His Majesty's Well-Beloved

"At the World's Feet, Sir Mountebank!" she cried exultantly, and with a swift movement she flung the weighted Paper far out through the Window. Then, leaning out into the Darkness, she called at the top of her Voice: "To me, Adela! Here is the Message from Mr. Betterton. Take it to my Lord Sidbury at once!"

But Mr. Betterton was no longer in a mental State to care what happened after this; I doubt if he realized just what was impending. He was still on his Knees, holding on to her with both Arms.

"Nay!" he said wildly. "That is as You please. Let the whole World think me base and abject. What care I for Honour, Fame or Integrity now that You are here, and that You will be my Wife?"

Ah! the poor, deluded Fool! How could he be so blind? Already the Lady Barbara had turned on him with flashing Eyes, and a loud, hysterical Laugh of measureless Contempt broke from her Lips.

"Your Wife!" she exclaimed, and that harsh laugh echoed through the Silence of the House. "So, Mr. Actor, you thought to entrap the Daughter of the Marquis of Sidbury into becoming your Wife! … Nay! you miserable Fool! 'Twas I entrapped and cheated you… Your Wife! Ye Saints in Heaven, hear him! His Wife! The Wife of Thomas Betterton, the Mountebank!! I!!!"

Her Words, her Laughter, the Bitterness of her Contempt, stung him like a Whip-lash. In an instant, he was on his Feet, staggered back till he came in contact with the Desk, to which he clung with both hands, while he faced her, his Cheeks pale as Ashes, his Eyes glowing with a Light that appeared almost maniacal.

"You cheated me?" he murmured inarticulately. "You lied to me? … You … I'll not believe it … I'll not believe it…"

She appeared not to heed him, was gazing out of the Window, shouting directions to some one – her waiting-maid, no doubt, or other Confidante – who was searching for the Paper down below.

"There, Adela!" she called out eagerly. "Dost see … just by those bushes … something white … my brooch… Dost see?"

Suddenly she gave a Cry of Triumph, and then turned back exultantly to her baffled Foe.

"My maid," she said, somewhat wildly, and panting as if she were exhausted with fast running. "We had planned it all … She is devoted to me … She has been on the Watch … She has the paper now … There!" she added, and with outstretched arm pointed out into the Gloom beyond. "There; Do you see?"

Can You wonder that her Trickery, her Contempt had made him mad? Indeed, even I felt that at that moment I could have held her slender throat between my two Hands and crushed the Life out of her. To a Man of Mr. Betterton's temperament, the Provocation was obviously beyond his Powers of Endurance. Even in the dim Light, I could see a positive Fury of Passion akin to Hate literally distorting his Face. The next second he was once more by her side, and whilst she still cried wildly: "Do you see? Do you see? Run, Adela, run!" he seized her in his arms and retorted roughly:

"I see nothing now but your Beauty, and that has made me mad."

"Run, Adela! Run!" she cried again. "That message from Mr. Betterton is for the whole World to see!"

But he held her tightly round the Shoulders now, and she, probably realizing her Danger for the first time, strove to struggle against his Embrace.

"Let me go!" she commanded. "Let me go! or I swear by God in Heaven that I will find the Strength to kill myself and You."

"I love You," was his only reply to her Threat. "Nay!" he added, speaking in rapid, jerky Phrases, the while she continued to struggle with ever growing loss of Power. "You shall kill me later if You will, but not till I have lived. My Dear, my Love, my Saint! Have I not worshipped you for days and months? Have I not held You in Dream in my Arms? You are my Muse, my Divinity, my Hope! Mine! Mine! Exquisite, adorable Lady Barbara! No! No! You cannot escape, struggle how You might. This is my hour! 'Tis you who gave it me, and I defy Heaven itself to rob me of a single instant!"

