His Majesty's Well-Beloved
Whereupon he made a movement, as if to walk away. I felt the drag uponmy arm where his slender hand was still resting. The Others weresilent. What could they say? Senseless Numskulls though they were forthe most part, they had enough Perception to realize that between thesetwo Men there was Hatred so bitter that no mere Gentlemanly Bloodshedcould ever wipe it away.
But ere Mr. Betterton finally turned to go, my Lord of Stour stepped outin front of him. All the Rage appeared to have died out of him. He wasoutwardly quite calm, only a weird twitching of his lips testified tothe Storm of Passion which he had momentarily succeeded in keeping undercontrol.
"Mr. Actor," he said slowly, "but a few Weeks ago You asked me to crossswords with You.... I refused then, for up to this hour I have neverfought a Duel save with an Equal. But now, I accept," he addedforcefully, even while the Words came veiled and husky from his throat."I accept. Do You hear me? ... for the laws of England do not permit aMurder, and as sure as there's a Heaven above me, I am going to killYou."
Mr. Betterton listened to him until the end. You know that Power whichhe hath of seeming to tower above every one who stands nigh him? Well!he exercised that Power now. He stepped quite close to my Lord Stour,and though the latter is of more than average height, Mr. Bettertonliterally appeared to soar above him, with the sublime Magnificence ofan outraged Man coming into his own at last.
"My Lord of Stour," he said, with perfect quietude, "a few weeks ago youinsulted me as Man never dared to insult Man before. With every blowdealt upon my shoulders by your Lacqueys, You outraged the Majesty ofGenius ... yes! its Majesty! ... its Godhead! ... You raised yourinsolent hand against me--against me, the Artist, whom God Himself hathcrowned with Immortality. For a moment then, my outraged Manhoodclamoured for satisfaction. I asked You to cross swords with me, forYou seemed to me ... then ... worthy of that Honour. But to-day, myLord of Stour," he continued, whilst every Word he spoke seemed tostrike upon the ear like Blows from a relentless Hammer; "Traitor toyour Friends, Liar and Informer!!!! Bah! His Majesty's Well-BelovedServant cannot fight with such as You!"
In truth I do not remember what happened after that. The unutterableContempt, the Disgust, the Loathing expressed in my Friend's wholeAttitude, seemed to hit even me between the eyes. I felt as if somegiant Hands had thrown a kind of filmy grey veil over my Head, for Iheard and saw nothing save a blurred and dim Vision of uplifted Arms, ofclenched Fists and of a general Scrimmage, of which my Lord Stourappeared to be the Centre, whilst my ears only caught the veiled Echo ofWords flung hoarsely into the air:
"Let me go! Let me go! I must kill him! I must!"
Mr. Betterton, on the other hand, remained perfectly calm. I felt aslight pressure on my arm and presently realized that he and I hadturned and were walking away down the Avenue of the Park, and leavingsome way already behind us, a seething mass of excited Gentlemen, allintent on preventing Murder being committed then and there.
What the outcome of it all would be, I could not visualize. Mr.Betterton had indeed been able to give Insult for Insult and Outrage forOutrage at last. For this he had schemed and worked and planned allthese weeks. Whether God and Justice were on his side in this terribleRevenge, I dared not ask myself, nor yet if the Weapon which he hadchosen were worthy of his noble Character and of his Integrity. Thatpublic Opinion was on his side, I concluded from the fact that the Dukeof Albemarle and Sir William Davenant both walked a few yards with himafter he had turned his back on my Lord, and that His Grace constitutinghimself Spokesman for himself and Sir William, offered their jointServices to Mr. Betterton in case he changed his mind and agreed tofight my Lord Stour in duel.
"I thank your Grace," was Mr. Betterton's courteous reply; "but I am notlike to change my Mind on that Score."
CHAPTER XIII
THE LADY PLEADS
1
I am not able quite to determine in my own mind whether the Lady BarbaraWychwoode did hear and see something of the violent Scene which I havejust attempted to describe.
I told You, dear Mistress, that fortunately for us all, this part of thePark where the Scene occurred was for the moment practically deserted.At any rate, no Crowd collected around us, for which, methinks, we were,every one of us, thankful. If a few of the Passers-by heard anything ofthe altercation, they merely hurried past, thinking no doubt, that itwas only one or two young City Sparks, none too sober even at thismorning hour, who were quarrelling among themselves.
