Peveril of the Peak

speak on equal terms. I come not to insult your Grace, but to offer you vengeance for the insult you have received.'

'Vengeance!' said the Duke—'It is the dearest proffer man can present to me in my present mood. I hunger for vengeance—thirst for vengeance—could die to ensure vengeance!—-'Sdeath!' he continued, walking up and down the large apartment with the most unrestrained and violent agitation; 'I have chased this repulse out of my brain with ten thousand trifles, because I thought no one knew it. But it is known, and to thee, the very common- sewer of Court-secrets—the honour of Villiers is in thy keeping, Ned Christian! Speak, thou man of wiles and of intrigue—on whom dost thou promise the vengeance? Speak! and if thy answers meet my desires, I will make a bargain with thee as willingly as with thy master, Satan himself.'

'I will not be,' said Christian, 'so unreasonable in my terms as stories tell of the old apostate; I will offer your Grace, as he might do, temporal prosperity and revenge, which is his frequent recruiting money, but I leave it to yourself to provide, as you may be pleased, for your future salvation.'

The Duke, gazing upon him fixedly and sadly, replied, 'I would to God, Christian, that I could read what purpose of damnable villainy thou hast to propose to me in thy countenance, without the necessity of thy using words!'

'Your Grace can but try a guess,' said Christian, calmly smiling.

'No,' replied the Duke, after gazing at him again for the space of a minute; 'thou art so deeply dyed a hypocrite, that thy mean features, and clear grey eye, are as likely to conceal treason, as any petty scheme of theft or larceny more corresponding to your degree.'

'Treason, my lord!' echoed Christian; 'you may have guessed more nearly than you were aware of. I honour your Grace's penetration.'

'Treason?' echoed the Duke. 'Who dare name such a crime to me?'

'If a name startles your Grace, you may call it vengeance—vengeance on the cabal of councillors, who have ever countermined you, in spite of your wit and your interest with the King.—Vengeance on Arlington, Ormond—on Charles himself.'

'No, by Heaven,' said the Duke, resuming his disordered walk through the apartment—'Vengeance on these rats of the Privy Council,—come at it as you will. But the King!—never—never. I have provoked him a hundred times, where he has stirred me once. I have crossed his path in state intrigue—rivalled him in love—had the advantage in both,—and, d—n it, he has forgiven me! If treason would put me in his throne, I have no apology for it—it were worse than bestial ingratitude.'

'Nobly spoken, my lord,' said Christian; 'and consistent alike with the obligations under which your Grace lies to Charles Stewart, and the sense you have ever shown of them.—But it signifies not. If your Grace patronise not our enterprise, there is Shaftesbury—there is Monmouth——'

'Scoundrel!' exclaimed the Duke, even more vehemently agitated than before, 'think you that you shall carry on with others an enterprise which I have refused?—No, by every heathen and every Christian god!—Hark ye, Christian, I will arrest you on the spot—I will, by gods and devils, and carry you to unravel your plot at Whitehall.'

'Where the first words I speak,' answered the imperturbable Christian, 'will be to inform the Privy Council in what place they may find certain letters, wherewith your Grace has honoured your poor vassal, containing, as I think, particulars which his Majesty will read with more surprise than pleasure.'

''Sdeath, villain!' said the Duke, once more laying his hand on his poniard-hilt, 'thou hast me again at advantage. I know not why I forbear to poniard you where you stand!'

'I might fall, my Lord Duke,' said Christian, slightly colouring, and putting his right hand into his bosom, 'though not, I think, unavenged—for I have not put my person into this peril altogether without means of defence. I might fall, but, alas! your Grace's correspondence is in hands, which, by that very act, would be rendered sufficiently active in handing them to the King and the Privy Council. What say you to the Moorish Princess, my Lord Duke? What if I have left her executrix of my will, with certain instructions how to proceed if I return not unharmed from York Place? Oh, my lord, though my head is in the wolf's mouth, I was not goose enough to place it there without settling how many carabines should be fired on the wolf, so soon as my dying cackle was heard.—Pshaw, my Lord Duke! you deal with a man of sense and courage, yet you speak to him as a child and a coward.'

