by H. C. Bailey
CHAPTER XXIV
QUEEN ANNE IS DEAD
The Pretender looked over his shoulder as Harry came up. "Where is hehit?"
"He has it in the body and he suffers."
The Pretender muttered something. "I bring ill-luck to my friends, yousee. Best ride off, Mr. Boyce."
"You can do me no harm, sir. God knows if I can do you any good."
The Pretender looked at him curiously. "I think you are something of myown temper. In effect, there is little to hope with me."
"Who knows?" Harry shrugged. "_Par exemple,_ sir, do you know where weare going now?"
"This is a parable, _mordieu_! I leave my friends to be shot for me anddie, perhaps, while I ride off and know not the least of my way."
"Egad, sir, you were in enough of a hurry to go somewhere." Harry reinedup. "Am I to be trusted in the affair?"
The Pretender amazed Harry by laughing--a laugh so hearty and boyish thathe seemed another man from the creature of stiff, pedantic melancholy.
"Oh Lud, Mr. Boyce, don't scold. You might be a politician. Tell me,where is this damned palace?"
"Kensington, sir? Bear to the left, if you please."
So they swung round, and soon hitting upon a lane saw the village and thetrees about the palace. In a little while, "Mr. Boyce: how much do youknow?" the Pretender said; and still he was more the boy than thedisinherited king.
"Egad, sir, no more than I told you: that my father had bullieswatching for you."
"And I believe I have not thanked you."
It was Harry's turn to laugh. "Faith, sir, you ought to be grateful tothe family of Boyce."
"I shall not forget."
"He takes care that you shall remember him, my honourable father."
"I do not desire repartees, Mr. Boyce. Come, sir, you carry yourself tooproudly. You are not to disdain what you have done, or yourself."
Harry bowed,--permitted himself, I suppose, some inward ironic smile,--hewas not born with reverence, and the royal airs of this haughty, gloomylad had no authority over him. Then and always the pretensions of thePretender appeared to him pathetically ridiculous. But for the man hewould sometimes profess a greater liking than he had learnt to feel forany other in the world.
Harry was careful to avoid most of the village. As they came into it onthe eastward side a horseman galloped up to them. "From my Lord Masham,sir. Pray you follow me at speed." He led them on to the palace, but notby the straight approach, and brought them to a little door in the gardenwall upon the London side.
There a handsome fellow stood waiting for them, and bowed them in with a"Sir, sir, we have been much anxious for you. I trust to God nothing hasfallen out amiss?"
"There was a watch set for me, my lord, and I fear some of our friendsare down. But for this gentleman I had hardly been here."
Masham swore and cried out, "They have news of the design! I profess Ifeared it. Pray, sir, come on quickly. The Queen is weaker, and my ladymuch troubled for her. By God, we have left it late. And the ministersmust still be wrangling, and my Lord Bolingbroke like a man mazed. Wemust be swift and downright with the Council."
Then at last Harry understood. The Pretender was to be brought face toface with his sister, the weakening weak Queen, and a Privy Council wasto be in waiting. Suppose she declared him her heir; suppose shepresented him to a Council all high Tories and good Jacobites! A goodplot, a very excellent plot, if there were a man with the courage and thewill to make it work.
Within the palace it was now twilight. They were hurried up privystairways and along corridors, and Harry fancied behind the gloom ahundred watching eyes, and could not be sure they were only fancy. Asthey crossed the head of the grand staircase Masham made an exclamationand checked and peered down. The Pretender turned and Harry, but Mashamplunged after them and wildly waved them on.
"What is it, my lord? Have you seen a ghost?" The Pretender smiled.
"Oh God, sir, go on!" Masham gasped. "We can but challenge the hazardnow," and he muttered to himself.
"You are inconvenient, my lord," says the Pretender with a shrug. "Gobefore. Conduct me, if you please," Masham brushed by him and hurried on.
Harry understood my lord's alarm. He, too, had seen a little companybelow by the grand entry, and among them one of singular grace, a rarenobility of form and feature, a strange placidity. There was noforgetting, no mistaking him. It was the gentleman of the bogged coach,the Old Corporal, the Duke of Marlborough.. Marlborough, who was indisgrace, who should be in exile, back at the palace when the Tories werestaking their all on a desperate, splendid throw: Marlborough, who hadbetrayed and ruined James II, come back to baffle his son! No wonderLord Masham was uneasy for his head.
