Authors: Rafael Sabatini
"Your lordship is grown strangely hot upon this question," said Caryll, very full of wonder.
As he understood Ostermore, the earl was scarcely the sentimentalist to give way to such a passion of loyalty for a weaker side. Yet his lordship had spoken, not with the cold calm of the
practical man who seeks advantage, but with all the fervor of the enthusiast.
"Such is my interest," answered his lordship. "Even as the fortunes of the country are beggared by the South Sea Company, so are my own; even as the country must look to King James for its
salvation, so must I. At best 'tis but a forlorn hope, I confess; yet 'tis the only hope I see."
Mr. Caryll looked at him, smiled to himself, and nodded. So! All this fire and enthusiasm was about the mending of his personal fortunes—the grubbing of riches for himself. Well, well! It
was good matter wasted on a paltry cause. But it sorted excellently with what Mr. Caryll knew of the nature of this father of his. It never could transcend the practical; there was no imagination
to carry it beyond those narrow sordid confines, and Mr. Caryll had been a fool to have supposed that any other springs were pushing here. Egotism, egotism, egotism! Its name, he thought, was
surely Ostermore. And again, as once before, under the like circumstances, he found more pity than scorn awaking in his heart. The whole wasted, sterile life that lay behind this man; the unhappy,
loveless home that stood about him now in his declining years were the fruits he had garnered from that consuming love of self with which the gods had cursed him.
The only ray to illumine the black desert of Ostermore's existence was the affection of his ward, Hortensia Winthrop, because in that one instance he had sunk his egotism a little, sparing a
crumb of pity—for once in his life—for the child's orphanhood. Had Ostermore been other than the man he was, his existence must have proved a burden beyond his strength. It was so
barren of good deeds, so sterile of affection. Yet encrusted as he was in that egotism of his—like the limpet in its shell—my lord perceived nothing of this, suffered nothing of it,
understanding nothing. He was all-sufficient to himself. Giving nothing, he looked for nothing, and sought his happiness—without knowing the quest vain—in what he had. The fear of
losing this had now in his declining years cast, at length, a shadow upon his existence.
Mr. Caryll looked at him almost sorrowfully. Then he put by his thoughts, and broke the silence. "All this I had understood when first I sought you out," said he. "Yet your lordship did not seem
to realize it quite so keenly. Is it that Atterbury and his friends——?"
"No, no," Ostermore broke in. "Look'ee! I will be frank—quite frank and open with you, Mr. Caryll. Things were bad when first you came to me. Yet not so bad that I was driven to a choice
of evils. I had lost heavily. But enough remained to bear me through my time, though Rotherby might have found little enough left after I had gone. While that was so, I hesitated to take a risk. I
am an old man. It had been different had I been young with ambitions that craved satisfying. I am an old man; and I desired peace and my comforts. Deeming these assured, I paused ere I risked their
loss against the stake which in King James's name you set upon the board. But it happens today that these are assured no longer," he ended, his voice breaking almost, his eyes haggard. "They are
assured no longer."
"You mean?" inquired Caryll.
"I mean that I am confronted by the danger of beggary, ruin, shame, and the sponging-house, at best."
Mr. Caryll was stirred out of his calm. "My lord!" he cried. "How is this possible? What can have come to pass?"
The earl was silent for a long while. It was as if he pondered how he should answer, or whether he should answer at all. At last, in a low voice, a faint tinge reddening his face, his eyes
averted, he explained. It shamed him so to do, yet must he satisfy that craving of weak winds to unburden, to seek relief in confession. "Mine is the case of Craggs, the secretary of state," he
said. "And Craggs, you'll remember, shot himself."
"My God," said Mr. Caryll, and opened wide his eyes. "Did you——?" He paused, not knowing what euphemism to supply for the thing his lordship must have done.
His lordship looked up, sneering almost in self-derision. "I did," he answered. "To tell you all—I accepted twenty thousand pounds' worth of South Sea stock when the company was first
formed, for which I did not pay other than by lending the scheme the support of my name at a time when such support was needed. I was of the ministry, then, you will remember."
