CHAPTER VIII. BRIDE AND GROOM
And so the bridegroom, in all his wedding finery, made his way withTrenchard to the Bell Inn, in the High Street, whilst his bride,escorted by Lord Gervase, was being driven to Zoyland Chase, of whichshe was now the mistress.
But she was not destined just yet to cross its threshold. For scarcelywere they over the river when a horseman barred their way, and calledupon the driver to pull up. Lady Horton, in a panic, huddled herselfin the great coach and spoke of tobymen, whilst Lord Gervase thrusthis head from the window to discover that the rider who stayed theirprogress was Richard Westmacott. His lordship hailed the boy, who,thereupon, walked his horse to the carriage door.
"Lord Gervase," said he, "will you bid the coachman put about and driveto Lupton House?"
Lord Gervase stared at him in hopeless bewilderment. "Drive to LuptonHouse?" he echoed. The more he saw of this odd wedding, the less heunderstood of it. It seemed to the placid old gentleman that he wasfallen among a parcel of Bedlamites. "Surely, sir, it is for MistressWilding to say whither she will be driven," and he drew in his head andturned to Ruth for her commands. But, bewildered herself, she had noneto give him. It was her turn to lean from the carriage window to ask herbrother what he meant.
"I mean you are to drive home again," said he. "There is somethingI must tell you. When you have heard me it shall be yours to decidewhether you will proceed or not to Zoyland Chase."
Hers to decide? How was that possible? What could he mean? She pressedhim with some such questions.
"It means, in short," he answered impatiently, "that I hold yoursalvation in my hands. For the rest, this is not the time or place totell you more. Bid the fellow put about."
Ruth sat back and looked once more at her companions. But from none didshe receive the least helpful suggestion. Lady Horton made great prattleto little purpose; Lord Gervase followed her example, whilst Diana,whose alert if trivial mind was the one that might have offeredassistance, sat silent. Ruth pondered. She bethought her of Trenchard'ssudden arrival at Saint Mary's, his dust-stained person and excitedmanner, and of how he had drawn Mr. Wilding aside with news that seemedof moment. And now her brother spoke of saving her; it was a little latefor that, she thought. Outside the coach his voice still urged her, andit grew peevish and angry, as was usual when he was crossed. In the endshe consented to do his will. If she were to fathom this mystery thatwas thickening about her there seemed to be no other course. She turnedto Lord Gervase.
"Will you do as Richard says?" she begged him.
His lordship blew out his chubby cheeks in his astonishment; hehesitated a moment, thinking of his cousin Wilding; then, with a shrug,he leaned from the window and gave the order she desired. The carriageturned about, and with Richard following lumbered back across the bridgeand through the town to Lupton House. At the door Lord Gervase took hisleave of them. He had acted as Ruth had bidden him; but he had no wishto be further involved in this affair, whatever it might portend. Ratherwas it his duty at once to go acquaint Mr. Wilding--if he could findhim--with what was taking place, and leave it to Mr. Wilding to takewhat measures might seem best to him. He told them so, and having toldthem, left them.
Richard begged to be alone with his sister, and alone they passedtogether into the library. His manner was restless; he trembled withexcitement, and his eyes glittered almost feverishly.
"You may have thought, Ruth, that I was resigned to your marriage withthis fellow Wilding," he began; "or that for other reasons I thought itwiser not to interfere. If you thought that you wronged me. I--Blake andI--have been at work for you during these last days, and I rejoiceto say our labours have not been idle." His manner grew assertive,boastful, as he proceeded.
"You know, of course," said she, "that I am married."
He made a gesture of disdain. "No matter," said he exultantly.
"It matters something, I think," she answered. "O Richard, Richard, whydid you not come to me sooner if you possessed the means of sparing methis thing?"
He shrugged impatiently; her remonstrance seemed to throw him out oftemper. "Oons!" he cried; "I came as soon as was ever possible, and,depend upon it, I am not come too late. Indeed, I think I am come in thevery nick of time." He drew a sheet of paper from an inside pocket ofhis coat and slapped it down upon the table. "There is the wherewithalto hang your fine husband," he announced in triumph.
She recoiled. "To hang him?" she echoed. With all her aversion to Mr.Wilding it was plain she did not wish him hanged.
"Aye, to hang him," Richard repeated, and drew himself to the fullheight of his short stature in pride at the thing he had achieved. "Readit."
She took the paper almost mechanically, and for some moments she studiedthe crabbed signature before realizing whose it was. Then she started.
"From the Duke of Monmouth!" she exclaimed.
He laughed. "Read it," he bade her again, though there was no need forthe injunction, for already she was deciphering the crabbed hand andthe atrocious spelling--for His Grace of Monmouth's education had beennotoriously neglected. The letter, which was dated from The Hague, wasaddressed "To my good friend W., at Bridgwater." It began, "Sir," spokeof the imminent arrival of His Grace in the West, and gave certaininstructions for the collection of arms and the work of preparing menfor enlistment in his Cause, ending with protestations of His Grace'sfriendship and esteem.
