Simon Dale

by Anthony Hope

  CHAPTER XVII

  WHAT BEFELL MY LAST GUINEA

  There is this in great station, that it imparts to a man a bearingsedate in good times and debonair in evil. A king may be unkinged, asbefell him whom in my youth we called the Royal Martyr, but he need notbe unmanned. He has tasted of what men count the best, and, having foundeven in it much bitterness, turns to greet fortune's new caprice smilingor unmoved. Thus it falls out that though princes live no better livesthan common men, yet for the most part they die more noble deaths; theirsunset paints all their sky, and we remember not how they bore theirglorious burden, but with what grace they laid it down. Much is forgivento him who dies becomingly, and on earth, as in heaven, there is pardonfor the parting soul. Are we to reject what we are taught that Godreceives? I have need enough of forgiveness to espouse the softerargument.

  Now King Louis, surnamed the Great, having more matters in his head thanthe scheme I thought to baffle, and (to say truth) more ladies in hisheart than Barbara Quinton, was not minded to die for the one or theother. But had you been there (which Heaven for your sake forbid, I havepassed many a pleasanter night), you would have sworn that death or lifeweighed not a straw in the balance with him, and that he had no thoughtsave of the destiny God had marked for him and the realm that called himmaster. So lofty and serene he was, when he perceived my resolution andsaw my pistol at his head. On my faith, the victory was mine, but herobbed me of my triumph, and he, submitting, seemed to put terms on mewho held him at my mercy. It is all a trick, no doubt; they get it inchildhood, as (I mean no harm by my comparisons) the beggar's childlearns to whine or the thief's to pick. Yet it is pretty. I wish I hadit.

  "In truth," said he with a smile that had not a trace of wryness, "Ihave chosen my means ill for this one time, though they say that Ichoose well. Well, God rules the world."

  "By deputy, sir," said I.

  "And deputies don't do His will always? Come, Mr Dale, for this hour youhold the post and fill it well. Wear this for my sake"; and he handedacross to me a dagger with a handle richly wrought and studded withprecious stones.

  I bowed low; yet I kept my finger on the trigger.

  "Man, I give you my word, though not in words," said he, and I, rebuked,set my weapon back in its place. "Alas, for a sad moment!" he cried. "Imust bid farewell to Mistress Barbara. Yet (this he added, turning toher) life is long, madame, and has many changes. I pray you may neverneed friends, but should you, there is one ready so long as Louis isKing of France. Call on him by the token of his ring and count him yourhumble servant." With this he stripped his finger of a fine brilliant,and, sinking on his knee in the boat, took her hand very delicately,and, having set the ring on her finger, kissed her hand, sighed lightlyyet gallantly, and rose with his eyes set on the ship.

  "Row me to her," he commanded me, shortly but not uncivilly; and I, whoheld his life in my hands, sat down obediently and bent to my oars. Infaith, I wish I had that air, it's worth a fortune to a man!

  Soon we came to the side of the ship. Over it looked the face ofColbert, amazed that I had stolen his King, and the face of Thomas Lie,indignant that I had made free with his boat; by them were two or threeof the crew agape with wonder. King Louis paid no respect to theirfeelings and stayed their exclamations with a gesture of his hand. Heturned to me, saying in low tones and with a smile,

  "You must make your own terms with my brother, sir. It has been hardfighting between us, and I am in no mood for generosity."

  I did not know what to answer him, but I stammered:

  "I ask nothing but that your Majesty should remember me as an honestman."

  "And a brave gentleman," he added gravely, with a slight inclination ofhis head. Then he turned to Barbara and took her hand again, bowing lowand saying, "Madame, I had meant you much good in my heart, and my stateforced me to mean you some evil. I pray you remember the one and forgetthe other." He kissed her hand again with a fine grace. It was a fairsounding apology for a thing beyond defence. I admired while I smiled.

  But Barbara did not smile. She looked up in his face, then dropped onher knees in the boat and caught his hand, kissing it twice and tryingto speak to him. He stood looking down on her; then he said softly, "YetI have forgiven your friend," and gently drew his hand away. I stood up,baring my head. He faced round on me and said abruptly, "This affair isbetween you and me, sir."