Mr. Caryll considered him again, and wondered a moment at the confession, till he understood by intuition that the matter and its consequences were so deeply preying upon the man's mind that he
could not refrain from giving vent to his fears. Presently——
"And now you know," his lordship added, "why my hopes are all in King James. Ruin stares me in the face. Ruin and shame. This forlorn Stuart hope is the only hope remaining me. Therefore, am I
eager to embrace it. I have made all plain to you. You should understand now."
"Yet not quite all. You did this thing. But the inspection of the company's books is past. The danger of discovery, at least, is averted. Or is it that your conscience compels you to make
restitution?"
His lordship stared and gaped. "Do you suppose me mad?" he inquired, quite seriously. "Pho! Others were overlooked at the time. We did not all go the way of Craggs and Aislabie and their
fellow-sufferers. Stanhope was assailed afterward, though he was innocent. That filthy fellow, the Duke of Wharton, from being an empty fop turned himself on a sudden into a Crown attorney to
prosecute the peculators. It was an easy road to fame for him, and the fool had a gift of eloquence. Stanhope's death is on his conscience—or would be if he had one. That was six months ago.
When he discovered his error in the case of Stanhope and saw the fatal consequences it had, he ceased his dirty lawyer's work. But he had good grounds upon which to suspect others as highly placed
as Stanhope, and had he followed his suspicions he might have turned them into certainties and discovered evidence. As it was, he let the matter lie, content with the execution he had done, and the
esteem into which he had so suddenly hoisted himself—the damned profligate!"
Mr. Caryll let pass, as typical, the ludicrous want of logic in Ostermore's strictures of his Grace of Wharton, and the application by him to the duke of opprobrious terms that were no whit less
applicable to himself.
"Then, that being so, what cause for these alarms some six months later?"
"Because," answered his lordship in a sudden burst of passion that brought him to his feet, empurpled his face and swelled the veins of his forehead, "because I am cursed with the filthiest
fellow in England for my son."
He said it with the air of one who throws a flood of light where darkness has been hitherto, who supplies the key that must resolve at a turn a whole situation. But Mr. Caryll blinked
foolishly.
"My wits are very dull, I fear," said he. "I still cannot understand."
"Then I'll make it all clear to you," said his lordship.
Leduc appeared at the arbor entrance.
"What now?" asked Mr. Caryll.
"Her ladyship is approaching, sir," answered Leduc the vigilant.
CHAPTER XIV
LADY OSTERMORE
LORD OSTERMORE and Mr. Caryll looked across the lawn towards the house, but failed to see any sign of her ladyship's approach.
Mr. Caryll raised questioning eyes to his servant's stolid face, and in that moment caught the faintest rustle of a gown behind the arbor. He half-turned to my lord, and nodded slightly in the
direction of the sound, a smile twisting his lips. With a gesture he dismissed Leduc, who returned to the neighborhood of the pond.
His lordship frowned, angered by the interruption. Then: "If your ladyship will come inside," said he, "you will hear better and with greater comfort."
"Not to speak of dignity," said Mr. Caryll.
The stiff gown rustled again, this time without stealth. The countess appeared, no whit abashed. Mr. Caryll rose politely.
"You sit with spies to guard your approaches," said she.
"As a precaution against spies," was his lordship's curt answer.
She measured him with a cool eye. "What is't ye hide?" she asked him.
"My shame," he answered readily. Then after a moment's pause, he rose and offered her his seat. "Since you have thrust yourself in where you were not bidden, you may hear and welcome, ma'am,"
said he. "It may help you to understand what you term my injustice to my son."
"Are these matters wherewith to importune a stranger—a guest?"
"I am proposing to say in your presence what I was about to say in your absence," said he, without answering her question. "Be seated, ma'am."
She sniffed, closed her fan with a clatter, and sat down. Mr. Caryll resumed his long chair, and his lordship took the stool.
"I am told," the latter resumed presently, recapitulating in part for her ladyship's better understanding, "that his Grace of Wharton is intending to reopen the South Sea scandal, as soon as he
can find evidence that I was one of those who profited by the company's charter."
"Profited?" she echoed, between scorn and bitter amusement. "Profited, did ye say? I think your dotage is surely upon you—you that have sunk nigh all your fortune and all that you had with
me in this thieving venture—d'ye talk of profits?"