Ruth read the epistle twice before its treasonable nature was made clearto her; before she understood the thing that was foreshadowed. Thenshe raised troubled eyes to her brother's face, and in answer to thequestion of her glance he made clear to her the shrewd means by whichthey had become possessed of this weapon that should destroy their enemyMr. Wilding.
Blake and he, forewarned--he said not how--of the coming of thismessenger, had lain in wait for him at the Hare and Hounds, at Taunton.They had sought at first to become possessed of the letter withoutviolence. But, having failed in this through having aroused themessenger's suspicions, they had been forced to follow and attack him ona lonely stretch of road, where they had robbed him of the contents ofhis wallet. Richard added that the letter was, no doubt, one of severalsent over by Monmouth to some friend at Lyme for distribution among hisprincipal agents in the West. It was regrettable that they shouldhave endeavoured to take gentle measures with the courier, as this hadforewarned him, and he had apparently been led to remove theletter's outer wrapper--which, no doubt, bore Wilding's full name andaddress--against the chance of such an attack as they had made upon him.Nevertheless, as it was, that letter "to my good friend W.," backed byRichard's and Blake's evidence of the destination intended for it, wouldbe more than enough to lay Mr. Wilding safely by the heels.
"I would to Heaven," he repeated in conclusion, "I could have come intime to save you from becoming his wife. But at least it is in my powerto make you very speedily his widow."
"That," said Ruth, still retaining the letter, "is what you propose todo?"
"What else?"
She shook her head. "It must not be, Richard," she said. "I'll notconsent to it."
Taken aback, he stared at her; then laughed unpleasantly. "Odds my life!Are you in love with the man? Have you been fooling us?"
"No," she answered. "But I'll be no party to his murder."
"Murder, quotha! Who talks of murder?" Her shrewd eyes searched hisface. "How came you by your knowledge that this courier rode to Mr.Wilding?" she asked him suddenly, and the swift change that overspreadhis countenance showed her that she had touched him in a tender spot,assured her of the thing she had suddenly come to suspect--a suspicionwhich at the same time started from and explained much that had beenmysterious in Richard's ways of late. "You had knowledge of thisconspiracy," she pursued, answering her own question before he had timeto speak, "because you were one of the conspirators."
"At least I am so no longer," he blurted out.
"I thank Heaven for that, Richard; for your life is very dear to me. Butit would ill become you to make suc
h use as this of the knowledgeyou came by in that manner. It were a Judas's act." He would haveinterrupted her, but her manner dominated him. "You will leave thisletter with me, Richard," she continued.
"Damn me! no..." he began.
"Ah, yes, Richard," she insisted. "You will give it to me, and I shallthank you for the gift. It shall prove a weapon for my salvation, neverfear."
"It shall, indeed," he cried, with an ugly laugh; "when I have ridden toExeter to lay it before Albemarle."
"Not so," she answered him. "It shall be a weapon of defence--not ofoffence. It shall stand as a buckler between me and Mr. Wilding. Trustme, I shall know how to use it."
"But there is Blake to consider," he expostulated, growing angry. "I ampledged to him."
"Your first duty is to me..."
"Tut!" he interrupted. "Blake feels that he owes it to his loyalty tolay this letter before the Lord-Lieutenant, and, for that matter, so doI."
"Sir Rowland would not cross my wishes in this," she answered him.
"Folly!" he cried, now thoroughly aroused. "Give me that letter."
"Nay, Richard," she answered, and waved him back.
But he advanced nevertheless.
"Give it me," he bade her, waxing fierce. "Gad! It was folly to havetold you of it. I had not done so but that I never thought you such afool as to oppose yourself to the thing we intend."
"Listen, Richard..." she besought him.
But he was grown insensible to pleadings.
"Give me that letter," he insisted, and caught her wrist. Her otherhand, however--the one that held the sheet--was already behind her back.
The door was suddenly thrust open, and Diana appeared. "Ruth," sheannounced, "Mr. Wilding is here."
At the mention of that name, Richard let her free. "Wilding!" heejaculated, his fierceness all blown out of him. He had imagined thatalready Mr. Wilding would be in full flight. Was the fellow mad?
"He is following me," said Diana, and, indeed, a step could be heard inthe passage.
"The letter!" growled Richard in a frenzy, between fear and anger now."Give it me! Give it me, do you hear?"
"Sh! You'll betray yourself," she cried. "He is here."
And at that same moment Mr. Wilding's tall figure, still arrayed in hisbridegroom's finery of sky-blue satin, loomed in the doorway. He wasserene and calm as ever. Neither the discovery of the plot by theabstraction of the messenger's letter, nor Ruth's strange conduct--ofwhich he had heard from Lord Gervase--had sufficed to ruffle, outwardlyat least, the inscrutable serenity of his air and manner. He pausedto make his bow, then advanced into the room, with a passing glance atRichard still spurred and booted and all dust-stained.
"You appear to have ridden far, Dick," said he, smiling, and Richardshivered in spite of himself at the mocking note that seemed to ringfaintly at the words. "I saw your friend, Sir Rowland, in the garden,"he added. "I think he waits for you."
