PS When next I send Robert down to the country, I shall send you a copy of that verse of Mr. Pope’s that all the scandal has been about. I think you will find it very amusing, even if the lady’s parents do not.”
Hester ignored the postscript, though its triviality confirmed what everyone had said about Sir Humphrey’s naivety. What had caught her attention was Sir Humphrey’s hint that he had been given a task for the Stuart cause. His attempt at discretion had not been attended with much success. The great event he had spoken of was clearly the restoration of the Stuarts. No one, either knowing him or not, would fail to understand that, which was why the gentleman to whom the letter had been addressed had taken the precaution of omitting both of their names.
The suggestion of sedition was strong enough that she wondered that Mrs. Jamison had been willing to reveal it. Hester looked up with a question in her eyes.
“I don’t suppose I have to explain this letter to you?” Mrs. Jamison asked.
“No. Your brother was fairly open about his loyalties. But do you not fear the mere existence of such a letter—with all that is happening?”
Mrs. Jamison shook her head, and tears appeared in her eyes. “I should, if Humphrey were alive. I should fear for his life, but that has already been taken and his estate has gone away from the direct line. Even if the government should decide to punish our family, they could not take my small fortune, since it came from my husband’s family. They might decide to go after Humphrey’s heir, but as he is such a distant cousin, I doubt that the justices would agree to it. They might be afraid that they would find themselves blamed for their own cousins’ loyalties.”
Mrs. Jamison’s statement contained so much good sense that Hester’s opinion of her rose. But she was still puzzled as to why Mrs. Jamison had shown her the letter.
“You seem such a sensible young woman,” Mrs. Jamison said, “that I thought I might ask you for advice. As I said before, I had thought of showing it to Lord Hawkhurst, but I doubt that he would have been as observant as you that evening.
“Did you notice if my brother occupied himself with anything other than the performance? Did anything occur to make you wonder what he was doing?”
“No.” Hester regretted that she could not be more helpful. “But do you believe that he truly did have a task?”
“What can you mean? He states in his letter that he did.”
“I do not doubt that he believed it to be true. But what if the murderer had given him reason to think he had been called to some duty?”
“Why should he have done such a thing?”
“In order to overcome a concern of your brother’s, which must have posed a danger to the murderer himself. You said that something had been bothering Sir Humphrey, but that it seemed to have resolved itself by the day of the opera.”
Mrs. Jamison mused for a moment. “You could be right. He did seem more than just happy that day. Now that I recollect, it was more that he seemed relieved. Relieved and excited—that was it! It would make sense. But who would have been so cruel as to fool him like that?”
Hester stretched out a hand to cover Mrs. Jamison’s. She could sympathize with lady’s distress. It was horrible to think of poor Sir Humphrey’s being so deceived.
“If it is any comfort,” she said, “I doubt that he ever was aware of the betrayal. If he was conscious of being attacked, he must have thought that he had suffered in his king’s service.”
This notion did provide some consolation for Mrs. Jamison. She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed her eyes with it. “So you think he might have died, believing himself to be a hero?”
“It is highly probable. And, more than that, it is true. He was taking a serious risk for his sovereign when he was killed. So, no matter whether his mission was real or not, his heroism was.” Hester meant this sincerely, but she could not help feeling pain at the thought that Sir Humphrey’s innocence and enthusiasm had been used to lure him to his death. She did not wish to remind his sister of the details of his murder, but instinct told her that the killer had told Sir Humphrey to wait in front of that curtain for something.
More than once she had been confounded by the notion that the murder had hinged so much on chance. If Sir Humphrey had known something dangerous for the murderer, then he would have had to act quickly. And yet, until now, the killer had seemed to rely on luck that he would discover Sir Humphrey in a convenient spot to be killed. Now, this letter made it clear that no such luck had been involved.
Mrs. Jamison thanked her for the comforting notion of her brother’s heroism, saying that she would cherish it. “Now, I suppose that I should take this letter to a magistrate, though I doubt that it will do any good. It does not say enough.”
“No, but every clue will bring us closer to finding out the truth. Would you rather wait, though, until I ask my lord his opinion of the letter?” She did not really believe that Harrowby would have anything useful to add, but he might say that it would not be advisable to draw the government’s attention to Sir Humphrey’s politics. For the moment, at least Hester had something real to question her family about. If the letter was more likely to implicate one of other the gentlemen—Mr. Blackwell, for instance, which again seemed probable—then even her aunt might be brought to remember a useful detail.
Mrs. Jamison agreed that she shouldn’t approach a magistrate until Lord Hawkhurst had seen the letter. She stood to leave, and Hester promised to send her a letter by the Penny Post as soon as she had spoken to Lord Hawkhurst.
She wanted to discuss it with St. Mars, but she didn’t know where he was. She only hoped that he would contact her when he returned from Richmond. She feared more for his safety now than she had since he had escaped from his gaolers, with an almost certain noose about his neck.
No amount of worrying would bring him back to town any faster, though, so she tried to put all thought of his danger out of her head for the night.
This was, as usual, easier said than done.
