Shrewsbury: A Romance

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XLII

  I have commonly reckoned it among my lord's greatest misfortunes thatin a crisis of his affairs which demanded all the assistance thatfriendship, the closest and most intimate could afford, he had neitherwife nor child to whom he could turn, and from whom, without loss ofdignity, he might receive comfort and support. He was a solitary man;separated from such near relations as he had, by differences as wellreligious as political, and from the world at large by the grandeur ofa position which imposed burdens as onerous as the privileges itconferred were rare.

  To a melancholy habit, which some attributed to the sad circumstancesattendant on his father's death, and others to the change of faith,which he had been induced to make on reaching manhood, he added anatural shyness and reserve, qualities which, ordinarily veiled fromobservation by manners and an address the most charming and easy inthe world, were none the less obstacles, where friendship was inquestion. Not that of friendship there was much among the politicalmen of that day, the perils and uncertainties of the time inculcated adistrust, which was only overcome where blood or marriage cemented thetie--as in the case of Lords Sunderland, Godolphin, and Marlborough,and again of the Russells and Cavendishes. But, be that as it may, mylord stood outside these bonds, and enjoyed and rued a splendidisolation. As if already selected by fortune for that strangecombination of great posts with personal loneliness, which was to bemore strikingly exhibited in the death-chamber of her late MajestyQueen Anne, he lived, whether in his grand house in St. James'sSquare, or at Eyford among the Gloucestershire Wolds, as much apart asany man in London or in England.

  Withal, I know, men called him the King of Hearts. But the popularity,of which that title seemed the sign and seal, was factitious andunreal; born, while they talked with him, of his spontaneous kindnessand boundless address; doomed to perish an hour later, of spite andenvy, or of sheer inanition. Since the Duke was sensitive, over-proudfor intimacy, flattered no man, and gave no man confidences.

  Such an one bade fair, when in trouble, to eat out his heart. Prone tofancy all men's hands against him, he doubled the shame and outdid themost scandalous. So far, indeed, was he from deriving comfort fromthings that would have restored such men as my Lord Marlborough toperfect self-respect and composure, that I believe, and in fine had itfrom himself, that the letter which the King wrote to him from Loo(and which came to his hands through Lord Portland's, three days afterthe interview with his Grace of Devonshire) pained him more sensiblythan all that had gone before.

  "You may judge of my astonishment," His Majesty wrote, "at hiseffrontery in accusing you. You are, I trust, too fully convinced ofthe entire confidence which I place in you to think that such storiescan make any impression on me. You will observe this honest man'ssincerity, who only accuses those in my service, and not one of hisown party."

  It will be understood that that in His Majesty's letter which touchedmy lord home was less the magnanimity displayed in it than theremembrance that once before the Sovereign had dealt with the subjectin the same spirit, and that now the world must know this. Of theimmediate accusation, with all its details of time and circumstance,he thought little, believing, not only that the truth must quicklysweep it away, but that in the meantime few would be found socredulous as to put faith in it. But he saw with painful clearnessthat the charge would rub the old sore and gall the old raw; and hewinced, seated alone in his library in the silence of the house, as ifthe iron already seared the living flesh. With throes of shame heforesaw what staunch Whigs, such as Somers and Wharton, would say ofhim; what the _Postboy_ and the _Courant_ would print of him; what therank and file of the party--exposed to no danger in the event of aRestoration, and consequently to few temptations to make their peaceabroad--would think of their trusted leader, when they learned thetruth.

  On Marlborough and Russell, Godolphin and Sunderland, the breath ofsuspicion had blown: on him never, and he had held his head high. Howcould he meet them now? How could he face them? Nay, if that were all,how, he asked himself, could he face the honest Nonjuror? Or thehonest Jacobite? Or the honest Tory? He, who had taken the oaths tothe new government and broken them, who had set up the new governmentand deceived it, who had dubbed himself patriot--_cui bono?_ Presentlybrooding over it, he came to think that there was but one man inEngland, _turpissimus_; that it would be better in the day ofreckoning for the meanest carted pickpocket, whose sentence camebefore him for revision, than for the King's Secretary in his garterand robes!

