Parson Kelly

by Andrew Lang

  CHAPTER XXIV

  MR. WOGAN WEARS LADY OXFORD'S LIVERY, BUT DOES NOT REMAIN IN HER SERVICE.

  The question with which Mr. Wogan lay down to sleep after LadyOxford's rout, woke him at noon; he sent a boy whom he could trust toRyder Street to desire Colonel Montague's attendance. Montague cameback presently with the boy, and gave Wogan the news that the Parsonwas taken.

  'There was no escape possible,' he said. 'I cannot tell you theinnermost truth of the affair, because the secret is not mine to tell;but, Mr. Wogan, you will take my word for it, your friend was in thenet.'

  'The room was searched?'

  'And his papers seized. One or two, I believe, were burned, but thegreater part were seized,' and then he broke out with an oath. 'Damnthese plots! What in the world made you meddle with such Torynonsense?'

  'Faith,' said Wogan, 'I have been wondering how ever you demeanedyourself to become a Whig.'

  Wogan wondered very much more what strange mishap had brought Mr.Kelly to this pass at the moment when he seemed to have successbeneath his hand. Something wholly unexpected must have happenedduring those few minutes when he and Smilinda were left alone.Something had happened, indeed, but it was something very much simplerthan Mr. Wogan looked for, who had not the key to the Parson'sthoughts. However, he forebore to inquire, and instead:

  'Colonel,' said he, 'you professed last night that you were under sometrifling obligation to me.'

  'I trust to-day to make the profession good.'

  'Faith, then you can, Colonel. There's a little matter of a quarrel.'

  At this the Colonel broke in with a laugh.

  'With whom?'

  'With a lad I have taken a great liking for,' and the Colonel laughedagain. 'Therefore I would not put a slight on him by missing a certainappointment. It is Lord Sidney Beauclerk.'

  Colonel Montague's face clouded as he heard the name.

  'And the reason of the quarrel?'

  'He took objection to a few words I spoke last night.'

  'About a ballad? I heard the words.'

  'I told him that he would find a friend of mine waiting at Burton'sCoffee-house this morning, and I doubt if many friends of mine will beseen abroad to-day.'

  Montague rose from the bed.

  'I will not deny,' he said, 'that there are services I should havepreferred to render you. But I will go to Burton's, on one condition,Mr. Wogan--that you do not stir from this house until I come back toyou. There's an ill wind blowing which might occasion you discomfortif you went abroad.'

  This he said with some significance.

  'It catches at one's throat, I dare say,' replied Wogan, taking hismeaning. 'I have a tender sort of delicate throat in some weathers.'

  Colonel Montague walked to Burton's, at the corner of King Street inSt. James's. The coffeehouse buzzed with the news of Mr. Kelly'sarrest, and Colonel Montague saw many curious faces look up from theirnews-sheets and whisper together as he entered. In a corner of theroom sat Lord Sidney Beauclerk, with a man whom Montague had remarkedat Lady Oxford's rout the night before.

  Lord Sidney arose as Montague approached and bowed stiffly.

  'I come on behalf of a gentleman, whom, perhaps, we need not name,'said Montague.

  'Indeed?' said Lord Sidney, with a start of surprise.

  'I can understand that your lordship did not expect me, but I am hisfriend.'

  'To be frank, I expected no one.'

  'Your lordship, then, hardly knows the gentleman?'

  'On the contrary,' said Lord Sidney, and he took up from the table the_Flying Post_ of that morning. He handed the paper to Montague, andpointed to a sentence which came at the end of a description of Mr.Kelly's arrest.

  'It is said that Mr. Nicholas Wogan is also in London, hiding underthe _incognito_ of Hilton, and that he will be taken to-day.'

  'You see, my lord,' said Montague, 'that there are certaindifficulties which threaten to interfere with our arrangements.'

  'My friend is aware of them,' said Lord Sidney, and presented hisfriend.

