In vain did the Jesuit Fathers plead innocence and total ignorance of the plot. Their protestations were overruled, jibed at.
One Hill, employed at Somerset House, was tried, and in spite of all evidence in his favour, condemned to death. Christopher had much to do with this man when he had been in Roxhythe’s service. He had transacted various small businesses for Christopher, and when he had been ill one winter, Christopher had helped him pecuniarily. When the news of his sentence reached Christopher he went at once to Bevan House.
Roxhythe chanced to be in, and Christopher was shown into the library.
My lord rose and held out his hands.
“Dear Chris!”
Christopher clasped them tightly.
“My lord, I have come on very urgent business!”
“So?” Roxhythe pressed him into a chair. “What is it?”
“Sir, do you remember Hill?”
“No,” said Roxhythe. “You’ll take some wine, Chris?”
“No, thank you, sir. Please listen to me! I mean the Hill who was yesterday condemned to death.”
“Oh? Was there a Hill tried yesterday?”
“You must know, sir!”
“My dear boy, I do not interest myself in every little bourgeois who is indiscreet.”
“Yet I beg you will interest yourself in this! Perhaps you remember that silver filigree box that we procured with some difficulty?”
“Yes, I remember that. It was a remarkably fine box. I desired it for His Majesty.”
“I thought you would remember. It was I who found it through the agency of this Hill. Harcourt told me of him, and he got me the box from the wretched Prance who has been questioned lately. Sir, it is this same Hill who is to die. I would swear to his innocence! He was a poor meek creature, not one who would murder a magistrate! This miserable Prance has accused him of that. Will you not intervene on his behalf?”
“My dear Chris!” expostulated Roxhythe. “Do you expect me to meddle in these low matters?”
“It is in the cause of justice, sir! of right! If you would speak to His Majesty you could save him.”
“Maybe. But I certainly shall not worry the King.”
“My lord, my lord! Is it possible that you can see all these innocent men foully done to death and not raise one finger to help?”
“Chris, Chris, you are mad! Why this sudden interest in Hill?”
“It is not so much the individual as the cause! Enough innocent men have been murdered already! Why does the King allow it?”
“The King is not omnipotent, Chris. The public will not be content unless some blood is shed. If he interferes they will turn on him. His position is precarious.”
“So he allows these poor creatures to die without question!”
“What matter a few bourgeois?”
“My lord, don’t speak so! It—it is dreadful! That the King should act thus!”
“My dear boy, the King dare not interfere. You must not think that he does not look on all this bloodshed with horror. But he can do naught.”
“Then can you not exert your influence? It is so dastardly!”
“No doubt I could, but I certainly shall not. It is unwise to tamper with the people’s will at this point.”
Christopher sprang up.
“You believe in these men’s innocence?”
“I have hardly noticed them. I daresay.”
“Then you are acting as I never thought it possible for you to act. Timorously! Cruelly!”
“Did you come here to quarrel with me?” asked Roxhythe. “Sit down, and talk of something else.”
“I came to implore you to help in the cause of right! I see I might as well talk to a stone!”
“My good child, you excite yourself over nothing.”
“Was it nothing that Father Coleman was murdered? That good man!”
“It was necessary. The King deplored it, but the people would have it.”
“I suppose you advocated it?” said Christopher bitterly.
“Certainly. I thought you knew that nothing counts with me save His Majesty’s safety and peace?”
“I—I cannot answer you, sir. Oh—oh, heaven, how I wish that I had never set eyes on you!”
Roxhythe stretched out his hand.
“Chris, dear boy, you are demented. Calm yourself.”
Christopher ignored his hand.
“Then ’tis you have driven me so! You did your best to break my heart—and now you reveal yourself to me—callous, ruthless! It—hurts damnably, my lord.”
Roxhythe turned away. He said nothing.
“I—I can’t rest! I—oh, there’s no truth anywhere! no honour! I thought Russell and Worth were irreproachable; I thought Shaftesbury above suspicion! I was wrong, wrong, wrong! I’ve done with Englishmen! Each works for his own ends and cares not what means he employs to obtain them. Even you, my lord!”
“I suppose I should be grateful for the ‘even,’ ” said Roxhythe wearily.
Christopher went quickly to his side.
“Ah, no, sir! I—didn’t mean it! I am distraught—I—never meant to say those things—to you. Forgive me!”
Roxhythe laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Chris, you are distraught because you are rudderless. Come back to me!”
“No—no! I cannot! Less than ever now. I—I think I shall go out of my mind soon!”
“Chris, you were happy with me. Come back!”
“Ah, so happy! It could never be the same again. I must go—right away, where I shall not see you.”
“Even though I beg you to stay?”
“Yes—even then, my lord. Don’t try to persuade me! It is hard enough as it is.”
“So you’ll go away? Where?”
“Holland, sir. To join my brother, I think.”
“Orange,” said Roxhythe quietly. “That will be the end, Chris.”
“Yes, sir—the—end.”
“And all in search of—what?”
“In search of honesty and truth. I will not sacrifice my honour for love of man.”
“So instead you’ll sacrifice your happiness for that vague thing called patriotism?”
“I’ll find happiness in my patriotism!”
“You are like to be disappointed,” said Roxhythe.
VI
The Decision
Christopher wrote to Roderick, advising him of his coming to the Hague, and quickly made all his arrangements. Now that he had made his decision he was almost glad to be going. He longed to leave England behind him, and with it, all his uncertainties. Two days before his departure he visited Lady Frances.
She received him in her drawing-room. She thought she had never seen him look so old.
“Well, dear Chris?”
He sat down beside her, trying to smile.
“I have
