Mistress Wilding

by Rafael Sabatini

  CHAPTER XVI. PLOTS AND PLOTTERS

  Mr. Wilding left Monmouth's army at Lyme on Sunday, the 14th ofJune, and rejoined it at Bridgwater exactly three weeks later. In themeanwhile a good deal had happened, yet the happenings on every hand hadfallen far short of the expectations aroused in Mr. Wilding's mind,now by one circumstance, now by another. In reaching London he hadexperienced no difficulty. Men travelling in that direction were notsubjected to the scrutiny that fell to the share of those travellingfrom it towards the West, or, rather, to the scrutiny ordained by theGovernment; for Wilding had more than one opportunity of observinghow very lax and indifferent were the constables andtything-men--particularly in Somerset and Wiltshire--in the performanceof this duty. Wayfarers were questioned as a matter of form, but in nocase did Wilding hear of any one being detained upon suspicion. Thiswas calculated to raise his drooping hopes, pointing as it did to thegeneral favouring of Monmouth that was toward. He grew less despondenton the score of the Duke's possible ultimate success, and he came tohope that the efforts he went to exert would not be fruitless.

  But rude were the disappointments that awaited him in town. London, likethe rest of the country, was not ready. There were not wanting men whofavoured Monmouth; but no rising had been organized, and the Duke'spartisans were not disposed to rashness.

  Wilding lodged at Covent Garden, in a house recommended to him byColonel Danvers, and there--an outlaw himself--he threw himself with awill into his task. He heard of the burning of Monmouth's Declaration bythe common hangman at the Royal Exchange, and of the bill passed bythe Commons to make it treason for any to assert that Lucy Walters wasmarried to the late King. He attended meetings at the "Bull's Head,"in Bishopsgate, where he met Disney and Danvers, Payton and Lock; butthough they talked and argued at prodigious length, they did naughtbesides. Danvers, who was their hope in town, definitely refused to havea hand in anything that was not properly organized, and in common withthe others urged that they should wait until Cheshire had risen, as wasreported that it must.

  Meanwhile, troops had gone west under Kirke and Churchill, and theParliament had voted nearly half a million for the putting down of therebellion. London was flung into a fever of excitement by the newsthat was reaching it. The position was not quite as Monmouth'sadvisers--before coming over from Holland--had represented that it wouldbe. They had thought that out of fear of tumults about his own person,King James would have been compelled to keep near him what troops hehad, sparing none to be sent against Monmouth. This, King James had notdone; he had all but emptied London of soldiery, and, considering thegeneral disaffection, no moment could have been more favourable thanthis for a rising in London itself. The confusion that must haveresulted from the recalling of troops would have given Monmouth notonly a mighty grip of the West, but would have heartened those who--likeSunderland himself--were sitting on the wall, to declare themselves forthe Protestant Champion. This Wilding saw, and almost frenziedly did heurge it upon Danvers that all London needed at the moment was a resoluteleader. But the Colonel still held back; indeed, he had neither truthnor valour; he was timid, and used deceit to mask his timidity; he urgedfrivolous reasons for inaction, and when Wilding waxed impatient withhim, he suggested that Wilding himself should head the rising if he wereso confident of its success. And Wilding would have done it but that,being unknown in London, he had no reason to suppose that men wouldflock to him if he raised the Duke's banner.

  Later, when the excitement grew and rumours ran through town thatMonmouth had now a following of twenty thousand men and that the King'sforces were falling back before him, and discontent was rife at thecommissioning of Catholic lords to levy troops, Wilding again pressedthe matter upon Danvers. Surely no moment could be more propitious.But again he received the same answer, that Danvers had lacked time toorganize matters sufficiently; that the Duke's coming had taken him bysurprise.