  'Before making any arrangements I should be glad if your lordshipwould favour me with a hearing in some private place. It is I who ask,not my friend, Mr. Hilton.'

  Lord Sidney reluctantly consented, and the two men walked out of thecoffee-house.

  'There are to be no apologies, I trust,' said Lord Sidney.

  Montague laughed.

  'Your lordship need have no fears. What I propose is entirely unknownto Mr. Wogan. But it seems to me that the conditions of the duel havechanged. If Mr. Wogan shows his face in London he will be taken. If hefights you, it matters not whether you pink him or no, for if heescapes your sword he will be taken by the Messengers. On the otherhand, he will not go from London until he has met you; unless--'

  'Unless--?'

  'Unless your lordship insists upon deferring the meeting until it cantake place in France.'

  'Yes, I will consent to that,' said Lord Sidney, after a moment'spause. 'It is common fairness.'

  'Again I take the liberty to observe that your lordship does not knowthe gentleman. You must insist.'

  Lord Sidney was brought without great difficulty to understand thejustice of Colonel Montague's argument.

  'Very well; I will insist,' he said; and, coming back to Burton'scoffee-house, he wrote a polite letter, which the Colonel put in hispocket.

  Montague, however, did not immediately carry it to Mr. Wogan. He stoodon the pavement of King Street for a little, biting his thumb in aprofundity of thought; then he hurried to the stable where he kept hishorses, and gave a strict order to his groom. From the stable he setout for Queen's Square, but on the way he bought a _Flying Post_, andstopped in St. James's Park to see what sort of account it gave of Mr.Kelly's arrest.

  'The Plot concerning which they write from Paris,' it began, 'hathbrought the Guards into the Park, and a reverend and gallant non-jurorwithin danger of the Law. The Messengers that were essaying to takeMr. Kelly needed reinforcement by a file of musquets before hisreverence's lodgings could be stormed. It is said that a loyal Colonelof the Guards who lodges in the same house in Ryder Street wasdiscovered with Mr. Kelly when the soldiers forced their way in, andthat by his interference many valuable papers have been saved, whichwould otherwise have been destroyed. It appears that Kelly was intentupon burning certain cyphers and letters, and had, indeed, burnt twoor three of them before the loyal Colonel interrupted him.'

  The loyal Colonel took off his hat to Grub Street for this charitableinterpretation of his conduct. Lady Oxford, he reflected, must be in afine flutter, for assuredly she would have sent for the news-sheet thefirst thing.

  Montague tapped the pocket in which were her ladyship's letters, andsmiled. Her anxieties would be very suitable to a certain plan of hisown.

  He walked straight to Queen's Square and knocked at the door. Itseemed to him purely providential that the man who opened the door wasthe big lackey whom he had seen in Ryder Street the night before.Montague looked him over again and said, 'I think that I saw you lastnight in Ryder Street.'

  He had some further conversation with the lackey, and money passedbetween them. But the conversation was of the shortest, for herladyship, in a fever of impatience, and bearing every mark of asleepless night, ran down the stairs almost before Colonel Montaguehad finished. She gave her hand to him with a pretty negligence, andthe Colonel bent a wooden face over it, but did not touch the fingerswith his lips. Then she led the way into the little parlour, and hernegligence vanished in a second. She was all on fire to know whetherher letters had been seized or no; yet even at that moment it was notin her nature to put a frank question when a devious piece of cajolerymight serve.

  'Corydon!' she said in a whisper of longing, as though Montague wasthe one man her heart was set upon, as though she had never broughtMr. Kelly into this very room on a morning of summer two years ago.'My Corydon!' she said, and sighed.

  'Madam,' said Mont
ague, in a most sudden enthusiasm, 'I think there isno poetry in the world like a nursery rhyme.'

  Her ladyship could make nothing of the remark.

  'A nursery rhyme?' she repeated.

