A Romance of the West Indies Part 32

Having removed his disguise as the Caribbean, and the dye which stained his features, Monmouth wore an ample gown of light blue covered with orange flowers, and read attentively a large number of papers spread before him.

In order to explain the mistake of which the chevalier was the voluntary victim, we must explain that Croustillac, without really resembling Monmouth, was of the same age, the same height, brown as the other, as slender, and that the duke had, in common with the Gascon, a nose decidedly prominent, and a strong chin. Others beside Rutler, a Dutch officer arrived from the United Provinces in the suite of William of Orange, would have fallen into the same error, above all, seeing in the hands of Croustillac certain priceless objects known to have belonged to the son of Charles II.

As to the choice of Rutler, one must understand that in order to fulfill such a mission with all its consequences, it needed a man careful, fearless, blindly devoted, and capable of pushing that devotion even to a.s.sa.s.sination. The choice of William of Orange was necessarily circ.u.mscribed by such exigencies; it would have been probably impossible for him to have found a man who knew Monmouth personally who would not have recoiled before such terrible extremities as were entailed in this perilous and cruel undertaking.

Monmouth was deeply absorbed in reading several English journals. All at once the door of his room opened violently, and Angela threw herself on his neck, crying, "Saved! saved!"

Then, bursting into tears, laughing and sobbing by turn, kissing his hands, his forehead, his eyes, she repeated, in a stifled voice, "Saved!

my beloved James! Saved! there is no longer any danger for thee, my lover, my husband. G.o.d be praised, the danger is past! But what terror has been mine! Alas! I tremble still!"

Startled by the transports of Angela, Monmouth said to her with infinite tenderness, "What is the matter, child? What do you say?"

Without replying to him, Angela cried, "But this is not all; we must fly, do you understand? King William of England is on our track; to-morrow we must quit this island. All will be ready; I have given the order to one of our negro fishermen to go and say to Captain Ralph to have the Chameleon ready to set sail; it is anch.o.r.ed at Cayman's Creek; and in two hours we shall have left Martinique."

CHAPTER XXI.

THE BETRAYAL.

The duke could hardly believe what he heard; he looked at his wife in agony. "What do you say?" cried he. "King William knows that I am on this island?"

"He knows it. One of his emissaries has obtained entrance here this night. But be calm; he has gone; there is no danger," cried Angela, seeing Monmouth run to arm himself.

"But this man--this man?"

"He has gone, I tell you; the danger is past. Should I be here if not so? No; you have nothing to fear, at present, at least. But do you know who has aided me in overcoming this threatening cloud?"

"No; for mercy's sake explain."

"It was the poor adventurer whom we have made our b.u.t.t."

"Croustillac?"

"Yes, his presence of mind saved us; G.o.d be praised, the danger is past."

"Truly, Angela, I believe I am dreaming."

"Listen to me, then. It was an hour ago, when you left me to read the papers arrived from England. I went into the garden with the chevalier.

I had a presentiment of our danger and I was sad and thoughtful. I wished to get rid of our guest as soon as possible, not caring to amuse myself with him longer. I said to him that I could not explain the mystery of my three widowhoods; that my hand could belong to no one, and that he must leave the house at break of day. Our object was thus accomplished. The Gascon, by his exaggerated tales of what he had seen, will give more credence still to the stories which have been circulated during the past three years on the island, absurd stories but useful, and which until now alas! have been our safeguards by so confusing events that it has been impossible to separate the true from the false."

"Doubtless, but through what fatality this mystery? Tell me!"

"Having informed the chevalier that he could no longer remain here, I told him that we wished, nevertheless, to give him a valuable token of his sojourn at Devil's Cliff. To my great surprise he refused with a manner so painfully humiliated that I pitied him. Knowing how poor he was, and wishing, for the very reason that he showed some delicacy, to oblige him to accept a present, I came here to seek a medallion surrounded by diamonds on which was my monogram, hoping that the chevalier would not refuse that. I returned carrying this token, when in approaching the inclosure where I had left him, at the end of the park, near the fountain--Ah! my love, I tremble still!" And the young woman threw her two arms around James' neck, as if she would protect him against this past danger.

"Angela, I beg of you, calm yourself," said Monmouth tenderly. "Finish your story."

"Ah, well," she continued, "when I approached the fountain I heard voices; frightened, I listened."

"It was this emissary, I presume?"

"Yes, my beloved."

"But how had he effected an entrance? How did he leave? How did he confide his designs to the Gascon?"

"He mistook the chevalier for you!"

"He mistook the chevalier for me?" cried Monmouth.

"Yes, James. Doubtless he was deceived by the resemblance in figure, and by the suit that the Gascon wore, and which you had had made, in order to satisfy one of my caprices in dressing yourself like the portrait of which you have told me."

