Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  Whatever the scheme in his mind, however, and whether he was, as I expected, as ready to sell the Duke of Berwick as to plot with him, he said no more to me on the subject; but presently went to his own room. Thus left, I thought it high time to consider where I stood, being all of a tremble and twitter with what I had heard and seen; and I tossed through the night, fearfully sounding the depths in which I found myself, and striving to gain strength to battle with the stream that day by day was forcing me farther and farther from the land. I was no boy or fool, unaware of the danger of being mixed up with great men and great names; rather the ten years during which I had followed public affairs had presented me with only too many examples of the iron pot and clay pitcher. When, therefore, I slept at last, late in the evening, it was to dream of the sledge and Tyburn road and the Ordinary — who bore in my dream a marvellous likeness to Mr. Brome — and a wall of faces that lined the way and never ceased from St. Giles’s Pound to the Edgeware Road.

  Such a dream, taken with my night’s thoughts, left me eager to put in execution a plan I had more than once considered; which was to give up all, to fly from London, and hiding myself in some quiet place under another name, to live as I best might until Ferguson’s capture, or a change in the state of affairs freed me from danger. At a distance from him I might even gain courage to inform against him; but this I left for future decision, the main thing now being to pack my clothes, secure about me the money I had saved, which amounted to thirty guineas, and escape from the town on foot or in a stage-wagon without any of his myrmidons being the wiser.

  To adopt this course was to lose Mr. Brome’s friendship and the livelihood which his employment provided; but such was the fear I had conceived of Ferguson’s schemes and the perils they involved that I scarcely hesitated. Before noon, an hour which I thought least open to suspicion, I had engaged a porter and bidden him wait below, had made all my other arrangements, and in five minutes I should have been safe in the streets with my face set towards Kensington — when, at the last moment, there came a tap at my door and a voice asked if I was in.

  It was not an hour at which Ferguson had ever troubled me, and trusting to this I had not been careful to hide the signs of removal which my room presented. For a moment I hung over my trunk, panic-stricken; then the door opened, and admitted the girl who had intervened once before — I mean at the door of the Secretary’s office — and whom I had since noticed, but not often, going in at the opposite rooms.

  She curtseyed demurely, standing in the doorway, and said that Mr. Smith — which was one of the names by which Ferguson went — had sent her to me with a message.

  “Yes,” I said, forcing myself to speak.

  “Would you please to wait on him this evening at eight,” she answered. “He wishes to speak with you.”

  “Yes,” I said again, helplessly assenting; and there was an end of my fine evasion. I took it for a warning, and my clothes from my mail; and going down paid the porter a groat, and received in return a dozen porter’s oaths. And so dismissed him and my plan together.

  CHAPTER XV

  It must be confessed that after that it was with a sore shrinking and foreboding of punishment I prepared to obey Mr. Ferguson’s summons, and at the hour he had fixed knocked at his door. Hitherto he had always come to me; and even so and on my own ground I had suffered enough at his hands. What I had to expect, therefore, when entirely in his power I failed to guess, but on that account felt only the greater apprehension; so that it was with relief I recognised, firstly, as soon as I crossed the threshold, a peculiar neatness and cleanliness in the rooms, as if Ferguson at home were something different from Ferguson abroad; and secondly, that he was not alone, but entertained a visitor.

  Neither of these things, to be sure, altered his bearing towards me, or took from the brutality with which it was his humour to address me; but as his opening words announced that the visitor’s business lay with me, they relieved me from my worst apprehension — namely, that I was to be called to account for the steps I had taken to escape; at the same time that they amused me with the hope of better treatment, since no man could deal with me worse than he had.

