Chapter 8. The Traitors' Heads

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_ CHAPTER EIGHT. THE TRAITORS' HEADS

"Where is Mr Selby's club?" asked Frank, as they started that afternoon to keep their appointment.

"You be patient, and I'll show you," replied Andrew.

"But we are not going by water, are we?"

"To be sure we are. It's the pleasantest way, and we avoid the crowded streets. I am to introduce you, so I must be guide."

This silenced Frank, who sank back in his seat when they stepped into a wherry without hearing the order given to the waterman; and once more his attention was taken up by the busy river scene, which so engrossed his thoughts that he started in surprise on finding that they were approaching the stairs where they had landed upon their last visit, but he made no remark aloud.

"I did not know it was in the city," he said, however, to himself; and when they landed, and Andrew began to make his way toward Fleet Street, his suspicion was aroused.

"Is the club anywhere near that court where there was the fight?" he said suddenly.

"Eh? Oh yes, very near! This is the part of London where all the wits, beaux, and clever men meet for conversation. You learn more in one night listening than you do in a month's reading. You'll like it, I promise you."

Frank was silent, and in spite of his companion's promise felt a little doubtful.

"Have you known Mr Selby very long?" he asked.

"Depends upon what you call long."

"Do you like him?"

"Oh yes, he's a splendid fellow. So are his friends splendid fellows. You'll like them too. Thorough gentlemen. Most of them of good birth."

Frank was silent again; but he was becoming very observant now, as he noticed that, though they were going by a different way, they were tending toward the scene of their adventure, and the fight rose vividly before his imagination. But all was perfectly quiet and orderly around. There were plenty of people about, but all apparently engaged in business matters, though all disposed to turn and look after the well-dressed youths, who seemed foreign to their surroundings.

It was a relief to Frank to find that there were no signs of an idling crowd, and he was congratulating himself upon that fact when, after increasing his pace as if annoyed at being noticed, Andrew said sharply:

"Walk a bit faster. How the oafs do stare!"

"Why, Drew!" cried Frank, suddenly checking himself, as his companion, who had led him to the spot from the opposite side, suddenly turned into the court where they had been wedged in the crowd.

"What is it?" said his companion impatiently. "Come along, quick!"

"But this is the place where they were fighting."

"Of course; I know it is. What of it? They're not fighting now."

As he spoke he was glancing rapidly up and down the court, and with his arm well through that of Frank he urged him on toward the door of the large house.

Frank was annoyed at having, as he felt, been deceived as to their destination, and ready to hang back. But he felt that it would seem cowardly, and that Andrew's silence had been from a feeling that if he had said where they were coming he would have met with a refusal, while the next moment the boy found himself in the passage of the house.

A burly man, in a big snuff-coloured coat, confronted them, arranging a very curly wig as he came, but smiled, bowed, and drew back to allow the visitors to pass; and with a supercilious nod Andrew led on, apparently quite familiar with the place, and turned up a broad, well-worn staircase, quite half of whose balusters were perfectly new and unpainted, evidently replacing those broken out for weapons during the fight.

The sight of these and their suggestions did not increase Frank's desire to be there, but he went on up.

"For this time only," he said to himself; "but I'm not going to let him cheat me again."

A buzz of voices issued from a partly opened door on the first floor, and Andrew walked straight in without hesitation, Frank finding himself in the presence of about twenty gentlemen, standing at one end of a long room, along whose sides were arranged small tables laid for dinner.

The conversation stopped on the instant, and every eye was turned toward the new-comers, who doffed their hats with the customary formal bows, when, to the great relief of Frank, one gentleman detached himself from the group and came to meet them.

"How are you, Mr Selby?" said Andrew loudly.

"The happier for seeing you keep your engagement," said their friend the feeder of ducks, smiling. "Mr Gowan, I am delighted to find my prayer has not been vain. Let me introduce you to our friends here of the club. We look upon this as a home, where we are all perfectly at our ease; and we wish our visitors--our neophytes--to feel the same. Gentlemen, let me introduce my guest, Mr Frank Gowan. I think some of you have heard his father's--Sir Robert Gowan's--name."

