Simon Dale Part 13

The Duke rose to his feet.

"I have found no fault with Mr Dale," said he haughtily and coldly, and, taking no more heed of me, he walked away, while Hudleston, having bestowed on me an angry glance, followed him.

"Mr Dale, Mr Dale!" whispered Arlington, and with no more than that, although still with a smile, he slipped his arm out of mine and left me, beckoning Darrell to go with him. Darrell obeyed with a shrug of despair. I was alone--and, as it seemed, ruined. Alas, why must I blurt out my old lessons as though I had been standing again at my father's knee and not in the presence of the Duke of York? Yes, my race was run before it was begun. The Court was not the place for me. In great bitterness I flung myself down on the cus.h.i.+ons and sat there, out of heart and very dismal. A moment pa.s.sed; then the curtain behind me was drawn aside, and an amused laugh sounded in my ear as I turned. A young man leapt over the couch and threw himself down beside me, laughing heartily and crying,

"Well done, well done! I'd have given a thousand crowns to see their faces!"

I sprang to my feet in amazement and confusion, bowing low, for the young man by me was the Duke of Monmouth.

"Sit, man," said he, pulling me down again. "I was behind the curtain, and heard it all. Thank G.o.d, I held my laughter in till they were gone.

The liberties of the Kingdom and the safety of the Reformed Religion!

Here's a story for the King!" He lay back, seeming to enjoy the jest most hugely.

"For the love of heaven, sir," I cried, "don't tell the King! I'm already ruined."

"Why, so you are, with my good uncle," said he. "You're new to Court, Mr Dale?"

"Most sadly new," I answered in a rueful tone, which set him laughing again.

"You hadn't heard the scandalous stories that accuse the Duke of loving the Reformed Religion no better than the liberties of the Kingdom?"

"Indeed, no, sir."

"And my Lord Arlington? I know him! He held your arm, to the last, and he smiled to the last?"

"Indeed, sir, my lord was most gentle to me."

"Aye, I know his way. Mr Dale, for this entertainment let me call you friend. Come then, we'll go to the King with it." And, rising, he seized me by the arm and began to drag me off.

"Indeed your Grace must pardon me----" I began.

"But indeed I will not," he persisted. Then he suddenly grew grave as he said, "I am for the liberties of the Kingdom and the safety of the Reformed Religion. Aren't we friends, then?"

"Your Grace does me infinite honour."

"And am I no good friend? Is there no value in the friends.h.i.+p of the King's son--the King's eldest son?" He drew himself up with a grace and a dignity which became him wonderfully. Often in these later days I see him as he was then, and think of him with tenderness. Say what you will, he made many love him even to death, who would not have lifted a finger for his father or the Duke of York.

Yet in an instant--such slaves are we of our moods--I was more than half in a rage with him. For as we went we encountered Mistress Barbara on Lord Carford's arm. The quarrel between them seemed past and they were talking merrily together. On the sight of her the Duke left me and ran forward. By an adroit movement he thrust Carford aside and began to ply the lady with most extravagant and high-flown compliments, displaying an excess of devotion which witnessed more admiration than respect. She had treated me as a boy, but she did not tell him that he was a boy, although he was younger than I; she listened with heightened colour and sparkling eyes. I glanced at Carford and found, to my surprise, no signs of annoyance at his unceremonious deposition. He was watching the pair with a shrewd smile and seemed to mark with pleasure the girl's pride and the young Duke's evident pa.s.sion. Yet I, who heard something of what pa.s.sed, had much ado not to step in and bid her pay no heed to homage that was empty if not dishonouring.

Suddenly the Duke turned round and called to me.

"Mr Dale," he cried, "there needed but one thing to bind us closer, and here it is! For you are, I learn, the friend of Mistress Quinton, and I am the humblest of her slaves, who serve all her friends for her sake."

"Why, what would your Grace do for my sake?" asked Barbara.

"What wouldn't I?" he cried, as if transported. Then he added rather low, "Though I fear you're too cruel to do anything for mine."

