Books: The King\'s Highway

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"And pray, my good son," said Lord Byerdale to him, "as your intimacy
with washerwomen is doubtless as great as your intimacy with
embroiderers and sempstresses, pray tell me how these gilded napkins
are to be washed?"

"Washed, my lord!" exclaimed Lord Sherbrooke in a tone of horror. "Do
you ever have your napkins washed? I did not know there was a
statesman in Europe whose fingers were so clean as to leave his
napkin in such a state that the stains could ever be taken out, after
he had once used it."

"I am afraid, my dear boy," replied Lord Byerdale, "that, if you had
not--as many men of sharp wit do--confounded a figure with a reality,
for the purpose of playing with both, and if there were in truth such
a thing as a moral napkin, what you say would be very true. But as
far as I can judge, my dear Sherbrooke, yours would not bear washing
any better than mine."

"It would be very presumptuous of me if it did, my dear father,"
replied Lord Sherbrooke, "and would argue that precept and example
had done nothing for me. Come, Wilton," he added, "come in to my
help, for here are father and son flinging so hard at each other,
that I shall get my teeth dashed down my throat before I've done. Now
tell me, did you ever see such a napkin as that in the house of a
nobleman, a gentleman, or a man of taste, three states, by the way,
seldom united in the same person?"

"Oh yes," replied Wilton, "often; and, to tell the truth, I think
them in much better taste than if they were all covered with gold."

"Surely not for the fingers of a statesman?" said Lord Sherbrooke.
"However, I abominate them; and I will instantly sit down and write
to a good friend of mine in France, to smuggle me over a few dozens
as a present to my respectable parent."

"A present which he will have to pay for," replied the Earl, somewhat
bitterly. "My dear Sherbrooke, your presents to other people cost
your father so much one way, that I beg you will make none to him,
and get him into the scrape the other way also."

"Do not be alarmed, my dear and most amiable parent," replied Lord
Sherbrooke: "the sweet discussion which we had some time ago, in
regard to debts and expenses, has had its effect: though it is a very
stupid plan of a son ever to let his father see that what he says has
any effect upon him at all; but I intend to contract my expenses."

"Intentions are very excellent things, my dear Sherbrooke," replied
his father. "But I am afraid we generally treat them as gardeners do
celery,--cut them down as soon as they sprout above ground."

"I have let mine grow, my lord, already," replied Sherbrooke. "I
last night gave an order for selling five of my horses, and now keep
only two."

"And how many mistresses, Sherbrooke?" demanded his father.

"None, my lord," replied Sherbrooke.

Not a change came over Lord Byerdale's countenance; but ringing the
bell which stood before him on the table, he said to the servant,
"Bring me the book marked 'Ephemeris' from my dressing-room, with a
pen and ink.--We will put that down," continued he; and when the
servant brought the book he wrote for a moment, reading aloud as he
did so, "Great annular eclipse of the sun--slight shock of an
earthquake felt in Cardigan--Sherbrooke talks of contracting his
expenses."

Wilton could not help smiling; but he believed and trusted, from all
that he knew of Lord Sherbrooke's situation, that new motives and
nobler ones than those which had ever influenced him before, produced
his present resolution, and would support him in it.

The business which he had to transact with the Earl proved very
brief; and after it was over, he sought Lord Sherbrooke again, with
feelings of real and deep interest in all that concerned him. He
found the young nobleman seated with his feet on the fire-place, and
a light book in his hand, sometimes letting it drop upon his knee,
and falling into a fit of thought, sometimes reading a few lines
attentively, sometimes gazing upon the page, evidently without
attending to its contents.

He suffered Wilton to be in the room several minutes without speaking
to him; and his friend, knowing the eccentricities that occasionally
took possession of him, was about to quit the room and leave him,
when he started up, threw the book into the midst of the fire, and
said, "Where are you going, Wilton? I will walk with you."

They issued forth together into the streets, and entering St. James's
Park, took their way round by the head of the decoy towards the side
of the river. While in the streets they both kept silence; but as
soon as they had passed the ever-moving crowds that swarm in the
thoroughfares of the great metropolis, Wilton began the conversation,
by inquiring eagerly after his friend's wife.

"She is nearly well," replied Lord Sherbrooke, coldly--"out of all
danger, at least. It is I that am sick, Wilton--sick at heart."

