Most Secret (30 page)

“Join your number, will I? Salvation Gaines, do you care to lay a wager on
that?
”

“I do not lay wagers; ’tis an impious practice. Still, if I did, I would put my very soul into the business. Yes: you will join us in happiness and rejoicing, and indeed you can do no other.

“Come!” added Gaines, uprolling his eyes and spreading out his hands in appeal. “Could I have spoken with you in private yesterday, I could have opened the matter and unburdened my heart. But this could not be; you were for ever in the company of the man Abraham. Besides, if I may say so, these poor hands were somewhat occupied.”

“They were occupied, for one thing, with the slaughtering of Harker and Butterworth. Is that what you call worthy work?”

“Poor boy, this had to be!”

“Now, damn my soul—!”

“No blasphemies, I beg!” Gently Gaines touched Kinsmere’s forehead with the point of the knife. “Come! When you and the man Abraham skulked in a cupboard at that tavern, was I not close behind you; and unseen as I am always unseen? Did I not hear Harker, out of overweening vanity, boast of his deeds and his knowledge to a shameless harlot, and so betray our group of patriots to what might have been their undoing?

“Butterworth (need I say it?) was a case near as bad. He was a stupid man, a weak man. He had allowed himself to be trapped by Charles Stuart. Only a few questions, only a touch of rough handling at the Tower, and he would have confessed all. Could this be permitted? You know it could not. Is there not scriptural authority if I cry that the end justifies the means? And so, for the preservation of a band of patriots …”

Kinsmere repeated the word, in no sympathetic tone.

“Yes, patriots!” retorted Gaines, not so amiably now. “If you like, however, I will rejoice in vile insults as martyrs have ever rejoiced in the arena or the cross. I will accept your term ‘band of malcontents’ and ‘plotter-in-chief.’ Who were or are these people? Myself. Harker. Butterworth. There are only two more of us, one of whom I need not mention because he is of no consequence. But the other one, the important one—”

“The plotter-in-chief, then?”

“
I
prefer to say our patron, but have it so. Only I am fully in his confidence: only I know what he means to do.”

“Well?”

“Well!” said Gaines, and showed his teeth. “What did the plotter-in-chief design, and doth still design as we approach the hour of triumph? Touching this there has been much misconception, even in our band itself. Harker, even poor Butterworth, died in the belief that it was a scheme against the body politic, a plan to cast Charles Stuart from his throne.”

“And it’s not that?”

“No, it is not that: unless the King of England shall prove too troublesome when he sees himself ensnared.” Gaines stood up straight. “Did we destroy him, whom should we substitute? One day in future, no doubt, a return of the ever-glorious Commonwealth, with some worthy and pious man like Oliver (myself, for instance) raised from modest gentleman’s beginnings to the very Seats of the Mighty! Meanwhile, no. Charles Stuart—whoremonger though he may be, Papist at heart though he is—will serve the day well enough. He owns certain graces; he is popular with the vulgar. He will serve, that is, provided he obey the behest of Parliament; provided he walk in sober ways, put aside evil women and cease to squander money upon them; provided, to be short, he does precisely as he is told in all things.

“And he will do this, be assured. Upon one thing His Majesty is resolved: he will go no more on his travels, nor risk axe and block as his father did. Over him, shortly, my patron will hold a document so damning that he will be tied hand and foot. As my patron has a grip fast on the king, so I shall have a grip fast on my patron. Even the godliest man must protect his own interests, else where is he? And you, Roderick Kinsmere,” Gaines suddenly cried, “will do as
you
are bid in all things. Do you follow me?”

About the man there was such raptness, such blazing certainty, that Kinsmere felt shaken as though by great hands.

“Follow you? How?”

“You will stand on the quarter-deck of this ship. You will whistle the other messenger to his doom. Afterwards, as a good patriot and one of us, you will do what else I shall bid at any time.”

“You think so, do you? Why will I?”

“Because, rash youth who would not be warned,” answered Gaines,
“the plotter-in-chief of this band of malcontents is your guardian, Mr. Roger Stainley.”

Then the pious one’s voice seemed to come from a great distance.

“I greatly fear,” he said, “I have astonished and even shocked you. You will cry fie and out upon it; you will profess not to believe me. And yet, had you paused but a moment to reflect—as you never have—you would have seen this fact as inevitable.”

