A Jacobite Exile Part 36

"That was my thought, Charlie. You are now well-nigh twenty, and would scarce be recognized as the boy who left four years ago. The fellow would know me at once, and I might be laid by the heels again under the old warrant; besides being charged with breaking away from the custody of the soldiers. Besides, in this business youth and strength and vigour are requisite. I would gladly take the matter in my own hands, but methinks you would have a better chance of bringing it to a favourable issue. Now that Anne is on the throne, she and her advisers will look leniently upon the men whose only fault was devotion to her father; and if we can once get this foul charge of a.s.sa.s.sination lifted from our shoulders, I and Jervoise and the others who had to fly at the same time, may all be permitted to return, and obtain a reversal of the decree of the Act of Confiscation of our estates.

"I have no friends at court, but I know that Jervoise was a close acquaintance, years ago, of John Churchill, who is now Duke of Marlborough, and they say high in favour with Anne. I did not think of it when I wrote to you, but a week later it came to my mind that his intervention might be very useful, and I took advantage of an officer, leaving here for the army, to send by him a letter to Jervoise, telling him that there was now some hope of getting at the traitor who served as John Dormay's instrument in his plot against us. I said that I had sent for you, and thought it probable you would take the matter in hand; and I prayed him to send me a letter of introduction for you to the duke, so that, if you could by any means obtain the proof of our innocence of this pretended plot, he might help you to obtain a reversal of the Act of Confiscation against us all. I have asked him to write at once, and I will send the letter after you, as soon as I get it.

"I know nothing of London, but I have heard of the Bull's Head, in Fenchurch Street, as being one frequented by travellers from the country. You had best put up there, and thither I will forward the note from Jervoise."

"The letter will be a useful one, indeed, father, when I have once wrung the truth from that villain Nicholson. It will be an expedition after my own heart. There is first the chance of punishing the villain, and then the hope of restoring you to your place at dear old Lynnwood."

"You must be careful, Charlie. Remember it would never do to kill the rascal. That would be the greatest of misfortunes; for, with his death, any chance of unmasking the greater villain would disappear."

"I will be careful, father. I cannot say how I shall set about the matter, yet. That must depend upon circ.u.mstances; but, as you say, above all things I must be careful of the fellow's life. When is there a ship sailing, father?"

"The day after tomorrow, Charlie. You will want that time for getting clothes, suitable to a young gentleman of moderate condition, up from the country on a visit to London. You must make up your mind that it will be a long search before you light on the fellow, for we have no clue as to the tavern he frequents. As a roistering young squire, wanting to see London life, you could go into taverns frequented by doubtful characters, for it is probably in such a place that you will find him.

"However, all this I must leave to you. You showed yourself, in that Polish business, well able to help yourself out of a sc.r.a.pe, and if you could do that among people of whose tongues you were ignorant, you ought to be able to manage on English soil."

"At any rate, I will do my best, father, of that you may be sure. I have the advantage of knowing the fellow, and am pretty certain that he will not know me."

"Not he, Charlie," his father said confidently. "Even in the last two years, since you were here with Jervoise and the others, you have changed so much that I, myself, might have pa.s.sed you in the street without knowing you.

"Now, you had better go off and see about your things. There is no time to be lost. I have drawn out a hundred guineas of my money, which will, I should say, serve you while you are away; but don't stint it, lad. Let me know if it runs short, and I will send you more."

"I have money, too, father. I have four months' pay due, besides money I have in hand, for there was but little need for us to put our hands in our pockets."

Ten days later, Charlie arrived in the Port of London, and took up his abode at the Bull's Head, where he found the quarters comfortable, indeed, after the rough work of campaigning. The next morning he took a waiter into his confidence.

"I have come to London to see a little life," he said, "and I want to be put into the way of doing it. I don't want to go to places where young gallants a.s.semble. My purse is not deep enough to stand such society. I should like to go to places where I shall meet hearty young fellows, and could have a throw of the dice, or see a main fought by good c.o.c.ks, or even sally out and have a little fun with the watch. My purse is fairly lined, and I want some amus.e.m.e.nt--something to look back upon when I go home again. What is the best way to set about it?"