"I hope not cold at heart, Sherbrooke," replied Wilton, somewhat
pained by the tone in which the other spoke. "I should think such a
being as I saw with you might well warm you to constancy as well as
love. I hope, Sherbrooke, those feelings I beheld excited in you have
not, in this instance, evaporated as soon as in others."

Lord Sherbrooke turned and gazed in his friend's face for a moment
intently, even sternly, and then replied, "Love her, Wilton? I love
her better than anything in earth or in heaven! It is for her sake I
am sad; and yet she is so noble, that why should I fear to bear what
she will never shrink from."

"Nay, my dear Sherbrooke," replied Wilton. "The very resolution which
I see you have taken to shake yourself free of the trammels of your
debts ought to give you joy and confidence."

"Debts!" said Lord Sherbrooke--"debts! Do you think that it was debts
I had in view when I ordered my horses to be sold, and my carriages
to follow them, and kicked my Italian valet down stairs, and
dismissed my mistresses, and got rid of half-a-dozen other
blood-suckers?--My debts had nothing to do with it. By Heaven,
Wilton, if it had been for nothing but that, I would have spent
twenty thousand pounds more before the year was over; for when one
has a mind to enrage one's father, or go to gaol, or anything of that
kind, one had better do it for a large sum at once, in a gentleman-
like way. Oh no, I have other things in my head, Wilton, that you
know nothing about."

"I will not try to press into your confidence, Sherbrooke," replied
Wilton, "though I think in some things I have shown myself deserving
of it. But I need hardly tell you, that if I can serve you, I am
always most willing to do so, and you need but command me."

"Alas! my dear Wilton," replied Lord Sherbrooke--"this is a matter
in which you can do nothing. It is like one man trying to lift Paul's
church upon his back, and another coming tip and offering to help
him. If I did what was right, and according to the best prescribed
practice, I should repay your kind wishes and offers by turning round
and cutting your throat."

"Nay, nay, my dear Sherbrooke," replied Wilton, "you are in one of
your misanthropical fits, and carry it even further than ordinary.
The world is bad enough, but not so bad as to present us with many
instances of people cutting each other's throats as a reward for
offers of service."

"You are very wise, Wilton," replied Lord Sherbrooke, "but
nevertheless you will find out that at present I am right and you are
wrong. However, let us talk of something else;" and he dashed off at
once into a wild gay strain of merriment, as unaccountable as the
grave and gloomy tone with which he had entered into the
conversation.

This morning's interview formed the type of Lord Sherbrooke's conduct
during the whole time of his stay in town. Continual fluctuations,
not only in his own spirits, but in his demeanour towards Wilton
himself; evidently showed his friend that he was agitated internally
by some great grief or terrible anxiety. Indeed, from time to time,
his words suffered it to appear, though not, perhaps, in the same
manner that the words of other men would have done in similar
circumstances. The only thing in which he seemed to take pleasure was
in attending the trials of the various conspirators; and when any of
them displayed any fear or want of firmness, he found therein a vast
source of merriment, and would come home laughing to Wilton, and
telling him how the beggarly wretch had showed his pale fright at the
block and axe.

"That villain Knightly," he said, one day, "who was as deep or deeper
in the plot than any of the others, and surveyed the ground for the
King's assassination, came into court the colour of an old woman's
green calamanco petticoat, gaping and trembling in every limb like a
boar's head in aspic jelly; and Heaven knows that I, who stood
looking and laughing at him, would have taken his place for a
dollar."

The perfect conviction that some very serious cause existed for this
despondency induced Wilton to deviate from the line of conduct he had
laid down for himself, and to urge Lord Sherbrooke at various times
to make him acquainted with the particulars of his situation, and to
give him the opportunity of assisting him if possible. Lord
Sherbrooke resisted pertinaciously. He sometimes answered his friend
kindly and feelingly, sometimes sullenly, sometimes angrily. But he
never yielded; and on one occasion he expressed himself so harshly
and ungratefully, that Wilton turned round and left him in the park.
They were on horseback at the time; and Lord Sherbrooke rode on a
little way, without taking the slightest notice of his companion's
departure. He then suddenly turned his horse, however, and galloping
after him at full speed, he held out his hand to him, saying,
"Wilton, you must either fight me or forgive me, for this state
must not last five minutes."

