VIII
The Haven
After ten years Christopher returned to Holland. Much of it he had forgotten, much brought back old memories, poignant in their nearness to him. He had travelled from Harwich to Rotterdam, spending only a night in that town. He visited 19, Prinsen Straat, hoping to see de Staal again. It had been a shock to find the house in other hands and to hear that de Staal had gone to his rest four years ago. He had hardly realized how much he wanted to see the old man. He went away with lagging steps, guided along that very road which they had walked that evening, now so long ago. He visited the inn at which he had stayed, and looked up at the window of his room. It was just the same. Nothing seemed to have changed: not even the fat landlord.
Christopher wandered into the coffee-room. Here he had seen the spy who had dogged their steps. He remembered, smiling a little, how excited he had been, and how placid he had found Roxhythe. My lord had been dozing in his chair; he had refused to be roused.
He tore himself away from the inn, knowing that it was foolishness to have come. It was with relief that he left Rotterdam behind.
The Hague seemed yet more packed with memories. The Poisson d’Or had changed no more than the inn at Rotterdam. Christopher looked up at the window, almost expecting to see Roxhythe standing there with the inevitable Milward at his elbow.
It was with an effort that he turned away. He had always remembered the Hague as a cheerful, happy town. Now it seemed dark, forlorn, a place of ghosts.
Roderick had grown kinder, and less harsh. He made no reference to Roxhythe. He was unfeignedly glad to see Christopher again; he wanted to present him to the Prince, but Christopher refused. Later he would go to the Huis ten Bosch, but for the present he wanted to be quiet.
He bought a horse shortly after his arrival and one day rode out to Scheveningen. The peaceful fishing-village took his fancy. Nearly every day he rode there, sometimes talking to the fishermen, mostly sitting by the sea alone, undisturbed by any uncouth sound, watching the silver-backed gulls swirling and diving against the intense blue sky.
Slowly the ache within him died, already it was less acute. Sitting on the shore, listening to the cry of the gulls and the continuous break of the waves on the sand, all that had passed during the last year seemed to fade away to a memory. It was no longer the never-ceasing pain; it was still there; it was still a great sadness, but it had softened and was not ever-present.
Bit by bit he began to take an interest in what went on around him. He watched the fishermen draw in their hauls, interested in the slippery, gleaming fish that floundered in the bottom of the net. Once he went out in a boat, helping the fishermen. He grew stronger, more virile, less morbid.
Roderick seldom accompanied him to Scheveningen. Christopher did not wish it. His brother’s presence disturbed him, disturbed the great peace of the village. He would spend all the day there, rejoicing in the vast loneliness, feeling the rough spray on his face, and the wind blowing strongly about him. At sundown he would ride back to the Hague, tired and hungry. Sometimes he dined with Roderick, sometimes by himself.
After a while he went less often to Scheveningen. Desire for company was coming to life again. Roderick saw it, and introduced him to Mynheer Heenvliet and various other members of the Prince’s household. Other friends Christopher made for himself, all Dutchmen. One of these, Jan Van den Busch, showed him some of the countryside. Christopher visited Rijswijk and Loosduinen. It gave him a taste for sightseeing, and he went away for a time, travelling north. When he returned, Roderick was surprised at the change in him. His eyes were brighter, his bearing more brisk, his spirits lighter. His laugh still lacked its old spontaneity, his smile was not so joyous, but it came more often and less forcedly.
Roderick realized that Christopher had aged more in one year than in all the others of his life. He had no youthful illusions, no youthful impetuosity. He was calmer, more shrewd. He had a knowledge of men and of the world. Roderick realized that in some ways Christopher was older than he.
Once again he broached the question of an introduction to the Prince. This time Christopher consented.
So one day the brothers rode out of the Hague through the wood that led to the Huis ten Bosch. Christopher was rather silent for the most part but when they reached the gardens of the palace he expressed his admiration.
“His Highness will be pleased to hear that you like his flowers,” said Roderick. “He takes great pride in them.”
“What does the Princess here?” asked Christopher suddenly. “I had not thought that the solitude was congenial to her.”
“At first Her Highness conceived herself very homesick. She is different now.”
“Poor Lady Mary! She was such a gay princess! She took such delight in the life at Whitehall.”
Roderick spoke stiffly.
“There is no need to pity her. She is the Prince his wife.”
“Poor lady!” said Christopher again. “I do pity her.”
“Her Highness should be happy enough,” replied his brother. “She has changed.”
The Prince was not in the house. One of the lackeys had seen him walking in the gardens not long since. They found him at length on a terrace, basking in the sunlight.
Roderick swept him a low bow.
