The King's Highway

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER XXI.

It was night, and the large assembly of persons who had thronged the palace at Kensington during the day had taken their departure. Silence had returned after the noise and bustle of the sunshine had subsided; scarcely a sound was heard throughout the whole building, except the porter snoring in the hall. The King himself had taken his frugal supper, and was sitting alone in his cabinet with merely a page at the door; his courtiers were scattered in their different apartments; and his immediate attendants were waiting in the distant chambers where he slept, for the hour of his retiring to rest.

Such had been the state of things for some little time, when the great bell rang, and the porter started up to open the door. A gentleman on horseback appeared without, accompanied by two others, apparently servants; and the principal personage demanded, in a tone of authority, "Is the Earl of Portland in the palace?"

The porter, though not well pleased to be roused, replied, with every sort of deference to the air and manner of the visitor, saying that the Earl was in the palace, but he believed was unwell.

"I am afraid I must disturb him," said the stranger. "My business is of too much importance to his lordship to wait till to-morrow morning."

The porter then gave the speaker another look: the dress, the demeanour, the horses, the attendants, were all such as commanded respect, although he did not recollect the stranger's face. "Well, sir," he said, "if you will come in, I will have his lordship informed."

The stranger nodded his head, and turning to his followers, bade them take away the horses. "I will walk back," he said, and then following the porter, entered the palace. The janitor led him onward through some large folding doors to a room where two or three servants were sitting, into whose hands he delivered him, bidding one of them conduct him to the page in waiting. This was speedily done; and the page, on being informed of the stranger's desire, again examined him somewhat curiously, and asked his name.

"That matters not," replied the stranger. "Tell him merely that it is a gentleman to whom he rendered great service many years ago, and who has now important intelligence to give him."

"I fear, sir," replied the page, "that my Lord Portland would not like to be disturbed without some clearer information than that."

"Do as you are ordered, sir," replied the gentleman, in a tone of stern authority, which seemed not a little to surprise his hearer. "Tell Lord Portland it is a gentleman whose life he saved at the battle of the Boyne."

The page retired with the air of one who would fain have been sullen if he had dared; and the stranger remained standing with his hand upon the table in the middle of the room, the doors closed round him on all sides, and no one apparently near.

His first thought was one not often indulged in that place, though by no means an unnatural one. It was a thought, for merely expressing which, not less than twelve people were once committed to a severe and lengthened imprisonment by a king of France. "How easy would it now be," the stranger said mentally, "to kill a king, were one so minded! Now, God forbid," he added, "that even the attempt of such an act should ever stain our loyalty to our legitimate sovereign! Those Romans, those splendid but most barbarous of barbarians, were certainly the greatest cheats of their own understandings that ever lived. There was scarcely a crime, a vice, or a folly upon earth, that they did not hug to their hearts, when they had once gilded it with a glorious name."

As he thus paused, moralizing, he laid down his hat upon the table, and brushing back his grey hair from his brow, pressed his hand upon his forehead as if his head ached, and then dropping it again, mused for several minutes with his eyes fixed upon the floor. He was only roused from this deep fit of thought by the door opening suddenly. A gentleman rather below the middle height, with strong marked features, and a keen but steadfast eye, entered the room with a paper in his hand. His eyes were fixed upon the ground as he came in, and he walked with a firm but somewhat heavy step, as if his limbs did not move very easily, though he was by no means a man far advanced in life.

The stranger gazed at him for a moment with a look of inquiry, and then advanced immediately towards him, bowing with a stately air, and saying, "My Lord of Portland, since I last saw you, you are somewhat changed, but perhaps not so much as I am, and therefore I may have to recall myself to your remembrance; especially as those who confer a benefit in a moment of haste and tumult, are more likely to forget the person they obliged, than that person to forget his benefactor."

He spoke in French, as it was generally known that Lord Portland was unwilling to speak English, though he understood it.

The other heard him out in perfect silence, and without the slightest change of countenance; but looked him in the face attentively, as if endeavouring to recollect his features.

"I have seen you somewhere before," he said at length, "but where I really do not know. It must have been a long time ago. Pray what do you want?"

"It is a long time ago, my lord," replied the visitor, "and the place where we met is far distant. It was upon the banks of the Boyne, just when the battle was over."

"Oh, I think I remember now," replied the other: "did I not come up just as one of our people had got his knee upon your throat, and was going to fire his pistol into your head, because you would ask no quarter, while another was wrenching your broken sword out of your hand?"

