WHY I TOOK MISTRESS NANCY TO TREVISCOE.
Amelia did not immediately answer my question, but continued to laugh
like one in high spirits. "He wa'ant come fur!" she repeated; and after
we had gone on, it may have been a mile or two, I stopped and listened
again, and this time there were no following footsteps.
"Now we must ride quick," said the maid.
"How! what use will it be?" I asked almost angrily. "Clement's horse
will be as good as either of yours."
"Iss, but his hoss is drunk!" laughed Amelia.
"Drunk?" I cried.
"Iss, drunk. When I zeed you go into the kitchen, and tried to git into
a row weth Maaster Clement, I minded a trick I once seed at Endellion
Church town. So I tould the chap that took your 'osses to draw me a
gallon of beer. He axed me questions 'bout et, but I knawed 'ow to git
over 'ee."
"And did the horse drink it?"
"Drink et! I shud think he ded. He wos thusty and sooped up every drap.
Aw I shud like to see un now;" and the maid laughed again.
In spite of everything I joined her. It was purely a village girl's
trick, and well carried out. A thirsty horse will drink a quantity of
beer, and generally a few minutes after becomes light-headed and unable
to walk straight.
"You are a clever girl, Amelia," I said again, "and you are right in
saying we must ride quickly. Clement will find out the trick, and will
follow us on foot."
"We've got the wind in our back," she replied, "zo ef we git a mile or
so ahead, the sound of our 'osses wa'ant reach he."
So we rode hard until we came to Summercourt. Here there were several
branch roads, and so far as I could see no one was stirring. Even
although Clement followed on foot, he would have great difficulty in
finding which way we had gone.
"Which way shall we go?" I asked of Mistress Nancy.
"Do you think it will be safe for us to go to Polperro?" she asked
hesitatingly.
"I think so," I replied, although my heart was sore at saying this.
"These Killigrews will know your whereabouts, and as a consequence there
will be no watchers at Polperro."
"And you will take me there safely?--that is," she continued, as though
she were correcting herself, "you think you can?"
"Oh yes, I can," I replied; "and I will take you whither you will."
"Then perhaps we had better go there--I know of no other place."
She spoke plaintively, and as I thought hesitatingly. I longed to offer
her a home at Trevanion, but I dared not.
"It is well," I replied, as cheerfully as I could; "there is just
another matter we may as well settle, however. Shall we ride there on
our horses, or shall we go by water?"
"What do you mean?" she asked anxiously.
"Polperro's house is close to the sea, is it not?" I asked.
"Yes--that is, I believe so."
"Well, if we were to ride to Veryan Bay, we could get a boat and sail
from there."
"And is that a better way?"
"You shall decide, if you please," was my reply. "From here to Veryan
is, perchance, twelve miles. I do not imagine that the Killigrews would
suspect us of going there; so even if Clement should try and follow us
with another horse, I do not think he would take that course. He would
rather imagine that we should make for Polperro by road."
She was silent for a few seconds, then she told Amelia to ride behind us
out of earshot. At this my heart fluttered wildly, for I thought she had
something of importance to say to me. For a few minutes we rode side by
side without either speaking a word. The moon had risen high in the
heavens, and many of the clouds had passed away, so I could see her
every feature plainly.
"Do you wonder," she said presently, "that, in spite of the vow you took
some time ago, I cannot feel as friendly towards you as I would."
"No," I replied almost sullenly.
"Perhaps you know that my liberty, my happiness, my fortune, the whole
future of my life is at stake."
"Yes."
"It is only a few months since I returned from a convent school in
France. My father, I suppose, was a rich man; and I have heard vaguely
that I legally inherit a large property when I am twenty-one. That time
will soon come now. That is why the Killigrews are anxious to marry me
at once. All I have would then become theirs. I have heard, too, that my
property is strictly entailed. But I have been told nothing definite; it
would seem as though all have been in a league to keep the truth from
me. Ever since I returned from school I have been practically a
prisoner. But I am determined to be free!"
"You shall be free if it is in my power to make it possible," I replied.
She gave a sharp, searching look, and then went on.
"I am, as you see, entirely dependent on you."
I was silent.
"As far as I know there is but one man in whom I can trust. He--he has
asked me to be his wife. He does not know that I have taken this step."