  "I am obedient to a command I did not need," said I.

  "Your pardon. Cover your head. I do not value outward signs of respectwhere the will is wanting. Fare you well."

  At a sign from him Colbert stretched out a hand. Not a question, not aword, scarcely now a show of wonder came from any, save honest Lie,whose eyes stood out of his head and whose tongue was still only becauseit could not speak. The King leapt lightly on the deck of his ship.

  "You'll be paid for the boat," I heard him say to Lie. "Make all sailfor Calais."

  None spoke to him, none questioned him. He saw no need for explanationand accorded no enlightenment. I marvelled that fear or respect for anyman could so bind their tongues. The King waved them away; Lie alonehesitated, but Colbert caught him by the arm and drew him off to thehelm. The course was given, and the ship forged ahead. The King stood inthe stern. Now he raised his hat from his head and bowed low to MistressBarbara. I turned to see how she took the salutation; but her face wasdowncast, resting on her hands. I stood and lifted my hat; then I satdown to the oars. I saw King Louis' set courtly smile, and as our waysparted asunder, his to France, where he ruled, mine to England where Iprayed nothing but a hiding-place, we sent into one another's eyes along look as of men who have measured strength, and part each in his ownpride, each in respect for the powers of his enemy. In truth it wassomething to have played a winning hand with the Most Christian King.With regret I watched him go; though I could not serve him in hisaffairs of love, I would gladly have fought for him in his wars.

  We were alone now on the sea; dawn was breaking and the sky cleared tillthe cliffs were dimly visible behind us. I pulled the boat round, andset her head for home. Barbara sat in the stern, pale and still,exhausted by the efforts and emotion of the night. The great peril andher great salvation left her numb rather than thankful; and in truth, ifshe looked into the future, her joy must be dashed with soreapprehension. M. de Perrencourt was gone, the Duke of Monmouth remained;till she could reach her father I was her only help, and I dared notshow my face in Dover. But these thoughts were for myself, not for her,and seeking to cheer her I leant forward and said,

  "Courage, Mistress Barbara." And I added, "At least we shan't bemarried, you and I, in Calais."

  She started a little, flushed a little, and answered gravely,

  "We owe Heaven thanks for a great escape, Simon."

  It was true, and the knowledge of its truth had nerved us to the attemptso marvellously crowned with success. Great was the escape from such amarriage, made for such purposes as King Louis had planned. Yet somefeeling shot through me, and I gave it voice in saying,

  "Nay, but we might have escaped after the marriage also."

  Barbara made no reply; for it was none to say, "The cliffs grow veryplain."

  "But that wouldn't have served our turn," I added with a laugh. "Youwould have come out of the business saddled with a sore encumbrance."

  "Shall you go to Dover?" asked Barbara, seeming to pay no heed to allthat I had been saying.

  "Where God pleases," I answered rather peevishly. "Her head's to theland, and I'll row straight to land. The land is safer than the sea."

  "No place is safe?"

  "None," I answered. But then, repenting of my surliness, I added, "Andnone so perilous that you need fear, Mistress Barbara."

  "I don't fear while you're with me, Simon," said she. "You won't leaveme till we find my father?"

  "Surely not," said I. "Is it your pleasure to seek him?"

  "As speedily as we can," she murmured. "He's in London. Even the Kingwon't dare to touch me when I'm with him."

&n
bsp; "To London, then!" I said. "Can you make out the coast?"

  "There's a little bay just ahead where the cliff breaks; and I see DoverCastle away on my left hand."

  "We'll make for the bay," said I, "and then seek means to get toLondon."

  Even as I spoke a sudden thought struck me. I laid down my oars andsought my purse. Barbara was not looking at me, but gazed in a dreamyfashion towards where the Castle rose on its cliff. I opened the purse;it held a single guinea; the rest of my store lay with my saddle-bags inthe French King's ship; my head had been too full to think of them.There is none of life's small matters that so irks a man as to confessthat he has no money for necessary charges, and it is most sore when alady looks to him for hers. I, who had praised myself for forgetting howto blush, went red as a cock's comb and felt fit to cry withmortification. A guinea would feed us on the road to London if we faredplainly; but Barbara could not go on her feet.

