The Great Roxhythe quotes

The sombre look faded from the King’s face. He showed his teeth in a smile of pure mischief.

“Roxhythe, Roxhythe, have ye forgot he is a Stuart?”

“No, Sir. Nor that he is also a Nassau.”

“He may have older and wiser councillors, Sir, not easy to dazzle.”

“I never yet met a statesman I could not bribe,” replied the King cynically.

A smile flickered across Roxhythe’s mouth.

“The plan was yours, sir?” His voice was incredulous.

“Oh, lud, no! Now confess, Chris, you did not think I had it in me?”

“ ’Tis not the wit I marvel at,” said Christopher. “I think it was a brave thing to do.”

“I—I hardly thought that you were!” Christopher blurted out.

“I am old in intrigue, my child,” said Roxhythe.

“So he is a creature of Hyde’s? Well. Milward, then, is probably in French pay.”

“I am sorry, sir. But I did not know. Is it possible that you foresaw all this?”

“It was so obvious,” sighed his lordship.

“Was it, sir?” asked Christopher admiringly. “And what now? Or—or am I to be kept in the dark?” He spoke deferentially.

“I wonder?” he said.

“Can one catch a star?”

“I take it ’tis a question of holding a star,” remarked Killigrew, coming up to them. “ ’Twould be interesting to test Lord Roxhythe his devotion.” He spoke lightly, jestingly, but there was too much of the sneer in his voice for Charles’ liking.

Roxhythe’s eyes travelled slowly round the room.

“Amongst so much virtue.⁠ ⁠…” he began, and got no further.

Protesting, laughing voices chided him.

Charles regarded him thoughtfully, his eyes alight with laughter. He shifted the dog under his arm.

“Damned plausible, a’n’t he?” he chuckled, and walked slowly back to his seat.

The Duke watched him uneasily. Roxhythe continued to play with his gloves.

“I ought not to. And it is only a game.”

“Nothing is so alluring as the ‘ought not,’ beloved.”

“No. But should one give way to temptation?”

“No. But should one give way to temptation?”

“Most certainly one should, for if one does not, it leaves the devil idle.”

“Surely he were best idle?”

“You are sure of this, David?”

“I am never sure, Sir.”

This seemed to satisfy the King. He sat with his chin in his hand, thinking.

Lady Frances looked at him for a moment. Her bright eyes softened.

“Chris, dear, don’t love Roxhythe too greatly,” she said.

The laughter had gone from her voice.

“I consider that you have offered me your comfit-box!” laughed Saint-Aignan. “I am dumb, then?”

“You should never give way to idle curiosity,” he said.

He surveyed his friend critically. “And I do not think I like the mixture of salmon-pink and orange.”

“Maybe. They do not understand me, and for that reason distrust me.”

“Why, I do not think that many men trust me,” he said. “But all men love me.”

“Sire, I am no Stuart.”

My lord smiled whimsically.

“I seem to be rather too old for you, dear.”

“No? I think our little comedy has played itself out.”

Roxhythe looked at her serenely.

“My dear, I do not think I love anyone.”

Tragedy was in her blue eyes, and uncomprehending hurt.

My lord rearranged his cravat.

“I’ve no taste for heroics off the stage, my friend.”

The young man’s breath was coming short and quick. His hands trembled; his eyes burned dark in his pale face.

Charles stretched himself, laughing. Some of the shadows had gone from his eyes.

“I grow weary, Sir, and old,” retorted my lord.

“I suppose I must, Sir.”

“Damn you, pick up that pistol!”

“Damn you, pick it up yourself,” said Roxhythe, very urbane.

Crewe looked in the handsome, laughing face, saw that my lord was playing with him, would continue to play with him, and went white. In that moment all semblance of sanity left him. He raised the pistol. His hand was trembling, but he controlled it;

The deep brown eyes opened. They were puzzled; then the bewilderment faded, and amusement took its place. My lord regarded the surgeon silently. Then he looked at Christopher. Lastly he frowned.

“God’s Body! My new coat!”

At the sound of the faint voice, Christopher gave vent to a shaky laugh of relief and pressed my lord’s hand to his lips. Roxhythe saw the blood on his sleeve.

“Then you are acting as I never thought it possible for you to act. Timorously! Cruelly!”

“Did you come here to quarrel with me?” asked Roxhythe. “Sit down, and talk of something else.”

“I came to implore you to help in the cause of right! I see I might as well talk to a stone!”

“I had thought—that when you had spoken with His Highness—you would have desired to be always at his side.”

“I am no longer twenty-one, Dick. The age of illusions is past.”

“I hardly know. Perhaps. But not for man.”

“But after all that has happened! after his treatment of you—”

“If you think that any harm done to me could kill my love for Roxhythe, you do not understand love.”

“You are infatuated! Pray heaven it will pass!”

“It must be damned entertaining!” exclaimed the King.

“It is damned hard work!” retorted Roxhythe.

“It is not without interest,” admitted his lordship. Then he sighed.

“They are all so easy to trick,” he deplored. He went out languidly.

“Shaftesbury exceeds all bounds, David. I am fearful for the result.”

“Give him rope, Sir,” advised my lord. “He’ll hang himself yet.”

“I don’t doubt it. But in the meantime he is working much harm. What is this tale of pamphlets?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen! I’ll have no murder.”

“You cannot make war in gloves, sir,” retorted Lord Grey.

“There must be killing. If we strike at the root we shall avoid undue slaughter.”

The scorn in Roxhythe’s eyes made Rumsey wince. The fine lips curled.

“I have no mercy for those who plot against His Majesty’s person,” said my lord. His voice was like ice; but it was ice that concealed a fire.

“If I followed mine inclination I would have you strung up—ay, and quartered. But as a price for your obedience I give you your life, such as it is.”

“The double part you play: delivering these men into my hands.”

“Sire, where you are concerned I have no pity.”

And so, at last Roxhythe having all the threads at his fingertips, started to pull them, so that the Great Whig Plot fell in ruins about its makers.

“My dear, you are at liberty to say what you will to me, but don’t seek to reform my ways. Do you expect me to repent my evil life and weep?”

“You would not be Roxhythe an you did,” she said.

“And you would thoroughly despise me.”

“He is very cold,” remarked M. Barillon. “Ma foi! I do not understand you Englishmen.”

“I thank God we are not all like Roxhythe,” answered James curtly.

He left the room.

“Your share in the Monmouth plot.”

“I am still Roxhythe,” said my lord.

Hardly a fortnight after the King’s death, my Lord Sunderland waited on Lord Roxhythe at Bevan House. He was conducted to the library, and there Roxhythe joined him, a sombre figure in black and silver.