CHAPTER XVIII
THE DOUBLE SIX
The time had not been wasted. I had had a stirring experience and got ahint of dangers and uncertainties ahead. Moreover, and on this I plumedmyself most, I had acquired a handsome hat. It was a trifle roomy, but awisp of paper tucked within the inside rim would remedy that defect. Themoon was getting higher and brighter, and I pulled my new treasure offagain and again to admire it. It had belonged to a rascal with anexcellent taste in hats. I was very content with it, and looked forwardeagerly to catching the glint in Margaret's eyes when she saw it. Afterall it behoved me to look well in her presence, and I regretted that therogue had not shed his coat and breeches as well. No doubt they wereequally modish and becoming, and would have set me up finely, though allthe tailors in London town couldn't make me a match for Maclachlan. A manhas to be born to fine clothes, like a bird to fine feathers, before helooks well in them. The thought made me rueful. I jammed my hat onfiercely, and slapped Sultan into a longer stride.
The man ahead of me was, out of question, the Government spy, Weir. Itwas now a full day and more since I had crammed my Virgil into his maw,and he had had time to get into these parts. Thirty years before there hadbeen much feeling for the honest party hereabouts, and among the gentryalong the border of the shires there would be some in whose hearts the oldflame still flickered. Indeed, my own errand proved so much, and anoser-out like Weir would be well employed in rooting up fragments ofgossip over the bottle and memories of beery confidences at marketordinaries--sunken straws which showed the back-washes of opinion beneaththe placid surface flow of our rural life. I dug my fingers into my thighand imagined I was wringing the rascal's greasy neck, and the feeling didme good.
I began to ride past scattered houses and then between rows of cottages.Sultan was tiring a little, but, being an experienced horse, pricked up atthe sight and cantered down the dead main street of the town. The shadowsof the houses on my left ended in an irregular line on the cobbledcauseway on my right. Near the town end I came on an exception to theblack-and-white stillness of the houses--an inn on my right ablaze withlight and full of noise. A merry liquorish company it held, somequarrelling, some rowdily disputatious, and a few stentors trying to drownthe rest by roaring a tipsy catch. I pulled Sultan towards the verge ofthe shadows to see if I could make anything out, and he, supposing, nodoubt, that I was guiding him towards bait and stable, made a half-turntowards the portico that ran on pillars along the face of the inn. Ichecked him at once, but, in that trice of time, a man leaped from behinda pillar, laid one hand on the pommel of my saddle, and raised the otherin warning. He was a little man, and in his eagerness he stood on tiptoeand whispered, "Ride on, Master Wheatman! One second may cost you dear!"
Even as he spoke, some movement within startled him, and he leaped backinto the shadow before I could question him.
I urged Sultan onward, and once out of footfall of the inn, pricked himinto a gallop. Out of the town he fled, past the end of the Stafford road,along which two hours of Sultan's best would bring me to the Hanyards andmother and Kate, and I kept him at it for a full two miles before I gavehim a breather and settled down to think out what it meant.
I did not know the man from Adam, but he had me and my name quite pat. Hewas obviously a friend, for his bearing and his warning alike bespoke hisgoodwill towards me. He must be waiting there for some purpose, and hemust have seen me somewhere and learned enough about me to know from whatsource danger to me was certain to come. In this case it was plain thatthe danger was within the inn. The carousers might be, nay, almostcertainly were, soldiers, though there had been none in the town when JobLousely had left it less than two hours ago. The news of my escapade mightwell have leaked into Stafford by now; I was very well known in the town,and the stranger might be some Stafford chap benighted at Uttoxeter afterhis business at the market. As I say, I did not know the man, but he mightvery well know me; he was, perhaps, some old schoolfellow, grown out ofrecollection by moonlight, and still willing to serve an old butty. Thisseemed the likeliest solution of the difficulty, and it made me very sad.The news about Jack would be whispered round by now, and I could neverwalk the old streets again without seeing nods and shudders everywhere._See him? That's him! Killed his best friend! Wheatman of the Hanyards!Never held his head up since! And hadn't ought to!_ The chatter of thetownsfolk crept into my ears between the hoof-beats, and made me sick anddizzy.
