Parson Kelly

  CHAPTER XV

  AT THE DEANERY OF WESTMINSTER

  Wogan finished the work of adorning his person, and stepped into thestreet. The night was serene, with a full moon, the air still, thepavements were clean as the deck of his ketch. He thought that hewould walk from his rooms to the Dean's by way of St. James's Park,and consequently he passed through Ryder St. and in front of Mr.Kelly's new lodgings. Just as he came to Mr. Kelly's lodgings, thedoor opened. A gentleman came forth; the moonlight was full on hisface. Mr. Wogan muffled his face in his cloak, and stepped stealthilyback.

  The gentleman was Colonel Montague. He bade the chairmen carry him toQueen's Square; Mr. Wogan heard the word of command with aninexpressible confusion of dismay. He had hardened his heart toencounter the enemy whose life, in a youthful indiscretion, he hadsaved at the risk of his own, but what was the Colonel doing inKelly's lodgings?

  By this time the warrior and his chair had turned the corner, and Mr.Wogan abandoned himself to meditation. Up and down Ryder Street hepaced, puzzling over the Colonel's visit to Kelly, whom, at allevents, he could not have found at home. Was he Was he carrying acartel to his predecessor in Lady Oxford's heart? In that case it wasall the more necessary to meet him and play the part of Dr. Franklin'skite, which had not at that time been flown, but is now making talkenough for the learned. On this point Mr. Wogan's mind was constant.Should he question Mrs. Kilburne, he asked himself? Mr. Wogan crossedthe road. But the Colonel was little likely to have told her a word ofhis business. Mr. Wogan stopped.

  There was another point: for whatever reason the Colonel had called atGeorge's lodgings, George must be told of the visit. Here wassomething which pressed, without question. Mr. Wogan marched towardsthe Dean's house in Westminster, where the Bishop of Rochester lay. Heknew the road very well, being himself an old Westminster boy. It wasbut seven years since he had run away to join his brother Charles andraise the North for King James. He could not tell, at this moment,whether he had deserted his studies for King James's sake, or toescape his dull task of writing out my Lord Clarendon's weary historyin a fair hand.

  As he entered the precincts, Wogan felt much like a truant boy, and itwas as if Time had stood still while _he_ ran. Nothing was changed,except that the new dormitory, which Bishop Atterbury had just built,shone white among the black old stones. There were lights in thewindows that suddenly went out: the lads were abed. Wogan looked up atthe blank windows, and thought of seven years agone, and of his lifesince then, an unprofitable contemplation, which his mind gladlydeserted. He marched up under the arch, through the darkling cloister,and tapped, gently but firmly, at the Dean's door. He must see Mr.Kelly. As it chanced, and by the merest accident in the world, Wogantimed his taps thus: 1--2, 3, 4, 5, 6--7.

  There were stealthy steps within, with a movement of yellow light, andthen a voice that Mr. Wogan knew very well came through a judas.

  'Is it my father's knock?'

  'Is it your granny's knock, Sam?' asked Wogan through the judas. Thevoice was that of Sam Wesley, a young usher in Wogan's time, one whomhe had always liked and tormented.

  The steps moved away, and the light.

  'Sam!' whispered Mr. Wogan, very loud for a whisper, through thejudas. 'Sam, you remember me. Nick Wogan.'

  The steps were silent.

  'Sam, remember Lord Clarendon! Remember Nick, who kicked the bully forbeating your little brother Jack.'

  The steps shuffled back to the door.

  'You have not the password,' said the voice through the judas.

  'Damn the password,' whispered Wogan. 'I want George Kelly. I must seehim in the name of the Blackbird. Hawks are abroad.'

  'It is clean against all rules,' came the voice from within.

  'Open, in the name of the cobbler's wax I once put on your chair, orI'll break the windows. You know me, Sam!'

  Mr. Wesley knew Mr. Wogan. He undid the lock, Mr. Wogan smuggledhimself within, and nearly choked Mr. Wesley in his embrace.

  'It is a giant!' said Mr. Wesley, putting up his candle to Wogan'sface. The wind blew on the light that flickered in the absolutedarkness, all the house being hung with black for Mrs. Atterbury'sdeath.

