The Brown Mask Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  KING MONMOUTH

  The day was dying slowly, the west still aglow after the sinking of thesun. Thin wreaths of mist were rising from the wide, deep trenches, or"rhines," as the country folk called them, which intersected and drainedthis moorland, making cultivation possible where once had been a greatmarshy pool with shifting islands here and there, and rush-coveredswamps.

  Silence was over the land, broken now and again by the call of a bird,and presently by the quick beating of hoofs. A solitary horseman camerapidly along a road which skirted the edge of the moor. He was dustywith a long journey, and his horse came to a standstill at the firsttightening of the rein. The rider had been in the saddle since earlymorning, and although he had not loitered on his journey, his eyes andears had been keenly set all day, and, whenever practicable, he hadchosen by-paths in preference to the main road. His was a mission whichmight bring him many dangers, and enemies even amongst those he soughtto befriend.

  Before him lay the moorland, growing mistier and a little unreal in thefailing light. To his left, clustering roofs round a church tower, was avillage, so silent that none but the dead might have been itsinhabitants. Not a labourer plodded homewards from his toil in thefields; not a horse, freed from its harness, grazed in the fields. Tohis right, sharply cutting the distant sky-line, rose a tall spire, alandmark for miles round.

  "The end of our journey," he murmured, patting the horse's neck, "andthey won't thank us for coming."

  The horse appeared to understand, and started forward again, shakinghimself as though to throw off his weariness. His rider had smiled alittle sadly as he spoke, but now his face was set again, as one whorides upon an unpleasant mission but is not to be turned aside fromfulfilling it, no matter what the cost may be.

  It was not long before he entered Bridgwater, and, had he not known thatit was so, the aspect of the town would have shown him that he was inthe midst of some great event. At no time would he be a man to passunnoticed, but here his coming caused excitement. Words of welcome wereflung at him, and anxious questions shouted after him. There was afeverish eagerness in the atmosphere, and if some faces which he saw atwindows and in doorways had a look of fear in them, they were in theminority, and were not anxious to invite attention to themselves.

  "Duke!" one man exclaimed in answer to the rider's question. "He is noduke who is at the castle, but a king--King Monmouth. Yesterday, in themarket-place at Taunton, they proclaimed him."

  "I had not heard," said the rider.

  "Do you come alone?" asked the man.

  "Quite alone."

  "Each man counts--may count for much--but you should have ridden in atthe head of a troop. We'd have cracked our throats with roaring awelcome."

  The rider smiled, and passed on to the castle.

  Here was the centre of bustle and excitement, constant coming and going,hastily given orders, and general clamour. In the castle field wasencamped an army of six thousand men, a rabble truly, and poorly armed,many having naught but their tools for weapons, but enthusiasts all,certain of the righteousness of their cause, prepared to die for theKing they had made and whom they trusted and loved. There was order of asort, but it seemed strangely like confusion to the horseman as hedismounted within the courtyard. Here again a welcome met him, but itwas with difficulty he could get a message carried to King Monmouth.Would he not see Lord Grey who was in charge of the cavalry, or MasterFerguson who could tell him all he wanted to know--or Buyse, or Wade,or--

  "Monmouth, blockhead--and Monmouth only," was the angry retort. "Andquickly, or you'll suffer for such laggard service."

  He spoke with such authority that there was whispered speculation whothis stranger might be. Perhaps he was the first of those nobles who hadpromised to draw swords with them in the great cause. A messenger wentquickly, and soon returned. The King would see him at once.

  As the stranger entered the chamber where half a dozen men weregathered, one man rose and came forward to meet him.

  "Gilbert Crosby!" he exclaimed. "Never was friend more welcome."

