OTHO DISCOVERS MY NAME.
"He hath discovered where I have been," was my first thought. "He hath
been told that I have conversed with the maid Nancy Molesworth." And I
began to think how I should answer him.
I got out of bed, however; and after hastily pulling on my
small-clothes, I went to the door.
"What want you?" I asked sleepily. "Surely this is a queer time of
night to wake one out of sleep."
"Let me in, and I will tell you," he replied.
"It will be useless to resist," I thought, "for Otho is master here, and
I shall only arouse useless suspicion by refusing." Besides, I was
curious to know why he was desirous of seeing me; so without more ado I
opened the door. No sooner had I done so, however, than in walked not
only Otho, but Benet.
For a time Otho looked at me awkwardly, like one not knowing what to
say. But Benet closed the door, and stood with his back against it,
holding a candle in his hand.
"Hath Charles landed?" I asked, watching them closely.
"No," replied Otho.
"But something of importance hath taken place," I said; "else why this
midnight visit?"
"Yes, important events have happened." He spoke curtly, like one angry.
"And it hath to do with me, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"What then?"
He looked at me keenly for a minute. Then he answered me slowly,
according to his usual manner of speech.
"Charles hath not landed," he said. "All the same, important events have
happened with which you have to do."
"And they?" I asked, noticing the grin that overspread Benet Killigrew's
face.
"Are two in number."
"Name them," I said eagerly.
"First, that your name is not Roger Penryn."
"Yes; what next?"
He seemed surprised that I should make so little ado at his discovery,
and stared at me as though waiting for me to say some foolish thing.
Whereas the truth was, that I was relieved that the truth was to come to
light. I fretted like a horse frets when a saddle rubs him, every time I
heard the name of Penryn.
"What next?" I repeated.
"That you are a sneak."
"Steady, steady, Otho Killigrew!" I said, for the word had not a
pleasant sound. "But we will deal with these two charges. What are your
proofs?"
"There are proofs enough," replied Otho--"proofs enough. One is, that I
suspected you as you sat at my father's table last night."
"I thought you were of the ferret breed," I replied; "it is a pity your
eyes are not pink."
He kept his temper well. "Believing you were not what you pretended to
be, I sent a man to the place you said you came from," he went on. "He
hath returned this very night."
"Well thought of," I laughed. "And you made discoveries?"
"My man discovered that there was no Roger Penryn."
I almost felt a pleasure in the business now. I had no qualms when
talking with men. All the same, I knew that I was in dangerous hands.
These Killigrews were no fools.
"It seems I must have created a new member of the family," I said
pleasantly. "Well, go on."
"No, there is no Roger Penryn; but there is a Roger Trevanion."
"Ah!"
"Yes, a fellow with a bad reputation."
"Nothing like your own, I hope?" I said sneeringly, for I was ill
pleased at his discovery.
"A fellow who hath wasted his patrimony."
"He never betrayed women, I hope?" I responded.
"This fellow left his home on a chestnut horse, the servants not knowing
whither he went. My man discovered, however, that he stayed at St.
Columb and Wadebridge. From thence he came here."
"Ah, your man hath a good nose for scenting."
"Yes, he traced you here, Roger Trevanion."
"Well, Trevanion is a better name than Penryn--far better than
Killigrew."
"It's a bad name for a sneak, a liar."
"Have a care, Otho Killigrew!" I said. "You've mentioned that word twice
now."
"Yes, I have," he said slowly. "I may mention it again. What then?"
"Only that I shall make you swallow it."
At this Benet grinned again. "Good!" he said aloud. "I like that!"
"I shall say it again, and shall not swallow it."
"You are two to one," I replied, "and you have your lackey outside; but
if I hear it again, there will be a new version of the story about the
first-born slain."
He looked at his brother, and then spoke with less assurance.
"I will prove it," he said slowly.
"That is a different matter," I replied. "Go on."
"You have been on the roof of this house to-night."
I made no movement or sound indicating surprise. I had been expecting
this.
"Well, what then? Am I a prisoner here?"
"Why were you there?"
"Only to have a talk with your prisoner," I replied. "I was curious to
see the beauteous maid who hates you."
I hit him hard there, and he lost his temper.
"Look'ee, Roger Trevanion," speaking quickly and angrily for the first
time, "what is the meaning of this masquerade? The Trevanions are
Protestants. Why did you come here, pretending to be a Catholic? Why did
you climb to the roof? You are a woman-hater."
"Only for a wager," I laughed.