"Well, sir, if that is your humour, I have a brother who is one of the mayor's tipstaffs. He knows the city well, ay, and Westminster, too, and the purlieus of Saint James's, and whether you want to meet young gallants or roistering blades, or to have a look in at places where you can hire a man to cut another's throat for a few crowns, he can show you them. He will be on duty now, but I will send him a message to come round this evening, and I warrant me he will be here. He has showed young squires from the country over the town before this, and will guess what is on hand when he gets my message."

Having nothing to do, Charlie sauntered about the town during the day, looking into the shops, and keeping a keen eye on pa.s.sers by, with the vague hope that he might be lucky enough to come across his man.

After he had finished his supper, the waiter came up and told him that his brother was outside.

"I have spoken to him, sir, and he warrants that he can take you into the sort of society you want to meet, whatever it may be."

Charlie followed him out. A man was standing under the lamp that swung before the door.

"This is the gentleman I was speaking to you of, Tony."

As the man took off his cap, Charlie had a good view of his face.

It was shrewd and intelligent.

"You understand what I want?" he asked, as the waiter ran into the house again, to attend to his duties.

"Yes, sir. So far as I understood him, you wish to go to taverns of somewhat inferior reputations, and to see something of that side of London life. If you will pardon my boldness, it is somewhat of a dangerous venture. In such places brawls are frequent, and rapiers soon out.

"You look to me like one who could hold his own in a fray," he added, as his eye ran over the athletic figure before him, "but it is not always fair fighting. These fellows hang together, and while engaged with one, half a dozen might fall upon you. As to your purse, sir, it is your own affair. You will a.s.suredly lose your money, if you play or wager with them. But that is no concern of mine. Neither, you may say, is your life; but it seems to me that it is. One young gentleman from the country, who wanted, like you, to see life, was killed in a brawl, and I have never forgiven myself for having taken him to the tavern where he lost his life.

Thus, I say that, though willing enough to earn a crown or two outside my own work, I must decline to take you to places where, as it seems to me, you are likely to get into trouble."

"You are an honest fellow, and I like you all the more, for speaking out frankly to me," Charlie said, "and were I, as I told your brother, thinking of going to such places solely for amus.e.m.e.nt, what you say would have weight with me. But, as I see that you are to be trusted, I will tell you more. I want to find a man who did me and mine a grievous ill turn. I have no intention of killing him, or anything of that sort, but it is a matter of great importance to lay hand on him. All I know of him is that he is a frequenter of taverns here, and those not of the first character.

Just at present he is, I have reason to believe, provided with funds, and may push himself into places where he would not show himself when he is out of luck. Still, it is more likely he is to be found in the lowest dens, among rascals of his own kidney. I may lose a little money, but I shall do so with my eyes open, and solely to obtain a footing at the places where I am most likely to meet him."

"That alters the affair," the man said gravely. "It will add to your danger; for as you know him, I suppose he knows you, also."

"No. It is four years since we met, and I have so greatly changed, in that time, that I have no fear he would recognize me. At any rate, not here in London, which is the last place he would suspect me of being in."

"That is better. Well, sir, if that be your object, I will do my best to help you. What is the fellow's name and description?"

"He called himself Nicholson, when we last met; but like enough that is not his real name, and if it is, he may be known by another here. He is a lanky knave, of middle height; but more than that, except that he has a shifty look about his eyes, I cannot tell you."

"And his condition, you say, is changeable?"

"Very much so, I should say. I should fancy that, when in funds, he would frequent places where he could prey on careless young fellows from the country, like myself. When his pockets are empty, I should say he would herd with the lowest rascals."

"Well, sir, as you say he is in funds at present, we will this evening visit a tavern or two, frequented by young blades, some of whom have more money than wit; and by men who live by their wits and nothing else. But you must not be disappointed, if the search prove a long one before you run your hare down, for the indications you have given me are very doubtful. He may be living in Alsatia, hard by the Temple, which, though not so bad as it used to be, is still an abode of dangerous rogues. But more likely you may meet him at the taverns in Westminster, or near Whitehall; for, if he has means to dress himself bravely, it is there he will most readily pick up gulls.

