CHAPTER XXII
THE DEVICE OF LORD CARFORD
It is not my desire to assail, not is it my part to defend, thereputation of the great. There is no such purpose in anything that Ihave written here. History is their judge, and our own weakness theiradvocate. Some said, and many believed, that Madame brought the youngFrench lady in her train to Dover with the intention that the thingshould happen which happened. I had rather hold, if it be possible tohold, that a Princess so gracious and so unfortunate meant innocently,and was cajoled or overborne by the persuasions of her kinsmen, andperhaps by some specious pretext of State policy. In like manner I amreluctant to think that she planned harm for Mistress Barbara, towardswhom she had a true affection, and I will read in an honest sense, if Ican, the letter which M. de Fontelles brought with him to Hatchstead. Init Madame touched with a light discretion on what had passed, deploredwith pretty gravity the waywardness of men, and her own simplicity whichmade her a prey to their devices and rendered her less useful to herfriends than she desired to be. Yet now she was warned, her eyes wereopen, she would guard her own honour, and that of any who would trust toher. Nay, he himself, M. de Perrencourt, was penitent (even as was theDuke of Monmouth!), and had sworn to trouble her and her friends nomore. Would not then her sweet Mistress Barbara, with whom she vowed shehad fallen so mightily in love, come back to her and go with her toFrance, and be with her until the Duchess of York came, and, in goodtruth, as much longer as Barbara would linger, and Barbara's father inhis kindness suffer. So ran the letter, and it seemed an honest letter.But I do not know; and if it were honest, yet who dared trust to it?Grant Madame the best of will, where lay her power to resist M. dePerrencourt? But M. de Perrencourt was penitent. Ay, his penitence wasfor having let the lady go, and would last until she should be in hispower again.
Let the intent of the letter he carried be what it might, M. deFontelles, a gentleman of courage and high honour, believed his businesshonest. He had not been at Dover, and knew nothing of what had passedthere; if he were an instrument in wicked schemes, he did not know themind of those who employed him. He came openly to Hatchstead on anhonourable mission, as he conceived, and bearing an invitation whichshould give great gratification to the lady to whom it was addressed.Madame did Mistress Quinton the high compliment of desiring her company,and would doubtless recompense her well for the service she asked.Fontelles saw no more and asked no more. In perfect confidence andhonesty he set about his task, not imagining that he had been sent on anerrand with which any man could reproach him, or with a purpose thatgave any the right of questioning his actions. Nor did my cry of "_Ilvient_" change this mood in him. When he collected his thoughts andrecalled the incident in which those words had played a part before, hesaw in them the challenge of someone who had perhaps penetrated a Statesecret, and was ill-affected towards the King and the King's policy;but, being unaware of any connection between Mistress Barbara and M. dePerrencourt, he did not associate the silly cry with the object of hispresent mission. So also, on hearing that a gentleman was at the inn(Carford had not given his name) and had visited the Manor, he was in noway disquieted, but ready enough to meet any number of gentlemen withoutfearing their company or their scrutiny.
Gaily and courteously he presented himself to Barbara. Her mother laystill in bed, and she received him alone in the room looking out on theterrace. With a low bow and words of deference he declared his errand,and delivered to her the letter he bore from Madame, making bold to addhis own hopes that Mistress Quinton would not send him backunsuccessful, but let him win the praise of a trustworthy messenger.Then he twirled his moustaches, smiled gallantly, and waited with allcomposure while she read the letter. Indeed he deserves some pity, forwomen are wont to spend much time on reasoning in such a case. When aman comes on a business which they suspect to be evil, they make no adoabout holding him a party to it, and that without inquiring whether heknows the thing to which he is setting his hand.
Barbara read her letter through once and a second time; then, without aword to Fontelles, aye, not so much as bidding him be seated, she calleda servant and sent him to the inn to summon Carford to her. She spokelow, and the Frenchman did not hear. When they were again alonetogether, Barbara walked to the window, and stood there looking out.Fontelles, growing puzzled and ill at ease, waited some moments beforehe ventured to address her; her air was not such as to encourage him;her cheek was reddened and her eyes were indignant. Yet at last heplucked up his courage.
"I trust, madame," said he, "that I may carry the fairest of answersback with me?"
"What answer is that, sir?" she asked, half-turning to him with ascornful glance.
"Yourself, madame, if you will so honour me," he answered, bowing. "Yourcoming would be the answer best pleasing to Madame, and the bestfulfilment of my errand."
She looked at him coolly for a moment or two, and then said,
"I have sent for a gentleman who will advise me on my answer."
M. de Fontelles raised his brows, and replied somewhat stiffly,
"You are free, madame, to consult whom you will, although I had hopedthat the matter needed but little consideration."
She turned full on him in a fury.
"I thank you for your judgment of me, sir," she cried. "Or is it thatyou think me a fool to be blinded by this letter?"