"Oh," said Monmouth, pa.s.sing his hand across his forehead, "Oh! you do not realize the terrible memories that all this awakens in me."

Then, after having heaved a deep sigh and looking sadly at the ebony frame encrusted with silver containing the drawing of a portrait, the duke resumed: "But what was the result of this strange encounter? What did the chevalier say? What did _you_ do? Truly, if your presence and your words did not a.s.sure me, I should go myself----"

Angela interrupted the duke. "Again, my beloved James, should I be so calm if there was anything to fear at this hour?"

"Very well. I hear you, but you can understand my impatience."

"You shall not be in doubt long. From the few words I overheard I divined that the chevalier, leaving our enemy in error, did not know how to get him out of the place, fearing he would not be obeyed by our servants. Counting, with reason, on the Gascon's intelligence, I presented myself to him at the moment when he approached the house, taking care to warn him, indirectly, that he must take me for Mirette.

Having seen that the emissary of King William, believing he was addressing you, called him 'my lord duke' or 'my lord,' I called him so also; I caused the doors to be opened, and, in order to complete the illusion, I gave the Gascon your sword, your enameled snuff box, and the old cloak to which you are so attached."

"Ah! What have you done, Angela?" cried the duke, "my father's sword, the snuff box my mother gave me, and the cloak which belonged to the most saintly, the most admirable martyr who ever sacrificed himself to friendship."

"James, my love, pardon. I thought I was doing for the best," cried Angela, overcome by the expression of bitterness and chagrin which she read in the features of James.

"Poor beloved angel," replied Monmouth, taking her hands in his, "I do not reproach you, but I have so great a respect for these holy relics that it grieves me to see them profaned by a falsehood, even of a few moments' duration. I repeat, you do not know the terrible memories which are attached to the cloak. Alas! I have not told you all!"

"You have not told me all?" said Angela in surprise. "When you came to seek me in France in the name of my second father, my benefactor, dead on the field of battle," and Angela sighed sorrowfully, "did you not offer to share your life with me, poor orphan that I was, did you not say that you loved me? what matters the rest? If it did not concern your well-being, your life, should I ever have dreamed of speaking to you of your condition, of your birth? I married you proscribed, flying from the furious hate of your enemies. We have escaped many dangers, evaded many suspicions, thanks to my pretended marriages, and your various disguises. Then, what can you have hidden from me? If it is some new danger, James, my beloved husband, my lover, I will never forgive you, for I must partake all with you, good or bad fortune. Your life is my life; your enemies my enemies. Although this attempt happily failed, now that they know your retreat, they will continue to seek you with increased malignity. You must fly. In two hours the Chameleon will be ready to set sail."

Deeply occupied with his thoughts, Monmouth had not heard Angela. He walked up and down with long strides, repeating to himself, "There is no doubt, they know I am living; but how has William of Orange penetrated this secret which was known only to Father Griffen and myself, because the holy martyr who carried this secret to the tomb, and De Crussol, last governor of this island, are dead. When I think that for greater safety I have concealed my real name from my devoted and adored wife, who then can have betrayed me? Father Griffen is incapable of such sacrilege; for it is under the seal of the confessional that the governor made the revelation to him."

After some minutes of silent thought the duke said, "And what means did the chevalier employ to discover the designs of the emissary of William of Orange?"

"His designs, my love, were not concealed; I heard them; he wished to carry you away, dead or alive, to the Tower of London."

"Without doubt. Since the Revolution of 1688 they fear that I may become reconciled to the dethroned king; the public prints even announce that my old partisans are moving," said Monmouth, speaking to himself. "I recognize there the policy of my old friend William of Orange. But by what right does he suspect me capable of ambitious designs? Again, who has aroused in William these unjust suspicions, these ill-founded fears?"

After another silence he said to Angela, "G.o.d be praised, my child, the storm is past; thanks to thee; thanks to this brave adventurer!

Nevertheless I am not sure if, in spite of the devotion which he has shown on this occasion, I can confide to him a part of the truth; perhaps it would be wiser to have him in ignorance and to persuade him that the emissary had been misled by false information. What do you think, Angela? Dare I appear to the chevalier under any other form than that of Youmaale, or shall I charge you to-night to see and thank this brave man? As to recompense, we will find a way to do that without wounding his delicacy."

Angela looked at her husband with growing astonishment. Monmouth had not understood her; he thought that the Gascon had succeeded in removing this emissary of William of Orange from Devil's Cliff; he did not know he had accompanied him as a prisoner.

"I do not know when the chevalier will return. He will doubtless make this mistake last as long as possible in order to give us time to escape."

"The chevalier is no longer here, then?" cried the duke.