My God! what could I do? More and more did I curse the Folly and Cowardice which had kept me riveted to this Spot all this while. Now there was nothing for it but to reveal my Presence, to draw upon my foolish Head the Contempt and Anger of a Man for whom I would gladly have laid down my Life. My Brain became confused. I ceased to see clearly. A ruddy Mist was gathering before my Eyes. I was on the Verge of losing Consciousness and was struggling pitifully to retain Command over my Senses. Through this fast approaching Swoon I could hear, as through an intervening Veil, the hoarse and broken Accents of the Voice that I loved so well:

"You are here alone with me. The last shred of my Reason is scattered to the Winds. England, Fame, the World, are empty Words to me. Do you not see that now I am ready to die an hundred Deaths, for at last I shall have lived … I shall have held You in my Arms."

And one great and pitiful Appeal from her Lips: "Oh, God! If there is Justice in Heaven – defend me now – "

And, even half conscious as I was, I saw her – yes, saw her quite distinctly give a sudden wrench which freed her right Arm. She plunged her Hand into the bosom of her Gown, and the next instant the flickering light of the Candle flashed a vivid gleam upon the narrow steel blade of a dagger which she held. This, with the swiftness of lightning, brought me back to the Consciousness of the present, grim Reality. With a loud and sudden Cry, I darted out of my Hiding Place and stood there before them both, pale no doubt with a well-nigh unearthly Pallor, which must have given me the Appearance of a Ghost.

It was now the Lady Barbara who was nigh to Swooning. But, with that coolness which comes at times to the Helpless and the Weak, I had already snatched her Veil from the Desk, and whilst she tottered and almost fell into my Arms, I wrapped it around her Head.

"Quick! The Door!" I said. "You are quite safe!"

I dared not look at Mr. Betterton. Indeed, I could not even now tell You in what Attitude or with what Expression of Face he watched me whilst I seemed thus to take Command of the Situation. The Lady Barbara was trembling so violently that some few moments elapsed before she was able to walk across the Room. When she finally did so, her Foot kicked against the Dagger which had dropped from her Hand when I so suddenly appeared before her. She gave a faint Cry of Horror, and I stooped and picked up the Dagger and placed it back in her Hand without looking at her.

5

Her Ladyship then went on towards the door. But suddenly she came to a halt, and I, who was close to her heels, paused likewise, for I felt that every drop of Blood within me had turned to Ice. From the Hall below there had come the sound of angry Altercation and a Man's voice was raised loudly and peremptorily, saying:

"Let me pass, man! I will speak with Mr. Betterton."

The voice was that of my Lord Stour.

The Lady Barbara stood quite still for a moment, rigid as a carved Statue. Then a low, inexpressibly pathetic Moan rose to her Lips.

"Oh! for the Earth to open!" she cried pitiably, "and bury me and this Shame – "

She was overwrought and weak with Emotion, but in any Event it was a terrible Position for any Lady of Rank to be found in, at this late hour, and alone. Overcome no doubt with the superabundance of harrowing Sensations, she tottered as if about to swoon. Mr. Betterton caught her as she fell.

"My Divinity! My Queen!" he murmured quickly. "No one shall harm you, I swear it! No one shall!" Then he added under his breath: "Heaven above me, help me to protect her!"

Whereupon he lifted her up in his Arms as if she were a Child, and carried her as far as the Embrasure of the Window. Then, with one of those quick movements which were so characteristic of him, he drew the Curtains together, which shut off the Bay from the rest of the Room and screened its fair Occupant completely from view.

He was a different Man now to the Passion-racked Creature of awhile ago; absolutely calm; the Man I had known and loved and respected all these years. Though my whole Being was still convulsed in an Agony of Apprehension, I felt that from him now would come moral Comfort for me and Protection for the unfortunate Lady, whose Burden of Sorrow had at last touched his Heart. And I do verily believe, dear Lady, that in that Instant of supreme Danger for us all, his Passion fell from him like a Curtain from before his Eyes. It had gone through its culminating Anguish when he discovered that she whom he loved had lied to him and cheated him. Now, when she stood here before him, utterly helpless and utterly crushed, his Infatuation appeared to writhe for one Moment in the Crucible of his own Manliness and Chivalry, and then to emerge therefrom hallowed and purified.

