The Rafael Sabatini Megapack. Rafael SabatiniЧитать онлайн книгу.
do not deny it,” put in Blake. “But we submit that the matter is susceptible to explanation.”
“You can keep your explanations till your trial, then,” snapped Albemarle. “I have heard more than enough to commit the pair of you to gaol.”
“But, Your Grace,” cried Sir Rowland, so fiercely that one of the tything-men set a restraining hand upon his shoulder, “I am ready to swear that what I did, and what my friend Mr. Westmacott did, was done in the interests of His Majesty. We were working to discover this plot.”
“Which, no doubt,” put in Trenchard slyly, “is the reason why, having got the letter, your friend Mr. Westmacott locked it in a desk, and you kept silence on the matter.”
“You see,” exclaimed Albemarle, “how your lies do but serve further to bind you in the toils. It is ever thus with traitors.”
“I do think you are a damned traitor, Trenchard,” began Blake; “a foul…”
But what more he would have said was checked by Albemarle, who thundered forth an order for their removal, and then, scarce were the words uttered than the door at the far end of the hall was opened, and through it came a sound of women’s voices. Richard started, for one was the voice of Ruth.
An usher advanced. “May it please Your Grace, there are two ladies here beg that you will hear their evidence in the matter of Mr. Westmacott and Sir Rowland Blake.”
Albemarle considered a moment. Trenchard stood very thoughtful.
“Indeed,” said the Duke, at last, “I have heard as much as I need hear,” and Sir Phelips nodded in token of concurrence.
Not so, however, Colonel Luttrell. “Still,” said he, “in the interests of His Majesty, perhaps, we should be doing well to receive them.”
Albemarle blew out his cheeks like a man wearied, and stared an instant at Luttrell. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
“Admit them, then,” he commanded almost peevishly, and Ruth and Diana were ushered into the hall. Both were pale, but whilst Diana was fluttered with excitement, Ruth was calm and cool, and it was she who spoke in answer to the Duke’s invitation. The burden of her speech was a clear, succinct recitation—in which she spared neither Wilding nor herself—of how the letter came to have remained in her hands and silence to have been preserved regarding it. Albemarle heard her very patiently.
“If what you say is true, mistress,” said he, “and God forbid that I should be so ungallant as to throw doubt upon a lady’s word, it certainly explains—although most strangely—how the letter was not brought to us at once by your brother and his friend Sir Rowland. You are prepared to swear that this letter was intended for Mr. Wilding?”
“I am prepared to swear it,” she replied.
“This is very serious,” said the Duke.
“Very serious,” assented Sir Edward Phelips.
Albemarle, a little flustered, turned to his colleagues. “What do you say to this? Were it perhaps well to order Mr. Wilding’s apprehension, and to have him brought hither?”
“It were to give yourselves useless trouble, gentlemen,” said Trenchard, with so much assurance that it was plain Albemarle hesitated.
“Beware of Mr. Trenchard, Your Grace,” cried Ruth. “He is Mr. Wilding’s friend, and if there is a plot he is sure to be in it.”
Albemarle, startled, looked at Trenchard. Had the accusation come from either of the men the Duke would have silenced him and abused him; but coming from a woman, and so comely a woman, it seemed to His Grace worthy at least of consideration. But nimble Mr. Trenchard was easily master of the situation.
“Which, of course,” he answered, with fine sarcasm, “is the reason why I have been at work for the past four-and-twenty hours to lay proofs of this plot before Your Grace.”
Albemarle was ashamed of his momentary hesitation.
“For the rest,” said Trenchard, “it is perfectly true that I am Mr. Wilding’s friend. But the lady is even more intimately connected with him. It happens that she is his wife.”
“His…his wife!” gasped the Duke, whilst Phelips chuckled, and Colonel Luttrell’s face grew dark.
Trenchard’s wicked smile flickered upon his mobile features. “There are rumours current of court paid her by Sir Rowland, there. Who knows?” he questioned most suggestively, arching his brows and tightening his lips. “Wives are strange kittle-kattle, and husbands have been known before to grow inconvenient. Upon reflection, Your Grace will no doubt discern the precise degree of faith to attach to what this lady may tell you against Mr. Wilding.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Ruth, her cheeks flaming crimson. “But this is monstrous!”
“Tis how I should myself describe it,” answered Trenchard without shame.
Spurred to it thus, Ruth poured out the entire story of her marriage, and so clear and lucid was her statement that it threw upon the affair a flood of light, whilst so frank and truthful was her tone, her narrative hung so well together, that the Bench began to recover from the shock to its faith, and was again in danger of believing her. Trenchard saw this and trembled. To save Wilding for the Cause he had resorted to this desperate expedient of betraying that Cause. It must be observed, however, that he had not done so save under the conviction that betrayed it was bound to be, and that since that was inevitable the thing had better come from him—for Wilding’s sake—than from Richard Westmacott. He had taken the bull by the horns in a most desperate fashion when he had determined to hoist Richard and Blake with their own petard, hoping that, after all, the harm would reach no further than the destruction of these two—a purely defensive measure. But now this girl threatened to wreck his scheme just as it was being safely steered to harbour. Suddenly he swung round, interrupting her.
“Lies, lies, lies!” he clamoured, and his interruption coming at such a time served to impress the Duke most unfavourably—as well it might.
“It is our wish to hear this lady out, Mr. Trenchard,” the Duke reproved him.
But Mr. Trenchard was undismayed. Indeed, he had just discovered a hitherto neglected card, which should put an end to this dangerous game.
“I do abhor to hear Your Grace’s patience thus abused,” he exclaimed with some show of heat. “This lady makes a mock of you. If you’ll allow me to ask two questions—or perhaps three—I’ll promise finally to prick this bubble for you. Have I Your Grace’s leave?”
“Well, well,” said Albemarle. “Let us hear your questions.” And his colleagues nodded.
Trenchard turned airily to Ruth. Behind her Diana sat—an attendant had fetched a chair for her—in fear and wonder at what she saw and heard, her eyes ever and anon straying to Sir Rowland’s back, which was towards her.
“This letter, madam,” said he, “for the possession of which you have accounted in so…so…picturesque a manner, was intended for and addressed to Mr. Wilding, you say. And you are prepared to swear to it?”
Ruth turned indignantly to the Bench. “Must I answer this man’s questions?” she demanded.
“I think, perhaps, it were best you did,” said the Duke, still showing her all deference.
She turned to Trenchard, her head high, her eyes full upon his wrinkled, cynical face. “I swear, then…” she began, but he—consummate actor that he was and versed in tricks that impress an audience—interrupted her, raising one of his gnarled, yellow hands.
“Nay, nay,” said he. “I would not have perjury proved against you. I do not ask you to swear. It will be sufficient if you pronounce yourself prepared to swear.”
She pouted her lip a trifle, her whole expression manifesting her contempt of him. “I am in no fear of perjuring myself,” she answered fearlessly.