They were brought to a small room, blatantly an antechamber, and Masham,brusquely bidding them wait, broke through the inner door. He was back ina moment as pale as he had been red. "Come in, sir," he muttered. "Ibelieve we had best be short." And through the open door Harry heardanother voice. It was thin and strained, and seemed to make no words,like a baby's cry or an animal's.
Across another antechamber, they came into a big room of some primsplendour, and as they passed the door Harry made out what that feeblevoice was saying: "The Council, Abbie: we must go to the Council: we keepthe Council waiting, Abbie:" that came over and over again, and he knewwhy he had not understood. The words were run together and slurred as ifthey were shaped by a mind drowsy or fuddled.
A great fire was burning though the day was warm enough, and by the firesat a mound of a woman. She could be of no great height, perhaps she wasnot very stout, but she sat heaped together and shapeless, a flaccidmass. She had a table by her, and on it some warm drink that steamed.Through the drifting vapour Harry saw her face, and seemed to see itchange and vanish like the vapour. For it was all bloated and loose, andit trembled, and it had no colour in it but a pallid grey. And as helooked there came to him a sense of death.
Yet she was pompously dressed, in a dress cut very low, a dress of richstuff and colour, and there was an array of jewels sparkling about herneck and at her bosom, and her hands lay heavy with rings.
There hung about her a woman buxom and pleasant enough, yet withsomething sly in her plump face. "Fie, ma'am, fie," she was saying, "theCouncil is here but for your pleasure:" she looked up and noddedimperiously at Masham.
"The Prince James, ma'am," Masham cried.
The Queen, who had seemed to see nothing of their coming, started andshook and blinked towards him. "He is loud, Abbie. Tell him not to beloud," she complained.
"Look, ma'am, look," Lady Masham patted at her. "It is your brother, itis Prince James."
The Pretender came forward, holding out his hand. "Am I welcome, Anne?"he said heavily.
The Queen stared at him with dull eyes. "It is King Charles," she said,and stirred in her chair and gave a foolish laugh. "No, but he is likeKing Charles. But King Charles had so many sons. Who is he, Abbie? Whydoes he come? The Council is waiting."
"I am your brother, Anne," the Pretender said.
"What does he say, Abbie?" the Queen turned to Lady Masham and took herhand and fondled it feebly. "I am alone. There is none left to me. My boyis dead. My babies--I am alone. I am alone."
"I am your brother and your King," the Pretender cried.
She fell back in her chair staring at him. Her mouth opened and a mumblecame from it. Then there was silence a moment, and then she began toshake, and one hand beat upon the table with its rings. So they waited awhile, watching the tremulous, shapeless mass of her, and the tap, tap,tap of her hand beat through the room.
Lady Masham took command. "Nay, sir, leave her. You can do no more now.Let her be. I will handle her if I can." She rustled across the roomand struck a bell. "Masham, bring Dr. Arbuthnot. He irks her less thanthe rest."
Harry followed the Pretender into the outer room, shamblingawkwardly. The progress from failure to failure dazed him. He recalledafterwards, as many petty matters of this time stayed vivid in hismemo
ry, a preposterous blunder into a chair. The Pretender sat downand stretched at his ease. "We are too late, I think," he said coldly."It is the genius of my family." He took snuff. "You may go, if youwill, Mr. Boyce."
Harry looked up and struggled to collect himself. "Not till you are insafety," he said, and was dully aware of some discomfort. The dyingwoman, the sheer ugliness of death, the sordid emotions about her numbedthe life in him. He felt himself in a world inhuman. Yet, evenafterwards, he seems not to have discovered anything ignoble in hisadmired Pretender. The blame was fate's that mocked coldly at the hopesand affections of men.
"I am obliged, sir," said the Pretender, and so they waited together....
After a little while of gloomy silence in that bare room, Masham brokein, beckoning and muttering: "Sir, sir, the Queen is dead."
The Pretender stood up. "_Enfin_" said he, with a shrug.