III
Christopher Dart
Roxhythe made his way back to the gallery. He found it crowded, and across the room caught sight of the King sitting with la belle Stewart, and laughing boisterously at some witty shaft aimed by Killigrew, standing near. Lady Castlemaine was by the door as he entered, in one of her black moods. He addressed her lightly, bowing. She turned.
“Ah, Roxhythe!” The frown cleared somewhat. “You have not been at Court these last few days. What ailed you?”
“A trifling indisposition, madame. I am flattered that you marked my absence.”
“We missed you at the ball,” she answered. “It was a pretty evening. You heard?”
“I heard that your ladyship was much admired. Sedley spoke of a yellow gown, of blue ribbons, of—”
“Yes. And what said Sir Charles of Miss Stewart?” She spat the words at him.
“He did not speak of her,” said Roxhythe, calmly. “She was present?”
“Ay, the hussy!” Lady Castelmaine struck her fan into the palm of her hand. “The minx! Flaunting her airs and her graces before mine eyes! The bread-and-butter miss!”
Roxhythe shook with quiet laughter. Her ladyship flung him a wrathful glance.
“Oh, laugh, Roxhythe, by all means! I make no doubt you are stricken with the same madness! La belle Stewart! Tchah!” She moved angrily away.
Roxhythe felt the King’s eyes upon him. As soon as he could conveniently do so, he made his way to where Charles was sitting, and went to talk to Digby who stood behind the King’s chair with one or two others.
Presently Charles rose and walked with his fair companion to the door. He nodded carelessly to Roxhythe.
“Davy, be sure you visit me tomorrow.” It was affectionately said; the Monarch conferring a favour on his courtier. Roxhythe bowed.
“I thank your Majesty.”
Charles passed on.
The audience next morning was short. Charles was in a flippant mood, and although he at first objected to publicly snubbing his favourite, he soon consented. He was more interested in Roxhythe’s account of yesterday’s interview, and he laughed heartily at the description of the ill-assorted pair. For a fleeting few moments he was inclined to cancel his commands, reproaching himself for thinking to send Roxhythe into danger. Then that inclination faded, and he fell to discussing various minor details with Roxhythe.
In the evening Roxhythe went to visit Christopher Dart.
Christopher lived in a house looking out on to the river; a jeweller’s shop, over which he rented rooms. On this particular evening he was on the point of going to bed when the little serving-maid knocked on the door, and shrilled through the keyhole that a gentleman wanted to see Mr. Dart. Christopher had already snuffed two candles, and he paused now in the act of pinching the third. He went to the door and opened it.
The maid did not know who the gentleman was.
Christopher looked at her surprisedly. His friends in London were few, and they did not call on him at eleven at night.
The maid smoothed her dress with plump, red hands.
“I told the gentleman ye were like to be abed, sir,” she said, with a pert toss of her head. She glanced at Christopher from beneath her lashes. He was a comely boy.
“Well, I’m not abed, Lucy. But I was on the point of retiring when you came.”
“Be I to send him about his business, sir?” Her tone implied that she would find the task congenial.
“No,” said Christopher, slowly. “ ’Tis not so often that I have a visitor that I can afford to deny myself.” His solemnity vanished in a smile. “Will you show him upstairs, Lucy?”
“A great mill-post of a creature all wrapped up in a coat!” she sniffed. “And not a mite of his face to be seen for his hat all down on his nose!”
“A dangerous fellow,” agreed Christopher, twinkling. “But I have my sword over in the corner there! Don’t keep him waiting, child.”
He tried to think who would be likely to come disguised to see him. His friends were of a peaceable nature, nor had he one amongst them who could be considered taller than the average. While the maid was clattering down the stairs, he re-lit the two snuffed candles, and stirred the dying fire to a blaze. He was youthful enough to cast a glance into the mirror over the mantelpiece, and to straighten his hair. It was his own, and he wore it in natural curls about his shoulders.
The maid opened the door. She put her head into the room, announcing resentfully: “The gentleman!” and vanished.
Roxhythe came forward, removing his hat.
Christopher gazed at him in perplexity. It must be remembered that he was not long come from the country, and had seen very few notables of the town. His visitor’s face was totally unfamiliar.
