VI
Monmouth
“All is meet for the sacrifice,” remarked Roxhythe.
Charles looked up, interested.
“Am I to know at last?”
Roxhythe smiled.
“In truth you have been very much in the dark, Sir. You are to know.”
“Then come and tell me! Are you about to deliver me from Russell and Essex?”
“Also Grey, and Sydney, and Hampden. And Ferguson.”
“Good God, Roxhythe, you have done your work well! Are all these people in league against me?”
“There are many more,” said Roxhythe calmly. “Those are the principals.”
Charles looked at him anxiously.
“What of Monmouth, David?”
“He plans a rising all over the country, but he resolutely refused to listen to the idea of your assassination.”
The King started.
“I should be grateful, I suppose! Is there in very truth a plot to murder me?”
“There are several, Sir. All equally wild, but equally dastardly.”
“God’s death! I had no notion ’twas so serious!”
“Nor is it, Sir. But by making it seem so we can ensnare your enemies.”
“Speak plainly, Roxhythe! Let me know all that there is to know.”
“Very well, Sir.” Roxhythe moved to a chair. “Some time ago I came across one Keyling, a salter, and one who was embroiled in a certain quarrel with the Lord Mayor some while back. He goes in fear of his skin on account of it. He was also so unwise as to enter a plot ’gainst your life. He is a very thorough Whig, you see.”
“Wait, David! How in heaven’s name did you come to know him?”
“I have frequented a certain tavern in Aldgate where these gentlemen meet from time to time. I observed them all very closely. The rest I got from Rumsey.”
“Who is Rumsey?”
“We shall come to him, Sir. Well, this Keyling is not too scrupulous, and not too loyal. A little bribery, and voilà! he was my man. He was more than ever my man when I hinted at the affair with the Lord Mayor. He turned informer to save himself. From him I gathered that there was a party of men engaged to dispose of Your Majesty and the Duke of York. A certain fellow, Rumbald, headed them. They planned to shoot you on your way from Newmarket. The appointed spot was Rye House, near Hoddesdon, which is where Rumbald lives. I counselled you to leave Newmarket two days before the appointed time, and the plot came to naught. But they continue to scheme, and this time they seek to kill you in London. They hold lengthy meetings at a certain Devil Tavern. They are joined by Rumsey and Ferguson, possibly Sydney.”
“You’re very cool!” said Charles, half-laughing.
“It is so interesting. For this is where the two plots meet.”
“ ’Sblood! What is the other plot?”
“The Monmouth rising that I spoke of. Monmouth hath a large following: Russell, Essex, Armstrong, Grey, Sydney, Trenchard and a score of others. Monmouth, Russell and Essex seek only to rise and to force you to declare Monmouth the heir, but Sydney and Ferguson wish to kill you. Ferguson would murder Monmouth too if necessary. He is by no means a pleasant character. They hold meetings at the house of one Shepherd. Lord Russell has been there many times, and there has been much treasonable talk. All this I have from Rumsey, whom I hold, as he puts it, in a vice.”
Charles uncrossed his legs and sat upright.
“Who—is—Rumsey?”
Roxhythe opened his eyes rather wide.
“A creature of no account,” he said. “One of Monmouth’s followers.”
The King leaned back again with a sigh of relief.
“At last! Why have you him in a vice?”
“I know a waverer when I see one, Sir. I easily discovered him. I told him that I had ample proofs of his meetings with Rumbald at the Devil Tavern. I frightened him, and, perforce, he became my man. I have promised him his life, as a price of which he will turn informer when I tell him.”
“He will incriminate Russell?”
“He will incriminate anyone that I wish.”
Charles was openly admiring.
“You are wonderful, David!”
“It was really very easy,” disclaimed my lord. “But it will prove useful. The plot can be used as Shaftesbury used the Popish plot. You will gain power by it.”
“And be rid of those who seek to bring about the Exclusion. When do these men lodge their information?”
“There are still one or two minor details that we must discover if we are to trap Essex. In about a week.”
“Meanwhile I shall be murdered,” said Charles cheerfully.
“Not a whit, Sir. If you could but see these schemers you would laugh at the thought of their ever moving either one way or another. They fight amongst themselves; they waver, they hesitate. Monmouth is swayed this way and that. They meet to decide on some sort of action, and when they are assembled they bewail the fact that they cannot, after all, come to a decision as one of their number is not present. If one puts forward a scheme, the rest pounce on it and tear it to bits. Then they come to blows—or would, if Monmouth did not intervene. It is the wildest, silliest band of malcontents I ever was in.”
“It is because Monmouth is no leader of men. In battle, yes. But he has no fixity of purpose. A pity.”
“In this case, Sir, a good thing.”
Charles rested his head in his hand.
“I wish he were not acting thus against me. It—hurts, David—though I suppose I encourage him. I should never have accorded him the rights I did. It put higher ideas into his pate. … Does he trust you?”
“Implicitly. I have given him a little obvious advice and he imagines that I am wholly with him. Sydney mistrusts me, but Grey stands for me because I studiously agree with what he says. Rumsey assures the rest of my loyalty. They think to hold me in their hands on account of the Duke of York his hatred for me. It never enters their heads that I work for you alone.”
“I see. Does it irk you, I wonder?”
“Does what irk me, Sir?”
“The double part you play: delivering these men into my hands.”
Roxhythe’s eyes flashed suddenly.
“Sire, where you are concerned I have no pity.”
And so, at last Roxhythe having all the threads at his fingertips, started to pull them, so that the Great Whig Plot fell in ruins about its makers. Roxhythe worked still in the shadows, and so deftly did he play his part that his name was never mentioned. One by one he set his hapless tools to do his bidding, secure in the knowledge that they dared not refuse. Keyling and Rumsey disclosed all that they knew, but they were carefully coached by Roxhythe, and on every occasion they denied that Monmouth had ever countenanced the idea of assassinating the King or the Duke. Very skilfully was the betrayal done, bit by bit, till at last the network of information was complete, woven together by a master-hand.
