That night Richard made free talk of the undertaking to Diana and to Ruth, loving, as does the pusillanimous, to show himself engaged in daring enterprises. Emulating his friend Sir Rowland, he held forth with prolixity upon the great service he was to do the State, and Ruth, listening to him, was proud of his zeal, the sincerity of which it never entered her mind to doubt.
Diana listened, too, but without illusions concerning Master Richard, and she kept her conclusions to herself.
During the afternoon of the morrow, which was Sunday, Sir Rowland returned to Bridgwater, his mission to Feversham entirely successful, and all preparations made. He completed his arrangements, and towards eight o'clock that night the twenty men sent by Feversham - they had slipped singly into the town - began to muster in the orchard at the back of Mr. Newlington's house.
It was just about that same hour that Mr. Wilding, saddle-worn and dust-clogged in every pore, rode into Bridgwater, and made his way to the sign of The Ship in the High Street, overlooking the Cross where Trenchard was lodged. His friend was absent - possibly gone with his men to the sermon Ferguson was preaching to the army in the Castle Fields. Having put up his horse, Mr. Wilding, all dusty as he was, repaired straight to the Castle to report himself to Monmouth.
He was informed that His Majesty was in council. Nevertheless, urging that his news was of importance, he begged to be instantly announced.
After a pause, he was ushered into a lofty, roomy chamber where, in the fading daylight, King Monmouth sat in council with Grey and Wade, Matthews, Speke, Ferguson, and others. At the foot of the table stood a sturdy country-fellow, unknown to Wilding. It was Godfrey, the spy, who was to act as their guide across Sedgemoor that night; for the matter that was engaging them just then was the completion of their plansfor the attack that was to be made that very night upon Feversham's unprepared camp - a matter which had been resolved during the last few hours as an alternative preferable to the retreat towards Gloucester that had at first been intended.
Wilding was shocked at the change that had been wrought in Monmouth's appearance during the few weeks since last he had seen him. His face was thin, pale, and haggard, his eyes were more sombre, and beneath them there were heavy, dark stains of sleeplessness and care, his very voice, when presently he spoke, seemed to have lost the musical timbre that had earlier distinguished it; it was grown harsh and rasping. Disappointment after disappointment, set down to ill-luck, but in reality the fruit of incompetence, had served to sour him. The climax had been reached in the serious desertions after the Philips Norton fight, and the flight of Paymaster Goodenough with the funds for the campaign. The company sat about the long oak table on which a map was spread, and Colonel Wade was speaking when Wilding entered.
On his appearance Wade ceased, and every eye was turned upon the messenger from London. Ferguson, fresh from his sermon, sat with elbows resting on the table, his long chin supported by his hands, his eyes gleaming sharply under the shadow of his wig which was pulled down in front to the level of his eyebrows.
It was the Duke who addressed Mr. Wilding, and the latter's keen ears were quick to catch the bitterness that underlay his words.
"We are glad to see you, sir; we had not looked to do so again.""Not looked to do so, Your Gr... Majesty!" he echoed, plainly not understanding, and it was observed that he stumbled over the Duke's new title.
"We had imagined that the pleasures of the town were claiming your entire attention."Wilding looked from one to the other of the men before him, and on the face of all he saw a gravity that amounted to disapproval of him.
"The pleasures of the town?" said he, frowning, and again - "the pleasures of the town? There is something in this that I fear I do not understand.""Do you bring us news that London has risen?" asked Grey suddenly.
"I would I could," said Wilding, smiling wistfully. "Is it a laughing matter?" quoth Grey angrily.
"A smiling matter, my lord," answered Wilding, nettled. "Your lordship will observe that I did but smile.""Mr. Wilding," said Monmouth darkly, "we are not pleased with you.""In that case," returned Wilding, more and more irritated, "Your Majesty expected of me more than was possible to any man.""You have wasted your time in London, sir," the Duke explained. "We sent you thither counting upon your loyalty and devotion to ourselves.
What have you done?"
"As much as a man could..." Wilding began, when Grey again interrupted him.
"As little as a man could," he answered. "Were His Grace not the most foolishly clement prince in Christendom, a halter would be your reward for the fine things you have done in London."Mr. Wilding stiffened visibly, his long white face grew set, and his slanting eyes looked wicked. He was not a man readily moved to anger, but to be greeted in such words as these by one who constituted himself the mouthpiece of him for whom Wilding had incurred ruin was more than he could bear with equanimity; that the risks to which he had exposed himself in London - where, indeed, he had been in almost hourly expectation of arrest and such short shrift as poor Disney had - should be acknowledged in such terms as these, was something that turned him almost sick with disgust. To what manner of men had he leagued himself?
He looked Grey steadily between the eyes.
"I mind me of an occasion on which such a charge of foolish clemency might, indeed - and with greater justice - have been levelled against His Majesty," said he and his calm was almost terrible.