  'A nursery rhyme,' repeated the Colonel. '"Will you walk into myparlour, said the spider to the fly."'

  Lady Oxford looked at him quite gravely.

  'I do not in the least understand,' she said. She had a wonderfulknack of burying her head in the sand and believing that no one spiedher, as travellers tell of the ostrich. 'But you have a message forme, have you not?'

  She put the question frankly now, since coquetry had failed.

  'I have a packet to deliver to your ladyship,' replied Montague.

  Lady Oxford drew a breath and dropped into a chair. 'Thank you! Howshall I thank you?' she cried; and seeing that Montague made no answerwhatever, but stood stiff as a ramrod, she became at once all weakwoman. 'You are very good to me,' she murmured in a very patheticalvoice.

  'Your ladyship owes me no thanks,' replied Montague. 'Your ladyshiphas need of all your gratitude for a gentleman who gave up all that heheld dear to save your good name.'

  He had it on the tip of his tongue to add, 'which was not worthsaving,' and barely refrained from the words.

  Lady Oxford was not abashed by the rebuke. She turned upon the Coloneleyes that swam with pity for Mr. Kelly's misfortunes.

  'I read that he was taken,' she said sadly. 'Poor gentleman! But heshould have burnt my letters long ago. They were letters written, aswe women write, with a careless pen and ill-considered words whichmalice might misconstrue. He should have burnt them, as he swore todo; but he broke his word, and so, alas! pays most dearly for hisfault. Indeed, it grieves me to the heart, and all the more because hebrought his own sufferings about. So unreasonable we poor women are,'and she shook her head, and smiled with a sort of pity for women'sfrail readiness to forgive.

  'Madam,' said Montague, growing yet colder, 'it is not for me eitherto construe or to misconstrue the packet which I am to give you, noram I at all concerned to defend a gentleman whom I am proud to name myfriend.'

  The indifference of the speech no doubt stung her ladyship.

  'Friend!' she said with a sneer. 'This friendship is surely somethingof the suddenest. I did not even so late as last night notice anygreat cordiality between you.'

  'Very likely not,' said Montague. 'Last night there was a trivialcause for disagreement upon which to-day we are of one mind.'

  Lady Oxford flushed and took another tone.

  'You are cruel,' she said. She was not so much insulted as hurt. 'Youare ungenerous. You are cruel.'

  But Colonel Montague was not in a melting mood, and so, 'Give me thepacket,' she said sullenly.

  Montague pressed his hand over his pocket and smiled.

  Lady Oxford rose from her chair with a startled face.

  'You mean to keep it? To use it?'

  'Not to your ladyship's hurt.'

  Lady Oxford looked at him with eyes mournful in their reproach.

  'Mr. Kelly bade you give these letters back to me at once,' she said;and then, with a great fervour of admiration, 'Mr. Kelly would havegiven them back to me at once.' It seemed as though the thought of thenoble Mr. Kelly was the one thing which now enabled her to keep herfaith in men.

  'Very likely,' replied Montague coolly, who was not at all moved bythe disparaging comparison of himself with the Parson. 'Mr. Kellywould have given them back to you at once had not your ladyship takengood care that a few locks and bars should hinder him. But I am notMr. Kelly, and indeed it is well for your ladyship I am not. Had yourladyship betrayed _me_, why, when that pretty news-sheet was read outlast night, I would have stood up before the whole company, and toldboldly out how your ladyship came by the knowledge which gave you thepower to betray me.'

  The words and the stern voice in which they were spoken stung LadyOxford into a passion. She forgot to deny that she had betrayed Mr.Kelly.

  'It would have been an infamy!' she cried.

  'A harsh critic might say that it would have matched an infamy.'

  Her ladyship saw her mistake.

  'There was nothing which Mr. Kelly could have said. Mr. Kelly was myfriend, as I have told you frankly; but I did not betray him.'

  'Your ladyship's livery is blue and silver, I think--a pretty notablelivery even at night, as I had occasion to remark in Ryder Street.'

