Denounced

"Gone, all gone," Luke replied, "all gone. None left but me."

"Where are they gone to?"

The old man flapped his hands up and down once or twice-perhaps he performed the action with a desire to deprecate his master's anger-and looked up beseechingly into his face as though asking pardon for what was no fault of his, then replied:

"Her ladyship has gone away-for good and all, I hear, my lord."

"Ha! Where is she gone to?"

"To Lady Belrose's. I am told. She-she-they-the servants say she will never come back."

The viscount paused a moment-this news had startled even him! – then he muttered, "No, I'll warrant she never shall. This justifies me." And again he continued, still shouting at the old man, so that his valet upstairs must have heard every word he uttered:

"And the servants, where are they?"

"All gone too. They were frightened by the police and the soldiers-"

"The soldiers! What soldiers?"

"They ransacked the house to find Mr. Archibald. But he, too, was gone. That terrified all but me-me it did not frighten. No, no," he went on, assuming a ludicrous appearance of bravery that was almost weird to behold, "me it did not frighten. I remember when, also, the soldiers searched the house for your father, his late lordship with-he! he! – the same re-"

"Silence!" roared Fordingbridge. "How dare you couple my father's name with that fellow? So Mr. Archibald is also gone! But what about the soldiers? The soldiers, I say," raising his voice again to a shriek.

"Ah, the soldiers," Luke repeated. "Yes, yes. The soldiers. Brave soldiers. I had a son once in their regiment, long ago, when Dunmore commanded them; he was wounded at-um-um" and he stopped, terrified by the scowl on Lord Fordingbridge's face.

"What," bawled the latter, "did they do here-in this house? Curse your son and your recollections, too. What did they do here-in my house?"

"They sought for Mr. Archibald-her ladyship being gone forth. But he, too, was out-ho! ho-and-and he never came back. Then the captain-a brave, young lord, they say-said you were known to be fostering a rebel-they called him a rebel Jesuit priest! – that you were denounced from Dunstable, and that you must make your own account with the Government. Then the maids fled, and next the men-they said they owed you no service. Ah! there are no old faithful servants now-or few-very few."

"Go!" said Fordingbridge, briefly-and again his look terrified the poor old creature so, that he slunk off shivering and shaking as before.

Slowly the viscount mounted the stairs to his saloon, or withdrawing room, and when there he cast himself into a chair and brooded on what he had heard.

"Harbouring a rebel-a rebel Jesuit priest," he muttered. "So! so! am I caught in the toils that I myself set? Pardieu, 'twould seem so. I denounce a rebel, and, unfortunately, that rebel lives on me-is housed with me. I never thought of that! It may tell badly for me; worse, too, because I brought him to England in my train. How shall I escape it?" And he sat long in his chair meditating.

"The captain said," he went on, "that I must make my own account with the Government. Ah, yes, yes; why! so indeed I must. And 'tis not hard. Make my account! Why, yes, to be sure. Easy enough. I, having embraced the principles of Hanover, and being now firm in my loyalty to George, do, the better to confound his enemies, shelter in my house one whom I intend to yield up to him. Well! there's no harm in that, but rather loyalty. Otherwise," and he laughed to himself as he spoke, "I might lay myself open to the reproach of being a bad host; of not respecting the sacredness of the guest."

Eased in his mind by this reflection and by the excuse which he had found, as he considered, for appeasing the Government and satisfying it as to his reasons for sheltering a Jesuit plotter, he rose from his seat and wandered into the other rooms of his house, viewing with particular interest and complaisance the one which had been her ladyship's boudoir, or morning-room.

"A pretty nest for so fair a bird," he muttered, as he regarded the Mortlake hangings and lace curtains, the deep roomy lounge, the bright silver tea service, and-as blots upon the other things-bunches of now withered flowers in the vases. "A pretty nest. Yet, forsooth, the silly thing must fall out of it; wander forth to freedom and misery. For they say, who study such frivolities, that caged birds, once released, pine and die even in their freedom. Soit! 'tis better that the bird should escape and die of its own accord than be thrust into the cold open by its master's hand. And that would have happened to your ladyship," and he laughed as he spoke of her, "had you not taken the initiative. My Lady Fordingbridge," uttering the words with emphasis, nay, with unction, "I had done with you. It was time for you to go."

