“To Westmacott?” cried Blake. “He was in the plot with me. He was left to guard the rear, to see that we were not taken by surprise, and he deserted his post. Had he not done that, there had been no disaster, in spite of Mr. Wilding’s intervention.”
Feversham’s brow was dark, his eyes glittered as they rested on the traitor.
“T’at true, sare?” he asked him.
“Not quite,” put in Mr. Wilding. “Mr. Westmacott, I think, was constrained away. He did not intend…”
“Tais-toi!” blazed Feversham. “Did I interrogate you? It is for Mistaire Westercott to answer.” He set a hand on the table and leaned forward towards Wilding, his face very malign. “You shall to answer for yourself, Mistaire Wildin’; I promise you you shall to answer for yourself.” He turned again to Richard. “Ek, bien?” he snapped. “Will you speak?”
Richard came forward a step; he was certainly nervous, and certainly pale; but neither as pale nor as nervous as from our knowledge of Richard we might have looked to see him at that moment.
“It is in a measure true,” he said. “But what Mr. Wilding has said is more exact. I was induced away. I did not dream any could know of the plan, or that my absence could cause this catastrophe.”
“So you went, eh, vaurien? You t’ought t’at be to do your duty, eh? And it was you who tole your sistaire?”
“I may have told her, but not before she had the tale already from Blake.”
Feversham sneered and shrugged. “Natural you will not speak true. A traitor I `ave observe’ is always liar.”
Richard drew himself up; he seemed invested almost with a new dignity. “Your lordship is pleased to account me a traitor?” he inquired.
“A dam’ traitor,” said his lordship, and at that moment the door opened, and a sergeant, with six men following him, stood at the salute upon the threshold. “A la bonne heure!” his lordship hailed them. “Sergean’, you will arrest t’is rogue and t’is lady,” – he waved his hand from Richard to Ruth – “and you will take t’em to lock..up.”
The sergeant advanced towards Richard, who drew a step away from him. Ruth rose to her feet in agitation. Mr. Wilding interposed himself between her and the guard, his hand upon his sword.
“My lord,” he cried, “do they teach no better courtesy in France?”
Feversham scowled at him, smiling darkly. “I shall talk wit’ you soon, sare,” said he, his words a threat.
“But, my lord.. .” began Richard. “I can make it very plain I am no traitor…”
“In t’e mornin’,” said Feversham blandly, waving his hand, and the sergeant took Richard by the shoulder.
But Richard twisted from his grasp. “In the morning will be too late,” he cried. “I have it in my power to render you such a service as you little dream of.”
“Take `im away,” said Feversham wearily.
“I can save you from destruction,” bawled Richard, “you and your army.”
Perhaps even now Feversham had not heeded him but for Wilding’s sudden interference.
“Silence, Richard!” he cried to him. “Would you betray…?” He checked on the word; more he dared not say; but he hoped faintly that he had said enough.
Feversham, however, chanced to observe that this man who had shown himself hitherto so calm looked suddenly most singularly perturbed.
“Eh?” quoth the General. “An instan’, Sergean’. What is t’is, eh?” – and he looked from Wilding to Richard.
“Your lordship shall learn at a price,” cried Richard.
“Me, I not bargain wit’ traitors,” said his lordship stiffly.
“Very well, then,” answered Richard, and he folded his arms dramatically. “But no matter what your lordship’s life may be hereafter, you will never regret anything more bitterly than you shall regret this by sunrise if indeed you live to see it.”
Feversham shifted uneasily on his feet. “`What you say?” he asked. “What you mean?”
“You shall know at a price,” said Richard again.
Wilding, realizing the hopelessness of interfering now, stood gloomily apart, a great bitterness in his soul at the indiscretion he had committed in telling Richard of the night attack that was afoot.
“Your lordship shall hear my price, but you need not pay it me until you have had an opportunity of verifying the information I have to give you.
“Tell me,” said Feversham after a brief pause, during which he scrutinized the young man’s face.
“If your lordship will promise liberty and safe-conduct to my sister and myself.”
“Tell me,” Feversham repeated.
