CHAPTER XIV. HIS GRACE' IN COUNSEL
Mr. Christopher Battiscomb, that mild-mannered Dorchester gentleman,who, like Wade, was by vocation a lawyer, was ushered into the Duke'spresence. He was dressed in black, and, like Ferguson, was almostsmothered in a great periwig, which he may have adopted for purposes ofdisguise rather than adornment. Certainly he had none of that air ofthe soldier of fortune which distinguished his brother of the robe. Headvanced, hat in hand, towards the table, greeting the company about it,and Wilding observed that he wore silk stockings and shoes, upon whichthere rested not a speck of dust. Mr. Battiscomb was plainly a man wholoved his ease, since on such a day he had travelled to Lyme in a coach.The lawyer bent low to kiss the Duke's hand, and scarce was that formalhomage paid than questions poured upon him from Grey, from Fletcher, andfrom Ferguson.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," the Duke entreated them, smiling; andremembering their manners they fell silent.
As Wilding afterwards told Trenchard, they reminded him of a parcel ofsaucy lacqueys who take liberties with an upstart master for whom theyare wanting in respect.
"I am glad to see you, Battiscomb," said Monmouth, when quiet wasrestored, "and I trust I behold in you a bearer of good tidings."
The lawyer's full face was usually pale; to-night it was, in addition,solemn, and the smile that haunted his lips was a courtesy smile thatexpressed neither mirth nor satisfaction. He cleared his throat, as ifnervous. He avoided the Duke's question as to the quality of the newshe brought by answering that he had made all haste to come to Lyme uponhearing of His Grace's landing. He was surprised, he said; as well hemight be, for the arrangement was that having done his work he was toreturn to Holland and report to Monmouth upon the feeling of the gentry.
"But your news, Battiscomb," the Duke insisted. "Aye," put in Grey; "inHeaven's name, let us hear that."
Again there was the little nervous cough from Battiscomb. "I have scarcehad time to complete my round of visits," he temporized. "Your Gracehas taken us so by surprise. I... I was with Sir Walter Young at Colytonwhen the news of your landing came some few hours ago." His voicefaltered and seemed to die away.
"Well?" cried the Duke. His brows were drawn together. Already herealized that Battiscomb's tidings were not good, else would he behesitating less in uttering them. "Is Sir Walter with you, at least?"
"I grieve to say that he is not."
"Not?" It was Grey who spoke, and he followed the ejaculation by anoath. "Why not?"
"He is following, no doubt?" suggested Fletcher.
"We may hope, sirs," answered Battiscomb, "that in a few days--when heshall have seen the zeal of the countryside--he will be cured of hispresent luke-warmness." Thus, discreetly, did the man of law break thebad news he bore.
Monmouth sank back into his chair like one who has lost some ofhis strength. "Lukewarmness?" he repeated dully. "Sir Walter Younglukewarm!"
"Even so, Your Grace--alas!" and Battiscomb sighed audibly.
Ferguson's voice boomed forth again to startle them. "The ox knoweth hisowner," he cried, "the ass his master's crib; but Israel doth not know,my people doth not consider."
Grey pushed the bottle contemptuously across the table to the parson."Drink, man, and get sense, said he, and turned aside to questionBattiscomb touching others of the neighbourhood upon whom they haddepended.
"What of Sir Francis Rolles?" he inquired.
Battiscomb answered the question, addressing himself to the Duke.
"Alas! Sir Francis, no doubt, would have been faithful to Your Grace,but, unfortunately, Sir Francis is in prison already."
Deeper grew Monmouth's frown; his fingers drummed the table absently.Fletcher poured himself wine, his face inscrutable. Grey threw one legover the other and in a voice that was carefully careless he inquired,"And what of Sidney Clifford?"
"He is considering," said Battiscomb. "I was to have seen him again atthe end of the month; meanwhile, he would take no resolve."
"Lord Gervase Scoresby?" questioned Grey, less carelessly.
Battiscomb half turned to him, then faced the Duke again as he madeanswer, "Mr. Wilding there, can tell you more concerning Lord Gervase."
All eyes swept round to Wilding who sat in silence, listening;Monmouth's were laden with inquiry and some anxiety. Wilding shook hishead slowly, sadly. "You must not depend upon him," he answered; "LordGervase was not yet ripe. A little longer and I think I must have wonhim for Your Grace."
"Heaven help us!" exclaimed the Duke in petulant vexation. "Is no onecoming in?"
Ferguson swung a hand towards the still open window, drawing attentionto the sounds without.
"Does Your Grace not hear, that ye can ask?" he cried, almostreproachfully; but they scarce heeded him, for Grey was inquiring ifMr. Strode might be depended upon to join, and that was a matter thatclaimed the greater attention.
"I think," said Battiscomb, "that he might have been depended upon."
"Might have been?" questioned Fletcher, speaking now for the first timesince Battiscomb's arrival.
"Like Sir Francis Rolles, he is in prison," the lawyer explained.
