The valiant dwarf alone nursed hopes, with which he in vain endeavoured to inspire his companions in affliction. 'The fair one, whose eyes,' he said, 'were like the twin stars of Leda'—for the little man was a great admirer of lofty language—'had not invited him, the most devoted, and, it might be, not the least favoured of her servants, into this place as a harbour, in order that he might therein suffer shipwreck; and he generously assured his friends, that in his safety they also should be safe.'
Sir Geoffrey, little cheered by this intimation, expressed his despair at not being able to get the length of Whitehall, where he trusted to find as many jolly Cavaliers as would help him to stifle the whole nest of wasps in their hive; while Julian was of opinion that the best service he could now render Bridgenorth, would be timeously to disclose his plot, and, if possible, to send him at the same time warning to save his person.
But we must leave them to meditate over their plans at leisure; no one of which, as they all depended on their previous escape from confinement, seemed in any great chance of being executed.
CHAPTER XLIV
After a private conversation with Bridgenorth, Christian hastened to the Duke of Buckingham's hotel, taking at the same time such a route as to avoid meeting with any acquaintance. He was ushered into the apartment of the Duke, whom he found cracking and eating filberts, with a flask of excellent white wine at his elbow. 'Christian,' said his Grace, 'come help me to laugh—I have bit Sir Charles Sedley—flung him for a thousand, by the gods!'
'I am glad at your luck, my Lord Duke,' replied Christian; 'but I am come here on serious business.'
'Serious?—why, I shall hardly be serious in my life again—ha, ha, ha!—and for luck, it was no such thing— sheer wit, and excellent contrivance; and but that I don't care to affront Fortune, like the old Greek general, I might tell her to her face—In this thou hadst no share. You have heard, Ned Christian, that Mother Cresswell is dead?'
'Yes, I did hear that the devil hath got his due,' answered Christian.
'Well,' said the Duke, 'you are ungrateful; for I know you have been obliged to her, as well as others. Before George, a most benevolent and helpful old lady; and that she might not sleep in an unblest grave, I betted—do you mark me—with Sedley, that I would write her funeral sermon; that it should be every word in praise of her life and conversation, that it should be all true, and yet that the diocesan should be unable to lay his thumb on Quodling, my little chaplain, who should preach it.'
'I perfectly see the difficulty, my lord,' said Christian, who well knew that if he wished to secure attention from this volatile nobleman, he must first suffer, nay, encourage him, to exhaust the topic, whatever it might be, that had got temporary possession of his pineal gland.
'Why,' said the Duke, 'I had caused my little Quodling to go through his oration thus—'That whatever evil reports had passed current during the lifetime of the worthy matron whom they had restored to dust that day, malice herself could not deny that she was born well, married well, lived well, and died well; since she was born in Shadwell, married to Cresswell, lived in Camberwell, and died in Bridewell.' Here ended the oration, and with it Sedley's ambitious hopes of overreaching Buckingham—ha, ha, ha!—And now, Master Christian, what are your commands for me to-day?'
'First, to thank your Grace for being so attentive as to send so formidable a person as Colonel Blood, to wait upon your poor friend and servant. Faith, he took such an interest in my leaving town, that he wanted to compel me to do it at point of fox, so I was obliged to spill a little of his malapert blood. Your Grace's swordsmen have had ill luck of late; and it is hard, since you always choose the best hands, and such scrupleless knaves too.'
'Come now, Christian,' said the Duke, 'do not thus exult over me; a great man, if I may so call myself, is never greater than amid miscarriage. I only played this little trick on you, Christian, to impress on you a wholesome idea of the interest I take in your motions. The scoundrel's having dared to draw upon you, is a thing not to be forgiven.—What! injure my old friend Christian?'
'And why not,' said Christian coolly, 'if your old friend was so stubborn as not to go out of town, like a good boy, when your Grace required him to do so, for the civil purpose of entertaining his niece in his absence?'
'How—what!—how do you mean by
'It was her fate, however, to be the guest of your Grace's convent for a brace of days, or so. Marry, my lord, the father confessor was not at home, and—for convents have been scaled of late—returned not till the bird was flown.'
'Christian, thou art an old reynard—I see there is no doubling with thee. It was thou, then, that stole away my pretty prize, but left me something so much prettier in my mind, that, had it not made itself wings to fly away with, I would have placed it in a cage of gold. Never be downcast, man; I forgive thee—I forgive thee.'
'Your Grace is of a most merciful disposition, especially considering it is I who have had the wrong; and sages have said, that he who doth the injury is less apt to forgive than he who only sustains it.'
'True, true, Christian,' said the Duke, 'which, as you say, is something quite new, and places my clemency in a striking point of view. Well, then, thou forgiven man, when shall I see my Mauritanian Princess again?'
'Wherever I am certain that a quibble, and a carwhichit, for a play or a sermon, will not banish her from your Grace's memory.'
'Not all the wit of South, or of Etherege,' said Buckingham hastily, 'to say nothing of my own, shall in future make me oblivious of what I owe the Morisco Princess.'
'Yet, to leave the fair lady out of thought for a little while—a very little while,' said Christian, 'since I swear that in due time your Grace shall see her, and know in her the most extraordinary woman that the age has produced—to leave her, I say out of sight for a little while, has your Grace had late notice of your Duchess's health?'
'Health,' said the Duke. 'Umph—no—nothing particular. She has been ill—but——'
'She is no longer so,' subjoined Christian; 'she died in Yorkshire forty-eight hours since.'
'Thou must deal with the devil,' said the Duke.
'It would ill become one of my name to do so,' replied Christian. 'But in the brief interval, since your Grace hath known of an event which hath not yet reached the public ear, you have, I believe, made proposals to the King for the hand of the Lady Anne, second daughter of the Duke of York, and your Grace's proposals have been rejected.'
'Fiends and firebrands, villain!' said the Duke, starting up and seizing Christian by the collar; 'who hath told thee that?'
'Take your hand from my cloak, my Lord Duke, and I may answer you,' said Christian. 'I have a scurvy touch of old puritanical humour about me. I abide not the imposition of hands—take off your grasp from my cloak, or I will find means to make you unloose it.'
The Duke, who had kept his right hand on his dagger-hilt while he held Christian's collar with his left, unloosed it as he spoke, but slowly, and as one who rather suspends than abandons the execution of some hasty impulse; while Christian, adjusting his cloak with perfect composure, said, 'Soh—my cloak being at liberty, we
