Mistress Wilding

by Rafael Sabatini

  CHAPTER IX. MR. TRENCHARD'S COUNTERSTROKE

  Now, however much it might satisfy Mr. Wilding to have Ruth's word forit that so long as he left her in peace neither he nor the Cause had anybetrayal to fear from her, Mr. Trenchard was of a very different mind.

  He fumed and swore and worked himself into a very passion. "Zoons,man!" he cried, "it would mean utter ruin to you if that letter reachedWhitehall."

  "I realize it; but my mind is easy. I have her promise."

  "A woman's promise!" snorted Trenchard, and proceeded with greatcircumstance of expletives to damn "everything that daggled apetticoat."

  "Your fears are idle," Wilding assured him. "What she says, she willdo."

  "And her brother?" quoth Trenchard. "Have you bethought you of thatcanary-bird? He'll know the letter's whereabouts. He has cause to fearyou more than ever now. Are you sure he'll not be making use of it tolay you by the heels?"

  Mr. Wilding smiled upon the fury provoked by Trenchard's concern andlove for him. "She has promised," he said with an insistent faith thatwas fuel to Trenchard's anger, "and I can depend her word."

  "So cannot I," snapped his friend.

  "The thing that plagues me most," said Wilding, ignoring the remark, "isthat we are kept in ignorance of the letter's contents at a time when wemost long for news. Not a doubt but it would have enabled us to set ourminds at ease on the score of these foolish rumours."

  "Aye--or else confirmed them," said pessimistic Trenchard. He wagged hishead. "They say the Duke has put to sea already."

  "Folly!" Wilding protested.

  "Whitehall thinks otherwise. What of the troops at Taunton?"

  "More folly."

  "Well-I would you had that letter."

  "At least," said Wilding, "I have the superscription, and we know fromShenke that no name was mentioned in the letter itself."

  "There's evidence enough without it," Trenchard reminded him, and fellsoon after into abstraction, turning over in his mind a notion withwhich he had suddenly been inspired. That notion kept Trenchard secretlyoccupied for a couple of days; but in the end he succeeded in perfectingit.

  Now it befell that towards dusk one evening early in the week RichardWestmacott went abroad alone, as was commonly his habit, his goal beingthe Saracen's Head, where he and Sir Rowland spent many a night overwine and cards--to Sir Rowland's moderate profit, for he had not playedthe pigeon in town so long without having acquired sufficient knowledgeto enable him to play the rook in the country. As Westmacott was passingup the High Street, a black shadow fell athwart the light that streamedfrom the door of the Bell Inn, and out through the doorway lurched Mr.Trenchard a thought unsteadily to hurtle so violently against Richardthat he broke the long stem of the white clay pipe he was carrying. NowRichard was not to know that Mr. Trenchard--having informed himself ofMr. Westmacott's evening habits--had been waiting for the past half-hourin that doorway hoping that Mr. Westmacott would not depart this eveningfrom his usual custom. Another thing that Mr. Westmacott was not toknow--considering his youth--was the singular histrionic ability whichthis old rake had displayed in those younger days of his when he hadbeen a player, and the further circumstance that he had excelled inthose parts in which ebriety was to be counterfeited. Indeed, we have iton the word of no less an authority on theatrical matters than Mr. Pepysthat Mr. Nicholas Trenchard's appearance as Pistol in "Henry IV" in theyear of the blessed Restoration was the talk alike of town and court.

  Mr. Trenchard steadied himself from the impact, and, swearing a roundand awful Elizabethan oath, accused the other of being drunk, thenstruck an attitude to demand with truculence, "Would ye take the wall o'me, sir?"

  Richard hastened to make himself known to this turbulent roysterer, whostraightway forgot his grievance to take Westmacott affectionately bythe hand and overwhelm him with apologies. And that done, Trenchard--whoaffected the condition known as maudlin drunk--must needs protest almostin tears how profound was his love for Richard, and insist that the boyreturn with him to the Bell Inn, that they might pledge each other.

