Books: The King's Highway

G >> G. P. R. James >> The King's Highway

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"Wait one moment, Mr. Brown," said Churchill, "and if you are going
my way, I will accompany you."

"You will not fail, my dear Wilton, I trust," said the Earl, "to
visit the young lady, and inquire after her health. Pray present my
most devoted homage to her, and assure her that I have been most
uneasy at her situation, and grieved for all that she must have
undergone. I shall certainly wait upon her to-morrow. In the
meantime," he added, in a lower tone, "do not entertain any
apprehensions in regard to your situation. Go boldly forward, make
sure of her heart, and all the rest will be rendered much more easy
than you imagine. Nothing that I can do for you shall be wanting; and
you have only to let me know when you have any engagement at Beaufort
House, and I will find means to do without your attendance here.--I
beg your pardon, Captain Churchill; I only wished to give this young
gentleman a word of good advice before he left me."

"And I only waited till he was ready, my lord," replied Churchill,
"to take my leave of your lordship, wishing you full success in
dealing with the nest of vagabonds you have got hold of."

Thus saying, he took his leave, and quitting the house together with
Wilton, put his arm through his, and walked on as familiarly as if
they had been old acquaintances.

CHAPTER XXXI.

It may be made a question of very great doubt, whether the
faculty--and it is indisputably a faculty of the mind in its first
freshness--the faculty of wondering at anything extraordinary, or out
of the common course of our knowledge, is or is not productive of
advantage as well as pleasure to us. But there can be no question
whatsoever, that very great advantages are attached to the power of
concealing our wonder. Nothing, indeed, should surprise us in life,
for we are surrounded by daily miracles; nothing should surprise,
because the combination of means in the hand of Almighty Power must
be infinite; and to permit our wonder to appear at anything, is but
to confess ourselves inexperienced, or unobserving, or thoughtless;
and yet with all that, it is a very pleasant sensation.

Wilton Brown, from his commerce with the world, and especially from
the somewhat bard lessons which he had received in the house of the
Earl of Byerdale, had been taught, in communicating with persons
unknown and indifferent to him, to put a strong restraint upon the
expression of his feelings. On the present occasion, not having the
slightest knowledge or conception of Captain Churchill's character,
he walked on beside him, as their way seemed to lie together, without
the slightest inquiry or expression of surprise in regard to what had
taken place; and Captain Churchill was almost inclined to believe
that his young companion was dull, apathetic, and insensible,
although he had good reason to know the contrary. The silence,
however, did somewhat annoy him; for he was not without a certain
share of good-humoured vanity; and he thought, and thought justly,
that he had acted his part to admiration. He resolved, therefore, to
say nothing upon the subject either, as far as he could avoid it; and
thus, strange to say, after the extraordinary scene which had taken
place, the two people who had borne a part therein had got as far as
the door of Captain Churchill's house in Duke-street, without
interchanging a word upon the subject. There, however, Wilton was
about to take his leave; but Churchill stopped him, saying,--

"Do me the favour of coming in for a moment or two, Mr. Brown. I have
something which I wish to give you."

Wilton followed him up stairs, with merely some reply in the common
course of civility; and Churchill, opening a cabinet in the
drawing-room, took out a handsome diamond ring, saying, "I have
received a commission this morning from a near relation of mine, who
considers that he owes his life to you, to beg your acceptance of
this little token, to remember him by when you look upon it. He sent
it to me by a messenger at the moment that he was embarking for
France, together with a letter of instructions as to how he wished me
to act in case of there being any question regarding the transactions
of last night."

"I saw," replied Wilton, "that you must have got information some
way; but in whatever way you did get that information, you certainly
played your part as admirably as it was possible to conceive. I fear
I did not play mine quite so well, for I was taken by surprise."

