CHAPTER XXI
THE STRANGE CONJUNCTURE OF TWO GENTLEMEN
I have heard it said that King Charles laughed most heartily when helearnt how a certain gentleman had tricked M. de Perrencourt and carriedoff from his clutches the lady who should have gone to prepare for theDuchess of York's visit to the Court of France. "This Uriah will not beset in the forefront of the battle," said he, "and therefore David can'thave his way." He would have laughed, I think, even although my actionhad thwarted his own schemes, but the truth is that he had so wrought onthat same devotion to her religion which, according to Mistress Nell,inspired Mlle. de Querouaille that by the time the news came from Calaishe had little doubt of success for himself although his friend M. dePerrencourt had been baffled. He had made his treaty, he had got hismoney, and the lady, if she would not stay, yet promised to return. TheKing then was well content, and found perhaps some sly satisfaction inthe defeat of the great Prince whose majesty and dignity made anyreverse which befell him an amusement to less potent persons. In anycase the King laughed, then grew grave for a moment while he declaredthat his best efforts should not be wanting to reclaim Mistress Quintonto a sense of her duty, and then laughed again. Yet he set aboutreclaiming her, although with no great energy or fierceness; and when heheard that Monmouth had other views of the lady's duty, he shrugged hisshoulders, saying, "Nay, if there be two Davids, I'll wager a crown onUriah."
It is easy to follow a man to the door of a house, but if the door beshut after him and the pursuer not invited to enter, he can but stayoutside. So it fell out with me, and being outside I did not know whatpassed within nor how my Lord Carford fared with Mistress Barbara. Iflung myself in deep chagrin on the grass of the Manor Park, cursing myfate, myself, and if not Barbara, yet that perversity which was in allwomen and, by logic, even in Mistress Barbara. But although I had nopart in it, the play went on and how it proceeded I learnt afterwards;let me now leave the stage that I have held too long and pass out ofsight till my cue calls me again.
This evening then, my lady, who was very sick, being in her bed, andMistress Barbara, although not sick, very weary of her solitude andlonging for the time when she could betake herself to the same refuge(for there is a pride that forbids us to seek bed too early, howeverstrongly we desire it) there came a great knocking at the door of thehouse. A gentleman on horseback and accompanied by two servants waswithout and craved immediate audience of her ladyship. Hearing that shewas abed, he asked for Mistress Barbara and obtained entrance; yet hewould not give his name, but declared that he came on urgent businessfrom Lord Quinton. The excuse served, and Barbara received him. Withsurprise she found Carford bowing low before her. I had told her enoughconcerning him to prevent her welcome being warm. I would have told hermore, had she afforded me the opportunity. The imperfect knowledge thatshe had caused her to accuse him rather of a timidity in face ofpowerful rivals than of any deliberate design to set his love below hisambition and to use her as his tool. Had she known all I knew she wouldnot have listened to him. Even now she made some pretext for decliningconversation that night and would have withdrawn at once; but he stayedher retreat, earnestly praying her for her father's sake and her own tohear his message, and asserting that she was in more danger than she wasaware of. Thus he persuaded her to be seated.
"What is your message from my father, my lord?" she asked coldly, butnot uncivilly.
"Madame, I have none," he answered with a bluntness not ill calculated."I used the excuse to gain admission, fearing that my own devotion toyou would not suffice, well as you know it. But although I have nomessage, I think that you will have one soon. Nay, you must listen." Forshe had risen.
"I listen, my lord, but I will listen standing."
"You're hard to me, Mistress Barbara," he said. "But take the tidingshow you will; only pay heed to them." He drew nearer to her andcontinued, "To-morrow a message will come from your father. You have hadnone for many days?"
"Alas, no," said she. "We were both on the road and could send no letterto one another."
"To-morrow one comes. May I tell you what it will say?"
"How can you know what it will say, my lord?"
