The Lion's Skin by Rafael Sabatini
CHAPTER XVIII. THE GHOST OF THE PAST
Temptation had seized Mr. Caryll in a throttling grip, and for two wholedays he kept the house, shunning all company and wrestling with thatsame Temptation. In the end he took a whimsical resolve, entirely worthyof himself.
He would go to Lord Ostermore formally to ask in marriage the hand ofMistress Winthrop, and he would be entirely frank with the earl, statinghis exact condition, but suppressing the names of his parents.
He was greatly taken with the notion. It would create a situationironical beyond any, grotesque beyond belief; and its development shouldbe stupendously interesting. It attracted him irresistibly. That heshould leave it to his own father to say whether a man born as he wasborn might aspire to marry his father's ward, had in it something thatsavored of tragi-comedy. It was a pretty problem, that once set couldnot be left unsolved by a man of Mr. Caryll's temperament. And, indeed,no sooner was the idea conceived than it quickened into a resolve uponwhich he set out to act.
He bade Leduc call a chair, and, dressed in mourning, but with hishabitual care, he had himself carried to Lincoln's Inn Fields.
Engrossed as he was in his own thoughts, he paid little heed to the humof excitement about the threshold of Stretton House. Within the railedenclosure that fronted the mansion two coaches were drawn up, and alittle knot of idlers stood by one of these in busy gossip.
Paying no attention to them, Mr. Caryll mounted the steps, nor noticedthe gravity of the porter's countenance as he passed within.
In the hall he found a little flock of servants gathered together,and muttering among themselves like conspirators in a tragedy; and soengrossed that they paid no heed to him as he advanced, nor until hehad tapped one of them on the shoulder with his cane--and tapped him athought peremptorily.
"How now?" said he. "Does no one wait here?"
They fell apart a little, and stood at attention, with something curiousin their bearing, one and all.
"My service to his lordship, and say that I desire to speak with him."
They looked at one another in hesitation for a moment; then Humphries,the butler, came forward. "Your honor'll not have heard the news?" saidhe, a solemn gravity in face and tone.
"News?" quoth Mr. Caryll sharply, intrigued by so much show of mystery."What news?"
"His lordship is very ill, sir. He had a seizure this morning when theycame for him."
"A seizure?" said Mr. Caryll. And then: "When they came for him?" heechoed, struck by something odd in the man's utterance of those fivewords. "When who came for him?"
"The messengers, sir," replied the butler dejectedly. "Has your honornot heard?" And seeing the blank look on Mr. Caryll's face, he proceededwithout waiting for an answer: "His lordship was impeached yesterday byhis Grace of Wharton on a matter concerning the South Sea Company, andLord Carteret--the secretary of state, your honor--sent this morning toarrest him."
"'Sdeath!" ejaculated Mr. Caryll in his surprise, a surprise that wastempered with some dismay. "And he had a seizure, ye say?"
"An apoplexy, your honor. The doctors are with him now; Sir James,himself, is here. They're cupping him--so I hear from Mr. Tom, hislordship's man. I'd ha' thought your honor would ha' heard. 'Tis towntalk, they say."
Mr. Caryll would have found it difficult to have said exactly whatimpression this news made upon him. In the main, however, he feared itleft him cold.
"'Tis very regrettable," said he. He fell thoughtful a moment. Then:"Will you send word to Mistress Winthrop that I am here, and would speakwith her, Humphries?"
Humphries conducted Mr. Caryll to the little white and goldwithdrawing-room that was Hortensia's. There, in the little time thathe waited, he revolved the situation as it now stood, and the temptationthat had been with him for the past three days rose up now with agreater vigor. Should Lord Ostermore die, Temptation argued, he needno longer hesitate. Hortensia would be as much alone in the world ashe was; worse, for life at Stretton House with her ladyship--from whicheven in the earl's lifetime she had been led to attempt to escape--mustbe a thing unbearable, and what alternative could he suggest but thatshe should become his wife?
She came to him presently, white-faced and with startled eyes. As shetook his outstretched hands, she attempted a smile. "It is kind in youto come to me at such a time," she said.
"You mistake," said he, "as is but natural. I had not heard what hadbefallen. I came to ask your hand in marriage of his lordship."
Some faint color tinged her cheeks. "You had decided, then?"
"I had decided that his lordship must decide," he answered.