  Nor, if he had known all that was passing, and all that was beingsaid, among those with whom his fancy painfully busied itself, wouldhe have been the happier. For Sir John's statement got abroad withmarvellous quickness. Before Lord Portland arrived from Holland thedetails were whispered in every tavern and coffee-house within theBills. The Tories and Jacobites, aiming above everything at finding acounterblast to the Assassination Plot, the discovery of which had socompletely sapped their credit with the nation, pounced on the scandalwith ghoulish avidity, and repeated and exaggerated it on everyoccasion. Every Jacobite house of call, from the notorious Dog inDrury Lane, the haunt of mumpers and foot-pads, to the Chocolate Housein St. James's rang with it. For Sir John, all (they said amongthemselves) that they had expected of him was surpassed by this. Hewas extolled to the skies alike for what he had done and for what hehad not done; and as much for the wit that had confounded his enemiesas for the courage that had protected his friends. For what Jacobite,seeing the enemy hoist with his own petard could avoid a snigger? Orhear the word Informer without swearing that Sir John was the mosthonest man who ever signed his name to a deposition.

  The Whigs on the other hand, exasperated by an attack as subtle as itwas unforeseen, denied the charges with a passion and fury that ofthemselves betrayed apprehension. Here, they said, was another Taafe;suborned by the same gang and the same vile machinations that hadbrought about the Lancashire failure, and hounded Trenchard to hisdeath. Not content with threatening Sir John with the last penaltiesof treason and felony, and filling the Rose Tavern with protestations,which admitted the weight while they denied the truth of the chargesbrought against their leaders, the party called aloud for meetings,enquiries, and prosecutions; to which the leaders soon foundthemselves pledged, whether they would or no.

  My lord out of sensitiveness, or that over-appreciation of what wasdue to himself and others which in a degree unfitted him for publiclife, had a week before this, pleading indisposition, begun to keepthe house; and to all requests proffered by his colleagues that hewould take part in their deliberations, returned a steadfast negative.This notwithstanding, everything that was done was communicated tohim; and announcements of the meetings, which it was now proposed tohold--one at Lord Somers' in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and the other atAdmiral Russell's--would doubtless have been made to him within thehour. As it chanced, however, he received the news from anothersource. On the day of the decision, as he sat alone, dwelling gloomilyon the past, the Square was roused at the quietest time of theforenoon by an arrival. With a huge chitter, the Countess's glasschariot, with its outriders, running footmen, and lollingwaiting-women, rolled up to the door; and in a moment my lady wasannounced.

  It is probable that there was no one whom he had less wish to see. Buthe could not deny himself to her; and he rose with an involuntarygroan. The Countess on her side was in no better temper, as her firstwords indicated. "My life, my lord, what is this I hear," she criedroundly, as soon as the door closed upon her. "That you are lying downto be trodden on! And cannot do this, and will not do that, but puleand cry at home while they spin a rope for you! Sakes, man, play theone side, play the other side--which you please! But play it! playit!"

  My lord, chagrined as much by the intrusion as by the reproach,answered her with more spirit than he was wont to use to her. "Ithought, Madam," he answered sharply, "that the one thing you desiredwas my withdrawal from public life?"

  "Ay, but not after this fashion!" she retorted, striking her ebonyca
ne on the floor and staring at him, her reddled face and huge curledwig trembling. "If all I hear be true--and I hear that they are goingto hold two inquests on you--and you continue to sit here, it will bea fine withdrawal! You will be doomed by James and blocked by William,and that d----d rogue John Churchill will wear your clothes!Withdrawal say you? No, if you had withdrawn six months ago when Ibade you, you would have gone and been thanked. But now, the fat is inthe fire, and, wanting courage, you'll frizzle, my lad."

  "And whom have I to thank for that, Madam?" he asked, with bitterness.

  "Why, yourself, booby!" she cried.