  Lastly came the news that Monmouth had been crowned at Taunton amid thewildest enthusiasm, and that there were now in England two men eachof whom called himself King James the Second. This was the excusethat Danvers needed to be rid of a business he had not the courage totransact to a finish. He swore that he washed his hands of Monmouth'saffairs; that the latter had broken faith with him and the promisehe had made him in having himself proclaimed King. He protested thatMonmouth had done ill, and prophesied that his act would alienate fromhim the numerous republicans who, like Danvers, had hitherto looked tohim for the country's salvation. Wilding himself was appalled at thenews for Monmouth was indeed going further than men had been given tounderstand. Nevertheless, for his own sake, in very self-defence now,if out of no motives of loyalty to the Duke, he must urge forward thefortunes of this man. He had high words with Danvers, and the two mighthave quarrelled before long but for the sudden arrest of Disney, whichthrew Danvers into such a panic that he fled incontinently, abandoningin body, as he already appeared to have abandoned in spirit, theMonmouth Cause.

  The arrest of Disney struck a chill into Wilding. From his lodging atCovent Garden he had communicated cautiously with Sunderland a few daysafter his arrival, building upon certain information he had receivedfrom the Duke at parting as to Sunderland's attachment to the Cause. Hehad carefully chosen his moment for making this communication, havinga certain innate mistrust of a man who so obviously as Sunderland wasrunning with the hare and hunting with the hounds. He had sent a letterto the Secretary of State when London was agog with the Axminsteraffair, and the tale--of which Sir Edward Phelips wrote to ColonelBerkeley as "the shamefullest story that you ever heard"--of howAlbemarle's forces and the Somerset militia had run before Monmouth inspite of their own overwhelming numbers. This promised ill for James,particularly when it was perceived as perceived it was--that thisrunning away was not all cowardice, not all "the shamefullest story"that Phelips accounted it. It was an expression of good-will towardsMonmouth on the part of the militia of the West, and it was confidentlyexpected that the next news would be that these men who had decampedbefore him would presently be found to have ranged themselves under hisbanner.

  Sunderland had given no sign that he had received Wilding'scommunication. And Wilding drew his own contemptuous conclusions of theSecretary of State's cautious policy. It was a fortnight later--whenLondon was settling down again from the diversion of excitement createdby the news of Argyle's defeat in Scotland--before Mr. Wilding attemptedto approach Sunderland again. He awaited a favourable opportunity, andthis he had when London was thrown into consternation by the alarmingnews of the Duke of Somerset's urgent demand for reinforcements. Unlesshe had them, he declared, the whole country was lost, as he could notget the militia to stand, whilst Lord Stawell's regiment were all fledand mostly gone over to the rebels at Bridgwater.

  This was grave news, but it was followed in a few days by graver. Theaffair at Philips Norton was exaggerated by report into a wholesaledefeat of the loyal army, and it was reported--on, apparently, such goodauthority that it received credence in quarters that might have waitedfor official news--that the Duke of Albemarle had been slain by themilitia which had mutinied and deserted to Monmouth.

  It was while this news was going round that Sunderland--in a moment ofpanic--at last vouchsafed an answer to Mr. Wilding's letters, and hevouchsafed it in person, just as Wilding--particularly since Disney'sarrest--was beginning to lose all hope. He came one evening to Mr.Wilding's lodgings in Covent Garden, unattended and closely muffled, andhe remained closeted with the Duke's ambassador for nigh upon an hour,at the end of which he entrusted Mr. Wilding with a letter for the Duke,very brief but entirely to the point, which expressed him Monmouth'smost devoted servant.

  "You may well judge, sir," he had said at parting, "that this is notsuch a letter as I should entrust to any man."

  Mr. Wilding had bowed gravely, and gravely he had expressed himselfsensible of the exceptional honour his lordship did him by such a trust.

  "And I depend upon you, sir, as you are a man of honour, to take suchmeasures as will
ensure against its falling into any but the hands forwhich it is intended."

  "As I am a man of honour, you may depend upon me," Mr. Wilding solemnlypromised. "Will your lordship give me three lines above your signaturethat will save me from molestation; thus you will facilitate thepreservation of this letter."