"Oh, quite well enough, quite well enough," replied Captain
Churchill. "To say the truth, my task was somewhat of a delicate one,
for in these days one might easily involve one's self in imputations
difficult to be got rid of again. My family have chosen our parts so
strongly and decidedly, that my young relation did not venture to see
me when he was in London; not, indeed, from any fear of my betraying
him, for that, of course, was out of the question,--but rather from
the apprehension of committing me. He trusted me with this other
matter, however, probably not knowing, first, that I was ill, and had
been in bed all yesterday, and, next, that this diabolical plot for
assassinating the King and admitting the enemy into the heart of the
land has been discovered. The letter came about an hour after Lord
Byerdale's, and just in time to save me from denying that I was out
of my own house all yesterday. But you do not take the ring, Mr.
Brown: pray accept it as a mere token of gratitude and esteem on the
part of the Duke. His esteem, I can assure you, is worth having."

"I doubt it not in the least, my dear sir," replied Wilton; "but yet
I must beg to decline his gift: in the first place, because I am
entitled to no gratitude; and in the next, because the Duke must be
considered as an enemy of the government I serve. He certainly saved
my life; for I do not suppose the man who was in the act of firing at
me would have missed his mark, if his hand had not been knocked up.
After that I could not, of course, suffer the Duke to be arrested by
my side, if I could help it, and therefore I did what I could to
assist him, but that was little."

Churchill endeavoured, by various arguments, to persuade his young
companion to receive the ring; but Wilton would not suffer himself to
be moved upon the subject; and had, at all events, the satisfaction
of hearing Churchill himself acknowledge, as he was taking his leave,
"Well, after all, I believe you are right."

Their conference was not very long; for it may be easily imagined,
that one of the party, at least, was anxious to proceed on his way in
another direction; and leaving Captain Churchill as soon as he
decently could, Wilton returned to his house, changed his dress, and
entered one of those vehicles called hackney coaches, which, in the
days of King William III, were as rumbling and crazy, and even more
slow, than at present.

Before he reached Beaufort House, Wilton's patience was well nigh
exhausted; but if we may tell the truth, there was one as impatient.
as himself. When they had arrived that morning at Beaufort House,
Laura's thoughts had been divided. Her anxiety to see her father, to
tell him she was safe, to give joy to the heart of one she loved with
the fullest feelings of filial affection, had a strong share in all
her sensations; but that was over, and her mind turned to Wilton
again. In telling her father all that had occurred, in recounting
everything that Wilton had done, in hearing from the Duke himself all
her lover's exertions and anxiety, till he obtained some clue to the
place where she was detained, vivid images were continually brought
up before her mind of things that were most sweet to contemplate.
When she retired to her own chamber, although she strove, at her
father's request, to obtain sleep, those sweet but agitating images
followed her still, and every word, and tone, and look of him she
loved, returned to her memory, and banished slumber altogether from
her pillow.

On whatever part of his conduct memory rested, to the eyes of
affection it seemed all that could be desired. If she thought of him
standing boldly in the presence of superior numbers--calm, cool,
unintimidated, decided; or if she recalled his conduct to the Duke of
Berwick, generously risking all rather than not repay that nobleman's
gallant interposition in his favour by similar efforts in his behalf;
or if she recollected his behaviour to herself; when alone under his
care and guidance, the tenderness, the gentleness, the delicate
forbearance, the consideration for all her feelings, and for every
difficult point of her situation which he had displayed--each part of
his behaviour seemed to her partial eyes all that she could have
dreamed of excellent and good, and each part stood out in bright
apposition with the other; the gentle kindness contrasting strongly
with the firm and courageous determination; the generous and
unhesitating protection of an upright and gallant enemy, seeming but
the more bright from his calm and prudent bearing towards a body of
low-minded and ill-designing traitors.

Thus, during the time that she remained alone, her thoughts were all
of him, and those thoughts were all sweet. Gratitude, it is true,
might derive a great portion of its brightness from love: but Laura
fancied that she had not said half enough in return for all that he
had done in her behalf: she fancied that she had scarcely spoken her
thanks sufficiently warmly, and she longed to see him again, to talk
over all that had taken place, to assure him of her deep, deep
gratitude, and, perhaps--though she did not acknowledge that purpose
to her own heart--to assure him also still more fully of her
unchanging affection. Laura had never felt, even in the least degree,
what love is before. She was not one of the many who trifle away
their heart's brightest affections piece by piece. She had given her
love all at once, and the sensation was the more overpowering.

