“No, nor that either. Wear that nice blue coat worked with cream.”
There was a slight pause.
“Yes,” said Christopher.
He did go, although against his inclination. When he arrived at Worth’s house he was ushered into the study, which was severely furnished and dark, and which looked out on to the backs of houses. Christopher shivered. A single ray of sunlight contrived to squeeze in at the window and showed a million specks of dust.
The door opened. A short, middle-aged man came into the room, Christopher’s card in his hand.
“Mr. Dart?” The voice was fussy, slightly peevish.
Christopher bowed.
Sir Richard clasped his hand.
“Yours is an old name. I knew your father. A most noble gentleman.”
Again Christopher bowed.
“Yes. Well, will you be seated? Oh, there are papers on the chair! Allow me!” He cleared the documents on to the table. Christopher thanked him.
Worth sat down at the writing-table and rested his arms on it.
“Lady Frances Montgomery advised me of your coming today. A charming lady! Charming!”
Christopher suppressed a smile. Evidently Fanny had exerted herself to captivate Sir Richard.
Worth came back to earth.
“Charming, yes. I understand you have been secretary to my Lord Roxhythe?”
“I have had that honour, Sir Richard, for nine years.”
“Well, well! May I ask why you left him? Do not think me impertinent! But it is just as well to know everything, is it not?”
This was almost amusing. Worth was indeed a contrast to Roxhythe. Christopher found himself thinking of another interview that had taken place at eleven at night in rooms overlooking the river. How typical of my lord that was!
“Er—certainly, sir. I left because I wanted a change. He will speak for me, I know.”
“Ah, yes, yes, of course! That is excellent. You understand that this is rather different work from what you have been accustomed to?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t think that I mean to infer that you are not capable of undertaking it! But I think it would be a great change. Is that not so?”
“Yes, sir. I have done little save manage the affairs of my lord’s estate.”
“Just as I thought. Exactly. No matter. Of course I need hardly say this to James Dart his son, but great discretion would be required of you an you worked for me. Here we handle State affairs which must not be talked of.”
“I understand that, sir.”
“Ah, yes, yes, naturally. I am sure that you would prove discreet. You said, I think, that Lord Roxhythe would speak for you?”
“I did.”
“Yes. You’ll forgive me, Mr. Dart, but I marvel that you stayed so long in his service.”
Christopher stiffened.
“Indeed, sir?”
“I had thought that James Dart his son would not have been in the company of such as Roxhythe.”
“Sir, I think it as well to tell you that Lord Roxhythe commands my highest regards.”
“Dear, dear! Of course he has great fascination. I have heard of it. A powerful man.”
“Very,” said Christopher.
“Forgive me again, but do you realize that the atmosphere of my house is very different from Lord Roxhythe’s?”
Christopher glanced round the untidy room.
“Yes,” he said. The faintest of smiles flickered across his mouth.
“I live very quietly. I fear I am no brilliant courtier. I am but a patriot. I do trust you are not imbued with Lord Roxhythe his views.”
“I regret, sir, I cannot tell you what are his views.”
“That is very well, very well. And so you desire to fill the post of secretary to me?”
Christopher sighed.
“That is my desire, sir.”
“Yes. Well, Mr. Dart, I will not disguise the fact that good—above all discreet—secretaries are not easily come by these days. Your name stands greatly in your favour. And of course Sir Jasper Montgomery’s recommendation is sufficient. With your permission I will write to Lord Roxhythe. And then, if you are agreeable, I should suggest a week’s trial.”
“Very well, Sir Richard. I shall try to satisfy you.”
“Of course, of course! Let me see—have you not an elder brother?”
“Roderick, sir. He is with the Prince of Orange.”
“Is that so? Very interesting to be sure. Though we cannot afford to lose good patriots in these times.”
Christopher rose.
“Roderick has been with the Prince for many years, sir. He is very devoted.”
“Ah yes, naturally. A remarkable young man, is he not? Remarkable.” He ushered his visitor out.
Christopher walked slowly down Bishopsgate Street. Suddenly he laughed mirthlessly, and his hand clenched on his glove. What a fool he was not to return to Roxhythe! Why should he enter the service of this uncongenial man? Why should he not go to his master and beg to be allowed to come back? But he knew that he would never do that. A fool he might be, but he knew that he was acting rightly. He thought how Roxhythe would have enjoyed the interview with Worth, and laughed again. There swept over him an overwhelming longing to see that tall, graceful figure again, to hear the lazy voice, to feel the pressure of those tapering fingers. He walked on, biting his lip.
Two days later came a letter from Roxhythe. Christopher’s hands trembled as he broke the seal.
“My Deare Chris.—Who in God’s Name is Worth? Some Psalm-singing Puritan, I’ll be bound. Eschew his Company. I spoke of you Very Highly, though I was minded to Malign you when I saw who your Future Master was to be.
“My secretary is a Fool. I implore you to take Pity on me. Or if Ye will not, at least Visitt me Some Day.—Roxhythe.”
Christopher folded the missive tenderly and slipped it into his pocket. Every nerve urged him to go to Roxhythe who wanted him, but his will held him back. Once in my lord’s presence the spell would be cast over him again, and all the old agony would return.
He answered the letter at length, and told my lord that as yet he could not face an interview. He assured Roxhythe of his undying affection. It was a pathetic, wistful letter that tried hard to be cheerful.
My lord read it and laid it aside.
“A pity,” he reflected. “He was so much more restful