  "I had already thought of that," was Sunderland's answer, and he placedbefore Mr. Wilding three lines of writing signed and sealed whichenjoined all, straitly, in the King's name to suffer the bearer to passand repass and to offer him no hindrance.

  On that they shook hands and parted, Sunderland to return to Whitehalland his obedience to the King James whom he was ready to betray assoon as he saw profit for himself in the act, Mr. Wilding to return toSomerset to the King James in whom his faith was scant, indeed, but withwhom his fortunes were irrevocably bound up.

  Meanwhile, Monmouth was back in Bridgwater, his second occupationof which town was not being looked upon with unmixed favour. Theinhabitants had suffered enough already from his first visit; his returnthere, after the Philips Norton affair of which such grossly exaggeratedreports had reached London, and which, in point of fact, had been littlebetter than a drawn battle--had been looked upon with dread by some,with disfavour by others, and with dismay by not a few who viewed inthis an augury of failure.

  Now Sir Rowland Blake, who since his pursuit of Mr. Wilding andTrenchard on the occasion of their flight from Taunton had--in spiteof his failure on that occasion--been more or less in the service ofAlbemarle and the loyal army, saw in this indisposition towards Monmouthof so many of Bridgwater's inhabitants great possibilities of profit tohimself.

  He was at Lupton House, the guest of his friend Richard Westmacott, andthe open suitor of Ruth, entirely ignoring the circumstance that she wasnominally the wife of Mr. Wilding--this to the infinite chagrin of MissHorton, who saw all her scheming likely to go for nothing.

  In his heart of hearts it was a matter of not the slightest consequenceto Sir Rowland whether James Stuart or James Scott occupied the throneof England. His own affairs gave him more than enough to think of, andthese disturbances in the West were very welcome to him, since theyrendered difficult any attempt to trace him on the part of his Londoncreditors. It happens, however, very commonly that enmity to anindividual will lead to enmity to the cause which that individualespouses. Thus may it have been with Sir Rowland. His hatred of Wildingand his keen desire to see Wilding destroyed had made him a zealouspartisan of the loyal cause. Richard Westmacott, easily swayed andoverborne by the town rake, whose vices made him seem to Richard theembodiment of all that is splendid and enviable in man, had becomepractically the baronet's tool, now that he had abandoned Monmouth'sCause. Sir Rowland had not considered it beneath the dignity of his nameand station to discharge in Bridgwater certain functions that made himmore or less a spy. And so reliable had been the information he had sentFeversham and Albemarle during Monmouth's first occupation of the town,that he had won by now their complete confidence.

  The second occupation and its unpopularity with many of those whoearlier--if lukewarm--had been partisans of the Duke, swelled the numberof loyally inclined people in Bridgwater, and suddenly inspiredSir Rowland with a scheme by which at a blow he might snuff out therebellion.

  This scheme involved the capture of the Duke, and the reward of successshould mean far more to Blake than the five thousand pounds at which thevalue of the Duke's head had already been fixed by Parliament. He neededa tool for this, and he even thought of Westmacott and Lupton House, butafterwards preferred a Mr. Newlington, who was in better case to assisthim. This Newlington, an exceedingly prosperous merchant and one of therichest men perhaps in the whole West of England, looked with extremedisfavour upon Monmouth, whose advent had paralyzed his industries to anextent that was costing him a fine round sum of money weekly.

  He was now in alarm lest the town of Bridgwater should be made topay dearly for having harboured the Protestant Duke--he had no faithwhatever in the Protestant Duke's ultimate prevailing--and that he,as one of the town's most prominent and prosperous citizens, mightbe amongst the heaviest sufferers in spite of his neutrality. Thisneutrality he observed because it was hardly safe in that disaffectedtown for a man to proclaim himself a loyalist.