  Lady Oxford was put out of countenance.

  'What am I to do to earn the packet which is mine?' she askedbitterly.

  'The simplest thing imaginable. Your ladyship, I fear me, has notslept well. What say you to a little country air, with your humbleservant for a companion? If your ladyship would order your carriage tobe at your door in an hour's time we might take the air for a whiletogether. On our return your ladyship will be refreshed for thisevening's diversions, and I shall be the lighter by a packet ofletters.'

  Lady Oxford did not know what to make of the Colonel's proposal, butshe perforce consented to it.

  'I obey your orders,' said she bitterly; and Montague went back toWogan, whom he found sitting on the edge of the bed and disconsolatelyswinging his legs.

  'I have a letter for you from Lord Sidney Beauclerk,' said Montague.

  It was a very polite letter, and assured Mr. Wogan that he would on noaccount fight with him in England; but would cut his throat somewherein France with the greatest friendliness possible.

  'Very well,' said Wogan, 'but I have to reach France first.'

  'You will start in an hour's time,' said Montague.

  'In broad daylight?' asked Wogan. 'And what of the ill wind and thesore throat that's like to come of it?'

  'I have got a fine coat to protect the throat.'

  Montague went outside and cried down the stairs to know whether aparcel had been brought into the house. The parcel was carriedupstairs into Mr. Wogan's room. The Colonel unwrapped it, and spreadout on the bed a blue and silver livery.

  'A most distasteful garb,' said Wogan.

  'It is indeed not what we would choose for the descendant of kings,'murmured Montague gently as he smoothed out the coat.

  'Viceroys, Colonel, viceroys.'

  'Viceroys, then, Mr. Wogan; but no doubt they murdered, and robbed,and burned, and ravished, just like kings. Besides, you have anexample. For I seem to have heard of another Wogan, who went toInnspruck as a shopkeeper.'

  'To be sure,' cried Nick. 'That is the finest story in the world. Itwas my brother Charles--'

  'You shall tell me that story another time,' said Montague, and Woganstripped off his clothes.

  'Will you tell me what I am to do when I am dressed?'

  'You will go to a certain house.'

  'Yes,' said Wogan, and pulled on the lackey's breeches.

  'At the house you will find a carriage.'

  'I shall find a carriage.' Wogan drew on a stocking.

  'You will mount behind as though you were a footman from the house.'

  'A footman from the house,' repeated Wogan, and he pulled on the otherstocking.

  'I shall get into the carriage with a companion. You won't know me.The carriage will drive off. You won't speak a word for fear yourbrogue should betray you.'

  'I will whisper my opinions to you in English, Colonel,' said Wogan ashe fastened his garters.

  'I don't think you could,' said Montague, 'and certainly you will nottry. We shall drive to the almshouses at Dulwich. When we get there, Iwill make an excuse to stop the carriage.'

  'You won't be alone, then?'

  'No. Let me see. It is a fine sunny day. I will say that my watch isstopped, and I will send you to see the time by the sundial in thecourt.'

  Wogan buttoned his waistcoat.

  'I will bring you the exact minute.'

  'No you won't. You will cross the court to the chapel, by the chapelyou will find a path, and the path will lead you out through an archinto another road, bordered with chestnut trees.'

  'And when
I am in the road?' Wogan tied his cravat.

  'You will find my groom with a horse. The horse will be saddled. Therewill be pistols in the holsters, and then your patron saint or thedevil must help you to get out of the country.'

  'I have a friend or two on the coast of Sussex who will do as well,'said Wogan, and he drew the coat over his shoulders, 'and I am verygrateful to you. But sure, Colonel, what if a constable pulls me offthe carriage by the leg before we are out of London? You will bedipped yourself.'

  'There's no fear of that if you hold your tongue.'

  Wogan took up his hat.

  'And who is to be your companion?'

  Montague hesitated.