Wilton took his hand, replying, "I forgive you with all my heart,
Sherbrooke, and let me once more explain that my only view, my only
wish, is to be of assistance to you. I see, Sherbrooke, that you are
melancholy, wretched, anxious. I wish much to do anything that I can
to relieve that state of mind; and though I have no power, and very
little interest, yet there do occasionally occur opportunities to me,
which, as you have seen in the case of Lady Laura, afford me means of
doing things which might not be expected from my situation."

"You can neither help me, nor relieve me, nor assist me in the least,
Wilton," replied Lord Sherbrooke, "unless, indeed, you could entirely
change beings with me; unless you become me, and I become you. But it
cannot be, and I cannot even explain to you any part of my situation.
Therefore ask me nothing more upon the subject, and only be contented
that it is from no want of confidence in you that I hold my tongue."

"I hope and trust that it is not," replied Wilton; "but now that we
are speaking upon the subject, let me still say one word more. I can
conceive, from various reasons, that you may not think fit to confide
in me. I am a man of your own age, with less wit, less experience,
less knowledge of the world than you have--"

"You have more wit in your little finger, more knowledge of the
world, and experience--Heaven knows how you got it--more common
sense, ay, and uncommon sense too, than ever I shall have in my
life," replied Lord Sherbrooke, hastily.

"But hear me, Sherbrooke, hear me," said Wilton--"whatever may be the
cause, it does not suit you to take my advice and assistance. Now
there is one person in whom you may fully rely, who will never betray
your confidence, who will give you the very best advice, and I am
sure will, if it be in his power, render you still more important
assistance--I mean Lord Sunbury. He is now at Geneva, on his way
home, waiting for passports from France. In his last letter, lie
mentioned you with much interest, and desired me--"

"Good God!" cried Lord Sherbrooke, "that I should ever create any
interest in anybody! However, Wilton, your suggestion is not a bad
one. Perhaps you have pointed out the only man in Europe in whom I
could confide with propriety, strange as that may seem. But in the
first place, I must consult with others.--Have you seen your friend
Green lately?"

"Not since the night before all that business in Kent," replied
Wilton. "I have sought to see him, but have never been able; and I
begin to apprehend that he must have taken a part in this conspiracy,
different from that I imagined, and has absented himself on that
account."

"Not he, not he!" replied Lord Sherbrooke; "I saw him but two days
ago. But who have we here, coming up on foot? One of the King's
servants, it would seem, and with him that cowardly rascal Arden.
They are snaking towards us, Wilton, doubtless not recognising us.
Suppose we take Master Arden, and horsewhip him out of the park."

"No, no," replied Wilton, "no such violent counsels for me, my dear
Sherbrooke. The man is punished more than I wished already."

The two men directed their course at once towards Lord Sherbrooke and
his companion; and as they approached, the King's servant advanced
before the other, and with a respectful bow addressed Wilton, saying,
"I have the King's commands, sir, to require your presence at
Kensington immediately. I was even now about to seek you in St.
James's Square, and then at Whitehall. But I presume Mr. Arden has
informed me rightly, that you are that Mr. Brown who is private
secretary to Lord Byerdale."

"The same, sir," replied Wilton. "Am I to present myself to his
majesty in my riding dress?"

"His majesty's commands were for your immediate attendance, sir,"
replied the servant: "the council must be over by this time, and then
he expects you."

"Then I will lose no time," replied Wilton, "but ride to the palace
at once."

"What can be the meaning of this, Wilton?" said Lord Sherbrooke, as
he put his horse into a quick pace, to keep up with that of his
friend.

"On my word, I cannot tell," replied Wilton. "I trust for no evil,
though I know not that any good can be in store."

"Well, I will leave you at the palace gates," replied Lord
Sherbrooke, "and ride about in the neighbourhood till I see you come
out. I hope it will not be in custody."

"I trust not, indeed," replied Wilton. "I know of no good reason why
it should be so: but in these days of suspicion, and I must say of
guilt and treason also, no one can tell who may be the next person
destined for abode in Newgate."

In such speculations the two young gentlemen continued till they
reached the palace, where Lord Sherbrooke turned and left his friend;
and Wilton, if the truth must be confessed, with an anxious and
beating heart, applied to the porter for admittance.

