II.—THE ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY.
Fegan’s report must have been at least to some extent favourable, if not actually encouraging, for that evening Tom Checkstone left town by the limited mail for Scotland. For reasons that will presently appear, he took with him half-a-dozen boxes of very fine cigars and a considerable quantity of personal luggage; and, contrary to his usual habit, he travelled first-class.
Early on the morning of the next day but one, after having spent a portion of the previous night at the Bagpipes Inn, Aberdumble, he hired the best conveyance in the town, and was driven over to Balquhalloch.
Balquhalloch Castle, as all Scotchmen and most Englishmen are no doubt aware, is a straggling building that dates back to the beginning of the fifteenth century. It occupies an isolated position, and consists of a grim gray keep, surrounded by a circle of stables, store-rooms, and servants’ quarters.
It was to this ancient abode that Mr Tom Checkstone was driven. The carriage passed through the frowning gateway of the castle into a large courtyard, in which several servants in livery stood ready to receive it. Tom alighted, and, acting upon instructions which he had obtained from George Fegan, asked to see Mr M‘Dum. His card was carried to that functionary, who at once professed his readiness to see his visitor in his private room. Thither, therefore, Tom was conducted; and scarcely had he taken a seat ere the Steward of the Household entered.
Mr M‘Dum was a short, stout, red-faced man of about fifty years of age. He was negligently dressed in a brown velvet shooting-suit, and he was smoking a very large cigar.
‘What can I do for you?’ he asked bluntly.
‘I have come down,’ said Tom, ‘with an introduction from Mr George Fegan of Figblossom Buildings, London.’
‘Yes; I know him,’ ejaculated M‘Dum abruptly.
‘And I wish,’ continued Tom, ‘to apply for a secretaryship which, as I see by an advertisement in the Morning Post, is vacant.’
‘Well, sit down,’ said M‘Dum, as he threw himself into the most comfortable chair in the room; ‘and we will talk the matter over.’ And he proceeded to help himself to a stiff glass of whisky from a decanter that stood upon a table at his side.
‘I think that I possess all the necessary qualifications,’ began Tom; ‘but of that you must be the judge. Perhaps this letter from Mr Fegan will give you as much information as I can,’ and he handed a sealed missive to the Steward.
M‘Dum took it, and having opened it, read aloud:
‘My dear Mr M‘Dum—My friend Mr Checkstone has seen in the paper that a secretary is wanted at Balquhalloch. He is a young man of means, family, good education, and address; he is, moreover, a sociable companion; and you may in all matters rely upon his discretion. I therefore highly recommend him to you. I take advantage of his journey to Scotland to send to you half-a-dozen boxes of very prime cigars; and remain yours very faithfully,
George Fegan.’
‘And here are the cigars,’ added Tom, pointing to a package which he had brought in with him.
Cigars were Mr M‘Dum’s second weakness. His first was good whisky. In a moment his demeanour, which up to that point had been by no means friendly, altered.
‘Good!’ he exclaimed. ‘The letter, so far as it goes, is perfectly satisfactory, Mr Checkstone.—Now, let us look at the matter as men of business. The fact is that Miss Stuart—the Princess Henrietta Maria as we call her here—wants a well-educated amanuensis. I manage her estates and her household, but—and I needn’t attempt to disguise it—my education has been neglected. I am not good at letter-writing. Still, I have worked my way gradually up into my present position, and I am not disposed to imperil it. The man who comes here must be my ally. He will be paid four hundred a year, and will keep his place as long as he likes, provided that he gets on well with me. The Princess is not exacting, although she is eccentric. I do not suppose, indeed, that the work will be hard; and as there is plenty of good shooting and fishing down here, the life is very pleasant. I may tell you that Mr Fegan has already telegraphed to me announcing your visit, and that I am upon the whole prepared to engage you.’
‘You are very good,’ returned Tom, who, however, did not add that he knew the telegram in question had been sent, and that he was perfectly aware of its contents. The words were: ‘I send down Checkstone for secretary. Easy to manage. Perfectly innocent and harmless.’ Nor did Tom explain that he, and not Fegan, was the real donor of the cigars.