  To him Sir Rowland expounded his audacious plan... He sought out themerchant in his handsome mansion on the night of that Friday which hadwitnessed Monmouth's return, and the merchant, honoured by the visit ofthis gallant--ignorant as he was of the gentleman's fame in town--placedhimself entirely and instantly at his disposal, though the hour waslate. Sounding him carefully, and finding the fellow most amenableto any scheme that should achieve the salvation of his purse andindustries, Blake boldly laid his plan before him. Startled at first,Mr. Newlington upon considering it became so enthusiastic that he hailedSir Rowland as his deliverer, and heartily promised his cooperation.Indeed, it was Mr. Newlington who was, himself, to take the first step.

  Well pleased with his evening's work, Sir Rowland went home to LuptonHouse and to bed. In the morning he broached the matter to Richard. Hehad all the vanity of the inferior not only to lessen the appearance ofhis inferiority, but to clothe himself in a mantle of importance; and itwas this vanity urged him to acquaint Richard with his plans in the verypresence of Ruth.

  They had broken their fast, and they still lingered in the dining-room,the largest and most important room in Lupton House. It was cool andpleasant here in contrast to the heat of the July sun, which, followingupon the late wet weather, beat fiercely on the lawn, the window-doorsto which stood open. The cloth had been raised, and Diana and her motherhad lately left the room. Ruth, in the window-seat, at a small ovaltable, was arranging a cluster of roses in an old bronze bowl. SirRowland, his stiff short figure carefully dressed in a suit of browncamlet, his fair wig very carefully curled, occupied a tall-backedarmchair near the empty fireplace. Richard, perched on the table's edge,swung his shapely legs idly backwards and forwards and cogitated upon apretext to call for a morning draught of last October's ale.

  Ruth completed her task with the roses and turned her eyes upon herbrother.

  "You are not looking well, Richard," she said, which was true enough,for much hard drinking was beginning to set its stamp on Richard, andyoung as he was, his insipidly fair face began to display a bloatednessthat was exceedingly unhealthy.

  "Oh, I am well enough," he answered almost peevishly, for theseallusions to his looks were becoming more frequent than he savoured.

  "Gad!" cried Sir Rowland's deep voice, "you'll need to be well. I havework for you to-morrow, Dick."

  Dick did not appear to share his enthusiasm. "I am sick of the work youdiscover for us, Rowland," he answered ungraciously.

  But Blake showed no resentment. "Maybe you'll find the present task moreto your taste. If it's deeds of derring-do you pine for, I am the manto satisfy you." He smiled grimly, his bold grey eyes glancing across atRuth, who was observing him, listening.

  Richard sneered, but offered him no encouragement to proceed.

  "I see," said Blake, "that I shall have to tell you the whole storybefore you'll credit me. Shalt have it, then. But..." and he checked onthe word, his face growing serious, his eye wandering to the door, "Iwould not have it overheard--not for a king's ransom," which was moreliterally true than he may have intended it to be.

  Richard looked over his shoulder carelessly at the door.

  "We have no eavesdroppers," he said, and his voice bespoke his contemptof the gravity of this news of which Sir Rowland made so much inanticipation. He was acquainted with Sir Rowland's ways, and theimportance of them. "What are you considering?" he inquired.

  "To end the rebellion," answered Blake, his voice cautiously lowered.

  Richard laughed outright. "There are several others consideringthat--notably His Majesty King James, the Duke of Albemarle, and theEarl of Feversham. Yet they don't appear to achieve it."

  "It is in that particular," said Blake complacently, "that I shalldiffe
r from them." He turned to Ruth, eager to engage her in theconversation, to flatter her by including her in the secret. Knowing theloyalist principles she entertained, he had no reason to fear that hisplans could other than meet her approval. "What do you say, MistressRuth?" Presuming upon his friendship with her brother, he had taken tocalling her by that name in preference to the other which he could notbring himself to give her. "Is it not an object worthy of a gentleman'sendeavour?"

  "If you can save so many poor people from encompassing their ruin byfollowing that rash young man the Duke of Monmouth, you will indeed bedoing a worthy deed."

  Blake rose, and made her a leg. "Madam," said he, "had aught beenwanting to cement my resolve, your words would supply it to me. My planis simplicity itself. I propose to capture Monmouth and his principalagents, and deliver them over to the King. And that is all."

