Books: The King\'s Highway

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"I would rather win his consent by good services, my lord," replied
Wilton, "than drive him to give it by any harsh means."

"Pshaw! you are a silly boy," replied the Earl: "there is nothing so
tiresome to a man of experience as the false generosity with which
young men set out in the world. Here, when you have the opportunity
in your power of inducing the Duke easily to give his consent to that
which is most for his own interests, for yours, and for everybody's,
you would let it slip, remain miserable yourself, and see Laura made
miserable too, from the mere idle fancy of not taking advantage of
misfortunes which the Duke has brought upon himself; but I will
consent to no such idle folly, Wilton. I am determined to take care
of your interests, if you do not take care of them for yourself, and
I have a right to do so, as I believe I am your nearest living
relation. And now, my good youth, mark my words, and remember that I
am one who will keep them to the letter. The Duke, I know, has so far
committed himself as to be really criminal. How far his crime may be
aggravated I do not know. If he have brought his own head to the
block I cannot help it, and then all matters will be clear, for Lady
Laura will be free to do as she pleases; but as his pardon for the
offences he has really committed must pass through my hands, if it
should be found that his errors are not of a very deep dye, I give
you fair warning, that he shall not set his foot beyond the doors of
the Tower till Lady Laura is your bride. Say not a word, for my
determination is taken, and he shall find me somewhat firmer in my
purpose than he has shown himself towards you."

"I suppose your lordship means," replied Wilton, "till he has given
his consent to the marriage. The Duke is too honourable a man to
revoke it when once it is granted."

"No, by Heaven!" answered Lord Byerdale: "she shall be yours, fully,
irrevocably your wife, ere he sets his foot forth. There are such
things, I tell you, Wilton, as quarrels about marriage-settlements. I
will have none of that. I will be a better friend to you than you
would be to yourself. However, on second thoughts, say nothing about
it to the Duke. I will take it all upon myself, which will spare you
pain. You shall see that the proposal will come from the Duke
himself."

Wilton smiled; and we cannot think that he was much to blame if there
was some pleasure mingled in his feelings at the thought of soon and
easily obtaining her he loved, even though he experienced repugnance
to the means which the Earl proposed to employ. He resolved,
therefore, to let the matter take its course, feeling very sure that
the result of the Duke's present situation would be much affected,
and his liberation greatly facilitated, by suffering the Earl to
manage the matter in his own way.

He took the order, then, and proceeded at once to the Tower, where,
through walls, and palisades, and courts, he was led to that part of
the building reserved for the confinement of state prisoners. There
was nothing very formidable or very gloomy in the appearance of the
rooms and corridors through which he passed; but the sentry at the
gates, the locked doors, the turning of keys, announced that he was
in a place from which ever-smiling liberty was excluded; and the very
first aspect of the Duke, when his young friend was admitted to the
apartments assigned to that nobleman, showed how deeply he felt the
loss of freedom. In the few hours that had passed since Wilton last
saw him, he lead turned very pale; and though still slightly lame, he
was walking up and down the room with hasty and irregular steps. The
sound of the opening door made him start and turn round with a look
of nervous apprehension; and when he beheld the countenance that
presented itself, his face, indeed, lighted up with a smile, but that
smile was so mingled with an expression of melancholy and agitation,
that it seemed as if he were about to burst into tears.

"This is very kind of you, indeed, Wilton!" he exclaimed, stretching
out his hand towards him: "pray let us forget all that took place
last night. Indeed, your kindness in coming now must make a very
great difference in my feelings towards you: not only that, indeed,
but your note, which reached me early this morning, and which had
already made such a difference, that I should certainly have sent for
you to talk over all matters more calmly, if this terrible misfortune
had not happened to me."

Was the Duke endeavouring to deceive Wilton?--No, indeed, he was not!
Though there can be scarcely a doubt that, had he not been very much
brought down by fear and anxiety, he would not have sent for Wilton
at all. The truth was, he had first deceived himself, and at that
moment he firmly believed that he would have done everything that was
kind and considerate towards Wilton and his daughter, even had he not
been arrested.

"We will not think of any of these things, your grace," replied
Wilton. "I need not tell you that I was both overjoyed to see Lady
Laura, and terribly grieved to hear the cause of her coming. As soon
as I had heard from her your grace's situation and wishes, I sent my
servant to accompany her to Beaufort House."