"You did," answered the stranger, "you did: you saved my life; and when I jumped up and got to a horse, you would not let them fire after me. It was not to be forgotten, my lord; but—"

At that moment the door was again thrown open, and the page re-entered the room, speaking in a somewhat harsh and authoritative tone as he came in, so as to cut across what the stranger was about to say, with "My Lord of Portland—;" but the gentleman who had entered just before waved his hand, saying, in a stern voice, "Leave the room! and wait without."

The man obeyed immediately, and the other turning to the visitor, added, "I am at this moment not very well, and extremely busy—even pressed for a moment, so that I must leave you just now. If you will sit down and write what you wish, it shall have favourable attention, or if you would rather say it, and explain it more fully by word of mouth, I will send an intimate friend of mine to you to whom you can tell what you think proper. I will hear what it is, and give every attention to it; but at this moment it is impossible for me to remain. These papers in my hand require instant reply, and I was seeking for some one to answer them when I came here."

"What I have to say," answered the stranger, "requires also instant attention; that is to say, it must be told to your lordship before to-morrow morning, and I will therefore, if you will permit me, remain here till you are ready to hear. When once told to you, the burden of it will be off my shoulders."

"I could have wished to have gone to bed," replied the other, with a faint smile, "without any farther burden upon mine. But if it so please you to wait, do it; but I fear I shall be long."

The visitor, however, signified his acquiescence by bowing his head; and the other left him without saying anything more.

"Somewhat of the insolence of office!" he said to himself, as his acquaintance quitted the room: "however, I must not forget the obligation;" and seating himself, he fell into deep thought, which seemed of a painful kind; for the muscles of his face moved with the emotions of his mind, and one or two half-uttered words escaped him. At length, he seemed weary of his own thoughts, and turning round as if to look for some occupation for his thoughts, he said, "It matters not!"

There were no books in the room, nor any pictures; there was nothing that could attract the eye or amuse the mind, except the beautiful forms of some of the gilded panel-frames, and the spots of the carpet beneath his feet. The visitor began to grow weary, and to think that Lord Portland was very long in returning.

At length, however, when he had been there about half an hour, a somewhat younger man entered, splendidly dressed according to the costume of the day, and advancing directly towards the stranger, he said in very good English—

"My name is Keppel, sir, and I am directed to say that Lord Portland will really be hardly able to see you to-night, as he is anything but well; but as it would appear that what you have to say is important, I wish to know whether it is important to the King or to the Earl himself. If to the latter, the Earl will see you at two o'clock to-morrow; if to the King, I am directed to request that you would communicate it to me, by whom it shall be most faithfully reported, both to Lord Portland and to the King himself."

"Sir," replied the stranger, "the motive of my coming is on no private business. It is on business of importance to the state generally—of the very utmost importance. I had wished to communicate it to Lord Portland, because that gentleman once performed an act of great kindness and generosity towards me, and I wished to give him the means of rendering a great service to his master."

"The King and Lord Portland are both indebted to you, sir," replied Keppel, better known as the Earl of Albemarle, with a grave smile; "but in those circumstances, as the greatest favour to all parties, you will be pleased to communicate anything you have to say to me. From your whole tone and demeanour, I am perfectly sure that what you have to say is none of the unimportant things with which we are too often troubled here; and I may therefore confidently add, that, after you have given me a knowledge of the business, either the King or Lord Portland, as you may think fit, will see you to-morrow."

"Well, sir," replied the visitor, "I have no right to stand on ceremony, especially at such a moment as this. What I have to say would have been much more easily said to Lord Portland himself, as he knows under what circumstances we met, knows probably who I am, and would make allowances for my peculiar views. YOU may think it next to high treason for me to call that Personage, who was not long ago William Prince of Orange, by any other name than King of England"

"Oh no! oh no!" said Keppel with a smile—"names are but names, my good sir; and in this boisterous land of England we are accustomed to see things stripped of all ornaments. The difficulty you mention is easily obviated, by calling him of whom you just have spoken, 'The High Personage.'"

"Names, indeed, are nothing," said the other with a smile. "What I have got to say, sir, is this, that I have undoubted reason to know that the life of the High Personage we refer to is in hourly danger; that there are persons in this realm who have not only designed to kill him, but have laid with skill and accuracy their schemes for effecting that purpose. I have heard that he is very apt—for I have never seen the royal hunt—to go out to the chase nearly alone, or rather, I should say, very slightly attended; and I came to tell Lord Portland that if this were continued, that High Personage's life could not be counted upon from day to day. Let him be well guarded; let there be always some one near him as he rides; and, as far as possible, let some of his guards be ready to escort him home on his return."

