Once out of the fortress, Blood deemed himself safe. He saw Mandeville, with the horses, near St. Catherine’s Gate, and shouted to him. His vigilant follower, who was on the lookout, hastened to meet him.
Loud shouts now told the fugitive that he was hotly pursued; and, looking back, he perceived that Talbot was close behind him. Still he was safe if he could only reach his horse, and Mandeville was pressing on.
Next moment he came up. Blood’s hand was upon the saddle, but he could not mount without abandoning the crown, the object of his especial solicitude. While he hesitated, he was seized by Talbot Harland.
“Yield, villain!” cried the young man, almost breathless with exertion. “You are my prisoner!”
Blood offered no resistance, for a dozen musketeers came up at the instant.
No sooner did Mandeville find that his leader was captured, and that he himself must be captured if he stayed, than he galloped off; and though two or three shots were fired at him by the musketeers, he effected his escape.
“What have you got beneath your gown, villain?” demanded Talbot Harland of the captive.
““the crown,” replied Blood, whose sang-froid astonished all those around him. “Own that I have made a gallant struggle for it. Our gracious sovereign never fought better for his crown. Had I not been loth to part with the diadem, you would not have captured me.”
“The treasonable attempt will cost you your head, villain!” said Talbot, as he took the crown from him. “Is this all you have laid hands on? You may as well confess; you will be closely searched anon.”
The astonishment of the beholders was increased as Blood coolly produced the orb, and delivered it to his captor.
“Search me as closely as you please, you will find nothing more,” he said.
“Bring him to the Tower at once,” said Talbot to the musketeers, who had surrounded the prisoner. “He will there be interrogated by Sir Gilbert Talbot.”
“Hie on, quickly,” he added to Kenelm, the warder, who had followed in the pursuit, “and let a cannon be fired to apprize his majesty that this desperate attempt has failed.”
Kenelm hurried off instantly on the errand.
As this order was issued, a cloud gathered on the prisoner’s brow.
“Has the king received information of the attempt?” he asked.
“Ay,” replied Talbot, “or I should not have been here to prevent it.”
Blood’s brow grew darker, and he uttered a deep malediction.
He was then conducted by the guard to the fortress.
Just as he passed through the yawning archway of the By-ward Tower, the thunder of the cannon resounding from the summit of Traitors’ Gate, proclaimed his capture.
CHAPTER XVII
BLOOD IS INTERROGATED BY THE KING
We must now inquire after the poor old custodian, whom we left bound hand and foot, gagged, and in a state of insensibility on the floor of the jewel chamber.
In this state he was found by his wife and daughter, who did their best to succor him, but it is certain he would have died of grief if the crown and orb had not been recovered.
When they were brought back to the Jewel Tower, and once more consigned to his custody, his joy was extravagant.
The table diamond, with the rubies, emeralds, and other precious stones, that had broken from the sceptre, were found upon Flodoard, and restored to the custodian. Nothing, indeed, was lost.
While Blood and his associates underwent an examination by Sir Gilbert Talbot and Lord Feversham, who by this time had arrived at the Tower, Talbot Harland hastened to Whitehall to acquaint the king with the capture of the conspirators.
Charles thanked him warmly for his zeal, and sent for Dorinda and Sabine, that they might hear the details.
Sabine listened to them with the deepest interest; and when Talbot concluded his recital, she again threw herself at the king’s feet, and besought her father’s life.
Charles raised her kindly, and said, “I am going to the Tower at once, and will interrogate him in person. If mercy can be shown it shall not be withheld. That is all the promise I can make.”
Attended only by Talbot Harland, the king then proceeded to the Tower, and on arriving there, repaired at once to the lieutenant’s lodgings, where he found Sir Gilbert Talbot and Lord Feversham, both of whom appeared well pleased to see his majesty.
“Blood is obstinacy personified,” said Sir Gilbert. “We have threatened to put him to the rack; but he derides the threat, and declares he will confess nothing save to your majesty. His accomplices are just as obstinate.”