"Mark this!" he cried,--"there are dungeons here as well as
battlements."
"So I have heard. And it would be just like a Killigrew to throw a guest
into one of them."
"Guest!" he answered with a sneer.
"Yes, guest," I replied.
"You have forfeited your right to that name."
"Prove it. Is it an uncommon thing for a man to travel under a name
other than his own?"
"It is an uncommon thing for a guest to get out of his chamber window,
and climb to the roof of the house."
"Not if a man is of a curious disposition," I laughed.
So far we had been fencing, and neither had gained much advantage. But I
determined to bring matters to a close issue.
"Look you, Otho Killigrew," I said, "you have come to my bedchamber two
hours past midnight. Why? You must have something in your mind other
than the things you have spoken about."
"I have come to you in mercy."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"In mercy," he repeated. "It is true you have forfeited your right to be
considered as a guest. Nevertheless I remember that Trevanion is a good
name, and that I am a Killigrew."
I waited for him to continue.
"You had a purpose in coming here. What, I do not know. You have been
a--that is, you are not what you pretended to be. You have tried to win
my father's confidence, and discover his secrets."
"I did not seek to know your father's secrets."
"No, but you came as a Catholic. You came as one desirous of bringing a
Catholic king on the throne. My father welcomes such as his own
children. Otherwise you would not have been welcomed so warmly, nor
would you have been asked to remain while Polperro sought to degrade us
all. It is a weakness of my father to take to his heart all who belong
to old Catholic families, and to trust them blindly----"
"I am waiting for your mercy," I said.
"You have done two things while in this house," said Otho: "you have
pretended to side with my father in carrying out the great plan of his
life, and as a consequence obtained secrets from him; and you have
sought for, and obtained, an interview with my affianced wife. Either of
these actions would justify us in dealing with you in a summary fashion.
But we have decided on conditions to be merciful."
"Explain."
"I have discovered that you Trevanions never break a promise."
"That must be strange to such as you."
"If you will promise two things, we have decided to let you leave
Endellion in no worse condition than you entered it."
"You are very merciful."
"Seeing that you have abused our hospitality, it is."
"Well, about your conditions?"
"Our conditions are very easily complied with. The first is, that you
never breathe to any living soul anything which my father has divulged
in relation to the cause he loves."
"That is the whole of the first?"
"It is. You see I am trusting you as a Trevanion. I know that if you
make a promise you will keep it."
"And the second?"
"The second is different." And I saw that Otho Killigrew spoke not so
easily. He lost that calm self-possession which characterized him when
he spoke about the Catholic cause. The blood mounted to his cheek, and
his hand trembled.
"Tell me why you climbed the roof of the house!" he cried. "Tell me what
happened there!"
"I am waiting to hear the condition," was my answer.
"Are you interested in Mistress Nancy Molesworth? Was that one of your
reasons for coming here?" he asked eagerly. "Is she anything to you? Did
you ever see her?"
I saw that Otho Killigrew was scarcely master of himself as he spoke of
the maid I had seen that night. I remarked also that Benet had an ugly
look on his face as he listened.
"I am still waiting to hear the second condition," I said, trying as
well as I could to see my way through the business, and decide what
steps to take.
"It is this," cried Otho. "You promise not to interest yourself in any
way with Mistress Molesworth; that you never speak of her within one
month from this time; that you render no assistance in any way to those
who seek to baulk me in my purposes."
The last sentence came out seemingly against his will. As luck would
have it, too, I turned my eyes in the direction of Benet at this time,
and noted the gleam in his eyes.
"If I mistake not," I said to myself, "Benet loveth not Otho, and it
would take but little to make him lift his hand against his brother."
"Why this second condition?" I said, more for the purpose of gaining
time than anything else. "What hath Mistress Nancy Molesworth to do with
me?"
"How do you know her name is Nancy?" he asked savagely.
"I heard John Polperro name it. But what hath she to do with me?"
"I would not have given you this opportunity," he went on, without
heeding my question. "As soon as I knew you had climbed to the roof
where she walks, I determined that you should be kept in safety until
such time as--as----but it does not matter; Benet would not have it so.
He suggested that you should have a chance of escape."
I saw that Benet looked eagerly at me as though he would speak, but by
an effort he restrained himself.
"The maid is not in a convent school now," I said jibingly. "She is not
to be a nun, I suppose. And I have taken no vow that I will not speak to
a maid."
"But you must not speak to her!" he cried, like one beside
himself,--"not to her."
"Why, pray?"
