The Span o' Life Part 4

This I was enabled to do by the help of the wig-maker--who was clever enough with what he put outside other men's heads, though I could not think so highly of what he had got into his own--and by a liberal supply of gold pieces to my tailor.

I was now dressed with some approach to my ideas of what was fitting, and my own satisfaction was only equalled by that of little Christopher.

"Ah, Kit, my boy," I admonished him, for I felt it inc.u.mbent on me to contribute somewhat to the general morality of such a household, "I am no more Captain Geraldine in these fine feathers than I was in the scurvy black of the lawyer's clerk."

"But you feel more like Captain Geraldine," the boy said, pertinently enough.

"I do, my boy, I do, for I am still subject to the vanities of the flesh."

"Don't say that!" the boy cried, half angrily--"that is like they talk at meeting," and I felt ashamed I should have let slip anything before the child that could hurt his sense of my bearing towards what his mother respected, though I was puzzled to rightly estimate his own expression.

"I won't, my lad, but listen!" and I gave my sword a flourish and began the rattling air,

"Dans les gardes francaises J'avais un amoureux--"

and then I suddenly reflected I had no right to sing these ribald songs before the boy, even though he might not understand a word, and again I was ashamed, so fell a-story-telling, and I told him tales that made even his favourites of Agag and Sisera seem pale, and the singing was forgotten.

Though these constant talks with Kit, who would scarce be kept a moment from my side, were entertaining enough, and my heart warmed more and more to him as I saw his strong young feeling blossom out, I could not help the time dragging most wearisomely. The evenings were intolerable, and I felt the atmosphere absolutely suffocating at times. Mistress Routh was so completely Mistress Routh I soon realised that the Lucy in her was of a truth not only dead but buried out of my sight forever. Now if I have a failing, it is of too keen an enjoyment of the present, rather than an indulgence in unavailing regrets for the past, so that in a little I began to speculate if the Hugh Maxwell who was the Hugh Maxwell of this buried Lucy had not vanished also. Certainly I was not the Hugh Maxwell she knew. She said so herself; she showed only too plainly I had neither plot nor lot in her present life; and, after all, the life that is lived is the life that is dead. So I accepted what I had done my best to refuse, and turned again to the only life that was open before me--I went to Lady Jane's that very evening.

CHAPTER V

I a.s.sIST AT AN INTERVIEW WITH A GREAT MAN

I found the household in Ess.e.x Street in a state of perturbation which was soon explained. News had come that Margaret's brother Archibald had been arrested, as Lady Jane had foreseen, and was now confined in Fort William. Margaret, though distressed greatly, was such an ardent Jacobite that I verily believe she would rather have seen her brother in some danger of losing his head than have had him out of the business altogether.

She was neither so distressed nor elated, however, that she was oblivious to my altered appearance, and I could see Lady Jane herself was well pleased that her Hughie should cut somewhat of a figure in the eyes of her protegee. She had a natural desire to justify her affections.

But I simply mark this in pa.s.sing; the real business in hand was to devise some means for young Nairn's safety. This was the less serious inasmuch as he certainly had never been in arms for the Prince, and had been prudent enough to destroy all evidence of his secret mission--in fact, his letter informed us that the one man capable of giving evidence against him was withheld by circ.u.mstances so disgraceful to himself there was no danger of any direct testimony on this point.

The position could not be more favourable, and it was only a question of the most judicious plan of succour.

The Vicomte, though desirous of alleviating Margaret's anxiety, was debarred by his position from taking any active part, a circ.u.mstance of which I was not backward in taking advantage; for though the late distressing revelation--I refer to my meeting with Mistress Routh--prevented my making any personal advances towards Margaret, common humanity prompted me to my utmost efforts for her relief.

Finally it was determined that Lady Jane should obtain a private interview with the Duke of Newcastle, and, accompanied by Margaret, make a personal appeal, which, from Lady Jane's connections, we flattered ourselves had some hopes of success.

"Cousin," I said, "I have a proposal. Let me go with you. I am quite unknown, my accent at least is not that of a Scotchman, so I shall not in any way imperil your success, and I have had some small experience with my superiors which may not be without its use."

"Well, Hughie, I may not have the same admiration as yourself for your accent, but I have the firmest belief in your confidence: that will not betray you in any strait. And I am as firm a believer in having a man about; they are bothersome creatures often, but have their uses at times. At all events, I feel safer in their company; they bring out the best in me. Yes, on the whole, I think you had better come."

