Читать книгу The Greatest Historical Novels & Stories of D. K. Broster - D. K. Broster - Страница 98

Darkness had fallen for some time when Ewen neared his lodging in Half Moon Street again; in fact it was nearly eleven o’clock. But when he was almost at the door he realised that to enter was out of the question. He must do something active with his body, and the only form of activity open to him was to walk—to walk anywhere. So, not knowing or caring where he was going, he turned away again.

His brain was swimming with talk—talk with Hector, talk at Mr. Galbraith’s, talk at the ‘White Cock’, where the three of them had supped. There it had been confidently announced that public opinion would be so stirred over Doctor Cameron’s hard case that the Government would be obliged to commute the sentence, for already its severity seemed like to be the one topic throughout London. It was reported that many Whigs of high standing were perturbed about it and the effect which it might have upon public opinion, coming so long after the rising of ’45, and having regard to the blameless private character of the condemned man. It was even said—the wish having perhaps engendered the idea—that sentence had only been passed in order that the Elector might exercise his prerogative of mercy, and by pardoning Doctor Cameron, perhaps at the eleventh hour, gain over wavering Jacobites by his magnanimity. But one or two others, less optimistic, had asked with some bitterness whether the party were strong or numerous enough now to be worth impressing in this way.

For fully half an hour Ewen tramped round streets and squares until, hearing a church clock strike, he pulled himself out of the swarm of unhappy thoughts which went with him for all his fast walking, saw that it was between half-past eleven and midnight, and for the first time began to consider where he might be.

He had really become so oblivious of his surroundings as he went that it was quite a surprise to find himself now in a deserted, narrow, and not particularly reputable-looking street. Surely a few moments ago—yet on the other hand, for all the attention he had been paying, it might have been a quarter of an hour—he had been in a square of large, imposing mansions. Had he merely imagined this; were grief and anxiety really depriving him of his senses? He turned in some bewilderment and looked back the way he had come. London was a confusing town.

It was a light spring night, and he could see that beyond the end of this narrow street there were much larger houses, mansions even. He was right. But he also saw something which kept him rooted there—two men, armed with weapons of some kind, stealing out of a passage about fifty yards away, and hastening to the end of the street where it debouched into the square. When they got there they drew back into the mouth of an entry and stood half-crouching, as if waiting.

Surprise and curiosity kept Ewen staring; then he realised that these men were probably lurking there with a purpose far from innocent. And even as he started back towards the entry this purpose was revealed, for the bulk of a sedan-chair, with its porters, came suddenly into view, crossing the end of the street, on its way, no doubt, to one of the great houses in the square; and instantly the two men darted towards it, flourishing their weapons, which had the appearance of bludgeons.

Ewen quickened his pace to a run, ran in fact with all his might to the succour of the sedan-chair, which very probably contained a lady. He was certainly needed by its occupant, of whichever sex, for the two chairmen, calling loudly for the watch, had taken ingloriously to their heels at the approach of danger. Before Ewen came up one of the footpads had already lifted the roof of the chair, opened the door, and was pulling forth no female in distress, but a protesting elderly gentleman in flowered brocade, stout and a trifle short. Yet he was a valiant elderly gentleman, for, the moment he succeeded in freeing his right arm, out flashed his sword. But the next instant his weapon was shivered by a cudgel blow, and he himself seized by the cravat.

That, however, was the exact instant also at which another sword, with a longer and a younger arm behind it, came upon the assailants from the rear. Apparently they had not heard Ardroy’s hurrying footfalls, nor his shouts to them to desist. Now one of them turned to face him; but his stand was very short. He dropped his cudgel with a howl and ran back down the narrow street. His fellow, of a more tenacious breed, still held on to the cravat of the unfortunate gentleman, trying to wrest out the diamond brooch which secured the lace at his throat. Ewen could have run his sword through the aggressor from side to side, but, being afraid of wounding the gentleman as well, took the course of crooking his left arm round the man’s neck from behind, more than half-choking him. The assailant’s hands loosed the cravat with remarkable celerity and tore instead at the garotting arm round his own throat. The rescuer then flung him away, and, as the footpad rolled in the gutter, turned in some concern to the victim of the attack, who by this time was hastily rearranging his assaulted cravat.

“My dear sir,” began the latter in a breathless voice, desisting and holding out both his hands, “my dear sir, I can never thank you enough . . . most noble conduct . . . most noble! I am your debtor for life! No, thank you, I am shaken, but little the worse. If you will have the further goodness to lend me your arm to my house—’tis but a few paces distant—and then I must insist on your entering that I may thank my preserver more fittingly. I sincerely trust,” he finished earnestly, “that you are yourself unharmed?”

Ewen assured him that this was the case, and, sheathing the sword which in England there was no embargo upon his wearing, offered his arm. By this time the second footpad had also vanished.

“The outrageousness,” went on the rescued gentleman, “the insolence, of such an attack within a few yards of my own door! Those rascally chairmen—I wonder were they in collusion? I vow I’ll never take a hired chair again. . . . There come the watch—too late as usual! My dear sir, what would have befallen me without your most timely assistance Heaven alone knows!”

They were by this time mounting the steps of a large house in the square, whose domestics, even if they had not heard the disturbance in the street, must have been on the look-out for their master’s entrance, for he had given but the slightest tap with the massive knocker before the door swung open, revealing a spacious, pillared hall and a couple of lackeys. Almost before he knew it, Ewen was inside, having no great desire to enter, but realising that it would be churlish to refuse.

“A most disgraceful attack has just been made upon me, Jenkins,” said the master of the house, to a resplendent functionary who then hurried forward. “Here, at the very corner of the square. Had it not been for this gentleman’s gallantry in coming to my assistance—— If that is the watch come to ask for particulars,” as another knock was heard at the hall door, “tell them to come again in the morning; I’ll not see them now.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the resplendent menial respectfully. “Your lordship was actually attacked!” His tone expressed the acme of horror. “May I ask, has your lordship suffered any hurt?”

“None at all, none at all, thanks to this gentleman. All my lady’s company is gone, I suppose? Has she retired? No? I am glad of it. Now, my dear sir,” he went on, laying his hand on Ewen’s arm, “allow me the pleasure of presenting you to my wife, who will wish to add her thanks to mine.” He steered his rescuer towards the great staircase, adding as he did so, “By the way, I fancy I have not yet told you who I am—the Earl of Stowe, henceforward very much yours to command.”