Читать книгу The Greatest Historical Novels & Stories of D. K. Broster - D. K. Broster - Страница 95

Next evening, a rainy one, Mr. Galbraith took Ewen, as he had promised, to the ‘White Cock’ in the Strand to introduce him to some of its habitués. The Highlander was struck with the discreet and unassuming appearance of this Jacobite resort—which some said should be called en toutes lettres ‘The White Cockade’—the narrow passage in which it was situated, the disarming and rather inconvenient short flight of steps which led into its interior. But if its accessories were discreet there did not seem to be much of that quality about its customers. Already Ardroy had been a little astonished at the openness with which Jacobite sentiments were displayed in London. But was this merely vain display? had the tendency roots, and was it likely in the present instance to bear fruit? Somehow, as he talked with the men to whom his fellow-countryman presented him, he began to doubt it.

He had been there perhaps three-quarters of an hour or more when the door at the top of the steps, opening once again, admitted a man who removed his wet cloak to his arm and stood a moment looking round with a certain air of hesitation, as one searching for an acquaintance, or even, perhaps, a trifle unsure of his reception. Then he threw back his head in a gesture which was not unfamiliar to Ewen, who happened to be watching him, and came down the steps.

Ardroy got up. It could not be! Yet, unlikely as it seemed, it was Hector! Ardroy hurried forward, and Hector’s eyes fell upon him.

“Ewen! you here in London!” There was not only astonishment but unmistakable relief in Lieutenant Grant’s tone. Ewen was even more surprised to see him, but not particularly relieved. What on earth had brought Hector to London again—or had he never rejoined his regiment last January?

“I’ll tell you in a moment why I am in England,” said the young officer hurriedly. “What incredible good fortune that you should be here! Come with me to my lodging—’tis not far off.”

“First, however, let me present you——” began Ewen; but Hector broke in, “Another time—not to-night, another time!” and began to ascend the steps again.

Puzzled, Ewen said that he must excuse himself to his friend Mr. Galbraith, and going back he did so. By the time he got up the steps Hector himself was outside. His face in the light of the lamp over the doorway had a strange wretchedness, or so Ewen thought.

“Hector, is aught amiss with you?”

“Amiss?” queried his brother-in-law with a sort of laugh. “I’m ruined, unless . . . But come to my lodging and you shall hear.” Seizing Ardroy by the arm he thereupon hurried him off through the rain. No, he had not got into trouble over his outstayed leave, and he had only arrived in London that morning.

“And God be praised that I have met with you, Ewen—though I cannot think why you are here.”

“Surely you can guess that,” said Ardroy. “Because of Archibald Cameron. I thought it must be the same with you.”

“So it is,” answered Hector, with what sounded like a groan. “Here we are—beware the stair, ’tis very ill lit.” He guided his kinsman into an upstairs room, fumbled with tinder and steel, and lit a lamp so carelessly that the flame flared high and smoky without his noticing it. “Archibald Cameron—ay, my God, Archibald Cameron!” he said, and turned away.

“Don’t take it so much to heart, Eachainn,” said Ewen kindly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “ ’Tis not quite hopeless yet.”

“God! you don’t know yet what it is I’m taking to heart!” exclaimed Hector with startling bitterness. “Oh, I’m grieved to the soul over the Doctor . . . but unless I can disprove the slander about his capture I am ruined, as I told you, and may as well blow my brains out!”

Ewen stared at him in astonishment. “My dear Hector, what slander? Ruined! What in Heaven’s name are you talking about?”

Hector seized his wrist. “You have not heard it then? Nor have they, I suppose, at the ‘White Cock’ or they would have turned me out sans façon. I tell you I was in a sweat of fear when I went in; but thank God that I did go, since by it I found you, and there’s no man in the world I’d sooner have at my back . . . more by token since you know the circumstances.”

“But those are just what I don’t know!” exclaimed Ardroy, more and more bewildered. “See, Hector, calm yourself a little and tell me what you are talking about. Has it anything to do with Archie?”

“Everything in the world. They are saying over there in Lille, in the regiment—the Doctor’s own regiment and mine—that ’twas an officer in French service who betrayed him, and some think that the officer is——” He stopped, his mouth twitching, his eyes distracted, and made a sort of gesture of pointing to himself.

