VIII
The Amiable Mr. Milward Perplexed
To Christopher, waiting by the window, came the hoot of an owl, twice repeated. In an instant he was on his feet, and had leant out of the casement. Roxhythe’s voice reached him.
“That rope, Chris! ’Tis plaguily damp out here.”
Christopher vanished. When he reappeared it was with the rope, one end of which he secured to the stout hook in the wall. The other end he cautiously let down.
Roxhythe swung gracefully up. He climbed over the sill into the room, and threw off his hat and cloak. Christopher drew in the rope, and watched my lord go to the fire. He saw how grim were the lines about his mouth.
“You’d no trouble, sir? No mishaps?”
“None,” said Roxhythe curtly. “And you?”
“Everything has gone very well, though I fear the spies grow anxious. They removed to the inn across the road the day after you left me.” He poured out a glass of wine and handed it to my lord.
“You saw the Prince, sir?”
Roxhythe sank into the nearest chair. He gave vent to a prodigious yawn.
“Yes, I saw him.” He volunteered no further information, and Christopher did not like to question him. Instead he told him all that had passed during the last few days.
“… So Mynheer de Staal gave it out today that you were better, and he thought it possible that you might be up tomorrow.”
“Very good,” said Roxhythe. “Your suggestion?”
“Yes,” admitted Christopher. “I thought you could not well be later than tomorrow, and it seemed a pity to waste time.”
“You are invaluable,” sighed my lord.
Presently Christopher felt that he could no longer curb his curiosity.
“Was your mission successful, sir?” he ventured.
“It failed,” answered Roxhythe. “A novel experience. I shall go to bed.”
He appeared downstairs next morning for a short space and spent the rest of the day, sleeping in his chair. He complained that he was bored.
After three days he announced that he was tired of Rotterdam and should go to the Hague.
Christopher was surprised.
“I had imagined that we were to return to London,” he said.
“Had you? But then you are so impetuous. You forget our amiable friend.”
“Milward? Does he matter?”
“He would think so,” said my lord, and would vouchsafe no more.
They said farewell to de Staal that afternoon. The old man was distressed. Christopher left him alone with Roxhythe.
En route for the Hague he spoke of him to my lord.
“Mynheer de Staal hath a great regard for you, sir.”
“Yes,” replied Roxhythe, unmoved.
They found Mr. Milward at the Poisson d’Or. He seemed relieved to see them. Roxhythe invited him to dinner and Christopher went forth to meet his brother.
He and Roderick dined at a little inn not far from the Palace. They had not met for two years, and there was much to be said on both sides. Not until dinner was over did Roderick speak of Roxhythe. Then he went straight to the point.
“Christopher, what induced you to enter the service of that man?”
“That man?” interrogated Christopher with uplifted brows.
“Lord Roxhythe.”
“He was in need of a secretary; I, of work.”
“There are a score of better men in need of secretaries!”
“Indeed?”
“Don’t speak like that, child! You should have consulted me. I might have known you would act foolishly when my father died.”
“I am perfectly well able to care for myself! And I resent—your tone!”
Roderick ignored this.
“Were my father alive he would be more than displeased to see you in such company.”
“Roderick, what do you mean? What have you against my lord?”
“What every sane man has against him. He is a libertine—a rakehelly fellow, with no morals, and less honour.”
“How dare you say that? He is no more rakehell than the others at Whitehall! And as to honour!—You speak of what you do not know!”
“Do I so? Even an what you say is true, which it is not—that he is no more rakehell than the rest of that licentious circle, it is no excuse for entering his service. I would not have my brother in the company of one of them.”
Christopher essayed a sneer.
“Why, are you turned Puritan?”
“I am no more Puritan than ever I was, as you very well know. Had I been in England a month ago I would have prevented you taking this disastrous step.”
“And I tell you that you would not! My Lord Roxhythe is a very honourable, brave gentleman, and I am proud to be in his service!”
“A patriotic gentleman also, I suppose?”
“Yes!”
“You are infatuated.”
“Then so are you! What induced you to enter the Prince of Orange his service? I would not work for a foreigner!”
Roderick gripped his wrist, shaking him.
“You young fool, be silent!”
“Why?” Christopher stared.
“Do you think no Dutchman understands English that you shout what might be mine undoing in an inn parlour?”
“Your pardon!” … Christopher rolled the words out caressingly. “I had forgot you played a double part. Odds-life, Roderick! I would not serve two men as you do. To my mind it is no gentlemanly thing to do.”
Roderick coloured angrily.
“You do not understand. I serve the Prince and no other!”
