Part 41 (1/2)
”Marry, 'tis Strings's, of course,” continued Portsmouth, dangling the coat before the wondering eyes of all. ”The lace, the ruffle, becomes his complexion. He fits everything here so beautifully.”
As she turned the garment slowly about, she caught sight of a package of papers protruding from its inner pocket, sealed with her own seal. For the first time, the significance of the colour of the coat came home to her.
”_Mon Dieu_,” she cried, ”Adair's coat.--The packet!”
Her fingers sought the papers eagerly; but Nell's eye and hand were too quick for her.
”Not so fast, dear d.u.c.h.ess,” said Nell, sweetly, pa.s.sing the little packet to his Majesty. ”Our King must read these papers--and between the lines as well.”
”Enough of this!” commanded Charles. ”What is it?”
”Some papers, Sire,” said Nell, pointedly, ”given for a kiss and taken with a kiss. I have not had time to read them.”
”Some family papers, Sire,” a.s.serted the d.u.c.h.ess, with a.s.sumed indifference, ”stolen from my house.”
She would have taken them from his Majesty, so great, indeed, was her boldness; but Nell again stayed her.
”Aye, stolen,” said Nell, sharply; ”but by the hostess herself--from her unsuspecting, royal guest. There, Sire, stands the only thief!” She pointed accusingly at Portsmouth.
”My signature!” cried Charles, as he ran his eye down a parchment. ”The treaties! No more Parliaments for England. I agreed to that.”
”I agree to that myself,” said Nell, roguishly. ”England's King is too great to need Parliaments. The King should have a confidential adviser, however--not French,” and she cast a defiant glance at Portsmouth, ”but English. Read on; read on.”
She placed her pretty cheek as near as possible to the King's as she followed the letters over his shoulder.
”A note to Bouillon!” he said, perusing the parchments further. ”Charles consents to the fall of Luxembourg. I did not sign all this. I see it all: Louis's ambition to rule the world, England's King debased by promises won and royal contracts made with a clever woman--forgery mixed with truth. Sweet Heaven, what have I done!”
”The papers have not gone, Sire,” blandly remarked Nell.
”Thanks to you, my Nell,” said Charles. He addressed Portsmouth sharply: ”Madame, your coach awaits you.”
”But, Sire,” replied the d.u.c.h.ess, who was brave to the last, ”Madame Gwyn has yet Adair to answer for!”
”Adair will answer for himself!” cried Nell, triumphantly.
She threw aside the pink gown and stood as Adair before the astonished eyes of all.
”At your service,” she said, bowing sweetly to the d.u.c.h.ess.
”A player's trick!” cried Portsmouth, haughtily, as a parting shot of contempt.
”Yes, Portsmouth,” replied Nell, still in sweetest accents, ”to show where lies the true and where the false.”
”You are a witch,” hissed Portsmouth.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”ONCE MORE YOU HAVE SAVED ME.”]