IV
Flushing
Thus did Christopher enter the service of Roxhythe against his will, against his inner promptings. When once the step was taken, he resolutely choked the warning voice within him, and refused to reconsider his decision.
He took up his position as secretary within the week, and busied himself most conscientiously with his master’s private affairs. For the most part they were trivial enough, leaving him plenty of time in which to amuse himself.
He observed Roxhythe closely during those days, but he always found that my lord baffled him. He was by turns charming and insufferable. There were moments when Christopher’s dislike for him became acute; moments when his lordship was curt, or distrait to the point of rudeness; but just as Christopher’s anger could not longer be controlled, Roxhythe would disperse it with some look, or remark that Christopher could not withstand. Gradually dislike gave place to amusement, and ripened then into liking.
Beyond outlining the steps of the journey, Roxhythe had not mentioned their mission to Holland since the evening when he first met Dart. He appeared to give no further thought to the matter, and his indifference added fuel to Christopher’s enthusiasm.
In one short week the boy saw more of town and its ways than in all the time that he had previously spent in London. He met men who had been hitherto but names to him; he grew accustomed to receiving courtier, politician and poet, whom a month ago he would have been elated to set eyes on. His head was turned a little, but not unpleasantly so. There was never anything of the coxcomb about Christopher.
He learnt with amazement that Roxhythe was in disgrace at Court. He heard the tale through various sources and hardly credited it at first. Fashionable London hummed with the news. It appeared that Roxhythe had taken some liberty with the King, for which he had received not only a public rebuff but afterwards a cold shoulder. Christopher laughed at the tale. Ignorant of Court life he might be, but he was not so ignorant that he did not know of Roxhythe’s almost lifelong devotion to Charles. Never had my lord received a snub. Then came the rumour that Roxhythe deemed it advisable to leave England for a spell. This set Christopher’s brain to work. Perhaps the rebuff was a blind for spies. He determined to ask Roxhythe.
Outwardly my lord remained impassive; Christopher tried to imagine what must be his real feelings. He could conceive the galling degradation of it, and he felt slightly nervous of speaking to Roxhythe on the subject.
It was one morning as he sat writing in the library that he at last ventured to broach the question. My lord had entered the room with several papers which he laid on the desk beside Dart. He turned to go, and as he did so, Christopher rose.
“May I—ask you—something, sir?”
Roxhythe paused.
“Perhaps you will think me impertinent, sir,” went on Christopher, stammering. “I hardly—like to—”
Roxhythe sat down.
“Of course ask me what you will.”
Christopher took heart.
“It—concerns this—affair at Court, sir.”
“My dear boy, I shall not be offended if you say exactly what you mean. ’Tis my disgrace, eh?”
“Ay, sir. At first I was perplexed; then I thought a little. It is a blind for spies?”
“For everyone. I wondered if you would have the wit to perceive it.”
Christopher flushed, and laughed.
“ ’Tis not so very subtle after all!”
“But neat, I flatter myself,” said Roxhythe.
Christopher’s eyes widened.
“The plan was yours, sir?” His voice was incredulous.
“Whose else?”
“I thought—His Majesty—”
“Oh, lud, no! Now confess, Chris, you did not think I had it in me?”
“ ’Tis not the wit I marvel at,” said Christopher. “I think it was a brave thing to do.”
“But then you are not acquainted with His Majesty,” said Roxhythe.
There the matter ended, but it left a great impression on Christopher’s mind. It was from that moment that his everlasting love for Roxhythe had birth.
A week later they were aboard a sailing ship bound for Flushing. Nothing could have been more devoid of interest than their passage.
At Flushing they stayed at the Sceptre Inn, and Christopher, once recovered from his seasickness, resumed his effervescent joie de vivre and started to look about him. He had little or nothing to do, as Roxhythe hardly ever desired his company, so when he met Mr. Edward Milward he was pleased.
He stepped on his toe as he passed him in the coffee-room and apologized in excruciating Dutch. Whereupon Mr. Milward fell into his arms, metaphorically speaking, and called him friend. It appeared that Mr. Milward had not seen a fellow-countryman for months; naturally he was delighted to meet Christopher. They partook of sack together.
Mr. Milward was a great traveller. He was even now on his way to the Hague, where he intended to stay for an indefinite period. He had lately been in Italy. Altogether he had much to tell Christopher. In fact he was a remarkably pleasant companion and Christopher liked him.
Roxhythe returned next day from Middleburgh, where he had been visiting friends, to find his secretary full of his newfound acquaintance.
Christopher confided that Mr. Milward was a remarkably interesting man who had seen much, and who had much to say.
“Ask him to honour us at dinner,” suggested Roxhythe good-naturedly.