‘Oh, it is merely a matter of business,’ rejoined M‘Dum. ‘I fancy that we should get on together. But, since if you obtain the post you will obtain it through my good offices, and since I naturally desire to have some guarantee that the Princess’s confidence in you will not be misplaced, you must excuse my asking whether you are prepared to—well—to make some small—what shall we say—some small deposit, some trifling payment as a security, you know?’
‘Nothing could be more reasonable, Mr M‘Dum,’ said Tom.
‘I imagine,’ continued the Steward, who was much encouraged by Tom’s words, ‘that a premium, say, of two years’ salary would not, under the circumstances, be excessive; for the post would practically be a permanency. Two years’ salary would be eight hundred pounds.’
‘Yes; I think that eight hundred pounds would not be excessive,’ said Tom. ‘I am ready to agree to pay that sum.’
‘That’s good! Then I will introduce you to the Princess.’ And placing his unfinished cigar in an ash-tray upon the table, Mr M‘Dum arose, and led the way through some long and cheerless stone passages into a more pretentious and better furnished part of the huge building. Leaving Tom in a panelled anteroom, he went forward to announce him; and returning, conducted the new secretary into the presence.
In a large armchair in a long low drawing-room sat the Princess Henrietta Maria. Tom bowed low as soon as he saw her, and then—acting upon directions which had been supplied to him by Mr Fegan—advanced and respectfully kissed the tips of her outstretched fingers.
‘Mr M‘Dum tells me,’ said the Princess, ‘that you are in all respects competent to act as our private secretary. We particularly need the services of an amanuensis just now, because we are drawing up some memoirs of our family. The documents are here in the castle; but our health does not permit of sufficient progress with the work. Are you prepared to undertake the duties?’
‘I am, your Royal Highness,’ assented Tom meekly, as he stood before the majestic old lady.
‘That is well. And when can you begin those duties, Mr Checkstone?’
‘I am at any moment at your Royal Highness’s disposal,’ said Tom. ‘I can even take up my residence here to-day, should your Royal Highness wish it.’
‘Let it be so, then, Mr Checkstone. Mr M‘Dum shall conduct you to your apartments; and I myself will take an early opportunity of visiting them and of satisfying myself that you will be comfortable.’
The Princess signified that the audience was over; and Tom and the Steward backed out of the room, bowing low as they went.
‘You should not have said that you would come in to-day,’ said M‘Dum, as soon as the door was shut. ‘And besides, how can you do so? Where is your luggage?’
‘It is at the inn at Aberdumble,’ answered Tom. ‘I thought, under any circumstances, of staying in Scotland for a few weeks; and so I came prepared.’
‘Humph!’ ejaculated M‘Dum, who was somewhat annoyed at his protégé’s precipitancy.—‘Now, if you don’t mind, we will go back to my little office and complete our business arrangements.’
Ten minutes later, Mr M‘Dum was the richer by a promissory-note for eight hundred pounds, and Tom was formally installed as private secretary to the Princess Henrietta Maria. At the earliest possible moment he sent back the conveyance to Aberdumble, instructing the coachman to forward his luggage to the castle, and intrusting the man with two telegrams, worded in French, one being addressed to George Fegan, and the other to Charles Edward Stuart.
Later in the day, the Princess requested him to attend her in the library; and there, without many preliminaries, he began, under her supervision, to transcribe the contents of numerous musty documents in English, and to translate those of others that were written in French and Latin. He worked for only a couple of hours; and then the Princess, bidding him lay aside his pen, sat and talked to him about London, about politics, and about books. In the evening he played chess and smoked with Mr M‘Dum; and after the toddy had been done full justice to, he retired, well satisfied, to his own snug rooms on the second floor of the ancient keep.
Thus did he spend his time for a week and more, until one afternoon the Princess fell to talking about the sad fate of her family.
