The Touchstone of Fortune
Page 9
CHAPTER IX
KIDNAPPED
We found Lilly at home, eager to help us. He asked many questionsrelating to my cousin's life and her friends at court, to all of which Imade full answer in so far as I knew, including an account of the king'sobjectionable attentions. I suspected that the Doctor would make more useof the knowledge he obtained from me than of that to be received from thestars, but I did not care how he reached his conclusions if he could buttell us how and where to find Frances.
Lilly questioned Betty also, and when he had learned all that she knew,he left us seated in the parlor while he went to his observatory to set afigure. In the course of ten minutes he returned and gave us the resultof his calculations, as follows:--
"I believe I can tell you where Mistress Jennings is, and how she may befound," he said, speaking and acting as one walking in sleep. "But yourfailure to tell me the exact hour of her birth lends uncertainty to mycalculations. I have all the particulars concerning the nativity of a manwhom I shall not name. I have read the stars many times for him and onmany subjects. If he is connected with the disappearance of MistressJennings, you will find her at a place called Merlin House, six leaguesfrom Westminster and half a league from the Oxford Road."
Here his eyes began to roll and he seemed to be under a spell. He madestrange, weird passes in the air for a time, then became rigid, his faceupturned and his arms uplifted. Betty was frightened and drew close to myside, grasping my arm.
After perhaps a minute of silence, Lilly began to speak again in lowsepulchral tones: "I see a house in the depths of a forest dark and wild.It is surrounded by a high wall. In the east side of the wall is a doubledoor or gate of thick oak, which you will find locked and barred. Thehouse is of brick, save a tower at the southeast corner, which is ofstone three stories high. To reach the house, you must travel on theOxford Road a distance of six leagues and two furlongs, where you willfind a broken shrine, erected hundreds of years ago to the BlessedVirgin. The shrine is on the left side of the road as you travel west,one hundred paces back, on the top of a low hill surrounded by a bleakmoor. The shrine has gone to decay, but it holds a sacred relic of theBlessed Virgin."
Betty, who was a Catholic, crossed herself and murmured an Ave. Lillycontinued:--
"On the apex of the shrine there is a broken cross. The night is darkand you may pass without seeing it, therefore I shall direct you how tofind it. A short distance this side of the shrine the road turns sharplyto the left, just before crossing a bourne which is six leagues fromWestminster. After you have crossed the bourne, bring your horses to awalk, and when you have counted a number equal to the sum of seven timesthe square of eleven, counting as the clock ticks, halt, and you willfind the shrine on a hillock in a bleak moor. You may easily see it, asit will be dark against the snow. Neither rain nor snow touches it, andthe storm spares it. It has been abandoned by men hundreds of years,therefore the Blessed Virgin protects it from further decay."
He seemed to be a long time coming to the house, but after another pause,he continued:--
"Half a league beyond the shrine a narrow road branches to the south.Take it, and soon you will be in the midst of a forest, dark and wild.The road will be dim and difficult to follow in its windings, but yourhorses will keep the way and will take you to a gate in the midst of theforest. Enter by the gate and follow the road winding among the treestill you reach the double door or gate in the wall. The house will bedark save in the third story of the stone tower, where you will see astar beaming in the window. Raphael, my familiar spirit, will hold thestar for your guidance. In the room of the star, you will find the personyou seek. Delay not!"
He stopped speaking, bent forward, breathed upon a gold plate coveredwith mystic signs which rested on a table, rose to an upright posture,again became rigid, stretched out his hands with face upturned, andwhispered in tones almost inaudible:--
"Come thou, great Raphael, spirit of rescue, and help me this night in arighteous cause. In the name of Jupiter, the father of the gods, Mercury,his son, and Psyche, the spirit of the stars!"
He stood dazed for a moment, as though just awakened, then turningquickly to me, said: "Lose not a moment's time. Hasten at once to therescue. I am sure my directions will lead you to her whom you seek."
Betty, George, and I gathered our hats and cloaks, and George, turning tome, said:--
"We must find a light coach and four good horses. The road will be heavywith snow, and we must be prepared to travel rapidly."
"Father has four good horses, as strong and swift as any in London,"suggested Betty. "He has a light coach, too. Let us return to the OldSwan and prepare to start at once."
"Betty, you are too wise for one of your age and sex," said George. "Butwithout your wisdom, I don't know what we should have done this night.Let us go immediately."
Our coachman put his horses to a gallop, we reached the Old Swan in ashort time, and within less than half an hour, a porter informed me thata coach and four were awaiting us in the courtyard. Pickering lent usgreatcoats and rugs and all things needful to keep us warm. He did notknow the exact reason for our journey, but had learned from Betty that itwas undertaken in an affair of great moment, involving my cousin'ssafety.
