Denounced

"But Kate! Lady Fordingbridge! I must let her know of my absence; what will she think when she returns home and finds me gone? And the others-they may be taken when they also return to their homes."

"Leave't to me. I will await my lady's return from these worldly doings-ma word! a married woman and meeting other men in such sinfu' places! – even though she comes not till the break o' day-as is very likely, I fear, under the circumstances! And, meanwhile, for the others we must trust to Geordie."

"No," said Archibald Sholto, "we will not trust to Geordie, true as I believe him to be. This is the best plan. If you will wait-as I know you will-until her ladyship returns, though it will not be for some hours yet, I apprehend, I will make my way to Wandsworth, find out if they are warned, and, if not, will myself wait their return. Then I will accept your shelter in the Minories for a time until we can all three get safe back to France. For France is now our only refuge again, as it has so often and so long been before."

"Humph!" said McGlowrie, "perhaps so 'tis best. None know you at Wandsworth?"

"None. No living soul except the woman of the house-a true one. Her father fell in the Cause in the '15' at Sherriffmuir. She is safe."

"So be it. Then away with you to yon village, and trust me to manage things in this one. Now, off wi' you, Archie, but first make some change in your clothing."

"But how? I have no other clothes but those I wear."

"Hoot! a small changement is easy, and sometimes, so to speak as it were, effectual. Off with that hat and wig." And as he spoke he took off each of his.

"You will lose by the exchange, Jemmy," said Archibald. "Mine is but a rusty bob and a poor hat; both yours are very good."

"No matter. To-morrow at the lodgment we will change again."

Therefore, with his appearance considerably altered, Archibald Sholto prepared now to set out for Wandsworth. But ere he did so he said one word to honest James McGlowrie.

"Jemmy," he remarked, "make no mistake about Ka-Lady Fordingbridge and this meeting with Bertie Elphinston to which she has gone. She is as good and pure a woman as ever lived and suffered. I have known her from a child, gave her her first communion; there is no speck of ill in her."

"Lived and suffered, eh?" repeated the other.

"Ay, lived and suffered! The man she has gone to meet was to have been her husband; they loved each other with all their hearts and souls; and by foul treachery she was stolen from him by that most unparalleled scoundrel, Fordingbridge. Remember that, Jemmy, when you see her to-night; remember she is as pure a woman as your mother was, and respect her for all that she has endured."

"Have no fear," said Jemmy, manfully, "have no fear. Although ye are a Papist, Archie, and a priest at that, I'll e'en take your word for it."

So, with a light laugh from the Jesuit at the rigid and plain-spoken Presbyterianism of his old schoolfellow and whilom fag, they parted with a grasp of the hand, each to what he had to do. That James McGlowrie carried out his portion of the undertaking has been already told, as well as how, after the information he gave Lady Fordingbridge, she decided to accept Lady Belrose's offer of her house as a refuge, if only temporarily; and how he afterwards became a messenger from her to Bertie Elphinston.

As for Archibald Sholto, he, too, did that which he had said would be best. He made his way from Kensington to Chelsea and so to Wandsworth, only to find when he had arrived there that his brother and friend had long since-for it was by then nine o'clock-departed for Vauxhall. Therefore he said a few words to the landlady-herself an adherent of the Stuarts, as she, whose father had fallen at Sherriffmuir, was certain to be-telling her that it was doubtful if they would ever return to their lodgings, but that, if they did, she must manage to send them off at once. He told her, too, the address of the Minories where he could be communicated with, under cover to McGlowrie, and, since he it was who had sent them as lodgers to her house, he gave her some money on their account. Then he left her and, thorough and indomitable in all he did, made his way to the Spring Gardens.

"If they are there," he thought, as he waited outside the inn in Wandsworth-an old one, known then, as now, as the Spread Eagle, while the horse was being put into the shafts of the hackney coach he had hired, "I may see them in time to warn them. Dressed as the executioner, the woman said of Bertie and Douglas, without any disguise, though in a garb that will be supposed to be one in that place; there should be no difficulty in finding them if they are still there. Thank God, they were not caught in their lodgings."

