The great roxhythe, p.6
The Great Roxhythe, page 6
Roderick’s lip curled scornfully.
“On my perspicacity, sir?”
“On your power of recognition, Mr. Dart.”
Roderick brushed that aside.
“I have seen you many times, my lord.” The words bit.
... “One would almost have inferred that I did not find favour in his august eyes,” afterwards remarked Roxhythe.
“I am delighted,” sighed his lordship. “It greatly facilitates matters. Did you know that Christopher is my secretary?”
“I did not. Since when is this, sir?”
“Nigh on a month ago, I suppose. He is not very like you.”
“Christopher is easily led—easily influenced!” said Roderick.
Roxhythe conceived that the news of his brother’s latest venture did not meet with Roderick’s approval.
“Just so,” he agreed. “A most useful boy.”
At this moment the one maid that the inn boasted entered the room with a tray. When she had gone:
“I must apologise for such poor hospitality,” said Roxhythe. “It is the best the inn can afford.”
Roderick seated himself at the table. He unbent slightly.
Until the maid had finally withdrawn, leaving the men to their wine, they spoke of Christopher, the atrocious condition of the roads, or London gossip. It was then that Roxhythe inwardly dubbed Roderick a strait-laced Puritan. His disapproval of his host was very apparent, as was his disapproval of King Charles and his Court. Roxhythe was consumed with amusement.
“I suppose you have moderately good entertainment at the Palace, Mr. Dart? he asked indolently. “But no doubt you miss the London life.”
“No,” said Roderick. “Whitehall and its customs do not appeal to me. We of the Prince’s household live very quietly. We observe Whitehall and the Louvre from afar, and we do not desire to emulate them.”
“Dear me!” said Roxhythe. “The Prince, then, has no taste for Court life?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Heaven forfend I find not a psalm-singing Quaker for Prince!” thought Roxhythe. Aloud he said: “Why, you surprise me, sir! I had thought so young a boy—and a Stuart—had had some taste for gaiety. Well, well!”
“His Highness, sir, looks with disgust on the ways of his uncle’s Court,” said Roderick deliberately.
“Good luck to my mission!” thought Roxhythe.
“He cannot see that King Charles has any man about him —with one or two exceptions—” he bowed, “—whom he can trust.”
Roxhythe stared at him over the rim of his wine-glass.
“Is His Highness then surrounded by men whom he can trust?”
“The Prince his servants are faithful unto death,” was the proud answer.
“His Highness is singularly fortunate,” said Roxhythe drily.
Roderick pushed his chair back from the table.
“Have we dilly-dallied long enough, sir? You have business with my master?”
For a moment Roxhythe did not answer. Then he spoke slowly, his eyes on Dart’s.
“Why, I do not know, sir. It depends.”
“On what?”
“On who your master is,” said my lord.
Roderick looked puzzled. He flushed angrily as Roxhythe’s meaning dawned on him, and half rose in his chair.
“Do you insult me, my lord?”
“By no means,” replied that imperturbable voice. “I was told that De Witt chose you to be one of the Prince his gentlemen. You speak of yourself as the Prince his faithful servant. What am I to understand?”
“I am the Prince his servant.”
“Yet you are not suspect by De Witt?”
“No.”
“You are lucky,” smiled his lordship.
“There is no reason why I should give you an explanation, sir, but you may know that I was engaged not as an informer, but as one not likely to be won over by His Highness. So Mynheer De Witt said.”
“I take it Mynheer De Witt was wrong?”
“Ay. You do not know His Highness or you might understand.”
Roxhythe bowed.
“I am looking forward to making the acquaintance of this Prince.”
“You are a messenger?” Roderick surveyed him critically. “An envoy from King Charles?”
“I have that honour.”
“You want me to bear a packet to His Highness?”
“No,” said Roxhythe. “I want you to help me to gain access to the Prince.”
Roderick gasped at his audacity.
“Impossible!”
