Mistress Wilding

by Rafael Sabatini

  CHAPTER VII. THE NUPTIALS OF RUTH WESTMACOTT

  Here was Sir Rowland Blake in high fettle at knowing himself armed witha portentous weapon for the destruction of Anthony Wilding. Upon closerinspection of it, however, he came to realize--as Richard had realizedearlier--that it was double-edged, and that the wielding of it must befraught with as much danger for Richard as for their common enemy. Forto betray Mr. Wilding and the plot would scarce be possible withoutbetraying young Westmacott, and that was unthinkable, since to ruinRichard--a thing he would have done with a light heart so far as Richardwas himself concerned--would be to ruin his own hopes of winning Ruth.

  Therefore, during the days that followed, Sir Rowland was forced tofret in idleness what time his wound was healing; but if his arm wasinvalided, his eyes and ears were sound, and he remained watchful for anopportunity to apply the knowledge he had gained. Richard mentioned thesubject no more, so that Blake almost came to wonder whether the boyremembered what in his cups he had betrayed.

  Meanwhile Mr. Wilding moved serene and smiling on his way. Daily therewere great armfuls of flowers deposited at Lupton House--his lover'soffering to his mistress--and no day went by but that some richer giftaccompanied them. Now it was a collar of brilliants, anon a rope ofpearls, again a priceless ring that had been Mr. Wilding's mother's.Ruth received with reluctance these pledges of his undesired affection.It were idle to reject them, considering that she was to marry him; yetit hurt her sorely to retain them. On her side she made no dispositionsfor the marriage, but went about her daily tasks as though she were toremain a maid at Lupton House for a time as yet indefinite.

  In Diana, Wilding had--though he was far from guessing it--an entirelyexceptional ally. Lady Horton, too, was favourably disposed towards him.A foolish, worldly woman, who never probed beneath life's surface, norindeed dreamed that anything existed in life beyond that to which herfive senses testified, she was content placidly to contemplate theadvantages that must accrue to her niece from this alliance.

  And so mother and daughter in Mr. Wilding's absence pleaded his causewith his refractory bride-elect. But they pleaded it to little realpurpose. Something perhaps they achieved in that Ruth grew more orless resigned to the fate that awaited her. By repeating to herself thearguments she had employed to Richard--that she must wed some day, andthat Mr. Wilding would prove no doubt as good a husband as another--shecame in a measure to believe them.

  Richard meanwhile appeared to avoid her. Lacking the courage to adoptthe heroic measures which at first he had promised, yet had he graceenough to take shame at his inaction. But if he was idle so far asMr. Wilding was concerned, there was no lack of work for him in otherconnections. The clouds of war were gathering in that summer sky, andabout to loose the storm gestating in them upon that fair country ofthe West, and young Westmacott, committed as he stood to the Duke ofMonmouth's party, was forced to take his share in the surreptitiousbustle that was toward. He was away two days in that week, having beensummoned to a meeting of the leading gentlemen of the party at WhiteLackington, where he was forced into the unwelcome company of his futurebrother-in-law, to meet with courteous, deferential treatment from thatimperturbable gentleman.

  Wilding, indeed, seemed to have forgotten that any quarrel had everexisted between them. For the rest, he came and went, supremely calm, asif he were, and knew himself to be, most welcome at Lupton House. Thricein the course of that week of waiting he rode over from Zoyland Chaseto pay his duty to Mistress Westmacott, and Ruth was persuaded on eachoccasion by her aunt and cousin to receive him. Indeed, how could shewell refuse?

  His manner was ever all that could be desired. Gallant, affectionate,deferential. He was in word and look and tone Ruth's most obedientservant. Had she been less prejudiced she must have admired theadmirable restraint with which he kept all exultation from his manner,for, after all, it is difficult to force a victory as he had forced his,and not to triumph.

  It is to be feared that during that week he neglected a good deal of hisduty to the Duke, leaving Trenchard to supply his place and undertaketasks of a seditious nature that should have been his own.

  At heart, however, in spite of the stories current and the militia atTaunton, Wilding remained convinced--as did most of the other leadingpartisans of the Protestant Cause--that no such madness as thispremature landing could be in contemplation by the Duke. Besides, wereit so, they must unfailingly have definite word of it; and they hadnone.

