by Anthony Hope
CHAPTER VIII
MADNESS, MAGIC, AND MOONSHINE
When the curtain had fallen on the little-heeded play and the gay crowdbegan to disperse, I, perceiving that no more was to be seen or learnt,went home to my lodging alone. After our conversation Darrell had leftme abruptly, and I saw him no more. But my own thoughts gave meoccupation enough; for even to a dull mind, and one unversed in Courtintrigues, it seemed plain that more hung on this expedition to Doverthan the meeting of the King's sister with her brother. So far all menwere of the same opinion; beyond, their variance began. I had notthought to trouble my head about it, but, not having learnt yet that asmall man lives most comfortably with the great by opening his eyes andears only when bidden and keeping them tight locked for the rest, I wasinspired with eagerness to know the full meaning of the scene in which Iwas now to play a part, however humble. Of one thing at least I wasglad--here I touched on a matter more suitable to my condition--andthis was that since Barbara Quinton was to go to Dover, I was to goalso. But, alas, neither here did perplexity lag far behind! It is easyto know that you are glad to be with a lady; your very blood tells you;but to say why is often difficult. I told myself that my sole cause forpleasure lay in the services I might be able to render to my oldfriend's daughter; she would want me to run her errands and do herbidding; an attentive cavalier, however lowly, seldom comes amiss; thesepleas I muttered to myself, but swelling pride refused them, and foronce reason came as pride's ally, urging that in such company as wouldassemble at Dover a girl might well need protection, no less thancompliments. It was true; my new master's bearing to her shewed howtrue. And Carford was not, it seemed, a jealous lover. I was nolover--my life was vowed to another most unhappy love--but I was agentleman, and (sweet thought!) the hour might come when the face whichhad looked so mockingly at me to-night should turn again in appeal tothe wit and arm of Simon Dale. I grew taller as I thought of that, and,coming just then to my own door, rapped with my cane as loudly anddefiantly as though I had been the Duke of Monmouth himself, and not agentleman in his suite.
Loud as my rapping was, it brought no immediate answer. Again I knocked;then feet came shuffling along the passage. I had aroused my sleepywretch; doubtless he would come groaning (for Jonah might not curse savein the way of religion), and rubbing his eyes, to let me in. The dooropened and Jonah appeared; his eyes were not dull with sleep but seemedto blaze with some strong excitement; he had not been to his bed, forhis dress was not disordered, and a light burnt bright in my parlour. Tocrown all, from the same parlour came the sound of a psalm most shrillyand villainously chanted through the nose in a voice familiar to myears. I, unlike my servant, had not bound myself against an oath wherethe case called, and with a round one that sent Jonah's eyes in agony upto the ceiling I pushed by him and ran into the parlour. A sonorous"Amen" came pat with my entrance; Phineas Tate stood before me, lean andpale, but calm and placid.
"What in the devil's name brings you here?" I cried.
"The service of God," he answered solemnly.
"What, does it forbid sleep at nights?"
"Have you been sleeping, young man?" he asked, pertinently enough, as Imust allow.
"I have been paying my respects to His Majesty," said I.
"God forgive him and you," was the retort.
"Perhaps, sir, perhaps not," I replied, for I was growing angry. "But Ihave asked your intercession no more than has the King. If Jonah broughtyou here, it was without my leave; I beg you to take yourdeparture.--Jonah, hold the door there for Mr Tate."
The man raised his hand impressively.
"Hear my message first," he said. "I am sent unto you, that you may turnfrom sin. For the Lord has appointed you to be his instrument. Even nowthe plot is laid, even now men conspire to bring this kingdom again intothe bondage of Rome. Have you no ears, have you no eyes, are you blindand deaf? Turn to me, and I will make you see and hear. For it is givento me to show you the way."
I was utterly weary of the fellow, and, in despair of getting quit ofhim, flung myself into a chair. But his next words caught my attention.
"The man who lives here with you--what of him? Is he not an enemy ofGod?"
"Mr Darrell is of the Romish faith," said I, smiling in spite of myself,for a kinder soul than Darrell I had never met.
