Mistress Wilding

  CHAPTER XIX. THE BANQUET

  It was striking nine. Therefore, Ruth thought that she had achieved herobject, Wilding imagined that all was lost. It needed the more tranquilmind of Nicholas Trenchard to show him the fly in madam's ointment,after Wilding, in half a dozen words, had made him acquainted with thesituation.

  "What are you going to do?" asked Trenchard.

  "Run to Newlington's and warn the Duke--if still in time."

  "And thereby precipitate the catastrophe? Oh, give it thought. It is allit needs. You are taking it for granted that nine o'clock is the hourappointed for King Monmouth's butchery."

  "What else?" asked Wilding, impatient to be off.

  They were standing in the street under the sign of The Ship, by whichJonathan Edney--Mr. Trenchard's landlord--distinguished his premises andthe chandler's trade he drove there. Trenchard set a detaining hand onMr. Wilding's arm.

  "Nine o'clock is the hour appointed for supper. It is odds the Duke willbe a little late, and it is more than odds that when he does arrive, theassassins will wait until the company is safely at table and lulled bygood eating and drinking. You had overlooked that, I see. It asks an oldhead for wisdom, after all. Look you, Anthony. Speed to Colonel Wade asfast as your legs can carry you, and get a score of men. Then findsome fellow to lead you to Newlington's orchard, and if only you do notarrive too late you may take Sir Rowland and his cut-throats in the rearand destroy them to a man before they realize themselves attacked. I'llreconnoitre while you go, and keep an eye on the front of the house.Away with you!"

  Ordinarily Wilding was a man of a certain dignity, but you had notthought it had you seen him running in silk stockings and silver-buckledshoes at a headlong pace through the narrow streets of Bridgwater,in the direction of the Castle. He overset more than one, and oathsfollowed him from these and from others whom he rudely jostled out ofhis path. Wade was gone with Monmouth, but he came upon Captain Slape,who had a company of scythes and musketeers incorporated in the Duke'sown regiment, and to him Wilding gasped out the news and his request fora score of men with what breath was left him.

  Time was lost--and never was time more precious--in convincing Slapethat this was no old wife's tale. At last, however, he won his way andtwenty musketeers; but the quarter-past the hour had chimed ere theyleft the Castle. He led them forth at a sharp run, with never a thoughtfor the circumstance that they would need their breath anon, perhaps forfighting, and he bade the man who guided them take them by back streetsthat they might attract as little attention as possible.

  Within a stone's-throw of the house he halted them, and sent oneforward to reconnoitre, following himself with the others as quietly andnoiselessly as possible. Mr. Newlington's house was all alight, but fromthe absence of uproar--sounds there were in plenty from the main street,where a dense throng had collected to see His Majesty go in--Mr. Wildinginferred with supreme relief that they were still in time. Butthe danger was not yet past. Already, perhaps, the assassins werepenetrating--or had penetrated--to the house; and at any moment suchsounds might greet them as would announce the execution of theirmurderous design.

  Meanwhile Mr. Trenchard, having relighted his pipe, and set his hatrakishly atop his golden wig, strolled up the High Street, swinginghis long cane very much like a gentleman taking the air in quest of anappetite for supper. He strolled past the Cross and on until he cameto the handsome mansion--one of the few handsome houses inBridgwater--where opulent Mr. Newlington had his residence. A smallcrowd had congregated about the doors, for word had gone forth that HisMajesty was to sup there. Trenchard moved slowly through the people,seemingly uninterested, but, in fact, scanning closely every face heencountered. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he espied in theindifferent light Mr. Richard Westmacott.

  Trenchard passed him, jostling him as he went, and strolled on some fewpaces, then turned, and came slowly back, and observed that Richard hadalso turned and was now watching him as he approached. He was all butupon the boy when suddenly his wrinkled face lighted with recognition.

  "Mr. Westmacott!" he cried, and there was surprise in his voice.

  Richard, conscious that Trenchard must no doubt regard him as aturn-tippet, flushed, and stood aside to give passage to the other.But Mr. Trenchard was by no means minded to pass. He clapped a handon Richard's shoulder. "Nay," he cried, between laughter and feignedresentment. "Do you bear me ill-will, lad?"

  Richard was somewhat taken aback. "For what should I bear you ill-will,Mr. Trenchard?" quoth he.