“A word I do not know,” drawled his lordship.
“The Prince will not receive you!”
“I think he will.”
“He will require proof of your identity!”
“He shall have it,” Roxhythe drew a heavy signet ring from his finger, and laid it before his guest.
Roderick stared down at the magic initials: C.R. There was no mistaking the ring. For a minute he sat thinking. Roxhythe polished his thumb-nail.
“I may take this to His Highness?” asked Roderick, at last.
“You may.”
“And there is no packet to be conveyed?”
“None that I cannot convey myself.”
“I think His Highness will require you to send it!” flashed Roderick.
“Alas! My orders are to deliver it into his hands myself.”
“In that case there is no more to be said. You seem to think it is an easy matter to gain access to the Prince. Pray have you thought how you will do it?”
“No,” said Roxhythe. “I never worry myself unnecessarily.”
“Unnecessarily!”
“You see, I leave it to you,” said my lord sweetly.
“Indeed! Remember, I hold out no hope.”
“I am dismayed,” said Roxhythe placidly.
CHAPTER VII
William of Orange
Roxhythe had scarcely finished his breakfast next morning when once again Mr. Dart was announced.
Roderick was colder than ever. He returned King Charles’ ring to my lord.
“His Highness commands me to say that he will receive you this evening, sir.”
“Yes?” said Roxhythe. He drew forward a chair. “Can I offer you breakfast?”
“Thank you, I breakfasted two hours since,” said Roderick.
“Then you must be very hungry,” sympathised my lord. “Allow me to cut you some of this quite excellent bacon!”
“Thank you, no.”
Roxhythe sighed.
“You must know, sir, that His Highness has been suffering from a slight indisposition these last few days which has compelled him to keep his room.”
“I did not know.” Roxhythe was gravely concerned. “I am grieved to hear it.”
“You misunderstand me, sir. The Prince had intended to leave his room to-day, but since you are to have audience with him he deems it more prudent to allow De Witt’s spies to think him still unwell. If you will come to the Palace to-night at eight and ask for me, you will be taken to my rooms which are at some distance from the Prince’s. You understand that I am not suspect, so my guests may come unchallenged. I have already spoken of you to the Governor, Mynheer Van Ghent, and he is satisfied. You may trust me to smuggle you to the Prince his apartments.”
“Very neat,” approved Roxhythe. “Be assured that I shall be punctual.”
“If you please,” bowed Roderick, and took his leave.
“If the Prince his manners are like those of his servants, I am like to enjoy myself,” reflected Roxhythe. “Odd’s blood, but the young cockerel might be equerry to His Most Christian Majesty from the airs that he affects ... A damned Puritan lot,” he added gloomily.
In spite of this nonchalance, Roxhythe was curious to see Prince William. He had always heard that he was a youth of parts, and he thought now that he must be a youth of very forceful parts if all he had gathered from Roderick’s conversation were true.
At eight o’clock he presented himself at the Palace. He was conducted through the great hall, up the stairs, and along a corridor to a small, sparsely-furnished room.
Roderick rose and came forward, hands outstretched.
“Ah, Curtis! So you have come!” In Dutch he addressed the servant. “Bring glasses, Hans.”
The man withdrew.
“I must ask you to await his return,” said Roderick stiffly.
Roxhythe was shaken with silent laughter. Mr. Dart’s cordiality had dropped from him so suddenly.
Roderick eyed him with cold hostility.
“I think, too, that you had best retain your hat, sir, or stand with your back to the door.”
My lord bent over the fire, warming his hands.
“I trust your face has not been too closely observed,” continued Roderick.
Roxhythe always complained that Mr. Dart thought him a fool.
The servant re-appeared. He set glasses on the table, drew corks, and retired.
“I do not wish to be disturbed, Hans,” warned Roderick.
“No, Mynheer.” The door closed softly.
Roxhythe picked up his hat and gloves. Roderick nodded.
