The King's Men Part 21

"But the King's name will change them;" and as he spoke George seemed really to believe his words. "When Colonel Arundel proclaims me King, as Dacre says he will--"

"Oh, Sire! Sire!" sobbed Mrs. Carey, now really touched by the vivid picture that appeared of her own treachery; "even that is known to the President--and all the soldiers who are to kill Colonel Arundel have already received his instructions!"

This precise and terrible statement staggered George, and a look of simple alarm came into his eyes.

"Then what is to be done?" he cried, in a bewildered way.

"Your Majesty must escape this night--this hour. You are not safe one moment in London; you know not who might betray you. The steam-yacht which brought you to England lies ready this moment to receive you."

George tried to think; but he could not. He walked about nervously.

"Let us have Bugbee here!" he exclaimed, with a burst of relief.

"No! I implore your Majesty! Do not trust any one--even him. He may be true as steel--I do not doubt it. If he be true he will not object to your escape. But not knowing all, he may advise delay--and delay is destruction."

"What shall I do, then? Tell me, tell me, child. What shall I do?"

There was a pitiful confession of weakness in the words and manner of George as he spoke. He had come to a woman, unmanned, and set her mind above his--had placed himself in her hands. And never were woman's hands readier for such a gift. He felt their caressing care before she spoke; already the renunciation was beginning to bear fruit for the weak one.

"You will call Mr. Bugbee here, Sire, in a few moments, and tell him without a word of explanation that you are going on board the yacht to-night."

"But it is so strange--"

"Kings have a right to strange fancies," she said smiling, but speaking with a firm tone. "You will simply tell him, Sire, that you wish to go directly to the yacht--now."

"Yes, I will do that," said George; and with royal brusqueness he said, "call him here!"

"I will send him, Sire--for I am going now," and she spoke slowly and sadly.

"You are going? No! You are not going until I am quite safe--until I have gone on board the steamer." George's tone was deeply earnest, and there was actually a kind of wail in his pet.i.tion.

"I came to save my King; and now he is safe, my duty is done."

Still he urged his deliverer not to leave him till he had left the land; and after much entreaty she consented to ride with the King to the vessel, and thence to be driven to her home. It was half an hour later when she descended to her parlor, and found Mr. Bugbee impatiently awaiting her, as she had expected. With lightning words she explained the situation, and bade Bugbee order his private carriage.

"But this false alarm will be known to-morrow," cried Bugbee, wrung with wrath and perplexity. "He will learn that it is all a lie, and then--"

"There is no false alarm, man!" hissed the Beauty in the banker's ear.

"It is all true--every word!"

"How did you learn it? Who is your informant?"

"President Bagshaw. Is that sufficient?"

The old banker gazed on Mrs. Carey with a dazed look, which gradually faded into one of intelligent admiration.

"I begin to understand," he said, slowly. "But why not have told me?"

"Because _I_ wanted to save the King this time," answered Mrs. Carey.

"You don't object, do you? I a.s.sure you it does not interfere with any plan of yours."

Mr. Bugbee could not see that it did, nor, even if it did, could he see how he could help it now. He had not gauged this woman rightly. She had outwitted him, and he saw it.

"You will order the carriage at once, won't you?" said Mrs. Carey, taking up her cloak.

"Yes, at once," and Bugbee rang the bell. "But he returns at once to America?" he asked in a low voice.

"That is his purpose--and mine," said the Beauty.

In less than half an hour Bugbee departed in a fly in hot haste to prepare the yacht for the royal guest; and some minutes later George the Fifth handed Mrs. Oswald Carey into the banker's closed carriage, and the pair were driven off to London.

CHAPTER XI.

THE RAISING OF THE FLAG.

Mr. Windsor's guests had all departed, the lights were out in the rooms so lately filled with the pleasant discord of animated voices, and the kindly old American host had gone to his rest with the satisfaction of believing that his last night in England would be enjoyably remembered by his new friends when he and his daughter were far on their voyage home.

But Mr. Windsor knew, a few weeks later, that beneath the smooth surface of his farewell party, as he had seen it, ran a secret current of fatal force and purpose. He had entertained unaware on that night nearly all the Royalist leaders, who had taken advantage of his invitation to meet in a place where suspicion of their movements could not follow.

The gentlemen left Mr. Windsor's house not in groups or even pairs, but singly. It was remarkable that none of them had a carriage, and that after leaving the house every one turned and walked in the same direction.

About an hour after the last guest had gone, in a large house belonging to a banished earl, where Featherstone had resided for the past two weeks, there was a full meeting of the Royalist chiefs, including those who had been at Mr. Windsor's, and many more. They had come singly from many quarters, but all on foot, and they had entered by a door on a quiet side street. There were perhaps forty men in all.

Here were old and dignified n.o.blemen, more than one of whom wore threadbare coats and other signs of actual poverty; and here were young spirits aflame with the hope of action. Here a lot of antiquated baronet-squires flock together, and yonder stands a knot of grizzled colonels with the professional air of men awaiting orders. Here is the old Duke of Bayswater, listening through his eyegla.s.ses, while Geoffrey Ripon and Featherstone have a quiet jest with Mr. Sydney.

Shortly after midnight--at about the same moment that Mrs. Oswald Carey received the bank-notes from Mr. Bugbee--the hum of conversation ceased in this meeting of the Royalists, and all eyes were turned toward a table in the centre of the long drawing-room, where stood John Dacre, who had just entered the room, his hands filled with papers.

Dacre was in the uniform of a staff officer, and on his breast he wore the battle-cross he had won in his first campaign, and also some gaudier honors awarded him for loyalty and devotion to the cause of the King.

The strong light of the chandelier showed the tense lines of his finely-cut face, which was white with excitement, and his eyes burned beneath his brows with a flame too strong to be subdued by any outer light.

Before he had uttered a word he had in some way imparted to many of those around him something of his own exaltation and intensity of spirit. He laid on the table the papers he had carried, and looked round the room with his face proudly raised.

"Gentlemen!" he said, holding his voice from an exulting cry, "our campaign has begun. We are no longer without a leader. Our monarch has come to claim his throne, and, if necessary, to win it by the sword.

This night King George sleeps in London. To-morrow he will sit upon the throne of England. G.o.d SAVE THE KING!"

But, though death might be the consequence, a brave cheer burst from the hearts of some of those who heard--some, but only a few, and among these were Geoffrey, Featherstone, and the grizzled colonels.

To many others that cheer seemed as deadly an outburst as the roar of artillery. For a moment all stood as before; then they broke and mingled, talking excitedly, and a goodly number edged toward the door, and soon made their way out of the house.

But at least twenty men remained, while Dacre issued orders, handed instructions already written, or verbally repeated important words to the officers who should the next day head the revolution.

"Colonel Arundel," said Dacre, addressing a white-haired but erect man of sixty years, "to you belongs the first word of the restoration."

The old colonel walked to the table opposite Dacre and bowed, as if awaiting instructions.