Simon Dale
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Anthony Hope >> Simon Dale
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"What said he of the King, Simon?"
"Why, he said," I answered, "that this great letter comes to me on the
King's service, and that I have nothing to pay for it," and I turned it
over and over in my hands. But the inscription was plain enough. "To
Master Simon Dale, Esquire, at Hatchstead, by Hatfield."
By this time half the company was round us, and my Lord Clarendon
well-nigh forgotten. Small things near are greater than great things
afar, and at Hatchstead my affairs were of more moment than the fall of
a Chancellor or the King's choice of new Ministers. A cry arose that I
should open my packet and disclose what it contained.
"Nay," said the Vicar, with an air of importance, "it may be on a
private matter that the King writes."
They would have believed that of my lord at the Manor, they could not of
Simon Dale. The Vicar met their laughter bravely.
"But the King and Simon are to have private matters between them one
day," he cried, shaking his fist at the mockers, himself half in
mockery.
Meanwhile I opened my packet and read. To this day the amazement its
contents bred in me is fresh. For the purport was that the King,
remembering my father's services to the King's father (and forgetting,
as it seemed, those done to General Cromwell), and being informed of my
own loyal disposition, courage, and good parts, had been graciously
pleased to name me to a commission in His Majesty's Regiment of Life
Guards, such commission being post-dated six months from the day of
writing, in order that Mr Dale should have the leisure to inform himself
of his duties and fit himself for his post; to which end it was the
King's further pleasure that Mr Dale should present himself, bringing
this same letter with him, without delay at Whitehall, and there be
instructed in his drill and in all other matters necessary for him to
know. Thus the letter ended, with a commendation of me to the care of
the Almighty.
I sat, gasping; the gossips gaped round me; the Vicar seemed stunned. At
last somebody grumbled,
"I do not love these Guards. What need of guard has the King except in
the love of his subjects?"
"So his father found, did he?" cried the Vicar, an aflame in a moment.
"The Life Guards!" I murmured. "It is the first regiment of all in
honour."
"Ay, my lad," said the Vicar. "It would have been well enough for you to
serve in the ranks of it, but to hold His Majesty's Commission!" Words
failed him, and he flew to the landlord's snuff-box, which that good
man, moved by subtle sympathy, held out, pat to the occasion.
Suddenly those words of my lord's that had at the time of their
utterance caught my attention so strongly flashed into my mind, seeming
now to find their explanation. If there were fault to be found in the
King, it did not lie with his own servants and officers to find it; I
was now of his household; my lord must have known what was on the way to
me from London when he addressed me so pointedly; and he could know only
because he had himself been the mover in the matter. I sprang up and ran
across to the Vicar, crying,
"Why, it is my lord's kindness! He has spoken for me."
"Ay, ay, it is my lord," was grunted and nodded round the circle in the
satisfaction of a discovery obvious so soon as made. The Vicar alone
dissented; he took another pinch and wagged his head petulantly.
"I don't think it's my lord," said he.
"But why not, sir, and who else?" I urged.
"I don't know, but I do not think it is my lord," he persisted.
Then I laughed at him, and he understood well that I mocked his dislike
of a plain-sailing everyday account of anything to which it might be
possible by hook or crook to attach a tag of mystery. He had harped back
to the prophecy, and would not have my lord come between him and his
hobby.
"You may laugh, Simon," said he gravely. "But it will be found to be as
I say."
I paid no more heed to him, but caught up my hat from the bench, crying
that I must run at once and offer thanks to my lord, for he was to set
out for London that day, and would be gone if I did not hasten.
"At least," conceded the Vicar, "you will do no harm by telling him. He
will wonder as much as we."
Laughing again, I ran off and left the company crowding to a man round
the stubborn Vicar. It was well indeed that I did not linger, for,
having come to the Manor at my best speed, I found my lord's coach
already at the door and himself in cloak and hat about to step into it.
But he waited to hear my breathless story, and, when I came to the pith
of it, snatched my letter from my hand and read it eagerly. At first I
thought he was playing a part and meant only to deny his kindness or
delay the confession of it. His manner soon undeceived me; he was in
truth amazed, as the Vicar had predicted, but more than that, he was, if
I read his face aright, sorely displeased also; for a heavy frown
gathered on his brow, and he walked with me in utter silence the better
half of the length of the terrace.