“Where is the arch-traitor?” demanded Charles.
“He is now in the Devilin Tower,” replied Sir Gilbert. “His comrades are in separate cells of the lower dungeon. One of them has been slightly wounded. Your majesty will be pleased to learn that all the jewels have been recovered.”
“That is well,” replied Charles. “Let Blood be brought before me. I will interrogate him myself.”
Orders were immediately given to that effect; and Charles proceeded to the council-chamber, a large room in which state prisoners were usually examined.
Here the conspirators engaged in the Gunpowder Treason were examined by the commissioners; and a monument was subsequently placed within it to commemorate the event. A bust of King James the First occupied a niche near this monument. Portraits of the Earl of Salisbury, of the Earls of Northampton, Nottingham, and Suffolk, of Sir Edward Cope and Sir William Waad, lieutenant of the Tower in King James’s time, adorned the panels. A long oak table stood in the midst of the room, and on either side of this table were ranged carved oak chairs, with a raised seat at the head, on which the king seated himself.
After the lapse of a few minutes, a door at the lower end of the room was opened by Sir Gilbert Talbot, and the prisoner was brought in by two musketeers.
Having placed him at a certain distance from the royal chair, the guards, at a sign from the king, retired. Sir Gilbert Talbot also withdrew.
The king and Blood were then left alone. There was a brief silence, during which Charles fixed a searching glance upon the prisoner, who bore the scrutiny unmoved.
Blood was now free from the canonicals in which he had disguised himself, and appeared in his ordinary apparel. His demeanor was bold, but respectful; and when brought before the king, he made a profound reverence. As Charles did not address him, he at last broke silence.
“As yet, I have refused to speak,” he said, in a firm voice; “and the torture with which I have been threatened by Sir Gilbert Talbot would not have forced a word from me. But I am ready to answer any question put to me by your majesty.”
“I recognize in you my nocturnal visitor at Knole,” observed Charles, still regarding him steadfastly.
“Yes, my liege, I am he,” replied Blood. “Since that night I have been the happy instrument of saving your majesty from many a secret peril. I have been untiring in my zeal to serve you.”
“The desperate act you have just committed is scarcely consistent with your professions of zeal in my service,” said the king, coldly.
“Is it possible your majesty does not discern my motive for the act?” rejoined Blood, with an almost incredible effrontery. “I fancied it would be palpable to you, if to no one else. Locked up as they now are, those jewels are a mine of wealth entirely lost to your majesty. The idea occurred to me that I could enable you to turn them to account. Had my scheme succeeded, your majesty would have been a gainer by some millions. I know that your privy purse is not too well filled.”
In spite of himself, the king could not help laughing.
“Then you meant first to rob me, and next bring me the proceeds of the robbery, eh?” he said.
“Precisely, my liege, and I think you will own it was an admirably devised plan. For obvious reasons, I could not consult your majesty beforehand; but I felt sure you would prefer money to diamonds. Though the scheme has failed, I deserve my reward, since I have endangered my lif
e in your majesty’s service.”
“I can scarcely credit your representations,” said the king, upon whom the prisoner’s extraordinary assurance had produced an impression.
“I can convince you of their truth, my liege,” said Blood. “You have no one near you, not even Chiffinch, on whom you may so confidently rely as on me. When I had last the honor of conversing with your majesty, I explained that I am the head of a secret society, the members of which are bound by a terrible oath to avenge each other. Were you to put me to death, the poniards of my comrades would inevitably reach you; but I have no such apprehension. So far from punishing me, I am persuaded you will adequately reward my zal and devotion. Employ me, sire, and you will find me faithful and ready to obey your slightest behest, be it what it may. If I am unscrupulous, I am loyal and staunch to the backbone.”
Blood’s manner has been described by Evelyn as dangerously insinuating. On the present occasion, his rough plausibility captivated the king.
“You are already engaged to the Duke of Buckingham,” observed Charles.