"Your information," said Keppel, "is certainly very important, and the precaution you recommend wise and judicious; but yet I fear you must give us some more information to render it at all efficient—I say this, not at all from doubting you, but because we have had, especially of late, so many false reports of plots which never existed, that the King has become careless and somewhat rash. Nor would it be possible for either Lord Portland or myself to persuade him to take any precautions unless we had some more definite information. If you know that such a plot really exists, you must also know the names of those who laid it."

"But those names I will never give up," replied the other: "it is quite sufficient for me, sir, to satisfy my own heart and my own conscience, that I have given a full and timely warning of what is likely to ensue. It matters not to me whether that warning be taken or not; I have done what is right; I will tell no more. Lord Portland knows that I am neither a, coward, nor a low born man. I expect not—I ask not for favour, immunity, reward, or even thanks. All I do ask is, in the words of the poet, 'that Caesar would be a friend to Caesar.'"

"But you are doubtless aware," answered Keppel, after a pause, "that by concealing the names, and in any degree the purposes of persons guilty of high treason, you bring yourself under the same condemnation."

"I both know the fact, sir," replied the other, "and I knew before I came that it might be urged against me here; but I did not think that Lord Portland would urge it. However that may be, I came fully prepared to do what I think right, and as nothing, not even the cause to which I am most attached, would induce me to become an assassin or to wink at cold-blooded murder, so, sir, nothing on earth will induce me to betray others to the death which I do not fear myself. At all events, the truth of what I have told may be positively relied upon; and that I ask no reward or recompence of any kind, may well be received to show that the warning I have given is not vain."

Keppel again mused for a moment or two, and then said, "Well, sir, I must not urge you by any harsh menace, nor was such my intention in what I said. But there are other considerations which should induce you to tell me more than you have told. One is, the safety of the Great Personage we have mentioned himself. It is scarcely possible for him to guard against the evil you apprehend in the manner you propose. He is by far too fearless a man, as you well know, to shut himself up within the walls of his palace, or even to conceal himself in his carriage. If he rides out, he cannot always be surrounded by guards, nor can he have a troop galloping after him through the hunting field."

"Sir," replied the stranger, "to you and to his other friends and attendants I must leave the guardianship of his person—I neither know him nor his habits. I have done what I conceive to be my duty; I have done it to the extreme limit of what I judge right; and neither fear nor favour will make me go one step farther."

"These scruples are very extraordinary," replied Keppel—"indeed, I cannot understand them: but at all events I must beg you to remain a little, while I go and speak to Lord Portland upon the subject. Perhaps, if the King himself were to hear you, you might say more."

"I should say no more to the Personage you mention," replied the other, "than I should to Lord Portland—for to the one I am obliged, to the other, not."

"Well, wait a few minutes," replied Keppel, and quitted the room.

The other remained standing where the courtier had left him, though the thought crossed his mind, "My errand is now done. Why should I remain any longer? I should risk less by going now than by lingering."

But still he stayed; and in two minutes, or perhaps less, the door again opened, giving admission, not to Keppel, but to the elder personage with whom he had spoken before. Advancing into the middle of the room, he leaned upon the table, near which the other was standing, and said—

"Monsieur Keppel has told me all that you have said, and, moreover, what you have refused to say. First, let me tell you that I am much obliged to you for the intelligence you have brought; and next, let me exhort you to make it more full and complete to render it effectual."

"I have made it as complete, my lord," replied his visitor, "as it is possible for me to do without betraying men who were once my friends, and who have only lost my friendship by such schemes as these. I must not say any more even at your request; for I must not take from you the power of saying, that you saved the life of a man of honour. You must contrive means to secure the Great Personage we speak of, and I doubt not you will be able to do so. I had but one object in coming here, my lord, and that object was not a personal one; it was to tell you of the danger, and thereby enable you to guard against it; it was to tell you, that a body of rash and criminal men have conspired together, to assassinate a Personage who stands in the way of their schemes."

"Are there many of them?" demanded his companion.

"A great many," he replied—"enough to render their object perfectly secure, if means be not taken to frustrate it."

"But," said the other, "the men must be mad, for many of them must be taken and executed very soon."

"True," answered his visitor, "if we were to suppose the country would remain quiet all the while. But assassination might only be the prelude to insurrection and to civil war, and to the restoration of our old monarchs to the throne."

"Such was the purpose, was it?" replied his companion.

