Anthony Wilding by Raphael Sabatini

Author:Raphael Sabatini
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Stratus

Chapter 14

HIS GRACE IN COUNSEL

Mr Christopher Battiscomb, that mild-mannered Dorchester gentleman, who, like Wade, was by vocation a lawyer, was ushered into the Duke’s presence. He was dressed in black, and, like Ferguson, was almost smothered in a great periwig, which he may have adopted for purposes of disguise rather than adornment. Certainly he had none of that air of the soldier of fortune which distinguished his brother of the robe. He advanced, hat in hand, towards the table, greeting the company about it, and Wilding observed that he wore silk stockings and shoes, upon which there rested not a speck of dust. Mr Battiscomb was plainly a man who loved his ease, since on such a day he had travelled to Lyme in a coach. The lawyer bent low to kiss the Duke’s hand, and scarce was that formal homage paid than questions poured upon him from Grey, from Fletcher, and from Ferguson.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” the Duke entreated them, smiling; and remembering their manners they fell silent.

As Wilding afterwards told Trenchard, they reminded him of a parcel of saucy lacqueys who take liberties with an upstart master for whom they are wanting in respect.

“I am glad to see you, Battiscomb,” said Monmouth, when quiet was restored, “and I trust I behold in you a bearer of good tidings.”

The lawyer’s full face was usually pale; tonight it was, in addition, solemn, and the smile that haunted his lips was a courtesy smile that expressed neither mirth nor satisfaction. He cleared his throat, as if nervous. He avoided the Duke’s question as to the quality of the news he brought by answering that he had made all haste to come to Lyme upon hearing of His Grace’s landing. He was surprised, he said; as well he might be, for the arrangement was that having done his work he was to return to Holland and report to Monmouth upon the feeling of the gentry.

“But your news, Battiscomb,” the Duke insisted.

“Aye,” put in Grey; “in Heaven’s name, let us hear that.”

Again there was the little nervous cough from Battiscomb. “I have scarce had time to complete my round of visits,” he temporized. “Your Grace has taken us so by surprise. I… I was with Sir Walter Young at Colyton when the news of your landing came some few hours ago.” His voice faltered and seemed to die away.

“Well?” cried the Duke. His brows were drawn together. Already he realised that Battiscomb’s tidings were not good, else would he be hesitating less in uttering them. “Is Sir Walter with you, at least?”

“I grieve to say that he is not.”

“Not?” It was Grey who spoke, and he followed the ejaculation by an oath. “Why not?”

“He is following, no doubt?” suggested Fletcher.

“We may hope, sirs,” answered Battiscomb, “that in a few days – when he shall have seen the zeal of the countryside – he will be cured of his present lukewarmness.” Thus, discreetly, did the man of law break the bad news he bore.

Monmouth sank back into his chair like one who has lost some of his strength.

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