The following week, through the services of the Vicomte, we were enabled to arrange for a meeting with the Duke at his house, and accordingly one morning we took our way by coach to Lincoln's Inn Fields.

We were ushered into his presence with marvellously little ceremony, and found him seated at a desk covered with a litter of papers before a blazing fire, for it was early in January.

He did not pay the slightest attention to the announcement of our names, beyond raising his head and saying rapidly, without even returning our salutation, "Yes, yes, yes; be seated, be seated,"

with such a hurried, stuttering stammer that I felt rea.s.sured at once, though I could see both my companions were somewhat overawed now they were in the presence of the Great Man.

As he kept shuffling over his papers, now reading a few words from one, then throwing it down, and mixing a dozen others up in hopeless confusion, now writing a bit, and then frowning and waving his pen, I felt still more a.s.sured, for it all went to show he was only an ordinary human creature under all his t.i.tles and dignities, and was no more free from little affectations than any other mortal might be.

At length he ceased his pretence of work, for it was nothing else, and took notice of us.

"Ladies, I ask your pardon--your pardon. Yes, yes, let me see, you have some appointment with me. Eh, what was it again? Oh, I remember, you are Lady Enderby. Yes, yes--"

"No, your Grace; I am Lady Jane Drummond; this is my ward, Miss Margaret Nairn, and this my cousin, Captain Geraldine; our business is to implore your Grace's a.s.sistance towards the release of her brother, Captain Nairn, arrested in error, and now confined in Fort William."

"Awkward, eh? Mistakes like that might be very awkward--very awkward indeed. No doubt he is one of these pestilent rebels--eh?"

"Indeed, your Grace, he has never drawn sword in the matter at all; and what is more, he is an officer in the French service, holding his full commission therein."

"Oh, I have no doubt he is the most innocent creature in the world!

but will you explain, madam, what he was doing in Scotland just when the rebels happened to be in full swing--eh?"

"Indeed, your Grace, he never put foot in Scotland until this unhappy business was ended at Culloden."

"That's a pity, now, a great pity. As the vulgar say, he came 'just a day too late for the fair.' Had he only come in time, his Majesty might have had one rebel less to deal with, and--"

But he was cut short by poor Margaret, who, unable to stand the torture any longer, wailed out: "Oh, your Grace, do not say that!

My father was buried only a few months before my brother was arrested, and he is the only one near to me now left."

Even the abominable flippancy of the man before us was arrested by the sight of the anguish of this dear soul, and with some approach to sensibility he said:

"There, there, my dear! We cannot mend matters now." And for some minutes he heard and questioned Lady Jane with some shew of decency, but evidently with an effort, for it was not long before he broke out again: "How much simpler it would all be if you did not interfere, madam!"

This angered her beyond control, and she replied: "Your Grace may have no feeling for the sorrow that breaks the hearts of others, but this is only a case for common justice."

"You, you, you have a keen sense of justice, madam," he stammered, much nettled. "You are not wanting in courage, either; 'tis a pity you could not have turned your talents to some account."

Poor Margaret, seeing the turn things were taking, now advanced, and throwing herself at his feet, poured forth her heart to him in entreaties with the tears running down her lovely face. At first he seemed much moved, and s.h.i.+fted himself in his chair most uncomfortably, fairly squirming like a worm on a pin; but, to my disappointment, I soon saw he was coming back to his usual humour, even as she was entreating--"Oh, your Grace, your Grace, he is all I have left in the world! I have been a motherless girl since I can remember; I have been away from my father, at school for years; and my brother whom I played with, the one person whom I have prayed for more than all others, is now in danger of his life"--and she ended in a burst of sobs.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Oh, Your Grace, Your Grace, he is all I have left in the world."]

For answer he merely yawned, and said, turning to me, "What did you say your name was--eh?"

"Geraldine, your Grace."

"Oh! No particular family, I suppose?"

"No, your Grace, of no family in particular," I answered.

"He! he! he!" cackled his Grace. "Oh, I can see farther than I get credit for! You, you, you'll remedy that some day--eh? Miss--Miss-- What did you say your name was?"

"Nairn, your Grace," answered poor Margaret, still sobbing, while Lady Jane stood glowering behind her. My gorge rose at his heartlessness.

"Nairn. Umph! That's an evil-smelling name these days for any such pet.i.tion," he grumbled.

Then suddenly turning to face me, "Now I suppose you had nothing to do with this barelegged rebellion?" he went on, to my dismay, but answered it himself with a self-satisfied chuckle: "But no, of course not. You never would have come here if you had. No, no! No man of sense would."