  Trenchard was less assured, but Wilding laughed at the old rake'sforebodings, and serenely went about the business of his marriage.

  On the eve of the wedding he paid Ruth his last visit in the qualityof a lover, and was received by her in the garden. He found her lookingpaler than her wont, and there was a cloud of sadness on her brow, ahaunting sadness in her eyes. It touched him to the soul, and for amoment he wavered in his purpose. He stood beside her--she seated onthe old lichened seat--and a silence fell between them, during whichMr. Wilding's conscience wrestled with his stronger passion. It was hishabit to be glib, talking incessantly what time he was in her company,and seeing to it that his talk was shallow and touched at nothingbelonging to the deeps of human life. Thus was it, perhaps, that thissudden and enduring silence affected her most oddly; it was as if shehad absorbed some notion of what was passing in his mind. She looked upsuddenly into his face, so white and so composed. Their eyes met, and hestooped to her suddenly, his long brown ringlets tumbling forward. Shefeared his kiss, yet never moved, staring up with fixed, dilated eyes asif fascinated by his dark, brooding gaze. He paused, hovering above herupturned face as hovers the hawk above the dove.

  "Child," he said at last, and his voice was soft and winning from verysadness, "child, why do you fear me?"

  The truth of it went home to her. She feared him; she feared thestrength that lay behind that calm; she feared the masterfulness of hiswild but inscrutably hidden nature; she was afraid to surrender tosuch a man as this, afraid that in the hot crucible of his love her ownnature would be dissolved, transmuted, and rendered part of his. Yet,though the truth was now made plain to her, she thrust it from her.

  "I do not fear you," said she, and her voice at least rang fearlessly.

  "Do you hate me, then?" he asked. Her glance grew troubled and fellaway from his; it sought the calm of the river, gleaming golden in thesunset. There was a pause. Wilding sighed heavily, and straightenedhimself from his bending posture.

  "You should not have sought thus to compel me, she said presently.

  "I own it," he answered a thought bitterly. "I own it. Yet what hope hadI but in compulsion?" She returned him no answer. "You see," he said,with increasing bitterness, "you see, that had I not seized the chancethat was mine to win you by compulsion I had not won you at all."

  "It might," said she, "have been better so for both of us."

  "Better for neither," he replied. "Ah, think it not! In time, I swear,you shall not think it. For you shall come to love me, Ruth," he addedwith a note of such assurance that she turned to meet again his gaze.He answered the wordless question of her eyes. "There is," said he, "nolove of man for woman, so that the man be not wholly unworthy, so thathis passion be sincere and strong, that can fail in time to arouseresponse." She smiled a little pitiful smile of unbelief. "Were I aboy," he rejoined, his earnestness vibrating now in a voice that wasusually so calm and level, "offering you protestations of a callowworship, you might have cause to doubt me. But I am a man, Ruth--atried, and haply a sinful man, alas!--a man who needs you, and who willhave you at all costs."

  "At all costs?" she echoed, and her lip took on a curl. "And you callthis egotism by the name of love! No doubt you are right," she continuedwith an irony that stung him, "for love it is--love of yourself."

  "And is not all love of another founded upon the love of self?" he askedher, startling her with a question that revealed to her clear-sightedmind a truth undreamed of. "When some day--please Heaven--I come to findfavour in your eyes, and you come to love me, wha
t will it mean but thatyou have come to find me necessary to yourself and to your happiness?Would you deny me now your love if you felt that you had need of mine?I love you because I love myself, you say. I grant it you. But you'llconfess that if you do not love me yet, it is for the same reason, andthat when you do come to love me the reason will be still the same."

  "You are very sure that I shall come to love you," said she, shiftingwoman-like the ground of argument now that she found insecure the placeon which at first she had taken her stand.

  "Were I not, think you I should compel you to the church to-morrow?"

  She trembled at his calm assurance. It was as if she almost feared thatwhat he said might come to pass.

  "Since you bear such faith in your heart," said she, "were it notnobler, more generous, that you should set yourself to win me first andwed me afterwards?"

  "It is the course I should, myself, prefer," he answered quietly. "Butit is a course denied me. I was viewed here with disfavour, almostdenied your house. What chance had I whilst I might not come near you,whilst your mind was poisoned against me by the idle, vicious prattlethat goes round and round the countryside, increasing ever in bulk fromconstant repetition?"