  His face, somewhat gloomy a moment before, was suddenly lit with abrilliant smile, so winning, so full of charming graciousness, that itwas easy to understand the influence such a leader must have over thearmy of enthusiasts gathered in the town of Bridgwater. He was ahandsome man, in appearance a born leader of men; and if Gilbert Crosbyunderstood some of the shortcomings which lay underneath this attractiveexterior, he could not remember them just now. There was the temptationto offer himself heart and soul to this man and forget the self-imposedmission on which he had come. He had been brought in contact withMonmouth some years ago, had begun, perhaps, by pitying, and had endedby giving him a friendship which was truer and stauncher than any otherhe had ever possessed. When, a few years since, Monmouth had been fetedthroughout Somersetshire and Devon, Crosby had been much in his company,had entertained him modestly at his own manor, and had been at thatsumptuous feast given in honour of the Duke by Thynne of Longleat.

  "Gentlemen, this is a very dear friend of mine," said Monmouth, turningand presenting him to the company, "Mr. Gilbert Crosby of LenfieldManor, than whom we could not welcome a better gentleman."

  "Pardon, my lord, but--"

  "Ye've come to help a great cause," said a long, lean man, bent in theshoulder, and with lantern jaws which mouthed out his words in thestrongest of Scotch accents. "I'm Ferguson. Ye've heard of me; and I'msaying it's a fight against the enemies of the Lord ye've come to wage."

  "I would not be misunderstood," said Crosby, turning to Monmouth; "Icame to talk with you in private, not to fight."

  "I regret to hear you say so," Monmouth answered. "I am rather weary ofadvice, but come with me." And then, having taken a few steps towards adoor leading to another room, he stopped. "No, Crosby; friendship muststand aside for a while. I must have no secrets from these comrades, whoare with me heart and soul in this enterprise."

  "That's better--much better," said Ferguson. "Let us hear the man andhis communication. It is no more than the right of those who are bearingthe heat and burden of the day."

  "I would urge that our conversation be in private," said Crosby.

  "And I would urge otherwise," said Ferguson. "Such a desire for privacyhas the savour of treachery about it."

  "Can a man be a traitor to a cause he has never espoused?" Crosby askedquietly.

  "Is it, then, that ye are afraid to speak before honest men?" Fergusondemanded roughly, the eruption with which his face was plentifullycovered glowing a fiery red as he thrust his head forward like an angryvulture.

  "Afraid!"

  "Gentlemen! Gentlemen! I will have no quarrelling," said Monmouth. "Iwill go bail for my friend, even though he does not throw in his lotwith us. I warrant he has naught but kindness in his heart for me, andthat kindness has brought him to Bridgwater."

  "The gentleman can certainly not be accused of cowardice if he comes tovilify your friends," said one man. "That requires courage."

  "That is true, Grey," said Monmouth. "Speak freely, Crosby, as you wouldto me were we alone; or, if you regret coming, keep silent. You shallsup with us to-night, and to-morrow depart. We will force no man toraise a hand for us."

  "Why make promises until we have heard the man's communication?" growledFerguson. "Those who are not for the Lord are for Baal; there is nomiddle course."

  "The purpose for which I came shall be fulfilled," said Crosby. "Yougentlemen know nothing of me, nor I of you, except that you stand by theside of your new-made king. For that I can honour you; on your side,pray give me credit for honesty."

  "Words, words, like sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal," saidFerguson.

  "Most assuredly such words, with their specious promises, have had muchto do with this enterprise," Crosby retorted; and then, turning toMonmouth, he went on earnestly: "You have been deceived by lying agents,such men as Wildman and Danvers. By this time you must know that Londonwill not raise a finger nor spend a guinea to
help you, and that thereis not a single Whig nobleman who will draw a sword on your behalf."

  "You are full of news, sir," sneered Ferguson. "You must be deep in thecouncils of our enemies to know so much. And why limit yourself toWildman and Danvers when you speak of liars and deceivers? I amFerguson--everybody knows me. This is Lord Grey of Wark. Here standsFletcher, and Wade and Anthony Buyse. Why not complete your accusation?"

  "You are deceived with your master, rather than deceivers," Crosbyanswered. "You are prepared to fight for the cause, therefore you standapart. You know that what I say is true, my lord." And he turned toMonmouth again.