  “This is your man!” the plotter cried, lying back in his chair and pointing to me with the pipe he was smoking. “Never was such a brave conspirator! Name a rope and he will sweat! For my part, I wish you joy of him. Here, you, sirrah,” he continued, addressing me, “this gentleman wishes to speak to you, and, mind you, you will do what he tells you, or — —”

  But at that the gentleman cut him short with a deprecating gesture. “Softly, Mr. Ferguson, softly!” he said, and rose and bowed to me. Then I saw that he was the last comer of the three I had met in Covent Garden; and the one who had dismissed me. “You go too fast,” he went on, smiling, “and give our friend here a wrong impression of me. Mr. Taylor, I — —”

  But it was Ferguson’s turn to take him up, which he did with a boisterous laugh. “Ho! Taylor! Taylor!” he cried in derision. “No more Taylor than I am haberdasher! The man’s name — —”

  “Is whatever he pleases,” the stranger struck in, with another bow. “I neither ask it nor seek to know it. Such things between gentlemen and in these times are neither here nor there. It is enough and perhaps too much that I came to ask you to do me a favour and a service, Mr. Taylor, both of which are in your power.”

  He spoke with a politeness which went far to win me, and the farther for the contrast it afforded to Ferguson’s violence. With his appearance I was not so greatly taken; finding in it, though he was dressed well enough, clearer signs of recklessness than of discretion, and plainer evidences of hard living than of charity or study. But perhaps the prayer of such a man, when he stoops to pray, is the more powerful. At any rate I was already half gained, when I answered; asking him timidly what I could do for him.

  “Pay a call with me,” said he lightly. “Neither more than that, nor less.”

  I asked him on whom we were to call.

  “On a lady,” he answered, “who lives at the other end of the town.”

  “But can I be of any service?” I said, feebly struggling against the inevitable.

  “You can,” he answered. “Of great service.”

  “Devil a bit!” said Ferguson testily, and stared derision at me out of a cloud of smoke. It occurred to me then that he was not quite sober, and further that he was no more in the secret of the service than I was. “Devil a bit!” said he again, and more offensively.

  “You will let me judge of that,” said the gentleman, and he turned to the table. “Will you mind changing the clothes you wear for these?” he said to me with a pleasant air. On which I saw that he had on the table by his hand a suit of fine silk velvet clothes, and surmounted by a grand dress peruque, with a laced steinkirk and ruffles to match. “Pardon the impertinence,” he continued, shrugging his shoulders as if the matter were a very slight one, while I stared in amazement at this new turn. “It is only that I think you will aid me the better in these. And after all, what is a change of clothes?”

  Naturally I looked at the things in wonder. I had never worn clothes of the kind. “Do you want me to put them on?” I said.

  “Yes,” he answered, smiling. “Will you do it on the faith that it will serve me, and trust to me to explain later?”

  “If there is no danger in — in the business,” I said reluctantly, “I suppose I must.” As a fact, whatever he asked me, with Ferguson beside him, I should have to do, so great was my fear of that man.

  “There is no danger,” he replied. “I will answer for it. I shall accompany you and return with you.”

  On that, and though I did not comprehend in the least degree what was required of me, I consented, and took the clothes at the stranger’s bidding into the next room, where I put off mine and put these on; and presently, seeing myself in a little square of glass that hung against the wall, scarcely knew myself in a grand suit of blue velvet slashed and laced with pearl-colour, a dress peruqu
e and lace ruffles and cravat. Being unable to tie the cravat, I went back into the room with it in my hand; where I found not only the two I had left but the girl who had summoned me that morning. The two men greeted the change in me with oaths of surprise; the girl, who stood in the background, with an open-eyed stare; but for a moment and until the stranger had tied the cravat for me, nothing was said that I understood. Then Mr. Ferguson getting up and walking round me with a candle, gazing at me from top to toe, the other asked him in a voice of some amusement if he knew now who I was.

  “A daw in jay’s feathers!” said he, scornfully.

  “And you do not know him?”

  “Not I — except for the silly fool he is!”

  “Then you do not know — well, someone you ought to know!” the stranger answered dryly. “You are getting old, Mr. Ferguson.”

  My master cursed his impudence.

  “I am afraid that you do not keep abreast of the rising generation,” the other continued, coolly eyeing the rage his words excited. “And for your Shaftesburys, and Monmouths, and Ludlows, and the old gang, they don’t count for much now. You must look about you, Mr. Ferguson; you must look about you and open your eyes, and learn new tricks, or before you know it you will find yourself on the shelf.”