  'A son of Anak, Sam, who would have battered down your old door in aminute.'

  'I verily believe you would, Nick,' said Sam, leading the way up theblack stairs to a den of his own, where he was within call of theBishop. On tiptoe he marched, placing his finger on his lips.

  When they were got among Sam's books and papers of the boys'exercises, the usher said, 'It is a very extraordinary thing, purely aProvidence.'

  'I deserve one; the purity of my life deserves one,' said Mr. Wogan.'But wherein do you see the marvel?'

  'You did not know it, but you gave my father's knock,' said Samin a voice of awe. 'It is Old Jeffrey's doing--directed, ofcourse--directed.'

  'Old Jeffrey? Is it a cant name for an honest man?'

  'For a very honest spirit,' said the usher, and explained to Mr. Woganthat the particular knock and the passwords to follow (which Mr. Wogandid not know) were his own invention. His father's house at Epworth,in the year 1716, had been troubled, it seems, by an honest goblinthat always thumped and routed with a particular malevolence when theElector was prayed for as 'the King.' Old Mr. Wesley's pet knock,though, the sprite could not deliver. Mr. Wesley had a conceit thatthe goblin might be the ghost of some good fellow who died at Preston.

  'He keeps his politics in the next world,' said Mr. Wogan.

  'Wit might say much on that head, wisdom little,' whispered the usher,wagging his kind head. 'You have special business with Mr. Johnson?'he asked. 'He is with my Lord, hard by. The Bishop's voice was raisedwhen Mr. Johnson entered. I caught angry words, but now for long theyhave been quiet.'

  'Mr. Johnson has a way with him,' said Wogan, who had learned fromGoring that the reverend Father in God was of a hasty temper. 'Howdoth his Lordship?'

  'Very badly. I never saw him in a less apostolic humour. I know notwhat ill news he has had from France, or elsewhere, but he has beenmuch troubled about Mr. Johnson's dog, Harlequin. The poodle has beenconveyed out of town as craftily as if he were the Chevalier, I knownot why, and is now skulking in the country, I know not where.'

  It was, indeed, Mr. Wesley's part to know nothing. He was the Bishop'sman, and as honest as the day, but had no more enterprise than anotherusher.

  Wogan, he has said, knew Harlequin, second of that name, and had seenhim coddled by Mrs. Barnes. He was cudgelling his brains forHarlequin's part in the Great Affair, when a silver whistle sounded,thin and clear.

  Mr. Wesley beckoned to Wogan to be still, crept out of the room, andreturned on tiptoe with Kelly. The Parson's elegant dress was a trifledisarranged; his face and hands were somewhat stained and blackened aswith smoke, but the careful man had tucked up his Alencon rufflesbeneath his sleeves. On seeing Wogan George opened his eyes and hismouth, but spoke never a word. He carried a soft bundle wrapped in atablecloth, and when the door was shut he handed this to Mr. Wesley.

  'You have the key of the Dean's garden?' he whispered.

  'Yes; but wherefore?' answered Sam.

  'His Lordship bids me ask you to have the kindness to bury thecontents of this--'

  'I know not what is in the bundle,' said Mr. Wesley, with an air ofalarm.

  'And you need not be told,' said George. 'But can you let me and myfriend Mr. Hilton--'

  'Mr. Hilton?' gasped Sam, as Kelly put his hand out to Wogan.

  'I must present you to Mr. Hilton,' George said, and Wogan bowed andgrinned.

  'I was about to entreat you, Mr. Wesley, while you are playing thesexton, to permit me and Mr. Hilton the convenience of a few momentsof privacy in your chamber.'

  'With all my heart,' said the puzzled Sam, hospitably opening acupboard in his bookcase, whence he lugged out glasses and a bottle ofFlorence. Then he put list shoes over his own, and stole forth on hiserrand like a clerical cat.

&nbsp
; All this while Wogan had said not one word to Kelly, nor Kelly toWogan.

  Mr. Wogan had sat down to sample the bottle, and Kelly stared at him.

  'How did you make your way in here?' he asked at length.

  'Old Jeffrey,' said Wogan airily. 'I drink Old Jeffrey's health,wherever he is.'