Roxhythe shed his heavy cloak. He was gorgeously dressed in rose velvet and purple trimmings, for he had come straight from Whitehall. As he dropped his cloak on to a chair he smiled at Christopher who stared the harder.
“I must really apologize,” said Roxhythe, in his inimitable way. “It is quite disgraceful of me to wait on you at this hour, Mr. Dart. But I have been much occupied, believe me. I am relieved to find you not yet asleep; much relieved.”
Christopher swallowed twice, and stammered something inane. The deep brown eyes cast a spell over him which was strengthened by his visitor’s strange manner. Feeling that his murmured remark was inadequate, he bowed, and told Roxhythe that he was honoured. From my lord’s attitude he supposed that he had met him somewhere and forgotten him. He did not know the ways of Roxhythe.
My lord drew off his fringed gloves. Rings winked from his fingers.
“You are wondering what-a-plague I want with you,” he remarked.
Christopher spoke rather coldly.
“I confess, sir, I am at a loss.”
“Naturally. I shall have to explain, and I was ever a bad hand at that. May I sit down?”
Christopher blushed. Roxhythe had made him feel a raw schoolboy. He put forward a chair, not without resentment.
“Pray do, sir. I regret I have not better entertainment to offer you, but, as you know, I was not expecting this visit.”
Roxhythe took the chair and leant back in it, looking up at the stiff young figure with some amusement.
“My dear Mr. Dart, I can never explain my errand if you stand above me so disapprovingly.”
In spite of his slightly offended self, Christopher went over to another chair.
“I see, sir, that you know my name. May I not have the honour of yours?”
His lordship’s brows rose.
“I am Roxhythe,” he said, with faint surprise.
The naive egotism passed over Christopher’s head. He stood transfixed in an amazement that plainly showed itself on his face. He recovered, and bowed again.
“I am indeed honoured,” he said.
Roxhythe’s lip quivered.
“On the contrary,” he replied. “The honour is mine. Yes, do sit down. I cannot bear you on your feet any longer. And before we proceed any further, permit me to say that that solemn fellow—Cooper—Ashley-Cooper will hold himself responsible for me.”
Christopher conceived that he was being laughed at.
“Lord Ashley-Cooper is a great friend of mine, sir,” he said coldly.
“A most praiseworthy, energetic gentleman,” nodded Roxhythe. “He recommended me to wait on you.”
Light began to dawn on Christopher.
“My lord has work for me?” he asked, forgetting his studied coldness.
“That is it, Mr. Dart. Work for—ah King and Country if you’ve a mind to it.” He watched the young man’s eyes grow eager. “Work of a very private nature.”
“I can be—discreet, sir!”
“So Ashley assures me. I stand in need of a secretary.”
For one moment Christopher looked blank. Then he flushed angrily.
“Sir—!”
“I am not making sport of you,” pleaded Roxhythe. “It is very serious, urgent business.”
“I—”
“I could not trust my present secretary for the work I have to do.”
“Oh! Then it is not for you that I should have to work?”
“I am very sorry,” said Roxhythe. “I am afraid I should require you to—”
“I meant—it is for some State business?”
“State business; yes, Mr. Dart, that is it. I work for my master, and you work for me. That is the position.”
“Is your master the King, sir?”
Roxhythe was again surprised.
“Naturally.”
Christopher leaned forward.
“Will you not—propound, sir?”
Roxhythe drew his gloves lazily through his fingers. He did not look at Christopher. Briefly he outlined as much of the plot as was meet for the other to hear, ending with the part Christopher was to play. He had apologized for being unversed in the art of speaking, but it was a very concise and unfaltering tale that he unfolded. He explained the whole affair in a rather bored manner, and as if it were the most usual thing in the world for a King and his minister to go behind the backs of other ministers to form secret treaties with prisoner princes. But so well did he tell it that this aspect of the situation never struck young Dart at all. When Roxhythe had finished he drew a deep breath. His eyes shone.
Roxhythe ate a sweet meat.