"Before heaven----" began the puzzled gentleman.
"I know, sir, in what esteem a woman's honour is held in your countryand at your King's Court."
"In as high, madame, as in your country and at your Court."
"Yes, that's true. God help me, that's true! But we are not at Courtnow, sir. Hasn't it crossed your mind that such an errand as yours maybe dangerous?"
"I had not thought it," said he with a smile and a shrug. "But, pardonme, I do not fear the danger."
"Neither danger nor disgrace?" she sneered.
Fontelles flushed.
"A lady, madame, may say what she pleases," he remarked with a bow.
"Oh, enough of pretences," she cried. "Shall we speak openly?"
"With all my heart, madame," said he, lost between anger andbewilderment.
For a moment it seemed as though she would speak, but the shame of openspeech was too great for her. In his ignorance and wonder he could donothing to aid her.
"I won't speak of it," she said. "It's a man's part to tell you thetruth, and to ask account from you. I won't soil my lips with it."
Fontelles took a step towards her, seeking how he could assuage a furythat he did not understand.
"As God lives----" he began gravely. Barbara would not give himopportunity.
"I pray you," she cried, "stand aside and allow me to pass. I will notstay longer with you. Let me pass to the door, sir. I'll send agentleman to speak with you."
Fontelles, deeply offended, utterly at a loss, flung the door open forher and stood aside to let her pass.
"Madame," he said, "it must be that you misapprehend."
"Misapprehend? Yes, or apprehend too clearly!"
"As I am a gentleman----"
"I do not grant it, sir," she interrupted.
He was silent then; bowing again, he drew a pace farther back. She stoodfor a moment, looking scornfully at him. Then with a curtsey she badehim farewell and passed out, leaving him in as sad a condition as everwoman's way left man since the world began.
Now, for reasons that have been set out, Carford received his summonswith small pleasure, and obeyed it so leisurely that M. de Fontelles hadmore time than enough in which to rack his brains for the meaning ofMistress Barbara's taunts. But he came no nearer the truth, and wasreduced to staring idly out of the window till the gentleman who was tomake the matter plain should arrive. Thus he saw Carford coming up tothe house on foot, slowly and heavily, with a gloomy face and a nervousair. Fontelles uttered an exclamation of joy; he had known Carford, anda friend's aid would put him right with this hasty damsel who denied himeven the chance of self-defence. He was aware also that, in sp
ite of hisoutward devotion to the Duke of Monmouth, Carford was in reality of theFrench party. So he was about to run out and welcome him, when his stepswere stayed by the sight of Mistress Barbara herself, who flew to meetthe new-comer with every sign of eagerness. Carford saluted her, and thepair entered into conversation on the terrace, Fontelles watching themfrom the window. To his fresh amazement, the interview seemed hardlyless fierce than his own had been. The lady appeared to press somecourse on her adviser, which the adviser was loth to take; she insisted,growing angry in manner; he, having fenced for awhile and protested,sullenly gave way; he bowed acquiescence while his demeanour asserteddisapproval, she made nothing of his disapproval and received hisacquiescence with a scorn little disguised. Carford passed on to thehouse; Barbara did not follow him, but, flinging herself on a marbleseat, covered her face with her hands and remained there in an attitudewhich spoke of deep agitation and misery.
"By my faith," cried honest M. de Fontelles, "this matter is altogetherpast understanding!"
A moment later Carford entered the room and greeted him with greatcivility. M. de Fontelles lost no time in coming to the question; hisgrievance was strong and bitter, and he poured out his heart withoutreserve. Carford listened, saying little, but being very attentive andkeeping his shrewd eyes on the other's face. Indignation carriedFontelles back and forwards along the length of the room in restlesspaces; Carford sat in a chair, quiet and wary, drinking in all that theangry gentleman said. My Lord Carford was not one who believed hastilyin the honour and honesty of his fellow-men, nor was he prone to expecta simple heart rather than a long head; but soon he perceived that theFrenchman was in very truth ignorant of what lay behind his mission, andthat Barbara's usage of him caused genuine and not assumed offence. Therevelation set my lord a-thinking.
"And she sends for you to advise her?" cried Fontelles. "That, myfriend, is good; you can advise her only in one fashion."
"I don't know that," said Carford, feeling his way.
"It is because you don't know all. I have spoken gently to her, seekingto win her by persuasion. But to you I may speak plainly. I have directorders from the King to bring her and to suffer no man to stop me.Indeed, my dear lord, there is no choice open to you. You wouldn'tresist the King's command?"
Yet Barbara demanded that he should resist even the King's command.Carford said nothing, and the impetuous Frenchman ran on:
"Nay, it would be the highest offence to myself to hinder me. Indeed, mylord, all my regard for you could not make me suffer it. I don't knowwhat this lady has against me, nor who has put this nonsense in herhead. It cannot be you? You don't doubt my honour? You don't taunt mewhen I call myself a gentleman?"