George and I each carried a heavy sword and a pistol in addition to twohand guns, primed and charged, which lay in a box on the coach floor. Thedrivers on the box were each armed with a sword and a pistol. They hadbeen reluctant to leave the kitchen fire to face the storm, but when theyhad a hint that a fight was possible, and when Pickering offered them aguinea each, they changed their minds, quickly wrapped themselves ingreatcoats, and were on the box when we came out. George stopped at theinn door to have a word with Pickering, and while they were talking Iclimbed to the top of the front wheel of the coach to give instructionsto the drivers. I told them to drive at a moderate gait down CandlestickStreet and the Strand till they reached Charing Cross; then to turn uptowards Saint-Martin's-in-the-Fields and take the crooked road acrossthe Common till they reached the Oxford Road. When on the main highway,they were to travel at full gallop.
"How long is the journey, sir?" asked one of the drivers. "I ask so thatI may know how fast to drive the horses."
"Between six and seven leagues," I answered.
"Ah, they can go that distance at a good pace if we on the box don'tfreeze to death," he returned, buttoning up his greatcoat, bringing therug tightly about him and drawing on his gloves.
I sprang from the wheel and started to enter the coach just as Georgeleft Pickering, but when I put my foot on the step, I saw a small mansitting in the furthest corner of the back seat.
"Come, come, what are you doing here? And who are you?" I asked, steppinginto the coach for the purpose of pulling the fellow out.
I was greeted by a soft laugh and this answer: "I am sitting here, and myname is Betty Pickering."
"My God, Betty, you can't go with us," I exclaimed, making ready to helpher out of the coach.
But she put her hand over my mouth to silence me and whispered, "The menon the box must not know me."
Betty pushed me backward out of the coach, came out herself and led me toGeorge, who, by that time, was halfway across the courtyard.
"Who are you?" cried George, surprised to see the little man beside me,for Betty was in greatcoat, trousers, and boots.
"I am Betty, and Baron Ned says I shall not go with you."
"No, no, Betty," answered George. "See the snow, the sleet, and thestorm. It is freezing and the wind cuts like a knife. It would kill youto go with us."
"Think a moment," she answered, whispering, so that her words might notbe overheard by the men on the box. "Mistress Jennings may need the helpof a woman, but in any case you shall not have the coach and horses if Idon't go."
"Does your father know?" I asked.
"Yes, yes, come on! We are wasting valuable time," answered Betty,starting toward the coach.
George and I were helpless against Betty's will, so we said nothi
ng more,and she climbed into the coach, taking her former place at the left endof the back seat. George followed, taking the middle place next to her,and after giving the word to start, I followed George, taking the righthand corner, thus leaving him between Betty and me, an arrangement thatdid not at all please me. But my disappointment was short lived, forhardly was I seated till Betty spoke in tones plainly showing that shewas pouting:--
"I want Baron Ned to sit by me."
George laughed, he and I changed places, and when I was settled besideBetty, she caught my hand, giving it a saucy little squeeze, and fellback in her corner with a sigh and a low gurgling laugh.
When we had climbed Gracious Street hill, we turned into CandlestickStreet and drove along at a brisk pace, George and I watching the housesto note our progress.
After passing Temple Bar, the street being broader and the night verydark, we could not distinguish the houses save when a light gleamed overa front door now and then, and were not sure where we were until we sawthe flambeaux over Whitehall Gate scintillating through the falling snow.
Before reaching Charing Cross, one of the drivers lifted the rug whichhung across the front of the coach between us and the box and asked:--
"Did you say, sir, to take the road across the Common fromSaint-Martin's-in-the-Fields?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Then, sir, have your pistols ready, for it is the worst bloody stretchof road about London for highwaymen, though I doubt if they be out on anight like this."
"You're not afraid?" I asked.
"Devil a bit, sir! I'd rather fight than eat, but I thought maybe yourhonors would rather eat."
He cracked his whip, and soon we were over the dangerous ground,travelling along on the Oxford Road at a fine gallop. On reaching theopen country the wind gave us its full force, there being no doors to ourcoach, and soon our rugs were covered with snow. But George and I werewrapped to our chins, and Bettina nestled cozily down in her corneruntouched by the storm.
After leaving Westminster, we had no means of knowing our rate ofprogress, for there were no houses near the road, and, if there had been,we should not have known them. The drivers kept the horses in a strongtrot, at times a vigorous gallop, and I judged that we were making nearlythree leagues an hour. At that rate it would require perhaps two hours toreach the shrine mentioned by Lilly.
We had instructed the men on the box to watch for a sharp bend in theroad just before crossing a bourne, and we, too, began to watch soonafter leaving Westminster. After what seemed to be a long time, Georgeasked me to make a flare in my tinder box, while he caught a glimpseof the face of his watch. This I did under the rug, and, much to ourdisgust, we found that we had been less than twenty minutes on the road,so provokingly had time lagged.