“When you have promised to grant me what I ask in return for my information.”
“Yes, if I t’ink your information is wort'”
“I am content,” said Richard. He inclined his head and loosed the quarrel of his news. “Your camp is slumbering, your officers are all abed with the exception of the outpost on the road to Bridgwater. What should you say if I told you that Monmouth and all his army are marching upon you at this very moment, will probably fall upon you before another hour is past?”
Wilding uttered a groan, and his hands fell to his sides. Had Feversham observed this he might have been less ready with his sneering answer.
“A lie!” he answered, and laughed. “My fren’, I `ave myself been to-night, at midnight, on t’e moore, and I `ave `eard t’e army of t’e Duc de Monmoot’ marching to Bristol on t’e road – what you call t’e road, Wentwort’?”
“The Eastern Causeway, my lord,” answered the captain.
“Voil!” said Feversham, and spread his hands. “What you say now, eh?”
“That that is part of Monmouth’s plan to come at you across the moors, by way of Chedzoy, avoiding your only outpost, and falling upon you in your beds, all unawares. Lord! sir, do not take my word for it. Send out your scouts, and I dare swear they’ll not need go far before they come upon the enemy.”
Feversham looked at Wentworth. His lordship’s face had undergone a change.
“What you t’ink?” he asked.
“Indeed, my lord, it sounds so likely,” answered Wentworth, “that… hat… I marvel we did not provide against such a contingency.”
“But I `ave provide’!” cried this nephew of the great Turenne. “Ogelt’orpe is on t’e moor and Sare Francis Compton. If t’is is true, `ow can t’ey `ave miss Monmoot’? Send word to Milor’ Churchill at once, Wentwort’. Let t’e matter be investigate’ – at once, Wentwort’ – at once!” The General was dancing with excitement. Wentworth saluted and turned to leave the room. “If you `ave tole me true,” continued Feversham, turning now to Richard, “you shall `ave t’e price you ask, and t’e t’anks of t’e King’s army. But if not…”
“Oh, it’s true enough,” broke in Wilding, and his voice was like a groan, his face overcharged with gloom.
Feversham looked at him; his sneering smile returned.
“Me, I not remember,” said he, “that Mr. Westercott `ave include you in t’e bargain.”
Nothing had been further from Wilding’s thoughts than such a suggestion. And he snorted his disdain. The sergeant had fallen back at Feversham’s words, and his men lined the wall of the chamber. The General bade Richard be seated whilst he waited. Sir Rowland stood apart, leaning wearily against the wainscot, waiting also, his dull wits not quite clear how Richard might have come by so valuable a piece of information, his evil spirit almost wishing it untrue, in his vindictiveness, to the end that Richard might pay the price of having played him false and Ruth the price of having scorned him.
Feversham meanwhile was seeking – with no great success – to engage Mr. Wilding in talk of Monmouth, against whom Feversham harboured in addition to his political enmity a very deadly personal hatred; for Feversham had been a suitor to the hand of the Lady Henrietta Wentworth, the woman for whom Monmouth – worthy son of his father – had practically abandoned his own wife; the woman with whom he had runoff, to the great scandal of court and nation.
Despairing of drawing any useful information from Wilding, his lordship was on the point of turning to Blake, when quick steps and the rattle of a scabbard sounded without; the door was thrust open without ceremony, and Captain Wentworth reappeared.
“My lord,” he cried, his manner excited beyond aught one could have believed possible in so phlegmatic-seeming a person, “it is true. We are beset.”
“Beset!” echoed Feversham. “Beset already?”
“We can hear them moving on the moor. They are crossing the Langmoor Rhine. They will be upon us in ten minutes at the most. I have roused Colonel Douglas, and Dunbarton’s regiment is ready for them.”
Feversham exploded. “What else `ave you done?” he asked. “Where is Milor’ Churchill ?”
“Lord Churchill is mustering his men as quietly as may be that they may be ready to surprise those who come to surprise us. By Heaven, sir, we owe a great debt to Mr. Westmacott. Without his information we might have had all our throats cut whilst we slept.”