He did not know, nor could the landlady have told him-not knowing herself-of how they had been watched and followed from the village to Vauxhall; so he passed his time on the lonely drive through the Battersea marshes in meditating how this last act of treachery of Lord Fordingbridge was to be repaid. For that it should be so repaid, and with interest, Archibald Sholto had already determined. "Though not for his baseness to me so much," he muttered, "as to those whom I love. For since to me, a priest, there can be no home, no wife, no children, I have centred all my heart upon those three-my brother, our friend Bertie, and poor, bonnie Kate. And those it is against whom he has struck. May God forget me if I strike not equally, ay! and with more certainty than he has done, when my hour comes."

A good friend was Archibald Sholto, Jesuit though he was, but a terrible foe. As you shall see.

On his way to the garden he passed half a dozen young men of fashion who, from their talk and actions, he knew to be about to assist at a duel, and, forgetting that he was in secular garb, he could not forbear from addressing them in his priestly character and begging them to desist from the sin they contemplated. But they bade him pass on and not interfere in what concerned him not, while one, striking at the horse with his clouded cane, caused the animal to dash off upon the uneven road or track. These, doubtless, were the men for whom the boatmen who ferried Bertie and Douglas across later on were waiting.

So he reached the gardens, but only to find that most of the company was already gone, and that, with the exception of a few revellers who would keep the night up so long as it were possible, none of the masqueraders remained. Yet, even from these he gathered enough to set his mind fairly at rest; for, happening to hear one of them speak of the "merry disturbance" which had taken place that night, and also boast somewhat loudly of how he had assisted the Jacobites in resisting the limbs of the law, he, by great suavity and apparent admiration of the speaker's prowess, managed to extract from him a more or less accurate account of what had taken place.

Thus he learned that, in some way, his brother and friend had made their escape-aided, of course, by the pot-valiant hero to whom he was listening-and also that the "ladies of fashion" and the gentlemen by whom they were accompanied had also departed without molestation. "Though," continued the narrator, as he swallowed the last drop of brandy in his glass and then looked ruefully at the empty vessel, "I know not if they would have been allowed to go so freely had not I and my friend assisted in protecting them."

After that Archibald withdrew, and, on foot, made his way to the City, while as he crossed London Bridge nearly two hours later-for he was weary with all that had happened that day-the sun came up and lighted with a rosy hue the Tower lying on his right hand.

"Ay," he muttered. "Ay, many's the poor aching heart within your walls this morning besides the doomed Balmerino, Cromartie, and Kilmarnock-for nought can save them; thank God that some at least are free at present. But how long will they be so? How long? How long?"

CHAPTER XII

HEY! FOR FRANCE

During the time which elapsed between the eventful proceedings of that day and the time when my Lord Fordingbridge-agitated by receiving no news in Cheshire from his wife-returned to London, all those whom this history has principally to deal with met together with considerable frequency.

For, whether the clue was lost to the whereabouts of Elphinston and the Sholtos, or whether the Government was growing sick of the wholesale butchery of Jacobites which was going on in Scotland and England-though it would scarce seem so, since two of the lords in the Tower and some score of other victims were yet to be executed and their remains to be brutally used-at least those three friends were still at large. Archibald Sholto was in hiding at James McGlowrie's lodgings in the Minories, in the neighbourhood of which that honest gentleman was much engaged in the grain and cattle trade between London and Scotland and also Holland and France. Farther east still was Bertie Elphinston, he being close to the spot where the unhappy Lady Balmerino, his kinswoman, was lodged; while in the West End, or rather the west of London, at the Kensington Gravel Pits, and under the roof of no less a person than Sir Charles Ames, Douglas had found a home and hiding place.

As for Kate and her father, they were in Hanover-square, the guests of Lady Belrose, and were to remain as such until the former had had an interview with Fordingbridge. "For," said Kate to her friend who, although a comparatively new one, was proving herself to be very staunch, "then I shall know, then I shall be able to decide; though even now my decision is taken, my mind made up. Who can doubt that it is he who has done this? He and no other. No other!"

