"No," replied the Earl, who seemed for some reason willing to prolong the conversation. "I should have done just as this worthy gentleman who is with you did; kept my hat on, and remained silent. Besides, my good friend, your leanings are well known, although one would have thought that the son of jolly old Van Noost, who came over with King William, would not have inherited a vast store of Jacobitism."
"It was my mother's property I came into," replied Van Noost, with a laugh; "for, though my father was a Dutchman, my mother was a thorough Englishwoman, Betsy Hall by name. My father never meddled with politics, good man; but my mother was a staunch Tory, and a wise one; for she always cried when there was anything to be got, and held her tongue when there was no use in crying. But how happens your Lordship to be on foot amongst the rabble?" he continued, moving as if to pass the Earl who was right in his way. "Have you not been down to the House to see these gay doings?"
"Not I," replied the Earl of Stair. "My business is to stop intrigues, and not to mix with them."
"A hard cut, that, at your friends, my Lord," said Van Noost, bowing low, and taking off his hat. "Bob Walpole wouldn't thank you, I think."
While this short conversation had been going on, the Earl of Stair had more than once directed his eyes, with a quiet inquiring glance, towards Van Noost's companion. That personage, however, had in an easy manner, without the slightest appearance of effort, contrived to keep his face averted, till the movement of Van Noost in advance obliged him to pass the Earl, who then got a full but momentary view of his countenance. The two then walked on; and as soon as they were five or six steps distant, Lord Stair beckoned to a man who was standing at the door of the Rummer tavern, and, on his running up, whispered to him--
"Follow the two persons with whom I have been speaking, see whither they go, and watch, for a little, if they soon separate. Then come and tell me."
Without a word of reply, the man glided away, and soon gained sight of Van Noost and Smeaton as they walked on. He kept at a certain distance behind them, dogged them round the corners of streets, sometimes crossed over the way, and watched them from the opposite side, sometimes even passed them, and then stopped to look at something that seemed to attract his attention. As the crowd in the streets diminished, however, his office became more difficult of execution; and his manœuvres were speedily detected by a quick eye that was upon him.
"There is a man following us, Van Noost," said Smeaton, in a low tone, just as they were entering Piccadilly. "He has dogged us ever since we left Charing Cross."
"He is watching you, not me," answered Van Noost, with a laugh. "My character and domicile are too well known to need watching. See what it is to have an established reputation. But you must not go home, for that might be dangerous. Come on to my little place--I will provide you such dinner as I can give, and will get you out the back way, after dark. In the meantime, we can talk over what is next to be done with Oxford."
The other did not reply, but walked on with his companion. They took their way straight up Piccadilly, which was then still frequently called the Reading Road. Towards the top of the Haymarket, Piccadilly bore somewhat the appearance of a street, although a great number of the first houses were inns for the accommodation of strangers coming to London; but as one proceeded in a westerly direction, the country gained the day over the town; and Piccadilly wore much the appearance of that suburb called Kensington Gore. On the right hand, especially, were many splendid mansions, surrounded by large gardens, affecting a rural air, commencing, I believe, with the houses of Sir John Clarges and Lady Stanhope, and going on with Queensbury House, Burlington House, Sir Thomas Bond's house, (through part of which has been carried the well-known Bond-street,) Berkeley House, with its splendid garden, and several others, built and decorated at an expense, and with a degree of luxury, far beyond the means of any but a very few of our wealthiest countrymen of the present day.