  "Finish what you have to say, Crosby."

  "Your enterprise is doomed to failure. Here in Somersetshire you areloved, and a few thousand men, confident that the whole country willacclaim you, are prepared to lay down their lives for you. The countryis not going to open its arms to you. You can no longer be deceived uponthat point. The train-bands of Wiltshire are mustering, the militia ofSussex and Oxfordshire are on the road. The Duke of Beaufort supportsthe crown, and the undergraduates of Oxford take up arms to oppose you.Feversham and Churchill march with the regular troops against you, andyour army of yokels must go down like a field of corn before thereapers."

  "I take it that, had there been no doubt of our success, we should havehad the pleasure of your company," said Ferguson.

  "No, you would not. I do not favour the rebellion you are raising, and Icome on a self-imposed embassy to plead with my Lord Monmouth, firstbecause of my friendship for him, secondly to urge that he will notfashion a scourge for the back of this simple West-Country folk."

  Monmouth's face had grown gloomy. He was too good a soldier not to knowthat what Crosby said was true, that his chance of success was of thefeeblest kind. Not a single man of real importance had joined him;already there was regret that he had left his retreat in Brabant to leadsuch a desperate venture, and deep down in his heart, perhaps, herecognised in Ferguson his evil genius.

  "You are a veritable Job's comforter," he said with a forced smile. "Youshow us a crowd of difficulties, have you any advice how they may beovercome?"

  "Bid these men with their scythes and reaping-hooks disperse, and thenleave England as quietly as you came."

  Such a solution had entered into Monmouth's mind already. It seemed morefeasible now that a friend had spoken it.

  "You cannot!" exclaimed Lord Grey. "That would be base ingratitude tothe men who are encamped without these walls. We have called them toarms, we must stand or fall with them."

  "I grant it sounds the more honest advice," said Crosby, "but, my lord,you have to choose between two evils; I only counsel you to take thelesser. A few will suffer, doubtless, if you abandon your enterprise,but if you press on with it the whole of the West Country will bepersecuted. King James does not know how to forgive."

  "It is too late to turn back," said Monmouth. "Grey is right. These menlook to me to lead them to victory. I will make the attempt. I havesworn it on the Holy Book."

  Crosby bowed his head and was silent. He could not deny that Monmouth'sattitude was that of an honest man.

  "And what becomes of this gentleman who is so ready to help our enemiesby giving us advice?" asked Ferguson.

  "To-night he sups with us, to-morrow he departs," Monmouth answered.

  "Is that wise? He has seen us in our stronghold, he has counted ournumbers, he has knowledge of our weakness. He would be safer shut inthis castle, safer still were he turned loose to the mercies of thosemen who are encamped yonder. I would make short work of all spies."

  "The gentleman is honest, but gives bad advice," said Grey.

  "I'm thinking we shall find him in the ranks of our enemies on the dayof battle," Ferguson retorted.

  "Even so, he departs in peace to-morrow," said Monmouth.

  "I fight neither for you nor against you," Crosby answered. "PresentlyI may try to do something to help these peasants in their need, whichwill surely come. If in your hour of need, my Lord Monmouth, you shouldthink there is safety at Lenfield Manor, I will do my best to find youa hiding-place there."

  "If I enter Lenfield Manor I trust it will not be as a fugitive from myenemies," said Monmouth. "Now, gentlemen, to supper."