"Assassination is a pitiful help, and has never yet been called in to aid a great or good cause."

"Ay, my lord," replied his informant; "but in this instance it is a base adjunct affixed to the general scheme of insurrection by a few bloody-minded men, without the knowledge of thousands who would have joined the rising, and without the knowledge, I am sure, of King James himself."

"I really do not see," said the other, "what should have caused such hatred against the person they aim at—the post of King of England is no bed of roses; and a thousand, a thousand-fold happier was he, as Stadtholder of Holland, governing a willing people and fighting the battles of freedom throughout the world, than monarch of this great kingdom, left without a moment's peace, by divisions and factions in the mass of the nation, which called him to the throne, and seeing union nowhere but in that small minority of the people who oppose his authority, and even attempt his life. His is no happy fate."

"Sir, there are some men," replied the other, "in whom certain humours and desires are so strong, that the gratification thereof is worth the whole of the rest of a life's happiness, and gratified ambition may be sufficient in this case to compensate for the sacrifice of peace. I mean not to speak one word against the master that you serve. He has, as you say, fought the battles of liberty for many years: he is a brave and gallant soldier, too, as ever lived: I doubt not he is a kind friend and a good master"

"Stay, stay," replied the other, holding up his hand "before you go farther, let me tell you that you are under a mistake. I am the personage of whom you speak—I am the King. When I prevented the soldiers from killing you, Bentinek was near me. He is taller than I am: the Dutch guards saw him before me, and shouted his name, which led to your error."

The effect of these words upon the other can hardly be imagined. He turned pale—he turned red; but he yielded to the first impulse both of gratitude and respect, and without taking time to think or hesitate, he bent his knee and kissed the King's hand.

"Rise, rise!" said William—"I ask nothing of you, sir, but to speak to me as you would have done if I had really been Lord Portland. I could not let you go on without explanation, for you had said all that could be pleasant to a king's ears to hear; and you seemed about to say those things which you might not have been well pleased to remember, when you discovered my real situation."

"I thank you, sir, most deeply," replied the other, "for that act of kindness, as well as for that which went before. I have hitherto, as I need scarcely say, been a strenuous and eager supporter of King James. I have served him with all my ability, and had he at any time returned to this country, would have served him with my sword. That sword, sir, however, can never now be drawn against the man who has saved my life; and, indeed, though I have known many changes and chances, yet I remember no one moment of joy and satisfaction greater than this, when I think that, spontaneously, I have refused to take a share in criminal designs against my benefactor, though I knew him not to be so, and have revealed the schemes against his life, who generously spared my own."

"I intended," said the King, "in the character of Lord Portland, to press you to farther explanations; but now that you know who I am, I may feel a greater difficulty in so doing. I must leave it to yourself, then, to tell me all that you may think necessary for my safety."

The other put his hand to his head, and for a few minutes seemed embarrassed and pained. "The discovery, sir," he said, at length, "alters my situation also; and yet I pray and beseech you, do not press me to perform an act that is base and dishonourable; grant me but one or two conditions, and I will go to the very verge of what I ought to do, towards you."

"I will press you to nothing, sir," replied William; "what are the conditions?"

"First," replied the other, "that I may not be asked to name any names; secondly, that I may never be called upon to give any evidence upon this subject in a court of justice."

"The names, of course, are important," said William, "as by having them we are placed most upon our guard. However, you have come voluntarily to render me a service, and I will not press hard upon you. The conditions you ask shall be granted. The names shall not be required of you, and you shall not be called upon to give evidence. Call in Keppel! Arnold!" he added, raising his voice; and immediately the door was opened, and Keppel entered, bowing low as he did so.

"I have promised this gentleman two things, Keppel," said the King. "First, that he shall not be pressed to give up the names of the conspirators; and, secondly, that he shall not be called upon to give evidence against them."

"Your majesty is very gracious," replied Keppel: "without the names of the persons, I scarcely think—"

William made a sign with his hand, saying, "That is decided. Now, sir, what more have you to add?"