Proclamation was issued, ordering the arrest of Monmouth and his chief followers: Grey, Russell, Ferguson and others. My lord’s work was well done, and so thoroughly that no loophole was left through which the incriminated men, save Monmouth, might creep. All that Roxhythe had striven for since first he joined Shaftesbury and Holles was accomplished. It had entailed endless toil, constant alertness of brain and unfailing perseverance. And now it was finished, the task that had been so colossal, and which, to any other man, would have seemed impossible. Step by step my lord had entered into almost every plot for over a year, and had gradually drawn those implicated into a cunning net whose strings were held by a relentless, merciless hand. My lord’s quick brain was moving all the time, linking each tiny plot into one whole, leading on the men he was tricking, until, by their actions, they gave him damning evidence against themselves. Not until the evidence was complete did he draw the strings tight. To act too early would have meant failure, to act too late might have meant disaster. Coolly Roxhythe awaited the right moment, never losing patience, never relaxing his vigilance. The moment had come, and at last his task was over. The King’s enemies were smashed, and the King sat firm upon his throne. Only one thing remained to be done. Because Charles wished it, Monmouth must be saved.
Thus it was that my Lord Roxhythe went to wait upon His Grace of Monmouth.
The young man was in a state of terror. He almost clung to Roxhythe.
“My lord, ye see how we have been betrayed!”
Roxhythe looked at him thoughtfully.
“What am I to do?” went on Monmouth. “Does the King suspect you?”
“No,” said Roxhythe, smiling. “He does not.”
Lord Grey had entered the room. He spoke now with suppressed fury.
“He has good reason not to suspect Lord Roxhythe!” he said.
Monmouth recoiled.
“What’s that? No, no! Roxhythe, you have not betrayed me?”
My lord ate a comfit.
“I could kill you where you stand, you lying devil!” said Grey.
“No, you could not,” replied his lordship tranquilly.
“Roxhythe, Roxhythe, it is not true! Good God, you could not have betrayed me!”
“Could he not, sir? Do you forget Sydney’s warnings? Alas, that I ignored them! Rumsey has turned informer, but who was behind Rumsey? Who prompted him to tell such a careful mixture of truth and lies? He had not the brain, I know!”
Monmouth clung to the table.
“Roxhythe, speak!” He was very near tears.
Roxhythe shut his comfit-box.
“Gently, sir. Do not agitate yourself. Lord Grey, either leave the room or behave sanely.”
Grey had drawn his sword. Murder was in his eyes.
“Will you draw, sir?”
“Certainly not.”
Monmouth caught at Grey’s arm.
“Fool, fool! We are surely ruined if you kill Roxhythe! Put up your sword! I command it!”
Reluctantly Grey obeyed. Monmouth sat down limply.
“Roxhythe—explain! Deny that you betrayed me!”
“I wonder that Your Grace ever believed I should do otherwise. I am the King his man. You were all very guileless.”
“We were honest!” cried Grey. “We—foolishly—judged you by ourselves!”
“Then you were indeed foolish. You counted on my dislike for the Duke of York. You forgot my love for the King.”
“Oh, my God!” choked Monmouth. “How could you do it? You have ruined me!”
Roxhythe’s smile was sarcastic.
“I have prevented your ruin, Sir.”
“How can you say so? Don’t seek to excuse yourself!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, don’t seek to excuse yourself!”
Grey watched the smile come again, sick at heart.
“I most certainly shall not excuse myself,” said my lord haughtily. “Had it been necessary I would have ruined Your Grace. As it is I have saved you. It was not my deliberate intention.”
“You confound me with your riddles! What have you done to save me?”
“I have very effectually prevented your rising against King Charles. Is it possible that you do not realize how futile such a rising would have been? You would have caused a little trouble, your army would have been disposed of, and you would have died a traitor’s death on Tower Hill.”
“I am like to do that now!” groaned the wretched young man.
“Not at all. That is why I have sought you out today. Because His Majesty hath a great affection for you in spite of your conduct, I must help you to evade justice.”
“Do not trust him, sir!” said Grey sharply.
“I shall not. I’ll listen to no more of his advice!”
Roxhythe bowed.
“In that case I’ll take my leave, sir.”
Up started Monmouth.
“No, no! Come back, Roxhythe! Come back! What is it I must do?”
“Highness, pray do not—”
“Silence, Grey! Roxhythe, help me!”
“A warrant is out for your arrest, sir—”
“Curse you! Do I not know it?”
“—for your arrest. So I counsel you to go into hiding, not in London. When this storm has abated, surrender yourself to His Majesty, and implore his mercy.”
“I shall surrender myself now! at once!”
“You will be very ill-advised, sir. Evidence is too strong against you. Much of it will be withdrawn in a while and you can with safety surrender. For the present, go.”
Monmouth stood irresolute.
“How do I know that you are not trying to ruin me entirely? I—”
“You do not know. But Lord Grey will tell you that I am speaking with my accustomed good-sense.”
Monmouth looked helplessly at Grey who shrugged.
“Is it a message from the King?” asked the Duke, of a sudden eager.
Roxhythe looked at his hands.
“I must say no,” he replied.
“That is a curious way of saying it! Are you—bidden to—say no?”
“Is it likely that I shall tell you, sir? You have my advice. Act on it or not, as you will. It makes no odds to me. What should I gain by your ruin?” He went out.
“I shall go, Grey.”
“Shall you, sir?” Grey smiled wanly. “I suppose you will. And we—shall stay.”