6

In the meanwhile, less than a minute had elapsed. My Lord Stour had ascended the Stairs, undeterred by the Protestations of Mr. Betterton's Servant. The next moment he had violently wrenched the Door open and now stood before us, pale, trembling with Rage or Excitement, hatless, his Mantle thrown back from his Shoulders. His right Hand clutched his naked Sword, and in his Left he had a crushed ball of paper, held together by her Ladyship's brooch. His entire Attitude was one of firm and deadly Menace.

"I heard a Voice!" he exclaimed, staring wildly around him. "I saw a Face – a Form… This Paper was flung out from yonder Window … was picked up by a serving Wench… What does it mean?" he queried harshly, and advanced threateningly towards Mr. Betterton, who was standing midway between him and the curtained Bay.

"How can I tell?" riposted the great Actor blandly, with a careless Shrug of his Shoulders. "I was not moon-gazing, as your Lordship appears to have done. A paper, did You say?"

"You are not alone," retorted my Lord roughly. "I heard a voice … just now…"

"We are all apt to hear voices in the moonlight, my Lord," Mr. Betterton rejoined simply. "The Artist hears his Muse, the Lover his Mistress, the Criminal his Conscience."

His unruffled calm seemed to exasperate his Lordship's fury, for he now appeared even more menacing than before.

"And did You perchance hear a Voice to-night, Sir Actor," he queried, his voice hoarse with Passion, "warning You of Death?"

"Nay!" replied Mr. Betterton. "That Voice whispers to Us all, and always, my Lord, even in our Cradles."

"Then hear it for the last time now, and from my Lips, you abominable Mountebank!" my Lord cried, beside himself in truth. "For unless You draw aside that Curtain, I am going to kill You."

"That is as you please," retorted Mr. Betterton simply.

"Stand aside!" commanded his Lordship.

But Mr. Betterton looked him calmly up and down and did not move one inch.

"This is a most unwarrantable Interference," he said quietly, "with the Freedom of His Majesty's well-beloved Servant. Your Lordship seems to forget that every inch of this Floor is mine, and that I stand on it where I please. I pray you, take that Paper – that Message – elsewhere. An it came down from Heaven, read it – but leave me in Peace."

"I'll not go," asserted my Lord harshly, "till you have drawn aside that Curtain."

"Then we'll see whose Legs will weary first, my Lord, yours or mine," was Mr. Betterton's unruffled rejoinder.

"Draw then and defend yourself!" cried my Lord, who before his Enemy's unbroken Calm, had lost what Semblance of Self-Control he still possessed.

"I am unarmed," riposted Mr. Betterton simply.

"Then let Satan have his due," exclaimed the young Hothead, and raised his Sword ready to strike, "for your Soul shall go down to Hell at last!"

In a moment, of course, I was on him. But he had the vigour of a trained Soldier, enhanced by an overwhelming Passion of Enmity and of Rage; and though I seized him unawares – I doubt if he had realized that I was in the Room – he shook me off in an instant, as a Dog might shake off an importunate Rat. Before I had time to recover my breath from his quick and furious Defence, he had turned on me and dealt me such a vigorous Blow with his Fist between the Eyes, that the whole Room began to gyrate around me and the Atmosphere became peopled with Stars. I staggered and half fell against the Dresser that had sheltered me awhile ago. For the space of half a dozen seconds mine Eyes were closed.

7

When I opened them again, the Scene had indeed changed. Her Ladyship had pushed the Curtains aside and stood there in the window Embrasure, revealed to her irate Lover. And he, though he must have known that she was there all the Time, appeared so staggered by her Apparition that his Arm dropped by his side and his Sword fell with a clatter to the Ground, while he murmured as if in the last Throes of mental Suffering:

"Barbara … my Barbara .. here – alone – at night … with this Man!.."

