The rejoinder, as it seemed, was approved, for the ladies whispered behind their fans, and here and there a man checked a laugh. Lady Oxford met the thrust with all the appearances of unconcern.
‘And tagged with Latin, Mr. Hilton?’ she asked. That was enough for Mr. Wogan. Lady Oxford knew the ballad, and gave it to Lady Mary. Without a doubt she must believe Mr. Kelly supplied Lady Mary with the matter of it. ‘Of a truth the ballad will’ be tagged with Latin. Sure Lady Mary has scholars enough among her friends who would not let her wit go naked when a scrap of Latin could cover it decently — indeed, too decently at times, for, though we always see the Latin, one is hard put to it now and then to discover the wit. Do you not think so, Mr. Hilton?’ She paused ever so slightly before the name, and ever so slightly drawled it, with just a hint of menace in her accent. Mr. Hilton, none the less, got a clear enough knowledge of the dangerous game he was playing. Lady Oxford had but to say ‘Mr. Wogan,’ and it would not be Mr. Wogan who would have the chance of playing a hand with the figure at the empty table.
Lady Mary’s name was now called out from the doorway, and Mr. Wogan was glad enough to leave the encounter to her worthier hands. Lady Mary sailed into the room; Lady Oxford swam forwards to meet her. The two ladies dissolved almost in smiles and courtesies.
‘We were in despair, dearest Lady Mary; we feared you would baulk us of your company. France, they said, was happy in your sunshine.’
‘France, madam?’ asked Lady Mary.
‘It was your dear friend, Mr. Pope, who said you had withdrawn thither — la, in the strangest hurry!’
‘Indeed, very like! I denied Mr. Pope my door two days ago, and his vanity could only conceive I was gone abroad.’
‘Your ladyship was wise. A poet’s tongue wags most indiscreetly. Not that anyone believes those fanciful creatures. A romance of a — a M. Rémond for whom you should have placed money in the sinking South Sea; the Frenchman arriving in London in a hurry; Lady Mary in a hurry arriving in France; a kind of country dance figure of partners crossing. A story indubitably false, to the knowledge of all your ladyship’s friends, as I took occasion to say at more than one house where the rumour was put about.’
Lady Oxford had scored the first point in the game, as Wogan reckoned and marked ‘Fifteen — love’ with chagrin. However, he took some comfort from Lady Mary’s face, which was grown dangerously sweet and good-natured. Nor was his confidence vain, for Lady Mary did more than hold her ground.
‘Your ladyship’s good will,’ said she, ’is my sufficient defence. My Lord Oxford is here? It is long since I paid him my respects.’
‘Alas, my dear Lord has lain these last six weeks at Brampton Bryan,’ sighed Lady Oxford, ‘with a monstrous big toe all swathed in flannel. Your ladyship, I fear, can only greet my husband by proxy.’
There was just a sparkle of triumph in Lady Mary’s eyes.
‘By proxy!’ she said; ‘with all the willingness in the world;’ and she swept a courtesy to Colonel Montague, who was coming forward to join them.
Lady Oxford flirted her fan before her face.
A murmur almost of applause ran from group to group of the company.
Mr. Wogan, who loved the game of tennis, marked ‘Fifteen — all.’
At that moment a clock upon the mantelshelf chimed the half-hour. In fifteen minutes the Parson would arrive, and Mr. Wogan had not played his hand. He moved a few yards from the table at which Lord Sidney Beauclerk, with his eyes upon Lady Oxford, was dealing the cards, and stood apart by the empty table, wondering how he should do. He picked up a pack of cards idly, and Lady Mary spoke again to Lady Oxford:
‘I interrupted your ladyship’s game.’
‘Nay, your coming was the most welcome diversion. Colonel Montague,’ said Lady Oxford, as she was gliding back to her table, ‘shared my bank, and played with the worst of luck. I declare the Colonel has ruined me;’ and so retired out of range of Lady Mary’s guns.
The Colonel followed Lady Oxford. Lady Mary turned to Mr. Wogan, and in a voice loud enough for others than Mr. Wogan to hear:
‘What!’ said she, ‘was Lady Oxford ruined by Colonel Montague? I did not think their acquaintance was of so old a standing.’
‘Thirty — fifteen,’ said Mr. Wogan in an abstraction.
Lady Mary stared.