"I will stand by the event," said he sturdily. "The coming of the letterwill prove me right or wrong. It will bid your mother and you accompanythe messenger----"
"My mother cannot----"
"Or, if your mother cannot, you alone, with some waiting-woman, toDover."
"To Dover?" cried Barbara. "For what purpose?" She shrank away from him,as though alarmed by the very name of the place whence she had escaped.
He looked full in her face and answered slowly and significantly:
"Madame goes back to France, and you are to go with her."
Barbara caught at a chair near her and sank into it. He stood over hernow, speaking quickly and urgently.
"You must listen," he said, "and lose no time in acting. A Frenchgentleman, by name M. de Fontelles, will be here to-morrow; he carriesyour father's letter and is sent to bring you to Dover."
"My father bids me come?" she cried.
"His letter will convey the request," answered Carford.
"Then I will go," said she. "I can't come to harm with him, and when Ihave told him all, he won't allow me to go to France." For as yet mylord did not know of what had befallen his daughter, nor did my lady,whose sickness made her unfit to be burdened with such troublesomematters.
"Indeed you would come to no harm with your father, if you found yourfather," said Carford. "Come, I will tell you. Before you reach Dover mylord will have gone from there. As soon as his letter to you was sentthe King made a pretext to despatch him into Cornwall; he wrote again totell you of his journey and bid you not come to Dover till he sends foryou. This letter he entrusted to a messenger of my Lord Arlington's whowas taking the road for London. But the Secretary's messengers know whento hasten and when to loiter on the way. You are to have set out beforethe letter arrives."
Barbara looked at him in bewilderment and terror; he was to all seemingcomposed and spoke with an air of honest sincerity.
"To speak plainly, it is a trick," he said, "to induce you to return toDover. This M. de Fontelles has orders to bring you at all hazards, andis armed with the King's authority in case my lord's bidding should notbe enough."
She sat for a while in helpless dismay. Carford had the wisdom not tointerrupt her thoughts; he knew that she was seeking for a plan ofescape and was willing to let her find that there was none.
"When do you say that M. de Fontelles will be here?" she asked at last.
"Late to-night or early to-morrow. He rested a few hours in London,while I rode through, else I shouldn't have been here before him."
"And why are you come, my lord?" she asked.
"To serve you, madame," he answered simply.
She drew herself up, saying haughtily,
"You were not so ready to serve me at Dover."
Carford was not disconcerted by an attack that he must have foreseen; hehad the parry ready for the thrust.
"From the danger that I knew I guarded you, the other I did not know."Then with a burst of well-feigned indignation he cried, "By Heaven, butfor me the French King would have been no peril to you; he would havecome too late."
She understood him and flushed painfully.
"When the enemy is mighty," he pursued, "we must fight by guile, notforce; when we can't oppose we must delay; we must check where we can'tstop. You know my meaning: to you I couldn't put it more plainly. Butnow I have spoken plainly to the Duke of Monmouth, praying somethingfrom him in my own name as well as yours. He is a noble Prince, madame,and his offence should be pardoned by you who caused it. Had I thwartedhim openly, he would have been my enemy and yours. Now he is your friendand mine."
The defence was clever enough to bridle her indignation. He followed uphis advantage swiftly, leaving her no time to pry for a weak spot in hispleading.
"By Heaven," he cried, "let us lose no time on past troubles.
I was toblame, if you will, in execution, though not, I swear, in intention. Buthere and now is the danger, and I am come to guard you from it."
"Then I am much in your debt, my lord," said she, still doubtful, yet inher trouble eager to believe him honest.
"Nay," said he, "all that I have, madame, is yours, and you can't be indebt to your slave."
I do not doubt that in this speech his passion seemed real enough, andwas the more effective from having been suppressed till now, so that itappeared to break forth against his will. Indeed although he was a manin whom ambition held place of love, yet he loved her and would havemade her his for passion's sake as well as for the power that he hopedto wield through her means. I hesitate how to judge him; there are manymen who take their colour from the times, as some insects from theplants they feed on; in honest times they would be honest, in debauchedthey follow the evil fashion, having no force to stand by themselves.Perhaps this lord was one of this kidney.
