Vaughan, as he walked through the dusk, had those waterways, those lanes, those alleys, the congested heart of the old city, in his mind. He doubted, even he, if the hour for action was not past. Nor was he surprised when Brereton met his appeal with a flat non possumus. He was more struck with the change which twenty-four hours had wrought in the man. He looked worn and haggard. The shadows under his eyes were deeper, the eyes shone with a more feverish light. His dress, too, was careless and disordered, and while he was not still for a moment, he repeated what he said over and over again as if to persuade himself of its truth.
Naturally Vaughan laid stress on the damage already done. “But, I tell you,” Brereton replied angrily, “we are well clear for that! It’s not a tithe of the harm which would have befallen if I had given way! I tell you, we’re well clear for that. No, I’ve done, thank God, I’ve done the only thing it was possible to do. A little too much, and if I’d succeeded I’d have been hung—for they’re all against me, they’re all against me, above and below! And if I’d failed, a thousand lives would have paid the bill! And do you ever consider, man,” he continued, striking the table, “what a massacre in this crowded place would be! Think of the shipyards, the dockyards, the quays! The water pits and the sunk alleys! How could I clear them with ninety swords? How could I clear them? Eh, with ninety swords? I tell you they never meant me to clear them.”
“But why not clear the wider streets, sir?” Vaughan persisted, “and keep a grip on those?”
“No! I say, no!”
“Yet even now, if you were to move your full force to Queen’s Square, sir, you might clear it. And driven from their headquarters, and taught that they are not going to have it all their own way, the more prudent would fall off and go home.”
“I know,” Brereton answered. “I know the argument. I know it. But who’s to thank for the whole trouble? Your Blues, who went beyond their orders last night. The Fourteenth, sir! The Fourteenth! But I’ll have no more of it. Flixton is of my opinion, too.”
“Flixton is an ass!” Vaughan cried incautiously.
“And you think me one too!” Brereton retorted, with so strange a look that for the first time Vaughan was sure that his mind was tottering. “Well, think what you like! Think what you like! But I’ll trouble you not to take that tone here.”
XXXII
THE AFFRAY AT THE PALACE
A little before the hour at which Vaughan interviewed Brereton, Sir Robert Vermuyden, the arrival of whose travelling carriage at the White Lion about the middle of the afternoon had caused some excitement, walked back to the inn. He was followed by Thomas, the servant who had attended Mary to Bristol, and by another servant. As he passed through the streets the signs of the times were not lost upon him; far from it. But the pride of caste was strong upon him, and he hid his anxiety.