Phineas came close to me, leaning over me with an admonishing forefingerand a mysterious air.
"What did he want with you?" he asked. "Yet cleave to him. Be where heis, go where he goes."
"If it comforts you, I am going where he goes," said I, yawning. "For weare both going to Dover when the King goes."
"It is God's finger and God's will!" cried Phineas, catching me by theshoulder.
"Enough!" I shouted, leaping up. "Keep your hands off me, man, if youcan't keep your tongue. What is it to you that we go to Dover?"
"Aye, what?" came suddenly in Darrell's voice. He stood in the doorwaywith a fierce and angry frown on his face. A moment later he was acrossthe room and laid his hand on Phineas. "Do you want another cropping ofyour ears?" he asked.
"Do your will on me," cried the fanatic. And sweeping away his lankyhair he showed his ears; to my horror they had been cropped level acrosstheir tops by the shears. "Do your will," he shrieked, "I am ready. Butyour hour comes also, yea, your cup shall soon be full."
Darrell spoke to him in low stern tones.
"It may be more than ears, if you will not bridle your tongue. It's notfor you to question why the King comes or goes."
I saw Jonah's face at the door, pale with fright as he looked at the twomen. The interest of the scene grew on me; the talk of Dover seemed topursue me strangely.
"But this young man," pursued Phineas, utterly unmoved by Darrell'sthreat, "is not of you; he shall be snatched from the burning, and byhis hand the Lord will work a great deliverance."
Darrell turned to me and said stiffly:
"This room is yours, sir, not mine. Do you suffer the presence of thismischievous knave?"
"I suffer what I can't help," I answered. "Mr Tate doesn't ask mypleasure in his coming and going any more than the King asks Mr Tate'sin his."
"It would do you no good, sir, to have it known that he was here,"Darrell reminded me with a significant nod of his head.
Darrell had been a good friend to me and had won my regard, but, from aninfirmity of temper that I have touched on before, his present tone setme against him. I take reproof badly, and age has hardly tamed me to it.
"No good with whom?" I asked, smiling. "The Duke of York? My LordArlington? Or do you mean the Duke of Monmouth? It is he whom I have toplease now."
"None of them love Ranters," answered Darrell, keeping his face stiffand inscrutable.
"But one of them may prefer a Ranter to a Papist," laughed I.
The thrust told, Darrell grew red. To myself I seemed to have hitsuddenly on the key of a mystery. Was I then a pawn in the great game ofthe Churches, and Darrell another, and (to speak it with all duerespect), these grand dukes little better? Had Phineas Tate also hisplace on the board where souls made the stakes? In such a game none istoo low for value, none too high for use. Surely my finger was on thespring! At least I had confounded Darrell; his enemy, taking my helpreadily enough, glared on him in most unchristian exultation, and then,turning to me, cried in a species of fierce ecstasy,
"Think not that because you are unworthy you shall not serve God. Thework sanctifies the instrument, yea, it makes clean that which is foul.Verily, at His hour, God may work through a woman of sin." And he fixedhis eyes intently on me.
I read a special meaning in his words; my thoughts flew readily to theCock and Pie in Drury Lane.
"Yea, through a woman of sin," he repeated slowly and solemnly; then hefaced round, swift as the wind, on Darrell, and, minding my friend'ssullen scowl not a whit, cried to him, "Repent, repent, vengeance isnear!" and so at last was out of the room before either of us couldhinder him, had we wished, or could question him further. I heard thehouse-door shut
behind him, and I rose, looking at Darrell with an easysmile.
"Madness and moonshine, good friend," said I. "Don't let it disturb you.If Jonah admits the fellow again he shall answer for it."
"Indeed, Mr Dale, when I prayed you to share my lodging, I did notforesee the nature of your company."
"Fate more than choice makes a man's company," said I. "Now it's you,now Phineas, now my lord the Secretary, and now his Grace the Duke.Indeed, seeing how destiny--or, if you will, chance--rules, a man maywell be thought a fool who makes a plan or chooses a companion. For myown part, I am fate's child and fate shall guide me."