  "No, Madam, your friends!" he replied--which was so true and hit themark so exactly that my lady looked rather foolish for a moment.Without noticing the change, however, "Your friends. Madam," hecontinued, "Lord Middleton and Sir John Fenwick, and Montgomery, andthe rest, whom you have never ceased pressing me to join! Who unableto win me will now ruin me. But you are right, Madam. I see, formyself now, that it is not possible to play against them with cleanhands, and therefore I leave the game to them."

  "Pack of rubbish!" she cried.

  "It is not rubbish. Madam, as you will find," he answered coldly. "Yousay they will hold two inquests on me? There will be no need. Withinthe week my resignation of all my posts will be in the King's hands."

  "And you?"

  "And I, Madam, shall be on my way to Eyford."

  Now there is nothing more certain than that for a year past theCountess had strained every nerve to detach the Duke from theGovernment, with a view to his reconciliation with King James and St.Germain's. But, having her full share of a mother's pride, she was asfar from wishing to see him retire after this fashion as if she hadnever conceived the notion. And to this the asperity of her answerbore witness. "To Eyford?" she cried, shrilly. "More like to TowerHill! Or the Three Trees and a thirteenha'penny fee--for that is yourmeasure! God, my lad, you make me sick! You make me sick!" shecontinued, her wrinkled old face distorted by the violence of herrage, and her cane going tap-a-tap in her half-palsied hand. "That ason of mine should lack the spirit to turn on these pettifoggers!"

  "Your friends, Madam," he said remorselessly.

  "These perts and start-ups! But you are mad, man! You are mad," shecontinued. "Mad as King Jamie was when he fled the country--and whomore glad than the Dutchman! And as it was with him so it will be withyou. They will strip you, Charles. They will strip you bare as youwere born! And the end will be, you'll lie with Ailesbury in theTower, or bed with Tony Hamilton in a garret--_la bas!_"

  "Which is precisely the course to which you have been pressing me," hereplied with something of a sneer.

  "Ay, with a full purse!" she screamed. "With a full purse, fool! WithEyford and fifty thousand guineas, my lad! But go, a beggar, as you'llgo, and it is welcome you'll be--to the doorkey and the kennel, orlike enough to King Louis' Bastile! Tell me, man, that this is allnonsense! That you'll show your face to your enemies, go abroad and beKing again!"

  My lord answered gravely that his mind was quite made up.

  "To go?" she gasped. "To go to Eyford?" And raising her stick in hershaking hand, she made a gesture so menacing that, fearing she wouldstrike him, my lord stepped back.

  Nevertheless, he answered her firmly. "Yes, to Eyford. My letter tothe King is already written."

  "Then that for you, and your King!" she shrieked; and in an excess ofuncontrolled passion, she whirled her stick round and brought it downon a stand of priceless Venice crystal which stood beside her; beingthe same that Seigniors Soranzo and Venier had presented to the Dukein requital of the noble entertainment which my lord had given to theVenetian Ambassadors, the April preceding. The blow shivered thevases, which fell in a score of fragments to the floor; but notcontent with the ruin she had accomplished, the Countess struckfiercely again and again. "There's for you, you poor speechless fool!"she continued. "That a son of mine should lie down to his enemies!There was never Brudenel did it. But your father, he too was a----"

  "Madam!" he said, taking her up grimly. "I will not hear you on that!"

  "Ay, but you shall hear me!" she screamed, and yet more soberly. "He,too, was a----"

  "Silence!" he said; and this time, low as his voice rang, ay, andthough it trembled, it stilled her. "Silence, Madam," he repeated, "oryou do that, which neither the wrong you wrought so many years ago tohim you miscall, nor those things common fame still tells of you, nordifferences of creed, nor differences of party, have prevailed toeffect. Say more of him," he continued, "and we do not meet again, mylady. For I have this at least from you--that I do not easilyforgive."

  She glared at him a moment, rage, alarm, and vexation, all distortingher face. Then, "The door!" she hissed. "The door, boor! You are stillmy son, and if you will not obey me, shall respect me. Take me out,and if ever I enter your house again----"

  She did not complete the sentence, but lapsed into noddings andmowings and mutterings, her fierce black eyes flickering vengeance tocome. However, my lord paid no heed to that, but glad, doubtless, tobe rid of her visit even at the cost of his Venetian, offered her hisarm in silence and led her into the hall and to her chariot.

