Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges Part 43

At noon, on the 30th of July, a message came to the prince's friends that the Committee of Council was sitting at Kensington Palace, their graces of Ormonde and Shrewsbury, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the three Secretaries of State, being there a.s.sembled. In an hour afterwards, hurried news was brought that the two great Whig dukes, Argyle and Somerset, had broke into the Council-chamber without a summons, and taken their seat at table. After holding a debate there, the whole party proceeded to the chamber of the queen, who was lying in great weakness, but still sensible, and the lords recommended his grace of Shrewsbury as the fittest person to take the vacant place of lord treasurer; her Majesty gave him the staff, as all know. "And now," writ my messenger from Court, "_now or never is the time_."

Now or never was the time indeed. In spite of the Whig dukes, our side had still the majority in the Council, and Esmond, to whom the message had been brought (the personage at Court not being aware that the prince had quitted his lodging in Kensington Square), and Esmond's gallant young aide de camp, Frank Castlewood, putting on sword and uniform, took a brief leave of their dear lady, who embraced and blessed them both; and went to her chamber to pray for the issue of the great event which was then pending.

Castlewood sped to the barrack to give warning to the captain of the guard there; and then went to the "King's Arms" tavern at Kensington, where our friends were a.s.sembled, having come by parties of twos and threes, riding or in coaches, and were got together in the upper chamber, fifty-three of them; their servants, who had been instructed to bring arms likewise, being below in the garden of the tavern, where they were served with drink. Out of this garden is a little door that leads into the road of the Palace, and through this it was arranged that masters and servants were to march; when that signal was given, and that Personage appeared, for whom all were waiting. There was in our company the famous officer next in command to the Captain-General of the Forces, his grace the Duke of Ormonde, who was within at the Council. There were with him two more lieutenant-generals, nine major-generals and brigadiers, seven colonels, eleven peers of Parliament, and twenty-one members of the House of Commons. The guard was with us within and without the Palace: the queen was with us; the Council (save the two Whig dukes, that must have succ.u.mbed); the day was our own, and with a beating heart Esmond walked rapidly to the Mall of Kensington, where he had parted with the prince on the night before. For three nights the colonel had not been to bed: the last had been pa.s.sed summoning the prince's friends together, of whom the great majority had no sort of inkling of the transaction pending until they were told that he was actually on the spot, and were summoned to strike the blow. The night before and after the altercation with the prince, my gentleman, having suspicions of his royal highness, and fearing lest he should be minded to give us the slip, and fly off after his fugitive beauty, had spent, if the truth must be told, at the "Greyhound"

tavern, over against my Lady Esmond's house in Kensington Square, with an eye on the door, lest the prince should escape from it. The night before that he had pa.s.sed in his boots at the "Crown" at Hounslow, where he must watch forsooth all night, in order to get one moment's glimpse of Beatrix in the morning. And fate had decreed that he was to have a fourth night's ride and wakefulness before his business was ended.

He ran to the curate's house in Kensington Mall, and asked for Mr. Bates, the name the prince went by. The curate's wife said Mr. Bates had gone abroad very early in the morning in his boots, saying he was going to the Bishop of Rochester's house at Chelsea. But the bishop had been at Kensington himself two hours ago to seek for Mr. Bates, and had returned in his coach to his own house, when he heard that the gentleman was gone thither to seek him.

This absence was most unpropitious, for an hour's delay might cost a kingdom; Esmond had nothing for it but to hasten to the "King's Arms", and tell the gentlemen there a.s.sembled that Mr. George (as we called the prince there) was not at home, but that Esmond would go fetch him; and taking a general's coach that happened to be there, Esmond drove across the country to Chelsea, to the bishop's house there.

The porter said two gentlemen were with his lordship, and Esmond ran past this sentry up to the locked door of the bishop's study, at which he rattled, and was admitted presently. Of the bishop's guests one was a brother prelate, and the other the Abbe G--.

