"I liked Stour and I admired him," Lord Rochester said at one time. "Icould have sworn that Nature herself had written 'honest man' on hisface."
"Ah!----" interposed Mr. Betterton, with that quiet Sarcasm which I hadlearned to dread. "Nature sometimes writes with a very bad Pen."
3
It was not to be wondered at that the Scandal against my Lord Stour,which was started in the Green Room of the Theatre, grew in Magnitudewith amazing Rapidity. I could not tell you, dear Mistress, what myinnermost feelings were in regard to the Matter: being an humble andignorant Clerk and devoted to the one Man to whom I owe everything thatmakes life pleasing. I had neither the Wish nor the mental Power totear my Heart to Pieces, in order to find out whether it beat inSympathy with my Friend, or with the Victim of such a complete anddeadly Revenge.
My Lord Stour was not then in London. He too, like many of hisFriends--notably the Marquis of Sidbury and others not directly accusedof Participation in the aborted Plot--had retired to his Country Estate,probably unwilling to witness the gaieties of City Life, while those hecared for most were in such dire Sorrow. But now that the Lady Barbaraand her Father were once more in Town, there was little doubt that hetoo would return there presently. Since he was a free Man, and LordDouglas Wychwoode had succeeded in evading the Law, there was no doubtthat the natural Elasticity of Youth coupled with the prospect of thehappy future which lay before him, would soon enable him to pick up theThreads of Life, there where they had been so unexpectedly andruthlessly entangled.
I imagine that when his Lordship first arrived in Town and once moreestablished himself in the magnificent Mansion in Canon's Row which Ihad bitter cause to know so well, he did not truly visualize theAtmosphere of brooding Suspicion which encompassed him where e'er hewent. If he did notice that one or two of his former Friends did givehim something of a cold shoulder, I believe that he would attribute thismore to political than to personal Reasons. He had undoubtedly beenimplicated in a Conspiracy which was universally condemned for itsTreachery and Disloyalty, and no doubt for a time he would have to bearthe brunt of public Condemnation, even though the free Pardon, which hadso unexpectedly been granted him, proved that he had been more misguidedthan really guilty.
His Arrival in London, his Appearance in Public Places, his obviousignorance of the Cloud which was hanging over his fair Name, were thesubject of constant Discussion and Comment in the Green Room of theTheatre as well as elsewhere. And I take it that his very Insouciance,the proud Carelessness wherewith he met the cold Reception which hadbeen granted him, would soon have got over the scandalous tale whichconstant Gossip alone kept alive, except that one tongue--and onealone--never allowed that Gossip to rest.
And that Tongue was an eloquent as well as a bitter one, and morecunning than even I could ever have believed.
How oft in the Green Room, in the midst of a brilliant Company, have Ilistened to the flippant talk of gay young Sparks, only to hear itdrifting inevitably toward the Subject of my Lord Stour, and of thatwholly unexplainable Pardon, which had left him a free Man, whilst allhis former Associates had either perished as Traitors, or were forced tolead the miserable life of an Exile, far from Home, Kindred and Friends.
Drifting, did I say? Nay, the Talk was invariably guided in thatdirection by the unerring Voice of a deeply outraged Man who, at last,was taking his Revenge. A word here, an Insinuation there, a wittyRemark or a shrug of the shoulders, and that volatile sprite, PublicOpinion, would veer back from any possible doubt or leniency to theeternally unanswered Riddle: "When so many of his Friends perished uponthe Scaffold, how was it that my Lord Stour was free?"
How it had come about I know not, but it is certain that very soon itbecame generally known that his Lordship had been entrusted by hisFriends with the distribution of Manifestos which were to rally certainWaverers to the cause of the Conspirators. And it was solemnly averredthat it was in consequence of a Copy of this same Manifesto, togetherwith a list of prominent Names, coming into the hands of my LadyCastlemaine, that so many Gentlemen were arrested and executed, and myLord Stour had been allowed to go scot-free.
How could I help knowing that this last Slander had emanated from theGreen Room, with the object of laying the final stone to the edifice ofCalumnies, which was to crush an Enemy's Reputation and fair Fame beyondthe hope of Retrieval?