"I have nothing to do with it," he said bitterly. "I and my family have
done the King and his too much service to have the giving away of
favours. Kings do not love their creditors, no, nor pay them."
"But, my lord, I can think of no other friend who would have such
power."
"Can't you?" he asked, stopping and laying his hand on my shoulder. "May
be, Simon, you don't understand how power is come by in these days, nor
what are the titles to the King's confidence."
His words and manner dashed my new pride, and I suppose my face grew
glum, for he went on more gently,
"Nay, lad, since it comes, take it without question. Whatever the source
of it, your own conduct may make it an honour."
But I could not be content with that.
"The letter says," I remarked, "that the King is mindful of my father's
services."
"I had thought that the age of miracles was past," smiled my lord.
"Perhaps it is not, Simon."
"Then if it be not for my father's sake nor for yours, my lord, I am at
a loss," and I stuffed the letter into my pocket very peevishly.
"I must be on my way," said my lord, turning towards the coach. "Let me
hear from you when you come, Simon; and I suppose you will come soon
now. You will find me at my house in Southampton Square, and my lady
will be glad of your company."
I thanked him for his civility, but my face was still clouded. He had
seemed to suspect and hint at some taint in the fountain of honour that
had so unexpectedly flowed forth.
"I can't tell what to make of it," I cried.
He stopped again, as he was about to set his foot on the step of his
coach, and turned, facing me squarely.
"There's no other friend at all in London, Simon?" he asked. Again I
grew red, as he stood watching me. "Is there not one other?"
I collected myself as well as I could and answered,
"One that would give me a commission in the Life Guards, my lord?" And I
laughed in scorn.
My lord shrugged his shoulders and mounted into the coach. I closed the
door behind him, and stood waiting his reply. He leant forward and spoke
across me to the lackey behind, saying, "Go on, go on."
"What do you mean, my lord?" I cried. He smiled, but did not speak. The
coach began to move; I had to walk to keep my place, soon I should have
to run.
"My lord," I cried, "how could she----?"
My lord took out his snuff-box, and opened it.
"Nay, I cannot tell how," said he, as he carried his thumb to his nose.
"My lord," I cried, running now, "do you know who Cydaria is?"
My lord looked at me, as I ran panting. Soon I should have to give in,
for the horses made merry play down the avenue. He seemed to wait for
the last moment of my endurance, before he answered. Then, waving his
hand at the window, he said, "All London knows." And with that he shut
the window, and I fell back breathless, amazed, and miserably chagrined.
For he had told me nothing of all that I desired to know, and what he
had told me did no more than inflame my curiosity most unbearably. Yet,
if it were true, this mysterious lady, known to all London, had
remembered Simon Dale! A man of seventy would have been moved by such a
thing; what wonder that a boy of twenty-two should run half mad with it?
Strange to say, it seemed to the Vicar's mind no more unlikely and
infinitely more pleasant that the King's favour should be bound up with
the lady we had called Cydaria than that it should be the plain fruit of
my lord's friendly offices. Presently his talk infected me with
something of the same spirit, and we fell to speculating on the identity
of this lady, supposing in our innocence that she must be of very
exalted rank and noble station if indeed all London knew her, and she
had a voice in the appointment of gentlemen to bear His Majesty's
Commission. It was but a step farther to discern for me a most notable
career, wherein the prophecy of Betty Nasroth should find fulfilment and
prove the link that bound together a chain of strange fortune and high
achievement. Thus our evening wore away and with it my vexation. Now I
was all eager to be gone, to set my hand to my work, to try Fate's
promises, and to learn that piece of knowledge which all London had--the
true name of her whom we called Cydaria.
"Still," said the Vicar, falling into a sudden pensiveness as I rose to
take my leave, "there are things above fortune's favour, or a King's, or
a great lady's. To those cling, Simon, for your name's sake and for my
credit, who taught you."
"True, sir," said I in perfunctory acknowledgment, but with errant
thoughts. "I trust, sir, that I shall always bear myself as becomes a
gentleman."
"And a Christian," he added mildly.
"Ay, sir, and a Christian," I agreed readily enough.
"Go your way," he said, with a little smile. "I preach to ears that are
full now of other and louder sounds, of strains more attractive and
melodies more alluring. Therefore, now, you cannot listen; nay, I know
that, if you could, you would. Yet it may be that some day--if it be
God's will, soon--the strings that I feebly strike may sound loud and
clear, so that you must hear, however sweetly that other music charms
your senses. And if you hear, Simon, heed; if you hear, heed."