"Where is Mr. George?" says Mr. Esmond; "now is the time." The bishop looked scared; "I went to his lodging," he said, "and they told me he was come hither. I returned as quick as coach would carry me; and he hath not been here."

The colonel burst out with an oath; that was all he could say to their reverences; ran down the stairs again, and bidding the coachman, an old friend and fellow-campaigner, drive as if he was charging the French with his master at Wynendael-they were back at Kensington in half an hour.

Again Esmond went to the curate's house. Mr. George had not returned. The colonel had to go with this blank errand to the gentlemen at the "King's Arms", that were grown very impatient by this time.

Out of the window of the tavern, and looking over the garden-wall, you can see the green before Kensington Palace, the Palace gate (round which the ministers' coaches were standing), and the barrack building. As we were looking out from this window in gloomy discourse, we heard presently trumpets blowing, and some of us ran to the window of the front room, looking into the High Street of Kensington, and saw a regiment of horse coming.

"It's Ormonde's Guards," says one.

"No, by G.o.d, it's Argyle's old regiment!" says my general, clapping down his crutch.

It was, indeed, Argyle's regiment that was brought from Westminster, and that took the place of the regiment at Kensington on which we could rely.

"Oh, Harry!" says one of the generals there present, "you were born under an unlucky star; I begin to think that there's no Mr. George, nor Mr.

Dragon either. 'Tis not the peerage I care for, for our name is so ancient and famous, that merely to be called Lord Lydiard would do me no good; but 'tis the chance you promised me of fighting Marlborough."

As we were talking, Castlewood entered the room with a disturbed air.

"What news, Frank?" says the colonel, "is Mr. George coming at last?"

"d.a.m.n him, look here!" says Castlewood, holding out a paper. "I found it in the book-the what you call it, _Eik.u.m Basilik.u.m_,-that villain Martin put it there-he said his young mistress bade him. It was directed to me, but it was meant for him I know, and I broke the seal and read it."

The whole a.s.sembly of officers seemed to swim away before Esmond's eyes as he read the paper; all that was written on it was:-"Beatrix Esmond is sent away to prison, to Castlewood, where she will pray for happier days."

"Can you guess where he is?" says Castlewood.

"Yes," says Colonel Esmond. He knew full well, Frank knew full well: our instinct told whither that traitor had fled.

He had courage to turn to the company and say, "Gentlemen, I fear very much that Mr. George will not be here to-day; something hath happened-and-and-I very much fear some accident may befall him, which must keep him out of the way. Having had your noon's draught, you had best pay the reckoning and go home; there can be no game where there is no one to play it."

Some of the gentlemen went away without a word, others called to pay their duty to her Majesty and ask for her health. The little army disappeared into the darkness out of which it had been called; there had been no writings, no paper to implicate any man. Some few officers and members of Parliament had been invited overnight to breakfast at the "King's Arms", at Kensington; and they had called for their bill and gone home.

Chapter XIII. August 1st, 1714

"Does my mistress know of this?" Esmond asked of Frank, as they walked along.

"My mother found the letter in the book, on the toilet-table. She had writ it ere she had left home," Frank said. "Mother met her on the stairs, with her hand upon the door, trying to enter, and never left her after that till she went away. He did not think of looking at it there, nor had Martin the chance of telling him. I believe the poor devil meant no harm, though I half killed him; he thought 'twas to Beatrix's brother he was bringing the letter."

Frank never said a word of reproach to me, for having brought the villain amongst us. As we knocked at the door I said; "When will the horses be ready?" Frank pointed with his cane, they were turning the street that moment.

We went up and bade adieu to our mistress; she was in a dreadful state of agitation by this time, and that bishop was with her whose company she was so fond of.

"Did you tell him, my lord," says Esmond, "that Beatrix was at Castlewood?" The bishop blushed and stammered:

"Well," says he, "I--"

"You served the villain right," broke out Mr. Esmond, "and he has lost a crown by what you told him."

