His Majesty's Well-Beloved

"I mean," I replied earnestly, "that the Plot of which I speak is real, tangible and damnable. That a set of young Gallants have arranged between themselves to waylay His Majesty the King this night in the house of the Countess of Castlemaine, to kidnap his sacred person, force him to abdicate, then proclaim the Duke of Monmouth King and the Prince of Orange Regent of the Realm."

"How do you know all this, Honeywood?" Mr. Betterton rejoined quietly, dragged, meseemed, out of his former Cynicism by the earnestness of my manner.

"I was one of the first to know of it," I replied, "because on a certain day in September I was employed in copying the Manifesto wherewith that pack of Traitors hoped to rally distant Friends around their Standard. For awhile I heard nothing more of the Affair, thought the whole thing had sizzled out like a fire devoid of fuel; until to-day, when the Conspirators once more met in the house of Mr. Theophilus Baggs and arranged to carry their execrable Project through to-night. Careless of my presence, they planned and discussed their Affairs in my hearing. They thought, I suppose, that I, like Mr. Baggs, was one of their Gang."

Gradually, while I spoke, I could see the Dawn of Comprehension illumining Mr. Betterton's face. He still was silent, and let me speak on to the end. He was once more gazing into the fire; his arms were resting on his knees, but his hands were beating one against the other, fist to palm, with a violent, intermittent Gesture, which proclaimed his growing Impatience.

Then suddenly he raised his head, looked me once more straight in the eyes, and said slowly, reiterating some of my words:

"The Conspirators met in the house of Mr. Theophilus Baggs – then – he – "

I nodded.

"My Lord Stour," I said, deliberately measuring my words, "is up to his neck in the damnable Conspiracy."

Still his searching gaze was fixed upon me; and now he put out his hand and clutched my forearm. But he did not speak.

"I was burning with rage," I said, "at the insult put upon you by my Lord Stour … I longed to be revenged…"

His clutch upon my arm tightened till it felt like a Vice of Steel, and his Voice came to my ear, hoarse and almost unrecognizable.

"Honeywood," he murmured, "what do You mean? What have You done?"

I tried to return his gaze, but it seemed to sear my very Soul. Terror held me now. I scarce could speak. My voice came out in a husky whisper.

"I had the copy of the Manifesto," I said, "and I knew the names of the Conspirators. I wrote these out and placed them with the Manifesto in the hands of my Lady Castlemaine."

Dear Mistress, you know the beautiful picture by the great Italian artist Michael Angelo which represents Jove hurling his thunderbolt at some puny human Creature who hath dared to defy him. The flash of Anger expressed by the Artist in the mighty god's eyes is truly terrifying. Well! that same Expression of unbounded and prodigious Wrath flashed out in one instant from the great Actor's eyes. He jumped to his feet, towered above me like some Giant whom I, in my presumption, had dared to defy. The flickering candle light, warring with the fireglow, and its play of ruddy Lights and deep phantasmagoric Shadows, lent size and weirdness to Mr. Betterton's figure and enhanced the dignity and magnitude of his Presence. His lips were working, and I could see that he had the greatest difficulty in forcing himself to speak coherently.

"You have done that?" he stammered. "You…?"

"To avenge the deadly insult – " I murmured, frightened to death now by his violence.

"Silence, you fool!" he riposted hoarsely. "Is it given to the Mouse to avenge the hurt done to the Lion?"

I guessed how deeply he was moved by these Words which he spoke, more even than by his Attitude. Never, had he been in his normal frame of mind, would he have said them, knowing how their cruel intent would hurt and wound me.

He was angry with me. Very angry. And I, as yet, was too ignorant, too unsophisticated, to know in what way I had injured him. God knows it had been done unwittingly. And I could not understand what went on in that noble and obviously tortured Brain. I could only sit there and gaze upon him in helpless Bewilderment, as he now started to pace up and down the narrow room in very truth like a caged Lion that hath been teased till it can endure the irritation no longer.

"You are angry with me?" I contrived to stammer at last; and indeed I found much difficulty in keeping the tears which were welling up to mine eyes.

But my timid query only appeared to have the effect of bringing his Exasperation to its highest pitch. He did in truth turn on me as if he were ready to strike me, and I slid down on my Knees, for I felt now really frightened, as his fine voice smote mine ears in thunderous Accents of unbridled Wrath.