So it came about that Mr. Milward supped in my Lord Roxhythe’s private parlour and enjoyed himself exceedingly.
It seemed to Christopher that Roxhythe was not himself. He was, if possible, even more languid than usual, and once or twice he rested his head in his hand as though it ached intolerably. Taxed with it, he roused himself with an effort, denying that he was at all unwell.
“I do trust you have not caught some low fever, sir!” exclaimed Dart anxiously.
Roxhythe laughed the idea to scorn, but he excused himself at an early hour, leaving his secretary to entertain the guest.
“Lord Roxhythe hath the air of a sick man,” remarked Milward, and nodded wisely.
Christopher strove to conceal his anxiety.
“We had intended to ride to Bergen tomorrow,” he said. “But I fear my lord will not be well enough to sit the saddle.”
“To Bergen? Why, I was to have ridden there today but that my horse cast a shoe! I had decided to remain here some few days, but if you go tomorrow, why—!” He left the sentence unfinished.
Christopher was polite, but not enthusiastic.
Later he visited Roxhythe, and found him in bed. He stood looking at him, full of concern, until my lord begged him to be seated. He could never bear an unrestful companion.
Christopher sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I doubt you’ll not sit the saddle tomorrow, sir,” he said gravely.
“Art a pessimist,” was the lazy response. “What of your friend Milward?”
“ ’Tis of him that I wish to speak.” Christopher wrinkled his brow in perplexity. “He—he wants to ride with us tomorrow.”
The brown eyes opened.
“Does he so? Well … we shall not be lonely.”
“I did not know—that is, I rather thought you would prefer to ride alone, sir.”
The eyes closed again.
“By all means let the man come. What of it?”
“Naught, sir. I only thought—”
“Oh, ay, ay! God’s Body, but my head’s afire! Go you to bed, Christopher!”
Christopher rose reluctantly.
“There’s nothing I can do for you, sir?”
His fine white hand was across Roxhythe’s forehead, shading the upper part of his face, but Christopher saw his lips curve.
“Poor Chris! You shall not be called upon to play body-servant as well as secretary!”
“I would do aught I could for you, sir!”
The hand moved away. Christopher looked straight into my lord’s eyes.
“Then go to bed,” said that sleepy voice. “And Christopher!”
Christopher paused. He was drawing the curtains about the bed.
“Well?” he smiled.
“Don’t worry your head over me!”
Outside the room Dart met Roxhythe’s servant.
“I fear his lordship is a sick man, John,” he said. “And he will not own it.”
The man looked at him curiously for a moment. Then he grunted.
Rather to Christopher’s surprise he found Roxhythe already dressed next morning when he went to his room. My lord was in the act of fastening a diamond pin in his cravat when the tap fell on the door, and his glance as he met Christopher’s eyes in the mirror was one of pure amusement.
“You thought to find me abed, my friend,” he remarked.
“Yes,” admitted Christopher. “But I rejoice to find you up. You are better, sir?”
“I am well enough,” shrugged his lordship. He gave a final touch to his ribbons, and turned. “Well, to breakfast—and the amiable Mr. Milward.”
“You had rather he did not ride with us?” asked Christopher quickly.
“On the contrary,” smiled Roxhythe.
Thus it came to pass that Mr. Milward joined the little cavalcade and did much to beguile the tedium of the journey with his sparkling conversation. He had a fair knowledge of the country and he spoke Dutch perfectly, so Roxhythe, whose Dutch was fluent enough but hopelessly marred by his English accent, allowed him to parley with the landlords of the inns at which they halted.
Christopher, whose first visit abroad this was, greatly enjoyed the ride. He drank in every fresh sight and sound with avidity; nothing escaped his notice; his eyes were on everything. Roxhythe regarded him thoughtfully.
Now and again Christopher glanced at his lordship with a worried eye. He saw how he flagged, how weary were his movements, but guessing that Roxhythe did not wish him to call attention to his indisposition, he held his peace.
For some time Roxhythe talked inanities to Mr. Milward. Christopher wished that he need not appear so foolish, and fretted. The lazy eyes never looked his way.
Presently Roxhythe spoke of his disgrace at Court. Mr. Milward’s tact was most praiseworthy. Roxhythe explained that he must needs absent himself from Whitehall till the storm should have blown over. He told Mr. Milward that he was desirous of pressing on to the Hague where he intended to visit all his old friends. Mr. Milward was all interest. Friends made, no doubt, during the period of his exile with the King? Roxhythe nodded pensively, and proceeded to expatiate on the subject.
Christopher saw the half-veiled scorn on Milward’s face and fumed inwardly. Roxhythe continued to talk.
And so at length they arrived at Bergen-op-Zoom. Roxhythe was worn out and he excused himself from appearing at the supper-table.