  'My companion will be a lady.'

  'Oh! And where's the house with the carriage waiting at the door?'

  'In Queen's Square, Westminster.

  Wogan looked at his clothes.

  'I am wearing her damned livery,' he cried. 'No, I will stay and behanged like a gentleman, but I take no favours at Lady Oxford's hand,'and in a passion he began to tear off the clothes.

  'She offers none,' said Montague. 'She knows nothing of what I intend.I would not trust her. If you have to stand behind, I have to drive byher side; and upon my word I would sooner be in your place. Herladyship's footman for an hour! Man, are you so proud that your lifecannot make up for the humiliation? Why, I have been her lapdog for ayear.'

  Wogan stopped, with one arm out of the sleeve of his coat. The notionthat her ladyship was not helping him, but that, on the contrary, hewas tricking her, gave the business a quite different complexion.

  'D'ye see? The one place in London where the King's Messengers willnot look to find you is the footboard of Lady Oxford's carriage,'urged Montague.

  There was reason in the argument: it was the same argument which Mr.Wogan had used to persuade Mr. Kelly to go to Queen's Square theevening before, and now he suffered it to persuade himself.

  Wogan drew on the coat again, pulled his peruke about his face, anddrew his hat forward on his forehead.

  'Now follow me. It is a fortunate thing we are close to her ladyship'shouse.'

  Montague walked quickly to Queen's Square. Wogan followed ten yardsbehind. As they turned into the square they saw Lady Oxford's carriagewaiting at the door.

  'Does the coachman know?' asked Wogan, lounging up to the Colonel andtouching his hat with his forefinger.

  'The lackey whose place you took has primed him.'

  At the door Mr. Wogan climbed up to the footboard while Montagueentered the house. In a minute Lady Oxford came out, and was handedinto the carriage by the Colonel. She did not look at her new lackey,but gave an order to the coachman and the carriage drove off. Mr.Wogan began to discover a certain humour in the manner of his escapewhich tickled him mightily. He noticed more than one of hisacquaintances who would have been ready to lay him by the heels, andonce Lady Oxford made a little jump in her seat and would have stoppedthe coachman had not Colonel Montague prevented her. For Lord SidneyBeauclerk stood on the path gazing at her ladyship and the Colonelwith a perplexed and glowing countenance. Mr. Wogan winked and shook afriendly foot at him from the back of the carriage, and his lordshipwas fairly staggered at the impertinence of her ladyship's footman. Sothey drove out past the houses and between the fields.

  Colonel Montague was plainly in a great concern lest Lady Oxfordshould turn round and discover who rode behind her. He talked withvolubility about the beauty of spring and the blue skies and the greenfields, and uttered a number of irreproachable sentiments about them.Lady Oxford, however, it seemed, had lost her devotion to a countrylife, and was wholly occupied with the Colonel's indifference toherself. Her vanity put her to a great many shifts, which kept herrestless and Mr. Wogan in a pucker lest she should turn round. Now itwas her cloak that, with an ingenious jerk, she slipped off hershoulders, and the Colonel must hoist it on again; now it was herglove that was too small, and the Colonel must deny the imputation andadmire her Liliputian hand, which he failed to do; now his advice wasasked upon the proper shape of a patch at the corner of the mouth, anda winsome, smiling face was bent to him that he might judge withoutany prejudice. The Colonel, however, remained cold, and Wogan wassorely persuaded to lean over and whisper in his ear:

  'Flatter her, soften your face and adore her, and she will be quiet asa cat purring in front of a fire.'

  For it was solely his indifference that pricked her. Had he pretendeda little affection, she would have whistled him off without anyregret, but she could not endure that he should discard her of his ownfree will. This, however, Colonel Montague did not know; he had notMr. Wogan's experience of the sex, and so Lady Oxford restlesslypractised her charms upon him until they came to the gates of thealmshouses at Dulwich.