There was a warm murmur of assent, and to a man the party assembled pressed forward to bid the visitors welcome. So pleasantly warm was the reception given to him, and so genuine the efforts made to set him at his ease, that the lad's feeling of diffidence and confusion soon began to pass away, and with it the feeling of uneasiness; for the boy felt that these gentlemen could not have been of the party engaged in the riot, and he had nearly persuaded himself that, as this was evidently a public tavern, quite another class of people had occupied the room on his previous visit to the place, only he could not make this explanation fit with Andrew's excitement and desire to join in the fight.

But he had little time for thought. His bland and pleasant-spoken host took up too much of his attention, chatting fluently about the most matter-of-fact occurrences, political business being entirely excluded, and cleverly drawing the lads out in turn to talk about themselves and their aspirations, so ably, indeed, that before the agreeable little dinner served to these three at a table close to the window was half over, Frank found that he was relating some of his country life and school adventures to his host, and that the gentlemen at the tables on either side were listening.

The knowledge that he was being overheard acted as an extinguisher to the light of the boy's oratory, and he stopped short.

"Well?" said his host, with a pleasant smile; while Andrew leaned back, apparently quite satisfied with the impression his companion was making. "Pray go on. You drew the great trout close to the river-bank. Don't say you lost it after all."

"Oh no, I caught it," said Frank, colouring; "but I am talking too much."

"My dear boy," said Mr Selby, "believe me, your fresh, young experiences are delightful to us weary men of the town. Cannot you feel how they revive our recollections of our own boyish days? There, pray don't think we are tired of anecdotes like this. Forbes here used to be fond of the country; but he has grown such a lover of town life and the court that he hardly mentions it now."

He went on playfully bantering Andrew, till quite a little passage of give-and-take ensued, which made Frank think of what a strange mixture of clever, vain boy and thoughtful man his fellow-page seemed to be, while his own heart sank as he began to make comparisons, and he felt how thoroughly young he seemed to be amongst the clever men by whom he was surrounded.

But all the time his ears were active, and he listened for remarks that would endorse his suspicions of the principles of the members. Still, not a word reached him save such as strengthened Andrew's assurance that Mr Selby was one of a party of clever men who liked to meet for social intercourse. The fight must have been with other people who occupied the room, he thought, and in all probability had nothing to do with this club at all.

The evening passed rapidly away, and before Frank realised that it was near the time when they ought to be back at Saint James's Mr Selby turned to him.

"We are early birds here," he said; "so pray excuse what I am about to say, and believe that I am delighted to have made your acquaintance, one which is the beginning, I feel, of a life friendship. Gentlemen," he said, rising, "it is time to part till our next meeting. Hands round, please, and then adieu."

He turned to Frank, and held out his hand with a smile.

"Our little parting ceremony," he said.

The boy involuntarily held out his, ready to say good-bye; but it was clasped warmly by Selby in his left and retained, while Andrew with a quick, eager look took his other.

Frank stared, for the rest, who had increased by degrees to nearly forty, all joined hands till they had formed a ring facing inward.

What did it mean? For a moment the boy felt ready to snatch his hands away; but as he thought of so doing, he felt the clasp on either side grow firmer, and in a clear, low voice their host said:

"Across the water."

"Across the water," was echoed in a low, deep murmur by every one but Frank.

Then hand ceased to clasp hand, people began to leave, and Mr Selby went quickly to the other end of the room.

"All over," said Andrew, in a quick whisper. "Now then off, or we shall get into trouble for being late."

"Yes, let's go," said Frank, in a bewildered way; and he went downstairs with his companion, and out into the cool, pleasant night air of the street.

"We shall have to walk," said Andrew, "so step out."

Frank obeyed in silence, and nothing more was said till, without thinking of where they were, they saw Temple Bar before them.

"What did they mean by that?" said Frank suddenly.

"By what?"

"Joining hands together and saying 'Across the water.'"

