Parson Kelly

  CHAPTER XXI

  IN WHICH MR. KELLY SURPRISES SMILINDA

  The devil in all this affair, it was that Wogan could not be in two,or even three, places at once. While Kelly was shut in with LadyOxford earlier, Mr. Wogan, as he has said, was on the wrong side ofthe door. There he was again, after the rout, while he conversed withColonel Montague in the street. Again, while Wogan was busy with Mr.Scrope in St. James's Park, Kelly and the Colonel were exchangingtheir unknown explanations, of a kind not admired by Mr. Wogan, whichended in their walking, like a pair of brothers, towards George'srooms. In all these conjunctures Mr. Wogan's advice, could he havebeen present, might have been serviceable, or at least his curiositymust have been assuaged.

  What did pass between Kelly and Lady Oxford when the rout was over,and what were the considerations which induced George and the Colonelto resist their natural and mutual desire for an honourablesatisfaction?

  These questions (that perplexed Wogan when he awoke, about noon, fromthe fatigue of the previous day) were answered later by Kelly, and theanswer must be given before the later adventures and sorrows of Georgecan be clearly narrated. Sure, no trifle could have turned sword andgown into friends that night.

  When Lady Oxford and Kelly were left alone in the empty rooms, amongthe waning candles and scattered cards, Lady Oxford marched, likeindignant royalty, to the end of the inner withdrawing-room, wherethey could not be heard or interrupted without warning.

  Mr. Kelly followed with a mind made up. It was, after all, Lady Oxfordthat had betrayed him, but he had, by an accident of forgetfulness,kept her letters, and they now gave him the advantage. If thoseletters could be saved, the Chevalier's papers could and should besaved too, and himself rescued from peril and Rose from muchunhappiness. Rose was at the bottom of his thoughts that night; herface was mirrored there bright, it seemed, with divinity. TheChevalier was there too, no doubt, but Rose peeped over his shoulder.Mr. Kelly, then, hardened his heart, and, for love and loyalty, meantto push his advantage over Lady Oxford to its limits. He approachedher as she stood retired.

  'Wretch,' cried Lady Oxford, 'you promised to burn my letters. Of alltraitors you are the most abandoned and perfidious.'

  The Parson thought that memory supplied him with a parallel, but hereplied:

  'It is a promise all men make and all men break.'

  Lady Oxford struck her hand upon a table.

  'You swore you had burned them.'

  This time George was less ready with his answer, but her ladyshipstood awaiting it.

  'My passion must be my excuse, madam; I could not bear to part withthese elegant testimonies of your esteem. It is as I have the honourto tell your ladyship; the brocades are in my strong box in mylodgings. To-morrow they shall be restored to your hands.'

  'To-morrow!' she said, in a voice of despair. 'To-morrow! I amundone!'

  'It is not so long to wait for the finery, and I do not think thestreets are so purely unsafe as you suppose.'

  'I am undone!' she repeated. 'The public will ring of my name. I shallbecome a byword, a thing of scorn for every scribbler to aim his witat.'

  She gnawed her fingers in an agony of fear and perplexity. Mr. Kellyhad learned enough. There was plainly no chance within the lady'sknowledge, as he had hoped, of saving her letters. Neither, then,could the King's papers be saved. He bowed, and took a step towardsthe door.

  'Stop!'

  Mr. Kelly turned with alacrity at the eager cry, but Lady Oxford hadno words of hope for him.

  'You must not leave this house to-night, or must leave it secretly bythe garden.'

  Kelly smiled grimly. Her ladyship was suddenly grown most tender ofher reputation now that it was in peril.

  'Your ladyship's care for me, and your hospitality overcome me, but Ihave, as you perhaps remarked, an assignation of honour with ColonelMontague which nothing must prevent me from keeping. He is longing foran instant revenge--at the Hazard Table. A while ago, you may pardonme for observing, your ladyship was remote from feeling this suddenand violent anxiety on my hand.'

  Mr. Kelly's irony was poured out to deaf ears. Lady Oxford paced toand fro about the room, wringing her hands in her extremity. Then shestopped suddenly.

  'I might drive to the Minister's.' She reached out a hand towards thebell. Kelly shook his head.