"Ay," said the Duke, interrupting him, "in the agitation of the
moment, poor girl, I forgot to send any one with her I kept my man
here. But what then, Wilton, what then?-You are always kind and
considerate.--What did you do then?"

"I went immediately to Lord Byerdale," replied Wilton, "who seemed
just to have heard of your arrest. From him I obtained an order to
see you; and he was kind enough also to write to his grace of
Shrewsbury's secretary to know upon what charge you had been
arrested."

"Ay, that is the point! that is the point!" exclaimed the Duke,
eagerly. "When we hear what is the charge, we can better judge what
danger there is; in short, how one is situated altogether."

"Why, I grieve to say, my lord," replied Wilton, "that the charge is
heavy."

"Good God!" exclaimed the Duke, "what is it, Wilton, what is it? Do
not keep me in suspense, but tell me quickly. What does the villain
charge me with? He first spoke upon the subject to me, and he knows
that I am as innocent as the child unborn."

"It would seem, your grace," replied Wilton, "that he levels charges
at many persons most likely as innocent as you are; and that he
wishes to save his own life by endangering the lives of other people.
He charges you with neither more nor less than high treason, for
having been cognisant of, if not consenting to, the plan for
assassinating the King--"

"I never consented to such a thing!" exclaimed the Duke, interrupting
him. "I abhorred the very idea. I never heard of it--I--I--I never
heard it distinctly proposed. Some one, indeed, said it would be
better; but there was no distinct proposal of the kind; and I went
away directly, saying, that I would have no farther part in their
counsels."

Wilton's countenance fell at hearing this admission; for he now for
the first time saw fully how terrible was the situation in which the
Duke had placed himself. That nobleman, then, had, in fact, heard and
had concealed the design against the King's life. The simple law of
high treason, therefore, held him completely within its grasp. That
law declared a person concealing treason to be as guilty as the
actual deviser or perpetrator thereof, and doomed them to the same
penalty. There was no hope, there was no resource, but in the
clemency of the government; and the words used by Lord Byerdale rang
in Wilton's ears, in regard to the bloody appetite of the times for
executions. He turned very pale, then, and remained silent for a
moment or two, while the Duke clasped his hands, and gazed in his
face.

"For Heaven's sake, my lord," he said, at length, "withhold such
admission from anybody else, for I fear very much a bad use might be
made of it."

"I see that you think that the case goes ill with me," said the Duke.
"But I give you my word of honour, my dear Wilton, that the moment I
heard of the designs of these men I left the place in indignation."

"It is necessary, my lord," replied Wilton, "that your grace should
know how you stand; and I fear very much that if this business can be
proved at all, the best view of the case that can be taken will be,
that you have committed misprision of treason, which may subject you
to long imprisonment and forfeiture. If the government deals
leniently with you, such may be the case; but if the strict law be
urged, I fear that your having gone to this meeting at all, and
consented to designs against the government of the King, and
afterwards concealing the plans for introducing foreign forces, and
for compassing the death of the King, must be considered by the peers
as nothing short of paramount treason itself. Let me beseech you,
therefore, my lord, to be most careful and guarded in your speech; to
content yourself with simply denying all treasonable intentions, and
to leave me, and any other friends whom you may think fit to employ,
to endeavour, by using all extraordinary means, to save you even from
the pain and risk of trial. Our greatest hope and the greatest
security for you, is the fact--which is so generally reported that I
fancy it must be true--that Sir John Fenwick has charged a number of
persons in the highest stations, and some even near to the King's
person and counsels. It will be for every one's interest, therefore,
to cast discredit upon all his accusations, and amongst the rest,
perhaps, this also may fall to the ground."

"Could you not see him, Wilton, could you not see him?" demanded the
Duke, eagerly. "Perhaps he might be persuaded to mitigate his charge;
to withdraw it; or to add some account of the abhorrence I expressed
at the plans and purposes I heard."

"I see no way by which I could gain admittance, my lord," replied
Wilton. "He is a close prisoner in Newgate. I know no one who even
is acquainted with him; and I believe none but his wife and various
members of the government are admitted to see him alone. However, I
will do my best, my lord, and if I can gain admission, I will."

