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That afternoon was indeed destined to be fuller of events than I ever could have anticipated. No sooner had I closed the door upon my Lord Stour, when I heard footsteps ascending the stairs, and then my Lord’s voice raised once more, this time with a tone of pleasure mingled with astonishment.

“Wychwoode, by gad!” he exclaimed. “And what in Heaven’s name have you come to do in the old fox’s lair?”

I did not hear the immediate reply. More fussy than ever, Mr. Baggs had already signed to me to reopen the door.

“Lord Douglas Wychwoode,” he murmured hurriedly in my ear. “One of the younger sons of the Marquis of Sidbury. I am indeed fortunate to-day. The scions of our great Nobility do seek my help and counsel...” and more such senseless words did he utter, whilst the two young Gentlemen paused for a moment upon the landing, talking with one another.

“I thought you still in France,” Lord Douglas said to his friend. “What hath brought you home so unexpectedly?”

“I only arrived this morning,” the other replied; “and hoped to present my respects this evening, if your Father and the Lady Barbara will receive me.”

“Indeed, they’ll be delighted. Cela va sans dire, my friend. My sister has been rather pensive of late. Your prolonged absence may have had something to do with her mood.”

“May you speak the truth there!” my Lord Stour remarked with a sigh.

“But now you have not told me,” rejoined Lord Douglas, as he and his friend finally went into the room and curtly acknowledged Mr. Baggs’ reiterated salutations, “what hath brought you to the house of this bobbing old Thief yonder.”

“Private business,” replied Lord Stour. “And you?”

“The affairs of England,” said the other, and tossed his head proudly like some young Lion scenting battle.

Before his friend could utter another remark, Lord Douglas strode rapidly across the room, took some papers out of the inner pocket of his coat, and called to Mr. Baggs to come up closer to him.

“I want,” he said in a quick and peremptory whisper, “a dozen copies of this Deed done at once and by a sure hand. Can you do it?”

“Yes, I think so,” replied Mr. Baggs. “May I see what the paper is?”

I was watching the pair of them; so was my Lord Stour. On his face there came a sudden frown as of disapproval and anxiety.

“Wychwoode——!” he began.

But the other did not heed him. His eyes—which were so like those of his Sister—were fixed with an eager, questioning gaze upon my Employer. The latter’s face was absolutely expressionless and inscrutable whilst he scanned the paper which Lord Douglas, after a scarce perceptible moment of hesitation, had handed to him for perusal.

“Yes,” he said quietly, when he had finished reading. “It can be done.”

“At once?” asked Lord Douglas.

“At once. Yes, my Lord.”

“By a sure hand?”

“Discretion, my Lord,” replied Mr. Baggs, with the first show of dignity I have ever seen him display, “is a virtue in my profession, the failing in which would be a lasting disgrace.”

“I rely even more upon your convictions, Mr. Baggs,” Lord Douglas rejoined earnestly, “than upon your virtues.”

“You and your friends, my Lord, have deigned to talk those matters over with me many a time before. You and they know that You can count on me.”

Mr. Baggs spoke with more Quietude and Simplicity than was his wont when dealing with some of these noble Lords. You may be sure, dear Mistress, that I was vastly astonished at what I heard, still more at what I guessed. That Mr. Baggs and his Spouse belonged to the old Puritan Party which had deplored the Restoration of the Kingship, I knew well enough. I knew that both he and Mistress Euphresine looked with feelings akin to horror upon a system of Government which had for its supreme head a King, more than half addicted to Popery and wholly to fast living, with women, gambling and drinking all the day. But what I had never even remotely guessed until now was that he had already lent a helping hand to those numerous Organisations, which had for their object the overthrow of the present loose form of Government, if not that of the Monarchy itself.

I did not know, in fact, that beneath a weak and obsequious exterior, my Employer hid the stuff of which dangerous Conspirators are often made.

For the nonce, however, I imagine that he contented himself with writing out Deeds and Proclamations for the more important Malcontents, of whom apparently my Lord Douglas Wychwoode was one. He had never taken me into his confidence, even though he must have known that he could always rely upon my Discretion. What caused him to trust me now more than he had done before, I do not know. Perhaps he had come to a final decision to throw in his lot with the ultra-Protestant party, who viewed with such marked disfavour the projects of the King’s marriage with the Popish Princess of Portugal. Certain it is that he came to me without any hesitation with the Papers which Lord Douglas had just entrusted to him, and that he at once ordered me to make the twelve copies which his Lordship desired.