She said this in a constrained, hesitating way, as though she were
afraid to utter the words.
"Do you wish to be John Polperro's wife?" I stammered awkwardly. "That
is, would you under ordinary circumstances choose him for your husband?
Is he to you the man above all others?"
"You are a stranger to me," she went on, as though I had not spoken.
"Until that night when you climbed to the housetop at Endellion I had
never seen you, never heard of you. I have no claim on you save the
claim that any gentlewoman who is in trouble has upon a man of honour."
"Be that as it may," I replied, "all I have and am are at your service.
I will take you whither you will." This I said, I am afraid, with a
sigh, for I realized that after I had taken her to Polperro my work
would be done. I must leave her, perchance never to see her again.
"I may trust you fully then?"
"Fully."
"Then," she said, and her voice became hard and unsympathetic, I
thought, "will you tell me why you came to Endellion? why you tried to
deceive me the first time you spoke to me? why you did not answer me
frankly when we were together with that old man on Roche Rock?"
Her questions came quickly, and I saw by the way she grasped the bridle
rein that she was much wrought upon. In a second I realized what they
meant. I saw that the moment I told her the truth, even although she
might perforce trust me to take her to Polperro, all possibility of
respect for me would be gone. She would think of me as one who for gain
would have betrayed a woman's confidence, one who was the tool of men
who had bought me for a price. I had given up all idea of taking her to
Treviscoe, but the fact that I had consented to such a bargain must
stamp me in her eyes as a knave. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but
for the moment I could not, and I sat staring into vacancy as though I
were a born fool.
"Forgive me," she said coldly, "I will not trouble you to answer me. I
have no right to know your secrets or your plans. You have promised to
take me to Polperro, and your name is Trevanion; I will trust to one
bearing your name to do as you have promised. I am sorry to trouble you,
but I am obliged to take advantage of a gentlewoman's claim on a
gentleman, and to ask you to take me to the house of my only friend."
My heart was heavy, for I saw what her words implied. She would regard
me with less respect than she might regard a paid guide. Although she
had said she would trust me, her heart would doubt me all the time. I
knew by the tones of her voice that when the time of our parting came
she would be glad. She had given me a chance of proving myself an
honourable man, and I had been unable to take advantage of it.
Therefore, although by all laws of chivalry I was bound to serve her,
she would accept that service no longer than she absolutely needed me.
Aye, she would loathe my presence and my service, even although she
could not do without them.
This I knew was what my silence meant to her, but what would an
explanation mean? The truth would be perhaps worse than the suspicion.
Never did I despise myself as I did then, and I felt as though I dared
not tell her the truth. But this was only for a second. Despise me
though she must, I would tell her the whole story. I had at least
repented; whatever my motives had been in the past, they were pure now.
"Mistress Nancy Molesworth," I said, "I will answer the questions you
have asked."
"No, no," she interrupted. "I have no right to know. I was wrong in
asking. Your secret life can be nothing to me."
"I must answer your questions nevertheless," I replied. "And you have a
right to know something of the man in whom you trust so much. I shall
probably lose what little confidence you have in me, and certainly all
your respect, but still I must tell you."
She protested again, in chilling, indifferent tones, but I heeded her
not.
"You said just now that I was a Trevanion," I said; "well, you spoke
truly, I am a Trevanion." Then sparing myself in no degree, I told her
the plain facts as I have told them here. It was painful to me, painful
as pulling out my eyes, but I felt I would rather she should know all
than that she trust me blindfolded, while all the time she hated to be
obliged to speak to me. During the time I was speaking she made no
response. Our horses walked slowly on (for by this time I imagined we
were entirely away from the Killigrews), and so she heard every word I
uttered. Sometimes I looked at her face, but it revealed nothing to me.
It was as motionless as the face of a statue.
"That is all," I said when I had finished; "but believe me in this at
least: I did not fully realize what my premise meant, and you cannot
think worse of my conduct than I think myself. I know it was unworthy,
but it shall not turn out to your ill. If it is in the power of man, I
will take you to the place to which you would go."
"Shall we ride faster?" she said presently.
"Yes," I replied, "but which way? Will you go by road or water?"
"If we go to Veryan, we pass Tresillian, I think you said?"
"I do not remember saying so, but it is true."
"Then we will go that way."
