CHAPTER XL.
It was the ninth hour of the evening on the following day when a carriage stopped at the gates of Newgate, and a lady got out and entered the prison. It was by this time dark, for the year was already beginning to show a slight diminution in the length of the days; and there were few people just at that moment in the streets to remark that she left a male companion behind her in the vehicle, who, with his arms crossed upon his chest, and his eyes bent thoughtfully upon the other side of the carriage, remained buried in deep and seemingly gloomy meditation.
After the lapse of about ten minutes the lady returned, and said, "You may come; but the governor says your visit must not be long, and on no account must be mentioned." [Footnote: It is an undoubted historical fact, that more persons visited and conversed long with Fenwick in prison than the court was at all aware of.]
Wilton instantly stepped out of the carriage as Lady Mary Fenwick spoke, and followed her into the prison. A turnkey was in waiting with a light, and led them round the outer court and through one or two dark and narrow passages to the cell in which Sir John Fenwick was confined. There was another turnkey waiting without; and Wilton, being admitted, found the wretched man whose crimes had brought him thither, and whose cowardly treachery was even then preparing to make his end disgraceful, sitting pale, haggard, and worn, with his elbow resting on the small table in the middle of the cell, and his anxious eye fixed upon that door from which he was never more to go forth but to trial, to shame, and to death.
Lady Mary Fenwick, his unfortunate wife, whose eager and strenuous exertions in her husband's behalf were sufficient to atone in some degree for the error of countenancing those calumnies by which he hoped to escape his well-deserved fate, accompanied or rather followed Wilton into the cell; and as she did so, remarking the haggard glance with which Sir John regarded the visitor, she held up her finger with a meaning look, as if to entreat him to assume more calmness, at least in his demeanour.
Sir John Fenwick made an effort to do so; and, with one of those painful smiles wherewith wretchedness often attempts to cover its own misery, he said, "Good evening, Mr. Brown. This is a poor place for me to receive you in. I could have done better, if you had honoured me by a visit in Northumberland."
"I grieve much, Sir John, to see you in it," replied Wilton, "and trust that you may be enabled to free yourself speedily."
A look of anguish came over Sir John Fenwick's countenance; but Wilton went on, saying, "When last we met, Sir John, it was not, perhaps, on the best of terms, and I certainly thought that you treated me ill; but let all that be forgotten in the present circumstances."
"Do you mean," asked Sir John Fenwick, with a cynical look, "that we are both to forget it, or that I am to forget the whole business, and you to recollect it at my trial for the benefit of my accusers?"
"I meant for us both, of course, to forget it," replied Wilton; "or, rather, I should say, I meant merely that we should forget all feelings of enmity; for to see you here deprives me of all such sensations towards you."
"Ay, sir," said Sir John Fenwick, eagerly. "But let us keep to the other point, if you please. Do you intend to forget our former meeting, or to give evidence in regard to it?"
Wilton paused, and thought for a moment; and then a sudden idea struck him that that very interview to which Fenwick alluded might, perhaps, prove the means of making him modify his charge against the Duke.
"I cannot, of course," he said, "promise you, Sir John Fenwick, not to give evidence against you, if I am called upon, for you know that I can be compelled to do so; but I do not see that my evidence could do you the slightest harm in regard to your trial for treason, as I heard you utter no treasonable sentiments, and saw you perform no treasonable act."
"True, true!" cried Sir John Fenwick, gladly. "True, you can have nothing to say."
"So shall I tell any one who asks me," said Wilton. "I can give no pertinent evidence whatsoever, and therefore can easily keep out of court—unless, indeed," he added, with particular emphasis, "the charges which you have brought against the Duke of Gaveston should compel me to come forward as one of his witnesses, especially as his trial is likely to take place before your own."
"But how can that affect me?" demanded Sir John Fenwick, looking sharply in his face. "How can the Duke's trial have any effect upon mine?"
"Merely by bringing forward my evidence," replied Wilton.
"But how, why, wherefore?" said Sir John Fenwick, eagerly. "You have yourself admitted that you saw nothing, heard nothing at all treasonable—you cannot dally with a man whose life is in jeopardy. What evidence can you give with regard to the Duke that can at all affect me?"