  It would be difficult to exaggerate the fury into which this threw my master; he raved, stamped, and swore, and finally, having recourse to his old trick, tore off his wig, flung it on the ground, and stamped on it. “There!” he cried, with horrible imprecations, the more horrible for the bald ugliness of the man, “and that is what I will do to you — by-and-by, Mr. Smith. On the shelf, am I? And need new tricks? Hark you, sir, I am not so much on the shelf that I cannot spoil your game, whatever it is. And G — d — me but I will!”

  Mr. Smith, listening, cool and dark-faced, shrugged his shoulders; but for all his seeming indifference, kept a wary eye on the plotter. “Tut — tut, Mr. Ferguson, you are angry with me,” he said. “And say things you do not mean. Besides, you don’t know — —”

  “Know?” the other shrieked.

  “Just so, know what my game is.”

  “I know this!” Ferguson retorted, dropping his voice on a sudden to a baleful whisper, “Who is here, and where he lies, Mr. Smith. And — —”

  “So do Tom, Dick, and Harry,” the other answered, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously; and then to me, “Mr. Taylor,” he continued with politeness, “I think we will be going. Light the door, my dear. That is it. I have a coach below, and — good-night, Mr. Ferguson, good-night to you. I’ll tell Sir George I have seen you. And do you think over my advice.”

  At that my master broke out afresh, cursing the other’s impudence, and frantically swearing to be even with him; but I lost what he said, in a sudden consternation that seized me, as I crossed the threshold; a kind of shiver, which came over me at the prospect of the night, and the dark coach ride, and the uncertainty of this new adventure. The lights in the room, and Mr. Smith’s politeness, had given me a courage which the dark staircase dissipated; and but for the hold which my new employer, perhaps unconsciously, laid on my arm, I think I should have stood back and refused to go. Under his gentle compulsion, however, I went down and took my seat in the coach that awaited us; and my companion following me and closing the door, someone unseen raised the steps, and in a moment we were jolting out of Bride Lane, and turned in the direction of the Strand.

  More than this I could not distinguish with all my curiosity, and look out as I might; for Mr. Smith muttering something I did not catch, drew the curtain over the window on my side, and, for the other, interposed himself so continually and skilfully between it and my eyes, that the coach turning two or three corners, in a few minutes I was quite ignorant where we were, or whether we still held a westward direction. A hundred notions of footpads, abductions, Mr. Thynne, and the like passed through my mind while the coach rumbled on, and rumbled on, and rumbled on endlessly; nor was the fact that we appeared to avoid the business parts of the town, and chose unlighted ways, calculated to steady my nerves. At length, and while I still debated whether I wished this suspense at an end, or feared more what was to follow, the coach stopped with a jerk, which almost threw me out of my seat.

  “We are there,” said my companion, who had been some time silent. “I must trouble you to descend, Mr. Taylor. And have no fears. The matter in hand is very simple. Only be good enough to follow me closely, and quickly.”

  And without releasing my arm he hurried me out of the coach, and through a door in a wall. This admitted us only to a garden; and that so dark, and so completely obscured by high walls and the branches of trees, which showed faintly overhead, feathering against the sky, that but for the guidance of his hand, I must have stood, unable to proceed. Such an overture was far from abating my fears; nor had I expected this sudden plunge into a solitude, which seemed the more chilling, as we stood in London, and had a little while before passed from the hum of the Strand. I tried to consider where we could be, and the possibilities of retreat; but my conductor left me little room for indecision. Still holding my arm, he led me down a walk, and to a door, which opened as we approached. A flood of light poured out and fell on the pale green of the surrounding trees; the next moment I stood in a small, bare lobby or ante-room, and heard the door chained behind me.

  My eyes dazzled by a lamp, I saw no more at first than that the person who held it, and had admitted us, was a woman. But on her setting down the lamp, and proceeding to look me up and down deliberately, the while Mr. Smith stood by, as if he had brought me for this and no other, I took uneasy note of her. She appeared to be verging on forty but was still handsome after a coarse and full-blown fashion, with lips over-full and cheeks too red; her dark hair still kept its colour, and the remains of a great vivacity still lurked in her gloomy eyes. Her dress, of an untidy richness worn and tarnished, and ill-fastened at the neck, was no mean match for her face; and led me to think her — and therein I was right — the waiting-woman of some great lady. Perhaps I should, if let alone, have come something nearer the truth than this, and quite home; but Mr. Smith cut short my observations by falling upon her in a tone of anger, “Hang it, madam, if you are not satisfied,” he cried, “I can only tell you — —”

  “Who said I was not satisfied?” she answered, still surveying me with the utmost coolness. “But — —”

  “But what?”