My mistress turned quite white. "Henry, Henry," says she, "do not kill him."

"It may not be too late," says Esmond; "he may not have gone to Castlewood; pray G.o.d, it is not too late." The bishop was breaking out with some _ba.n.a.les_ phrases about loyalty and the sacredness of the sovereign's person; but Esmond sternly bade him hold his tongue, burn all papers, and take care of Lady Castlewood; and in five minutes he and Frank were in the saddle, John Lockwood behind them, riding towards Castlewood at a rapid pace.

We were just got to Alton, when who should meet us but old Lockwood, the porter from Castlewood, John's father, walking by the side of the Hexham flying-coach, who slept the night at Alton. Lockwood said his young mistress had arrived at home on Wednesday night, and this morning, Friday, had dispatched him with a packet for my lady at Kensington, saying the letter was of great importance.

We took the freedom to break it, while Lockwood stared with wonder, and cried out his "Lord bless me's", and "Who'd a thought it's", at the sight of his young lord, whom he had not seen these seven years.

The packet from Beatrix contained no news of importance at all. It was written in a jocular strain, affecting to make light of her captivity. She asked whether she might have leave to visit Mrs. Tusher, or to walk beyond the court and the garden-wall. She gave news of the peac.o.c.ks, and a fawn she had there. She bade her mother send her certain gowns and smocks by old Lockwood; she sent her duty to a certain person, if certain other persons permitted her to take such a freedom; how that, as she was not able to play cards with him, she hoped he would read good books, such as Dr. Atterbury's sermons and _Eikon Basilike_: she was going to read good books: she thought her pretty mamma would like to know she was not crying her eyes out.

"Who is in the house besides you, Lockwood?" says the colonel.

"There be the laundry-maid, and the kitchen-maid, Madam Beatrix's maid, the man from London, and that be all; and he sleepeth in my lodge away from the maids," says old Lockwood.

Esmond scribbled a line with a pencil on the note, giving it to the old man, and bidding him go on to his lady. We knew why Beatrix had been so dutiful on a sudden, and why she spoke of _Eikon Basilike_. She writ this letter to put the prince on the scent, and the porter out of the way.

"We have a fine moonlight night for riding on," says Esmond; "Frank, we may reach Castlewood in time yet." All the way along they made inquiries at the post-houses, when a tall young gentleman in a grey suit, with a light-brown periwig, just the colour of my lord's, had been seen to pa.s.s.

He had set off at six that morning, and we at three in the afternoon. He rode almost as quickly as we had done; he was seven hours ahead of us still when we reached the last stage.

We rode over Castlewood Downs before the breaking of dawn. We pa.s.sed the very spot where the car was upset fourteen years since; and Mohun lay. The village was not up yet, nor the forge lighted, as we rode through it, pa.s.sing by the elms, where the rooks were still roosting, and by the church, and over the bridge. We got off our horses at the bridge and walked up to the gate.

"If she is safe," says Frank, trembling, and his honest eyes filling with tears, "a silver statue to Our Lady!" He was going to rattle at the great iron knocker on the oak gate; but Esmond stopped his kinsman's hand. He had his own fears, his own hopes, his own despairs and griefs, too: but he spoke not a word of these to his companion, or showed any signs of emotion.

He went and tapped at the little window at the porter's lodge, gently, but repeatedly, until the man came to the bars.

"Who's there?" says he, looking out; it was the servant from Kensington.

"My Lord Castlewood and Colonel Esmond," we said, from below. "Open the gate and let us in without any noise."

"My Lord Castlewood?" says the other; "my lord's here, and in bed."

"Open, d-n you," says Castlewood, with a curse.

"I shall open to no one," says the man, shutting the gla.s.s window as Frank drew a pistol. He would have fired at the porter, but Esmond again held his hand.