  'I believe you are the devil himself. That password is known to nomortal but Mr. Wesley and me. The Bishop does not know it. Hisservants never see me come or go--only Sam. Whence got you the word?'

  Mr. Wogan very gently tapped 1--2, 3, 4, 5, 6--7 on the table.

  'I know many things,' he said. 'But, George, what do _you_ know?'

  'I know you should be aboard, Nick, and down to the waterside you stepfrom this house.'

  'I am already promised,' said Mr. Wogan with an air of fashion. 'I supwith Lady Oxford.'

  'You are mad.'

  'Nay, _you_ are mad. I know many things. When you were carried hitherin your chair, you knew nothing. George, what did the Bishop tell you?Why was he wroth with you? In brief, George, what do you know?'

  'The Bishop angry with me! Nick, you know too much. You are thedevil.'

  'I want to know a great deal more. Come, unpack, and then it is myturn. But first step into Mr. Wesley's bedchamber and wash thesehands, which go very ill with silver shoulder-knots; and pour theblackened water out of window. Any man or messenger could see that youhave been burning a mort of papers.'

  Mr. Kelly hastily adopted Mr. Wogan's precautions. When he entered theroom again the conspirator had vanished, the clerical beau remained.

  'Now,' said Wogan, 'you are fit to carry out your worldly design ofpleasure, and I shall not be ashamed to sup in your company at LadyOxford's.'

  'I have changed my mind; I shall not go. But, Nick, how did you knowmy mind? 'Twas the last of minds you expected to take me in.'

  'I am the devil. Have you not guessed it yourself?' replied Mr. Wogan,who was enjoying himself hugely. Perhaps it was the Florence, cominga-top of the Burgundy. He was quite easy about the discovery. 'Butunpack,' he said. 'What befell you with the Bishop?'

  'He received me oddly. The room was as dark as a wolf's mouth, beinghung with black bombazine. There was a low fire in a brazier, thatshone red on his Lordship's polished poll, for he wore no perruque.His eyes blazed, his teeth grinned white. I was put in mind of afierce old black panther in the French King's gardens.'

  'Remote from the apostolic,' said Mr. Wogan.

  'So were his first words,' said Kelly:

  '"You Irish dog, come here!" quoth the Bishop.

  'I offered a conjecture that, in the mournful light, his Lordship didnot precisely see whom he was addressing. On that the little old mansprang out at me, seized me by the collar, and then fell back on hiscouch with a groan that was a curse. I put a cordial that stood by himto his lips, and was about to call Mr. Wesley, when he forbade me withhis eyebrows, and cried:

  '"Answer me this question before we part for ever. Did you despatch myletters of April 20 to the King and the others?"

  '"My Lord," I said, "my duty to you ended with that episcopal layingon of hands, and with that expression which you were pleased to usewhen I entered."

  'He groaned, and said:

  '"I apologise. I am mad with pain" (which was plainly true), "andgrief, and treachery. I beg your pardon, Mr. Kelly, as a Christian anda sick old man."

  '"My Lord, you honour me. I enclosed the letters, as you directed, ina packet addressed to Mr. Gordon, the banker in Boulogne, and I sentthem by the common post, your Lordship not having forbidden theordinary course."

  '"Then, damn it, sir, you have ruined us!" said the sick oldChristian. "Did I not bid you write to Dillon that nothing ofimportance should go by the post?"

  '"But your Lordship did not seem to reckon these letters ofimportance, for you did not discharge me from sending them in thecommon course."

  'The Bishop groaned again more than once, and there was a wholeCommination Service in the sounds. You know Harlequin, Wogan?'

  Mr. Wogan nodded and wondered.

  ''Tis Harlequin has ruined us,' said Kelly; 'Harlequin and the Duke ofMar.'

  'I am devilish glad to hear it,' said Mr. Wogan.

  'Glad to hear it!' exclaimed Kelly, rising from his chair. 'You aretold of the discovery of the Great Affair, and the probable ruin ofthe Cause, and the danger of your friends and yourself, and you areglad to hear it!'

  'Faith, I am,' replied Wogan easily, 'for I knew of the discoverybefore you told me, but I put it down to a lady of your acquaintance.'

  The Parson very slowly sat himself down again on his chair.

  'In Heaven's name, why?' he asked, with a certain suspense.

