CHAPTER XXI
WITH A GESTURE BETWEEN CONTEMPT AND IMPATIENCE THE DUKEREMOVED HIS HAT]
It cannot at this time of day be needful for me to describe in detailthe aspect of those features which the action disclosed, since theyare as well remembered by many still living as they are faithfullypreserved for posterity--lacking some of the glow and passion whichthen animated them--on the canvas by Sir Peter Lely, which hangsin the Charterhouse. The Duke of Shrewsbury--to set concealmentaside--was then in his thirty-sixth year, in the prime and bloom ofmanhood, of a fair complexion and regular features; over which thehabitude of high rank and the possession of unrivalled parts threw acast of reserve and stateliness, not unbecoming. As he was by natureso sensitive that on this side alone his enemies found him vulnerable,so his face in repose, if it had any blemish at all, had the fault ofbordering on the womanish, the lines of his mouth following those ofthe choicest models of antiquity. But this blemish--if that which borewitness to the most affectionate disposition in the world could becalled by that name--was little marked in public life, the awe whichhis eyes, alike firm and penetrating, inspired in the vulgar,rendering most people blind to it. To sum up, his face gave a justidea of his character; for though indolent, he was of such a temperthat the greatest dared take no liberty with him; and though proud hegave the meanest his rights and a place.
Such, in fine, was the man who now confronted Ferguson, and with astern light in his eye bade the schemer stand out. That the latterfrom the first had intended to declare himself, was as certain asthat, now the time had come, he hesitated; awed by the mere power ofworth, as I have heard that wicked men calling up spirits from thedeep have stood affrighted before the very beings they have summoned.Yet his hesitation was for a moment only; after which, rallying thenative audacity of a temperament which rejoiced in these intrigues anddenouements, he stepped jauntily forward, and assuming such a parodyof dignity as likened his clumsy figure and sneaking face to nothingso much as an ape decked out in man's clothes, he allowed the light tofall on his features.
The Duke looked, and even where I stood behind the lath and plasterpartition I heard him catch his breath. "You are Robert Ferguson!" hesaid.
"Well guessed!" the plotter answered, with a harsh discordant laugh."Your Grace has not forgotten '88. Believe me, if the Prince of Orangehad kept as good a memory, I should not have been in this garret, norneed I have troubled your lordship to visit me in it."
"It would have been better for you, sir, had you still refrained," theDuke answered with severity. "Mr. Ferguson, I tell you at once that Ido not bear his Majesty's Commission in vain, and my first proceedingon leaving this house will be to sign a warrant for your apprehension,and direct the officers where it can be executed."
"And I, my lord," Ferguson answered with an impudent attempt atpleasantry, "have a very good mind to take you at your word, and letyou go to do it. For when your officers arrived they would not findme, while your Grace would go hence to fall into as pretty a trap aswas ever laid for a man."
"Doubtless, then, of your laying!" my lord cried, with a gesture ofcontempt.
"On the contrary. Until I saw you, I knew of the trap indeed, but notfor whom it was intended. Since I have seen you, however--and howgreatly you have improved since '88, when we last met"--Fergusonadded, impertinently,--"my eyes are opened, and I feel a very sincerepity for your lordship."
"I am obliged to you for your warning," the Duke answered, drily, "andwill endeavour to take care of myself. If that be all, therefore, thatyou have to say to me--and I assume that the letter in LordMiddleton's name was no more than a ruse--I will say good-day."
"But that is not all, nor a part!" Ferguson replied. "I have a bargainto propose, and information"--this sullenly and with lowered eyes--"togive."
"As usual!" my lord answered, shrugging his shoulders, and speakingwith the most cutting scorn. "But permit me to say that you have madea mistake, Mr. Ferguson, in sending for me. You should know by thistime, being versed in these affairs, that I leave such bargains tounderlings."
"Nevertheless, to this bargain you must be a party," the otheranswered violently. "Nay, my lord, I can make you a party, I have onlyto tell you a thing I know; and whether you will or no, for your ownsafety you must do what I ask."
"For my own safety, Mr. Ferguson, I am not in the habit of doinganything I would not do for other reasons," the Duke answered coldly."For the rest, if you have anything to tell me that concerns theKing's service----"
"Which King's?" the plotter cried, with a sneer.
"I acknowledge one only--then, I say, I will hear it. But I willneither do nor promise anything in return."
"You talk finely," Ferguson cried, "yet you cannot deny that beforethis I have told things that were worth knowing."
"That were worth men's lives!" my lord answered, speaking in a lowstern voice, and looking at him with a strange abhorrence. "Yes, Mr.Ferguson, I acknowledge that. That were worth men's lives. And itreminds me that you are growing old, and have blood on your hands; youonly and God know how much. But some I know; the proof of it lies inmy office. If you will take my advice, therefore, you will thinkrather of quitting the world and making your peace with heaven--if byany means it can be done--than of digging pits for better men thanyourself. Man," he continued, looking fixedly at him, "do you neverthink of Ayloffe and Sidney? And Russell? And Monmouth? And Cornish?Of the men you have egged on to death, and the men you have--sold! Godforgive you! God forgive you, for man never will!"