“Highness, I have brought my brother. May I present him?” It was a triumphant moment for him. At last Christopher had been brought face to face with this Prince whom he had affected to despise. At last he could show Christopher how wonderful was his master.
William turned. Christopher thought he had never met such a piercing scrutiny. Then the Prince smiled and rose.
“I have long desired to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dart. Rodrigue has often spoken to me of you.” He extended his hand.
Christopher went on one knee to kiss it.
“Your Highness is very kind,” he said.
“Christopher greatly admires the gardens, Sir,” said Roderick.
William looked pleased.
“They are beautiful!” said Christopher warmly. “I do indeed admire them, Sir.”
“I love them,” answered the Prince. “I could not live without my flowers.” He waved his hand towards a bed of tulips. “Those are my flowers.”
Christopher smiled.
“Even we in England know which are your favourites, Sir!”
“So? They are my favourites because they are part of Holland. You do not grow such flowers in England.”
“No,” said Christopher. “But we have our roses.”
“Yes, you have your roses. Rodrigue, he must be shown the west side!”
So the Prince of Orange showed Mr. Dart the west side of his gardens.
The visit to the Huis ten Bosch was the first of many. Christopher made more friends in the Prince’s household, and the Princess desired his acquaintance.
He hardly recognized the Lady Mary in the quiet, soberly dressed woman to whom he was presented. The Mary he knew had sparkling eyes and a roguish smile. The eyes were calm now, almost sad; the smile was full of dignity. He thought that she seemed unhappy, and later he found that there was a coldness between the Prince and his wife.
Mary was anxious to hear all the London news. More than once Christopher saw her eyes fill, but the tears did not well over. He could not tell her much, but she was grateful for very little. She asked after various people, lingering over their names as over a pleasant memory. Christopher pitied her from the bottom of his heart.
Desire for work was growing apace. The indolent life he was leading had become irksome. Christopher realized that he must find some occupation.
The more he saw of William, the more convinced he was that he had found one who was honest and a patriot. He watched the Stadtholder’s adroit management of affairs with growing admiration.
Roderick was surprised that his brother did not fall at the Prince’s feet, worshipping. He was still more surprised that Christopher should feel no desire to become one of the Prince’s household. He could not understand that all Christopher’s love remained with Roxhythe.
“You do not desire to be near the Prince his person?”
“I would rather join his army,” answered Christopher.
“Join the army! You had better enter his household.”
“I do not wish to serve any man—personally.”
“Odds life! Not even His Highness?”
“No one.”
Roderick stared.
“You are no soldier, Chris!”
“I can learn.”
“You were better advised to turn your hand to politics.”
“Never! I want not to hear the word again!”
“But that is ridiculous! Because you found Shaftesbury acting questionably is no reason to think that—”
“I will not hear of politics. They mean intrigue and covert dealing; bribing and tricking. I’ll none of it.”
Roderick shook his head in amazement. But he broached the subject to his master.
Thus it came about that Christopher had audience with the Prince one sunny morning at the Huis ten Bosch.
William sat at his desk, chin in hand. He regarded Christopher thoughtfully for some moments.
“Rodrigue has been speaking to me of you, Mr. Dart. You desire to serve under my standard?” He spoke in Dutch.
“If your Highness permits, I ask nothing better.”
Christopher saw the hazel eyes twinkle suddenly.
“Yet if I offer you a post about my person you will refuse it?”
There was something disconcerting about the Prince. Christopher stammered a little.
“I hope—Your Highness—will not—offer that.”
“Sit down,” said William. “Why do you hope that?”
“Sir, I desire to serve no man personally. I want to serve as a soldier.”
William smiled.
“You want to serve an ideal, hein?”
“Perhaps that is true, Sir. I do not want to serve—a man.”
“Are you afraid that I should betray your trust?”
The swiftness of the attack got behind Christopher’s guard.
“I—don’t understand, Sir.”
“I think you do. Am I the man to betray a trust?”
“No, Sir. Why do you ask?”
“Because I will not be served by any man who does not place in me his whole confidence.”
Christopher hesitated.
“I believe that you at least are honest, Sir,” he said at last.
“But you will not accept a post about my person.”
Christopher grew hot under the steady scrutiny.
“No, Sir.”
“Why not?”
For a moment Christopher did not answer.
“Highness, if you must know, it is this:—For nine years I have served my Lord Roxhythe. He has all my love, all my devotion. I cannot serve another man in the same way. I have tried and failed. Twice failed.”
“Mr. Dart, you say that Roxhyt’e has your love and your devotion. What then have you to offer me?”
“Faithful service, Sir, and loyalty.”