"At the commencement I did profit, as did many others. Had I been content with my gains, had I been less of a trusting fool, it had been well. I was dazzled, maybe, by the glare of so much gold.
I needed more; and so I lost all. That is evil enough. But there is worse. I may be called upon to make restitution of what I had from the company without paying for't—I may give all that's
left me and barely cover the amount, and I may starve and be damned thereafter."
Her ladyship's face was ghastly. Horror stared from her pale eyes. She had known, from the beginning, of that twenty thousand pounds' worth of stock, and she had had—with his
lordship—her anxious moments when the disclosures were being made six months ago that had brought the Craggses, Aislabie and a half-dozen others to shame and ruin.
His lordship looked at her a moment. "And if this shipwreck comes, as it now threatens," he continued, "it is my son I shall have to thank for't."
She found voice to ask: "How so?" courage to put the question scornfully. "Is it not rather Rotherby you have to thank that the disclosures did not come six months ago? What was it saved
you but the friendship his Grace of Wharton had for Charles?"
"Why, then," stormed his lordship, "did he not see to't that he preserved that friendship? It but needed a behavior of as much decency and honor as Wharton exacts in his associates—and the
Lord knows how much that is!" he sneered. "As it is, he has gone even lower than that abandoned scourer; so low that even this rakehell duke must become his enemy for his own credit's sake. He
attempts mock-marriages with ladies of quality; and he attempts murder by stabbing through the back a gentleman who has spared his worthless life. Not even the president of the Hell Fire Club can
countenance these things, strong stomach though he have for villainy. It is something to have contrived to come so low that even his Grace of Wharton must turn upon him, and swear his ruin. And so
that he may ruin him, his grace is determined to ruin me. Now you understand, madam—and you, Mr. Caryll."
Mr. Caryll understood. He understood even more than his lordship meant him to understand; more than his lordship understood, himself. So, too, did her ladyship, if we may judge from the reply
she made him.
"You fool," she railed. "You vain, blind, selfish fool! To blame Rotherby for this. Rather should Rotherby blame you that by your damned dishonesty have set a weapon against him in his enemy's
hands."
"Madam!" he roared, empurpling, and coming heavily to his feet. "Do you know who I am?"
"Ay—and what you are, which is something you will never know. God! Was there ever so self-centered a fool? Compassionate me, Heaven!" She rose, too, and turned to Mr. Caryll. "You, sir,"
she said to him, "you have been dragged into this, I know not why——"
She broke off suddenly, looking at him, her eyes a pair of gimlets now for penetration. "Why have you been dragged into it?" she demanded. "What is here? I demand to know. What help does my lord
expect from you that he tells you this? Does he——" She paused an instant, a cunning smile breaking over her wrinkled, painted face. "Does he propose to sell himself to the king over the water,
and are you a secret agent come to do the buying? Is that the answer to this riddle?"
Mr. Caryll, imperturbable outwardly, but very ill at ease within, smiled and waved the delicate hand that appeared through the heavy ruffle at his wrist. "Madam, indeed—ah—your
ladyship goes very fast. You leap so at conclusions for which no grounds can exist. His lordship is so overwrought—as well he may be, alas!—that he cares not before whom he speaks. Is
it not plainly so?"
She smiled very sourly. "You are a very master of evasion, sir. But your evasion gives me the answer that I lack—that and his lordship's face. I drew my bow at a venture; yet look, sir,
and tell me, has my quarrel missed its mark?"
And, indeed, the sudden fear and consternation written on my lord's face was so plain that all might read it. He was—as Mr. Caryll had remarked on the first occasion that they
met—the worst dissembler that ever set hand to a conspiracy. He betrayed himself at every step, if not positively, by incautious words, why then by the utter lack of control he had upon his
countenance.
He made now a wild attempt to bluster. "Lies! Lies!" he protested. "Your ladyship's a-dreaming. Should I be making bad worse by plotting at my time of life? Should I? What can King James avail
me, indeed?"
"'Tis what I will ask Rotherby to help me to discover," she informed him.
"Rotherby?" he cried. "Would you tell that villain what you suspect? Would you arm him with another weapon for my undoing?"