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The Touchstone of Fortune written by Charles Major

C >> Charles Major >> The Touchstone of Fortune




* * * * *

After supper, I found Hamilton in his bedroom, which was connected
by a hidden stairway with the room of the sinking floor. He wore his
Quaker's disguise, and on the table beside him were the Bible and a few
theological works dear to the hearts of his sect. I gave him the box,
telling him its history. The letter was brief and was written in cipher.

George translated it thus:--

"MASTER GEORGE HAMILTON:

"Monsieur le Grand wishes you to pay him a visit immediately.

"DE CATANET."

"You probably know Monsieur le Grand?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered, "and I shall visit him without delay."

"In Paris?" I asked, not quite sure that Monsieur le Grand was King Louis
of France, and not desiring to know certainly.

"In Paris," he answered, giving me to understand by his manner that he
must tell me nothing more definite of Le Grand's identity.

"Don't tell me what you know of the business this letter refers to, but
tell me whether you know," I said, hoping that George might at least tell
me it meant good fortune for him.

"I cannot even conjecture the business upon which I am wanted," he said,
"but I hope that it may give me an opportunity to be of service to the
writer."

Thus I was relieved of the disagreeable task of trying to induce George
to leave England, and was very thankful to escape it.

After a long silence, during which he read the one-line letter many
times, he asked:--

"Are you willing to bring Frances to me early to-morrow morning, if she
will come?"

"Doubtless I can," I answered. "Her willingness to come has been shown
all too plainly of late; but ought I bring her?"

"Yes. It will be the last time I shall ever see her unless good fortune
lies in this letter, and for that I hardly dare hope. You know that when
a man's luck has been against him for a long time, it kills the very
roots of hope and brings him almost to doubt certainty. Soon after I have
seen my friend, Le Grand, I shall write to you in cipher, of which I
shall leave you the key. If I see a prospect of fortune worthy of
Frances, I shall ask her to wait a time for me, but if my ill fortune
pursues me, I shall never again be heard from by any one in England. Are
you satisfied with the conditions?"

I gave him my hand for answer, and told him I would bring Frances to him
early the following morning.

I hastened back to Whitehall, and coming upon Frances unengaged, asked
her to go to her parlor with me. When she had closed the door, she turned
to me, asking:--

"What is it, Baron Ned? Tell me quickly. I know there is something wrong
with George."

"Will you go with me early to-morrow morning to see Betty--very early?"
I asked.

Her eyes opened in wonder, and she answered, somewhat amused: "You have
been acting as my guardian for a long time, cousin Ned, and now I think I
owe it to you to return the favor. You should not see so much of Betty. I
know you mean no wrong to her, but you will cause her great suffering if
you continue to see her, for you must know that already the girl is
almost mad with love of you. Yet you cannot marry her."

"Nor can you marry some one else," I retorted, almost angrily, for a man
dislikes to be prodded by a painful truth.

"Ah, well, I suppose we are a pair of fools," she said.

"You're right, Frances," I answered philosophically, "and the only
consolation we can find lies in the fact that we know it."

"Most fools lack that flattering unction," returned Frances, musingly.

"Perhaps you will take more interest in this matter when I tell you
that it is not Betty I propose to see," I answered. "I am deliberately
offering to take you to see some one else who is about to leave England."

She stood on tiptoe and kissed my lips for answer, then sank into a
chair, covering her face with her hands to hide the sudden tears.

I went to the window and waited till she was calm. I longed to comfort
her by telling of the faint prospect of good fortune that lay in Le
Grand's letter, but I hesitated raising a hope which might never be
realized.

At the end of five minutes I went to her and said: "Let me ask the
duchess to excuse you for to-night, and in the morning I'll meet you on
Bowling Green stairs, at, say, seven o'clock."

"I'll be there," she answered, smiling through her tears.

The next morning we took boat, and the tide running out, made good speed
to the Bridge, hastened to the Old Swan, and found George in his printing
shop awaiting us. I remained in the old tapestried room, leaving Frances
and George to say their farewells. In the course of a few minutes he
called me in. He had donned his Quaker disguise, and on the floor near
him was a small bundle of linen. Frances was weeping, and George's voice
was choked with emotion.

"Well, at last, Baron Ned, you are to be rid of me," he said, glancing
toward the bundle at his feet.