  Richard, himself sober, was contemptuous of Trenchard so obviouslyobfuscated. At first it was his impulse to excuse himself, as possiblyBlake might be already waiting for him; but on second thoughts,remembering that Trenchard was Mr. Wilding's most intimate famulus, itoccurred to him that by a little crafty questioning he might succeed insmoking Mr. Wilding's intentions in the matter of that letter--for fromhis sister he had failed to get satisfaction. So he permitted himself tobe led indoors to a table by the window which stood vacant. There wereat the time a dozen guests or so in the common-room. Trenchard bawledfor wine and brandy, and for all that he babbled in an irresponsible,foolish manner of all things that were of no matter, yet not the mostadroit of pumping could elicit from him any such information as Richardsought. Perforce young Westmacott must remain, plying him with more andmore drink--and being plied in his turn--to the end that he might notwaste the occasion.

  An hour later found Richard much the worse for wear, and Trenchardcertainly no better. Richard forgot his purpose, forgot that Blakewaited for him at the Saracen's Head. And now Trenchard seemed to bepulling himself together.

  "I want to talk to you, Richard," said he, and although thick, there wasin his voice a certain impressive quality that had been absent hitherto."'S a rumour current." He lowered his voice to a whisper almost, and,leaning across, took his companion by the arm. He hiccoughed noisily,then began again. "'S a rumour current, sweetheart, that you'redisaffected."

  Richard started, and his mind flapped and struggled like a trapped birdto escape the meshes of the wine, to the end that he might convincinglydefend himself from such an imputation--so dangerously true.

  "'S a lie!" he gasped.

  Trenchard shut one eye and owlishly surveyed his companion with theother. "They say," he added, "that you're for forsaking 'Duke's party."

  "Villainous!" Richard protested. "I'll sli' throat of any man 't saysso." And draining the pewter at his elbow, he smashed it down on thetable to emphasize his seriousness.

  Trenchard replenished it with the utmost promptness, then sat back inhis tall chair and pulled a moment at the fresh pipe with which he hadequipped himself.

  "I think I espy,"' he quoted presently, "'virtue and valour crouchedin thine eye.' And yet... and yet... if I had cause to think ittrue, I'd... I'd run you through the vitals--jus' so," and he proddedRichard's waistcoat with the point of his pipe-stem. His swarthy facedarkened, his eyes glittered fiercely. "Are ye sure ye're norrer foultraitor?" he demanded suddenly. "Are y' sure, for if ye're not..."

  He left the terrible menace unuttered, but it was none the lessunderstood. It penetrated the vinous fog that beset the brain ofRichard, and startled him.

  "'Swear I'm not!" he cried. "'Swear mos' solemnly I'm not."

  "Swear?" echoed Trenchard, and his scowl grew darker still. "Swear? Aman may swear and yet lie--'a man may smile and smile and be a villain.'I'll have proof of your loyalty to us. I'll have proof, or as there's aheaven above and a hell below, I'll rip you up."

  His mien was terrific, and his voice the more threatening in that it wasnot raised above a whisper.

  Richard sat back appalled, afraid.

  "Wha'... what proof'll satisfy you?" he asked.

  Trenchard considered it, pulling at his pipe again. "Pledge me theDuke," said he at length. "Ther's truth 'n wine. Pledge me the Duke andconfusion to His Majesty the goldfinch." Richard reached for his pewter,glad that the test was to be so light. "Up on your feet, man," grumbledTrenchard. "On your feet, and see that your words have a ring of truthin them."

  Richard did as he was bidden, the little reason left him beingconcentrated wholly on the convincing of his fellow tippler. He rose tohis feet, so unsteadily that his chair fell over with a bang. He neverheeded it, but others in the room turned at the sound, and a hush fellin the chamber. Dominating this came Richard's voice, strident withintensity, if thick of utterance.

