“It seems quite likely,” said Roxhythe. He rose. “You know my house?”
“No, sir.”
“Really? Bevan House in the Strand.”
“Oh, yes, sir! By Charing Cross.”
“That is right. I may expect to hear from you no later than four o’clock tomorrow?”
“I will be there at that hour,” promised Christopher. He watched Roxhythe pick up his hat, and became suddenly aware that he had offered no refreshment.
“My lord, you will stay to take a glass of wine with me? I have been sadly lacking in manners to forget. Pray forgive—”
The keen eyes rested kindly on his face.
“I am sure you will excuse me, Mr. Dart. Already it is late and I would not put you to any further inconvenience.”
“It’s no such thing, sir! If you will be seat—”
“Why, it is very kind of you, sir, but you must forgive me that I do not stay another minute. Tomorrow we will attend to the matter!” He pulled his cloak about him. Then he smiled.
In that moment Christopher was first conscious of his fascination. He bowed.
“I will not press you, sir, but I have been most remiss.”
“My dear boy,” replied his lordship, “I have occupied all your thoughts for the past hour. No, don’t come down with me; I shall find my way very well.”
“Indeed, sir, I shall!”
Again Roxhythe smiled.
When Christopher reentered the room, alone, he bethought himself that Roxhythe had neither sworn him to secrecy, nor adjured him to be discreet. He puzzled over this curious omission for some time. If it was not carelessness, it must mean that Roxhythe deemed him above suspicion. He lifted his chin a little.
He lay awake long that night, recalling all that had passed. As he turned from side to side in the great four-poster, he tried to argue the matter reasonably. Roxhythe had been right when he remarked that Christopher had already made up his mind, but the boy was young, he felt himself to be inexperienced, and he wanted older and wiser counsel.
The romantic side of the affair appealed to him strongly. Roxhythe had spoken of spies and possible danger: Christopher asked nothing better. That was not what made him hesitate. He hardly admitted to himself what it was that caused him to draw back. It was Roxhythe.
Without knowing why, Christopher felt that he disliked him. He questioned whether such a nonchalant flâneur was the man for this task. Had it been some creature of Ashley’s who had visited him, or a sober-minded individual, he would not have hesitated. But this foppish court-darling with his affectations and his langour treated the whole affair as if it were of very little importance. At the same time his personality held Christopher. The boy admitted that he had allowed himself to become a little dazzled towards the end of the interview, but now that he was alone he had thrown off the spell, and could take a sane, unbiased view of the situation.
When he at length fell asleep the clocks were striking three, and the grey light of dawn was already stealing through the window. He did not wake until nine, and then only because Lucy was thumping on the door, and demanding to know if he were ready for his breakfast, which, she informed him, had been ready for him this hour and more.
At eleven o’clock that morning, Christopher waited on Lord Ashley-Cooper, and was lucky enough to find him at home. He was ushered into a severely furnished apartment where Ashley was dictating to his secretary, and motioned briefly to a chair.
Ashley finished his dictation, and sent the secretary into an adjoining room.
“Well, Chris? You want my help?”
Christopher took his outstretched hand.
“I think you know on what errand I am come, sir,” he said. “Yesterday evening my Lord Roxhythe honoured me.”
Ashley nodded. He sat down again at his desk, watching Christopher draw up a chair for himself.
“And you want my advice?”
“I do, my lord.”
“The thing is genuine enough.”
“Why, I had not doubted that, sir!”
“Oh? The venture is precarious, and the result most uncertain. Yet if the Prince might be won over, it would be a great thing for England. We do not stand to gain much by the Triple Alliance alone, and if King Louis also has it in mind to coax the Prince, our cause is but the more urgent. Well, well; what is your own opinion?”
“I think the same as you, sir. ’Tis not for that that I hesitate. It is—it is—I cannot think my Lord Roxhythe a very—fitting messenger.” He looked up a little anxiously as he spoke, but Ashley straightened in his chair and his face was in many worried creases.
“If it were any other man!” he said. “But the King is blinded by his love for Roxhythe. To send that man on State business! Why, it is madness!” He broke off, remembering to whom he spoke. “This must go no further, Chris!” he said sharply. “After all, the King himself knows that I mistrust Roxhythe. But he was determined, and swore that there was no other man he would send.”
Christopher, who had come into the room with just these sentiments in his mind, was now moved to expostulate on behalf of Roxhythe. He realized that he was showing great inconsistency, and wondered at his own perversity.
Ashley grunted.
“Oh, he has cast his net over you! I expected nothing better. Well, what shall you do?”
“I shall go with him, sir.”
“I suppose so. Keep a clear head, Chris, and above all, do not allow yourself to fall under Roxhythe’s influence. Damme, I’m not sure that I did right to mention your name to him! Mayhap your poor father would have—”
“My father, sir, would have been anxious for me to serve the Country as best I might.”
“Maybe, maybe. Come and see me again before you go, Chris.”
Christopher rose.
“Of course, sir. I owe you a debt of thanks for remembering me in this matter.”
“We shall see,” was all that Ashley