I retired within the window-recess which You know so well, and wherein I am wont to sit at my copying work. Mr. Baggs then set me to my task, after which he drew the screen across the recess, so that I remained hidden from the view of those who were still in the room. I set to with a Will, for my task was a heavy one. Twelve copies of a Manifesto, which in itself covered two long pages.

A Manifesto, in truth!

I could scarce believe mine eyes as I read the whole rambling, foolish, hot-headed Rigmarole. Did I not have the Paper actually in my hand, had I not seen Lord Douglas Wychwoode handing it himself over to Mr. Baggs, I could not have believed that any Men in their sober senses could have lent a hand to such criminal Folly.

Folly it was; and criminal to boot!

The whole matter is past History now, and there can be no harm in my relating it when so much of it hath long ago been made public.

That Manifesto was nothing more or less than an Appeal to certain Sympathizers to join in one of the maddest enterprises any man could conceive. It seems that my Lady Castlemaine’s house was to be kept watched by Parties of these same Conspirators, until one night when the King paid her one of his customary evening Visits. Then the signal was to be given, the House surrounded, my Lady Castlemaine kidnapped, His Majesty seized and forced to abdicate in favour of the young Duke of Monmouth, who would then be proclaimed King of England, with the Prince of Orange as Regent.

Now, have you ever heard of anything more mad? I assure You that I was literally staggered, and as my Pen went wearily scratching over the Paper I felt as if I were in a dream, seeing before me visions of what the end of such a foolish Scheme would be: the Hangman busy, the Prisons filled, sorrow and desolation in many homes that had hoped to find peace at last after the turmoil of the past twenty years. For the appeals were directed to well accredited people outside London, some of whom were connected with the best known Families in the Country. I must, of course, refrain from mentioning names that have been allowed to fall into oblivion in connection with the affair; but You, dear Mistress, would indeed be astonished if You heard them now.

And what caused me so much worry, whilst I wrote on till my hand felt cramped and stiff, was mine own Helplessness in the matter. What could I do, short of betraying the trust which was reposed in me?—and this, of course, was unthinkable.

I wrote on, feeling ever more dazed and dumb. From the other side of the screen the Voices of the two young Gentlemen came at times to mine ear with unusual clearness, at others only like an intermittent hum. Mr. Baggs had apparently left the room, and the others had no doubt become wholly oblivious of my Presence. Lord Douglas Wychwoode had told his Friend something of his madcap Schemes; his voice sounded both eager and enthusiastic. But my Lord Stour demurred.

“I am a Soldier,” he said at one time; “not a Politician.”

“That’s just it!” the other argued with earnestness. “It is Men like you that we want. We must crush that spendthrift Wanton who holds the King in her thrall, and we must force a dishonoured Monarch to give up the Crown of England to one who is worthier to wear it, since he himself, even in these few brief months, has already covered it with infamy.”

“You have set yourself a difficult task, my friend,” my Lord Stour urged more soberly; “and a dangerous one, too.”

“Only difficult and dangerous,” retorted Lord Douglas, “whilst such Men as you still hold aloof.”

“I tell you, I am no Politician,” his Friend rejoined somewhat impatiently.

“But You are a Man, and not a senseless profligate—an earnest Protestant, who must loathe that cobweb of Popery which overlies the King’s every Action, and blurs his vision of duty and of dignity.”

“Yes—but——”

Then it was that Lord Douglas, with great patience and earnestness, gave to his Friend a detailed account of his criminal Scheme—for criminal it was, however much it might be disguised under the cloak of patriotism and religious fervour. How Lord Stour received the communication, I could not say. I had ceased to listen and was concentrating my mind on my uncongenial task. Moreover, I fancy that Lord Stour did not say much. He must have disapproved of it, as any right-minded Man would, and no doubt tried his best to bring Lord Douglas to a more rational state of mind. But this is mere conjecture on my part, and, of course, I could not see his face, which would have been a clear index to his thoughts. At one time I heard him exclaim indignantly:

“But surely You will not entrust the distribution of those Manifestos, which may cost you your head, to that obsequious and mealy-mouthed notary?”

