Shrewsbury: A Romance

  CHAPTER XXIII

  My lord, I found, had a coach, without arms or insignia, waiting forhim at the Great Turnstile in Holborn; where, if persons recognisedhim as he alighted, he would be taken to have business with thelawyers in Lincoln's Inn, or at my Lord Somers's in the Fields.Following him to the coach on foot, I never saw a man walk in moredeep or anxious thought. He took no heed of me, after bidding me by agesture to attend him; but twice he stood in doubt, and once he madeas if he would return whence he had come, and once as if he wouldcross the Fields--I think to Powis House. In the end he went on, andarriving at the coach, the door of which was opened for him by afootman in a plain livery, he bade me by a sign to follow him into it.This I was not for doing, thinking it too great an honour; but on hiscrying impatiently, "Man, how do you think I am to talk to you if youride outside?" I hastened to enter, in equal confusion and humility.

  Nevertheless, some time elapsed, and we had travelled the length ofHolborn before he spoke. Then rousing himself on a sudden from hispreoccupation, he looked at me. "Do you know a man called Barclay?"said he.

  "No, your Grace," I answered.

  "Sir George Barclay?"

  "No, your Grace."

  "Or Porter? Or Charnock? Or King?"

  "No, your Grace."

  "Umph!" said he, seeming to be disappointed; and for a time he lookedout of the window. Presently, however, he glanced at me again, and sosharply that I dropped my eyes, out of respect. "I have seen youbefore," he said, at last.

  Surprised beyond measure that he remembered me, so many years havingelapsed, I confessed with emotion that he had.

  "Where?" he asked plainly. "I see many people. And I have not oldRowley's memory."

  I told him. "Your Grace may not remember it," I said, greatlymoved, "but many years ago at Abbot's Stanstead, at Sir BaldwinWinston's----"

  "What?" he exclaimed, cutting me short, with a flicker of laughterin his grave eyes. And he looked me over. "Did I flesh my maidenjustice-sword on you? Were you the lad who ran away?"

  "Yes, my lord--the lad whose life you saved," I answered.

  "Well, then we are quits," he had the kindness to answer; and asked mehow I had lived since those days.

  I told him, naming Mr. Timothy Brome, and saying that he would give mea character. The mention of the news-writer, however, had a differenteffect from that I expected; his Grace conceiving a hasty idea that healso was concerned with Ferguson, and muttering under this impressionthat if such men were turning, it was vain to fight against thestream. I hastened to disabuse him of the notion by explaining how Icame to fall into Ferguson's hands. On which he asked me what I haddone for the plotter, and how he had employed me.

  "He would send me on errands," I answered, "and to fetch papers fromthe printers, and to carry his messages."

  "To coffee-houses?"

  "Often, your Grace."

  "Did he ever send you to Covent Garden?" he asked, looking fixedly atme.

  "Yes, your Grace, to a gentleman with a white handkerchief hangingfrom his pocket."

  "Ha!" said he; and with an eager light in his face he bade me tell himall I knew of that man. This giving me the cue, I detailed what I hadseen and heard at the Seven Stars the previous evening, the toast ofthe Squeezing of the Rotten Orange, the hints which had escaped thedrunken conspirator, not forgetting his references to the HuntingParty, and the date, Saturday or Saturday week. I added also what Ihad learned from the girl, but mentioned for this no authority. To allmy lord listened attentively, nodding from moment to moment, and atlast, "Then Porter is not lying this time," he said, drawing a deepbreath. "I feared--but here we are. Follow me, my friend, and keepclose to me."

  Engrossed in my story, and the attention that was due to his rank, Ihad paid no heed either to the way we had come, or to our gradualpassage from the smoke and babble of London to country air andstillness. A vague notion that we were still travelling the OxfordRoad was all I retained: and this was rudely shaken when, recalled tothe present by his words, I looked out, and discovered that the coachwas bowling along an avenue of lofty trees, with park-like pasturesstretched on either hand. I had no more than time to note so much andthat the horses were slackening their pace, before we rumbled under anarchway, and drew up in a spacious courtyard shut in on four sides bywarm-looking red-brick buildings, whereof the wing under which we haddriven was surmounted by a quaintly-shaded bell-turret.

  Ignorant where my lord lived, and little acquainted with the villageswhich lie around London, I supposed that he had brought me to hishouse. The sight of a couple of sentries, who walked with arms portedbefore a wide, low flight of steps leading to the principal door,should have enlightened me; but a flock of pigeons, that, disturbed byour entrance, were now settling down, and beginning to strut thegravel with the most absurd air of possession, caught my attention,and diverted me from this mark of State. Nor did a knot of servants,lounging silently under a portico, or two or three sedans which Iespied waiting a little apart, go far to detract from the general airof peace and quietude which prevailed in the place. Other observationsI had no time to make; for my lord, mounting the steps, bade me followhim.

  I did so, across a spacious hall floored with shining wood laid instrange patterns. Here were three or four servants, who stood atattention, but did not approach; and passing them without notice, wehad reached the foot of a wide and handsome staircase before a persondressed plainly in black and carrying a tall slender wand cameforward, and with a low bow interposed himself.