  Her eyes must have come back to my sullen downcast face, for in a momentshe cried, "What's the matter, Simon?"

  Perhaps she carried money. Well then, I must ask for it. I held out myguinea in my hand.

  "It's all I have," said I. "King Louis has the rest."

  She gave a little cry of dismay. "I hadn't thought of money," she cried.

  "I must beg of you."

  "Ah, but, Simon, I have none. I gave my purse to the waiting-woman tocarry, so that mine also is in the French King's ship."

  Here was humiliation! Our fine schemes stood blocked for the want of sovulgar a thing as money; such fate waits often on fine schemes, butsurely never more perversely. Yet, I know not why, I was glad that shehad none. I was a guinea the better of her; the amount was not large,but it served to keep me still her Providence, and that, I fear, is whatman, in his vanity, loves to be in woman's eyes; he struts and plumeshimself in the pride of it. I had a guinea, and Barbara had nothing. Ihad sooner it were so than that she had a hundred.

  But to her came no such subtle consolation. To lack money was a newhorror, untried, undreamt of; the thing had come to her all her days insuch measure as she needed it, its want had never thwarted her desiresor confined her purpose. To lack the price of post-horses seemed to heras strange as to go fasting for want of bread.

  "What shall we do?" she cried in a dismay greater than all the perils ofthe night had summoned to her heart.

  We had about us wealth enough; Louis' dagger was in my belt, his ring onher finger. Yet of what value were they, since there was nobody to buythem? To offer such wares in return for a carriage would seem strangeand draw suspicion. I doubted whether even in Dover I should find a Jewwith whom to pledge my dagger, and to Dover in broad day I dared not go.

  I took up my oars and set again to rowing. The shore was but a mile ortwo away. The sun shone now and the light was full, the little bayseemed to smile at me as I turned my head; but all smiles are short fora man who has but a guinea in his purse.

  "What shall we do?" asked Barbara again. "Is there nobody to whom youcan go, Simon?"

  There seemed nobody. Buckingham I dared not trust, he was in Monmouth'sinterest; Darrell had called himself my friend, but he was the servantof Lord Arlington, and my lord the Secretary was not a man to trust. Mymessenger would guide my enemies and my charge be put in danger.

  "Is there nobody, Simon?" she implored.

  There was one, one who would aid me with merry willingness and, had shemeans at the moment, with lavish hand. The thought had sprung to my mindas Barbara spoke. If I could come safely and secretly to a certain housein a certain alley in the town of Dover, I could have money for the sakeof old acquaintance, and what had once been something more, between herand me. But would Barbara take largesse from that hand? I am a cowardwith women; ignorance is fear's mother and, on my life, I do not knowhow they will take this thing or that, with scorn or tears or shame orwhat, or again with some surprising turn of softness and (if I may makebold to say it) a pliability of mind to which few of us men lay claimand none give honour. But the last mood was not Barbara's, and, as Ilooked at her, I dared not tell her where lay my only hope of help inDover. I put my wits to work how I could win the aid for her, and keepthe hand a secret. Such deception would sit lightly on my conscience.

  "I am thinking," I replied to her, "whether there is anyone, and how Imight reach him, if there is."

  "Surely there's someone who would serve you and whom you could trust?"she urged.

  "Would you trust anyone whom I trust?" I asked.

  "In truth, yes."

  "And would you take the service if I would?"

  "Am I so rich that I can choose?" she said piteously.

  "I have your promise to it?"

  "Yes," she answered with no hesitation, nay, with a readiness that mademe ashamed of my stratagem. Yet, as Barbara said, beggars cannot bechoosers even in their stratagems, and, if need were, I must hold her toher word.