  "Do you say that these tales are groundless?" she asked, with a suddenlifting of the eyes, a sudden keen eagerness that did not escape him.

  "I would to God I could," he cried, "since from your manner I see thatwould improve me in your sight. But there is just sufficient truth inthem to forbid me, as I am, I hope, a gentleman, from giving them a fulldenial. Yet in what am I worse than my fellows? Are you of those whothink a husband should come to them as one whose youth has been theyouth of cloistered nun? Heaven knows, I am not one to draw parallels'twixt myself and any other, yet you compel me. Whilst you deny me, youreceive this fellow Blake--a London night-scourer, a broken gamesterwho has given his creditors leg-bail, and who woos you that with yourfortune he may close the doors of the debtor's gaol that's open toreceive him."

  "This is unworthy in you," she exclaimed, her tone indignant--soindignant that he experienced his first pang of jealousy.

  "It would be were I his rival," he answered quietly. "But I am not. Ihave saved you from becoming the prey of such as he by forcing you tomarry me."

  "That I may become the prey of such as you, instead," was her retort.

  He looked at her a moment, smiling sadly. Then, with pardonableself-esteem when we think of what manner of man it was with whom he nowcompared himself, "Surely," said he, "it is better to become the prey ofthe lion than the jackal."

  "To the victim it can matter little," she answered, and he saw the tearsgathering in her eyes.

  Compassion moved him. It rose in arms to batter down his will, and in aweaker man had triumphed. Mr. Wilding bent his knee and went down besideher.

  "I swear," he said impassionedly, "that as my wife you shall never countyourself a victim. You shall be honoured by all men, but by none moredeeply than by him who will ever strive to be worthy of the proud titleof your husband." He took her hand and kissed it reverentially. He roseand looked at her. "To-morrow," he said, and bowing low before her wenthis way, leaving her with emotions that found their vent in tears, butdefied her maiden mind to understand them.

  The morrow came her wedding-day--a sunny day of early June, andRuth--assisted by Diana and Lady Horton--made preparation for hermarriage as spirited women have made preparation for the scaffold,determined to show the world a brave, serene exterior. The sacrifice wasnecessary for Richard's sake. That was a thing long since determined.Yet it would have been some comfort to her to have had Richard at herside; it would have lent her strength to have had his kiss of thanksfor the holocaust which for him she was making of all that a woman holdsmost dear and sacred. But Richard was away--he had been absent sinceyesterday, and none could tell her where he tarried.

  With Lady Horton and Diana she took her way to Saint Mary's Church atnoon, and there she found Mr. Wilding--very fine in a suit of sky-bluesatin, laced with silver--awaiting her. And with him was old LordGervase Scoresby, his friend and cousin, the very incarnation ofbenignity and ruddy health.

  For a wonder Nick Trenchard was not at Mr. Wilding's side. But Nickhad definitely refused to be of the party, emphasizing his refusal bycertain choice reflections wholly unflattering to the married state.

  Some idlers of the town were the only witnesses--and little did theyguess the extent of the tragedy they were witnessing. There was nomusic, and the ceremony was brief and soon at an end. The only touch ofjoy, of festiveness, was that afforded by the choice blooms with whichMr. Wilding had smothered nave and choir and altar-rails. Their perfumehung heavy as incense in the temple.

  "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" droned the parson'svoice, and Wilding smiled defiantly a smile which seemed to answer him,"No man. I have taken her for myself."

  Lord Gervase stood forward as her sponsor, and as in a dream Ruth felther hand lying in Mr. Wilding's cool, firm grasp.

  The ecclesiastic's voice droned on, his voice hanging like the hum ofsome great Insect upon the scented air. It was accomplished, and theywere welded each to the other until death should part them.

  Down the festooned nave she came on his arm, her step unfaltering,her face calm; black misery in her heart. Behind followed her aunt andcousin and Lord Gervase. On Mr. Wilding's aquiline face a pale smileglimmered, like a beam of moonlight upon tranquil waters, and it abodethere until they reached the porch and were suddenly confronted by NickTrenchard, red of face for once, perspiring, excited, and dust-stainedfrom head to foot.

