Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  “Who takes the air with me?” she cried. “I choose Captain Maclean. He is the newest of you, and can tell me the latest scandal of Versailles.”

  It was like an equipage fashioned out of Chelsea porcelain, and as Alastair took his place beside her, with his knees under a driving cloth of embroidered silk, he felt more than ever the sense of taking part in a play. She whipped up the ponies and they trotted out of the wrought-iron gates, which bounded the pleasance, into the wide spaces of the park. Her talk, which at first had been the agreeable prattle of dinner, to which he responded with sufficient ease, changed gradually to interrogatories. With some disquiet he realised that she was drifting towards politics.

  “What do they think in France of the young man’s taste in womankind?” she asked.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “The Prince — Charles Stuart — the Chevalier. What of Jenny Cameron?”

  “We heard nothing of her in Paris, madam. You should be the better informed, for he has been some months on British soil.”

  “Tush, we hear no truth from the North. But they say that she never leaves him, that she shares his travelling carriage. Is she pretty, I wonder? Dark or fair?”

  “That I cannot tell, but, whatever they be, her charms must be mature. I have heard on good authority that she is over forty years old.”

  It did not need the Duchess’s merry laughter to tell him that he had been guilty of a bêtise. He blushed furiously.

  “La, sir,” she cried, “you are ungallant. That is very much my own age, and the world does not call me matronly. I had thought you a courtier, but I fear — I gravely fear — you are an honest man.”

  They were now on the west side of the park, where a road led downhill past what had once been a quarry, but was now carved into a modish wilderness. The scarps of stone had been fashioned into grottos and towers and fantastic pinnacles; shrubs had been planted to make shapely thickets; springs had been turned to cascades or caught in miniature lakes. The path wound through midget Alps, which were of the same scale and quality as the chaise and the cream ponies and the shepherdess Duchess.

  “We call this spot Eden,” she said. “There are many things I would fain ask you, sir, but I remember the consequence of Eve’s inquisitiveness and forbear. The old Eden had a door and beyond that door lay the desert. It is so here.”

  They turned a corner by the edge of a small lake and came on a stout palisade which separated the park from Wychwood Forest. Through the high deer-gate Alastair looked on a country the extreme opposite of the enclosed paradise. The stream, which in the park was regulated like a canal, now flowed in rough shallows or spread into morasses. Scrub clothed the slopes, scrub of thorn and hazel and holly, with now and then an ancient oak flinging gnarled arms against the sky. In the bottom were bracken and the withered blooms of heather, where bees still hummed. The eye looked up little glens towards distant ridges to which the blue October haze gave the air of high hills.

  As Alastair gazed at the scene he saw again his own country-side. These were like the wild woods that cloaked Loch Sunart side, the wind brought him the same fragrance of heath and fern, he heard the croak of a raven, a knot of hinds pushed from the coppice and plashed through a marshy shallow. For a second his eyes filled with tears.

  He found the Duchess’s hand on his. It was a new Duchess, with grave kind face and no hint of petulance at her lips or artifice in her voice.

  “I brought you here for a purpose, sir,” she said. “You have before you two worlds — the enclosed garden and the wild beyond. The wild is yours, by birthright and training and choice. Beyond the pale is Robin Hood’s land, where men adventure. Inside is a quiet domain where they make verses and read books and cherish possessions — my brother’s land. Does my parable touch you?”

  “The two worlds are one, madam — one in God’s sight.”

  “In God’s sight, maybe, but not in man’s. I will be plainer still with you. I do not know your business, nor do I ask it, for you are my brother’s friend. But he is my darling and I fear a threat to his peace as a mother-partridge fears the coming of a hawk. Somehow — I ask no questions — you would persuade him to break bounds and leave his sanctuary for the wilds. It may be the manlier choice, but oh, sir, it is not for him. He is meant for the garden. His health is weak, his spirit is most noble but too fine for the clash of the rough world. In a year he would be in his grave.”

  Alastair, deeply perplexed, made no answer. He could not lie to this woman, nor could he make a confidante of the wife of Queensberry.