The Duke cast himself in deep despondency into a chair, and mused for
several minutes without reply, seeing evidently, from Wilton's words
and manner, that he thought his case a desperate one. After a moment,
however, a momentary ray of hope crossed his countenance again.

"Cannot you see the Lady Mary Fenwick?" he said. "She could surely
gain you admission to her husband. She is a distant relation of my
own, too, for my grandfather married Lady Carlisle's aunt. Beseech
her, Wilton, to gain you admittance; and try also--try, by all
means--to make her use her influence with her husband in my behalf.
Perhaps at her entreaty he would modify the charge, or retract a part
of it. It can do him no good--it may ruin me."

"I will do my best, my lord," replied Wilton, "and in the meantime my
Lord of Byerdale desired me to tell your grace that he would visit
you to-morrow. He comes, indeed, merely as a friend; but I would beg
your grace to remember that he is also a minister of the crown, bound
by his office to give intimation of everything affecting the welfare
of the state."

"Oh, I will be careful, I will be careful!" replied the Duke. "But
can you think of nothing else, Wilton? can we fall upon no means?
Would to Heaven I had always taken your advice! I should not now be
here. Should I ever escape, you will find me a different being,
Wilton. I will not forget your kindness, nor be ungrateful for it;"
and he fell into a somewhat sad and feeble commentary upon his own
conduct, briefly expressing regret for what he had done, partly
alleging excuses for it, but still evidently speaking under the
overpowering influence of fear; while pride, that weakest and most
enfeebling of all evil passions, gave him no support under
affliction, no strength and vigour in the moment of danger. In his
heart Wilton could not respect him; but still he had nourished in his
bosom feelings of affectionate regard towards him: he knew that
Laura's happiness was not to be separated from her father's safety,
and he resolved once more to exert every energy of mind and body in
the service of the Duke.

For about half an hour more their conversation was protracted in the
same strain, and then Wilton took his leave, telling the prisoner
that he feared he should not be able to visit him on the following
day. The Duke pressed him much to do so; but when he heard that every
spare moment of Wilton's time was to be devoted to his service, he
readily agreed, for that object, to lose the consolation of seeing
him.

According to his promise, Wilton sped as fast as possible to Beaufort
House; and though the brief conversation which ensued between him and
Laura was mingled with much that was sad, yet the very fact of being
together--of pouring out every thought of the heart to each other--of
consulting with each other upon the welfare of one who was now an
object of the deepest interest to both--was in itself a happiness, to
Wilton powerful and intense; to Laura, sweet, soothing, and
supporting. During the short time that Wilton stayed, the
conversation turned entirely upon the Duke. At that moment, and with
but little cheering hope to give, Wilton could not mingle the subject
of his own feelings with the sadder ones which brought him thither.
Love, indeed, pervaded every word he spoke; love, indeed, gave its
colouring to all his feelings and to all his thoughts; but that very
love was of a kind which prevented him from making it the subject of
discourse at such an hour as that. Nor was his visit long, for it was
now dark; and after one whole day, which he knew had been spent in
anxiety, care, and fatigue, and after a night which he likewise knew
had gone by in sorrow and anguish, he felt that Laura would require
repose, and hoped, though but faintly, that she would obtain it.

He left her, then, in less than an hour, and took his way homeward,
meditating over what might be done for the Duke, but seeing no hope,
no chance, but in the exertions of the Earl of Byerdale, or the
merciful interposition of the Duke of Shrewsbury. He was not without
hope that the Earl would exert himself; though when he asked his own
mind the question, "Upon what motives, and to what effect, will the
Earl exert himself?" he was obliged to pause in doubt--ay, and in
suspicion. He could not divest his own heart of a conviction that the
Earl was acting insincerely; that there was some object in view which
it was impossible for him to divine; some purpose more than mere
kindness to a relation whom he had never known or acknowledged for so
many years of their mutual life.

CHAPTER XL.

It was the ninth hour of the evening on the following day when a
carriage stopped at the gates of Newgate, and a lady got out and
entered the prison. It was by this time dark, for the year was
already beginning to show a slight diminution in the length of the
days; and there were few people just at that moment in the streets to
remark that she left a male companion behind her in the vehicle, who,
with his arms crossed upon his chest, and his eyes bent thoughtfully
upon the other side of the carriage, remained buried in deep and
seemingly gloomy meditation.