Her Ladyship, however, appeared perfectly composed. The light of the Candles revealed her exquisite Face, pale but serene, and her small Head crowned with the Aureole of her golden Hair, held up proudly as one who hath naught to fear, naught for which she need be ashamed. She pointed with perfect steadiness to the Paper which my Lord still held tightly clasped in his left Hand.

"That paper!" she said, and only a slight veiling of her Voice betrayed the Emotion which she felt. "I sent it. 'Tis for you, my Lord. It will clear your Honour, and proclaim your Innocence."

But his Lordship did not appear to hear her. He continued to murmur to himself mechanically, and in tones of the deepest Despair:

"Barbara … alone … with him!"

"Read that Paper, my dear Lord," her Ladyship insisted with calm dignity, "ere with another Thought you further dare to wrong me!"

These simple Words, however, so full of conscious Worth and of Innocence, let loose the Floodgates of my Lord's pent-up, insensate jealousy.

"Wrong you!" he cried, and a harsh, almost maniacal laugh broke from his choking Throat. "Wrong you! Nay! I suppose I must be grateful and thank Heaven on my Knees that You, my promised Bride, deigned to purchase mine Honour at the Price of your Kisses!"

At this gross Insult her Ladyship uttered a pitiful Moan; but ere she could give Reply, Mr. Betterton, who hitherto had not interfered between the Twain, now did so, and in no measured Tone.

"Silence, Madman!" he commanded, "ere You blaspheme."

But my Lord had apparently lost his last Shred of Reason. Jealousy was torturing him in a manner that even Hatred had failed to do.

"God!" he exclaimed repeatedly, calling to the Almighty to witness his Soul-Misery. "I saw her at that Window… Who else saw her?.. How many Varlets and jabbering Coxcombs know at the present moment that the Lady Barbara Wychwoode spends the night alone with a Mountebank?" In an excess of ungoverned Rage he tore the Paper to shreds and threw the Scraps almost into her Ladyship's Face. "Take back your Proofs!" he cried. "I'll not take mine Honour from Your hands! Ah!" he added, and now turned once more toward Mr. Betterton, who, I could see, was calmly making up his Mind what next to do. "Whoever you are – Man or Devil – are you satisfied with your Revenge? Was it not enough to cover me with Infamy; what need had You to brand Her with Dishonour?"

Overcome with Emotion, his Soul on the Rack, his Heart wounded and bleeding, he appeared like a lost Spirit crying out from an Abyss of Torment. But these last Ravings of his, these final, abominable Insults, levelled against the Woman who had done so much for him, and whom he should have been the first to protect, lashed Mr. Betterton's ire and contempt into holy Fury.

"Ye gods in Heaven, hear him!" he cried, with an outburst of Rage at least as great as that of the other Man. "He loves her, and talks of Dishonour, whilst I love her and only breathe of Worship! By all the Devils in Hell, my Lord Stour, I tell you that you lie!"

And before any of us there realized what he meant to do, he ran to the Window, threw open all the Casements with such violence that the glass broke and fell clattering down upon the gravelled place below.

"Hallo!" he called in a stentorian Voice. "Hallo, there!"

My Lord Stour, bewildered, un-understanding, tried to bluster.

"What are you doing, man?" he queried roughly. "Silence! Silence, I say!"

But Mr. Betterton only shouted the louder.

"Hallo, there! Friends! Enemies! England! Here!"

I could hear the Tumult outside. People were running hither from several directions, thinking, no doubt, that a Fire had broken out or that Murder was being done. I could hear them assembling beneath the window, which was not many feet from the Ground. "Why! it's Tom Betterton!" some of them said. And others added: "Hath he gone raving mad?"