  “Pardon me if I embarrass you,” she went on. “I do not ask a reply. Your secrets would be safe with me, but if you told me them I should stop my ears. For politics I care nothing, I know nothing. I speak on a brother’s behalf, and my love for him makes me importunate. I tell you that he is made for the pleasance, not for the wilderness. Will you weigh my words?”

  “I will weigh them most scrupulously. Lord Cornbury is blessed in his sister.”

  “I am all he has, for he never could find a wife to his taste.” She whipped up the ponies and her voice changed to its old lightness. “La, sir, we must hasten. The gentlemen will be clamouring for tea.”

  In the great gallery, among more Vandykes and Knellers and Lelys and panels of Mortlake tapestry, the company sipped tea and chocolate. The Duchess made tea with her own hands, and the bright clothes and jewels gleaming in the dusk against dim pictures had once more the airy unreality of a dream. But Alastair’s mood had changed. He no longer felt imprisoned among potent shadows, for the glimpse he had had of his own familiar country had steadied his balance. He saw the life he had chosen in fairer colours, the life of toil and hazard and enterprise, in contrast with this airless ease. The blood ran quicker in his veins for the sight of a drugged and sleeping world. Ancient possessions, the beauty of women, the joy of the senses were things to be forsworn before they could be truly admired. Now he looked graciously upon what an hour ago had irked him.

  When the candles were lit and the curtains drawn the scene grew livelier. The pretty Lady Mary, sitting under the Kneller portrait of her mother, was a proof of the changelessness of beauty. A pool was made at commerce, in which all joined, and the Duchess’s childlike laughter rippled through the talk like a trout-stream. She was in her wildest mood, the incomparable Kitty whom for thirty years every poet had sung. The thing became a nursery party, where discretion was meaningless, and her irreverent tongue did not refrain from politics. She talked of the Stuarts.

  “They intermarried with us,” she cried, “so I can speak as a kinswoman. A grave dutiful race — they were, tragically misunderstood. If their passions were fierce, they never permitted them to bias their statecraft.”

  A portrait of Mary of Scots hung above her as she spoke. Mr Murray cast a quizzical eye upon it.

  “Does your summary embrace that ill-fated lady?” he asked.

  “She above all. Her frailties were not Stuart but Tudor. Consider Harry the Eighth. He had passions like other monarchs, but instead of keeping mistresses he must marry each successive love, and as a consequence cut off the head of the last one. His craze was not for amours but for matrimony. So, too, with his sister Margaret. So, too, with his great-niece Mary. She might have had a hundred lovers and none would have gainsaid her, but the mischief came when she insisted on wedding them. No! No! What ruined the fortunes of my kinsfolk was not the Stuart blood but the Tudor — the itch for lawful wedlock which came in with the Welsh bourgeoisie.”

  “Your Grace must rewrite the histories,” said Mr Murray, laughing.

  “I have a mind to. But my Harry will bear me witness. The Stuart stock is sad and dutiful. Is not that the character of him who now calls himself the rightful King of England?”

  “So I have heard it said,” Lord Cornbury answered, but the eyes which looked at his sister were disapproving.

  The ladies went early to bed, after nibbling a sweet biscuit and sipping a glass of negus. Supper was laid for
the gentlemen in the dining-room, and presently Mr Murray, Mr Kyd and Sir Christopher Lacy were seated at a board which they seemed to have no intention of leaving. Alastair excused himself on the plea of fatigue, and lit a bedroom candle. “I will come to your room,” his host whispered as they crossed the hall. “Do not undress. We will talk in my little cabinet.”

  The young man flung himself into a chair, and collected his thoughts. He had been chosen for this mission, partly because of his address and education, but mainly because of the fierce ardour which he had hitherto shown in the Prince’s cause. He knew that much hung on his success, for Cornbury, though nothing of a soldier and in politics no more than Member of Parliament for the University of Oxford, was so beloved that his adherence would be worth a regiment. He knew his repute. Such a man could not quibble in matters of principle; the task was rather to transform apathy into action. He remembered the Duchess’s words — honest words, doubtless, but not weighty. Surely in so great a test of honour a man could not hesitate because his health was weak or his home dear to him.