  Now we were at the land and the keel of our boat grated on the shingle.We disembarked under the shadow of the cliffs at the eastern end of thebay; all was solitude, save for a little house standing some way backfrom the sea, half-way up the cliff, on a level platform cut in the faceof the rock. It seemed a fisherman's cottage; thence might comebreakfast, and for so much our guinea would hold good. There was arecess in the cliffs, and here I bade Barbara sit and rest herself,sheltered from view on either side, while I went forward to try my luckat the cottage. She seemed reluctant to be left, but obeyed me, standingand watching while I took my way, which I chose cautiously, keepingmyself as much within the shadow as might be. I had sooner not haveventured this much exposure, but it is ill to face starvation forsafety's sake.

  The cottage lay but a hundred yards off, and soon I approached it. Itwas hard on six o'clock now, and I looked to find the inmates up andstirring. I wondered also whether Monmouth were gone to await Barbaraand myself at the Merry Mariners in Deal; alas, we were too near thetrysting-place! Or had he heard by now that the bird was flown from hislure and caged by that M. de Perrencourt who had treated him socavalierly? I could not tell. Here was the cottage; but I stood stillsuddenly, amazed and cautious. For there, in the peaceful morning, inthe sun's kindly light, there lay across the threshold the body of aman; his eyes, wide-opened, stared at the sky, but seemed to see nothingof what they gazed at; his brown coat was stained to a dark rusty hue onthe breast, where a gash in the stuff showed the passage of a sword. Hishand clasped a long knife, and his face was known to me. I had seen itdaily at my uprising and lying-down. The body was that of Jonah Wall, inthe flesh my servant, in spirit the slave of Phineas Tate, whoseteaching had brought him to this pass.

  The sight bred in me swift horror and enduring caution. The two Dukeshad been despatched, sorely against their will, in chase of this man.Was it to their hands that he had yielded up his life and by their doingthat he lay like carrion? It might well be that he had sought refuge inthis cottage, and having found there death, not comfort, had been flungforth a corpse. I pitied him; although he had been party to a plot whichhad well nigh caused my own death and taken no account of my honour, yetI was sorry for him. He had been about me; I grieved for him as for thecat on my hearth. Well, now in death he warned me; it was somerecompense; I lifted my hat as I stole by him and slunk round to theside of the house. There was a window there, or rather a window-frame,for glass there was none; it stood some six feet from the ground and Icrouched beneath it, for I now heard voices in the cottage.

  "I wish the rascal hadn't fought," said one voice. "But he flew at melike a tiger, and I had much ado to stop him. I was compelled to run himthrough."

  "Yet he might have served me alive," said another.

  "Your Grace is right. For although we hate these foul schemes, the menhad the root of the matter in them."

  "They were no Papists, at least," said the second voice.

  "But the King will be pleased."

  "Oh, a curse on the King, although he's what he is to me! Haven't youheard? When I returned to the Castle from my search on th
e other side ofthe town, seeking you or Buckingham--by the way, where is he?"

  "Back in his bed, I warrant, sir."

  "The lazy dog! Well then, they told me she was gone with Louis. I rodeon to tell you, for, said I, the King may hunt his conspirators himselfnow. But who went with them?"

  "Your Grace will wonder if I say Simon Dale was the man?"

  "The scoundrel! It was he! He has deluded us most handsomely. He was inLouis' pay, and Louis has a use for him! I'll slit the knave's throat ifI get at him."

  "I pray your Grace's leave to be the first man at him."

  "In truth I'm much obliged to you, my Lord Carford," said I to myselfunder the window.

  "There's no use in going to Deal," cried Monmouth. "Oh, I wish I had thefellow here! She's gone, Carford; God's curse on it, she's gone! Theprettiest wench at Court! Louis has captured her. 'Fore heaven, if onlyI were a King!"

  "Heaven has its own times, sir," said Carford insidiously. But the Duke,suffering from disappointed desire, was not to be led to affairs ofState.

  "She's gone," he exclaimed again. "By God, sooner than lose her, I'dhave married her."

  This speech made me start. She was near him; what if she had been asnear him as I, and had heard those words? A pang shot through me, and,of its own accord, my hand moved to my sword-hilt.