When we walked away down the Avenue which leads in the direction ofKnight's Bridge, Mr. Betterton's well-known, elegant figure was remarkedby a few Pedestrians on their way to and fro, as was also the familiarone of the Duke of Albemarle, and some People raised their hats to thegreat Artist, whilst others saluted the distinguished General.
Presently His Grace and Sir William Davenant took leave of Mr.Betterton, and a few moments later the latter suggested that we shouldalso begin to wend our way homewards.
We retraced our steps and turned back in the direction of Westminster.Mr. Betterton was silent; he walked quite calmly, with head bent andfirm footsteps, and I, knowing his humour, walked along in silence byhis side.
Then suddenly we came upon the Lady Barbara.
That she had sought this meeting I could not doubt for a moment. Else,how should a Lady of her Rank and Distinction be abroad, and in a publicPark, unattended? Indeed, I was quite sure that she had only dismissedher maid when she saw Mr. Betterton coming along, and that the Wench waslurking somewhere behind one of the shrubberies, ready to accompany herLadyship home when the interview was at an end.
I said that I am even now doubtful as to whether the Lady Barbara sawand heard something of the violent Altercation which had taken place aquarter of an hour ago between her Lover and the great Actor. If not,she certainly displayed on that occasion that marvellous intuition whichis said to be the prerogative of every Woman when she is in love.
She was walking on the further side of Rosamond Pond when first I caughtsight of her, and when she reached the Bridge, she came deliberately toa halt. There is no other way across the Pond save by the Bridge, soMr. Betterton could not have escaped the meeting even if he would.Seeing the Lady, he raised his hat and made a deep bow of respectfulsalutation. He then crossed the Bridge and made as if he would pass by,but she held her Ground, in the very centre of the Path, and when he wasquite near her, she said abruptly:
"Mr. Betterton, I desire a word with you."
He came at once to a halt, and replied with perfect deference:
"I await your Ladyship's commands."
2
I was for hurrying away, thinking that my Presence would be irksome bothto the Lady and to my Friend; but an unmistakable pressure of Mr.Betterton's hand on my arm caused me to stay where I was. As for theLady, she appeared not to care whether I stayed or went, for immediatelyshe retorted:
"My commands, Sir Actor? They are, that you at once and completely doReparation for the wrong which you are trying to do to an innocent Man."
She looked proud and commanding as a Queen, looking through the veil ofher lashes at Mr. Betterton as if he were a supplicating Slave ratherthan the great Artist whom cultured Europe delighted to honour. Neverdid I admire my Friend so much as I did then. His self-possession wasperfect: his attitude just the right balance 'twixt deference due to abeautiful Woman and the self-assurance which comes of conscious Worth.He looked splendid, too--dressed in the latest fashion and with unerringtaste. The fantastic cut of his modish clothes became his artisticPersonality to perfection: the soft shade of mulberry of which his coatwas fashioned made an harmonious note of colour in the soft grey mist ofthis late winter's morning. The lace at his throat and wrists was ofunspeakable value, filmy and gossamer-like in texture as a cobweb; andin his cravat glittered a diamond, a priceless gift to the great EnglishArtist from the King of France.
br /> Indeed, the Lady Barbara Wychwoode might look the world-famous Actor upand down with well-studied superciliousness; she might issue hercommands to him as if she were his royal Mistress and he but a Menialset there to obey her behest; but, whatever she did, she could not dwarfhis Personality. He had become too great for disdain or sneers ever totouch him again; and the shafts of scorn aimed at him by those who wouldset mere Birth above the claims of Genius, would only find their pointsbroken or blunted against the impenetrable armour of his Glory and hisFame.
For the nonce, I think that he was ready enough to parley with the LadyBarbara. He had not to my knowledge spoken with her since that neverforgotten day last September; and I, not understanding the complexworkings of an Artist's heart, knew not if his Love for her had outlivedthe crying outrage, or had since then turned to Hate.
In answer to her peremptory command, he assumed an air of innocentsurprise.
"I?" he queried. "Your Ladyship is pleased to speak in riddles."