“If you will follow me, please.”
The mocking light had gone out of my lord’s eyes. Roderick looked into the barrel of a small, gold-mounted pistol.
“I deplore the seeming churlishness of my behaviour,” said Roxhythe, “but if there should be foul play, Mr. Dart, you will suffer for it.”
Roderick was scornful.
“You may put that plaything away, my lord. There will be no treachery.”
“You relieve me,” said his lordship, still holding the pistol. “Lead on!”
Roderick shrugged. He went to a door at the opposite end of the room. “This way, sir.”
They passed into a narrow corridor, faintly lighted by an oil-lamp at one end. Roderick led the way along it, and up the flight of winding stairs that branched off from it. They came out on to a broad landing which was dark except for the light streaming from an open door. Someone came out of that door, and turned to look at them.
Roderick seemed not to see. He spoke crossly to Roxhythe in Dutch.
“You should not have left it until this late hour, Franz. If His Highness is asleep I cannot get the gloves for you, and I think it probable that he is asleep. He will be most displeased when he finds them still unmended ... Goodevening, Van Druyslet!”
A good-natured voice laughed:
“Those gloves again, Dart!”
“There has been enough bother about them already,” said Dart, walking on.
“Ay. Good-night.”
They went on down another passage, better-lighted, and not so narrow. A man was standing by a low couch outside one of the doors that flanked the corridor. Roxhythe took a firm hold on his pistol.
The man came forward, eyeing Roxhythe curiously. He addressed himself to Dart.
“In the Prince his study, Roderick.” He spoke in English.
“Thank you, Heenvliet. The Governor has visited His Highness?”
Half an hour ago. His Highness feigned the migraine. It is quite safe, but in case of accidents I will cough outside the door, and you, my lord,” he turned to Roxhythe, “will secrete yourself in the cupboard by the fireplace.”
Roxhythe bowed. Roderick opened the door, and they entered a large, well-lighted room. It was empty, and, like the rest of the Palace, richly, but severely furnished.
Roderick held out his hand.
“That pistol, if you please, my lord.”
Roxhythe handed it over, smiling.
“Did you think I meant to assassinate the Prince?”
“I take no risks, sir,” said Roderick quietly. He went to where a heavy curtain hung, and pulled it back. “His Highness will be with you almost at once.” He disappeared.
My lord was again shaken with laughter.
“Oddsfish! ’tis as good as Etheridge his best!” he told himself. “The little princeling! ... But he would appear to have good servants,” he added, thinking of the man on the passage.
The Palace was very silent. A cinder falling on to the hearth caused his lordship to start as at an explosion. The candles were burning steadily; not even the wind moaned.
“A damned gloomy place,” said Roxhythe. He drew a bulky package from his breast, and laid it on the carven table.
There was not a sound anywhere; no movement, no sign of life; everything was eerily silent. Roxhythe shivered.
“William of Orange has my sympathy,” he murmured.
The heavy curtains swung noiselessly back. A slight youth, with great eyes burning in an unnaturally pale face, came quickly into the room. Dart followed him, and the curtain fell back into place.
The boy was dressed as plainly as Dart. Light curls fell to his shoulders and framed his hawk-face. His eyes were hazel, cold and keen, the nose aquiline; the mouth thin. He gave Roxhythe the impression of one much repressed, and old beyond his eighteen years.
My lord swept a low, court bow.
“Your Highness!”
William spoke haltingly. His voice, even then, had a harsh timbre.
“Mi—lor’—Roxhyt’e?”
My lord bowed again.
“I have to thank Your Highness for receiving me at this hour. I am very sensible of the honour you do me.
William inclined his head gravely. He spoke over his shoulder to Dart.
“Rodrigue, you may leave me.”
Roderick frowned quickly.
“Will Your Highness not permit me to remain?”
“It is not necessary. Heenvliet will show Milor’ Roxhyt’e hack to your room. I wish you to go.”