  Trenchard laughed frankly, and so uproariously that his hatover-jauntily cocked was all but shaken from his head. "I mind me thelast time we met, I played you an unfair trick," said he. His tonebespoke the very highest good-humour. He slipped his arm throughRichard's. "Never bear an old man malice, lad," said he.

  "I assure you that I bear you none," said Richard, relieved to find thatTrenchard apparently knew nothing of his defection, yet wishing thatTrenchard would go his ways, for Richard's task was to stand sentrythere.

  "I'll not believe you till you afford me proof," Trenchard replied. "Youshall come and wash your resentment down in the best bottle of Canarythe White Cow can furnish us."

  "Not now, I thank you," answered Richard.

  "You are thinking of the last occasion on which I drank with you," saidTrenchard reproachfully.

  "Not so. But... but I am not thirsty."

  "Not thirsty?" echoed Trenchard. "And is that a reason? Why, lad, it isthe beast that drinks only when he thirsts. And in that lies one of themain differences between beast and man. Come on"--and his arm effected agentle pressure upon Richard's, to move him thence. But at that moment,down the street with a great rumble of wheels, cracking of whipsand clatter of hoofs, came a coach, bearing to Mr. Newlington's KingMonmouth escorted by his forty life-guards. Cheering broke from thecrowd as the carriage drew up, and the Duke-King as he alightedturned his handsome face, on which shone the ruddy glow of torches, toacknowledge these loyal acclamations. He passed up the steps, at the topof which Mr. Newlington--fat and pale and monstrously overdressed--stoodbowing to welcome his royal visitor. Host and guest vanished, followedby some six officers of Monmouth's, among whom were Grey and Wade.The sight-seers flattened themselves against the walls as the greatlumbering coach put about and went off again the way it had come, thelife-guards following after.

  Trenchard fancied that he caught a sigh of relief from Richard, but thestreet was noisy at the time and he may well have been mistaken.

  "Come," said he, renewing his invitation, "we shall both be the betterfor a little milk of the White Cow."

  Richard wavered almost by instinct. The White Cow, he knew, was famousfor its sack; on the other hand, he was pledged to Sir Rowland tostand guard in the narrow lane at the back where ran the wall of Mr.Newlington's garden. Under the gentle suasion of Trenchard's arm, hemoved a few steps up the street; then halted, his duty battling with hisinclination.

  "No, no," he muttered. "If you will excuse me..."

  "Not I," said Trenchard, drawing from his hesitation a shrewd inferenceas to Richard's business. "To drink alone is an abomination I'll not beguilty of."

  "But..." began the irresolute Richard.

  "Shalt urge me no excuses, or we'll quarrel. Come," and he moved on,dragging Richard with him.

  A few steps Richard took unwillingly under the other's soft compulsion;then, having given the matter thought--he was always one to take theline of least resistance--he assured himself that his sentryship wasentirely superfluous; the matter of Blake's affair was an entire secret,shared only by those who had a hand in it. Blake was quite safe from allsurprises; Trenchard was insistent and it was difficult to deny him;and the sack at the White Cow was no doubt the best in Somerset. He gavehimself up to the inevitable and fell into step alongside his companionwho babbled aimlessly of trivial matters. Trenchard felt the change fromunwilling to willing companionship, and approved it.

  They mounted the three steps and entered the common ro
om of the inn.It was well thronged at the time, but they found places at the end of along table, and there they sat and discussed the landlady's Canary forthe best part of a half-hour, until a sudden spatter of musketry, nearat hand, came to startle the whole room.

  There was a momentary stillness in the tavern, succeeded by an excitedclamouring, a dash for the windows and a storm of questions, towhich none could return any answer. Richard had risen with a suddenexclamation, very pale and scared of aspect. Trenchard tugged at hissleeve.

  "Sit down," said he. "Sit down. It will be nothing."

  "Nothing?" echoed Richard, and his eyes were suddenly bent on Trenchardin a look in which suspicion was now blent with terror.

  A second volley of musketry crackled forth at that moment, and the nextthe whole street was in an uproar. Men were running and shots resoundedon every side, above all of which predominated the cry that His Majestywas murdered.

