On his way through the hall, Christopher met Mr. Hyde whom he had seen once or twice before at Ashley’s house. He bowed and went on to the front door. Hyde’s horse stood waiting in charge of his servant. Christopher glanced at the man idly. Then he walked on down the street.
That afternoon, punctual to the minute, he arrived at Bevan House, and was ushered into the library. A spacious room, this, with oriel windows to the south, and a wide fireplace with an oaken mantelshelf, very cunningly carved. A writing-table stood at one end of the room near a door, other than the one at which he had entered. He sat down near this, and waited.
The minutes ticked by; he grew impatient. Roxhythe had bidden him to come not later than four o’clock; he had obeyed, and behold! there was no Roxhythe. His foot tapped the ground angrily. When Roxhythe at length came into the room, he rose and bowed stiffly.
“I came as you desired me, sir, at four o’clock,” he said. He glanced at the timepiece a trifle pointedly.
“Yes?” said Roxhythe. “I remember now; I did ask you to come then. Pray be seated!”
“Thank you,” answered Christopher. He remained standing. Roxhythe’s manner was insufferable, he decided.
My lord walked to the table where lay a sheaf of papers. One of these he picked up, and folded into three.
“Well, Mr. Dart?”
“I have thought over the matter, sir, and I have spoken to Lord Ashley, it but remains to inform you of my decision.” He spoke very coldly. In that moment he knew that he was going to refuse the post offered to him. Then Roxhythe looked up and across at him, smiling.
“But will you not sit down, Mr. Dart?”
Christopher sat down.
“I had—thought to—accept your offer, Lord Roxhythe.”
The quizzical brown eyes held his.
“But since you have seen me again you realize that it were impossible to work with one so utterly distasteful to you as myself.”
For a moment Christopher stared.
“I confess, sir, that was in my mind. However, I trust I put my Country before my personal feelings. I will accompany you to Holland.” He had not intended to say that. Even as the words left his mouth he regretted them.
“Why, that is very well,” nodded his lordship. “But are you quite sure that you mean it?”
There was another silence.
“Yes, sir,” said Christopher meekly.
IV
Flushing
Thus did Christopher enter the service of Roxhythe against his will, against his inner promptings. When once the step was taken, he resolutely choked the warning voice within him, and refused to reconsider his decision.
He took up his position as secretary within the week, and busied himself most conscientiously with his master’s private affairs. For the most part they were trivial enough, leaving him plenty of time in which to amuse himself.
He observed Roxhythe closely during those days, but he always found that my lord baffled him. He was by turns charming and insufferable. There were moments when Christopher’s dislike for him became acute; moments when his lordship was curt, or distrait to the point of rudeness; but just as Christopher’s anger could not longer be controlled, Roxhythe would disperse it with some look, or remark that Christopher could not withstand. Gradually dislike gave place to amusement, and ripened then into liking.
Beyond outlining the steps of the journey, Roxhythe had not mentioned their mission to Holland since the evening when he first met Dart. He appeared to give no further thought to the matter, and his indifference added fuel to Christopher’s enthusiasm.
In one short week the boy saw more of town and its ways than in all the time that he had previously spent in London. He met men who had been hitherto but names to him; he grew accustomed to receiving courtier, politician and poet, whom a month ago he would have been elated to set eyes on. His head was turned a little, but not unpleasantly so. There was never anything of the coxcomb about Christopher.
He learnt with amazement that Roxhythe was in disgrace at Court. He heard the tale through various sources and hardly credited it at first. Fashionable London hummed with the news. It appeared that Roxhythe had taken some liberty with the King, for which he had received not only a public rebuff but afterwards a cold shoulder. Christopher laughed at the tale. Ignorant of Court life he might be, but he was not so ignorant that he did not know of Roxhythe’s almost lifelong devotion to Charles. Never had my lord received a snub. Then came the rumour that Roxhythe deemed it advisable to leave England for a spell. This set Christopher’s brain to work. Perhaps the rebuff was a blind for spies. He determined to ask Roxhythe.
Outwardly my lord remained impassive; Christopher tried to imagine what must be his real feelings. He could conceive the galling degradation of it, and he felt slightly nervous of speaking to Roxhythe on the subject.
It was one morning as he sat writing in the library that he at last ventured to broach the question. My lord had entered the room with several papers which he laid on the desk beside Dart. He turned to go, and as he did so, Christopher rose.
“May I—ask you—something, sir?”
Roxhythe paused.
“Perhaps you will think me impertinent, sir,” went on Christopher, stammering. “I hardly—like to—”
Roxhythe sat down.
“Of course ask me what you will.”
Christopher took heart.
“It—concerns this—affair at Court, sir.”
“My dear boy, I shall not be offended if you say exactly what you mean. ’Tis my disgrace, eh?”
“Ay, sir. At first I was perplexed; then I thought a little. It is a blind for spies?”
“For everyone. I wondered if you would have the wit to perceive it.”
Christopher flushed, and laughed.
“ ’Tis not so very subtle after all!”
“But neat, I flatter myself,” said Roxhythe.
Christopher’s eyes widened.
“The plan was yours, sir?” His voice was incredulous.
“Whose else?”
“I thought—His Majesty—”
“Oh, lud, no! Now confess, Chris, you did not think I had it in me?”
“ ’Tis not the wit I marvel at,” said Christopher.