The Duke threw himself into a chair, fixed his eyes on the ground, and spoke without raising them. 'I am about to call Jerningham,' he said; 'but fear nothing—it is only for a draught of wine—That stuff on the table may be a vehicle of filberts, and walnuts, but not for such communications as yours.—Bring me champagne,' he said to the attendant who answered to his summons.

The domestic returned, and brought a flask of champagne, with two large silver cups. One of them he filled for Buckingham, who, contrary to the usual etiquette, was always served first at home, and then offered the other to Christian, who declined to receive it.

The Duke drank off the large goblet which was presented to him, and for a moment covered his forehead with the palm of his hand; then instantly withdrew it, and said, 'Christian, speak your errand plainly. We know each other. If my reputation be in some degree in your hands, you are well aware that your life is in mine. Sit down,' he said, taking a pistol from his bosom and laying it on the table—'Sit down, and let me hear your proposal.'

'My lord,' said Christian, smiling, 'I shall produce no such ultimate argument on my part, though possibly, in time of need, I may not be found destitute of them. But my defence is in the situation of things, and in the composed view which, doubtless, your Majesty will take of them.'

'Majesty!' repeated the Duke—'My good friend Christian, you have kept company with the Puritans so long, that you confuse the ordinary titles of the Court.'

'I know not how to apologise,' said Christian, 'unless your Grace will suppose that I spoke by prophecy.'

'Such as the devil delivered to Macbeth,' said the Duke—again paced the chamber, and again seated himself, and said, 'Be plain, Christian—speak out at once, and manfully, what is it you intend?'

'I,' said Christian—'What should I do?—I can do nothing in such a matter; but I thought it right that your Grace should know that the godly of this city'—(he spoke the word with a kind of ironical grin)—'are impatient of inactivity, and must needs be up and doing. My brother Bridgenorth is at the head of all old Weiver's congregation; for you must know, that, after floundering from one faith to another, he hath now got beyond ordinances, and is become a Fifth-Monarchy man. He has nigh two hundred of Weiver's people, fully equipped, and ready to fall on; and, with slight aid from your Grace's people, they must carry Whitehall, and make prisoners of all within it.'

'Rascal!' said the Duke, 'and is it to a Peer of England you make this communication?'

'Nay,' answered Christian, 'I admit it would be extreme folly in your Grace to appear until all is over. But let me give Blood and the others a hint on your part. There are the four Germans also—right Knipperdolings and Anabaptists—will be specially useful. You are wise, my lord, and know the value of a corps of domestic gladiators, as well as did Octavius, Lepidus, and Anthony, when, by such family forces, they divided the world by indenture tripartite.'

'Stay, stay,' said the Duke. 'Even if these bloodhounds were to join with you—not that I would permit it without the most positive assurances for the King's personal safety—but say the villains were to join, what hope have you of carrying the Court?'

'Bully Tom Armstrong,[31] my lord, hath promised his interest with the Life Guards. Then there are my Lord Shaftesbury's brisk boys in the city—thirty thousand on the holding up a finger.' 

'Let him hold up both hands, and if he count a hundred for each finger,' said the Duke, 'it will be more than I expect. You have not spoken to him?'

'Surely not till your Grace's pleasure was known. But, if he is not applied to, there is the Dutch train, Hans Snorehout's congregation, in the Strand—there are the French Protestants in Piccadilly—there are the family of Levi in Lewkenor's Lane—the Muggletonians in Thames Street——'

'Ah, faugh!—Out upon them—out upon them!—How the knaves will stink of cheese and tobacco when they come upon action!—they will drown all the perfumes in Whitehall. Spare me the detail; and let me know, my dearest Ned, the sum total of thy most odoriferous forces.'

'Fifteen hundred men, well armed,' said Christian, 'besides the rabble that will rise to a certainty—they have already nearly torn to pieces the prisoners who were this day acquitted on account of the Plot.'