Our Admirable Betty Part 46

"But, nephew--a Gad's name, what am I to do with so many--d'ye take me for a regiment? 'Tis 'gainst all reason for a man to wear thirty-one suits of----"

"Sir, I allude to b.u.t.ton-holes!"

"Thank heaven!" murmured the Major.

"Moreover sir, there is, late come in, a new cravat--a poorish thing with nought to commend it save simplicity. It seems you throw it round your neck, get your fellow to twist it behind till you're well-nigh choked to death, bring the ends over your shoulders, loop 'em through a brooch and 'tis done. I propose to show you after supper."

"Hum!" said the Major dubiously. "Meantime a bottle won't be amiss after your long ride, I judge? Come in, Tom, come in and tell me of your adventures."

"Thank'ee, sir, though t' be sure I drapped in at the "George" on my way hither--left my two rogues there with my baggage. Which reminds me I have a letter for you." Diving into his coat-pocket he brought forth the missive in question and tendered it to the Major who took it, broke the seal and read.

"To Major d'Arcy these:

We, the undersigned, do solicit the honour of your company this night, to sup with Bacchus, the Heavenly Nine, and

Yours to command:

B. TRIPP.

ALVASTON.

A. MARCHDALE.

H. WEST, CAPT.

ALTON.

J. DENHOLM."

"I don't see Mr. Dalroyd's name here, Tom!" said the Major, thoughtfully, as he led the way into the house.

"Nay sir, I protest Dalroyd's a queer fis.h.!.+ But as to this cravat I was describing, 'tis a modification of the Steenkirk----" and the Viscount plunged into a long and particular account of the article, while in obedience to the Major's command, bottle and gla.s.ses made their appearance.

"But surely 'tis not a question of clothes hath kept you in London this week and more, Tom?"

"Nay sir, I've been on a quest. London, O pink me 'tis a very dog-hole, 'tis no place for a gentleman these days unless he chance to be a Whig or a d.a.m.ned Hanoverian----"

"Hold, Tom!" said the Major, his quick eyes roving from door to lattice. "Have a care, lad!"

"Nay sir, I know I'm safe to speak out here and to you, Whig though you be. Of late I've perforce kept such ward upon my tongue 'tis a joy to let it wag. Indeed, nunky, London's an ill place for some of us these times, party feeling high. 'Tis for this reason you find Alvaston and Ben and Alton and the rest of 'em rusticating here, not to mention--my lady Bet."

"Ah!" exclaimed the Major. "You don't mean that she--she is not----?"

"No sir! But there is her brother, poor Charles is bit deep, he crossed the Border with Derwent.w.a.ter last year."

"I feared so!" sighed the Major, frowning at his half-emptied gla.s.s.

"And you, Tom, you're not----?"

"Sir, my rascally father, as you'll mind, was a staunch Whig and Hanoverian, naturally and consequently I'm Tory and Jacobite----"

"Softly, Tom, softly!" said the Major, his keen eyes wandering again.

"Well, sir!" continued the Viscount, leaning across the table and lowering his voice, "When Charles and young d.i.c.k Eversleigh rode for the Border last year I had half a mind to ride with 'em. But Betty was in London and London's the devil of a way from Carlisle. Yesterday, sir, I walked under Temple Bar and there was poor Eversleigh's head grinning down at me.... Like as not mine would ha' been along with it but for Bet. As for Charles, 'twas thought he'd got safe away to France with Mar and the others, but now word comes he was wounded and lay hid. And sir, though I've sounded every source of news in London and out, not another word can I hear save that he's a proscribed rebel with a price on his head and the hue and cry hot after him. Sir, poor Charles is my childhood's friend--and lieth distressed, hiding for his life somewhere 'twixt London and the Border, the question is--where?"

"Here, Tom!" answered the Major softly, "Here in this village of Westerham!"

The Viscount half rose from his chair, fell back again and quite forgot his affectations.

"Sir--d'ye mean it? Here?"

"Three nights ago he was with my lady Betty--in her garden!"

"With Betty--good G.o.d!" exclaimed the Viscount and, springing from his chair, began to pace up and down. "'Twill never do, uncle, 'twill never do--he must be got away at all hazards. Charles hath been cried 'Traitor' and 'Rebel'--his property is already confiscate and himself outlaw--and 'none may give aid or shelter to the King's enemies' on pain of death. He must be got away--at once! Should he be found 'neath Betty's care she would be attainted too, imprisoned and belike--Sir, you'll perceive he must be got away at once!"

"True!" said the Major, fingering his wine-gla.s.s.

"There none knoweth of his presence here, I trust, uncle--none save you and Betty?"

"None! Stay!" The Major leaned back and began to drum his fingers softly on the arms of his chair. "Tom," he enquired at last, "who is Mr. Dalroyd?"

"Dalroyd is--Dalroyd, sir. Everyone knows him in town--at White's, Lockett's, the Coca Tree, O Dalroyd is known everywhere."

"What d'you know of him, personally?"

"That he's reputed to play devilish high and to be a redoubtable duellist with more than one death on his hands and--er--little beyond.

But Ben knows him, 'twas Ben introduced him, ask Ben, sir. But what of him?"

"Just this, Tom, if there is another person in the world who knows of my Lord Medhurst's present hiding-place 'tis Mr. Dalroyd and if there is one man in the world I do not trust it is--Mr. Dalroyd."

The Viscount sat down, swallowed a gla.s.s of wine and stared blankly at the toe of his dusty riding-boot.

"Why then, sir," said he at last, "this makes it but the more imperative to have Charles away at once. I must get him over to my place in Suss.e.x, 'tis quiet there, sir--G.o.d! I must contrive it one way or another and the sooner the better, but how sir, how?"

"'None may give aid or shelter to the King's enemies on pain of death,'

Tom," quoted the Major, gently.

The Viscount flicked a patch of dust from the skirts of his coat.

"Sir," said he, "Charles is my friend!"

"And--my lady's brother, Tom!"

"Perfectly, sir! I shall endeavour to get him to my Suss.e.x place and hide him there until I have arranged for him to cross safely into France."

"Precisely, Tom!"

"The question is--how? All the coast-roads are watched of course!"

said the Viscount in deep perplexity. "Ben would help, so would Alton or Alvaston but 'twould be asking them to put their heads in a noose and I can't do it, sir!"

"Certainly not, Tom! 'Tis an awkward posture of affairs and--therefore you may--er--count upon my aid to the very uttermost, of course."