It would not have happened but for the bladder-faced scoundrel ahead ofme, now creeping around like a loathsome insect to sting a man of ancientname and fame, and I was eager to be at him again. Sultan, without moreurging, had made the furlongs fly in gallant style, and it was time to belooking out for my landmarks. Nance had made me letter-perfect in them.Here, on the right, was the woodward's cottage where the road began to rundownhill into a bottom dark with ancient elms: there, on my left, in anopen space among the boles, the moon showed up a worn, grey column whichmarked the spot where, in the wild days of the Roses, a Parker Putwell hadslain a Blount in unfair fight for a light of love not worth the blood ofa rabbit. Nance had very earnestly told me the old, sad tale, to impressthe spot on my mind, for the long lane up to Ellerton Grange began in theshadows just beyond the monument, and wound away up the slope to theright. The road carried us up where the moon-light fell on meadows thatwere almost lawns, and across them to a maze of buildings. A minute later,I leaped off Sultan and hammered away at the studded oaken door ofEllerton Grange.
No man came to my summons, and I sent a second volley of rat-tats echoingthrough the house before I heard a shuffling of feet within and a drawingof big bolts. The door crept open for a foot or so, and an old man's head,with a lantern trembling over it, appeared in the gap.
"Who's there?" he quavered.
"Wheatman of the Hanyards," I answered; "but my name is nothing to thepurpose and my business is. I must see Sir James Blount."
"He's abed," said he, "hours ago!"
"Then fetch him out!"
The old man pushed his lantern close to my face and straightened himselfto take a fair look at me. He had sunken cheeks and toothless gums, andhairless eyes with raw, red lids, and out of all question was someancient, rusty serving-man, tottery and slow, but quick-minded enough, andof a dog-like faithfulness to the hand that fed him.
"Young and masterly," he muttered, "and o'er young to be so o'ermasterly. But I mind the day when I would 'a' raddled his bones with myquarterstaff."
"I won't naysay it, grandad," I answered, seeking to humour him. "In yourtime you've been a two-inch taller lad than I am. Not so big o' the chest,though, grandad."
"Who're you grandadding? I was big enough o' the chest when I could neckmeat and drink enough to fill me out. Now!"
As he spoke he gripped a handful of the waistcoat that hung loosely abouthim, and added, "Once it was a fair fit, my master. It's cold and late formy old bones to be creaking about, but Trusty's the dog for the tail-endof the hunt, and a Blount's a Blount and mun be served."
"Fetch him out!" I repeated. "I've ridden hard and far to serve him."
The ancient took another look at me and said to himself in a loudwhisper, after the manner of old and favoured serving-men, "A farmeringbody all but his hat, and none o' your ride-by-nights."
"Fetch him out!" said I again, not for want of fresh words to say to thecandid old dodderer but to keep him to the point.
"Oh-aye," said he, and shuffled off.
He left me fuming, for his last mutteration, as he shook his lantern tostir the flame up a bit, was, "Knows a true man when he sees one. Moreused to a carving-knife than a sword, I'll be bound. What did he say?Wheatman o' sommat! Reg'lar farmering name!"
I kicked the door wide open and watched the lantern bobbing along thehall. The light made pale shimmerings on complete suits of mail hanging solife-like on the high, bare, stone walls, that it seemed for all the worldas if the knights had been crucified there and, little by little, ageafter age, had dropped to dust, leaving the
ir warrior panoplies behind--emptyshells on the shore of time from which the life had dripped androtted. The old man toiled up the grand staircase at the far end of thehall and turned to the right along a gallery. The friendly lightdisappeared, leaving me darkling and alone. Sultan sniffed his way to thedoor, pushed in his head and neck, and rubbed his nose against my breastin all friendliness. I flung my arms round his neck and caressed him, andin those anxious minutes in the doorway of Ellerton Grange he was comradeand sweetheart to me, and comforted my spirit greatly.
Footsteps and a voice within made me turn my head. A man came at a rundown the stairs and along the hall. After him the old serving-manhastened, lantern in hand, as best he could.
"Sir James Blount?" said I.
"The same," said he curtly and confusedly.
"I bring you a letter from a very exalted person, Sir James," I explained.