  "Down with Popery, an
d God save the Protestant Duke!" he cried. "Downwith Popery!" And he looked at Trenchard for applause, and assurancethat Trenchard no longer thought there was cause to quarrel with him.

  Behind him there was a stir in the room that went unheeded by the boy.Men nudged their neighbours; some looked frightened and some grinned atthe treasonable words.

  A swift change came over Trenchard. His drunkenness fell from him likea discarded mantle. He sat like a man amazed. Then he heaved himself tohis feet in a fury, and smashed down his pipestem on the wooden table,sending its fragments flying.

  "Damn me!" he roared. "Have I sat at table with a traitor?" And hethrust at Richard with his open palm, lightly yet with sufficient forceto throw Richard off his precarious balance and send him sprawling onthe sanded floor. Men rose from the tables about and approached them,some few amused, but the majority very grave. Dodsley, the landlord,came hurrying to assist Richard to his feet.

  "Mr. Westmacott," he whispered in the rash fool's ear, "you were bestaway."

  Richard stood up, leaning his full weight upon the arm the landlord hadabout his waist. He passed a hand over his brow, as if to brush asidethe veil that obscured his wits. What had happened? What had he said?What had Trenchard done? Why did these fellows stand and gape at him? Heheard his companion's voice, raised to address the company.

  "Gentlemen," he heard him say, "I trust there is none present willimpute to me any share in such treasonable sentiments as Mr. Westmacotthas expressed. But if there is any who questions my loyalty, I havea convincing argument for him--in my scabbard." And he struck hissword-hilt with his fist.

  Then he clapped on his hat, aslant over the locks of his golden wig,and, taking up his whip, he moved with leisurely dignity towards thedoor. He looked back with a sardonic smile at the ado he was leavingbehind him, listened a moment to the voices that already were beingraised in excitement, then closed the door and made his way brisklyto the stable-yard, where he called for his horse. He rode out ofBridgwater ten minutes later, and took the road to Taunton as the moonwas rising big and yellow over the hills on his left. He reached Tauntontowards ten o'clock that night, having ridden hell-to-leather. Hisfirst visit was to the Hare and Hounds, where Blake and Westmacott hadovertaken the courier. His next to the house where Sir Edward Phelipsand Colonel Luttrell--the gentlemen lately ordered to Taunton by HisMajesty--had their lodging.

  The fruits of Mr. Trenchard's extraordinary behaviour that night wereto be seen at an early hour on the following day, when a constable andthree tything-men came with a Lord-Lieutenant's warrant to arrest Mr.Richard Westmacott on a charge of high treason. They found the young manstill abed, and most guilty was his panic when they bade him rise anddress himself--though little did he dream of the full extent to whichMr. Trenchard had enmeshed him, or indeed that Mr. Trenchard had anyhand at all in this affair. What time he was getting into his clotheswith a tything-man outside his door and another on guard under hiswindow, the constable and his third myrmidon made an exhaustive searchof the house. All they found of interest was a letter signed "Monmouth,"which they took from the secret drawer of a secretary in the library;but that, it seemed, was all they sought, for having found it, theyproceeded no further with their reckless and destructive ransacking.

  With that letter and the person of Richard Westmacott, the constable andhis men took their departure, and rode back to Taunton, leaving alarmand sore distress at Lupton House. In her despair poor Ruth was all forfollowing her brother, in the hope that at least by giving evidenceof how that letter came into his possession she might do something toassist him. But knowing, as she did, that he had had his share in thetreason that was hatching, she had cause to fear that his guilt wouldnot lack for other proofs. It was Diana who urged her to repair insteadto the only man upon whose resource she might depend, provided he werewilling to exert it. That man was Anthony Wilding, and whether Dianaurged it from motives of her own or out of concern for Richard, it wouldbe difficult to say with certainty.