He was still stiff and cold with me, but my friendly air and my evidentdetermination to have no quarrel won him to civility if to no warmerdemonstration of regard.
"Fate's child?" he asked with a little scorn, but seating himself andsmoothing his brow. "You're fate's child? Isn't that an arrogant speech,Simon?"
"If it weren't true, most arrogant," I answered. "Come, I'll tell you;it's too soon for bed and too late to go abroad. Jonah, bring us somewine, and if it be good, you shall be forgiven for admitting MasterTate."
Jonah went off and presently returned with a bottle, which we drank,while I, with the candour I had promised, told my friend of BettyNasroth and her prophecy. He heard me with an attention which belied thecontempt he asserted; I have noticed that men pay heed to these thingshowever much they laugh at them. At the end, growing excited not onlywith the wine but with the fumes of life which had been mounting into myyoung brain all the day, I leapt up, crying aloud:
"And isn't it true? Shan't I know what he hides? Shan't I drink of hiscup? For isn't it true? Don't I already, to my infinite misery, lovewhere he loves?" For the picture of Nell had come suddenly across me inrenewed strength and sweetness; when I had spoken I dropped again intomy chair and laid my head down on my arms.
Silence followed; Darrell had no words of consolation for my woes andleft my love-lorn cry unheeded; presently then (for neglected sorrows donot thrive) I looked furtively at him between the fingers of my hand. Hesat moody, thoughtful, and frowning. I raised my head and met his eyes.He leant across the table, saying in a sneering tone, "A fine witch, onmy life! You should know what he hides?"
"Aye."
"And drink of his cup?"
"Aye, so she said."
He sat sunk in troubled thought, but I, being all this night torn to andfro by changing and warring moods, sprang up again and cried inboisterous scorn, "What, you believe these fables? Does God revealhidden things to old crones? I thought you at Court were not the foolsof such fancies! Aren't they fitter for rustic churls, Mr Darrell? Godsave us, do we live in the days of King James?"
He answered me shortly and sternly, as though I had spoken of things notto be named lightly.
"It is devil's work, all of it."
"Then the devil is busier than he seems, even after a night at Court," Isaid. "But be it whose work it will, I'll do it. I'll find what hehides. I'll drink of his cup. Come, you're glum! Drink, friend Darrell!Darrell, what's in his cup, what does he hide? Darrell, what does theKing hide?"
I had caught him by the shoulder and was staring in his face. I was allaglow, and my eyes, no doubt, shone bright with excitement and theexhilaration of the wine. The look of me, or the hour of the night, orthe working of his own superstition, got hold of him, for he sprang up,crying madly:
"My God, do you know?" and glared into my face as though I had been thevery devil of whom I spoke.
We stood thus for a full minute. But I grew cool before my companion,wonder working the change in me sooner than confusion could in him. Formy random ravings had most marvellously struck on something more than mysober speculations could discern. The man before me was mad--or he had asecret. And friend Darrell was no madman.
"Do I know?" I asked. "Do I know what? What could I, Simon Dale, know?What in Heaven's name is there to know?" And I smiled cunningly, asthough I sought to hide knowledge by a parade of ignorance.
"Nothing, nothing," he muttered uneasily. "The wine's got into my head."
"Yet you've drunk but two glasses; I had the rest," said I.
"That damned Ranter has upset me," he growled. "That, and the talk ofyour cursed witch."
"Can Ranters and witches make secrets where there are none?" said I witha laugh.
"They can make fools think there are secrets where there are none," saidhe rudely.
"And other fools ask if they're known," I retorted, but with a laugh;and I added, "I'm not for a quarrel, secret or no secret, so if that'syour purpose in sitting the night through, to bed with you, my friend."
Whether from prudence, or whether my good humour rebuked his temper, hegrew more gentle; he looked at me kindly enough and sighed, as he said:
"I was to be your guide in London, Simon; but you take your own path."
"The path you shewed me was closed in my face," said I, "and I took thefirst that was opened to me."
"By the Duke of Monmouth?"
"Yes--or by another, if it had chanced to be another."
"But why take any, Simon?" he urged persuasively. "Why not live in peaceand leave these great folk alone?"