"Because," he cried, evidently forgetting the relation in which I stood
to him,--"because she is my betrothed wife! Because she belongs to
me--only! Because no one but myself must lay hands on her!"
"If she be your betrothed wife, she should love you," I said. "And if
she loves you, perfect trust should exist between you."
"But there be enemies! There be those who----" he hesitated, evidently
realizing that he had said more than he had intended. "Will you
promise?" he cried.
"And if I do not?" I asked.
"I told you there were dungeons here as well as battlements," he said.
"If you will not give your sacred promise, you shall lie there until it
is my pleasure to set you free!"
"Tell me this, Otho Killigrew," I said, after thinking a moment. "You
say you are betrothed to this maid. Does she willingly become your
wife?"
"That is naught to you!"
In truth it was not; and for a moment I was in sore straits what to
promise. I had no interest in the maid. She had paid me but scant
courtesy that night, and why should I care whom she wedded? Moreover, if
I refused to promise I was sure that Otho would carry out his threat.
Even were I friendly disposed towards her and John Polperro, I could do
them no good by refusing to abide by Otho Killigrew's conditions. Then I
remembered the look of loathing on the maid's face as she spoke of the
Killigrews, and instinctively I felt that such a marriage would be worse
than death to her. I am anything but a sentimental man, neither do I
give way to foolish fancy; but at that moment I saw the maid pleading
with me not to promise.
"No, I will not accept your last condition," I said. The words escaped
me almost without the consent of my own will, for I felt I dared not
sneak out of the house in such a way. After all, I was a Trevanion, and
came of an honourable race. My fathers had fought many battles for women
in the past. Perhaps some of their spirit came to me as I spoke.
"You will not!" he cried like one amazed.
"No!" I cried, "I will not. Look you, I have seen that maid this very
night. If you were a man such as a woman could love, if the maid did not
loathe you, I would not have given either of you a second thought. But
even although it may not be possible for me to lift a finger on her
behalf, I will not bind myself by a promise not to help her. Why,
man,"--and my anger got the better of me,--"it were sending a maid to
hell to make her the wife of such as you!"
I heard Benet Killigrew laugh. "Good!" he cried; "the fellow's a man!"
But Otho was mad with rage. He gave an angry cry, and then leaped on me;
but I threw him from me. I looked around for my sword; but before I
could reach it, the two men I had seen acting as sentinels rushed into
the room, and I was overpowered.
Still I made a fair fight. Twice did I throw the men from me, and I know
that they carried bruises for many a day. But one unarmed man against
three is weary work, and at length I was dragged from the room. One
thing I could not help noticing, however: Benet took no part in the
business. He simply held the candle and looked on, occasionally
uttering cries of joy when I seemed to be getting the best of the
battle.
When I was left alone in a room at the basement of the castle, I at
first upbraided myself because of my foolishness. I had acted the part
of a madman. And yet, on reconsidering the matter, I did not see what I
could have done other than what I did. True, my prison walls might
hinder me, but my promise did not. It might be possible to escape in
spite of the bolts of a jailer--my people had done this often; but none
had ever tried to escape from their promises. Then I thought of my
promise to Peter Trevisa. Well, I knew not at the time I undertook his
work what I knew when I lay imprisoned, or I would not have made it.
Besides, I could pay the forfeit. The bargain was honourably made. If I
failed to bring the maid to him within a certain time, I had lost
Trevanion. My debt of honour would be paid.
On reflection, therefore, though I was ill pleased at being confined in
that dark cell, I felt strangely light-hearted. I was no longer acting a
lie. I should no longer skulk under the name of Penryn. I did not
believe the Killigrews would murder me, neither would they starve me. I
was not a weakling, and I could look for means of escape. If I could
succeed in gaining my freedom, I vowed I would take away the maid Nancy
Molesworth, if for no other reason than to spite the Killigrews.
Presently morning came, and I was able to see more plainly where I was,
and what my prison was like. The place was really a cellar, and but
little light found its way there. True, there was a window; but it was
very narrow, revealing a small aperture, the sides of which were
composed of strong masonry. Over the aperture was a heavy iron grating,
which grating was on a level with the courtyard. The window, too, was
securely guarded with heavy iron bars. The door was strongly made of
oak, and iron studded. The sight of these things made my heart heavy;
escape seemed impossible.
The hours dragged heavily on, and I grew weary of waiting. But presently
I heard footsteps outside. The two knaves who had obeyed the bidding of
Otho Killigrew entered, one bearing food and the other my clothes.