"What are your plans of escape?" I asked.

"I shall work my way down to Sheerness, where I hope to find a boat
for The Hague or the French coast. Lilly, who seems to know everything,
past, present and future, came last night to tell me that the king has
fifty men seeking me in various parts of England, especially the
seaports, and has offered a reward of two hundred pounds for me, dead
or alive, preferably dead, I suppose. If I go direct to Sheerness and try
to take a boat, I am sure to be examined, and I'm not prepared for the
ordeal. So I intend to preach my way down the river and induce the king's
officers to send me abroad by force."

"How are you off for money, George?" I asked.

"I borrowed ten guineas from Lilly," he answered.

"I thought you might be in need of money, so I brought fifty guineas from
the strong box under my bed," I said, offering him the little bag of
gold.

He hesitated, saying: "If I take the money, you may never again see a
farthing of it."

"In that case, I'll take my pay in abusing you," I replied.

"Do you believe he would, Frances?" asked George, turning to my cousin.
Then continuing thoughtfully:

"It is strange that I should have found such a friend at the bottom of a
quarrel, all because I allowed him to abuse me. Truly forbearance is a
profitable virtue. The 'other cheek' is the better of the two."

Upon my insistence, he accepted the gold and gave me the ten guineas he
had borrowed from Lilly, asking me to return them.

Frances was making an entire failure of her effort to hold herself in
check, and George was having difficulty in restraining himself, so, to
bring the interview to an end, he gave me his hand, saying:--

"Thank you, Ned, and good-by. I wish I could hope ever to see you again,
but if Le Grand fails me, I shall go to the new world and lose myself in
the Canadian woods."

"No, no!" cried Frances, imploringly.

"I hope not," began George, but he could not finish, so he took Frances
in his arms for a moment, and when he released her, thrust us both out
the door, saying: "Please leave me at once. If you do not, I fear I shall
never let her go. Take care of her, Ned. Good-by!"

The door closed on us, and when Frances had put on her vizard, she
followed me upstairs to see Betty.

I was not admitted to Betty's room, so I went back to the printing shop
for a moment, and George gave me the key to the cipher, in which we were
to write to each other. His letters were to be sent under cover to Lilly,
and mine were to go to an address in Paris which George would send to me.

Long afterwards George told me of his adventures in making his escape,
but I shall give them now in the order of their happening rather than in
the order of time in which I learned them.

Leaving the Old Swan within ten minutes after I had said good-by to him,
George crossed London Bridge, attired in his Quaker disguise, and made
his way to Deptford, where he preached in the streets. From Deptford
he followed the river by easy stages to Sheerness, where he lodged nearly
a week, awaiting a boat that would answer his purpose. Had he attempted
to board a vessel, he would have been seized and examined; therefore his
plan was to grow violent in his preaching, and, if possible, provoke the
authorities to place him on board one of the outgoing crafts; that being
a favorite method of the king's men in getting rid of the too blatant
fanatics in Sheerness.

The Dutch sea captains were fanatics almost to a man, and the exiled
exhorters found them always willing to help their persecuted brethren of
the faith.

And so it happened with George in Sheerness. He was on the dock exhorting
vehemently against the evils of the time, laying great stress on the
wickedness of the king and denouncing the vileness of the court. Two of
the king's officers tried to silence him, but failing, ordered him to
leave England by a certain Dutch boat then waiting in the harbor with its
pennant up. He protested and struggled, but at last was forced aboard,
raving against those godless Balaamites, the clergy of the Established
Church, who, with the devil, he declared, were behind his persecution.

So well did George play his part that a collection was taken up among the
passengers of the Dutch boat to help the good man so vilely put upon.
There was a sweet bit of irony in the fact, learned afterwards, that the
officers who forced George aboard the Dutch ship were at Sheerness for
the purpose of winning the two hundred pounds reward offered for his
capture.

The goodness of God occasionally takes a whimsical form.

A month later I received a letter from George, written in cipher, which I
here give translated:--

"DEAR FRIEND:

"I reached Paris three weeks ago and was received by Monsieur Le G.
most graciously. Although I cannot give definite news, I hope for great
improvement in my fortune soon, and perhaps may write you more fully
thereof before the week is spent.