  “I cannot help thinking —— What is your name, sir, if you please?” This to me.

  “Taylor,” I said.

  “Taylor? Taylor?” She repeated the name as if uncertain. “I remember no Taylor; and yet — —”

  “You remember? You remember? You know very well whom you remember!” Mr. Smith cried, impatiently. “It is the likeness you are thinking of! Why, it is as plain, woman, as the nose on his face. It is so plain that if I had brought him in by the front door — —”

  “And kept his mouth shut!” She interposed.

  “No one would have been the wiser.”

  “Well,” she said, grudgingly, and eyeing me with her head aside, “it is near enough.”

  “It is the thing!” he cried, with an oath.

  “As a Chelsea orange is a China orange!” she answered, contemptuously.

  At that he looked at her in a sort of dark fury, precisely, so it seemed to me, as Ferguson had looked at him an hour before. “By heaven, you vixen,” he cried in the end, surprise and rage contending in his tone, “I believe you love him still!”

  Her back being towards me I did not see her face, but the venom in her tone when she answered, made my blood creep. “Well,” she said, slowly, “and if I do? Much good may it do him!”

  Ambiguous as were the words — but not the tone — the man shrugged his shoulders. “Then what are we waiting for?” he asked, irritably.

  “Madam’s pleasure,” she answered. And I could see that she loved to baulk him. However, her pleasure was, this time, short-lived, for at that moment a little bell t
inkled in a distant room, and she took up the lamp. “Come,” she said. “And do you, sir,” she continued, turning to me and speaking sharply, “hold up your head and look as if you could cut your own food. You are going to see an old woman. Do you think that she will eat you?”

  I let the gibe pass, and wondering of whom and what it was she reminded me, whenever she spoke, I followed her up a short dark flight of stairs to a second ante-room, or closet, situate, as far as I could judge, over the other. It was hung with dull, faded tapestry and smelled close, as if seldom used and more seldom aired. Setting down the lamp on a little side-table whereon a crumpled domino, a couple of masks, and an empty perfume bottle already lay, she bade us in a low voice wait for her and be silent; and enforcing the last order by placing her finger on her lip, she glided quietly out through a door so skilfully masked by the tapestry as to seem one of the walls.

  Left alone with Mr. Smith, who seated himself on the table, I had leisure to take note of the closet. Remarking that the wall at one end was partly hidden by a couple of curtains, between which a bare bracket stood out from the wall, I concluded that the place had been a secret oratory and had witnessed many a clandestine mass. I might have carried my observations farther; but they were cut short at this point by the return of the woman, who nodding, in silence, held the door open for us to pass.

  CHAPTER XVI

  The first to enter, and prepared for many things — among which the gloomy surroundings of an ascetic, devoted to the dark usages of the old faith, held the first place in probability — I halted in surprise on the threshold of a lofty and splendid room suffused with rose-tinted light, and furnished with a luxury to which I had been hitherto a stranger. The walls, hung with gorgeous French tapestry, presented a succession of palaces and hunting scenes, interspersed with birds of strange and tropical plumage; between which and the eyes were scattered a profusion of Japanese screens, cabinets, and tables, with some of those quaint Dutch idols, brought from the East, which, new to me, were beginning at this time to take the public taste. Embracing the upper half of the room, and also a ruelle, in which stood a stately bed with pillars of silver, a circle of stronger light, dispersed by lamps cunningly hidden in the ceiling, fell on a suite of furniture of rose brocade and silver; in the great chair of which, with her feet on a foot-stool set upon the open hearth, sat an elderly lady, leaning on an ebony stick. A monkey mowed and gibbered on the back of her chair; and a parrot, vieing in brilliance with the broidered birds on the wall, hung by its claws from a ring above her head.