After the lapse of about ten minutes the lady returned, and said,
"You may come; but the governor says your visit must not be long, and
on no account must be mentioned." [Footnote: It is an undoubted
historical fact, that more persons visited and conversed long with
Fenwick in prison than the court was at all aware of.]

Wilton instantly stepped out of the carriage as Lady Mary Fenwick
spoke, and followed her into the prison. A turnkey was in waiting
with a light, and led them round the outer court and through one or
two dark and narrow passages to the cell in which Sir John Fenwick
was confined. There was another turnkey waiting without; and Wilton,
being admitted, found the wretched man whose crimes had brought him
thither, and whose cowardly treachery was even then preparing to make
his end disgraceful, sitting pale, haggard, and worn, with his elbow
resting on the small table in the middle of the cell, and his anxious
eye fixed upon that door from which he was never more to go forth but
to trial, to shame, and to death.

Lady Mary Fenwick, his unfortunate wife, whose eager and strenuous
exertions in her husband's behalf were sufficient to atone in some
degree for the error of countenancing those calumnies by which he
hoped to escape his well-deserved fate, accompanied or rather
followed Wilton into the cell; and as she did so, remarking the
haggard glance with which Sir John regarded the visitor, she held up
her finger with a meaning look, as if to entreat him to assume more
calmness, at least in his demeanour.

Sir John Fenwick made an effort to do so; and, with one of those
painful smiles wherewith wretchedness often attempts to cover its own
misery, he said, "Good evening, Mr. Brown. This is a poor place for
me to receive you in. I could have done better, if you had honoured
me by a visit in Northumberland."

"I grieve much, Sir John, to see you in it," replied Wilton, "and
trust that you may be enabled to free yourself speedily."

A look of anguish came over Sir John Fenwick's countenance; but
Wilton went on, saying, "When last we met, Sir John, it was not,
perhaps, on the best of terms, and I certainly thought that you
treated me ill; but let all that be forgotten in the present
circumstances."

"Do you mean," asked Sir John Fenwick, with a cynical look, "that we
are both to forget it, or that I am to forget the whole business, and
you to recollect it at my trial for the benefit of my accusers?"

"I meant for us both, of course, to forget it," replied Wilton; "or,
rather, I should say, I meant merely that we should forget all
feelings of enmity; for to see you here deprives me of all such
sensations towards you."

"Ay, sir," said Sir John Fenwick, eagerly. "But let us keep to the
other point, if you please. Do you intend to forget our former
meeting, or to give evidence in regard to it?"

Wilton paused, and thought for a moment; and then a sudden idea
struck him that that very interview to which Fenwick alluded might,
perhaps, prove the means of making him modify his charge against the
Duke.

"I cannot, of course," he said, "promise you, Sir John Fenwick, not
to give evidence against you, if I am called upon, for you know that
I can be compelled to do so; but I do not see that my evidence could
do you the slightest harm in regard to your trial for treason, as I
heard you utter no treasonable sentiments, and saw you perform no
treasonable act."

"True, true!" cried Sir John Fenwick, gladly. "True, you can have
nothing to say."

"So shall I tell any one who asks me," said Wilton. "I can give no
pertinent evidence whatsoever, and therefore can easily keep out of
court--unless, indeed," he added, with particular emphasis, "the
charges which you have brought against the Duke of Gaveston should
compel me to come forward as one of his witnesses, especially as his
trial is likely to take place before your own."

"But how can that affect me?" demanded Sir John Fenwick, looking
sharply in his face. "How can the Duke's trial have any effect upon
mine?"

"Merely by bringing forward my evidence," replied Wilton.

"But how, why, wherefore?" said Sir John Fenwick, eagerly. "You have
yourself admitted that you saw nothing, heard nothing at all
treasonable--you cannot dally with a man whose life is in jeopardy.
What evidence can you give with regard to the Duke that can at all
affect me?"

