“But then you do not consider the obvious, do you?”
“No more than I consider the impossible.”
“Is this impossible?”
“Say, rather, ludicrous.”
Trenchard flushed.
“His Highness offers you—a place of command if you will join him.”
“Delightfully vague,” commented my lord.
“Prove yourself, sir, and I may safely promise a high place.”
“It seems that His Grace is afraid of me,” murmured Roxhythe.
“What is there to be afraid of?” sneered Trenchard.
“Why does he want me so urgently?”
“He wants all men.”
“Oh? You take quite the wrong tone with me, you know. I do not like the offer.”
“You like the offer but not the way in which I make it?”
“Perhaps even that.”
“I thought so. Let me tell you that His Highness begs you will join him in Holland.”
“I think the climate would not agree with me.”
“Does the English climate suit you so well?”
“I think it will.” Roxhythe played with his rings.
Trenchard curbed his impatience.
“What is your objection to my offer?”
“It is altogether too vague. What prospects has His Grace?”
“Do you expect me to tell you that?”
“Do you expect me to join you in the dark? If Sunderland would not, how should I?”
The chance shot found its mark. Trenchard sprang up.
“What do you know of Sunderland?”
My lord smiled.
“What more do you know?” cried Trenchard.
Again my lord smiled. If the weight within him were less he could enjoy this game. He essayed another shot.
“I might mention the name of a Scotsman,” he said.
“If you know that Argyle is with us, what more do you want?”
“Nothing,” yawned my lord. “So I’ll give you good day.”
“You will not join us?”
“It is too much trouble,” apologized his lordship. “Convey my respects to His Grace of Monmouth.”
He bowed his guest out and returned to the library.
He had flung away that last chance; his master had not wished Monmouth to come to the throne. As to Sunderland—pah! He wanted no power under any man; his day was done. He was only waiting now until he could join his King.
His glance fell on his gold comfit-box, given him by Charles. In diamonds was written on the lid:—
“Roxhythe: C. R.”
He picked it up, a smile that was more terrible than tears upon his lips. Slowly his hand clenched on it; his face had grown very grey. He sat down, resting his arms on the table, gazing dry-eyed at the jewelled box in his hand, He was still smiling, looking back across the years.
“… So we are linked together, Davy, you and I.”
“Always, Sir. I stand or fall with you.”
“And always you had my love, David. …”
There was a long, long silence. The proud head sank over my lord’s hands; the comfit-box was pressed to his lips.
“Ah, Sire … Sire … !” whispered Roxhythe.
X
The Shot
Lady Fanny turned the page.
“… My Heart bleeds for my deare Master. Give him Love, and Tell him howe Grately I do feel for him. The Newes of King Charles His Deathe shocked me beyond Measure. I dare not think what must be my Lord His Feelings. Howe I wish thatt I might be with Him nowe! Alas, it cannot be, but I am looking forward eagerly to the Day when I may once againe press His Hand. I do hope to come to England soone for a shortt Time. I cannot tell you howe I am longing to see You once more. I thank Heaven I came to Holland, for I have found Peace, and, in a Measure, Happiness. But after these Many Yeares my whole being is crying out to see You againe, and my deare Lord. I live for the Moment when I shall once more hear His Beloved Voice. …”
“I wish he might come now,” sighed Frances. “Indeed, indeed, Roxhythe needs him.”
Mr. Trenchard held counsel with Mr. Wildmay.
“Roxhythe knows too much. He will not join us.”
“And Sunderland?”
“Wavers. I think he will always play for safety. He will hazard naught. But Roxhythe. …” He paused, pursing his lips. “He knows too much.”
“What does he know?”
“That Argyle is coming, and that Sunderland is irresolute.”
“Gad, Trenchard! If he splits—!”
“He will. Somehow he must worm himself back into favour at Court. What surer way than to warn James ’gainst us? Since he refuses to join us that must be his intention.”
“Unless he is with Sunderland, and waits.”
“He is not with Sunderland; I know that. And I misliked his bearing: ’twas a thought too sinister.”
Wildmay was dismayed.
“What then is to be done?”
Trenchard drew his chair a little closer.
Across the ballroom Lady Frances espied her cousin. She beckoned him.
“You, David?”
“Why not?” he asked.
“No reason. I am very glad to see you. I have a message for you.”
“From Chris. … What does he say?”
“Yes, from Chris. How did you know?”
“I suppose I was thinking of him. How is he?”
“Very well. He sends his dear love to you and wishes he might be at your side during this—unhappy time.”
Roxhythe shook his head.
“Too late,” he said.
“Yes. He hopes to come to England soon, though, and bids me tell you that—well, I’ll give you his own words—that he is living for the moment when he may once more hear your beloved voice.”
Roxhythe’s eyes softened.
“Does he say that? And is he coming soon?”
“So he says. You—you will like to see him, David?”
“Can you ask? After seven years. … And he still loves me. He is very faithful.”
“Dear Chris! Yes, he’s faithful. He left his whole heart with you.”
“I had thought he would have recalled it long since—for little Hooknose.”
“He writes admiringly of William, but I think he does not love him.”
“Foolish. William would make a fine heroic figure.”
Fanny drew him closer.
“Do you think William—will strike at the King?”
“You are growing treasonable, Fanny. It seems possible. But he will only strike at the right moment. There is nothing foolhardy about the Orange.”
“No. I don’t like James. I think that there will be trouble.”
“You are really most unwise, my dear. You will find yourself clapped up in the Tower if you speak these shocking sentiments aloud,” said Roxhythe.
“Jasper is most annoyed. I think he hopes for William.”
Roxhythe was amused.
“I shall enjoy seeing Jasper turned intriguer.