"It's an old story, this love of mine," said he in gentler tones. "Twiceyou have heard it, and a lover who speaks twice must mourn once atleast; yet the second time I think you came nearer to heeding it. May Itell it once again?"
"Indeed it is not the time----" she began in an agitated voice.
"Be your answer what it may, I am your servant," he protested. "My handand heart are yours, although yours be another's."
"There is none--I am free--" she murmured. His eyes were on her and shenerved herself to calm, saying, "There is nothing of what you suppose.But my disposition towards you, my lord, has not changed."
He let a moment go by before he answered her; he made it seem as thoughemotion forbade earlier speech. Then he said gravely,
"I am grieved from my heart to hear it, and I pray Heaven that an earlyday may bring me another answer. God forbid that I should press yourinclination now. You may accept my service freely, although you do notaccept my love. Mistress Barbara, you'll come with me?"
"Come with you?" she cried.
"My lady will come also, and we three together will seek your father inCornwall. On my faith, madame, there is no safety but in flight."
"My mother lies too sick for travelling. Didn't you hear it from myfather?"
"I haven't seen my lord. My knowledge of his letter came through theDuke of Monmouth, and although he spoke there of my lady's sickness, Itrusted that she had recovered."
"My mother cannot travel. It is impossible."
He came a step nearer her.
"Fontelles will be here to-morrow," he said. "If you are here then----!Yet if there be any other whose aid you could seek----?" Again hepaused, regarding her intently.
She sat in sore distress, twisting her hands in her lap. One there was,and not far away. Yet to send for him crossed her resolution and stungher pride most sorely. We had parted in anger, she and I; I had blamedmy share in the quarrel bitterly enough, it is likely she had sparedherself no more; yet the more fault is felt the harder comes itsacknowledgment.
"Is Mr Dale in Hatchstead?" asked Carford boldly and bluntly.
"I don't know where he is. He brought me here, but I have heard nothingfrom him since we parted."
"Then surely he is gone again?"
"I don't know," said Barbara.
Carford must have been a dull man indeed not to discern how the matterlay. There is no better time to press a lady than when she is chagrinedwith a rival and all her pride is under arms to fight her inclination.
"Surely, or he could not have shewn you such indifference--nay, I mustcall it discourtesy."
"He did me service."
"A gentleman, madame, should grow more, not less, assiduous when he isso happy as to have put a lady under obligation."
He had said enough, and restrained himself from a further attack.
"What will you do?" he went on.
"Alas, what can I do?" Then she cried, "This M. de Fontelles can't carryme off against my will."
"He has the King's commands," said Carford. "Who will resist him?"
She sprang to her feet and turned on him quickly.
"Why you," she said. "Alone with you I cannot and will not go. But youare my--you are ready to serve me. You will resist M. de Fontelles formy sake, ay, and for my sake the King's commands."
Carford stood still, amazed at the sudden change in her manner. He hadnot conceived this demand and it suited him very ill. The stroke was toobold for his temper; the King was interested in this affair, and itmight go hard with the man who upset his plan and openly resisted hismessenger. Carford had calculated on being able to carry her off, andthus defeat the scheme under show of ignorance. The thing done, and doneunwittingly, might gain pardon; to meet and defy the enemy face to facewas to stake all his fortune on a desperate chance. He was dumb.Barbara's lips curved into a smile that expressed wonder and dawningcontempt.
"You hesitate, sir?" she asked.
"The danger is great," he muttered.
"You spoke of discourtesy just now, my lord----"
"You do not lay it to my charge?"
"Nay, to refuse to face danger for a lady, and a lady whom a manloves--you meant that, my lord?--goes by another name. I forgivediscourtesy sooner than that other thing, my lord."