"Oh, nothing. A way of saying good-bye if you live in Surrey."

"Don't treat me as if I were a child," cried Frank passionately. "I'm sure it meant more than that."

"Well, suppose it does, what then?"

"What then? Why, you have been tricking and deceiving me. Just too as it seemed that we were going to be the best of friends."

"Nonsense! We are the best of friends, tied more tightly than ever to stand by each other to the end."

"Then there is something in all this?"

"Of course there is. You knew there was when we agreed to come."

"I did not!" cried Frank indignantly; "or if I thought that there might be, I felt that it was only a little foolish enthusiasm on your part, and that Mr Selby was only a casual friend."

"Oh no; he is one of my best friends."

"Drew, I shall never forgive you. It was mean and cruel to take me there in ignorance of what these men were."

"Very nice gentlemanly fellows, and you looked as if you enjoyed their society."

"I see it all clearly enough now," continued Frank excitedly, and without heeding; "they are Jacobites."

"Not the only ones in London, if they are."

"And 'Across the water' means that man--the Pretender."

"Hush! Don't call people names," said Andrew, in a warning whisper. "You never know who is next you in the street."

"I don't care who hears me. It is the truth."

"Don't you be peppery now. Why, you were all amiability till we came away."

"Because I could not think that there was anything in it. I could not believe you would play me such a trick."

"All things are fair in love and war," said Andrew.

"It is a base piece of deception, and I'll never trust you again."

"Oh yes, you will, always. You'll like them more and more every time you go."

"I go there again? Never!"

"Oh yes, you will, often, because we all like you, and you are just the boy to grow into the man we want. I had no sooner mentioned your name to Mr Selby than he said, 'Yes, he must join us, of course.'"

"Join you? Why, you are a band of conspirators."

"Silence, I tell you! That man in front heard you and turned his head."

"I don't care."

"Then I must make you. Look here, Frank, whatever we are, you are the same."

"I!" cried the boy in horror.

"Of course. This is twice you have come to our club, and there is not a man there to-night who does not look upon you as our new brother."

"Then they must be undeceived."

"Impossible! You have joined hands with us, and breathed our prayer for him across the water."

"I did not; I never opened my lips."

"You seemed to; anyhow, you clasped hands with us, and that is enough."

"I refuse to have any dealings with your club, and for your sake as well as mine I shall acquaint my father with everything that has taken place."

"That would not matter," said Andrew coolly. "But you will not. I introduced you to Mr Selby, who had come on purpose to see you."

"Then that feeding ducks was a design?"

"Of course it was; the spies and the guard might interfere with a stranger hanging about at the water-side, but they can have nothing to say to a man feeding the ducks."

"Oh, what base treachery and deception! But I will not be tricked like this. It was the act of a traitor."

"It was the act of a friend to save you in the troubles that are to come."

"I don't care what you say. I will clear myself from even a suspicion of being an enemy of the King."

"You are a friend of the King," said Andrew, tightening his hold of his companion's arm; "and you cannot draw back now."

"I can, and will. Why can I not? Who is to prevent me?"

"Every man you saw there to-night--every man of the thousand who was not there. Frank boy, ours is a great and just cause, and the sentence on the man who has joined us and then turns traitor--"

"I have not joined."

"You have, and I am your voucher. You are one of us now."

"And if I go back, what then?" cried Frank contemptuously.

"The sentence is death."

"Bah! nonsense! But let me tell you this, that the sentence really is death for him who, being the King's servant, turns traitor. Who stands worse to-night, you or I?--Oh!" ejaculated the boy quickly, and with a sharp ring of horror in his tones; "look there!"

The moon was shining brightly now, full upon the grim-looking old city gateway, and Frank Gowan stood where he had stopped short, as if paralysed by the sight before him.

"Yes, I know," said Andrew coolly, as he looked up; "I have seen them before. Traitors' heads." _

Read next: Chapter 9. Frank Has A Bad Night

Read previous: Chapter 7. How Frank Gowan Grew One Year Older In One Day

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