"And now?"
"And now it seems we must decide for ourselves if his lordship dies."
Her mind swung to the graver matter. "Sir James has every hope," shesaid, and added miserably: "I know not which to pray for, his recoveryor his death."
"Why that?"
"Because if he survive it may be for worse. The secretary's agent iseven now seeking evidence against him among his own papers. He is in thelibrary at this moment, going through his lordship's desk."
Mr. Caryll started. That mention of Ostermore's desk brought vividlybefore his mind the recollection of the secret drawer wherein the earlhad locked away the letter he had received from King James and hisown reply, all packed as it was, with treason. If that drawer werediscovered, and those papers found, then was Ostermore lost indeed, anddid he survive this apoplexy, it would be to surrender his head upon thescaffold.
A moment he considered this, dispassionately. Then it broke upon hismind that were this to happen, Ostermore's blood would indirectly beupon his own head, since for the purpose of betrayal had he sought himout with that letter from the exiled Stuart--which, be it remembered,King James himself had no longer wished delivered.
It turned him cold with horror. He could not remain idle and let mattersrun their course. He must avert these discoveries if it lay within hispower to do so, or else he must submit to a lifetime of remorse shouldOstermore survive to be attainted of treason. He had made an end--adefinite end--long since of his intention of working Ostermore's ruin;he could not stand by now and see that ruin wrought as a result of thelittle that already he had done towards encompassing it.
"His papers must be saved," he said shortly. "I'll go to the library atonce."
"But the secretary's agent is there already," she repeated.
"'Tis no matter for that," said he, moving towards the door. "His deskcontains that which will cost him his head if discovered. I know it," heassured her, and left her cold with fear.
"But, then, you--you?" she cried. "Is it true that you are a Jacobite?"
"True enough," he answered.
"Lord Rotherby knows it," she informed him. "He told me it was so.If--if you interfere in this, it--it may mean your ruin." She came tohim swiftly, a great fear written or her winsome face.
"Sh," said he. "I am not concerned to think of that at present. If LordOstermore perishes through his connection with the cause, it will meanworse than ruin for me--though not the ruin that you are thinking of."
"But what can you do?"
"That I go to learn."
"I will come with you, then."
He hesitated a moment, looking at her; then he opened the door, andheld it for her, following after. He led the way across the hall to thelibrary, and they went in together.
Lord Ostermore's secretaire stood open, and leaning over it, his backtowards them was a short, stiffly-built man in a snuff-colored coat.He turned at the sound of the closing door, and revealed the pleasant,chubby face of Mr. Green.
"Ha!" said Mr. Caryll. "Mr. Green again. I declare, sir, ye've the giftof ubiquity."
The spy stood up to regard him, and for all that his voice inclinedto sharpness when he spoke, the habitual grin sat like a mask upon themobile features. "What d'ye seek here?"
"Tis what I was about to ask you--what you are seeking; for that youseek is plain. I thought perhaps I might assist you."
"I not
Mr. Caryll continued, nevertheless, to advance towards him, MistressHortensia remaining in the background, a quiet spectator, betrayingnothing of the anxieties by which she was being racked.
"Ye're mighty curt this morning, Mr. Green," said Mr. Caryll, very airy."Ye're mighty curt, and ye're entirely wrong so to be. You might find mea very useful friend."
"I've found you so before," said Mr. Green sourly.
"Ye've a nice sense of humor," said Mr. Caryll, head on one side,contemplating the spy with admiration in his glance.
"And a nicer sense of a Jacobite," answered Mr. Green.
"He will have the last word, you perceive," said Mr. Caryll toHortensia.
"Harkee, Mr. Caryll," quoth Mr. Green, quite grimly now. "I'd ha' laidyou by the heels a month or more ago, but for certain friends o' minewho have other ends to serve."
"Sir, what you tell me shocks me. It shakes the very foundations of myfaith in human nature. I have esteemed you an honest man, Mr. Green,and it seems--on your own confessing--that ye're no better than adamned rogue who neglects his duty to the state. I've a mind to see LordCarteret, and tell him the truth of the matter."
"Ye shall have an opportunity before long, ecod!" said Mr. Green."Good-morning to you! I've work to do." And he turned back to the desk.
