“My lord—”
“You hear me?”
Christopher flushed.
“Very well, sir.” He rose sullenly. “Mr. Burnest, will you—”
“It is impossible! Lord Roxhythe, you cannot—”
“You waste time,” said Roxhythe wearily.
“You had best come,” advised Christopher. “It will do no good to argue.”
“But—! Heavens, Mr. Dart, he should be put to bed at once! He cannot stay talking to his friends! ’Tis madness! I—”
“You heard him. He will ever go his own way.”
Burnest knew this. He turned to my lord.
“Sir, if I leave you, will you promise not to move, nor to exert yourself in any way?”
“Aught you please.”
“Then I will go. Against my wish!”
“I thank you.”
Burnest followed Christopher out.
There was silence. Roxhythe pressed his handkerchief to his lips. His face was rather drawn.
“Come and sit down, Crewe.”
Sir Henry spoke hoarsely.
“I’ll not take my life at your hands!”
“You will do exactly what I say. Sit down.”
Crewe obeyed limply. He had the look of one who is weary beyond words.
“Well, I compliment you,” remarked his lordship. “I did not think you would do it.”
Crewe flung out his hands.
“Before God, I swear I never meant to! It was a sudden madness! I fired before I had time to think! You must believe that! Oh—”
“As usual you spoil everything. Including my coat. I had hoped it was your intention. I had thought the better of you.”
Crewe stared at him.
“You must be—crazed!”
“No. Luckily I am sane. So we may come to an understanding.”
The wretched man groaned, his head in his hands.
“Now, what is this nonsense about your wife?”
“You know! Oh, heaven, must you add to your devilry?”
“You would greatly oblige me by dropping the heroic pose. You raved some nonsense about my meeting Millicent every day at my cousin her house. I have never met her there.”
Crewe looked up.
“If I could believe that—!”
“You can. Our very harmless little affaire ended last March. I’ll swear to that if my word is not enough.”
“No—no. But she came here three nights ago! You cannot deny that!”
“I make no attempt to deny it. She had come to ask me not to appear at the rout next week.”
“Not to—That seals her guilt!”
“Fool. She feared your mad jealousy would prompt you to make a scene. You have so worked on her with your passions that she is well-nigh crazed herself. There is naught between us.”
Crewe sprang up.
“Swear it! Swear it!”
“Very well, I swear it. You can ask her. She will tell the same tale. Last year she was infatuated by me. Soit. It ended as you know. Had you then behaved sensibly towards her all would have been well. You preferred to enact the heroic husband. That too is ended. You’ll go to her and ask her pardon on your knees.” Few had heard that lazy voice so stern.
Crewe was silent, fighting himself.
“If you say naught concerning this afternoon’s work there will be no scandal. I shall not allow any man to question my explanation. But. …” he paused.
“But?” Crewe stepped forward.
“But you must withdraw yourself for—a year. I suggest you take Millicent away. I believe I suggested that before.”
“I see.” Crewe struggled for words. “You have treated me—better than I—deserve, sir.”
“Yes,” said Roxhythe. “Goodbye.”
VI
The King His Will
My lord lay in bed, propped up on pillows, rather weak from copious bleeding, but otherwise himself. The surgeon had been amazed at his nonchalance, well as he knew him, for the wound was deep, and the extraction of the bullet had been more than painful. My lord had neither flinched nor swooned.
Christopher was seated by the bedside, entertaining him, when John came into the room.
“My lord, the King is below.” He said it with the utmost unconcern. In his eyes the King was as nothing beside Roxhythe.
Roxhythe picked up his mirror.
“Admit His Majesty,” he said. “Give me that comb, Chris.”
“Should I not go to escort His Majesty?” asked Christopher, flustered.
“No. Give me the comb.”
Christopher watched him rearrange two curls. He looked at the door, wide-eyed.
John bowed His Majesty in. Roxhythe struggled up.
Charles went quickly to him, pressing him back on to the pillows.
“Don’t move, Davy! Ah, what a crime!”
Christopher withdrew discreetly.
Roxhythe kissed his master’s hand.
“Sire, you honour me very greatly. I scarce know how to thank you—”
Charles sat down.
“I came as soon as I heard the news. Some said you were dead; I have been in a ferment! No one knew the truth concerning the matter. Davy, how dared you scare me so?”
“I do crave your pardon, Sir. It was not my intention to be shot.” He smiled faintly. His hand rested in the King’s. “It was an accident.”
“A curious accident!” said Charles. “I want the truth, David.”
“For what purpose, Sir?”
“I’ll not have your murderer go unpunished!”
“But I am not dead. I repeat—it was an accident.”
Charles was incredulous.
“ ’Tis not like you to play the magnanimous part, Roxhythe. Are you shielding the man?”
“ ’Tis a new departure. A whim.”
“You’ll not be avenged?”
“By no means.”
“David, I will have the truth!”
“Sire, I will have your promise.”
“That I’ll not pursue the miscreant?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Charles frowned.
“Why, David?”
“Because it is my will.”
The King tried to keep back a laugh and failed.
“Oddsblood, you’re bold!”
Roxhythe smiled.
“Very well,” said Charles. “I promise—since it is your will. I suppose you know that I can refuse you nothing?”
“You’ve said so, Sir. Crewe conceived himself injured by my attentions to his wife. So he challenged me to fight him. I refused.”
“Challenged you! What presumption!”
“So I thought. The other day Lady Crewe came to my house—oh, quite innocently! Crewe discovered it, and came to challenge me again. Again I refused. Then the young coxcomb locked the door and laid two pistols before me. It was most exciting. We were to stand at opposite ends of the room and to fire. Oons, but he was furious!”
“David, do you tell me that you actually consented to such a proposal?”
Roxhythe was pained.
“Is it likely, Sir? I continued to refuse. The child was easy to bait. In the end his wrath got the better of him and he threatened to shoot me—er, like the dog I was.”
“Insolent!”
“Very. I did not
