“True,” said Monmouth, ever ready to take a solution offered by another. “We will confer with you again later, Mr. Wilding.”
Wilding bowed, accepting his dismissal. “Before I go, Your Majesty, there are certain things I would report…” he began.
“You have heard, sir,” Grey broke in. “Not now. This is not the time.”
“Indeed, no. This is not the time, Mr. Wilding,” echoed the Duke.
Wilding set his teeth in the intensity of his vexation.
“What I have to tell Your Majesty is of importance, he exclaimed, and Monmouth seemed to waver, whilst Grey looked disdainful unbelief of the importance of any communication Wilding might have to make.
“We have little time, Your Majesty,” Ferguson reminded Monmouth.
“Perhaps,” put in friendly Wade, “Your Majesty might see Mr. Wilding at Mr. Newlington’s.”
“Is it really necessary?” quoth Grey.
This treatment of him inspired Mr. Wilding with malice. The mere mention of Sunderland’s letter would have changed their tone. But he elected by no such word to urge the importance of his business. It should be entirely as Monmouth should elect or be constrained by these gentlemen about his council-table.
“It would serve two purposes,” said Wade, whilst Monmouth still considered. “Your Majesty will be none too well attended, your officers having this other matter to prepare for. Mr. Wilding would form another to swell your escort of gentlemen.”
“I think you are right, Colonel Wade,” said Monmouth. “We sup at Mr. Newlington’s at nine o’clock, Mr. Wilding. We shall expect you to attend us there. Lieutenant Cragg,” said His Grace to the young officer who had admitted Wilding, and who had remained at attention by the door, “you may reconduct Mr. Wilding.”
Wilding bowed, his lips tight to keep in the anger that craved expression. Then, without another word spoken, he turned and departed.
“An insolent, overbearing knave!” was Grey’s comment upon him after he had left the room.
“Let us attend to this, your lordship,” said Speke, tapping the map. “Time presses,” and he invited Wade to continue the matter that Wilding’s advent had interrupted.
Chapter XVIII.
Betrayal
Still smarting under the cavalier treatment he had received, Mr. Wilding came forth from the Castle to find Trenchard awaiting him among the crowd of officers and men that thronged the yard.
Nick linked his arm through his friend’s and led him away. They quitted the place in silence, and in silence took their way south towards the High Street, Nick waiting for Mr. Wilding to speak, Mr. Wilding’s mind still in turmoil at the things he had endured. At last Nick halted suddenly and looked keenly at his friend in the failing light.
“What a plague ails you, Tony?” said he sharply. “You are as silent as I am impatient for your news.”
Wilding told him in brief, disdainful terms of the reception they had given him at the Castle, and of how they had blamed him for the circumstance that London had failed to proclaim itself for Monmouth.
Trenchard snarled viciously. “`Tis that mongrel Grey,” said he. “Oh, Anthony, to what an affair have we set our hands? Naught can prosper with that fellow in it.” He laid his hand on Wilding’s arm and lowered his voice. “As I have hinted before, `twould not surprise me if time proved him a traitor. Failure attends him everywhere, and so unfailingly that one wonders is not failure invited by him. And that fool Monmouth! Pshaw.! See what it is to serve a weakling. With another in his place and the country disaffected as it is, we had been masters of England by now.
Two ladies passed them at that moment, cloakedand hooded, walking briskly. One of them turned to look at Trenchard, who, waving his arms in wild gesticulation, was a conspicuous object. She checked in her walk, arresting her companion.
“Mr. Wilding!” she exclaimed. It was Lady Horton.
“Mr. Wilding!” cried Diana, her companion.
Wilding doffed his hat and bowed, Trenchard following his example.
“We had scarce looked to see you in Bridgwater again,” said the mother, her mild, pleasant countenance reflecting the satisfaction it gave her to behold him safe and sound.
“There have been moments,” answered Wilding, “when myself I scarce expected to return. Your ladyship’s greeting shows me what I had lost had I not done so.”
“You are but newly arrived?” quoth Diana, scanning him in the gloaming.
“From London, an hour since.”