"'Tis wasted labor," said Mr. Caryll, producing his snuff-box, andtapping it. "You might seek from now till the crack of doom, and notfind what ye seek--not though you hack the desk to pieces. It has asecret, Mr. Green. I'll make a bargain with you for that secret."
Mr. Green turned again, and his shrewd, bright eyes scanned more closelythat lean face, whose keenness was all dissembled now in an easy,languid smile. "A bargain?" grumbled the spy. "I' faith, then, thesecret's worthless."
"Ye think that? Pho! 'Tis not like your usual wit, Mr. Green. The letterthat I carried into England, and that you were at such splendid painsto find at Maidstone, is in here." And he tapped the veneered top of thesecretaire with his forefinger. "But ye'll not find it without my help.It is concealed as effectively--as effectively as it was upon my personwhen ye searched me. Now, sir, will ye treat with me? It'll save you aworld of labor."
Mr. Green still looked at him. He licked his lips thoughtfully,cat-like. "What terms d'ye make?" he inquired, but his tone was verycold. His busy brain was endeavoring to conjecture what exactly mightbe Mr. Caryll's object in this frankness which Mr. Green was not foolenough to believe sincere.
"Ah," said Mr. Caryll. "That is more the man I know." He tapped hissnuff-box, and in that moment memory rather than inspiration showed himthe thing he needed. "Did ye ever see 'The Constant Couple,' Mr. Green?"he inquired.
"'The Constant Couple'?" echoed Mr. Green, and though mystified, hemust air his little jest. "I never saw any couple that wasconstant--leastways, not for long."
"Ha! Ye're a roguish wag! But 'The Constant Couple' I mean is a play."
"Oh, a play! Ay, I mind me I saw it some years ago, when 'twas firstacted. But what has that to do with--"
"Ye'll understand in a moment," said Mr. Caryll, with a smile the spydid not relish. "D'ye recall a ruse of Sir Harry Wildairs to ridhimself of the company of an intrusive old fool who was not wanted? D'yeremember what 'twas he did?"
Mr. Green, his head slightly on one side, was watching Mr. Caryll veryclosely, and not without anxiety. "I don't," said he, and dropped ahand to the pocket where a pistol lay, that he might be prepared foremergencies. "What did he do?"
"I'll show you," said Mr. Caryll. "He did this." And with a swift upwardmovement, he emptied his snuff-box full into the face of Mr. Green.
Mr. Green leapt back, with a scream of pain, hands to his eyes, andquite unconsciously set himself to play to the life the part of theintrusive old fellow in the comedy. Dancing wildly about the room, hiseyes smarting and burning so that he could not open them, he bellowedof hell-fire and other hot things of which he was being so intenselyreminded.
"'Twill pass," Mr. Caryll consoled him. "A little water, and all will bewell with you." He stepped to the door as he spoke, and flung it open."Ho, there! Who waits?" he called.
Two or three footmen sprang to answer him. He took Mr. Green, stillblind and vociferous, by the shoulders, and thrust him into their care."This gentleman has had a most unfortunate accident. Get him water towash his eyes--warm water. So! Take him. 'Twill pass, Mr. Green. 'Twillsoon pass, I assure you."
He shut the door upon them, locked it, and turned to Hortensia, smilinggrimly. Then he crossed quickly to the desk, and Hortensia followed him.He sat down, and pulled out bodily the bottom drawer on the right insideof the upper part of the desk, as he had seen Lord Ostermore do thatday, a little over a week ago. He thrust his hand into the opening, andfelt along the sides for some moments in vain. He went over the groundagain slowly, inch by inch, exerting constant pressure, until he wassuddenly rewarded by a click. The small trap disclosed itself. He pulledit up, and took some papers from the recess. He spread them before him.They were the documents he sought--the king's letter to Ostermore, andOstermore's reply, signed and ready for dispatch. "These must be burnt,"he said, "and burnt at once, for that fellow Green may return, or he maysend others. Call Humphries. Get a taper from him."
She sped to the door, and did his bidding. Then she returned. She wasplainly agitated. "You must go at once," she said, imploringly. "Youmust return to France without an instant's delay."
"Why, indeed, it would mean my ruin to remain now," he admitted. "Andyet--" He held out his hands to her.
"I will follow you," she promised him. "I will follow you as soon as hislordship is recovered, or--or at peace."
"You have well considered, sweetheart?" he asked her, holding her tohim, and looking down into her gentle eyes.