  'Tell your tale first, then I'll tell mine. This is very excellentFlorence.'

  'The tale is too long, but the short of it is this: The Bishop had byhim a letter of Mar's, dated May 11, in which Mar, addressing theBishop as Illington, denounced him as plainly to anyone who read thepiece as if he had used the Bishop's own style and title. He condoledon Mrs. Illington's recent death, he referred to Mr. Illington's highplace in the Church, and to his gout. The three circumstances combinedleft no doubt as to who Illington is. There was no need such a letterof pure compliment should be written at all, except for the purpose ofbeing opened in the post, and fixing the Bishop as Illington. Then,'Kelly went on, 'I remembered a letter of Mar to myself, of last week,in which he spoke of the dog Harlequin as Mrs. Illington's. If theseletters were opened in the post,--and the Bishop knows for certainthat they were opened,--a blind man could see that Rochester andIllington are the same man, and own the same dog. The beast saved mylife, but he has lost the Cause,' said Kelly with a sigh. 'Mar hassold us. It is known he holds a pension from the Elector. The Bishopknows it in a roundabout way, through Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, andso the Bishop and I have burned his papers in the brazier. Sam isinterring their ashes in the garden.'

  Mr. Wogan poured out another glass of Florence.

  'Was there anything very pressing in these same letters of April 20,George? Was there anything to put fear on the Elector's Ministers? Didthey say, for instance, that the Blow was to be dealt, you and I knowwhen?'

  'Not a word of that,' replied Kelly, and his face lightened. On theother hand, Wogan's fell, which Kelly no doubt remarked, for hecontinued eagerly, 'D'ye see, there is a chance still, for the Cause,for us, if the Blow be struck quickly. We must strike quickly. So maywe retrieve Mar's treachery. The Bishop in his letter made excuses tothe King for the delay of any blow. He is not in favour of anythingimmediate, and in the letters he made his disposition plain. Theletters only compromised his Lordship in general, they did notreveal--the Blow.'

  Mr. Wogan, however, only shook his head.

  ''Faith, now, I'm sorry to hear that,' said he.

  'You are glad and sorry on very strange occasions,' said Kelly,sourly. 'First you are pleased that Mar sold us, and then you aredispleased that he did not sell the last secret.'

  Mr. Wogan leaned his elbows on the table, and bent across towards hisfriend.

  'I am sorry because the last secret has been sold, and it was not Marthat sold it. Therefore somebody else sold it; therefore I am at thepain of being obliged to suspect a lady who probably knows her latelover's cypher.'

  Mr. Kelly blanched.

  'And how do you know that the last secret is sold?'

  'As any man would know who had not lain abed all the day. George, thePark is full of soldiers. The Tower regiment that we thought Layer hadbought is there with the rest under canvas. Ministers would not makean encampment in the Park because they knew that the Bishop hadadvised the King that nothing was to be done. Therefore Mar is not theonly traitor.'

  'And why should my Lady Oxford be the Judas?'

  'Mainly to punish a certain nonjuring clergyman, for whose sake she isthe burden of a ballad, and sung of in coffee-houses.'

  'A ballad? Of what sort?'

  'Of the sort that makes a good whipping-post for a fine lady. Ridiculeis
the whip, and, by the Lord, it is laid on unsparingly. Perhaps youwould like to hear it,' and Mr. Wogan recited, in a whisper, so muchof the poem as he judged proper. It closed thus:--

  'Oh, happy ending to my rhymes, Consoled for all his woes, The Parson flies to foreign climes, And dwells--beneath the Rose!'

  Mr. Kelly swore an oath and took a turn across the room. He came to astop in front of Sam's bookcase. 'Rose,' said he, in a voice oftenderness, 'sure they might have left the little girl out of it.'

  'The barb was venomed, you see,' said Mr. Wogan. 'It was not enough tomake a scoff of the lady. She must be stripped of that lastconsolation, the belief that the discarded Parson wastes in despair.Now she knows that the Parson is consoled. There was spark to powder.The Parson may be putting on flesh. There's an insult to her beauty.Faith, but she must feel it in her marrow, since she risks her Lord'sneck for the pleasure of requiting it.'