The moment that his name was given, he was led by a page to a small
waiting room on the ground floor. The carriages which had surrounded
the entrance seemed to indicate that the council was not yet over;
but in a few minutes after, the sound of many feet and of various
people talking was heard in the neighbouring passage; and then came
the roll of carriages followed by a dead silence. To the mind of
Wilton the silence continued for an exceedingly long time; but at
length a voice was heard, apparently at some distance, pronouncing a
name indistinctly; but Wilton imagined that it sounded like his own
name.

The next instant, another voice took it up, and it was now
distinctly, "Mr. Brown to the King." The door then opened, and a page
appeared, saying, "Mr. Brown, the King commands your presence."

CHAPTER XXXIV.

William III. was seated in a small cabinet, with a table to his right
hand on which his elbow rested; an inkstand and paper were beside
him; and on the other hand, a step behind, stood a gentleman of good
mien, with his hand upon the back of the King's chair, in an attitude
familiar, but not disrespectful. The harsh and somewhat coarse
features of the monarch, which abstractedly seemed calculated to
display strong passions, were in their habitual state of cold
immobility; and Wilton, though he knew his person well, and had seen
him often, could not derive from the King's face the slightest
intimation of what was passing in his mind. There was no trace of
anger, it is true; the brow was sufficiently contracted to appear
thoughtful, but no more; and, at the same time, there was not one
touch even of courteous affability to be seen in those rigid lines to
tell that the young gentleman had been sent for upon some pleasurable
occasion. Dignity, to a certain extent, there must have been in his
demeanour, that sort of dignity which is communicated to the body by
great powers of mind, and great decision of character--in fact,
dignity divested of grace. Nobody could have taken him for a vulgar
man, although his person, as far as mere lines and colouring go,
might have been that of the lowest artizan; but what is more, no one
could see him, however simple might be his dress, without feeling
that there sat a distinguished man of some kind.

Wilton had been accustomed too much and too long to mingle with the
first people in the first country of the world, to suffer himself to
be much affected by any of the external pomp and circumstance of
courts, or even by the vague sensations of respect with which fancy
invests royalty; but he could not help feeling, as he entered the
presence of William, that he was approaching a man of vast mind as
well as vast power.

William looked at him quietly for several minutes, letting him
approach within two steps, and gazing at him still, even after he had
stopped, without uttering a single word. Wilton bowed, and then stood
erect before the King, feeling a little embarrassed, it is true, but
determined not to suffer his embarrassment to appear.

At length, the King addressed him in a harsh tone of voice, saying,
"Well, sir, what have you to say?"

"May it please your majesty," replied Wilton, "I do not know on what
subject your majesty wishes me to speak. I met one of the royal
servants in the Park who commanded me to present myself here
immediately, and I came hither accordingly, without waiting to
inquire for what purpose."

"Oh! then you do not know?" said the King. "I thought you did know,
and most likely were prepared. But it is as well as it is. I doubt
not you will answer me truly. Where were you on Friday, the 22d of
February last?"

"I cannot exactly say where I was, Sire," replied Wilton; "for during
the greater part of that day I was continually changing my place.
Having set out for a small town or village called High Halstow, in
Kent, at an early hour in the day, I arrived there just before
nightfall, and remained in that place or in the neighbourhood for
several hours, indeed, till nearly or past midnight."

"Pray what was your business there?" demanded the King.

"I fear," replied Wilton, "I must trouble your majesty with some long
details to enable you to understand the object of my going."

"Go on," was William's laconic reply; and the young gentleman
proceeded to tell him, that having been employed in recovering Lady
Laura from those who had carried her off, he had learned in the
course of his inquiries in London that she was likely to be heard of
in that neighbourhood.

"I judged it likely to be so myself, sire," continued Wilton,
"because I believed her to have been carried off by some persons
belonging to a party of Jacobites who were known to be caballing
against the government, though to what extent was not then
ascertained."

"And what made you judge," demanded the King, "that she had been
carried off by these men?"

"Because, sire," replied Wilton, "the lady's father had been an
acquaintance of Sir John Fenwick, one of the most notorious of the
persons now implicated in the present foul plot against your
majesty's life and crown. With him the Duke of Gaveston, I found, had
quarrelled some time previously, and I suspected, though I had no
proof thereof, that this quarrel had been occasioned by the Duke
strongly differing from Sir John Fenwick in his political views, and
refusing to take any part in any designs against the government."

