CHAPTER XX.
A spirit—though rather of a better kind than that which drags too many of our unfortunate countrymen into the abodes of wickedness and corruption, now called Gin Pal—es, so liberally provided for them in the metropolis—abodes licensed and patronised by the government for the temptation of the lower orders of the populace to commit and harden themselves in the great besetting vice of this country—a spirit, I say, of a better kind than this, drags me into a house of public entertainment, called the Nag's Head, in St. James's Street.
The Nag's Head, in St. James's Street!!!
Now, though nobody would be in the least surprised to have read or heard of the Nag's Head in the Borough, yet there is probably not a single reader who will see this collocation of the "Nag's Head" with "St. James's Street" without an exclamation, or at least a feeling of surprise, at it being possible there should ever have been such a thing in St. James's Street at all—that is to say, not a nag's head, either horsically or hobbyhorsically speaking, but tavernistically; for be it known to all men, that the Nag's Head here mentioned was an inn or tavern actually in the very middle of the royal and fashionable street called St. James's. One might write a whole chapter upon the variations and mutations of the names of inns, and inquire curiously whether their modification in various places and at various times depends merely upon fashion, or whether it is produced by some really existing but latent sympathy between peculiar names, as applied to inns, and particular circumstances, affecting localities, times, seasons, and national character.
Having already touched upon this subject, however, though with but a slight and allusive sentence or two, in reference to our friend the Green Dragon, and being at this moment pressed for time and room, we shall say no more upon the subject here, but enter at once into the Nag's Head, and lead the reader by the hand to the door of a certain large apartment, which, at about half-past nine o'clock, on the night we have just been speaking of, was well nigh as full as it could hold.
The people whom it contained were of various descriptions, but most of them were gentlemanly men enough in their appearance, and these were ranged round little tables in parties of five or six, or sometimes more. It cannot, indeed, be said that their occupations were particularly edifying. Dice, backgammon-boards, and cards were spread on many of the tables; punch smoked around with a very fragrant odour; and whatever might have been the nature of the conversation in general, the oaths and expletives, with which it was interlarded from time to time, spoke not very well for either the morality or the eloquence of our ancestors: for such, indeed, I must call these gentlemen, forming as they did part of the great ancestral body of a hundred and fifty years ago; though I devoutly hope and pray that none of my own immediate progenitors happened to be amongst the number there assembled. The smell of punch and other strong drink was, to the atmosphere of the place, exactly what the dissolute and swaggering air of a great number of the persons assembled there was to the natural expression of the human countenance. The noise, too, was very great; so that the ear of a new comer required to become accustomed to it before he could hear anything that was taking place.
Gradually, however, as habit reconciled the visitor to the din, the oaths and objurgations, together with the words "cheat, liar, knave," &c. &c., separated themselves from the rest of the conversation, and swam like a sort of scum upon the top of the buzz. Though all were met there for enjoyment, too, it is worthy of remark, that many of the countenances around bore strong marks of fierce and angry passions, disappointment, hatred, revenge; and many a flushed cheek and flashing eye told the often-told tale, that in the amusements which man devises for himself he is almost always sure to mingle a sufficient quantity of vice to bring forth a plentiful return of sorrow.
While all this was proceeding in full current, the door, which opened with a weight and pulley, rattled and squeaked as it was cast back, and our often-mentioned friend Green—or the Colonel, as he was called—entered the room. Giving a casual glance around him, he proceeded to the other end of the saloon, where there was a small table vacant, and called in a loud but slow voice for a pint of claret. Whether this was his habit, or whether it was merely an accidental compliance with the tavern etiquette of taking something in the house which we visit, the claret was brought to him instantly, as if it had been ready prepared, together with a large glass of the kind now called a tumbler, and a single biscuit.
Green took no notice of any one in the room, for some minutes, but ate the biscuit and drank the claret in two drafts of half a pint at a time. When this was done, he gazed round him gravely and thoughtfully; after which he walked up to one of the tables where some people were playing at hazard, and spoke a word or two across it to the man who was holding the dice-box. The man looked up with a frank smile, and for his only reply nodded his head, saying, "In five minutes, Colonel."
Green then went on to the next table, and spoke in the same low voice to a person on the left-hand side, but the man looked down doggedly, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "I can't leave my game now, Colonel. If you had told me half an hour ago, it might have been different."