"With all my heart," I cried. "Is it a bargain? Whither shall we flyfrom the turmoil?"
"We!" he exclaimed with a start.
"Aren't you sick of the same disease? Isn't the same medicine best foryou? Come, shall we both go to-morrow to Hatchstead--a pretty village,Mr Darrell--and let the great folk go alone to Dover?"
"You know I cannot. I serve my Lord Arlington."
"And I the Duke of Monmouth."
"But my Lord is the King's servant."
"And his Grace the King's son."
"Oh, if you're obstinate----" he began, frowning.
"As fate, as prophecy, as witch, as Ranter, as devil, or as yourself!" Isaid, laughing and throwing myself into a chair as he rose and movedtowards the door.
"No good will come of it to you," he said, passing me on his way.
"What loyal servant looks to make a profit of his service?" I asked,smiling.
"I wish you could be warned."
"I'm warned, but not turned, Darrell. Come, we part friends?"
"Why, yes, we are friends," he answered, but with a touch of hesitation.
"Saving our duty to the King?"
"If need should come for that reservation, yes," said he gravely.
"And saving," said I, "the liberties of the Kingdom and the safety ofthe Reformed Religion--if need should come for these reservations, MrDarrell," and I laughed to see the frown gather again on his brow. Buthe made no reply, being unable to trust his self-control or answer mylight banter in its own kind. He left me with no more than a shake ofhis head and a wave of his hand; and although we parted thus in amityand with no feelings save of kindness for one another, I knew thathenceforth there must be a difference in our relations; the days ofconfidence were gone.
The recognition of my loss weighed little with me. The diffidence bornof inexperience and of strangeness to London and the Court was wearingaway; the desire for another's arm to lean on and another's eyes to seewith gave way before a young man's pride in his own arm's strength andthe keenness of his own vision. There was sport afoot; aye, for me inthose days all things were sport, even the high disputes of Churches orof Kingdoms. We look at the world through our own glasses; little as itrecks of us, it is to us material and opportunity; there in the dead ofnight I wove a dream wherein the part of hero was played by Simon Dale,with Kings and Dukes to bow him on and off the stage and Christendom tomake an audience. These dream-doings are brave things: I pity the manwho performs none of them; for in them you may achieve without labour,enjoy without expense, triumph without cruelty, aye, and sin mightilyand grandly with never a reckoning for it. Yet do not be a mean villaineven in your dreaming, for that sticks to you when you awake.
I had supposed myself alone to be out of bed and Jonah Wall to haveslunk off in fear of my anger. But now my meditations were interru
ptedby his entrance. He crept up to me in an uneasy fashion, but seemed totake courage when I did not break into abuse, but asked him mildly whyhe had not sought rest and what he wanted with me. His first answer wasto implore me to protect him from Mr Darrell's wrath; through PhineasTate, he told me timidly, he had found grace, and he could deny himnothing; yet, if I bade him, he would not admit him again.
"Let him come," said I carelessly. "Besides, we shall not be long here.For you and I are going on a journey, Jonah."
"A journey, sir?"
"Ay, I go with the Duke of Monmouth, and you go with me, to Dover whenthe King goes."
Now, either Dover was on everybody's brain, or was very sadly on mybrain, for I swear even this fellow's eye seemed to brighten as I namedthe place.
"To Dover, sir?"
"No less. You shall see all the gaiety there is to be seen, Jonah."
The flush of interest had died away; he was dolefully tranquil andsubmissive again.
"Well, what do you want with me?" I asked, for I did not wish him tosuspect that I detected any change in his manner.
"A lady came here to-day, sir, in a very fine coach with Flemishhorses, and asked for you. Hearing you were from home, she called to meand bade me take a message for you. I prayed her to write it, but shelaughed, and said she spoke more easily than she wrote; and she bade mesay that she wished to see you."
"What sort of lady was she, Jonah?"
"She sat all the while in the coach, sir, but she seemed not tall; shewas very merry, sir." Jonah sighed deeply; with him merriment stood highamong the vices of our nature.
"She didn't say for what purpose she wanted me?" I asked as carelesslyas I could.