"Good fortune has but one meaning for me, of which you already know. I
beg you to say to one that a letter from her hand would give me greater
joy than she can know, and that I would now send one to her if I felt
safe in so doing. Please send all letters in cipher, addressed: 'Monsieur
le Blanc, in care of 'Sieur de Catanet, at the sign of the Double Arrow
on the Rue St. Antoine, counting nine doors from the street corner
nearest the Bastile.'

"Your friend,

"LE BLANC."

When George wrote that he hoped for good fortune, I knew he had
sound reason to expect it, for he was one who never permitted a mere
possibility to take the form of hope, nor hope, however assuring, to
take the aspect of certainty. Knowing this to be true, I found great
joy in the letter, and when I told Frances, she did not pause even to
give me one smile of thanks, but broke into a flood of tears and seemed
to take great happiness in her tribulation.

I told Frances that we should answer the letter at once, and suggested
that she have hers ready in my hands the following day, if she wished to
write one. I also suggested that we meet in Bettina's parlor, where
Frances's letter could be rewritten in cipher. We trusted Bettina as we
trusted ourselves, and when we told her the good news, she clapped her
hands for joy, laughing, yet ready to weep, and was as happy as even she
could be, which was very happy indeed.

After we had talked, laughed, and cried a reasonable time in Betty's
parlor, Frances handed me her letter, which was a bulky document, well
taped and waxed.

"It will require a week for me to translate this," I remarked, weighing
the letter in my hand.

"What do you mean by translating it?" she asked in surprise.

"I must write it out in cipher. Hamilton directed that all letters should
be sent in that form," I answered, amused at her alarm.

"No, no!" she cried, snatching the letter from me, pressing it to her
breast and blushing to her ears. "You shall not see my letter!"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," she answered.

"That is no reason," I replied. "Of course you have written nothing that
you would not want me or your father to see?"

"Well, yes, I have," she returned emphatically. "A great deal. Would you,
Betty, want any one to see such a letter written by yourself?"

"I suppose I could write a letter which I should want but one person in
all the world to see," returned Betty, arching her eyebrows.

"To whom would it be directed, Betty?" I asked, to tease her.

A faint expression of reproach came to her eyes, but after a moment of
pretty hesitancy, she answered boldly:--

"Since you are so unwise as to ask, I'll answer in like folly. The letter
could be directed to but one person in the world--you."

I had received more than I had expected, and though I longed to make a
suitable return, I dared not for the sake of my vows, so we all remained
silent, and somewhat embarrassed, for a minute or two.

Turning to Frances, I said: "If you don't want me to read your letter,
I'll give you the key, and you may make it into cipher." But after
examining the key, she declared that she could never learn to use it, and
I suggested that she write a shorter letter in terms fit for a modest man
to read.

The next day she handed me a shorter letter, saying that she had cut and
pruned it till there was nothing left worth sending, but I assured her
that George would think otherwise.

When I read the letter, my eyes were opened to the fact that there was
more fire in Frances's heart than I had supposed any woman capable of
holding in subjection. But that is a mistake often made by men.

This was my cousin's "cut and pruned" letter:--

"DEAR ONE:

"Baron Ned says my letter must be short, so I smother what remnant of
modesty I have, covering nothing with the veil of circumlocution, but
telling you plainly what I know you want to hear. I love only you and am
true to you in every thought, word, and deed. I long for you, yearn for
you, pray for you, and be your fortune good or ill, I would share it and
give you a part of the bliss of life which you would give to me.

"So I pray you, do not desert me in case your present hope of good
fortune fails you, but let me know at any time, and I will go to you, and
will go with you wherever you will take me.

"You will say, I fear, that none but a crazy woman would write such a
letter as this, but if that be true, the world doubtless is and always
has been populated by maniacs, and I pray God always will be. I pray you,
remember, in judging me, that you are you and that I am but a woman
by whom the good or evil of life is reckoned in the measure of her love;
her joy or misery being only a matter of down weight or light weight more
in the love she gives than in that which she receives. Remember, also,
that in this letter I must condense when I might easily be prolix, and
that after all is written, probably I shall have left unsaid the very
thing I most wished to say. But these three words will tell it all and
bear repeating: I love you.

"FRANCES."

And this from my sensible cousin! What would it be if her heart were not
balanced by a wise head?

