too, carried a weighted stick, and he was a Man whomclean, sturdy living had rendered both athletic and powerful. We weresoon, both of us, wet to the Skin, but Mr. Betterton appeared quiteoblivious of discomfort. He walked with a quick step, and I perforcehad to keep up with him as best I could.
He had told me, before we started out, that he was bent for my LadyCastlemaine's House, the rear of which looks down upon the Gardens ofWhite Hall. I knew the way thither just as well as he did. Great wasmy astonishment, therefore, when having reached the bottom of KingStreet, when we should have turned our steps northwards, Mr. Bettertonsuddenly ordered the linkmen to proceed through Palace Yard in thedirection of Westminster Stairs.
I thought that he was suffering from a fit of absent-mindedness, whichwas easily understandable on account of his agitated Frame of Mind; andpresently I called his attention to his mistake. He paid no heed to me,however, and continued to walk on until we were some way up Canon's Row.
Here he called to his linkmen to halt, and himself paused; then caughthold of my cloak, and dragged me under the shelter of a great gatewaybelonging to one of those noble Mansions which front the River. And hesaid to me, in a strange and peremptory Voice, hardly raised above aWhisper:
"Do You know where we are, Honeywood?"
"Yes," I said, not a little surprised at the question. "We are at theSouth End of Canon's Row. I know this part very well, having often----"
"Very well, then," he broke in, still in the same imperious Manner."You know that we are under the gateway belonging to the Town Mansion ofthe Earl of Stour, and that the house is some twenty yards up thefore-court."
"I know the house," I replied, "now you mention it."
"Then you will go to my Lord Stour now, Honeywood," my Friend went on.
"To warn him?" I queried eagerly, for of a truth I was struck withAdmiration at this excess of Magnanimity on the part of an injured Man.
"No," Mr. Betterton replied curtly. "You will go to my Lord Stour as myFriend and Intermediary. You will tell him that I sent You, because Idesire to know if he hath changed his mind, and if he is ready to giveme Satisfaction for the Insult, which he put upon me nigh on two monthsago."
I could not restrain a gasp of surprise.
"But----" I stammered.
"You are not going to play me false, Honeywood," he said simply.
That I swore I would not do. Indeed, he knew well enough that if hecommanded me to go to the outermost ends of the Earth on his errand, orto hold parley with the Devil on his behalf, I would have been eager andready to do it.
But I must confess that at this moment I would sooner have parleyed withthe Devil than with the Earl of Stour. The Man whom I had denounced,You understand. I felt that the shadow of Death--conjured by me,menacing and unevasive--would perhaps lie 'twixt him and me whilst Ispoke with him. Yet how could I demu
r when my Friend besought me?--myFriend, who was gravely troubled because of me.
I promised that I would do as he wished. Whereupon he gave me fullinstructions. Never had so strange a task been put upon a simple-mindedPlebeian: for these were matters pertaining to Gentlemen. I knew lessthan nothing of Duels, Affairs of Honour, or such like; yet here wasI--John Honeywood, an humble Attorney's Clerk--sent to convey achallenge for a Duel to a high and noble Lord, in the manner mostapproved by Tradition.
I was ready to swoon with Fright; for, in truth, I am naught but a timidRustic. In spite of the cold and the rain I felt a rush of hot bloodcoursing up and down my Spine. But I learned my Lesson from end to end,and having mastered it, I did not waver.
Leaving Mr. Betterton under the shelter of the gateway, I boldly crossedthe fore-court and mounted the couple of steps which led up to the frontdoor of the Mansion. The fore-court and the front of the House werevery dark, and I was not a little afraid of Night Prowlers, who, they dosay, haunt the immediate Purlieus of these stately Abodes of theNobility, ready to fall upon any belated Visitor who might be foolishenough to venture out alone.
Indeed, everything around me was so still and seemed so desolate that anAccess of Fear seized me, whilst I vainly tried to grope for thebell-handle in the Darkness. I very nearly gave way to my Cowardicethen and there, and would have run back to my Friend or called out tothe Linkmen for their Company, only that at the very moment my Hand camein contact with the iron bell pull, and fastened itself instinctivelyupon it.