"Only in this way," answered Wilton. "The Duke must be tried upon
your accusation. He will call me to prove that you and he were at
enmity together, and that therefore your charge is likely to be a
calumny. He will also call me to prove that it was both my opinion
and his, expressed to each other at the very time, that you carried
off his daughter for the purpose of forcing him into a plot against
the state, or at all events to prevent his revealing what he knew of
your proceedings, from the fear of some injury happening to his
child. I shall then have to prove that I found her absolutely in your
power: that you refused to give her up at my request; that you were
at that time in company with and acting in concert with various
persons, five or six of whom have since been executed; that from
amongst you a shot was fired at me, showing that the Duke's
apprehensions regarding his daughter were well founded; and I shall
also have to declare, that before the Duke could have any assurance
of his daughter's safety, the conspiracy was itself discovered, so
that he had no time or opportunity to reveal the plot, unless at a
period when his so doing might have endangered, perhaps, the life of
Lady Laura. All this, my good sir, I shall have to prove, if the
Duke's trial is forced on. To sum the matter up, it must be shown
upon that trial that you and the Duke were at bitter enmity, and that
therefore your charge is likely to be malicious; that you carried off
his daughter as a sort of hostage; and that he was under reasonable
apprehensions on her account, in case he should tell what he knew of
the conspiracy; that I found you associating intimately with all the
condemned traitors the very day before the arrest of some of them,
and that the Duke did not recover his daughter by my means, till the
plot itself was discovered. Now you will judge, Sir John, how this
may affect your own trial. I warn you of the matter, because I have a
promise, a positive promise, that I shall not be brought forward to
give evidence in this business without my own consent; but once
having proffered my testimony in favour of the Duke, I cannot refuse
it, should any link in the chain of evidence be wanting against you
which I can supply."

Sir John Fenwick had listened to every word that Wilton said in
bitter silence; and when he had done, he gnashed his teeth one
against the other, saying, with a look of hatred, "You should have
been a lawyer, young sir, you should have been a lawyer. You have
missed your vocation."

"Lawyers, Sir John Fenwick," replied Wilton, "are often, even against
their will, obliged to support falsehood; but I merely tell you the
truth. You have brought a charge against the Duke, as far as I can
understand, of which he is virtually innocent, to all intents and
purposes--"

"Who told you I had brought a charge against him at all?" demanded
Sir John Fenwick. "Who told you what that charge was? It must be all
guess-work, upon your part. Depend upon it, if I have brought a
charge at all, it is one that I can prove."

"I may have been mistaken," replied Wilton, "and I hope I am, Sir
John. I hope that you have brought no charge, and that if you have,
it is not of the nature that I supposed; for as I have shown you, it
would be most unwise and imprudent of you so to do. You would not
injure the Duke in any other way than by a long imprisonment, and you
would, in all probability, insure your own condemnation, while you
were uselessly attempting to do evil to another. At all events, Sir
John, you must not take it ill of me that I point this out to you,
and if you will take the warning I have given, it may be of great
benefit to you."

"How should I take it?" demanded Sir John Fenwick, still frowning
upon him from under his bent brows. "What I have said I have said,
and I shall not go back from it. There may be other witnesses, too,
against the Duke, that you know not of. What think you of Smith? What
think you of Cook?"

"I know not, really," replied Wilton. "In fact, I know nothing upon
the subject, except that the Duke is virtually innocent of the crime
with which you would charge him. You made him listen to designs
which he abhorred; and because he did not betray you, you charge him
with participating in them. As for the witnesses Cook and Smith, I
have heard from the Earl of Byerdale that neither the one nor the
other have anything to say against the Duke."

Sir John Fenwick had listened with a bitter smile to what Wilton
said; but he replied almost fiercely, "You know nothing of what you
are talking. Are you blind enough or foolish enough to fancy that the
Earl of Byerdale is a friend of the Duke?"

"I really do not know," replied Wilton, calmly. "I suppose he is
neither very much his friend nor his enemy."

"And there, too, you are mistaken," answered Sir John Fenwick: "for
an envoy, you know marvellous little of the sender's situation."

"I only know," replied Wilton, "thus much, which you yourself cannot
deny, that to accuse the Duke, so as to bring him to trial for this
unfortunate affair, will be to produce your certain condemnation; to
cut you off from all chance of hope."

Lady Mary Fenwick had hitherto stood silent a step or two behind
Wilton; but now advancing a little, she said, "Indeed, Sir John, you
had better think of it. It seems to me that what Mr. Brown says is
reasonable, and that it would be much better so to state or modify
your charge against the Duke as not to hazard his life."

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