Our letters being written, I became alarmed about posting them in London,
not knowing when a messenger would start for France, nor who he would be.
The next day Frances and I talked it over, and she suggested that as the
king and most of the court were about to visit Bath for a season, and as
neither she nor I cared to go, we should take the letters to Dover, cross
to Calais, and post them in France.

I sprang at the idea, but immediately sprang back, saying: "But it is not
entirely proper for us to travel to Calais together, even though you are
my sister-cousin."

"We may take father," she suggested. "Sarah wants to visit Lady St.
Albans, and she can go if we take father with us. And, Baron Ned; I have
another suggestion to offer. Let us take Bettina."

I sprang at that proposal and did not spring back. So we went first to my
uncle, who said he would go with us, and then we went to see Bettina. She
had recovered from her sprains and bruises, although she was still pale
and not quite strong.

When Frances asked her to go with us, she answered, "Ay, gladly, if
father consents."

Pickering, who was sitting with us at the time in Bettina's cozy parlor,
turned to me, laughing, and said:--

"You would suppose, from Betty's remark, that I am master here, but the
truth is my soul is not my own, and now her modest request for permission
is made for effect on the company."

Betty ran to her father, sat on his knee, twined her arm about his neck,
and kissed him as a protest against the unjust insinuation.

"You see how she does it," said Pickering. "No hammer and tongs for
Betty; just oil and honey."

"And lots and lots of love, father," interrupted Betty.

* * * * *

Well, our journey was soon arranged on a grand scale. Pickering lent us
his new coach, just home from the makers in Cow Street. It was cushioned
and curtained and had springs in place of thorough-braces. It also had
glass in the windows and doors; a luxury then little known in England
even among the nobles. There was a prejudice against its use in coach
windows because of the fact that two or three old ladies had cut their
faces in trying to thrust their heads through it.

The new coach was a wonderful vehicle, and Frances and I, as well as
Betty, were very proud of our grandeur. Pickering sent along with the
coach and horses two lusty fellows as drivers, and gave us a hamper
almost large enough to feed a company of soldiers. I was to pay all
expenses on the road.

Almost at the last hour Sir Richard concluded not to go, but insisted
that Frances, Bettina, and I take the journey by ourselves. As Pickering
offered no objection, Frances shrugged her shoulders in assent, I
shrugged mine, and Betty laughed, whereby we all, in our own way, agreed
to the new arrangement, and preparations went forward rapidly.

By the time we were ready to start, the king, the duke, the duchess, and
many ladies and gentlemen of the court circle had gone to Bath, thus
giving us an opportunity to make our journey without the knowledge of any
one in Whitehall; a consideration of vast importance to us under the
circumstances. Some of our grand friends at court might have laughed at
our taking the journey with an innkeeper's daughter, in an innkeeper's
coach, but Frances and I laughed because we were happy.

There are distinct periods of good and bad luck in every man's life,
which may be felt in advance by one sensitive to occult influences,
if one will but keep good watch on one's intuitions and leave them
untrammelled by will or reason. At this time "I felt it in my bones,"
as Betty would have said, that the day of our good luck was at hand.

All conditions seemed to combine to our pleasure when, on a certain
bright spring morning, Betty, Frances, and I went down to the courtyard
of the Old Swan, where we found the coach, the horses, and even the
drivers all glittering in the sunshine.

There was ample room in the back seat of the coach for the three of us,
so Betty took one corner, Frances made herself comfortable in another,
and I took what was left, the pleasant place between them.

After Betty had kissed her father at least a dozen times, and had shed a
few tears just to make her happiness complete, the driver cracked his
whip and away we went, out through the courtyard gate, down Gracious Hill
and across London Bridge before a sleepy man could have winked his eyes.

At first we thought we were in haste, but when we got out of Southwark
and into the country, the dark green grass, the flowering hedges, the
whispering leaves of the half-fledged trees, the violets by the roadside,
and the smiling sun in the blue above, all invited us to linger. So we
told the driver to slow his pace, and we lowered every window in the
coach, there being no one in the country whose wonder and envy we cared
to arouse by a display of our glass.

There was not room in Betty's little heart for all the great flood of
happiness that had poured into it, so presently, to give it vent, she
began to sing the little French lullaby we had so often heard, whereupon
Frances and I ceased listening to the birds, and I was more thoroughly
convinced than ever before that there were at least distinct periods of
_good_ fortune in every man's life.

