VIII
The Amiable Mr. Milward Again
Contrary to his expectations Christopher met with no opposition on his journey to Flanders. He encountered but a single inquisitive gentleman, and he was inquisitive only on one point. The point was whether he was likely to be seasick on board ship. Christopher could not enlighten him. He left him apprehensive and disconsolate.
He landed at Dunkirk and went by horse inland. The country interested him greatly, and he was still more interested in the people that he met. He travelled northward, over Dutch ground, and wherever he went he heard nothing but praise of the Stadtholder. Every host of every inn had something to say on the subject. Some were pessimistic, and doubted that, in spite of his great courage and determination, the Prince was too young for the task of expelling the French from the States. Others were confident of his ultimate success. On all sides was hatred for the French.
Christopher arrived at length at the little town near which Monmouth had stationed his army. The Duke himself was not in camp, but stayed with his household in one of the largest houses in the town. It had been entirely given over to him, and he contrived, so the landlord of the Setting Sun told Christopher, to while away his time very creditably.
On the morning after his arrival Christopher caught sight of the Duke riding out in the midst of a gay cavalcade to the chase. He saw very little change in him. He was burnt by the sun and more developed, but otherwise just the same joyous, carefree Prince who had left England a few years before.
After watching the Duke out of sight, Christopher went through the town on a voyage of exploration.
He heard a good deal of English spoken around him, and much French. Rather to his surprise he found that the town was seething with Frenchmen, and a few French officers. He was puzzled, but he remembered that England was now a neutral country and might receive whom she pleased in her camps.
Presently he arrived at the big marketplace in the middle of the town, and there to his dismay, he came across Mr. Milward, face to face.
Escape was impossible. Christopher felt as though his coat were transparent and his precious packet in full view.
Milward stared at him. Then he gave a great laugh, and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Oddsbody! My young friend of Flushing!”
Sick at heart, Christopher assented. He grasped Milward’s hand with an assumption of cordiality. Arm in arm they walked across the square.
“What a surprise! I had not thought to see you here, Mr. Dart!”
“Nor I you,” said Christopher truthfully. “I am sightseeing. On my holiday, you understand.”
“So? You are still with Lord Roxhythe?”
“Yes. I have long been desirous of visiting the troops, so he hath given me leave to come.”
“I am delighted! Another intrigue?”
Christopher stared at him.
“Intrigue? Not that I know of!”
Milward laughed again.
“Oh, you diddled me finely between you! ’Twas but lately that I found out. Gad, but I was puzzled! I knew not what to think, and when I reported to M. de Rouvigny he pulled the longest face I have ever seen! However, naught came of it. The secret leaked out a little while since.”
“What secret?” demanded Christopher blankly.
“Tut-tut! There’s no need to feign innocence now. I fancy we work together, eh?”
Christopher shook his head hopelessly.
“You speak of what I know nothing. We went to Holland because of my lord’s disgrace.”
“Bah! You know ’twas not so.”
“Indeed, indeed, I know nothing! Pray tell me what you mean?”
“Oh, if you knew naught, well and good! What is it this time?”
Christopher saw that he was not believed. He sighed. “You speak in riddles. I am on my holiday.”
“Oho? You know, you need not be afraid to speak. We are all one over this.”
By now Christopher was genuinely perplexed.
“All one over what?”
“Why, your errand, to be sure!”
“But I am not come on an errand!”
“Soho! You know naught of—M. Barillon?”
“I have seen him several times, but—”
“But you do not come from him?”
“Of course I do not!”
Milward wagged his finger expressively.
“You are very cautious with me. It is the King, eh?”
“What is the King?”
“Your errand!”
“Milward, pray do not be ridiculous! I have not an idea in my head what it is that you mean!”
“Have you not? Oh, I’m not squeezing you! We are one now. Barillon warned us of something of this kind.”
“I do not pretend to understand,” said Christopher. “You talk like a madman.”
“That’s good, ’pon my soul! Don’t be offended! I won’t question you any further. Had you a fair crossing?”
“Very fair,” said Christopher. They went into a little inn.
When he at length shook off Mr. Milward he was hopelessly bewildered. From that gentleman’s manner he would seem to be friendlily disposed, but Christopher mistrusted his manner. It almost seemed as though Milward believed him to be in French pay. Well, let him think so!
Just before sundown he went to Monmouth’s house. He had no difficulty in entering, and on asking for Mr. Cherrywood, was shown into a small room overlooking the garden.
Several gentlemen were strolling across the lawns. They all seemed in excellent spirits; the sound of their laughter floated in at the open window.
Mr. Cherrywood came briskly into the room. He was a short, dapper, little man, with bright eyes and a quick speech.
“Mr.—Dart? You want me? Have I the honour of your acquaintance?” He spoke courteously, but with a touch of surprise.
Christopher bowed.
“As yet, sir, you have not. I have something of a private nature to impart.”