  Then Colonel Montague cried to the coachman to halt.

  'Or would your ladyship go further?' he asked, and pulled his watchout of his fob to see the time. But his watch had unaccountablystopped. 'Nay, there's a sundial in the court there,' he said, andover his shoulder bade the lackey go and look at it. The lackeyclimbed down from the footboard. At the same moment Colonel Montaguebade the coachman turn, and since the lackey kept at the back of thecarriage as it turned, Lady Oxford did not catch a glimpse of him. Thelackey walked through the gates, crossed the grass to the chapelwithout troubling his head about the sundial, ran down the passage andunder the archway into a quiet road shaded with chestnut trees andlaburnums. Colonel Montague's groom was walking a horse up and downthe road. Wogan mounted the horse, thrust his feet into the stirrups,and took the air into his chest with incomparable contentment.

  The afternoon sunlight shone through the avenue and glistened on thelaburnum flowers. But there is another sort of yellow flower thatblooms from the mouth of a pistol barrel with which Mr. Wogan was atthat moment more concerned, and he unstrapped the holsters and lookedto the priming to see whether the buds were ready to burst. Then hedrove his heels into his horse's flanks and so rode down between thechestnut trees. 'Your ladyship, we need wait no longer,' said Montagueto Lady Oxford. 'Your footman will not come back, and I have thehonour to return you your packet of letters.'

  With that he drew the letters from his pocket, sealed up in a parcelwith Mr. Kelly's ring. Lady Oxford clutched them tight to her bosom,and lay back in the carriage, her eyes closed. The coachman drove backto London.

  They had gone almost half the way before Lady Oxford recoveredsufficiently from her joy to have a thought for anything but theletters. Then she looked at Montague, and her eyes widened.

  'The footman!' she said. 'Ah! I have saved Mr. Kelly after all. I havesaved him!'

  The Colonel might have pointed out that whatever saving had been done,Lady Oxford had taken but an involuntary hand in it. But he merelyshrugged his shoulders; he imagined her anxiety on Mr. Kelly's accountto be all counterfeit, although, may be, she was sincere.

  'Mr. Kelly,' he said, 'is most likely in the Tower. Your footman wasMr. Nicholas Wogan.'

  Lady Oxford was silent for some little time. Then in a low, brokenvoice she said:

  'There was no need you should have so distrusted me.'

  Montague glanced at her curiously. Her face had a new look to him. Itwas thoughtful, but with a certain simplicity in the thoughtfulness;compunction saddened it, and it seemed there was no artifice in thecompunction.

  'Madam,' he answered gently, 'if I had told you, and the manner of Mr.Wogan's escape became known, you might fall under the imputation offavouring Mr. Wogan's cause.'

  Lady Oxford thanked him with a shy look, and they drove back among thestreets. Neither of them spoke until they reached Queen's Square, butColonel Montague was again very gentle as he handed her from thecarriage and bade her good-bye. Lady Oxford's discretion was to seek.The Colonel seemed to be in a relenting mood; she could not resist thetemptation.

  'My Corydon!' she whispered under her breath.

  Montague's face hardened in an instant.

  'My Phylinda!' he replied. 'No, I should say my Smili
ssa. Madam, thereis, in truth, some family likeness between the names, and perhaps itwould be better if I said simply "Lady Oxford."'

  So the Colonel got his foot out of the net. Her ladyship made noanswer to his sneer, but bowed her head and passed slowly into herhouse. Montague had struck harder than he had intended, and wouldgladly have recalled the words. But the door was closed, and thestrange woman out of sight and hearing. He walked away to his lodgingin Ryder Street, very well content with his day's work, and openingthe door of his parlour on the first floor was at once incommoded by athick fog of tobacco-smoke. But through the fog he saw, comfortablystretched in his best armchair, with his peruke pushed back and hiswaistcoat unbuttoned, a lackey in Lady Oxford's livery. Montaguelifted up his voice and swore.