The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [288]
“Lieutenant Felton with dispatches from Lord Winter,” Patrick announced.
“From Lord Winter, eh? Well, send the Lieutenant in.”
Felton entered into the presence of a minister who, having tossed a richly gold-embroidered dressing gown over an armchair, was trying on a sky blue velvet doublet, studded with pearls.
“Why did not My Lord come himself?” Buckingham demanded. “I expected him this morning.”
“Lord Winter requested me to present his compliments and to inform Your Grace that he was unavoidably detained because of the prisoner at the castle.”
“Yes, yes, I know—I know he has a prisoner—”
“It is about that prisoner that I beg to speak to Your Grace.”
“Well, speak up, then.”
“What I have to tell Your Grace is extremely confidential.”
“You may go, Patrick,” Buckingham told his valet. “But keep within reach; I shall be ringing for you presently.” Patrick gone, Buckingham looked at Felton. “Now we are alone, sir, tell me what all this means.”
“If Your Grace recalls, Lord Winter wrote recently requesting you to sign an embarkation order for a young woman named Charlotte Backson.”
“Certainly; I asked him to send me the order and I promised to sign it.”
“Here is the order, My Lord.”
Taking the paper from Felton, Buckingham glanced casually at it and, realizing it was the one mentioned, he put it on the table, took up a quill and prepared to sign it.
“Begging Your Grace’s pardon,” Felton said stepping forward, “Your Grace knows that Charlotte Backson is not the real name of this young woman.”
“Certainly, sir, I know that,” the Duke replied as he dipped his quill in the inkhorn.
“Then Your Grace knows her real name?” Felton asked sharply.
“Yes, I know that too,” Buckingham acknowledged as he put pen to paper.
“And knowing that—” Felton’s voice trembled, “Your Grace will sign this order all the same?”
“Certainly. With the greatest pleasure, twice or thrice over!”
Felton’s voice grew sharper and though low-pitched assumed a certain shrillness. His words came increasingly staccato:
“Does Your Grace realize that the deportee is Lady Clark?” he asked.
“Of course I do. But how do you know?”
“I know, My Lord, by this means or that. But I cannot understand how Your Grace dare venture in all conscience to sign this order for deportation—”
Buckingham stared haughtily at him.
“Look here, sir, your questions sound very strange and I am very foolish to answer.”
“Your Grace must answer. The circumstances are even more serious than Your Grace imagines.”
Knowing that the youth came from Lord Winter, Buckingham supposed that he spoke in his master’s name. Somewhat less sternly:
“I shall sign this order without a qualm,” he told Felton. “Lord Winter knows as well as I that the person concerned is a criminal. She is very lucky to get off with deportation—” he concluded, about to set pen to paper. Felton took two steps forward.
“You will not sign that order, My Lord!” he said.
“I will not sign that order? And why not, pray?”
“Because Your Grace will look into your heart and will do this lady justice.”
“I would do her justice by sending her to Tyburn. This lady is infamous.”
“Your Grace, Lady Clark is an angel, as you well know, and I demand that you set her free.”
“You demand—look here, man, are you mad, to talk thus to me?”
“Forgive me, My Lord, I am speaking as best I can. And I am restraining myself, at that. I implore you to think of what you are about to do. Let Your Grace beware of going too far!”
“What’s that you say? Damme, I believe the fellow is threatening me.”
“No, My Lord, I am still pleading. And I say to you: one drop of water suffices to make the full vessel overflow. Just one slight mistake—” Felton stared meaningfully at Buckingham, “one slight mistake can bring down punishment upon the mightiest head, spared hitherto despite so many crimes.”
“Mr. Felton,” said Buckingham, “you will withdraw and place yourself under arrest forthwith.”
“You shall hear me out, My Lord. You seduced this young woman, you outraged and defiled her.