Milward and Christopher dined alone. Christopher thought that he detected a patronizing note in Mr. Milward’s voice when he spoke of Roxhythe. He decided that he no longer liked Mr. Milward. As soon as he could he left him and went upstairs to Roxhythe’s room.
My lord was seated before the fire, wrapped in a gorgeous dressing-gown. The remains of supper stood at his elbow.
“Sir, you cannot ride tomorrow,” said Christopher firmly.
The arched brows rose.
“So!” said Roxhythe politely.
“You may say what you will, sir, but I know you have the fever, and I will not let you ride until you are well.”
“Why, that is very entertaining—Mr. Dart.”
Christopher reddened.
“You think me impertinent, sir, but—”
“No. Overzealous, and—importunate.”
“Nevertheless, sir, you do not travel tomorrow.”
My lord fingered his peruke, his eyes grown hard as steel.
“I see you will have it, Mr. Dart. You force me to remind you that you are here to obey without question.”
Christopher had much ado to choke back his anger.
“But, sir, I cannot see that our hurry is so—”
“I think there is no need to pursue the subject,” said Roxhythe.
Christopher drew himself up.
“You are right, Lord Roxhythe; there is no need. You will not find me oversolicitous again.”
“It is outside your part,” agreed Roxhythe. He leant back in his chair, closing his eyes.
Christopher seethed inwardly.
“Then, if you have no commands for me, sir, I’ll retire.” Nothing could have been colder than that hurt young voice. My lord said nothing.
Christopher was very youthful; it was all he could do to refrain from slamming the door as he went out. He was furious that Roxhythe should treat him thus. He told himself that he had been right when he dubbed his lordship insufferable; not easily would he be won over again.
Relations were strained between them next morning. Christopher treated Roxhythe with punctilious politeness, and addressed all his conversation to Milward. Surreptitiously he watched my lord, and more than once he wondered whether he would last the journey. Roxhythe rode in silence, looking straight between his horse’s ears. They halted very few times upon the way, and dismounted not at all, so Christopher was not surprised when, at Gertruydenberg, which was their destination, Roxhythe, having dismounted, reeled, and would have fallen but for his prompt assistance. He helped him into the inn and gave him into John’s care. When he had arranged for the stabling of the horses, and changed his boots, he visited my lord in bed and spoke with ill-concealed triumph.
“Do you wish me to fetch an apothecary, sir, or shall you ride tomorrow?”
“Neither,” said Roxhythe, his handkerchief to his mouth. “You’ll—make my—apologies to the—amiable Mr. Milward—and say that I shall—hope to meet him—at the Poisson d’Or Inn at the Hague. Odd rot! my head is like to split!”
“I am grieved, sir,” said Christopher primly.
Milward awaited him downstairs.
“My lord is worse?”
Christopher shook his head.
“He’ll not ride tomorrow, nor yet the next day. He is a sick man.”
“Oh!” said Milward uncertainly. His eyes searched Christopher’s face.
“He bids me tell you that he is sorry to break up our party, but he hopes to see you at the Poisson d’Or at the Hague.”
“Oh!” said Milward again. “I hope so too.”
So Mr. Milward departed next day in solitary state, very loth to leave his travelling companions, but looking forward to seeing them at the Hague.
Watching him ride away, Christopher felt suddenly very lonely. He wished that he had not fallen out with Roxhythe. He walked slowly back into the house.
As he passed through the crowded coffee-room, he paused to survey the occupants. For the most part they were dull-looking burghers, and did not interest him, but in one corner, by the window, sat two men who attracted his attention. They were playing dominoes, and at first, Christopher watched out of idle curiosity. Then he studied the men’s faces. It struck him that the one nearest the window was vaguely familiar. He racked his brains in the effort to remember where he had seen him before, but with no success. He concluded that he must be mistaken when the man called an order to the landlord in excellent Dutch.
He went upstairs, feeling very depressed.
Instead of finding Roxhythe in bed as he had expected, he found him in his dressing-gown, writing. He stared in amazement, for Roxhythe had no longer the air of a sick man. His person had lost its languor, his eyes their sleepiness. Roxhythe raised them as he entered, and the boy was startled by their unaccustomed keenness.
“John!” Roxhythe addressed his servant curtly.
The man came forward, holding one of his master’s perukes in his hand. Roxhythe’s head was bent over his work.
“I wish to be private with Mr. Dart.”
Christopher watched John go out, marvelling at this change in Roxhythe.
As the door closed, my lord glanced up quickly.
“Sit down, Christopher.”
So he was restored to favour? Christopher drew up a chair, reflecting that if anyone had the right to be magnanimous over the late contretemps it was himself. However, he was growing accustomed to the ways of Roxhythe, and he was not so indignant as he would once have been.
