The House of Egremont

by Molly Elliot Seawell

THE winter of 1695-96 was balmy and mild, and the smugglers—known as “owlers”—between France and England were very lively. The great ladies of London actually had the felicity of seeing, in the secrecy of milliners’ back parlors, some dolls dressed in Paris, so as to show the very latest fashions. Also, if one were very discreet and had much money, certain French laces, silks, and perfumes could be bought on the sly. Every smuggler did a good business that winter except one, which lay sluggishly at anchor at a little fishing village near Calais, during the whole month of January. Dark nights came, but the “owler” moved not. The people in the little town thought the captain had lost all enterprise, but it was none of their affair; smuggling was too common for the movements of a single “owler” to excite remark in a little fishing village.

At last, one night, two gentlemen arrived in a travelling-chaise. One of them was a very tall man, with long, delicate fingers like the royal house of Stuart, and he was evidently a soldier. He had with him, however, no attendant. The other person’s status it was difficult to discover, except in one particular—he was evidently a gentleman. He had a very fresh complexion, a pleasant eye, and when he smiled there were dimples in his cheek like a girl’s. He was plainly, even commonly dressed, in old clothes, but was scrupulously neat; and he carried a fiddle-case. Yet he was treated upon a footing of perfect equality by the tall gentleman. The two ate together, and even slept together in the one room which a fisherman’s family could spare them. Two days after they arrived, came a vessel from England bringing despatches, and that night, just as the moon was going down, the two gentlemen went aboard the “owler,” her anchor was picked up, and her nose was turned toward England.

They were barely three hours at sea when they were landed at Dover, where they both took the London coach, but at different points. Nor did the tall gentleman bow, when the younger one with the fresh face, and the dimples, and the fiddle-case, mounted the top of the coach. Indeed, his manners changed excessively, for he said angrily to the young man who had slept in the same room with him the night before, “Have a care, my man. You are crowding your betters.”

“I humbly beg pardon, sir,” replied the young man, touching his hat, “but I am a stranger in these parts, and indeed, not much used to the road anyhow.”

The two travelled all the way to London in company, and scarce exchanged a word with each other. But at certain stages, when they were for a time the only passengers, there was evidently intelligence between them.

It was late at night before they reached the great, smoky city—wrapped in blackness, a river dark as the Styx flowing sluggishly, and great piles of buildings frowning down upon it. London after dark in 1696, was a city of dreadful night. The stopping place of the coach was at the Cock tavern in Bow Street.

The tall gentleman had a small portmanteau, which he himself handled, to the disgust of the tavern porters. The younger man had a little bag, such as might belong to a man who carried a fiddle-case. The porters did not think it worth their while to offer their services to this person.

The two departed from the inn without waiting for supper, the gentleman merely saying he had engaged lodgings elsewhere, while the fiddler alleged that he must look for a cheaper place to sleep. Although they went in opposite directions, within fifteen minutes they were walking up and down a narrow street together, in the shadow of a church porch.

“I hope, my Lord Duke,” said the younger man, who was Dicky Egremont, “that you and Sir John Fenwick and the other gentlemen engaged in this effort to restore the King will understand exactly how I am placed. My services and my life are at the disposal of our rightful King; that I consider the duty of a Christian and a loyal subject. Nay, more. As I am a priest, and without domestic ties, my life is not to me what it is to a layman,—to you, my Lord Duke, for example, with a young wife. Therefore, if there be any extra hazardous duty, it is clear that I am the man to take the risk. I am no hero, but I hope I am an honorable man, and capable of doing my duty.”

“I have not the least doubt of it, Mr. Egremont,” replied Berwick, warmly; “and your coming to England at this time, when there is a price upon the head of every member of the Society of Jesus is proof enough of your courage.”