  "She is beneath your Grace's station. The spouse of your Grace may oneday be----" Carford interrupted himself with a laugh, and added, "WhatGod wills."

  "So may Anne Hyde," exclaimed the Duke. "But I forget. You yourself hadmarked her."

  "I am your Grace's humble servant always," answered Carford smoothly.

  Monmouth laughed. Carford had his pay, no doubt, and I trust it waslarge; for he heard quietly a laugh that called him what King Louis hadgraciously proposed to make of me. I am glad when men who live by dirtyways are made to eat dirt.

  "And my father," said the Duke, "is happy. She is gone, Querouaillestays; why, he's so enamoured that he has charged Nell to return toLondon to-day, or at the latest by to-morrow, lest the French lady'svirtue should be offended."

  At this both laughed, Monmouth at his father, Carford at his King.

  "What's that?" cried the Duke an instant later.

  Now what disturbed him was no other than a most imprudent exclamationwrung from me by what I heard; it must have reached them faintly, yet itwas enough. I heard their swords rattle and their spurs jingle as theysprang to their feet. I slipped hastily behind the cottage. But by goodluck at this instant came other steps. As the Duke and Carford ran tothe door, the owner of the cottage (as I judged him to be) walked up,and Carford cried:

  "Ah, the fisherman! Come, sir, we'll make him show us the nearest way.Have you fed the horses, fellow?"

  "They have been fed, my lord, and are ready," was the answer.

  I did not hear more speech, but only (to my relief) the tramp of feet asthe three went off together. I stole cautiously out and watched themheading for the top of the cliff. Jonah Wall lay still where he was, andwhen the retreating party were out of sight I did not hesitate to searchhis body for money. I had supplied his purse, but now his purse wasemptier than mine. Then I stepped into the cottage, seeking not moneybut food. Fortune was kinder here and rewarded me with a pasty,half-eaten, and a jug of ale. By the side of these lay, left by the Dukein his wonted profusion, a guinea. The Devil has whimsical ways; Iprotest that the temptation I suffered here was among the strongest ofmy life! I could repay the fellow some day; two guineas would be by farmore than twice as much as one. Yet I left the pleasant golden thingthere, carrying off only the pasty and the ale; as for the jug--a manmust not stand on nice scruples, and Monmouth's guinea would more thanpay for all.

  I made my way quickly back to Barbara with the poor spoils of myexpedition. I rounded the bluff of cliff that protected herhiding-place. Again I stood amazed, asking if fortune had more tricks inher bag for me. The recess was empty. But a moment later I wasreassured; a voice called to me, and I saw her some thirty yards away,down on the sea-beach. I set down pasty and jug and turned to watch.Then I perceived what went on; white feet were visible in the shallowwater, twinkling in and out as the tide rolled up and back.

  "I had best employ myself in making breakfast ready," said I, turning myback. But she called out to me again, saying how delightful was the coolwater. So I looked, and saw her gay and merry. Her hat was in her handnow, and her hair blew free in the breeze. She had given herself up tothe joy of the moment. I rejoiced in a feeling which I could not share;the rebound from the strain of the night left me sad and apprehensive. Isat down and rested my head on my hands, waiting till she came back.When she came, she would not take the food I offered her, but stood amoment, looking at me with puzzled eyes, before she seated herself near.

  "You're sad," she said, almost as though in accusation.

  "Could I be otherwise, Mistress Barbara?" I asked. "We're in somedanger, and, what's worse, we've hardly a penny."

  "But we've escaped the greatest peril," she reminded me.

  "True, for the moment."

  "We--you won't be married to-night," she laughed, with rising colour,and turning away as though a tuft of rank grass by her had caught herattention and for some hidden reason much deserved it.

  "By God's help we've come out of that snare," said I gravely.

  She said nothing for a moment or two; then she turned to me again,asking,

  "If your friend furnishes money, can we reach London in two days?"

  "I'm sorry," I answered, "but the journey will need nearer three, unlesswe travel at the King's pace or the Duke of Monmouth's."