Monmouth leaned forward, and his young face looked careworn now; hethrust a slender hand under the brown curls upon his brow. "Will youtell us, Mr. Battiscomb, upon what friends you think that we may count?"he said.
Battiscomb pursed his lips a second, pondering. "I think," said he,"that you may count upon Mr. Legge and Mr. Hooper, and possibly uponColonel Churchill, though I cannot say what following they will bring,if any. Mr. Trenchard, upon whom we counted for fifteen hundred men ofTaunton, has been obliged to fly the country to escape arrest."
"We have heard that from Mr. Trenchard's cousin," answered the Duke."What of Prideaux, of Ford? Is he lukewarm?"
"I was unable to elicit a definite promise from him. But he wasfavourably disposed to Your Grace."
His Grace made a gesture that seemed to dismiss Prideaux from theircalculations. "And Mr. Hucker, of Taunton?"
Battiscomb's manner grew yet more ill at ease. "Mr. Hucker himself, Iam sure, would place his sword at your disposal. But his brother is ared-hot Tory."
"Well, well," sighed the Duke, "I take it we must not make certain ofMr. Hucker. Are there any others besides Legge and Hooper upon whom youthink that we may reckon?"
"Lord Wiltshire, perhaps," said Battiscomb, but with a lack ofassurance.
"A plague on perhaps!" exclaimed Monmouth, growing irritable; "I wantyou to name the men of whom you are certain."
Battiscomb stood silent for a moment, pondering. He looked almostfoolish, like a schoolboy who hesitates to confess his ignorance of theanswer to a question set him.
Fletcher swung round, his grey eyes flashing angrily, his accent moreScottish than ever.
"Is it that ye're certain o' none, Mr. Battiscomb?" he exclaimed.
"Indeed," said Battiscomb, "I think we may be fairly certain of Mr.Legge and Mr. Hooper."
"And of none besides?" questioned Fletcher again. "Be these the onlyrepresentatives of the flower of England's nobility that is to flock tothe banner of the cause of England's freedom and religion?" Scorn wasstamped on every word of his question.
Battiscomb spread his hands, raised his brows, and said nothing.
"The Lord knows I do not say it exulting," said Fletcher; "but I toldYour Grace yours was hardly the case of Henry the Seventh, as my LordGrey would have you believe."
"We shall see," snapped Grey, scowling at the Scot. "The people arecoming in hundreds--aye, in thousands--the gentry will follow; theymust."
"Make not too sure, Your Grace--oh, make not too sure," Wilding besoughtthe Duke. "As I have said, these hinds have nothing to lose but theirlives."
"Faith, can a man lose more?" asked Grey contemptuously. He dislikedWilding by instinct, which was but a reciprocation of the feeling withwhich Wilding was inspired by him.
"I think he can," said Mr. Wilding quietly. "A man may lose honour, hemay plunge his family into ruin. These are things
of more weight with agentleman than life."
"Odds death!" blazed Grey, giving a free rein to his dislike of thiscalm gentleman. "Do you suggest that a man's honour is imperilled in HisGrace's service?"
"I suggest nothing," answered Wilding, unmoved. "What I think, I state.If I thought a man's honour imperilled in this service, you would notsee me at this table now. I can make you no more convincing answer."
Grey laughed unpleasantly, and Wilding, a faint tinge on hischeek-bones, measured him with a stern, intrepid look before which hislordship's shifty glance was observed to fall. Wilding's eye, havingachieved that much, passed from him to the Duke, and its expressionsoftened.
"Your Grace sees," said he, "how well founded were the fears I expressedthat your coming has been premature."
"In God's name, what would you have me do?" cried the Duke, andpetulance made his voice unsteady.
Mr. Wilding rose, moved out of his habitual calm by the earnestnessthat pervaded him. "It is not for me to say again what I would have YourGrace do. Your Grace has heard my views, and those of these gentlemen.It is for Your Grace to decide."
"You mean whether I will go forward with this thing? What alternativehave I?"
"No alternative," put in Grey with finality. "Nor is alternative needed.We'll carry this through in spite of timorous folk and birds of ill-omenthat croak to affright us."
"Our service is the service of the Lord," cried Ferguson, returning fromthe window in the embrasure of which he had been standing; "the Lordcannot but destine it to prevail."
"Ye said so before," quoth Fletcher testily. "We need here men, money,and weapons--not divinity."
"You are plainly infected with Mr. Wilding's disease," sneered Grey.
"Ford," cried the Duke, who saw Wilding's eyes flash fire; "you go toofast. Mr. Wilding, you will not heed his lordship."
"I should not be likely to do so, Your Grace," answered Wilding, who hadresumed his seat.
"What shall that mean?" quoth Grey, leaping to his feet.
"Make it quite clear to him, Tony," whispered Trenchard coaxingly; butMr. Wilding was not as lost as were these immediate followers of theDuke's to all sense of the respect due to His Grace.