A little clock on the mantelpiece, a masterpiece of Tompion's, chimed forth the hour musically as he spoke; he remembered his father buying it as a present for his mother the year before they fled to France; and turning round to look at it he saw, standing against its face, where it could not fail to be observed, a letter addressed to him. Opening it, he found written the words, "I have left the house and you. I know everything now." That was all; there was no form of address, no superscription. Nothing could be more disdainful, nor, by its brevity, more convincing. And, whatever the schemes the man might have been maturing in his evil mind against the writer, yet that brief, contemptuous note stung him more than a longer, more explanatory one could have done.

"So be it," he said again, "so be it." Then he bade his man come and dress him anew, and afterwards call a hackney coach. And on entering the latter when ready, he ordered the driver to convey him first to the Duke of Newcastle's (the Secretary of State), and later to Lady Belrose's in Hanover-square.

"For, to commence," he muttered, as he drove off, "I must square his grace, and then have one final interview with my dearly beloved Katherine. Newcastle has the reputation of being the biggest fool in England-he should not be difficult to deal with; while as to her-well, she is no fool but yet she shall find her master."

CHAPTER XI
ARCHIBALD'S ESCAPE

Fortune had, indeed, stood the friend of those three denounced men, otherwise they must by now have been lying-as Fordingbridge had said-in one of the many prisons of London awaiting their trial; trials which-in the case of two at least-would have preceded by a short time only their executions and deaths; deaths made doubly horrible by that which accompanied them, by the cutting out and casting into the fire of the still beating hearts of the victims, the disembowelling and quartering and mangling.

Yet, if such was ever to be their fate-and they tempted such fate terribly by their continued presence in London, or, indeed, in England-it had not yet overtaken them; until now they were free. How Douglas Sholto and Bertie Elphinston had escaped the snare you have seen; how Archibald Sholto eluded those who sought him has now to be told.

Kate had no sooner departed in a chariot, sent for her by Lady Belrose, to take a dish of tea in company with the other members of the proposed party before going on to Vauxhall, than Mr. Archibald, who had a large room at the top of the house, was apprised by the servant that a Scotch gentleman awaited him in the garden.⁴ On desiring to be informed what the gentleman's name and errand were-for those engaged as the Jesuit now was omitted no precautions for their safety-a message was brought back that the visitor was an old friend of Mr. Archibald's, whom he would recognise on descending to the garden, and that his business was very pressing. Now Archibald was a man of great forethought-necessity had made him such-and therefore, ere he descended to the garden, he thought it well to take an observation of this mysterious caller, who might be, as he said, a friend or, on the other hand, a representative of the law endeavouring to take advantage of him.

The opportunity for this observation presented itself, however, without any difficulty. On the backstairs of each flight in the houses of Kensington-square there existed precisely what exists in the present day in most houses, namely, windows half-way up each flight, and, gazing out into the garden-up and down the gravel walks of which the visitor was walking, sometimes stopping to inspect or to smell some of the roses already in bloom, and sometimes casting glances of impatience at the house-Archibald saw the man who, later on, was to deliver Kate's message to Bertie.

"Why!" he exclaimed to himself, "as I live 'tis James McGlowrie. Honest Jemmy! Indeed, he can come on no evil intent to me or to those dear to me. Yet-yet-I fear. Even though he means no harm he may be the bearer of bad news," and so saying he passed down the stairs and to the man awaiting him.

"James," he said, addressing the other in their native brogue, "this is a sight for sair een. Yet," he went on, "what brings you here? First, how did you know I dwelt here, and next, what brings you? – though right glad I am to see you once again."

"I have a wee bit message for ye, Archibald," said the other, shaking him warmly by the hand, "that it behoves you vary weel to hear. And," dropping at once into the verbosity that was to so tease, while at the same time it amused, Elphinston some hours later, "not only to hear, but, so to speak, as it were, to ponder on, yet also to decide quickly over and thereby to arrive at a good determination. D'ye take, Archibald Sh-, I mean, so to speak, Mr. Archibald?"

"Why, no," said the other, with a faint smile, "I cannot in truth say that I do. James McGlowrie, you can speak to the point when you choose. Choose to do so now, I beg you."