“Oh? Will you not be seated? We are quite private here. No, they will not hear you from the lawn. What is it that you wish to tell me?” A little of his cordiality had disappeared.
Christopher drew off his gloves unhurriedly. In all things he imitated Roxhythe. From his finger he slipped the King’s ring and pushed it across the table to Mr. Cherrywood.
Cherrywood picked it up, glanced at it, and rose. His manner underwent a change.
“One moment, sir!” He went to the window, and shut it. “You come from His Majesty?”
“I have that honour.”
“I did not know you were one of us?” The tone was searching.
“I am not,” said Christopher. “His Majesty’s envoy is ill. I am bidden to tell you that Church and Justin are not to be trusted.”
“Well, well! Perhaps I knew that. You’ve a message? Or a dispatch?”
Christopher extricated the two dispatches from his coat. He handed the smaller to Cherrywood, who broke the seal and spread the sheets before him. When he had finished reading he looked rather strangely at Christopher.
“Oh! May I have the dispatch—for Monmouth?”
Christopher gave it to him. He felt relieved that it was out of his hands at last.
“I am to bear an answer to His Majesty, sir, as proof that I have delivered the packet.”
“You shall have it. Excuse me for one moment!” He pocketed both documents and hurried out.
Christopher picked up the King’s ring and put it on his finger. He felt an odd thrill at wearing it.
An elegant, much-beribboned gentleman passed the window and looked in curiously. With him was another still more elegant gentleman. He too stared in. Then he shrugged, and they passed on. Christopher heard him say something in French.
Presently Cherrywood returned. He gave Christopher a sealed packet.
“There is mine answer. You have the ring?”
Christopher held up his hand.
“That is well. Now, is there aught else you want of me?”
“No,” said Christopher. “But there is something that I would like to tell you.”
Cherrywood sat down.
“Ah! Well?”
“I met a certain Milward today in the town. I know him to be in Barillon’s pay. For reasons which we need not discuss he mistrusts me, thinking me an intriguer. I wish to warn you that he may suspect.”
“Milward? Milward? Oh, ay, ay! Thank you Mr. Dart, that will be very well.”
“He is a spy,” warned Christopher.
“I shall be careful, I assure you. Is that all?”
Christopher rose.
“That is all. What a quantity of Frenchmen you have in the town!”
Cherrywood followed him to the door.
“Yes. Well, we are not at war. We suffer all parties to visit us.”
“I have seen hardly any Dutchmen.”
“Oh, we have a few! Most Dutchmen are fighting, you understand.”
“I see,” said Christopher. “I am glad that we ceased war on Holland.”
“Certainly. Yes.” Mr. Cherrywood bowed him out. On the steps they clasped hands for a moment.
“I compliment you, Mr. Dart; I compliment you. You would make a good envoy. Perhaps we shall see you amongst us ere long.”
“I serve Roxhythe,” said Christopher. “I am no intriguer.”
Cherrywood favoured him with another hard stare.
“Oh! You serve Roxhythe. Well, well!”
Christopher was not desirous of meeting Milward again, and he arranged to leave the town early next morning. He was both annoyed and disgusted when his enemy walked into the Setting Sun inn while he was at dinner.
Milward espied him and came to sit at his table.
“A piece of luck!” he commented. “I thought you were staying at the ‘William’?”
“No,” said Christopher. “Are you?”
“Oh dear no! I am at”—he paused. “The Flag of Orange.”
Christopher disbelieved him on the spot.
“We were finely diddled over your master,” continued Milward, presently. “I thought him naught but a court-darling. Dupont knew.”
“Really?” Christopher was studiously polite.
“Oh, indeed yes! Now, of course we know. Since ’70.”
“Why since then?”
“Why? Blister me, you’re a pretty young innocent!”
“I am glad I find favour in your eyes,” bowed Christopher.
“Is it possible that you don’t know? Didn’t you hear?”
“I never listen to gossip,” said Christopher.
Milward shook his head. He took a long drink.
“You puzzle me, you know,” he said.
“I am sorry,” said Christopher, and straightway changed the subject.
He arrived in London six days later. He drove at once to Bevan House where he found the royal coach drawn up in the courtyard. The footman who admitted him said that His Majesty was with my lord. Christopher decided that nothing could have been more opportune. He gave the lackey instructions to pay the coachman, and raced upstairs to his room. He changed his travel-stained garments for his smartest suit, washed his face, and combed out his fair hair. Then he assured himself that Cherrywood’s letter was in his pocket, and walked downstairs as calmly as he could. His cheeks were flushed; his eyes were very bright. He felt himself a man of some account; his patriotism flared high.
Two lackeys stood before the thick curtain that shut off the library. Christopher waved to them to draw it back.
“Sir,” expostulated one. “His Majesty is within, visiting my lord.”
“I am aware of it,” said Christopher.
Reluctantly the man held back the curtain. Christopher walked in.