Though Richard could not fail to apprehend the implied dismissal, hewas minded at first to disregard it. But Mr. Wilding, turning, held thedoor, addressing Diana.
"Mistress Horton," said he, "will you give us leave?"
Diana curtsied and passed out, and Mr. Wilding's eye falling upon thelingering Richard at that moment, Richard thought it best to follow herexample. But he went with rage in his heart at being forced to leavethat precious document behind him.
As Mr. Wilding, his back to her a moment, closed the door, Ruth slippedthe paper hurriedly into the bosom of her low-necked gown. He turned toher, calm but very grave, and his dark eyes seemed to reproach her.
"This is ill done, Ruth," said he.
"Ill done, or well done," she answered him, "done it is, and shall soremain."
He raised his brows. "Ah," said he, "I appear, then, to havemisapprehended the situation. From what Gervase told me, I understood itwas your brother forced you to return."
"Not forced, sir," she answered him.
"Induced, then," said he. "It but remains me to induce you to repairwhat I think was a mistake."
She shook her head. "I have returned home for good," said she.
"You'll pardon me," said he, "that I am so egotistical as to preferZoyland Chase to Lupton House. Despite the manifold attractions of thelatter, I do not intend to take up my abode here."
"You are not asked to."
"What, then?"
She hated him for the smile, for his masterful air, which seemed toimply that he humoured her because he scorned to use authority, but thatwhen he did use it, hers must it be to obey him. Again she felt thateverlasting calm, arguing such latent forces, was the thing she hatedmost in him.
"I think I had best be plain with you," said she. "I have fulfilled mypart of the bargain that we made. I intend to do no more. I promisedthat if you spared my brother, I would go to the altar with you to-day.I have carried out my contract to the letter. It is at an end."
"Indeed," said he; "I think it has not yet begun." He advanced towardsher, and took her hand. She yielded it, unwilling though she was. "Thisis unworthy of you, madam," said he, his tone grave and deferential."You think to escape fulfilling the spirit of your bargain by adheringto the letter of it. Not so," he ended, and shook his head, smilinggently. "The carriage is still at your door. You return with me toZoyland Chase to take possession of your home."
"You mistake," said she, and tore her hand from his. "You say that whatI have done is unworthy. I admit it; but it is with unworthiness that wemust combat unworthiness. Was your attitude towards me less unworthy?"
"I'll make amends for it if you'll come home," said he.
"My home is here. You cannot compel me."
"I should be loath to," he admitted, sighing.
"You cannot," she insisted.
"I think I can," said he. "There is a law.."
"A law that will hang you if you invoke it," she cut in quickly. "Thismuch can I safely promise you."
She had need to say no more to tell him everything. At all times half aword was as much to Mr. Wilding as a whole sentence to another. She sawthe tightening of his lips, the hardening of his eyes, beyond which hegave no other sign that she had hit him.
"I see," said he. "It is another bargain that you make. I do suspectthere is some trader's blood in the Westmacott veins. Let us be clear.You hold the wherewithal to ruin me, and you will use it if I insistupon my husband's rights. Is it not so?"
She nodded in silence, surprised at the rapidity with which he had readthe situation.
"I admit," said he, "that you have me between sword and wall." Helaughed shortly. "Let me know more," he begged her. "Am I to understandthat so long as I leave you in peace--so long as I do not insist uponyour becoming my wife in more than name--you will not wield the weaponthat you hold?"
"You are to understand so," she answered.
He took a turn in the room, very thoughtful. Not of himself was hethinking now, but of the Duke of Monmouth. Trenchard had told him someugly truths that morning of how in his love-making he appeared to haveshipwrecked the Cause ere it was well launched. If this letter gotto Whitehall there was no gauging--ignorant as he was of what was init--the ruin that might follow; but they had reason to fear the worst.He saw his duty to the Duke most clearly, and he breathed a prayer ofthanks that Richard had chosen to put that letter to such a use as this.He knew himself checkmated; but he was a man who knew how to bear defeatin a becoming manner. He turned suddenly.
"The letter is in your hands?" he inquired.
"It is," she answered.
"May I see it?" he asked.
She shook her head--not daring to show it or betray its whereabouts lesthe should use force to become possessed of it--a thing, indeed, that wasvery far from his purpose.
He considered a moment, his mind intent now rather upon the Duke'sinterest than his own.
"You know," quoth he, "the desperate enterprise to which I standcommitted. But it is a bargain between us that you do not betray me northat enterprise so long as I leave you rid of
my presence."
"That is the bargain I propose," said she.
He looked at her a moment with hungry eyes, and she found his glancealmost more than she could bear, so strong was its appeal. Besides,it may be that she was a thought beglamoured by the danger in which hestood, which seemed to invest him with a certain heroic dignity.
"Ruth," he said at length, "it may well be that that which you desiremay speedily come to pass; it may well be that in the course of thisrebellion that is hatching you may be widowed. But at least I know thatif my head falls it will not be my wife who has betrayed me to the axe.For that much, believe me, I am supremely grateful."
He advanced. He took her unresisting hand again and bore it to his lips,bowing low before her. Then erect and graceful he turned on his heel andleft her.
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