  He had arrived that very instant; and, urged by the fearful news thatbrought him, he had come resolved to pluck Wilding from the altar be theceremony done or not. But in that he reckoned without Mr. Wilding--forhe should have known him better than to have hoped to succeed. Hestepped forward now, and gripped him with his dusty glove by thesleeve of his shimmering bridegroom's coat. His voice came harsh withexcitement and smouldering rage.

  "A word with you, Anthony!"

  Mr. Wilding turned placidly to regard him. "What now?" he asked, hisbride's hand retained in the crook of his elbow.

  "Treachery!" snapped Trenchard in a whisper. "Hell and damnation! Stepaside, man."

  Mr. Wilding turned to Lord Gervase, and begged of him to take charge ofMistress Wilding. "I deplore this interruption," he told her, no whitruffled by what he had heard. "But I shall rejoin you soon. Meanwhile,his lordship will do the honours for me." This last he said with hiseyes moving to Lady Horton and her daughter.

  Lord Gervase, in some surprise, but overruled by his cousin's calm,took the bride on his arm and led her from the churchyard to the waitingcarriage. To this he handed her, and after her her aunt and cousin.Then, mounting himself, they drove away, leaving Wilding and Trenchardamong the tombstones, whither the messenger of evil had meanwhile ledhis friend. Trenchard rapped out his story briefly.

  "Shenke," said he, "who was riding from Lyme with letters for you fromthe Duke, was robbed of his dispatches late last night a mile or so thisside Taunton."

  "Highwaymen?" inquired Mr. Wilding, his tone calm, though his glance hadhardened.

  "Highwaymen? No! Government agents belike. There were two of them, hesays--for I have the tale from himself--and they met him at the Hare andHounds at Taunton, where he stayed to sup last night. One of them gavehim the password, and he conceived him to be a friend. But afterwards,growing suspicious, he refused to tell them too much. They followedhim, it appears, and on the road they overtook and fell upon him; theyknocked him from his horse, possessed themselves of the contents of hiswallet, and left him for dead--with his head broken."

  Mr. Wilding drew a sharp breath. His wits worked quickly. He was, herealized, in deadly peril. One thought he gave to Ruth. If the worstcame to pass here was one who would rejoice in her freedom. Thereflection cut through him like a sword. He would be loath to dieuntil he had taught her to regret him. Then his mind returned to whatTrenchard had told him.


  "You said a Government agent," he mused slowly. "How would a Governmentagent know the password?"

  Trenchard's mouth fell open. "I had not thought..." he began. Then endedwith an oath. "'Tis a traitor from inside."

  Wilding nodded. "It must be one of those who met at White Lackingtonthree nights ago," he answered.

  Idlers--the witnesses of the wedding--were watching them with interestfrom the path, and others from over the low wall of the churchyard,as well they might, for Mr. Wilding's behaviour was, for a bridegroom,extraordinary. Trenchard did not relish the audience.

  "We had best away," said he. "Indeed," he added, "we had best outof England altogether before the hue and cry is raised. The bubble'spricked."

  Wilding's hand fell on his arm, and its grasp was steady. Wilding's eyesmet his, and their gaze was calm.

  "Where have you bestowed this messenger?" quoth he.

  "He is here in Bridgwater, in bed, at the Bell Inn, whence he sent foryou to Zoyland Chase. Suspecting trouble, I rode to him at once myself."

  "Come, then," said Wilding. "We'll go talk with him. This matter needsprobing ere we decide on flight. You do not seem to have sought todiscover who were the thieves, nor other matters that it may be of useto know."

  "Rat me!" swore Trenchard. "I was in haste to bring you news ofit. Besides, there were other things to talk of. There is news thatAlbemarle has gone to Exeter, and that Sir Edward Phelips and ColonelLuttrell have been ordered to Taunton by the King."

  Mr. Wilding stared at him with sudden dismay.

  "Odso!" he exclaimed. "Is King James taking fright at last?" Thenhe shrugged his shoulders and laughed; "Pshaw!" he cried. "They arestarting at a shadow."

  "Heaven send," prayed Trenchard, "that the shadow does not prove to havea substance immediately behind it."

  "Folly!" said Wilding. "When Monmouth comes, indeed, we shall not lackforewarning. Come," he added briskly. "We'll see this messenger andendeavour to discover who were these fellows that beset him." And hedrew Trenchard from among the tombstones to the open path, and thus fromthe churchyard and the eyes of the gaping onlookers.