He took it from me much as he would have taken a bowl of poison. "Thelight! The light! You slow old fool! The light!" he said, jerking thewords out as if his soul was in distress, and the ancient, barely half-waydown the hall, quickened his poor pace up to his master. He, tearing thelantern out of the feeble hands, and rattling it down on a table, rippedopen the letter and devoured its contents.
The light of the lantern revealed the face of a man still young, but atleast a half-score years my elder. He had a thin-lipped, sensitive mouth,a great arched nose, and quick, eager eyes. His mind was running like amill-race, and his fine face twitched and wreathed and wrinkled under thestress of the flow. Another thing plain enough was that the old man hadlied when he said his master was abed, for he was fully and carefullydressed and his wig had not in it a single displaced or unravelled curl.This was no half-awakened dreamer, but a man with the issues of his lifeat stake.
He crushed the letter in his hand and paced up and down the hall,muttering to himself. I turned and rubbed Sultan's nose to keep him quietand happy. The old servant took charge of the lantern again, and followedhis master up and down with his eyes.
"A year ago, yes! A year ago, yes!" I heard Sir James say. He quickenedhis steps and the words came in jerks, mere nouns with verbs too big withmeaning for him to utter them. "A word! A dream! A dead faith! Yes,father! The devil! Sweetheart!"
There is a great line in the Aeneid which I had tried in vain a hundredtimes to translate. Three days agone I would have tilted at it once morewith all the untutored zeal of a verbalist. I should never need to tryagain. There are some lines in the Master that life alone can translate._Sunt lachrymae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt._
After a turn or two in silence, Sir James broke off his pacing and cameto me.
"Sir," he said, "you will know enough to excuse my inattention to aguest. I must make it up if I can. Give me the lantern and wait for ushere, Inskip. Come with me, sir, and stable your horse. Gad so, sir,"holding up the lantern, "you ride the noblest animal I have ever seen.Woa, ho, my beauty! All my men are abed, so we must do it ourselves, but,by Heaven, it will be a pleasure, Master--what may I call you, sir?"
"Just the plain name of my fathers--Oliver Wheatman of the Hanyards."
"A good strong name, sir, though my fathers liked it not."
"And you, Sir James?"
"Frankly, it is a name which to me has ceased to be a symbol. A goodfellow can call himself 'Oliver' without setting my teeth on edge. I had agrand foxhound once, and called him 'Noll,' just because he was grand. Mydear old father consulted a London doctor as to the state of my mind. Itmade him anxious, you see! The great man said, gruffly enough, that I wasas sane as a jackdaw. Thereupon my dear dad, one of the best men that everlived, had the dog shot!"
He laughed, reminiscently rather than merrily, and was to my mind bent ongetting a grip on himself again. We made Sultan comfortable for the night,and then Sir James courteously said it was high time to be attending tome. He made no further indirect reference to the situation, until, as hewas leading me along the hall, he stopped opposite a great dim picture,hanging between two sets of mail, and held the lantern high over his headto give me a view of it. With a strange mixture of resentment and pathos,he said, "A man's ancestors are sometimes a damned nuisance, sir!"
"They are indeed!" I replied. "There's one of mine shaking his fist at meover the battlements of the New Jerusalem."
He laughed heartily, and, with Inskip trailing patiently behind us, ledme upstairs, and through the gallery into a long corridor, lit by lanternsfixed in sconces on the walls. We stopped opposite a door, and he wasabout to lead me in when another door farther along the corridor openedand a lady came out. She was all in white with dark hair hanging looseabout her shoulders, and there was a something in her arms.
Down went the lantern with a bang, and Sir James flew like a hunted buckalong the corridor. He whipped his arms around the lady and kissed herpassionately, and then flung on his knees and held out his arms. She putthe something in white into them and there was a little puling cry.
"Married a year come Christmas," whispered old Inskip, "and the babby'sfive weeks old to-morrow."
A serving-woman bustled out of another room, and the lady and child wereaffectionately driven off to bed under her escort. Sir James came slowlyback.
"My wife and son, Mr. Wheatman," he said. "You must meet them to-morrow.The young rascal cries out whenever I desecrate him with my touch. Itwould have served him right to have christened him 'Oliver.'"