"Angry?" he exclaimed. "Angry…? I…"

Then he paused abruptly, for he had caught sight of me, kneeling there, an humble and, I doubt not, a pathetic Figure; and, as you know, Mr. Betterton's heart is ever full of Pity for the Lowly and the Weak. By the flickering candle light I could distinguish his noble Features, a moment ago almost distorted with Passion, but now, all of a sudden, illumined by tender Sympathy.

He pulled himself together. I almost could see the Effort of Will wherewith he curbed that turbulent Passion which had threatened to overmaster him. He passed his hand once or twice across his brow, as if he strove to chase away, by sheer physical Force, the last vestige of his own Anger.

"No – no – ," he murmured gently, bent down to me and helped me to my feet. "No, my dear Friend; I am not angry with You … I – I forgot myself just now … something seemed to snap in my Brain when you told me that … When you told me that – " he reiterated slowly; then threw back his head and broke into a laugh. Oh! such a laugh as I never wish to hear again. It was not only mirthless, but the Sound of it did rend my heart until the tears came back to mine eyes; but this time through an overwhelming feeling of Pity.

And yet I did not understand. Neither his Anger nor his obvious Despair were clear to my Comprehension. I hoped he would soon explain, feeling that if he spoke of it, it would ease his heartache. Mine was almost unendurable. I felt that I could cry like a child, Remorse warring with Anxiety in my heart.

Then suddenly Mr. Betterton came close to me, sat down on the sofa beside me and said, with a Recrudescence of his former Vehemence:

"Friend Honeywood, you must go straightway back to my Lady Castlemaine."

"Yes," I replied meekly, for I was ready to do anything that he desired.

"Either to my Lady Castlemaine," he went on, his voice trembling with agitation, "or to her menial first, but ultimately to my Lady Castlemaine. Go on your hands and knees, Honeywood; crawl, supplicate, lick the dust, swear that the Conspiracy had no existence save in your own disordered brain … that the Manifesto is a forgery … the list of Conspirators a fictitious one … swear above all that my Lord Stour had no part in the murderous Plot – "

I would, dear Lady, that mine was the pen of a ready Writer, so that I might give you a clear idea of Mr. Betterton's strange aspect at that moment. His face was close to mine, yet he did not seem like himself. You know how serene and calm is the Glance of his Eyes as a rule. Well! just then they were strangely luminous and restless; there was a glitter in them, a weird, pale Light that I cannot describe, but which struck me as coming from a Brain that, for the moment, was almost bereft of Reason.

That he was not thinking coherently was obvious to me from what he said. I, who was ready and prepared to do anything that might atone for the Injury, as yet inexplicable, which I had so unwittingly done to him, felt, nevertheless, the entire Futility of his Suggestion. Indeed, was it likely that my Lady Castlemaine's Suspicions, once roused, could so easily be allayed? Whatever I told her now, she would of a surety warn the King – had done so, no doubt, already. Measures would be taken – had already been taken – to trap the infamous Plotters, to catch them red-handed in the Act; if indeed they were guilty. Nay! I could not very well imagine how such great Personages would act under the Circumstances that had come about. But this much I did know; that not one of them would be swayed by the Vagaries of a puny Clerk, who had taken it upon himself to denounce a number of noble Gentlemen for Treason one moment and endeavoured to exonerate them the next. So I could only shake my head and murmur:

"Alas, Sir! all that now would be too late."

He looked at me searchingly for a second or two. The strange glitter died out from his eyes, and he gave a deep sigh of weariness and of disappointment.

"Aye!" he said. "True! true! It is all too late!"

Imagine, dear Mistress, how puzzled I was. What would You have thought of it all, yourself, had your sweet Spirit been present then at that hour, when a truly good, yet deeply injured Man bared his Soul before his Friend?

Just for a second or two the Suspicion flashed through my mind that Mr. Betterton himself was in some secret and unaccountable manner mixed up with the abominable Conspiracy. But almost at once my saner Judgment rejected this villainous Suggestion; for of a truth it had no foundation save in Foolishness engendered by a bewildered brain. In truth, I had never seen Mr. Betterton in the Company of any of those Traitors whose names were indelibly graven upon the tablets of my Memory, save on that one occasion – that unforgettable afternoon in September, when he entered the house of Mr. Theophilus Baggs at the hour when Lord Douglas Wychwoode had just entrusted his Manifesto to me. What was said then and what happened afterwards should, God help me! have convinced me that no sort of intimate Connection, political or otherwise, could ever exist between my Lord Stour, Lord Douglas Wychwoode or their Friends, and Mr. Betterton.

