Shrewsbury: A Romance

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XII

  I suppose that there never was an abrupt change in the government of anation more quietly, successfully, and bloodlessly carried throughthan our great Revolution. But it is the way of the pendulum to swingback; and it was not long before those who had been most deeplyconcerned in the event began to reflect and compare, nor, as they hadbefore them the example of the Civil War and the subsequentrestoration besides, and were persons bred for the most part in anatmosphere of Divine Right and passive obedience (whether they hadimbibed those doctrines or not), was it wonderful if a proportion ofthem began to repent at leisure what they had done in haste. The lateKing's harsh and implacable temper, and the severity with which he hadsuppressed one rising, were not calculated to reassure men when theybegan to doubt. The possibility of his return hung like a thick cloudover the more timid; while the favours which the new King showered onhis Dutchmen, the degradation of the coin and of trade, and the manydisasters that attended the first years of the new government weresufficient to shake the confidence and chill the hearts even of thestoutest and most patriotic.

  So bad was the aspect of things that it was rumoured that King Williamwould abdicate; and this aggravating the general uncertainty, many inhigh places spent their days in a dreadful looking forward tojudgment; nor ever, I believe, slept without dreaming of Tower Hill,the axe, and the sawdust. The result that was natural followed. Whilemany hastened to make a secret peace with St. Germain's, others,either as a matter of conscience or because they felt that they hadoffended too deeply, remained constant; but perceiving treachery inthe air, and being in daily fear of invasion, breathed nothing butthreats and slaughter against the seceders. This begot a period ofplots and counter-plots, of perjury and intrigue, of denunciations andaccusations real and feigned, such as I believe no other country hasever known; the Jacobites considering a restoration certain, and thetime only doubtful; while the Whigs in their hearts were inclined toagree with them and feared the worst.

  During seven such years I lived and worked with Mr. Brome; who,partly, I think, because he had come late to his political bearings,and partly because the Tories and Jacobites had a newswriter in thenotorious Mr. Dyer--to whose letters Mr. Dryden, it was said, wouldsometimes contribute--remained steadfast in his Whig opinions; and didno little in the country parts to lessen the stir which the Nonjurors'complaints created. I saw much of him and little of others; and beinghonestly busy and honourably employed--not that my style made anynoise in the coffee-houses, which was scarcely to be expected, sinceit passed for Mr. Brome's--I began to regard my life before I came toLondon as an ugly dream. Yet it had left me with two proclivitieswhich are not common at the age which I had then reached; the one alove of solitude and a retired life, which, a matter of necessity atfirst, grew by-and-by into a habit; the other an averseness for womenthat amounted almost to a fear of them. Mr. Brome, who was a confirmedbachelor, did nothing to alter my views on either point, or toreconcile me to the world; and as my life was passed between my atticin Bride Lane and his apartment in Fleet Street, where he had atolerable library, few were better acquainted with public affairs orhad less experience of private, than I; or knew more intimately theorder of the signs and the aspect of the houses between the FleetPrison and St. Dunstan's Church.

  Partly out of fear, and partly out of a desire to be done with myformer life, I made myself known to no one in Hertfordshire; but, somefive years after my arrival in London, having a sudden craving to seemy mother, I walked down one Sunday to Epping. There making cautiousenquiries of the Bishop Stortford carrier, I heard of her death, andon the return journey burst once into a great fit of weeping at thethought of some kind word or other she had spoken to me on aremembered occasion. But with this tribute to nature I dismissed myfamily, and even that good friend from my mind; going back to mylodging with a contentment which this glimpse of my former lifewondrously augmented.

  Of Mr. D---- or of the wicked woman who had deceived me I was notlikely to hear; but there was one, and he the only stranger who _anteLondinium_ had shown me kindness, whose name my pen was frequentlycalled on to transcribe, and whose fame was even in those days in allmen's mouths. With a thrill of pleasure I heard that my LordShrewsbury had been one of the seven who signed the famous invitation:then that the King had named him one of the two Secretaries of State;and again after two years, during which his doings filled more andmore of the public ear--so that he stood for the government--that hehad suddenly and mysteriously resigned all his offices and retiredinto the country. Later still, in the same year, in the sad days whichfollowed the defeat of Beachy Head, when a French fleet sailed theChannel, and in the King's absence, the most confident quailed, Iheard that he had ridden post to Kensington to place his sword andpurse at the Queen's feet; and, later still, 1694, when three years ofsilence had obscured his memory, I heard with pleasure, and the worldwith surprise, that he had accepted his old office, and stood higherthan ever in the King's favour.