  There was a knock at the door and Lord Cornbury entered with a silk dressing-gown worn over his clothes. He looked round the room with his sad restless eyes.

  “Here Lord Leicester died — Elizabeth’s favourite. They say that when the day of his death comes round his spirit may be heard tapping at the walls. It is a commentary on mortal ambition, Captain Maclean. Come with me to my cabinet. Mr Solicitor is gone to bed, for he is ready enough for an all-night sitting at St. James’s among the wits, but has no notion of spoiling his sleep by potations among bumpkins. Kit Lacy and Mr Kyd will keep it up till morning, but happily they are at the other end of the house.”

  He led the way down a narrow staircase to a little room on the ground floor, which had for its other entrance a door giving on a tiny paved garden. It was lined with books and a small fire had been lit on the hearth.

  “Here we shall be secure, for I alone have the keys,” Lord Cornbury said, taking a seat by a bureau where the single lamp was behind his head. “You have something private for my ear? I must tell you, sir, I have been plagued for many months by portentous secret emissaries. There was my lord Clancarty, a Cyclops with one eye and a shocking perruque, who seemed to me not wholly in possession of his wits. There was a Scotch gentleman — Bahaldy — Bohaldy — whom I suspected of being a liar. There was Traquair, whose speech rang false in every stutter. They and their kind were full of swelling words, but they were most indisputably fools. You are not of their breed, sir. From you I look for candour and good sense. What have you to say to me?”

  “One thing only, my lord. From me you will get no boasts or promises. I bring you a summons.”

  Alastair took from his breast a letter. Lord Cornbury broke the seal and revealed a page of sprawling irregular handwriting, signed at the foot with the words “Charles P.” He read it with attention, read it again, and then looked at the messenger.

  “His Royal Highness informs me that I will be ‘inexcusable before God and men’ if I fail him. For him that is a natural opinion. Now, sir, before answering this appeal, I have certain questions to ask you. You come from the Prince’s army, and you are in the secrets of his Cabinet. You are also a soldier. I would hear from you the Prince’s strength.”

  “He can cross the Border with not less than five thousand horse and foot.”

  “Highlanders?”

  “In the main, which means the best natural fighting stock in this land. They have already shown their prowess against Cope’s regulars. There are bodies of Lowland horse with Elcho and Pitsligo.”

  “And your hopes of increment?”

  “More than half the clans are still to raise. Of them we are certain. There are accessions to be looked for from the Lowlands. In England we have promises from every quarter — from Barrymore, Molyneux, Grosvenor, Fenwick, Petre, Cholmondeley, Leigh, Curzon in the North; from the Duke of Beaufort and Sir Watkin Wynn in the West. Likewise large sums of money are warranted from the city of London.”

  “You speak not of sympathy only, but of troops? Many are no doubt willing to drink His Royal Highness’s health.”

  “I speak of troops. There is also the certain aid from France. In this paper, my lord, you will find set down the numbers and dates of troops to be dispatched before Christmas. Some are already on the way — Lord John Drummond with his regiment of Royal Ecossais and certain Irish companies from the French service.”

  “And you have against you?”

  “In Scotland — nothing. In England at present not ten thousand men. Doubtless they will make haste to bring back troops from abroad, but before that we hope to conquer. His Royal Highness’s plan is clear. He seeks as soon as possible to win a victory in England. In his view the land is for the first comer. The nation is indifferent and will yield to boldness. I will be honest with you, my lord. He hopes also to confirm the loyalty of France for it is certain that if his arms triumph but once on English soil, the troops of King Louis will take the sea.”

  The other mused. “It is a bold policy, but it may be a wise one. I would raise one difficulty. You have omitted from your calculation the British Fleet.”

  Alastair shrugged his shoulders. “It is our prime danger, but we hope with speed and secrecy to outwit it.”