4

Even while all these Thoughts and Conjectures were coursing through my brain, my innermost Consciousness kept my attention fixed upon my friend.

He had once more resumed his restless pacing up and down the narrow room. His slender hands were closely linked together behind his back, and at times he strode quite close to me, so close that the skirts of his fashionably cut coat brushed against my knee. From time to time disconnected Phrases came to his lips. He was talking to himself, a thing which I had never known him do before.

"I, who wished to return Taunt for Taunt and Infamy for Infamy!" he said at one time. And at another: "To-day … in a few hours perhaps, that young Coxcomb will be in the Tower … and then the Scaffold!"

I listened as attentively as I could, without seeming to do so, thinking that, if I only caught more of these confused Mutterings, the Puzzle, such as it was, would become more clear to me. Picture the two of us then, dear Mistress, in the semi-darkness, with only fitful candle light to bring into occasional bold relief the fine Figure of the great Actor pacing up and down like a restless and tortured Beast; and mine own meagre Form cowering in an angle of the sofa, straining mine ears to catch every syllable that came from my Friend's lips, and mine eyes to note every Change of his Countenance.

"She will think 'twas I who spied upon him," I heard him say quite distinctly through his clenched teeth. "I who betrayed him, her Friends, her Brother."

"He will die a Martyr to the cause she loves," he murmured a few moments later. "A Hero to his friends – to her a demi-god whose Memory she will worship."

Then he paused, and added in a loud and firm voice, apostrophizing, God knows what Spirits of Hate and of Vengeance whom he had summoned:

"And that is to be my Revenge for the deadliest Insult Man ever put upon Man! … Ha! ha! ha! ha!" he laughed, with weird Incontinence. "God above us, save me from my Friends and let me deal alone with mine Enemies!"

He fell back into the nearest chair and, resting his elbows on his knees, he pressed his forehead against his clenched fists. I stared at him, mute, dumbfounded. For now I understood. I knew what I had done, knew what he desired, what he had striven for and planned all these past weary weeks. His Hopes, his Desires, I had frustrated. I, his Friend, who would have given my Life for his welfare!

I had been heart-broken before. I was doubly so now. I slid from the sofa once more on my knees and, not daring to touch him, I just remained there, sobbing and moaning in helpless Dejection and Remorse.

"What can I do? – what can I do?"

He looked at me, obviously dazed, had apparently become quite oblivious of my presence. Once more that look of tender Commiseration came into his eyes, and he said with a gently ironical smile:

"You? Poor little, feeble Mouse, who has gnawed at the Giant's prey – what can you do? … Why, nothing. Go back to our mutual Friend, Mr. Theophilus Baggs, and tell him to make his way – and quickly too – to some obscure corner of the Country, for he also is up to the neck in that damnable Conspiracy."

This set my mind to a fresh train of thought.

"Shall I to my Lord Stour by the same token?" I asked eagerly.

"To my Lord Stour?" he queried, with a puzzled frown. "What for?"

"To warn him," I replied. "Give him a chance of escape. I could tell him you sent me," I added tentatively.

He laughed.

"No, no, my Friend," he said drily. "We'll not quite go to that length. Give him a chance of Escape?" he reiterated. "And tell him I sent You? No, no! He would only look upon my supposed Magnanimity as a sign of cringing Humility, Obsequiousness and Terror of further Reprisals. No, no, my Friend; I'll not give the gay young Spark another chance of insulting me… But let me think … let me think … Oh, if only I had a few days before me, instead of a mere few hours! … And if only my Lady Castlemaine…"

He paused, and I broke in on the impulse of the moment.

"Oh, Sir! hath not the Countess of Castlemaine vowed often of late that she would grant any Favour that the great Mr. Betterton would ask of her?"

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I regretted them. It must have been Instinct, for they seemed innocent enough at the time. My only thought in uttering them was to suggest that at Mr. Betterton's request the Traitors would be pardoned. My Lady Castlemaine in those days held the King wholly under her Domination. And I still believed that my Friend desired nothing so much at this moment than that my Lord Stour should not die a Hero's death – a Martyr to the cause which the beautiful Lady Barbara had at heart.