After our disappointment we lay back in the coach, determined to ignoretime, and thereby perhaps hasten it. In truth, time's lagging was notunpleasant for me, in one respect, at least, for Bettina was by my side.I found delight in keeping her well tucked about with rugs, so that noteven a breath of the storm nor a flake of snow could reach her. She worea great fur hood which buttoned under her chin, almost covering her faceand falling in a soft warm curtain to her shoulders and bosom. She waswarm, and aside from our great cause of anxiety, I believe, was happy.I wished a hundred times that George were in another coach, though hadhe been, I well knew that I should have said a great deal to Betty whichon the morrow would have been regretted, both for her sake and my own.
Just at a point when time seemed to have halted, the driver lifted therug hanging behind him, and said:--
"Here is the bend, sir, and yonder is the bourne."
Presently we knew by the breaking of the ice and the splashing of thewater that we were crossing the bourne, and when we were over, Georgecalled to the driver, directing him to allow the horses to walk until theorder came to stop.
George dropped the front curtain, and turning to Betty and me, said:--
"Now, let us count as the clock ticks to the number 847, and whenfinished, we shall be at the shrine."
"We are more apt to find a bleak moor and a sharp blast of wind," Isuggested.
While under the spell of Lilly's incantations, I had almost accepted hisabsurd vaporings, but cooler thought had brought contempt, and I hadbegun to look upon our journey as a very wild goose chase indeed.
"We have found the sharp turn in the road and the bourne," said George,"and I see no reason to doubt that we shall find the shrine."
"Lilly may have passed over the road and may know that the shrine ishere; but when we find it, what will it prove?" I asked.
"It will prove nothing, though I am willing to stake my life that we findFrances in Merlin House."
"Count!" exclaimed Betty, sharply. In our discussion, George and I hadforgotten to count, but Betty had been counting under her breath as theclock ticks, and we took her number and started with it.
We all reached the number 847 almost at the same second, when we stoppedthe coach, and sure enough, there by the roadside, on a small rockyhillock surrounded by a bleak moor, was the shrine. Even from the road wecould see the fragment of a cross projecting above the one piece of wallleft standing. One would hardly have taken it to be a shrine unless thefact had been suggested, but with the thought in mind, the fragmentarycross was convincing evidence. Had its sacred quality been suspectedduring the time of Cromwell, not one stone would have been left uponanother, but no one knew that it was the Virgin's shrine, therefore itwas not disturbed, but stood there, black on a field of luminous white.We all saw it at the same moment. I was content to view it from thecoach, but George went to examine it, and returned, saying:--
"It is a shrine. Part of the cross still remains surmounting a fragmentof a wall."
He climbed into the coach and was about to give the word to start again,when Betty spoke up, hesitatingly, pleadingly but emphatically:--
"Please wait a moment. I want to see it."
I followed Betty when she got out of the coach, and, as we approached theshrine, she exclaimed: "Doctor Lilly was right! There is no snow on theshrine. The Virgin protects it. There must be a relic beneath thestones!"
We climbed a little hillock and after standing before the shrine for amoment, Betty said, "Please return to the coach and leave me alone."
"Why, Betty?" I asked. "You may speak plainly to me. I think I know yourmotive."
"I want to offer a little prayer to the Virgin here at her brokenshrine--a prayer for your cousin and for you--and for me."
I knelt with her, and after Betty had finished her simple invocation, werose, and I, who at another time would have laughed at the prayer, feltthe thrill of her whispered words lingering in my heart. I seemed to knowthat we should rescue Frances, and I also knew that my love for Bettinawould bring me nothing but joy, softened and sanctified by sadness, andto her nothing of evil save the pain of a gentle longing.
Betty felt as I did, for when she rose she said, "Now we shall findMistress Jennings, and, Baron Ned, I shall fear you no more."
"Have you feared me?" I asked, touched to the quick by her artlesscandor.
"Yes," she answered, sighing. "Though I have feared myself more. Youare so far above me in every way that it is no wonder I am bewilderedwhen you say--say--that you--. You know what I mean."
"Yes, Betty," I answered quickly, feeling that she had more to say.
"I was bewildered in my parlor at the Old Swan to-day," she said, hangingher head. "Your opinion of me must have fallen."
"No, no, I understood, Betty, I understood, and I dare not tell you howmuch my opinion has risen because I would say more than would be good foryou or for me," I answered reassuringly.
"But you must remember that a girl has impulses and yearnings at times,and she should not be too harshly blamed if she sometimes fails to beatthem down. But now it will all be different. The Blessed Virgin will helpus, and our conflict is over."
Betty and I started back to the coach, both feeling the uplift ofour ans
wered prayer. Probably we were the only devotees that had kneltbefore the shrine in hundreds of years, and the Virgin had heard oursupplication. It was a proposition I should have laughed at and held toscorn prior to that time.