4
A day or two later my Lord Stour, walking with a Friend in St. James'sPark, came face to face with Mr. Betterton, who had Sir William Davenantand the Duke of Albemarle with him as well as one or two otherGentlemen, whilst he leaned with his wonted kindness and familiarity onmy arm. Mr. Betterton would, I think, have passed by; but my Lord Stour,ignoring him as if he were dirt under aristocratic feet, stopped withostentatious good-will to speak with the General.
But his Grace did in truth give the young Lord a very cold shoulder andSir William Davenant, equally ostentatiously, started to relate piquantAnecdotes to young Mr. Harry Wordsley, who was just up from the country.
I saw my Lord Stour's handsome face darken with an angry frown. Forawhile he appeared to hesitate as to what he should do, then with scantCeremony he took the Duke of Albemarle by the coat-sleeve and saidhastily:
"My Lord Duke, You and my Father fought side by side on many occasions.Now, I like not your Attitude towards me. Will you be pleased toexplain?"
The General tried to evade him, endeavoured to disengage hiscoat-sleeve, but my Lord Stour was tenacious. A kind of broodingObstinacy sat upon his good-looking face, and after awhile he reiteratedwith almost fierce Insistence:
"No! no! you shall not go, my Lord, until You have explained. I amtired," he added roughly, "of suspicious looks and covert smiles, anatmosphere of ill-will which greets me at every turn. Politically, manymay differ from Me, but I have yet to learn that a Gentleman hath notthe right to his own Opinions without being cold-shouldered by hisFriends."
The Duke of Albemarle allowed him to talk on for awhile. His Graceobviously was making up his mind to take a decisive step in the matter.After a while he did succeed in disengaging his coat-sleeve from thepersistent Clutch of his young Friend, and then, looking the latterstraight between the eyes, he said firmly:
"My Lord, as You say, your Father and I were Friends and Comrades inArms. Therefore You must forgive an old Man and a plain Soldier apertinent question. Will you do that?"
"Certainly," was my Lord Stour's quiet Reply.
"Very well then," continued His Grace, while all of us who were thereheld our breath, feeling that this Colloquy threatened to have a graveissue. "Very well. I am glad that You have given me this opportunity ofhearing some sort of Explanation from You, for in truth, Rumour of latehath been over busy with your Name."
"An Explanation, my Lord?" the young Man said, with an added frown.
"Aye!" replied His Grace. "That's just the Word. An Explanation. ForI, my Lord, as your Father's Friend, will ask You this: how is it thatwhile Teammouth, Campsfield and so many of your Associates perished uponthe Scaffold, You alone, of those implicated in that infamous Plot, didobtain an unconditional Pardon?"
Lord Stour stepped back as if he had been hit in the face. BoundlessAstonishment was expressed in the Gaze which he fixed upon the General,as well as wrathful indignation.
"My Lord!" he exclaimed, "that Question is an insult!"
"Make me swallow mine own Words," retorted His Grace imperturbably, "bygiving me a straight Answer."
"Mine Answer must be straight," rejoined Lord Stour firmly, "since it isbased on Truth. I do not know."
The Duke shrugged his Shoulders, and there came a sarcastic laugh frommore than one of the Gentlemen there.
"I give your Lordship my Word of Honour," Lord Stour insisted haughtily.Then, as His Grace remained silent, with those deep-set eyes of hisfixed searchingly upon the young Man, the latter added vehemently: "Isthen mine Honour in question?"
Whereu
pon Mr. Betterton, who hitherto had remained silent, interposedvery quietly:
"The honour of some Gentlemen, my Lord, is like the Manifestation ofGhosts--much talked of ... but always difficult to prove!"
You know his Voice, dear Mistress, and that subtle carrying Power whichit has, although he never seems to raise it. After he had spoken Youcould have heard the stirring of every little twig in the trees aboveus, for no one said another Word for a moment or two. We all stoodthere, a compact little Group: Lord Stour facing the Duke of Albemarleand Mr. Betterton standing a step or two behind His Grace, his fine,expressive Face set in a mask of cruel Irony. Sir William Davenant andthe other Gentlemen had closed in around those three. They must havefelt that some strange Storm of Passions was brewing, and instinctivelythey tried to hide its lowering Clouds from public gaze.