I laughed heartily, for he was fighting himself again by gibing at me. Hesent off the old man to scour the pantry for a supper for me, and thenpushed open the door and led me into the room.
For size and dignity, it was a room to take away the breath of a pooryeoman. It seemed to me a Sabbath day's journey to the great blazinghearth, where two men were sitting; the high white ceiling was mouldedinto a wondrous design, with great carved pendants hanging from it likeicicles from the eaves of the Hanyards. Many bookcases ran half-way up thewalls round the greater part of the room, filled with stores of books suchas my heart had never dreamed of, great leather-bound folios by platoons,and quartos by regiments. If I could get permission I would steal an houror two from sleep to eye them over, and as we walked towards the hearth Igot behind my host in my slowness and had to step up smartly to get levelwith him to make my bow of introduction. I gasped with the shock as Istepped into the arms of Master John Freake.
"My dear lad," he cried, "what luck! What luck! How are you? How are they?"
He made me sit down beside him, for here as elsewhere he was easily themost important man present, though his bearing was ever quiet and modest.He spoke of me to Sir James in warm and kindly phrases, and it soon becamemanifest that his good word was a passport into my host's confidence andregard. The three gentlemen filled their glasses and toasted me with gravecourtesy, and I easily slid out of the uneasy mood into which Inskip'scandour and my unaccustomed surroundings had driven me.
The third man present was a Welsh baronet, Sir Griffith Williams, afar-away cousin and close friend of Sir Watkin Wynne, whose name Iremembered to have heard on the Colonel's lips at Leek. Sir Griffith was abrisk, apple-cheeked man of forty or thereabouts, very fluent of speech insomewhat uncertain English, with fewer ideas in his head than there arepips in a codlin, but what there were of them singularly clear andprecise. He reminded me of Joe Braggs, who could only whistle three tunes,but whistled them like a lark.
Inskip brought me a rare dish of venison-pie and various other goodthings, and laid out the table for me. I left Master Freake's side to eatmy supper and listen to their talk.
They made various false starts, followed by dead silences. It was cleanuseless for Sir James to talk about his baby. Sir Griffith had had a longfamily and so had exhausted the topic years ago, whilst Master Freake, abachelor, knew nothing about it. There had been a great flood in theWelshman's valley in the autumn and he harangued upon it in style, and notwithout gleams of native poetry, but Sir James had never seen a flood andMaster Freake had never been to Wales, so the flood soon dried up.
There was a silence for some minutes, busy minutes for me with an appletart that was sublime with some cream to it, and I was settling down tothe sweet content of the well-fed when Sir James broke out.
"Mr. Wheatman has brought me an invitation, hardly to be distinguishedfrom a command, to meet His Royal Highness at the Poles' place tomorrow."
The eager Welshman bounced on to his feet, raised his glass and said, "Tothe Prince, God bless him." Sir James had to follow his example, though hewas in no mood for it, and it would have looked ill had I not joined in,and moreover the wine was excellent.
"You will excuse me, gentlemen," said Master Freake. "I am not clearwhich Royal Highness is referred to, and besides I have no politics."
"God bless him," bubbled the Welshman. "I shall join him when he hascrossed the Trent."
Again there was silence for a space.
"So the question is put, and I must give my answer," said Sir James,breaking the stillness. "I must put my hand to the plough or draw back. Imust keep my word or break it. Can I be loyal to my father's creed andalso to my child's interests? I've got to be both if I can. If I can't beboth, which is to have the go-by? Fate has put me in a cleft stick, MasterWheatman. On his death-bed my father handed on to me his place in the oldfaith. He was a devoted adherent of the exiled House, the close friend andassociate of Honest Shippen, and even more intimately concerned than he inthe underground network of intrigue and preparation which was constantlybeing woven, ruined, and re-woven up to his death ten years ago. He leftme poor and encumbered with debt, for he had been prodigal in hissacrifices for the cause. It is a wonder that he died in his bed ratherthan on the block, but he was as wary as he was zealous. For nine years Ilived here the life of a hermit, alone with my debts and my books. Then Imet a young girl"--his voice broke badly--"who became to me theall-in-all of my life. By good fortune I also met Master Freake, who tookmy affairs in hand for me and has helped me wisely and generously."