"To the point is very well. And so I will speak. Now, Archie, old friend, listen. Ye ken and weel remember, I doubt not, Geordie McNab, erstwhile of Edinburgh."

"Indeed I do."

"So-so. Vary weel. Now Geordie McNab is come south and has gotten himself into the Scotch Secretary of State's office, for Geordie is no Jacobite! – and there he draws £200 a year sterling-not Scotch. Oh, no. Geordie is now vary weel to do, and what with the little estate his poor auld mother left him, which, so to speak, yields him thirty bolls and firlots of barley, some peats at twopence per load, and many pecks of mustard seed at a shilling, and-"

"Jemmy, Jemmy," said the other, reproachfully, "was this the important errand you came here upon?"

"Nay, nay. My tongue runs away with me as ever. Yet, listen still. Geordie is no Jacobite, yet, i'faith, there's a many he's overweel disposed to, among others an old schoolfellow o' his, one Archibald."

"One Archibald! Ha! I take you. And, Jemmy, is he threatened; has he aught to fear from the Scotch Secretary's office?"

"The warst that can befall. Ay, man, the very warst. So are also two friends of his, late of-hem-a certain army that has of late made excursions and alarums, as the bard hath it."

"So! I understand! We have been informed against, blown upon. Alas! alas! We were free but for this-our names not even upon the list."

"Yet now," said McGlowrie, "are they there. Likewise also your addresses and habitments-all are vary weel known. My laddie, ye must flee out o' the land and awa' back to France, and go ye must at once. There's no time to be lost."

"I cannot go without warning the others-without knowing they are safe." Then, while a terribly stern look came into his face, he said, "Who has done this thing, McGlowrie, who has done it?"

"Can ye not vary weel guess? 'Tis not far to seek."

"Ay," the Jesuit answered, "it needs no question. Oh! Simeon Larpent, Simeon Larpent, if ever I have you to my hand again, beware. Oh! to have you but for one hour in Paris and with the Holy Church to avenge me, a priest, against you!" Then changing this tone to another more suitable, perhaps, to the occasion and the danger in which he stood, he asked:

"What do they mean to do? When will they proceed to the work, think you?"

"At once; to-night, perhaps; to-morrow for certain. Go, Archie, go, pack up your duds and flee, I say. Even now the Government may have put the officers upon your hiding-place; have told the soldiers at Kensington to surround the house. Lose no time."

"But the boys-the boys at Wandsworth. What of them?"

"They shall be warned, even though I do it myself. But now, Archie, up to your room, bring with you-in a small compass, so to speak-your necessaries, and come with me."

"But where to? Where to?"

"Hech! with me. I have a bit lodgment, as you will know vary weel soon, in the Minories; 'tis near there poor Lady Balmerino lodges-though they promise her that after her lord is condemned, as he must be-as he must be! – she shall be lodged with him in the Tower to the last; come with me, I say. For the love o' God, Archie, hesitate no longer."

Then indeed, Archibald Sholto knew that, if he would save himself and help the others, and-as he hoped-wreak his vengeance on the treacherous adder that had stung them, he must follow honest James McGlowrie's counsel. So, very swiftly he passed up to his room, collected every paper he possessed, and carried away with him a small valise, in which were a change of clothes, several bank bills and a bag of guineas, Louis d'ors, and gold crowns. Then he returned to the garden where McGlowrie was still walking up and down as before, and announced that he was ready to follow him.

"Only," he said, "we will go as quietly as may be, and without a word. I will not even tell the servants I am going, Heaven knows if they are not spies themselves. I will just vanish away, and, as I hope, leave no trace. Come, Jemmy, there is a door behind the herb-garden that gives into the lane, and the lane itself leads to the West-road. If we can cross that in safety we can pass by Lord Holland's-he is Secretary of War now, and of the Privy Council-yet that matters not to us; behind his leafy woods we shall come to the other road. Then for a hackney or a passing coach to the city. Only, the boys, Jemmy, the boys! What of them?"

"Have no fear. If they are not warned already by Geordie McNab 'twill surprise me very much, and once I have seen ye off to the Minories I'll be away to Wandsworth myself. Thereby I'll make sure. Come, Archie, come. The evening draws in. Come, mon."