After leaving the shrine, it was only a few minutes till the coachturned to the left into a narrow road, and we were approaching the endof our rough journey. We continued to travel at a brisk trot and cameto the forest, "dark and wild," of which Lilly had spoken. Thus far his"calculations" were correct, and I was beginning to take hope that theywould continue so to the end. After half an hour on the winding roadthrough the forest, the drivers halted at the gate of which Lilly hadspoken, and in ten minutes more drew rein beside the high brick wallsurrounding Merlin House.
Without the least trouble we found the gates or doors in the wall, andtruly enough, they were of "thick oak" so strong that we could not feelthem vibrate when we tried to shake them, and so firmly locked in themiddle that we almost despaired of opening them. The wall was too highto scale, and for a moment it looked as though our journey had been invain. But Betty's keen wits came to our rescue.
When George and I had examined the gates and had almost despaired ofopening them, Betty undertook an inspection of her own, and presentlycalled our attention to a hole, perhaps four inches in diameter, ineach gate, which was hidden by round curtains of wood hung within, socompletely closing up the holes as to make them invisible save on closeexamination. She suggested that we pass the trace chain through one hole,draw it out through the other, hitch the horses to the two ends, and pulldown the wall if the gates refused to give way.
Her plan was so good that the horses soon opened the gate, though itrequired a strong pull from all four of them to do it. Betty and I werethe first to enter, George following close at our heels. The two drivers,who had taken the horses back to the coach, hitched them to a tree andsoon followed us, bringing the long leather reins to be used as climbingropes if necessary.
Hardly had we entered the gate till we saw a starlike gleam of light in awindow of a room in the third story of the tower, as Lilly had predicted.While I was convinced that the light came through a hole in the curtainrather than from a star held by Raphael to guide us, still my scepticismwas rapidly turning to awe.
We were speaking of the light when two great dogs came bounding out ofthe darkness and attacked us. I drew my sword, a sharp, heavy blade, andbeing much frightened, began to swing it heroically in every direction.Fortunately one of the dogs happened to be in one of the directions, andI split its head. The other dog attacked Betty, but George ran to herrescue and finished the animal before it had time to bark.
Having vanquished the dogs, we hastened to the tower and stopped beneaththe window of the star. We had hoped to attract Frances's attention bycasting pebbles against the window-pane, but we had counted without ourammunition. We could find no pebbles, the snow being at least a footdeep.
A thick vine, probably an ivy, covered the front of the tower, and Georgeattempted to make the escalade by climbing. He would have denuded thewall had he continued his efforts, for the vine broke, not being strongenough to bear his weight.
"Let me try it," whispered Betty, taking off her greatcoat, hood, gloves,and boots and tossing them to the ground.
I objected to her risking her pretty neck and limbs, but she insistedthat she could make the ascent easily, and George agreeing with her, Ireluctantly consented.
Brave little Betty at once began the ascent, I standing under her tobreak the fall if she should take one. When she had climbed five or sixfeet from the ground, the vine broke and she fell, landing gracefully onher feet. Instantly she was at it again, for Betty had a will of her owngreatly disproportioned to her size. Again the vine broke, and when Ipicked her up I found that she had lost her breath by the fall, but shelaughed as soon as her breath returned, and was in no way discouraged.
In a moment she tried again, despite my protest, saying she would go moreslowly and use greater care in choosing the larger vines. This time shewas determined to succeed, so she again tied the leather reins about herarm, grasped the vine, and within two minutes was standing on the uppercoping of the second-story window, her waist on a level with the sill ofthe window of the star.
The wind howling through the trees and around the corner of the towermade so great a din that at first we did not hear what Betty said toattract Frances's attention, but presently, the storm lulling for amoment, we listened intently and heard her say:--
"It is Betty Pickering."
We supposed she spoke in response to an inquiry from within, and we wereright, for almost instantly the curtains parted, the window opened, andwe saw Frances standing in the light of Raphael's star--a candle.
Up to that time I had been incredulous of Lilly's wisdom, and while Ihad hoped to find my cousin, I had little faith in the result. But nowconviction came with a shock and, notwithstanding my joy at seeingFrances, I found myself forgetting where I was in wondering whether Lillywere a god, a devil, or merely a shrewd charlatan who had obtained hiswonderfully accurate knowledge from something that had happened in thepast wherein the king was concerned, or from some one who knew whereFrances had been taken.
I was awakened from my revery by hearing George call in a low voice toFrances, telling her to fasten the ends of the leathers to a bedpost or aheavy piece of furniture, and asking her if she could come down handunder hand. She answered that she could and took the end of the reinsfrom Betty. After a minute or two spent by Frances back in the room, shereappeared, tossed her cloak down to us, climbed out the window, andstood for a moment beside Betty on the lower window cap. I heard Bettyencouraging her, and presently Frances began her descent, reaching theground safely. George would have been demonstrative, but I interruptedhim, saying:--
"Be ready to help me catch Betty in case she falls!"