"Merely this, sir," replied the other: "it is not much, indeed, but it will enable you to take greater measures for your safety. The design to assassinate you has existed some time, but the period for putting it in execution was formerly fixed for the month of April. My opposition to the bloody design, and to the purpose of bringing French troops into Great Britain, has deranged all the plans of these base men. I had fancied that such opposition, and the falling away of many others on whom the assassins counted, would have induced them to abandon the whole design. Last night, however, I received intelligence that, instead of so doing, their purpose was but strengthened, and their design only hastened; that instead of April, the assassination was to take place whenever it could be accomplished; that even to-morrow, when it is believed you dine with the Lord Romney, if it were found possible absolutely to surround the house so as to prevent escape, the deed was to be attempted there; or as you went; or as you came back. If none of these occasions suited, you were to be assailed the first time that you went out to hunt; and dresses such as those worn by many of your attendants in the chase are already ordered for the purpose of facilitating the execution of the murder, and the escape of the assassins. It has been calculated, I find, that on the night of next Saturday you are likely to pass across Turnham Green towards ten o'clock, and that is one of the occasions which is to be made use of, if others fail."

William looked at Lord Albemarle, and Albemarle at the King; but the latter remained silent for a minute or two, as if to give his informant time to go on. The other, however, added nothing more; and the King, after this long pause, said, "I must not conceal from you, sir, that we have heard something of this matter, and may probably soon have farther tidings."

"It is high time, sir," replied the other, "that you should have farther tidings, for the first attempt will certainly be to-morrow night."

"Perhaps we have acted somewhat rashly," said Keppel; "but to say truth, there have been so many reports of plots, that we thought it but right to discourage the matter; his Majesty justly observing, that if he were to give attention to everything of the kind, he would have nothing to do but to examine into the truth of stories composed for the purpose of obtaining rewards. We therefore gave this matter not so much attention as it would seem to require."

"It requires every attention, sir," replied their visitor; "and from whomsoever you may have obtained the information, if possible, obtain more from him immediately. If he tell you what I have told, he tells you truth; and if so, it is probable that any farther information he may give will be true likewise. Did I know his name, perhaps I could say more."

"Suppose his name were Johnstone?" said the King.

"I know of none such," replied the other, "who could give you much information. There are many persons, whom men call Jacobites, of that name, and many very gallant gentlemen who would sooner die than become assassins. But none that I know of, in this business."

"What would you say, then," the King continued, "to the name of
Williamson, or Carter, or Porter?"

"Porter!" replied the other, gazing in the King's face—"Porter!—I believe, sir," he added, "you are too generous to attempt to wring from me the names of persons connected with this business in any underhand manner; and therefore I reply to you straightforwardly, that if Captain Porter should give you any information upon this matter consistent with the tidings that I have given, or in explanation thereof, you may believe him. He is not a gentleman I either very much respect or esteem; but I do not believe that he is one who would willingly take a part in assassination, or who would falsify the truth knowingly."

"Sir, you confirm my good opinion of you," replied the King: "we have intimation of some of these proceedings from Porter, and have had intimation from other quarters also, but none such as could be relied upon till the information that you have given us to-night. Porter's, indeed, might have proved more satisfactory; but he does not bear a good reputation, and it was judged better to discourage the thing altogether. He shall now be heard, and very likely the whole will be explained. On the complete discovery of the plot, I need hardly say that any reward within reason which you may require shall be given you."

The stranger waved his hand somewhat indignantly. "There was a man found, sir," he said, "to sell the blood of Christ himself for thirty pieces of silver; and therefore it can scarcely be considered as insulting to any of the sons of men to suppose that they would follow that example. I, however, do not trade in such things, and I require no reward whatsoever for that which I have done. I trust and see now that it will prove effectual, and I am perfectly satisfied. If these men fall into your hands by other means than mine, and incur the punishment they have justly deserved, I have not a word to say for them, but I have only to beseech you, sir, to separate the innocent from the guilty; to be careful—oh! most careful, in a moment of excitement and just indignation—not to confound the two, and to make a just distinction between fair and open enemies of your government, and base and treacherous assassins."

"I shall strive to do so, sir," answered the King, "and would always rather lean towards mercy than cruelty. And now, as it grows late, I would fain know your name, and would gladly see you again."

"My name, sir," replied the other, "must either be kept secret, or revealed to your Majesty alone. I have long been a nameless man, having lost all, and spent all, in behalf of that family opposed to your dynasty."

"Who have, doubtless, shown you no gratitude," said William.

"They have had no means, sir," replied the Jacobite, "and I have made no demand upon them."

"It is but right, however," said the King, changing the subject, "that I should know your name. When I inquired who you were when we last met—the only time, indeed, we have met, till now—they gave me a name which I now see must have been a mistaken one. Do you object to give it before this gentleman?"

"To give my real name, sir," replied the other, "I do. But I have no objection to give it to you yourself in private."

"Leave us, Arnold," said the King; and Lord Albemarle immediately quitted the presence.