“Not to speak it profanely, sire, I do not serve two masters. If I devote myself to you, I shall serve you only. With me at your elbow, you will have nothing to fear. You will learn all the secrets of your enemies.”
“Answer me one question, and answer it truly,” said the king. “Has the Count de Bellegarde had aught to do with this scheme?”
“I am the sole contriver of it, my liege. The plan, as I have explained, was for your majesty’s benefit, and was only confided to those over whom I had perfect control.”
For some moments Charles appeared lost in reflection.
Blood watched him narrowly, and felt sure he had gained his point. Nor was he mistaken.
“I think you may prove useful to me,” said the king, at length. “I will therefore retain you. You shall have a post at court.”
“Your majesty will never regret your generosity,” cried Blood, scarcely able to repress his exultation.
“Stay!” exclaimed Charles; “there is a difficulty that I have overlooked. You are the author of the attack on the Duke of Ormond?”
“I will not attempt to deny it, my liege,” returned Blood.
“You must have his pardon as well as mine.”
“His grace will refuse nothing to your majesty. He will forgive me far more readily than he will forgive the Duke of Buckingham.”
Charles made no remark on the latter observation, but struck a small bell that was placed on the table near him.
The summons immediately brought in the guard; while Sir Gilbert Talbot, with Lord Feversham and Talbot Harland, issued from a side door.
Blood folded his arms on his broad chest, and regarded them haughtily. They were all amazed at his audacity.
“I trust your majesty has found the prisoner less contumacious than I found him,” observed Gilbert.
“He has answered all my questions frankly and satisfactorily,” replied Charles.
“Then, I presume, the interrogation is ended. Let him be removed, and taken back to the Devilin Tower.”
Upon this, the guards advanced, but were checked by a gesture from the king.
“The prisoner is free!” cried Charles. “I have pardoned him!”
“Pardoned him, sire?” exclaimed Sir Gilbert, scarcely able to credit what he heard. “It is not for me to question the wisdom of your majesty’s decision, but—”
“His offence is personal to myself.”
“True, my liege.”
“I have, therefore, a right to forgive it. I have pardoned him and his associates.”
“But he has been guilty of other crimes, sire. He is suspected of being the leader of the attack on his Grace of Ormond.”
“He has confessed his guilt,” said the king. “But there are mitigating circumstances.”
“Mitigating circumstances!” exclaimed Lord Feversham, astounded.
“Ay, my lord,” replied the king. “You will go at once to Clarendon House; tell the Duke of Ormond what I have said, and use your best endeavors with his grace to obtain from him Colonel Blood’s pardon.”
“I will do your majesty’s bidding,” rejoined Lord Feversham; “but I confess that I do not like the errand.”
So saying, he withdrew.
“What is to be done with Blood and his associates, sire?” asked Sir Gilbert Talbot.
“Let them be detained till the Duke of Ormond’s answer is received,” replied the king. “If favorable, as I anticipate it will be, they are immediately to be discharged.”
With this, he quitted the council-chamber, and immediately afterwards returned to Whitehall, attended by Talbot Harland.
Before his majesty’s departure, Sir Gilbert Talbot besought him to gratify the poor old custodian of the Jewel Tower by a visit; but, though ordinarily good-natured, Charles refused. Perhaps he did not like to see the old man, after pardoning his assailants.
He had not long returned to Whitehall, when Lord Feversham made his appearance.
“Well, what says the duke?” demanded Charles.
“These are his exact words, my liege:’ If his majesty can forgive Blood for stealing the crown, I can easily forgive him the attempt on my life. “enough for me to learn his majesty’s pleasure.’ That was all he said.”
“A noble answer, and worthy of him,” cried Charles. “Now go back to the Tower, and let the prisoners be liberated.”
END OF THE THIRD BOOK
BOOK IV: THE MULBERRY GARDEN
CHAPTER I
FLORIO
Not many days after Colonel Blood’s liberation from the Tower, he was established at Whitehall, with a secret pension of five hundred a year.
