“If that is so it is very well,” said Christopher.
“Yes. His Majesty will give the dispatches into your hands on Wednesday. And remember this, Chris! There must be no talking to Harcourt, or to Lady Fanny.”
“Of course not, sir.” Christopher spoke with dignity.
On Wednesday Burnest was so satisfied with my lord’s condition that he allowed him, on pressure, to be dressed and carried down to the library. There he reposed on a wide couch, rather exhausted, but cheerful. Christopher arranged his cushions more comfortably.
“It has tired you, sir. You had best have kept your room.”
“My dear boy, I dislike my room. The hangings are so crude. I shall have it seen to.”
“You were never used to object to them,” said Christopher, smiling.
“I was never in the room for so long at a stretch before. I believe that green has retarded my recovery.” He ate a comfit. “You are very smart today, Chris.”
Christopher blushed, conscious of his modish brown velvet with its gold embroidery.
“I see you know how to please His Majesty,” said my lord. “And, I think, here is His Majesty.”
Footsteps were coming across the hall; voices were heard, and then the heavy curtain was swung back, and King Charles passed into the room.
The footmen straightened their beautifully curved backs and disappeared.
Christopher stood stiff. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Roxhythe was trying to rise. He cast an anxious glance in his direction and another at the King. Charles was studying him calmly. He saw the hurried glance at Roxhythe, and turned.
“David, I have never met a man so self-willed! Be still!” He clasped Roxhythe’s hand affectionately. “You are better? The surgeon permitted you to come downstairs?”
“Should I have dared to disobey Your Majesty’s commands?” smiled my lord.
“I do not know!” Charles laughed. “I dare swear you bullied Burnest into complying with your will.” He looked at Christopher. “Eh, Mr. Dart?”
Christopher bowed.
“There was some slight coercion, Sir,” he replied. “But Burnest consented very quickly.”
“I knew it!” said Charles. “Roxhythe, I am of a mind to send you back to bed!”
“I beg you will not, Sir. The colour of the hangings has preyed cruelly upon my nerves.”
Charles was amused.
“The hangings?”
“Green, Sir. They remind me of cabbage which I detest.”
“The contemplation of cabbages!” chuckled the King. “Is it a fruitful topic?”
“Very, Sir. But wearisome. Will you not sit down?”
Charles sank into a chair. Again he addressed Christopher.
“It is his foible that no one must stand in his presence. It unnerves him.”
Christopher was rearranging my lord’s pillows which had fallen in his struggle to rise. He laughed.
“I did discover that within a week, Sire.” He stood back, surveying his handiwork. “Is it to your liking, sir?”
“Thank you, yes. Since you are acquainted with my foible, sit down!”
Charles nodded.
“Yes, Mr. Dart. And so to my errand. Roxhythe has informed you of my will?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Well?”
The King was grave now. Christopher had been conscious of his charm; he now felt the force of his personality. It was overwhelming.
“I can scarce thank Your Majesty enough for the great honour you do me. If I may I will serve Your Majesty faithfully.”
The far-famed Stuart smile touched the King’s lips.
“Very well spoken, Mr. Dart. You have considered everything?”
“Sire, I found nothing to consider save that Your Majesty had commands for me.”
“A courtier, forsooth! We must see you at Whitehall. Then you will undertake this charge, and swear to carry it through with all care and discretion?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You understand that you must exercise the greatest care? You must never allow the packet to leave your person; you must never allow any man however harmless to suspect you of being my envoy; you must deliver the packet into Cherrywood his hands. Whatever happens, none other must see it or know of its existence. You understand?”
“I understand, Sir.”
“That is well. When you have given it to Cherrywood you will return at once to London with his reply.”
“Your Majesty may trust me.”
“I do trust you, Mr. Dart. It will be in your power to betray me, yet I believe that no temptation would be strong enough to induce you to do so.”
“I swear Your Majesty shall not be disappointed in me! I would serve Your Majesty till death itself!”
“I thank you. And I compliment you.” The King drew two sealed packets from his bosom. “This one”—he held up the smaller of the two—“is for Cherrywood’s perusal; the other you will give him to take to Monmouth.”
Christopher was on one knee now. Roxhythe flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve.
Charles laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. His voice was almost stern. His fingers gripped.
“I give them into your hands. See to it that they do not leave them until you have found Cherrywood. It is my most strict command.”
Christopher took the letters. He spoke huskily.
“Your Majesty has my word.”
“Now swear to me by all that you hold most sacred that you will never by word or sign divulge the secret of this mission.”
“I swear it.”
The hand left his shoulder. Charles smiled again.
“I can offer you no reward, Mr. Dart. But we shall be very pleased to see you at Whitehall.”
“Your Majesty—is very good,” stammered Christopher.
Charles drew off his signet ring.
“You must show this to Cherrywood,” he said.
Christopher took it and carried it to his lips.
“On my head be it, Sir!”
The King’s eyes twinkled.
“Put it in a safer place, Mr. Dart,” he advised.
And so the interview ended.
VIII
The Amiable Mr. Milward Again
Contrary to his expectations Christopher met with no opposition on his journey to Flanders. He encountered but a single inquisitive gentleman, and he was inquisitive only on one point. The point was whether he was likely to be seasick on board ship. Christopher could not enlighten him. He left him apprehensive and disconsolate.
He landed at Dunkirk and went by horse inland. The