  In an instant the common room of the White Cow was emptied of everyoccupant save two--Trenchard and Westmacott. Neither of them felt theneed to go forth in quest of news. They knew how idle was the cry inthe streets. They knew what had taken place, and knowing it, Trenchardsmoked on placidly, satisfied that Wilding had been in time, whilstRichard stood stricken and petrified by dismay at realizing, with evengreater certainty, that something had supervened to thwart, perhapsto destroy, Sir Rowland. For he knew that Blake's party had gone fortharmed with pistols only, and intent not to use even these save inthe last extremity; to avoid noise they were to keep to steel. Thisknowledge gave Richard positive assurance that the volleys they hadheard must have been fired by some party that had fallen upon Blake'smen and taken them by surprise.

  And it was his fault! He was the traitor to whom perhaps a score of menowed their deaths at that moment! He had failed to keep watch as he hadundertaken. His fault it was--No! not his, but this villain's who satthere smugly taking his ease and pulling at his pipe.

  At a blow Richard dashed the thing from his companion's mouth andfingers.

  Trenchard looked up startled.

  "What the devil...?" he began.

  "It is your fault, your fault!" cried Richard, his eyes blazing, hislips livid. "It was you who lured me hither."

  Trenchard stared at him in bland surprise. "Now, what a plague is'tyou're saying?" he asked, and brought Richard to his senses by awakingin him the instinct of self-preservation.

  How could he explain his meaning without betraying himself?--and surelythat were a folly, now that the others were no doubt disposed of. Lethim, rather, bethink him of his own safety. Trenchard looked at himkeenly, with well-assumed intent to read what might be passing in hismind, then rose, paid for the wine, and expressed his intention ofgoing forth to inquire into these strange matters that were happening inBridgwater.

  Meanwhile, those volleys fired in Mr. Newlington's orchard hadcaused--as well may be conceived--an agitated interruption of the superbfeast Mr. Newlington had spread for his noble and distinguished guests.The Duke had for some days been going in fear of his life, for alreadyhe had been fired at more than once by men anxious to earn the priceat which his head was valued; instantly he surmised that whatever thatfiring might mean, it indicated some attempt to surprise him with thefew gentlemen who attended him.

  The whole company came instantly to its feet, and Colonel Wade steppedto a window that stood open--for the night was very warm. The Duketurned for explanation to his host; the trader, however, professedhimself entirely unable to offer any. He was very pale and his limbswere visibly trembling, but then his agitation was most natural. Hiswife and daughter supervened at that moment, in their alarm entering theroom unceremoniously, in spite of the august presence, to inquire intothe meaning of this firing, and to reassure themselves that their fatherand his illustrious guests were safe.

  From the windows they could observe a stir in the gardens below. Blackshadows of men flitted to and fro, and a loud, rich voice was heardcalling to them to take cover, that they were betrayed. Then a sheet oflivid flame blazed along the summit of the low wall, and a second volleyof musketry rang out, succeeded by cries and screams from the assailedand the shouts of the assailers who were now pouring into the gardenthrough the battered doorway and over the wall. For some momentssteel rang on steel, and pistol-shots cracked here and there to theaccompaniment of voices, raised some in anger, some in pain. But it wassoon over, and a comparative stillness succeeded.

  A voice called up from the darkness under the windows to know if HisMajesty was safe. There had been a plot to take him; but the ambuscadershad been ambuscaded in their turn, and not a man of them remained--whichwas hardly exact, for under a laurel bush, scarce daring to breathe, laySir Rowland Blake, livid with fear and fury, and bleeding from a rapierscratch in the cheek, but otherwise unhurt.

  In the room above, Monmouth had sunk wearily into his chair upon hearingof the design there had been against his life. A deep, bitter melancholyenwrapped his spirit. Lord Grey's first thoughts flew to the man hemost disliked--the one man missing from those who had been bidden toaccompany His Majesty, whose absence had already formed the subjectof comment. Grey remembered this bearing before the council that sameevening, and his undisguised resentment of the reproaches levelledagainst him.

  "Where is Mr. Wilding?" he asked suddenly, his voice dominating thedin of talk that filled the room. "Do we hold the explanation of hisabsence?"

  Monmouth looked up quickly, his beautiful eyes ineffably sad, his weakmouth drooping at the corners. Wade turned to confront Grey.

  "Your lordship does not suggest that Mr. Wilding can have a hand inthis?"

  "Appearances would seem to point in that direction," answered Grey, andin his wicked heart he almost hoped it might be so.