His face grew white with passion. She accused him of cowardice andplainly hinted to him that, if he failed her, she would turn to one whowas no coward, let him be as discourteous and indifferent as his sullendisposition made him. I am sorry I was not there to see Carford's face.But he was in the net of her challenge now, and a bold front alone wouldserve.
"By God, madame," he cried, "you shall know by to-morrow how deeply youwrong me. If my head must answer for it, you shall have the proof."
"I thank you, my lord," said she with a little bow, as though she askedno more than her due in demanding that he should risk his head for her."I did not doubt your answer."
"You shall have no cause, madame," said he very boldly, although hecould not control the signs of his uneasiness.
"Again I thank you," said she. "It grows late, my lord. By yourkindness, I shall sleep peacefully and without fear. Good-night." Shemoved towards the door, but turned to him again, saying, "I pray yourpardon, but even hospitality must give way to sickness. I cannotentertain you suitably while my mother lies abed. If you lodge at theinn, they will treat you well for my father's sake, and a message fromme can reach you easily."
Carford had strung himself to give the promise; whether he would fulfilit or not lay uncertain in the future. But for so much as he had done hehad a mind to be paid. He came to her, and, kneeling, took her hand; shesuffered him to kiss it.
"There is nothing I wouldn't do to win my prize," he said, fixing hiseyes ardently on her face.
"I have asked nothing but what you seemed to offer," she answeredcoldly. "If it be a matter of bargain, my lord----"
"No, no," he cried, seeking to catch again at her hand as she drew itaway and with a curtsey passed out.
Thus she left him without so much as a backward glance to presagefuture favour. So may a lady, if she plays her game well, take all andpromise nothing.
Carford, refused even a lodging in the house, crossed in the plan bywhich he had reckoned on getting Barbara into his power, driven to anenterprise for which he had small liking, and left in utter doubtwhether the success for which he ran so great a risk would profit him,may well have sought the inn to which Barbara commended him in nocheerful mood. I wager he swore a round oath or two as he and hisservants made their way thither through the dark and knocked up thehost, who, keeping country hours, was already in his bed. It cost themsome minutes to rouse him, and Carford beat most angrily on the door. Atlast they were admitted. And I turned away.
For I must confess it; I had dogged their steps, not able to rest till Isaw what would become of Carford. Yet we must give love his due; if hetakes a man into strange places, sometimes he shows him things worth hisknowing. If I, a lovesick fool, had watched a rival into my mistress'shouse and watched him out of it with d
evouring jealousy, ay, if I hadchosen to spend my time beneath the Manor windows rather than in my owncomfortable chair, why, I had done only what many who are now wise andsober gentleman have done in their time. And if once in that same park Ihad declared my heart broken for the sake of another lady, there arerevolutions in hearts as in states, and, after the rebels have hadtheir day, the King comes to his own again. Nay, I have known some whowere very loyal to King Charles, and yet said nothing hard of Oliver,whose yoke they once had worn. I will say nought against my usurper,although the Queen may have come to her own again.
Well, Carford should not have her. I, Simon Dale, might be the greatestfool in the King's dominions, and lie sulking while another stormed thecitadel on which I longed to plant my flag. But the victor should not beCarford. Among gentlemen a quarrel is easily come by; yokels may mouththeir blowsy sweetheart's name and fight openly for her favour overtheir mugs of ale; we quarrel on the state of the Kingdom, the fall ofthe cards, the cut of our coats, what you will. Carford and I would finda cause without much searching. I was so hot that I was within an ace ofsummoning him then and there to show by what right he rode so boldlythrough my native village; that offence would serve as well as anyother. Yet prudence prevailed. The closed doors of the inn hid the partyfrom my sight, and I went on my way, determined to be about by cockcrow,lest Carford should steal a march.