"Nay!" she retorted. "'Tis you, Sir, who choose not to understand. ButI'll speak more plainly, an you wish. I am a woman, Mr. Actor, and Ilove the Earl of Stour. Now, you know just as well as I do, that hisLordship's honour has of late been impugned in a manner that is mostmysterious. His Friends accuse him of treachery; even mereAcquaintances prefer to give him the cold shoulder. And this withoutany definite Indictment being levelled against him. Many there are whowill tell You that they have not the faintest conception of what crimemy Lord Stour stands accused. Others aver that they'll not believe anySlander that may be levelled against so high-souled a Gentleman.Nevertheless, the Slander continues. Nay! it gathers volume as it wormsits way from one house to another, shedding poison in its wake as itdrifts by; and more and more People now affect to look another way whenthe Earl of Stour comes nigh them, and to be otherwise engaged when hedesires to shake them by the hand."
She paused for a moment, obviously to regain her Composure, which wasthreatening to leave her. Her cheeks were pale as ashes, her breath cameand went in quick, short gasps. The Picture which she herself had drawnof her Lover's plight caused her heart to ache with bitterness. Sheseemed for the moment to expect something--a mere comment, perhaps, or aword of Sympathy, from Mr. Betterton. But none came. He stood there,silent and deferential, with lips firmly set, his slender Hand clutchedupon the gold knob of his stick, till the knuckles shone creamy-white,like ivory. He regarded her with an air of Detachment rather thanSympathy, and though by her silence she appeared to challenge him now,he did not speak, and after awhile she resumed more calmly:
"My Lord of Stour himself is at his wits' ends to interpret the attitudeof his Friends. Nothing tangible in the way of a spoken Calumny hath asyet reached his ears. And his life has been rendered all the morebitter that he feels that he is being struck by a persistent butmysterious Foe in what he holds dearer than aught else on earth, hisIntegrity and his Honour."
"'Tis a sad case," here rejoined Mr. Betterton, for her Ladyship hadpaused once more. "But, by your leave, I do not see in what way itconcerns me."
"Nay! but I think you do, Sir Actor," Lady Barbara riposted harshly."Love and Hate, remember, see clearly where mere Friendship andIndifference are blind. Love tells me that the Earl of Stour'sIntegrity is Unstained, his Honour unsullied. But the Hatred which youbear him," added her Ladyship almost fiercely, "makes me look to You forthe cause of his Disgrace."
No one, however, could have looked more utterly astonished, more blandand uncomprehending, as Mr. Betterton did at that moment. He put up hishand and regarded the Lady with an indulgent smile, such as one wouldbestow on a hot-headed Child.
"Nay, your Ladyship!" he said courteously. "I fear that you areattributing to an humble Mountebank a power he doth not possess. Todisgrace a noble Gentleman?" he exclaimed with well-feigned horror."I?--a miserable Varlet--an insolent cur whom one thrashes if he daresto bark!"
"Ah!" she broke in, with a swift exclamation. "Then I have guessed thetruth! This is your Revenge!"
"Revenge?" he queried blandly. "For what?"
"You hate the Earl of Stour," she retorted.
Once more his well-shaped hand went up, as if in gentle protest, and heuttered a kind and deprecating "Oh!"
"You look upon the Earl of Stour as your enemy!" she insisted.
"I have so many, your Ladyship," he riposted with a smile.
"'Twas you who obtained his Pardon from my Lady Castlemaine."
"The inference is scarcely logical," he retorted. "A man does not as arule sue for pardon for his Enemy."
"I think," she rejoined slowly, "that in this case Mr. Betterton did theillogical thing."
"Then I do entreat your Ladyship," he protested with mock terror, "notto repeat this calumny. _I_, accused of a noble action! Tom Bettertonpardoning his Enemies! Why, my friends might believe it, and it is sodifficult these days to live down a good Reputation."
"You choose to sharpen your wit at my expense, Sir Actor," the ladyrejoined with her former haughtiness, "and to evade the point."
"What is the point, your Ladyship?" he queried blandly.
"That you set an end to all these Calumnies which are levelled againstthe Earl of Stour."
"How can we stay the Sun in his orbit?" he retorted; "or the Stars intheir course?"
"You mean that your Campaign of Slander has already gone too far? Butremember this, Mr. Betterton: that poisoned darts sometimes wound thehand that throws them. You may pursue the Earl of Stour with yourHatred and your Calumnies, but God will never allow an innocent Man tosuffer unjustly."
Just for a few seconds Mr. Betterton was silent. He was still regardingthe Lady with that same indulgent smile which appeared to irritate hernerves. To me, the very air around seemed to ring as if with a clash ofghostly arms--the mighty clash of two Wills and two Temperaments, eachfighting for what it holds most dear: she for the Man whom she loved, hefor his Dignity which had been so cruelly outraged.
