At length, when the room was cleared and the door closed, the Duke drew round his chair towards the fire, begging his young friend to do the same, and mingling the matter of alarm even with his invitation to the first gla.s.s of wine, "My dear Wilton," he said--"you must permit me to call you so, for I can now look upon you as little less than a son--I wish you to give me a fuller account of all this business than poor Laura can, for there is news current about the town to-day which somewhat alarms me, though I do not think there is any need of alarm either. But surely, Wilton, they could not bring me in as at all accessory to a plot which I would have nothing to do with."
"Oh no, my lord, I should think not," replied Wilton, without much consideration. "I know it is the wish of the government only to punish the chief offenders."
"Then you think it is really all discovered, as they say?" demanded the Duke.
"I know it is," replied Wilton. "Several of the conspirators are already in custody, and warrants are issued, I understand, against the rest. As far as I can judge, two or three will turn King"s evidence, and the rest will be executed."
"Good G.o.d!" exclaimed the Duke. "I heard something of the business when I was out, but scarcely gave it credit. It seemed so suddenly discovered."
"I believe the government have had the clue in their hands for some time," replied Wilton, "but have only availed themselves of it lately."
"Have you heard any one named, Wilton?" demanded the Duke again; "any of those who are taken, or any of those who are suspected?"
"Sir John Friend has been arrested this morning," replied Wilton; "a person named Cranburne, and another called Rookwood. I heard the names of those who are suspected also read over."
"Then I adjure you, my dear young friend," cried the Duke, starting up, and grasping his hand in great agitation--"I adjure you, by all the regard that exists between us, and all that you have done for me and my poor child, to tell me if my name was amongst the rest."
"No, it certainly was not," replied Wilton; and as he spoke, the Duke suffered himself to sink back into his chair again, with a long and relieved sigh.
The moment Wilton had uttered his reply, however, he recollected that there was one name in the list at which Lord Byerdale had hesitated; and he then feared that he might be leading the Duke into error.
Knowing, however, that Laura"s father had been but at one of the meetings of the conspirators, and being perfectly sure, that, startled and dismayed by what he had heard of their plans, he had instantly withdrawn from all a.s.sociation with them, he did not doubt that no serious danger could exist in his case, and therefore thought it unnecessary to agitate his mind, by suggesting the doubt which had suddenly come into his own.
He knew, indeed, that any alarm which the Duke might feel, would but make Laura"s father lean more entirely day by day upon him, who, with the exception of the conspirators themselves, was the only person who possessed the dangerous secret which caused him so much agitation.
But Wilton was not a man to consider his own interests in any such matter, and he determined, after a moment"s consideration, to say nothing of the doubts which had just arisen. A pause had ensued, however, for the Duke, busied with his own feelings, had suffered his thoughts to run back into the past; and, as is the case with every human being whose mind dwells upon the acts that are irrevocable, he found matter for sorrow and regret. After about five minutes"
silence, during which they both continued to gaze thoughtfully into the fire, the Duke returned to the matter before them by saying--
"I wish to heavens, my dear young friend, I had taken your advice, and not gone to this meeting at all; or that you had given me a fuller intimation of what was intended."
"I could not, indeed, my lord," replied Wilton, "for I had no fuller knowledge myself; I only conveyed to you a message I had received."
The Duke shook his head doubtingly. "Oh! Wilton, Wilton!" he said, "you are training for a statesman! You have much better information of all these things than you will suffer to appear. Did you not warn me of this before any one else knew anything of it? Did you not in a very short time find out where Laura was when n.o.body else could?"
It was in vain that Wilton denied any superior knowledge. The Duke had so completely made up his mind that his young friend had been in possession of all the secret information obtained by the ministers, and, indeed, of more and earlier information than they had possessed, that nothing would remove the impression from his mind; and when he at length rose, finding that Wilton would drink no more wine, he said--
"Well, Wilton, remember, I depend entirely upon you, with the fullest and most implicit confidence. No one possesses my secret but you, and one or two of these men, who will have enough to do in thinking of themselves without implicating others, I trust. Most of those who were present--for the meeting was very large--did not know who I was, and the rest who did know, must know also very well, that I strenuously objected to their whole proceedings, and quitted them as soon as I discovered what were their real objects. A word said upon the subject, however, might ruin me; for rank and fortune in this world, Wilton, though they bear their own inconveniences with them, are always objects of envy to those who do not possess them; and malice as surely treads upon the steps of envy as night follows day.
I trust to you, as I have said, entirely, and I trust to you even with the more confidence, because I find that you have been wise and prudent enough not even to communicate to Laura the fact of my having attended any of these meetings at all. While all this is taking place, however, my dear Wilton--as of course the matter will be a very agitating one to me, when the trials come on (for fear any of the traitors should name me)--let me see you frequently, constantly, every day, if you can, and bring me what tidings you can gain of all that pa.s.ses."
