“Mr. Wedderburn,” he said formally, “this is a letter from my Lord Middleton—signed by the King, charging me to collect such names of importance as I can and send the signature back by you as a means of encouraging the French to make a descent on England—”
“His Majesty expects me in a day or so at St. Germains with the signatures,” was the answer. “I assure you ’tis a matter for despatch, for King Louis will not act without these names as a guarantee of a rising in England to support him should his men land.”
“Lord Middleton also says that you will be the bearer of his grace of Berwick’s despatches and a full account of the plot for His Majesty’s perusal.”
Mr. Wedderburn inclined his head.
“Those were my orders.”
“A dangerous mission,” put in Sir Perseus. “You will carry a vast responsibility with those papers.”
“I have done as dangerous in the service of the King,” said Mr. Wedderburn. He turned to Jerome Caryl. “Sir—what names have you to send His Majesty?”
“News from all sides is vastly satisfactory,” was the answer. “His grace of Berwick is very confident, the discontent is huge in England; we have the assurances and the signatures of Marlborough, Godolphin, Rochester, Clarendon, Lord Russell, Leeds, Cornbury, Dartmouth, Sidney and many bishops and lords—”
“The whole of the Court ye might say,” cried Mr. Wedderburn, with a curious little laugh. “Tell me, are there any who have not signed?”
“Nottingham,” said Jerome Caryl with a smile. “Carstairs, Sunderland, Shrewsbury, Devonshire, Dorset and the Master of Stair—these have never to my knowledge meddled with us—Nottingham, because he is a narrow pedant; Devonshire and Dorset for sheer laziness; Sunderland because we would not have him in our ranks—Carstairs and the Master of Stair....”