"Oh! you are very busy in your game, are you?" said Green. "And so I suppose are you," he added, turning to another who was sitting at the same table.
That man answered also in the same tone; and Green, muttering to himself "Very well!" went on to two more tables at little distances from each other, from one of which only, he received a nod in answer to what he said, with the words, "Directly, Colonel—directly."
He was just going on to another, when the door again opened, and a tall, graceful young man, APPARENTLY of one or two and twenty years of age, entered the room, and advanced towards the table which Green had left vacant. His whole manner and appearance was totally different from that of the persons by whom the room had been previously tenanted, and a number of inquiring eyes were naturally turned towards him. Green looked him full in the face without taking the slightest notice; nor did the stranger show any sign of remarking him, except by brushing against him as he passed, and then turning round and begging his pardon, while at the same time he laid the finger of his right hand upon a diamond ring which he wore upon the little finger of the left. He then advanced straight to the vacant table, as we have said, and sat down, looking towards a drawer who stood at the other end of the room, and saying—
"Bring me some claret."
At the same moment, Green advanced to the table, and bowing his head with the air and grace of a distinguished gentleman, said—
"I beg your pardon, sir, for saying that this is my table; but there is perfectly room at it for us both, and if you will permit me the honour, I will join you in your wine. Shall we say a bottle of good Burgundy, which will be better than cold claret on this chilly night?"
"With all my heart," replied Wilton Brown, for we need hardly tell the reader that it was he who had last entered the room at the Nag's Head; and Green, turning to the drawer, said, "This gentleman and I will take a bottle of Burgundy. Let it be that which the landlord knows of."
"I understand, sir—I understand," replied the drawer, "last Monday night's;" and Wilton and his companion were soon busily discussing their wine, and talking together, upon various indifferent things, in a voice which could be heard at the neighbouring tables. Green spoke with ease and grace, and had altogether so much the tone of a well-bred man of the world, that he might have passed for such in the highest society in the realm. Wilton found the task a more difficult one, for his mind was eagerly bent upon other subjects. He laboured to play his part to the best, however; and Green, laughing, showed him how to drink his wine out of goblets, as he called it; so that the matter was brought to a conclusion sooner than he had ventured to hope.
As the bottle drew to its close, Green took an opportunity of saying, in a low voice, "Come with me when I go out."
Wilton answered in the same tone, "Must you not make some excuse?"
"Oh, I will show you one—I will show you one!" exclaimed Green, aloud—"if you have never seen one, I will show you one within five minutes from this time. I have but to speak a word to some of my friends at these different tables, and then you shall come with me."
This was heard all through the room; and Wilton seeing that the excuse was already made, said no more, but, "Very well, I am ready when you like."
Green then rose, and went round those to whom he had before spoken, addressing each of them again in the same order.
"I will meet you, Harry," he said to the first, who had so readily made an affirmative answer, "in three quarters of an hour. Don't be longer, my good fellow, if you can help it. Master Williamson," he added, when he came up to the other, speaking in as low a tone as possible, "I think you would have given up your game at cards, if you had known what I had to tell you and Davis there, opposite."
There was something dark and meaning in Green's look as he spoke, a knitting of the brows, a drawing together of the eyelids, and a tight shutting of the mouth between every three or four words, which made the man turn a little white.
"Why, what is the matter, Colonel?" he said, in a much civiler tone than before. "Cannot you tell me now?"
"Oh, yes," replied Green, in the same low tone, "I can tell you now, if you like. It is no great matter: only that there are warrants out against you and Davis; and against Ingram there at the other table, for robbing the Earl of Peterborough last night in the Green Lane, behind Beaufort House. They have got hold of Jimmy Law, poor fellow, already, and he will be hanged to a certainty. It was discovered who you all were by Harry Brown, who was one of your party when you went, without my knowledge, to do business between Gravesend and Rochester. He's one of my Lord Peterborough's led captains now, and was in the carriage with him, though you didn't see him to know him. He gave all your names, and they have sent down to the Green Dragon after you, and have also people on the Rochester road. Tell Davis, and I will tell Ingram; for it is better you should all get out of the way for awhile."