He came to a pause before Carford, expecting an answer to his hotquestions. He saw offence in the mere fact that Carford was stillsilent.
"Come, my lord," he cried, "I do not take pleasure in seeing you thinkso long. Isn't your answer easy?" He assumed an air of challenge.
Carford was, I have no doubt, most plagued and perplexed. He could havedealt better with a knave than with this fiery gentleman. Barbara haddemanded of him that he should resist even the King's command. He mightescape that perilous obligation by convincing Fontelles himself that hewas a tool in hands less honourable than his own; then the Frenchmanwould in all likelihood abandon his enterprise. But with him would goCarford's hold on Barbara and his best prospect of winning her; for inher trouble lay his chance. If, on the other hand, he quarrelled openlywith Fontelles, he must face the consequences he feared or incurBarbara's unmeasured scorn. He could not solve the puzzle and determinedto seek a respite.
"I do not doubt your honour, sir," he said. Fontelles bowed gravely."But there is more in this matter than you know. I must beg a few hoursfor consideration and then I will tell you all openly."
"My orders will not endure much delay."
"You can't take the lady by force."
"I count on the aid of my friends and the King's to persuade her toaccompany me willingly."
I do not know whether the words brought the idea suddenly and as if witha flash into Carford's head. It may have been there dim and vaguebefore, but now it was clear. He paused on his way to the door, andturned back with brightened eyes. He gave a careless laugh, saying,
"My dear Fontelles, you have more than me to reckon with before you takeher away."
"What do you mean, my lord?"
"Why, men in love are hard to reason with, and with fools in love thereis no reasoning at all. Come, I'm your friend, although there is for themoment a difficulty that keeps us apart. Do you chance to remember ourmeeting at Canterbury?"
"Why, very well."
"And a young fellow who talked French to you?" Carford laughed again."He disturbed you mightily by calling out----"
"'_Il vient!_'" cried Fontelles, all on the alert.
"Precisely. Well, he may disturb you again."
"By Heaven, then he's here?"
"Why, yes."
"I met him last night! He cried those words to me again. The insolentrascal! I'll make him pay for it."
"In truth you've a reckoning to settle with him."
"But how does he come into this matter?"
"Insolent still, he's a suitor for Mistress Quinton's hand."
Fontelles gave a scornful shrug of his shoulders; Carford, smiling andmore at ease, watched him. The idea promised well; it would be a strokeindeed could the quarrel be shifted on to my shoulders, and M. deFontelles and I set by the ears; whatever the issue of that difference,Carford stood to win by it. And I, not he, would be the man to resistthe King's commands.
"But how comes he here?" cried Fontelles.
"The fellow was born here. He is an old neighbour of Mistress Quinton."
"Dangerous then?"
It was Carford's turn to shrug his shoulders, as he said,
"Fools are always dangerous. Well, I'll leave you. I want to think. Onlyremember; if you please to be on your guard against me, why, be more onyour guard against Simon Dale."
"He dares not stop me. Nay, why should he? What I propose is for thelady's advantage."
Carford saw the quarrel he desired fairly in the making. M. de Fontelleswas honest, M. de Fontelles was hot-tempered, M. de Fontelles would betold that he was a rogue. To Carford this seemed enough.
"You would do yourself good if you convinced him of that," he answered."For though she would not, I think, become his wife, he has theinfluence of long acquaintance, and might use it against you. Butperhaps you're too angry with him?"
"My duty comes before my quarrel," said Fontelles. "I will seek thisgentleman."
"As you will. I think you're wise. They will know at the inn where tofind him."
"I will see him at once," cried Fontelles. "I have, it seems, twomatters to settle with this gentleman."
Carford, concealing his exultation, bade M. de Fontelles do as seemedbest to him. Fontelles, declaring again that the success of his missionwas nearest his heart, but in truth eager to rebuke or chasten mymocking disrespect, rushed from the room. Carford followed moreleisurely. He had at least time for consideration now; and there werethe chances of this quarrel all on his side.
"Will you come with me?" asked Fontelles.
"Nay, it's no affair of mine. But if you need me later----" He nodded.If it came to a meeting, his services were ready.
"I thank you, my lord," said the Frenchman, understanding his offer.
They were now at the door, and stepped out on the terrace. Barbara,hearing their tread, looked up. She detected the eagerness in M. deFontelles' manner. He went up to her at once.
"Madame," he said, "I am forced to leave you for a while, but I shallsoon return. May I pray you to greet me more kindly when I return?"
"In frankness, sir, I should be best pleased if you did not return," shesaid coldly, then, turning to Carford, she looked inquiringly at him.She conceived that he had done her bidding, and thought that thegentlemen concealed their quarrel from her. "You go with M. deF
ontelles, my lord?" she asked.