  The next year Queen Mary died. This, as it left only the King's lifebetween the Jacobites and a Restoration, increased as well theiractivity as the precautions of the government; whose most difficulttask lay in sifting the wheat from the chaff and discerning betweenthe fictions of a crowd of false witnesses (who thronged theSecretary's office and lived by this new trade) and the genuinedisclosures of their own spies and informers. In the precariousposition in which the government stood, ministers dared neglectnothing, nor even stand on scruples. In moments of alarm, therefore,it was no uncommon thing to close the gates and prosecute a house tohouse search for Jacobites; the most notorious being seized and theaddresses of the less dangerous taken. One of these searches whichsurprised the city in the month of December, '95, had for me resultsso important that I may make it the beginning of a consecutivenarrative.

  I happened to be sitting in my attic that evening over a little coalfire, putting into shape some Whig reflections on the Coinage Bill;our newsletter tending more and more to take the form of a pamphlet. Afrugal supper, long postponed, stood at my elbow, and the first I knewof the search that was afoot, a man without warning opened my door,which was on the latch, and thrust in his head.

  Naturally I rose in alarm; and we stared at one another by the lightof my one candle. Only the intruder's head and shoulders were in theroom, but I could see that he wore bands and a cassock, and a greatbird's nest wig, which overhung a beak-like nose and bright eyes.

  "Sir," said he after a moment's pause, during which the eyes leavingme glittered to every part of the room, "I see you are alone, and havea very handy curtain there."

  I gasped, but to so strange an exordium had nothing to say. Thestranger nodded at that as if satisfied, and slowly edging his bodyinto the room, disclosed to my sight the tallest and most uncouthfigure imaginable. A long face ending in a tapering chin added much tothe grotesque ugliness of his aspect; in spite of which his featureswore a smirk of importance, and though he breathed quickly, like a manpressed and in haste, it was impossible not to see that he was masterof himself.

  And of me; for when I went to ask his meaning, he shot out his greatunder-lip at me, and showed me the long barrel of a horse pistol thathe carried under his cassock. I recoiled.

  "Good sir," he said, with an ugly grin, "'tis an argument I thoughtwould have weight with you. To be short, I have to ask yourhospitality. There is a search for Jacobites; at any moment themessengers may be here. I live opposite to you and am a Nonjuringclergyman liable to suspicion; you are a friend to Mr. Timothy Brome,who is known to stand well with the government. I propose therefore tohide behind the curtain of your bed. Your room will not be searched,nor shall I be found if you play your part. If you fail to playit--then I shall be taken; but you, my dear friend, will not see it."

  He said the last words with another of his hideous grins, and tappedthe barrel of his pistol with so much meaning that I felt the bloodleave my cheeks. He took this for a proof of his prowess; and nodding,as well content, he stood a mo
ment in the middle of the floor, andlistened with the tail of his eye on me.

  He had no reason to watch me, however, for I was unarmed and cowed;nor had we stood many seconds before a noise of voices and weaponswith the trampling of feet broke out on the stairs, and at onceconfirmed his story and proved the urgency of his need. Apparently hewas aware of the course things would take and that the constables andmessengers would first search the lower floors; for instead ofbetaking himself forthwith to his place of hiding--as seemednatural--he looked cunningly round the chamber, and bade me sit downto my papers. "Do you say at once that you are Mr. Brome's writer," hecontinued with an oath, "and mark me well, my man. Betray me by a wordor sign, and I strew your brains on the floor!"