  "A mere nothing," croaked Richard.

  "Could more be needed?" quoth Blake. "Once the rebel army is deprived ofits leaders it will melt and dissolve of itself. Once the Duke is in thehands of his enemies there will be nothing left to fight for. Is it notshrewd?"

  "You are telling us the object rather than the plan," Ruth reminded him."If the plan is as good as the object..."

  "As good?" he echoed, chuckling. "You shall judge." And briefly hesketched for her the springe he was setting with the help of Mr.Newlington. "Newlington is rich; the Duke is in straits for money.Newlington goes to-day to offer him twenty thousand pounds; and the Dukeis to do him the honour of supping at his house to-morrow night to fetchthe money. It is a reasonable request for Mr. Newlington to make underthe circumstances, and the Duke cannot--dare not refuse it."

  "But how will that advance your project?" Ruth inquired, for Blake hadpaused again, thinking that the rest must be obvious.

  "In Mr. Newlington's orchard I propose to post a score or so of men,well armed. Oh! I shall run no risks of betrayal by engaging Bridgwaterfolk. I'll get the fellows I need from General Feversham. We takeMonmouth at supper, as quietly as may be, with what gentlemen happen tohave accompanied him. We bind and gag the Duke, and we convey him withall speed and quiet out of Bridgwater. Feversham shall send a troop toawait me a mile or so from the town on the road to Weston Zoyland. Weshall join them with our captive, and thus convey him to the RoyalistGeneral. Could aught be simpler or more infallible?"

  Richard had slipped from the table. He had changed his mind on thesubject of the importance of the business Blake had in view. Excited byit, he clapped his friend on the back approvingly.

  "A great plan!" he cried. "Is it not, Ruth?"

  "It should be the means of saving hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives,"said she, "and so it deserves to prosper. But what of the officers whomay be with the Duke?" she inquired.

  "There are not likely to be many--half a dozen, say. We shall have tomake short work of them, lest they should raise an alarm." He saw herglance clouding. "That is the ugly part of the affair," he was quickto add, himself assuming a look of sadness. He sighed. "What help isthere?" he asked. "Better that those few should suffer than that, as youyourself have said, there should be some thousands of lives lost beforethis rebellion is put down. Besides," he continued, "Monmouth's officersare far-seeing, ambitious men, who have entered into this affair topromote their own personal fortunes. They are gamesters who have settheir lives upon the board against a great prize, and they know it. Butthese other poor misguided people who have gone out to fight for libertyand religion--it is these whom I am striving to rescue."

  His words sounded fervent, his sentiments almost heroic. Ruth looked athim, and wondered had she misjudged him in the past. She sighed. Thenshe thought of Wilding. He was on the other side, but where was he?Rumour ran that he was dead; that he and Grey had quarrelled at Lyme,and that Wilding had been killed as a result. Had it not been for Diana,who strenuously bade her attach no credit to these reports, she wouldreadily have believed them. As it was she waited, wondering, thinking ofhim always as she had seen him on that day at Walford when he had takenhis leave of her, and more than once, when she pondered the words he hadsaid, the look that had invested his drooping eyes, she found herselfwith tears in her own. They welled up now, and she rose hastily to herfeet.

  She looked a moment at Blake who was watching her keenly, speculatingupon this emotion of which she betrayed some sign, and wondering mightnot his heroism have touched her, for, as we have seen, he had arrayeda deed of excessive meanness, a deed worthy, almost, of the Iscariot, inthe panoply of heroic achievement.

  "I think," she said, "that you are setting your hand to a very worthyand glorious enterprise, and I hope, nay, I am sure, that success mustattend your efforts." He was still bowing his thanks when she passed outthrough the open window-doors into the sunshine of the garden.

  Sir Rowland swung round upon Richard. "A great enterprise, Dick," hecried; "I may count upon you for one?"

  "Aye," said Dick, who had found at last the pretext that he needed,"you may count on me. Pull the bell, we'll drink to the success of theventure."