“An hour?” she echoed, and observed that he was still booted and dust-stained. “You will have been to Lupton House?”
A shadow crossed his face, his glance seemed to grow clouded, all of which watchful Diana did not fail to observe. “Not yet,” said he.
“You are a laggard,” she laughed at him, and he felt the blood driven back upon his heart. What did she mean? Was it possible she suggested that he should be welcome, that his wife’s feelings towards him had undergone a change? His last parting from her on the road near Walford had been ever in his mind.
“I have had weighty business to transact, he replied, and Trenchard snorted, his mind flying back to the council-room at the Castle, and what his friend had told him.
“But now that you have disposed of that you will sup with us,” said Lady Horton, who was convinced that since Ruth had gone to the altar with him he was Ruth’s lover in spite of the odd things she had heard. Appearances with Lady Horton counted for everything, and all that glittered was gold to her.
“I would,” he answered, “but that I am to sup at Mr. Newlington’s with His Majesty. My visit must wait until to-morrow.”
“Let us hope,” said Trenchard, “that it waits no longer.” He was already instructed touching the night attack on Feversham’s camp on Sedgemoor, and thought it likely Wilding would accompany them.
“You are going to Mr. Newlington’s?” said Diana, and Trenchard thought she had turned singularly pale. Her hand was over her heart, her eyes wide. She seemed about to add something, but checked herself. She took her mother’s arm. “We are detaining Mr. Wilding, mother,” said she, and her voice quivered as if her whole being were shaken by some gusty agitation. They spoke their farewells briefly, and moved on. A second later Diana was back at their side again.
“Where are you lodged, Mr. Wilding?” she inquired.
“With my friend Trenchard – at the sign of The Ship, by the Cross.”
She briefly acknowledged the information, rejoined her mother, and hurried away with her.
Trenchard stood staring after them a moment. “Odd!” said he; “did you mark that girl’s discomposure?”
But Wilding’s thoughts were elsewhere. “Come, Nick! If I am to render myself fit to sit at table with Monmouth, we’ll need to hasten.”
They went their way, but not so fast as went Diana, urging with her her protesting and short-winded mother.
“Where is your mistress?” the girl asked excitedly of the first servant she met at Lupton House. “In her room, madam,” the man replied, and to Ruth’s room went Diana breathlessly, leaving Lady Horton gaping after her and understanding nothing.
Ruth, who was seated pensive by her window, rose on Diana’s impetuous entrance, and in the deepening twilight she looked almost ghostly in her gown of shimmering white satin, sewn with pearls about the neck of the low-cut bodice.
“Diana!” she cried. “You startled me.”
“Not so much as I am yet to do,” answered Diana, breathing excitement. She threw back the wimple from her head, and pulling away her cloak, tossed it on to the bed. “Mr. Wilding is in Bridgwater,” she announced.
There was a faint rustle from the stiff satin of Ruth’s gown. “Then…” her voice shook slightly. “Then … he is not dead,” she said, more because she felt that she must say something than because her words fitted the occasion.
“Not yet,” said Diana grimly.
“Not yet?”
“He sups to-night at Mr. Newlington’s,” Miss Horton exclaimed in a voice pregnant with meaning.
“Ah!” It was a cry from Ruth, sharp as if she had been stabbed. She sank back to her seat by the window, smitten down by this sudden news.
There was a pause, which fretted Diana, who now craved knowledge of what might be passing in her cousin’s mind. She advanced towards Ruth and laid a trembling hand on her shoulder, where the white gown met the ivory neck. “He must be warned,” she said.
“But.., but how?” stammered Ruth. “To warn him were to betray Sir Rowland.”
“Sir Rowland?” cried Diana in high scorn.
“And… and Richard,” Ruth continued.
“Yes, and Mr. Newlington, and all the other knaves that are engaged in this murderous business. Well?” she demanded. “Will you do it, or must I?”
“Do it?” Ruth’s eyes sought her cousin’s white, excited face in the quasi-darkness. “But have you thought of what it will mean? Have you thought of the poor people that will perish unless the Duke is taken and this rebellion brought to an end?”