Before reaching Gravesend, we halted at a grassy spot near the river
bank, where we ate our dinner. When the horses had rested, we set off for
Rochester, in which place we expected to spend the night at the Maid's
Garter, a famous old inn kept by a friend of Pickerings.

I had noticed a twinkle in Pickering's eyes when he directed us to go to
this tavern, but did not understand the cause of his merriment until I
learned that by a curious old custom, a maid seeking entrance for the
first time must contribute one of her garters before being admitted. The
worst feature of the usage was that the garter must be taken off at the
door, and then and there presented to the porter, who received it on the
point of his official staff.

After entering Rochester, we went to the Maid's Garter and at once drove
into the courtyard, as the custom is with travellers intending to remain
all night.

When we left the coach and started to climb the steps to the great door,
we found the landlord and his retinue waiting to receive us. Frances was
in the lead, and when we reached the broad, flat stone in front of the
door, the head porter stepped before her, bowed, and asked humbly:--

"Is my lady maid or madam?"

Frances looked up in surprise, and he repeated his question.

"What is that to you, fellow?" asked Frances.

"It is this, my lady," returned the porter. "If my lady be a maid, she
must pay me one of her garters as her admission fee to this inn. If she
be madam, she enters free. It is a privilege conferred on the Maid's
Garter by good St. Augustine when he was Bishop of Canterbury, so long
ago that the memory of man runneth not to the contrary."

"What nonsense is this?" asked Frances, turning to me, and Bettina asked
the same question with her eyes. I explained the matter, and Frances,
turning to the porter, said:--

"I'll buy you off with a jacobus or a guinea."

"Not a hundred guineas would buy me off, my lady," answered the porter,
bowing, "though I might say that a shilling usually goes with the
garter."

"Well, I'll send you both the shilling and the garter from my room," said
Frances, moving toward the inn door.

"The garter must be paid here, my lady. The shilling may be paid at any
time," returned the porter, with polite insistence.

Frances was about to protest, but Betty, more in sympathy with the
eccentric customs of inns, modestly lifted her skirts, untied her garter
and offered it to the porter, telling him very seriously:--

"I am a maid."

The porter thanked her gravely, whereupon Frances, turning her back on
the audience in the doorway, brought forth her garter, gave it to the
porter, and we were admitted.

Our supper, beds, and breakfast were all so good that they reconciled
Frances and Bettina to the payment of the extraordinary admission fee,
and when we left the next morning, curiosity prompted them to pass near
the garter rack in the tap-room, where garters were hanging which had
been taken from maids whose great granddaughters had become great
grandmothers. The garters that had belonged to Frances and Bettina, being
the latest contributions, hung at the bottom of the rack, neatly dated
and labelled, and, as I left the room, I overheard Bettina whisper to
Frances:--

"I'm glad mine was of silk."

We made a short drive to Maidstone, where we stopped over night. The next
day a longer journey brought us to Canterbury, where we spent two nights
and a day, visiting the cathedral both by sunlight and moonlight; the
combination of moonlight and Bettina being very trying to me.

From Canterbury we drove in the rain to Dover, where we lodged at that
good inn, the Three Anchors, to await a fair wind for Calais.

During the next three days the wind was fair, but it was blowing half a
gale, and therefore the passage was not to be attempted. Though I was
enjoying myself, I was anxious to post our letters, as mine gave a full
account of several matters at court concerning which I knew George ought
to be informed.

Among other news, I told him that King Charles had sent a messenger
into France carrying a personal letter to King Louis, asking his help
in finding the man Hamilton, who had threatened Charles's life. I also
suggested in my letter that the king of France was trying to buy the
city of Dunkirk from King Charles, and that because of the friendly
negotiations then pending, Louis might give heed to our king's request.
In that case, it might be well, I thought, for Hamilton to leave France
at once.

With this urgency in mind, I suggested to Frances and Betty that I
cross to Calais alone, regardless of the weather, leaving them at Dover
till my return. But they would not be left behind, so we all set sail on
a blustery morning and paid for our temerity with a day of suffering. In
Calais we posted our letters, having learned that a messenger would leave
that same day for Paris, and two days later we returned to Dover.