Fortunately there were not many Passers-by just then, and the littleScene remained unnoted by the idly curious, who are ever wont to collectin Crowds whenever anything strange to them happens to attract theirAttention.
My Lord Stour was the first to recover Speech. He turned on Mr.Betterton with unbridled Fury.
"What!" he cried, "another sting from that venomous Wasp? I might haveguessed that so miserable a Calumny came from such a vile Caitiff asthis!"
"Abuse is not Explanation, my Lord," interposed the Duke of Albemarlefirmly. "And I must remind you that you have left my Questionunanswered."
"Put it more intelligibly, my Lord," retorted Lord Stour haughtily. "Imight then know how to reply."
"Very well," riposted His Grace, still apparently unmoved. "I will putit differently. I understand that your Associates entrusted theirtreasonable Manifestos to you. Is that a fact?"
"I'll not deny it."
"You cannot," rejoined the Duke drily. "Sir James Campsfield, in thecourse of his Trial, admitted that he had received his Summons throughYou. But a Copy of that Manifesto came into the hands of my LadyCastlemaine just in time to cause the Conspiracy to abort. How wasthat?"
"Some Traitor," replied Lord Stour hotly, "of whom I have noCognizance."
"Yet it was You," riposted the General quietly, "who received a freePardon ... no one else. How was that?" he reiterated more sternly.
"I have sworn to You that I do not know," protested my Lord Stourfiercely.
He looked now like a Man at Bay, trapped in a Net which was closing inaround him and from which he was striving desperately to escape. Hisface was flushed, his eyes glowed with an unnatural fire. And alwayshis restless gaze came back to Mr. Betterton, who stood by, calm andimpassive, apparently disinterested in this Colloquy wherein a man'sHonour was being tossed about to the Winds of Slander and of Infamy.Now Lord Stour gazed around him, striving to find one line of genuineSympathy on the stern Faces which were confronting him.
"My word of Honour, Gentlemen," he exclaimed with passionateEarnestness, "that I do not know."
Honestly, I think that one or two of them did feel for him and wereinclined to give him Credence. After all, these young Fops are notwicked; they are only mischievous, as Children or young Puppies are wontto be, ready to snarl at one another, to yap and to tear to piecesanything that happens to come in their way. Moreover, there was thegreat bond of Caste between these People. They were, in their innermostHearts, loth to believe that one of themselves--a Gentleman, one bearinga great Name--could be guilty of this type of foul Crime which was moreeasily attributable to a Plebeian. It was only their Love ofScandal-monging and of Backbiting that had kept the Story alive allthese weeks. Even now there were one or two sympathetic Murmurs amongstthose present when my Lord Stour swore by his Honour.
But just then Mr. Betterton's voice was heard quite distinctly abovethat Murmur:
"Honour is a strangely difficult word to pronounce on the Stage," he wassaying to Sir William Davenant, apparently _a propos_ of something thelatter had remarked just before. "You try and say it, Davenant; youwill see how it always dislocates your Jaw, yet produces no effect."
"Therefore, Mr. Actor," Lord Stour broke in roughly, "it should only bespoken by those who have a glorious Ancestry behind them to teach themits true Significance."
"Well spoken, my Lord," Mr. Betterton rejoined placidly. "But you mustremember that but few of His Majesty's Servants have a line of gloriousAncestry behind them. In that way they differ from many Gentlemen who,having nothing but their Ancestry to boast of, are very like aTurnip--the best of them is under the ground."
This Sally was greeted with loud Laughter, and by a subtle process whichI could not possibly define, the wave of Sympathy which was setting inthe direction of my Lord Stour, once more receded from him, leaving himwrathful and obstinate, His Grace of Albemarle stern, and the young Fopsflippant and long-tongued as before.
"My Lord Stour," the General now broke in once more firmly, "'tis Yousought this Explanation, not I. Now You have left my Questionunanswered. Your Friends entrusted their Manifestos to You. How came oneof these in Lady Castlemaine's hands?"
And the young Man, driven to bay, facing half a dozen pairs of eyes thatheld both Contempt and Enmity in their glance, reiterated hoarsely:
"I have sworn to You that I do not know." Then he added: "Hath Loyaltythen left this unfortunate Land, that You can all believe such a vilething of me?"