“Good God!” ejaculated Ewen in horror. “You! On what possible——”

“On what grounds? Because of the fatal letter which I lost that day on Loch Treig side, the letter which, you remember, we agreed at Fort William had probably never reached the authorities or done any harm at all—which in any case was taken from me by treachery and violence. But they hint, so I am told, that it was written in order to convey information, and that I gave it to the spy! O my God, that men should whisper such a thing of me, and that I cannot kill them for it!” Hector smote his hands together, and began to pace about the little room like a wild animal.

But Ewen stood a moment half-stupefied. Too well he knew, at least from hearsay, of mutual accusations among Jacobites of divergent views. But in Hector’s own regiment, among his fellow-officers . . . Then he recovered himself.

“Hector,” he said with emphasis, “that story is sheer nonsense! ’Twas a much more recent piece of information than any contained in your letter which led to Archie’s capture.”

“How do you know?” asked the young man, swinging round with a tragic face. “How do you know that?”

“Because I——but I’ll tell you the whole story in a moment. First do you tell me——”

“Ewen,” interrupted his brother-in-law vehemently, “if you’ll only clear me I give you leave, with all my heart, to dirk me afterwards if you like.”

Ewen could not keep back a smile. “The inducement is not overwhelming. But, Hector,” he added, as a sudden unwelcome idea smote him, and he in his turn gripped the young officer by the arm, “I hope to God that you have not deserted—have not come over without leave?”

“No, no, Lord Ogilvie gave me leave. He does not believe the rumour, thank God! He thought it best that I should come; I had already called out a lieutenant in my company . . . unfortunately he got wind of it and stopped the meeting. He thought that if I came over I might be able to find out who really was responsible for the Doctor’s capture and thus clear myself. And it goes without saying that if there is any scheme on foot for Doctor Cameron’s release or rescue you may count on me de tout mon cœur.”

“Alas, I fear that there is none at present,” said Ewen sadly. “Yet, as regards his capture, though I cannot give you the name of the man responsible, I can prove that it was not you. But, Hector, who can have put about this slander? Who started it?”

Hector shook his head. “I could not find out—how does one discover a thing like that? Nor has anyone dared to tax me with it directly; ’twas more hints, sneers, looks, avoidance of me. And those of your name in the regiment were naturally among the foremost.”

“You must,” said Ewen, considering, “have been too free with your tongue over your unlucky loss of that letter last autumn.”

“Too free with my tongue! I never breathed a word about it to a soul over there, not even to Lord Ogilvie. I was far too much ashamed.”

“And you did not tell anyone when you were in Scotland?”

“Save you, no one.”

“ ’Tis very strange. Well, tell me what chanced after our sudden parting that dark morning at Ardgour, and how you succeeded in getting over to France.”

Hector told him.

“Dhé!” exclaimed his brother-in-law at the end, “so ’twas young Glenshian who helped you to papers! How the devil did he contrive to do it?”

“Faith, I don’t know overwell. He gave me a letter to someone whom I never saw, with a feigned name at that. I was grateful enough to the future Chief, though there is something about the man which I find it hard to stomach. You have never met him, I think. Now, Ewen, keep me in suspense no longer!”

“Stay one moment,” said Ardroy slowly. “You told young Glenshian—you could not help yourself—of the loss of your necessary papers; perhaps you told him of the loss of the letter too?”

A flush ran over Hector’s face and his jaw fell a trifle. He thumped the table. “You’re right; I did! But he, surely, could not have spread——”

“No, no, I do not suppose that for an instant! It was only that you said you had told nobody save me.”

“Nobody over the water nor in Scotland. I vow I had forgotten Finlay MacPhair in London. He was so anxious to know whether I had lost any compromising document. But that he could have put about such a libel is out of the question. I fear, however, that he may have mentioned my misfortune to some third person. . . . But now for your proof, Ewen, which is to clear me! And tell me, too, how soon you got back from Ardgour, and all that has befallen you of late. You look, now that I see you closer . . . have you been ill by any chance?”