The Rafael Sabatini Megapack. Rafael Sabatini

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ none so well this morning,” answered Richard feebly. “Lord Gervase’s claret,” he added, passing a hand across his brow.

      “Lord Gervase’s claret?” echoed Vallancey in horror, as at some outrageous blasphemy. “Frontignac at ten shillings the bottle!” he exclaimed.

      “Still, claret never does lie easy on my stomach,” Richard explained, intent upon blaming Lord Gervase s wine—since he could think of nothing else—for his condition.

      Vallancey looked at him shrewdly. “My cock,” said he, “if you’re to fight we’ll have to mend your temper.” He took it upon himself to ring the bell, and to order up two bottles of Canary and one of brandy. If he was to get his man to the ground at all—and young Vallancey had a due sense of his responsibilities in that connection—it would be well to supply Richard with something to replace the courage that had oozed out overnight. Young Richard, never loath to fortify himself, proved amenable enough to the stiffly laced Canary that his friend set before him. Then, to divert his mind, Vallancey, with that rash freedom that had made the whole of Somerset know him for a rebel, set himself to talk of the Protestant Duke and his right to the crown of England.

      He was still at his talk, Richard listening moodily what time he was slowly but surely befuddling himself, when Sir Rowland—returning from Scoresby Hall—came to bring the news of his lack of success. Richard hailed him noisily, and bade him ring for another glass, adding, with a burst of oaths, some appalling threats of how anon he should serve Anthony Wilding. His wits drowned in the stiff liquor Vallancey had pressed upon him, he seemed of a sudden to have grown as fierce and bloodthirsty as any scourer that ever terrorized the watch.

      Blake listened to him and grunted. “Body o’ me!” swore the town gallant. “If that’s the humour you’re going out to fight in, I’ll trouble you for the eight guineas I won from you at Primero yesterday before you start.”

      Richard reared himself, by the help of the table, and stood a thought unsteadily, his glance laboriously striving to engage Blake’s.

      “Damn me!” quoth he. “Your want of faith dishgraces me—and ’t ’shgraces you. Shalt ha’ the guineas when we’re back—and not before.”

      “Hum!” quoth Blake, to whom eight guineas were a consideration in these bankrupt days. “And if you don’t come back at all upon whom am I to draw?”

      The suggestion sank through Dick’s half-fuddled senses, and the scare it gave him was reflected on his face.

      “Damn you, Blake!” swore Vallancey between his teeth. “Is that a decent way to talk to a man who is going out? Never heed him, Dick! Let him wait for his dirty guineas till we return.”

      “Thirty guineas?” hiccoughed Richard. “It was only eight. Anyhow—wait’ll I’ve sli’ the gullet of’s Mr. Wilding.” He checked on a thought that suddenly occurred to him. He turned to Vallancey with a ludicrous solemnity. “’Sbud!” he swore. “’S a scurvy trick I’m playing the Duke. ’S treason to him—treason no less.” And he smote the table with his open hand.

      “What’s that?” quoth Blake so sharply, his eyes so suddenly alert that Vallancey made haste to cover up his fellow rebel’s indiscretion.

      “It’s the brandy-and-Canary makes him dream,” said he with a laugh, and rising as he spoke he announced that it was high time they should set out. Thus he brought about a bustle that drove the Duke’s business from Richard’s mind, and left Blake without a pretext to pursue his quest for information. But the mischief was done, and Blake’s suspicions were awake. He bethought him now of dark hints that Richard had let fall to Vallancey in the past few days, and of hints less dark with which Vallancey—who was a careless fellow at ordinary times—had answered. And now this mention of the Duke and of treason to him—to what Duke could it refer but Monmouth?

      Blake was well aware of the wild tales that were going round, and he began to wonder now was aught really afoot, and was his good friend Westmacott in it?

      If there was, he bethought him that the knowledge might be of value, and it might help to float once more his shipwrecked fortunes. The haste with which Vallancey had proffered a frivolous explanation of Richard’s words, the bustle with which upon the instant he swept Richard and Sir Rowland from the house to get to horse and ride out to Bridgwater were in themselves circumstances that went to heighten those suspicions of Sir Rowland’s. But lacking all opportunity for investigation at the moment, he deemed it wisest to say no more just then lest he should betray his watchfulness.

      They were the first to arrive upon the ground—an open space on the borders of Sedgemoor, in the shelter of Polden Hill. But they had not long to wait before Wilding and Trenchard rode up, attended by a groom. Their arrival had an oddly sobering effect upon young Westmacott, for which Mr. Vallancey was thankful. For during their ride he had begun to fear that he had carried too far the business of equipping his principal with artificial valour.

      Trenchard came forward to offer Vallancey the courteous suggestion that Mr. Wilding’s servant should charge himself with the care of the horses of Mr. Westmacott’s party, if this would be a convenience to them. Vallancey thanked him and accepted the offer, and thus the groom—instructed by Trenchard—led the five horses some distance from the spot.

      It now became a matter of making preparation, and leaving Richard to divest himself of such garments as he might deem cumbrous, Vallancey went forward to consult with Trenchard upon the choice of ground. At that same moment Mr. Wilding lounged forward, flicking the grass with his whip in an absent manner.

      “Mr. Vallancey,” he began, when Trenchard turned to interrupt him.

      “You can leave it safely to me, Tony,” he growled. “But there is something I wish to say, Nick,” answered Mr. Wilding, his manner mild. “By your leave, then.” And he turned again to Valiancey. “Will you be so good as to call Mr. Westmacott hither?”

      Vallancey stared. “For what purpose, sir?” he asked.

      “For my purpose,” answered Mr. Wilding sweetly. “It is no longer my wish to engage with Mr. Westmacott.

      “Anthony!” cried Trenchard, and in his amazement forgot to swear.

      “I propose,” added Mr. Wilding, “to relieve Mr. Westmacott of the necessity of fighting.”

      Vallancey in his heart thought this might be pleasant news for his principal. Still, he did not quite see how the end was to be attained, and said so.

      “You shall be enlightened if you will do as I request,” Wilding insisted, and Vallancey, with a lift of the brows, a snort, and a shrug, turned away to comply.

      “Do you mean,” quoth Trenchard, bursting with indignation, “that you will let live a man who has struck you?”

      Wilding took his friend affectionately by the arm. “It is a whim of mine,” said he. “Do you think, Nick, that it is more than I can afford to indulge?”

      “I say not so,” was the ready answer; “but…”

      “I thought you’d not,” said Mr. Wilding, interrupting. “And if any does—why, I shall be glad to prove it upon him that he lies.” He laughed, and Trenchard, vexed though he was, was forced to laugh with him. Then Nick set himself to urge the thing that last night had plagued his mind: that this Richard might prove a danger to the Cause; that in the Duke’s interest, if not to safeguard his own person from some vindictive СКАЧАТЬ