"Only in this way," answered Wilton. "The Duke must be tried upon your accusation. He will call me to prove that you and he were at enmity together, and that therefore your charge is likely to be a calumny. He will also call me to prove that it was both my opinion and his, expressed to each other at the very time, that you carried off his daughter for the purpose of forcing him into a plot against the state, or at all events to prevent his revealing what he knew of your proceedings, from the fear of some injury happening to his child. I shall then have to prove that I found her absolutely in your power: that you refused to give her up at my request; that you were at that time in company with and acting in concert with various persons, five or six of whom have since been executed; that from amongst you a shot was fired at me, showing that the Duke's apprehensions regarding his daughter were well founded; and I shall also have to declare, that before the Duke could have any assurance of his daughter's safety, the conspiracy was itself discovered, so that he had no time or opportunity to reveal the plot, unless at a period when his so doing might have endangered, perhaps, the life of Lady Laura. All this, my good sir, I shall have to prove, if the Duke's trial is forced on. To sum the matter up, it must be shown upon that trial that you and the Duke were at bitter enmity, and that therefore your charge is likely to be malicious; that you carried off his daughter as a sort of hostage; and that he was under reasonable apprehensions on her account, in case he should tell what he knew of the conspiracy; that I found you associating intimately with all the condemned traitors the very day before the arrest of some of them, and that the Duke did not recover his daughter by my means, till the plot itself was discovered. Now you will judge, Sir John, how this may affect your own trial. I warn you of the matter, because I have a promise, a positive promise, that I shall not be brought forward to give evidence in this business without my own consent; but once having proffered my testimony in favour of the Duke, I cannot refuse it, should any link in the chain of evidence be wanting against you which I can supply."
Sir John Fenwick had listened to every word that Wilton said in bitter silence; and when he had done, he gnashed his teeth one against the other, saying, with a look of hatred, "You should have been a lawyer, young sir, you should have been a lawyer. You have missed your vocation."
"Lawyers, Sir John Fenwick," replied Wilton, "are often, even against their will, obliged to support falsehood; but I merely tell you the truth. You have brought a charge against the Duke, as far as I can understand, of which he is virtually innocent, to all intents and purposes—"
"Who told you I had brought a charge against him at all?" demanded Sir John Fenwick. "Who told you what that charge was? It must be all guess-work, upon your part. Depend upon it, if I have brought a charge at all, it is one that I can prove."
"I may have been mistaken," replied Wilton, "and I hope I am, Sir John. I hope that you have brought no charge, and that if you have, it is not of the nature that I supposed; for as I have shown you, it would be most unwise and imprudent of you so to do. You would not injure the Duke in any other way than by a long imprisonment, and you would, in all probability, insure your own condemnation, while you were uselessly attempting to do evil to another. At all events, Sir John, you must not take it ill of me that I point this out to you, and if you will take the warning I have given, it may be of great benefit to you."
"How should I take it?" demanded Sir John Fenwick, still frowning upon him from under his bent brows. "What I have said I have said, and I shall not go back from it. There may be other witnesses, too, against the Duke, that you know not of. What think you of Smith? What think you of Cook?"
"I know not, really," replied Wilton. "In fact, I know nothing upon the subject, except that the Duke is virtually innocent of the crime with which you would charge him. You made him listen to designs which he abhorred; and because he did not betray you, you charge him with participating in them. As for the witnesses Cook and Smith, I have heard from the Earl of Byerdale that neither the one nor the other have anything to say against the Duke."
Sir John Fenwick had listened with a bitter smile to what Wilton said; but he replied almost fiercely, "You know nothing of what you are talking. Are you blind enough or foolish enough to fancy that the Earl of Byerdale is a friend of the Duke?"
"I really do not know," replied Wilton, calmly. "I suppose he is neither very much his friend nor his enemy."
"And there, too, you are mistaken," answered Sir John Fenwick: "for an envoy, you know marvellous little of the sender's situation."
"I only know," replied Wilton, "thus much, which you yourself cannot deny, that to accuse the Duke, so as to bring him to trial for this unfortunate affair, will be to produce your certain condemnation; to cut you off from all chance of hope."
Lady Mary Fenwick had hitherto stood silent a step or two behind Wilton; but now advancing a little, she said, "Indeed, Sir John, you had better think of it. It seems to me that what Mr. Brown says is reasonable, and that it would be much better so to state or modify your charge against the Duke as not to hazard his life."