Chapter Twenty
Heaven’s attribute was Universal Care,
And Man’s prerogative to rule, but spare.
Ah! how unlike the man of times to come!
Of half that live the butcher and the tomb;
Who, foe to Nature, hears the general groan,
Murders their species, and betrays his own.
But just disease to luxury succeeds,
And every death its own avenger breeds;
The Fury-passions from that blood began,
And turned on Man a fiercer savage, Man.
III, iv.
Gideon had returned from Richmond in the wee hours that morning, and had to fret in wait for nightfall again. He could do little but pace like a prisoner during the long daylight hours, but darkness would be essential for him to accost Colonel Potter again.
While he paced, he thought constantly about the Duke of Ormonde’s disappearance. It still made imperfect sense. If, on being indicted, Ormonde had sent James a message, telling him that his time had come, James could possibly have arrived by now, even from so far away as Bar. He would not have hesitated for a moment before rounding up his Irish troops on the French coast and taking ship for England. Gideon had been waiting to take this message to James himself, and it still struck him as strange that Ormonde had not taken advantage of his willingness to carry it.
There was only one place he could go for an explanation of this puzzle this side of France, and that was to Lady Oglethorpe’s house. With most of her daughters at James’s court and deeply involved in the conspiracy, surely she should be one of the first to know what was going on.
He decided not to wait until darkness was complete before seeking her. He had visited Westminster twice in the day without being recognized, and he could do it again.
Besides, he would have to wear a different disguise for his meeting with Colonel Potter. The Colonel was not very likely to allow himself to be attacked by the same brigand twice.
; The streets should be quieter now that the government had read the Riot Act, making rioting a felony, punishable by death. Habeus Corpus had been suspended, so that anyone his Majesty suspected of conspiring against his person could be held without bail. Parliament had voted a series of measures so extreme that, as the Earl of Anglesea had said, they would “make the Scepter shake in the King’s hands.”
Undaunted, King had moved to strengthen the militia and to raise thousands more Dragoons and Foot-Guards. Artillery had been trundled down from the Tower to Hyde Park, and the Horse-Guards had been purged. A proclamation from King George today had instructed every subject to suppress rebellion, giving them the right to combat it without warrant or the presence of legal authority. Even killing would be considered justifiable, and he charged them to suppress any rebels or traitors with the utmost force.
All Papists and non-jurors had been ordered out of London and Westminster and everywhere within a radius of ten miles. They were to remain confined to their habitations, the reason given that the King had received advice that the Pretender was preparing to invade his kingdom.
Given the strength of the Crown’s vigilance, Gideon reckoned that it would be a mistake to behave even the least suspiciously. Boldness would be required. He would do best to approach both houses as if he had every right to be there. As long as he did not let himself be followed home, he ought to be able to come and go safely, provided he saw no one who knew him well.
By nine o’clock that night, when Hester had already bid good night to Mrs. Jamison, he was ready to take a boat to Westminster Stairs. The day had been overcast and the light of dusk was dim enough that his features would not be that easy to perceive, especially when obscured by his garb.
He wore a long, elaborate peruke of chestnut curls, enough paint to turn his whole face white, a dozen patches (which would have made his former valet, Philippe, very happy to see), and the best of Spanish paper on his cheeks. His justaucorps was of a splendid red silk with gold braid. Dressed in a peacock’s garb so different from the style that had been his habit, he defied anyone to know him.
With handkerchief and snuffbox in one hand, he made the picture of a fop on his way to Court, but it would not be rare for such a person to call at the house of a lady on his way St. James’s.
His cover was tried the moment he arrived at the opposite bank, for what should be tied up at the stairs but his father’s barge. He could not tell whether it had just deposited a passenger, but believed not. Samuel, the bargeman looked too much at ease. He seemed rather to have poled himself there to chat with some of the other bargemen about the news that would have spread across the river as quickly it had through the streets.
Gideon was tempted to test the worthiness of his disguise by calling out something Samuel to see if he would recognize him. But his errand was too serious to be risked on a diversion, so Gideon was doubly careful to mince his stride, so that it would not give him away.
Samuel paid him no more mind than he did any other gentleman on the stairs.
Gideon climbed up from the dock, clutching a handkerchief to his nose, as if to filter out the prevailing stench of rotting weeds along the bank, and headed immediately for Lady Oglethorpe’s house.
* * * *
The servant at the door told him that her ladyship was gone to Westbrook Place in Godalming. For a moment, Gideon thought that all his efforts had gone to waste. Then, the man volunteered that Mrs. Anne Oglethorpe was in the house. Gideon asked to see Mrs. Anne, using the same code he had used at Ormonde House.
She received him in her bedchamber, looking pale and eager, and with her skirts rumpled, as if she had just risen from her bed. Gideon no sooner straightened from his bow than she said, in a desperate tone of voice, “Have you come from his Majesty? Is he coming to save my poor Harley?”
Gideon was taken aback, until he realized that she had not seen through his disguise. He revealed himself, and watched the eagerness die in her eyes.