For a moment Christopher remained silent. Then he rose abruptly, and walked to the window, opening it and looking out over the river to the houses beyond. The night air blew in at the casement, stirring his fair curls as it passed him, and spread coldly over the room. Somewhere below a bargeman called to his fellow, but the sound of his voice came muffled to the quiet room. Christopher spoke with suppressed excitement.
“I—am very sensible—of the great honour—you do me in confiding in me, sir.”
“Yes,” agreed Roxhythe. “But will you take the post I offer?”
Youthful impetuosity cried yes! Native caution hesitated. Native caution won.
“If I might—think on it,” ventured Christopher, half-ashamed at what he felt to be sheer timorousness.
“I will give you—” Roxhythe glanced at the clock, “—fourteen hours.”
Christopher shut the window.
“Thank you, sir. I shall know my mind by then.”
“You know it now,” answered Roxhythe languidly. “But by all means ask his advice.”
“Sir!” Christopher was taken aback. For a moment he looked foolish, then his boyish smile appeared. “Well, yes, sir; I could consult Lord Ashley. He was an old friend of my father’s, and as my brother is away—”
“Don’t apologize. Of course consult him. Your brother is in the Prince of Orange’s service, I believe?”
“Yes, sir. He writes very warmly of the Prince. Mayhap he might be of use to you in the enterprise?”
“It seems quite likely,” said Roxhythe. He rose. “You know my house?”
“No, sir.”
“Really? Bevan House in the Strand.”
“Oh, yes, sir! By Charing Cross.”
“That is right. I may expect to hear from you no later than four o’clock tomorrow?”
“I will be there at that hour,” promised Christopher. He watched Roxhythe pick up his hat, and became suddenly aware that he had offered no refreshment.
“My lord, you will stay to take a glass of wine with me? I have been sadly lacking in manners to forget. Pray forgive—”
The keen eyes rested kindly on his face.
“I am sure you will excuse me, Mr. Dart. Already it is late and I would not put you to any further inconvenience.”
“It’s no such thing, sir! If you will be seat—”
“Why, it is very kind of you, sir, but you must forgive me that I do not stay another minute. Tomorrow we will attend to the matter!” He pulled his cloak about him. Then he smiled.
In that moment Christopher was first conscious of his fascination. He bowed.
“I will not press you, sir, but I have been most remiss.”
“My dear boy,” replied his lordship, “I have occupied all your thoughts for the past hour. No, don’t come down with me; I shall find my way very well.”
“Indeed, sir, I shall!”
Again Roxhythe smiled.
When Christopher reentered the room, alone, he bethought himself that Roxhythe had neither sworn him to secrecy, nor adjured him to be discreet. He puzzled over this curious omission for some time. If it was not carelessness, it must mean that Roxhythe deemed him above suspicion. He lifted his chin a little.
He lay awake long that night, recalling all that had passed. As he turned from side to side in the great four-poster, he tried to argue the matter reasonably. Roxhythe had been right when he remarked that Christopher had already made up his mind, but the boy was young, he felt himself to be inexperienced, and he wanted older and wiser counsel.
The romantic side of the affair appealed to him strongly. Roxhythe had spoken of spies and possible danger: Christopher asked nothing better. That was not what made him hesitate. He hardly admitted to himself what it was that caused him to draw back. It was Roxhythe.
Without knowing why, Christopher felt that he disliked him. He questioned whether such a nonchalant flâneur was the man for this task. Had it been some creature of Ashley’s who had visited him, or a sober-minded individual, he would not have hesitated. But this foppish court-darling with his affectations and his langour treated the whole affair as if it were of very little importance. At the same time his personality held Christopher. The boy admitted that he had allowed himself to become a little dazzled towards the end of the interview, but now that he was alone he had thrown off the spell, and could take a sane, unbiased view of the situation.
When he at length fell asleep the clocks were striking three, and the grey light of dawn was already stealing through the window. He did not wake until nine, and then only because Lucy was thumping on the door, and demanding to know if he were ready for his breakfast, which, she informed him, had been ready for him this hour and more.
At eleven o’clock that morning, Christopher waited on Lord Ashley-Cooper, and was lucky enough to find him at home. He was ushered into a severely furnished apartment where Ashley was dictating to his secretary, and motioned briefly to a chair.
Ashley finished his dictation, and sent the secretary into an adjoining room.