  “I have another objection. You are proposing to conquer England with a foreign army. I say not a word against the valour of your Highland countrymen, but to English eyes they are barbarous strangers. And France is the ancient enemy.”

  “Then, my lord, it is a strife of foreigner against foreigner. Are King George’s Dutch and Danes and Hessians better Englishmen than the Prince’s men? Let England abide the issue, and join the victor.”

  “You speak reasonably, I do not deny it. Let me ask further. Has any man of note joined your standard?”

  “Many Scots nobles, though not the greatest. But Hamilton favours us, and there are grounds for thinking that even the Whig dukes, Argyll and Montrose and Queensberry, are soured with the Government. It is so in England, my lord. Bedford . . .”

  “I know, I know. All are waiting on the tide. But meantime His Royal Highness’s Cabinet is a rabble of Irishmen. Is it not so? I do not like to have Teague in the business, sir, and England does not like it.”

  “Then come yourself, my lord.”

  Lord Cornbury smiled. “I have not finished my questions. What of his Royal Highness’s religion? I take it that it is the same as your own.”

  “He has already given solemn pledges for liberty and toleration. Many Presbyterians of the straitest sect are in his camp. Be sure, my lord, that he will not be guilty of his grandfather’s blunder.”

  Lord Cornbury rose and stood with his back to the fire.

  “You are still in the military stage, where your first duty is a victory in the field. What does His Royal Highness wish me to do? I am no soldier, I could not raise a dozen grooms and foresters. I do not live in Sir Watkin’s county, where you can blow a horn and summon a hundred rascals. Here in Oxfordshire we are peaceable folk.”

  “He wants you in his Council. I am no lover of the Irish, and there is sore need of statesmanship among us.”

  “Say you want me for an example.”

  “That is the truth, my lord.”

  “And, you would add, for statecraft. Then let us look at the matter with a statesman’s eye. You say truly that England does not love her Government. She is weary of foreign wars, and an alien Royal house, and gross taxes, and corruption in high places. She is weary, I say, but she will not stir to shift the burden. You are right; she is for the first comer. You bring a foreign army and it will fight what in the main is a foreign army, so patriotic feeling is engaged on neither side. If you win, the malcontents, who are the great majority, will join you, and His Royal Highness will sit on the throne of his fathers. If you fail, there is no loss except to yourselves, for the others are not pledged. Statesmanship, sir, is an inglorious thing, for it must consider first the fortunes of the
common people. No statesman has a right to risk these fortunes unless he be reasonably assured of success. Therefore I say to you that England must wait, and statesmen must wait with England, till the issue is decided. That issue still lies with the soldiers. I cannot join His Royal Highness at this juncture, for I could bring no aid to his cause and I might bring needless ruin to those who depend on me. My answer might have been otherwise had I been a soldier.”

  A certain quiet obstinacy had entered the face which was revealed in profile by the lamp on the bureau. The voice had lost its gentle indeterminateness and rang crisp and clear. Alastair had knowledge enough of men to recognise finality. He made his last effort.

  “Are considerations of policy the only ones? You and I share the same creeds, my lord. Our loyalty is owed to the House which has the rightful succession, and we cannot in our obedience to God serve what He has not ordained. Is it not your duty to fling prudence to the winds and make your election before the world, for right is right whether we win or lose.”

  “For some men maybe,” said the other sadly, “but not for me. I am in that position that many eyes are turned on me and in my decision I must consider them. If your venture fails, I desire that as few Englishmen as possible suffer for it, it being premised that for the moment only armed men can help it to success. Therefore I wait, and will counsel waiting to all in like position. Beaufort can bring troops, and in God’s name I would urge him on, and from the bottom of my heart I pray for the Prince’s welfare.”

  “What will decide you, then?”

  “A victory on English soil. Nay, I will go farther. So soon as His Royal Highness is in the way of that victory, I will fly to his side.”

  “What proof will you require?”

  “Ten thousand men south of Derby on the road to London, and the first French contingent landed.”