Mr. Baggs should have heard the contempt wherewith my Lord uttered those words! It would have taught him how little regard his servile ways had won for him, and how much more thoroughly would he have been respected had he adopted a more manly bearing towards his Clients, however highly these may have been placed.

After this, Lord Douglas Wychwoode became even more persuasive and eager. Perhaps he had noted the first signs of yielding in the Attitude of his Friend.

“No, no!” he said. “And that is our serious trouble. I and those who are at one with me feel that we are surrounded with spies. We do want a sure Hand—a Hand that will not err and that we can trust—to distribute the Manifestos, and, if possible, to bring us back decisive Answers. Some of the Men with whom we wish to communicate live at some considerable distance from town. We only wish to approach influential people; but some of these seldom come to London; in fact, with the exception of the Members of a venal Government and of a few effete Peers as profligate as the King himself, but few Men, worthy of the name, do elect to live in this degenerate City.”

His talk was somewhat rambling; perhaps I did not catch all that he said. After awhile Lord Stour remarked casually:

“And so You thought of me as your possible Emissary?”

“Was I wrong?” retorted Lord Douglas hotly.

“Nay, my friend,” rejoined the other coldly. “I am honoured by this trust which You would place in me; but——”

“But You refuse?” broke in Lord Douglas with bitter reproach.

I imagine that my Lord Stour’s reply must have been an unsatisfactory one to his Friend, for the latter uttered an exclamation of supreme impatience. I heard but little more of their conversation just then, for the noise in the Street below, which had been attracting my Attention on and off for some time, now grew in intensity, and, curious to know what it portended, I rose from my chair and leaned out of the window to see what was happening.

From the window, as You know, one gets a view of the corner of our Street as it debouches into Fleet Street by the Spread Eagle tavern, and even the restricted View which I thus had showed me at once that some kind of rioting was going on. Not rioting of an ordinary kind, for of a truth we who live in the heart of the City of London are used to its many cries; to the “Make way there!” of the Sedan Chairman and the “Make room there!” of the Drivers of wheel-barrows, all mingling with the “Stand up there, you blind dog!” bawled by every Carman as he tries to squeeze his way through the throngs in the streets.

No! this time it seemed more than that, and I, who had seen the crowds which filled the Streets of London from end to end on the occasion of the death of the Lord Protector, and had seen the merry-makers who had made those same streets impassable when King Charles entered London a little more than a year ago, I soon realized that the Crowd which I saw flocking both up and down Fleet Street was in an ugly mood.

At first I thought that some of those abominable vagabonds from Whitefriars—those whom we call the Alsatians, and who are in perpetual conflict with the law—had come out in a body from their sink of iniquity close by and had started one of their periodical combats with the Sheriffs’ Officers; but soon I recognized some faces familiar to me among the crowd as they ran past the corner—Men, Women and Boys who, though of a rough and turbulent Character, could in no way be confounded with the law-breaking Alsatians.

There was, for instance, the Tinker, whom I knew well by sight. He was running along, knocking his skillets and frying-pans against one another as he passed, shouting lustily the while. Then there was a sooty chimney-sweep, whom I knew to be an honest Man, and the broom Men with their Boys, and many law-abiding Pedestrians who, fearful of the crowd, were walking in the traffic way, meekly giving the wall to the more roisterous throng. They all seemed to be a part of that same Crowd which was scampering and hurrying up and down Fleet Street, shouting and causing a disturbance such as I do not remember ever having seen before.

I should have liked to have gazed out of the Window until I had ascertained positively what the noise was about; but I remembered that my task was only half-accomplished and that I had at the least another half-dozen Manifestos to write out. I was on the point of sitting down once more to my Work when I heard Lord Douglas Wychwoode’s voice quite close to the screen, saying anxiously, as if in answer to some remark made by his friend:

“I trust not. My Sister is out in her chair somewhere in this neighbourhood, and only with her two Bearers.”

Apparently the two Gentlemen’s attention had also been arrested by the tumult. The next moment Mr. Theophilus Baggs came in, and immediately they both plied him simultaneously with questions. “What were those strange cries in the street? Was there likely to be a riot? What was the cause of the tumult?” All of which Mr. Baggs felt himself unable to answer. In the end, he said that he would walk down to the corner of the Street and ascertain what was happening.

