Shrewsbury Part 15

"'Tis a long way round," said madam, dryly.

"It is a long way to Rome, madam," said the man, with meaning in his voice.

She nodded and shifted uneasily in her seat. "You think that the one means the other?" she said at last.

"I do, madam. But there is a new point, which has just arisen."

"A new point! What?"

"There is a design, and it presses," the man answered in a low voice, and as if he chose his words with care. "It will be executed within the month. If it succeed, and my lord be still where he is, and unreconciled, I know no head will fall so certainly. Not Lord Middleton's influence, no, nor yours, my lady, will save him."

"What, and my Lord Marlborough escape?"

"Yes, madam, for he has made his peace, and proved his sincerity."

"I believe it," she said, grimly. "He is the devil. And his wife is like unto him. But there's Sidney G.o.dolphin--what of him?"

"He has made his peace, madam."

"Russell?"

"The same, madam, and given proofs."

"But, odds my soul, sir," she cried, sharply and pettishly, "if everybody is of one mind, where does it stick that the king does not come over?"

"On a life, madam," Smith answered, letting each word fall slowly, as if it were a jewel. "One life intervenes."

"Ha!" she said, sitting up and looking straight before her. "Sits the wind in that quarter? Well, I thought so."

"And therefore time presses."

"Still, man," she said, "our family has done much for the throne; and his Gracious Majesty has----"

"Has many virtues, my lady, but he is not forgiving," quoth the tempter, coolly.

On that she sighed, and deeply; and I, hearing the sigh, and seeing how uneasily she moved in her chair, comprehended that in old age the pa.s.sions, however strong they may have been in youth, become slaves to help others to their aims; ay, and I comprehended also that, sharply as she had just rated both the man and the woman, and great lady as she was, and arrogant as had been her life--whereof evidence more than enough was to be found in every glance of her eye and tone of her voice--she was now being pushed and pushed and pushed, into that to which she was but half inclined. But half inclined, I repeat; and yet the battle was over, and she persuaded. I think, but I am not quite sure, that some a.s.senting word had actually fallen from her--or she was in the act of speaking one--when a gentle knock at the door cut short our conference. Mr. Smith raised his hand in warning, and the woman, gliding to the door, opened it, and after speaking a word to someone without, returned.

"My lord is below," said she.

It was strange to see how madam's face changed at that; and how, on the instant, eagerness took the place of fatigue, and hope of _ennui_.

There was no question now of withstanding her; or of any other giving orders. The parrot must be removed, because he did not like it; and we fared no better. "Let him up," she cried, peremptorily, striking her stick on the floor; "let him up. And do you, Monterey," she continued to the woman, "begone, and quickly. It irks him to see you. And, Smith, to-morrow! Do you hear me? come to-morrow, and I will talk. And take away that oaf! Ugh, out with him! My lord must not be kept waiting for such _canaille_. To-morrow! to-morrow!"

CHAPTER XVII

Truth to tell, I desired nothing so much as to be gone and be out of this imbroglio; and the woman, whom madam had called Monterey, twitching my sleeve and whispering me, I followed her, and slipped out as quickly as I could through the door by which we had entered. Even so we were not a moment too soon, if I was to retreat unseen. For as the curtain dropped behind me I heard a man's voice in the room I had left, and the woman with me chancing to have the lamp, which she had lifted from the table, in her hand at the instant--so that the light fell brightly on her face--I was witness of an extraordinary change which pa.s.sed over her features. She grew rigid with rage--rage, I took it to be--and stood listening with distended eyes, in perfect forgetfulness of my presence; until, seeming at last to remember me, she glanced from me to the curtain and from the curtain to me in a kind of frantic uncertainty; being manifestly torn in two between the desire to hear what pa.s.sed, and the desire to see me out that I might not hear. But as, to effect the latter she must sacrifice the former, it did not require a sage to predict which impulse, curiosity incited by hatred or mere prudence, would prevail with a woman. And as the sage would have predicted so it happened; after making an abortive movement as if she would place the lamp in my hands, she stealthily laid it on the table beside her, and making me a sign to wait and be silent, bent eagerly to listen.

I fancy that it was the mention of her own name turned the scale; for that was the first word that caught my ear, and who that was a woman would not listen, being mentioned? The speaker was her mistress, and the words "What, Monterey?" uttered in a voice a little sharp and raised, were as clearly heard as if we had been in the room.

"Yes, madam," came the answer.

"Well," my lady replied with a chuckle, "I do not think that you are the person who ought to----"

"Object? Perhaps not, my lady mother," came the answer. The speaker's tone was one of grave yet kindly remonstrance; the voice quite strange to me. "But that is precisely why I do," he continued. "I cannot think it wise or fitting that you should keep her about you."

"You kept her long enough about you!" madam answered, in a tone between vexation and raillery.

"I own it; and I am not proud of it," the new-comer rejoined. Whereat, though I was careful not to look at the woman listening beside me, I saw the veins in one of her hands which was under my eyes swell with the rage in her, and the nail of the thumb grow white with the pressure she was placing on the table to keep herself still. "I am very far from proud of it," the speaker continued, "and for the matter of that----"

"You were always a bit of a Puritan, Charles," my lady cried.

"It may be."

"I am sure I do not know where you get it from," madam continued irritably, stirring in her chair--I heard it crack, and her voice told the rest. "Not from me, I'll swear!"

"I never accused you, madam."

That answer seemed to please her, for on the instant she went off into such a fit of laughter as fairly choked her. When she had a little recovered from the paroxysm of coughing that followed this, "You can be more amusing than you think, Charles," she said. "If your father had had a spark of your humour----"

"I thought that it was agreed between us that we should not talk of him," the man said gravely, and with a slight suspicion of sternness in his voice.

"Oh, if you are on your high horse!" madam answered, "the devil take you! But, there, I am sure that I do not want to talk of him, poor man. He was dull enough. Let us talk of something livelier, let us talk of Monterey instead; what is amiss with her?"

"I do not think that she is a fit person to be about you."

"Why not? She is married now," my lady retorted. "D'ye know that?"

"Yes, I heard some time ago that she was married; to Mr. Bridges'

steward at Kingston."

"Matthew Smith?"

"Yes."

"And who recommended _him_ to my husband, I should like to know?"

madam answered in a tone of malice. "Why, you, my friend."

"It is possible. I remember something of the kind."

"And who recommended him to you? Why, she did: in the days when you did not warn people against her." And madam chuckled wickedly.

"It is possible," he answered, "but the matter is twelve years old, and more; and I do not want to----"

"Go back to it," madam cried sharply. "I can quite understand that.

Nor to have Monterey about to remind you of it--and of your wild oats."