“Very well, Sir.” Roderick went out.
William brought his eyes back to Roxhythe. He continued to speak Dutch.
“Well, milor’? You bring me a message from my uncle?”
“Yes, Highness. I have a proposition to lay before you on behalf of His Majesty,” said Roxhythe, also in Dutch.
“It is here?” William stepped to the table where lay Ashley’s packet. His hand closed over it.
“That contains the proposition, Sir, as writ by Lord Ashley.”
The Prince looked up quickly.
“So? Ashley.” He sat down at the table, and broke open the seals. “Be seated, milor’.” He spread the closewritten sheets out before him, and resting his head in his hand, started to read.
Nothing broke the stillness save the crackling of the parchment, and occasionally a cough from the Prince.
While he read, Roxhythe studied the boy’s face, waiting for him to betray his feelings by some change of expression.
William read on steadily. Not an eyelid flickered.
Roxhythe marvelled more and more at this extraordinary youth. He realised that here was a personality as strong as, or even stronger than his own master’s, and at the same time, totally dissimilar. William’s manner was almost repellent; he employed no wiles to attract; he rarely smiled. To Roxhythe he had been brusque to the point of rudeness, yet his lordship was conscious of an overwhelming magnetism. He could understand now how it was that William was so well served. Instinctively he felt that William had the strength of character that his uncle lacked. He felt, too, that William could inspire unlimited confidence, and he knew, without knowing why, that even he, cynic that he was, would trust him implicitly.
William put the sheets together, and rested his hand lightly on them. For some time he did not speak, but sat looking straight before him, eye-brows drawn close across his forehead. His tapering fingers drummed on the folded parchment; a ruby ring caught the light of the candles, and winked sagely. It was the only ornament he wore.
“So this is Ashley’s proposition ...’’he said slowly. “What has my uncle to say?”
“His Majesty but endorses what you have read, Highness,” answered Roxhythe.
William looked at him thoughtfully.
“I do not see what King Charles stands to gain by this,” he flicked the parchment.
Roxhythe was taken aback. He was not prepared for such ruthless perspicacity.
“Your Highness has a knowledge of men,” he said.
“Is it likely that King Charles would offer this—” again he flicked the parchment—“and demand naught in exchange?”
“No, Highness, it is not likely. Yet King Charles stands to get the worst of the bargain.”
For the first time William smiled.
“I cannot credit it, milor’.”
“Nevertheless, it is so, Sir. Have I your leave to speak?”
William nodded. His eyes never left my lord’s face.
“The matter is this, Highness: King Charles is desirous of seeing his nephew in his rightful place, and not a State prisoner. He hath no love for De Witt, and he thinks that the people of Holland have none either. He will aid you to overthrow their High Mightinesses, and he will make you Stadtholder—even Kina;, if the thing were possible. It should not be difficult. You know, Sir, that the people grow tired of the Pensionary, and murmur your name again. At Rotterdam, at Middleburgh, at Amsterdam, and a score of other towns I could mention, feeling is very strong in your favour. King Louis is an all too powerful enemy and the Provinces require a leader. It is thought that you, Sir, inherit your great-grandfather’s genius. Were you to break free from De Witt and raise your banner at the right moment, crowds would flock to it. The nobles are on your side and the middle-classes will follow when they realize that in you lies salvation. King Charles will help you to drive out the French, and the combination will surely prove too strong for Louis.”
“Yes,” interrupted the Prince. “And the price?”
“You have read it, Sir.”
William moved impatiently.
“I have read many meaningless words and vague terms, milor’.”
“Briefly, Highness, it is this: In return for setting you in your rightful place, His Majesty requires the State to pay him a certain sum yearly, to be afterwards decided on. There would be some compact, of course.”
“I think that is not all,” said William. “What of that compact of which you spoke?”
“An alliance between the two countries, similar to the existing bond.” Roxhythe looked up. “That should benefit you, Sir.”