"With your permission, I remain here," he answered.
She was vexed, and rose to her feet as she cried,
"Then where is M. de Fontelles going?"
Fontelles took the reply for himself.
"I am going to seek a gentleman with whom I have business," said he.
"You have none with my Lord Carford?"
"What I have with him will wait."
"He desires it should wait?" she asked in a quick tone.
"Yes, madame."
"I'd have sworn it," said Barbara Quinton.
"But with Mr Simon Dale----"
"With Simon Dale? What concern have you with Simon Dale?"
"He has mocked me twice, and I believe hinders me now," returnedFontelles, his hot temper rising again.
Barbara clasped her hands, and cried triumphantly,
"Go to him, go to him. Heaven is good to me! Go to Simon Dale!"
The amazed eyes of Fontelles and the sullen enraged glance of Carfordrecalled her to wariness. Yet the avowal (O, that it had pleased God Ishould hear it!) must have its price and its penalty. A burning flushspread over her face and even to the border of the gown on her neck. Butshe was proud in her shame, and her eyes met theirs in a level gaze.
To Fontelles her bearing and the betrayal of herself brought fresh andstrong confirmation of Carford's warning. But he was a gentleman, andwould not look at her when her blushes implored the absence of his eyes.
"I go to seek Mr Dale," said he gravely, and without more words turnedon his heel.
In a sudden impulse, perhaps a sudden doubt of her judgment of him,Barbara darted after him.
"For what purpose do you seek him?"
"Madame," he answered, "I cannot tell you."
She looked for a moment keenly in his face; her breath came quick andfast, the hue of her cheek flashed from red to white.
"Mr Dale," said she, drawing herself up, "will not fear to meet you."
Again Fontelles bowed, turned, and was gone, swiftly and eagerlystriding down the avenue, bent on finding me.
Barbara was left alone with Carford. His heavy frown and surly eyesaccused her. She had no mind to accept the part of the guilty.
"Well, my lord," she said, "have you told this M. de Fontelles whathonest folk would think of him and his errand?"
"I believe him to be honest," answered Carford.
"You live the quieter for your belief!" she cried contemptuously.
"I live the less quiet for what I have seen just now," he retorted.
There was a silence. Barbara stood with heaving breast, he opposite toher, still and sullen. She looked long at him, but at last seemed not tosee him; then she spoke in soft tones, not as though to him, but ratherin an answer to her own heart, whose cry could go no more unheeded. Hereyes grew soft and veiled in a mist of tears that did not fall. (So Isee it--she told me no more than that she was near crying.)
"I couldn't send for him," she murmured. "I wouldn't send for him. Butnow he will come, yes, he'll come now."
Carford, driven half-mad by an outburst which his own device had caused,moved by whatever of true love he had for her, and by his great rage andjealousy against me, fairly ran at her and caught her by the wrist.
"Why do you talk of him? Do you love him?" he said from between clenchedteeth.
She looked at him, half-angry, half-wondering. Then she said,
"Yes."
"Nell Gwyn's lover?" said Carford.
Her cheek flushed again, and a sob caught her voice as it came.
"Yes," said she. "Nell Gywn's lover."
"You love him?"
"Always, always, always." Then she drew herself near to him in a suddenterror. "Not a word, not a word," she cried. "I don't know what you are,I don't trust you; forgive me, forgive me; but whatever you are, forpity's sake, ah, my dear lord, for pity's sake, don't tell him. Not aword!"
"I will not speak of it to M. de Fontelles," said Carford.
An amazed glance was followed by a laugh that seemed half a sob.
"M. de Fontelles! M. de Fontelles! No, no, but don't tell Simon."
Carford's lips bent in a forced smile uglier than a scowl.
"You love this fellow?"
"You have heard."
"And he loves you?"
The sneer was bitter and strong. In it seemed now to lie Carford's onlyhope. Barbara met his glance an instant, and her answer to him was,
"Go, go."
"He loves you?"
"Leave me. I beg you to leave me. Ah, God, won't you leave me?"
"He loves you?"
Her face went white. For a while she said nothing; then in a calm quietvoice, whence all life and feeling, almost all intelligence, seemed tohave gone, she answered,
"I think not, my lord."
He laughed. "Leave me," she said again, and he, in grace of whatmanhood there was in him, turned on his heel and went. She stood alone,there on the terrace.
Ah, if God had let me be there! Then she should not have stood desolate,nor flung herself again on the marble seat. Then she should not havewept as though her heart broke, and all the world were empty. If I hadbeen there, not the cold marble should have held her, and for everysweetest tear there should have been a sweeter kiss. Grief should havebeen drowned in joy, while love leapt to love in the fulness of delight.Alas for pride, breeder of misery! Not life itself is so long as to giveatonement to her for that hour; though she has said that one moment, acertain moment, was enough.