"I will, with your permission, take you to the better sort to begin with, and then, when you have got more accustomed to the ways of these places, you can go to those a step lower, where, I should think, he is more likely to be found; for such fellows spend their money freely, when they get it, and unless they manage to fleece some young lamb from the country, they soon find themselves unable to keep pace with the society of places where play runs high, and men call for their bottles freely. Besides, in such places, when they become unable to spend money freely, they soon get the cold shoulder from the host, who cares not to see the money that should be spent on feasting and wine diverted into the pockets of others.

"I shall leave you at the door of these places. I am too well known to enter. I put my hand on the shoulder of too many men, during the year, for me to go into any society without the risk of someone knowing me again."

They accordingly made their way down to Westminster, and Charlie visited several taverns. At each he called for wine, and was speedily accosted by one or more men, who perceived that he was a stranger, and scented booty. He stated freely that he had just come up to town, and intended to stay some short time there. He allowed himself to be persuaded to enter the room where play was going on, but declined to join, saying that, as yet, he was ignorant of the ways of town, and must see a little more of them before he ventured his money, but that, when he felt more at home, he should be ready enough to join in a game of dice or cards, being considered a good hand at both.

After staying at each place about half an hour, he made his way out, getting rid of his would-be friends with some little difficulty, and with a promise that he would come again, ere long.

For six days he continued his inquiries, going out every evening with his guide, and taking his meals, for the most part, at one or other of the taverns, in hopes that he might happen upon the man of whom he was in search. At the end of that time, he had a great surprise. As he entered the hotel to take supper, the waiter said to him:

"There is a gentleman who has been asking for you, in the public room. He arrived an hour ago, and has hired a chamber."

"Asking for me?" Charlie repeated in astonishment. "You must be mistaken."

"Not at all, sir. He asked for Mr. Charles Conway, and that is the name you wrote down in the hotel book, when you came."

"That must be me, sure enough, but who can be asking for me I cannot imagine. However, I shall soon know."

And, in a state of utter bewilderment as to who could have learnt his name and address, he went into the coffee room. There happened, at the moment, to be but one person there, and as he rose and turned towards him, Charlie exclaimed in astonishment and delight:

"Why, Harry, what on earth brings you here? I am glad to see you, indeed, but you are the last person in the world I should have thought of meeting here in London."

"You thought I was in a hut, made as wind tight as possible, before the cold set in, in earnest. So I should have been, with six months of a dull life before me, if it had not been for Sir Marmaduke's letter. Directly my father read it through to me he said:

"'Get your valises packed at once, Harry. I will go to the colonel and get your leave granted. Charlie may have to go into all sorts of dens, in search of this scoundrel, and it is better to have two swords than one in such places. Besides, as you know the fellow's face you can aid in the search, and are as likely to run against him as he is. His discovery is as important to us as it is to him, and it may be the duke will be more disposed to interest himself, when he sees the son of his old friend, than upon the strength of a letter only.'

"You may imagine I did not lose much time. But I did not start, after all, until the next morning, for when the colonel talked it over with my father, he said:

"'Let Harry wait till tomorrow. I shall be seeing the king this evening. He is always interested in adventure, and I will tell him the whole story, and ask him to write a few lines, saying that Harry and Carstairs are young officers who have borne themselves bravely, and to his satisfaction. It may help with the duke, and will show, at any rate, that you have both been out here, and not intriguing at Saint Germains.'

"The colonel came in, late in the evening, with a paper, which the king had told Count Piper to write and sign, and had himself put his signature to it. I have got it sewn up in my doublet, with my father's letter to Marlborough. They are too precious to lose, but I can tell you what it is, word for word:

"'By order of King Charles the Twelfth of Sweden. This is to testify, to all whom it may concern, that Captain Charles Carstairs, and Captain Harry Jervoise--'"