  The very thought of going to him for aid, after all that had passed, wasrepugnant to Ruth. And yet what choice had she? Convinced by her cousinand urged by her affection and duty to Richard, she repressed heraversion, and, calling for a horse, rode out to Zoyland Chase, attendedby a groom. Wilding by good fortune was at home, hard at work upon amass of documents in that same library where she had talked with him onthe occasion of her first visit to his home--to the home of which sheremembered that she was now, herself, the mistress. He was preparingfor circulation in the West a mass of libels and incendiary pamphletscalculated to forward the cause of the Protestant Duke.

  Dissembling his surprise, he bade old Walters--who left her waiting inthe hall whilst he went to announce her--to admit her instantly, and headvanced to the door to receive and welcome her.

  "Ruth," said he, and his face was oddly alight, "you have come at last."

  She smiled a wan smile of self-pity. "I have been constrained," saidshe, and told him what had happened; that her brother had been arrestedfor high treason, and that the constable in searching the house had comeupon the Monmouth letter she had locked away in her desk.

  "And not a doubt," she ended, "but it will be believed that it was toRichard the letter was indited by the Duke. You will remember thatits only address was 'to my good friend, W.,' and that will stand forWestmacott as well as Wilding."

  Mr. Wilding was fain to laugh at the irony of this surprising turn ofthings of which she brought him news; for he had neither knowledge norsuspicion of the machinations of his friend Trenchard, to which theseevents were due. But noting and respecting her anxiety for her brother,he curbed his natural amusement.

  "It is a judgment upon you," said he, nevertheless.

  "Do you exult?" she asked indignantly.

  "No; but I cannot repress my admiration for the ways of Divine Justice.If you are come to me for advice, I can but suggest that you shouldfollow your brother's captors to Taunton, and inform the lieutenants ofhow the letter came into your power."

  She looked at him in anger almost at what seemed a callousness. "Wouldhe believe me, think you?"

  "Belike he would not," said Mr. Wilding. "You can but try."

  "If I told them it was addressed to you," she said, eyeing him sternly,"does it not occur to you that they would send for you to question you,and that if they did so, as you are a gentleman you could not lie awaymy brother's life."

  "Why, yes," said he quite calmly, "it does occur to me. But does it notoccur to you that by the time they came here they would find me gone?"He laughed at her dismay. "I thank you, madam, for this warning," headded. "I think I'll bid them saddle for me without delay. Too longalready have I tarried."

  "And must Richard hang?" she asked him fiercely.

  Mr. Wilding produced a snuffbox of tortoise shell and gold. He opened itdeliberately. "If he does, you'll admit that he will hang on the gallowsthat he has built himself--although intended for another. I'faith! He'snot the first booby to be caught in his own springe. There is in this ameasure of poetic justice. Poetry and justice! Do you know, Ruth,they are two things I have ever loved?" And he took a pinch of choiceBergamot.

  "Will you be serious?" she demanded.

  "Trenchard would tell you that it were to make an exception from therule of my life," he assured her, smiling. "Yet even that might I do atyour bidding."

  "But this is a serious matter," she told him angrily.

  "For Richard," he acknowledged, closing his snuffbox with a snap. "Tellme, what would you have me do?"

  Since he asked her thus, she answered him in two words. "Save him."

  "At the cost of my own neck?" quoth he. "The price is high," he remindedher. "Do you think that Richard is quite worth it?"

  "And are you to save yourself at the cost of his?" shecounter-questioned. "Are you capable of such a baseness?"

  He looked at her thoughtfully a moment. "You have not reflected," saidhe slowly, "that in this affair is involved more than mine or Richard'slife. There is a great c
ause weighing in the balance against allpersonal considerations. If I accounted Richard of more value toMonmouth than I am myself, I should not hesitate in riding to sethim free by taking his place. As it is, however, I think I am of thegreatest conceivable importance to His Grace, whilst if twenty Richardsperished--frankly--their loss would be something of a gain, for Richardhas played a traitor's part already. That is with me the first of allconsiderations."