Betty started down, but George called to her, telling her to climb intothe room, loosen the reins, and throw them out.
"But how shall I go down?" asked Betty, whose nerve was deserting her.
"You must come down as you climbed up--by the vines," returned George.
Betty climbed in at the window, and presently the leathers fell at ourfeet. In a moment she reappeared, put one foot out the window, hesitated,and called to me:--
"I'm afraid, Baron Ned. It seems so far, looking down."
George started toward the coach with Frances, leaving me and one of thedrivers to care for the girl who had saved our expedition from failure.
I could help Betty only by encouraging her, so I spoke softly: "Be brave,Betty. Go slowly. Don't lose your head."
"It is not my head I fear to lose; it is my footing," she answered,sitting on the window-sill, one foot hanging outside.
"But you must come, Betty," I said encouragingly. "Now say a littleprayer to the Virgin, and you'll be all right."
I saw her bow her head and cross herself, and the prayer giving herstrength, she climbed to the lower window coping and began her descenton the vine. When halfway down she fell, and though I caught her, partlybreaking her fall, I knew that she was hurt. I helped her to her feet,and she said breathlessly:--
"I'm all right. I'm not hurt."
But when we started toward the coach, she clung to me, limping, andbegan to cry from pain. When I saw that she was hurt, I caught her upin my arms and carried her to the coach, followed by the driver, bearingthe reins and Betty's hood, cloak, gloves, and boots. Frances was alreadyinside the coach, and George was about to follow her, when I came up withpoor helpless Betty, and somewhat angrily ordered him to stand asidewhile I made her comfortable. Frances began to soothe Betty, whose tearsflowed afresh under the sympathy. By the time George and I were in thecoach, the drivers were on the box, but before we started one of themlifted the curtain and said:--
"I hear them moving in the house."
"Make the more haste," I answered.
"Shan't we stay for a fight, sir?" asked the driver, evidentlydisappointed.
"We'll ha
ve it later on," said George, and the next moment the coach wasturned and we were on our homeward road.
When we reached the Oxford Road, the horses started at a smart gallop,and we began to hope that we had not been discovered by the inmates ofMerlin House. But soon we heard horses galloping behind us. After aconsultation, George and I concluded to stop the coach. Frances and Bettywere much alarmed, and begged us to try to escape by whipping the horses.But I knew that our pursuers, being on horseback, would soon overtake us,and I was convinced that nothing could be gained by attempting flight. Ihave seen a small dog stop a larger one by waiting for it.
So we waited, and when our pursuers, a half score of men on horseback,came up to us, we met them with a fusillade of powder and shot, whichpersuaded them to allow us to go our way and evidently made them contentto go theirs, for we saw nothing more of them.
On the way to London, Frances told us briefly the story of the day. Shehad started to her father's house and had left the river at Baynard'sCastle stairs. It was near one o'clock when she left her boat, and thesnow, which had been falling for an hour or more, covered the ground.When she reached the head of the narrow street leading to Upper ThamesStreet from the river stairs, she found a coach waiting for her. Thedriver touched his hat and asked if she was Mistress Jennings. When sheanswered that she was, he said I had sent him to watch for her and totake her to Sir Richard's house, the snow being deep and the stormviolent. My name and Sir Richard's fell so glibly from the fellow'stongue that she, suspecting nothing, entered the coach. Within three orfour minutes the coach stopped, but she thought nothing of it, supposingthe way was blocked.
While waiting, two men wrapped to their eyes in greatcoats came up, oneon either side of the coach, entered, threw a cloak over her head, andbound her hand and foot. Immediately the coach started, but presently itstopped again, and Frances had an opportunity to speak to the girl whohad come to see Betty. Fortunately a buttonhole in the cloak which themen had thrown over Frances's head happened to fall over one of her eyes,and thus enabled her to see the girl.
* * * * *
When our pursuers turned back, we reduced our speed, so that the journeymight be easier for Betty, who had moaned at every jolt, and when thecoach went smoother she fell asleep.
After we had all been silent for a long time, Frances said:--
"I have been thinking it all over, cousin Ned, and if Master Hamilton,that is, George, wishes it, I will go with him, regardless ofconsequences. I am tired of the fight."
"What?" I cried, startled almost to anger.
"Do not run me through, Ned," cried Hamilton. "This is the firstintimation I have had of her purpose, and to save myself from slaughterat your hands, I hasten to say that I will not accept her sacrifice. Itwere kinder in me to kill her than to marry her."