"God will never allow," she reiterated with slow emphasis, "an innocentMan to suffer at the hands of a Slanderer."
"Ah!" riposted Mr. Betterton suavely. "Is your Ladyship not reckoningover-confidently on Divine interference?"
"I also reckon," she retorted, "on His Majesty's sense of justice--andon the Countess of Castlemaine, who must know the truth of the affair."
"His Majesty's senses are very elusive," he rejoined drily, "and are aptto play him some wayward tricks when under the influence of the Countessof Castlemaine. The Earl of Stour, it seems, disdained the favourswhich that Lady was willing to bestow on him. He preferred the superiorcharms and intellect of the Lady Barbara Wychwoode. A very naturalpreference, of course," he added, with elaborate gallantry. "But I canassure your Ladyship that, as Helpmeets to heavenly Interference,neither His Majesty nor the Countess of Castlemaine are to be reckonedwith."
She bit her lip and cast her eyes to the ground. I could see that herlovely face expressed acute disappointment and that she was on the vergeof tears. I am not versed in the ways of gentle Folk nor yet in those ofArtists, but I could have told the Lady Barbara Wychwoode that if shewanted to obtain Sympathy or Leniency from Mr. Betterton, she had gonequite the wrong way to work.
Even now, I think if she had started to plead ... but the thought ofhumbling herself before a Man whom she affected to despise was as farfrom this proud Woman's heart, as are thoughts of self-glorificationfrom mine.
A second or two later she had succeeded in forcing back the tears whichhad welled to her eyes, and she was able once more to look her Adversarystraight in the face.
"And will you tell me, Sir Actor," she queried with cold aloofness, "howfar you intend to carry on this Infamy?"
And Mr. Betterton replied, equally coldly and deliberately:
"To the uttermost limits of the Kingdom, Madam."
"What do you mean?" she riposted.
He drew a step or two nearer to her. His face too was pale by now, hislips trembling, his eyes aglow with Passion
masterfully kept undercontrol. His perfect voice rose and fell in those modulated Cadenceswhich we have all learned to appreciate.
"Only this, your Ladyship," he began quite slowly. "For the present,the History of the Earl of Stour's treachery is only guessed at by afew. It is a breath of Scandal, born as you say somewhat mysteriously,wafted through Palaces and noble Mansions to-day--dead, mayhap,to-morrow. But I have had many opportunities for thought of late," hecontinued--and it seemed to me as if in his quivering voice I coulddetect a tone of Threat as well as of Passion--"and have employed myleisure moments in writing an Epilogue which I propose to speakto-morrow, after the Play, His Majesty and all the Court being present,and many Gentlemen and Ladies of high degree, as well as Burgesses andMerchants of the City, and sundry Clerks and other humbler Folk. Acomprehensive Assembly, what? and an attentive one; for that low-bornMountebank, Tom Betterton, will be appearing in a new play and thePlayhouse will be filled to the roof in order to do him honour. May Ihope that the Lady Barbara Wychwoode herself----"
"A truce on this foolery, Sir," she broke in harshly. "I pray you cometo the point."
She tried to look brave and still haughty, but I knew that she wasafraid--knew it by the almost unearthly pallor of her skin, and theweird glitter in her eyes as she regarded him, like a Bird fascinated bya Snake.
"The point is the Epilogue, my Lady," Mr. Betterton replied blandly."And after I have spoken it to-morrow, I shall speak it again and yetagain, until its purport is known throughout the length and breadth ofthe Land. The subject of that Epilogue, Madam, will be the secretHistory of a certain aborted Conspiracy, and how it was betrayed inexchange for a free Pardon by one of our noblest Gentlemen in England.Then, I pray your Ladyship to mark what will happen," he continued, andhis melodious voice became as hard and trenchant as the clang of metalstriking metal. "After that Epilogue has been spoken from the Stagehalf a dozen times after His Majesty has heard it and shrugged hisshoulders, after my Lady Castlemaine has laughed over it and my Lord ofRochester aped it in one of his Pasquinades, there will be a man whoseName will be a by-word for everything that is most infamous and mostfalse--a Name that will be bandied about in Taverns and in drinkingBooths, quipped, decried, sneered at, anathematized; a Name that will bethe subject of every lampoon and every scurrilous rhyme that findsover-ready purchasers--a Name, in fact, that will for ever be whisperedwith bated breath or bandied about in a drunken brawl, whene'er there istalk of treachery and of dishonour!"