  "Then appearances speak truth for once," came a bitter, ringing voice.They turned, and there on the threshold stood Mr. Wilding. Unheard hehad come upon them. He was bareheaded and carried his drawn sword. Therewas blood upon it, and there was blood on the lace that half concealedthe hand that held it; otherwise--and saving that his shoes andstockings were sodden with the dew from the long grass in theorchard--he was as spotless as when he had left Ruth in Trenchard'slodging; his face, too, was calm, save for the mocking smile with whichhe eyed Lord Grey.

  Monmouth rose on his appearance, and put his hand to his sword in alarm.Grey whipped his own from the scabbard, and placed himself slightly infront of his master as if to preserve him.

  "You mistake, sirs," said Wilding quietly. "The hand I have had in thisaffair has been to save Your Majesty from your enemies. At the moment Ishould have joined you, word was brought me of the plot that was laid,of the trap that was set for you. I hastened to the Castle and obtaineda score of musketeers of Slape's company. With those I surprised themurderers lurking in the garden there, and made an end of them. Igreatly feared I should not come in time; but it is plain that Heavenpreserves Your Majesty for better days."

  In the revulsion of feeling, Monmouth's eyes shone moist. Grey sheathedhis sword with an awkward laugh, and a still more awkward word ofapology to Wilding. The Duke, moved by a sudden impulse to make amendsfor his unworthy suspicions, for his perhaps unworthy reception ofWilding earlier that evening in the council-room, drew the sword onwhich his hand still rested. He advanced a step.

  "Kneel, Mr. Wilding," he said in a voice stirred by emotion. ButWilding's stern spirit scorned this all too sudden friendliness ofMonmouth's as much as he scorned the accolade at Monmouth's hands.

  "There are more pressing matters to demand Your Majesty's attention,"said Mr. Wilding coldly, advancing to the table as he spoke, and takingup a napkin to wipe his blade, "than the reward of an unworthy servant."

  Monmouth felt his sudden enthusiasm chilled by that tone and manner.

  "Mr. Newlington," said Mr. Wilding, after the briefest of pauses, andthe fat, sinful merchant started forward in alarm. It was like a summonsof doom. "His Majesty came hither, I am informed, to receive at yourhands a sum of money--twenty thousand pounds
--towards the expensesof the campaign. Have you the money at hand?" And his eye, glitteringbetween cruelty and mockery, fixed itself upon the merchant's ashenface.

  "It... it shall be forthcoming by morning," stammered Newlington.

  "By morning?" cried Grey, who, with the others, watched Mr. Newlingtonwhat time they all wondered at Mr. Wilding's question and the manner ofit.

  "You knew that I march to-night," Monmouth reproached the merchant.

  "And it was to receive the money that you invited His Majesty to do youthe honours of supping with you here," put in Wade, frowning darkly.

  The merchant's wife and daughter stood beside him watching him, andplainly uneasy. Before he could make any reply, Mr. Wilding spoke again.

  "The circumstance that he has not the money by him is a little odd--orwould be were it not for what has happened. I would submit, YourMajesty, that you receive from Mr. Newlington not twenty thousand poundsas he had promised you, but thirty thousand, and that you receive it notas a loan as was proposed, but as a fine imposed upon him in consequenceof... his lack of care in the matter of his orchard."

  Monmouth looked at the merchant very sternly. "You have heard Mr.Wilding's suggestion," said he. "You may thank the god of traitors itwas made, else we might have thought of a harsher course. You shall paythe money by ten o'clock to-morrow to Mr. Wilding, whom I shall leavebehind for the sole purpose of collecting it." He turned from Newlingtonin plain disgust. "I think, sirs, that here is no more to be done. Arethe streets safe, Mr. Wilding?"

  "Not only safe, Your Majesty, but the twenty men of Slape's and your ownlife-guards are waiting to escort you."

  "Then in God's name let us be going," said Monmouth, sheathing his swordand moving towards the door. Not a second time did he offer to conferthe honour of knighthood upon his saviour.

  Mr. Wilding turned and went out to marshal his men. The Duke and hisofficers followed more leisurely. As they reached the door, a woman'scry broke the silence behind them. Monmouth turned. Mr. Newlington,purple of face and his eyes protruding horridly, was beating the airwith his hands. Suddenly he collapsed, and crashed forward with armsflung out amid the glass and silver of the table all spread with thetraitor's banquet to which he had bidden his unsuspecting victim.

  His wife and daughter ran to him and called him by name, Monmouthpausing a moment to watch them from the doorway with eyes unmoved. ButMr. Newlington answered not their call, for he was dead.