Once more my lord bent over the lifeless hand, raising it to his lips. There was no answering pressure now. For a long while he held it there, taking his last farewell. Then he rose and looked into the beloved composed features.
He turned, and faced the room. No one spoke. Even Feversham could not sneer.
The hard eyes travelled slowly round the room. Without a word my lord went to the door.
So he left Whitehall, which had been almost his home for so many years. Never again would he willingly cross its threshold. The King was dead.
VIII
The Losing Game
“Madam, my lord sees no one.”
Lady Frances stamped.
“I tell you I am his cousin! I will enter!”
The footman held his ground.
“I crave your ladyship’s pardon, but I dare not admit you.”
Lady Frances compressed her lips.
“I will enter.”
“My lady—”
“Stand aside. I must see John.”
The footman’s face cleared. He conducted Lady Frances to a great empty room at the back of the house. Presently Roxhythe’s old servant came to her. Lady Frances sprang up.
“John, how is he?”
“Well, your ladyship, but sick at heart.”
“He—he does not—seek to—take his life?”
John read her fear.
“That is not my lord’s way, madam.”
“I have been so afraid. … May I see him?”
“I think he will not receive you, madam.”
“Ah, but ask him! Tell him ’tis I, Lady Fanny, who begs he will let me speak with him.”
John was irresolute.
“I hardly dare, madam—”
“Yes, yes!”
John bowed.
“I will ask him, madam.”
When he had gone Lady Frances paced up and down the room, gripping her fingers nervously.
Roxhythe entered quietly. He was dressed all in black; his face was very pale, but his eyes were the same as ever, soft and hard by turns, always inscrutable.
“I am indeed honoured, Fanny.” He bowed. “Do you need my services?”
Frances went to him and took his hands.
“David—my poor David—”
“No,” said Roxhythe, passionless. “Not that.” He withdrew his hands.
“David, may not I—even I, who have ever been your friend—may not I—try to comfort you?”
“I want no pity. You cannot comfort me.”
“Dear, won’t you trust me? Can’t you let me see your real self?”
Roxhythe kissed her fingertips.
“You are very kind, my dear. No.”
Lady Frances was silent. She realized that that impenetrable mask would not be dropped for her.
“I am sorry, David. What are you going to do?”
“In what way?” asked Roxhythe.
“Come and sit down!” she commanded. “I know that you will not be received at Whitehall. James hates you.”
Roxhythe smiled.
“My dear, if I chose I could hold James ’neath my thumb.”
“How?” she asked, incredulous.
“James is weak,” said Roxhythe. “In time I could be as great under him as I was under—His Majesty.”
“It would mean truckling to him.”
“No.”
“You know best. So you’ll do that?”
“Oh, no!” he replied. “I shall not do that.”
“It were a losing game,” she said.
“Any game I choose to play now is that. I desire to have naught to do with Whitehall.”
Lady Frances hesitated. Then she turned to him.
“David, you must know that your day is over. I have come partly to warn you. I believe James will strike you.”
“Probably,” said Roxhythe. “On what score?”
“Your share in the Monmouth plot.”
“I am expecting that.”
“You are armed?”
“I am still Roxhythe,” said my lord.
Hardly a fortnight after the King’s death, my Lord Sunderland waited on Lord Roxhythe at Bevan House. He was conducted to the library, and there Roxhythe joined him, a sombre figure in black and silver.
He swept Sunderland a deep bow.
“I am honoured,” he drawled.
Sunderland returned the bow stiffly.
“My lord, I am come on an unpleasant errand.”
“I thought it could not be solely for the pleasure of seeing me. Pray be seated!”
Sunderland remained on his feet.
“I am come at the command of His Majesty who bids me—advise you—to leave the country.”
Roxhythe laughed gently.
Sunderland’s sharp face crimsoned.
“It is no laughing matter, my lord! King James knows how deeply you were implicated in the Monmouth plot.”
“Then why does he not arrest me?” asked Roxhythe.
“He wishes to be lenient. So he advises you to leave the country.”
“Very kind. Pray thank him for me.”
“And you will go?”
“Not at all.”
Sunderland stared.
“You are very cool, sir!”
“I see nothing to be hot about.”
“Do you realize that you stand in danger of imprisonment?”
“No,” said Roxhythe.
Sunderland sat down.
“I assure you that you do.” He met his lordship’s enigmatical smile challengingly. But his eyes betrayed uneasiness.
“It’s very interesting,” said Roxhythe. “You may be sure that I shall not seek to evade arrest.”
Sunderland fidgeted.
“You would do well to leave the country,” he repeated.
The smile grew more amused.
“My Lord Sunderland, you have ever commanded mine admiration. Your astuteness is quite astonishing. I would advise you to employ it now.”
Sunderland rose.
“I fail to understand you, sir.”
“Yes?” said Roxhythe, always polite. “A pity.”
“I can only repeat my message:—you would do well to leave the country.” He walked to the door.
“Your solicitude is charming, but it so happens that I should do better to await arrest.”
My Lord Sunderland departed in high dudgeon. He held a consultation with my lady.
“That man is dangerous.”
My lady studied herself in a silver-backed hand mirror.
“Roxhythe. Have you but just discovered it?”
“He knows too much. He laughs at my warnings.”
The Countess laughed long and low.
“My good Sunderland, he holds you in the hollow of his hand!”
“Because of my share in the Orange business. Curse the man, I never trusted him!”
“It was a pity that you ever took such an interest in the Orange cause. The time was not then. You had best have a care. My lord knows that your position is precarious since you voted for the Exclusion.”
Sunderland was plunged in thought.
“If James had him arrested for the part he played in the Monmouth affair, he will accuse me of trafficking with the Orange. There are many who would support him.”
“Therefore he must not be arrested,” said my lady. She rearranged the laces at her bosom.
“He must be very sure of his position to refuse to quit the country,” mused the Earl. “I wonder, has he written authority from Charles for his dealings in the plot? We know that it was by Charles his wish