"Indeed, dear," replied her hostess, as she bade her black boy-a present from her devoted admirer, Sir Charles-go get the urn filled, for they were drinking tea after dinner, "indeed, dear, no one, I think, from all that you have told me. Yet if you leave him, what is to become of you and Mr. Fane? You have, you say-pardon me for even referring to such a thing-no very good means of subsistence. I," went on her ladyship, speaking emphatically, "should at least take my settlement. I would not, positively I would not, allow the wretch to benefit by keeping that. No, indeed!"

"If," replied Kate, "'tis as I fear-nay, as I know it is, I will not touch one farthing of his. Not one farthing. I will go forth, and he Shall be as though I had never seen or spoken to him."

"But," asked the more practical woman of the world, "what will you do, dear? You cannot live on air, and-which is almost worse-you cannot marry someone who will give you a good home. And you so pretty, too!" she added.

"Marry again!" exclaimed Kate, her eyes glistening as she spoke. "Heaven forbid! Have I not had enough of marriage? One experience should suffice, I think."

"It has indeed been a sad one," answered Lady Belrose, who had herself no intention of continuing her widowhood much longer, and was indeed at that moment privately affianced to Sir Charles Ames. "But, Kate, if your monster were dead you might be happy yet."

"No, no," the other replied, "never. And he is not dead, nor like to die. I am, indeed, far more likely to die than he-since the doctors all say I am far from strong, though I do not perceive it."

"But what will you do?" again asked the practical hostess. "How live? Mr. Fane has, you say, no longer sufficient youth or activity to earn a living for you at the fence school-can you, dear, earn enough for both?"

"I think so," Kate replied, "by returning to Paris. That we must do-there is nothing to be earned here. But, in Paris, Archibald Sholto has much influence in the court circles; he knows even the King and-and-the new favourite, La Pompadour, who has deposed Madame de Chateauroux. Also he is a friend of Cardinal Tencin, who owes much to the exiled Stuarts. It is, he thinks, certain that some place either at the court, or in the prince's household-if he has escaped from Scotland, which God grant! – or in the Chevalier St. George's, at Rome, might be found for me-a place which would enable me to keep my old father from want for the rest of his life."

"Kate, you are a brave woman, and a good one, too, for from what you have told me your father himself has behaved none too well to you, and-"

"I must forget that," the other replied, "and remember only how for years he struggled hard to keep a home for us, to bring me up as a lady. I must put away every thought of his one wrong to me and remember only all that he has done for my good."

Meanwhile Kate's determination to part from her husband-if, as no one doubted, he it was who had endeavoured to betray the others to the Government-was well known to her three friends; and therefore, with them as with her and her father, preparations were being hurried on by which they also might return to France. For them there was, as there had been before the invasion of Scotland and England, the means whereby to exist; Douglas and Bertie had not sacrificed their commissions in the French regiments to which they belonged, and Archibald was employed by the Stuart cause as an agent, was also a member of the College of St. Omer, and was a priest of St. Eustache. That Bertie Elphinston would ever have left London while his kinsman and the head of his house, Arthur, Lord Balmerino, lay in the Tower awaiting his trial and certain death was not to be supposed, had not a message come from that unhappy nobleman ordering him to go. Also, he bade him waste no time in remaining where he was hourly in danger and could, at the same time, be of no earthly good.

"He bids me tell you, Bertie," said Lady Balmerino, in a meeting which she contrived to have with the young man on one of those evenings when both were lodged in the Eastend, and while she wept piteously as she spoke, "he bids me tell you that it is his last commandment to you, as still the head of your house and the name you bear, to flee from England. The rank and title of Balmerino must die with him, but he lays upon you the task of bearing and, he hopes, perpetuating the name of Elphinston honourably. Also he sends you his blessing as from a dying old man to a young one, bids you trust in God and also serve the House of Stuart while there is any member of it left. And if more be needed to make you fly, he orders you to do it for your mother's sake."

After that Elphinston knew where his duty lay-knew that he must return to France. It was hard, he swore, to leave England and also, thereby, to leave the scoundrel Fordingbridge behind and alive, still he felt that it must be so. Fordingbridge merited death-yet he must escape it!