"Nonsense, Lady Mary!" exclaimed Fenwick; "neither you nor he know anything of what my charges are, or in what my hopes consist. My charge against the Duke shall stand as I have given it; and you may tell him, that it is not on my evidence alone he will be condemned; so that yours, young man, will not tend much to save him."
Wilton saw that it would be useless to urge the matter any farther at that moment, though, notwithstanding the perverse determination shown by the prisoner, he was not without hope that their conversation might ultimately produce some effect upon his mind.
"Well, Sir John," he said, "I will keep you no longer from conversation with your lady. I grieve for you on every account. I grieve to see you here, I grieve for the situation in which you have placed yourself, and I still more grieve to see you struggling to deliver yourself from that situation by means which MAY PRODUCE the destruction of others, and will certainly PRODUCE your own."
"I neither want your grief, nor care for it, sir," replied the prisoner. "Good night, good night."
Wilton then turned and left him; but Lady Mary Fenwick accompanied the young gentleman into the passage, saying in a low voice, "The Earl of Byerdale has seen him twice. You will do well to be upon your guard there."
"Thank you, lady, thank you," replied Wilton. "I am upon my guard, and am most grateful for what you have done."
Thus saying, he left her: and as it was too late, at that hour, to visit the prisoner in the Tower, he turned towards his own home; but ere he reached it, he bethought him of seeking some farther information from the public reports of the day, which were only to be met with in their highest perfection in the several different resorts of wits and politicians which have become familiar to our minds in the writings of Steele and Addison. Will's and the Chocolate-house, and other places of the same kind, supplied in a very great degree the places of the Times, the Herald, the Globe, or the Courier; and though the Postman and several other papers gave a scanty share of information, yet the inner room of the St. James's Coffee-house might be considered as representing the leading article to the newspaper of the day.
To one or two of these houses, then, Wilton repaired, and found the whole town still busy with the arrest of Sir John Fenwick, and with the names of persons he was said to have accused. If the rumours were to be believed, he had brought charges of one kind or another against half the high nobility and statesmen of the land. The King's servants and most familiar friends, many who were still actually employed by him, and many who had aided to seat him on the throne, were all said to be accused of treasonable communications with the court of St. Germain; and Wilton had the satisfaction of thinking, that if there were, indeed, any safety in numbers, the Duke had that security at least.
When he had satisfied himself on this point, he returned to his own house, to meditate upon the best defence which could be set up for the noble prisoner. None, however, suggested itself better than that which he had sketched out in his conversation with Sir John Fenwick; and without loss of time he put it down in writing, in order to take the Duke's opinion upon it. There was one flaw, indeed, in the chain which he could not but see, and which he feared might be used by an enemy to the Duke's disadvantage. He could prove, that after Lady Laura had been carried away the Duke had no opportunity whatever of disclosing the plot until it was already discovered; but unfortunately, between the time of the meeting in Leadenhall-street and the period at which the conspirators so daringly bore off the lady from the terrace there had been a lapse of some time, during which her father might have made any communication to the government that he liked. There was a hope, however, that this might pass unremarked; and at all events what he proposed was the only defence that could be set up.
On the following morning, when he saw the Earl of Byerdale, he inquired if he had seen the Duke; but found that such was not the case, business being the excuse for having failed in his promise. Wilton, however, proceeded to the Tower as soon as he was free, and found Laura now sharing the apartments assigned to her father, and striving to support and comfort him, but apparently in vain. The Duke's mind was still in a terrible state of depression; and the want of all certain intelligence, the failure of the Earl of Byerdale's promise, and the absence of Wilton, had caused his anxiety apparently to increase rather than to diminish, since the first day of his imprisonment.
We must not pause upon the various interviews which succeeded, and were painful enough. Wilton had little to tell that could give the Duke any comfort. The determined adherence of Sir John Fenwick to his charge, the sort of indifference which the Earl of Byerdale displayed in regard to the prisoner's situation, neglecting to see him, though repeatedly promising to do so, all served to depress his spirits day by day, and to render him altogether insensible to the voice of comfort. Towards Wilton himself the Earl resumed a portion of his reserve and gravity; and though he still called him, "My dear Wilton," and "My dear boy," when he addressed him, he spoke to him very little upon any subject, except mere matters of business, and checked every approach to the topic on which Wilton would most willingly have entered.