‘I was but marking the game and scoring points to your ladyship,’ Wogan said.
Colonel Montague had heard Lady Mary’s sally, for he stopped. Lord Sidney Beauclerk had heard it, for he rose as though to mark his disbelief, and handed Lady Oxford to her chair with a sort of air of protection very pretty in the boy. It seemed, indeed, as though even Lady Oxford was touched, for her face was half turned towards Mr. Wogan, and he saw it soften with something like pity and her eyes swam for an instant in tears. It was new, no doubt, for the spider to feel compassion for the fly, but Mr. Wogan was not altogether surprised, for he began to find the fly very much to his own taste. It was a clean-limbed, generous lad, that looked mighty handsome in the bravery of his pink satin coat, and without one foppish affectation from his top-knot to his shoe-buckles.
Mr. Wogan was still holding the pack of cards in his hands.
‘You have a mind to play? ‘asked Lady Mary.
Wogan looked at the clock. He had only fifteen minutes for his business as lightning conductor. In fifteen minutes the Parson would be here.
‘If you will present me to the player I have a mind to play with,’ said he, dropping the pack on the table.
‘With all my heart,’ said she; ‘name him.’
‘Colonel Montague.’
Her ladyship looked at Wogan doubtfully, and beckoned the Colonel with her fan. The Colonel, who had his own feud with Lady Mary over the supposed authorship of the ballad, made as though he had not seen her summons. Lady Mary repeated it with no better result, and finally took a step or two towards him. Montague could no longer affect to misunderstand.
‘I wish to present you to a friend,’ she said, as Colonel Montague joined her.
‘If your ladyship will excuse me,’ said the Colonel coldly, ‘I have no taste for the acquaintance of Irish adventurers.’
Mr. Wogan was not out of earshot, and laughed gleefully as he caught the insult. Here was his opportunity, come in the nick of time.
‘Did anyone mention me?’ he said pleasantly, as he came round the card-table. But before the Colonel could answer, or Lady Mary interfere, the servant at the door announced:
‘Dr. and Miss Townley!’
Wogan’s heart gave a leap. He swore beneath his breath.
‘Miss Townley?’ asked her ladyship, who had caught his oath.
‘Is Rose, the Rose,’ replied Wogan.
Lady Mary knew the ballad, knew who Rose was, and looked perplexed as to why Lady Oxford had asked the girl. Mr. Wogan, on the other hand, was no longer perplexed at all. His doubt was now a certainty. Lady Oxford had prepared a scenic revenge, a coup de theater. To this end, and to prove her ignorance of the ballad, she had invited Kelly, Montague, and Rose.
Of the coup de theater her ladyship had got more than she bargained for. On her bosom Miss Townley wore diamonds that caught the eye even in that Aladdin’s treasure house of shining stones, and among the diamonds the portrait of Lady Oxford. Her ladyship saw it, and grew white as marble. Miss Townley saw Lady Oxford, knew the face of the miniature that she had thought was the Queen’s, and blushed like the dawn. Her hand flew to her neck as she courtesied deep to Lady Oxford’s courtesy; when she rose, by some miracle of female skill, the miniature and the diamonds had vanished. Rising at the same moment, Lady Oxford looked herself again. But the women understood each other now, and, as they purred forth their politesses, Wogan knew that the buttons were off the foils.
He had his own game to play, that would brook no waiting, and he played it without pause. Lady Mary had moved towards the door. Colonel Montague was gliding back to his old position near Lord Sidney. Wogan followed Colonel Montagu
e and stopped him.
‘Sir,’ said he, in a low brogue, ‘I fancied that I caught a little word of yours that reflected on me counthry and me honour.’
‘For your country, sir,’ replied the Colonel politely, ‘your speech bewrayeth you, but the habitation of your honour is less discernible.’
‘‘Faith, Colonel,’ said Wogan, who found his plan answering to his highest expectations, ‘you are so ready with your tongue that you might be qualifying for an Irishman. Doubtless you are as ready to take a quiet little walk, in which case I shall be most happy to show you where my honour inhabits. But, to speak the plain truth, it is somewhat too near the point of my sword to make Lady Oxford’s drawing-room a convenient place for the exhibition.’
Colonel Montague smiled at the pleasantry in an agreeable way which quite went to Wogan’s heart.