  After that threat, and though he went then, and hid his hatefulface--which already filled me with fear and repugnance beyondwords--behind the curtain, where between bed and wall, there was aslender space, I had much ado to keep my seat and my self-control. Inthe silence which filled the room I could hear his breathing; and Ifelt sure that the searchers must hear it also when they entered.Assured that the Sancrofts and Kens, and the honest but misguided folkwho followed them, did not carry pistols, I gave no credit to hisstatement that he was a Nonjuring parson; but deemed him somedesperate highwayman or plotter, whose presence in my room, should hebe discovered and should I by good luck escape his malice, wouldland me at the best in Bridewell or the Marshalsea. By-and-by thecandle-wick grew long, and terrified at the prospect of being left inthe dark with him, I went to snuff it. With a savage word he whisperedme to let it be; after which I had no choice but to sit in fear andsemi-darkness, listening to the banging of doors below, and thealternate rising and falling of voices, as the search party entered orissued from the successive rooms.

  In my chamber with its four whitewashed walls and few sticks offurniture there was only one place where a man could stand and beunseen; and that was behind the curtain. There, I thought, the mostheedless messenger must search; and as I listened to the stepsascending the last flight I was in an agony. I foresaw the moment whenthe constable would carelessly and perfunctorily draw the curtain--andthen the flash, the report, the cry, the mad struggle up and down theroom, which would follow.

  So strong was this impression, that though I had been waiting minuteswhen the summons came and a hand struck my door, I could not at oncefind voice to speak. The latch was up, and the door half open when Icried "Enter!" and rose.

  In the doorway appeared three or four faces, a couple of lanthorns,held high, and a gleam of pike-heads. "Richard Price, servant to Mr.Brome, the newswriter," cried one of the visitors, reading in asonorous voice from a paper.

  "Well affected," answered a second--evidently the person in command."Brome is a good man. I know him. No one hidden here?"

  "No," I said, with a loudness and boldness that surprised me.

  "No lodger, my man?"

  "None!"

  "Right!" he answered. "Good-night, and God save King William!"

  "Amen!" quoth I; and then, and not before, my knees began to shake.

  However, it no longer mattered, for before I could believe that thedanger was over they were gone and had closed the door; and I caught asniggering laugh behind the curtain. Still they had gone no fartherthan the stairs; I heard them knock on the opposite door and troop inthere, and I caught the tones of a woman's voice, young and fresh,answering them. But in a minute they came out again, apparentlysatisfied, and crowded down stairs; whereon the man behind the curtainlaughed again, and swaggering out, Bobadil-like, shook his fist withfurious gestures after them.

  "Damn your King William, and you too!" he cried in ferocious triumph."One of these days God will squeeze him like the rotten orange he is;and if God will not, I will! I, Robert Ferguson! Trot, for the set ofpudding-headed blind-eyed moles that you are! Call yourselvesconstables! Bah! But as for you, my friend," he continued, turning tome and throwing his pistol with a crash on the table, "you have morespunk than I thought you had, and spoke up like a gentleman of mettle.There is my hand on it!"

  My throat was so dry that I could not speak, but I gave him my hand.

  He gripped it and threw it from him with a boastful gesture, andstalking to the farther side of the room and back again, "There!"cried he. "Now you can say that you have touched hands with Ferguson,the famous Ferguson, the Ferguson on whose head a thousand guineashave been set! Ferguson the Kingmaker, who defied three Kings and madethree Kings and will yet make a fourth! Fire and furies, do a set ofboozing tipstaves think to take the man who outwitted Jeffreys andslipped through Kirke's lambs?"

  "DAMN YOUR KING WILLIAM, AND YOU TOO!" HE CRIED]

  Hearing who he was, I stared at him in astonishment; but inastonishment largely leavened with fear and hatred; for I knew thereputation he enjoyed, and both what he had done, and of what he wassuspected. That in all his adventures and intrigues he had borne acharmed life; and where Sidney and Russell, Argyle and Monmouth,Rumbold and Ayloffe had suffered on the scaffold, he had escaped scotfree was one thing and certain; but that men accounted for this instrange ways was another scarcely less assured. While his friendsmaintained that he owed his immunity to a singular skill in disguise,his enemies, and men who were only so far his enemies as they were theenemies of all that was most base in human nature, asserted that thishad little to do with it, but went so far as to say that in all hisplots, with Russell and with Monmouth, with Argyle and with Ayloffe,he had played booty, and played the traitor: and tempting men, andinviting men to the gibbet, had taken good care to go one stepfarther--and by betraying them to secure his own neck from peril!