“Who is imprudent now?” jeered Christopher. “I thought you served De Witt once? Your devotion to the Orange smacks somewhat of double-dealing.”
“I am not going to quarrel with you, Christopher.”
“Then do not seek to malign my master to me! I know him as you do not, and I tell you he is the soul of honour!”
“You fool,” said Dart quietly. “Do you believe that? I warn you that one day you will be disillusioned. Roxhythe works for himself alone. He would dupe you did the need arise, or crush you beneath his heel. You think him a man of scruples, but I tell you—and I know—that he is without heart and without honour. Chris, you are very young, be advised by me and quit his service. He only wants you for a tool.”
“ ’Tis you who are the fool! My Lord wants me for a secretary! There is no question of duping, or tools.”
“Do you deny then that you are with him solely for the purpose of bringing King Charles his message to the Prince?”
Christopher was silent.
“Roxhythe hath it in mind to use you in his machinations for his master. And if you are overnice in your scruples, he’ll trick you. Be warned, Chris, I implore you!”
“You are undoubtedly mad,” said Christopher with conviction. “If I were required to work for His Majesty there would be no need of trickery. I would die for His Majesty and the Country.”
“You cannot die twice!” snapped Roderick.
“The King and his Country are one, as you should know.”
“Are they?” said Roderick heavily. “Not your King and his Country.”
“You are disloyal! My King? He is also yours!”
“Alas, yes!”
Christopher betrayed anxiety.
“Roderick, consorting with these stiff-necked Dutchmen has affected your brain. I do not pretend to understand this strange talk of yours. You had best quit Holland and come home!”
“My dear brother, living as I do, I have had opportunities of studying politics, and of viewing politicians and Princes that you have not. I have seen the intrigues within intrigues that are always afoot—the treachery, the lying! More I cannot say, but rest assured that I speak the truth. I have seen what manner of men live in England and in France, and I know that amongst them all there is not one who is honest. There is only one man to be trusted. Him, I serve.”
“You have become bigoted, Dick, and hard. What you say is utterly false. Is it possible that you think your master the one honest man? Why, even I, whom you so freely call fool, am not so mad!”
Roderick sighed.
“I see you will go your own wilful way, Chris. You have fallen a victim to Roxhythe’s notorious charm, and I suppose you will follow him headlong to destruction.”
Christopher leaned his head in his hands and gave way to helpless laughter. When he had recovered, Roderick started to talk on some other topic. They spoke no more of Roxhythe that evening.
My lord was in his dressing-gown when Christopher came back to the inn. He gave his secretary one shrewd, calculating glance.
“You look heated, Chris. You have been quarrelling with your brother.”
“Nearly,” said Christopher. “I fear for his sanity. He speaks so wildly, and so foolishly.”
“In fact he disapproves of my Lord Roxhythe most sincerely,” nodded his lordship. “Does he seek to remove you from my evil influence?”
“Oh, yes, sir! I think he seeks to put me in a glass case, for he avows that there is but one honest man alive today, and he will not have me serve under any other!”
“Lud! Does he expect you to enroll yourself under the Prince’s banner? Don’t do it, Chris! ’Tis a gloomy youth.”
“Not I, sir!” said Christopher flippantly. “I had sooner tread the path to destruction in your company.”
“So ho!” said Roxhythe to his reflection in the mirror. He was seated before his dressing-table. “Is that the way the wind blows? Be warned, Chris! I am an unscrupulous fellow.”
“I know,” said Christopher, smiling. “He told me so.”
“Well, it’s true enough.”
“Is it, sir?” Christopher’s voice vibrated with indignation. “Do you seek to warn me ’gainst yourself?”
“It would appear so,” said Roxhythe.
Three days later my lord entered their private parlour, and sat down at the table. He dipped a quill in the ink, and drew a sheet of parchment towards him.
“Milward sticks like a leech. I feel it behooves me to write to my little master.” He bent over the parchment.
Christopher assented vaguely.
The quill scratched tranquilly along. Presently Roxhythe sat back, and dusted the sheet. He folded, addressed, and sealed it.
“That will go by special courier. It should interest Mynheer Spy.”
“If it goes by courier, how should Milward see it,” asked Christopher.
“There are ways,” placidly replied his lordship.
“But he would scarce dare to steal a letter from you to His Majesty, sir!”
“No,” agreed Roxhythe. “He would very easily dare to borrow it for some few minutes, however.”
“To read the contents? He hopes to learn the result of your mission—or—or whether you have been on a mission at all—so that Louis might make an outcry?”
“Something like that, no doubt.”
“I see,” said Christopher profoundly. “Yet how dare he break the seal?”