"For ten per cent, Oliver," interrupted Master Freake.
"Nonsense! Wisely and generously, I repeat," said Sir James warmly.
"For ten per cent on good security, I repeat," answered Master Freakegravely.
"Damn your ten per cent!"
"Looks like it, and the security into the bargain!" said Master Freakevery quickly.
"Swounds! that's just it!" said Sir James. He rose and paced backwardsand forwards between me and the hearth. "A year ago, sir,"--he addressedme in particular--"I should have shouted with joy at the summons to takethe place among the adherents of the cause which my father would have heldhad he lived, and which it was his heart's wish on his death-bed that Ishould take for him. The cause and the creed are nothing to me as such,for I place no value on either. Your talk about the right divine of oldMr. Melancholy, mumming and mimicking away there at Rome, makes me smile.He's an old fool, that's the long and short of it. But a Blount's a Blountafter all. I owe something to my ancestors. My word to my father ought notto be an empty breath. Yet here I am, with all the interests of lifepulling one way--wait till you've a boy five weeks old by a wife you'd becut in little pieces for, and you'll know, sir,--and a dead father and adead creed pulling the other. I knew what was coming, and I've talkedabout it and thought about it till my head's like a bee-hive. Now, sir,give me your advice!"
"I have joined the standard of your Prince," I said.
"Damme, sir, you mock me. That's not advice. That's torture."
"I have turned my back on the creed of my life and on every soundinstinct in me," I continued.
He stopped his walk and looked intently at me.
"I have ancestors whose memory I cherish, and I have torn up their workas if it were a scrap of paper covered with a child's meaninglessscribble."
Sir James stepped up to the table, his fine face alive with emotion.
"For what?" he asked.
I rose and looked straight into his eyes.
"For a woman," I whispered, very low but very proudly.
Our hands met across the table in a hard grip.
"You have done well, sir!" he said. "I asked you to give me advice. Youhave set me an example."
He sat down again, and looked hopefully at the fire and then moodily atMaster Freake.
"There is this unfortunate difference between Mr. Wheatman's case andmine. I have, and he has not, given my plain word to a father."
"I admit that is a striking difference," said Master Freake. "I am noJesuit, however, and cannot decide cases of conscience. I deal withbusiness problems only, which are all cut and dry, legal and formal. WhenI make a promise in the way of business I always keep it precisely andpunctually, for the penalty of failure to do so is a business man'sdeath--bankruptcy."
"There's such a thing as moral bankruptcy," said Sir James gloomily.
"Very likely," replied Master Freake.
"This is all nothing whatefer but words, words, words," said theWelshman. "And words, my goot sirs, are indeed no goot whatefer. SirJames's head is wrapped up in a mist of words, words, words, and indeed hecannot see anything whatefer. I am not a man of words, and what you call'em--broblems."
"Very good," said I.
"Indeed it is goot," said he. "To hell with your words and your broblems.They are of no use whatefer, whatefer. Our good friend, Sir James, is upto his neck in broblems like a man in a bog, and he cannot move. Now Ihave not your broblems. To hell with your broblems. My Cousin Wynne isfull of 'em, and he's still gaping up at the cloud on Snowdon, while I'mhere, ready. I say plain: if the Prince cross south of the Trent I willjoin him."
"Why the Trent?" said I.
"It is my mark. It is my way of knowing what I will do. It is all sosimple. Indeed I am a simple man, not a broblem in my brain, nonewhatefer, I tell you plain. It is as this--so. If the Prince cross theTrent, say I to myself, well and goot. He do his share. It is time for meto do mine. It is better indeed, I tell you plain, to have it settled by asimple thing like the Trent than to have it all muddled up by yourbroblems. I can sing you off my ancestors by dozens, right back to thestandard-bearer of the great Llewellyn, but they're all dead, and indeedI'm not going to poke about among their bones to find out what to do. Ilook at your pretty river, and I wait."
Sir James had looked at him during this harangue with unconcealedimpatience.