“Well, Chris? You want my help?”
Christopher took his outstretched hand.
“I think you know on what errand I am come, sir,” he said. “Yesterday evening my Lord Roxhythe honoured me.”
Ashley nodded. He sat down again at his desk, watching Christopher draw up a chair for himself.
“And you want my advice?”
“I do, my lord.”
“The thing is genuine enough.”
“Why, I had not doubted that, sir!”
“Oh? The venture is precarious, and the result most uncertain. Yet if the Prince might be won over, it would be a great thing for England. We do not stand to gain much by the Triple Alliance alone, and if King Louis also has it in mind to coax the Prince, our cause is but the more urgent. Well, well; what is your own opinion?”
“I think the same as you, sir. ’Tis not for that that I hesitate. It is—it is—I cannot think my Lord Roxhythe a very—fitting messenger.” He looked up a little anxiously as he spoke, but Ashley straightened in his chair and his face was in many worried creases.
“If it were any other man!” he said. “But the King is blinded by his love for Roxhythe. To send that man on State business! Why, it is madness!” He broke off, remembering to whom he spoke. “This must go no further, Chris!” he said sharply. “After all, the King himself knows that I mistrust Roxhythe. But he was determined, and swore that there was no other man he would send.”
Christopher, who had come into the room with just these sentiments in his mind, was now moved to expostulate on behalf of Roxhythe. He realized that he was showing great inconsistency, and wondered at his own perversity.
Ashley grunted.
“Oh, he has cast his net over you! I expected nothing better. Well, what shall you do?”
“I shall go with him, sir.”
“I suppose so. Keep a clear head, Chris, and above all, do not allow yourself to fall under Roxhythe’s influence. Damme, I’m not sure that I did right to mention your name to him! Mayhap your poor father would have—”
“My father, sir, would have been anxious for me to serve the Country as best I might.”
“Maybe, maybe. Come and see me again before you go, Chris.”
Christopher rose.
“Of course, sir. I owe you a debt of thanks for remembering me in this matter.”
“We shall see,” was all that Ashley vouchsafed.
On his way through the hall, Christopher met Mr. Hyde whom he had seen once or twice before at Ashley’s house. He bowed and went on to the front door. Hyde’s horse stood waiting in charge of his servant. Christopher glanced at the man idly. Then he walked on down the street.
That afternoon, punctual to the minute, he arrived at Bevan House, and was ushered into the library. A spacious room, this, with oriel windows to the south, and a wide fireplace with an oaken mantelshelf, very cunningly carved. A writing-table stood at one end of the room near a door, other than the one at which he had entered. He sat down near this, and waited.
The minutes ticked by; he grew impatient. Roxhythe had bidden him to come not later than four o’clock; he had obeyed, and behold! there was no Roxhythe. His foot tapped the ground angrily. When Roxhythe at length came into the room, he rose and bowed stiffly.
“I came as you desired me, sir, at four o’clock,” he said. He glanced at the timepiece a trifle pointedly.
“Yes?” said Roxhythe. “I remember now; I did ask you to come then. Pray be seated!”
“Thank you,” answered Christopher. He remained standing. Roxhythe’s manner was insufferable, he decided.
My lord walked to the table where lay a sheaf of papers. One of these he picked up, and folded into three.
“Well, Mr. Dart?”
“I have thought over the matter, sir, and I have spoken to Lord Ashley, it but remains to inform you of my decision.” He spoke very coldly. In that moment he knew that he was going to refuse the post offered to him. Then Roxhythe looked up and across at him, smiling.
“But will you not sit down, Mr. Dart?”
Christopher sat down.
“I had—thought to—accept your offer, Lord Roxhythe.”
The quizzical brown eyes held his.
“But since you have seen me again you realize that it were impossible to work with one so utterly distasteful to you as myself.”
For a moment Christopher stared.
“I confess, sir, that was in my mind. However, I trust I put my Country before my personal feelings. I will accompany you to Holland.” He had not intended to say that. Even as the words left his mouth he regretted them.
“Why, that is very well,” nodded his lordship. “But are you quite sure that you mean it?”
There was another silence.
“Yes, sir,” said Christopher meekly.