I should fail, and lamentably, were I to try to describe either thestern feeling with which my lord uttered this solemn address--the moresolemn as it came from a young man to an old one--or the horridpassion born of rage, fear, and remorse commingled, with which theintriguer received it. When my lord had ceased to speak, Fergusonbroke into the most fearful imprecations; calling down vengeance notonly on others for wrongs done to him, but on his own head if he hadever done aught but what was right; and this rant he so sprinkled withtexts of scripture and scraps of the old Covenanters' language thatfor profanity and blasphemy I never heard the like. The Duke, afterwatching the exhibition for a time with eyes of pity and reprobation,ended by setting on his hat and turning to the door. This sufficed--asnothing else would have--to bring the conspirator to his senses. Witha hideous chuckle, which brought his tirade to a fitting conclusion,"Not so fast, my lord! Not so fast," he cried, slapping his pocket."The key is here. I have something to say before you go."
"In God's name say it then!" the Duke cried, his face sick withdisgust.
"I will!" Ferguson answered hoarsely, leaning on the table which stoodbetween them and thrusting forward his chin, his face still suffusedwith rage. "And see you how I will confound you! The Duke of Berwickis in England. The Duke of Berwick is in London. And what is worse foryou, my lord, he lies to-night at Dr. Lloyd's in Hogsden Gardens. Sotake that information to yourself, my Lord Secretary, and make whatyou can of it--not forgetting the King's interest! Ha! ha! I have youtight there, I think."
His triumph, extreme and offensive as it was, seemed to be justifiedby the consternation--I can call it by no other name--which darkenedthe Duke's countenance as he listened, and held him a momentspeechless and motionless, glaring at the other. At last, "And yousent to me to tell me this?" he cried.
"I did! I did! There is no other living man would have thought of itor done it. And why? Because there is no man can play my cards butmyself."
"You devil!" my lord cried; and was silent.
Seeing that I knew little more of this of which they spoke than thatthe Duke of Berwick was King James' natural son and favourite, I wasat a loss to comprehend, either the Duke's chagrin or Ferguson's veryevident triumph. The latter's next words, however, went far towardsexplaining his jubilation; and if they did not perfectly clear up mylord's position--fully to enter into which required a nobility ofsentiment and a nicety of honour on a par with his own--they enabledme to guess where the shoe pinched.
"D'ye take me now, my lord?" the plotter cried, with a savage grimace."That concerns the King's service I think; and yet--I dare you to makeuse of it. Ay, my Lord Secretary, I dare you to make use of it!" herepeated, his unwholesome face deep red with excitement. "For why?Because you know that there will be a day of reckoning presently--andsooner, mayhap, than some think. You know that. Sooner or later itwill come--it will come, and then 'Touch not mine anointed!' Orrather, touch but a hair of his Jamie's head, and his Majesty'll noforgive! He'll no forgive! There will be mercy for my Lord Devonshire,and my Lord Admiral, ay, and for that incarnate liar and devil, JohnChurchill! Ay, even for him, for he has made all safe both sides andso have the others. But do you touch the King's blood, though it bebastard--do you send to-night to the Bishop's and take him, and go onto what follows--and you may kneel like Monmouth, and plead like myLady Russell, and you'll to the axe and the sawdust, when the timecomes! Ay, you will! you will! you will!"
Though his harsh voice rose almost to a shriek with the last words,and the room rang with them, the Duke stood mutely regarding him, andmade no answer. After an interval, Ferguson himself went on, but in alower tone. "That is the one course you may take, my lord," he said,"and the result of it! If you follow my advice, however, you will notadopt that course. Instead you will let FitzJames be. You will act asif you had not seen me to-day, nor heard that he was in London. You'llwipe this meeting from your memory and live as if it had not been. Andso, at the Restoration, you will have nothing to fear on that head.But--but in the meantime," Ferguson continued with an ugly grin, "itmay be the worse for your Grace if the truth, and your knowledge ofthe truth, come to the Prince's ears, whose Minister you are; andworse again if it comes to Bentinck's, who, I am told, is some troubleto your Grace already."
The Duke's face was a picture. "You villain!" he said again. "What doyou want?"
"For my silence?"
"For your silence? No. What is your aim? What is your object? Youbetray one and the other. The son of your King to prison and death.Me, if you can, to ruin and shame. And why? Why, man? What do you?"
"What do I gain? What shall I gain, you mean," Ferguson answered,smiling cunningly. "Only your Grace's signature to a scrap ofpaper--give me that, and I am mum, and neither Berwick nor you will bea penny the worse."
"What, money?" cried my lord, surprised, I think.
"Oh, no, not money," said the plotter coolly. "And yet--it may bemoney's worth to me over there."
Shrewsbury: A Romance Page 22