For the next few miles we rode rapidly, neither speaking a word, but
presently she slackened her horse's pace.
"How far is Tresillian from here?" she asked.
"About one mile."
"Thank you for being so frank," she said after a few seconds of silence.
"I know it must be unpleasant for me to be near you," I said bitterly;
"but believe me, I will trouble you no longer than I can help."
"When you have taken me to my destination, what will you do?"
"I shall start for London."
"Why?"
"There can be nothing left for me in Cornwall. I shall join the King's
standard, and honourably seek my way to fortune."
"You will lose your home, the home of your fathers?"
"It must be."
"You say that--that man gave you money."
"Yes, but he will be amply recouped. All the same, I shall send him the
amount as soon as I have earned it."
"What kind of man is he? And what kind of man is--is his son?"
Again I did not spare myself, indeed I took a sort of savage delight in
describing the two men I had promised to serve.
"And if you had taken me to Treviscoe, you would claim the deeds. You
would have fulfilled your obligations to them, and the old homestead
would be yours?"
"Forgive me," I cried, "I did not know I could have become so base," and
indeed at that moment I felt unworthy to ride by her side.
"Can you think of Trevisa's purpose in wanting to get me there?" she
asked, without seeming to notice my words.
"I think I told you," I replied bitterly.
"Yes, but he told you nothing of the means by which he hoped to carry
out his purpose?"
"No, it was nothing to me. I was desperate, mad. Besides I thought not
of that, and I--I loved adventure."
"But you give me your sacred promise that you will take me wherever I
desire to go?"
"You know I do. I despise myself. Believe me, I am not at heart a base
villain, and I am anxious to prove to you how bitterly I repent--what I
bargained to do. I long to break my miserable promise; nay, I shall be
glad to bear the consequences of failing to redeem my pledge to him.
I--I will do anything, suffer anything to carry out your purposes."
This I said hesitatingly, because it came to me that I was betraying the
love for her which was burning in my heart.
"You mean, then, that you will take me wherever I ask you?"
"Yes, yes!" I said eagerly.
"Then take me to Treviscoe, to the home of these--these Trevisas."
I started back aghast. "No, no!" I cried.
"But you have promised me, promised me on your honour."
"But--but you do not understand."
"I understand perfectly."
"They are both miserable, sensual wretches."
"You told me that a little while ago. But please take me there."
"I am sure they have sinister, evil purposes in wishing to get you
there."
"Most likely, nevertheless I rely on your promises."
"They will do their utmost to get you into their power. They have no
conscience, no sense of honour."
"I should judge not. But I will go."
I looked into her face. Her eyes shone like live coals, her face was as
pale as death, but I could see she was resolute.
"Very well," I said with a sigh. "I will do as you command me."
It was now midnight, and we were within two miles of Truro.
"It is well on to twenty miles from here to Trevisa's place," I said,
"and the roads are bad. To say the least, it is a three hours' journey.
There is a good inn at Truro, and I think you would be safe there. Which
will you do--stay at Truro, or ride direct to Trevisa's?"
She hesitated a few seconds, then she decided to stay at Truro. I was
glad of this, because I knew she must be very weary. Half an hour later
our horses were in a comfortable stable, while Mistress Nancy Molesworth
sat at the same table with me in one of the best inns in the county.
"You still wish me to take you to Treviscoe?" I said after we had
partaken of refreshment.
"Yes. Good-night."
When I reached my room I pondered long over the events of the day, and
wondered much at the maid Nancy's behaviour, but could not divine her
motives. I determined to take her to Peter Trevisa as she had commanded,
but I was strong in my resolve to watch over her as jealously as a young
mother watches over her first-born child.
It was past midday when I awoke, and so I hurriedly dressed, wondering
what the woman I had learnt to love would think of me, but when I went
down-stairs I discovered that she had not yet risen. I went to the
stables and examined the horses. They were well fed and groomed, and as
far as I could gather, no one had been there making inquiries concerning
us. This put me at my ease, and when presently Mistress Nancy appeared,
I assured her of her safety.