“So!” William tapped his fingers lightly on a sheet of parchment. His face grew harsh. “We will have plain speaking, if you please, Mr. Dart. I have some knowledge of milor’ Roxhyt’e’s life, and of his dealings. How am I to know that you are not imbued with his morals—or lack of morals?”
Christopher straightened.
“Highness, may we leave Roxhythe out of the discussion? I trust my morals are above reproach.”
“I trust so, Mr. Dart. Yet in ’77 there was some question of that.”
“Will your Highness explain?”
“It is necessary? In ’77 you bore letters to Cherrywood; letters that we believe to have been addressed to the French King from King Charles. You will admit that gives food for thought, Mr. Dart.”
Christopher met his eyes bravely.
“I give Your Highness my word that if that was so I knew nothing of it when I did take the letters. I thought them innocent dispatches to His Grace of Monmouth.”
“So your brother assures me. He tells me you were tricked. It is because you fear that I might trick you that you will not enter my—personal—service?”
“N-no, Sir. I think not. It is because I could not serve you with wholehearted affection. It is true that I have grown suspicious of late, but I believe that I do trust Your Highness.”
“Thank you. That is your only reason?”
Again Christopher hesitated.
“No, Sir, there is another. However honest you be there must always be intrigue. I desire to know nothing of intrigue. I want to—be outside all the inner workings of politics. I want to—forget everything.”
William coughed a little.
“Then I think you would be better advised to seek employment with someone who lives not a public life.”
“I have thought of that, Sir, but it does not appeal to me.”
“In truth, Mr. Dart, you do not know what you want.”
“Indeed, Sir, I do! I want to fight France—our common enemy.”
“I do not fight France. There is peace.”
Christopher looked at him strangely.
“Your Highness will not always be content with this peace.”
William’s brows rose perceptibly.
“Oh! So you will join the army—and wait? Dull work, Mr. Dart.”
“I have yet to learn a soldier’s duties, Sir.”
The Prince tapped the parchment again.
“Well. … Perhaps I can find employment for you. We shall see.”
He took up a quill. For some moments he wrote swiftly. Then he dusted the parchment and folded it.
“You are quite sure that you wish to serve the Orange? Remember that you are an Englishman; remember that once you have entered the army you cannot leave it at will.”
“I have considered all that, Sir. It is no hasty decision that I have made. I have thought long, and—pardon me—I have observed Your Highness closely. I believe that at last I have found a master who is above bribes; who does not work for himself but for his country.”
William bowed.
“I admire plain speaking, sir. In my turn I believe that you too are honest. I doubted it at one time, but when I was told that you had quitted Lord Roxhyt’e I concluded that I was wrong.”
“Thank you, Sir. I may enter your service?”
William handed him the parchment.
“You will convey that to Bentinck. Rodrigue will direct you. Bentinck will give you a commission, and it will remain for you to prove yourself.”
Christopher went down on one knee.
“I will serve Your Highness faithfully,” he said. “I have to thank you for your kindness.”
William held out his hand.
“That is very well,” he said.
Christopher went quietly out of the room. Roderick was awaiting him, all eagerness.
“Well, Chris?”
“I am to go to General Bentinck.”
Roderick was disappointed.
“I had thought—that when you had spoken with His Highness—you would have desired to be always at his side.”
Christopher smiled faintly.
“I am no longer twenty-one, Dick. The age of illusions is past.”
“Have you no enthusiasms?”
Christopher sighed.
“I hardly know. Perhaps. But not for man.”
“I don’t understand you, Chris. I had thought that the Prince would have captured your devotion.”
“You have yet to realize, Dick, that my devotion lies elsewhere.”
“Still?” Roderick was incredulous.
“Always.”
“But after all that has happened! after his treatment of you—”
“If you think that any harm done to me could kill my love for Roxhythe, you do not understand love.”
“You are infatuated! Pray heaven it will pass!”
“For my peace of mind I hope it will. You’ll dine with me tonight? I shall leave the Hague early tomorrow.”
“As soon as that? Yes, I’ll dine with you. I wish you were to be of the Household, though. I wanted you near me after all these years.”
Christopher spoke rather cynically.
“No, Roderick. You had been jealous of me an I had joined the Prince his Household.”
“Really, Christopher!” Roderick was inclined to be offended. Then he smiled. “Perhaps you are right. But I shall miss you.”
“It will pass,” replied Christopher easily.
Roderick went back to his master.
“Well, Rodrigue? You have seen your brother?”
“Yes, Sir. I cannot understand his attitude.”
“No?”
“He is so cold! so unlike his old self.”
“My dear Rodrigue, your brother has suffered. I understand him.”
“But then, Highness, you understand all men,” said Roderick softly.