  'That visit would be remarked upon unfavourably by the friends of myLord Oxford, who are not in the Minister's interest. Mr. Walpole hasno party to-night, and must have gone to bed--'tis verging on twoo'clock--or else he is in his cups. Moreover, the _Dolliad_, theballad on his sister, was credited to your pen. You know that Mr.Walpole loves a broad jest, and loves revenge. He will not protect younor miss so fair an opportunity. Nay, I think I read in to-morrow's_Flying Post_, "In the papers of the prisoner Kelly, among othertreasonable matter reserved for a later occasion, were found thefollowing letters of a high curiosity, which we are graciouslypermitted to publish; one begins--_Oh, my Delicious Strephon_."

  Lady Oxford snapped her fan between her fingers and dashed thefragments in Kelly's face. He owns that he cannot well complain sheserved him ill, but he wanted to repay her in some sort for herinnuendo about his fate at the hangman's hands, and similar favours.Beholding her passion, which was not unjust, he felt bitterly ashamedof his words.

  'You coward!' she said. Her dark eyes glared at him from a face whiteas the ivory of her broken fan, and then, quite suddenly, she burstinto a storm of tears. Kelly's shame was increased a thousandfold.

  'I humbly crave your ladyship's pardon,' he said. 'I have spoken interms unworthy of a chairman. But some remarks of your ladyship's on afuture event, to me of painful interest, had left an unhappyimpression.'

  But Lady Oxford paid no heed to the stammered apology. As Mr. Kellymoved to her she waived him aside with her hands, and, dropping on toa sofa, pressed her weeping face into the cushions. Sobs shook her;she lay abandoned to distress.

  Mr. Kelly stood apart and listened to the dolorous sound of herweeping. That was true which she had said; he had promised to burnthose letters; he had sworn that he had burned them. His fine plan ofusing them as a weapon against her began to take quite anothercomplexion. There were, no doubt, all manner of pious and respectablearguments to be discovered in favour of the plan, if only he priedabout for them. But a saying of Mr. Scrope's was suddenly scrawled outin his recollections: 'AEneas was an army chaplain who invoked hisreligion when he was tired of the lady, and so sailed away with aclear conscience.' Kelly murmured 'Rose' to himself, and, again,'Rose,' seeking to fortify himself with the mention of her name. Butit had the contrary effect. Even as he heard his lips murmuring it,the struggle was over.

  George had a number of pretty finical scruples, of which his conductat this crisis of his fortunes was a particular example. He relateshow it seemed to him that at the mention of her name Rose threw out ahand to him and drew him up out of a slough; how he understood thathis fine plan was unworthy of any man, and entirely despicable in theman whom she, out of her great condescension, had stooped to love; howhe became aware that he owed it to her, since she was a woman, that nowoman's fame, whether a Smilinda's or no, should be smirched by anyomission of his; how he suddenly felt in his very marrow that it woulddishonour Rose to save her even from great misery by a _lachete_towards another of her sex. His duty was revealed to him in thatmoment, as clear as it was unexpected. He sets his revulsion offeeling wholly to Rose's account, as a man in love should, but verylikely her ladyship's fan had something to do with it.

  He spoke again to Lady Oxford, and very gently.

  'Madam, it is true. I promised to burn your letters. I swore that Ihad burned them. My honour, I perceive, can only be saved by savingyours.'

  Lady Oxford raised her head from the cushions and stared at him withwondering eyes.

  'Let us play this game _cartes sur table_,' continued Kelly.

  Her ladyship rose from her sofa and sat herself in a chair at a table,still
wondering, still suspicious. George took the chair on the otherside of the table, and spoke while Lady Oxford dried the tears uponher face. To help her at all he must know all that she knew. His firstbusiness was to remove her ladyship's suspicions.

  'I understand that your ladyship, by some means of which I am as yetignorant, has become aware of a certain Plot, and has carried theknowledge to Mr. Walpole.'

  Lady Oxford neither agreed nor denied. She admitted the truth of Mr.Kelly's statement in her own way.

  'You bragged and blabbed to my worst enemy, to Lady Mary, with herpoisonous pen,' and her fine features writhed with hatred as she spokeLady Mary's name.