On the seventh or eighth day of the Duke's imprisonment, however, Lord Sherbrooke again appeared in town; but the Earl employed Wilton constantly, during the whole of that day; so much so, indeed, that his secretary could not help believing that there was effort apparent in it, in order to prevent his holding any private communication with his friend. At length, however, he suffered him to return home, but not till nearly ten at night, by which time Lord Sherbrooke had left the house, to go to some great entertainment.
Scarcely had Wilton passed the door, when he found some one take hold of his arm, and to his surprise found the young nobleman by his side.
"I have been watching for you eagerly, Wilton," he said, "for it seems to me, that the game is going against you, and I see the faces of the cards."
"I am very anxious indeed about the Duke, if such be your meaning,
Sherbrooke," replied Wilton.
"And I am so also," answered Lord Sherbrooke. "What my father intends, I do not well see; but I should think, that to make the poor man lose his head on Tower-hill would be somewhat too severe a punishment, too bitter a revenge, for Lady Laura refusing to wed so worshipful a person as I am."
"I hope and trust," replied Wilton, "that there is no chance of such a consummation."
"On my word, I do not know," replied Lord Sherbrooke. "My father, when he is hungry for anything, has a great appetite; I don't think the Duke's head would much more than dine him. However, take my advice; depend not upon him in the least; go to the Duke of Shrewsbury at once, if he be in town, and if not, to Vernon. Try to interest them in favour of the Duke; see what you can allege in his favour. The King has just returned from Holland, you know, and any application made to him now may perhaps be received graciously. Have you anything that you can state in the Duke's favour?"
Wilton recapitulated all that could be said to palliate the error which Laura's father had committed, and Lord Sherbrooke answered eagerly, "That is enough, surely that is enough. At least," he added, "it ought to be enough, and would be enough, if there were no under-influence going on. At all events, Wilton, I would go decidedly to his grace of Shrewsbury, or to Vernon, for I believe the Duke is absent. Represent all these facts, and induce him to lay them before the King. This is the best and most straightforward course, and you will speedily learn more upon the subject. But there is another thing which I have to tell you—though I put no great reliance upon the result being as effectual as we could wish—I was speaking a few nights ago with our friend the Colonel, upon the situation of the Duke, and upon your anxiety regarding him, all of which I have heard from my good rascally valet, who—considering that he is one of the greatest scoundrels that ever was unhung—is a very honest fellow in his way, and finds out everything for me, Heaven knows how, and lets me know it truly. The Colonel seemed to laugh at the idea of anything being done to the Duke, saying, 'No, no; he is safe enough.' But after a while he added, 'If Wilton have any difficulty about the business, he had better speak to me:' and then he fell into one of his long sullen fits of thought; after which he said, 'Tell him to ride out hitherward on Saturday night next, just as it is turning dark—I should like to speak with him about it.'"
"I will not fail," replied Wilton; "for there is something about that man that interests, nay, attaches me, in spite of all I know and all I guess concerning his desperate habits. It is evident that he has had a high education, and possesses a noble heart; in fact, that he was fitted for better things than the criminal and disgraceful course he has pursued."
"Hush, hush!" cried Lord Sherbrooke, laughing; "speak more respectfully of the worthy Colonel, I beg. You are not aware that he is a near relation of mine."
Wilton started, and turned round as if he would have gazed in his companion's face, but the darkness of the night prevented him from well seeing what was passing there. As he recalled, however, his first interview with Green, his look, his manner, and the jesting tone in which he sometimes spoke, he could not but acknowledge that there was something in the whole resembling Lord Sherbrooke not a little, although Green was a much taller and more powerful man.
"This is strange enough, Sherbrooke," he replied, "if you are not joking; and, indeed, I think you are not, for there is a certain likeness between you and him, though more in the manner than in the person."
"It is quite true," replied Lord Sherbrooke; "he is a near relation. But, however, in regard to the Duke, I see not how he can help you, though he certainly does very wonderful things sometimes, which nobody expects or can account for. I would hear all he has to say, then; but at the same time, Wilton, I would not neglect the other business with Vernon, for, you see, the Colonel names Saturday. This is Monday, and before that time the Duke's head may be upon a pole, for aught we know. They make short work with trials and executions in these days."