For a few moments Roxhythe’s hand continued to travel to and fro across the parchment, but he was only a short while finishing. He pushed the paper away, and leaned back in his seat.
“Poor Chris! I owe you an explanation, eh?” The tone was so winning that the remaining shreds of Christopher’s rancour fled.
“I do confess, sir—I am at a loss.”
“Of course you are. Has Milward departed?”
“Ay, sir. I sped him on his way just before I came to you.”
“And you gave him my message?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you showed him your concern for my health?”
“I thought it best to counterfeit unconcern, sir.”
Roxhythe’s eyelids drooped suddenly. His mouth twitched.
“Very good, Chris. What of the other guests?”
Christopher looked up, bewildered.
“What of them, sir?”
“Describe them.”
Understanding dawned on the boy. He described the people he had seen in the coffee-room very readily. Then he remembered the man by the window, playing dominoes. He paused, cudgelling his brains anew. Roxhythe sat still watching him.
Suddenly Christopher started up.
“Odd’s body! Of course I know!”
“Well?” Roxhythe had fallen back into his old drawl.
“At Ashley’s that day! Outside with the horse!”
“My dear Chris!” expostulated Roxhythe.
Christopher sat down again, laughing a little.
“I had forgotten you did not know! It was the day I—you engaged me. I had been to see Lord Ashley, and as I came out I met Mr. Hyde in the hall. I thought nothing of it at the time but I remarked his servant, outside. He was holding Mr. Hyde’s horse and ’tis he downstairs!”
“You infer—”
“Why, sir, Mr. Hyde is the Duke of York’s brother-in-law! The man is a spy!”
Roxhythe nodded casually.
“Is he of medium height with a bulbous nose and light eyebrows?”
“Well, yes!” admitted Christopher, smiling.
“Ah! I wondered.”
“When have you seen him, sir?”
“At Flushing the other day.”
Christopher stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Yet I did not!”
“No? But you were not on the lookout.”
“I—I hardly thought that you were!” Christopher blurted out.
“I am old in intrigue, my child,” said Roxhythe. “So he is a creature of Hyde’s? Well. Milward, then, is probably in French pay.”
“Milward!” Up started Christopher again. “I—never—thought—of—that! Why—why what a dolt I am! Of course Milward is a spy! Why did you not tell me, sir? Warn me?”
“You would have been less useful,” explained Roxhythe.
“But I might have let fall anything! Had you told me I had been on my guard.”
“Precisely,” nodded his lordship. “And you are young in intrigue.”
“Oh!” said Christopher rather blankly. He thought for a moment. “Did you but feign sickness, sir?”
“To shake him off; ay.”
“Then why did you not remain at Bergen yesterday? Why come here? He would not have suspected, for indeed you had the look of a sick man.”
“Because I had laid my plans otherwise—which plans you, my young hothead, did your utmost to o’erset.”
The ready colour rose to Christopher’s cheeks.
“I am sorry, sir. But I did not know. Is it possible that you foresaw all this?”
“It was so obvious,” sighed his lordship.
“Was it, sir?” asked Christopher admiringly. “And what now? Or—or am I to be kept in the dark?” He spoke deferentially.
“No, I am going to expound.” My lord lifted up a quill, and surveyed it idly. “Tomorrow I keep my room; on Wednesday we travel by coach to Rotterdam. I am afraid I shall be ill again, Chris. You will be suitably perturbed, and you will fetch a certain Mynheer de Staal, an apothecary, and a friend of mine. He will give it out that I am suffering from a low fever and must not be disturbed. I shall make my escape by way of the window at night and proceed to de Staal’s house where I shall wait till morning. Then I shall ride to the Hague, leaving you and John to trick the spy into thinking me abed. De Staal will come every day; I can trust him. At the Hague, I shall stay at the Three Fishers, and, with the aid of your brother, gain access to the Prince, when I shall lay His Majesty’s proposition before him. That done, and the Prince his answer given, I return to Rotterdam, and recover from the fever. For the rest it is easy. We proceed to the Hague; we meet our friend Milward. Presently, behold! His Majesty has forgiven me! We return to London. I think the amiable Mr. Milward will be perplexed.”
Christopher’s eyes glowed.
“It is a marvellously well thought-out scheme, sir. But I am afraid.”
“On what score?”
“You may be discovered. The French spies may have orders to prevent your gaining access to the Prince at any cost.”
Roxhythe’s lips curved haughtily.
“They dare not.”
“Dare not?”
“I am Roxhythe.”
“Then you think they would not murder you?”
“I know it. They dare not touch me. They are not certain on any point concerning this expedition. They suspect, but they cannot molest me on their suspicions. Had it been a lesser man, they might have dared. But I—I am Roxhythe.”
“I see,” said Christopher, abashed.