But since that hour, whenever I have looked back upon the Sequence of Events which followed on my impulsive Utterance, I could not help but think that Destiny had put the words into my mouth. She had need of me as her tool. What had to be, had to be. You, dear Mistress, can now judge whether Mr. Betterton is still worthy of your Love, whether he is still worthy to be taken back into your heart. For verily my words did make the turning point in the workings of his Soul. But I should never have dared to tell you all that happened, face to face, and I desired to speak of the matter impartially. Therefore I chose the medium of a pen, so that I might make You understand and, understanding, be ready to forgive.

CHAPTER IX

A LAST CHANCE

1

Of course, what happened subsequently, I can only tell for the most part from what Mr. Betterton told me himself, and also from one or two facts revealed to me by Mistress Floid.

At the moment, Mr. Betterton commended me for my Suggestion, rested his hand with all his former affectionate Manner upon my shoulder, and said quite simply:

"I thank you, friend, for reminding me of this. My Lady Castlemaine did indeed last night intimate to me that she felt ready to grant any Favour I might ask of her. Well! I will not put her Magnanimity to an over severe test. Come with me, friend Honeywood. We'll to her Ladyship. There will be plenty of time after that to go and warn that worthy Mr. Baggs and my equally worthy Sister. I should not like them to end their days upon the Scaffold. So heroic an ending doth not seem suitable to their drabby Existence, and would war with all preconceived Dramatic Values."

He then called to his man and ordered a couple of linkmen to be in readiness to guide us through the Streets, as these were far from safe for peaceful Pedestrians after dark! Then he demanded his hat and cloak, and a minute or so later he bade me follow him, and together we went out of the house.

2

It was now raining heavily, and we wrapped our Cloaks tightly round our Shoulders, speeding along as fast as we could. The streets were almost deserted and as dreary as London streets alone can be on a November evening. Only from the closed Windows of an occasional Tavern or Coffee-house did a few rays of bright light fall across the road, throwing a vivid bar of brilliance athwart our way, and turning the hundreds of Puddles into shining reflections, like so many glimmering Stars.

For the rest, we were dependent on the linkmen, who walked ahead of us, swinging their Lanterns for Guidance on our path. Being somewhat timid by nature, I had noted with satisfaction that they both carried stout Cudgels, for of a truth there were many Marauders about on dark nights such as this, Footpads and Highway Robbers, not to mention those bands of young Rakes, who found pleasure in "scouring" the streets o' nights and molesting the belated Wayfarer.

Mr. Betterton, too, carried a weighted stick, and he was a Man whom clean, sturdy living had rendered both athletic and powerful. We were soon, both of us, wet to the Skin, but Mr. Betterton appeared quite oblivious of discomfort. He walked with a quick step, and I perforce had to keep up with him as best I could.

He had told me, before we started out, that he was bent for my Lady Castlemaine's House, the rear of which looks down upon the Gardens of White Hall. I knew the way thither just as well as he did. Great was my astonishment, therefore, when having reached the bottom of King Street, when we should have turned our steps northwards, Mr. Betterton suddenly ordered the linkmen to proceed through Palace Yard in the direction of Westminster Stairs.

I thought that he was suffering from a fit of absent-mindedness, which was easily understandable on account of his agitated Frame of Mind; and presently I called his attention to his mistake. He paid no heed to me, however, and continued to walk on until we were some way up Canon's Row.

Here he called to his linkmen to halt, and himself paused; then caught hold of my cloak, and dragged me under the shelter of a great gateway belonging to one of those noble Mansions which front the River. And he said to me, in a strange and peremptory Voice, hardly raised above a Whisper:

"Do You know where we are, Honeywood?"

"Yes," I said, not a little surprised at the question. "We are at the South End of Canon's Row. I know this part very well, having often – "

"Very well, then," he broke in, still in the same imperious Manner. "You know that we are under the gateway belonging to the Town Mansion of the Earl of Stour, and that the house is some twenty yards up the fore-court."

"I know the house," I replied, "now you mention it."

"Then you will go to my Lord Stour now, Honeywood," my Friend went on.

"To warn him?" I queried eagerly, for of a truth I was struck with Admiration at this excess of Magnanimity on the part of an injured Man.

"No," Mr. Betterton replied curtly. "You will go to my Lord Stour as my Friend and Intermediary. You will tell him that I sent You, because I desire to know if he hath changed his mind, and if he is ready to give me Satisfaction for the Insult, which he put upon me nigh on two months ago."