At length, then, as the hour approached when she supposed he might be
likely to return, she rose and dressed herself, and perhaps that day
she thought more of her beauty than she had ever done before in life;
but it was not with any vain pleasure; for she thought of it only
inasmuch as it might please another whom she loved. We can all surely
remember how, when in the days of our childhood we have had some
present to give to a dear friend, we have looked at it and considered
it, and fancied it even more valuable and delightful than it really
was, with the bright hope of its appearing so to the person for whom
it was destined. Thus with her toilet, Laura let her maid take as
much pains as she would; and when she saw in the glass as lovely a
face and form as that instrument of vanity ever reflected, and could
not help acknowledging that it was so, she smiled with a pleasure
that she had never felt before, to think that beauty also was a part
of the dowry of bright things which she was to bring to him she
loved.

Though the maid was somewhat longer with her mistress's toilet than
usual, delaying it for a little, perhaps, with a view of obtaining
farther information than Lady Laura was inclined to give her, upon
all the events of the two or three days preceding, yet Laura was down
in the saloon some time before the dinner-hour, and she looked not a
little anxiously for the coming of Wilton. She was not inclined to
chide him for delay, for she knew that it would be no fault of his if
he were not there early. The Duke, not knowing that she had risen,
had gone out; but he, too, had left her heart happy in the morning
when they parted, by answering her, when she told him of the
invitation she had given, with such encomiums of her deliverer, of
his manner, of his character, of his person, and of his mind, that
Laura was almost tempted into hopes more bright than the reality.

Notwithstanding all delays Wilton did at length arrive, and that,
too, before the Duke returned, so that Laura had time to tell him how
happy her father's praises of him had made her, and to insinuate
hopes, though she did not venture absolutely to express them. Her
words, and her manner, and her look, in consequence of all that had
been passing in her mind during the morning, were more warm, more
tender than they had even been before; and who could blame Wilton, or
say that he presumed, if he, too, gave way somewhat more to the warm
and passionate love of his own heart, than he had dared to venture
during their preceding intercourse?

Laura did not blame him. She blushed, indeed, as he pressed her to
his heart, though he was the man whom she loved best on earth; but
yet, though she blushed, she felt no wrong: she felt, on the
contrary, the same pure and endearing affection towards him that he
felt for her, and knew that gentle pressure to be but an expression,
on his part, of the same high, holy, and noble love with which she
could have clung to his bosom in any moment of danger, difficulty or
distress.

At length the Duke made his appearance; and eagerly grasped Wilton's
hand in both his own, thanking him a thousand and a thousand times
for restoring to him his beloved child, and telling him that no words
or deeds could ever express his gratitude. Indeed, so much more
eager, so much more demonstrative, was his whole demeanour, than that
of his daughter, that he blamed Laura for coldness in expressing what
she felt only too warmly for words; and until dinner was announced,
he continued talking over all that had occurred, and inquiring again
and again into each particular.

As they went into the dining-room, however, he made a sign to his
daughter, whom he had cautioned before, and whispered to Wilton, "Of
course, we must not talk of these things before the servants."

All that had passed placed Wilton now in a far different situation
with the Duke and his daughter from that in which he had ever stood
before. His mind was perfectly at ease with them, and the relief had
its natural effect on his conversation: all the treasures of his mind,
all the high feelings of his heart, he knew might be displayed
fearlessly. He did not, indeed, seek to bring those treasured
feelings forward; he did not strive to shine, as it is called, for
that striving must in itself always give a want of ease. But poor,
indeed, must be the mind, dull and slow the imagination, which, out
of the ordinary things of life--ay! even out of the every-day
conversation of beings inferior to itself--does not naturally and
easily derive immense, unfathomable currents of thought, combinations
of fancy, of feeling, and of reflection, which only want the licence
of the will to flow on and sparkle as they go. It is, that the Will
refuses that licence when we are with those that we despise or
dislike: it is, that we voluntarily shut the flood-gates, and will
not allow the streams to rush forth. But with Wilton it was very,
very different now: he was in the presence of one whose eye was
sunshine to him, whose mind was of an equal tone with his own; and
there was besides in his bosom that strong passion in its strongest
form which gives to everything it mingles with its own depth, and
intensity, and power--which, like a mountain torrent, suddenly poured
into the bed of some summer rivulet, changes it at once in force, in
speed, in depth--that passion which has made dumb men eloquent, and
cowards brave.