But he had one consolation, too. Ere long Kate would be back in Paris-it was not possible that her husband could be innocent-therefore he would sometimes see her. A poor consolation, indeed, he told himself, to simply be able to see the woman who was to have been his wife yet was now another man's-no power on earth, no determination on her part to sever her existence from Fordingbridge could alter that! – yet it was something. Consequently, he with the others set about the plans for their departure.

Now, to so arrange and manage for this departure, they looked to James McGlowrie, who had both the will and the power to help them.

An old acquaintance of his in Scotland, when both were boys who had not then gone forth into the world, McGlowrie had kept up an occasional correspondence with Archibald Sholto until the present time, and thereby had been able to afford him assistance and had proved himself invaluable when Fordingbridge informed against them. Indeed, had McGlowrie not known where Archibald Sholto was living when in London, Geordie McNab's information derived from the Scotch Secretary's Office could never have been utilized, and Archibald Sholto must at least have been taken. And now he was to be even more practically useful than before-it was in his cattle-trading boats that all were, one by one, to be conveyed to the continent. "Though," said Jemmy, as he arranged plans with them one night in a little inn at Limehouse where they were in the habit of meeting, and where there was little danger of their being discovered, "I can give none of ye any certain guarantee, so to speak as it were, of ye getting over in safety. Infernal sloops o' war and bomb-ketches, and the devil knows what else, are prowling about the waters looking for rebels, and as like as not may light upon the one or other of you."

"We must risk that," said Bertie. "Great heavens! what have we not risked far worse?"

"Vary weel," replied McGlowrie; "then let one of you begin the risk to-morrow night. And you it had best be, Mr. Elphinston. My little barky drops down the river then, and once you're round the North Foreland you will be safe, or nearly so, to reach Calais. Be ready by seven to-morrow night."

"Why do you select me to go first, Mr. McGlowrie? I have quite as many, if not more, interests in England than either Douglas or Archie."

"Um!" muttered honest Jemmy, who did not care to say that he thought a man who was philandering about after a married woman was best got out of the way as soon as possible, though such was, indeed, his opinion, he being a strict moralist. "Um! I thought the noble lord had laid his commands on ye to be off and awa' at anst. The head of the family must be obeyed."

"Also," said Archibald Sholto, "you have your mother to think of. We have no mother. Bertie, you had best go to-morrow night."

"And you have seen Kate," whispered gentle Douglas Sholto, who took, perhaps, a more romantic view of things-for he had known of their love from the first and, from almost envying them at its commencement, had now come to pity them, "have made your farewells. If you get safe to France you must of a surety meet again-for Fordingbridge is a villain, and she will keep her word and part from him-is it not best you go at once?"

"You and I have always gone together, Douglas, hand in hand in all things," his friend replied; "I like not parting from you now."

"Still let it be so, I beg you. Remember, once we are back in Paris all will be as happy as it has been before, or nearly so, and there will be no Fordingbridge there. He, at least, will not be by us to set the blood tingling in our veins with the desire to slay him."

"So be it," said Bertie, "I will go."

This being therefore decided, McGlowrie gave his counsel as to what was to be done. The "little barky" of which he had spoken was in the habit of taking over to Calais good black cattle in exchange for French wines (what did it matter if sometimes the bottles were stuffed full of lace instead of Bordeaux?), silks, and ribbons, and it was as a drover he proposed Elphinston should go. The duties would be nothing, and the assumption of them would be a sufficient explanation of his being on board.

"And then," said he, "when once you set your foot on Calais sands you can again become Captain Elphinston of the regiment of Picardy, and defy King Geo-hoot! what treason am I talking?"

It was the truth that he had seen Kate again since the night of the conflict at Vauxhall, and then, stung to madness by the renewed villainy and treachery of her husband, he had pleaded to her to let him seek out Fordingbridge and slay him with his own hands. But, bitterly as she despised and hated the man who had brought them such grief and sorrow, she refused to even listen to so much as a suggestion of his doing this.

"No, no, no!" she exclaimed, shuddering at the very idea of such a tragedy. "No, no. What benefit would it be to you or to me to have the stain of his blood on our hands?"

