The House of Egremont

by Molly Elliot Seawell

Two expeditions to and from London did Dicky and Bold make,—Dicky each time with papers in his pockets enough to have hanged a hundred men. He steadfastly declined to know their contents.

“For, in case I am stopped, I wish to say that I do not know what these letters refer to, nor the names of the persons writing them. That they are meant to help toward the restoration of our lawful King, I know, and never will deny.”

After the second of these journeys, when the Jacobites only needed the word to rise, a thunderbolt fell from the sky. Sir John Fenwick was arrested, and with him Sir John Friend, General Rookwood, and many other gentlemen of condition, all implicated in a plot to abduct William of Orange. One gentleman, known as Mr. Calthorpe, escaped. There was some doubt about his identity, but it was noted that he had long, slender hands, with delicate fingers, like the Stuarts. Dicky Egremont and some others knew who this gentleman was.

The failure of the expected uprising was a disappointment to Dicky Egremont, as to all the other friends of King James. But he had come to England upon other work. It was to preach, to pray, to administer the sacraments to the poor,—for it was toward these unfortunate children of the common Father that Dicky Egremont yearned. Truly, the Egremonts had ever been well liked by the humble people. It was with joy, therefore, that he left the house of his friend, near Exeter, to go among the poor and despised of men; but on the very day that he proposed to go in secret to Egremont, news was brought from London that among the persons indicted for an attempt to murder William of Orange, was one Richard Egremont, known to be a Jesuit priest in disguise, who had been active in the matter from the start. Dicky at once disappeared from the neighborhood of Exeter, but within a week was apprehended, together with Bold, his dog, in the village of Egremont, and taken in chains, as became a villain, and would-be regicide, to London, to be tried for his life. And for the second time an Egremont stood in the prisoners’ dock, accused of a capital crime against the person of William of Orange.

The affair for which eleven gentlemen were tried, and nine convicted, was so very like the former one, in which Roger Egremont had been engaged, that it seemed as if the young Jesuit was convicted on evidence offered in his cousin’s case. It was the same story,—a plot to kidnap William of Orange. Only, the statements of the two kinsmen were entirely different. It was well remembered that Roger had coolly avowed his intention, and when asked, in tones of horror, if he contemplated murder, remarked that in a mêlée with pistols and swords, it would not be surprising if some one got hurt, and for his part, had the Prince of Orange refused to submit, he would have had it out with him, and one or the other might have been killed.

Dicky Egremont, on the contrary, swore that he knew nothing of the plot, and was not in the confidence of the conspirators; but that he knew it was a movement for the restoration of King James, and as such he willingly assisted in transmitting information. This was enough, even without his frank avowal that he belonged to the Society of Jesus. It was not even necessary to stretch a point, as in the case of Sir John Fenwick, in whose case but one witness could be found to convict him, instead of the two which the law required. This was promptly remedied by a bill of attainder, and, as his counsel urged, “the whole force of parliament was used to take away the life of a man whom the laws of his country could not condemn.” The prisoners were confined in Newgate gaol. Bold, with an intelligence far beyond his plebeian and mongrel breed, managed to follow his master even to Newgate. The poor animal was so ugly and worthless—except the faithful heart of him—that he was worth no man’s stealing.

The first acquaintance Bold made, after sneaking into Newgate, was Diggory Hutchinson, Bess Lukens’s old admirer. Diggory remembered something about the Jesuit gentleman’s dog having followed him, and on taking Bold to Dicky’s cell, the two companions met with such a rapture of friendship that Diggory’s heart—not a bad one—was touched.

“I can’t let you have him sir,” he said to Dicky, “but I’ll keep him, and fetch him to see you once a day—till—till—” till Dicky was convicted and hanged, was in Diggory’s mind.

Dicky was charmed at the idea of having his dog with him, even for an hour a day, and thanked Diggory most gratefully. Diggory remembered the last Egremont who had inhabited Newgate, and reminded Dicky of it when he brought the prisoner his gaol fare and his dog, on the first day of his imprisonment.

Dicky, on this announcement, was disposed to regard Diggory as more of a friend than ever.