Wilton easily promised to do that which the Duke desired, in this respect at least, and they then joined her he loved, with whom he pa.s.sed one of those calm, sweet evenings, the tranquil happiness of which admits of no description.
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
Amongst all the curious changes that have taken place in the world--by which expression I mean, upon the world, for the great round ball on which we roll through s.p.a.ce is the only part of the whole that remains but little altered--amongst all the changes, then, which have taken place in the world, moral, political, and social, there has been none more extraordinary, perhaps, than the rise, progress, extension, and dominion of that strong power called Decorum. I have heard it a.s.serted by a very clever man, that there was nothing of the kind known in England before the commencement of the reign of George III., and that decorum was, in fact, a mere decent cloak to cover the nakedness of vice. I think he was mistaken: the word was known long before; and there has been at all times a feeling of decorum in the English nation, which has shown itself in gradually rooting out from the ordinary commerce of society everything that is coa.r.s.e in expression, or doubtful in conduct. The natural tendency of this is to mark more strongly the limits of the realms of vice and virtue; and vice, as a matter of course, in order to obviate the detrimental effect which such a clear definition of her boundaries must produce, loses no opportunity of travelling over into the marches or debateable land which is left under the warden ship of decorum.
The name was not, perhaps, applied as now it is, in former years, but still the spirit existed, as may be seen by any one who takes up and reads the works of one of our purest but coldest of writers, Addison, who, about the time of the peace, which took place in the beginning of the eighteenth century, laments the loss of much of the delicacy (or, in other terns, decorum) of English society which was likely to ensue from a free intercourse with France. It must, indeed, be admitted that at that period the reign of decorum had not made nearly so great a progress as it has at present. It was then a const.i.tutional monarchy, where it is now a despotism, but was probably not a bit less powerful from being decidedly more free. People in those days did certainly speak of things that we now speak not of at all. They called things by their plain straightforward names, for which we have since invented terms perhaps less definite and not more decent. But people of refined minds and tastes were refined then as now, and loved and cultivated all those amenities, graces, and proprieties, which form not alone the greatest safeguards, but also the greatest charms of human existence. Perhaps the difference was more in the thoughts than in the expressions, and that the refined of those days bound themselves to think more purely in the first place, so that there was less need of guarding their words so strictly.
We shall not pause to investigate whether it was that greater purity of thought, or any other cause, which produced a far more extensive liberty of action, especially in the female part of society, than that which is admitted at present. It is certain, however, that it was so, and that there was something in virtue and innocence which in those days was a very strong safeguard against the attacks of scandal, calumny, and malice. In the present day, even the servants of virtue are found to be the absolute slaves of decorum; but in those days, so long as they obeyed the high commands of their rightful mistress, they had but little occasion to apprehend that the scourge of calumny, or the fear thereof, would drive them continually back into one narrow and beaten path.
It is, indeed, the greatest satire upon human nature which the world has ever produced, that acts perfectly innocent, high, and pure as G.o.d"s holy light, cannot be permitted to persons even of tried virtue, simply because they would afford the opportunity of doing ill. It is, in fact, to say, that no one is to be trusted; that there is nothing which keeps man or woman virtuous but want of opportunity.
It is a terrible satire; it is more than a satire; it is a foul libel, aimed by the vicious against those who are better than themselves.
Such things did not exist in the days whereof I write, or existed in a very, very small degree. It is true, from time to time, a woman"s reputation might suffer falsely; but it was in general from her having approached very near the confines of evil, and the punishment that ensued, though perhaps even then disproportioned to the fault, had no tendency whatever to diminish the innocent liberty of others.
We find from all the writers who painted the manners of those days--Addison, Swift, Steele, and others--that a lady, especially an unmarried lady, feared no risk to her reputation in going hither or thither, either perfectly alone, or with any friend with whom she was known to be intimate. She might venture upon an excursion into the country, a party of pleasure, nay, a journey itself in many instances, with any gentleman of honour and reputation, without either friends or enemies casting an imputation upon her character, or the world immediately giving her over to him in marriage.
It was left indeed to her own judgment whom she would choose for her companion, and the most innocent girl might have gone anywhere unreproved with a man of known honour and virtue, who would have ruined her own character had she placed herself in the power of a Rochester or a Bucking ham. These were rational boundaries; but perhaps the liberty of those days went somewhat beyond even that. In the early part of the eighteenth century, many of the habits of the Continent were introduced into England at a time that continental society was so corrupt as to require licence instead of liberty, and so far from attending to propriety, to give way to indecency itself.