Thus, with his blessing, I left him. He followed me to the door, with a
smile on his lips but anxiety in his eyes. I went on my way, never
looking back. For my ears were indeed filled with that strange and
enchanting music.
CHAPTER IV
CYDARIA REVEALED
There, mounted on the coach at Hertford (for at last I am fairly on my
way, and may boast that I have made short work of my farewells), a
gentleman apparently about thirty years of age, tall, well-proportioned,
and with a thin face, clean-cut and high-featured. He was attended by a
servant whom he called Robert, a stout ruddy fellow, who was very jovial
with every post-boy and ostler on the road. The gentleman, being placed
next to me by the chance of our billets, lost no time in opening the
conversation, a step which my rustic backwardness would long have
delayed. He invited my confidence by a free display of his own,
informing me that he was attached to the household of Lord Arlington,
and was returning to London on his lordship's summons. For since his
patron had been called to the place of Secretary of State, he, Mr
Christopher Darrell (such was his name), was likely to be employed by
him in matters of trust, and thus fill a position which I must perceive
to be of some importance. All this was poured forth with wonderful
candour and geniality, and I, in response, opened to him my fortunes and
prospects, keeping back nothing save the mention of Cydaria. Mr Darrell
was, or affected to be, astonished to learn that I was a stranger to
London--my air smacked of the Mall and of no other spot in the world, he
swore most politely--but made haste to offer me his services, proposing
that, since Lord Arlington did not look for him that night, and he had
abandoned his former lodging, we should lodge together at an inn he
named in Covent Garden, when he could introduce me to some pleasant
company. I accepted his offer most eagerly. Then he fell to talking of
the Court, of the households of the King and the Duke, of Madame the
Duchess of Orleans, who was soon to come to England, they said (on what
business he did not know); next he spoke, although now with caution, of
persons no less well known but of less high reputation, referring
lightly to Lady Castlemaine and Eleanor Gwyn and others, while I
listened, half-scandalised, half-pleased. But I called him back by
asking whether he were acquainted with one of the Duchess's ladies named
Mistress Barbara Quinton.
"Surely," he said. "There is no fairer lady at Court, and very few so
honest."
I hurried to let him know that Mistress Barbara and I were old friends.
He laughed as he answered,
"If you'd be more you must lose no time. It is impossible that she
should refuse many more suitors, and a nobleman of great estate is now
sighing for her so loudly as to be audible from Whitehall to Temple
Bar."
I heard the news with interest, with pride, and with a touch of
jealousy; but at this time my own fortunes so engrossed me that soon I
harked back to them, and, taking my courage in both hands, was about to
ask my companion if he had chanced ever to hear of Cydaria, when he gave
a new turn to the talk, by asking carelessly,
"You are a Churchman, sir, I suppose?"
"Why, yes," I answered, with a smile, and perhaps a bit of a stare.
"What did you conceive me to be, sir?--a Ranter, or a Papist?"
"Pardon, pardon, if you find offence in my question," he answered,
laughing. "There are many men who are one or the other, you know."
"The country has learnt that to its sorrow," said I sturdily.
"Ay," he said, in a dreamy way, "and maybe will learn it again." And
without more he fell to describing the famous regiment to which I was to
belong, adding at the end:
"And if you like a brawl, the 'prentices in the City will always find
one for a gentleman of the King's Guards. Take a companion or two with
you when you walk east of Temple Bar. By the way, sir, if the question
may be pardoned, how came you by your commission? For we know that
merit, standing alone, stands generally naked also."
I was much inclined to tell him all the story, but a shamefacedness came
over me. I did not know then how many owed all their advancement to a
woman's influence, and my manly pride disdained to own the obligation. I
put him off by a story of a friend who wished to remain unnamed, and,
after the feint of some indifferent talk, seized the chance of a short
silence to ask him my great question.
"Pray, sir, have you ever heard of a lady who goes sometimes by the name
of Cydaria?" said I. I fear my cheek flushed a little, do what I could
to check such an exhibition of rawness.
"Cydaria? Where have I heard that name? No, I know nobody--and yet----"
He paused; then, clapping his hand on his thigh, cried, "By my faith,
yes; I was sure I had heard it. It is a name from a play; from--from the
'Indian Emperor.' I think your lady must have been masquerading."
