Читать книгу The Span o' Life: A Tale of Louisbourg & Quebec - William McLennan - Страница 11

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I ASSIST AT AN INTERVIEW WITH A GREAT MAN

I found the household in Essex Street in a state of perturbation which was soon explained. News had come that Margaret's brother Archibald had been arrested, as Lady Jane had foreseen, and was now confined in Fort William. Margaret, though distressed greatly, was such an ardent Jacobite that I verily believe she would rather have seen her brother in some danger of losing his head than have had him out of the business altogether.

She was neither so distressed nor elated, however, that she was oblivious to my altered appearance, and I could see Lady Jane herself was well pleased that her Hughie should cut somewhat of a figure in the eyes of her protégée. She had a natural desire to justify her affections.

But I simply mark this in passing; the real business in hand was to devise some means for young Nairn's safety. This was the less serious inasmuch as he certainly had never been in arms for the Prince, and had been prudent enough to destroy all evidence of his secret mission—in fact, his letter informed us that the one man capable of giving evidence against him was withheld by circumstances so disgraceful to himself there was no danger of any direct testimony on this point.

The position could not be more favourable, and it was only a question of the most judicious plan of succour.

The Vicomte, though desirous of alleviating Margaret's anxiety, was debarred by his position from taking any active part, a circumstance of which I was not backward in taking advantage; for though the late distressing revelation—I refer to my meeting with Mistress Routh—prevented my making any personal advances towards Margaret, common humanity prompted me to my utmost efforts for her relief.

Finally it was determined that Lady Jane should obtain a private interview with the Duke of Newcastle, and, accompanied by Margaret, make a personal appeal, which, from Lady Jane's connections, we flattered ourselves had some hopes of success.

“Cousin,” I said, “I have a proposal. Let me go with you. I am quite unknown, my accent at least is not that of a Scotchman, so I shall not in any way imperil your success, and I have had some small experience with my superiors which may not be without its use.”

“Well, Hughie, I may not have the same admiration as yourself for your accent, but I have the firmest belief in your confidence: that will not betray you in any strait. And I am as firm a believer in having a man about; they are bothersome creatures often, but have their uses at times. At all events, I feel safer in their company; they bring out the best in me. Yes, on the whole, I think you had better come.”

The following week, through the services of the Vicomte, we were enabled to arrange for a meeting with the Duke at his house, and accordingly one morning we took our way by coach to Lincoln's Inn Fields.

We were ushered into his presence with marvellously little ceremony, and found him seated at a desk covered with a litter of papers before a blazing fire, for it was early in January.

He did not pay the slightest attention to the announcement of our names, beyond raising his head and saying rapidly, without even returning our salutation, “Yes, yes, yes; be seated, be seated,” with such a hurried, stuttering stammer that I felt reassured at once, though I could see both my companions were somewhat overawed now they were in the presence of the Great Man.

As he kept shuffling over his papers, now reading a few words from one, then throwing it down, and mixing a dozen others up in hopeless confusion, now writing a bit, and then frowning and waving his pen, I felt still more assured, for it all went to show he was only an ordinary human creature under all his titles and dignities, and was no more free from little affectations than any other mortal might be.

At length he ceased his pretence of work, for it was nothing else, and took notice of us.

“Ladies, I ask your pardon—your pardon. Yes, yes, let me see, you have some appointment with me. Eh, what was it again? Oh, I remember, you are Lady Enderby. Yes, yes—”

“No, your Grace; I am Lady Jane Drummond; this is my ward, Miss Margaret Nairn, and this my cousin, Captain Geraldine; our business is to implore your Grace's assistance towards the release of her brother, Captain Nairn, arrested in error, and now confined in Fort William.”

“Awkward, eh? Mistakes like that might be very awkward—very awkward indeed. No doubt he is one of these pestilent rebels—eh?”

“Indeed, your Grace, he has never drawn sword in the matter at all; and what is more, he is an officer in the French service, holding his full commission therein.”

“Oh, I have no doubt he is the most innocent creature in the world! but will you explain, madam, what he was doing in Scotland just when the rebels happened to be in full swing—eh?”

“Indeed, your Grace, he never put foot in Scotland until this unhappy business was ended at Culloden.”

“That's a pity, now, a great pity. As the vulgar say, he came 'just a day too late for the fair.' Had he only come in time, his Majesty might have had one rebel less to deal with, and—”

But he was cut short by poor Margaret, who, unable to stand the torture any longer, wailed out: “Oh, your Grace, do not say that! My father was buried only a few months before my brother was arrested, and he is the only one near to me now left.”

Even the abominable flippancy of the man before us was arrested by the sight of the anguish of this dear soul, and with some approach to sensibility he said:

“There, there, my dear! We cannot mend matters now.” And for some minutes he heard and questioned Lady Jane with some shew of decency, but evidently with an effort, for it was not long before he broke out again: “How much simpler it would all be if you did not interfere, madam!”