This was said in so low a tone, that none of those around could hear distinctly; but the worthy gentleman to whom the words were addressed did not seem near so cautious as the Colonel; for, after having suffered his eyes and his mouth to expand gradually with a look of increasing horror at every word, he started up from the table as Green concluded, exclaiming, "By—!" and dashed the cards down upon the board before him, scattering one half of them over the floor. Green gave him one momentary look of sovereign contempt, and then proceeded to the opposite table, where he told the same story to the personage named Ingram, whose attention had been called by the vehement excitement of his comrade. The effect now produced seemed fully as deep, though not quite so demonstrative; for Master Ingram sat in profound silence at the table for at least five minutes, with his face assuming various hues of purple and green, as he revolved the matter in his own mind.
It is probable, that very seldom any three men, except three sailors, have ever thought so much of a rope at the same moment; and before Green could finish his tour round the room and rejoin Wilton, those to whom he had spoken were all hastening up St. James's Street as fast as they could go. Green returned to the table where he had been seated, called the drawer to receive the money for the Burgundy, and then bowing his head to Wilton, with somewhat of a stiff' air, he said, "Now, sir, if you please, I am ready to show you the way; and as I have not much time-"
"I am quite ready," replied Wilton; and turning to the door, he and Green left the house together, while those who remained behind, immediately they were gone, gathered into two or three little knots, discussing the scene which had just taken place.
In the meantime, Green led Wilton into St. James's Square, the centre of which was not at that time enclosed, as now, by iron railings; and walking to and fro there, he demanded eagerly what was the matter, and heard with surprise all that his young companion had to tell him of the sudden disappearance of the Duke's daughter, of which he had previously received no intelligence.
We need not recapitulate the whole of Wilton's account to the reader; but will only add, to that which is already known, one fact of some importance with which the young gentleman concluded the detail of his inquiries during that very day.
"When I arrived at Beaufort House," he said, "fully and painfully impressed with the notion that this poor young lady was drowned, I was met by the Duke at the very door of his library with a letter in his hand. His eyes were full of tears of joy, for the news of a boat having been lost had, by this time, reached him; and the letter, which was dated from a distant part of the country, informed him of his daughter's safety, in these words:-'Lady Laura Gaveston will be restored to Beaufort House as soon as her father can make up his mind to behave with spirit and patriotism, and follow out the only plans which can save his country. This must be done by actions, not by words; but a positive engagement under his hand will be considered sufficient. In the meantime, she remains a hostage for his good faith.' At the bottom was written, in a hand which he says is that of Lady Laura herself—'My dear father, I am well; but this is all they will let me write.'"
"Whence was it dated?" demanded Green sharply.
"Newbury," replied Wilton; "and the letter was brought by a person who spoke with a foreign accent."
"This is strange," said Green: "I should think it was some of that troop of—I know not well whether to call them villains or madmen. I should think some of them had done this, were it not that I had seen them all—I may say all the principal ones—last night, and they certainly had not a woman with them then."
"The Duke's suspicions turn principally upon Sir John Fenwick," said
Wilton.
"It could not well be him," replied Green: "he was there, and none but men with him. It is very strange! I wish I could see that letter. Perhaps I might recognise the hand."
"That is evidently feigned," answered Wilton; "but I should think the date of Newbury must be false, too."
"To be sure, to be sure," replied Green—"the exact reverse most likely. They must have taken her towards the sea, not inland—Newbury!—More likely towards Rochester or Sheerness; yet I can't think there was any woman there. Yet stay a minute, Wilton," he continued, "stay a minute. I expect tidings to-night, from the very house at which I met them last night. There is a chance, a bare chance, of there being something on this matter in the letters; it is worth while to see, however. Where can I find you in ten minutes from this time ?-I saw the boy waiting near the palace when we came out."
"I will go into the Earl of Sunbury's, on that side of the square," replied Wilton, "where you see the two lights. There is nobody in it but the old housekeeper, but she knows me and will admit me."
"She knows me, too," replied Green, drily; "and I will join you there in ten minutes with any intelligence I may gain."