Neither spoke, although the one I had known as Sam Daddo looked less
surly than the other. I remembered that he was a lover of Mistress Nancy
Molesworth's serving-maid, and tried to think how I could turn this fact
to account. They did not stay, but presently returned, bringing a small,
roughly made couch.
"Evidently," I thought, "it is intended that I shall be kept a prisoner
for some time."
After this I was left alone. It is needless to say that I tried to make
many plans of escape; but they all died at their birth, for each seemed
more futile than the other. I tried the strength of the window bars, and
found that they did not yield to pressure. I listened at the door in the
hope of hearing sounds whereby I might be able to more exactly locate my
prison. This also was in vain.
At mid-day another meal was brought to me, but no word was spoken.
Still I did not despair. True, I dared take no steps for escape through
the day, for footsteps were constantly crossing the courtyard outside.
But when night came I would try the window bars again. I noticed an iron
clamp on the couch which had been brought. Possibly I could use that as
an instrument whereby I could prise open the window.
My spirits, I remember, kept wonderfully high, for I could not fully
realize that I was a prisoner. In truth, the whole matter seemed to me a
sort of dream out of which I should presently awake. For on analyzing my
thoughts, I saw no reason why I should be interested in Mistress Nancy
Molesworth. Indeed, I laughed at myself as a foolish dreamer for
refusing to promise not to render her any assistance should she wish to
escape Otho Killigrew. Perhaps my bargain with old Peter Trevisa and his
son had somewhat to do with it. The rest I put down to the foolish
impulse of the moment. For why should the memory of her face make me
grow angry with Otho? Were I a woman, I would rather be wedded to him
than to young Peter Trevisa. Concerning Benet's behaviour, I could come
to no definite conclusion, although I formed many conjectures. But I did
not trouble, for presently I fancied I saw a weakness in my prison, and
thought I saw a means of obtaining my freedom.
My evening meal was brought by a serving-man whom I had not hitherto
seen, accompanied by Sam Daddo. Just as if I remained a guest, I spoke
to Daddo in a friendly fashion, and asked after the health of his
master. He spoke no word in reply, however, although I was sure I saw
him wink at me in a meaning way. I was not slow to interpret this,
especially when, a few seconds later, I saw it repeated. He remained
silent, however, in spite of my frequent questions, so I gave up
talking, continuing only to watch. This was not in vain, for as the
strange serving-man was passing out of the door, Sam, in following him,
put his right hand behind his back and revealed a piece of paper. This I
snatched at eagerly, though noiselessly, wondering what it might mean.
Ere long I was able to examine it, for my gaolers locked the door, and I
listened to their footsteps as they traversed a passage, and climbed
some stone steps.
Lifting my couch, and placing it against the door so that I might not be
surprised, I went to my window and unfolded the piece of paper I had
taken from Sam Daddo's hand. Only a few words were written thereon, but
enough to give me food for thought. This was what I read:
"_I hope I have misjudged you. Forgive me if I have. I have heard
of all that took place after you left me last night. I grieve much
that you should be a prisoner because of me; but means may be
offered for your escape. I need a friend sorely, for I am in dire
danger, and I am a weak, ignorant girl. Once at Polperro, I should
be safe. The one who gives you this may not help you, although he
would not willingly harm me. Unless help comes I shall be wedded to
O. in a week, and I welcome the thought of death more._"
As I said, this missive gave me much food for thought. It was evidently
written by Mistress Nancy Molesworth. Little consideration was needed,
moreover, to assure me that she must be in sore straits or she would not
have sought to enlist the sympathy of a prisoner. A few hours before she
had spurned me as a liar. But I bore her no grudge for that--I had
deserved it. It was apparent Sam Daddo had told his sweetheart what had
passed between Otho Killigrew and myself. He had doubtless listened at
the door, and heard all. This, perchance, had led the maid to write me.
Yet she knew not what was in my mind, and must risk much in trusting me.
She seemed to regard my escape as a possibility, and therefore built
upon it. I must confess, too, that her helplessness appealed to me, and
a feeling of joy surged in my heart at the thought of striking a blow
for her liberty.
But what could I do? Concerning this, I thought long and carefully, but
could fix my mind on no definite plan save to wrench the iron clamp from
my couch, and apply it to what I thought a weak spot in my window. The
result of this was doubtful, and could not be attempted until late at
night when the family had gone to bed. I therefore waited several hours,
and then, after listening carefully, I commenced my work.
A minute later I stopped suddenly, for I heard footsteps outside. Then
the door opened, and Benet Killigrew entered.