  "Your Grace's pardon," he said, "the Council has broken up."

  "How long?"

  "About half an hour."

  "Ah! And Lord Somers? Did he go back to town?"

  "Yes, your Grace, immediately."

  The Duke at that asked a question which I, standing back a little outof respect, and being awed besides by the grandeur of the place andthe silence, did not catch. The answer, however, "Only Lord Portlandand Mr. Sewell," I heard; and likewise the Duke's rejoinder, "I amgoing up."

  "You will permit me to announce your Grace," the other answeredquickly. He seemed to be something between a gentleman and a servant.

  "No," my lord said. "I am in haste, and I have that will be mywarranty. This person goes with me."

  "I hope your Grace--will answer for it then," the man in black repliedrespectfully, but with a little hesitation in his tone.

  "I will answer for it that you are not blamed, Nash," the Dukerejoined, with good nature. "Yes, yes. And now let us up."

  On that the man with the wand stood aside--still a little doubtfully Ithought--and let us pass: and my patron preceding me, we went up awide staircase and along a silent corridor, and through one or twoswing doors, the Duke seeming to be conversant with the house. It wasimpossible not to admire the sombre richness of the carved furniture,which stood here and there in the corridor; or the grotesque designsand eastern colouring of the China ware and Mogul idols that peeredfrom the corners, or rose boldly on brackets. Such a mode offurnishing was new to me, but neither its novelty nor the evidences ofwealth and taste which abundantly met the eye, impressed me so deeplyas the stillness which everywhere prevailed; and which seemed so mucha part of the place, that when his Grace opened the second swing door,and the shrill piping voice of a child, crowing and laughing in anecstasy of infantile pleasure, came forth and met us, I started as ifa gun had exploded.

  I know now that the sound, by giving my patron assurance that he whomhe sought was not there, but in his closet, led to my admission; andthat without that assurance my lord would have left me to wait at thedoor. As it was, he said nothing to me, but went on; and I followinghim in my innocence through the doorway, came, at the same moment hedid, on a scene as rare as it is by me well remembered.

  A SLIGHT GENTLEMAN AMBLED AND PACED IN FRONT OF ACHILD]

  We stood on the threshold of a wide and splendid gallery, set here andthere with huge china vases, and hung with pictures; which even then Idiscerned to be of gr
eat beauty, and afterwards learned were of noless value. Letting my eyes travel down this vista, they pausednaturally on a spot under one of the windows; where with his back tous and ribbons in his hands, a slight gentleman, who stooped somewhatand was dressed in black, ambled and paced in front of a child of fouror five years old. The wintry sunlight which fell in cold bars on thefloor, proved his progress to be more showy than real; neverthelessthe child shrieked in its joy, and dancing, jerked the ribbons andwaved a tiny whip. In answer, the gentleman whose long curled periwigbobbed oddly on his shoulders--he had his back to us--pranced more andmore stoutly; though on legs a little thin and bent.

  A long moment I stared at this picture, little thinking on what Igazed; nor was it until a gentleman seated at a side table not farfrom the pair, rose hurriedly from his chair and with a gutturalexclamation came towards us, that I remarked this third occupant ofthe gallery. When I did so, it was to discern that he was angry, andthat my lord was taken aback and disturbed. It even seemed to me thatmy patron made a hasty movement to withdraw. Before he could do so,however, or I who, behind him barred the way, could take the hint, thegentleman in black, warned of our presence by the other's exclamation,turned to us, and still standing and holding the ribbons in his handslooked at us.

  He had a long sallow face, which seemed the sallower for the darkheavy wig that fell round it; a large hooked nose and full peevishlips; with eyes both bright and morose. I am told that he seldomsmiled, and never laughed, and that while the best tales of KingCharles's Court passed round him, he would stand abstracted, or onoccasion wither the teller by a silent nod. The Court wits who dubbedmy Lord Nottingham, Don Dismallo, could find no worse title for him.Yet that he had a well of humour, deeply hidden and rarely drawn upon,no one could doubt who saw him approach us, a flicker of dry amusementin his eyes giving the lie to his pursed-up lips and the grimness ofhis visage.

  "Your Grace is always welcome," he said, speaking in English a littlebroken and guttural. "And yet you might have come more _a propos_, Iconfess."

  "A thousand pardons, sir," my lord answered, bowing until his kneewell-nigh touched the ground. "I thought that you were in your closet,sir, or I should have taken your pleasure before I intruded."

  "But you have news?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Ha! And this person"--he looked fixedly at me--"is concerned."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then, my Lord Buck--" and with that he turned and addressed the childwho was still tugging at the ribbons, "_Il faut partir!_ Do you hearme, you must go? Go, _petit vaurien!_ I have business."

  The child looked at him boldly. "_Faut il?_" said he.

  "_Oui! oui!_ Say _merci_, and go."

  "_Merci, Monsieur_," the boy answered. And then to us with a solemnnod. "J'ai eu sa Majeste for my chevaux!"

  "Cheval! Cheval!" corrected the gentleman in black. "And be off."