"I thought as much," I nodded, concealing my disappointment.
He looked at me a moment with some curiosity, but did not press me
further; and, since we had begun to draw near London, I soon had my mind
too full to allow me to think even of Cydaria. There is small profit in
describing what every man can remember for himself--his first sight of
the greatest city in the world, with its endless houses and swarming
people. It made me still and silent as we clattered along, and I forgot
my companion until I chanced to look towards him, and found an amused
glance fixed on my face. But, as we reached the City, he began to point
out where the fire had been, and how the task of rebuilding progressed.
Again wonder and anticipation grew on me.
"Yes," said he, "it's a fine treasure-house for a man who can get the
key to it."
Yet, amazed as I was, I would not have it supposed that I was altogether
an unlicked cub. My stay in Norwich, if it had not made me a Londoner,
had rubbed off some of the plough-mud from me, and I believe that my new
friend was not speaking wholly in idle compliment when he assured me
that I should hold my own very well. The first lesson I learnt was not
to show any wonder that I might feel, but to receive all that chanced as
though it were the most ordinary thing in the world; for this, beyond
all, is the hall-mark of your quality. Indeed, it was well that I was so
far fit to show my face, since I was to be plunged into the midst of the
stream with a suddenness which startled, although it could not displease
me. For the first beginning I was indebted to Mr Darrell, for what
followed to myself alone and a temper that has never been of the most
patient.
We had reached our inn and refreshed ourselves, and I was standing
looking out on the evening and wondering at what time it was proper for
me to seek my bed when my friend entered with an eager air, and advanced
towards me, crying,
"Dear sir, I hope your wardrobe is in order, for I am resolved to redeem
my word forthwith, and to-night to carry you with me to an
entertainment for which I have received an invitation. I am most anxious
for you to accompany me, as we shall meet many whom you should know."
I was, of course, full of excuses, but he would admit of one only; and
that one I could not or would not make. For I had provided myself with a
neat and proper suit, of which I was very far from ashamed, and which,
when assumed by me and set off with a new cloak to match it, was
declared by Mr Darrell to be most apt for the occasion.
"You lack nothing but a handsome cane," said he, "and that I can myself
provide. Come, let us call chairs and be gone, for it grows late
already."
Our host that evening was Mr Jermyn, a gentleman in great repute at
Court, and he entertained us most handsomely at the New Spring Garden,
according to me a welcome of especial courtesy, that I might be at my
ease and feel no stranger among the company. He placed me on his left
hand, Darrell being on my other side, while opposite to me sat my lord
the Earl of Carford, a fine-looking man of thirty or a year or two
above. Among the guests Mr Darrell indicated several whose names were
known to me, such as the witty Lord Rochester and the French Ambassador,
M. de Cominges, a very stately gentleman. These, however, being at the
other end of the table, I made no acquaintance with them, and contented
myself with listening to the conversation of my neighbours, putting in a
word where I seemed able with propriety and without displaying an
ignorance of which I was very sensible. It seemed to me that Lord
Carford, to whom I had not been formally presented (indeed, all talked
to one another without ceremony) received what I said with more than
sufficient haughtiness and distance; but on Darrell whispering
humorously that he was a great lord, and held himself even greater than
he was, I made little of it, thinking my best revenge would be to give
him a lesson in courtesy. Thus all went well till we had finished eating
and sat sipping our wine. Then my Lord Carford, being a little
overheated with what he had drunk, began suddenly to inveigh against the
King with remarkable warmth and freedom, so that it seemed evident that
he smarted under some recent grievance. The raillery of our host, not
too nice or delicate, soon spurred him to a discovery of his complaint.
He asked nothing better than to be urged to a disclosure.
"Neither rank, nor friendship, nor service," he said, smiting the table,
"are enough to gain the smallest favour from the King. All goes to the
women; they have but to ask to have. I prayed the King to give me for a
cousin of mine a place in the Life Guards that was to be vacant, and
he--by Heaven, he promised! Then comes Nell, and Nell wants it for a
friend--and Nell has it for a friend--and I go empty!"
I had started when he spoke of the Life Guards, and sat now in a state
of great disturbance. Darrell also, as I perceived, was very uneasy, and
made a hasty effort to alter the course of the conversation; but Mr
Jermyn would not have it.
"Who is the happy--the new happy man, that is Mistress Nell's friend?"
he asked, smiling.