We all laughed to cover our embarrassment, and George said ruefully:"The king, I fear, will settle the question without consulting us. DeGrammont tells me that his Majesty believes I am in London and that heis eager to give a public entertainment on Tyburn Hill, wherein I shallbe the principal actor. Now our beloved monarch's hatred will beredoubled, for he will suspect that I helped in the rescue to-night."
"Do you suspect him of being privy to the outrage tonight?" askedFrances.
"I know it. There is no villainy he would not do, provided it required nobravery," said George.
"But we must not let the king know that we suspect him," I suggested. "Hemay be innocent of the crime. I shall know the truth before to-morrownight."
"Did you see him at Merlin House?" asked George, turning to Frances.
"No," she answered. "It seems that the drivers of the coach lost theirway. The horses were poor beasts, and, owing to many halts on the road,our progress was slow. When I first entered the house, an old woman ledme to the room in which you found me. The ropes on my wrists and ankleshad been removed soon after I left London, but I was not allowed toremove the cloak until after the old woman had closed the door on me.Then I sat down so stunned that I could hardly think. But it seemed onlya few minutes till I heard dear, brave Betty at the window.You must have come rapidly."
When we told Frances our side of the story, how Betty had come toWhitehall to see me and had been the real leader throughout it all,Frances leaned forward and kissed the girl, saying:--
"God bless her, and you, too, Baron Ned. She is worthy of you, and youhave my consent."
In further discussing Frances's journey, she said that the men who werewith her in the coach were masked and that she did not know them, but shewas sure neither was the king. They did not speak, save to tell thedriver to travel slowly to avoid reaching the house too far ahead of the"other coach."
The other coach, which Frances said she heard enter the gate, arrived notmore than ten minutes before we reached Merlin House, and it is probablethat we were undisturbed in our rescue because of the fact that supperwas in progress.
It was nearly three o'clock by George's watch when we reached the darkclump of houses standing west of Covent Garden, and within less than halfan hour we were in the cozy courtyard of the Old Swan.
Pickering was waiting for us, having kept vigil alone since midnight.When he saw me carrying Betty from the coach, he ran to us with a cry andsnatched her from my arms. We followed him into the house where we foundhim weeping over the girl, and kissing her hands as she lay on a benchnear the fire.
"What have you been doing? Have you killed my little girl?" he askedsorrowfully.
"I hope not, Pickering," I answered. "She had a fall of not more thaneight or ten feet, and although I fear she is hurt, I am sure the injuryis not serious, as I caught her and broke the fall."
"Let us take her to bed," suggested Frances.
George went to fetch Doctor Price, the surgeon, and I carried Bettyupstairs. I laid her on the bed, and after I had talked a few minuteswith Pickering, explaining to him the events of the night, and tellinghim of Betty's glorious part in our success, I went downstairs to wait inthe tap-room for George and the surgeon.
Presently they came, and George and I followed the surgeon to Betty'sdoor, where we waited in the hallway outside to hear his report.Presently Frances came out to tell us that Betty's injuries were nogreater than a few sprains and bruises, and that the surgeon said shewould be well in a few days.
I could have shouted for joy on hearing the news, but restrained myself,and suggested to Frances that she go at once to her father's house andthat I go to Whitehall to be there before its awakening.
If I learned that the king had been absent during the night, I shouldknow with reasonable certainty that he had been privy to the outrageperpetrated on Frances. If he has been at the palace all night, he mightbe innocent of the crime.
"In neither case will I return to Whitehall," declared Frances,indignantly, when I spoke of the possibility of the king's innocence.
"But you must," I replied insistently. "We must say nothing of yourterrible experience. Publicity of this sort ruins a woman's fair name,but the result in this case would be far more disastrous. Fear will drivethe king to further acts of villainy to protect himself if he learns thatwe suspect him, and your life and mine, as well as George's, may be inperil. I shall go to my bedroom in the Wardrobe, and no one shall knowthat I have not been there all night."
Frances seemed stubborn, but knowing her danger, I continued: "Letus have a conference with your father and your sister. I deem it bestthat we let it be known abroad that you were at your father's house allnight. Since the king did not see you at Merlin House, he may cometo suspect that his agents kidnapped the wrong person. Later on you mayleave court with honor; now you would leave in disgrace. Right or wrong,the king can do no wrong, and even were it known that he had kidnappedyou, every one would laugh at you as the victim of a royal prank. Manywould say that you were willing to be kidnapped, and the court hussieswould rejoice at your downfall."
Frances and George saw the force of my argument, and we agreed to actaccordingl
y, George, of course, having little to do in the premises saveto remain hidden.
In a few minutes Pickering brought us a coach, and Frances and I drove toTemple Bar, where I dismissed the coach and walked with my cousin to herfather's house.