Thus, though the conversation began with ordinary subjects, touched
but upon matters of taste and amusement, and approached deeper
feelings only as a deviation from its regular course, yet at every
turn it took, Wilton's mind displayed its richness and its power;
till the Duke, who had considerable taste and natural feeling, as
well as high cultivation of mind, looked with surprise and admiration
towards his daughter; and every now and then Laura herself, almost
breathless with mingled feelings of pleasure, pride, and affection,
turned her eyes upon her father, and marked his sensations with a
happy smile.

And yet it was all so natural, so easy, so unaffected, that one felt
there was neither effort nor presumption. There was nothing of what
the vulgar mass of common society call eloquence about it; but there
was the true eloquence, which by a single touch wakes the sound that
we desire to produce in the heart of another: which by one bright
instantaneous flash lights up, to the perception of every one around,
each point that we wish them to behold. Eloquence consists not in
many words, but in few words: the thoughts, the associations, the
images, may be many, but the acme of eloquence is in the rapidity of
their expression.

Wilton, then, did not in any degree presume. He discoursed upon
nothing; he did not even attempt to lead. The Duke led the
conversation, and he followed: but it was like that famous entry of
the Roman emperor, where an eagle was seen hovering round and round
his head: the royal bird followed, indeed, the monarch; but in his
flight took ten times a wider scope: the people hailed with loud
gratulations the approach of Caesar, but in the attendant bird
they recognised Jove. The Duke, however, who had taste, as we have
said, and feeling, and who, in regard to conversational powers, was
not a vain roan, was delighted with his guest, and laid himself out
to lead Wilton on towards subjects on which he thought he would
shine: but there was one very extraordinary thing in the history of
that afternoon. There was not a servant in the hall--no, neither the
laced and ribanded lackey lately hired in London, the old blue
bottles from the country mansion, the stately butler and his
understrapper of the cellaret, nor the Duke's own French gentleman,
who stood very close to his master's elbow during the whole of dinner
time--there was not one that did not clearly and perfectly perceive
that their young lady was in love with her hand some deliverer, and
did not comment upon it in their several spheres, when they quitted
the room. Every one felt positive that the matter was all arranged,
and the wedding was soon to take place; and, to say the truth, so
much had Wilton in general won upon their esteem by one means or
another, that the only objection urged against him, in the various
councils which were held upon the subject, was, that his name was
Brown, that he had not a vis-a-vis, and that he kept only two horses.

The two or three last sentences, it must be owned, are lamentable
digressions; for we have not yet stated what the extraordinary thing
was. It was not in the least degree extraordinary that the servants
should all find out the secret of Laura's heart; for her eyes told it
every time that she looked at Wilton; but it is very extraordinary,
indeed, that her father should never find it out, when every one else
that was present did. Is it that there is a magic haze which
surrounds love, that can never be penetrated by the eyes of parents
or guardians, till some particular allotted moment is arrived? I
cannot tell; so, however, has it always proved, and so in all
probability it ever will.

Such was the case with the Duke at the present moment. Although
there was every opportunity for his daughter and Wilton falling in
love with each other; although there was every reasonable cause
thereunto them moving--youth, and beauty, and warm hearts, and
gratitude, and interesting situations: although there was every
probability that time, place, and circumstance could afford; although
there was every indication, sign, symptom, and appearance, that it was
absolutely the case at that very moment, yet the Duke saw nothing of
it, did not believe it existed, did not imagine that it was likely
ever to exist, and was quite prepared to be astonished, surprised, and
mortified, at whatever period the fact, by the will of fate, should
be forced upon his understanding.

Such was the state of all parties at the time when Laura rose from
the table, and left her father and Wilton alone. Now the bad custom
of men sitting together and drinking immense and detrimental
quantities of various kinds of wine, was at that time at its very
acme; so much so, indeed, that there is more than one recorded
instance, in the years 1695 and 1696, of gentlemen--yes, reader;
actually gentlemen, that is to say, persons who had had every
advantage of birth, for time, and education--killing themselves with
intoxication, exactly in the manner which a noble but most unhappy
bard of our own days has described, in--

--"the Irish peer
Who kill'd himself for love, with wine, last year."