"There is no happiness for me apart from you."
Again his scruples took him. "Tell Lord Ostermore--tell him all," hebegged her. "Be guided by him. His decision for you will represent thedecision of the world."
"What is the world to me? You are the world to me," she cried.
There was a rap upon the door. He put her from him, and went to open. Itwas Humphries with a lighted taper. He took it, thanked the man with aword, and shut the door in his face, ignoring the fact that the fellowwas attempting to tell him something.
He returned to the desk. "Let us make quite sure that this is all," hesaid, and held the taper so that the light shone into the recess. Itseemed empty at first; then, as the light penetrated farther, he sawsomething that showed white at the back of the cachette. He thrust inhis hand, and drew out a small package bound with a ribbon that oncemight have been green but was faded now to yellow. He set it on thedesk, and returned to his search. There was nothing else. The recesswas empty. He closed the trap and replaced the drawer. Then he sat downagain, the taper at his elbow, Mistress Winthrop looking on, facing himacross the top of the secretaire, and he took up the package.
The ribbon came away easily, and some half-dozen sheets fell out andscattered upon the desk. They gave out a curious perfume, half ofage, half of some essence with which years ago they had been imbued.Something took Mr. Caryll in the throat, and he could never explainwhether it was that perfume or some premonitory emotion, some propheticapprehension of what he was about to see.
He opened the first of those folded sheets, and found it to be a letterwritten in French and in an ink that had paled to yellow with the yearsthat were gone since it had been penned. The fine, pointed writing wascuriously familiar to Mr. Caryll. He looked at the signature at thebottom of the page. It swam before his eyes--ANTOINETTE-"Celle quil'adore, Antoinette," he read, and the whole world seemed blotted outfor him; all consciousness, his whole being, his every sense, seemedconcentrated into his eyes as they gazed upon that relic of a deludedwoman's dream.
He did not read. It was not for him t
He turned the other letters over; opened them one by one, to make surethat they were of the same nature as the first, and what time he did sohe found himself speculating upon the strangeness of Ostermore's havingso treasured them. Perhaps he had thrust them into that secret recess,and there forgotten them; 'twas an explanation that sorted better withwhat Mr. Caryll knew of his father, than the supposition that so dulland practical and self-centered a nature could have been irradiated bya gleam of such tenderness as the hoarding of those letters might haveargued.
He continued to turn them over, half-mechanically, forgetful of theurgent need to burn the treasonable documents he had secured, forgetfulof everything, even Hortensia's presence. And meantime she watched himin silence, marvelling at this delay, and still more at the gray lookthat had crept into his face.
"What have you found?" she asked at last.
"A ghost," he answered, and his voice had a strained, metallic ring. Heeven vented an odd laugh. "A bundle of old love-letters."
"From her ladyship?"
"Her ladyship?" He looked up, an expression on his face which seemed toshow that he could not at the moment think who her ladyship might be.Then as the picture of that bedaubed, bedizened and harsh-featuredJezebel arose in his mind to stand beside the sweet girl--image ofhis mother--as he knew her from the portrait that hung at Maligny--helaughed again. "No, not from her ladyship," said he. "From a woman wholoved him years ago." And he turned to the seventh and last of thosepoor ghosts-the seventh, a fateful number.
He spread it before him; frowned down on it a moment with a sharp hissof indrawn breath. Then he twisted oddly on his chair, and sat boltupright, staring straight before him with unseeing eyes. Presently hepassed a hand across his brow, and made a queer sound in his throat.
"What is it?" she asked.
But he did not answer; he was staring at the paper again. A while hesat thus; then with swift fevered fingers he took up once more the otherletters. He unfolded one, and began to read. A few lines he read, andthen--"O God!" he cried, and flung out his arms under stress of 'hisemotions. One of them caught the taper that stood upon the desk; andswept it, extinguished, to the floor. He never heeded it, never gave athought to the purpose for which it had been fetched, a purpose not yetserved. He rose. He was white as the dead are white, and she observedthat he was trembling. He took up the bundle of old letters, and thrustthem into an inside pocket of his coat.
"What are you doing?" she cried, seeking at last to arouse him from thespell under which he appeared to have fallen. "Those letters--"
"I must see Lord Ostermore," he answered wildly, and made for the door,reeling like a drunkard in his walk.