It became common in the highest circles of society for ladies, married and single alike, to dispense almost entirely with a female attendant, and following that most indecent and beastly of all continental habits, to permit all the offices of a waiting woman to be performed for them by men. The visits of male acquaintances were continually received in their bed-rooms, and that, also, before they had risen in the morning. This, perhaps, was too much, though certainly far less indecent than the other most revolting of all immodest practices which I have just mentioned. Others, again, admitted no visitors further than their dressing-room, and thought themselves very scrupulous; but there were others, as there must be at all times, who, with feelings of true modesty and perfect delicacy, hesitated not to use all proper and rational liberty, yet shrunk instinctively from the least coa.r.s.eness of thought or language, and never yielded to aught that was immodest in custom or demeanour.
Of these was Lady Laura Gaveston; and though she had no fear of becoming the talk of the town, or losing the slightest particle of a bright and pure reputation, by treating one who had rendered her important services in all respects as she would a brother, by being seen with him often and often alone, by showing herself with him in public places, or by any other act of the kind that her heart prompted her to, she in no way gave in to the evil practices which the English had learned from their continental neighbours, and, indeed, never thought or reasoned upon the subject, feeling that decency as well as morality is a matter of sentiment and not of custom.
The peculiar situation in which the Duke and Wilton were placed towards each other; the Duke"s repeated entreaties that Wilton would see him every day, if possible; the intimacy that had arisen from services rendered and received, produced that constant and continual intercourse which was necessary to the happiness of two people who loved as Wilton and Laura did; not a day pa.s.sed without their seeing each other, scarcely a day pa.s.sed without their being alone together, sometimes even for hours; and every moment that they thus spent in each other"s society increased their feelings of love and tenderness for each other, their hopes, their confidence, their esteem.
Not a secret of Laura"s bosom was now concealed from him she loved, not a thought, not a feeling. She delighted to tell him all: with whatever subject her mind was employed, with whatever bright thing her fancy sported, Wilton was always made the sharer; and it was the same with him. The course that their thoughts pursued was certainly not always alike, but they generally arrived at the same conclusion, she by a longer and a softer way, he by a more rapid, vigorous, and direct one. It was like the pa.s.sing of a hill by two different roads; the one, for the bold climber, over the steepest brow; the other, for gentler steps, more easy round the side.
In the meantime, the Duke proceeded with his young friend even as he had commenced. He treated him as his most intimate and dearest confidant; he gradually went on to consult and trust him, not alone with regard to the immediate subject of his situation, as affected by the conspiracy, but upon a thousand other matters; and as Wilton"s advice, clear-sighted and vigorous, was always judicious, and generally successful, the Duke, one of whose greatest weaknesses was the habit of putting his own judgment under the guidance of others, learned to lean upon his young companion, as he had at first done upon his wife, and then upon his daughter.
The various changes and events of the day, as they kept the Duke"s mind in a state of frequent suspense and anxiety, made him more often recur to Wilton than otherwise would have been the case. London was filled with rumours of every kind regarding the discovery of the plot, and the persons implicated. The report of Lady Laura"s having been carried off by the Jacobites, for the purpose of inducing her father to join in their schemes, spread far and wide, and filled Beaufort House, during a great part of the morning, with a crowd of visitors, all anxious to hear the facts, and to retail them with what colouring they thought fit.
Some argued, that though the Duke had always been thought somewhat of a Jacobite, at least he had now proved his adherence to the existing dynasty, beyond all manner of dispute, by what he and his daughter had suffered from their resistance to the Jacobites. Others, again, curled the malicious lip, and declared that the Duke must have given the conspirators some encouragement, or they would never have ventured upon such deeds. All, however, to the Duke himself, affected to look upon him and his family as marked by the enmity of the other faction; and he, on his part, perhaps, did feel his importance in a little degree increased by the sort of notoriety which he had acquired.
If there was any pleasure in this--and when is not increased importance pleasurable?--it was speedily brought to an end, as soon as the trials of the conspirators began, and intelligence of more and more traitors being arrested in different parts, and increased rumours of the number suspected, or actually implicated, reaching the ears of the Duke. Persons who one day appeared perfectly free and stainless, were the next marked out as having a share in the conspiracy. Fear fell upon all men: the times of t.i.tus Oates and his famous plot presented themselves to everybody"s imagination, and the Duke"s head lay more and more uneasy on his pillow every night.
Sir John Fenwick, however, was not yet taken: Sir William Parkyns and Sir John Friend died with firmness and with honour, compromising no man. Sir George Barkley had escaped; the Earl of Aylesbury, though implicated by the testimony of several witnesses in the lesser offences of the conspiracy, was not arrested; and not a word had yet been spoken of the Duke"s name.
It was about this period, however, that Laura"s father suddenly received a note from Lord Aylesbury to the following effect:--
"Your grace and I being somewhat similarly situated in several respects, I think fit to give you intimation of my views at the present moment. While gentlemen, and men of honour, were the only individuals made to suffer in consequence of the late lamentable events, people, who knew themselves to be innocent of any b.l.o.o.d.y or treasonable designs, might feel themselves tolerably safe, even though they were well acquainted with some of the persons accused.