"Is any one there who knows me?" queried Mr. Betterton loudly.

"Yes! Yes!" was the ready response.

"Who is it?" he asked, peering into the darkness below.

I heard Sir William Davenant's voice give reply.

"Killigrew and I are down here, Tom. What in the Name of – is the matter?"

"Come round to my rooms, Davenant," Mr. Betterton replied; "and bring as many friends with you as you can."

He was standing in the Bay of the Window, and his Figure, silhouetted against the Light in the Room, must have been plainly visible to the crowd outside. That a number of People had assembled by now was apparent by the Hum and Hubbub which came to us from below. Unable to restrain my Curiosity, I too approached the open Casements and peered out into the Gloom. Just as I thought, quite a Crowd had collected down there, some of whom were making ready to climb up to the Window by way of the Gutter-pipes or the solid stems of the Ivy, whilst others were trooping down the narrow little Alley which connects Tothill Street with the Park at the base of Mr. Betterton's house. There was a deal of talking, laughing and shouting. "Tom Betterton is up to some Prank," I heard more than one Person say.

8

Perhaps You will wonder what was my Lord's Attitude during the few minutes – it was less than five – which elapsed between the Instant when Mr. Betterton first threw open the Casements, and that when the Crowd, headed by Sir William Davenant and Mr. Killigrew, trooped down the Alley on their Way to this House. To me he seemed at first wholly uncomprehending, like a Man who has received a Blow on the Head – just as I did from his Fist a moment ago – and before whose Eyes the Walls of the Room, the Furniture, the People, are all swimming in an Ocean of Stars. I imagine that at one time the Thought flashed as Lightning through his Mind that this was but the culminating Outrage, wherewith his Enemy meant to pillory him and his Bride before a jeering Public. That was the moment when he turned to her Ladyship and, uttering a hoarse Cry, called to her by Name. She was, just then, leaning in semi-consciousness against the Angle of the Bay. She did not respond to his Call, and Mr. Betterton, quick in his Movements, alert now like some Feline on the prowl, stepped immediately in front of Her, facing my Lord and screening Her against his Approach.

"Stand back, Man," he commanded. "Stand back, I tell You! You shall not come nigh Her save on bended Knees, with Head bowed in the Dust, suing for Pardon in that you dared to Insult her."

Everything occurred so quickly, Movements, Events, High Words, threatening Gestures from both sides, followed one another in such rapid Succession, that I, overcome with Agitation and the Effect of the stunning Blow which I had received, was hardly able to take it all in. Much less is it in my Power to give You a faithful Account of it all. Those five Minutes were the most spirit-stirring ones I have ever experienced throughout my Life – every Second appeared surcharged with an exciting Fluid which transported Me to supernal Regions, to Lands of Unrealities akin to vivid Dreams.

At one Moment, I remember seeing my Lord Stour make a rapid and furtive movement in the direction of his Sword, which lay some little Distance from him on the Ground, but Mr. Betterton was quicker even than his Foe, more alert, and with one bound he had reached the Weapon, ere my Lord's Hand was nigh it, had picked it up and, with a terrific Jerk, broke it in half across his Knee. Then he threw the mangled Hilt in one direction, the Point in another, and my Lord raised his Fists, ready, methinks, to fly at his Throat.

But, as I have already told You, dear Mistress, the whole Episode stands but as a confused Mirage before my Mind; and through it all I seemed to see a mere Vision of her Ladyship, pale and ethereal, leaning against the Angle of the Bay; one delicate Hand was clutching the heavy Curtain, drawing it around her as it were, as if in a pathetic and futile Desire to shield herself from view.

CHAPTER XVI

THE GAME OF LOVE

1

In the meanwhile, the Crowd all round the House had visibly swelled. Some People were still standing immediately beneath the Bow-window, whilst Others swarmed into Tothill Street; the foremost amongst the Latter had given a vigorous Tug at the Bell-pull, and the front Door being opened for them by the bewildered Servant, they had made a noisy Irruption into the House. We could hear them clattering up the Stairs, to the Accompaniment of much Laughing and Talking, and the oft-reiterated Refrain: "Tom Betterton is up to some Prank! Hurrah!"