The King was seated with Roxhythe by the window. My lord’s lazy voice was the first thing that Christopher heard. Then Charles burst into a great laugh.
“David, you rogue!” His eyes, wandering round the room, alighted on Christopher, who bowed. The laugh died on his lips, and a look of surprise came into his face.
“Cordieu! ’Tis our young friend!”
Roxhythe turned his head. It was characteristic of him that he showed no surprise.
“You arrive at a good moment, Chris.”
Charles laughed again.
“Thunder of God, but you are like your master! Do you imitate him, Mr. Dart? I did not expect you yet, and here you are as spruce as though you were off to a ball! I wonder, have you been to Flanders at all?”
Christopher came forward and dropped on his knee before the King. It was one of the greatest moments of his life.
“I have the honour to inform Your Majesty that my mission has been successful.” He offered Charles the packet.
The King took it. Roxhythe was contemplating Christopher with amusement.
Without a word Charles broke the seal and scanned what was written on the parchment. He tossed it to Roxhythe and bent over the still kneeling figure.
“Mr. Dart, I thank you. You have more than fulfilled my expectations.” He said no more than that, yet Christopher, listening to the grave voice, felt himself repaid in full. He could not trust himself to speak. Dumbly he held out the signet ring.
Charles slipped it on to his finger. Then he extended his hand.
Christopher held it to his lips as long as he dared.
“Sire—sire—” he stopped.
“Tell me,” said Charles, “is there aught I can do for you?”
Christopher looked up into the melancholy brown eyes that yet held such a twinkle in their depths.
“Your Majesty—overwhelms me. It is enough to know—that I have pleased Your Majesty—and that I have been—of some use to my country.”
Roxhythe regarded the trees outside.
“You are sure?” persisted Charles. “I would do aught that was within my power to do.”
“There is nothing, Sir. I cannot thank you enough. I am very content.”
“Then we shall hope to welcome you at Whitehall. Roxhythe must bring you.”
“Your Majesty does me great honour.” Christopher rose, and looked across at my lord.
“You are better, sir?”
“I am very well, Chris. Were it not for His Majesty I had not remained in this room for so long.”
“He thinks me a tyrant, Mr. Dart,” said the King. His solemnity had vanished.
“I do,” sighed Roxhythe. “If you had not visited me so often, Sir, I were in my grave today from sheer depression.”
“Poor Davy!” The King smiled at him. “I deliver him into your hands, Mr. Dart.”
“Your Majesty may rest assured that I shall have a great care for him,” said Christopher.
It was not until after dinner that he was alone with Roxhythe. When the wine was before them and the servants had left the room, my lord leaned back in his chair.
“Well, Chris, how fared you?”
“Very well, sir. My journey was quite uneventful until I arrived at the camp.”
“Oh? What then?”
“You’ll never guess whom I met there!”
“Then I shall not try. Whom did you meet?”
“Milward.”
“The amiable one! But how charming!”
“It was not, sir. He—he bewildered me.”
“How?” Roxhythe refilled his glass.
“He was very boisterous—by the way, sir, he knows now why we went to Holland in ’68.”
“I suppose so. Go on.”
“He asked me what fresh intrigue I was busy with. I dissembled, and then he said that he was not trying to squeeze me as he fancied we were at one now. What could he have meant?”
“God knows. What else?”
“It was all to that tune. He asked me if I were the King his messenger, and he said he was expecting ‘something of the kind.’ He seemed to think that I was in French pay. And he said that I puzzled him.”
“The sun must have affected his brain.”
“It almost seemed so. He was very strange. He told me that he knew now what manner of man you were. He spoke of 1670 and laughed heartily. He was surprised that I ‘did not know.’ I can only suppose that he is afflicted by Harcourt’s complaint. You remember how they suspected you at the time?”
“Ay. Fools.”
“I think Milward is a bigger fool than any of them. I was glad to be rid of him.”
Roxhythe sipped his wine.
“Take my advice, Chris; do not heed these gossipmongers.”
“I do not. I never have heeded them. They suspect every one of disloyalty to the country. But I know!”
“Yes. You know. And you too love the country.”
“Above everything,” said Christopher simply.
“So you would never join certain of our respected friends in their machinations behind the country’s back?”
“I, sir? How can you ask? I would sooner die!”
“Yet many people have warned you ’gainst my supposed nefarious dealings. You remain with me in spite of all?”
“Why, sir, I laugh at them! Your nefarious dealings! Oh, ay, my lord!”
“And if their suspicions were true: what then?” He looked full into Christopher’s clear eyes.
“I—think—it would break my heart, sir,” answered Christopher unsteadily. “But then, it is not so, is it?”
Roxhythe touched his lips with his napkin.
“No. It is not so.”
“Of course it is not!” smiled Christopher. “Oh, sir, I am very, very proud tonight!”
“Are you?” said Roxhythe.