Green left him at once, with that peculiar sharpness and rapidity of movement which Wilton had always remarked in him from their first meeting. The young gentleman, on his part, went over to the house of the Earl of Sunbury, and telling the old housekeeper, and the girl who opened the door to him, that a gentleman would soon be there to speak with him on business, he went up to the saloon, and as soon as he was alone, raised the light that was left with him, to gaze upon the picture which we have mentioned more than once, and to compare it by the aid of memory with the lady whom he had seen but a few days before. The likeness was very strong, the height was the same, the features, examined strictly one by one, presented exactly the same lines. The complexion, indeed, in the picture, was more brilliant; and it was that, perhaps, as well as a certain roundness, which marked a difference of age; but then the expression was precisely the same—a depth, a tenderness even approaching to melancholy—in the picture, as in her whom he had seen; and though he gazed, and wondered, and wearied imagination for probabilities, he found none, but could only end by believing that, in the facts connected with that picture, lay the mystery of his fate, and of the link between him and the Earl of Sunbury.
He was still gazing, when Green was ushered into the room, and setting down the light, Wilton turned to meet him. There was a dark and heavy frown upon the countenance of him whom we have so often heard called the Colonel, as he entered: an expression of bitterness mingled with sadness; but, nevertheless, he took up the light, and walking up to the picture, gazed upon it for a minute or two, as Wilton had done.
"It is wonderfully like," he said, after pausing for a moment or two—"how beautiful she was! However, I have no time to think of such things now. I have here tidings for you, Wilton. I know not yet rightly what they are, for I caught but a glance of them; and had other things to think of bitter enough, and requiring instant attention. Here, let us look what this epistle says."
Setting down the lamp upon the table, he opened the letter and held it to the light, reading it attentively, while Wilton, who stood beside him did the same. It was written in fine small hand, and in French; but the page at which Green had opened the sheet, after a few words connected with a sentence that had gone before, went on as follows:—"I should not have sent this till we were safe across, but that circumstances have induced us to delay our departure; and you would scarcely think that it is I who have urged Caroline to remain for yet a little while: I, who some days ago was so fearful of remaining, so anxious to depart. Nor is it solely an inclination to linger near that dear boy, although I own the sight of him has been to me like the foretaste of a new existence. Bless him for me, my friend—bless him for me! But I found that the dear wild girl who is with me had neither ceased to love, nor ceased entirely to hope. In the last letter she received, mingled with reproaches for coming hither, there was every now and then a burst of tenderness and affection which made her trust, and me almost believe, that all good and honourable feeling is not extinct. She thinks that if she could see him, the better angel might gain the dominion, and I have not only counselled her to remain yet a little while, but also even to go to London should it be required. While we were talking over all these things," the letter proceeded, "just after you were gone, we heard a fresh arrival at this house, and, as I thought, a woman's voice speaking in tones of remonstrance and complaint. I have this morning learned who it is, and now write in great haste to ask you if these things are right in any cause, or if you can have anything to do with it. I will not believe it, Lennard—I will not believe it. Rash as you have been in choosing your own fate—hasty as you have been in all things connected with yourself—you would not, I am sure, countenance a thing that is cruel as well as criminal."
Green laughed bitterly. "I am forced," he said, "to bear much that I would not countenance. But look here—she goes on to say that it is the daughter of the Duke. 'Young, and beautiful, and gentle,' she says—that matches well, does it not, Wilton, ha?—I who has been torn from her father, the Duke of Gaveston, in this daring and shameful manner, and brought hither by water with the intention, as I believe, of sending her over to France in the ship that we have hired. I have seen her twice, and spoken with her for some time, and I beseech you, if it be possible, find means of setting her free.'—Ay, but how may that be?" continued Green. "If they have got her, and risk their necks to have her, they will take care to keep her sure. They have men enough for that purpose, and they have taken care to render me nearly powerless."
"I should have thought," replied Wilton, whose joy at the discovery of where Laura really was had instantly blown up the flame of hope so brightly, that objects distant and difficult to be reached seemed by that light to be close at hand—"I should have thought, from what I have seen and what I suspect, that you could have commanded a sufficient force at any moment to set all opposition at defiance, especially when you were engaged in a lawful and generous cause."
"I should have thought so, too," replied Green, "two days ago. But times have changed, Wilton, times have changed, and, like the wind of a tropical climate, turned round in a single moment. On my soul," he continued, vehemently, "one would think that men were absolutely insane. Here a set of people, whose lives are all in my own hand, dare to tamper with my friends and comrades, to bribe them, to hire them away from me, ay, and to do it so openly that I cannot fail to see it, and that too, at the very moment when they know that I hate and abhor their proceedings, and when they have just reason to suppose that I will take means to frustrate their base and cowardly designs, and only waver between the propriety of doing so, and the wish not to give them over to the death they well deserve."