Some few again, more venturesome and certainly more Impudent than most, had indeed succeeded in scrambling up to the Window, and, one after another, Heads and Shoulders began to appear in the Framework of the open Casements.

Her Ladyship had no doubt realized from the first that Escape became impossible, within two Minutes of Mr. Betterton's first Summons to the Public. Just at first, perhaps, if my Lord had preserved his entire Presence of Mind, he might have taken her by the Hand and fled with Her out of the House, before the unruly Crowd had reached Tothill Street. But my Lord, blinded by jealous Rage, had not thought of Her quickly enough, and now the Time was past, and he remained impotent, gasping with Fury, hardly conscious of his Actions. He had been literally swept off his Feet by Mr. Betterton's eagle-winged coup de main, which left him puzzled and the prey to a nameless Terror as to what was about to follow.

Now, when he saw a number of Gentlemen trooping in by the Door, he could but stare at them in utter Bewilderment. Most of these Gallants were personally known to him: Sir William Davenant was in the forefront with Mr. Thomas Killigrew of the King's Theatre, and the Earl of Rochester was with them, as well as Mr. Wycherley. I also recognized Sir Charles Sedley and old Sir John Denham, as well as my Lord Roscommon, among the crowd.

They had all rushed in through the Door, laughing and jesting, as was the wont of all these gay and courtly Sparks; but at sight of the Lady Barbara, they halted. Gibes and unseemly Jokes broke upon their Lips, and for the most part their Hands went up to their Hats, and they made her Ladyship a deep obeisance. Indeed, just then she looked more like a Wraith than a living Woman, and the Light of the Candles, which flickered wildly in the Draught, accentuated the Weirdness of her Appearance.

"What is it, Tom? What is amiss?" Sir William Davenant was thus the first to speak.

"We thought You were playing some Prank."

"You did call from that Window, did You not, Tom?" my Lord Rochester insisted.

And one or two of the Gentlemen nodded somewhat coldly to my Lord Stour.

"Yes. I did call," Mr. Betterton replied, quite firmly. "But 'twas no Whim on my Part thus to drag You into my House. It was not so much my Voice that you heard as the Trumpet blast of Truth."

At this, my Lord Stour broke into one of those harsh, mirthless Fits of Laughter which betokened the perturbation of his Spirit.

"The Truth!" he exclaimed with a cutting Sneer. "From You?"

"Aye! the Truth!" Mr. Betterton rejoined with perfect calm, even whilst his Friends glanced, puzzled and inquiring, from my Lord Stour to him, and thence to her Ladyship's pale face, and even to Me. "The Truth," he added with a deep Sigh as of intense Relief; "The Truth, at Last!"

He stood in the centre of the Room, with one Hand resting upon the Desk, his Eyes fixed fearlessly upon the Sea of Faces before him. Not the slightest Tremor marred the perfect Harmony of his Voice, or the firm poise of his manly Figure. You know as well as I do, dear Mistress, the marvellous Magnetism of Mr. Betterton's Personality, the Way he hath of commanding the Attention of a Crowd, whenever he chooseth to speak. Think of him then, dear Lady, with Head thrown back, his exquisite Voice rising and falling in those subtle and impressive Cadences wherewith he is wont to hold an Audience enthralled. Of a truth, no experienced Manager in Stage-Craft could have devised so thrilling an Effect, as the Picture which Mr. Betterton – the greatest Actor of this or of any Time – presented at that Moment, standing alone, facing the Crowd which was thrilled into deadly Silence, and with the wraith-like Figure of that exquisitely beautiful Woman as a Foil to his own self-possessed, virile Appearance.