"Some clod from the country," returned the Earl; "his name, they say, is
Dale."
I felt my heart beating, but I trust that I looked cool enough as I
leant across and said,
"Your lordship is misinformed. I have the best of reasons for saying
so."
"The reasons may be good, sir," he retorted with a stare, "but they are
not evident."
"I am myself just named to a commission in the King's Life Guards, and
my name is Dale," said I, restraining myself to a show of composure, for
I felt Darrell's hand on my arm.
"By my faith, then, you're the happy man," sneered Carford. "I
congratulate you on your----"
"Stay, stay, Carford," interposed Mr Jermyn.
"On your--godmother," said Carford.
"You're misinformed, my lord," I repeated fiercely, although by now a
great fear had come upon me. I knew whom they meant by "Nell."
"By God, sir, I'm not misinformed," said he.
"By God, my lord," said I--though I had not been wont to swear--"By God,
my lord, you are."
Our voices had risen in anger; a silence fell on the party, all turning
from their talk to listen to us. Carford's face went red when I gave him
the lie so directly and the more fiercely because, to my shame and
wonder, I had begun to suspect that what he said was no lie. But I
followed up the attack briskly.
"Therefore, my lord," I said, "I will beg of you to confess your error,
and withdraw what you have said."
He burst into a laugh.
"If I weren't ashamed to take a favour from such a hand, I wouldn't be
ashamed to own it," said he.
I rose from my seat and bowed to him gravely. All understood my meaning;
but he, choosing to treat me with insolence, did not rise nor return my
salute, but sat where he was, smiling scornfully.
"You don't understand me, it seems, my lord," said I. "May be this will
quicken your wits," and I flung the napkin which had been brought to me
after meat lightly in his face. He sprang up quickly enough then, and so
did all the company. Darrell caught me by the arm and held me fast.
Jermyn was by Carford's side. I hardly knew what passed, being much
upset by the sudden quarrel, and yet more by the idea, that Carford's
words had put in my head. I saw Jermyn come forward, and Darrell,
loosing my arm, went and spoke to him. Lord Carford resumed his seat; I
leant against the back of my chair and waited. Darrell was not long in
returning to me.
"You'd best go home," he said, in a low voice. "I'll arrange
everything. You must meet to-morrow morning."
I nodded my head; I had grown cool and collected now. Bowing slightly to
Carford, and low to my host and the company, I turned to the door. As I
passed through it, I heard the talk break out again behind me. I got
into my chair, which was waiting, and was carried back to my inn in a
half-amazed state. I gave little thought to the quarrel or to the
meeting that awaited me. My mind was engrossed with the revelation to
which I had listened. I doubted it still; nay, I would not believe it.
Yet whence came the story unless it were true? And it seemed to fit most
aptly and most lamentably with what had befallen me, and to throw light
on what had been a puzzle. It was hard on four years since I had parted
from Cydaria; but that night I felt that, if the thing were true, I
should receive Carford's point in my heart without a pang.
Being, as may be supposed, little inclined for sleep, I turned into the
public room of the inn and called for a bottle of wine. The room was
empty save for a lanky fellow, very plainly dressed, who sat at the
table reading a book. He was drinking nothing, and when--my wine having
been brought--I called in courtesy for a second glass and invited him to
join me, he shook his head sourly. Yet presently he closed his book,
which I now perceived to be a Bible, and fixed an earnest gaze on me. He
was a strange-looking fellow; his face was very thin and long, and his
hair (for he wore his own and no wig) hung straight from the crown of
his head in stiff wisps. I set him down as a Ranter, and was in no way
surprised when he began to inveigh against the evils of the times, and
to prophesy the judgment of God on the sins of the city.
"Pestilence hath come and fire hath come," he cried. "Yet wickedness is
not put away, and lewdness vaunteth herself, and the long-suffering of
God is abused."
All this seeming to me very tedious, I sipped my wine and made no
answer. I had enough to think of, and was content to let the sins of the
city alone.
"The foul superstition of Papacy raises its head again," he went on,
"and godly men are persecuted."
"Those same godly men," said I, "have had their turn before now, sir. To
many it seems as if they were only receiving what they gave." For the
fellow had roused me to some little temper by his wearisome cursing.
"But the Time of the Lord is at hand," he pursued, "and all men shall
see the working of His wrath. Ay, it shall be seen even in palaces."
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