On this subject, however, we shall not dwell, as we may be fated,
perhaps, in the very beginning of the next chapter, to touch upon
some of the other peculiar habits of those days.

Now neither Wilton nor the Duke were at all addicted to the vice we
have mentioned; and Wilton had certainly much stronger attractions in
another room of that house than any that the Duke's cellar could
afford him. The Duke, too, had small inclination usually to sit long
at table; but on the pre sent occasion he had an object in detaining
his young friend in the dining-room after Lady Laura had departed.
Wilton's eyes saw him turn towards him several times, while the
servants were busy about the table, and had, indeed, even during
dinner, remarked a certain sort of restlessness, which he attributed,
and rightly, to an anxiety regarding the plots of the Jacobites, in
which the peer had so nearly involved himself.

At length, when the room was cleared and the door closed, the Duke
drew round his chair towards the fire, begging his young friend to do
the same, and mingling the matter of alarm even with his invitation
to the first glass of wine, "My dear Wilton," he said--"you must
permit me to call you so, for I can now look upon you as little less
than a son--I wish you to give me a fuller account of all this
business than poor Laura can, for there is news current about the
town to-day which somewhat alarms me, though I do not think there is
any need of alarm either. But surely, Wilton, they could not bring me
in as at all accessory to a plot which I would have nothing to do
with."

"Oh no, my lord, I should think not," replied Wilton, without much
consideration. "I know it is the wish of the government only to
punish the chief offenders."

"Then you think it is really all discovered, as they say?" demanded
the Duke.

"I know it is," replied Wilton. "Several of the conspirators are
already in custody, and warrants are issued, I understand, against
the rest. As far as I can judge, two or three will turn King's
evidence, and the rest will be executed."

"Good God!" exclaimed the Duke. "I heard something of the business
when I was out, but scarcely gave it credit. It seemed so suddenly
discovered."

"I believe the government have had the clue in their hands for some
time," replied Wilton, "but have only availed themselves of it
lately."

"Have you heard any one named, Wilton?" demanded the Duke again; "any
of those who are taken, or any of those who are suspected?"

"Sir John Friend has been arrested this morning," replied Wilton; "a
person named Cranburne, and another called Rookwood. I heard the
names of those who are suspected also read over."

"Then I adjure you, my dear young friend," cried the Duke, starting
up, and grasping his hand in great agitation--"I adjure you, by all
the regard that exists between us, and all that you have done for me
and my poor child, to tell me if my name was amongst the rest."

"No, it certainly was not," replied Wilton; and as he spoke, the Duke
suffered himself to sink back into his chair again, with a long and
relieved sigh.

The moment Wilton had uttered his reply, however, he recollected that
there was one name in the list at which Lord Byerdale had hesitated;
and he then feared that he might be leading the Duke into error.
Knowing, however, that Laura's father had been but at one of the
meetings of the conspirators, and being perfectly sure, that,
startled and dismayed by what he had heard of their plans, he had
instantly withdrawn from all association with them, he did not doubt
that no serious danger could exist in his case, and therefore thought
it unnecessary to agitate his mind, by suggesting the doubt which had
suddenly come into his own.

He knew, indeed, that any alarm which the Duke might feel, would but
make Laura's father lean more entirely day by day upon him, who, with
the exception of the conspirators themselves, was the only person who
possessed the dangerous secret which caused him so much agitation.
But Wilton was not a man to consider his own interests in any such
matter, and he determined, after a moment's consideration, to say
nothing of the doubts which had just arisen. A pause had ensued,
however, for the Duke, busied with his own feelings, had suffered his
thoughts to run back into the past; and, as is the case with every
human being whose mind dwells upon the acts that are irrevocable, he
found matter for sorrow and regret. After about five minutes'
silence, during which they both continued to gaze thoughtfully into
the fire, the Duke returned to the matter before them by saying--

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