‘With all the goodwill imaginable,’ said he, ‘I will take that walk with you to-morrow,’ and he made a bow and turned away.
‘But Colonel,’ said Wogan in some disappointment, ‘why not to-night?’
‘There are certain formalities. For instance, I was not fortunate enough to catch your name.’
‘’Tis as ancient as any in Ireland,’ cried Wogan, in a heat, quite forgetting his incognito. ‘My forefathers—’
‘Ah, sir, they were kings, no doubt,’ interrupted Montague with the gravest politeness.
‘No, sir, viceroys only,’ answered Wogan with indifference, ‘up to Edward I.’
‘Your Highness,’ said the Colonel, and he bowed to the ground, ‘I reckon to-morrow a more suitable time.’
Mr. Wogan was tickled out of his ill-humour, and began to warm to the man.
‘Sure, Colonel, you and I will be the best of good friends after I have killed you, and for the love of mercy let that be to-night. Look!’ and stepping to the window he drew aside the curtain. ‘Look,’ said he, peering out, ‘it is the sweetest moonlight that ever kissed a sword-blade! Oh, to-night, Colonel!’ Then he dropped the curtain something suddenly. He had seen a face in the street. ‘You prefer sunlight? Very well, sir. But you will acknowledge that to-morrow I have the earliest claims on your leisure.’
Colonel Montague bowed.
‘The word, you will remember, was an Irish adventurer.’ Wogan impressed it upon him.
‘Sir, I am wedded to the phrase. You will send your friend to my lodgings at Mrs. Kilburne’s, in Ryder Street.’
‘Mrs. Kilburne’s!’ exclaimed Wogan.
Wogan might have guessed as much had he used his brains. It was at the corner of Ryder Street that he had plumped upon Montague when he came down to London from Glenshiel. It was under a portico in Ryder Street that the Parson and he had seen Montague on the night they had driven out on the first journey to Brampton Bryan. It was at Mrs. Kilburne’s door that Wogan had seen Montague that afternoon. The Colonel was her fine gentleman upon the first floor. Sure, the Parson had the worst luck in the world. At all events, the Colonel was a gentleman. Wogan consoled himself with that reflection as he thought of Mr. Kelly’s despatch box in the scrutoire of his parlour below the Colonel’s rooms.
That thought led Wogan’s eyes again to the clock. It was half an hour past ten. The Parson was due in ten minutes.
‘Good-bye t’ye, Colonel,’ he said hastily to Montague, as he turned towards the door. He almost knocked against Rose, who was standing close by his elbow. She made an effort to detain him; he breathed a word of apology. It did not occur to him then that she might have overheard his conversation with the Colonel. He hurried past Lady Oxford and Dr. Townley, who was talking of his schooldays, when he knew Lord Oxford.
‘Mr. Hilton,’ cried her ladyship. Mr. Hilton was deaf as a bed-post. For when he had looked out of the window at the moonlight he had seen a face in the roadway of which the Parson should have knowledge before he reached the house. It was that face which had made him drop the curtain so quickly and fall in so quickly with the Colonel’s objections. A link-boy’s torch had flashed for a second upon a man on the other side of the road, and his face was Scrope’s. Scrope was watching the house.
Wogan pressed through the throng towards the door, but before he could reach it a firm hand closed upon his arm. He looked round. Lord Sidney Beauclerk was standing by his side with a flushed, angry face.
‘A word with you, Mr. Hilton!’
‘A hundred, my lord, in half an hour,’ said Wogan, and shook himself free. He must warn the Parson and turn him back from the house. But he was too late. In the doorway of the house he met Mr. Kelly, whose face wore a singular air of content. And on the other side of the road stood Scrope with his head turned towards the doorway. Scrope knew that the Parson had come.
Mr. Wogan took Kelly’s arm, and led him to the shady side of the street, out of the noisy crowd of lackeys and link-boys.
‘Those divines err,’ said Kelly, ‘who condemn the occasional casting of lots. It is not an ill game.’
‘Then you found our lurking luck?’
‘Six rouleaux of gold,’ said Mr. Kelly, tenderly caressing his pocket.
‘The sinews of war, and we are like to need them.’
‘Then the coast is not clear?’
‘Clear!’ said Wogan, ‘there is every sign of thunder, wind, and earthquake. First, Montague is here!’
‘And here is his Capulet!’ said Kelly smiling.