I went in with Frances, and we aroused Sir Richard to tell him of hisdaughter's experience, and of the plan of action agreed upon, though wedid not mention the king's name, leading Sir Richard to believe that wedid not know the guilty persons.
Sir Richard and Sarah readily agreed that secrecy was our only means ofsaving Frances from ruinous publicity. Sarah especially grasped the pointand cleared the situation of all cloud by suggesting:--
"My sister has been here ever since yesterday noon, as my father, JohnChurchill, and I will testify."
That was a very long speech for Sarah, but it was a helpful one. I, too,might add my testimony and thus furnish enough evidence to convince anyreasonable person that Frances had not been kidnapped, but had remainedsafe and well in her father's house through all this terrible night.
Just as soon as our plans were completed, I left my uncle's house andtook another coach for Charing Cross, dismissed the coach, ran down toWhitehall, and climbed over the balcony to my closet, glad to find myselfonce more at home. I did not permit myself to sleep, but rose at theusual hours and was at my post ready for duty when the others arrived.
I soon learned that the king had been away from the palace all night,having left in a coach near the hour of five the preceding afternoon, sothat he must have been not far ahead of George, Betty, and me on the wayto Merlin House. When I learned that he was away, and that I would not beneeded that morning at the Wardrobe, I went to seek Frances.
Before ten o'clock, the hour at which the maids assembled to greet theduchess in her closet, Frances was on hand, looking pale, and explainingthat she had been ill at her father's house over night.
Near the hour of four that afternoon, while I was looking out the window,I saw a coach approach from the direction of Charing Cross, and seemed toknow that the king was in it. I hastened to Frances and told her tostation herself where the king could see her before he went to hiscloset, and perhaps speak to her. I stood near by, and when the kingentered I noticed him start on seeing Frances. When he came up to us, shesmiled and made so deep a courtesy that one would have thought she wasoverjoyed to see him.
The king stopped before us for a moment, saying, "We have had a terriblestorm, baron."
"Indeed we have, your Majesty," I answered, bowing, "though I have not somuch as thrust my head out-of-doors save to go down to Sir Richard'syesterday evening to fetch Mistress Jennings home."
"Did she come--I mean, would she face the storm?" asked the king.
"No, no," answered Frances, laughing. "Why face the storm to return toWhitehall when the king was away? I remained with my father, and was soill that a physician was called at seven o'clock."
"I hope you are well again," said the king.
"Not entirely. But now I shall be," she answered, laughing.
"You mean now that I am at home?" asked the king, shaking his headdoubtfully.
"Yes, your Majesty."
"If your heart were as kind as your tongue, I should be a much happierman than I am."
His Majesty sighed as he turned away, and the expression on his face wasas an open book to me, knowing as I did that he had just failed inperpetrating an act of villainy which would have hanged any other man inEngland.
One of the king's greatest misfortunes was his mouth. He could never keepit closed. A secret seemed to disagree with him, physically and mentally;therefore he relieved himself of it as soon as possible by telling anyone that would listen. Knowing this royal weakness, I was not at allsurprised to learn, two or three days after our adventure, that it wasbeing talked about by the court.
One evening at the queen's ball, my Lady Castlemain, a very cat of awoman, came up to a group consisting of the king, the duchess, Frances,myself, and three or four others who were standing near the king's chair.Elbowing her way to the king, near whom Frances was standing, LadyCastlemain said:--
"Ah, la Belle Jennings, tell us of your adventure Sunday night!"
"Of what adventure, la Belle Castlemain?" asked Frances, smiling sweetly.
"Why, when you were kidnapped and carried to a country house for thenight," returned Castlemain, with a vindictive gleam in her eyes and anangry toss of her head.
"I kidnapped Sunday night?" asked Frances, in well-feigned surprise. "Nosuch romantic adventure has befallen me."
"Yes, kidnapped Sunday night," returned Castlemain, showing her teeth."Of course you were kidnapped! I'm sure nothing would induce so modest alady as the fair Jennings to go of her own free will. She would insist onbeing taken by force. Ha! ha! Force!"
She laughed as though speaking in jest, but her real intent was plain toevery one that heard her. Frances, too, laughed so merrily that one mighthave supposed she considered it all a joke, and her acting was far betterthan Castlemain's.
"But one must keep up an appearance of virtue and must insist on beingkidnapped," said Frances, banteringly. "It not only enhances one's value,but excuses one's fault. All these little subterfuges are necessary untilone reaches a point where one is both brazen and cheap."
Castlemain's life of shame at court had long ceased to be even a matterof gossip, but at this time she was notoriously involved with one JacobHall, a common rope dancer. Therefore my cousin's thrust went home.
"So you admit having been kidnapped?" asked Castlemain, with littleeffort to conceal her vindictiveness.
"Sunday, say you?" asked Frances.
"Yes, Sunday noon, in the public streets, and Sunday night in a countryhouse," returned Castlemain.