Wind and sea went by; a quiet wind and a calm sea, with only the wake like a millrace. Captain Félix Souter (“I don’t want to ’urt you; I am commanded not to ’urt you”) rose up massively and poured Kinsmere a goblet of wine. Again he drank off the sweet Madeira, choking a little; and set down the goblet. He was shocked at Gaines’s words, yes; nevertheless, in a tumult of conflicting feelings, was he so very astonished after all?

For he was pursuing other memories, and conjuring up other words.

In his mind rose the image of Roger Stainley: the shrewd, correct, mildly cynical face; the spectacles, the sober elegance, the pitted wrinkles from a troubled mind; of Roger Stainley, at their only interview, waiting in the foyer of York House without hope of being received by the Duke of Buckingham.

If you are a suitor of some kind, or he owes you money,
the banker’s words came back,
you are not like to see him at all. ’Tis a thing far easier to gain audience with the king. His Majesty pays no debts, on my life; but at least he is mighty affable and civil in putting you off.

And so he remembered Roger Stainley, clearly taken aback when Kinsmere arrived to claim an inheritance several days too early; Roger Stainley, who had urged him to keep as much as possible out of sight, and to speak with few unless the banker himself could be there.

Aboard the
Thunderer,
now, he listened to the rush of the wake.

“Stop!” he said suddenly. “We thought—”

“
You
thought?” interrupted Gaines, thrusting forward with a barely concealed sneer. “Who thought?”

“Bygones Abraham and I. Or I thought, at all events …”

“Is it so? And what did you think?”

“In seeking the plotter-in-chief, I surmised it must be a man of importance. A great lord, that’s to say, of power or influence at court. But what
is
importance, and how is it measured? In plottings of this kind, for the motives that prompt it, the most important man is the man who holds the moneybags, and can open or shut ’em at will.”

“It dawns upon you at last, does it? This is indeed the person of consequence: Roger Stainley. Remember that, foolish youth, and consider how you will ruin yourself unless you join our group of patriots. What is the fortune Roger Stainley holds in trust for you? Ninety thousand pounds, or is it a hundred thousand? Not to be thrown away, I think. Not even to be endangered by a stubborn whim. However!” said Salvation Gaines. “Since no man guessed what we were about, or in any way pierced the design …”

“I will give you odds, damn me, that Bygones Abraham guessed. And I
ought
to have guessed, from the lies you told last night.”

“Lies, young man?”

“What else? At Whitehall Palace, in the set of chambers I did not know was reserved for me, you gave details of a private discourse I had with Mr. Stainley. If the king had learned so much concerning me and my affairs, where did
you
learn?

“You said,” continued Kinsmere; “you
said
you had overheard the talk between Mr. Stainley and me in a window embrasure at York House. That was as false as you are false.”

“Have a care, Roderick Kinsmere; have a care!”

“When we spoke of the things you referred to, we were not in the window embrasure at all. We had withdrawn to a garden behind the house. We were alone in a place of little low flower beds so lacking in concealment that not so much as a dog or a cat could have approached us unseen. When you spun the tale at Whitehall last night, I felt that much in it must be false; yet I could not recall exactly wherein lay the falsity or put finger on it as I now do. Since you could not have overheard what we said …”

“Have your say; be not afraid. Since I could not have overheard what you said …”

“Nobody could have overheard. You quoted certain things; those things were true. You could have learned such intimate matters only if Mr. Stainley himself had told you. And therefore—”

He stopped.

Salvation Gaines, still holding the knife in one hand, raised both arms above his head and made a kind of triumphant bow.

“Come!” urged Gaines. “Bear up and take courage! These facts, believe me, will do you good. They are sour-tasting; but like all truth they will do you good. Once you have recovered a little from your astonishment and your shock—”

“I am not so astonished as you conceive I ought to be. Shocked I was and still am. Even now, if you think I swallow such statements readily,”—here the ship gave a slight uneasy lurch,—“I must be a worse dolt and zany than you take me for. Roger Stainley, by all the powers? Roger Stainley, the plotter-in-chief of the malcontents? He was my father’s friend; my father trusted him …!”