About an hour before dark we left Truro, and during our ride she asked
me many questions, the meaning of which I could not understand. One
thing she insisted on, for which in my heart I thanked her. It was that
we should take my attorney, Mr. Hendy, with us to Treviscoe, for I knew
that Peter Trevisa had a great terror of the law. Accordingly we called
at the old lawyer's house, and asked him to accompany us. He seemed much
surprised at seeing us, and the more was his astonishment when he
discovered that Mistress Nancy went to Treviscoe against my will, for
this he soon discovered. He said but little, however, and rode quietly
with us like a man in a dream.
"What do you wish me to say to these men, Mistress Molesworth?" I said
to her, when Treviscoe appeared in sight.
"Nothing," she replied absently.
"Nothing!"
"No. That is, say just what you would have said if you had carried out
the purpose with which you started out."
Her words pierced me like a dagger-thrust, but I said nothing. A few
minutes later we came up to the hall door.
Was Mr. Trevisa at home?
"Yes," the servant replied; "old Mr. Trevisa is, but not young Mr.
Peter."
At this I was glad, but on looking at the maid Nancy's face I saw that
she seemed perfectly indifferent. All the same she held tightly by her
serving-maid's arm.
Old Peter seemed overjoyed at our appearance.
"What, Roger, lad!" he cried; "welcome, welcome! I see you've brought a
guest for us too. Ah, she is doubly, trebly welcome. You've come for a
long stay, I trust, Mistress Molesworth. Ah, but you must be tired; I
will order refreshments. Here, Pollizock, you knave, take refreshments
into the dining-hall without delay. I am sorry my Peter is away, but he
will be back to-morrow. I have many things I want to speak to you about,
Mistress Molesworth. You will not desire much company to-night, and
doubtless both Roger and my friend Hendy will want to be jogging as soon
as they've had a bite. Mary Tolgarrick will have many knick-knacks, such
as ladies need, won't you, eh, Mary?"
"Thank you," replied the maid, her face still set and stern, "but I
bought all that I need in Truro to-day; my maid Amelia will bring them
to me."
"It is well," sniggered old Peter. "Be at home, my lady. Ah, I wish my
Peter were here! He is always witty and gay. But he is away in your
interest, Mistress Molesworth; he will have many things to tell
you--many things he hath discovered. But my son Peter is wise, very
wise."
The ladies went out of the room, leaving Lawyer Hendy and myself with
old Peter.
"Ah, Roger lad," cried the old man, "you are a man. Smart and clever.
You have saved Trevanion for yourself. When my Peter comes back we will
settle the matter legally. Did you have much trouble, my lad? Ah, you
must have played a deep game with the Killigrews."
I did not reply. I could not. I was too much ashamed. To think that I
had planned to bring a well-born maid into such company, to remember
that forever the woman I loved must think of me as doing this, was to
fill my cup of degradation and misery.
And yet she had come here of her own free will--aye, she had insisted on
coming after I had told her all. This I could not understand.
"Have the Killigrews any idea where you have taken their ward, Roger
Trevanion?" asked old Peter presently.
"No."
"No? That is well. Tell me about it, lad?"
"I cannot to-night; I am not in the humour."
"Still surly, Roger? Ha, I know you hate to have aught to do with women.
But you will be paid. You have brought her here as you said, and you
shall be well paid, well paid."
My arms ached to throttle the old wretch. I longed to place my hands
around his skinny neck and choke him, but I did nothing. Then old Peter
began talking to Lawyer Hendy, and I fell to wondering what the end of
the business was to be. That the maid Nancy would fall in with old
Peter's plans, I could not believe; and yet she evidently intended to
stay there. Would she desire me to be near as her protector? What were
her purposes? But the maid's mind was a sealed book to me.
Presently she appeared again, her face still set, and her eyes burning
with the light of purpose. Old Peter led the way into the dining-hall,
and although I could not eat, I took my seat at the table.
"We shall not need you," said old Peter to the servants; "leave us. We
can talk more freely now," he whined, turning towards us. "Is there
anything I can do for you, Mistress Molesworth?"
"Yes," she replied steadily; "I wish you to fulfil your obligations to
Master Roger Trevanion, and give him the deeds of his estates."
"When my son Peter comes home everything shall be settled, my dear
lady."
"They can be settled now, can they not?"
"It will be difficult. I do not suppose our friend Hendy hath the papers
at hand."
"Yes, I have them here," replied the lawyer.
At this I knew not what to say. My mind was torn with conflicting
thoughts.