But as I went I passed the Vicar's door. He stood on the threshold,smoking his long pipe (the good man loved Virginia and gave his lovefree rein in the evening) and gazing at the sky. I tried to slink byhim, fearing to be questioned; he caught sight of my figure and calledme to him; but he made no reference to the manner of our last parting.
"Whither away, Simon?" he asked.
"To bed, sir," said I.
"It is well," said he. "And whence?"
"From a walk, sir."
His eyes met mine, and I saw them twinkle. He waved the stem of his pipein the air, and said,
"Love, Simon, is a divine distemper of the mind, wherein it paints blisswith woe's palate and sees heaven from hell."
"You borrow from the poets, sir," said I surlily.
"Nay," he rejoined, "the poets from me, or from any man who has or hashad a heart in him. What, Simon, you leave me?" For I had turned away.
"It's late, sir," said I, "for the making of rhapsodies."
"You've made yours," he smiled. "Hark, what's that?"
As he spoke there came the sound of horse's hoofs. A moment later thefigures of two mounted men emerged from the darkness. By some impulse, Iknow not what, I ran behind the Vicar and sheltered myself in the porchat his back. Carford's arrival had set my mind astir again, and newevents found ready welcome. The Vicar stepped out a pace into the roadwith his hand over his eyes, and peered at the strangers.
"What do you call this place, sir?" came in a loud voice from the nearerof the riders. I started at the voice; it had struck on my ears before,and no Englishman owned it.
"It is the village of Hatchstead, at your service," answered the Vicar.
"Is there an inn in it?"
"Ride for half a mile and you'll find a good one."
"I thank you, sir."
I could hold myself in no longer, but pushed the Vicar aside and ran outinto the road. The horsemen had already turned their faces towards theinn, and walked along slowly, as though they were weary. "Good-night,"cried the Vicar--whether to them or to me or to all creation I know not.The door closed on him. I stood for an instant, watching the retreatingform of the man who had enquired the way. A spirit of high excitementcame on me; it might be that all was not finished, and that BettyNasroth's prophecy should not bind the future in fetters. For there atthe inn was Carford, and here, if I did not err, was the man whom myknowledge of French had so perplexed in the inn at Canterbury.
And Carford knew Fontelles. On what errand did they come? Were theyfriends to one another or foes? If friends, they should find an enemy;if foes, there was another to share their battle. I could not tell themeaning of this strange conjuncture whereby the two came to Hatchstead;yet my guess was not far out, and I hailed the prospect that it gavewith a fierce exultation. Nay I laughed aloud, but first knew that Ilaughed when suddenly M. de Fontelles turned in his saddle, crying inFrench to his servant:
"What was that?"
"Something laughed," answered the fellow in an alarmed voice.
"Something? You mean somebody."
"I know not, it sounded strange."
I had stepped in under the hedge when Fontelles turned, but his puzzleand the servant's superstitious fear wrought on my excitement. Nothingwould serve me but to play a jest on the Frenchman. I laughed againloudly.
"God save us!" cried the servant, and I make no doubt he crossed himselfmost piously.
"It's some madman got loose," said M. de Fontelles scornfully. "Come,let's get on."
It was a boy's trick--a very boy's trick. Save that I set downeverything I would not tell it. I put my hands to my mouth and bellowed:
"_Il vient!_"
An oath broke from Fontelles. I darted into the middle of the road andfor a moment stood there laughing again. He had wheeled his horse round,but did not advance towards me. I take it that he was amazed, or, it maybe, searching a bewildered memory.
"_Il vient!_" I cried again in my folly, and, turning, ran down theroad at my best speed, laughing still. Fontelles made no effort tofollow me, yet on I ran, till I came to my mother's house. Stoppingthere, panting and breathless, I cried in the exuberance of triumph:
"Now she'll have need of me!"
Certainly the thing the Vicar spoke of is a distemper. Whether divine orof what origin I will not have judged by that night's prank of mine.
"They'll do very well together at the inn," I laughed, as I flung myselfon my bed.