"I am listening to the most ridiculous speeches in the world for your Grace's sake," said Barbara with a pretty curtsey and a coquettish smile.

"Is love ridiculous?" he asked. "Is pa.s.sion a thing to smile at? Cruel Mistress Barbara!"

"Won't your Grace set it in verse?" said she.

"Your grace writes it in verse on my heart," said he.

Then Barbara looked across at me, it might be accidentally, yet it did not appear so, and she laughed merrily. It needed no skill to measure the meaning of her laugh, and I did not blame her for it. She had waited for years to avenge the kiss that I gave Cydaria in the Manor Park at Hatchstead; but was it not well avenged when I stood humbly, in deferential silence, at the back while his Grace the Duke sued for her favour, and half the Court looked on? I will not set myself down a churl where nature has not made me one; I said in my heart, and I tried to say to her with my eyes, "Laugh, sweet mistress, laugh!" For I love a girl who will laugh at you when the game runs in her favour.

The Duke fell to his protestations again, and Carford still listened with an acquiescence that seemed strange in a suitor for the lady's hand. But now Barbara's modesty took alarm; the signal of confusion flew in her cheeks, and she looked round, distressed to see how many watched them. Monmouth cared not a jot. I made bold to slip across to Carford, and said to him in a low tone,

"My lord, his Grace makes Mistress Barbara too much marked. Can't you contrive to interrupt him?"

He stared at me with a smile of wonder. But something in my look banished his smile and set a frown in its place.

"Must I have more lessons in manners from you, sir?" he asked. "And do you include a discourse on the interrupting of princes?"

"Princes?" said I.

"The Duke of Monmouth is----"

"The King's son, my lord," I interposed, and, carrying my hat in my hand, I walked up to Barbara and the Duke. She looked at me as I came, but not now mockingly; there was rather an appeal in her eyes.

"Your Grace will not let me lose my audience with the King?" said I.

He started, looked at me, frowned, looked at Barbara, frowned deeper still. I remained quiet, in an att.i.tude of great deference. Puzzled to know whether I had spoken in sheer simplicity and ignorance, or with a meaning which seemed too bold to believe in, he broke into a doubtful laugh. In an instant Barbara drew away with a curtsey. He did not pursue her, but caught my arm, and looked hard and straight in my face. I am happily somewhat wooden of feature, and a man could not make me colour now, although a woman could. He took nothing by his examination.

"You interrupted me," he said.

"Alas, your Grace knows how poor a courtier I am, and how ignorant----"

"Ignorant!" he cried; "yes, you're mighty ignorant, no doubt; but I begin to think you know a pretty face when you see it, Master Simon Dale. Well, I'll not quarrel. Isn't she the most admirable creature alive?"

"I had supposed Lord Carford thought so, sir."

"Oh! And yet Lord Carford did not hurry me off to find the King! But you? What say you to the question?"

"I'm so dazzled, sir, by all the beautiful ladies of His Majesty's Court that I can hardly perceive individual charms."

He laughed again, and pinched my arm, saying,

"We all love what we have not. The Duke of York is in love with truth, the King with chast.i.ty, Buckingham with modesty of demeanour, Rochester with seemliness, Arlington with sincerity, and I, Simon--I do fairly wors.h.i.+p discretion!"

"Indeed I fear I can boast of little, sir."

"You shall boast of none, and thereby show the more, Simon. Come, there's the King." And he darted on, in equal good humour, as it seemed, with himself and me. Moreover, he lost no time on his errand; for when I reached his side (since they who made way for him afforded me no such civility) he had not only reached the King's chair, but was half-way through his story of my answer to the Duke of York; all chance of stopping him was gone.

"Now I'm d.a.m.ned indeed," thought I; but I set my teeth, and listened with unmoved face.

At this moment the King was alone, save for ourselves and a little long-eared dog which lay on his lap and was incessantly caressed with his hand. He heard his son's story with a face as impa.s.sive as I strove to render mine. At the end he looked up at me, asking,