I hear now, however, that there is a certain Rookwood, together with men named Cranburne, Lowick, Knightly, and others, some of them small gentry of no repute, and others merely vulgar and inferior persons, who are about to be brought to immediate trial; and I have it from a sure hand, that some of these persons, for the purpose of saving their own miserable lives, intend to charge men of much higher rank than themselves with crimes of which they never had any thought, simply because they were acquainted with some of the unfortunate gentlemen by whom these evil and foolish things were designed. Such being the case, and knowing myself to be somewhat obnoxious to many persons in power, I have determined to remove from London for the time, that my presence may not excite attention, and perhaps call upon my head an accusation which may be levelled at any other if I should not be here. I by no means purpose to quit the kingdom, and would rather, indeed, surrender myself, and endeavour to prove my innocence, even against the torrent of prejudice, and all the wild and raging outcry which this business has produced, both in the parliament and in the nation. At the same time, I think it best to inform you of these facts, as an old friend, well knowing that your grace has a house ready to receive you in Hampshire, within thirty-five miles of the city of London, in case your presence should be wanted, and about the same distance from the sea-coast. I will beg your grace to read this, and then instantly to burn it, believing that it comes with a very good intent, from "Your humble servant, "AYLESBURY."
This letter once more excited all the apprehensions of the Duke, who well knew that Lord Aylesbury would never have written such an epistle without intending to imply much more than he directly said.
His recourse was immediately to Wilton, who was engaged to dine with him on that day, together with a large party. As Wilton"s engagements, however, were always made with a proviso, that his official duties under the Earl of Byerdale permitted his fulfilling them, the Duke sent off a special messenger with a note beseeching him not to fail. The dinner hour, however, arrived; the various guests made their appearance; the cook began to fret, and to declare to his understrappers that the Duke always spoilt the dinner; but Wilton had not yet come, and the Duke was anxious, if but to obtain five words with him.
At length, however, the young gentleman arrived; and it was not a little to the surprise of all the guests, and to the indignation of some, that they saw who was the person for whom the meal had been delayed. Wilton, though always well dressed, and in any circ.u.mstances bearing the aspect of a gentleman, had evidently made his toilet hastily and imperfectly; and notwithstanding the distance he had come, bore about his person distinct traces of heat and excitement.
"I have not failed to obey your summons, my lord," he said, following the Duke into the opening of one of the windows, "though it was scarcely possible for me to do so. But I have much that I wish to say to you."
"And I to you," replied the Duke; and he told him the contents of the letter he had received from Lord Aylesbury that morning.
"The Earl says true, my lord," replied Wilton. "But I have this very day seen Cook myself--I mean Peter Cook, the person that it is supposed will be permitted to turn king"s evidence. He did certainly slightly glance at your grace; but I believe that the orders of Lord Byerdale will prevent him from implicating any persons but those who were actually engaged in the worst designs of the conspirators."
"Had I not better go into the country at once?" demanded the Duke, eagerly.
"Far from it, far from it, my lord," replied Wilton: "the way, of all others, I should think, to cause yourself to be arrested. On the contrary, if you would take my advice, you would immediately sit down and write a note to Lord Byerdale, saying that I had told you--for he did not forbid me to mention it--that Cook had made some allusion to you. Tell him that it was, and is, your intention to go out of town within a few days, but that knowing your own innocence of every design against the government, you will put off your journey, or even surrender yourself at the Tower, should he judge, from any information that he possesses, that even a shade of suspicion is likely to be cast upon you by any of the persons about to be tried. I will answer for the success, if your grace follows my advice. A bold step of this kind disarms suspicion. Lord Byerdale will, in all probability, intimate to Cook, that nothing at all is to be said in regard to you, feeling sure that you are innocent of any great offence; whereas, if the charge were once brought forward, the set of low-minded villains concerned in this business might think it absolutely necessary to work it up into a serious affair, from which your grace would find a difficulty in extricating yourself."
"You are right, Wilton, you are right," replied the Duke: "I see you are right, although I judged it hazardous at first. You shall see what confidence I have in you. I will write the letter directly;" and he turned away with him from the window.
Laura had watched the conference with some anxiety, and the Duke"s guests with some surprise; but when the Duke ended by saying aloud, "I fear I must beg your pardon, ladies, for two minutes, but I must write a short note of immediate importance; Wilton, my dear young friend, be kind enough to order dinner, and help Laura to entertain my friends here till I return, which will be before they have covered the table," every one looked in the face of the other; and they all mentally said, "The matter is clearly settled, and the hand of this rich and beautiful heiress is promised to an unknown man of no rank whatever."