"I sent a letter to Chartley of Chartley Towers," he said, "one of us,and a strong one by all accounts. At any rate, my father always reckonedhim as such. So I asked him guardedly what he thought, and his reply was,'The chestnut is on the hob. I am waiting to see whether it jumps into thefire or into the fender.' I cannot decide by appealing to rivers or nuts.There's much more in it than that."
Fate snatched the problem out of his hands. Without a tap, without aword, the door of the room was flung open, and a dozen troopers filedswiftly and silently in, and covered us with their carbines. An officer,sword in hand, pushed through a gap in their line and stepped half a dozenpaces towards us. He saluted us ceremoniously with his sword and said, "Inthe King's name!" Behind the line a man in citizen clothes hovereduncertainly, and dim as the light was I made him out only too plainly. Itwas the Government spy, Weir. My goose was cooked. I had played for life'shighest stake, and thrown amb's ace. It was good-bye to Margaret.
The Welshman stuck to his chair, stolid as his native hills. MasterFreake, whose back was to the new-comers, made a swift half turn, and thenhe, too, settled down again as indifferently as if the interruption hadonly been old Inskip with the bedward candles. Blount leaped to his feet,livid with rage, and strode up to the officer.
"My Lord Tiverton, what does this intrusion mean?" he demanded.
"It means," was the composed reply, "that if any one of you makes theslightest attempt to resist, he will be shot out of hand. Close up, lads,and cover your men!"
The order was obeyed briskly and exactly. The three on the left of theline attended to me, and I sat there, toying with a wine-glass forappearance sake, though the three brown barrels levelled straig
ht andsteady at my head made my heart rattle like a stone in a can. These werenone of Brocton's untrained grey-coats, but precise, disciplined veteransin blue tunics and mitre-shaped hats, white breeches and high boots,belted, buttoned, and bepouched. It was almost a compliment to be shot bysuch tall fellows.
Seeing we were all harmless, the officer dropped his military precisenessas if it were an ill-fitting garment. He was the daintiest, handsomestwisp of a man I had ever set eyes on, and looked for all the world like anexquisite figure in Dresden china come to life. He could not have had muchsoldiering--the air and aroma of the London _salon_ still hungclosely around him--and he was so very self-possessed that he wasplay-acting half his time, doing everything with a grace and relish thatwere highly diverting. It took all my pride in my new hat out of me to seethis desirable little picture of a man.
"I assure you, my dear Sir James," he said, "that it's a damned annoyingthing to me to have to act so unhandsomely. Stap me! I shouldn't like itmyself, but law's law and duty's duty, and so on, you know the old tale,and I'm obleeged to do it."
He opened his snuff-box and offered it to Sir James, who brusquely wavedit aside, saying, "Your explanation, if you please, my lord!"
"Damme, don't be peevish! Smoke the Venus in the lid? Isn't she asparkler? Wish I'd lived in the times when ladies lay about on seashoreslike it! I hate these damned crinolines. Saw Somerset in 'em in thePantiles. Could have pushed her over and trundled her like a barrel."
"My lord," reiterated Blount, "I await your explanation."
"Boot's on the other leg," he chirped. "A'nt I pouched you all cleverly,stap me, seeing the ink on my commission's hardly dry? Didn't think it wasin me!"
"I will take the authority of your commission as sufficient, my lord, thetimes being what they are. But will you be good enough to tell me why youcome?"
"Gadso! Certainly! There's a dirty rascal in pewter buttons behind there--comehere, sir, and let Sir James see your ugly face!--who says you're adisloyal person, a traitor, and so forth. I don't believe him. I wouldn'tcrack a flea on his unsupported testimony, but he's in the know of things,and showed me a commission from Mr. Secretary, calling on His Majesty'sliege subjects, etc., you know the run of it, and I was bound to look intoit. Charges are charges, stap me if they a'nt. Don't come too near, pig'seyes! Out with your tale!"
His lordship plainly disliked the whole business, and it was a veryawkward thing for Sir James that I was here, a circumstantial piece ofevidence against him. I looked straight into Weir's eyes as he cameforward, ungainly and uncertainly, smiling half his dirty teeth bare, andmopping his yellowy face with a dirty handkerchief. To my astonishment hemade not a single sign of recognition. I was his trump card, and he leftme unplayed.