"I think," said Wilding quietly, "that you have forgotten something."
"Forgotten what?" bawled Grey.
"His Grace's presence."
His lordship turned crimson, his anger swelled to think that the veryterms of the rebuke precluded his allowing his feelings a free rein.
Monmouth leaned forward. "Sit down," he said to Grey, and Grey, solately called to the respect he owed His Grace, obeyed him. "You willboth promise me that this affair shall go no further. I know you willdo it if I ask you, particularly when you remember how few are thefollowers upon whom I may depend. I am not in case to lose either of youthrough foolish words uttered in a heat which, in both your hearts, isborn, I know, of your loyalty to me."
Grey's coarse, elderly face took on a sulky look, his heavy lips werepouted, his glance sullen. Mr. Wilding, on the contrary, smiled acrossthe table.
"For my part I very gladly give Your Grace the undertaking," said he,and took care not to observe the sneer that altered the line of LordGrey's lips. His lordship, too, was forced to give the same pledge, andhe followed it up by inveighing sturdily against the suggestion thatthey should retreat.
"I do protest," he exclaimed, "that those who advise Your Grace to doanything but go forward boldly now, are evil counsellors. If you putback to Holland, you may leave every hope behind. There will be nosecond coming for you. Your influence will have been dissipated. Menwill not trust you another time. I do not think that even Mr. Wildingcan deny the truth of this."
"I am by no means sure," said Wilding, and Fletcher looked at him witheyes that were full of understanding. This sturdy Scot, the only soldierworthy of the name in the Duke's following, who, ever since the projecthad first been mooted, had held out against it, counselling delay, wasin sympathy with Mr. Wilding.
Monmouth rose, his face anxious, his voice fretful. "There can be noretreat for me, gentlemen. Though many that we depended upon are nothere to join us, yet let us remember that Heaven is on our side, andthat we are come to fight in the sacred cause of religion and a nation'semancipation from the thraldom of popery, oppression, and superstition.Let this dispel such doubts as yet may linger in our minds."
His words had a brave sound, but, when analysed, they but formed aparaphrase of what Grey and Ferguson had said. It was his destiny to bea mere echo of the minds of other men, just as he was now the toolof these two, one of whom plotted, seemingly, because plotting was adisease that had got into his blood; the other for reasons that may havebeen of ambition or of revenge--no man will ever know for certain.
In the chamber they shared, Trenchard and Mr. Wilding reviewed thatnight the scene so lately enacted, in which one had taken an activepart, the other been little more than a spectator. Trenchard had comefrom the Duke's presence entirely out of conceit with Monmouth andhis cause, contemptuous of Ferguson, angry with Grey, and indifferenttowards Fletcher.
"I am committed, and I'll not draw back," said he; "but I tell you,Anthony, my heart is not confederate with my hand in this. Bah!" herailed. "We serve a man of straw, a Perkin, a very pope of a fellow."
Mr. Wilding sighed. "He's scarce the man for such an undertaking," saidhe. "I fear we have been misled."
Trenchard was drawing off his boots. He paused in the act. "Aye," saidhe, "misled by our blindness. What else, after all, should we haveexpected of him?" he cried contemptuously. "The Cause is good; but itsleader---Pshaw! Would you have such a puppet as that on the throne ofEngland?"
"He does not aim so high."
"Be not so sure. We shall hear more of the black box anon, and of themarriage certificate it contains. 'Twould not surprise me if they wereto produce forgeries of the one and the other to prove his father'smarriage to Lucy Walters. Anthony, Anthony! To what a business are wewedded?"
Mr. Wilding, already abed, turned impatiently. "Things cried aloud to beredressed; a leader was necessary, and none other offered. That is thewhole story. But our chance is slender, and it might have been great."
"That rake-hell, Ford, Lord Grey has made it so," grumbled Trenchard,busy with his stockings. "This sudden coming is his work. You heard whatFletcher said--how he opposed it when first it was urged." He paused,and looked up suddenly. "Blister me!" he cried, "is it his lordship'spurpose, think you, to work the ruin of Monmouth?"
"What are you saying, Nick?"
"There are certain rumours current touching His Grace and Lady Grey. Aman like Grey might well resort to some such scheme of vengeance."
"Get to sleep, Nick," said Wilding, yawning; "you are dreaming already.Such a plan would be over elaborate for his lordship's mind. It wouldask a villainy parallel with your own."
Trenchard climbed into bed, and settled himself under the coverlet.
"Maybe," said he, "and maybe not; but I think that were it not for thatcursed business of the letter Richard Westmacott stole from us, I shouldbe going my ways to-morrow and leaving His Grace of Monmouth to go his."
"Aye, and I'd go with you," answered Wilding. "I've little taste forsuicide; but we are in it now."
"'Twas a sad pity you meddled this morning in that affair at Taunton,"mused Trenchard wistfully. "A sadder pity you were bitten with a tastefor matrimony," he added thoughtfully, and blew out the rushlight.