And in the silence that ensued, Mr. Betterton's perfectly modulatedVoice was again raised in quietly sarcastic accents:
"As You say, my Lord," he remarked. "Loyalty hath left this unfortunateCountry. Perhaps," he added with a light shrug of the shoulders, "totake Refuge with your glorious Ancestry."
This last Gibe, however, brought my Lord Stour's exasperation to araging Fury. Pushing unceremoniously past His Grace of Albemarle, whostood before him, he took a step forward and confronted Mr. Bettertoneye to eye and, drawing himself up to his full Height, he literallyglowered down upon the great Artist, who stood his Ground, placid andunmoved.
"Insolent Varlet!" came in raucous tones from the young Lord's quiveringlips. "If you had a spark of chivalry or of honour in You----"
At the arrogant Insult every one drew their breath. A keen Excitementflashed in every eye. Here was at last a Quarrel, one that must end inbloodshed. Just what was required--so thought these young Rakes, I feelsure--to clear the Atmosphere and to bring abstruse questions ofSuspicion and of Honour to a level which they could all of themunderstand. Only the Duke of Albemarle, who, like a true and greatSoldier, hath the greatest possible Abhorrence for the gentlemanlyPastime of Duelling, tried to interpose. But Mr. Betterton, havingprovoked the Quarrel, required no interference from any one. You knowhis way, dear Mistress, as well as I do--that quiet Attitude which he iswont to assume, that fraction of a second's absolute Silence just beforehe begins to speak. I know of no Elocutionist's trick more telling thanthat. It seems to rivet the Attention, and at the same time to key upExcitement and Curiosity to its greatest strain.
"By your leave, my Lord," he said slowly, and his splendid Voice rosejust to a sufficient pitch of Loudness to be distinctly heard by thoseimmediately near him, but not one yard beyond. "By your leave, let usleave the word 'honour' out of our talk. It hath become ridiculous andobsolete, now that every Traitor doth use it for his own ends."
But in truth my Lord Stour now was beside himself with Fury.
"By gad!" he exclaimed with a harsh laugh. "I might have guessed that itwas your pestilential Tongue which stirred up this Treason against me.Liar!--Scoundrel!----"
He was for heaping up one Insult upon the other, lashing himself as itwere into greater Fury still, when Mr. Betterton's quietly ironicallaugh broke in upon his senseless ebullitions.
"Liar?--Scoundrel, am I?" he said lightly, and, still laughing, heturned to the Gentlemen who stood beside him. "Nay! if the sight of aScoundrel offends his Lordship, he should shut himself up in his ownRoom ... and break his Mirror!"
At this, my Lord Stour lost the last vestige of his self-control, seizedMr. Betterton by the Shoulder and veril
y, I thought, made as if he wouldstrike him.
"You shall pay for this Insolence!" he cried.
But already, with perfect _sang-froid_, the great Artist had arrestedhis Lordship's uplifted hand and wrenched it away from his shoulder.
"By your leave, my Lord," he said, and with delicate Fingers flicked thedust from off his coat. "This coat was fashioned by an honest tailor,and hath never been touched by a Traitor's hand."
I thought then that I could see Murder writ plainly on My Lord's face,which was suddenly become positively livid. The Excitement around uswas immense. In truth I am convinced that every Gentleman there presentat the moment, felt that something more deep and more intensely bitterlay at the Root of this Quarrel, between the young Lord and the greatand popular Artist. Even now some of them would have liked tointerfere, whilst the younger ones undoubtedly enjoyed the Spectacle andwere laying, I doubt not, imaginary Wagers as to which of the twoDisputants would remain Master of the Situation.
His Grace of Albemarle tried once more to interpose with all theAuthority of his years and of his distinguished Position, for indeedthere was something almost awesome in Lord Stour's Wrath by now. ButMr. Betterton took the Words at once out of the great General's mouth.
"Nay, my Lord," he said with quiet Firmness, "I pray You, do notinterfere. I am in no danger, I assure You. My Lord Stour would wishto kill me, no doubt. But, believe me, Fate did not ordain that TomBetterton should die by such a hand ... the fickle Jade hath too keen aSense of Humour."