"I am glad to hear this of the Duke, sir," replied the King. "Then it
was out of revenge, you believe, they carried away the young lady?"

"Rather out of a desire to have a hold upon the Duke," replied
Wilton. "I found afterwards, your majesty, that their intention was
to send the young lady to France, and I judged throughout that their
design was to force the Duke into an intrigue which they found he
would not meddle with willingly."

William III., though he was himself of a very taciturn character, and
not fond of loquacity in others, was yet fond of full explanations,
always sitting in judgment, as it were, upon what was said to him,
and passing sentence in his own breast. He now made Wilton go over
again the particulars of Lady Laura's being taken away, though it was
evident that he had heard all the facts before, and obliged him to
enter into every minute detail which in any way affected the
question.

When this was done, without any other comment than a look to the
gentleman on his left hand, he fixed his eyes again upon Wilton, and
asked,--"Now, where did you learn that these conspirators were likely
to be found in Kent?"

"I heard it from a gentleman named Green," replied Wilton, "whom I
met with at a tavern in St. James's-street."

"Green is a very common name," said the King.

"I do not believe that it is his real name," replied Wilton; "but
what his real name is I do not know. I had not seen him often before;
but he informed me of these facts, and I followed his advice and
directions."

"That was rash," said the King. "You are sure you do not know his
real name?"

"I cannot even guess it, sire," replied Wilton; and the King, after
exchanging a mute glance with his attendant, went on,--"Well, when
you had discovered the place of meeting of these conspirators, and
reached it, what happened then?"

"I did not go, may it please your majesty, to discover their place of
meeting, but to discover the place where Lady Laura was detained,
which, when I had done, aided by a person I had got to assist
me--after Arden, formerly Messenger of State, had fled from me in a
most dastardly manner, in a casual rencounter with some
people--smugglers, I believe--I made the master of the house and some
other persons whom we found there, set the Lady Laura at liberty. I
informed her of the authority that her father had given me, and she
was but too glad to accept the assistance of any friend with whom she
was acquainted."

"So, so; stop!" said the King. "So, then, Arden was not with you at
this time?"

"No, sire," replied Wilton--"he had run away an hour before."

"That was not like a brave man," said William.

"No, indeed, sire," replied Wilton, "nor like one of your majesty's
friends, for it is your enemies that generally run away."

A faint smile came upon William's countenance, and he said, "Go on.
What happened next?"

"Before we could make our escape from the house," replied Wilton, "we
were stopped by a large party of men, who entered; and, principally
instigated by Sir John Fenwick, who was one of them, they opposed, in
a violent manner, our departure."

Hitherto Wilton had been very careful of his speech, unwilling to
compromise any one, and especially unwilling to mention the name of
Lord Sherbrooke, the Lady Helen Oswald, or anybody else except the
conspirators who had taken a part in the events of that night. Now,
however, when he had to dwell principally upon the conduct of the
conspirators and himself; he did so more boldly, and gave a full
account of all that had been said and done till the entrance of the
Duke of Berwick. He knew, or rather divined, from what had already
passed, that this was in reality the point to which the examination
he underwent principally tended. But yet he spoke with more ease,
for, notwithstanding the danger which existed at that moment in
acknowledging any communication whatsoever with Jacobites, he well
knew that the conduct of the Duke of Berwick himself only required to
be truly reported, to be admired by every noble and generous mind;
and he felt conscious that in his own behaviour he had only acted as
became an upright and an honourable heart. He detailed then,
particularly, the fact of his having seen one of his opponents in the
act of pointing a pistol at him over the shoulder of their principal
spokesman: he mentioned his having cocked his own pistol to fire in
return, and he stated that at the time he felt perfectly sure his
life was about to be made a sacrifice to apprehensions of discovery
on the part of the conspirators; and he then related to the King how
he had seen a stranger enter and strike up the muzzle of the pistol
pointed at him, at the very moment the other was in the act of
firing.

"The ball," he said, "passed through the window above my head, and
seeing that new assistance had come to my aid, I did not fire."

"Stay, stay!" said the King. "Let me ask you a question or two first.
Did you see, in the course of all this time, the person called Sir
George Barkley amongst these conspirators?"

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