“Why, and your father was in the right of it. Who
is
more trustworthy than Roger Stainley, or hath ever been? Are you so dense as not to see that all he desires is the return of moneys rightfully owed him? All he desires is justice, else Stainley’s Bank will be ruined in a fortnight And if, to obtain justice, he must adopt stern measures …”

“Salvation Gaines, what is your definition of stern measures? Group of patriots, you say? Patriots how? You are no little Cabal playing at government; you are a parcel of the prettiest rogues and traitors unhanged. And some things I can’t believe: rot me, I
won’t
believe. That Roger Stainley, of all people, should share this passion for stabbing men in the back!”

“Alas, I fear he is not wise enough.”

“Not wise enough?”

“I must confess,” Gaines leered across the table, “Mr. Stainley forbade violence. Being unsound in religious doctrine (Church of England, forsooth!), he is always timorous and often unwise. But I, acquainted with the hazards involved and the tall dangers amid which we walk, made better decisions in the common interest. For the rest, shall we argue it? Do you call your trustee a rogue because he would have paid back the vast sums borrowed by a thriftless king: failure to repay which (need I say it?) will encompass the wreck of an honoured banking house and the ruin of so many innocents, including your own self? If this be roguery, what is fair dealing?

“Do you also call him traitor? Here are strange words! Listening in the Hebe Room at the Devil tavern while you and the man Abraham and your notorious strumpet were in Cupid next door (pah, these heathen names!), I heard the man Abraham make shrewd hints as to the plot now going forward between the King of England and the King of France. Knowing what you do know, answer me one question. In two plots opposed to each other, which is the real traitor. Roger Stainley—or Charles Stuart?”

Much as he hated Gaines and all to do with Gaines, this was a home thrust straight through Kinsmere’s guard. He did not reply. Again Gaines did a little capering dance, and ran at my grandfather with the knife in his hand.

“It is true,” Gaines snapped, “I went last night to Whitehall Palace and spoke much I could not have learned save from Roger Stainley. At York House that morning, speaking to me after he had said good-bye to you in the garden, he bade me follow you lest you be led incontinent towards mischief. Could he guess (nay, could he even dream?) the extent of the mischief into which you would walk?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“The details of that day you know or can deduce. By evening I had attained a certain desperation, as who would not? It seemed probable that His Majesty would send you and the man Abraham as his messengers to France. I must fish; I must learn; I must anticipate and set at naught And so—”

“You showed yourself at Whitehall Palace,” said Kinsmere, “with a mythical invitation to me from the Duke of Buckingham. A wherry would call at nine, you announced. If not to York House, then to Mr. Stainley. Why? To lure me away and knock me on the head?”

“Oh, what a stupid youth is this! There was no cause to harm you. Have you not been shown (by Mr. Stainley’s command) the most extreme consideration throughout? A wherry
was
ready; it would have taken you to the City. Hired bravos would have guarded you on the way to Lombard Street. I could have gone with you; I could have explained you must meddle no more in the king’s schemes lest your fortune be lost you. And I should have succeeded; what man acts against his own interest? But—”

“I refused to go to Lombard Street?”

“You refused; you were not persuaded. And this meant France, almost for a certainty. To Mr. Stainley I wrote a brief line, giving a street porter sixpence to run with it to Lombard Street. Mr. Stainley waited there with the other and last member of our group of patriots. They need not send their wherry, I wrote; let them do with it as they liked. You and the man Abraham would most probably leave on the king’s business according to the customary arrangement;
I
had other plans. What plans, you ask?”

“Yes; I do ask!”

“And yet need you, considering what befell?”

“Possibly not.” Kinsmere had forgotten his headache. “You watched and waited, as you had been doing all day. Butterworth overheard the king say we
were
bound for France. Butterworth told you this, after which he walked into the king’s trap. You were as alert as usual; you struck like a snake and killed him …”

“It was necessary. But was it not beautiful too?”

“Beautiful?”

“Come!” said Gaines—and laughed. “I had near to three hours’ start; I am no indifferent horseman; I had Harker’s ring. And so I rode to Dover, paying for my own post horses and displaying the ring only when any man would have stayed me. The scheme (genius, I think?) rose full-aimed in my brain even as I prepared to ride. At Dover lay this ship; the
Thunderer
.”