"Let me see," said Frances, pausing for a moment to recall what shehad been doing at the time of the supposed kidnapping. Then turningto the Duchess of York, who stood beside her, and who, she felt sure,would catch the hint and help her out, she asked, "Were we not playingat cards in your Grace's parlor Sunday afternoon?"
"Sunday afternoon?" repeated the duchess, quite willing to thwartCastlemain's design. "Yes, my dear, Sunday afternoon. Yes, we began justafter dinner, and it was almost dark when we stopped. Don't you rememberI said, after we had lighted the candles, that I wished my husband couldafford to give me wax in place of tallow?"
We all laughed except the king, who became very much interested, and ofcourse, excepting Castlemain, who was rapidly losing her head in anger.
After the duchess had spoken, the king asked, with as careless an air ashe could assume:--
"At what hour, sister, did Mistress Jennings leave your parlor?"
"I think it was about four o'clock," replied her Grace. "She askedpermission to spend the night with her father, and Baron Clyde calledabout four o'clock to escort her. Was not that the hour, baron?"
"Yes, your Grace," I answered, bowing. "I accompanied my cousin toher father's house, returned later to fetch her back to the palace,but she did not care to face the storm, so I remained till ten o'clock,returned to Whitehall, and slept till morning. Here is another witness,"I continued, laughing, as I turned to John Churchill, who was standingnear the king. "Step forward, Churchill, and testify. I left him makinghis suit to one of the most interesting ladies in London."
The king turned with an inquiring look, and Churchill answered: "Yes,your Majesty, it is all true. I was making my suit until near the hourof eleven, when Mistress Jennings, who was ill, told me it was time togo home. If she was kidnapped Sunday night, it was before five o'clockor after eleven."
I flattered myself that we had all done a neat bit of convincing lying ina good cause.
"Odds fish!" mumbled the king, pulling his chin beard, evidently puzzled.
"Odds fish!" exclaimed Frances, mimicking the king's tone of voice andtwisting an imaginary beard. "Some one has been hoaxing Jacob Hall'sfriend."
It was a bold speech, but Frances carried it off splendidly by turning tothe king and speaking in mo
ck seriousness:--
"Your Majesty should put a check on Rochester and the wags. It is a shameto permit them to work upon the credulity of one who is growing weak inmind by reason of age."
The country girl had vanquished the terror of the court, and all who hadwitnessed the battle rejoiced; that is, all save the king and Castlemain.She glared at Frances, and her face, usually beautiful despite the lackof youth, became hideous with rage. She was making ready for anotherattack of words, if not of finger nails, when the duchess interposed,saying:--
"Evidently some one has been hoaxing you, Lady Castlemain. MistressJennings was not kidnapped Sunday nor any other day. She has been withme constantly of late, excepting Sunday after four o'clock, and she hasaccounted for herself from that time till her return to my closet."
Castlemain was whipped out, so she turned the whole matter off with aforced laugh, saying:--
"It was that fool Rochester who set the rumor afloat."
After standing through an awkward minute or two, Castlemain bowed stifflyto the king and the duchess, turned away from our group, and soon leftthe ballroom.
When Castlemain was gone, we all laughed save the king. Presently he leftus, and I saw him beckon Wentworth and Berkeley to his side. I followedhim as though going to the other side of the gallery, but walked slowlywhen I approached him and the two worthy villains. I was rewarded byhearing his Majesty say:--
"Odds fish! But you made a mess of it! You got the wrong woman! Who inthe devil's name did you pick up?"
I could not stop to hear the rest of this interesting conversation, buttwo days later I heard from Rochester, who had it from Wentworth, thatthe following occurred:--
"We thought we had her," answered Berkeley, nodding towards Frances, "butthe woman wore a full vizard and was wrapped in furs to her ears, so thatwe did not see her face."
"Do you suppose we could have made a mistake?" asked Wentworth.
"You surely did," answered the king. "She has established an alibi. Atwhat hour did you leave Baynard's Castle?"
"Near one o'clock," returned Berkeley.
"One o'clock! She was playing cards with the duchess till four,"exclaimed the king, impatiently. "You picked up the wrong woman. ButI'm glad you did. I suppose the lampooners will get hold of the storyand will set every one laughing at me. Kidnapped the wrong woman andlost her! Odds fish! But you're a pair of wise ones. I see I shall haveto find me a new Lord High Kidnapper."
The king was right concerning the lampooners, for soon they had thestory, and he became the laughing-stock of London, though Frances's namewas not mentioned.
It is a significant index to the morals of our time that the king'sattempt to kidnap a woman in the streets of London should have arousedlaughter rather than indignation.
As it was, the kidnapping episode brought no harm to my cousin, but shedid not want it to happen again, and so was careful to take a trustedescort with her when she went abroad thereafter.