  "Am I of no consideration to you?" she asked him. And in an agony ofterror for her brother she now approached him, and, obeying a suddenimpulse, cast herself upon her knees before him. "Listen!" she cried.

  "Not thus," said he, a frown between his eyes. He took her by the elbowsand gently but very firmly brought her to her feet again. "It is notfitting you should kneel save at your prayers."

  She was standing now, and very close to him, his hands still held herelbows, though their touch was so light that she scarce felt it.To release them was easy, and the next second her hands were on hisshoulders, her brave eyes raised to him.

  "Mr. Wilding," she implored him, "you'll not let Richard be destroyed?"

  He looked down at her with kindling glance, his arms slipped round herlissom waist. "It is hard to deny you, Ruth," said he. "Yet not my loveof my own life compels me; but my duty, my loyalty to the cause to whichI am pledged. I were a traitor were I now to place myself in peril."

  She pressed against him, her face so close to his that her breath fannedhis cheek, whither a faint colour crept in quick response. Despiteherself almost, instinctively, unconsciously, she exerted the weapons ofher sex to bend him to her will.

  "You say you love me," she whispered. "Prove it me now, and I willbelieve you.

  "Ah!" he sighed. "And believing me? What then?"

  He had himself grimly in hand, yet feared he should not prove strongenough to hold himself for long.

  "You... you shall find me your... dutiful wife," she faltered,crimsoning.

  His arms tightened about her; he crushed her to him, he bent his head tohers and his lips burnt the lips she yielded to him as though they hadbeen living fire.

  Anon, she was to weep in shame--in shame and in astonishment--at thatinstant of surrender, but for the moment she had no thought save for herbrother. Exultation filled her. She accounted that she had conquered,and she gloried in the power her beauty gave her, a power that hadsufficed to melt to water the hard-frozen purposes of this self-willedman. The next instant, however, she was cold again with dismay andnewborn terror. He unclasped her arms, he drew back, shaking off thehands she had rested upon his shoulders. His white face--the flush hadfaded from it again--smiled a thought disdainfully.

  "You bargain with me," he said. "But I have some knowledge of your waysof trading. They are overshrewd for an honest gentleman."

  "You mean," she gasped, her hand pressed to her heart, her face adeathly white, "you mean that you'll not save him?"

  "I mean," said he, "that I will have no further bargains with you."

  There was such hard finality in his tone that she recoiled, beaten andwithout power, to return to the assault. She had played and lost. Shehad yielded her lips to his kisses, and--husband though he might be inname--shame was her only guerdon.

  One look she gave him from out of that face so white and pitiful, thenwith a shudder turned from him and fled his presence. He sprang afterher as the door closed, then checked and stood in thought, very grim forone who professed to bestow no seriousness on the affairs of life. Thenhe returned slowly to his writing-table, and rummaged there among thepapers with which it was encumbered, seeking something of which he nowhad need. Through the open window he heard the retreating beat of herhorse's hoofs. He sighed and sat down heavily, to take his long squarechin in his hand and stare before him at the sunlight on the lawnoutside.

  And whilst he sat thus, Ruth made all haste back to Lupton House to tellof the failure that had attended her. There was nothing left her nowbut to embark upon the forlorn hope of following Richard to Taunton, tooffer her evidence of how the incriminating letter had come to be lockedin the drawer in which the constable had discovered it. Diana met herwith a face as white as her own and infinitely more startled. She hadjust learnt that Sir Rowland Blake had been arrested also and thathe had been carried to Taunton together with Richard, and, as aconsequence, she was as eager now that Ruth should repair to Albemarleas she had erstwhile been earnest in urging her to seek out Mr. Wilding;indeed, Diana went so far as to offer to accompany her, an offer thatRuth gladly, gratefully accepted.

  Within an hour Ruth and Diana--in spite of all that poor, docile LadyHorton had said to stay them--were riding to Taunton, attended by thesame groom who had so lately accompanied his mistress to Zoyland Chase.