  'There your ladyship was misled,' returned Kelly. 'My lips have beensealed, as I already had the honour to inform you. My Lady Mary maynot love you, but she is innocent of this offence. If she wrote thoserhymes, she was, indeed, more my enemy than yours; and my enemy, asyour ladyship is aware, she is not.'

  Lady Oxford understood the strength of the argument.

  'Ah, yes,' she said thoughtfully. 'The apothecary's daughter!'

  The contemptuous phrase slipped from Lady Oxford by mistake, and wasnot at all uttered in a contemptuous voice. But she had no doubtfallen into a habit of so terming the girl in her thoughts. None theless, however, it stung Mr. Kelly, who was at some trouble to keep hisvoice gentle. He knew how much Smilinda owed at this moment to theapothecary's daughter.

  'The young lady to whom I conceive you refer, Miss Townley, is of afamily as ancient, loyal, and honourable as your ladyship's own, andyou may have seen on what terms both ladies were this evening.Moreover, Lady Mary was purely ignorant of Miss Townley's veryexistence when that pasquinade was written.'

  'Then who wrote it?'

  'Mr. Scrope, as I have the honour to repeat.'

  'Scrope?' she answered in a quick question, as though for the firsttime she understood that George might well be right. He gave thereasons for his belief as he had given them at the Deanery to NicholasWogan. They were to the last degree convincing. Lady Oxford waspersuaded long before Mr. Kelly had come to an end. A look came intoher face which Kelly could not understand, a look of bitterhumiliation. 'Scrope,' she muttered, as her fingers played with thecards upon the table. She overturned a card which lay face downwardson the table, and it chanced to be the knave of hearts.

  'Your ladyship now sees that you fell into a natural error,' continuedKelly, who was anxious to smooth Lady Oxford's path, 'in consequenceof which you took a natural revenge. May I ask how you secured themeans of revenge? How, in a word, you came to know of the hidden Plotwithin the Plot?'

  Her ladyship's answer fairly startled Mr. Kelly. It was not given atonce. She still played with the cards, and overturned another. It wasthe knave of clubs.

  'The cards tell you,' she said with a bitter smile.

  Mr. Kelly leaned back in his chair open-mouthed. 'Scrope?' he asked.

  'Scrope,' replied her ladyship. 'I received a humble letter from himpraying that I would forgive his odious ingratitude, and, by way ofpeace-offering, bidding me tell my Lord Oxford--'

  'Who had already withdrawn,' said George. 'I think I understand,' LadyOxford's look of humiliation had enlightened him, 'and I think yourladyship understands with me. Mr. Scrope is a sort of a gentleman, andwould prefer to do his dirty work without appearing as a spy. He hasmade use of your ladyship. He sends you the Plot and spurs you todisclose it with his ballad. He would have disclosed it himself, Idoubt not, had not your ladyship served his turn. But Mr. Scrope hashis refinements, and, besides that he spares himself, would take aparticular pleasure in compassing my ruin at the same time that heoutwitted you.'

  Little wonder that Lady Oxford broke in upon Mr. Kelly's reasonings.It must have been sufficiently galling for her to reflect that inexacting her revenge she had been the mere instrument of a man she hadtossed aside.

  'It is both of us that he has ruined, not you alone,' she cried.

  Certainly, Mr. Scrope was a person to reckon with, and had killedquite a covey of birds with one stone.

  'Are you sure?' asked Kelly. 'Are you sure of that?'

  She bent across the table eagerly, but she did not reply to thequestion.

  'Will you kill Scrope,' she flashed out, 'and you and I part friends?'

  Kelly, even in the midst of this tangle of misfortunes, could not butsmile.

  'I fear that I may have been anticipated. Mr. Scrope has been watchingyour ladyship's house to-night--and Mr. Wogan observed him, and, Iconceive, has undertaken for him.'

  Lady Oxford at that smiled too. 'Then he is a dead man,' she said,slowly savouring her words like wine.

  'But his death, madam, will not save your letters,' said Kelly; andthe fire died out of her face.

  'He has betrayed us both,' she moaned. It seemed she had alreadyforgotten how she herself had seized at the occasion of betraying Mr.Kelly. Kelly was in no mood to debate these subtleties.