“Then why have you come?” she insisted. “Have you brought us news?”
“No. I had hoped for news myself.”
“Well, you will not find it here—unless you have not heard that my poor Robin is like to lose his head.” She said this with a bitterness that blamed Gideon along with everyone else.
“I heard, and I am sorry. But you must not give up hope. I doubt that the Whigs will have the courage to kill him, when it’s clear how unpopular that would be.”
She scoffed, but his sympathy helped to blunt her sting. “Would to God that you are right! Perhaps it would help if I told them that, if they harm a hair on his head, I shall see them all hanged for the villains they are!”
Gideon could not blame her for having these extreme feelings, so he said nothing to contradict them. Instead, he said, “I had hoped to find your mother here. When did she leave London?”
“Last week. She is working for his Majesty in the country. Government spies are always watching this one, but they cannot see every entrance to Westbrook Place. There are some they will never find.”
“Did Ormonde send her any instructions?”
She looked startled, before her anxiety built into a frown. “Instructions for what? What is happening?”
Gideon felt his last bit of hope sinking. It plunged as heavily as lead through water. He was stunned by the enormity of his disappointment. Until this moment, he had not realized how much he had pinned his hopes on James’s cause. He had tried not to let himself be led by promises of things which might never come to pass, and to keep his own goals divorced from his judgment about the rightness of James’s cause. But apparently, even agreeing to act for the Pretender in the most minor of ways had drawn him in, in a way that he had never intended, and his deepest wants, for lack of any other prospects, had firmly linked themselves to James’s hopes.
Anne had watched the play of these emotions across his face. Now she demanded to be told the meaning of his question.
“Ormonde is not at Richmond.” He began cautiously in order to spare her the most possible shock. “Last night, after I heard about Lord Oxford’s arrest, I rode there to see him. But none of the family was at the Lodge. I thought he might have sent word to Lady Oglethorpe or to someone who might have told her where he’s gone.”
Her face lit with a desperate gleam. “He’s gone to Bristol! To lead the rising! That must be the reason that Bolingbroke has gone to Paris. His Majesty is finally coming!”
Then, before Gideon could caution her against this hope, her excitement vanished just as suddenly, as confusion spread across her face. “But if he had, then surely we would have heard. Someone would have told Maman, and she would have sent a messenger to me.”
Her gaze had moved to the floor as she tried to reason through her perplexity. Now she raised it, as dread set in.
“You do not think he is gone to Bristol,” she said, with a brittle edge. “And he is certainly not returned to London, or I should have heard. His servants would tell you nothing?”
Gideon tried to withhold his sigh. “They told my man that Ormonde went to Shoreham in Sussex.”
He thought he had prepared himself for the vehemence of her reaction, but nothing could have readied him for this. She stood frozen for many seconds, while his implication sank into her mind. Then, she let out a shriek of anger and grief that would have shaken the windows in their glazings, if its note had only been deeper.
She put both hands in her hair and pulled, so that her physical pain would match her emotions. And as she walked, or rather stumbled about the room, she cursed Ormonde with all her might.
“The coward!” she screamed, with no regard for the servants’ ears. “He’s run! And left my poor Robin to die! I shall kill him with my own two hands if anything happens to Harley!”
Gideon wanted to offer her comfort, but there was nothing that he could say to ameliorate the truth. It was true that Oxford was the only one left of the former Tory ministry to have stayed to face trial. First Bolingbroke, an
d now Ormonde had fled. Lord Oxford’s only hope must have been that the rising would save him from the axe.
Gideon urged Anne to sit down in a chair, before he went to call her maid. By the time the woman arrived, the worst of Anne’s tantrum had played out. Then she cried until drained of all feeling, after which Little Fury, as she was also called, docilely accepted the concoction her maid gave her to drink.
She seemed no longer aware of Gideon’s presence, so after making certain that she was in better hands than his, he left, glad only that his disappointment had not been as painful as hers.
* * * *
He took a chair to Covent Garden. He would rather have walked, but after his confrontation with Anne, he would have found it hard to mince his steps, and disguise was crucial now.
Darkness had finally fallen, but he would need every advantage that surprise could bring to be able to approach Colonel Potter again. And he doubted his ability to maintain the character of a fop for very long. Acting had never been his talent.
Unfortunately, he learned that chairmen, who were often drunk and insolent, were worse than insolent to fops. From the beginning of the ride, these two made no effort to spare him bumps. They staggered and nearly dropped him twice. Then they set him down several streets short of the piazza and tipped him out, before trying to extort a greater fare than they had earned.
Gideon would not agree to be bullied, even to maintain his disguise. When the two drunken brutes tried to frighten the sum out of him, he dropped his affectation and gave them to understand that if they did not give up, he would relieve them of the few miserable teeth remaining in their heads. It cost him a few minutes and a brief scuffle before the change in his demeanour sank in, but once it did, he paid them their due and no more and watched them slink off.
They had deposited him in the Strand at the opening to a dismal alley, where they had obviously expected to find his courage low. The night was dark, and thick clouds obscured sky.
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