"If they have so acted," replied Wilton—"if they have shown such base ingratitude towards you, as well as designs dangerous to the country—for I will not affect to doubt or misunderstand you—why not boldly, and at once, give them up to justice? Understand me, I wish to hear nothing more of these men. I wish to be perfectly ignorant of their whole proceedings. I wish to have no information whatsoever, except my own suspicions, for if I had, I should feel myself bound immediately to cause their arrest. But from what you have said in regard to Sir John Fenwick; from what the Duke has said on various occasions; and from what I myself have remarked, I am strongly inclined to believe that there are matters going on which can but end in ruin to those engaged in them, if not in all the horrors of a civil war."
"That I should not mind—that I should not mind!" cried Green—"let us have a civil war; let every man lay his hand upon his sword and betake him to his standard. That is the true, the right, the only right way to get rid of an usurper. It has been with the very view of that civil war you talk of that I have banished myself from the station in which I was born, that I have walked by night instead of by day, and that I have kept in constant preparation, throughout the whole of the south of England, the seeds, as it were, of a future army. And now what have they done? Not only trusted the command of all things to others, but given that command to men who would do, by the basest and most dastardly means, that which I would do by open force and bold exertion: men who have mixed up crimes of the blackest die with the noblest aspirations that ever led on men of honour to the greatest deeds; who have soiled and sullied, disgraced and degraded, the cause for which I have shed my blood, ruined my fortune, and seen all the fair things of life pass away like a dream. By heavens, I could cry as if I were a girl or a baby," and he dashed away a tear from his eye which he could not restrain; "and now," he continued, "and now if I do not prevent them they will put a damning seal to all their follies and crimes, which will render that holy and noble cause horrible in the eyes of all men, which will brand it for ever with infamy and shame, and leave it blighted and loathsome, so that men will shrink from the very thought thereof."
"But why not prevent them?" cried Wilton, "why not give up such traitors and villains to justice at once?" "Why not?" replied Green; "because there are men amongst them who have fought side by side with me in the day of battle; because there are some foolish when others are wicked; because that there are many who abhor their acts as much as I do, but who would be implicated in the consequences of their crimes. These are all strong reasons, Wilton, powerful, mighty reasons, and I find now, alas I—I find now, most bitterly—that he who seeks even the best ends, in dark and tortuous ways, is sure, sooner or later, to involve himself in circumstances where he can neither act nor refuse to act, neither speak nor be silent, without a crime, a danger and a punishment. In that situation I have placed myself; and I tell you that even now, since I have entered this room, I have determined to call upon my own head those dangers, if not that fate, which the mistake I have committed well deserves. I will frustrate these men's designs. They shall not commit the act they purpose. But yet I will betray no man; I will give no man up to death. They shall not wring it from me; but they shall be sufficiently warned. Now, however, let us leave all this, and only inquire how this girl can be saved from their hands. You, Wilton, must be the person to rescue her, for I feel sure that your fate and hers are bound up together. I feel sure, too," he added with a faint smile, "that she would rather it were your hand saved her than that of any one else. I have seen you together more than once, remember. But how it is to be done is the question. My time must be given to other things, for from tidings I have received not a moment is to be lost. They have taken such means that I find there are only two whom I can trust out of very many who were with me near London. I have no time to send either into Dorsetshire or Sussex, and the people there may have been tampered with also. Besides, as we cannot call in the power of the law upon our side, it would need a number to effect our purpose."
"But I will call in the power of the law," replied Wilton. "I have a Messenger with the Secretary of State's warrant at my command; and wherever this place may be, I can in a moment raise such a force in the neighbourhood as will enable me to rescue her, and capture those who have committed so daring an outrage.
"Ay, but that is what must not be, Wilton," replied Green. "There is not one of those men whom you would capture whose head would be worth ten days' purchase, were he within the walls of Newgate or the Tower. No, no! to that I cannot consent. Her freedom must be effected somehow, but their liberty not lost. I must think over it this night. Where can I find you to-morrow morning early?"