  Gilbert Crosby had hardly expected anything else but failure, yet he wasdisappointed. Had he seen Monmouth privately he might have been able topersuade him better. Some honesty there might be in Monmouth's use ofthe Protestant faith to further his cause, but it was probably of verysecondary consideration, while with those about him, and who wereresponsible for his actions, it was merely a tool to be used so long asit proved useful. With the peasantry who had flocked to the bluestandard it was everything, and it was chiefly on their account thatCrosby had journeyed to Bridgwater. He would have saved Monmouth if hecould, but after all, Monmouth aspired to a throne and must take therisks; the people, on the other hand, had nothing to win and everythingto lose, and, although Crosby would not take up arms with them, he wasquite ready to sacrifice himself on their behalf. He was of that stockwhich had bred the Pyms and Hampdens of the Civil War. At theRestoration his father had retired to his Manor of Lenfield and hadmixed no more in politics. Possibly the Restoration was for the generalgood of the country rather than the rule of that rabid section of thePuritans which had caricatured the original spirit in which an appeal toarms had been made, but Thomas Crosby remained a Puritan, and distrustedthe Stuarts as much as he had ever done. In this atmosphere GilbertCrosby had grown to manhood, and since his father's death five years agohad been master of Lenfield. If he were less of a Puritan than hisfather, he was just as opposed to all forms of popery, and had beenquite sensible of the danger which must arise on the accession of James.He had been active amongst those who were firmly determined to struggleagainst the re-establishment of Roman Catholicism in England, but he hadlent himself to no underhand plots against the King, and, althoughconscious that there existed an undercurrent of intrigue in favour ofthe Duke of Monmouth, neither he nor those with whom he was associatedhad expected Monmouth's landing. It was natural, perhaps, that men likeWildman and Danvers should believe that such an invasion would force thehands of all those who clung to the Protestant faith, but the body towhich Crosby belonged looked to the Prince of Orange as leader shouldopen rebellion become necessary; they might be at one with theWest-Country peasantry in religion, but they were not likely to help theson of Lucy Walters to his father's throne. Gilbert Crosby was preparedto be his friend, but he was not prepared to be his subject.

  He had retired to his room and locked the door. He was to start early inthe morning, and had taken leave of Monmouth, who had striven to appearin high spirits during supper. His forced gaiety had not deceivedCrosby, whose heart was heavy as he paced the room thoughtfully for atime. Disaster was in the air, and Monmouth was but the shuttlecock ofunscrupulous men.

  "I wish I could help him," he sighed, and then he drew from his neck awhite ribbon. The ends were knotted together so that he could suspend itround his neck under his clothing, and it had rested there day and nightever since he had picked it up. He folded it in his hands and kissed it;so he had done every night, and there had come to him a vision--ahurrying crowd of men and women, careless of everything but pleasure andexcitement, and a young girl shrinking back against the wall, strangelyout of place there, and alone.

  "I wonder whether we shall ever meet again, and, if we do, whether Ishall have the courage to show you the ribbon you dropped," he murmured.

  He had slipped the ribbon round his neck again when there was a hastyknock at the door, and when he opened it Lord Grey entered the roomquietly.

  "I am glad to see you have not retired, Mr. Crosby. King Monmouth isafraid for you. Ferguson, a good man but a fanatic, is set upondetaining you at Bridgwater--has, perhaps, more sinister designs. Heplots on his own account in this matter to take you in the morning, soyou must needs leave to-night."

  "I would rather stay and settle the score with Ferguson," said Crosby. />
  "One man, while Ferguson has a dozen enthusiasts at his back! It isimpossible. Besides, Monmouth commands, and, in Bridgwater at least, hisword is law."

  "I will go," Crosby answered.

  Grey led the way down numerous small passages and short flights ofnarrow steps until a small door was reached.

  "Your horse is here, but I will walk with you through the town. We canunderstand men coming in, we do not understand men going out."

  "I have already said I should prefer to stay and face Ferguson in themorning," Crosby returned.

  Grey laughed.

  "His rage will be wonderful to behold, but you must not be there to seeit. He will fling texts of damnation after you, which, had they power tokill, would certainly prevent you reaching the end of your journey. Hisknowledge of such passages in the Bible is wonderful."

  They passed through the town quietly. It was sleeping.

  "Farewell, Mr. Crosby. I wish you could have remained with us."

  "And I wish that you had never been persuaded to try so mad a venture,"said Crosby.

  "The issue lies still in the balance," Grey returned.

  So Gilbert Crosby rode away from Bridgwater, and the mist was thick overSedgemoor.