This angered her beyond control, and she replied: “Your Grace may have no feeling for the sorrow that breaks the hearts of others, but this is only a case for common justice.”

“You, you, you have a keen sense of justice, madam,” he stammered, much nettled. “You are not wanting in courage, either; 'tis a pity you could not have turned your talents to some account.”

Poor Margaret, seeing the turn things were taking, now advanced, and throwing herself at his feet, poured forth her heart to him in entreaties with the tears running down her lovely face. At first he seemed much moved, and shifted himself in his chair most uncomfortably, fairly squirming like a worm on a pin; but, to my disappointment, I soon saw he was coming back to his usual humour, even as she was entreating—“Oh, your Grace, your Grace, he is all I have left in the world! I have been a motherless girl since I can remember; I have been away from my father, at school for years; and my brother whom I played with, the one person whom I have prayed for more than all others, is now in danger of his life”—and she ended in a burst of sobs.

For answer he merely yawned, and said, turning to me, “What did you say your name was—eh?”

“Geraldine, your Grace.”

“Oh! No particular family, I suppose?”

“No, your Grace, of no family in particular,” I answered.

“He! he! he!” cackled his Grace. “Oh, I can see farther than I get credit for! You, you, you'll remedy that some day—eh? Miss—Miss—What did you say your name was?”

“Nairn, your Grace,” answered poor Margaret, still sobbing, while Lady Jane stood glowering behind her. My gorge rose at his heartlessness.

“Nairn. Umph! That's an evil-smelling name these days for any such petition,” he grumbled.

Then suddenly turning to face me, “Now I suppose you had nothing to do with this barelegged rebellion?” he went on, to my dismay, but answered it himself with a self-satisfied chuckle: “But no, of course not. You never would have come here if you had. No, no! No man of sense would.”

“I should think not!” snorted Lady Jane, fairly beside herself.

“Quite right, madam, quite right. You are a woman, of perspicacity,” answered his lordship, without a ruffle. Then he turned to me again:

“And pray what did bring you here, sir?”

“Your Grace, it was at my earnest recommendation these ladies were moved to appear in person to lay their case before the most powerful nobleman in the Three Kingdoms. They come here, your Grace, not to plead, but to explain. Their explanation is now made, and they are satisfied it is in the hands of one who is ever ready to listen to the suit of innocence, whose whole life is a guarantee for the exercise of justice, and whose finger need but be lifted to relieve the unfortunate from unmerited disgrace.”

To my surprise, he did not seem so taken with my effort as I had hoped. Even as I was speaking he had thrown himself back in his chair, and sate resting his elbows on the arms, staring at me over his finger-tips in the most disconcerting fashion without moving a muscle of his face. I was positively afraid to venture a word more under the spell of that equivocal gaze.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he broke out, suddenly, drawing himself close up to his desk and seizing a pen, with which he began making slow notes on the paper before him.

“What did you say the young man's name was?” he muttered. “Oh, yes, Nairn—Archibald Nairn. Yes. Fort William—eh? French officer in active service. And you can give me your word he was not in arms—eh?”

“I can, your Grace, without hesitation.”

The moment I had spoken I saw my mistake. So did his Grace, who wheeled round on me like a flash.

“Then, sir, I take it you are in a position to know!”

My blood fairly ran cold, for I saw only too clearly his folly of manner was but a cloak, and that now it was quite as much a question of myself as of Nairn.

“I am, your Grace,” I answered, in my most assured tones.

“Perhaps you are able to produce a muster-roll of the rebel forces—eh, Captain Fitzgerald? That would be highly satisfactory in more ways than one.”

“Surely, your Grace, this is no laughing matter. Your Grace has my word of honour that Captain Nairn was not in Scotland until after Culloden was fought—”

“—And lost—Captain Fitzgerald? Surely that is not the way for a loyal subject to put it.”

“I cannot cross swords with your Grace,” I returned, with a low bow to cover my trepidation; “even if our positions did not make it an impossibility, it would be too unequal a contest.”

The flattery was gross, and only my apprehensions could excuse its clumsiness, but to my intense relief it availed, and he turned to his desk again, while I held my breath expectant of his next attack. But none came. He muttered and mumbled to himself, while we stood stock-still, scarce venturing to look at each other, for the fate of Nairn was hanging in the balance, and a straw might turn it either way. At length he picked up his pen and wrote rapidly for a few moments; then carefully sanding the paper he read it over slowly, still muttering and shaking his head; but at last, turning to Margaret, who all this time had remained on her knees, he handed it to her, saying:

“There, miss; take it, take it. Get married; get your brother married; but for Heaven's sake don't bring up any little rebels! And Captain Fitzgerald,” he added, meaningly, “don't imagine I can't see as far as other men! No thanks! No! I hate thanks, and tears—and—and—Good-morning, ladies, good-morning!” whereupon he rose and shuffled over in front of the fire, where he stood rubbing his hands, leaving us to bow ourselves out to a full view of his back, which, upon my soul, was a fairer landscape than his face—but with Margaret holding fast the order for her brother's release.