"I will. Only, Jemmy, stick your honest nose outside the garden gate and see that neither soldiers, spies, nor men of the law are there. If it is as you say, the house may even now be surrounded."

McGlowrie did as the other requested, going out and sauntering up and down the lane, but seeing no signs of anyone about who might threaten danger. To a maid-servant, drawing water from a well which served for many of the gardens of the houses, he gave in his pleasant Scotch way the "good e'en," and remarked that "the flowers were thirsty these warm May nights, and required, so to speak as it were, a draught to refresh 'em "; and to a boy birdnesting up tree he observed that it was a cruel sport which would wring a poor mither's heart, even as his own mither's would full surely be wrung should he be torn away from her grasp, even as he was tearing the young from the nest. But, all the time he was delivering these apothegms, his eye was glancing up and down the lane, and searching for any sign of danger. And, seeing none, he went back to Archibald Sholto and bade him follow since all was clear.

"And now," said he, as they passed to the left of Holland House and so reached Kensington Gravel Pits, "let us form our plans. First, there are the two young men, who must of a surety have been warned by Geordie, yet, supposing he should have failed, must yet be warned, so to speak. Now, shall I get me away-"

"Alas!" said Sholto, "I have just recalled to mind that, if they are not already on their guard, 'tis now too late. They were to go to the masquerade at Vauxhall; are there by now. 'Tis certain. One of them had an appointment with-with the wife of the double-dyed scoundrel who owns the house we have but just now quitted."

"Hoot! Ma conscience! With his enemy's wife. Vary good! Vary good! Perhaps 'tis not so strange the man is his enemy. Weel, weel, 'tis no affair of mine, yet I like not this trafficking wi' other men's goods. But since they are away on this quest they need no warning. Now for yourself, Archie. Get you away to the Minories-here is the precise address," and he slipped a piece of paper into his hand, "go there, lie perdu, and await my return."

"But Kate! Lady Fordingbridge! I must let her know of my absence; what will she think when she returns home and finds me gone? And the others-they may be taken when they also return to their homes."

"Leave't to me. I will await my lady's return from these worldly doings-ma word! a married woman and meeting other men in such sinfu' places! – even though she comes not till the break o' day-as is very likely, I fear, under the circumstances! And, meanwhile, for the others we must trust to Geordie."

"No," said Archibald Sholto, "we will not trust to Geordie, true as I believe him to be. This is the best plan. If you will wait-as I know you will-until her ladyship returns, though it will not be for some hours yet, I apprehend, I will make my way to Wandsworth, find out if they are warned, and, if not, will myself wait their return. Then I will accept your shelter in the Minories for a time until we can all three get safe back to France. For France is now our only refuge again, as it has so often and so long been before."

"Humph!" said McGlowrie, "perhaps so 'tis best. None know you at Wandsworth?"

"None. No living soul except the woman of the house-a true one. Her father fell in the Cause in the '15' at Sherriffmuir. She is safe."

"So be it. Then away with you to yon village, and trust me to manage things in this one. Now, off wi' you, Archie, but first make some change in your clothing."

"But how? I have no other clothes but those I wear."

"Hoot! a small changement is easy, and sometimes, so to speak as it were, effectual. Off with that hat and wig." And as he spoke he took off each of his.

"You will lose by the exchange, Jemmy," said Archibald. "Mine is but a rusty bob and a poor hat; both yours are very good."

"No matter. To-morrow at the lodgment we will change again."

Therefore, with his appearance considerably altered, Archibald Sholto prepared now to set out for Wandsworth. But ere he did so he said one word to honest James McGlowrie.

"Jemmy," he remarked, "make no mistake about Ka-Lady Fordingbridge and this meeting with Bertie Elphinston to which she has gone. She is as good and pure a woman as ever lived and suffered. I have known her from a child, gave her her first communion; there is no speck of ill in her."

"Lived and suffered, eh?" repeated the other.

"Ay, lived and suffered! The man she has gone to meet was to have been her husband; they loved each other with all their hearts and souls; and by foul treachery she was stolen from him by that most unparalleled scoundrel, Fordingbridge. Remember that, Jemmy, when you see her to-night; remember she is as pure a woman as your mother was, and respect her for all that she has endured."

"Have no fear," said Jemmy, manfully, "have no fear. Although ye are a Papist, Archie, and a priest at that, I'll e'en take your word for it."