“You do not realize that I have been so considerate as to place the seal on the wafer,” said Roxhythe, pained. “He will not break it.”
“Were you born in intrigue, sir?” asked Christopher.
“I believe I must have been,” said his lordship.
Thus it came to pass that when the not incorruptible courier slept off his doctored potations at Delft, his late host, accredited agent to his Most Christian Majesty, removed a certain document from his wallet, and in the deserted coffee-room, carefully slit open the wafer that sealed it. He was well versed in ciphers but he found a cipher unnecessary. The letter was short, and was written in English.
“Yr. Majesty—Has Yr. Majesty punished His Servant enough, or must Roxhythe Remain a Wanderer? If he might Crave Yr. Pardon againe, he Does so, Still more Humbly and Contritely than Before. Yet more earnestly Does he Implore Yr. Majesty to Allow him to Return, when he will Endeavoure To Showe Yr. Majesty How Great is his Remorse for that Unpardonable Offence which he Committed.
“He is Yr. Majesty’s most Devoted, Humble Servant, Roxhythe.”
His Most Christian Majesty’s accredited agent was annoyed and perplexed. Deftly he re-stuck the wafer, and restored the packet to the courier’s wallet. Then he rode back to the Hague.
The amiable Mr. Milward when apprised of the contents of the letter wrinkled his brow uncertainly.
“It seems we are come on a fruitless errand, Dupont. Roxhythe has not the wit to write such a plausible blind. King Charles is not a fool, and only a fool sends a fool to work his intrigues.”
“You are assured that milor’ is a fool, then?”
“He is a brainless court-darling. Yet. … It was strange that he should fall into such sudden disgrace. I had thought him too perfect a courtier to offend as he did. I confess I am at a loss. He has not had word with the Prince, nor any of his servants, unless it be Mr. Dart who is De Witt’s man. I have dogged his steps, and he suspects naught!” He laughed contemptuously. “I believe we are on a fool’s errand!”
“Maybe, m’sieu’. But I do not think that milor’ is quite the brainless nincompoop he pretends to be. I would I had been at Rotterdam in place of Grant. I am uneasy.”
“He is either a fool or a marvellously astute man. In any case, what more can be done?”
“Naught,” said Dupont sadly. “But I mistrust him.”
In due time came a letter for Roxhythe. It was brought to him as he sat at dinner with Christopher and Mr. Milward.
“From my master,” he said. “You will excuse me?” He tore open the seals and read. Then he gave a relieved laugh, and laid the sheet down in such a way that Mr. Milward might easily read what was written there.
“His Majesty is pleased to forgive me! So it’s boot and saddle for us, Chris, as soon as may be.”
King Charles’ letter ran:
My Little Davy—My Majesty must needs Forgive you, for I cannot Live Without You. I am Surrounded by Dolts and Sycophants; I must have My Roxhythe. Return at once.—Charles R.
Mr. Milward tried to drown his fears.
Before they left the Hague, Roderick had speech with Roxhythe again.
“His Highness desires me to say, sir, that his answer is final.”
“That is his last word?”
Roderick bowed.
“I am sorry,” said Roxhythe.
The brothers parted on quite cordial terms. Roderick, seeing that it was useless, did not again press Christopher to leave my lord’s service.
Mr. Milward bade the travellers a touching farewell. Roxhythe addressed him mournfully.
“I shall miss your pleasant companionship, Mr. Milward. We have seen much of each other of late.”
Mr. Milward watched the little cavalcade depart. He became aware of Dupont at his elbow.
“He laughs at us,” said the Frenchman gloomily. “He slips through our fingers like water. Me, I have had dealings with him before. I suspected, but evidence? Pouf!”
“Nonsense!” said Milward uneasily. “I have scarce left his side since he has been at the Hague!”
“It would not worry him. I tell you, he is a devil. You might be bound to him with chains, and he would give you the slip. He is not a man. He is a devil.” He walked away, depressed.
Four days later, on board ship, Roxhythe broached a subject that had been weighing heavily on Christopher’s mind. He laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder, and spoke with some affection.
“Well, Chris, so the journey is at an end. In a few hours’ time we shall be in London. What then?”
Christopher looked at him.
“You will be no longer in need of a secretary, sir?”
“I? Oh, I must have a secretary, of course.”
Christopher became still more crestfallen.
“I—you—that is, you wish me to leave you now, sir?”
“No. But I think you would be wise to be counselled by that excellent brother of yours.”
“Oh, sir, never give him a thought!” cried Christopher. “If I might stay with you, I will serve you—unquestioningly.”
“Very well,” said Roxhythe. “You shall stay.”