  She could not avenge herself on him; and it might be, she would not ifshe could. But there was one on whom her passion alighted, who withall her cunning little expected the impending storm. The most astuteare sometimes found napping. And the smoothest pad-nag will plunge.Whether the favourite waiting-woman had overstepped her authority oflate, presuming on a senility, which existed indeed, but neitherabsolutely blinded my lady nor was to be depended on in face of gustsof passion such as this; whether this was the case, I say, orMonterey, rendered incautious by success, was unfortunate enough tobetray her triumph, by some look of spite and malice during the drivehome, it is certain that at the door the storm broke. Without theleast warning the Countess, after using her arm to descend, turned onher, a very Bess of Bedlam.

  "And you, you grinning ape!" she cried, "you come no farther! This isno home of yours; begone, or I will have you whipped! You don't gointo my house again!"

  The astonished woman, taken utterly aback, and not in the leastunderstanding, began to remonstrate. Her first thought was that theCountess was ill. "Your ladyship--is not well?" she cried, withsolicitude veiling her alarm. "You cannot mean----"

  "Ay, but I can! I can!" the old lady answered, mocking her. "You havedone mischief enow, and do no more here! Where is that man of yours,who went, and never came back, and nought but excuses? And now this."

  "Oh, my lady, what ails you?" the waiting-woman cried. "What does thismean?"

  "You know!" said my lady with an oath. "So begone about your business,and don't let me see your face again or it will be the worse for you."

  Disarmed of her usual address by the suddenness of the attack, theMonterey began to whimper; and again asked how she had offended herand what she had done to deserve this. "I, who have served you solong, and so faithfully?" she cried. "What have I done to earn this?"

  "God and you know--better than I do!" was the fierce answer. And then,"Williams," the Countess cried to her major-domo, who, with thelacqueys and grooms, was standing by, enjoying the fall of thefavourite--"see that that drab does not cross my threshold again; oryou go, do you hear? Ay, mistress, you would poison me if you could!"the old lady went on, gibing, and pointing with her stick at the face,green with venom and spite, that betrayed the baffled woman'sfeelings. "Look at her! Look at her! There is Madame Voisin for you!There is Madame Turner! She would poison you all if she could. But youshould have done it yesterday, you slut! You will not have the chancenow. Put her rags out here--here on the road; and do you, Williams,send her packing, and see she takes naught of mine, not a pinner or asleeve, or she goes to Paddington fair for it! Ay, you drab," my ladycontinued, with cruel exultation, "I'll see you beat hemp yet! andyour shoulders smarting!"

  "May God forgive you!" cried the waiting-woman, fighting with herrage.

  "He may or He may not!" said the dreadful ol
d lady, coolly turning togo in. "Anyway, your score won't stand for much in the sum, my girl."

  And not until the Countess had gone in and Madame Monterey saw beforeher the grinning faces of the servants, as they stood to bar the way,did she thoroughly take in what had happened to her, or the utter ruinof all her prospects which this meant. Then, choking with passion,rage, despair, "Let me pass," she cried, advancing and tryingfrantically to push her way through them. "Let me pass, you boobies.Do you hear? How dare----"

  "Against orders, Madame Voisin!" said the majordomo with a hoarselaugh; and he thrust her back. And when, maddened by the touch, anddefeat, she flung herself on him in a frenzy, one of the lacqueyscaught her round the waist lifting her off her legs, carried her outscreaming and scratching, and set her down in the road amid thelaughter of his companions.

  "There," he said, "and next time better manners, mistress, or I'lldrop you in the horse pond. You are not young enough, nor tenderenough for these airs! Ten years ago you might have scratched all youpleased!"

  "Strike you dead!" she cried, "my husband--my husband shall kill youall! Ay, he shall!"

  "When he gets out of the Gatehouse, we will talk, mistress," the mananswered. "But he's there, and you know it!"