So, with a light laugh from the Jesuit at the rigid and plain-spoken Presbyterianism of his old schoolfellow and whilom fag, they parted with a grasp of the hand, each to what he had to do. That James McGlowrie carried out his portion of the undertaking has been already told, as well as how, after the information he gave Lady Fordingbridge, she decided to accept Lady Belrose's offer of her house as a refuge, if only temporarily; and how he afterwards became a messenger from her to Bertie Elphinston.

As for Archibald Sholto, he, too, did that which he had said would be best. He made his way from Kensington to Chelsea and so to Wandsworth, only to find when he had arrived there that his brother and friend had long since-for it was by then nine o'clock-departed for Vauxhall. Therefore he said a few words to the landlady-herself an adherent of the Stuarts, as she, whose father had fallen at Sherriffmuir, was certain to be-telling her that it was doubtful if they would ever return to their lodgings, but that, if they did, she must manage to send them off at once. He told her, too, the address of the Minories where he could be communicated with, under cover to McGlowrie, and, since he it was who had sent them as lodgers to her house, he gave her some money on their account. Then he left her and, thorough and indomitable in all he did, made his way to the Spring Gardens.

"If they are there," he thought, as he waited outside the inn in Wandsworth-an old one, known then, as now, as the Spread Eagle, while the horse was being put into the shafts of the hackney coach he had hired, "I may see them in time to warn them. Dressed as the executioner, the woman said of Bertie and Douglas, without any disguise, though in a garb that will be supposed to be one in that place; there should be no difficulty in finding them if they are still there. Thank God, they were not caught in their lodgings."

He did not know, nor could the landlady have told him-not knowing herself-of how they had been watched and followed from the village to Vauxhall; so he passed his time on the lonely drive through the Battersea marshes in meditating how this last act of treachery of Lord Fordingbridge was to be repaid. For that it should be so repaid, and with interest, Archibald Sholto had already determined. "Though not for his baseness to me so much," he muttered, "as to those whom I love. For since to me, a priest, there can be no home, no wife, no children, I have centred all my heart upon those three-my brother, our friend Bertie, and poor, bonnie Kate. And those it is against whom he has struck. May God forget me if I strike not equally, ay! and with more certainty than he has done, when my hour comes."

A good friend was Archibald Sholto, Jesuit though he was, but a terrible foe. As you shall see.

On his way to the garden he passed half a dozen young men of fashion who, from their talk and actions, he knew to be about to assist at a duel, and, forgetting that he was in secular garb, he could not forbear from addressing them in his priestly character and begging them to desist from the sin they contemplated. But they bade him pass on and not interfere in what concerned him not, while one, striking at the horse with his clouded cane, caused the animal to dash off upon the uneven road or track. These, doubtless, were the men for whom the boatmen who ferried Bertie and Douglas across later on were waiting.

So he reached the gardens, but only to find that most of the company was already gone, and that, with the exception of a few revellers who would keep the night up so long as it were possible, none of the masqueraders remained. Yet, even from these he gathered enough to set his mind fairly at rest; for, happening to hear one of them speak of the "merry disturbance" which had taken place that night, and also boast somewhat loudly of how he had assisted the Jacobites in resisting the limbs of the law, he, by great suavity and apparent admiration of the speaker's prowess, managed to extract from him a more or less accurate account of what had taken place.

Thus he learned that, in some way, his brother and friend had made their escape-aided, of course, by the pot-valiant hero to whom he was listening-and also that the "ladies of fashion" and the gentlemen by whom they were accompanied had also departed without molestation. "Though," continued the narrator, as he swallowed the last drop of brandy in his glass and then looked ruefully at the empty vessel, "I know not if they would have been allowed to go so freely had not I and my friend assisted in protecting them."

After that Archibald withdrew, and, on foot, made his way to the City, while as he crossed London Bridge nearly two hours later-for he was weary with all that had happened that day-the sun came up and lighted with a rosy hue the Tower lying on his right hand.

"Ay," he muttered. "Ay, many's the poor aching heart within your walls this morning besides the doomed Balmerino, Cromartie, and Kilmarnock-for nought can save them; thank God that some at least are free at present. But how long will they be so? How long? How long?"