  'Are you sure?' he contented himself with asking for a second time.'There is one thing Mr. Scrope has not done. He has taken no measurespurposely to insure that your letters will be discovered, since hedoes not know of them; else, no doubt, he would have done his worst.We two are still engaged in a common cause--your ladyship's. Yourintentions in my regard I were much less than a man if I did notforgive, granting (what I now know) your ladyship's erroneousinterpretation of my ground of offence, the babbling to Lady Mary.Does your ladyship permit me, then, at the eleventh hour, to save you,if I can find a way, from the odious consequences of Mr. Scrope'sunparalleled behaviour?'

  'You?'

  Lady Oxford's brows were drawn together in perplexity. The notion thatMr. Kelly was prepared to do this thing was still new and strange toher.

  'You?' Her eyes searched his for the truth of his purpose, and foundit. 'You?' she said again, but in a voice of gratitude andcomprehension. And then, with a gesture of despair, she thrust herchair back and stood up. 'You cannot save yourself. I cannot saveyou.'

  'No,' replied George, 'myself I cannot save; but it may not be toolate to save my honour, which is now wrapped up in that of yourladyship's. My case is desperate; what can be done for yours? Be plainwith me. How much does your ladyship know?'

  Lady Oxford turned away from the table. In the face of Kelly'sgenerosity no doubt she hesitated to disclose the whole truth of hertreachery.

  'I know no more than that you are in peril of arrest,' she said.

  'Madam, surely you know more than that. You spoke earlier this eveningof my arrest, and you spoke with the assurance of a more particularknowledge.'

  Lady Oxford took a turn across the room.

  'Oh, my God, what can I do?' she cried, lifting her hands to her head.'I hear Lady Mary's laughter and the horrid things they will say!'

  The whimsical inconsequence of Smilinda's appeal to her Maker did notfail to strike Kelly as ludicrous, but, as his own case was hopelessand abandoned, any thought of revenge or mockery had ceased to agitatehim. His honour now stood in saving all that was left of hers fromopen and intolerable shame, and Rose beckoned him to the task.

  'Surely you know more,' he persisted quietly.

  Lady Oxford gave in and came back to the table.

  'The Messengers should be waiting for you in Ryder Street.'

  At last Kelly knew the worst. He would be taken before he reached hisdoorstep. There would be no chance of saving the cyphers in his strongbox. Could he save Smilinda's letters?

  He bent his forehead upon his hands, thinking. Smilinda watched him;her lips moved as though she was praying.

  'I might be carried to your lodgings and claim what is mine,' shesuggested.

  'You would be carried to a trap--a _souriciere_. Ten to one you wouldbe arrested by the Messengers. At all events your visit would beremarked upon, and you would not obtain the letters.'

  Lady Oxford had no other proposal at hand, and there was silence inthe room. Mr. Kelly remained with his face buried in his hands; hetook the air in long deep breaths. No other sound was audib
le exceptthe faint ticking of the clock in the outer withdrawing-room. ForSmilinda was holding her breath lest she should disturb the man whomshe had betrayed, and who was now wholly occupied with the attempt tosave her. Then she remarked that the sound of his breathing ceased.She bent forwards; he raised his face to hers. He did not seem to seeher; his eyes kindled with hope.

  'You have found a way?' she whispered; and he whispered back:

  'A desperate chance, but it may serve.' He started to his feet. 'Itmust serve.'

  A smile brightened over his face.

  'It will serve.'

  Sure he showed as much pleasure as if he had discovered an issue forhimself.

  'Quick!' said Smilinda, with a smile to answer his. 'Tell me!'

  'Colonel Montague--'

  'What of him? Why speak to me now of him?'

  Lady Oxford's face had clouded at the name.

  'He is your only salvation.'

  'What can he do?'

  'Everything we need. His loyalty to the present occupant of the Throneis entirely beyond a suspicion. He can act as he will without peril tohis reputation. He can even rescue your papers, which are not in thesame strong box as my own. The Colonel, if any man, can assist you ifhe will.'

  'But he will not,' said her ladyship sullenly.

  'He will,' answered Kelly confidently, 'if properly approached. He isa man of honour, I take it? You will pardon me for saying that yourladyship's flattering behaviour towards me, in his presence (for thenature of which you had, doubtless, your own particular reasons) canhave left him in no doubt on certain heads; while it is equally plainthat your ladyship hath no longer any very tender interest in keepinghis esteem and regard. Nevertheless, being a gentleman, he will notabandon your ladyship's cause.'