  "You needn't come all the way with me. Set me safe on the road, and gowhere your business calls you."

  "For what crime is this punishment?" I asked with a smile.

  "No, I'm serious. I'm not seeking a compliment from you. I see thatyou're sad. You have been very kind to me, Simon. You risked life andliberty to save me."

  "Well, who could do less? Besides, I had given my promise to my lordyour father."

  She made no reply, and I, desiring to warn her against every danger,related what had passed at the cottage, omitting only Monmouth'sloudmouthed threats against myself. At last, moved by some impulse ofcuriosity rather than anything higher, I repeated how the Duke had saidthat, sooner than lose her altogether, he would have married her, andhow my Lord Carford had been still his humble servant in this project asin any other. She flushed again as she heard me, and plucked her tuft ofgrass.

  "Indeed," I ended, "I believe his Grace spoke no more than the truth;I've never seen a man more in love."

  "And you know well what it is to be in love, don't you?"

  "Very well," I answered calmly, although I thought that the taunt mighthave been spared. "Therefore it may well be that some day I shall kissthe hand of her Grace the Duchess."

  "You think I desire it?" she asked.

  "I think most ladies would."

  "I don't desire it." She sprang up and stamped her foot on the ground,crying again, "Simon, I do not desire it. I wouldn't be his wife. Yousmile! You don't believe me?"

  "No offer is refused until it's made," said I, and, with a bow thatasked permission, I took a draught of the ale.

  She looked at me in great anger, her cheek suffused with underlying redand her dark eyes sparkling.

  "I wish you hadn't saved me," she said in a fury.

  "That we had gone forward to Calais?" I asked maliciously.

  "Sir, you're insolent." She flung the reproof at me like a stone from acatapult. But then she repeated, "I wouldn't be his wife."

  "Well, then, you wouldn't," said I, setting down the jug and rising."How shall we pass the day? For we mustn't go to Dover till nightfall."

  "I must be all day here with you?" she cried in visible consternation.

  "You must be all day here, but you needn't be with me. I'll go down tothe beach; I shall be within hail if need arises, and you can rest herealone."

  "Thank you, Simon," she answe
red with a most sudden and wonderfulmeekness.

  Without more, I took my way to the seashore and lay down on thesun-warmed shingle. Being very weary and without sleep now forsix-and-thirty hours, I soon closed my eyes, keeping the pistol ready bymy side. I slept peacefully and without a dream; the sun was high inheaven when, with a yawn and a stretching of my limbs, I awoke. I heard,as I opened my eyes, a little rustling as of somebody moving; my handflew to the butt of my pistol. But when I turned round I saw Barbaraonly. She was sitting a little way behind me, looking out over the sea.Feeling my gaze she looked round.

  "I grew afraid, left all alone," she said in a timid voice.

  "Alas, I snored when I should have been on guard!" I exclaimed.

  "You didn't snore," she cried. "I--I mean not in the last few moments. Ihad only just come near you. I'm afraid I spoke unkindly to you."

  "I hadn't given a thought to it," I hastened to assure her.

  "You were indifferent to what I said?" she cried.

  I rose to my feet and made her a bow of mock ceremony. My rest had putme in heart again, and I was in a mood to be merry.

  "Nay, madame," said I, "you know that I am your devoted servant, andthat all I have in the world is held at your disposal."

  She looked sideways at me, then at the sea again.

  "By heaven, it's true!" I cried. "All I have is yours. See!" I took outmy precious guinea, and bending on my knee with uncovered head presentedit to Mistress Barbara.

  She turned her eyes down to it and sat regarding it for a moment.

  "It's all I have, but it's yours," said I most humbly.

  "Mine?"

  "Most heartily."

  She lifted it from my palm with finger and thumb very daintily, and,before I knew what she was doing, or could have moved to hinder her if Ihad the mind, she raised her arm over her head and with all her strengthflung the guinea into the sparkling waves.

  "Heaven help us!" I cried.

  "It was mine. That's what I chose to do with it," said Barbara.