"Sir James is a known Jacobite, my lord!" he quavered.
"Quite right, Mr. Weir, and if you propose to keep me out of bed thesecold nights calling on known Jacobites, stap my vitals, Mr. Weir, if Idon't have you flung into a pond with a brick tied round your sweaty necklike an unwanted pup. Anything else?"
"This is a Jacobite plot, my lord. There's scheming and plotting againstour gracious lord the King agoing on here, my lord."
"I'll e'en have a closer look at 'em. Plots are damned interestingthings, stap me if they a'nt, and I'm glad to see one. Here's a likelyyoung fellow," striding up and examining me. "His is a plot in a meat-pie,it seems. There was one in a meal-tub once, I remember, so the meat-piedoes look mighty suspicious, Mr. Weir. We're getting on. And here's aplotter toasting his toes. Not an intelligent member of the cabal. Stapme, if he a'nt asleep! I must circumambulate and have a quiz at him."
He walked gaily in his play-acting way round Master Freake's chair on tothe hearth and then turned and took a peep at him. As soon as he had doneso he gave a great shout, and then, recovering himself, burst into a roarof laughter. He clapped his hands on his knees and fairly swayed withmerriment. Master Freake looked at him with a sedate half-smile, and said,"How d'ye do, my lord?"
"Very well, thankee!" cried his lordship gaily, too gaily. "Damme! It'sthe funniest thing that's happened since Noah came out of the Ark. Comehere, spy! Mean to tell me this is a Jacobite?"
As the spy crept near, Master Freake stood up, wheeled round on himsmartly, and said, "How d'ye do, Turnditch?"
"Stap me!" cried his lordship. "His name's Weir!"
"He will know me better if I call him Turnditch," said Master Freake icily.
He spoke unmistakable truth. I could see the shadow of the gallows fallacross the man's face. What stiffening there was in him oozed out, and hestood there wriggling in an agony of apprehension, like a worm in achicken's beak. Master Freake knew him to the bottom of his muddy soul. MyLord Tiverton was a man of another mould, but he too was in the hands ofhis master. Plain John Freake, citizen of London, had taken a hand in thisgame of fate, and had thrown double six.
This noble room had seen the agonizings and rejoicings of a dozengenerations of the sons of men, but nothing to surpass this scene inliving interest. They come back to me now--the line of blue-and-whitetroopers, still with levelled carbines; the stolid Welshman, asindifferent as Snowdon; the dapper nobleman, still polished and lightsome,no longer play-acting but rather vaguely anxious; the high-minded troubledJacobite, fear for his wife and babe gnawing at his heart; the spy, Weiror Turnditch, with the noose he had made for another drawn round his ownneck; Master John Freake, the quiet, Quakerlike merchant, whose power wasrooted deep in those far haunts of the world's trade, so that we were hereshadowed and protected by the uttermost branches thereof. Last of all Iremember myself, with my heart thrumming good-morrow to Margaret.
"Come now, Houndsditch, or Turndish, or whatever it is," said hislordship. "Precisely what have you to say?"
The poor devil had nothing to say. He was aflame to be off and out ofMaster Freake's eyesight. He choked up something about mistakes, and zeal,and forgiveness.
"That's enough! Out you go, the whole damn lot of you!" cried my lord.These not being familiar military words of command, the men stuck therelike skittles. "Ground arms, or whatever it is!" he continued. "Aboutturn! Quick march!"
Their sergeant took charge of them and they filed out. Sir James followedthem and became their host, routing out servants to wait on them.
As soon as the door was closed on Sir James, his lordship hastened toMaster Freake's side, and entered into low and earnest conversation withhim. I walked across to the folios, hoping to find amongst them an_editio princeps_ of Virgil, but was recalled by a loud "Oliver" fromMaster Freake.
"Oliver," he said, when I reached his chair, "I should like you to knowthe most noble the Marquess of Tiverton!"
I bowed, and his lordship bowed in reply, and said light and pleasantthings about our meeting. Then, vowing he was monstrous hungry, he tackledthe venison pasty, summoning me to sit opposite him.