"It would remove for ever the obstacle between us," he said; "would set you free; would place us where we were before."

"Never, never," she replied. "I have been his wife-though such by fraud and trickery-and if he were dead, God knows I could not mourn him; yet I will not be his murderess, his executioner, as I shall be if I let you slay him. If he fell by your hand, I could never look upon your face again. Moreover, even were I hardened enough to do so-which I am not-do you not know that the French law permits no man to become the husband of a woman whose first husband he has slain? We should be as far apart then as ever-nay, farther, with his death between us always."

"I know, I know," he said, recognising, however, as he did so that there was no possibility of his taking vengeance on Fordingbridge, since by doing so he would thus place such a barrier between them. "Yet there are other lands where one may live besides France and England. There is Sweden, where every soldier is welcome; there is-"

"Cease, I beseech you, cease! It can never be. If in God's good time He sees fit to punish him, he will do so. If not, I must bear the lot that has fallen to me. Meanwhile be assured that once I find he has done this act of treachery, I shall never return to him."

"And we shall meet in Paris-that is, if ever I can get back there?"

"Yes," she answered. "We shall meet in Paris; for it is there I must go. There, at least, I must find a means of existence; though, since now we understand, since we have forgiven each other-is it not so? – 'twould perhaps be best that we should not meet again."

"No, no," he protested. "No, no. For even though this snake has crept in between us-so that never more can we be to each other what-what-my God! – what we once were; so that there must be no love, no passing of our days, our lives, together side by side-yet, Kate, we can at least know that the other is well if not happy; we can meet sometimes. Can we not? answer me."

"Oh, go!" she exclaimed, breaking down at his words and weeping piteously, as she sank into a chair and buried her head in her hands. "Go! In mercy, go! I cannot bear your words; they break my heart. Leave me, I beseech you!"

So-because he, too, could bear the interview no longer, and could not endure to see her misery-he left her, taking her hand and kissing it ere he departed, and whispering in her ear that soon they would meet again.

CHAPTER XIII

MAN AND WIFE

The hackney coach drew up at Lady Belrose's house in Hanover-square a couple of hours after it had left Kensington-square, and Lord Fordingbridge, descending from it, rang a loud peal upon the bell.

For some reason-the whereof was perhaps not known to him, or could not have been explained by even his peculiarly constituted mind-he had attired himself for the two interviews with great care. His black velvet suit, trimmed with silver lace-for he wore mourning for the late viscount-was of the richest; his thick hair was now confined beneath a handsome tye-wig, and his ruffles and breast lace were the finest in his possession. Yet he, knowing himself to be the unutterable scoundrel he was, could scarcely suppose that this sumptuousness of attire was likely to have much effect upon the woman who had deserted him for a cause which he had not the slightest difficulty in imagining. Perhaps, however, it was assumed for the benefit of the Duke of Newcastle, with whom he had had a satisfactory interview.

"Lady Fordingbridge is living here," he said quietly, but with a sternness he considered fitting to the occasion, to the grave elderly man who opened the door to him-a man whose appearance, Lady Belrose frequently observed, would have added respectability to the household of a bishop-"show me to her."

The footman looked inquiringly at him for a moment; he was not accustomed to such imperious orders from any of her ladyship's visitors, however handsome an appearance they might present. Then he said:

"Lady Belrose lives here. Lady Fordingbridge is her guest. And if you wish to see her, sir, I must know whose name to announce."

"I am her husband, Lord Fordingbridge. Be good enough to announce that, and at once."

The staid manservant gave him a swift glance-it was not to be doubted that many a gossip had been held below stairs as to the reason why Lady Fordingbridge had quitted and caused to be shut up her own house, only to come and dwell at his mistress's-then he invited his lordship to follow him into the morning room on the right of the door.

"I will tell her ladyship," he said, and so left him.

When he was alone, Lord Fordingbridge, after a hasty glance round the room, and a sneer at the portraits of a vast number of simpering young men which hung on the walls-her admirers, he considered, no doubt-took a seat upon the couch and pondered over the coming interview with his wife.