I could not restrain a gasp of surprise.

"But – " I stammered.

"You are not going to play me false, Honeywood," he said simply.

That I swore I would not do. Indeed, he knew well enough that if he commanded me to go to the outermost ends of the Earth on his errand, or to hold parley with the Devil on his behalf, I would have been eager and ready to do it.

But I must confess that at this moment I would sooner have parleyed with the Devil than with the Earl of Stour. The Man whom I had denounced, You understand. I felt that the shadow of Death – conjured by me, menacing and unevasive – would perhaps lie 'twixt him and me whilst I spoke with him. Yet how could I demur when my Friend besought me? – my Friend, who was gravely troubled because of me.

I promised that I would do as he wished. Whereupon he gave me full instructions. Never had so strange a task been put upon a simple-minded Plebeian: for these were matters pertaining to Gentlemen. I knew less than nothing of Duels, Affairs of Honour, or such like; yet here was I – John Honeywood, an humble Attorney's Clerk – sent to convey a challenge for a Duel to a high and noble Lord, in the manner most approved by Tradition.

I was ready to swoon with Fright; for, in truth, I am naught but a timid Rustic. In spite of the cold and the rain I felt a rush of hot blood coursing up and down my Spine. But I learned my Lesson from end to end, and having mastered it, I did not waver.

Leaving Mr. Betterton under the shelter of the gateway, I boldly crossed the fore-court and mounted the couple of steps which led up to the front door of the Mansion. The fore-court and the front of the House were very dark, and I was not a little afraid of Night Prowlers, who, they do say, haunt the immediate Purlieus of these stately Abodes of the Nobility, ready to fall upon any belated Visitor who might be foolish enough to venture out alone.

Indeed, everything around me was so still and seemed so desolate that an Access of Fear seized me, whilst I vainly tried to grope for the bell-handle in the Darkness. I very nearly gave way to my Cowardice then and there, and would have run back to my Friend or called out to the Linkmen for their Company, only that at the very moment my Hand came in contact with the iron bell pull, and fastened itself instinctively upon it.

Whereupon the clang of the Bell broke the solemn Silence which reigned around.

3

I had grave Difficulty in obtaining access to my Lord Stour, his Servant telling me in the first instance that his Lordship was not at home, and in the second that he was in any event too busy to receive Visitors at this hour. But I have oft been told that I possess the Obstinacy of the Weak, and I was determined that, having come so far, I would not return to Mr. Betterton without having accomplished mine Errand. So, seeing that the Servant, with the Officiousness and Insolence of his kind, was about to slam the door in my face, an Inspiration seized me, and taking on a haughty Air, I stepped boldly across the Threshold and then commanded the Menial to go to his Lordship at once and announce the visit of Mr. Theophilus Baggs' Clerk on a matter of the utmost Urgency.

I suppose that now I looked both determined and fierce, and after a good deal of hem-ming and hawing, the Varlet apparently felt that non-compliance with my Desire might bring contumely upon himself; so he went, leaving me most unceremoniously to cool my heels in the Hall, and returned but a very few minutes later looking distinctly crestfallen and not a little astonished.

His Lordship would see me at once, he announced. Then bade me follow him up the stairs.

To say that my Heart was beating furiously within my Breast would be but a bald Statement of my Frame of Mind. I fully expected that his Lordship, directly he knew that it was not Mr. Baggs who had sent me, would have me ignominiously turned out of the House. However, I was not given much time to indulge in my Conjectures and my Fears, for presently I was ushered into a large room, dimly lighted by a couple of wax candles and the Walls of which, I noticed, were entirely lined with Books.

After the Menial had closed the door behind me, a Voice bade me curtly to come forward and to state mine Errand. Then I saw that my Lord Stour was not alone. He was sitting in a chair in front of the fire, and opposite to him sat the beautiful Lady Barbara, whilst standing in front of the hearth, with legs apart and hands thrust in the pockets of his breeches, was Lord Douglas Wychwoode.

What Courage was left in me now went down into my shoes. I felt like a Man faced with three Enemies where he had only expected to meet one. My Throat felt very dry and my Tongue seemed to cleave to my Palate. Nevertheless, in response to a reiterated curt Command to state mine Errand, I did so unfalteringly.