  Lady Oxford was in no way comforted.

  'It may well be as you say,' she returned with a look at Mr. Kelly.She had already one example of how much a gentleman could forgive awoman when she stood in need of his help. 'But, Mr. Kelly, you cannotcome at Colonel Montague.'

  'Why not?'

  'You know very well that he lodges in the same house as yourself. Isent a lackey with a note to you, yesterday. And your reply was datedfrom 13 Ryder Street.'

  Mr. Kelly stepped back, he could hardly believe his ears.

  'Colonel Montague--lodges--in the same house as myself?' he asked.

  'Yes,' Lady Oxford replied in a dispirited fashion. She had lost heartaltogether. Mr. Kelly, on the other hand, was quite lifted up by theunexpected news.

  'This is a mere miracle in nature,' he cried. 'I only went into mypresent lodgings two days ago. I have been abroad for the greater partof the time, and asleep the rest, and have had no knowledge of theother tenants, even of their names. 'Faith, madam, your letters are assafe as though the ashes were now cold in your grate.'

  'But the Colonel will have gone home, and you are to be taken in RyderStreet. You will not get speech with him.'

  'Nay, madam, he has not gone home. He is waiting for me now.' LadyOxford started. 'Ah, your ladyship remembers. He is waiting for me.Ten yards from your doorstep--ten yards at the farthest,' and Kellyactually chuckled. Carried away by his plan, he began to pace the roomas he unfolded it. 'I shall see the Colonel, and if I can by any meansdo so, I will acquaint him, as far as is necessary, with theembarrassing posture of your affairs. I shall give him the key of thebox containing the--brocades, and, if the Messengers be not already inpossession of them, the rest must be entrusted to his honour as agentleman and a soldier. The unexpected accident of our beingfellow-lodgers gives him, to this end, a great advantage, and canscarce have occurred without the providence of--some invisible poweror another which watches over your ladyship.'

  Kelly thought that Lady Oxford this night had enjoyed what is calledthe Devil's own luck.

  'Have I your ladyship's leave to try my powers of persuasion withColonel Montague?'

  Very much to Kelly's surprise she moved towards him, like one walkingin her sleep.

  'You are bleeding,' she said, and stanched with her handkerchief somedrops from his brow, where it had been cut by the broken edges of theivory fan. Then she went again into a bitter fit of weeping, whichKelly could never bear to see in a woman. She may have remembered thesnow upon the lawn, years ago, and a moment's vision of white honour.Then she stinted in her crying as suddenly as she had begun; in a timeincredibly short you could not tell that she had wept.

  'You must carry a token. I must write. Oh my shame!' she said, andsitting down to a scrutoire, wrote rapidly and briefly, sanded thepaper, and offered it open to Kelly.

  'I cannot see it; your ladyship must seal it,' he said, which she didwith a head of Cicero.

  George took the note, and said: 'Now time presses, madam. I must begone. I trust that, if not now, at least later, you may forgive me.'

  Her lips moved, but no words came forth. Kelly made his bow, and sotook leave of Smilinda, she gnawing her lips, as she watched him withher inscrutable eyes, moodily pushing to and fro with her foot thebroken pieces of the fan on the polished floor.

  There came into Kelly's fancy his parting view of Rose at Avignon, herface framed among the vine leaves, in the open window; she leaningforth, with a forced smile on her dear lips and waving her kerchief infarewell. A light wind was stirring her soft hair at that time, andshe crying '_Au revoir_! _Au revoir!_ There was a scent of lilacs fromthe garden in the air of April, George remembered, and now the candleswere dying in the sconces with a stench.

  With these contrasted pictures of two women and two farewells in hisfancy, Kelly was descending the wide empty staircase, not knowing toowell where he went. Something seemed to stir, he lifted his eyes andbefore him he saw again the appearance of his King: the King, youngand happy, and as beautiful as the dawn that was stealing into theroom and dimming the lustres on the stairs.

  Then the appearance moved aside, and Kelly found himself gazing into agreat empty mirror that hung on the wall, facing the gallery above.

  Lord Sidney Beauclerk, in fact, had not left the house with the otherguests, and Kelly, remembering, laughed aloud as he reached the freshair without.