"At my own lodgings," replied Wilton, "not four streets off."
"No, no!" answered Green; "I never enter London in the day. I might risk much by doing so, and must not do it except in case of great need."
"Then let it be at Beaufort House," replied Wilton: "I sleep there to-night. But why should we not settle and determine the whole at once? Tell me but where is this place to which they have taken Lady Laura, and I will undertake to rescue her."
"You alone, Wilton?" said Green.
"Aided by none but the Messenger," replied Wilton: "armed with the force of the law, I fear not whom I encounter."
"Armed with the force of love!" answered Green, after looking at him for a moment with eyes in which affection and admiration were equally evident. "You want not the spirit of your race; and it will carry you through. If you will promise me to take none but the Messenger with you, you shall have some one to guide you to the house, and to aid you on my part. I need not tell you what you have to do. Demand the young lady's liberty simply and straightforwardly; say to all those who oppose you, that the task of investigating what have been the causes, and who the perpetrators of the outrage committed, must fall upon the Duke; that you have no authority to meddle with that part of the business. Say this, I repeat, and I doubt not that you will be fully successful. They dare not—I am sure they dare not—resist you, if you do not attempt to arrest any of their own number."
"I promise you most faithfully," replied Wilton, "to act as you have said. I will go with the Messenger and the person you send only. But where am I to meet this person? When, and how, and where, am I to find the house?"
"You would find it with difficulty," replied Green; "for it lies far off from the high road, not many miles from Rochester; and the lanes and woods about it are not arranged for the purpose of making it easily discovered. You must not, therefore, attempt to find your way alone. However, set out early to-morrow with strong fresh horses, and ride on till you come to the village of High Halstow. Should you reach that place before nightfall, remain there till it turns dusk. As it begins to become grey, ride out again, taking the way towards Cowley Castle. As you go along that road, you will find some one to show you the way. He will ask you what colour you are of. Answer him 'Brown,' but that 'Green' will do as well. I would be there myself if I could; but that, I fear, cannot be. Let me hear of you and of your success, however—though I will not doubt your success; and now, are you going back to Beaufort House? If so, I will bear you company on the way."
Wilton replied in the affirmative, and they accordingly left the house of the Earl of Sunbury. Wilton, however, had to procure his horse; and Green also was delayed, for a moment, by the same piece of business. When all was prepared, he seemed to hesitate and pause before he mounted; and while he yet remained speaking, with his foot in the stirrup, a boy ran up, saying, "I have just been down, sir, and seen him go in."
Green gave him a note which he had held in his hand during the whole conversation at Lord Sunbury's, saying, "Take him that note! Tell the servant to deliver it immediately. If Lord Sherbrooke asks who sent it, tell him it was the gentleman who wrote it, and who hopes to meet him at the appointed place." The boy ran off with the note as fast as he could go, and Wilton and his companion turned their horses' heads towards Chelsea.
What he had heard certainly did surprise Wilton a good deal; and he did not scruple to say, "You seem acquainted with every one, I think, and to have an acquaintance with many of whom I did not know you had the slightest knowledge."
"It is so," answered Green, in a grave and thoughtful tone, "and yet nothing wonderful. It is with a man like me as with nature," he added with a smile, "we both work secretly. Things seem extraordinary, strange, almost miraculous, when beheld only in their results, but when looked at near, they are found to be brought about by the simplest of all possible means. You, having lived but little in the world, and not being one half my age, yet know thousands of people in the highest ranks of life that I do not know, though I have mingled with that rank ten times as much as you have done: and I know many whom you would think the last to hold acquaintance with me in these changed times. You could go into any thronged assembly, a theatre, a ball-room, a house of parliament, and point me out, by hundreds, people with whose persons I am utterly unacquainted, and these would be the greatest men of the day.
"But I could lay my finger upon this wily statesman, or that great warrior, or the other stern philosopher, and could tell you secrets of those men's bosoms which would astonish you to hear, and make them shrink into the ground;—and yet there would be no magic in all this."
Wilton did not answer him in the same moralizing strain, but strove to obtain some farther information in regard to his proceedings proposed for the following day. But neither upon that, nor upon the subject of the note to Lord Sherbrooke, would Green speak another word, till, on arriving at the gates of Beaufort House, he said—
"Remember High Halstow."