  'No,' said Kelly, 'she could do what she would, for her Lord's neck isnot in this noose. Oxford had withdrawn before.'

  This was news to Mr. Wogan, who had been concerned only with theactual plan of attack, and sufficiently concerned to have no mind forother matters.

  'Oxford withdrawn,' he cried rising and coming across to the Parson.'Damn him, 'twas pure folly to trust him. Do you remember what Lawsaid that night in Paris? He would trust him no further than he wouldtrust a Norfolk attorney.'

  Kelly was silent for a moment, thoughtfully drawing a finger to andfro across the backs of Sam's books.

  'I have good reason to remember that night,' he said very sadly. 'Haveyou forgotten what I said? "May nothing come between the Cause andme!" Why, it seems the Cause goes down because of me, and with theCause my friends, and with my friends, Rose.'

  Mr. Wogan had no word to say. Whatever excuses rose to his tongueseemed too trivial for utterance.

  Kelly's finger stopped on one particular book, travelled away and cameback to it. Wogan saw that the book was a Bible. The Parson took itfrom the shelf and turning over the leaves read a line here and there.Wogan knew very well what was passing through his mind. His thoughtshad gone back to the little country parsonage and the quiet life withno weightier matter to disturb it than the trifling squabbles of hisparish.

  'You warned me, Nick,' he said, 'you warned me. But I was a fool andwould not heed. Read that!' and with a bitter sort of laugh he handedthe open Bible to Mr. Wogan, pointing to a verse. 'There's a text forthe preacher.'

  The Bible was open at the Book of Proverbs, and Mr. Wogan read. 'Thelips of a strange woman drop as a honey-comb and her mouth is smootherthan oil. But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edgedsword. Her feet go down to death. Her steps take hold on hell.'

  Mr. Wogan read the text aloud.

  'The strange woman, Nick,' said Kelly, 'the strange woman,' and thenin a fierce outburst, 'If I live the man who wrote that ballad shallrue it.'

  'They give it to Lady Mary.'

  'She never wrote it. Nick, who wrote the ballad? How did you get holdof it?'

  'I found the Crow, quite tipsy, singing it to Tyrell, at Burton's, inthe little room upstairs.'

  'And where did the Crow get the ballad?'

  'That is another uncomfortable circumstance. You know Talbot?'

  'An honest man, and a good officer, at Preston or in Spain, but asponge for drink. A pity he was ever let into the plot!'

  'Well, he got the ballad from someone with whom he had been drinkingat the Little Fox under the Hill, not a fashionable resort.'

  'Did he name his friend?'

  'He was drunk enough to begin by calling him Mr. Pope.'

  'Mr. Pope, the poet?'

  'He took that back; and said the poetry put Mr. Pope into his head.The man's real name, he remembered, was Scrotton. I can't guess who hewas, friend or spy, but we may take it that he knows what the Crowknows.'

  'Thank God for that!' cried Kelly.

  'You rejoice on very singular occasions, and are grateful for verysmall mercies,' said Mr. Wogan, who found it his turn to be surprised.'What are you so thankful for?'

  'Thankful that a woman need not have done this thing, and thatmy folly may not be the cause of this disaster. Another kneweverything--Pope--Scrotton--the ballad! Who wrote the ballad? Who ofour enemies knew a word about Rose? Are you blind? Who was at Avignon,spying on me, when I first met Rose? Who hates Lady Oxford no lessthan he hates me? Whose name was the unhappy tippler trying toremember? Scrotton? Pope?'

  'Scrope!' cried Wogan, cursing his own stupidity. 'Scrope it must havebeen, and the Crow swore that the man told him about the plot, andoften talked it over.'

  'That means, of course, that Scrope made him talk. The old curse ofthe Cause, that lost us Edinburgh Castle in the Fifteen, when theScots stopped at the tavern to powder their hair. Our curse, Nicholas.Wine!'

  'And Woman,' Mr. Wogan thought, but George ran on,

  'Scrope it was who wrote the ballad, for no enemy but Scrope knew whatthe writer knew. Lady Mary is a friend. Lady Oxford is innocent, thankGod--I say it with a humble heart--and I am not the cause of theruin.'

  George's eyes shone like those of a man reprieved. Wogan shook hisfriend's hand; his own eyes were opened.