He now gave himself an air of great importance, dressed richly, and was constantly to be seen amid the throng of courtiers assembled in the Stone Gallery. Though hated by the young gallants, and shunned by the graver members of the court, he escaped insult, owing to his formidable character.
The familiarity with which he was treated by the king could not fail to give him weight, and suitors began to apply to him to use his influence in their behalf with his majesty. But his influence, such as it was, was never exercised — save for a consideration. This he made the applicants clearly understand.
He had the privilege of the back-stairs, and was always privately admitted to the cabinet. He was the terror of ushers, pages, and lackeys, but was on very good terms with Chiffinch, who was secretly rather afraid of him.
With the Count de Bellegarde, Blood was rather distant, and there did not appear to be any intimacy between them.
The conduct of Charles towards a desperado whose offences were so enormous and so notorious, has always appeared incomprehensible to historians — and it remains a mystery to this day, unless we have succeeded in throwing a light upon it.
Blood’s apartments were in the wing of the palace that stood between the privy garden and the inner court. The rooms were pleasant enough, and tolerably well furnished. His three followers, who had been liberated from the Tower at the same time as himself, were constantly with him, and proved very useful in various ways. Perhaps he meditated some other extraordinary coup — who knows? If he did so, he was prevented from accomplishing it, as will be seen.
Sabine had disappeared. She had incurred his displeasure, and he made no inquiries about her.
Just before Blood entered upon his post at Whitehall, a very good-looking, dark-eyed youth, named Florio, was appointed one of the queen’s pages. Placed in attendance on the maids of honor by Chiffinch, Florio soon became an especial favorite with Dorinda Neville, and was constantly in her ante-chamber.
Talbot Harland could not fail to hear of the pretty page, but, strange to say, he never caught sight of him.
To be jealous of a page was absurd, but Talbot could not repress the feeling; and when paying a visit one morning to Dorinda, he took occasion to mention the matter to her. She laughed at him very heartily, and said:
“Some time ago yo
u chose to be jealous of the Count de Bellegarde. Now you are still more unreasonable, and trouble your silly head about my poor little Florio. I own I am fond of the boy. He is by far the prettiest of her majesty’s pages; and so amiable and obliging, that I have chosen him for my own particular attendant, and he devotes himself exclusively to me.”
“So I hear,” replied Talbot, very much piqued by her manner.
“I find him very agreeable,” she pursued. “He sings like a nightingale, and plays the guitar better than the Count de Bellegarde.”
“No end of accomplishments,” observed Talbot, with a sneer.
“My aunt, Lady Muskerry, will tell you that he dances delightfully. Indeed, he cannot help dancing well, for he has the lightest and most graceful figure imaginable.”
It was evident that she wished to heighten her lover’s jealousy; and she succeeded.
Talbot could not conceal his annoyance.
“Is he here?” he cried, quickly. “If so, pray call him. I should like to see whether he is as charming as represented.”
“I dare say you will find him in the ante-chamber when you go forth,” she rejoined. “I shall certainly not summon him.”
“Then I will!” he cried, clapping his hands. “What ho, Florio!”
The door was partially opened, and the symmetrical figure of a page was visible for an instant.
Only for an instant, for Dorinda called out to him not to come in, and the page vanished.
Talbot had sense enough left to perceive that he was making himself ridiculous, and that by any further exhibition of ill-temper, he might forfeit Dorinda’s regard.
He, therefore, deemed it expedient to alter his tone; and had begun to assume a penitent air, when Lady Muskerry came in.
Her ladyship was as fantastically dressed as usual, and her cheeks were covered with fard and patches.
After kissing Dorinda, and saluting Talbot, she said, “I am come to propose a walk in St. James’s Park. The morning is enchanting. His majesty and the Duchess of Portsmouth are gone to feed the ducks in the long canal. All the world is out and taking an airing. Shall we go?”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 608