Ensconced within the window recess and hidden from view by the screen, I soon gave up all attempt at continuing my work. Somehow, the two Gentlemen’s anxiety about the Lady Barbara had communicated itself to me. But my thoughts, of course, were of You. Fortunately for my peace of mind, I knew that You were safe; at some distance, in fact, from the scene of the present tumult. Nevertheless, I had already made up my mind that if the rioting spread to the neighbouring streets, I would slip out presently and go as far as Dorset Gardens, where you were busy at rehearsal, and there wait for you until you came out of the Theatre, when, if you were unattended, I could escort you home.

I could not myself have explained why the Noise outside and the obvious rough temper of the People should have agitated me as they undoubtedly did.

Anon, Mr. Baggs returned with a veritable sackful of news.

“There is a great tumult all down the neighbourhood,” said he, “because Lady Castlemaine is even now at the India House drinking tea, and a lot of rowdy folk have made up their minds to give her a rough welcome when she comes out. She is not popular just now, my Lady Castlemaine,” Mr. Baggs continued complacently, as he gave a look of understanding to Lord Douglas Wychwoode, “And I fancy that she will experience an unpleasant quarter of an hour presently.”

“But, surely,” protested my Lord Stour, “a whole mob will not be allowed to attack a defenceless woman, however unpopular she may be!”

“Oh, as to that,” rejoined Mr. Baggs with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders, “a London mob is not like to be squeamish when its temper is aroused; and just now, when work is scarce and food very dear, the sight of her Ladyship’s gorgeous liveries are apt to exasperate those who have an empty stomach.”

“But what will they do to her?” urged my Lord, whose manly feelings were evidently outraged at the prospect of seeing any Woman a prey to an angry rabble.

“That I cannot tell you, my Lord,” replied Mr. Baggs. “The crowd hath several ways of showing its displeasure. You know, when a Frenchman or some other Foreigner shows his face in the Streets of London, how soon he becomes the butt of passing missiles. The sweep will leave a sooty imprint upon his coat; a baker’s basket will cover him with dust; at every hackney-coach stand, some facetious coachman will puff the froth of his beer into his face. Well! you may draw your own conclusions, my Lord, as to what will happen anon, when my Lady Castlemaine hath finished drinking her dish of tea!”

“But surely no one would treat a Lady so?” once more ejaculated my Lord Stour hotly.

“Perhaps not,” retorted Mr. Baggs drily. “But then you, see, my Lord, Lady Castlemaine is ... Well; she is Lady Castlemaine ... and at the corner of our street just now I heard murmurs of the Pillory or even worse for her——”

“But this is monstrous—infamous——!”

“And will be well deserved,” here broke in Lord Douglas decisively. “Fie on You, Friend, to worry over that baggage, whilst we are still in doubt if my Sister be safe.”

“Yes!” murmured Lord Stour, with a sudden note of deep solicitude in his voice. “My God! I was forgetting!”

He ran to the window—the one next to the recess where I still remained ensconced—threw open the casement and gazed out even more anxiously than I had been doing all along. Mr. Baggs in the meanwhile endeavoured to reassure Lord Douglas.

“If,” he said, “her Ladyship knows that your Lordship hath come here to visit me, she may seek shelter under my humble roof.”

“God grant that she may!” rejoined the young Man fervently.

We all were on tenterhooks, I as much as the others; and we all gazed out agitatedly in the direction of Fleet Street. Then, all at once, my Lord Stour gave a cry of relief.

“There’s the chaise!” he exclaimed. “It has just turned the corner of this street.... No! not that way, Douglas ... on your right.... That is Lady Barbara’s chaise, is it not?”

“Yes, it is!” ejaculated the other. “Thank Heaven, her man Pyncheon has had the good sense to bring her here. Quick, Mr. Notary!” he added. “The door!”

The next moment a Sedan chair borne by two men in handsome liveries of blue and silver came to a halt just below. Already Mr. Baggs had hurried down the stairs. He would, I know, yield to no one in the privilege of being the first to make the Lady Barbara welcome in his House. The Excitement and Anxiety were momentarily over, and I could view quite composedly from above the beautiful Lady Barbara as she stepped out of her Chair, a little flurried obviously, for she clasped and unclasped her cloak with a nervy, trembling hand.

A second or two later, I heard her high-heeled shoes pattering up the stairs, whilst her Men with the Chair sought refuge in a quiet tavern higher up in Chancery Lane.