"I will not fail," answered Wilton, "I will not fail. In such a case as this it is scarcely possible to do too much, and very possible to do too little. I trust your father will not detain me the whole day to-morrow."
"Oh no!" replied Lord Sherbrooke: "I am going to remove the cause, Wilton. As soon as ever I arrived last night, I perceived that the Earl was delicately working at some grand scheme regarding the Duke, and I very soon perceived, too, that he was determined you and I should not have an opportunity of talking the matter over, for fear we should spoil proceedings. I was obliged to watch my opportunity to-night with great nicety, but to-morrow I go back, that is to say, if my sweet Caroline is ready to go with me, for I am the most obedient and loving of husbands, as all reformed rakes are, you know, Wilton."
"But is the lady in town, and at your father's?" demanded Wilton, with surprise.
"She is in town, dearly beloved," replied Lord Sherbrooke, "but certainly not at my father's; and now, Wilton, ask me no more upon the subject, for, between you and me, I know little or nothing more myself. I know not what brings her into London; who she comes to see here, or who the note was from that called her so suddenly up to this great den of iniquity. It is a very horrible thing, Wilton, a very horrible thing, indeed," he continued, in the same jesting tone, "that any woman should have secrets from her husband. I have heard many matrons say so, and I believe them from my whole heart; but I've heard the same matrons say that there should be perfect reciprocity, which, perhaps, might mean that the wife and the husband were to have no secrets from each other, which, I am afraid, in my case, would never do, so I am fain to let her have this secret of her own, especially as she promises to tell me what it is in a few days. Reciprocity is a fine thing, Wilton; but it is wonderful what a number of different sorts of reciprocity there are in this world. Look there. Do you know there is something that puzzles me about that house."
"Why, that is Lord Sunbury's," replied Wilton; "but there are lights up in the drawing-room apparently."
"Ay, that's one part of the story that puzzles me," said Lord Sherbrooke. "I think the old housekeeper must be giving a drum. My valet tells me that on Saturday morning last there was a hackney coach stopped at that house, and two men went into it: one seemed a gentleman wrapped in a long cloak, the other looked like a valet, and stayed to get a number of packages out of the coach. Now I cannot suspect that same old housekeeper, who, as far as I recollect, is much like one of the daughters of Erebus and Nox, of carrying on an amorous correspondence with any gentleman; and it is somewhat strange that she should have lent the use of her master's house, either for love or money. I should not wonder if the Earl himself had come to London before his baggage."
"I should think not," replied Wilton; "I should certainly think not. I had a letter from him not long ago, dated from Paris, and I think he certainly would have written to inform me if he had been coming."
"I am not so sure of that, by any means, Wilton," replied his friend. "I can tell you, that two or three things have happened to his good lordship lately, which, with all his kindness and benevolence, might make him wish to see two or three other people before he saw you. There is a report even now busy about town that he is corresponding from Paris privately and directly with the King, and that his arrival in England will be followed by a change of ministry, if he will consent to take office again, which seems to be very doubtful."
These tidings interested Wilton not a little; and perhaps he felt a curiosity to ascertain whether Lord Sherbrooke's suspicion was or was not correct. His mind, however, was too high and delicate to admit of his taking any steps for that purpose, and after some more conversation on the same subject, he and his friend parted.
On the following morning Wilton had an opportunity of visiting the Duke of Shrewsbury's office, and found Mr. Vernon disengaged. To him he communicated all that he had to say in defence of the Duke, and found Vernon mild in his manners and expressions, but naturally cautious in either promising anything or in giving any information. He heard all that Wilton had to say, however, and assured him that he would lay the statement he made before the King on the ensuing morning, adding, that if he would call upon him in the course of the next day he would tell him the result. He smiled when Wilton requested him to keep his visit and its object secret, and nodded his head, merely replying, "I understand."
On the following day Wilton did not fail to visit him again, and waited for nearly an hour till he was ready to receive him.
"I am sorry," said Vernon, when he did admit him, "that I cannot give you greater satisfaction, Mr. Brown; but the King's reply, upon my application, was, that he had already spoken with the Earl of Byerdale on the subject. However, it may be some comfort to you to know that his grace of Shrewsbury takes an interest in the situation of the Duke, and has himself written to the King upon the subject."