‘The principle of divine right,’ she said, ‘cannot be altered by popular clamour. It is a reality. She who at present sits upon the throne of these kingdoms is no more the Queen than you are. Excellent woman though she is, she is but the representative of usurpers. True kings cannot be made by vulgar acclamation, neither can wrong become right by lapse of time. But the blood of our race has been tainted. Our royal brother of sacred memory—though, to be sure, he never recognised his exalted position—married a commoner; and how can I expect that the child of that union should be worthy of his splendid ancestry? Ah, that child! What possibilities are his, if only he had the energy to seize them! But he cares nothing. He is content to live obscure. He will not accept his destiny.’
‘Nay!’ suggested Tom; ‘perhaps he lives obscure because he is poor. Perhaps he is too proud to let it be known that he who exists upon a miserable two hundred and fifty pounds a year is the king of Great Britain. Your Royal Highness must not be unjust.’
‘Would that what you say were true!’ ejaculated the Princess. ‘But if he only made some sign of his desire to win his own, heaven knows that I would aid him with my fortune, and even, if need were, with my life.’
‘Your Royal Highness’s sentiments are worthy of her great lineage,’ said Tom courteously. ‘I happen to know that the facts are as I have hinted; for, although I have not yet mentioned it, I have the honour of your Royal Highness’s august nephew’s acquaintance. Indeed, I may say the king deigns to honour me with his friendship.’
‘The king!’ exclaimed the Princess, with beaming eyes—‘the king! You have heard His Majesty speak, have seen His Majesty walk, and you have not told me! Oh, Mr Checkstone, I cannot tell you how it rejoices me to have one of the king’s friends in my service!—What is His Majesty’s will? What are His Majesty’s plans? You may trust me. I am devoted wholly and entirely to his interests. How I have longed to learn of his intention to take his rightful position!’
Thus encouraged, Tom Checkstone related to the Princess a very plausible and interesting story, the main points of which he did not forget to communicate by letter to his friend in London. He assured the Princess that poverty alone prevented the king from taking action; that His Majesty chafed grievously in his enforced seclusion; and that the legitimate sovereign of Great Britain, in spite of the plebeian origin of his mother, was in all respects a worthy descendant of the Jameses.
‘Then His Majesty must come hither,’ said the Princess. ‘But I am greatly in doubt whether I can place implicit confidence in Mr M‘Dum. He is an excellent servant, but I fear he is not too loyal; and we must risk nothing.’
‘Mr M‘Dum,’ said Tom, ‘has very well taken care of himself hitherto. Your Royal Highness is perhaps not aware that he accepted a bribe from me when I applied for my present position in your Royal Highness’s household. I have his receipt for eight hundred pounds.’
‘Then, we shall certainly dismiss him,’ remarked the Princess with signs of rising anger. ‘But, as I say, he is withal an excellent servant, and it would not become us to act towards him in anger. I will pension him; and when he has left the castle, we may receive the king without any risk; for all my other servants have from their childhood been devoted to the royal cause.’
The result of this conversation—all the details of which were faithfully reported to Charlie Stuart—was that Mr M‘Dum, after a somewhat stormy scene with the Princess, quitted Balquhalloch, with an eye to an eligible public-house in Glasgow; and on the day of his departure, the Princess wrote a loyal and affectionate letter to her nephew, and despatched it to him by the hands of her chaplain, the Rev. Octavius M‘Fillan, a priest who, although he possessed no remarkable degree of intelligence, was of unimpeachable devotion to the Princess, and of great simplicity and kindness of heart. ‘Our castle,’ the letter concluded, ‘is held at your Majesty’s disposal; and all within it is at your Royal service.’
Father M‘Fillan, with much ceremony, delivered the missive to Charlie at his chambers in the Inner Temple; and ‘the king’ was pleased to say in reply that he would at his earliest convenience visit his well-beloved aunt in the north.
Two or three days afterwards, the second column of the Times contained an announcement to the effect that Catharine Smith, daughter of the late John Smith of Manchester, intended thenceforth to assume the surname of Plantagenet, and upon all future occasions to style herself, and be known as, Catharine Plantagenet. Fortunately, the Times was not studied at Balquhalloch, the Princess reading only the Edinburgh Courant, because it was a thorough-going Tory journal, and the London Morning Post, because it was of eminently aristocratic tone.
A week later, Charlie, who had meantime received some long letters from Tom, went down to Scotland.