  ''Tis you are the devil,' he said. 'Scrope has hit everyone he hates,and blown up the plot.'

  'His time will come,' said Kelly; 'but I hear Sam on the stair.'

  Mr. Wesley, tapping lightly, entered his room.

  'Gentlemen,' he said, 'the outer door is open.'

  Mr. Wesley's anxiety was plainly to be read in his face.

  The two gentlemen bade him farewell, with many thanks for hishospitality. He accompanied them to the door, and they heard the boltshot behind them as they stood in the cloister.

  'Whither should they go?' both men reflected, silent.

  Mr. Wogan has remarked on a certain gaiety and easiness of mind causedon this occasion, he considers, by Mr. Wesley's Florence coming afterhis own Burgundy at supper. He was also elated by George's elation,for to find innocence in one whom he had suspected elevated Mr.Kelly's disposition. They were betrayed, true, but the bitterness of abetrayal by the woman he had loved left him the lighter when theapprehension of it had passed.

  One little point rankled in Mr. Wogan's mind in spite of all. Why hadLady Oxford bidden both of them to her rout?

  He came at an answer by a roundabout road.

  'I must hurry home and burn my papers,' said Kelly, as soon as theywere out in the cloister, with the door of the Dean's house shutbehind them.

  Mr. Wogan, who had other notions, gripped his arm.

  'By the way, did you burn my lady's invitation to her rout to-night?What did she say, George? Why did she invite you? And did you burn thenote?'

  Mr. Kelly smote his hand on his brow. 'My wits were wool-gathering.'

  'On Cupid's hedges,' said Wogan.

  'But I locked the note up.'

  'With the rest of the lady's letters in my dispatch box?'

  ''Faith, Nick, you are the devil. How did you know that?'

  'Oh, I have divined your amorous use of my box.'

  'But you are wrong. I had the box with the dangerous papers of theplot open on the table when I was reading the letter. Mrs. Kilburneknocked at the door. I did not know who it might be. I slipped theletter in on the top of the papers of the Plot, and locked the boxbefore I opened the door.'

  'There it remains then? Well, her Ladyship's note is in the bettercompany. But what did she say? Did she give a reason for yourmeeting?'

  'The chief thing, after the usual compliments, was that she had mostimportant news, that might not be written, to give me about Mr.Farmer's affairs. Probably she may have had an inkling of thediscovery and wished to warn me.'

  'We must see her,' said Wogan, whose curiosity was on edge from thefirst about this party of pleasure.

  'But my papers--I must burn my papers.'

  'George, you are set, or you are not set. If you had been set t
hemessengers would have been at your lodgings before I went thither; infact, before you were out of bed. Therefore, either you have the wholenight safe or, going home now, you go into a mousetrap, as the Frenchsay, and your papers are the cheese to lure you there. Now, theycannot know of my lady's invitations, and if they by any accident didknow, a Minister would hardly take a man at a lady's house. That werean ill use for the hostess.'

  'That's true,' said Mr. Kelly, after reflecting. 'Nicholas, I knew notthat you had so much of the syllogism in your composition.'

  'Another thing, and an odd thing enough,' added Wogan. 'Perhapsnothing is laid against _you_ at all. Did Scrope lay information whenhe found us at Brampton Bryan?'

  'No!' cried Kelly. 'And at Avignon, when a proper spy would havestopped the Duke's gold, he was content with the sword in his ownhand.'

  'Precisely,' said Wogan; 'Scrope has blown the plot, that's business;but he deals with you himself, that's pleasure. He tried to meet youat Brampton Bryan--he did not have us laid by the heels. He nearly didfor you at Avignon, while he let the Duke's business alone, quitecontent. Now you are alive and he wants a meeting, 'tis clear he didnot inform on you, otherwise the messengers would have been with youwhen the soldiers began the camp in the morning. 'Faith, you may meetMr. Scrope tonight in St. James's Park. He is a kind of gentleman, Mr.Scrope! But we must see her ladyship first; sure, nothing's safer.'

  'Nicholas, thou reasonest well,' said the Parson.

  Mr. Wogan towed off his prize, and the pair moved out of the dark,musty cloister into the moonlight.