Wogan smiled too, having secured his duel with the Colonel.
‘Then Miss Townley is here, and, George, she was wearing my lady’s miniature. The women know each other.’
George’s mouth opened, and his utterance was stayed. Then,
‘It is a trap. I go home,’ he said. Despair spoke in his voice.
‘No!’ Mr. Wogan’s plans had changed.
‘Why not? I have no more to lose, and my duty to do.’
‘You do not go home, for Scrope is watching the house. He has seen you come. He is behind us now.’ Mr. Kelly’s hand went to his sword, but Wogan checked him. ‘Don’t let him think you know. We must leave the house together, and your duty is to be just now where Miss Townley is. Be quick!’
The argument had weight with Mr. Kelly. Wogan had his reasons for advancing it. If they went away together, later, Wogan could engage Mr. Scrope’s attentions while the Parson went safely on to Ryder Street. The two passed out of the shade, but not before George had placed his hand in Wogan’s. His hand was cold as ice.
CHAPTER XVII
LADY OXFORD’S ‘COUP DE THÉTRE.’
THE PARSON, WHEN the two friends had climbed the crowded stairs, began making his way towards his fate and Lady Oxford’s table, with a smile on his face. He did not see Rose, who was a little apart, hidden from him by a group of strangers. Wogan was about joining her, when a woman’s voice whispered in his ear:
‘You are mad!’
The voice was Lady Mary’s.
‘You are mad, both of you! He should be halfway to the coast by now. What brings him here? I wrote, or rather I sent to him.’
‘True,’ said Wogan, remembering the letter which he had picked up in the Parson’s lodging, and slipped into his pocket. It had been thrust clean out of his mind at the Deanery by those more pressing questions as to how the Blow had been discovered, and how they were to escape from the consequences of the discovery. He drew it out, still sealed up.
‘He has not opened it?’ she asked.
‘He has not seen it,’ replied Wogan, who began to fear from her ladyship’s discomposure that the letter held news of an urgent importance. She took the letter from his hands, and broke the seal.
‘This was my message,’ she said. There was no scrap of writing in the letter, but a feather from a bird’s wing: it meant “Fly!”
‘The feather is white,’ said Wogan. He could not have mounted it.’
‘He loses his life.’
‘Perhaps, but he keeps his honour. There is something that he must do in London if by any means he can. He must burn the papers at his lodgings and the best h
ope lies in audacity.’
Mr. Wogan tore up the sheet on which her ladyship had written Mr. Johnson’s name into fragments too minute for anyone to piece them together again.
‘This proof of your good will,’ said he, ‘shall not rise in judgment against you.’
‘But you?’ said Lady Mary. ‘Why do you stay?’
Wogan laughed.
‘For one thing, I have a little business of my own to settle, and — well—’
‘And,’ said she, ‘your friend’s in danger.’
She spoke with so much kindliness that Mr. Wogan felt a trifle awkward, and turned his eyes from her face. He saw that Rose still stood alone, though many of the gallants eyed her through their quizzing-glasses.
‘Lady Mary,’ he said, ‘you have the kindest heart!’
‘Hush! Whisper it,’ she replied, ‘or you will destroy my reputation. What service would you have me do now?’
‘You see Miss Rose? You have read a certain ballad which the ignorant give to your ladyship? And you know Lady Oxford. It is Miss Rose Townley’s first visit to this house, and one cannot believe that Lady Oxford asked her with any amiable intention.’
‘And I am to be Lady Oxford’s spoil-sport?’
‘It has gone beyond sport. At this moment her ladyship has murder in her mind. The girl entered the room wearing our hostess’s portrait in diamonds,’ and he told her shortly how she came to wear it.
Lady Mary looked her horror.
‘She has hidden it, but you will not leave the girl?’
Lady Mary nodded, her lips tight closed.
Wogan presented the girl. Lady Mary made room for her at her side, and Wogan only heard her say, ‘My dear, be brave, you tremble.’
What else passed, Wogan did not desire to hear. Lady Mary had faults, they say, as a woman, but she was of a manlike courage, and her’s was the friendship of a man. Never did woman need it more than Miss Townley, and never, sure, was counsel and comfort wiser and kinder than that which, Wogan knew later, Lady Mary gave to the angry, frightened, and bewildered girl.
Complete Works of a E W Mason Page 280