"No, sir. She said you would know the purpose, and that she would lookfor you at noon to-morrow."
"But where, Jonah?"
"At a house called Burford House, sir, in Chelsea."
"She gave you no name?"
"I asked her name, and she gave me one."
"What was it?"
"It was a strange heathenish name, and she laughed as she gave it;indeed she laughed all the time."
"There's no sin in laughter," said I dryly. "You may leave me, I need nohelp in undressing."
"But the name----"
"By Heaven, man, I know the name! Be off with you!"
He shuffled off, his whole manner expressing reprobation, whether mostof my oath, or of the heathenish name, or of the lady who gave it, Iknow not.
Well, if he were so horror-stricken at these things, what would he sayat learning with whom he had talked? Perhaps he would have preached toher, as had Phineas Tate, his master in religion. For, beyond doubt,that heathenish name was Cydaria, and that fine coach with Flemishhorses--I left the question of that coach unanswered.
The moment the door was shut behind my servant I sprang to my feet,crying in a low but very vehement voice, "Never!" I would not go. Hadshe not wounded me enough? Must I tear away the bandage from the gash?She had tortured me, and asked me now, with a laugh, to be so good asstretch myself on the rack again. I would not go. That laugh was cruelinsolence. I knew that laugh. Ah, why so I did--I knew it well--how itrose and rippled and fell, losing itself in echoes scarcely audible, butrich with enticing mirth. Surely she was cunningly fashioned for theundoing of men; yes, and of herself, poor soul. What were her coaches,and the Flemish horses, and the house called Burford House in Chelsea? Awave of memory swept over me, and I saw her simple--well then, moresimple!--though always merry, in the sweet-smelling fields at home,playing with my boy's heart as with a toy that she knew little of, butyet by instinct handled deftly. It pleased her mightily, that toy, andshe seemed to wonder when she found that it felt. She did not feel; joywas hers, nothing deeper. Yet could she not, might she not, would shenot? I knew what she was; who knew what she might be? The picture of herrose again before my eyes, inviting a desperate venture, spurring me onto an enterprise in which the effort seemed absurdity, and success wouldhave been in the eyes of the world calamity. Yet an exaltation of spiritwas on me, and I wove another dream that drove the first away; now I didnot go to Dover to play my part in great affairs and jostle for higherplace in a world where in God's eyes all places are equal and all low,but away back to the country I had loved, and not alone. She should bewith me, love should dress penitence in glowing robes, and purity bedecked more gloriously than all the pomps of sin. Could it be? If itcould, it seemed a prize for which all else might be willinglyforgone--an achievement rare and great, though the page of no historyrecorded it.
Phineas Tate had preached to her, and gone away, empty and scorned. Iwould preach too, in different tones and with a different gospel. Yet mywords should have a sweetness his had not, my gospel a power that shoulddraw where his repelled. For my love, shaken not yet shattered, woundednot dead, springing again to full life and force, should breathe itsvital energy into her soul and impart of its endless abundance till herheart was full. Entranced by this golden vision, I rose and looked fromthe window at the dawning day, praying that mine might be the task, theachievement, the reward.
Bright dawned that day as I, with brighter brightness in my heart,climbed the stairs that led to my bedroom. But as I reached the door ofit, I paused. There came a sound from the little closet beyond, whereJonah stretched his weary legs, and, as I hoped, had forgotten inharmless sleep the soul that he himself tormented worse than would thehell he feared. No, he did not rest. From his closet came low, fervent,earnest prayers. Listening a minute, half in scorn, half in pity, and inno unkindness, I heard him.
"Praise be to God," he said, "Who maketh the crooked places straight,and openeth a path through the wilderness, and setteth in the hand ofHis servant a sword wherewith to smite the ungodly even in high places."
What crooked places were made straight, what path opened, what sword setin Jonah's hand? Of the ungodly in high places there was no lack in thedays of King Charles. But was Jonah Wall to smite them? I opened my doorwith a laugh. We were all mad that night, and my madness lasted till themorning. Yes, till the morning grew full my second dream was with me.