"Gadso! I am sharp-set," he said, and indeed he ate with the zeal of aplough-lad. He pushed me over his snuff-box, which nearly made me sneezebefore I took the snuff.
"It really is a masterpiece," he said, in a pause between pasty and pie."I shall never hear the last of it at the 'Cocoa Tree' and White's. Stapme, I shan't want to! It's too good. The tale will keep my memory greenwhen that old mummy, Newcastle, is dust at last."
"What tale?" said I.
"D'ye know why, a month ago, I badgered Newcastle into getting me acompany in the Blues?"
"Not the faintest idea!"
He leaned across the table and, from under cover of me, nodded towardsMaster Freake, now talking with the Welsh-man. "To get out of his way!" hewhispered.
I looked incredulous, whereupon his lordship tapped his pocketsignificantly.
"He's a damned good fellow. He gave me another six months without amurmur. Wish I'd known! There'd have been no campaigning for me. I preferthe Mall!"
So he said now, yet he was as steady as a wall and as bold as a lion atCulloden. He came of a great stock, and greatness was natural to him. Theplay-acting and gaming was only
the fringe that Society had tacked on tohim. It lessoned me finely to see him when Sir James came back into theroom. Tiverton knew the position by instinct.
"Sir James," he said, "I crave a word with you."
"At your service, my lord."
"I will be frank," continued his lordship. "I ask no questions. I make noinferences. I simply point out that the spy fell to pieces because hefound Mr. Freake here."
"I observed so much, my lord!"
"I don't know why," said the Marquess dubiously.
"I could hang him at the next assizes," interrupted Master Freake.
"I see. He doesn't want to be hanged, of course. No one does. It's aperfectly natural feeling. So he crumpled up at the prospect."
"Yes, my lord," said Sir James.
"I allowed him to crumple up, and I took full advantage of the fact. Yousaw so much?"
"I did."
"Now, Sir James, you, as a Blount, that is, as a man bearing an honouredname, are under the strictest obligation to me to see that I can say, ifmy conduct is challenged, that I saw nothing here because there wasnothing to see. I have put myself absolutely in your power, Sir James.Whoever else joins the Prince, you must not, or you take my head alongwith you."
It was well and truly said, and there was no posing about it. Sir JamesBlount's problem was settled. He taught me something too, for all he didwas to put out his hand.
"There's an end of Tundish!" said Tiverton, grasping it firmly. "And it'sthe best end too, for the Highland army hasn't a snowball's chance inhell."
He turned at once to banter me on my indifference to art, seeing that Ihad sniffed at a miniature by one of the most famous artists at the FrenchCourt. I let him rattle on, for my eye was on Sir James, who was rollingsomething in his hands. A moment later the Prince's letter went up in atongue of flame and burnt along with it the Jacobitism of the Blounts.
A knock at the door interrupted his lordship's valuation of art andartists of the French school, and his sergeant entered to say that his menwere in the saddle.
"Campaigning be damned!" said his captain wearily.
"Beg pardon, my lord," added the sergeant, "but Mr. What's-his-name hascut off."
"Good riddance. He's gone back to his crony at the 'Black Swan.'"
"Yes, my lord. T'other's a sergeant in my Lord Brocton's dragoons."
"Ah, I saw they were hob-and-nob together. A fellow with a ditch in hisface you could lay a finger in!"
Fortunately for me, the Marquess was busy with a last glass of wine. Herewas ill news with a vengeance. I had got out of the smoke into the smother.
"My lord," said Master Freake, "there is a man of mine, one Dot Gibson,at the 'Black Swan,' and I shall be greatly beholden to you if you willlet your sergeant carry him a note of instructions from me."
"Stap me! I'll take it myself," cried his lordship heartily.
Master Freake went to a table to write the note. I knew now who it wasthat had given me the warning. My lord pocketed the note and we all creptquietly down to the main door to see him off. The guards made a gallantshow in the brilliant moonlight, and Master Freake, taking my arm, draggedme out to watch them canter across the stretch of meadow, and drop out ofsight down the hill.
"Sleep in peace, Oliver," he said. "Dot Gibson will give us early news ofthe movements of the enemy."
Then we strolled back, talking of the Colonel and Margaret.